Bridge of Dreams

Chapter 12

Danyal watched fury flicker across Pugnos’s and Styks’s faces before they regained control.

Bloated maggots. Spiny worms under the skin.

“Why were we not informed before this decision was made?” Styks asked.

“The men you hired to take care of your nephew deceived you,” Danyal replied.

They hadn’t been deceived. He saw that truth in their eyes despite the effort they were making to hide their heart-cores from him. They had hired those men precisely for the harm that would be done.

“The abuse they inflicted on Lee can’t be undone completely,” he added.

“What does that mean?” Pugnos asked.

“If he wasn’t truly mad before, he is now.” Danyal laced his voice with regret. “I am confident that we will be able to bring him to a point of being calm, even docile, within the confining environment of the Asylum, but the damage that was done to his mind cannot be repaired. He may be lucid in his madness, but he’ll never be able to participate in the real world.”

“Then we will take him home again,” Styks said. “Care for him there.”

“No,” Danyal said gently. “Placing him in the Asylum was your choice, and given what I have seen of him, it was the right choice. But when—or if—he ever leaves the Asylum is now my choice. You relinquished all rights to make decisions for your nephew the moment I accepted him as an inmate here.”

“We weren’t aware of that,” Pugnos protested. “We weren’t told we couldn’t take him away again.”

They hadn’t been told because it wasn’t quite true, but until he discovered who Lee was and heard his side of the story, Danyal wasn’t giving him back to these men. “That is regrettable, but it makes no difference. As the Asylum’s Keeper, I now have control over Lee’s life. However, if this is difficult for you to understand, the Directors of the Asylums hold an audience at The Temples on the day of the new moon. Perhaps you should discuss your nephew’s case with them.”

Styks tried to mask his fury. Pugnos didn’t even try.

“What about the Handlers we hired?” Styks asked.

Danyal shook his head. “As I said, the men you hired deceived you. When their ill treatment of your nephew was discovered, I demanded that they produce the letters that verified their credentials and proved they were qualified for such work.” He sighed. “Forgeries. Nothing you gentlemen could have detected, but clear enough to those of us who must be vigilant about such things. I should have demanded to see their credentials when they arrived, but since they were already in your private employ, I was lax in that particular duty. But I have made up for that lapse by filing an official complaint with the city guards, since forging credentials is against the law. I also gave the guards careful descriptions of the two men, who were gone by the time the guards answered my summons. When they’re found, they will be questioned. Eventually we will know everything they have done to your nephew.”

“We had not expected such diligence,” Styks said after a pause.

“Vision is a very large city, but it is also a patchwork of small communities,” Danyal said with a smile. “When it comes to keeping the people safe, the city guards, like the Shamans, are always diligent. Isn’t that why you brought Lee to this particular Asylum?”

Lightning, quicksand, and foul bogs swirled in their heart-cores. They understood now that he wasn’t a tool they could use—and that made him an enemy.

“I have your location,” Danyal said, noting how they both twitched at the words. “When the men who deceived you are found, I’ll send word.”

“Thank you,” Styks said. He hesitated. “Will you also keep us apprised of our nephew’s condition?”

“Of course. And may those reports give you hope that Lee will recover enough for you to see some measure of the man he had been.”

“Easy now,” Zhahar said as she and Kobrah led Lee down the corridor. “One step at a time.”

“What…?”

“You’ve been calm for a whole day. We’re taking you to the bathing room so you can have a proper bath. It’s going to be a hot day and you still have a touch of fever, so we’ll keep the bathwater cool.”

She wasn’t sure he understood her. He still tended to fight when one of the male Handlers tried to touch him, because he didn’t seem to hear her when she told him the men who had mistreated him were gone. But he’d become docile enough when she or Kobrah fed him or gave him water or helped him use the portable commode.

She suspected embarrassment had been a strong incentive for getting well enough to be kept without restraints and, therefore, being able to use the commode by himself.

They had put him in a short robe for the walk to the bathing room, but as soon as Kobrah filled the bath, Zhahar tipped her head toward the door.

“You’re not supposed to be alone with him,” Kobrah said. “Shaman Danyal said so.”

“I’ll be fine,” Zhahar replied. Kobrah, on the other hand, wouldn’t be—although the moonlight walks with her dream friend had raised her tolerance for dealing with men. “You supervise getting his room cleaned. And check with housekeeping about replacing that mattress.”

Giving Lee a long, somewhat hostile look, Kobrah slipped out of the bathing room and closed the door behind her.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Zhahar matter-of-factly stripped the robe off Lee. “Let me help you into the bath.”

“I can do it.”

“Next time you can do it,” she said tartly. “This time you’re going to accept help so you don’t slip and crack your head.”

“Daylight,” he muttered.

He made the word sound like a curse.

“There are handholds on the wall. Here. Got it?” She guided his hand to the handhold. Her muscles bunched as she offered support on his other side while he eased his weakened body into the water.

His sigh of relief when he settled in the water made them relax. They stripped off the Handler’s jacket and set it aside, glad to have their arms bare for a little while. As they turned to reach the basket that held the soaps and sponges…

=Zhahar!= Zeela shouted.

…Lee lunged, grabbing the left arm. His other hand just missed locking around a throat and, instead, grabbed a fistful of the sleeveless tunic.

“Who are you?” he snarled. “What did you do with Zhahar?”

Shock. They had never been this careless at the Asylum. Never. But they’d been so focused on getting him safely into the bath, Zhahar had submerged without conscious thought so that Zeela could come into view and provide the needed muscle.

That kind of casual submergence/emergence was something they only did in the privacy of their own rooms.

::He knew the difference before he touched us,:: Sholeh said, taking on a tone of scholarly curiosity. ::He can’t see us, so how did he know?::

=Not now, Sholeh,= Zeela snapped. “I’m Zeela. Zhahar’s sister. I help her sometimes.”

His hold on her tunic and arm didn’t ease. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I came in when Kobrah left.” More or less true.

His grip didn’t lessen, but his expression was thoughtful. “I’ve felt your resonance before, heard your voice before. With Zhahar.”

By the triple stars, what does that mean?

Now his grip on her arm eased, and his thumb brushed over the scar. “Accident?”

“Knife fight in a tavern. I won,” Zeela replied.

His cloudy eyes seemed to stare at her face. “Prove you’re Zhahar’s sister.”

“How?”

“Describe her.”

“It’s against the rules to participate in inmates’ sexual fantasies.”

His thumb brushed over the scar again. “‘Physical description’ to ‘sexual fantasies’ is quite a jump. Describe yourself, then. You have any other distinguishing features besides this scar?”

“A tattoo on my left bicep. It’s a heart inside a triangle.”

Why did she tell him that?

“What does it mean?”

She could feel Zhahar pushing to come into view and tell him. Their core sister had been intrigued by this man from the first time she’d seen him, spoken to him. Intrigued enough to be too trusting? Was Zhahar’s willingness to trust lowering her guard as well?

“If you have to ask, you’re not meant to know,” Zeela said.

He cocked his head, as if he’d heard more than he should have. “One more question. Are you the older sister?”

“I’m the middle sister. Zhahar is the oldest.”

He released her and settled back in the water. “Ah. I thought I recognized that particular tone of bossy when she was ordering me around.”

*I am not bossy!* Zhahar said.

=Ha.= “You have an older sister?”

Naked grief, there and gone. “You have any soap?” Lee asked, his voice subdued.

“Yes. First, lean back so you’re on the headrest. There’s a secondary basin for washing hair. I’ll do that first.”

“Couldn’t you just cut the hair?”

Zeela hesitated as she reached for the jar of hair cleanser. “Why do you want to cut it?”

“Short hair will be cooler in a hot climate like this.”

She narrowed her eyes as Sholeh piped up, ::How does he know it’s not just a hot summer?:: She repeated the question.

“It doesn’t feel like a hot summer in a cooler climate,” he replied.

*Ask him,* Zhahar said, while Zeela washed Lee’s hair.

“We— I haven’t been there, but I’ve heard Vision’s northern communities have cooler weather than here in the southern part. Is that where you’re from? One of the northern communities?”

“Never heard of the city of Vision until I landed here a few weeks ago—or however long it’s been.”

Zeela hesitated before asking Zhahar, =Isn’t that part of his mind-sickness, thinking he’s from a place beyond the city?=

*I’m not so sure he isn’t,* Zhahar said. *After all, we aren’t from the city either.*

“Where are you from, then?” Zeela asked.

Lee hesitated. Then he smiled. “I’m a madman. How would I know?”

I cast out the Light.

Glorianna Belladonna had built her cage with five words.

I’m a madman. How would I know?

He had built his with seven. As long as he played the madman, he would be kept at the Asylum—and kept out of the hands of the damn wizards who were trying to gain a foothold in this city. As long as he didn’t play his part too well, he would, eventually, be free of the restraints and be allowed to move around the grounds. Not that a blind man could go anywhere or do anything. Maybe that should bother him, but it didn’t. If nothing else, it gave him time to solve the mystery of Zhahar and her sister. Sisters? Sometimes he heard three voices in unison when she spoke to him. One of the voices was Zeela’s. The other voice wasn’t the Helper’s, so whose was it?

A man with a loose grip on sanity could ask all kinds of questions without giving offense. Couldn’t he?

I’m a madman. How would I know?

Seven words that equaled a strange kind of freedom. Or would once they let him out of the restraints that secured him to the damn chair.

Danyal paused at one entranceway to the porch and watched Zhahar cut Lee’s hair. His wrists and ankles were strapped to the chair, and Kobrah and Nik, one of the male Handlers, were standing nearby, ready to assist or restrain.

Lee’s muscles twitched and his face looked tight, but there was control. A lucid madman.

Was he truly mad or simply a troubled man who had gotten lost in the world? Or was Lee something more?

Danyal silently stepped over the threshold. Lee immediately turned his head, although those cloudy eyes didn’t quite look in the right direction.

“Hold still,” Zhahar scolded lightly.

“May I join you?” Danyal asked quietly.

“Of course,” she replied.

Lee said nothing, and Danyal had the impression that not offering an opinion was unusual—especially when he had the equally strong impression that Lee didn’t want him there. And that was why he needed to be there. To observe. To try to understand.

“How long have you been blind?” Danyal asked.

“For as long as I’ve been in this city,” Lee replied.

Which either meant all his life or not that long.

“The southern part of the city is hot for most of the year,” Danyal said, keeping his voice pleasant. “That’s why there is this wide, screened porch that runs around the outside of the building on all four sides, only broken by the two outside doors. The isolation cells are inside rooms that are completely enclosed, but the rooms inhabited by the less-troubled inmates have a window that opens onto the porch.”

“What are you telling me?” Lee asked. “To enjoy the fresh air while I can? Or that if I behave I’ll be given a room with a view?”

The sharpness in the question surprised Danyal. Not just clean summer rain now in Lee’s heart-core. There was a storm building.

“All done,” Zhahar said brightly. She handed the scissors to Kobrah, who slipped them into a jacket pocket. Then she began undoing the restraints that held Lee to the chair—a sensible precaution when she’d held a potential weapon. “Would you like to sit out here for a while longer?”

“I have something else in mind,” Danyal said. He stepped closer and saw Lee tense. “I think it will help you.”

He closed his hand around Lee’s arm, then waited for Lee to accept the contact. When Zhahar put her hand on the other arm, there was no resistance, no tension, no hesitation to accept.

“Where are you taking me?” Lee asked once they left the building. His steps were hesitant at first but grew more confident.

How many times had the hired muscle let Lee stumble around, walking into walls or tripping over furniture? How many times had they frightened him into trying to escape and deliberately put him in harm’s way?

“I am a Shaman,” Danyal said. “When I came here to be this Asylum’s Keeper, I set up a small temple. That’s where we’re going.”

“Shaman,” Lee said softly. “That explains why I’ve been sensing a Landscaper’s presence, but no one knew what a Landscaper was.”

“While I enjoy being outdoors, Shamans tend to the city and its people, not its gardens.”

“Shaman, Landscaper, Magician, Heartwalker, Heart Seer. Different words for the same thing, although how the power manifests in them reflects what their piece of the world needs.”

“What do you think these people are?” Danyal kept his tone politely curious, but his heart began to pound, especially when he noticed how Zhahar was glancing between him and Lee.

“Someone who has a special connection to the world,” Lee replied. “Someone who acts as a landscape’s bedrock, as the sieve through which Ephemera responds to all the other hearts in that place. And a rare few are true Guides of the Heart and have such a strong bond with Ephemera, they can reshape the world.”

“They don’t sound human,” Zhahar said softly enough that Danyal was sure she hadn’t meant to say it out loud. It was one thing to think that about the Shamans; it was another thing to say it to one’s face.

“They aren’t human,” Lee said. “Ephemera made the Guardians of the Light and the Guides of the Heart. And it made the Dark Guides too.”

“How do you know all this?” Zhahar asked.

Danyal didn’t look at Zhahar, but it took effort. One moment he sensed the summer lake of the heart-core he identified with her. The next moment he sensed the summer lake and the bright water, meaning another of those unexplained heart-cores had suddenly appeared, making it feel as if he were addressing two women when only one stood before him.

And the way Lee cocked his head made him think the madman was sensing something too.

“How do you know?” Zhahar repeated.

A long pause. Then Lee wrinkled his forehead. “Know what?”

“Hold for a moment while I open the door,” Danyal said as he released Lee’s arm.

A lucid madman or a cunning man playing a strange game? Were the men claiming to be Lee’s uncles his enemies or were they his accomplices?

To speak an unspoken truth about Shamans so matter-of-factly…

The Shamans, as the voice of the world, were not human as others were human, despite coming from human families that had no touch of demon, and there was nothing in the city’s history to explain how or why that could be. In order to earn a place for themselves—and a piece of the city in which to form their own community—they became Vision’s spiritual guides. And sometimes they channeled their will into the world in order to shape justice on behalf of those who had been harmed.

What would Vision be without the Shamans?

Standing back, Danyal watched Zhahar lead Lee into sorrow’s room. Was the blindness real? Yes. And recent. Lee didn’t move like a man used to making his way through a world he couldn’t see. Was the blindness permanent? Locked in his desk he had the medicines Lee had been given. This evening, he would walk the streets and see if he could find the Apothecary’s shop that matched the seal on the bottle of eyedrops.

That would tell him some things about this man. This room would tell him more.

Zhahar settled Lee on one of the cushions, gave him a small mallet, then guided his other hand to the gong. “You just strike the gong.”

“Why?” Lee asked.

Danyal scuffed his feet as he walked up to them so that Lee would hear him approach. Kneeling next to Lee, he said, “Striking the gong helps you release sorrow.”

An odd pause. Then Lee shrugged and tapped the gong—and flinched. “Guardians and Guides.”

When the sound faded, he struck the gong again, harder. The third time he struck the gong, tears began rolling down his face and his teeth were clenched.

Lee was full of summer storms that offered a fierce kind of cleansing. Danyal had doubts about the man, but the pain in Lee’s heart was real.

When Zhahar picked up a mallet and struck a gong, doubling the sound that lanced heart wounds, Lee let out an anguished cry and collapsed.

Danyal caught him, held him tight, and asked quietly, “Do you know the cause of this sorrow? Can you give it a name?”

“Glorianna,” Lee sobbed. “My sister, Glorianna.”

“Why does your sister cause you such pain?”

“She’s gone. She’s gone. I lost her.”

Zhahar sucked in a breath and looked stricken.

“You’ve been angry with her for leaving you,” Danyal said, rocking the weeping man. “You’ve been hurt and angry and grieving, haven’t you?”

“Y-yes.”

“Perhaps it’s time to heal.”

The hurt and anger and grief went deep in this man. It wouldn’t be healed in a day. But healing the heart was something Danyal could help Lee do.

After that, he would decide how far the man could be trusted.