Anne Bishop - Bridge of Dreams

No one in the family said those words, but after so many weeks without any kind of news, it was a possibility.

Possible , Michael thought as he began the song again. But I’m not giving up on you yet, you ripe bastard. I’m not giving up on you.

He played the song a third time, then lowered the tin whistle. The pocket watches were gone. Ephemera was following the music through the Light and Dark currents of power and had taken the physical messages with it.

Hoping that this time they might get a message in return, Michael went up to the house where Glorianna waited for him.

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?”