Golden Daughter (25 page)

Jovann turned and fell back through Hulan’s Gate.

“Something has changed.”

Sairu looked up from her silent study of the slave and gazed across the room. The cat perched on a nearby empty pallet and had, up until a moment ago, entertained himself with a nice, long, noisy groom.

But now he sat upright, his body perfectly still save for the tip of his tail, which twitched faster, faster, faster, until the whole sweeping plume of it lashed like a whip.

“Something has changed,” he said, and his voice was not the voice Sairu had become so strangely accustomed to hearing from her devilish companion. It scarcely sounded like a cat’s voice anymore. It was old. And very, very young. It was a voice of pure gold.

“Monster?” Sairu said, gently.

The cat turned to her. His eyes were like two suns, huge in his face. He spoke again in that unfamiliar voice: “I heard the stars sing out together. And in their Song they declared a wonder. I do not . . . ”

He blinked slowly. To Sairu’s unending surprise, two bright tears fell down his face and landed on his paws. The cat appeared equally surprised. He shook himself and put a paw to his nose, rubbing the fur, licking, then rubbing again. He muttered, “I have not wept in a century at least. Not since I lay upon the shore of the Dark Water. Why . . . why now?”

“Monster?” Sairu said again, this time less gently, for she found that her heart was beating with a sensation not unlike fear. “What has happened? What did you hear?”

The cat shook his ears. When he placed his paw beside its mate and looked again at Sairu, there was no trace of tears on his face. When he spoke, his voice was his own once more. “I don’t know what I heard. I don’t pretend to understand. But . . .” He wrapped his tail tightly around his body and over his paws. “But the worlds have changed forever.”

Sairu opened her mouth to ask what he meant. In that moment, however, Jovann’s body convulsed. His back arched fearfully, his head upraised from his pillow, his jaw straining as he clenched his teeth. He made no sound, which was worse still, for the whole movement of his body was like a scream. Sairu was not one to startle easily, but she gasped and, moving on pure reflex, fell back from him upon the floor. Her stomach jumped sickeningly inside her, and her hands sought inside her sleeves for the knives hidden there.

But the convulsion ceased as quickly as it had begun. Jovann collapsed back upon his pillow, and though his breathing was faster, his body was still. Sairu bent over him, pressing a hand to his neck to feel his pulse, which rushed beneath her fingers.

The Gate was gone.

Jovann knew without looking. He knew in the deep places of his spirit, and his heart broke for the knowledge. The Gate was gone. And this was as well, for had not the stars roared in sudden anger? But perhaps . . .

Perhaps he should have stayed. For it could not be evil to be overwhelmed, to be consumed in the fire of a star.

But all was gone now. He felt the formlessness of the Dream around him. He did not see it, for he was too frightened to look. But he felt it and knew it for what it was.

And the dark chanting bore down upon him.

Jovann pushed himself upright, though his hands sank into the Dream and the mist rose up to choke him. Now he must open his eyes. He must! He could not hide in the cowardice of blindness. Everything inside him longed to hide, to cover his face, to see nothing. But he must look.

When he did, he saw formless shadows towering above him. They seemed to have long limbs, reaching out to each other, fingertips touching as they formed a closing circle. It was impossible to discern how near or how far they might be. They could be within reach of his hand. They could be leagues away.

One thing he knew for certain: A single voice pulled away from the chant and called out in—he thought—surprise.

Jovann?

It was too much to bear. Jovann struggled to his feet and cast about desperately. Where was she? Where was the girl? He knew, somehow, that the phantoms sought her, though it was his name he heard again, ringing out from the shadows.

Jovann? Jovann?
Juong-Khla Jovann?

There she lay, almost at his feet, the mist of the Dream covering her like a veil. For a moment only he hesitated, fearing that if he touched her, if he pulled her to him, he would find that he held not his beautiful lady, but the hag he had glimpsed beyond Hulan’s Gate. He shoved this fear away and fell upon his knees before her, his hands lifting her from the mist. And when her head tilted back, he saw her smooth face. Her eyelids fluttered open, and he was lost in the indescribable darkness of her lovely gaze.

“My lady?” he gasped, unable to call her “darling” here, beyond the Gate. His voice was indiscernible, swallowed in the chant. “My lady, we must—”

A sudden jolt of strength passed through her and up his arms. He cried out even as she pushed away and rose to her feet. She gazed down upon him without recognition, and he even believed—though he would have died before admitting it—that he saw hatred in her gaze.

“It’s a lie. It’s all a lie!” she hissed.

The phantoms were upon them. Jovann screamed as he saw a long, shadowy hand reaching out, the fingers passing across Lady Hariawan’s face. But those fingers closed upon nothing.

For Lady Hariawan vanished.

“My lady!” Jovann cried.

The phantom turned to him. Its face was formless, nothing to differentiate between it and its brethren. But while the others continued their chant with a terrible, driving urgency, this one was silent as it turned. It had no eyes Jovann could discern, but he felt a burning gaze boring into him.

Jovann. My son.

The Dream shattered.

“What’s wrong?” The cat’s warm body brushed against Sairu’s arm. “What’s happened? Is he all right?”

“I don’t know,” Sairu snapped. “He’s alive, but—”

The cat sniffed at Jovann’s cheek and ear. Jovann’s hand came up suddenly, wrapped around the cat’s head, and pushed him, hissing, off the pallet. “Go away!” he snarled into his pillow.

Sairu felt her whole body go limp in a flood of relief. With an effort she controlled her voice, saying only, “You are awake.” She dared not try to say more. Quickly she removed her hand from Jovann’s neck where she had felt for his pulse, assuming a demeanor of calm.

“I am awake,” Jovann agreed, his voice muffled by the pillow. He smacked at his cheek and rubbed it furiously. “Anwar wither those ticklish whiskers!” He squeezed his eyes tighter shut, then opened them, blinking up at Sairu. When he tried to push himself up, his body reminded him violently of his earlier beating, and he winced.

Sairu said nothing. She watched him, studied him. And she saw how, even as he carefully moved himself into a seated position, one hand remained closed in a fist. She allowed him to recover himself, to shake the sleep from his head. He moaned and twisted his neck. Then he fixed Sairu with a studying gaze of his own.

“So, little miss,” he said, “are you satisfied?”

“Did you dream-walk?” Sairu demanded.

He nodded. For a moment he closed his eyes. “I saw . . . such things. I saw . . .”

“Did you see my mistress?”

His eyes flew wide. Then he was struggling against the pain of his own body to get to his feet. “She was in trouble! We passed through the gate, and the phantoms were around us again, chanting. I must—”

He was already moving toward the door. But this was unacceptable. Sairu reached out, caught his arm and twisted it. She did not need to do anything else, for that motion was enough to set his back on fire with agony, and he crumpled to his knees. Resisting only aggravated his wounds, so he held perfectly still, his head straining back to stare up at her, angry questions in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Sairu said, and smiled ruefully. “You may not leave, and you may not approach my mistress.”

“But she may be—”

“I shall see to her,” Sairu insisted. “You will wait.”

Briefly she saw an argument forming on his face, along his jaw and over his brow. But then it cleared and he nodded. She released her hold on his arm, and he remained where he knelt, unwilling to move for fear of irritating his wounds still more.

Sairu passed quickly to the infirmary door and paused on the edge of the lamplight. Her eyes sought the cat, who sat in a quiet corner. “Stay with him,” she said.

The cat blinked once.

Then she was hurrying across the darkness of the temple grounds. Hulan did not light her way, for the moon had hidden her thin face behind a cloud that night. The darkness was deep, and all the temple dwellers had long since sought the refuge of sleep, allowing the torches to burn low and extinguish.

But Sairu was not alone. Small, snuffly snouts pressed up against her calves and ankles, and she felt the warm bodies of her dogs surrounding her, guarding her from all the possible threats of the night as she glided and they waddled down the path from the infirmary to the house where Lady Hariawan dwelled.

The slaves were asleep in the outermost chamber, and no one stood guard. Sairu and her little pack passed unimpeded through Lady Hariawan’s set of rooms. Darkness crouched there, but Sairu felt no more threat from this darkness than from any of the shadows in the grounds outside. She listened closely but heard nothing untoward, not even a growl from timid Rice Cake, who was the most nervous of the trio. The dogs eagerly spread out to sniff the beds and belongings of the various sleeping slaves, and Sticky Bun had a pleasant roll and stretch on a rug. Nothing more.

Sairu opened the next door and passed into the chamber beyond, then on to the chamber beyond that. She slid this door back as silently as she could, motioning sharply for her dogs to stay put. Peering inside, she saw her mistress lying upon her bed.

Lady Hariawan was fast asleep. Even in the gloom, Sairu could hear her rhythmic breathing. She felt the pulse of gentle, dreamless ease.

After slipping inside and sliding the door shut, Sairu stood in the darkness and closed her eyes. With every other sense besides sight she sought for a sign of disturbance. The scent of harimau touched her nose, but it was faint and might be old.

She sensed no phantom presence. She sensed no fear.

A sudden surge of guilt plucked at her brain. Lady Hariawan had forbidden her to enter, and yet here she stood! An insubordinate Golden Daughter, ignoring the explicit command of her mistress.