Bridge of Dreams

Chapter 9

Zhahar grabbed Kobrah’s arm and pulled her out of the way of the male Handlers running into the building toward the sounds of fighting and a man’s raging screams. “Stay out here.”

“What’s going on?” Kobrah asked.

“New inmate. A violent one.” Squeezing Kobrah’s arm, Zhahar joined the other Handlers.

“Warn the Landscapers!” the man screamed. “Wizards and a Dark Guide have come to this place. Warn the Landscapers!”

“What are wizards?” one of the Handlers asked as he tried to muscle closer to the isolation cell.

“Don’t know,” another said. “And unless one of them drops his pants and takes a dump on a path, why would the groundskeepers care?”

Zhahar tried to slip into the hole left by the two men, but a hand closed on her arm and pulled her back, just as she had done to Kobrah moments before.

“Stay here,” Danyal said. “There is already too much help in that room.”

Surprised by the anger in his voice, Zhahar looked at him—and shrank away from the storm she saw in his eyes.

He released her arm and moved toward the pack of Handlers trying to get into the room.

Thunder shook the building as if the world had given voice to someone’s anger. Handlers looked around and scrambled to clear a path for the Shaman.

Within a couple of minutes, the new inmate was strapped to a bed in the isolation cell, still screaming about wizards and lightning and dark guides.

A couple of minutes after that, Shaman Danyal left the cell with two dark-haired men who looked disheveled and distressed.

As he passed her, Danyal gave her a slashing look that warned her to stay away from that room.

Despite the warning, she waited until she was sure he’d taken the two men up to his office in the administration building. Then she crept to the doorway of the isolation cell.

Two brawny men she hadn’t seen before were bending over the bed, whispering to the inmate who still struggled despite the straitjacket and ankle restraints that were secured to the bed’s metal railings. One of them reached down and pinched the inside of the inmate’s thigh hard enough for the man to cry out in pain.

The other, glancing up and noticing her, mumbled something to his companion. They both looked at her and gave her smiles that made her cold.

::I don’t like those men,:: Sholeh said.

=Let’s get out of here,= Zeela growled. =It would be too hard to explain my sudden appearance or why I got into a fight with these men.=

*They hurt him,* Zhahar replied, squaring her shoulders. *On purpose.*

“We’re just making him comfortable,” one of the men said. The heat in his eyes as he looked at her body…

=Get out of here now!= Zeela shouted.

“I’ll put that in the daily notes for Shaman Danyal,” Zhahar said. “He expects to be informed of the care given to all the inmates.” And as much as she quailed at the thought of admitting she hadn’t followed his command completely, she was going to tell Danyal about that pinch—and about that look. If any female at the Asylum was violated by those men, she wouldn’t forgive herself for the cowardice of silence—and neither would Danyal.

She turned and walked away, feeling one of the men moving behind her. Then Kobrah stepped in from the outside doorway, a chilling look in her eyes as she stared past Zhahar.

The footsteps stopped, retreated back to the isolation cell.

Hurrying to the outside door, Zhahar left the building, relieved to breathe in dusty, heated air.

“We have a new Chayne?” Kobrah asked.

“Two of them,” Zhahar replied. Kobrah’s word for men who had power over other people certainly fit the new Handlers.

::I don’t like those men,:: Sholeh repeated.

=I’ll come into view when it’s time to go home,= Zeela said.

*Yes,* Zhahar agreed. Their middle sister was the strongest of them. She carried knives and brass knuckles when she was in view, and had won the bar fight that had given her the jagged scar on her left arm. Most men weren’t foolish enough to look at Zeela the way those new Handlers had looked at Zhahar.

“Isn’t your shift over?” Kobrah asked.

“Yes, but I need to speak with Shaman Danyal before I go,” Zhahar replied. She looked around, feeling too exposed, too close to the men who made her uneasy. “I’m going to the temple for a few minutes. Do you want to come with me?”

Kobrah stared at the doorway as if her vigilance was the only thing keeping those men in the isolation cell. “Yes, I’ll come with you.”

They hurried across a lawn that was turning brown and crisp in the late-summer heat, skirted the reflecting pool that turned rank every time Teeko, one of the groundskeepers, filled it with water, and entered the small temple. The gongs that gave a voice to sorrow were always set out in the same order and each had a subtly different tone.

Zhahar knelt on the cushion behind the gong she usually preferred, but hesitated when she reached for the mallet. She thought a moment, then shifted one cushion to her left. A deeper sound. Even struck softly, its resonance reminded her of the thunder that had rolled over the building—and fit the itchy anger and sympathy that the new inmate’s screams had stirred in her.

She didn’t strike the gong softly the second time. He had fought, so they had to subdue him, but a man who was mind-sick shouldn’t be treated with such cruelty.

She struck the gong again. This time Kobrah struck a gong as well, and the sound seemed to wrap around anger and uneasiness, drawing them out of Zhahar.

The next time, Kobrah’s voice rose in a wordless sound that conveyed the feelings produced by the strangers.

When the gongs were struck again, Zhahar added her voice to Kobrah’s—and hoped the sound now resonating through the room covered the fact that there were four voices expressing their feelings instead of just two.

Standing in front of the desk in his office, Danyal studied the two men and struggled to hide his revulsion of the images that came to him from their heart-cores. Maggots so bloated they burst. Spiny worms crawling under the skin before turning to lightning that would silence a heart or mind.

Despite his ravings, the inmate felt like clean summer rain. These men felt like a festering cesspool.

“Why did you bring him here?” Danyal asked.

“He is our nephew,” Styks, the taller of the two men, replied. “Our poor sister’s only son. He lost his way in our great city and sought out places that damaged his mind and roughened his heart. It was no longer prudent to try to care for him ourselves. Bringing him here became necessary.”

“But why this one?” Danyal persisted. “You told me your sister lived in the northern part of Vision.”

“The northwestern part,” Pugnos, the shorter man, corrected.

“Which is my point. Why didn’t you take your nephew to the Asylum closer to his home? It will be a two-day journey for his mother to come visit him here.”

“Ah,” Styks said, looking unhappy. “That is one of the reasons we chose this particular place. She tried to help him, but he was drawn to the city’s unsavory streets, and his behavior became so degenerate, he attempted to have carnal relations with her.”

Danyal stiffened, certain he had misunderstood. “With his mother?”

“Yes,” Pugnos said. “They were found, and he was stopped before…Well. If he was nearby, she would feel obliged to visit him, and, frankly, we fear for her mind now. And her physical health has become fragile since that unfortunate episode. Knowing she could not make an arduous journey will allow her distance from her son without guilt. We will encourage her to write to him, of course.”

“There are two other reasons we choose this Asylum,” Styks said. “One is that I live in the southern part of the city, no more than a mile from here. My brother is staying with me for the time being, so we will both be available to visit often and do whatever we can to help restore our nephew to his right mind.”

“That is also why we hired two men to take care of him,” Pugnos said. “We did not want our family troubles to take your Handlers and Helpers away from the other inmates.”

How convenient, Danyal thought. A mother who is too fragile to travel and, therefore, will never be seen. And the men they’ve hired as personal Handlers are better suited to rough work in some of the shadow places than dealing with a man who has a damaged mind.

Before he could push for more information about the Handlers, he felt a pressure at his temples—and the thought drifted away.

“And your other reason for bringing him here?” Danyal asked, feeling off balance and wondering if he should stop by the infirmary and see Benham.

“Why…you,” Styks said with a smile. “No other Asylum has a Shaman as its Keeper. We are hoping that you can do what another Keeper could not: restore our nephew’s mind. Or at least keep it stable while we wait to see if the medicines our physician provided can cure the disease that’s festering in his brain.”

“We must be completely truthful about what that disease has done to the boy,” Pugnos said, giving his brother a sad look. “The Shaman must be prepared.”

“Yes,” Styks agreed, not meeting Danyal’s eyes. “You heard some of his ravings. He thinks people can disappear just by crossing a bridge. Or that he can make people disappear by throwing a stone at them.”

“He insists the world is full of demons and that he has never heard of the great city of Vision,” Pugnos said. “He began claiming he came from a different place when his eyesight began to fail. We think it’s because a blind man has no future in a place like Vision.”

There is more than one way to see, Danyal thought. You would know that if you came from here. “Anything else?”

They both lifted their hands as they shrugged. “More than we can think to tell you,” Styks said. “But if you can help our sister’s boy find his way back home, we will be in your debt.”

He didn’t want their gratitude or their assistance or their hired muscle. He wanted them off the grounds he tended and away from the people under his care.

Danyal walked around his desk, sat down, and reached for a clean sheet of paper—the first of many that would fill a folder and define a man’s life. “I’ll need some information about your nephew.”

“Of course,” Styks said as he and Pugnos settled in the visitors’ chairs. “His name is Lee.”