‘I am here, Lord, to see your dreams return to life,’ said Talisman, as Nosta Khan had ordered. Oshikai seemed not to hear him. ‘The Nadir need to be united,’ continued Talisman. ‘To do this we must find the violet-eyed leader, but we do not know where to look.’
The spirit of Oshikai gazed at Talisman, then sighed. ‘He will be found when the Eyes of Alchazzar are set in their rightful sockets. The magic will flow back into the land, and then he will be revealed.’
‘I seek the Eyes, Lord,’ said Talisman. ‘They are said to be hidden here. Is this true?’
‘Aye, it is true. They are close by, Talisman of the Nadir. But you are not destined to find them.’
‘Then who, Lord?’
‘A foreigner will take them. More than this I will not tell you.’
‘And the Uniter, Lord. Can you not tell me his name?’
‘His name will be Ulric. Now I must go. I must keep searching.’
‘Why do you search, Lord? Is there no Paradise for you?’
The spirit stared at him. ‘What Paradise could there be without Shul-sen? Death I could bear, but not this parting of souls. I will find her, though it take a dozen eternities. Fare you well, Talisman of the Nadir.’
Before Talisman could speak the figure was gone. The young Nadir warrior rose unsteadily and backed to the door.
Gorkai was waiting in the moonlight. ‘What happened in there? I heard you speak, but there was no answer.’
‘He came, but he could not help me. He was a soul in torment, seeking his wife.’
‘The witch, Shul-sen. They say she was burned alive, her ashes scattered to the four winds and her spirit destroyed by sorcery.’
‘I have never heard that story,’ said Talisman. ‘Among others we were taught that she crossed the sea to a land where there was no nightfall, and there she lives for ever in the hope that Oshikai will find her.’
‘It is a prettier tale,’ admitted Gorkai, ‘and both would explain why the Lord of War cannot find her. What will we do now?’
‘We will see what tomorrow brings,’ said Talisman, striding off to the rooms Gorkai had found for them. There were thirty small chambers set within the main building, all constructed for the use of pilgrims. Zhusai had spread her blankets on the floor beneath the window, and pretended to be asleep as Talisman entered. He did not go to her, but pulled up a chair and sat staring out at the stars. Unable to bear the silence any longer, she spoke.
‘Did the spirit not come to you?’ she asked.
‘Aye, he came.’ Slowly he told her the full story of Oshikai’s search for Shul-sen, and of the two legends told of her passing.
Zhusai sat up, holding the blanket around her. ‘There are other stories of Shul-sen – that she was thrown from a cliff high on the Mountains of the Moon; that she committed suicide; that she was turned into a tree. Every tribe has a different tale. But it is sad that he cannot find her.’
‘More than sad,” said Talisman. ‘He said that without her there could be no Paradise.’
‘How beautiful,’ she said. ‘But then he was Chiatze, and we are a people who understand sensitivity.’
‘I have found in my life that people who boast of their sensitivity are sensitive only to their own needs, and utterly indifferent to the needs of others. However, I am in no mood to argue the point.’ Taking up his blanket, he lay down beside her, and slept. His dreams, as always, were filled with pain.
The lash cut deep into his back, but he did not cry out. He was Nadir, and no matter how great the pain he would never show his suffering to these gajin – these round-eyed foreigners. The whip he had been forced to make himself, the leather wound tightly around a wooden handle, then sliced into thin strips each tipped with a small pellet of lead. Okai counted each stroke to the prescribed fifteen. As the last slashing swipe lanced across his bleeding back, he allowed himself to slump forward against the stake. ‘Give him five more,’ came the voice of Gargan.