Dreams of the Compass Rose (5 page)

“
You will not die, child, hush . . . I promise you . . .” sounded the voice of the old woman, stubborn and strong as always, while soft echoes came to dance all around.

Eventually there was only coagulating silence. Nadir felt the slick mildew of the cold stones around them, smelled the rank vapors of this prison.

“
I only regret one thing,” Grandmother said suddenly. “And that is that I’ve brought you two here, to this accursed town of my birth. I’d forgotten how it was, forgotten the lies and the fools willing to live with them.”

“
Are you—are you truly Ris, Grandmother?” The voice of Caelqua trembled. “I believe you are! You can save us then!”

“
Oh, my girl,” the woman said tiredly, sounding ancient for the first time. “It’s true that I was once called Ris. But it was such a very long time ago. . . .”

“
Tell us, Grandmother,” Nadir said.

“
Very well,” the old voice responded.

And Grandmother told them of a slave child of the house of Kharaan—a kind man, who, after her mother died bearing her, had brought her up as his own. It was Kharaan who had named her “Ris” in honor of the One who was known to appear to those in dire need, and it was he who had taught her the nature of justice. And as he lay dying, the old man had spoken words that remained when he was long gone: “If truth is ever obscured or distorted, give of yourself in whatever way necessary, to end the injustice.” Inspired by these words, Ris had assumed the identity of her legendary namesake.

“
But, if you are not divine, how did you know of the injustice of Lord Rigaeh?” Nadir persisted stubbornly.

“
That, I did not.” The old voice chuckled in the darkness. “It was merely easy to guess. For, anywhere one goes, children, there is injustice. Assume thus, and you will know what to look for, and how to recognize it.”

“
Then I will fight injustice too, Grandmother,” Nadir said. “When we get out of here, I will grow up to be strong and wise like you.”

“
But I am scared, Grandmother,” said Caelqua. “Unlike you, I am not strong, I am not Ris. I am good for nothing. . . .”

“
Who or what is Ris indeed, children?” the old one said suddenly. “What do you think?”

“
I think,” Caelqua said softly, “Ris is either a god, or has the blessing of the gods, and thus a power over waters. You tell us this story, Grandmother, but I know there’s more to it that you do not say. You say you are not the same Ris, and that you only pretend to be. But this is what I think. You, who are divine, are locked into this human shape, so that you can be here and love us, for we have none but yourself. . . .”

And with that, Caelqua buried her face in the darkness against the breast of the old woman, and wept with loud rasping sobs.

“
My poor child, I wish I were,” Ris said, stroking in the dark what she knew to be the radiant hair of the girl.

“
Why did you take us in, Grandmother, if it were not for that reason?” Nadir said suddenly.

“
I told you already, little demon,” the old woman replied. “You stirred my curiosity. Besides, you were filthy as soot, your sweet dark brown skin all covered up by the stain of the gutter, your head full of lice, and I had a great urge to scrub you clean.”

“
And I?” Caelqua said, quieting her sobs. “Why did you take me?”

The old woman began to laugh. Her chuckles echoed back and forth among stone, and in the dark Nadir felt a tremor, a vibration against the palm of his that was resting on the cold floor.

“
Silly, silly questions, my dears,” she finally managed to speak through her laughter. “Must there be a reason? Well then, I will tell you. I took you both because I was lonely.”

“
But Ris is a god!” Nadir marveled. “Can even gods be lonely?”

“
Pah! Did I ever say I was divine? Ask the same silly questions and receive silly answers,” the old woman said. “Now, enough maudlin nonsense. Go to sleep, both of you, for tomorrow, Ris or no Ris, one way or another we shall be free of this place. And I promise you, no one here shall die.”

“
I believe you, Grandmother—Ris . . .” Caelqua whispered. “Whoever you are. . . .”

In the darkness, Nadir thought he heard faraway sounds of subterranean waters. And as he rested his head in Grandmother’s lap, they seemed to be rushing nearer and nearer, like blood coursing through his temples, into his very mind.

T
he morning sun poured its scalding essence down upon Livais. In the center of town, near the well, stocks were erected. The old woman was made to kneel, face down, her neck restrained, her feet bound together, and her hands placed into the wooden contraption. Next to her, the children were tied upright to a wooden post. All three were bare-headed, without protection against the raging sun. And, by the will of Lord Rigaeh, they were to remain thus.

They were to have no water.

Townspeople passed by and spat at the old woman, spat at her gray hair dragging in the dust. They struck and pinched the dark boy, and pulled the radiant hair of the girl, ripping her poor tunic. Urchins kicked and taunted them, bringing cups full of liquid just to their lips, and then drawing away, laughing. Eventually, another old woman hobbled by and shooed the urchins away, shaming them that they were wasting the precious dwindling water in this town with their games. The hag then used her stick to strike another blow at Ris, who remained silent and motionless.

“
Damn you,” the hag hissed. “They pray even now in the Temple of Ris for forgiveness of your blasphemy, so that Ris will return to us the well, in exchange for all of our gold! Even now, I go to carry the last of my coins to the Temple.”

Ris did not argue the illogic of the statement. But Caelqua, sweat pouring down her face, whispered, “Grandmother didn’t do anything except point out the truth . . .” only to receive a jab of the hag’s stick.

Nadir remained silent, while sweat also beaded his date-brown skin and glistened in the tight black curls of his wiry hair.

At high noon Lord Rigaeh’s men appeared, and, grinning, began to untie the children.

“
Lord Rigaeh spares your lives. He’d rather you walk through the desert,” one of the men sneered, pulling Nadir by the ear.

The old woman was made to rise, her feet unbound, her neck and wrists freed of the wooden stocks. With Nadir barely supporting both his sister and Grandmother, Rigaeh’s men drove them past the well, and outside the gates of Livais, unto the burning sand. . . .

I
t is said that the desert sun brings delirium. And that sand, mixed with wind, tastes like blood. . . .

Nadir did not know how long it was, this burning eternity. He lay face down in the scalding powder, and finally a fire in his mind brought him enough awareness to lift his head and see Caelqua lying in a heap at the feet of their Grandmother.

Nadir crawled. He would not remember how long it took him to crawl those few feet, while the wind howled like a horde of jinn and cut him in the eyes, forced him back every inch. At last, he could touch the two sprawled figures. He drew himself close, and covered his sister’s head with his body, acting as a shield against the sun. Next, with supreme effort, he tugged his thin pale tunic from his upper body, baring his dark back, and wrapped the cotton around Grandmother’s forehead and eyes, shielding her too from the sun.

He lay thus for an eternity, sinking in and out of this world. And each time as he resurfaced, he felt the hell upon his back, the agony, until the sun began to lean in the sky toward the West.

It was sunset.

They had been denied water for only one day. And yet, because this was the desert, and because they had no shelter against the molten gold overhead, death would be very near. . . .

As the sun bled orange upon the Western horizon and the wind cooled, Caelqua regained consciousness with a shudder. She moved, feeling the small thin body of the boy pressing against her forehead, savoring its odd coolness. Nadir’s cheek was pressed against the sand, and he was half-buried by a moving dune. Grandmother lay only a little away, barely breathing. Caelqua burrowed out of the stifling powder.

“
Grandmother! Nadir!” She choked on a mouthful of sand.

The two piles of humanity began to stir. Nadir shuddered, resurfacing, while Grandmother barely moved her head to the side and squinted. And almost—just almost—her lips smiled.

And at that Caelqua reached out toward Grandmother, and then began to quake with dry tearless weeping.

“
. . . Pray, my child . . .” whispered Grandmother’s faint voice. “You must pray to Ris . . .”

And Caelqua continued trembling, for as she wept she was also burning up with fever.

They found that Nadir could not move. When Caelqua touched his back, the skin peeled away, and dark blood welled at the place where her fingers had touched. At her touch and its agony, Nadir cried out.

“
You too must pray, my Nadir . . .” croaked Grandmother. “It is time. . . . And I will pray with you . . . also.”

And then her eyes closed again, and her lips fell motionless in their final soft smile.

The sunset burned and faded.

T
here were dreams interspersed with prayers, in the darkness of the moonless night.

At some point, Nadir thought he heard his own voice crying, and there were shameless tears running down his cheeks, like needles of broken pride, as he called out hoarsely, mindlessly, the name of “Ris,” the Mad Sovereign of Wisdom. And he thought he had crawled forward and leaned his head over the body of Grandmother, and let the boundless tears mixed with his sweat drip down like a burning torrent onto her dry lips, washing her face. . . .

And, at some point, Caelqua felt some other’s voice come wrenching from her gut, strong and new, calling upon “Ris,” the Bright-Eyed Liberator. And she felt her teeth sink into her own wrists, tasting her own blood which then became water. In a maelstrom of agony and night, those bleeding wrists she offered to Grandmother, held them at the old woman’s parched lips, letting her drink endlessly from the vein. . . .

The crescent moon arose briefly after midnight, spilling a silver glow upon the world. And it seemed the very sand dunes were in reality cresting waves of a great ocean, while the desert spilled around them with the cold oceanic currents of the night, liquid and boundless. . . . The waters of the night ocean swelled into giant forms, and they moved all around them, licking the very walls of Livais, scaling them, and filling the town to the very brim with liquid metallic moonlight. . . .

At dawn Nadir awoke just as the sun showed on the Eastern horizon. There was fever in his mind.

Grandmother and Caelqua were gone.

He looked around, thinking that maybe they’d moved in the night. And then he began to dig, clawing at the sand, for he thought that a roving dune had advanced in the dark and buried them with its whiteness.

“
Grandmother!” Nadir called, his voice as quiet as a scorpion’s, his lungs dry and parched with sudden anger.

“
Caelqua! Stupid useless girl, where are you?” He dug wildly, crawling on his knees in the sand.

And yet, as the sun came up higher, beginning to scald, there was no trace of the old woman—his Grandmother whom he knew as Ris—nor of the girl with hair like flames.

Nadir stilled suddenly, and whispered into the face of the morning wind, “She is gone . . . She has left me . . . And you too, my sister . . .

“
No!” he croaked then, his little dark face crinkling into a grimace of sand and pain. “No! No! Keep digging! No!”

And then something prompted him to glance away from the sand before him. He turned away, mesmerized, and stared behind him, where only a little away stood the town walls of Livais.

And as the sunlight danced on what had once been stone, it reflected back metallic, for the walls had turned to blazing gold. . . .

T
he gates of Livais stood open. Nadir moved slowly like a sleepwalker in a daydream, and looked around him with parched eyes at terrifying marvelous gold.

It was everywhere—gold buildings, gold cobblestones, gilded palm and date trees, people frozen to precious statues, and everywhere, golden dust. . . .

In the center of town stood the well, gilded at the rim. When Nadir approached it, staggering, he discovered the rope was also gold, and so was the bucket.

And instead of water there was only solid metal, stilled forever in a golden blaze under the sun.

“
I must go from here . . .” he croaked to himself. “There is nothing here, only the judgment of the gods. This place is cursed. I don’t want to die here, so let me at least go into the clean desert—”

“
Why die, my Nadir?” came a familiar voice.

He turned to see Grandmother, standing upright, with bright eyes and a clean face, with not a trace of sand on her white cotton robe billowing lightly in the wind.

For an instant, Nadir was speechless. And then a wild smile contorted his small dark face, and he rushed forward to hug her.

“
Grandmother! I thought you’d died! Or left us!”

“
What nonsense! How can I ever leave those who are mine? Come, and I will give you water to drink—water, without which there is no life, and because of which this town perished in their folly.”