The Silk Map (33 page)

“So you believe.”

The carpet lashed the air, whipped the ground, scaled the sands. Bone winced and whimpered and coughed but never let go. He heard the sounds of pursuit but never looked back. Suddenly they crested a dune and glided downslope, raising a small sandstorm as they sledded sand. Then up they went like a dry leaf over the heat of a fire.

From time to time Bone felt nothingness beneath them and dared to glimpse the desert from the air. The dunes seemed endless, arrayed in chaotic yet gentle contours like diaphanous ripples in a tan silk dress, dropped at the arrival of a lover.

After each such glimpse Deadfall would slam into the sands, a rude awakening from such fancies.

At last, after what seemed an hour, Bone could hold on no longer and tumbled to a shadowy valley between masses of sand. He retched, chugged some water, retched again.

From somewhere nearby, Deadfall said, “You are tougher than you appear, O meat.”

“You are likewise not what I would have guessed . . . cloth. Who sent you? How did you come to be among us?”

“I serve my maker Lord Katta, he who wanders the Braid of Spice battling the schemes of Charstalkers.”

“Charstalkers . . . I know that name . . . I feel as though I've heard the name Katta as well . . .”

“Lord Katta is a prince and lama of the Plateau of Geam. An enlightened being. He charged me to assist him in his quest.”

“Something must have gone wrong . . . if you will pardon my impudence. I thank you for my escape, Deadfall . . . but you are surely an unusual flying carpet.”

Something cold entered Deadfall's voice. “Indeed, O cargo. I have been marred by many things.”

“And your maker?”

“Lost. Not dead, I hope, but lost. I carry on his fight. The Charstalkers seek what you seek. The Silk Map.”

“What are they, truly?”

“Agents of an ancient malice. Reborn to lives of hate, and reborn again, until their human and even animal forms have given way to a pure fire of wrath. Their knowledge of many incarnations allows them to possess other forms, for a time, but always they revert to the savagery that defines them. More to the point, they will soon find your companions.”

Bone rose, painfully. “If we are still hunted, we will lead the magistrate's soldiers after us.”

“That may be to the good.”

“Do they not serve the Charstalkers?”

“I do not think so. I believe they represent another power—wait. Someone approaches.”

“A guard?”

“Perhaps. Stay here.”

“I can fight—” Bone began, but when Deadfall rustled off, he did not protest, feeling dozens of aches and scrapes.

Presently there came a muffled shout and the sound of something heavy flapping upon the sands.

Bone stumbled over two dunes to discover Deadfall swishing beside the body of the senior guard who'd greeted the group on arrival at Shahuang. His dead face was ghastly.

“I had thought him a decent man . . .” Bone said.

“We know those guards serve an evil. Evil must be smothered.”

“Alas.”

“Shall we be off then?”

After another long, careening flight Bone staggered through the sunset in time to see a balloon rising from the ancient temple.

Just as when he'd beheld the work of Haytham ibn Zakwan, Bone marveled at the inverted-teardrop shape climbing the sky. This one was larger than the balloon at Palmary years before; it bore a peculiar round structure of timber and hide, big as a Western peasant's house. The balloon itself lacked the intricate patterning and calligraphy of Haytham's design, but rather bore a simple hue of deep blue, a white raptor upon it, rising toward a crescent moon with its horns aimed skyward.

He squinted and spied figures peering out an opening in the great basket. He had the impression of a flash of auburn hair.

“Gaunt!”

“We are too late,” said Deadfall.

“Can you reach them?”

“I have not the skill.”

Bone's gaze looked to the rocky hill of the ruins. Titanic statues, portraying the Undetermined and one of his Thresholders, looked back at him. “What if you had a flying start?”

“That will be a painful ascent for you. It might break you.”

“Let that be my concern. Drag me up there. I will cling to your corner as to a rope.”

“Be it on your head, O fool.”

The climb was much easier decided than endured. Despite a long career involving contusions, constrictions, and collisions, Bone discovered several new places to ache. At last he moaned atop the citadel of enlightenment, the sunset painting the world the color of hurt.

“Are you mobile, Imago Bone?”

Bone got shakily to his knees. “You . . . did not spare me at all . . . did you?”

“I reasoned you would prefer speed.”

“Alas, true.”

The balloon, a little below their altitude, was turning due west as a high easterly wind cut the desert air. Four other balloons were rising, each an undecorated blue. The three highest followed the falcon-balloon westward, while the last drifted southwest—possibly toward Hvam. The behavior of the sand below told Bone the lower-altitude wind came from the northeast. “Wizards,” Bone said. “Weatherworkers. Wind-Tamers. Whatever the Karvaks call them, they are guiding the balloons. If we can reach that high easterly wind . . .”

“Yes. A good leap and we might glide all the way to the craft bearing your Gaunt. We dare not delay.”

Bone backed up as far as he dared before running pell-mell toward the cliff. If this was all some elaborate trap, Bone thought as his feet left the stone, he had to concede defeat.

Defeated or not, he flew.

It was among the more terrifying moments of his life, yet he would always treasure it afterward, the time he soared, more or less, on a magic carpet. That it was more of a whirling dive than true flight, and that he was hanging from Deadfall rather than standing atop it—these were quibbles. Earthy, dusty heat rose from below. Sunset dunes twisted with jabbing shadows, like persimmons spattered with ink.

I am coming, love.

A falcon whipped past him, claws extended.

He dodged, but he was in the raptor's element. Blood trailed from his face to join the sands. The bird shrieked and whirled around again, its grace a mockery of Deadfall's jagged path.

He did not dare draw a dagger, but when the falcon passed again, he kicked. This accomplished nothing but to prevent another raking, but that was enough.

Or perhaps not—“You have thrown us off target, O thief”—for they collided with the balloon's envelope.

Whether by impact or Deadfall's decision, Bone lost hold of the magic carpet and dangled from one of the ropes that connected the envelope with the suspended ger. Quick looks right and left revealed no sign of Deadfall. He considered ending the flight with a dagger right then, but another look at the desert below convinced him to save the blade for another target. He shimmied down the rope and looked down upon the peculiar gondola. It had a hole in the roof, and a glowing cauldron of embers revealed the source of heat. Entry would be difficult . . .

The falcon returned, screeching. Bone thought he glimpsed something more than animal in the bird's enraged eyes. Now he thrust his left arm between rope and canvas and drew a dagger with his right. Mad jabs prevented his losing more blood to the talons. The wound he'd already sustained dripped onto the roof of the ger. He worked his way closer to the hole; the falcon shrieked, and he yelped, shifted, and whirled as the cauldron inside belched flames.

This falcon is guided by someone within
, he guessed.
Very well . . .

“I want only the redheaded barbarian!” Bone bellowed at the bird when next it attacked. His kicks and jabs kept the raking to his arm only. He wheezed in pain. “Her, and any woman of Qiangguo you've taken. You can have the Silk Map if you want it so badly. Just give me my friends!”

The falcon gave no sign of response, but it broke off its assault, its path spiraling out over the sands. Still there was no sign of Deadfall.

The voice that answered through the gap was not one of his companions'. Yet it was familiar all the same.

“Imago Bone! Imago ought-to-be-dead-a-thousand-times-over Bone! You are the last person I thought to meet in this desolate place! And yet did not an antique poet say,

 

We're nothing more than shadowed stones

Upon the board the All-Now owns

Dark or bright squares our nights and days—

Who can guess the ploys He lays?

In any event, well met! It's good to hear a civilized voice.”

Bone called out, “I thought this might be your handiwork, Haytham ibn Zakwan ibn Rihab! Are the Karvaks your patrons now?”

“Indeed! Reports of their barbarity are somewhat exaggerated!”

“You didn't have a look at Hvam?”

“All civilizations have their crimes! But these Karvaks are of a different mettle! Now, won't you toss your weapons inside and join us?”

“That looks like an excellent opportunity to roast me. I prefer the air. Invigorating! Here's my offer—land this craft and let my friends go!”

“This matter,” said a disconcerting voice at Bone's elbow, “must be forced.”

Deadfall rushed past him into the opening of the gondola. Smoke belched through the hole.

“Aiya,” Bone muttered, and followed.

He landed upon Deadfall and rolled into the commotion of the flying tent. Someone had decided that breathable air was of more immediate concern than gravity and had flung open the tent flap. The ground rose closer, red closing off blue. “Gaunt!” Bone called.

“Fool,” said a woman's voice, and it was not Gaunt's.

Out of the smoke, a cut rope tied upon her wrist, came the assailant he'd fought upon a rooftop in Yao'an. “Your Gaunt is not here.” Fear and longing and the hues of sunset had confused Bone. “The mummies below the temple have claimed her now and the fragment of the map she bears. Neither you treasure hunters, nor the Karvaks, will find what you seek!”

She proceeded to kick at Bone, aiming to add crimson to the desert.

Another woman hit the assailant with an iron skillet.

The one-eared woman fell backward into the smoke. Bone thought he glimpsed three glowing eyes in the haze, but that was perhaps his imagination.

“Bone!” came the rasping voice of Snow Pine, as she dropped the skillet. “I don't know how you found me! Flint and Quilldrake are on another balloon with Lady Steelfox.”

“Who?”

“Never mind!” Snow Pine looked out at the careening landscape. “Can we get out of here?”

“Yes,” said Deadfall, and a billowing, smoldering shape rushed toward them.

“Grab hold!” Bone told Snow Pine, and together they commenced a gut-wrenching journey out the opening and into the sunset.

“Bone!” called Haytham from the gondola. “You are making a mistake! Our goals are not disharmonious . . .” The voice was lost in the rushing of wind and the shouts of Snow Pine and Bone's own voice.

“Eee—”

“Gah—”

“Cease your whining,” said the carpet. “I am doing all I can.”

Their impact sent Bone and Snow Pine tumbling into the sand. For several moments Bone lay there as Snow Pine coughed and Deadfall flapped itself upon the ground to slay any remaining embers.

The Karvak balloon was meandering southward, smoke trailing it, in a wind that no longer seemed so directed. The falcon whirled around it as though bound by an invisible tether. A column of fire rose from the gondola in a manner that seemed eerily directed, never endangering the hide of the craft. The balloon rose.

Bone thought he glimpsed within the fire a new suggestion of three blazing eyes. He blinked, and it was gone.

Snow Pine offered her hand. “We'd best get into the temple. There may be a chance to find Gaunt and Zheng.”

“What,” Bone said, rising, “did our one-eared friend mean about mummies?”

“It's a long story. Come on!”

“I will aid you,” Deadfall said, “for Lord Katta vanished in battle with walking mummies, and I would learn more of such creatures.”

“Ah,” Bone said, gesturing to the carpet, “Snow Pine, this is Deadfall.”

“I believe we've already met,” Snow Pine said. “At Yao'an. Did you go by the name of Dorje?”

Deadfall managed a bow.

As they ran between the great stone statues and into the temple, Snow Pine wondered at her changing emotions. Once she'd scorned her homeland and hated its enemies. Now she felt love for Qiangguo and grudging respect for the Karvaks. Likewise, she considered her companions her friends and Deadfall a mystery—but she recalled Deadfall's warnings in Yao'an, and trusted Flint and Quilldrake, at least, a little less.

Flint.
No, she had no time for her new feelings there.

There was an old conflict in Qiangguo, between the philosophy of the Forest, which saw all things in flux, and that of the Garden, which emphasized social order. Now, here beyond the Jade Gate, Snow Pine could see the two as complementary. With her feelings churning like the wind, it was good to have the solid stone of loyalty to remember—loyalty to her daughter.