Dragons on the Sea of Night (25 page)

‘Ouwlmy, I think you are a born philosopher,' Moichi said.

‘Philosophy and physics rule the universe,' the Shakra said. ‘Together, the two disciplines make a whole.'

‘And what of magic?' Moichi asked. ‘At the end of the Kai-feng, I had believed – hoped – that the age of magic was done; that the age of mankind was evolving.'

‘Do you fear magic, Moichi? It is but the perfect blending of philosophy and physics, the one used as a foil against the other. Do you know what magic is? Have you seen light refracted through a prism? Magic is only that: philosophy employed to flex the laws of physics a bit more than is usual.'

Moichi considered this as they raced across the Khashm. He glanced up at the sky and saw that the sun was still near the eastern horizon. It appeared to have moved not at all from the last time he had checked, and he realized that from the moment he had mounted the Shakra time seemed to have ceased to exist. He mentioned this to Ouwlmy.

‘I see I do not need to remind you to be observant,' the Shakra said. ‘Contrary to common belief, time is not linear, but rather a sea into which we are all plunged. I have met you before, Moichi. You know me, do you not?'

Moichi thought about the profound sensation of déjà vu he had felt ever since setting foot in the Khashm. He could not recall ever having been here. And yet … ‘It would seem that I
do
know you, Ouwlmy.'

‘Yes. We have made this journey many times before. Time finds a way to repeat that which it deems most significant.' She raised her head. ‘We are almost there. We have only the Bay of Demons to cross.'

Moichi gazed out across the fens. At first, he saw nothing remarkable, but as he looked more carefully he began to discern a slight difference in the color of the water just ahead of them. Instead of reflecting accurately the hue of the sky, creating one seamless and disorienting whole, there seemed a slightly lighter shimmer to the water.

‘That comes from the quicksand plains just beneath the skin of water,' Ouwlmy explained. ‘Bjork created this bay – a barrier within the Barrier of God's construction.'

‘How will we get across?' Moichi asked. ‘It appears as if the quicksand plain is too vast to circumvent.'

‘It is,' Ouwlmy confirmed. ‘But we are going directly down its middle.'

‘How do you propose to do that?'

‘Watch,' the Shakra said, coming to a stop at the edge of the Bay of Demons. Lowering her head, she extended a pale green tongue from between her lips. It was thick at its base, wedge-like at its tip. And from that tip a thin, glistening strand was extruded. It was soon followed by others. These strands wafted on the wind, intersecting again and again until they made a close-knit web that floated further and further over the quicksand plain until the far edge was out of sight.

Ouwlmy coughed, raised her head, and said, ‘Hang on tight.'

Moichi did as he was told and it was a good thing, too, because the Shakra took off in a manic burst of energy. Moichi, glancing down, saw her delicate hooves treading the skein she had constructed with such delicacy that the web barely gave, even with their combined weight.

In this enchanted manner, they fairly flew across the Bay of Demons, leaving untouched what evil remains might lie beneath, pulled down to an eternity of darkness, drowned and suffocated all at once.

All around them, as the quicksand plains gave way, the Khashm was like a mirror in whose reflective surface they no longer appeared. It was as if they had crossed over into another dimension where light – a corollary of time – was a fixed point or, as Ouwlmy had pointed out, a vast sea within whose depths they were submerged.

‘We have reached the other side,' Ouwlmy said, as if confirming Moichi's thoughts. ‘Bjork is waiting for us.'

‘Where is he?' Moichi asked. ‘I see nothing but the Khashm.'

‘That is as it should be,' Ouwlmy said. ‘Bjork will be seen when it suits him.'

The Shakra at last came to the end of the skein she had made and stepped lightly off it. Here, the vast fen had given way to low, earthen spits, like fingers thrust out into the dark water, and quicksand. Soon enough, these fingers came together in what might be termed the palm of the hand. Here rose a circular copse of triple-canopied trees that Moichi, for reasons he could not understand, had not noticed before. And yet the trees were enormous, with reddish-gold trunks and spreading, thickly foliated boughs that, clustered, rose in graceful fan shapes. A light breeze rippled through the treetops and from somewhere Moichi could hear music being played on a pipe-like instrument.

Now he was aware of Ouwlmy's extreme pleasure. The Shakra pranced, fairly dancing along the finger of land toward the copse of trees. And as they approached, Moichi saw that the trees were something more. They formed an odd kind of dwelling, an immense house that rose hundreds of feet into the air. The music was louder now, a beautiful melody in a minor key. It appeared to be emanating from within the trees.

Slipping off Ouwlmy's back, Moichi discovered a keen sense of anticipation and, with the Shakra at his side, he strode toward what he perceived to be a dark opening, what in this form of abode might serve as a doorway.

The sweet music stopped and a deep, rich voice said, ‘Welcome to my, castle. Enter if you will.'

Moichi stepped through the doorway with Ouwlmy just behind him, and found himself inside a cathedral-like bower that rose in emerald splendor towards the very clouds. In the center of this space he saw what appeared to him to be a bear. Except that it stood very comfortably on its hind legs. Its fur was the same beautiful reddish-gold as the tree bark and it held in its right hand – yes, hand was a more appropriate word for the appendage than paw – a triangular instrument, a set of pipes. It was the bear who had been making the music.

Moichi looked around for Bjork, but he saw no one save the bear.

‘Ouwlmy, my good friend,' the bear said. And the Shakra snorted, bobbing her head in delight.

Moichi stared wide-eyed at the bear. ‘Bjork?'

‘The very one.' The bear grinned, revealing heavy canines. ‘I should bring you a mirror so that you might see your own expression.'

At his side, Ouwlmy snickered.

Through Moichi's mind came the enigmatic words spoken to him by Sanda in the dream: ‘
Time is of the essence/When the spirit flies above marsh and Khashm/Take care to bury past heart/And seek out the bear in the stone/Not to possess/But to be possessed
.'

He had come through marsh and Khashm and was now confronting a bear, but as the Tsihombe had predicted, this was not the kind of bear he had been expecting.
Take care to bury past heart
– what did that mean? And the bear in the stone?

‘Do not take it personally,' Bjork said. ‘All are surprised who see me, though nowadays they be few enough.' He gestured, putting aside his pipes. ‘You must rest and refresh yourself. You have had a long journey through the Khashm.'

‘And encountered the Râs Gharib.' Ouwlmy snickered again.

‘Successfully, I see,' Bjork said, as he led them deeper into the bower. ‘That beast needs a bit of discipline now and again.' He was obviously pleased.

They sat beneath the cool shade of a tree and, as songbirds flitted this way and that high above their heads, drank a heavy, sweet, fermented beverage while Bjork laid out plates piled high with smoked meats, aged cheeses, fresh fruit and shelled nuts. It was a veritable feast and Moichi, suddenly famished, set upon it with gusto.

‘I have many questions for you,' Moichi said around a mouthful of delicious food.

‘Really?' Bjork glanced at Ouwlmy. ‘I did not realize that you had heard of me.'

‘Your Jailor provided me with the basic information,' Moichi said, and related the story of his encounter with Bjork's creature and Dujuk'kan in the Mu'ad.

‘Not one of my more successful creations,' Bjork said mournfully. ‘Still, he was one of my first so I had a special fondness for him.'

‘I am sorry I was obliged to kill him.'

‘Don't be,' Bjork said bluntly. ‘He overstepped his mandate. That was his choice and he had to pay the consequences for his actions …' Another quick glance at Ouwlmy. ‘As we all must.'

‘I am here for a purpose,' Moichi said, setting aside his plate. ‘White Lotus is being sold on the other side of the Khashm. A trader named Yesquz is said to be dealing the drug. As a Shinju I think you must know him. He is a dark-complexioned Iskaman who lives and harvests the herbs and spices near the slopes of the Mountain Sin'hai.'

‘Yesquz and I do business,' Bjork said. ‘I have known him for a long time. I would trust him with my life.'

‘Yesquz married my sister. She is dead now and so is he. She was killed by the Makkon, a Chaos beast and he was hung by the slave trader, Dujuk'kan. And all because of White Lotus.'

‘Calm yourself,' Ouwlmy said, nudging Moichi's hand from his weapon with her muzzle. ‘You are among friends here.'

Moichi looked at the Shakra. She had the extraordinary ability to tell the truth with instant believability. No mean feat in a world where truth and lies were often indistinguishable.

‘I know Sanda is dead,' Bjork said. ‘But Yesquz.' He shook his head. ‘May I have that which belonged to me?' He extended a paw.

Moichi hesitated, but looking into the bear's eyes he could find no malice, and at length he handed over the Shinju ring. At once, Bjork closed it in his fist and turned away from them both. While Ouwlmy pawed and stamped the ground with distress Moichi stared implacably at Bjork's back. Among friends he might be but they still had a great deal to answer for.

When Bjork turned back, Moichi could see that his eyes were red. He had been weeping silently. ‘Come with me,' he whispered.

Moichi followed him further into the tree-castle, surprised that the Shakra did not accompany them. He found that he had grown used to her company, her philosophical wit, and he already missed her. At length, they came to a series of wound vines and Bjork began to scramble up them. He paused, looking down at Moichi. ‘Come on,' he said. ‘The climb is not difficult, even for a human.'

Moichi ascended hand over hand. Bjork was right, the vines were wound in such a manner that they provided non-slip purchase for both hand and leg. They were high up in the canopies when Bjork swung off the complex of vines. He turned and, reaching down, helped Moichi into what could only be termed a tree-house.

From this lofty perch could be seen the curving line of trees and Moichi realized that they were near the far edge of the castle. Looking out, he saw that they had come to the edge of the Khashm. He faced a sprawling savannah, bisected by a wide river of clear turquoise, beyond which midnight-blue slopes reached upward until they rose blackly into the sky.

‘The Mountain Sin'hai,' Bjork said. ‘Magnificent, isn't it?'

Moichi almost trembled to be in such close proximity to the sacred Mountain of God. Upon those slopes God had made His indelible mark. Within the swirling clouds and fulminating ice-storms of the summit He dwelled, though none would ever dare climb the Mountain Sin'hai's face to find Him.

‘I have been living in its shadow for centuries.'

‘Centuries?' Moichi looked at him.

‘Yes. I am singular among Shinju,' Bjork said with the kind of infinite sadness that gave Moichi pause. ‘Just as I am alone among the ruins of deserted Syrinx, a ghost walking a ghost-filled land. I am the last of the Shinju.'

Moichi looked at him. ‘Your magic has kept you alive,' he said.

‘If one thinks of biology as magic.' Bjork gave an ironic grin. ‘Yes, I am a mage of some considerable expertise. But it is also true that the Shinju are –
were
– an exceptionally long-lived race. We kept this freak of nature a dark secret because we felt other races would feel threatened. For us, eight hundred years is a normal life span, but there were certainly those who lived considerably longer.'

‘Eight hundred years!' Moichi tasted the number on his tongue as if it were a spice.

‘Yes. That is why it was strictly forbidden for us to intermarry with other races.'

Thinking of the Shinju Miira marrying the Syrinxian minister Bnak, Moichi said, ‘I do not understand.'

Bjork sighed. ‘Think for a moment. Can you imagine yourself growing older while your wife barely ages? It would be utterly disastrous. Besides, no one could know the traits of the issue of such an intermarriage, what freak of nature might be born.'

Moichi rounded on him. ‘I require answers, not a history lesson.'

Bjork, staring down at the ring in his paw, said, ‘I am afraid you cannot have the one without the other. I first met your father many years ago when he was a man of middle years. He was an extraordinarily ambitious man – a visionary, really. His fervent desire was to connect the world – the cultures that had, over the centuries, fallen in upon themselves, shunning the outside world. Trade, he believed correctly, was the universal commodity. Every race needed something, every race would want more as soon as it was exposed to the range of treasures the world has to offer. In that pursuit he traveled widely.'

‘I know.'

‘No doubt. But what you may
not
know was just how widely he traveled. On one journey he crossed the Mu'ad and came to Syrinx.'

Moichi stared at Bjork. ‘My father met you
here?
'

‘Yes. As you have been told, there are spices and herbs here unavailable elsewhere. In pursuit of trade and profit he journeyed here – and he stayed for a time.'

At once, Moichi made the connection. ‘That year when I was fifteen and we were sent word that he had broken his hip in Kintai and could not be moved.'

‘Precisely,' Bjork said, pleased again. ‘We struck up a strong friendship, your father and I. He was an exceptional man, as I have said. And he fell in love with Syrinx. Unlike others, he was enchanted by the ruins and the ghosts rising each night like mist off the Khashm. Together, we roamed the Syrinxian capital, observing sad and disfigured faces drifting past us like clouds. And, at dawn, we listened to the soft explosions as the ghosts vanished into the sunlight.