“No. I would be afraid. It’s a three-month journey. I don’t know what she would do to them if I were distracted even for a moment.”
“Well,” said the cat, “it doesn’t have to be a three-month journey, you know.”
Sairu studied his face, which she had learned to read frightfully well even in the last few days. He did not doubt that she would wrest many secrets from him if he didn’t take care.
“I know paths,” he said quickly. “Strange paths through strange worlds, but they will cover the distance from here to your city in no time at all by your mortal count. I can take you, your lady, and your dogs.”
Sairu narrowed her eyes, reading his face despite his efforts to control it. Then she said, “Can you promise me that, while using these paths, both I and Lady Hariawan would be safe?”
Dragons blast her! The cat lashed his tail irritably. But he admitted, “I could guarantee your safety, little mortal. I could not guarantee hers.”
“Then no,” said Sairu. “I will not risk it. I know I can get her safely to the city if I take her alone. I will not risk her life by another, less sure method.”
The cat growled. “I was sent to watch over you,” he said. “I was sent to protect you.”
She shook her head dismissively. “I do not need protection. I can take care of myself.”
“Are you intending to rescue Jovann?”
The bluntness of the question momentarily took Sairu aback. But she controlled her face even now, betraying nothing by so much as the barest flicker of an eyebrow. “I am not,” she said. “I will not be divided. I will guard my mistress.”
“Even if that means he will die?”
“I will guard my mistress,” she repeated, and closed her mouth tight.
Sticky Bun whined again, testing Sairu’s hold on him as he feinted a lunge at the cat. Her hands restrained him, but the cat startled back, the fur on his spine rising.
“Please, Monster,” Sairu said. “Please promise me you’ll see them back safely.”
“Very well,” said the cat, still growling. “We have a deal. And Lumé love me, I hope I don’t live to regret it.”
Sairu rose then, bending to set Sticky Bun down on the ground beside the cat. Sticky Bun snarled, preparing to give chase, but his mistress said sternly, “No. No kitty for you. You stay, Sticky Bun.”
The dog put his ears back, his eyebrows puckering pathetically, and the cat rolled his eyes and shivered. Sairu, however, nodded with satisfaction and turned to go.
“Wait!” said the cat. “Where will I meet you in Lunthea Maly? And when?”
“I will see you,” said Sairu, “three months from today in my former chambers within the Masayi. Look for me then but no sooner.” With that, she gathered her skirts and her long sleeves and hastened across the rain-filled grounds, back to the East House, where her mistress sat in near-comatose serenity upon her bed, awaiting her return.
The cat, his ears back like horns, looked at Sticky Bun. Sticky Bun looked back at him, his tongue lolling.
“Oh, Lumé give me strength!” said the cat.
In the dark of the evening, Brother Tenuk knelt in his private prayer chamber before an altar to Hulan. The altar was covered in a faded, moth-eaten cloth that once had been blue and fine. The threads of elegant embroidered work had withered away with time, leaving puncture holes behind, a ghostly testimony to the images once so carefully depicted.
Upon that cloth and altar stood a stone Moon Gate arch, no more than a foot tall. It looked no different from any other dotting the landscape of Noorhitam, save that from the center of this arch hung a silver gong. The gong shimmered where it hung, though there was no breeze to stir it.
Brother Tenuk lay before this altar, prostrate upon his knees, upon his face, his hands extended before him. Any who gazed into the chamber would have seen a man in an attitude of most abject and worshipful prayer. But no one could see that his face was twisted, his mouth open in a silent scream.
Possibly there existed somewhere a world where that scream was heard, causing all the denizens therein to shiver and offer prayers for protection. But here in his own world he dared not make a sound. So his mouth opened, and his throat constricted, and nothing but deep, deep silence poured forth.
Fear wrapped around his heart like a constricting snake, squeezing the life from his soul.
“Did I do right?” he whispered, his mouth scarcely able to form words, his lungs scarcely able to find breath to speak them. “Did I guess correctly? Have I indeed found the Dream Walker?”
Or was there something he was missing? Was there something he was not seeing, not understanding? A twisting, dark path spread before him, a demon’s path, and he must walk it. He had no choice. But he could not see where the darkness might lead. He knew only where it must eventually end.
Once more his mouth opened and his throat constricted with the strangling silence of a scream he dared not utter.
In his mind’s eye he saw Lady Hariawan bleeding from a poisoned talon embedded in her heart. And she was Kulap, his dove, his innocent dove. He could not distinguish the one from the other, for the two were made one in his vision.
A pounding on his door brought him bolt upright. The movement was too swift for his aged body, and pain shot through every limb. He masked it behind anger in his voice when he shouted, “What do you want? Why do you disturb me in my hour of prayer?”
“Brother Tenuk!” cried the voice of one of the priests. “Brother Tenuk, Lady Hariawan has disappeared!”
The abbot did not answer. He was silent for so long that at last the priest outside his door worked up the courage to knock again, saying only just loud enough to be heard through the panels, “One of the lady’s slaves discovered his fellow slave bound and gagged in the middle chamber of Lady Hariawan’s rooms. Of the lady herself there is no sign. She and her handmaiden are gone. Gone! We’ve searched the whole of Daramuti, I swear on Hulan’s crown. She is not within our walls.”
The door to the prayer chamber slid open with a crash. The priest standing without huddled back into his robes before the face of his abbot. His abbot who was so bent with age, he stood not even as high as the priest’s shoulder, but whose wrath was as great as the mountain upon which they stood.
“Find her,” the abbot said. “Search the whole of this forest. Now! At once!”
“Brother, night is falling, and beyond these walls it is—”
“I don’t care if half your number are devoured by wolves!” the abbot cried, his voice ringing through the whole of the Seat of Prayer. “All of you, spread out. Into the woods, up the slopes, down the Khir Road. Send runners to the caravan bound for Lunthea Maly, and make certain the slave has not been rescued or somehow managed to escape. Go!”
Muttering, bowing, and pale as death, the priest hurried away, calling out orders to his brethren as he went. Brother Tenuk, standing in the doorway of his personal prayer chamber, listened to the ringing voices throughout Daramuti. Through windows and thin gaps in the walls he saw torches being lit and their red light flickering. Soon the entire mountain was filled with the shouts of search and desperation.
Meanwhile, Brother Tenuk knelt in the center of his chamber, trembling before Hulan’s altar. His mouth moved, but not in prayer. Instead he whispered over and over again, “Did I do right? Did I guess correctly? Will this satisfy the Greater Dark?”
Three little lion dogs crouched under the foundations of the East Building, shivering and whining but obeying their mistress’s stern command to stay. She had gone, gone from their sight, gone even beyond their smell. They trembled and pressed against one another, as terrified as though the sun itself had gone out, plunging their world into darkness. What would they do without the mistress? Where could they go?
Suddenly all three twitching noses caught a familiar scent, and Dumpling and Rice Cake both set up a growl, though Sticky Bun remained uncharacteristically quiet.
The cat peered under the foundations, his golden ey
es gleaming with their own light. “Oh, there you are, hedge-pigs.”
Dumpling and Rice Cake lunged forward. But to their surprise and terror, they did not set upon their feline enemy. Indeed, though their noses told them the cat stood just before them, they found themselves suddenly caught by the backs of their necks by two strong hands and forced down onto their bellies.
“None of that!” said the voice of the cat. “If we’re going to be traveling companions, you’ll have to behave yourselves. No rending of furry limbs, do you hear me? Now, heel!”
And so, as the seeking voices of the priests called out in echoes up and down the Khir Road, four small dark forms scurried to the walls of Daramuti, discovered a crumbled spot where something had burrowed ages ago, and slipped through into the forests beyond.
With the coming of dawn, priests returned from their search, filing footsore through the gates of Daramuti to make their report to the abbot. No trace of Lady Hariawan had been found, nor any sign of her handmaiden. It was generally assumed that the lovely lady had been kidnapped and quite probably killed by her handmaiden—everyone knew they had not been on good terms since arriving in Daramuti, for had not the lady banished the maid from her chambers?
The runners returned later that morning with word that the caravan had been undisturbed, and the slave, Jovann, was still in his chains.
Brother Tenuk received this word with all the stoic placidity an abbot should display, exhibiting none of the rage he had flashed the night before. His eyes, heavy-lidded, revealed none of his thoughts. And when this final report was made, he said no more than “We shall let the Besur himself determine what he does with his own, both the slave and the temple girl. They are out of our hands and should soon be out of our minds. Return to your duties and make ready the morning incense, for we are late in greeting Anwar.”
So, exhausted though they were, the priests and acolytes did as they were told and began to prepare the rituals required of them. Their fatigue was so extreme, it took all of their concentration to accomplish even the simplest tasks. Thus none of them noticed when Brother Tenuk exited his prayer chamber and made his way slowly, painfully, up the path to the dovecote.
He cursed Anwar with every step he took. And he cursed Hulan with every beat of his heart.
The raven in the dove nest watched his approach but made no move to show itself. Brother Tenuk was obliged to put his face right up to the opening and peer inside, into that little sheltered space where Kulap should even now be nestled with her growing brood. Instead, the space was filled with black feathers, and that evil eye that did not blink as it stared out at him.
“The time has come,” said Brother Tenuk. “You must bear a message to my lord. Shall I speak it?”
The raven moved. Though there was insufficient space for its body, it did not exist solely in the mortal world. So it moved, propelling its body with its wings, and pushed itself to the opening of the nest. Like an undulating snake it came, head first, and its beak protruded into the open air, nearly taking out one of Brother Tenuk’s eyes. Tenuk stepped back just in time, however, and sneered in disgust at that ugly face so like a bird’s and so like a lizard’s all at the same time.
“Speak your message, mortal man,” the raven rasped. Its voice was that of a dying man steeped in evil and knowing full well to what hell he is bound. It was a voice to make even Brother Tenuk—who had stood in the Dragon’s presence and received orders from the Dragon’s mouth—shudder.
But the abbot drew himself together with as much dignity as he could still muster and said, “I have sent the Dream Walker back to Lunthea Maly. He is charged with assault on a temple girl, and he is to go before the Besur’s justice. He will be thrown into the dungeons beneath the Crown of the Moon to await his sentencing. The Besur is a busy man. He will not care what becomes of this slave and will take his time over the sentencing. But tell your masters that they must hurry and retrieve him before he is executed and sent beyond anyone’s use. This is my message, dragon-slave. Have you heard it?”
“I have heard it, mortal man,” said the raven. “But I am not the Dragon’s slave.”
The abbot felt his heart stop. But only for a moment. Then it continued to beat, and he almost wished that it would not. “Fly away then,” he said. “Deliver your message.”
“I will wait until sundown,” said the raven. “I do not want Anwar to see me.”
So Brother Tenuk was obliged to retrace his steps back to the Seat of Prayer, knowing that the monster still lived among his doves. He could only hope that come nightfall it would indeed vacate the nest and leave him a chance to dispose of the sad remnants of Kulap’s nest. He could only hope.
But he could not pray. Never again.
Tu Domchu’s head hurt, even hours after he finally regained consciousness. The pain of that ache was not mitigated by the hovering presence of Tu Syed. The presumptuous, pompous old fool somehow seemed to think that he and Tu Domchu were comrades, allies against the freemen of the temple and particularly Lady Hariawan’s handmaiden.
“The viper!” Tu Syed said many times over. “I knew it all along. She could only hide wickedness behind that smile of hers! Setting upon an old man unawares . . . such disgrace! May shame forever stain the name of her father’s house! She intended harm to Lady Hariawan all along, I’d wager. Probably stole her pretty clothes and made off with them for Nua-Pratut!”
Tu Domchu did not bother to point out that the bulk of Lady Hariawan’s finery remained untouched in her room. Indeed, when Tu Syed left him long enough to allow Domchu a moment of covert inspection, the only thing he could discover missing was part of the pilgrimess disguise. Even then, the hat and veil were left behind.
At long last, as shadows began to stretch across the chamber floor, Tu Domchu convinced the all-too-helpful Tu Syed that what he needed more than anything was rest. So Tu Syed left him alone in the slaves’ chamber and went to join his fellow slaves at supper. Tu Domchu lay alone in the darkness.
He rubbed his throat. He could still feel the constricting squeeze of Sairu’s sleeve cutting off his breath. Cutting off his opportunity. He cursed himself quietly. By now the Golden Daughter would have secreted Lady Hariawan so far away, none of the temple folk could hope to find her. He knew that he himself would fail if he tried. No one would find Lady Hariawan until Sairu desired it to be so.
Domchu cursed again and a third time. He should have put an end to Lady Hariawan months ago!
But no. No, the men of his order did not kill without need. Until he was certain the young temple girl was indeed the Dream Walker he sought, his vows would not permit him to act. Not even Master Rangsun would have asked more of him.
But he should have killed that Golden Daughter. Of this he was bitterly certain.
The sun set, and the sky deepened from gold to purple to black. And now Tu Domchu stood, shivering a little. His old, wrinkled skin rose in gooseflesh. He crept from the slave’s quarters, through the middle chamber, and on to the room where Lady Hariawan had slept. Beside her bed, a mirror hung on the wall. It was formed like a Moon Gate, round and carved in shapes meant to resemble the Dara. Tu Domchu did not know if these were accurate depictions or not. The Crouching Shadows could not dream-walk. They could not enter Hulan’s garden and behold her children for themselves.
But they did possess other powers.
He lit a lantern and hung it above the mirror so that its light shone red upon his face, forming crags and creases enough to give him a ghoulish aspect. It almost frightened him, despite the years he had worn this same face. He did not often glimpse his own reflection, and it still took him by surprise.
Grunting, Tu Domchu leaned in to the mirror, opening his eyes as wide as he could. He stared into his own black pupils, searching, searching . . .
Until he found what he sought.
His old fingers trembling, he put one hand up to his own right eye. He stared into his reflection, keeping watch on the flicker of movement in the depths of his gaz
e. The nails on his finger and thumb were long and yellow and ragged, stained with the various foul substances he habitually chewed. But it was with great delicacy that he used those nails to pluck at his pupil.
He caught something which wriggled. In his reflection he saw a shadowy shape struggling between his finger and thumbnail. His mouth turned up in a leering smile, and he pulled the little writher out of his eye. It hurt more than he expected, and he winced at the pain of it. But the pain passed, and he held up his catch for inspection.
Pinched between his nails was a tiny imp made up of shadows, spite, and malevolent fortune. It cursed Tu Domchu in a language he did not understand. It was like holding smoke, smoke which could not twist from his grasp and flee into the darkness.
This was a Faerie slave.
A movement in the mirror drew Tu Domchu’s attention away from the imp. A ripple like water passed through his reflection, and as it passed, Domchu felt a strange, sickening sensation ripple through his own body. He gasped and used his free hand to support himself on the wall, closing his eyes once more as though to close out the pain.
The ripples stopped. He felt his form stabilizing. Breathing deep, he straightened and looked at his reflection once more.
A man in the prime of his life and strength stared back at him. A handsome man, ragged about the edges but strong of limb and courageous to the utmost extreme. An elegant Pen-Chan scholar-warrior.
Tu Domchu’s face did not move, certainly did not show any indication of pleasure save for a small light in his now-clear eye. What a blessing it was to be free of the imp’s disguising spell after all those years! A small relief even in the midst of his failure.
He addressed his gaze to the imp, which continued to curse and thrash in his hold. He grimaced, for it was hideous thing,
“You have seen what I have seen,” he said.
The imp stopped writhing at his voice and held perfectly still. He knew it heard him. He knew it listened.
“Fly back across the worlds to your other half,” said Tu Domchu. “Bear the vision with you. Go!”