Spirit Gate: Book One of Crossroads (26 page)

A shout interrupted them. “Hai! Hai! Rider sighted!”

“I’d better go.” Mai let go of his hand and walked swiftly away.

Shai got up. A soldier waved his banner at the top of the watchtower. The tower was set about one hundred strides out from the old stone-built livestock wall that surrounded the oasis and its stone-built houses. The villagers had long since fled or been driven out, and now the tiny Qin garrison used the houses to store grain for scouts and long-distance travelers. A dusty rider trotted in toward the oasis from the east. Shai wasn’t sure how long he had slept. Checking the angle of the sun, he noted that the sun’s position hadn’t changed appreciably; it still rode high overhead. Over with the other slaves, Mountain raised his big shoulders up and looked toward the gate. Priya lay beside her husband, head pillowed on arms, sleeping.

He looked around. Mai had joined Captain Anji and walked with him to the wall. Anji had a hand cupped under her elbow. Best not to disturb that pair. Instead, he trotted over to Chief Tuvi, who was reeling from the strong drink he’d shared with the other chief.

“Hu! Is that two men or one riding in?”

“Just one, Chief. Do you need an arm to lean on?”

“Pah! You can’t keep up with me!”

Shai hurried after him. They got to the gate at the same moment the rider did. The man swung down before the captain, shedding dust as his feet hit the ground. He was a typical Qin, stocky, mustache but no beard, with a handsome grin and a cheerful laugh.

“Hu! Glad to see this place. It’s dry as bleached bone out that way.” He gestured toward the east, red dry flat desert country all the way to the horizon. “I’m called Tohon.”

“I’m Captain Anji. Are you a message rider? How can I help you?”

“Anything good to drink?”

Chief Tuvi offered him what remained of the stuff he’d been drinking, and the man gulped it down, then wiped his mouth. “Whew! That’s done, then. I’ve come from Commander Beje, and I’m looking for
you,
Captain Anji. An important message. Most important, so Commander says. More important than anything else.”

“Commander Beje!” Captain Anji looked stunned.

“Oof!” said Tuvi.

“You know him yourself?” asked the rider.

“Who is Commander Beje?” The words leaped out of Shai’s throat before he knew he meant to say them. Curiosity had got him by the throat. He had never seen the imperturbable Anji taken by surprise.

Anji wiped sweat off his brow and shook droplets off his hand. He glanced at Mai. “My first wife’s father. My father by marriage, back then. What message?”

The rider tugged off his cap and fanned himself with it. “Whoof! Hot today! A strange message, truly, Captain. You’re not to go on to Tars Fort. I’m to lead you northeast in a circuit around Mariha City and up into the hills, where you’ll meet with Commander Beje in private. He said this: Your life depends on no man or woman knowing where you’ve gone, or that you’ve gone. And this, too: Any troops you meet take with you, even if you leave a posting abandoned.”

“Ah,” said Anji. No more than that. Only his narrowed eyes revealed the whirl of
his thoughts. The wind kicked up, rustling in the fronds, but it said no more than the captain did, not really.

THEY LEFT AT
dawn, absorbing into their troop the twenty tailmen who had been garrisoned at the oasis. In fact, now that Shai took the trouble to really start measuring, he began to think that Anji’s retinue was two score or more men greater in number than it had been when they left Kartu Town. But he’d been preoccupied then. He hadn’t actually counted everyone. He was probably mistaken. It had been a confused time.

Mai rode beside Captain Anji and the scout, Tohon, at the van. Shai crept his mount forward through the irregular ranks—the Qin were disciplined but not rigid—until he moved up alongside Chief Tuvi, who noted his arrival with a sour burp.

“Hu! My stomach just won’t settle after all that drinking and eating last night!”

“Where are we headed?”

“To see Commander Beje!”

“Was he really Captain Anji’s father by marriage?”

“That he was.” He patted his stomach. “Whew! Not so hot today, eh?”

It was possible that today’s sun was not as baleful as yesterday’s, but Shai doubted it. He knew when he was being told to shut up, however, and so he dropped back to the rear guard and rode in silence until the noon break. Tohon knew the route well. He led them off the main trail to a scatter of rocks where they found shade in which to rest through the hot hours. In late afternoon, they started on their way again and rode into the night before breaking. Four more days they traveled at this ground-eating pace. On the fifth, midmorning, they spotted dust in the east.

“Soldiers,” said Tohon, shading his eyes. “We’ll cut north now.”

“Aren’t those Qin?” asked Anji.

“Qin, yes.”

“But no one we want to meet.”

“Not according to my orders, Captain.”

“Is there war in the east?”

“No war. Not yet. But there might be, once the weather is cooler. So we’ve heard. I don’t know the truth of that rumor.” Tohon grinned. He was a man of mature years, a tough veteran who hadn’t lost his sense of humor. “Rumor is like a pretty girl flirting with ten different men. You never know which one she really prefers.”

“Are the Qin going to war against the empire?” Mai asked softly.

Anji shrugged, meeting her gaze. “Commander Beje will tell me what I need to know.”

The smiles Mai and Anji exchanged excluded Shai and, indeed, everyone else. This demon was jealousy, gnawing at his gut. He fought against it, but he couldn’t stop himself. Mai looked radiant and strong, but he felt weak because he was lonely. All he could do was tag along after Chief Tuvi and play at weapons with the tailmen, who respected him for his strength but ridiculed his awkward attempts to shoot a bow; they could hit a marmot from horseback. He was a little better with a staff, not hopeless at any rate, so they let him carry a spear as he rode to get accustomed to its heft and length.

The Golden Road was not actually a single trail leading west to east. It had many paths and roads, some preferable in winter while others suited summer or autumn travel. Tohon led their troop on a northeast spur at a steady clip for the rest of that day, halting at intervals to rest, water, and feed the horses. The beasts were almost as tough as their masters.

They camped that night at a water hole. In the morning they rode east until midday and then pushed north again into the foothills until sundown, when they halted by a dry streambed.

Shai was sore and nervous. Mai was laughing at something Anji had just said to her.

I hate happy people,
thought Shai. Mai had confided in him, but he hadn’t the strength to return the favor. He watched Mountain and the other slaves digging into the streambed. They struck water about an arm’s length down and widened the hole to accommodate as many horses as possible.

All at once, Mai walked up beside him, hands cupped before her. She opened her hands to reveal three tiny beaded nets. “O’eki found these. I forgot to give them to you before.”

“Who is O’eki? That’s not a Qin name.”

“It’s Mountain’s name, as you should know,” she said tartly. “He found them. Here. They belong to you.” Anji called to her. She pressed the objects into his hand and walked away.

Cornflower had tied off the ends of her braids with these tiny beaded nets. He had wondered often enough what it must feel like to touch her hair, as these once had, to feel the texture of those fine strands as a caress on the skin. He shut his eyes and listened, wondering if he could hear her ghost in the objects once worn by her.

She had not been dead when these had come off her. They’d been discarded, like ruined clothing. Her pale gold hair had been unbound, just like that of the figure he’d seen taken by the storm.

With a groan, he cast them onto the ground, then picked them up and tucked them into the lining in his long sleeves next to Father Mei’s gold. What good was he, who was no better than his brothers, all but Hari? He had lusted after her just as they had, and it hadn’t been kindness that had stayed him from pressing his body onto hers. It had been simple stubbornness; he didn’t want to be like them. He didn’t want to follow in their dreary footsteps and do the predictable things they did. He didn’t want to want what they wanted. So he’d pretended not to want her, and by ignoring her, had left her waiting under the lean-to, easy prey for the storm and the demons that rode it.

Nothing-good boy. That’s what his mother had always called him.

“Hu!” Chief Tuvi strolled up to him. “That’s some good-tasting water once the dirt is filtered out of it! There’s a hand of daylight left, Shai. You want to see if you can hit anyone with that spear? We’ll make a soldier of you yet. You’re a challenge, sure enough, but we’re not afraid of anything, not even your clumsiness!”

His particular companions were waiting—Jagi, Pil, Seren, Tarn, and Umar—with their usual hearty grins, calling him names as they taunted him to come over and get the wits beaten out of him.

What a fool he’d been, moping all those years for the reward he’d never get, his
family’s love and respect. A better prize lay within his grasp. These soldiers teased only when they liked you.

He was one of them now. He found his staff and joined them. He got the wits beaten out of him, and enjoyed it even as they mocked his clumsiness.

Only later did it occur to him to wonder where Mountain had found the bead nets and, once he’d asked him, how unsatisfactory Mountain’s answer was.

“Right up by the big rock where we were camping when the storm hit, Master Shai. Just lying there, like she’d torn them off. Or they’d been torn off her.”

Midmorning the next day they rode out onto an escarpment from which they could view the spectacular Mariha Valley sprawled below. Irrigation canals cut the land into a bright patchwork beyond which the lush colors faded quickly to a dull yellow-brown. The old city was a vast honeycomb seen from above, ringed by stout walls and graced by a lake at the center where, Tohon said, priests had once worshiped their ancient god and now the Qin watered their horses. There was a holy tower dedicated to the Merciful One, recognizable by its tiered rings, and a second monumental building concealing a courtyard within a courtyard which Anji told her was a temple for the worship of the god Beltak, one of the manifold names given to the Lord of Lords, King of Kings, the Shining One Who Rules Alone. Next to the Beltak temple lay another palatial structure.

“Is that a second temple?” Mai asked. “It has two courtyards, too, but they’re separate, side by side, not one nested inside the next.”

“That’s the royal palace, built in the Sirniakan style,” said Anji. “The larger courtyard is where men congregate and the separate smaller courtyard is for the prince’s women.”

“How strange,” said Mai. “Do you actually mean to say that women cannot go where the men congregate, and men cannot walk in the women’s courtyard?”

“I mean to say that in Sirniaka, the palace women—a dozen wives, a hundred concubines, and all their serving women and slaves—are sequestered, kept completely apart. Only the master, his sons, and his slaves can visit the women’s quarters. Any other man who tries to walk there would be killed. Executed.”

Mai laughed. “That’s a good story! It’s quite a big palace, though. There must be lots of people living there in order to need two courtyards that big.”

“You don’t believe me?” Anji raised an eyebrow in that sweet way he had of showing amusement. He was so handsome!

“How could people live that way? Women kept apart! And so many that they need a place that big! How could one man keep so many women? Two wives is plenty, as the old song goes.”

“You don’t believe me,” repeated Anji, shaking his head. “It seems strange to me now, I admit, because I’ve lived among the Qin for so many years, but it didn’t seem strange at all when I was a child.”

His words caught her up short. She’d been about to laugh again, but he was perfectly serious. He was, briefly, a stranger, looking at her through eyes whose glance had recently become so very intimate.

Tohon whistled. “Captain! Best keep going. I think we’re being followed.”

“They’ll see our dust.”

“True, and our tracks. We need only reach Commander Beje’s posting before they reach us.”

Anji signaled. Chief Tuvi whistled, and they set off again, riding at a bruising gait that jarred her up through her teeth. Now and again they would reach a vantage point from which they could get a good look behind them, and always there rose that telltale haze of dust, moving as they moved, hard on their trail.

In midafternoon they rode down into a green vale watered by three streams trickling down from the heights. An old stone watchtower on one slope had been abandoned and replaced with a fortified villa on lower ground. It was a one-story compound surrounded by a small orchard, a garden, a single field of grain, and an inner wall of stone and outer palisade of logs ringed by a ditch. Sheep grazed between the two walls. A black Qin banner flew from the gate. They crossed a narrow bridge, single-file, and the gate was closed after them by a silent guardsman.

“This way.” Tohon led them across the pasture and through a second gate, guarded by stone dragons.

Inside lay a stableyard, dirt raked in neat lines. Captain Anji dismounted and gave his reins to Sengel.

“Come,” he said to Mai. “Bring Priya.”

No one else—not even Sengel and Toughid, who shadowed Anji everywhere he went—was invited to accompany them. There were guards on the walls and a score of soldiers lounging in the stableyard, all armed. The captain’s troop dismounted but did not otherwise disperse, as if they expected to have to leave at a moment’s notice.

“Are we safe?” she whispered to Anji as Tohon led them into the shade of a long porch. “Who do you think is following us?”

He paused before entering. The terrace was floored with sandstone, recently swept, but the pillars, eaves, and roof of the porch were all of well-polished wood. A youth knelt at the far end of the porch, not even looking up as their footsteps tapped on stone; he rubbed at one of the pillars with a linen cloth.