The Silk Map (38 page)

“Under the ground sounds good!”

“Are we near?” Bone asked.

“Yes! Another hour, perhaps!”

“I'm not certain we have another hour!”

“We will either see a karez,” Katta said, “or our next incarnations!”

“I'm not sure we Westerners get multiple incarnations!” Gaunt objected.

“I will gladly loan you two of mine!” Katta laughed, and Bone was uncertain if he was serious.

Bone might have napped, in the half-awake, half-alert manner he'd learned hiding upon balconies in Palmary, waiting for his moment to strike. It was so long past, that time before Gaunt, so many cities and mountains and oceans and deserts ago. Like another incarnation. He stirred and gripped her hand. It was dark but hot, and the horse's shadow stretched like a narrowing road into what seemed unending shadowy sands. The stars were bright above them, but the storm was almost upon them, threads of fire and smoke making increasingly daring incursions upon the Heavens. It was unfair. Innocence Gaunt was lost to the waters, and Persimmon Gaunt would be lost to the fires. A-Girl-Is-A-Joy would never know her mother's world.

Rage snapped and growled inside him. The followers of the Undetermined might say that his anguish was the result of undue attachment to the illusory things of this life. Yet if there was a difference between these particular attachments and he, himself, Imago Bone could not unravel it.

Still, consideration of such matters at least put a thread of distance between himself and his anger. Bone realized his rage arose in part from having his and Gaunt's life in the hooves of one Springjumper Wildgroan Headtoss Backkick. He was used to the threat of death, but there was always some ploy remaining even unto the end, a dagger to toss, a wall to scale. Now there was nothing he could do.

No, not nothing, he realized.

He could admire the stars, and he did.

“Thank you,” he told the horse.

“I love you,” he told Gaunt.

“What?” she murmured.

The horse snorted and the stars disappeared.

Only from the blue-streaked crimson glare behind them could Bone discern what had happened. They were galloping down a narrow stone passage with a watery channel beneath. The footing looked terrible, and the path winding, and Bone couldn't understand how the dragon horse managed to maintain such speed. From time to time moonlight flashed down upon them, as the openings of wells passed overhead.

The Dragonheat hit.

Fire blazed into the karez, but only at the entrance far behind or below the openings of the wells. Once, lightning blazed into the passage, but it claimed the bucket-rope and the bucket, never hitting the water. A crumpled, seared lump of metal flopped into the channel.

Without warning the dragon horse halted, finally giving in to its weariness. Bone embraced Gaunt, as a man should hold his wife at the end of days, or at the end of an argument, or simply when a manifestation of titanic energies rolls past overhead. The horse snorted and stomped the water.

At last there was silence and stars.

By a unanimity that stretched across species, Bone, Gaunt, and the dragon horse slept.

Gaunt awoke from a peculiar dream, and it struck her so strongly that before any other action she played a memory trick so she could transcribe it later, coiling a clump of her hair and muttering to herself, “Tongues of fire.” Then she remembered the fires of last night and stood.

Daylight entered the cramped gallery of beige bedrock, by way of a well-shaft nearby. Bone and the dragon horse continued to sleep; the man upon a thin shelf, the steed poised upright over the channel flowing through the passage's middle.

“A narrow escape,” Gaunt murmured.

The day was already growing warm, but the water of the karez was cold enough to sting. Had she or Bone rolled over in their sleep, they would not have drowned, but the plunge into cold water, suffered in the desert night, might have slain them from the chill, here in one of the hottest regions of the world.

Bone rose abruptly. “Gaunt! Are we dead?”

“We are not dead, Bone. This is no paradise, no hell, no rebirth. This is ordinary discomfort. No breakfast and no easy place to pee. Life.”

“I'm glad to join you in it. Is the horse sleeping?”

“I think so. I think, after all he has done, we must let him rest. There's been no sign of the others.”

He stood and stretched, stepped into the cold water, cursed. “That makes sense. If there are more structures like this in the area, the odds of survival would be better with one horse to a karez. I hope we can find each other.” He walked carefully to the well-shaft and looked up. “That must go up twenty or thirty feet. I wouldn't want to try climbing it with its rope destroyed.”

“We'll wait for the horse. Bone . . . I had a dream.”

He was suddenly all attention. “Tell me.”

“I had a comfortable house, filled with all the trophies of our adventures, even the artifacts we've lost. You were sleeping, as were our two children. I was up and about and startled to discover that a fire was yet blazing in the fireplace, and that sparks had landed upon the scrolls I'd piled unwisely nearby. So far all that billowed from the paper was smoke—a narrow escape. I poured water onto the ruined scrolls, all the while imagining you, me, the children, all going up in flames. And yet rather than fear, I felt a calm gratitude that no such thing had occurred. It seemed to me that rather than put out the fire, I should mend it, stand vigil.” Bone said nothing, and she uncoiled the tangle in her hair. “I looked out a glass window and saw a temperate clime filled with trees, and nearby all was . . . deadfall, with new green shoots rising through a chaotic lattice of dead branches and trunks.” She lay back against the bedrock wall, watching Bone across the channel. “That is all. I don't know the meaning of this dream. But it has left me with a quiet determination. I will see it through. All of it. This is not a battle cry but a statement of fact.”

“We had visions of children before. Before we had to flee to the East.”

She nodded. “And our real son resembled the boy of my vision. I do not claim special powers, but I have seen what I have seen. I sense we will get him back, and that he will have a sister.”

“The girl of my vision,” Bone murmured, “the one riding joyfully along a beach.” He frowned. “We haven't spoken of it since, but in your vision, our son had a cruel visage.”

“It's true. He was older than when I knew him, borne upon a litter, commanding men in cowls who bore serrated swords.”

“Gaunt . . . the one-eared stalker and her crew.”

“Swan's blood. Yes.”

Bone pounded the wall.

“Ow,” he said.

“Bone. Have hope! That was the sense of my dream. If One-Ear—let's call her that—is fated to be tangled with Innocence, then at least it's a threat that's entering the light. I don't know if we will ever be granted the haven in the woods. And the image of the burning scrolls makes me think we'll lose much. But we will all be together—even she who has yet to arrive. I am sure of this.”

At her words, Springjumper Wildgroan Headtoss Backkick gave a snort and his hooves clomped the passage.

“I do not speak dragon horse,” Gaunt said, “but I think he is ready to go. Thank you, mighty one.”

The horse surprised her by nickering.

All three of them seemed in accord on turning away from the darkness ahead, though rotating the dragon horse was an awkward process, quite a contrast from the majesty of the night before. He walked steadily enough once aimed toward the distant light, but it was clear escaping the Dragonheat had been an ordeal, and that progress today would be slow. Gaunt and Bone did not even consider riding.

The Dragonheat was nowhere to be seen, only the ordinary heat of midmorning, as they emerged from the karez and beheld a cultivated region like a green shawl stretched over the desert's brown. There were grape orchards and mulberry trees, wheat fields and rows of cotton. Field workers in plain robes of white, gray, blue, or tan, most also wearing round hats with elaborate weaving, were busy clearing debris from the passage of the storm. Gaunt had the impression they'd had a long night.

The thought of grapes made her stomach groan. But she suspected that answering questions now would be uncomfortable. She steered stallion and man around the passage's opening and up the sandy slope.

Here was a borderland, a last gasp of the desert between the irrigated land and the alpine high country to the south. Thus it surprised Gaunt to discover, after some twenty minutes, a small community of tents. Each was inhabited by a wizened human being. Most of these old dwellers were accompanied by one or two younger helpers, or else by an occupied birdcage. Some of the ancients sat on chairs, some on rugs. All had their feet buried in the sand.

They passed two such people without attracting comment, but a third hailed them, and it seemed best to stop. The travelers and the horse regarded the sand-bather and his parrot. The old man possessed a long beard, a white robe, and a hat that reminded Gaunt of the plumage of tropical birds. He sat cross-legged upon a carpet that recalled, in decoration at least, the elaborate patterns upon Deadfall. He spooned pieces from a melon slice cut like a wide smile. He himself was expressionless, but his voice was cheerful as he greeted them. Unfortunately, Gaunt and Bone did not recognize the language, and if Springjumper Wildgroan Headtoss Backkick knew it, he wasn't talking.

“Do you speak the tongue of Qiangguo?” Gaunt asked, demonstrating that she at least did.

“Why yes!” said the old man. “Long ago, though it seems like last week, I was a caravaner who went as far as Yao'an. Those were the days!”

“Those were the days!” said the parrot in the cage.

“You weren't there, Hakan,” said the man with a smile. “Honestly, what a braggart. I don't know why I put up with him. But only the man who has nothing has no problems.”

“Do you and the parrot live here?” Bone said, bemused.

“Light in the darkness, no! My sons and daughters and their families take turns helping me out here, twice a week.” He nodded toward his unseen feet. “Hot sand is good for aching joints. But it's not very conversational out here. Care to join us?”

“Care to join us?” squawked Hakan.

The man's name was Aydin, and he had melon to share, and this was enough for Gaunt to consider the name Aydin a good fit for sainthood. Bone and the dragon horse seemed pleased as well. The equine demolished an entire melon, and then another, until Gaunt felt compelled to leave some coin behind. Aydin would have none of it.

“Don't insult my hospitality, young lady! Besides, this is the best story I've had in a year. Is this truly a dragon horse?”

“We will tell you half of everything,” Gaunt said, “if you keep it to yourself for half a week.”

“Done,” said man and parrot, almost simultaneously.

Bone fidgeted as Gaunt wove a tale of their travels that excised all mention of magic scrolls, demons, demigods, Leviathan Minds, sand-ships, or ironsilk maps. This still left caravans, swordfights, sandstorms, secret passages, mummies, Karvaks in balloons, and dragon horses. She was a little circumspect about the geography. Aydin did not pry.

“I confess,” he said, “I am not at all certain I believe your story, though the horse is surely impressive. But it is marvelous nonetheless.”

“I have not told you half of what I have seen,” Gaunt said.

“In a way,” Aydin said, rubbing his beard, “that thought is more satisfying than believing I've heard it all. The grandchildren have ransacked my brain for every story from the tales of Layali who stayed the executioner's blade, every account of the Undetermined's prior incarnations, every marvel of Qiangguo's Rivers-and-Lakes, every wonder-story of the Fire Saint, may his words light the future, and every perplexing true anecdote of my days along the Braid. I have reached the bottom of my memory's cask, and even scraped beyond the wood into the muck below.”

“Muck below!” said the parrot.

“There is a feeling of being wholly spent of stories,” Aydin said, “which is perhaps appropriate for an old man who sees death on the horizon like a beautiful storm. And yet, it is good to have a little wine in the cask, at the end, and the belief that there is still an untapped vineyard, out there in the world.”

“Last night's storm,” Bone said. “Did you see it?”

“We had reports from the watchtowers when we descended this morning. It is lucky the Dragonheat did not rise beyond the sands, or the alpine forest might have caught fire, and with it Qushkent. Do you know why the energies of the dragons might have chased you?”

“We have a talent for annoyance,” Bone said.

Aydin chuckled. “As you wish. Do you go to the city?”

“I think so,” Gaunt said.

“Your horse would fetch a fantastic price in the Market. But be alert. Ours is a city of honest folk, but we attract some rough sorts as well. Watch your step in the Bazaar of Parrots, but it is the best place for commerce.”