The Silk Map (58 page)

So perhaps this land was shaped too, by the Mentor John of the Mad Mariner's poem, or by other powers.

The thought made her turn to her companions. Liron Flint, Widow Zheng, Steelfox, Northwing, and Haytham slept on comfortable-looking beds, where a dazzling display of bright weavings on sunlit blankets made Snow Pine dizzy. It was hard to find a place in this room that did not draw the eye. Perhaps that was the point. Perhaps every decoration was meant to inspire the struggle toward enlightenment. Yet the temples of the Undetermined that she'd seen in Qiangguo were not so ornate. There were strange complexities to this valley.

With her vision whirling every which way, perhaps it made sense that her gaze alighted upon the iron staff leaning against the wall. It astonished her that the Xembalans had not hidden it. She did not want them to reconsider that choice.

She claimed the staff. At once there was a dim hum upon the air, as of metal being gently struck. Her traveling companions stirred. A peregrine falcon landed on the window ledge.

Snow Pine sat beside the bird, her staff held upright beside her.

“Well, bird, it's just you and me. You've probably seen amazing things. Me, I've been sleeping.”

The bird studied her. Its eyes were large in its head, little domes of night. The falcon somehow managed to look disapproving. Snow Pine found it was awkward talking with a bird, and yet, it had advantages over talking to humans. The bird was a good listener. It probably listened carefully for prey every morning.

“Did you respond to Monkey's staff?” Snow Pine mused. “Does it have effects I'm not aware of?”

The bird said nothing, but Snow Pine had the sense it was taking stock of the weapon.

“I have the feeling Monkey knew more than she was telling us, bird.”

She closed her eyes and attempted to open senses other than her vision. Darkness made it easier to think. If she'd grown up surrounded by Xembala's rich artistry she might be better able to concentrate in this room, but as it was she felt better shutting it all out.

The staff did seem to hum and tremble. The cause might be the surge of the rapids spilling onto the plateau. There might be another reason, however.

She found a new window and gazed eastward. In the distance, beyond a region of uncultivated land, there rose not a cliff but an immense slope of boulders. These grew dark-gray as the altitude increased, and an ashen mountain loomed above. Only the top of its cone was snow-clad.

As she watched, the land rumbled with a minor tremor, and a cloud of volcanic ash flowed above the peak.

The bird fluttered beside her. “That's it, isn't it, bird?” Snow Pine asked. “The home of the Charstalkers. But also the home of the Iron Moths.”

“I think you are correct,” said Steelfox behind her. “Though my companion's name is Qurca.”

“Qurca,” Snow Pine said, opening her eyes and turning. “I like the sound.” She saw her other companions rising and discovering trays of food set here and there. “Are you all right, all of you?”

“My brain is a clouded ocean,” Northwing said, rubbing her forehead with one hand and raising bread to her mouth with the other. “Maybe I've been too long in the heads of animals.”

“My nerves are destroyed,” Haytham said, “but I am otherwise well.” He began digging in. “What became of Imago Bone?”

Snow Pine said, “I don't know. It's something we must find out.”

“I am well,” said Flint, watching Snow Pine with a stare that she could not accept just now. She turned away. He continued, “Yet seeing you with that weapon makes me want to recover mine. Perhaps that's not a good impulse, but I would like to see Crypttongue.”

“You are right,” Zheng said.

Flint sounded surprised. “You believe I should take up the wicked blade?”

“No,” Zheng said. “I think you are right, Snow Pine. The volcano is the home of the Iron Moths. I remember . . .”

“Zheng,” Snow Pine said, walking over to where her elder sat upon the bed. She knelt. “Grandmother, I feel there are things you are not telling us.”

Zheng nodded. “I cannot sort it all out. But I feel I've been in Xembala before, and have fled Xembala before. When I first wore the Silk Map.”

The room was silent.

“Xia,” Flint said.

“Yes. I think so. I am terrified to think so, but it is there.”

“Then we are on the verge of success.”

“Is that all you care about?” Snow Pine said. “Gods know what forces have brought Zheng to this place, and you're worried about your fame?”

Flint said nothing.

“At any rate,” Haytham said, “would the Xembalans let us remove the Moths from their shelter?”

“It may be,” Steelfox said, “that it's better to do the deed than to discuss it.”

“Often the key to success is to simply keep walking,” Haytham said, nodding.

“But,” Snow Pine said, “if people from Qiangguo were sneaking around Mirabad, or Karvak country, conniving to take rare animals from the Caliph's zoo or the Grand Khan's stock, what would be your reaction?”

Haytham looked thoughtful. “They would be considered thieves and treated with great severity.”

Steelfox said, “We would fight them of course. But we might be impressed by their audacity. Not everyone is like you wall-builders, trying to subdue the land and all its living things.”

“Then you do not know us,” Snow Pine said. “Because we revere the land.”

“Like a man reveres a concubine,” Steelfox said.

“You are so full of self-justifying tales about us!” answered Snow Pine. “The fact is, you raid and steal even when you do not conquer.”

“Ah,” said Flint. “Ladies.”

“We trade whenever we can!” Steelfox's arms were folded. “You object to us becoming wealthy, and so you close off access to your walled cities. Of course we raid! Provoked, we fight. But you don't hate us for that.” She smiled. “You hate us for being good at it.”

Snow Pine did not smile back but made an airy gesture. “It is astonishing, Steelfox, how completely you can twist everything. You are a perfectly still lake, reflecting the world in its entirety. Only all is reversed.”

“Perhaps,” said Haytham, “we could more constructively—”

“It is you of Qiangguo,” Steelfox said, “who distort everything. Your see yourselves at the center of the four directions. Everything you do starts with that arrogance.”

“Everyone does this!” retorted Snow Pine. “Everyone starts from their own positions. Even the mad folk of the far West, with their smelly disorganized cities, think they are the center.”

“Now, really,” Flint said.

“We are different,” Steelfox said. “We move from place to place. We do not allow ourselves to get into a rut. We are more able to see the world as it is.”

“In other words,” Snow Pine said, “you can run away from all your problems—”

“Enough!”

Except for Zheng, who sat beside Qurca and silently watched the rapids, everyone turned toward Northwing. The shaman said, “Lady Steelfox, Haytham, you are coming with me. Flint, talk some sense into your imperialist friend.”

“It is I who command you, Northwing—”

“I am not an ‘imperialist'—”

“Aiya!” Zheng said, rising and clutching her head. “I can no longer stand the tantrums of children!”

With that she strode out of the chamber.

“Now see what you've done,” Snow Pine said.

Flint took her arm. “Let's go talk by the window.”

“Like hell.”

He offered his arm in a manner that made assistance a sort of command. Somehow she was better able to accept this wordless gesture than any speech. The falcon flew away as they sat; Steelfox and Northwing were already gone.

With the room filled only with her, Flint, and the meteoritic magic staff, it was easier to concentrate.

“I—argh!” She hit the floor with the tip of the staff.

The room shook. Cracks formed.

“Perhaps you should punch pillows instead.”

“Feh. Why would I do that, when I have you?”

“Ha, ha.”

She sighed and leaned against him. “Ah, I am a fool, Liron. Why does the damned Karvak make me so angry?”

Stiff for a moment, Flint shifted his weight with care. She leaned in more. He said, “Because she is much like you?”

“She's a princess, used to stepping on people. I'm a commoner, used to being stepped on.”

“Ah. That is fair. You are both natural leaders, however.”

“I'm a leader?”

“Does rain fall down?”

“Hm.”

“Also, Steelfox reacts particularly strongly to any hint of condescension or pride on your part.”

“I may have noticed.”

“Now, me or Bone, our arrogance she can ignore. We're not really part of her world, you see. Haytham meanwhile is a natural diplomat. Widow Zheng is cloaked in the respect due advanced age—I think Qiangguo and the steppes share that much. But you . . . you're an adult of a rival land. For her, you represent an enemy.”

She had to laugh. “No one back home would accept that I represent them.”

“But out here, like it or not, you do. Just as if I do any deed, and am known to be a Person of the Brush, why, all my acts are accounted as acts of my people. It's not fair, but it's how life is.”

Snow Pine stared out at the waters. “Gah. I am a proud fool, and I have wasted time. Let's go talk to her. We have ironsilk to find.”

Steelfox was in no mood for company, let alone to be lectured by Northwing, but it seemed she had little choice. Out in the hallways of the Xembalan lamasery they encountered a trio of powerfully built monks who politely informed them they needed an escort if they were to wander the fortress-temple. They saw Widow Zheng already walking with such a monk along a sunlit hallway of red pillars and golden statues of Thresholders.

With a monk-commander named Rabten between her and Northwing, and Haytham a discreet distance behind, Steelfox held her head high, ready to be lectured by the shaman.

“I suppose you think I'm being unfair to the arrogant Qiangguo witch.”

“Hm,” said Northwing. Silence followed. Rabten walked in seeming contentment. The hallway seemed endless. Zheng was far away but still visible. Chanting echoed somewhere, around a corner perhaps, or on another level.

“Say something!” Steelfox said. “You're thinking so loudly, you might as well use words!”

“I think,” the shaman said, “I am far from my home, as you are far from yours, and Snow Pine is far from hers. Rabten, if you follow my feeble command of Qiangguo's language, may I ask you something?”

“You may,” Rabten said.

“How different do my companions seem from one another?”

“I am not certain I understand the question.”

“We are from many lands, many paths in life. Rarely have I been in such a remarkable group. I think we are as diverse as a duck, a fox, and an eagle. Does it seem so to you?”

“An interesting question,” said Rabten. “My role in the lamasery, beyond the usual meditations, is to guard. Thus I tend to look upon others as targets. I mean no disrespect. To my eyes you mainly differ from each other in the level of threat you pose. Two of you seem as warrior-women, two as wizard-women, and two as wise-men. In battle I would seek first to eliminate you, ma'am.” He nodded cheerfully to Steelfox. “Then I would try to incapacitate the woman with the iron staff. Probably you would be next, honored shaman, and the other elder up ahead. I would save the men for last. No offense, good sir.”

“None taken,” Haytham said. “I concur with your choices.”

“Of course,” Rabten added, “your bodies are all illusions, and my perceptions of them are illusions cast over illusions, so who can say? My judgment is surely clouded. I can only do my best. I hope my answer is illuminating.”

“I think it is,” Northwing said. “It emphasizes what I've been thinking, which is that Snow Pine and Steelfox are much alike.”

“And you are going to say,” Steelfox muttered, “that I should make peace with her for the duration of this business.”

“Would ever I say that?” Northwing said. “But it is a very wise observation. Worthy of a princess.”

Steelfox swore under her breath. Well. To work. “Friend monk, perhaps you could show us around a little? I also have some questions about our status here.”

“I can assist you in both matters.”

“First, may we stop beside this mandala? I am curious as to its uses.”

“It is but one mandala among many. But of course.”

They paused to regard an intricate combination of sharp-edged shapes and circular swirls, resplendent in reds, greens, blues, oranges.

“Is there value,” Steelfox said, “in meditating upon this pattern?”

“Yes,” said Rabten, taking no visible umbrage at her naive question. “A well-crafted mandala can inspire the mind to comprehend the cosmos in all its vastness and variability.”