Bridge of Dreams

Chapter 11

Zhahar watched the brawny man, that so-called Handler, slip out of the isolation cell and head for the staff toilets on this floor of the inmates’ building. Picking up a jug of water and a dipper, she walked briskly across the common area that separated the isolation cells from the rest of the rooms.

The cell’s door wasn’t locked. Wasn’t even secured by the outside chain, which was against the rules.

Her heart hammered, but she didn’t look around to see if anyone was watching her. Giving anyone a reason to doubt she was allowed to enter that room would get her into trouble.

::We shouldn’t be here,:: Sholeh whispered.

Zhahar opened the door, slipped into the room, and moved to the narrow bed that had strong metal bars where the Handlers could fasten restraints. *I just want to make sure he’s all right. Besides the Handlers his uncles hired, no one but Meddik Benham has seen him, and only with one of the uncles present.*

=Has Meddik seen him lately?= Zeela asked grimly. =Not only has he soiled himself, but he hasn’t been washed in so long, he reeks.=

*I don’t know,* Zhahar said doubtfully as she looked at the inmate. *I do know Shaman Danyal isn’t aware of how badly those Handlers are treating this man. He wouldn’t allow this.*

Her sisters were silent, which made her nervous. But seeing the inmate, she wondered what was really going on. Why was Meddik Benham ignoring this man’s condition? Why was Danyal?

::The Shaman won’t be happy that you’re in here,:: Sholeh finally said. ::Not after he told you to stay away so that you don’t draw the Chaynes’ attention.::

*I know, but…*

She looked at the man on the bed and felt her heart clench because of the mistreatment he’d been enduring. And then she felt her heart lift and soar as if someone had just fulfilled a cherished wish.

I’ve been looking for you, she thought. She couldn’t explain the words, but they felt true. They also frightened her because she understood what she was—and what he was.

Having a more personal interest now, she studied his face. His black hair was tangled and greasy. His skin looked pasty sick, and his lips were so parched they had split in a couple of places. She thought the unfocused eyes were green, but they were so cloudy, she wasn’t sure.

“Who’s there?” he said in a hoarse voice. “Who’s there?”

“Shh,” Zhahar said, pressing one hand against his shoulder. “I’m Zhahar. I’m one of the Handlers who works here. I’ve brought you some water.” She pulled the small dipper from her pocket, filled it, then set the jug on the floor so that she could raise his head. “Let me dribble the water into your mouth. Easy, now. Easy.”

She got a second dipper of water into him before he began to thrash and make vicious sounds.

“Help me,” he said. “Please help me.” Then he swore at her with such savagery, she took a step back from the bed. “Help me.”

The plea, combined with the thrashing and swearing, made her angry, so she stepped up to the bed.

=Let me,= Zeela said.

*That brute of a Handler could return at any moment,* Zhahar protested. But having Zeela’s aspect so close to the surface lent Zhahar strength her arms didn’t usually have. She grabbed the man’s hair and yanked before saying in a harsh voice, “If you don’t want to be treated like a madman, stop acting like one.”

“Can’t,” he gasped. “What they put in the needle…does this…to me. Please.”

=I believe him,= Zeela said. =The Apothecaries who have shops on the shadow streets could make such a thing.=

::I believe him too,:: Sholeh said.

So do I, Zhahar thought. “I’ll talk to Shaman Danyal and see what he can do.” Releasing the man, she grabbed the water jug and slipped out of the cell. She walked across the common area and caught sight of the hired Handler returning to his post. Unfortunately, he caught sight of her too and gave her—and the cell door—a look that held too much meanness.

As Zhahar set the water jug and dipper on a rolling cart, she heard the man in the isolation cell scream.

Danyal felt a storm of anger roll through him as he stared at Zhahar. She stared back at him, her face set and her hands clenched. Until five days ago, Zhahar had been one of the best Handlers at the Asylum. Yes, there was the oddity about the way her sister Zeela showed up to help, and that overlap of heart-cores made him uneasy, especially after Farzeen’s reply to his carefully worded letter indicated that the other Shamans had never heard of such a thing in one person. But he’d been able to count on her—until the new inmate arrived.

Something about that man scratched at him too—at least on the days when his uncles didn’t come to visit. That was the main reason he wasn’t dismissing Zhahar right now for disobeying his orders again.

“Have you seen him?” Zhahar demanded.

“Meddik Benham—”

“Is either lying or he’s being fooled somehow,” she snapped.

“Be careful,” he warned.

“Shaman, the inmate is parched from lack of water. He’s lying in his own excrement. He hasn’t been washed since he’s been here. Who knows what kind of bruises or raw skin might be under that straitjacket or the other restraints?”

“He’s a very sick man.” The words didn’t sound quite true, didn’t feel quite true. And when he’d said them just now, he could have sworn he heard them spoken by the voice that had been whispering in his dreams lately.

“Is he, Shaman?” Zhahar replied. “He says they’re doing this to him, that whatever is in those needles they give him is causing the raging. What if that’s true?”

“Why would his uncles do that?”

“I don’t know. What if he inherited money and his uncles want control of it? Or they have some other reason to want him out of the way?”

Danyal shook his head. “You’ve been reading too many stories. I doubt their reasons are that dramatic.” Or that simple, he added silently.

Then he stiffened as another thought finally came to him. Had he found the madman the bone readers had foretold?

“Aren’t we supposed to help the people who have lost their way?” Zhahar argued. “Aren’t we supposed to help them go back to the world? Do those gongs in your little temple have some magic power to drain sorrow on their own, or is the belief in the gongs the real magic? If he believes the reason he’s insane is because of what they pump into him, will he ever get better as long as he feels those needles being jabbed into him?”

“His name is Lee,” Danyal said quietly. “I haven’t seen him since that first day because I cause him distress, and I didn’t want to add to his burden.” Had that really been his own decision or was the idea that he caused the man distress something else that had been whispered in his dreams?

Landscaper! Beware of the wizards! A Dark Guide is near!

Summer rain. Sometimes fierce, sometimes gentle, but always in harmony with the world.

Unlike the men claiming to be Lee’s uncles.

Danyal studied Zhahar. “Why is this man so important to you? Out of all the men you’ve cared for since you began working here, why does this one spur you to defiance?”

Zhahar studied him in return. “It feels like if I don’t at least try to help him, something will pass me by. I’ll catch hold of the edge of it, but it will be too wispy to hold on to. And then, when it has passed, I’ll realize how important it was—and how much I lost.”

“This isn’t some romantic daydream, is it?” What he was about to do would have the Directors of the Asylums and the Shaman Council demanding an explanation. He didn’t want to cause that kind of commotion, only to discover Zhahar’s feelings were the result of girlish fantasies.

She shook her head.

He wasn’t sure he believed her, but he rounded the desk and stopped beside her. “We’ll remove him from the care of the men his uncles hired. You will be his Handler and give him the same treatment the others receive. If there is measurable improvement, I will continue to override the treatment his uncles initiated.”

“Thank you, Shaman.”

For the first time since she stormed into his office, he saw her relax.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he replied as he headed for the door.

Blinking back tears, Zhahar squared her shoulders and kept her mouth shut.

“I-I don’t understand this,” Meddik Benham stammered as Nik and Denys, two of the male Handlers, pulled down Lee’s shit-soiled pants and revealed the needle marks, bruises, welts, and raw skin. “This couldn’t have happened in a day, and I saw no evidence of abuse when I last examined him.”

Shaman Danyal studied the Meddik, those beautiful eyes as cold as deep winter. “I believe you. How you were deceived is still a mystery. That you were deceived brings into question all we’ve been told about this man and about the medicines that were given to him.”

Lee began to thrash and scream.

Zhahar stepped forward and gave Nik and Denys an apologetic look. “Shaman, I don’t think he’s going to respond well to being handled by men. At least for a while.”

Danyal hesitated.

“Let me see what Kobrah and I can do. We’ll call for assistance if we need it.”

Another hesitation, but that was probably due to the hatred on Kobrah’s face as she stared at Lee’s genitals.

Finally, Danyal nodded. “Clean him up as best you can without removing the restraints. I want a catalog of his injuries. When he’s more lucid, he can have a proper bath.”

Zhahar waited until the men left the room before turning to Kobrah. “Can you be my Helper with him?”

Something dreadful slipped into Kobrah’s eyes.

::She scares me,:: Sholeh said.

=Don’t leave him alone with her,= Zeela said. =Not when he’s naked.=

“Kobrah?” Zhahar said.

“I won’t touch him if he gets a stiffy,” Kobrah said.

“All right. Anytime you feel uncomfortable, you tell me.”

Kobrah nodded. “I’ll get a cart and bring one of the big basins and jugs of warm water.”

“Sponges and soft cloths too.”

As soon as Kobrah left to fetch the supplies, Zhahar closed the door most of the way. She hurried back to the bed and took Lee’s face in her hands—then jerked back when he tried to bite her.

“Lee,” she said urgently. “Lee, can you understand me?”

He thrashed a bit more, then seemed to make an effort to hold himself still. “Who…?”

“Zhahar. Do you remember me?”

He turned his head as if focusing on the sound of her voice. “You gave me water.”

Relief washed through her. She wasn’t sure he’d been aware enough to remember that. “Yes. I’m going to be taking care of you now. The Keeper agreed to give you some time without the medicine—without the needles. But you have to help me. You have to show him you can get better without the medicine.”

“I’ll…try.” His face was turned toward the side of the bed where she stood. “Who’s with you?”

“My Helper’s name is Kobrah. She’s gone to fetch some water so we can clean you up a bit.”

“No. Who’s with you now?”

A chill went through her. “No one is here except me.”

His body relaxed so suddenly, she wondered if he’d had some kind of seizure. Then she realized he was falling asleep.

“Lee?”

“Funny,” he mumbled. “I was sure there was more than you in the room. I keep hearing three voices speaking in unison.”

::He’s a one-face,:: Sholeh said. ::It’s not possible for him to sense all of us, even when we’re all close to the surface.::

And yet he did, Zhahar thought. He’d heard Sholeh’s and Zeela’s voices in hers when they weren’t in view.

=The Shaman senses us,= Zeela said.

::But that’s because he’s a Shaman. And even he doesn’t hear us.::

Zhahar stood by the bed and watched Lee sleep until Kobrah returned with the cart full of supplies, including some basic ointments for the bruises and raw skin.

Lee wasn’t a Shaman, but he was different from other humans. As Zhahar washed the parts of the man she could reach without undoing the restraints, she wondered what he was.

Fever raged through his mind, turning memories into strange landscapes. Convulsions shook his body until he was certain his bones would break apart. Firm but gentle hands draped a cool cloth on his forehead and washed the sweat from his body.

Zhahar. Her name was Zhahar.

Found you, he thought, trying to tell her the simple truth that the fever kept locked in his mind. Didn’t even know where to look, and yet I found you. Like Sebastian found Lynnea. Like Michael found Glorianna.

Sometimes her voice was a single note; sometimes he heard an intriguing chord that spoke in perfect unison. When she talked to him, she resonated with the conviction that he could get well, and despite the pain and fever, her resonance tugged at him enough to make him listen—and believe. Of course he would get well. Now that he’d found her, he had to get well.

He told her about the pain, about the heat. Things she could ease.

He didn’t tell her about the nasty voices scratching at his mind, whispering their poison—voices that sounded like the wizards who claimed to be his uncles.

We’ll always be with you, one voice snarled. We’ll always be close by. The day you’re well enough to leave the Asylum, we’ll be waiting. And the next time, we’ll take more than your sight, Bridge. Much more.

We’ll always be with you, the other voice crooned, as if offering comfort. We’ll always be close by.

I know, Lee thought as he shook from the latest convulsions. There’s no escape.

Before he could decide if he felt troubled or relieved by that truth, the fever took him again and burned all thoughts from his mind.