by Sarah Zettel
Slowly, Kalami stood. He circled the tiny table and crouched beside her chair. “You are worried about your niece because you have a good heart.” He touched her hand, stilling its restless motion. “You know she is an outcast here, without friends, and, through no fault of her own, without family. I am trying to help her. I mean to take her to someplace where she will be honored for who she is, not despised.”
He lifted her hand, pressing it between both his own. “But I need your help before I can give my help to Bridget.”
His words almost reached her. Her face softened, and she made no move to pull her hand away. But she had one final defense to be breached. “The last one of you to come here took my sister from me.”
“No, Grace,” said Kalami gently. “Childbirth took your sister from you. It could have happened on any shore, in any world. It is not a charge you can lay against us.”
She gazed down at him with hard eyes, and he held himself still, his head tilted up to meet her gaze. He could see clearly that she was balancing her spirit’s scales with all the care and precision of someone who had made many a hard choice in her life. For a moment, she looked very like the dowager empress.
Then, she did pull her hand away, laying it on her lap and covering it with the other. “Very well. What do you need from me?”
Kalami stood. He hoped that she would take the light in his eyes and the smile on his face as gratitude rather than relief. He was fairly certain that he could have compelled her if need be, but he was not certain that afterward he would have the strength to reach through her conduit to his own world.
Kalami pulled his leather bag from out of his shirt and from it he took a jade ring carved in the shape of a dragon lying across its own tail. “I need for you to find me the one who owns this.”
She took the ring and held it up to see how the light slipped across the jade’s polished surfaces. She turned it over, examining the carving as if she meant to appraise the thing for its worth.
“I will need quiet,” she said, closing her fist around the ring.
Kalami nodded and pulled up one of the slick horsehair chairs so that he might sit across the table from her.
Grace pulled the red lace covering from the object occupying the center of her table, revealing a sphere of translucent blue glass. “You also have eyes that see,” she said as she rolled the lace into a bundle and set it aside. “There may be something shown here to you.”
Again, Kalami nodded, becoming fascinated almost against his will. What would the woman do? This place was so different from all that he knew. Bridget’s visions came to her unbidden and unaided. How would Grace ensure her will was worked?
“Give me your hand,” she said, extending her own.
Kalami held out his hand for her to clasp. Her palm was soft and dry, but there were calluses on her fingertips indicating that she had indeed done some work in her life. For a while, all she did was stare at her glass, holding Kalami’s hand to one side of the sphere, and the hand that clutched the ring to the other. Nothing happened. Kalami resisted the urge to shift his weight or to ask any questions. She had power and she knew how to make use of it, of this there was no question. He needed to be patient.
Even as he thought this, he felt the air grow cold around them. A draft curled around his ankles and fluttered the lace curtain behind Grace. Then, Grace leaned forward, her eyes widening. Kalami peered into the depths of the blue glass, but he saw nothing beyond the distorted reflection of the room.
“See …” Grace lifted his hand and pressed it flat against the sphere’s smooth surface. “See there is a man. He walks along a corridor made of all colors of wood fitted close. His clothes are silk and shimmer with so many colors I cannot name them all. It took someone years to make that robe. It is his, but it is not his. Many have worn it before him, and will wear it after, and yet it makes him what he is. See!” Her own hand pressed against the sphere, and the other gripped the ring so tightly that her knuckles grew white. Kalami felt unexpected wonder take hold of him. With no weaving, with no chant or seeming work, this woman herself could see across the worlds. In this place where power was so hard for a stranger to grasp, it bestowed itself lavishly upon its children. What had touched this family that left such gifts behind?
Eagerness brightened Grace’s eyes and face as she stared at the distant scene playing itself out before her eyes. “His skin is covered in tattoos, in as many colors as his robe. All the winds of the world are drawn on his face and his arms are covered in the images of dragons. These to make him what he is and mask who he used to be. He is old, old, but there are those he goes to meet who are older yet, but the oldest of them is missing. He is in a cage far away. No, not him, what he has become.” Confusion furrowed her brow as she struggled with that idea.
Kalami swallowed. He could not allow her to become distracted, nor could he let this conduit be broken. “He is the Minister of the Air. Can you speak to him?”
Grace did not seem to hear him. All her attention remained fastened on her sphere. “He turns. He lifts his head. He knows he is observed. He raises his hand. So many colors on that hand. The dragons and the wind twirl together as he moves his hand. They swirl and pull. They call, they call …”
Grace slumped forward, her jaw hanging slack and her eyes closed. Then, all at once, she jerked upright as if someone had pulled her hard by the hair. Her whole body went rigid, and her eyes were wild and her mouth pulled back tight against her teeth.
“Who are you?” Grace’s mouth opened and closed like a puppet’s. Her lips shaped no words but remained drawn back in their death head’s grimace, and yet a familiar voice issued from her. Not her own, but the deep, mild voice of Taun Chi-Thanh, the Minister of the Air and one of the Nine Elders of Hung-Tse.
Kalami forced himself to remain relaxed. He did not wish Chi-Thanh to know that anything remarkable occurred here. “I am Valin Kalami, Eternal Chi-Thanh.”
“You have not the touch of Valin Kalami.” Chi-Thanh did not sound upset, merely curious.
“I am aided by an intermediary for I must speak to you from further away than is usual.”
Grace’s head flicked sideways in a mockery of the way Chi-Thanh cocked his head when he was considering something. “Interesting. You will then forgive me if I ask for proof of your assertion.”
Which was Kalami’s proof that Grace had in truth reached the Minister of Air. “Eternal Chi-Thanh, I would be most disappointed in you if you did not. You have found the voice of my intermediary. Can you find her eyes?”
Grace’s head jerked upright again and her teeth clacked a few times as her jaw was opened and closed by Chi-Thanh’s distant will. Her green eyes seemed to flash with awareness for a moment; then, slowly, as if she were about to faint, they rolled upward until the irises disappeared and all Kalami could see were the whites.
“I see you, Valin Kalami.” Grace’s chin tipped up and he saw her tongue lolling between her teeth. “You are very far from your home.”
It took Kalami a minute to be certain that his voice would remain under his control. Grace’s complete abandonment of herself turned his stomach uncomfortably. “I am on an errand for the dowager empress.”
Grace’s jaw dropped to let out Chi-Thanh’s long sigh. “Ah. Your last missive indicated that this errand would not be long in coming.”
“Nor long in completion,” Kalami told him. “I have found what the dowager seeks.”
“And have you determined how much of a danger it is to our plans?”
Kalami nodded. “It is powerful, but it is untrained, and has been left without knowledge of its true lineage. I can control for several months what it hears and understands as it will not speak the language, or understand Isavaltan ways for some time. By then, it will have been guided to the proper understanding of what is happening.”
Grace’s body leaned forward, the whites of her eyes glittering in the faint flight. “As beneficial as that would surely be, surely it would be better if it n
ever arrived in Isavalta.”
“Eternal Chi-Thanh,” said Kalami, putting all the humility he could manage into the title. “You must see that without its power, I will not be able to keep the Heart of the World safe while your emperor redresses his grievances with Isavalta.”
“You forget that what the dowager holds is a protector to Hung-Tse.” Grace’s head swung back and forth, signaling Chi-Thanh’s negation. “We are in no danger from it.”
“Are you certain?” Kalami drew the question out, giving Chi-Thanh time to consider it carefully. “She found a way to cage it. Are you certain she did not in the meantime find a way to distort it?”
For the first time, anger touched Chi-Thanh’s voice. “You speak of one of the great powers of the world. Do you suggest that so tiny a figure as your dowager could alter its nature?”
It occurred Kalami than that Chi-Thanh must be tired. Almost thirty years ago, the Nine Elders, the most powerful sorcerers in the world, had worked a mighty spell only to see it fail utterly. If that was not humiliation enough, they then found their ancient empire held hostage to the word of one who was then little more than a girl. How many hours had he spent in study, seeking a way to reverse what had happened? How many hours had the Nine spent in debate, trying to convince themselves that the very worst could not possibly have happened?
Kalami chose his words with care. “I ask are you so sure of what it is? It is one of the great powers, yes, but it is also a bird in a cage, and it also may be a frightened old man. You yourself are many things, surely you understand this.”
That had always been the threat. The dowager was ruthless in pursuit of the security of her domain. It was very possible that she would ignore her own safety and all mortal levels of prudence to guard her borders.
Grace’s head swiveled abruptly left, then right. “When?” The snap of her teeth clipped off the word.
Inside himself, Kalami smiled. “Before spring. When the snow melts and the bays thaw, you and your emperor will be well placed to begin the redress of which we spoke.”
“I shall inform those who need to know.”
“And I shall send fresh news as I may.”
Grace’s head jerked up and down, a gesture Kalami took as Chi-Thanh’s nod of assent. He wondered briefly if Grace also was tired, and if this contortion hurt her. Even so, he could not let her go quite yet. There remained a few last questions. “Eternal Chi-Thanh, may I ask after the health of my daughter?”
Grace’s grimace tightened, which might have been a smile of approval from Chi-Thanh. It was very hard to tell. “She thrives and excels at her studies. Her abilities with the stars and planets and all manner of omens are astonishing for such a small child.”
And she will excel at much more before she is grown. “Will you, of your courtesy, tell her that you and I have spoken? That I tender her my affection and remind her to remain a good child and obedient to her teachers and protectors?”
“It will be my honor to deliver such a message.” Grace’s whole body tipped forward, stiff-spined. “I shall await your next communication.”
Kalami had no time to catch Grace before she slammed against the table, all her puppet strings cut. The sudden, sour stink of urine told Kalami she had lost control of more than one function.
Swallowing a mild disgust, Kalami scooped Grace up in his arms and carried her past the lace curtain. As he suspected, back here waited the more mundane furnishings of everyday living. He laid her on the battered brass-framed bed and spread a knitted coverlet over her. Gently, he pried open her mouth to make sure that she had not bitten her tongue and plumped the pillows behind her head so that she would not swallow it.
The shelf above the porcelain washbasin was crammed with bottles and boxes of various shapes. One square vessel of clear glass looked familiar to his Dan Forsythe memories. He pulled out the stopper, sniffed the amber liquid and smelled strong spirits. Returning to Grace, he trickled a thin stream of the stuff down her throat until she coughed, swallowed, and opened her eyes.
“Thank you.” Kalami stepped back to give her room to push herself into a sitting position. From the grimace and the coloring of her face, she felt the dampness of her own garments and probably wished him swiftly gone. But, he would not, even here, leave a promise unfulfilled to a power. That way lay too many dangers.
Grace was rubbing first her temple, then her throat. “I remember nothing,” she said, talking at the coverlet over her lap. “I trust you achieved the results you wished for?”
“I did. I also promised you payment for your services. You may name your price now.”
Grace watched her blunt fingers picking at the striped coverlet, pulling tiny bits of fluff from first a pink stripe, then a red, then the pink again.
“Just … take care of Bridget. Promise me that you will keep her safe.” She lifted her eyes and Kalami saw the first glimmerings of tears. “She has had no one to keep her safe since her father died.”
And you feel all the guilt of that, but it was never enough to make you aid your own flesh and blood. “I will give her all the protection I can and keep her as safe as she permits me to do. I swear it on the bones and the names of my family.”
“I suppose that’ll have to do, as stubborn as Bridget is.” Grace turned her face toward the wall and her fingers knotted themselves into the coverlet. “You had better go now.”
Kalami left her there and went to retrieve Chi-Thanh’s ring from where it lay on the table. As he closed the door to the hallway behind him, he cut off the sound of the woman weeping for her own weakness. It did not matter. All the messages were delivered, and all the promises were given. The game was in play and would soon be finished. All that remained was to place Bridget as the final piece on the board.
He strode down the street, heading for the quay to take his boat and sail back to Sand Island. He did not look up to see the crow watching him from the branches of the naked oak tree.
Chapter Six
The hay barn at Sparavatan was not the most dignified place in which to bed down, but it had been stoutly built, which meant that it was dry, and it was warm. All the members of the Temir masquing troupe, even the newcomer, who had paid handsomely to be allowed to join, had at one time or another slept in much rougher, colder beds, and that in homes as ancient and as noble as this. So, none of them had complained when Lord Master Hraban’s steward showed them where to stow their packs, their mules, their sledges and themselves until the morning.
The scents of hay, warm animals and warm humans made the night air heavy. The mice crept about their business, undisturbed by the visitors who had made their nests in the fodder and were now all of them sound asleep. One cunning old rat peered at the scene from the corner, as of yet unaware of the grey cat that watched it from the shelter of the rooftree.
The only witness to the small drama was an old black crow perched on the barn’s stout center beam. It ruffled its feathers slightly as one of the masquers rolled over in his bed of hay. He was darker than the others, his hair bound into a hundred different braids. The crow knew Sakra well, by the look of him and the rhythms of his breath and heart. It had followed that rhythm across the world, for it had news for him.
Below, the rat had evidently decided the better of crossing the barn floor and retreated through its hole. The cat twitched its whiskers and padded after it. One of the masquers snorted, slurped and dug down further into the hay.
The crow spread its wings, and dropped softly from the beam to land on the canvas satchel Sakra used as a pillow. It looked at him, first from one eye, then the other, as if making sure he was truly asleep.
Satisfied, the bird reached its shiny black beak into his ear. When it drew its head back, the crow held a grey piece of fluff in its beak, like a wisp of cloud or uncombed bit of wool. Gripping this piece of Sakra carefully, the crow flew away, minding neither roof nor wall, until it vanished into the winter darkness.
• • •
“I will be closing the l
ight on the ninth. After that date, I ask that you draw a check on the balance of my remaining funds payable to Mrs. Iduna Hansen and have it sent to her at this address.” Bridget pushed the paper across Mr. Shwartz’s desk. Outside the little office, the bank’s daily business went on with muted efficiency, and with only the occasional curious glance from a passing clerk directed toward them through the open door.
“I am sorry you are closing your account with us, Miss Lederle.” Mr. Shwartz was a thin man whom time had left completely bald. As if to make up for this, he had cultivated an enormous walrus mustache that completely covered his mouth. “We were always pleased to take care of business for you, as we did for your father.” He met her eyes briefly before directing his attention to his desk pad in order to note down her instructions.
“Thank you,” Bridget replied. “But I have decided to take a new position down in Madison. As soon as I am settled, I will be writing with a forwarding address, in case there are any details remaining.” She had rehearsed the lie all the way out from the island, but she was still startled at how naturally it flowed from her lips.
Perhaps that’s because it is so much more believable than the truth.
“I believe that will be all, Mr. Shwartz.” Bridget stood, gathering up the notes and coins that would keep her financed.
“I shall look out for your letter, then.” Mr. Shwartz also stood and held out his hand. “I wish you the very best of luck in Madison, Miss Lederle.”
“Thank you.” Bridget took his hand and released it quickly without looking at his eyes. She had not wanted kindness today, not when she had come to town to lie to as many people as necessary so that she could set her affairs in order and take her final leave of them all.
Outside, the frigid air was punctuated by unkind blasts of wind from off the lake. Winter had decidedly moved in for the year, even though, as of yet, there had not been much snow. Only the lightest dusting of powder lay on the cobbles, and the sky overhead was a frozen blue quite clear of clouds.