The Silk Map (54 page)

“‘In Xembala did Mentor John a lofty lamasery raise . . .'” she whispered.

“
Yes
,” said the Charstalker. “
You see it. If the balloon falls now, you may survive. It is your best hope of escape.
”

Once again, Gaunt reflected, she was being offered the sword and the power to commit mayhem. Once again, it was a tempting offer.

Voices emerged from the mirror.

A whispery voice: “Events crowd my mind, of wonder and woe. Why do you interrupt me?”

A gravelly voice: “I am engaged in severing limbs. It is the best part of my day. This had best be good.”

A smooth, measured voice: “Gentlemen. The lady never interrupts us idly. What do you wish, my dear?”

The fourth individual was silent.

“I have a prisoner,” said Jewelwolf. “One Persimmon Gaunt. Somehow she has vanished, or else made herself incorporeal. I would be grateful for your insights.”

Whispery: “That name is known to me.”

Gravelly: “It means nothing to me. You should have chopped off her arms. That slows a wizard down, you know.”

Smooth: “I know that name as well. She is no wizard. She is a thief who styles herself a poet. How—”

“The how is of no importance,” Jewelwolf said, “only where she is now.”

Smooth: “I had thought she was here in the West. Fascinating.”

Gravelly: “The Axe of Sternmark tells me she is near you, Karvak.”

Whispery: “The troll-jarl is correct. For a price I will tell you her precise location, and how to subdue her.”

Still the snow-white woman was silent.

Jewelwolf's voice was cold. “Price? We are partners.”

Whispery: “You would not give away a wheelship on a whim, would you now? Nor I this information.”

“What is your price?”

“Persimmon Gaunt's son.”

Gaunt seized Crypttongue.

The white woman in the mirror spoke. “Fool! She is there beside you!”

At once the world seemed to whirl about her as the Karvak guards shouted and Jewelwolf sucked in her breath. She would have only a moment—

The whispery voice said, “Tell her I will reunite her family, no conditions—”

She ached to hear the rest, but her arms had already betrayed her.

She brought Crypttongue's blade down upon the cauldron.

An inscription was sliced in twain, and the Charstalker bellowed, “
AGAIN! AGAIN!
”

She swung until the cauldron shattered into fragments, and the Charstalker laughed its way into the heavens.

Blazing skyward it passed through the canvas of the balloon, burning a gap into its top.

They plummeted, out of control, until they smashed into something yielding, something that splashed and roared.

For a moment the ger was motionless; in the next it shifted backward, relative to its previous motion . . .

They were on the river the old poem named Aleph, plunging toward what might have been a sunless sea.

Still clutching Crypttongue, Gaunt scrambled out the ger's opening and swam. She wanted to help Quilldrake, but she had no way of aiding him. When she reached the grass of the shore, she was glad to see him sputtering nearby. There too was Jewelwolf, and one surviving soldier, clutching his mistress's bronze mirror.

Gaunt coughed and looked up. There stood a group of monks and nuns in orange robes, a wizened bunch, yet with a lively air about them. She saw expressions of compassion . . . and perhaps a glint of amusement?

She raised herself to one knee, sensing that these people, at least, could perceive her.

She turned and saw the balloon, and the Silk Map with it, washed down the great pit. Strangely, she felt a weight lifted.

Turning back she asked on impulse, “I don't suppose any of you is named Mentor John?”

Imago Bone heard cymbals and horns sounding in the lamasery heights, as if this were a visit of state. Metallic clangs alternated with a sort of shimmering sound as musicians rapped the lower edge of one cymbal against the other, then the top edge, back and forth in an accelerating rhythm, then back to the short clangs. Meanwhile the horns sounded notes lower than any he'd ever heard, long blasts that made his teeth vibrate. It was a sound appropriate for the bright cliffs and the rushing river and the abyss. For a moment it was as though a burst of wind accompanied the music, and a great splash within the water, and a sound like the collapsing of a vast amount of fabric. Yet he saw nothing to explain these things.

The elders before Bone even shifted somewhat, facing him at an angle so that they could watch the river as well.

An ancient woman nodded to him. “I have been called Mentor John.”

Bone had met elderly people who resembled deserted ruins of their former selves. He'd known others who seemed animated within those ruins, as the people of a once-mighty city might make merry amid cherished monuments. This woman had neither aspect. Rather her face implied that youth was merely the stepping-stone to the grand state implied by her wrinkles and spots. Age was triumph, not loss. He read his own perplexity at this paradox in the amusement of her eyes. He looked away. He felt young.

“My name is Imago Bone, Mentor.”

He heard only a single indrawn breath, but the music ceased.

“I am glad you have come, Imago Bone,” the elder said. “I apologize for the rough manner of your arrival, though others have fared worse in their time.” Again, the hint of amusement. “You have revived more quickly than the others.”

“I took pains to inhale less of the green dust.”

“And you take pride in your ingenuity. No, I do not mock you! It is one of the less destructive ways to be proud. At this moment I too am taking a certain pleasure in my craft.”

“How so, Mentor?”

“You may call me this if you wish, but know that ‘Mentor John' was a distortion of my title ‘Maldar Khan,' itself a title bestowed by Karvak exiles long ago. Still, my true title is Teacher, which I suppose ‘Mentor' approximates.”

“Do you have a name?”

“Names are relatively unimportant here, but I am often called Chodak. It comes from the Plateau of Geam and means ‘one who spreads the great teaching.' Although we and the Plateau differ in many respects, it seems a fine name.” She laughed. “So, you know, in a way my name is Teacher-Teacher.”

“I can imagine you in a classroom of children, all calling you that.”

“Indeed! And at times I think of the valley as being full of my children. It was in a different life that I gained the name Maldar Khan. I have returned here many times.”

“This is a difficult notion for me.”

“That someone would name me a khan?”

“That people can be born, die, and return.”

“I understand.”

“But never mind that. Whatever happens after death will happen. For now, I come seeking your help.”

“If it is in my power to grant it, Imago Bone, I will.”

Some instinct told Bone to hold nothing back. In the presence of this person he felt accepted and understood, in a way he'd only known with Persimmon Gaunt.

“I am on a quest to bring Iron Moths to Wondrous Lady Monkey. I, my wife, and our closest friend are determined to succeed in this task.”

“I understand. But would you not prefer to find your children?”

Wet and sneezing, Persimmon Gaunt rose as the elderly woman said, “I have been many things. I think Mentor John may have been one of them.”

Upon the walls of the ruined monastery, a few trumpeters sounded eerie, deep notes, as a handful of cymbal-players clanged a welcome. The music was stirring, but too dim to trouble their conversation. “I've been looking for you,” Gaunt said. “But first, I must ask for sanctuary.”

“That is in my power to grant, Persimmon Gaunt, and fresh clothing besides.”

Gaunt stared. There was something in the manner of this old woman that made Gaunt feel understood and soothed. Gaunt's paternal grandmother had been kind to her as a girl, and in a childhood full of scolding adults, Nanna was water in the desert. The lama before Gaunt was like that. It was unnerving to feel such a connection so quickly. Under other circumstances she might have suspected magic was involved.

And indeed, it was hard not to imagine sorcery dwelled here. Gaunt had the impression the elders were considering an unseen audience upon the grass, as though ghosts observed them all.

As Jewelwolf and Quilldrake approached, Gaunt said, “I need sanctuary from them. The woman has invaded your land. The man is a treasure hunter who would rob your land.”

“And you, you are neither invader nor treasure hunter?”

“No.” The lama's eyes made it impossible for Gaunt not to say more. “I am a poet and, I must concede, a thief, but I will not rob you today. For I come as a mother. There is something in your land that a mighty Sage wants. If my husband and I can give it to her, then we, and our best friend, will get our children back.”

“I know something of this matter, for knowing what transpires in Xembala is a considerable portion of my work. You will have sanctuary, poet, thief, and mother. Your traveling companions will have hospitality, but you will have sanctuary.”

Gaunt saw how the other elders took Quilldrake and Jewelwolf by the hand. Quilldrake bowed and accepted the courtesy; Jewelwolf shook it off. But both proceeded into the ruins.

“You live in this fallen lamasery?” Gaunt asked.

“To my eyes it is not fallen but rather in the midst of its journey into a new state. As are we all. You will be comfortable, I assure you. Let us go.”

“Do you not wish to know the thing I seek? Before you accept me as a guest? For I would claim some of the Iron Moths.”

“I have guessed as much. If you will come with me, you may understand how it is I know. And you may see something you long for.”

Bone followed the procession of lamas into a strange garden, where fruit trees of many kinds rose beside stone basins attended by statues of the Undetermined and the Thresholders. Chodak stopped beside one such, as the others moved on, bearing Bone's unconscious companions.

“They will be safe?” Bone asked.

“They will.” Chodak smiled. “You have had few friends, Imago Bone. You are concerned for them. And even for associates.”

“I'm nostalgic for friendly faces.”

“You are particularly protective of women.”

“I do not know what you mean.”

She smiled. “You have considerable desire, yet you are utterly loyal to your wife, she who is truly the other half of you. So you channel these stray feelings into concern. It is admirable in its own way, though it can lead you to recklessness.”

Bone did not much like these observations. “You spoke of children.”

Chodak nodded. She blew upon the waters of the basin, chanting in low tones.

The waters reflected the sky at first, but the image changed. The valley of Xembala rippled and faded, and now Bone beheld something he'd seen only twice before but had never forgotten—a fairytale mountainscape, pine forests covering the peaks, with one mountain bearing a monastery quite unlike the one that surrounded him now. This one was both freshly maintained and partially ruined, overgrown with trees and yet brightly painted.