Sulema had hung suspended, away from song and sun and sand, for as far as she could remember. Wrapped head to toe in some soft, silken stuff she swayed back and forth, back and forth in a wind she could neither hear nor feel upon her face.
Free yourself, a voice barked in the darkness. But struggling against her bonds had never done any good, so she slept instead.
She dreamed of the night she and Hannei had walked soft-foot and laughing among the drowsy stallions of Uthrak. The moons lit their way through the endless night like firebugs caught in a spider’s web. She and her friend had braided shining beads into the manes of swift Zeitan and sweet, brave Ruhho. Tradition held that if these beads went undetected until Hajra-Khai, they would be granted breeding rights to the best stallions in the Zeera. They braided their dreams into those wind-knotted manes, and the whispered promise of a golden future. A promise that Akari Sun Dragon would wake and spread his wings over the world once more, that tomorrow would come, and fillies and colts and children, honor and glory and songs at the day’s end, a thousand and one tomorrows alike as grains in a handful of sand.
And if Akari does not rise? the voice persisted. What then, O warrior under the sun? Will you free yourself and bring light to the world? Or will you hang here in the darkness and become meat?
Sulema felt it then, a third presence in the void, felt it as a shiver along the web that held her fast. A dreadful cold emptiness, always angry, always hungry, and it was aware of her now. There were no stallions, no cousins or warriors to help set her free. She had only herself to rely on, and she knew herself to be unreliable.
“I cannot free myself,” she cried out, and the words froze in her throat. “I have tried.”
Have you? I think not. A laugh barked nearby. Sulema found that she could open her eyes, and turn her head. She found herself face-to-face with a fennec, a tiny white fox with ears as big as its head. A creature of the moon, pale and beautiful, with eyes like starlight on the water.
All around them, woven into and out of the darkness further than her mind could stretch, shimmered a vast and intricate web. It was from this that Sulema hung, head-down, one foot tucked behind her knee and hands behind her back.
“Help me,” she asked the fox. “Please.”
Help yourself. Better hurry, he is coming. That one has been looking for you for a long time. The fox tipped her head to one side and swiveled her enormous black-tipped ears.
Sulema realized that she was hanging upside down from an impossible spider’s web, talking to a fox in the middle of nothing. The web went ever on and on, beyond all imagining. Threads of starlight and moonslight and blood and gold shimmered and shivered and pulsed to the beat of a great and powerful song. Silvery globes were threaded all along the strands of web, like beads of magesilver braided into a stallion’s mane, bright little lights that did not detract from the soft dark.
There were black strands tangled into this great web, too, strands that pulsed with silent malice, a darkness so bright it burned her eyes. These strands trembled and swayed under the weight of the terrible presence. Something, some vast and evil Thing, had noticed her struggles… and it was hungry.
“Are you real?” Sulema asked the fox. “Or am I dreaming?”
I am neither. I am Jinchua. Are you real? the fox mocked. Or am I having a nightmare? Really, you two-legs have the most ridiculous imaginations. Is this the best you can do? Or the worst?
“If you are a dream, you are the most annoying dream I have ever had.” Sulema closed her eyes. “I am going to wake now.”
What is your hurry? You have been asleep most of your life. Safe in your mother’s tent, in a cradle of bones, dreaming to the sound of a bloody lullaby.
Sulema fought the strands that bound her arms, and began to spin slowly around. “You leave my mother out of this!” Even as she said the words, an image flickered across some of the closer globes—a monster with the head of a horned cat, glaring at her with her mother’s eyes. In its hand it held a blade of dark flame, though whether it meant to free her or slay her Sulema could not have said.
Would you turn her out? The fennec lolled her tongue in a sardonic smile. That might not be wise. You deny her even as the heart’s blood of your enemies burns sour in her mouth. Would anyone else find such value in your life? I think not. That one would have made a good fox.
“I do not have to listen to you,” she told the fox. “You are nothing but a dream, and when I wake I will tell Hannei all about it and we will laugh.”
Will you laugh when next you meet Hannei Two-blades? I think not. You will not wake at all, if you do not free yourself quickly. He is coming, and the song in your blood is driving him mad with hunger. Nobody can wake from the dream after they have been torn to pieces and gobbled up.
The wind howled now, and though she still could not feel it on her face it caused her to sway back and forth like a toy held up to tease an infant. The wind mocked her struggles.
Your father will be so disappointed, it said.
You almost had it! You were almost there! The fox stood on her hind legs, and pressed her cold nose against Sulema’s forehead. This close, Sulema could see the slit pupils of her eyes and her white, white teeth. Her breath smelled, oddly enough, of cardamom. You need to free yourself now. There is no more time.
Sulema twisted her hands behind her back, straining at the silken bonds till it felt as if her shoulders would pop loose. “I cannot!”
Not like that, the fox snapped. Stupid two-legs. To break your bonds, you must first accept them.
Sulema could feel the Thing drawing nearer, could feel the web shudder under its weight and smell the carrion stink of its intent. She bucked and struggled wildly as panic rose in her throat. “I cannot!”
No? The fox sat and curled the soft brush of her tail daintily about her paws. If you cannot accept those things that bind you in life, then you surely must accept your death.
Sulema stopped struggling and hung still for a moment, suspended at the heart of all things. “I do not understand.”
A cub could understand. Life, or death? Life, or death? Why is this so difficult for you? It is time for you to choose.
The air rippled and parted like a tent flap, and a shadowy figure stepped through. The cat-faced being that was—and was not—her mother crouched close and she gagged at the carrion stink of its breath. In its hand the monster held a wicked-looking black knife. Sulema could not help but think it wished to taste her flesh. The blade flashed once, twice, three times. Sulema jerked against the web, trying to escape the knife, but the cuts had not been meant for her. Some of the strands that had bound her floated away into the night.
“Help me,” Sulema begged. “Please.”
The cat-thing sat back on its haunches, it looked at her through her mother’s eyes, spoke to her with her mother’s voice.
“I can do no more,” it growled. “You will have to free yourself.” And it faded away.
The web shimmered, its strands crackling and shrieking in protest as more of her bonds fell away and the Thing began its final descent. She could hear it now, the thin, high voice gibbering in anticipation of her blood, the rasp of its legs against the silken strands that bound her.
“I do not know how!” she wailed.
The fox lunged forward and nipped Sulema sharply on the nose.
There is no time, she barked, and Sulema could hear the Thing shrieking with glee, could feel the web sag under its weight. The little silvery globes shimmered in the dark, and they rang with the sound of a thousand thousand voices.
Then she understood, in a moment so clear and sharp it cut her heart. The globes were worlds, they were all the worlds… the world of Man, Shehannam, even the Twilight Lands, worlds without number, lives without end. Every creature was bound to the web of life, every sound in every world was a perfect note in one great song.
Sulema stopped struggling and stared into the fox’s bright eyes. The Thing did not matter, the web did not matter. There was only this one choice, and Sulema had made her decision long ago. She smiled. The fox smiled back.
“Life,” she whispered. She closed her eyes and relaxed against the silken strands that held her fast. “I choose life.” As easy as that, she was free.
* * *
The sun warmed her face. Sulema opened her eyes to find herself once more in the Zeera.
I know this place, she thought. I could make it home by dark. But a storm was rising in the west, and another was blowing in from the north. Sandstorms, killing-storms.
Follow me if you wish to live, the fox cried, as it ran on ahead.
Sulema dug her heels into Atemi’s sides and took after the fox in a hard gallop, flying over the desert as lightly as a stone skipping across the river. The little creature kicked up puffs of sand as she ran, the brush of her tail daring them to catch her, but no matter how Sulema urged her mare on they could not quite seem to close the distance between them.
“Jinchua!” she called. “Jinchua!”
Catch me if you can, laughed the fox.
As she rode, the world on either side of them fell away, the world behind them fell away, the world beneath them fell away. Sulema leaned into Atemi’s neck, her mare’s sweat-slick hide hot against her cheek and lather flying into her face as they tried to outrun the howling wind. When she glanced down, Sulema could see the land laid out beneath them like a painting, like one of Leviathus’s maps—rivers of blue ink and gold foil sand, the tourmaline splotch of an oasis, the tiny sketched figures of her people struggling to maintain their foothold in a hostile world.
She saw the wild vash’ai ranged about Aish Kalumm in a wide crescent as if they were herding the people into the river to drown. She saw her sword-sister Hannei, the shadows of two swords laid across her back like a curse, drinking from a golden cup. She saw the thick black snake of a funeral procession winding its slow, sad way toward the river, and watched as Tammas laid flowers upon a pyre. Paraja and Dairuz stood by his side. The vash’ai turned their heads to watch as Sulema and her mare raced past.
She flew over the camp of the Ja’Sajani, busy keeping the people’s lives in order. She saw Ismai and his pretty vash’ai queen racing and tumbling after one another along a line of tall dunes, like cubs at play, and she smiled to see him happy.
Sulema flew past Istaza Ani astride her big red stallion, riding north away from the people. The youthmistress wore a look of grief and granite, and her eyes were red from weeping. A wild vash’ai stalked the pair, ranging now behind and now to the side, and though Sulema could feel his regard he spared not a glance as she and Atemi thundered past.
She swept east over the slow blue waters of the Dibris. A lonely ship sailed against the wind, a dragon-faced ship with gold-striped sails. All the crew lay bloated and blackened in death. At the helm stood a shrouded ghost with a metal face and eyes that burned.
I know him, Sulema realized, and his face began to turn toward her as if he sniffed out the thought. I know that ship.
Come away from there, barked the fox. Come away now, you are not ready for that yet.
Sulema passed the vessel with its dead crew, soared across the Dibris, and skimmed along the burned red ground of the Seared Lands before turning north, as the fox flew, north toward the sea, and Atualon… and her father.
A beautiful woman slept beside the sea, a blue-skinned woman in silk and jewels wearing a white-gold crown. The waves danced and sang about her skirts, begging playfully for her attention, and all along the shore flowers bloomed for the love of her. Her face was peaceful, and soft dark curls were held back from her face with a web of starlight. Lashes black as soot brushed her pale cheeks, and her breast rose and fell as she slept.
The winds fell away behind them. Sulema brought Atemi to a halt, and dismounted.
She stood upon a beach in the light of the moons, and watched the lady sleep.
“What is this?” she wondered aloud. “What is this?”
This is Sajani, the Sleeping Dragon, the fox explained. She is the reason you are here.
“I do not understand.”
Do you not see the danger? Open your eyes. Let go of those things that bind you, and open your eyes.
Sulema closed her eyes, and opened her eyes, and saw.
An intricate tangle of twisted black wires stretched from horizon to horizon, the first strands of a web that would capture the world. A thousand shining spiders danced about, spinning and weaving, spinning and weaving, weaving a cocoon of death around the shining lady who dreamed on, oblivious to the danger.
Sulema started forward. “We must wake her!”
Wake her? the fox barked. Wake the Dragon, and you die. She stood and shook herself. We all die.
“What do I do?”
Why are you asking me? I am only a fox. Why do you need to do anything at all? Stay here, if you like. There is game, there is food and water. You have your horse, and your bow, and the company of a lovely fennec. What more could you ask? Do nothing, become a warrior, return to the Zeera and ride with the Ja’Akari. Is this not what you want?
Sulema realized that, indeed, she held her bow. It seemed to her that she had but to turn around, and she would be back in the Zeera. She could hear her sword-sisters laughing, so close, could smell cooking meat and sweet mead. There was nothing to keep her from joining them…
She gestured helplessly to the sleeping lady and the spiders, busy with their webs. “If I do nothing, she will die!”
Is this not a good day to die?
Sulema threw her bow to the ground. “It is a good day to live!” she yelled at the fox. “Stop trying to trick me.”
The only trickster here is you, silly girl. Is your choice made, then? Do you choose life, pain and all?
“Yes.”
Then pick up your bow.
Sulema bent to retrieve her bow, but as soon as her fingers curled around the wood she knew something was not right. In her hands she held now not a bow, but a staff of blackthorn nearly as long as she was tall, and big around as her wrist. It was not unlike her mother’s dreamshifting staff, though this one was topped with the carven head of a fennec, and tiny foxes chased one another up and down its length.
Heavy, she thought, raising the staff up before her eyes. I never knew it was so heavy.
She was alone. The sleeping lady was gone, and the fox, even the sound and smell of the warriors’ camp had disappeared. She stood bereft and abandoned in a clearing of grass ringed by rocks and trees.
“Jinchua!” she called. “Jinchua!”
Wake up, you silly girl. You chose to live, now you must live with your choice.
“You cannot leave me here like this! Jinchua!”
Wake up…
“But I am awake,” she protested, and the sound of her own voice startled her so that her eyes flew open.
“She is awake! Sulema is awake!”
“Hush, you, stand back and give her some air.”
“Is she all right?”
“Let me through!” This last voice, more of a roar really, was her mother’s. As Sulema’s eyes adjusted to the interior of her mother’s tent she was shocked to find it full of people. The crowd parted as her mother pushed through them all, using her staff as a club to move those who did not get out of her way quickly enough. Sulema saw tears in her mother’s golden eyes as she dropped to her knees.
“Sulema. Oh, my daughter.” Sulema was shocked again as her mother drew her close and nearly squeezed the life back out of her in a warm, if bony, embrace.
She patted her mother’s back feebly, not sure how she should respond.
“Water,” she said, and was dismayed to hear her voice so weak. “Please.”
Hafsa Azeina turned to snap at a young Ja’Akari. “Girl… Saskia! Bring water. The rest of you, out! Sulema, what is this?”
“Oh.” Sulema sighed, and shifted the blackthorn staff that had begun to dig into her side. “Oh, this.” She sighed and ran one finger along the line of laughing, running foxes. “It was not a dream, after all.”
Hafsa Azeina looked away with a grimace.
“Mother?” Sulema hated how her voice cracked. After all these years, one would think she would be used to rejection.
When her mother looked at her again, she seemed older. “I had hoped for an easier path for you. An easier life than I have led.” Hafsa Azeina laid a hand on Sulema’s forehead, touched her as she had not in years beyond counting. She looked at the staff, really looked at it, and her mouth quirked in a reluctant smile. “A fennec?”
“A fennec,” Sulema agreed. She relaxed into the cushions, wincing as her body’s pains began to make themselves known. “Her name is Jinchua.”