Spirit Gate: Book One of Crossroads (23 page)

“I’m the youngest. There were plenty of other sons. I was just an extra mouth to feed.”

“An extra mouth? No Qin commander scorns another warrior. Your people aren’t fighters but farmers. That might account for it. Only so much land to divide up between you. Lots of quarreling, I expect.”

“Isn’t there quarreling among Qin brothers?”

“Why?” He gestured toward the road ahead, tracks cutting across a wide expanse of dry land with little more than tumble brush and rocks strewn across it. The hills rose terrible and dark to the north, and to the south lay the wild lands where the desert demons roamed. “There’s plenty of land where my people come from. Good land, lots of pasture. If brothers quarrel, then the one can pack up his tent and herd his flocks elsewhere. But quarreling brothers are like single arrows, easy to snap in two. It’s only when they hold to each other that they are strong.”

“The Qin are strong.”

“We are. The var’s father united his clan and his clan united the Qin.”

“What will do you in the east?”

Tuvi smiled without taking his gaze off the road. The moonlight blended with the dusty color of the land to give the night a ghostly feel, as though spirits hovered everywhere except along the sandy track they followed. “We do what our commander tells us to do.”

“Will you return to Kartu Town?”

“That place? I hope not. We’ve been promoted, which is no more than Captain Anji deserves, after everything he’s been through.”

“What happened to his first wife?”

Chief Tuvi looked at him, then bent his gaze back to the road.

“Sorry,” said Shai hastily.

The chief grunted.

“Have I offended?”

The horses ahead of them kicked up so much dust that Shai had to wipe his eyes, but he was comfortable enough on horseback now that he could ride with reins only, not clutching the saddle to keep from falling off. For a long time Tuvi said nothing, and Shai knew he’d gone too far. The Qin were friendly enough, so it was easy to forget that they could kill him if they wished, simply for one wrong word.

But the chief did nothing, examining the landscape with a gaze that never stopped long on any one landmark. Shai had never seen him get angry, but he’d seen him whip a soldier for taking more than his share of rations.

“You talk a lot,” said Tuvi at last. “There are troubles in the west. The grass demons keep pushing east into lands we’ve always used as pasture. We need a strong var, and we need other things in order to fight them. We’ve horses to trade to the Sirniakan Empire east of here, and to Yari down south, and even the Vidi over the Sky Pass. Hu! A man can’t breathe up so high, they say.”

“The merchants say the Sirniakan Empire is as broad as the desert, but rich and green. They make silk there, and that parasol my brother gave to Mai last year. Good spices, too. The merchants who travel that way value our hill-fed wool for trade. They say the empire is the greatest and most powerful of all kingdoms.”

“Any kingdom is only as strong as its king. We’ll see. Look there.”

Tuvi had better night vision, so it took Shai a while to realize that the shadow the chief was pointing toward was a post. A skeleton dangled from it. Bones murmured as wind stirred them. Someone had tied it together with wire and string, to give it a haunting look. Skeletons didn’t scare him. They were as empty as the stones that littered the land, and this skeleton’s ghost had long since passed out of the world. Maybe that man, like Shai, had wandered far from home. He mumbled a blessing to the Merciful One, praying that the dead man’s soul had felt the breath of mercy before death.

“That skeleton was here last time I rode this way,” said the chief. “It marks the edge of the stone lands.”

“Why are they called the stone lands?”

Tuvi smiled.

By dawn, they were riding through the most desolate land imaginable, flat on all sides except where the northern hills rose off to their left, too far away for the heights to bring the relief of wind and in any case obscured by a haze rising off the desert. Already, as the sun pressed up over the horizon, it was hot. The red dust stung eyes and lips. The Qin soldiers wrapped cloth around their faces, leaving only their eyes visible, so Shai followed suit. He rode with the last group of riders, a dozen tailmen including the one called Chaji, who had been first to take up Mountain’s offer. Ahead, Cornflower plodded stolidly along with the other slaves, hanging to the back, away from Mountain.

Nothing grew here. There were not even sand dunes; only these stony flats that
went on and on. The sun rose higher and baked them. They kept on at a steady pace. Near midday, Chief Tuvi called a halt beside a bold outcropping of rock that thrust right up out of the earth and rose to a height of five or six men standing one atop the next.

The horses were watered. The men waited in line for their own ration of water, poured by Mai’s hand. Captain Anji stood beside her but said nothing as the men came forward one by one. Mai’s eye was sure and practiced; each bowlful looked exactly the same, no man favored with more or scanted with less. Shai had to wait his turn with the others. He came after the scouts but before the tailmen and the slaves. Mai offered him a sweet smile, like an apology for the scolding she’d given him days earlier, and he tried to speak, to thank her, but his throat was parched. He gulped down the sweet water with a sigh, but it barely cooled his throat.

“Move along,” said Anji. “More behind you.”

The horses were given what little true shade skirted the northeastern side of the outcropping, while the soldiers made makeshift tents out of tunics and took relief from the sun in that way. Mountain made a clever lean-to under which Shai could shelter. He dozed on a blanket. He dreamed, but all he saw was hills rising and falling below him as light and shadow shifted over trees, open meadows, a winding river, and trees again, as if he flew above the land like a bird.

Hari’s bold voice haunted his dream.

“I’m of no use to you. Release me. Let me die.
”

“Only when you have tracked down the man wearing the cloak of sky, and brought him to me.”

He started awake to find Cornflower staring at him with such a peculiar expression that he shuddered. Those demon-blue eyes suddenly scared him. He sat up.

“You stay here. I’m going to check on Mai.”

Out of the shade of the lean-to, the sun’s light struck. The land shimmered. It was so hot his lips cracked. Likely they’d be bleeding by tomorrow if they didn’t get more water. He staggered into the shade cast by the outcropping. Mercifully, there was more shade now as the afternoon lengthened, but even so soldiers were offering water to the horses again. Precious water was not to be wasted on men, who without their mounts would certainly die and who could in any case drink blood from their horses when necessary.

Mai was asleep right up against the rock, curled on her side, head pillowed on a rolled-up blanket. Even in sleep she was lovely; a little thin and pale because of the rigors of the journey, but unwilted. Captain Anji sat against the rock beside her, not touching her but with a proprietary interest in her presence. His eyes were closed, and he breathed steadily and slowly as though asleep, but his eyes snapped open as Shai neared. He put two fingers to his lips: Silence.

Quietly he rose and gestured for Shai to follow. His faithful attendants, Sengel and Toughid, padded after them, staying at a discreet distance. They walked to the edge of the shade, a cruel line between shelter and death.

Anji indicated the camp. “Is there a problem?”

“No. I was just wondering how Mai is holding up.”

“She is stronger than she looks. It’s hard to see because her beauty blinds, like this sun.”

The sun did blind. The heat made a man light-headed. “Do you love her?”

“You talk too much.” Anji wiped sweat off his brow with the back of a hand. “If there is nothing else, I’m going to rest again. I recommend you do as well.” But as he turned away, he paused, squinting south into the dusty haze.

A scout stationed atop the rock whistled thrice. Men scrambled up, weapons drawn, bows ready. Many fell back to stand shoulder-to-shoulder, while others ran for the horses.

“Hold!” cried Anji.

Chief Tuvi echoed him. “Hold! Hold!”

The wind moaning over the huge rock was the only sound. The horizon along the south glowered, all black.

“Sandstorm,” whispered Shai, washed with a rush of faintness. His legs buckled, but he caught his weight on the rock face beside him.

Tuvi was already giving orders as Anji strode away from the outcropping and, conferring with two scouts, tested the direction and strength of the wind. The soldiers shifted the herd around to the sun side of the rock, opposite the prevailing wind. The horses moved with restless vigor, stamping, neighing, mares nipping as geldings were forced in close. Tents were raised. Spears were thrust deep into the sand as supports for larger windbreaks of silk—as strong as steel, so it was said—and canvas. Some men clambered up into the outcropping itself to take refuge in holes and overhangs. The two wagons were tipped over and arranged in a square with cloth fastened over them, to protect the water and other supplies. Mai knelt, with Priya beside her, and crawled into the shelter of one of the wagons. Farther away, Mountain shepherded the slave bearers into the safety of a tent.

In the lee of the rock the wind wasn’t as strong, so Shai circled, staying as close to the rock as he could, until he came to a low ridge, the tail of the outcrop, on which he could lean. He stared toward the south as the haze grew thicker and he began to breathe dust into his lungs. The old stories told of the zaril-dar, the black storm, that swallowed whole cities in a single night. As the wind rose in intensity he heard voices on the wind, calling to him.

“Shai! Shai!”

Ghosts always seemed to know his name.

“I don’t know you,” he said into the wind, not fearing to speak out loud since no one was near enough to hear him. “Why do you call for me? What do you want?”

“I am looking for my husband. Have you seen him?”

“I don’t know your husband. I’m sorry.”

“Have you seen my sister? My lover? My child? Can you help me find the one who poisoned me . . . who abandoned me . . . who betrayed me . . . so I can get my revenge?”

“I can’t help you,” he said to each in turn. “You’re dead.”

Their voices laughed and wept. They knew they were dead, but they were so angry; they just couldn’t rest.

The wind had loosened his covering veil. He tightened it, but sand leaked in
nevertheless. The light dimmed, died. He could barely see the outlines of the camp behind him, horses and men hiding behind cloth and inside wagons, hunkered down in the hope that the storm would not bury them. He was the only man visible.

“How bad is the storm?” he called as the ghosts swirled past him on the wind. “Will it kill us, too?”

Some were kind. “The heart of the storm lies south of here, where the demons walk. It’s moving east and south, not north.”

Most laughed cruelly, pale forms teasing him as they flashed past. “Dead! Dead! Dead!” they cried, as if in mockery of Ti. “It will crawl right over you and eat you all! Hai! Hai! Hai! Unless you have magic to shift it. To survive, you must offer a sacrifice to the demons!”

So many ghosts! Had they all died out in this wasteland, like that skeleton hung from the post to mark the boundary of the Wailing Lands? Did spirits congregate here because of some innate quality in the land? Or were they, like he, only passing through?

Who was lying and who telling the truth?

“Shai! Can you hear me?” The old familiar, beloved voice came from so close, just at his shoulder.

“Hari?”
He clutched at rock, almost falling. “Hari! I can’t see you!”

“Help me, Shai.” It moved away into the storm.

“You’re dead.”

“Help me! Find my bones, Shai. Release me from this torment. Bring me home. I can t rest.”

He staggered along the ridge of rock, having to use it for support because of the battering wind. He could barely see an arm’s length in front of his face. Wind pummeled him as he stumbled after it. “Hari! Wait!”

Out of the storm, a solid figure emerged, and grabbed him. “Shai!”

He’d not realized the wind screamed so loud that another’s voice, even shouting, might sound like a whisper. This was no ghost, whose voices need not compete against earthly noise, but rather Captain Anji, materialized like a spirit out of the howling storm

“Back to camp! If you wander out here, you’ll die.”

“But I heard Hari—I’ve got to go—”

“Demons ride this wind. They’re the ones tempting you. Come back!”

Shai was not weak. He had found solace in carpentry since he was a child whittling scraps into fantastic animals, and he fought now, breaking free of that grasp.

A white-skinned figure walked out there, moving into the black storm, unbowed by the terrible wind. The wind pressed her clothing hard against her front, revealing a woman’s form. Her pale-gold, shining hair streamed like a banner, unbound, and it seemed that she had wings with the silver gossamer fineness of a moth’s, dazzling as they rippled. Nay, those were not wings. That was cloth, a vast cloak driven by the wind, enveloping the pale figure, swallowing her, before he could see her face. He stepped toward her, drawn by a malevolent yearning.

“Wait!” he cried. “Who are you?”

“Shai!” A hand caught his belt and tugged him backward. He strained for an instant against that grip, but Anji’s will subdued him, as did the abrupt realization that he was half choking on all the sand filtered through the folds of cloth wound around his head. He stumbled in Anji’s wake. The vision was lost. Demons walked abroad, beautiful and deadly. His heart was hollow, sucked dry.

Anji shoved him into the shelter of the wagons and crawled in after him. Within, the air was stifling, thick with dust but breathable. Men coughed. One lit a lamp.

“Ah, there you are, Captain,” shouted Chief Tuvi, who was holding the tiny lamp cupped in one palm. The light shrouded the cramped cavern made from carts and cloth. Wind thrummed in the canvas, rumbling like thunder.