The old man now had his chin on his flat hands. ‘Ripan? Tiam’s blood, no. He is not suited for such service. You, however, are perfect.’
‘Oh? How?’
‘Thyrllan moves through your heart and your hands, child. I feel it like a surge, a tidal pull, when you touch me.’
‘Thyrllan? Whatever do you mean, Thyrllan?’
‘Light, child.’
Saeng jerked, stabbing, and the old man hissed. Mercury drops ran down his tattooed flesh. Saeng wiped them away. ‘Sorry.’
‘Quite all right. Unfortunately, there is no narcotic in creation powerful enough to dull my senses.’
Light again, dammit. But what was she to do? She took the second needle from her mouth and began working on the undulating line. ‘I’m looking for a temple to Light. The Great Temple.’
‘It lies within Ardata’s demesnes.’
‘Where?’
The old man shrugged. ‘I do not know. You must simply look for it. You will meet the multiform denizens of Ardata’s protection. Some will be of no help. Others will help you.’
How very helpful. ‘I was warned that something was coming. Something terrible.’
He straightened an arm to point to the west. There the unearthly jade light of the Visitor played through the trees. ‘Perhaps it has something to do with that.’
‘Don’t you know? I mean, the moon. The stars. Divination! Foretelling the future and all that?’
An indulgent chuckle from the man. ‘Oh, yes. All that. My child — the moon rises, the moon sets. Every day is the same to me. I cannot see the future any more than I can revisit the past. I see only what I am looking down upon.’
‘But people …’
‘People will always believe what they want to believe. Grant things as much power as they choose to give them.’ He shrugged again. ‘Such is how it is.’
‘But you know what I’m talking about, don’t you? The prophecies. The Visitor. Some name it the Sword of the Gods. An evil curse. It would be a cataclysm.’
The old man rubbed a shoulder and grimaced as if at an old wound. ‘Yes. As it happens, I know exactly what you mean … but child, what is that to me? The world revolves on. The moon rises. The moon sets. It matters not who walks upon the face of the land.’
Saeng sat back once more, the needle forgotten in her hand. Such indifference! It almost took her breath away. Didn’t he care? And he’d seemed so kind. Then she remembered the angry snarled words of the leopard-man: those who would stand aside …
‘So you won’t help me.’
‘I am helping you, child. A service for a service. And you are almost done. Just a few last symbols and we are finished.’
She was tired. Bleary with exhaustion, in fact. To see clearly for the work she had to squint her eyes until they hurt and her back felt as if daggers were stabbing it. ‘Then you will heal Hanu,’ she said, blinking heavily.
‘Yes. Surely. For if I do not all that you have given me will drain away into nothing. Like moonbeams cupped in your hands.’
‘Fine. What’s next?’
He sketched once more in the dirt.
In the end she could not remember whether she finished or not. All she knew was that she found herself jerking her eyes open again and again. The needle wavering in her hand. She remembered a sea of beautiful arcane symbols dancing and gyring before her as if in a sea of stormy night-black ink. Then the old man’s voice rang as if from afar, deep and profound. ‘That is enough. You have given me so very much, Priestess of Light. Sleep now, safe and warded, under the light of the moon.’
And she remembered no more.
The heat of the sun upon her face woke her. She sat up, blinking and wincing, and covered her gaze. Morning mist hovered over the clearing and among the trees. Thick clouds half obscured the sky. The humidity was choking. Already beads of sweat pricked her arms and face.
Hanu! She leaped to her feet only to stagger, almost falling, hands to her head. Gods! What happened? She was hardly able to walk. Of course, fool! You expect to walk away from an all-night ritual? You’ve just done the most demanding work of your life!
She peered around for Moon’s hut but couldn’t see it. What she did spot was Hanu lying in the glade among the tall grass. She stumbled over to fall to her knees next to him. She shook him.
‘Hanu! Can you hear me? Hanu?’
He groaned and rolled on to his back.
She covered her mouth to smother a yell of triumph.
He fumbled at his great full helm, drew it off, then blinked in the bright light just as she had. His mild brown eyes found her, sent a look of wonder.
‘You fell.’
He cocked his head, thinking. Then he nodded.
‘I came down for you, then an underground stream took us.’
He nodded again, holding his head. An inarticulate groan of pain escaped his lips.
‘You hit your head.’
He gave the sign for emphatic agreement — three times.
‘Can you walk?’
By way of answer he slowly began heaving himself up. She tried to help but didn’t think she made much difference. He stood weaving, as unsure on his feet as she felt. He signed, ‘Where?’
‘We’re in Himatan now. The stream brought us.’ He peered around, confused, obviously searching for the stream. ‘I dragged you as far as I could.’
He grunted, signed, ‘Heavy.’
Smiling indulgently, Saeng reached out in her thoughts: ‘Don’t you remember I opened the path between our thoughts?’
He rubbed his forehead, grimacing at himself. ‘Oh, yes.’
‘I couldn’t bring you too far. Can you walk?’
He nodded, picked up the helm and tucked it under an arm, checked his weapons. Saeng started east. ‘This way.’
But Hanu did not follow. She peered back to see him near the centre of the sunlit glade staring down at something. As she returned he gestured to his feet.
Hidden among the tall grass was a tiny house no taller than her knees. It stood on short poles and had a doll’s ladder that led up to its front opening. Peering down at it Saeng felt as if she would faint. Her vision darkened and a roaring gathered in her ears. Hanu’s strong grip on her shoulder steadied her. ‘A spirit house,’ she breathed. A symbol above the opening proclaimed who it was made for. And Saeng knew who that was, of course.
The moon spirit. Am I the one who has lost her mind?
‘Careful,’ Hanu sent.
‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘I know. Bad luck to disturb them … Let’s go.’
She never made it to the edge of the open glade. Her knees gave way and she collapsed. Utterly spent. Gods! No strength left at all … Can barely think.
The next thing she became aware of was the sensation of floating. The tree canopy of arching branches passing overhead. Firm arms under her knees and shoulders. Hanu’s turn, she thought, and tucked her head into his shoulder to sleep.
* * *
The scene outside the hanging cloth of Golan’s litter remained depressingly repetitive. Jungle and more jungle. Ancient Elders, will it ever end? And their pace was slowing. Each day’s march crossed less ground. Ground! As if it could be called that! A morass of rotting vegetation, tangled creepers, and hidden swamp. At times the land seemed indistinguishable from the water.
He opened the loose yellowed and brittle pages that were his copy of Brother Fel-esh’s Travels in the Most Ancient of Lands:
And so it was less than twelve days’ journey after the village of Payam Tani, that we beheld floating above the wide jungle canopy the golden edifices that were the assembled temples and palaces of Jakal Viharn …