'But my grandmother used those murals for her own purposes,' Jooli continued, voice harsh. 'At one time they were all beautiful pastorals that lifted the spirit. But she painted over portions of them, inserting nightmarish, sinful scenes. Despicable things. They make me ill just thinking of them. And then she used the altered murals to create black spells against her enemies. I learned later that her bargain with Charize, the monster queen, made all this possible.
'For some reason, she never touched the mural that now sits in this room. I don't know why. But I think she's afraid of it.'
Safar asked, 'Can you tell us anything about the people depicted in the mural?'
Jooli smiled. 'I certainly can. In fact, I met the dark woman. She is a creature of the mural. It was she who told me about you and your holy mission. She bade me to wait for your appearance in Syrapis. And to do everything I could to ensure that your mission is successful.'
Safar was stunned. 'You mean she only exists in that painting?'
'Quite so. Now, at any rate,' Jooli said. 'She and her family lived hundreds of years ago. They were rulers of Syrapis when Lord Asper arrived here from Hadin. They watched over him while he labored over his books, seeking an answer to the disaster that would someday overtake the world. And when he died, they created the idol and the death chamber you found his coffin in. Asper made the coffin with his own hands when he knew his death was near.'
'What about Queen Charize?' Palimak asked. 'How did she and her monsters end up ruling Asper's chamber?'
'My grandmother said that she was Asper's Favorite. He came upon her in Hadin and although she was evil, her magic was so strong that he used her to help cast his most difficult spells. Before he died, he enslaved her and set her to guard his tomb.
'But over much time she managed to break his spell and free herself. There are some who say that Charize is responsible for all the warfare in Syrapis. That she and her minions set human against human to feed on our misery.'
Jooli shrugged. 'I don't know how true that is,' she said. 'In my experience people don't need that much of a reason to kill one another. I do know this, however. In order to live and create her sisters she required someone in the outside world to help her. And, in recent years, my grandmother was that person.'
Palimak grinned, demon eyes glittering in delight. 'Now that Charize is dead,' he said, 'it'll make it damned hard for your grandmother.'
Safar sighed. 'Maybe so,' he said. But his tone was doubtful.
He was thinking of the new being Queen Clayre could now rely upon. The creature that was Kalasariz who dwelt in King Rhodes. He didn't say anything, because he was loath to tell Jooli what Rhodes had become. Even though she disliked him-perhaps even hated him-it would be a difficult thing for a daughter to bear.
He decided to wait for a more appropriate time. The tale Jooli was telling was already having a great effect on her. Her features had become pale and drawn, eyes sitting in bruised hollows. He changed the subject.
'What of the Spirit Rider?' he asked. 'Could you tell us of your meeting with her?'
Jooli nodded. She was growing weary. Not so much because of the talk, but because of all the memories that had come flooding back as she spoke to her new friends.
Somewhere far off a dog howled and she realized the storm had finally ended. Silence cloaked the room as she gathered her strength.
And then she drank down her wine and began the tale…
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
She was a lonely girl of less than ten years. Her limbs were long and lanky like a young colt's, and she could scamper up a tree like a mountain goat. And she could run like the winds, sprinting past even the fastest boys in the Kingdom of Hunan.
Jooli was full of fire and curiosity, but inside there was an emptiness created by the loss of her mother.
An emptiness made deeper and sadder still because of her father's neglect. And so it was that when her grandmother took Jooli under her wing, at first she went gladly. Looking for love even more than the knowledge of the world that she so craved.
The Queen Mother's chambers were a frightening place for a child. The light was dim and wavery, with guttering torches sending off a greasy smoke. There were little scratching and squeaking noises coming from the moving shadows produced by the light.
Shelves were lined with books marked with strange witch's symbols-red scorpions, fanged snakes and pinched monster's faces. Glass jars filled with preserved animals and human body parts added to the grave-like feeling of the chilly room. And there was the heavy scent of sorcerous ozone, mixed with the torch smoke and heady incense that left the metallic taste of old blood in her mouth.
But she put a brave face on it, going eagerly to her grandmother's chambers every time she was called.
Doing her best to ignore the fearsome atmosphere. Paying close attention to all her grandmother taught her.
Although Clayre was a cold, unfeeling woman, the child simply thought this was merely her grandmother's way and believed in her heart that she was loved. Why else would the Queen Mother pay so much attention to her?
Jooli was thrilled by the gradual exploration of her magical side. Her grandmother said she had talents no one else in Hunan had-other than Clayre, of course. And she boasted that there were few people in all Syrapis who could perform any magic-and most of them were very weak.
Only Clayre and Jooli were so blessed, the queen mother said. She said it was a talent passed by blood through the women of their family, but always skipping a generation. Clayre's own daughter-dead many years now-never displayed magical abilities. And neither Clayre's mother. It was Clayre's own grandmother who had introduced her to the witching arts.
She said that although there were years between them, she and Jooli were like sisters. 'Sisters of the Oath,' as she put it. Exactly what oath, she didn't explain. Then one day her grandmother summoned her and put her to the test.
Clayre placed a small doll on the table. It was dressed in the clothes of a courtier and had a pinched little face carved from an apple that had then been dried in an oven, painted and lacquered.
Jooli giggled when she examined the face and realized it was modeled after her father's cranky old Grand Wazier. King Rhodes thought highly of the man-he was as parsimonious as the king and always looking for ways to add coin to the royal treasury. Lately, he'd complained of the 'unwarranted expenditures'
that went to pay for the Queen Mother's care.
Clayre loved her luxuries and was constantly adding to her collection of jewels and fine clothing. Goat's milk and expensive oils were used in her bath. The purest henna and rarest powders for her make-up.
These things, along with the high prices for her witch's potions, had caused the Wazier to question the money she spent. Her son fervently supported the old man.
'Why, I could pay for a month's rations for a battalion with what it costs to keep you, mother,' he'd said.
Jooli'd heard her grandmother complain about the Wazier, but hadn't thought about the controversy very much. She only knew the old courtier didn't seem to like children and complained bitterly when she got underfoot. Once she'd dropped a sweetmeat on the floor, getting it grimy. So she'd thrown it away. The Wazier had seen this and had berated her for wasting food. He'd lectured her for a half-turn of the glass, making her cry.
And so when she saw the doll with the Wazier's funny face and her grandmother had said they were going to play a little joke on him, she'd giggled and eagerly agreed to help.
'We're going to try something very special together, dear,' Clayre said, drawing the child to her magical table. 'But I'll need you to concentrate with me, ever so hard. Can you do that for your grandmother, my sweet?'
Jooli agreed without hesitation. Her grandmother's voice was so gentle, so loving, she thought she'd never
