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CHAPTER THREE

In addition to dry runs with the transport artifact, Xerak arranged to turn the Spindle of Ba Djed over to Emsehu’s custody, just in case there were unexpected consequences. However, the transfer went smoothly.

“But I am a wizard,” Xerak said, “unlike Ohent. And although Inehem didn’t admit it to us, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she did some experimenting with the Bird. I certainly would have been tempted to see if I could tap into its mana if I hadn’t been repeatedly warned as to how dangerous that could be.”

Oddly enough, this was one situation in which Xerak’s monomania about finding his master actually served them well. If he had thought fooling around with the piece of Ba Djed would help him find Uten Kekui, he would have been on it, as one of Teg’s aunts used to put it, “like white on rice,” but since nightmares and hallucinations would weaken him, Xerak resisted, just as he kept his drinking just on the edge of impairing his ability to function.

After several days, Xerak announced he was ready to make a trial run with the transportation artifact.

“We can try Rivers Meet, which we know, or Creator’s Visage, which is our destination. There are advantages and disadvantages to either choice. I have no idea where in Rivers Meet this will take us, but if we emerge at Zisurru University, we’re likely to be detected, detained, then asked a lot of questions. We might even find ourselves held and the transport artifact taken from us. The same applies to the Creator’s Visage Isles, too, of course, depending on where we show up, but it’s not likely they’ll have the same alarms set to detect unauthorized magical intrusion as a magical university would.”

Considerable debate followed, but in the end they decided on heading directly for Sky Descry. As Peg put it, “Since we don’t know where we’ll end up anyhow, we might as well go where we want to go, rather than risk getting caught where we don’t.”

After more argument, Xerak and Kaj were selected to make the first test. Grunwold wanted to go but, even he had to agree that if a rescue expedition had to be sent out, they’d need Slicewind’s master at her helm.

“Take my watch with you,” Peg said, handing her watch to Kaj, “and try to be back within an hour.”

“Right,” Xerak said. “If for some reason we don’t come back, see if Sapphire Wind can divine what happened to us before racing off to the rescue.”

Despite her private certainty that if they were doing anything too stupid, Sapphire Wind would find a way to redirect them, Teg found that her hands were sweating as she stood by with Vereez as magical backup.

“I’m an archeologist, not a wizard, Jim,” her panicked brain stated in a parody of her favorite character from the original Star Trek.

Kneeling on the floor, Xerak rapidly set the various polyhedral shapes in their assigned places in a ring with himself and Kaj at its center. He activated the spell by grasping the multicolored egg, then speaking a few lines of something rhythmic that the translation spell didn’t choose to translate. Light surged up around the two young men, making it look as if they stood inside a stained-glass gazebo. The gazebo started spinning, faster and faster, until the colors shifted to white. A few breaths later, with nothing but a faint popping in their ears to signal the change, all that remained was an empty space.

Waiting for Xerak and Kaj to return was incredibly hard. If Meg hadn’t kept track of time with an antique pocket watch she’d brought back on her most recent visit home, Teg would have sworn that hours, not a mere thirty-two minutes, passed before a whistling sound warned them that something was happening. The boys looked incredibly pleased with themselves, and Kaj gave a slight bow as he returned Peg’s elderly wristwatch to her.

“We were lucky,” Kaj said, his entire body telegraphing excitement. “The spell took us into a deserted building, part of a largish estate. We hiked out far enough to assure ourselves that the location is within walking distance of the town of Sky Descry.”

“I can’t help but feel it wasn’t all luck,” Xerak said, giving Meg, or more probably Sapphire Wind, a sidelong look.

“Luck or not,” Peg said, “I’ll admit to feeling relieved. What would you and Kaj have done if you’d emerged into a room full of people? Apologized and said, ‘Sorry? Wrong room?’”

“Something like that,” Xerak admitted. “Then while Kaj answered questions and kept people back, I would have been laying out the polyhedrons in the return pattern as fast as I could. It would have been good practice for if we need to make a fast escape, right?”

Now that the time had come, it was Vereez’s turn to be the voice of reason. “We’ll wait until tomorrow, so you’re fully rested, Xerak, and so that the transport device can soak up more mana. You were lucky this time, but I think it’s about time we made some of our own luck.”


They spent much of the rest of the day making final preparations. The search through the artifact repository had turned up—in addition to the key and the transport artifact—several more magical “flashlights.”

These needed—as Peg put it—“to have their batteries charged.” This last did seem to support Sapphire Wind’s claim that the ambient magical energy of the area had been drained, but still, Teg found herself wondering about how those things that Sapphire Wind wanted to have work—the Font of Sight, and now this transport portal—could be made to function.

Nefnet suggested something else to add to their arsenal. “Let me make you up a powder you can give to young Brunni. In a light dose, either inhaled or imbibed, it will calm her. In a heavier dose, mixed with water or fruit juice and drunk, it will make her sleep.”

Vereez looked horrified. “I hate the idea of drugging a child.”

“You say this Brunni is only four,” Nefnet countered. “All of you will be strangers to her. It is sensible to assume she will panic, and a panicked child is not what you need if you decide she must be removed from her current home. If you’re concerned, you can work with me while I do the compounding. You know enough of herb lore that you will be able to see if I do anything nefarious.”

Somewhat ashamed, Vereez agreed that this was sensible. She seemed pleased when Kaj also asked to sit in.

“I know quite a bit about preparations meant to sooth or cause sleep,” Kaj said, as if feeling he needed to establish why he was interested. “If this one is new to me, I’ll have learned something valuable.”


The next morning, they assembled in the Library’s main reception hall. Since they didn’t know how long they’d need to stay, they each carried a light pack.

“Our cover story for when we get to Sky Descry,” Vereez said—the fact that she was repeating what they already knew showed how nervous she was—“will be that the three mentors are pilgrims seeking miracles. We four will pose as your escort. That should provide ample explanation for us going about lightly armed.”

“We’ll keep an eye on Slicewind for you,” Ohent promised, “and use her to come to the rescue if you don’t check in.”

Xerak had been giving the instructions a final review, and now he opened the box containing the gemstone polyhedrons. “Hush now, while I get the spell ready. Since the device won’t transport more than three at a time, we’ll go in shifts. Get in your groups. Grunwold, Heru, Vereez, you’re up first.”

Teg was in the second group, with Kaj and Meg.

Although standing within a gazebo of shifting light was impressive, even awe inspiring, for Teg the actual transition seemed almost routine, certainly nothing like as startling as when they’d been taken from Pagearean Books to Hettua Shrine. She heard Kaj give a small grunt, and realized that despite having been on the test run, magical transport would be far from routine for him.

While we three mentors have been making enough trips back and forth between our worlds—not exactly daily, the seven here to one there time difference makes that unnecessary—that’s it’s beginning to seem a version of normal.

Teg gave Kaj a reassuring pat on the arm as they stepped from the stained-glass gazebo, blinking in the sunlight that poured in through the dirty glass panes of what appeared to have been someone’s parlor. The room was furnished with intricately woven wicker furnishings, and had its own door to the outside.

“Remember,” Xerak said, who had come through last so he could make sure the transport device continued working without a glitch, “even though this estate isn’t in use, we should take care not to be seen.”

“We’ve had the briefing,” said Kaj, shifting foot to foot. “Next step, we go into town and find a hotel.”

If he meant to impress Vereez with his decisiveness, it didn’t work. She sniffed, slipped her swords into their sheaths, and spoke to Heru as if Kaj wasn’t there.

“All right, Heru. Your turn to show off. Remember what you’re supposed to do?”

In reply the miniature pterodactyl pecked Grunwold on one antler. “Open the door!”

“Don’t do that,” Grunwold grumbled. “My antler isn’t a tree limb.”

But he opened the door and Heru soared out. Xerak finished gathering up the polyhedrons. He put most of them in their box, which went into his pack, but he reserved those he would need to make a gate back to the Library. Those he put in a bag that he hung at his hip, where he could reach them quickly.

Heru returned before Teg had finished inspecting the room.

“All quiet . . .” he reported happily, playing a cascade of notes on his crest.

“Idiot xuxu,” Grunwold said, but Teg noticed he slipped the creature a small treat, which Heru accepted with many happy chortles.

When they stepped outside, the plants in the deserted garden seemed vaguely tropical to Teg, something about broad, thick leaves, lots of vines, and brilliant blossoms. The temperature was comfortable, even though, if this really was on the other side of the world, the season should be closer to autumn than summer.

Then again, Teg thought, do the seasons here follow the same pattern as ours? I’ve never quite gotten straight what causes the shifts. Axial tilt? Distance from the sun? I never realized how little I know about why things work until now.

Xerak and Grunwold led them briskly along, not slowing until they reached a business district where a group of tourist wouldn’t seem out of place. The architecture of the city seemed Mediterranean—wide windows, open courtyards, and balconies suggesting a life lived more out of doors than in Rivers Meet, KonSef Landing, and the small town near Hettua Shrine.

Although the Library’s maps, stored in scroll cases, these in turn kept in what had reminded Teg of wine racks meant to hold skinny bottles, had survived more or less intact (once they had been located, that is), texts such as travel guides had fared less well. Still, Xerak’s wanderings had made him something of an expert at orienting himself in a new location, and he’d expressed little concern about finding them a good inn.

After they’d been turned away from several promising moderate-sized inns, he was less certain. “It seems there’s some sort of festival on,” Xerak reported. “People are pouring in from the countryside and surrounding islands, so every affordable room is taken.”

“Festival?” Peg said. “That sounds like fun!” When Vereez looked daggers at her, Peg gently patted her. “No. I’m not forgetting your inquisition. What better place to ask a bunch of stupid questions than in the middle of a festival? Xerak, can you get us to where we can learn more about what’s going on?”

“What about finding a hotel?” he asked.

Peg waved this concern away. “We’ll manage. We can always go back to the deserted house and rough it. Remember, I was at Woodstock. We camped in the mud there.”

No one else protested Peg’s suggestion, so soon they were sweeping down increasingly wide streets toward a magnificent curving plaza backed on three sides by elegant buildings, and on the fourth by view of a harbor full of tall-masted ships at anchor, smaller ships busy as ants as they ferried people to and from shore.

Commandeering Heru, Vereez grabbed Peg, and they split off to see if one of the grander hotels had a line of credit with Vereez’s family business. Teg fell in with Xerak, while Meg asserted her authority as the eldest to claim both Grunwold and Kaj as her escort. There was plenty for them to investigate without going so far that they’d lose sight of the others.

From what she could overhear and read on various banners, Teg gathered that the festival was somehow religious in nature, but beyond that she was lost. Apparently, someone was going to be dedicated to the service of the area’s patron: the Grantor of Miracles. Who and when and why now was—if Teg correctly understood what she was hearing—something determined by a bunch of factors that not even the locals were in control of.

“Which explains the generally frantic mood,” she said to Xerak.

He’d bought them both big cups of what tasted like a port and over-ripe strawberry punch, accented with something light and slightly sour that made the beverage very refreshing. He’d drained his and was looking thoughtfully at his cup.

“You don’t really need another so soon,” Teg said gently.

“Oh, yeah, I know.” Xerak pointed with his index finger claw tip. “Take a look at your cup. Does it have anything written or drawn on it?”

Teg took a swallow, lowering the level enough that she could tilt the cup to one side. The clay was stamped with a stylized pattern accompanied by writing in a script that the translation spell struggled—and failed— to resolve. Xerak looked at her cup, then showed her his, which showed the same pattern. Before Teg could ask what was bothering him, he was dragging her along toward one of the many booths set around the plaza.

Teg grabbed the hem of her robe and trotted to keep up. When they stopped, she had to adjust her mask, so it took her a moment to realize that they were standing in front of a souvenir stand.

It always amused Teg that people thought that cheap souvenirs were a bane of modern society. They weren’t. The original Olympic games had had souvenirs. So had various temples in a wide variety of places all around the world. Now, in front of her, was a fresh take on an idea that might just be as old as the desire to have a physical item to provide a connection to a place or event.

Of course, these souvenirs weren’t plastic. Teg reached out and picked up a little doll. The head was clay, probably molded. It was attached to a floppy cloth body clad in a kimono-like robe, possibly representational, possibly chosen because the straight lines would be easy to quickly sew. The casting was crude, and Teg was trying to figure out exactly what animal was represented when Xerak pulled her away, barely giving her time to put down the doll.

The young wizard looked shaken and, without thinking, Teg handed him her cup. After he downed the rest of the punch, he seemed to get control of himself.

“Did you see that?”

“The souvenir dolls? Sure, but what’s bothering you?”

“I thought you could read.” Xerak held up the empty cup, traced his claw-tip along the characters. “What does that say?”

“I have no idea. Remember what we discovered at Kuvekt-lial’s. The translation spell doesn’t work well with all scripts: the more idiosyncratic or stylized, the more difficulty we have in reading them.”

“Right. I remember now. Sorry. I wanted you to confirm what I saw without asking a leading question.” Instead of explaining, Xerak looked wildly around. “There’re Grunwold and Meg. C’mon.”

Grunwold, Meg, and Kaj were over by an ornamental fountain, watching the people passing by. The two young men were pointedly ignoring each other in that way that meant they had no attention for anyone but each other. Xerak and Teg had just reached them when Vereez and Peg, Heru spiraling overhead, also came rushing up.

“Did you find a room . . .” Grunwold began, then stopped. “What’s wrong with you people?”

Vereez’s dark brown eyes were so wild that the whites could be seen all around. She tried to speak, but she was shaking so hard that she couldn’t. When Grunwold grabbed her and pressed her close, she didn’t protest.

Peg spoke, “When we went into the hotel, I asked about the festival, explaining we’d just arrived and had no idea we would be here at such a busy time. The desk clerk said no one had any idea. This festival came up just a few days ago.”

Meg cut in. “Why is Vereez so upset?”

“I’m getting to that,” Peg assured her. “I’d suggest we go to our rooms—Vereez did secure us a suite for what is going to be a poisonous price—but she’d refuse. She wants to look for Brunni.”

Grunwold had gotten Vereez calmed enough that the younger woman was able to turn to face them. “I’m sorry. I . . . Peg. Go on. Tell them the good news and the bad news.”

The last sentence was spoken with a laugh that was on the ragged edge of hysteria. Kaj, who had been standing stiff as a statue, now moved to commandeer one of the many tables scattered around the plaza. Xerak had vanished almost as soon as Vereez and Peg had arrived. He now returned carrying a tray laden with cups of fruit punch and some sort of brightly colored dough-ball snack.

As they moved over to the table, Peg didn’t stop talking. “The good news is we have a very firm idea where to find little Brunni. The bad news is that Brunni is apparently crucial to this festival. I don’t quite gather what’s going on, but she’s the one who is going to be dedicated.”

“Well,” Meg said with typical understatement, “I can see why Vereez was flustered, but why is she so upset? Surely this means that the child is valued, well cared for . . .”

Kaj interrupted her. “Doomed.”

Vereez started crying again. Grunwold glowered at Kaj, his expression growing worried when he saw that Xerak was slowly nodding agreement.

“All right,” Peg said, pulling out a chair, shoving Vereez into it, then taking the one next to her. “Time for explanations. Kaj, what do you mean ‘doomed’? I can’t imagine all these people would be celebrating the death of a four-year-old child.”

“They aren’t,” Kaj said. “They’re celebrating the rebirth of their local—I’m not sure what to call him. Hero? Guardian? Protector?”

“Something like that,” Xerak agreed. “I asked some questions while I was getting the refreshments. Remember how this area is famous for miracles? Well, turns out the story that I learned in school has a second part. After the volcano that became Blinded Eye Isle exploded, a whole administration system evolved to make sure that requests for miracles would be more thoughtfully handled from then on. At the head of this is a personage called the Grantor of Miracles, Grantor for short. Anyhow, the most recent Grantor died a while back.”

“Not at the same time as the Library was destroyed,” Teg said with a growing sense of dread.

“No, later than that,” Xerak reassured her, “something like ten years ago. The residents of the Visage Isles have been praying for signs that a new Grantor has been ordained because, without him, the bigger, flashier miracles don’t happen. Don’t ask me about how that works. I don’t know, and that’s not what’s important right now.”

“So,” Peg urged, “what is?”

“Apparently, not long ago, oracles revealed that a child—an immigrant child—was the new vessel of the Grantor.”

“Sounds like the Tibetan lama,” Teg said, then explained what she meant.

“Except,” Kaj put in, “it’s not as simple as one person being born as the reincarnation of another. How much do you humans know about reincarnation?”

“We were told enough to know that you all take it for granted,” Teg said. “As well as that there are various theories as to how it works and whether the living can have any influence on the outcome.”

“Not bad,” Kaj said. “You’ve got the basics. What’s going on here, with the new Grantor, could be called an arranged or forced reincarnation. Sometimes when a particular spirit’s return is particularly desired, but the person has not reincarnated, a body is provided for the spirit to take over.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Peg muttered.

Kaj ignored her and continued. “This is one way that families keep a particularly powerful or influential person in their midst. Another advantage is that forced reincarnation prevents there being too great a delay. If reincarnation is left to run its own course, then a spirit may take decades, even centuries to return.”

Xerak curled a hank of his mane around one index finger. “One thing puzzles me. Kaj, I thought that forced reincarnation worked best if there was a blood tie between the departed spirit and the . . . host. Am I remembering wrong?”

Kaj shook his head. “No. That’s what I’d gathered, too. During the years I worked at various necropoli, I’ve witnessed more than one instance where a family was negotiating which of their members would supply the host body. Usually they want a close relation—a child or grandchild. They also usually want someone a little older than Brunni.”

“Why?” Peg asked.

“Several reasons,” Kaj said. “One is that a small child is pretty useless, especially if the person being reincarnated is someone who is valued for magical skills. Even if the spirit returns with a full memory, a child’s body simply cannot handle the energies involved. From what I saw—and I’m no expert—the preferred host is usually someone a bit older—ten or even twelve.”

“Not nineteen or twenty?” Peg asked. “I’m asking because if a blood tie is crucial, then it would seem that you or Vereez would be a better candidate—depending on what side of the family is involved. If any.”

Xerak cut in. “Kaj is way too old. Even nineteen, like Vereez is, would be too old to be ideal. By then the personality of the individual is too deeply engraved on the body. The best a returning spirit could expect would be a sort of co-residency.”

“Wait!” Teg said. “Kaj said ‘doomed.’ What happens if this guardian spirit returns and takes up residence in Brunni’s body?”

Vereez crushed one of the colorful dough balls between her fingertips, then spoke very carefully. “Either Brunni’s spirit would be pushed out completely or she would face a life as a subtenant in her own body. Either way, her existence as herself is over.”

“Don’t,” Grunwold said, turning to the three mentors, his voice unexpectedly rough, “ask if, since we ‘believe’ in reincarnation, what happens to Brunni’s spirit doesn’t really matter. Living is important. Most reincarnated people don’t remember their past lives, but those lives still shape who you are. Sometimes you meet someone you feel unexpectedly drawn to—or hate. That’s probably your past life coming into play. Or you might have a particular knack for some skill you’ve never tried before. Again, that’s your past life.”

“Look,” Kaj said. “We could discuss the theories for days. Weeks. The thing is, Brunni doesn’t have days or weeks. I can’t say I feel particularly fatherly toward her. I’m not going to lie. I mean, I didn’t even know she existed until a few days ago. But I’ve always found these arranged reincarnations repulsive. Maybe I’ve seen one too many kids suddenly realize that their lives don’t mean anything except that they’re going to provide a healthy body and sound mind for granddad or great-aunt. If Vereez is still determined to find Brunni, learn if the kid has any opinions about her part in this, then I’ll help.”

Nods around the little group confirmed that no one’s mind had changed. Then Meg, who had been quieter even than usual, cleared her throat.

“I suspect that I am not the only one here wondering if this sudden revelation that Brunni is the designated host is purely a coincidence. Somehow, I cannot believe this is so. Somehow someone was alerted to the fact that Vereez was going to attempt to reclaim her daughter, and the timetable was moved up.”

“My parents?” Vereez sounded caught between indignation and disbelief.

“Perhaps,” Meg said. “Perhaps the situation is something more complicated—perhaps there was some sort of omen or prophetic response to prayer. But, as Kaj said, such suppositions can wait. First, we need to find out if we can do anything for Brunni.”

“If Brunni wants anything done,” Vereez said, anxiety transmuting into uncertainty. “Who am I to interfere? Maybe she thinks this is wonderful.”

“We can’t know without talking to her or at least to someone close to her,” Grunwold said gruffly. “At least for your sake, we need to find out that much. If you stop here, you’ll be held back for the rest of your life. I, for one, am not willing to accept that—and you shouldn’t either.”

“Good boy,” Peg said, her knitting needles flashing in a fashion that reminded Teg of Vereez’s twin swords. “So, where do we start? I’m assuming that we can’t walk up to whatever hotel or temple or wherever Brunni is staying and say, ‘Hi, we have Brunni’s biological mother here and . . . ’”

She trailed off as heads shook all around.

“All right, then what do we do?”

“Find where Brunni is staying,” Vereez said, tamping down her emotions with visible effort. “Find if she is secluded or in public. Plan from there.”

“Good,” Xerak said. “I suggest we split up. Each of us will take one of the humans with us. That way, if it seems that having the excuse of a pilgrim who came here seeking a miraculous intervention will get us sympathy, then we’ll have one such at hand.”

“I want Teg,” Vereez said. “I mean, she’s my watch partner, and we’re used to each other.”

“Then I’ll take Peg,” Xerak said. “If you’re okay with escorting Meg, Grunwold?”

Grunwold nodded. Kaj cut in.

“What about me? Don’t I get a human?”

Grunwold’s expression tightened. “Sure. I’ll share Meg with you. No problem.”

Unspoken, but perfectly understood, was “And this way I can keep an eye on you, and keep you away from Vereez until she gets her head together.”

After a brief discussion of the best places to find information, the three groups split up, agreeing to meet at the hotel in about two hours.


Almost as soon as Vereez and Teg set off for their assigned destination—a compound associated with the late Grantor of Miracles—Vereez let out a small groan and started sniffling, tears running from her brown eyes to soak her fur, creating mahogany patches against the brighter red.

“I’m not handling this well, am I, Teg?”

“Which bit?” Teg asked, making her voice deliberately light. “Discovering that the child you’re searching for may be out of reach? Kaj and Grunwold shedding pheromones and resentment right and left? Your dread that your parents may be nastier people than you’d ever imagined? I don’t know. You’re not quivering under the bed. A few tears don’t seem out of line.”

Vereez laughed. “When you put it that way . . . I think what’s really bothering me is I don’t know why I’m suddenly all weepy. That really has never been me. Am I trying to get Kaj’s attention by reverting to being a little girl? If so, I really don’t like myself very much.”

“Then don’t do it,” Teg said. “If you can only win Kaj by being a person you don’t like, then you don’t want him anyhow. If you win him over that way, you’re just going to make yourself miserable. Besides, I don’t think that’s what you’re doing. You put him off pretty easily when he made a move on you back on Slicewind.”

“Easily? Not really. A lot of me wanted to go . . .” Vereez stopped herself in midphrase. “I wasn’t lying when I told him I dream about how his arms felt. Or other things. He really was . . .”

“So he was a good lay,” Teg said bluntly. “That’s fine. If that’s all you want, then go for him by all means. Marry him, even. But accept that you won’t be the only one he’s screwing, that he’ll respect you less for wanting him. That’s how that sort of man is.”

“I . . . know. Sort of. But not really. I think I could make . . .”

“Him change?”

“I was going to say ‘love me.’”

“He might love you. But that’s not going to make him decide to stop being promiscuous. He needs the conquests like Xerak needs his bottle, like I need a smoke. He’s addicted to them.”

“But you were saying you might quit. Xerak drinks less when he thinks he’s on the trail of something important. Can’t Kaj change?”

“Maybe. But he has to change himself. I’m thinking about quitting smoking because this trip has brought home to me how what was just a pleasant pastime has become a need. Xerak only stops drinking when he wants to function unmuddled. The rest of the time, Xerak likes that muddle. But our needs are simpler than Kaj’s. His are all tied up in his childhood. Remember, he knew his mother was basically the only one of the extraction agents who didn’t succeed in later life.”

“So Kaj needs to prove he’s not a failure,” Vereez said.

“And every girl he tumbles—I’m thinking ‘girl’ because he doesn’t seem to care that Xerak’s making sheep’s eyes at him—makes him feel like a success.”

“So you figured out that Xerak isn’t likely to be competing for my attentions?”

“Wasn’t hard, not once Kaj showed up. Before that, I just thought Xerak was . . .”

“Monomaniacal?” Vereez giggled.

“Oh, he’s that, but now I’m wondering if there’s an added reason for that mania. I wonder if he might have a crush on his master.”

“Oh! I hadn’t thought of that.”

Teg decided to clear up another point. “You do realize that Grunwold has a crush—maybe more than a crush—on you, don’t you?”

“He what?”

Vereez’s surprise couldn’t have been more genuine.

“I shouldn’t have said anything, maybe,” Teg said, “but before you fling yourself into his arms next time . . . You should remember: for you it might just be accepting brotherly affection, but it’s more for him.”

“Grunwold? But he’s so . . .”

“Grunwold. Let’s leave it there. Just think about it, okay? Don’t build his hopes up just because you’re needy right now.” Teg pointed. “Hey, isn’t that the building we’re looking for?”

The façade that rose up before them reminded Teg of Spanish Colonial Mission–style buildings she’d seen on visits to Arizona. Here, however, the unornamented white-stucco surface was crammed with intricate bas-relief carvings, and what looked like ideographic writing, that was very different from anything she’d seen in Rivers Meet or KonSef Landing. She made a mental note to ask one of the inquisitors—Xerak probably—whether it was writing or merely ornamentation.

“That’s it,” agreed Vereez scrubbing away the damp spots on her face, “the Administration for Miracles. The brochure we picked up at the hotel says there’s a sort of museum dedicated to past miracles. Why don’t we stop at the museum first, learn what we can without asking direct questions?”

A flight of wide, shallow stairs—almost more miniature terraces than mere steps, and again showing a very different architectural style than she’d seen elsewhere—led up to vast double doors that stood open. The stairs were quite crowded but, since every public area in Sky Descry had been crowded, it took Teg a second look to realize that this wasn’t the casual lounging of holidaymakers, but a line so long that it not only went all the way to the base of the stairs, but snaked back and forth, so it would not block access to other parts of the structure.

She noticed that many of the people waiting were leaning on crutches or canes. There were even some who wore masks like her own. At Vereez’s query, a tiger-headed woman replied with weary patience.

“This is the line for those who want to sign up for an interview.”

“With the child, Brunni, who will become the guardian?” Vereez asked with admirable composure.

“Oh, no! Those won’t be granted until long after the ceremony. This is to sign up for a triage meeting—to discover if a miracle is even likely.”

“But,” Teg asked, feeling her mask justified the question, “aren’t miracles by definition something that can’t be predicted?”

The tiger face showed deep compassion, eyes widening, ears softening. “Oh, isn’t that what we all wish! However, apparently some miracles are more likely than others. Later, perhaps, when the new Grantor has grown in power, more powerful miracles will be likely, but . . .”

They chatted for a little longer about what miracles were most likely to be made possible by the newly embodied Grantor. Other bored people in the line added their conjectures. Opinions differed as to what sort of miracles were most likely. What didn’t differ was a strong sense that it was “about time” a new Grantor was appointed. Very few seemed to have any pity for the child who would give up her identity.

“Let’s go look at the museum,” Teg urged Vereez when she saw that the young woman was reaching the point where she would be likely to say something imprudent. “Maybe we’ll learn whether it’s worth joining the line.”

Vereez came away meekly enough, but when Teg rested a hand on her slim shoulder, she could feel the young woman shaking. This time her emotion was anger, not grief. Teg had to admire the young woman for keeping quiet while other people discussed Brunni as if she was nothing more than an organic vending machine.

After the twisting lines and crowds outside, the museum seemed deserted, although actually quite a few people were viewing the exhibits. The exhibits that drew the most attention were items donated by grateful people to commemorate successful miraculous interventions. Many of these were crutches, false limbs, or masks. Rather than the doubtlessly shabby and worn discarded items, these were beautiful facsimiles, made from the most expensive materials the donor could afford. Those made from inexpensive materials were often the most beautiful, for the maker had lavished workmanship in place of jewels and gilding.

Teg was reminded of the milagros that were common in areas indebted to some extent to Spanish culture. The ones she was most familiar with—from the American Southwest—were usually smaller, but the sentiment was the same: a physical representation of the miracle granted or desired.

Rapidly, Teg grew weary of protecting her false tail and mask from being dislodged by the jostling pilgrims, and moved to where she could view the large mural that wrapped around the museum’s walls. Changes in artistic style, fading, and such indicated to her trained eye that this had not been painted all at one time, but had been added to over the years.

Or possibly the decades or even the lifetimes of this Grantor.

Curious, Teg sought one of the earliest segments, wanting to get a sense of this folk hero before his legend built and overshadowed the original person. She found what she was looking for in a back room that quite possibly was the original museum, which had been expanded as the legend grew and—more importantly—there was a need for space to display the expensive gifts.

Vereez trailed after her, caught up in her own thoughts, content to let Teg take the lead. She didn’t forget her role as bodyguard, though, and this, combined with Teg’s apparently reverent posture as she knelt to better examine some of the mural’s details caused other visitors to grant them a little space.

Teg paused to study a section that showed a figure she took to be an early Grantor of Miracles—a surmise based on the figure’s attire, which included a robe and an elaborate headdress; the same costume shown in later art—gathered with a group of similarly costumed figures. Did this depict the Grantor and acolytes? The art style was somewhere between hieratic and representational—reminding Teg somewhat of that promulgated in Akhenaten’s Egypt, although lacking the emphasis on the grotesque.

If the conventions were similar, then the size of figures was important. What interested Teg was that the Grantor, distinctive in his towering headdress and dark purple robes, was shown here associating with two other figures the same general size as him. That these were equals—peers—was made very clear by the presence of numerous obviously lesser beings: their robes less showy, their headdresses echoes of the Grantor’s own, although with different stylistic details.

“Vereez,” Teg began, then stopped. She’d come to a panel where the hierarchs were shown standing side by side. Each held something in his or her—secondary sexual characteristics were hidden by the heavy robes, and even the heads were so stylized they could have belonged to any creature with large ears and a long muzzle—right hand. That which the Grantor held seemed to be an icon of some sort, depicting what seemed to be a tree. But that wasn’t what had caught her attention. In the palm of the hierarch next to the Grantor was balanced a shape that, even in the old and faded painting, was clearly recognizable.

“Yes, Teg? I’m sorry . . .”

“Vereez. Tell me, do you see anything interesting about this bit of the mural?” Teg asked, being very careful not to ask a leading question. For all she knew, this was a relatively common shape.

But Vereez’s indrawn breath confirmed her own supposition. “That’s Ba Djed of the Weaver. The artifact from the Library.”

“That’s what I thought, too. The Grantor is holding something as well . . . Another artifact?”

“So,” Vereez said slowly, her ears flattening. “There is a connection between the Library and the Creator’s Visage Isles.”

Teg pushed herself to her feet. “A connection between the Visage Isles and the Library of the Sapphire Wind. Not necessarily between what’s going on with Brunni and the rest of this mess. Look. There’s a third figure, same size, also holding something. Is that a wheel?”

“Maybe. I don’t really care.” Vereez, noticing her flattened ears were attracting attention, forced herself to look more relaxed. Her words showed she was not. “Remember what Meg said about coincidences? I don’t believe in them either. The question I need answered is do my parents have anything to do with Brunni being here, about to be sacrificed to some ancient spirit? If so, I’m not certain I’ll ever be able to forgive them. Now that we have a connection between the two locations, my parents’ deliberately placing Brunni here has just become more likely.”


When the groups reunited at the hotel, Teg could tell right off that she and Vereez weren’t the only ones with something to report. They had been the last to return and found the others already helping themselves to a fancy smorgasbord laid out in the central room of the suite. As Teg hurried to get out of her cumbersome mask and elaborate robes, she wished she had time to grab a smoke, but she had a feeling the hotel would frown on that even more than did her companions.

Later, she promised herself. To distract herself, she started building a sandwich of which Dagwood Bumstead would have been proud.

Vereez had regained her composure on the way back to the hotel, and now encouraged the others to give their reports first.

“Teg and I learned some things, but we didn’t learn much more about Brunni. Did any of you?”

Grunwold and Kaj, momentarily harmonious in some shared emotion, looked at Meg.

“We found where the child is being housed,” Meg announced calmly.

She found where,” Kaj said with honest admiration. “Me and Grunwold were worse than useless. Meg’s the one who noticed that there was an area where the traffic flow was different.”

“The young men are really very unfair to themselves,” Meg said. “They were busily asking questions while I sat at a table on the high terrace near the central plaza fountain. From there I watched the crowd much as you might watch waves, just the ebb and flow, not the specifics. Eventually, I caught on that in one area the waves would only go so far before they flowed back.”

“She sent us to wander over that way,” Grunwold said, “as if we were just tourists, looking at the stands, buying drinks, like that. When we got over there, we realized that unlike all the other areas, where the stalls are spilling back as far as they can find space, at this location they stopped only a block off the plaza.”

“The ‘short waves,’” Kaj said, “weren’t from anything as obvious as barricades, but from the lack of stalls. People would go that way, see nothing interesting, and turn around and come back.”

“So, what’s there?” asked Peg. “And how come you’re so certain the child is there?”

“What’s there is a sort of administration block,” Meg said. “Why we’re certain Brunni is there is Xerak’s story.”

“I went to the local wizards guildhall,” Xerak said. “I was pretty honest—it’s always good to be honest around wizards—said that I had come to Sky Descry for reasons of my own, and had been astonished to find myself in the midst of a major festival. The locals were happy enough to talk about it. Even though they tried to act superior, it was pretty clear that most of them were as astonished as anyone. A few of the oldest had been around the last time the Grantor of Miracles was reincarnated, and they said that there had been none of this rush.”

Xerak swigged from a goblet of red wine, then went on. “I’ll spare you all the ‘in my day’ stuff and get to what’s going to happen here and now. Apparently, the reincarnation must happen in private. No one agreed why, but the most common theory was that the presence of other bodies and minds create ‘bumps.’”

“‘Bumps?’” Teg asked incredulously.

“Obstructions, then,” Xerak said, waving his goblet in a wide, sweeping gesture. “What they want is a clear stream, a funnel. If too many people are around, they’re like rocks in the stream. At the worst, they’ll divert the channel completely. Even if that didn’t happen—and everyone agreed that the Grantor wouldn’t be easily diverted—the bumps or diversion could cause a less than complete incarnation. Memories lost. Skills attenuated.”

Vereez looked up from the plate of puff pastries she’d been pretending to eat.

“So, this sort of reincarnation isn’t automatically successful? From what Kaj said earlier, I thought it was.”

Kaj shrugged. “From what I heard it is but, remember, I’m a necropolis groundskeeper, not a genius wizard like Xerak.”

Xerak rolled his eyes. “Don’t let your hackles go all prickly, Kaj. What you learned is definitely the case—especially if it doesn’t matter if all the reincarnating person’s skills and memories come back intact all at once. It’s enough to have the spirit and enough of an anchor to past lives that the family—or in this case, entire land—can benefit. If a person remembers some of who he or she was before, then the rest can often be recovered.”

Teg cut in. “But here and now, they need the Grantor back and in as complete a form as possible. When Vereez and I went by the Administration for Miracles, the lines of petitioners were ridiculously long already—and this is before the news has had time to really spread.”

“Or the reincarnation has even succeeded,” Xerak agreed. “It’s crazy.”

“Is it?” Meg asked. “What would you do if someone offered you a miracle that would get your master back?”

Xerak froze, then slowly, deliberately, he finished his wine. “I see your point. And these people are used to having the Grantor of Miracles to rely on, not like where we come from. Fine.”

Vereez hopped up and took Xerak’s glass as he was reaching for a refill. “Oh no, Tangle Mane. First you tell how you figured out that Brunni is in that building.”

Xerak lashed his tail, but he let her take his goblet and set it out of reach. “After I learned all I could, and the stories were starting to repeat themselves, Peg and I decided I’d see if we could figure out where Brunni was. I had a few hints from what people had said, and while I was searching for the place, we met up with Grunwold, Kaj, and Meg and they told us about Meg’s eddies and currents.”

Grunwold took over. “There was a sort of park between a couple of the buildings—not a place that would attract the tourists—just a wide area with some benches and a few trees in pots. We found a sheltered area and pretended to be having a quiet picnic while Xerak did one of his magic things.”

“I’m good at spells for searching,” Xerak reminded them. “Kaj was there, so I had one of the parents. Grunwold just happened to have one of Vereez’s old socks . . .”

“Handkerchief,” Grunwold muttered. “She dropped it.”

“So I had something from the mother. I did the spell three times, triangulating. Brunni’s in an office building near the park—or was less than an hour ago. Given that the ceremony is going to be soon—maybe even tomorrow—I’d say they plan to leave her there. The building is close to the plaza, but away from the confusion.”

“When we came back to the hotel,” Vereez said, speaking rapidly, “they were posting a sign in the lobby saying that there was going to be a prayer service channeling luck for a successful reincarnation predawn tomorrow. They’re holding it at the Administration for Miracles—which just happens to be way on the other side of the plaza from the building you say Brunni is in.”

“Clearing the area as much as possible to help the incarnation along,” Xerak said approvingly. “Based on what I know about such rituals, they probably will start the reincarnation after sunrise. Culmination will be planned for when the sun is at zenith.”

Eyeing Vereez, he reached for his wine glass. She shoved it toward him.

“Don’t get soused, Xerak.”

“Just relaxed,” he promised, and carefully poured himself precisely half a glass.

Teg strolled over, found that the window did open, and that there was a convenient balcony there. She was fishing out her pipe and paraphernalia, preparing to climb out, when Grunwold grabbed her.

“Mask,” he said. “Vereez got us a penthouse, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be seen.”

Teg reluctantly grabbed her lynx face mask, and went out. The balcony was small—probably meant more for potted plants than a grown woman—but it would hold her and she could hear the continuing discussion while she filled her lungs with much-desired smoke.

“What Teg and I learned probably doesn’t change anything,” Vereez said, “but it’s troubling.”

She summarized what they’d seen at the museum, with Teg making occasional anthropological comments from her perch.

“Coincidence . . .” Meg said, drawing the word out into four long syllables ending on a hiss. “No. I think not. Sapphire Wind just happens to know of a magical transportation device that will take us here—to an otherwise obscure island nation. The question is did it expect us to learn that there is some sort of relationship between Ba Djed of the Weaver and the Grantor, or did it think we would be so focused on finding Brunni that we wouldn’t? Did it know about this impending reincarnation?”

Her questions met with absolute silence, then Peg said, “Honestly, Meg, if anyone knows, that would be you, wouldn’t it?”

Meg looked puzzled, then she shook her head. “I will admit, acting as Sapphire Wind’s mouthpiece has given me some insights, but I do not know what drives it. All I know is that it is driven—driven to reassemble Ba Djed, perhaps driven to reestablish the Library.”

Teg wondered if this was true or if Meg was simply trying to keep them off guard. Even thinking such things made her feel very uncomfortable. Then she remembered what Xerak had said about it not being wise to lie around wizards. Maybe he’d have detected a lie. She’d need to get him alone, and ask his impressions.

“But,” Peg said, “the connection between the Library and the Visage Isles is part of the big picture. Right now we need to focus on one very small picture.”

“Brunni,” Vereez said, her voice hardly above a whisper as she spoke the child’s name. “But how can we get to her? And if we do get to her, how do we get her out? It’s impossible.”

Peg smiled and put her knitting down. “Impossible? We won’t know until we try. Meg, do you have paper? Of course, you do. Let’s start planning. First of all, let’s not forget we have a transport device—and it’s portable.”


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Framed