Dragon Mage

  But somehow the dragon looked right, and it looked proud and powerful.

  In fact, it looked just like the one adorning the massive gate across the courtyard.

  Shilo trembled in fear and awe.

  Her chest went instantly tight and she tried to gulp in air.

  She wasn't in her bedroom any longer.

  She was in a courtyard—looking at that dragon image on that gate!

  It was no longer night, though it was heading that way. The setting sun turned the sand-colored buildings that ringed the courtyard golden. The air felt warm . . . hot! Easily as hot as Slade's Corners had been. But it was a different heat, dry and intense like she imagined the flames of a furnace would feel against her skin.

  Her senses were overwhelmed.

  She fought for breath and tried to take it all in. The buildings were at the same time primitive and opulent—for the most part simple in design, yet bedecked with tiles and paintings, the walls between the designs smoothed. Blood-red flowers cascaded from window boxes, palm trees stretched above roofs, and the shadows cast by their trunks created amazing patterns on the dry, flat ground.

  There wasn't a single television antenna or telephone pole, not a single indication of anything modern.

  Sounds came at her from all directions—music spilled from somewhere above and behind her, but it wasn't from a radio. The instruments she didn't recognize, and the words she couldn't understand. Goats and sheep bleated. She couldn't see them, but she knew the animals weren't too far away because she thought she could smell them. People chattered everywhere, in rich accents that sounded almost tuneful. They walked from one building to the next, through the gate, a couple pausing directly in front of her to gape. The woman thrust a finger toward Shilo and said something that sounded unpleasant. "Kuril Kuri!" she repeated as she tugged with her free hand on the arm of her male companion.

  The woman was dressed in a gown that went from her shoulders to her ankles, an off-white shade that reminded Shilo of the ceiling in her bedroom above the antique store. It had pale green braid around the hem that brushed the tops of her slippered feet. The man was dressed better for the heat; he had on something like a skirt that was tied at the waist. Like the others she saw in the courtyard, the two were dark-skinned, but they weren't black. Their hair was brown and oiled, and they both wore hoop earrings made of a light-colored wood.

  The woman continued to point at Shilo, but the man firmly led her away. Others in the courtyard were looking Shilo's way, too, some with simple curiosity, some with fear.

  No wonder! Shilo realized. All of the men and women, even the children in the courtyard and down the streets that emanated from it, were dressed similarly to the couple who'd stopped in front of her. All the women had long, dark hair, though some of them had their hair tucked into nets that looked similar to pictures of medieval hats she'd noticed in history books. They looked exotic and elegant, and here she was in tennis shoes, shorts, and a tank top, curly red hair cut close, and her skin pale in comparison to theirs.

  "I look like an alien."

  A group of men tromped her way. They might not mean her any harm, she thought, but she wasn't going to stick around to find out. She stood and whirled, seeing a narrow street behind her, well shadowed because of the height of the buildings. She raced down it.

  People shouted behind her, maybe the men who'd been coming toward her. She still couldn't understand a single word.

  Where was she?

  And perhaps more importantly . . . when was she?

  5 The City on the River

  SHILO RAN SOUTH. DARTING PAST PEOPLE WHO POINTED AT HER and called out in the foreign tongue, she slipped by what she guessed were homes, as there was laundry strung outside curtained front doors. Then there were stretches of nothing but walls, made of the same sand and bricks as the buildings in the courtyard, but not nearly as fancy and lacking any of the ornate decorations.

  As dissimilar as this place was to Wisconsin or Georgia, she saw some of the same traits of unfortunate neighborhoods in big cities . . . run-down places and beaten-down people.

  She didn't hear the shouting any longer, and when she stepped into a doorway, all she heard was the pounding of her heart.

  "Relax," she whispered. "Slow down. Take deep breaths. Just relax." But that was one of those things easier said than done.

  She felt the heat held in the coarse fabric behind her—a blanket hung in place of a door. Her fingers drifted to its edges, nervously running across the knobby sections. After a moment she put her ear to the blanket, trying to hear what was going on inside the building.

  She heard voices down the alley. She sucked in a deep breath and slipped behind the blanket, turning and expecting to see people in the room beyond.

  "Empty." She stood in what was likely a kitchen, or a combination kitchen and living room, with a low table and a small fire pit with a pot hanging over it. A shelf next to the pit held crude plates and other pots, and there were jars with dried things in them. Everything was shaded, as there was only one window, and it was high up on the wall behind her. "Empty and small."

  She saw one other room, through an open doorway, a bedroom. Shilo shuddered to see the bed was a straw mat with a blanket on it. There was a smaller straw mat next to it, and she guessed this was for a child. Clothes were folded on a shelf by the small bed, and Shilo was quick to enter the bedroom and select a robe. The garment either belonged to a tall child or a woman, and she pronounced it a reasonable fit.

  It had long sleeves and a hood, which she put over her head to hide her short hair. The fabric was scratchy, but thankfully it was threadbare in places, so it wouldn't feel terribly suffocating outside. Shilo feared being caught when someone from this family came home.

  What was the penalty for thievery here?

  She didn't intend to find out.

  Stepping back into the kitchen, she reached for the blanket in the doorway, then stopped herself.

  "I can't just take this robe. These people are poor.'' By any standards they were poor. She could tell that by the lack of furnishings, the meager amount of worn clothes, the small-ness of this place.

  She reached to her right wrist and unclasped her bracelet. It was thin, but it was gold, a belated birthday present mailed from her mother last year . . . two months late. She placed it on the table, then nudged it toward the center, where the wood was darker and the gold would stand out.

  "I hope gold's worth something here."

  She listened at the blanket, not hearing anything nearby. Another deep breath, she poked her head out, and when she didn't see anyone, she headed out along the alley, toward the setting sun.

  The robe had pockets, and she thrust her hands in them. No use people seeing her pale hands and all the rings. In this neighborhood, she might be mugged for her jewelry.

  She walked quickly, though she didn't know where she was going. She just needed to go ... somewhere . . . find a good place to hide until she could figure out when and where she was and what she might do to get home.

  A hill rose to the north. It looked inviting and green, and would have been worth investigating were she not trying to locate a hiding spot. There was a tower, too, and she wished the circumstances were different so she could give it a look.

  "Stupid puzzle," she muttered.

  Indeed it had been magic, just like her father had said. And maybe the magic in it hadn't let her put it down. Maybe it had forced her to go to the attic and find it and spend God-knew-how-many-hours fiddling with the pieces.

  . . . And her reward for making something of those pieces?

  A place that was worse than Slade's Corners. Tears spilled down her cheeks and she choked back a sob.

  Water.

  She was thirsty.

  It was so hot here, and she was sweating profusely. She was becoming dehydrated. Her nerves weren't helping matters.

  She might be an alien to these people, a witch or a sorceress. And she worried that if the locals caught h
er, she'd never see Meemaw and Grandfather again. She'd never look out her bedroom window and watch Big Mick repair his pub and put up signs for his god-awful fish boil.

  A place like this had to have a fountain somewhere or a public well, someplace where the common folk could get something to drink. She should've looked for something to drink in that little house she'd entered.

  Certainly there had to have been a jar of water somewhere on one of those shelves . . . but she'd been frightened enough taking the robe.

  A few moments more and she walked out on a wider street, one made of cobblestones and worked bricks.

  The shadows stretched farther now, darkening buildings that had some ornamentation on them and colorful strings of beads hanging in windows and doorways. To the north, she spotted vendors. Primitive, they reminded her of peddlers she'd seen at a Renaissance fair.

  The vendors might have water or something else to drink. But no doubt it would cost her, and she didn't want to give up another piece of jewelry yet . . . she might need her rings to purchase a way out of this city.

  The scent of bread baking hung heavy in this block. Shilo could detect fish cooking, too, and something spicy and inviting. The people passing her, she realized, were paying her no heed. They smelled of sweat and musky perfumes. The men and women were dressed better and looked cleaner the farther west she went, and there was more color and brightness in the robes, and more braiding around the hems. The women here had their right arms and shoulders bare, and their hair was long, several with it wrapped artfully around their heads. Some wore heavy makeup that accentuated their eyes. Shilo caught herself staring at one tall, beautiful woman, and nearly tripped over a stone in the street.

  She looked away from the people and paid more attention to where she was walking. Her stomach churned with worry. Would someone realize she'd stolen this robe? Could she find her way home? No, she had to find her way home! She didn't want to live here . . . couldn't live here.

  And what about tonight? If she didn't find her way out of here soon, she'd have to find a place to sleep. It would be dark soon. Shilo was as tired as she was thirsty.

  The puzzle had taken far too much time. She should've left it in the sea chest, never stuck it under her bed. Never pulled it out and played with the pieces. She would be tossing and turning on that old mattress right now if she'd left the puzzle alone.

  She'd be safe.

  Shilo suddenly felt like she'd been hit with the flu, so hot and dizzy, and all of it due to thirst and worry, and all of it her fault for toying with something so sinister as that puzzle.

  Meemaw had been wrong; it wasn't a tall tale her father had told about going to the far north.

  It was the truth.

  And now the puzzle had taken her somewhere, too. How had her father gotten back home? Since he had, she could find a way, too.

  But where to look?

  A man bumped into her and quickly apologized, the words mysterious, but his intent clear. She nodded and increased her pace, weaving a little and fighting to keep from retching. She paused only to lean up against a wall when a large family pressed through. For an instant she worried she might be wearing the robe that belonged to one of the women.

  "I didn't steal this robe," she whispered, trying to make herself feel a little better. "I paid for this." She touched her wrist where the bracelet had been, then thrust her hands back in the pockets and continued on her way, concentrating hard to walk straight.

  She cut down another narrow alley to the west, this one dotted with bricks and stones from a wall that had collapsed. By the time she emerged from it onto a larger street, the sun had set, and the river she saw stretching north and south through the city glimmered like molten bronze.

  "Water." She rushed toward it.

  There were a few people on the bank, fishermen she guessed, as they were working on their boats. She dropped to her knees and thrust her hands in the water, cupping them and bringing up mouthful after mouthful. She was too thirsty to give it much thought, and she was surprised that it tasted as clean as water out of Meemaw's faucet.

  She continued to drink.

  She eyed the boats.

  All of them were along this shore or the opposite, none out on this stretch of the river. The water made gentle lapping sounds against the bank and the boats. It was soothing and helped relax her. For the first time since arriving here, her heart wasn't hammering in her chest.

  "My father found a way home," she whispered. "I can find my way, too."

  She stayed at the rivers edge until the fishermen on her side had gathered their nets and other belongings and left. Twilight was claiming the sky, and the sounds of the city changed around her. Things were quieter, and she no longer heard the constant shushing of feet against the dirt streets. She heard more music, flutes and stringed instruments, and gentle laughter.

  The river was the strongest smell coming to her now, and with it fish and the scent of the wet wood of the boats. Fainter were the odors of dinners being cooked. Shilo was hungry, but decided she needed sleep more than food, and to get some sleep she was going to have to first find a place to hide.

  She gazed across the wide river. That part of the city looked . . . smaller was the word she settled on after a moment. Lights were coming on in windows, candles and oil lamps, she knew, as electricity didn't exist in this place. The homes on the other side were spaced a little farther apart and were not as large or tall. She didn't see a bridge.

  "Why would you build a city on both sides of a river and not build a bridge?" She scrutinized the other side more closely. Maybe the people on the other side were criminals, but the homes looked too nice and well kept up for that. Maybe they were ill and had to be isolated from everyone else. Or maybe they were rich and wanted to be kept apart from the rest of the rabble.

  She'd thought it might be better to hide over in one of those neighborhoods: not so many streets and not so many lights as in the-part of the city behind her. But she wasn't going to borrow a boat, and she wasn't going to swim across, not knowing how deep the river was and what might be lurking in it.

  She stood and stretched and yawned deeply. The water was a little choppy, and so the reflected light danced. She knew from watching the news at home that cities weren't the safest places at night, especially for a young woman alone.

  Staying close to the river, she went south.

  Ahead were more lights—these lanterns hanging from posts outside one of the large, ornate buildings she'd seen earlier.

  "That's a temple." She'd read enough history books to deduce that. It had a "house of worship" look about it, taller than any of the buildings around it, and the front dominated by four pillars holding up a stone roof. It looked almost Roman, but not quite, and the doors set back from the pillars were tall, fifteen feet high or more, made of some polished wood and decorated with carvings she was too far away to discern. The pillars and the front of the temple were a riot of color, and the lanterns gave off just enough light that she could make out images of standing men with lions curling around them ... a lot of lions, half reclining and half walking stately.

  She expected guards to be stationed out front, protecting the place from looters. But she couldn't see anyone, and so guessed that the doors were simply locked and that the caretakers didn't have to worry about thieves. A semicircle of steps led up to the pillars, and Shilo walked past them and along the western edge of the temple. There were more pictures of men and lions here, and lots of stylized suns, but she had only the stars to see these by and so couldn't make out much of the details.

  The windows were set high, too high for her to reach, and the walls too smooth for her to climb. So this wasn't a place to hide in, she decided. Then she instantly changed her mind when she reached the corner and saw the back of the temple. There were two ornate doors there, no more than eight feet tall and shadowed by the wall of another building.

  "Not a good idea," she told herself. But she went to the first door anyway and set her
ear to it. Hearing nothing, she tugged on the handle.

  The door was heavy, but not locked. She wrapped both hands around the latch and pulled, immediately rewarded with a groan of hinges.

  A heartbeat later, Shilo was inside, the door closing behind her and the darkness of the place swallowing her.

  6 Shadows of Shamash

  THE DARK DIDNT FRIGHTEN SHILO.

  The air was blackest-black around her.

  For the first time since appearing in this strange city she felt safe. No one could see her, and she didn't have to worry that someone would notice that she didn't belong.

  The air felt heavy in here, as there was no breeze to stir it. She could smell the residue of burned incense, neither pleasant nor unpleasant. It had a hint of orange and reminded her that she was hungry.

  Shilo put her back to the door and stood there for several long moments, feeling the polished wood with her fingertips. She could hear herself breathing, but that was it. No other sound intruded.

  So very, very tired, she thought.

  It would be so easy to sleep here in the dark . . . curl up right here on the hard floor. She stretched her right arm out to the side and felt the edge of the door frame. She edged along the door, and then the wall, finding it textured like stucco. She followed it, slowly, stopping when her tennis shoes squeaked.

  She took them off and put them in the pockets of the robe. The floor was cool and smooth against the soles of her feet. She imagined that she might be walking on polished marble.

  She glided slowly, coming to another wall and following it until she reached an open doorway. Her eyes adjusted, and she picked through the shadows to see manlike shapes she figured were statues. Touching them confirmed that. She found benches, too, and tapestries. She tugged one of the lighter tapestries down from the wall, stretched out on a bench, and covered herself.

  She wasn't cold, but she liked the security of a blanket.

  SHE WOKE STIFF AND HOT, SWEATING UNDER THE TAPESTRY AND