Xulai, staring, saw a malevolent vapor spread from the woman’s mouth, smelled something vile. She held her breath so she would not inhale, for she knew she would choke if she breathed that laughter. Abasio’s arms tightened around her as they watched the woman laughing and swaying on her feet as though dancing. “Like your pigeons, Jenger. Like your homing pigeons at the tower. My curses will find their roost in one person only, one in the whole world.”
Above her, a branch, red-lit from the glowing altar below, moved, as though thrust by a puff of wind. It danced above the woman’s head, moved down toward her hair as though to caress her. She, laughing, reached up to thrust it away. “But the machines I have are useful only for killing one person at a time, or finding someone who wishes not to be found or watching people who are far away. The ones the Sea King has found, the ones in vaults . . . ah. Worlds can be moved with those, and once we have them, Jenger, no power in the world will stand against us.”
She took his hand and tugged him almost gently away, around the altar, their footfalls retreating over the bridge, their voices fading. Beneath Xulai’s hand, the chipmunk grasped her little finger with all four paws and clung to it as she rose, its beady eyes fixed on something behind her. She followed its gaze to the many pairs of eyes in the forest around her, close to the ground, red disks in the darkness, reflecting the bloody light still emanating from the altar. They were chipmunk hunters, no doubt. Xulai lowered the little creature into her pocket, feeling it settle into a corner, taking up residence.
“You have found a friend,” Abasio whispered. “Such little creatures are good friends. They can hide and hear and remember. You also should remember what the woman said. There was a spy who looked down from a great height, and her name was Ammalyn.”
Xulai whispered her reply. “She’s a scullery maid. From down in the scullery, she could spy only dirty pots, but from her bedroom, high up under the roof, the windows look down upon the orchard, the wall, and beyond the wall to the forest. If she has seen me go past the wall, she will also see me returning. That is, if I use the path, and the Woman Upstairs told me not to leave the path.”
“Well and well, your Woman Upstairs hadn’t expected trespassers to be abroad in the night. We’ll find a solution to that. Let us wait until that red light fades. I do not trust it.”
“Is it evil?”
“It is said by those who made a study of such things that those upon whom the red light falls will die within the year.” He shook his head slowly. “In this case, one might hope, but it’s only a saying.”
They waited. The red light faded slowly, dying reluctantly, exactly like the coals of a fire. When it was dark, they moved up toward the altar, and as Xulai went up the step she saw something moving in the air before her eyes, a cobweb, a tendril. “Can you reach that?” she asked him, pointing.
“A lock of hair? No, not so much as a lock, only a few hairs pulled out by their roots. Long ones, from the woman.” He lifted them from the branch where they were caught and passed them to her. Xulai stood, staring at them for a long moment, trying to remember everything the woman had said. Ah, yes. She took a handkerchief from her pocket, wound the hairs around her fingers, and folded the linen square around them, replacing it in her pocket. Tomorrow she would tell the Woman Upstairs about having the hair . . .
With Abasio’s hand on her shoulder, she passed the third pillar and the second, both silent. From the first pillar they could see the castle wall and the orchard gate, closed.
“Someone is watching from a window,” she whispered. “So if I go back the way I came, she’ll see me. But if I go some other way, I may run into those people. They may even be waiting for me . . .” Her voice trailed into silence.
“So,” said the chipmunk. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” She almost wept, finding in that moment no wonder left over to spend on a talking chipmunk.
“Stop that!” the chipmunk ordered. “It’s always easier to whine than to do something, but something must be done! Now, figure it out. Think! Velipe vun vuxa . . .”
“Duxa vevo duxa,” Xulai said, finishing the saying. “ ‘Wisdom comes from putting little things together.’ That’s what the Woman Upstairs says, but how did you know, chipmunk?”
“An interesting saying indeed,” said Abasio, strangely moved. He wanted to sweep this little one up and carry her away into safety and did not trust the feeling! As though some monitor upon his shoulder cautioned him. He said, instead—as he would have said to a much older woman—“Do you think she talked merely to exercise her tongue? Words are useful tools only when one does something with them!”
Xulai felt suddenly angry. “I don’t have any little things to put together!”
“Don’t be stupid,” said the chipmunk. “The world is full of little things. You seem to be a little thing; so am I.”
This, she found, was a surprising new thought. Of course she herself was a little thing—or was considered to be so by too many people—but the surprising thought was that the Woman Upstairs might actually have meant these particular words to be useful! Putting little things together. Actually, the Tingawan words meant “Wisdom comes from piling nothing much on nothing much.” Well, starting with herself, she could put herself on a path, which might be little enough. Then she’d need a way to discover whether the
