The Book of Swords. Gardner Dozois

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СКАЧАТЬ not meant to be a thief of lives,” I say.

      “So much talent,” she says; then, after a pause, “Wasted.”

      Something about her tone makes me shiver. Then I look behind her and see that Jinger and Konger are gone.

      “If you leave,” she says, “you’re no longer my student.”

      I look at her unlined face and not unkind eyes. I think about the times she bandaged my legs after I fell from the vines in the early days. I think about the time she fought off the bamboo-grove bear when it proved too much for me. I think about the nights she held me and taught me to see through the world’s illusions to the truth beneath.

      She had taken me away from my family, but she has also been the closest thing to a mother I know.

      “Good-bye, Teacher.”

      I crouch and leap like a bounding tiger, like a soaring wild ape, like a hawk taking flight. I smash through the window of the room in the inn and dive into the ocean that is night.

      “I’m not here to kill you,” I say.

      The man nods, as if this is entirely expected.

      “My sisters—Jinger, also known as the Heart of Lightning, and Konger, the Empty-Handed—have been dispatched to complete what I cannot.”

      “I will summon my guards,” he says, standing up.

      “That won’t do any good,” I tell him. “Jinger can steal your soul even if you were hiding inside a bell at the bottom of the ocean, and Konger is even more skillful.”

      He smiled. “Then I will face them alone. Thank you for the warning so that my men do not die needlessly.”

      A faint shrieking noise, like a distant troop of howling monkeys, can be heard in the night. “There’s no time to explain,” I tell him. “Give me your red scarf.”

      He does, and I tie the scarf about my waist. “You will see things that seem beyond comprehension. Whatever happens, keep your eye on this scarf and stay away from it.”

      The howling grows louder. It seems to come from everywhere and nowhere. Jinger is here.

      Before he has time to question me further, I rip open a seam in space and crawl in to vanish from his sight, leaving only the tip of the bright red scarf dangling behind.

      “Imagine that space is a sheet of paper,” Teacher said. “An ant crawling on this sheet of paper is aware of breadth and depth, but has no awareness of height.”

       I looked at the ant she had sketched on the paper, expectant.

      “The ant is terrified of danger, and builds a wall around him, thinking that such an impregnable barrier will keep him safe.”

       Teacher sketches a ring around the ant.

      “But unbeknownst to the ant, a knife is poised above him. It is not part of the ant’s world, invisible to him. The wall he has built will do nothing to protect him against a strike from a hidden direction—”

       She throws her dagger at the paper, pinning the painted ant to the ground.

      “You may think width, depth, and height are the only dimensions of the world, Hidden Girl, but you’d be wrong. You have lived your life as an ant on a sheet of paper, and the truth is far more wondrous.”

      I emerge into the space above space, the space within space, the hidden space.

      Everything gains a new dimension—the walls, the floor tiles, the flickering torches, the astonished face of the governor. It is as if the governor’s skin has been pulled away to reveal everything underneath: I see his beating heart, his pulsating intestines, the blood streaming through his transparent vessels, his gleaming white bones as well as the velvety marrow stuffed inside like jujube-stained lotus paste. I see each grain of shiny mica inside each brick; I see ten thousand immortals dancing inside each flame.

      No, that’s not quite accurate. I have not the words to describe what I see. I see a million billion layers to everything at once, like an ant who has always seen a line before him suddenly lifted off the page to realize the perfection of a circle. This is the perspective of the Buddha, who comprehends the incomprehensibility of Indra’s net, which connects the smallest mote at the tip of a flea’s foot to the grandest river of innumerable stars that spans the sky at night.

      This was how, years ago, Teacher had penetrated the walls of my father’s compound, evaded my father’s soldiers, and seized me from within the tightly sealed cabinet.

      I see the approaching white robe of Jinger, bobbing like a glowing jellyfish in the vast deep. She ululates as she approaches, a single voice making a cacophony of howling that sends terror into the hearts of her victims.

      “Little Sister, what are you doing here?”

      I lift my dagger. “Please, Jinger, go back.”

      “You’ve always been a bit too stubborn,” she says.

      “We have eaten from the same peach and bathed in the same cold mountain spring,” I say. “You taught me how to climb the vines and how to pick the ice lilies for my hair. I love you like a sister of the blood. Please, don’t do this.”

      She looks sad. “I can’t. Teacher has promised.”

      “There’s a greater promise we all must live by: to do what our heart tells us is right.”

      She lifts her sword. “Because I love you like a sister, I will let you strike at me without hitting back. If you can hit me before I kill the governor, I will leave.”

      I nod. “Thank you. And I’m sorry it’s come to this.”

      The hidden space has its own structure, made from dangling thin strands that glow faintly with an inner light. To move in this space, Jinger and I leap from vine to vine and swing from filament to filament, climbing, tumbling, pivoting, lurching, dancing on a lattice woven from starlight and lambent ice.

      I lunge after her, she easily dodges out of the way. She has always been the best at vine fighting and cloud dancing. She glides and swings as gracefully as an immortal of the heavenly court. Compared to her, my moves are lumbering, heavy, lacking all finesse.

      As she dances away from my strikes, she counts them off: “One, two, three-four-five … very nice, Hidden Girl, you’ve been practicing. Six-seven-eight, nine, ten …” Once in a while, when I get too close, she parries my dagger with her sword as effortlessly as a dozing man swats away a fly.

      Almost pityingly, she swivels out of my way and swings toward the governor. Like a knife poised above the page, she’s completely invisible to him, falling upon him from another dimension.

      I lurch after her, hoping that I’m close enough to her for my plan to work.

      The governor, seeing the red scarf I dangle into his world approach, drops to the ground and rolls out of the way. Jinger’s sword pierces through the veil between dimensions and, in that world, a sword emerges СКАЧАТЬ