Snow, Fire, Sword Page 11

  “Now, now, young one, lie back down. Lie back down. Do not be afeared.” Kareen Amar’s deep voice had a pleading note, her taloned hands outstretched in entreaty, red hair flickering on her shoulders like licks of flame. “Please listen, do not be afeared of Kareen Amar.”

  “Yes, there’s no call to be afraid of her,” Husam al-Din spoke briskly. “You are safe. Never safer. Show her, Kareen, my little nightingale. Show her.”

  Then Kareen Amar opened her mouth, and instead of her clumsy words, the sweetest song imaginable came from between those lips. A song that filled Dewi with astonishment and delight. As the song slowly faded away, she whispered, “It was you who saved me from that thing…in my dream…in my nightmare…in whatever it was.”

  Kareen Amar smiled but said nothing. She took Dewi’s hand, the hand that had worn the ring. She murmured, stroking the spot where the ring had been, “It was a false ring, you see, a false ring to lure and trap you.” Dewi saw that the skin there, though pink and a little sore, was still whole.

  Husam said gently, “Kareen sang you the healing song, the song of flight. She has the sweetest voice in all of her world.”

  Dewi remembered Kareen Amar handing her that badly printed business card back at the guesthouse—it seemed so long ago—and she blushed to remember what she had thought back then. She said, “Your song…it was so beautiful, so strong, it made me strong again.”

  “Kareen Amar knows songs, yes,” said the redheaded woman with a look of satisfaction. “At least that is still the same, here in this mad world.”

  “I am not surprised, mind you, that you were afraid of her,” said Husam with a grin, “but she is a true companion, Dewi. She has come to help us, and she has been trying to reach you and make you understand the danger you are in, and that she wishes to protect you.”

  “This is true,” said Kareen Amar. She stood near Dewi’s bed, smiling. “Young one, I am a wandering spirit of the Jinn, who travels the wide world in search of music. I am Kareen Amar, singer of the Jinn. I have seen that you require my assistance, and I wish to proffer it to you.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t speak like that, Kareen,” grumbled Husam al-Din. “That is half your trouble, speaking like some mad old book. And looking like you do, it’s hardly calculated to reassure Dewi, or anybody, come to that.”

  “I must ask forgiveness,” said Kareen Amar, looking anxious, “if I offend. This world is cold to me, though you think it deliciously warm, so I must wrap as warmly as I can. And I can hardly show myself to you in my true form, being that my nature is of smokeless fire, like all my people. If I appeared the way I do in my own land, you could not look on me at all, but be burned, instantly, to a cinder.”

  Dewi stared at her. Kareen Amar stared back; her pupils contracted, became vertical, turned red; and little licks of flame jumped up in them, only to die down almost immediately.

  “Fire! You are of the nature of fire,” Dewi repeated, staring into Kareen’s eyes and smelling again that strange smell that she had noticed the first time she met her, and that she now knew to be fire.

  “Why, yes, young one,” said Kareen Amar, “that is the way of it: We Jinn were created of fire, and humans of clay, and angels of…”

  But Dewi was not listening. Her heart was leaping with gladness. “So that is why you came when I called on fire,” she burst out. Of course! Fire was a true companion, a living being, just as Sword was a man, and not just a weapon. She looked across at Husam al-Din, her eyes shining.

  “Yes, little heart, that is so,” he said gently, reading her thoughts correctly. “I only wish I could have told you straightaway what Kareen Amar was, when I first set eyes on her. But I was in a trance; so amazed, and overcome, and delighted that what Queen Rorokidul had said turned out to be true so quickly that I could not react. But you did not give me or her time to explain to you; you ran away too fast.”

  “I was glad you called, young one, though it did baffle me why I must be called with my nature’s name, and not the name I bear, which I had told you before,” said Kareen Amar seriously. “But many and varied are the words and ways of the Clay People, and I knew I was bound to you, and must find you, whatever happened.”

  “Well, Kareen, how about now you tell Dewi what you told me—about what your people know about the nature of the evil we face here in Jayangan, given as you’re from the afreet’s own world? In simple words, Kareen,” said Husam. “Simple, please.”

  Kareen Amar shot him a reproachful look, and her mouth drew down. “You listen,” she said huffily, “for it is a strange and perilous story. Know there are many different kinds of Jinns, and the wicked ones we call the afreets are under the dominion of the Demon King, wicked Iblis himself. Now there is an afreet named Hareekshaytin, who, because of a treachery he once committed against Iblis, was sold into slavery. He is in the service of a powerful human sorcerer, who has sovereignty over him. This afreet is skilled in transformation, and he can appear in many forms.”

  Dewi interrupted, saying, “I’m sorry…. I—Ithought…”

  “You thought Kareen Amar was an afreet,” said the Jinn, giving a thin little smile. “That is a sadness to Kareen Amar, and in my world, that would be an insult hard to bear. But Kareen Amar understands humans in this place are like children in this regard, so she forgives,” she added, gently touching one of Dewi’s hands. “Now—where was I? Ah, yes. This afreet has already helped to accomplish the will of his master, the Sorcerer, through the deaths and disappearances and destruction that have happened in this land.”

  “So the man we seek is a sorcerer!” said Dewi, eyes wide. “Who is he?”

  “We don’t know,” she admitted. “You see, young one, sorcerers are like slave traders in our land. To get too close to a sorcerer puts us Jinn in very great danger indeed.”

  “But now you are here, getting closer to the Sorcerer all the time. Why do you risk your life?”

  “Kareen is an unusual Jinn,” said Husam. “She is braver than any I ever met before.”

  Two hectic flushes appeared on Kareen Amar’s cheeks. Embarrassed, she quickly said, “I am not brave. Only, it would please me if this Sorcerer was no longer a danger to any of us.” She paused, then went on more steadily, “An enslaved good Jinn is one thing, but an enslaved wicked one, like an afreet, quite another, and very dangerous. Once an afreet has been enslaved to a sorcerer’s will, he will do his bidding. But it is like holding a tiger: You cannot ever be sure of him. Yet a powerful sorcerer can hold an afreet for a long time, and the power of the afreet, when backed by the will of a powerful sorcerer, is such that it may even breach the protection of places that should normally be safe—especially if those places have been neglected of late by those who should know better.”

  “The Water Gardens are not safe anymore, if the afreet was able to get in,” said Dewi.

  “The spell of protection has been considerably weakened,” said Kareen Amar. “Thus the Sorcerer’s slave was able to slip in among the green things after you. The hantumu could not go in because they are mere human servants, not demons. They cannot break the spirits’ hold, but the afreet found a momentary hole in the protective spell, and slipped in in his elemental form. Ratupohon’s protection of you could never be complete while the gardens were in such a state. The afreet, under the direction of his master, sought for a tendril of your memory, something he might use to trap you.”

  “He read my mind?” Dewi cried.

  “No, a human mind cannot be read. It is not like a book, with pages following pages, but rather like a vast storehouse, a jumble of treasure and trash, a repository of picture and thought and feeling. The afreet Hareekshaytin’s great skill is in capturing some filaments of this, and twisting them to his own ends. It is what made him so feared in the world of the Jinn. It is no doubt the reason the Sorcerer was keen to acquire him as a slave. Hareekshaytin saw you put a hand to your finger as you remembered the ring of protection. That was enough.”

  “The feel of it,
” Dewi whispered. “It burned coldly, like ice.”

  “He found you. He entered into your soul’s eye through the false ring. He held you and made you see things, yes?”

  Dewi was held as if by a vice, as the images from the garden flooded back into her brain, and she saw again the semblance of Rorokidul, and the way her face changed, the eldritch voice rising, taking glory and delight in Dewi’s prophesised death. “So it was not the real Rorokidul I saw? It was a vision? Just a vision?”

  “It was not the real Rorokidul, no. This afreet specializes in twisting things in your mind to produce bitter dreams, harsh nightmares of great potency. These illusions he creates can send men mad, send them to their deaths through despair and fear, or fatally weaken them so they may be killed. That was what he sought. He wanted to make you think the spirits had deserted you, tricked you, trapped you. He wanted to make you despair, to curse the spirits and God, to lose your soul. That would finally break the last shreds of protection over that place. Then you would have been the Sorcerer’s. Lucky it was that Kareen Amar found you in time!”

  Dewi shivered. She said, “How did you do it?”

  “I did not try to follow you in this form,” said Kareen Amar cheerfully, “but streaked like a flame directly to where I could feel your struggling spirit. Because the protection of the garden had been breached before, it was possible for me to slip in, in my essential form. The Sorcerer’s strength may turn into a weakness—because once he has put a hole in the magic web of the spirits, he cannot control what comes through that hole any more than the spirits can. You see? In the garden, which still has some of the old protection, the Sorcerer is not strong enough yet to hold you, to break your defenses, so I could snatch you from the vision he had trapped you in. My song overcame the lying nightmare, you see. It can do so, if the nightmare has not already taken over too much of the soul.”

  “Thank you so much,” said Dewi, impulsively laying a hand on Kareen Amar’s. She tried not to wince. The feel of it was just like Ratupohon’s—a mixture of fire and ice, the touch of the otherworld.

  Kareen Amar looked grave and pleased, all at once. “Young one, you fought with all your might and strength of will, and that helped me greatly to draw you away. You have a strong spirit. The Sorcerer and his afreet are powerful, but you resisted them. That is a great thing indeed.”

  Dewi colored a little. Then she remembered what she should never have forgotten. “Adi! Is he here too? Did he make it here?”

  Husam and Kareen Amar looked at each other. Slowly, Husam shook his head.

  “Then where is he?”

  “He may not have arrived in Kotabunga yet,” said Husam. “He may still be on his way here.”

  “Or he may have already been captured by the Sorcerer,” said Dewi harshly. Neither of the other two said anything. After a while, Dewi went on, her words tumbling over one another. “I think the Sorcerer is seeking to reel us right in to him. He needs us all before he can accomplish his entire plan.”

  “Yes. That is why we must not go anywhere near him until we find Snow,” said Kareen Amar.

  “No. That is wrong. We must go to him. We must call on his servants to take us to him,” said Dewi, speaking boldly, but trembling inside at what she was saying.

  “But we cannot. We have not yet found Snow,” said Husam, staring at Dewi as if she had gone mad. “Fire, Snow, and Sword must be your companions, if you are to fight against the Demon King.”

  “We must go to the heart of this Sorcerer’s power,” said Dewi. “In my nightmare in the atrium, there was a shrouded figure, and he was Snow. The voice in the vision said that the afreet’s master had found Snow before us, that he had made him ignorant of his true course. If we are to have any chance of succeeding, and save my father and any other captives, we must go right into the demons’ lair, into the hideout of the Sorcerer, and awaken Snow.”

  Husam and Kareen Amar both stared at her, but before they could reply, Kwanyin came into the room. She was carrying a tray on which something hot and fragrant steamed. The smell made Dewi feel quite faint, for suddenly she realized just how hungry she was. Kwanyin walked over to her and put the tray on the table. She smiled at Dewi. “My dear Dewi, I am pleased to see you again.”

  “As am I! Oh, dear Lady Kwanyin, so much has happened—and I’m so sorry that I misused the ring you gave me.”

  “Do not be sorry,” said Kwanyin gently. “The ring served its purpose. Before you talk any further, my dear child, eat, and drink. Go on. You need all your strength.”

  Dewi set to gratefully. She had soon made short work of the delicious spicy fried chicken, yellow rice, and vegetables, and the long tall glass of avocado and lemon juice.

  “Better now?” Kwanyin said, when Dewi had finished.

  “Oh yes, it was wonderful.” Dewi sighed.

  “Good.” Kwanyin smiled. Then her expression changed. “My dear child, I heard what you were saying, about going straight to the heart of the Sorcerer’s power. You may well be right. You see why we wanted you? Your mind is an extraordinary thing. You are capable of learning and understanding so much, and acting on it. But that is also dangerous for you, as the Sorcerer, through the afreet, will have discovered that about you. And so he may well be trying to lure you in. Beware. You are brave. But I must warn you. There is no protection I can give you to do this.”

  “Why not?” said Dewi.

  “A protective talisman works only if you know the nature of the thing you are protecting against. We have tools of protection against common sorcerers, but this one is far from common. He refuses to accept the old ways; he does not want any of the old magical sources of power; he destroys all the sacred places. He uses the power of demons, but only when it suits him.”

  Husam said, “Lady Kwanyin, what of the other powers—the native Jayangan spirits? Can’t they protect us in the Sorcerer’s place?”

  “No,” said Kwanyin bleakly. “It’s not just because I’m a foreign spirit that I cannot do it. None of us otherworlders can. We cannot take you there, we cannot protect you once you are there.” She sighed very sadly. “Dewi, we spirits have brought you to this moment, but we can take you no farther. You will be on your own.”

  “Dewi, little heart, you will not be on your own. We are all of us in this,” broke in Husam al-Din, his eyes shining brightly.

  “Yes, all of us,” echoed Kareen Amar, though the blotches in her face came and went with alarming, hectic regularity.

  Kwanyin smiled wearily. “Are you sure? There is no telling what will happen once you are in the Sorcerer’s power. You need the third one—you need Snow. And Snow is ignorant of his destiny.”

  “That is precisely why we must go,” said Dewi. She remembered Senopati’s words, about light coming out of darkness, and was suddenly certain. “Please, Lady Kwanyin, I understand that you, as a spirit of good, hate the notion of being near the realm of darkness and fear, but I am sure we must go there if we are to find Snow and save my father.”

  She felt afraid of her own words, yet she could not take them back now.

  “Are you quite sure, then, child?” Kwanyin asked again.

  Dewi nodded. Her hands were clammy, her voice unsteady as she whispered, “I will go out of this place of safety, Lady, into the street. The hantumu will come; perhaps even now they are there, waiting. This time I will not try to run, to escape from them. This time I will go with them.”

  There was a long silence. Then Kwanyin nodded. “Very well, Dewi, it is as you wish it.” She looked at Husam and Kareen Amar. “And you?”

  “Let us talk in private,” said Husam. He led Kareen Amar aside, and they spoke together, softly, briskly.

  Minutes passed and Husam returned and said, “This is what we have decided. I will go with Dewi, for I am a human man and not at such grave risk as Kareen Amar, who, because of her nature as a Jinn, could be enslaved by the Sorcerer if he catches her. It is best that Fire stays here, till we are ready and we need her particular talents.
Besides, if there is one of the three left here, the Sorcerer can do nothing to the rest of us, or he will never be able to harness our full power.”

  Kareen Amar looked very unhappy, but she nodded her agreement. “Kareen Amar will wait with Anda Mangil’s beloved, and be ready to join the great battle when it comes, for come it will, and not long from now.”

  Kwanyin said, very quietly, “So be it.” She addressed Dewi. “Are you ready, then, child?”

  “Yes.” Dewi’s chest muscles tightened as she thought of the waiting hantumu and the afreet’s invasion of her mind. She breathed a prayer deep inside herself. “I am ready, Lady Kwanyin.”

  Kwanyin put a hand on Dewi’s shoulder, and the girl felt the icy, burning touch of the otherworld on her skin again. It did not hurt her, only sent a shock through her, a thrill of courage. She looked at Kwanyin and knew that the otherworlder was arming her in the only way she could. Tears came to Dewi’s eyes. “Thank you, Lady Kwanyin,” she murmured. Kwanyin did not answer, but touched Husam’s shoulder as well. Then she walked away from them and stepped to one side, with Kareen Amar.

  Dewi and Husam’s eyes met. “Ready?” the old man whispered. Dewi nodded. Husam walked to the door and opened it. Just as she was about to follow him, Dewi remembered the tiger’s claw her father had given her. She must have it with her: It linked her to her father. But the hantumu must not find it. She slipped it under her tongue, then followed Husam out into the street.

  Outside, everything was bathed in an eerie golden light. And on the opposite side of the street, sitting waiting in unnatural stillness on their motorbikes, dressed all in black, long swords in their hands, their eyes masked, were the hantumu. Dewi saw that one of them held his arm stiffly, as if he were hurt. There was no monkey with them.

  She stepped toward them. “We wish for an audience with your master,” she said, in a voice that sounded thick and heavy because of the tiger’s claw under her tongue. She hoped they would think it was fear that distorted her voice. “We come unarmed to parley with him.”