But that means he is in the same realm as us!
Lily shook her head, angry that she had to explain the obvious. She didn’t want to be angry with Cynna. She was just so tired. Your Find worked on Ryder when she was in Dis and you weren’t, didn’t it? And when Rule was in Dis and I wasn’t—or part of me wasn’t—anyway, the part of me that wasn’t in the same realm as he was still felt him through the mate bond. I knew where he was geographically, just like I do now.
Cynna gripped Lily’s arm. For you to locate Rule, to feel him in a specific location, he has to be either in this realm or in one that’s physically congruent with it. Probably needs to be time-congruent, too, but I can’t swear to that. We know this realm is not congruent with Dis, so . . . he’s here. In this realm.
Lily stared into the darkness at what might be Cynna’s face—a slightly paler shape. “Are you sure?” she whispered, forgetting about mindspeech. Forgetting everything except that maybe, just maybe . . .
“Eighty percent sure. Ten percent I’m-no-expert. Ten percent who-the-hell-knows.” A long pause. “I don’t think you’re listening to me.”
Lily realized her mindsense had curled up inside her again when she stopped paying attention to it. Once more she nudged it out. I am now.
We don’t know where Gan went, do we? Cynna sent. After she delivered you here, we don’t know where she went. Maybe she brought more people here than just you and me. She just didn’t bring everyone to the same spot.
It was just as well Lily was already sitting on the floor. Otherwise she might have hurt herself collapsing under the flood-tide of emotion that hit.
He was coming. The knowledge was utterly sure and solid, however irrational. Rule was coming to her.
FIFTEEN
The town of Bolilu
Two days later
THE map was a gorgeous thing, perhaps eight feet long and four feet wide, covering the entire table where it rested beneath squares of glass. It was hand-inked in four colors, and if it was more illustrative than accurate, it did provide a fair amount of detail about the settled areas. Those were concentrated on or near the river they’d been traveling, which the people here named the Huang He, although it was not yellow—at least not the stretch she had seen—but villages dotted three of the river’s tributaries as well.
It should be a fine map. Viewing it had cost Li Lei a full five yuan. She did not have a good understanding of local currency, but she knew that five yuan would have bought a night’s lodging at a much better place than the one she’d rented when their boat arrived here last night.
She did not look prosperous. This was annoying. The clothes Gan had stolen for her were old, not as clean as she would like, and had not been of good quality to start with. Shopkeepers did not treat her with respect, and people on the street expected her to step aside for them. That, of course, was only partly due to her clothing; she was keeping her power veiled. Even nulls responded to one who held great power, although they were usually unaware of this.
But it was best if people took no notice of her, and so she hid her power and paid for the privilege of standing in this man’s shop and looking at his fine map. The robber who owned the shop would not even sell her paper, quill, and ink to make a sketch of it. He preferred to sell his own copies, and very dearly, too.
Had Li Lei been of a mind to be fair, she might have acknowledged that the mapmaker had invested a great deal in his goods. In a preindustrial society such things were luxuries. Paper was expensive here. No doubt the glass that protected the map had been costly as well. Windows were mostly shuttered or covered with hides, and few people could read. Many would never see a book in their lives—if, indeed, they had books here. Bookbinding had existed in China for two thousand years, give or take a few centuries, but this place was not China.
It had been a long time since Li Lei had lived in a preindustrial society. She did not have a good opinion of them.
“Honored guest, will you be much longer?” The robber who had taken her five yuan sounded annoyed. “It is time for lunch.”
“A few more moments.” At one time she could have precisely preserved an image of the map in her mind. She remembered the technique, but alas, it did not work with a human brain. She also knew three spells to preserve an image . . . well, two. Most of two. Which meant that really she knew only one, and it required components she did not have.
Ah, well. It would have been conspicuous to perform it here anyway. “Do you have a small map for this area?” She tapped the glass above one of the tributaries.
“A very fine map, oh, yes.” He went on to describe it to her in glowing superlatives.
She had no trouble understanding him. It had been a shock when she first heard the dialect they spoke here, for it had been a long time, a very long time, since she had spoken it herself, and that had not been one of the better periods of her life. She’d reacquainted herself with the sound of it on the way to this town, encouraging the boatmen to speak with her. Her ears remembered it better than her tongue—the tone sandhi were almost as complex as those of the Min dialects—but that was not a major problem. She spoke it well enough, and to these people she was a lái, a fall-through, albeit one who had fallen into this realm many years ago. They did not find it odd that she stumbled now and then in their language.
What had her name been when she first learned this dialect? Hu, yes, she recalled the surname, but not the given name. Of course, she hadn’t lived under that identity for long. Very difficult years they had been, though, which was perhaps why she didn’t—
“. . . seventeen yuan,” the mapmaker finished.
“Seventeen yuan?” Li Lei had no trouble sounding scandalized.
He told her about the fine quality of the paper. He showed her the map. He reminded her that he would subtract half of her viewing fee from any purchase. She looked at it, and at three additional maps of various sizes, and bargained with him strenuously before finally buying one of the smallest maps for three yuan.
It was not a map of the place she intended to go. This man would remember her. She could have ensorcelled him into forgetting, of course. She had done something like that with the people she’d questioned at the farm, then again in the village where they’d found passage on the first boat. But this way was more virtuous . . . and had the advantage of steering any who watched for her in the wrong direction.