The Silk Map (27 page)

So it is with us. Humanity and its contemporaries make assumptions based upon narrow perceptions and pass these down as writ. Yet that which we think we understand is but a tiny patch of fabric in the desert of space and time, and even that patch may one day be snatched away.

By the time I heard Ozan throw open the nearest trapdoor, the glow through the image of flame overhead had dimmed and reddened. I went silent and still, but my master nodded to me as if satisfied.

“I have prepared a lantern and provisions,” said Ozan.

“You are too good to me.”

“That is true. Do you still have a lover at every oasis?”

“You overestimate my charms.”

“I do not think so. I should be wiser by now, but I wish you might stay.”

“You deserve better.”

“Is permanence still an illusion to you?”

“You know the answer.”

“I think you don't even believe in your own life,” Ozan said. “Luckily for you, as illusions go, you are a pleasant one. Follow me.”

We followed the impertinent clerk down many ladders until the window of the fiery image was like a distant candle flame above. Down here in the murk were works of meditative self-improvement. It struck me as intriguing that diabolical works should be kept near Heaven, as it were, and these so far below ground.

Presently we stood before an iron door, which Ozan unlocked with a key that did not belong to the chain on his wrist. He opened the door, and a chill entered the library. A passage darker than anything I'd read of now lay before us. Ozan handed Lord Katta a lantern and a pouch. He raised the book chained to his hand. “I have not recorded you in the ledger.”

“Thank you.”

Ozan kissed my master then, and despite this impertinence, Lord Katta responded with warmth.

“I expect nothing,” Ozan said. “Just keep yourself safe.”

“You should expect better than a wandering lunatic. Be wary, Ozan.”

“This is the heart of Qushkent,” Ozan said as we passed through the portal. “Boredom is our greatest threat.”

“May that ever be true. Farewell.”

The door closed behind us with a clang. My master sighed and padded into a dusty, rough-hewn passageway.

“You did well keeping quiet,” he said. “Thank you for that.”

“It was hard not to speak. You allow people to take too many liberties. You are a person of stature.”

“Ha! I am a wayward lunatic, is what I am. But fortunately I am a lunatic no longer traveling in the light.”

“How far does this tunnel extend?”

“Many li. It links to deep subterranean places. But it also connects to the
karez
system of underground irrigation channels. By this means we can move far into the desert. While hostile eyes watch the caravans, we will be safely away.”

We reached a crossroads, and without hesitation he turned left.

“And then where do we go?”

“Into the desert itself. I have other tricks. Beyond that, I think we shall be going to Shahuang, perhaps first with a stop in Yao'an.” At another intersection he turned right.

“I thought you were chased out of Yao'an.”

“That is mainly because the chief assistant to the Protector-General became jealous I stole a lover from him. Imprudent of me, but we'll be fine if we keep our heads low. Well, my head, your corners.”

“I've been keeping my corners low, as you say, and I have been thinking about our reading. So—we seek the Silk Map? To find Xembala?”

“To deny Xembala to exploiters. The world is full of them. Imperialist Qiangguo. Conquering Karvaks. Money-worshipping Westerners . . .” He had paused, touching a section of wall. “There is a hidden door here. It's been touched by evil.”

“You can see it?”

“I've a gift, if you could call it that. I perceive entities of great negative karma, and their residue. This power I've possessed since childhood, and even when disease claimed my sight, the Sight remained. Natural light makes little impression on my eyes, but the monsters' essence does, as black dogs might be glimpsed against evening shadows . . .”

There came a click, and a section of stone slid aside.

“I take it we are investigating.”

“Yes.”

We proceeded down a tunnel with many branchings, and my master confidently took many turns, sure as a hunting hound.

Abruptly he said, “Do you want a name, carpet?”

“What?”

“We have traveled far together, and you have never given me a name. Perhaps I could give you one? I have had so many aliases.”

I wondered at this impulse but found the question intriguing. “What is your favorite name?”

“At this moment I'm partial to ‘Mad Katta'! But if I ever return to the Plateau of Geam, land of my long-suffering mentors, I will be Dorje, which you might render as ‘Gemcut.'”

“And what was your first name?”

“My milk name is forgotten,” Katta said. “But when I was cast out by the True People, they called me ‘Deadfall.' For I was cut loose from my roots in the northern forests, like a fallen tree. It seems an inauspicious name however—”

“Deadfall,” I said, liking the sound, leaving the rest to muse upon later. “I approve.”

“Strange . . .”

“What?”

“We are here. The center of the disturbance.”

A new door slid open, and we entered an empty chamber lit by alchemical gems. The floor was inlaid with a mosaic portraying an interesting pattern of three hares. The walls were filled with holes, with wind whispering through them. But these were not the most intriguing features of the room.

Placed upon a railing ringing the hare-pattern, lofted by small platforms of honor, were dozens of severed ears.

Lord Katta murmured a sutra. I was rapt by the grisly majesty.

“Master—”

“Sh. Listen.”

Now I could hear snatches of voices, laughter, arguments, conspiracy, conveyed through the many holes to the many ears.

“Some magic is at work here, Deadfall,” Lord Katta whispered. “The ears are not entirely dead. Their former owners can still listen through them, and by means of these holes hear much of what transpires in Qushkent. And Qushkent is perhaps the hub of the Braid.”

“It also occurs to me, master,” I replied with low vibrations, “that whoever stands in this chamber can issue orders to a small army—”

He raised his staff. “Something comes. Something tangible. Something that slaps against the corridors, as one wearing rags. We must go.”

“I suggest I resume my role as guide.”

“Agreed.” Soon his staff was in his left hand, while his right clutched my tassels. I flapped my way through many more turns in the darkness. In time he said, “The symbol of the hares reminds me of old rumors. There may be more than one party attempting to guard Xembala. But if so, I am greatly concerned.”

“Why? Would they not represent allies?”

“Perhaps. But why would the protectors of paradise invite Charstalkers to their sanctum? For that is the very evil that led me to the room of ears—wait.”

“What?”

“That which we heard earlier has crept nearer. Or something very like it. I—”

With a hiss a figure leapt out of the darkness.

It was humanoid, with dry, leathery skin and empty eye-sockets filled with crimson light. Golden jewelry hung around its neck and wrapped its thin fingers. Something else wrapped it too, pale strips of what at first I took to be cloth, inscribed with unfamiliar runes, twisted and jagged. These bands engulfed most of the thing's body.

It clawed at Lord Katta, who swung his staff and connected with the head in a dry
crack!
By then I could throw myself around the creature, immobilizing it. Any hope that I could smother the thing soon faded, however, for it clawed and kicked without pause.

I felt great offense as to the entity's disinterest in air. I constricted myself as much as possible, and when this seemed only to hem it in, I twisted myself into the shape of an arch. I heard a dreadful popping and crunching within me. Dreadful, and yet satisfying. When I unrolled myself, the creature twitched but could no longer move.

“Well done,” my master said. “Now let's run.”

But even as he spoke, three more entities leapt from the darkness and grabbed his ankles, knocking him over onto the stone. He spoke no more as they dragged him out of sight.

At dawn Bone, Gaunt, Quilldrake, and Widow Zheng all awoke, each trying to outdo the other with complaints.

“I had nightmares . . .”

“Ah! My string arm . . .”

“I am getting too old for this . . .”

“‘Getting' too old for this? I passed
that
oasis long ago, youngster . . .”

In this manner they packed their bedraggled camp. Bone stumbled over a beautiful carpet, swirling with colors and patterns, that he'd never noticed before. “Where did this come from?”

“Eh?” said Quilldrake. “Must be Zheng's.”

“Not mine. I'd remember a thing like that! It looks expensive. Though it's had rough treatment.”

“I agree,” said Gaunt, frowning. “I'm certain I did not see it before.”

Quilldrake scratched his chin. “Well, perhaps Flint bought it when we were separated. It hasn't been our best-organized expedition.”

“We'd best leave it behind,” Gaunt said. “It will be hard to carry.”

“Not a chance! Have you seen what these sell for? If Flint bought it, he's going to have to dispose of it himself.”

Somehow they got the gear, even the carpet, loaded onto packs. They kept Zheng's load light, but even so Bone was concerned for her. Yet nothing for it but to walk.

Hours passed. Bone's wrenched foot was somewhat improved, but he still slowed them down. Slowly, like a drifting ship, a range of bare hills loomed closer. When they arrived they saw no life, not even shrubs or lizards or birds. Bone remembered the thing that had raised dust earlier. He looked behind but saw nothing. He hung his head.

“Are you all right?” Gaunt asked him.

“All this . . . desolation. I feel small, Gaunt.” He shook his head. “We may never get him back, Persimmon. If this does not work . . .”

“If it doesn't work,” she said, “we'll reach the West, and a whole new range of possibilities.”

“If this doesn't work. . . . How can I ask you to start a family with me again?”

“You cannot begin to ask me that.”

“I understand.”

“Husband, you cannot understand. Time was different in the scroll. I knew our son for as long as I have known you.”

There was nothing to say to that. The others were either too respectful to interrupt, or too tired. Bone had the fleeting impression Quilldrake's pack twitched. Nerves and heat, surely.

Wearily they struggled their way to Hvam. They regarded the ruin in silence. No one greeted them.

“I am very worried,” Quilldrake said.

They passed the gates and skulls and found the camels clustered around a well. Nothing else stirred.

“Peculiar,” Bone said, patting Scoff.

“Suspicious,” Gaunt said. “Look around. There are remains of bonfires.”

They noted five such, and signs of the passage of large numbers and the impressions of tents. Round tents. Nearby lay caches of dry meat and, hidden in cool shadows, skins full of yoghurt and mare's milk.

“Karvaks,” Zheng said, tasting the milk and spitting.

“Karvaks?” said Quilldrake. “No hoofprints? Karvaks without horses?”

“
Miraculous
, not suspicious, may be the watchword,” Bone said. “I have no explanation better than ghosts.”

“Ghosts do not eat yoghurt,” Gaunt said. “These Karvaks have some subtle means of crossing the desert. What, we don't know. But we must assume they captured our friends. And that they're using this ruin as a base. So where are they now?”

“I can guess,” Quilldrake sighed. “Shahuang is the closest town.”

“We must warn them,” Zheng said.

“We're likely too late already,” Bone said.

“We must try! You see all around you what the Karvaks do!”

There was silence, before all nodded.