Dragon Mage

by Andre Norton

  The air felt heavy in here, as there was no breeze to stir it. She could smell the residue of burned incense, neither pleasant nor unpleasant. It had a hint of orange and reminded her that she was hungry.

  Shilo put her back to the door and stood there for several long moments, feeling the polished wood with her fingertips. She could hear herself breathing, but that was it. No other sound intruded.

  So very, very tired, she thought.

  It would be so easy to sleep here in the dark … curl up right here on the hard floor. She stretched her right arm out to the side and felt the edge of the door frame. She edged along the door, and then the wall, finding it textured like stucco. She followed it, slowly, stopping when her tennis shoes squeaked. She took them off and put them in the pockets of the robe. The floor was cool and smooth against the soles of her feet. She imagined that she might be walking on polished marble.

  She glided slowly, coming to another wall and following it until she reached an open doorway. Her eyes adjusted, and she picked through the shadows to see manlike shapes she figured were statues. Touching them confirmed that. She found benches, too, and tapestries. She tugged one of the lighter tapestries down from the wall, stretched out on a bench, and covered herself.

  She wasn’t cold, but she liked the security of a blanket.

  * * *

  She woke stiff and hot, sweating under the tapestry and the robe, her short hair plastered against her head. The sun streamed in through the hole in the roof, so bright and hot she figured it was late in the morning, or maybe noon … which meant it might be time to open the antique shop back in Wisconsin. She’d slept so long! Meemaw would find the bedroom door locked and would have Grandfather force it open. They’d discover Shilo gone and the puzzle on the floor.

  The darned puzzle.

  She was surprised she hadn’t woken up next to it, having appeared back in her bedroom. Her father had come back from his puzzle journey, and she’d hoped she might accomplish her journey by sleeping … and waking up from this horrid dream.

  The bench was hard, emphasizing the realness of this place. She folded back the tapestry and sat, working a kink out of her neck as she took in the room. The statues she felt last night were amazing. Each depicted the same man, carved from a beige stone and painted in places, but all in different poses. The closest and largest statue, at least nine feet tall, showed him in wedge sandals and festooned with bracelets, armbands, and neck chains.

  He had a skirt, like the other men she’d seen in the city, and a robe. On top of that, there was some sort of drape that wrapped from his left shoulder across his chest and down to his waist, then up his back to fasten at his neck. His hat looked a bit like the ones the Shriners wore in parades, complete with a tassel. And he had a beard decorated with bones and beads and as straight across as a board at the bottom. The eyes were blank, perhaps the artist intending the man to look like he was sleeping. The eyes of all the statues were that way.

  She noticed the same figure on the tapestry she’d pulled down. It was effusively embroidered, with lots of reds and greens.

  “So beautiful.” She forgot about her predicament for a moment as she studied the intricate tapestry and worked to hang it back up. The other tapestries were equally as fine, one of them catching her attention and drawing her near.

  The tapestry was a map, and had it been smaller, Shilo would have tugged it down and put it in her pocket. But it was five feet across and more than three feet tall. The background was yellow, the fabric coarse and knobby in places, and the yellow of it also served to indicate streets.

  “This city. Has to be this city. This is familiar,” she said, meaning not just the part of the map she’d traveled over to reach the river, but all of it. Her fingers traced the thick braid that represented the walls surrounding the city. It was roughly rectangular, but looked more like the shape of a book opened and laid flat, the north and south borders of the city slightly skewed. On the north edge just inside the main gate, a walled structure was clearly the largest building on the map.

  Gates, there were nine of them—three to the north, three to the south, one to the west, and two to the east. One of them would be her way out of this place. This center one to the south, she decided, as it was closest to the river, and therefore closest to her.

  She touched it.

  The tapestry map had firmly caught her interest, and she was certain there was something she recognized about it. There were not many major streets, three running north–south the full length of the city, plus a fourth that started in the center of a great green swatch of fabric that was roughly in the middle. A park, perhaps. If it was, she thought she should have spotted it yesterday. But she had been panicked, she told herself. There were no doubt lots of interesting things she hadn’t noticed.

  There were ten blue squares, thickly embroidered to raise them above the surface of the tapestry, and each about the size of her fist. Six were on the eastern side of the river, and four on the west, these slightly smaller. Words were embroidered near them, but she couldn’t read them. She couldn’t read any of the labels that likely named streets and the river and the gates. She tried to guess where she’d appeared in the city, based on the river and how many streets she’d raced down. She guessed she’d materialized in the north, not terribly far from the great walled building that was likewise labeled and unreadable.

  The river!

  A gray ribbon sewn across it indicated a bridge. If only she’d traveled north along the river rather than south, she would have seen it. Should have realized there’d be a bridge, she scolded herself. The people weren’t likely to swim from one side of the city to the other, and none of the boats she’d seen looked like they could serve as ferries.

  She wished her father was here, for the company and for his knowledge of history. Shilo was certain she’d seen this city in one of his history books. But it wasn’t from any of the volumes on Egypt, and certainly not from any on the American Revolution—some of those books she knew by heart.

  Her breath caught when she spotted something faint on the north part of the map. Rendered in golden threads not much darker than the yellow background was the image of the dragonlike creature she’d fashioned from the puzzle … the same figure she’d spotted on the gate when she arrived in the courtyard. It had to be the northeastern gate, and she stretched a finger up, not quite able to reach it.

  “Ishtar.” The voice that spoke that single word sounded like a cat purring.

  Shilo whirled so fast she nearly fell over.

  The speaker was a young man, maybe a few years older than her, but no more than age twenty. He was dressed like most of the other men she’d seen, in a skirt that wrapped around his waist, But this came only to his knees, and so she could better see his sandals. They laced around his ankles and halfway up his calves. His skin was the color of crushed walnuts, and his bare chest was hairless, oiled she thought, to make it glisten so. His hair was pulled back, and so she couldn’t tell how long it was. He had a clean-shaven face and unblinking gray eyes that held her gaze.

  “Ishtar,” he repeated. He said other words, all of them foreign and pleasant-sounding. He took a step toward her, then hesitated when he saw her shiver.

  Shilo looked past him to the only doorway that led from this chamber, the one she’d found her way through in the darkness last night. She could dash through it, maybe catch him off guard. Would he grab her? Chase her? Call for the guards because she’d trespassed in a temple or museum or palace? The statues and tapestries in this room were valuable. Did he think her a thief?

  He spoke to her again in his purring voice, holding his hands out to his sides. He wore no jewelry, unlike the men she’d spotted on the street.

  “Oh!” She brought her hand to her mouth, realizing she’d brushed back the hood of the robe when she’d slept, and so her curly red hair, pale skin and freckled face, and jewelry-cluttered fingers were in the open.

  He took a step back, still not blinking. He�
��d angled himself so that he stood between her and the doorway.

  “Look,” she began. “I know you can’t understand me. I can’t understand you either. But I’m not stealing anything, and I’m not hurting anything or anyone. I just want to get out of here without trouble. Okay?”

  He cocked his head, his eyebrows raising and his eyes glittering with a mix of confusion and amusement.

  “Nidintulugal,” he said, pointing to his chest. “Nidintulugal.” He waited, expecting her to say something.

  Shilo stood there, shifting back and forth on the balls of her feet, which were sweaty in her nervousness. All of her was sweaty.

  “Nidintulugal,” he tried again, then pointed to her.

  Her eyes widened.

  “Oh, you’re telling me your name. That’s quite a mouthful.” She pointed to herself with her right hand, and with her left pulled the hood back up over her head. “Shilo,” she said.

  He smiled. “Shilo.” Again there were more words that she couldn’t understand.

  “Shilo,” she said, “as in the old Neil Diamond song. Not that you’ve ever heard of Neal Diamond. My mother was nuts about him. Played him all the time. She should’ve paid attention to the dust jackets, though. Shilo’s supposed to have a second ’h’ on the end. But then my mother never paid much attention to anything. At least she didn’t name me Cherry Cherry or Cracklin’ Rose.”

  God, what brought that out? she fumed. Why am I babbling to this man who can’t understand me and who probably is going to cart me off to some city guard and have me thrown in a dungeon for the rest of my life?

  “Shilo,” he repeated. “Nidintulugal.” He pointed to himself. Then he pointed to the map, to the northern edge where the gate with the dragon was. “Ishtar.”

  “Ishtar. Now that’s familiar. If I could only remember.” Ishtar, Ishtar, Ishtar, she said to herself. “And it’s not familiar because of that lousy Dustin Hoffman movie.”

  “Ishtar.” He glided toward the tapestry map, leaving the way clear between her and the doorway. She could see the back of his head now; the end of his ponytail reached to just below his shoulder blades.

  Shilo didn’t run. Rather, she watched him. He moved gracefully like a cat, and still she hadn’t seen him blink. Taller than she was, he was able to touch the northern gate.

  “Ishtar.” His finger moved to the highest gate on the east wall. “Marduk.” Then to the lower east gate. “Zababa.” The gates on the south wall. “Enlil. Urash.” That was the one closest to the river. “Shamash.” He paused and stabbed at one of the blue squares, again rattling off words that made no sense. “Shamash.” The finger moved from the gate to the blue square. “Shamash, Shilo.” He swept his arm to indicate this room, perhaps to indicate the entire building she was in. “Shamash.” He pointed to one statue after another. “Shamash. Shamash. Shama…”

  “I get it,” she said. “The gate is named Shamash. The statue represents some fellow named Shamash. Yeah, Shamash.”

  Satisfied she understood, he pointed next to the gate on the west. “Adad.” And near the northwest corner. “Lugalgirra.”

  “I’m not going to remember those. But I’ll remember Shamash. And I’ll definitely remember Ishtar.”

  “Ishtar.”

  An idea formed and something tugged at Shilo’s memory. She would go back to that first gate. She’d appeared in the courtyard facing that particular gate with the image of the dragon on it. The magic of the puzzle had drawn her there. So maybe that was the way home. Maybe if she exited the city through that gate, she’d wind up back in Slade’s Corners.

  “That’s where I’m going, Nidin…”

  “Nidintulugal.”

  “Nidintulugal.”

  He beamed that she’d gotten his name correct.

  “I’m going to the Ishtar Gate, Nidintulugal.” She sucked in a breath. “The Ishtar Gate. I’m in Babylon. And I’m probably close to twenty-five hundred years in the past.”

  The revelation hit her as hard as if she’d been punched, and her knees buckled.

  7

  Nidintulugal’s Tour

  Shilo woke up on the bench, the same one she’d slept on last night. Made of hardened wood, it felt thoroughly uncomfortable now, particularly since Nidintulugal had put her on her side, and the tennis shoe in that pocket was pressing against her hip.

  She sat up almost too quickly, holding her head with her hands. Her hood was off, either because it had slipped back or the young man had removed it.

  “Babylon. I’m in Babylon.”

  “Babylon,” he said, nodding, his expression intense. He gestured to the tapestry map and drew a circle in the air, indicating all of it. “Babylon, Shilo.”

  “Nid…”

  Footsteps in another chamber silenced her. She looked nervously to the doorway, and Nidintulugal noted her worry. He drew a finger to his lips and held his hand toward her, indicating she should stay. Then he went to the doorway, looked out, and a moment later walked through it.

  Shilo closed her eyes and rocked back and forth as she rubbed her palms against the robe. She knew he would tell whoever was here about her, maybe the person in charge. She would be caught and never again see Wisconsin. I should leave, she mouthed. Run far and fast and go to the Ishtar Gate. I should …

  The young man returned, again holding his finger to his lips. So he hadn’t told anyone. Why? she wondered. Why had he treated her with kindness, she an odd-looking stranger? Why hadn’t he …

  A priest! Shilo was angry it had taken her so long to realize this.

  Shamash was a deity, and this was his temple, and the young man, dressed simply and without jewelry, had to be a priest or an acolyte. And priests were kind and helpful, took pity on the unfortunate … and she certainly was unfortunate at the moment.

  “The Ishtar Gate,” she whispered. “I need to go there.”

  “Ishtar.”

  She nodded vigorously and added “please,” though she knew he couldn’t understand the word. Shilo counted on her pleading, desperate expression to help.

  He pointed to her head, and she pulled the hood up, stood, and wriggled so that the robe’s sleeves fell down over her hands.

  He offered her a weak smile and went back to the doorway, looking out and beckoning with his cupped hand. Shilo pulled in a deep breath and followed him.

  The city looked different under the bright sun. Or perhaps, Shilo thought, she was able to look at it differently because she felt less nervous in the priest’s company. He led her north, on a street that ran between the river and the temple. She saw that the building was truly impressive in the daytime, covered with tile mosaics that showed Shamash amid lions and under various depictions of the sun. The color was amazing and sparkling in the light. To her left, the river looked different, too, the water a cerulean blue that matched some of the tiles in the building.

  Nidintulugal spoke softly to her as they went, nodding at this building and that boat, gesturing to a group of men standing beyond the temple steps.

  “I understand none of this,” she returned. “I speak English, and not as well as some of my teachers would have liked.”

  He was undeterred by her gibberish. “Marduk.” He pointed to another building, which had the look of a temple. It was larger than the Temple of Shamash, and the columns out front were shaped like the legs of some beast, ending in talons that gripped steps leading up to massive bronze doors.

  “Marduk,” she repeated. “King of the gods.” She remembered that much from one of her father’s history books. “And Shamash, I remember now. He was the sun god. You have a lot of gods. I find the one sufficient.” She touched her chest, feeling the cross beneath the robe. “And maybe if I would’ve prayed a little more often I wouldn’t have ended up here.”

  “Euphrates.” He pointed to the river now.

  “The Euphrates River! I should have remembered that, too. It’s still on the map. But it runs through Iraq now.” She shuddered. This beautiful city would be not
hing in her time, replaced by a country the United States warred against and dropped bombs on.

  Shilo knew about the Euphrates River—not a lot, but enough to qualify for what she called “history lite.” She’d taken a course on Middle Eastern Conflicts her freshman year in high school. She had to get permission for it, as it was typically a class for juniors and seniors. She remembered that the Euphrates was in the news a lot because of violence reports.

  The river also was mentioned in the Bible, which her dad used to read to her when she was younger. In Revelation the river was mentioned twice, called “the great river Euphrates.” It wasn’t the river’s length or depth that made it great. It was the great apocalyptic events associated with it.

  And there was the Ishtar Gate.

  She slammed her fist against her waist. She should have recognized the gate yesterday! What a fool she’d been. She’d seen pictures of it in her textbook. Sure, she’d been frightened, being whisked away from her bedroom and deposited centuries in the past half the world away. But she shouldn’t have let that fear completely shut her brain down. She should have realized where she was.

  “Babylon.” She said the word with disbelief.

  Iraq sprawled over it now, a city named Karbala squatting squarely on what used to be the western side of Babylon.

  “If only you knew what was going to happen to this ground, Nidin. Horrible things, so much death.”

  He looked at her quizzically, and she waved her hand dismissively. He continued pointing to buildings and features, naming them as if he were a tour guide. That’s essentially what he was, Shilo thought, wishing she could thank him for his kindness and wishing even more that she could understand the words.

  She thought about reaching in her pockets and pulling out her tennis shoes and putting them on. She silently cursed the little rocks that bit into her soles. But she figured she looked odd enough to the priest, and the tennis shoes with their shiny nylon sides and thick rubber bottoms might scare him off.