Page 65 of Tiger's Dream
She frowned but didn’t pull away. It felt like another victory. Though what, exactly, I was winning, I didn’t really know.
Finally, the meal was done and cleared away. The servant poured some tea for the master of the house and whispered in his ear that we needed to speak to him regarding the emperor. That we’d claimed the master of the house was in terrible danger due to his love for a woman. A tear trickled down the man’s cheek. He appeared to be either unaware of it or uncaring that we saw it.
“So you do know of what we speak,” I said.
“I do,” the man answered. “Can you help him?” he asked. “Help my son?”
“Your son?” I began.
“Your son is the one who risks his life,” Ana said as if already knowing the answer. “He is the one courting the emperor’s woman.”
The silk maker dashed a hand over his cheek and tried to straighten his frame. “I am an old man,” he answered. “My wife died long ago and we only have one son. He’s a good boy. Strong of body and tender of spirit, but a year ago I noticed a change in him. He would not tell me, but even I could hear the lightness in his step, the happiness in his voice. Once I felt like that. Long ago. I knew it for what it was.”
“Love,” Ana guessed as she sipped her tea.
“Yes. But he refused to say anything about it. Then, one day, I found the scarf.”
“Scarf?” I asked.
“Yes. The workmanship was exceedingly fine. I knew of only one seamstress who could do work such as that.”
“But how do you…?” I paused, not knowing how to ask the question.
“How do I see the workmanship with eyes that have gone dark? I don’t, young man. I use my hands. My fingers have held silk threads since before I could walk. It’s a simple thing for me to tell good work from bad.”
The man coughed dryly and reached for his mug. Finding it empty, he felt across the table until he found the pot and pulled it closer. His servant tried to help but the old man gave an adenoidal snort and the servant backed off. The old silk maker poured his own tea, slopping the scalding liquid over the rim of his mug and burning his fingers.
The man didn’t seem to notice the heat, and I wondered if he, too, had once pulled boiling cocoons from the pot. The man sucked the tea from his fingertips before setting the pitcher down hard enough to make a sloshing sound.
“Tell us, where is your son?” Ana pressed.
“She called him to her side this afternoon with an emergency order. He still hasn’t returned though it’s been hours.” The man wrung his napkin as he went on. “We couldn’t deny the emperor. I begged my son to consider the consequences of his actions, but he wouldn’t listen. The emperor plans to marry her. Everyone says so. At the very least, he will never let her leave. I love my son but if he pursues this girl, it will be the death of him. No one thwarts the emperor.”
Just then there was a tumult at the door, and the young man we’d just been talking about rushed into the room. His chest heaved as he sucked in deep breaths, and the look on his face was one of abject terror coupled with determination. He knelt by his wizened father. “You must tell me where the wizard is, Father!”
“Son! You’ve returned.” He clutched his boy’s hand to his chest but the young man asked him his question again. “Wizard?” the old man echoed.
“Yes, wizard, Father. The one you told me about every night. The one who lives in the mountains. I must find him!”
“What are you going on about?” the old man said weakly. He pushed against the table to stand and ended up nearly falling over as the table squealed in protest and shifted toward Ana and me. Both of us caught our mugs of tea before they spilled.
The young man’s eyes burned like freshly struck flint as he took hold of his father’s silk robe. They wavered together like two weak saplings in a storm. The only way they could remain upright was if they locked arms and held on to one another. “Tell me, son,” the man said, “what can I do?”
The young man’s mouth opened and closed, opened and closed. I could see the immense pressure built up inside him. It was like the bag of popcorn in the microwave Kelsey had taught me about. You had to leave it in just long enough. Too long and the corn would burn. The boy in front of me was burning and I wondered if we were already too late to save him.
“Tell us about the girl,” I said, hoping that I could help guide him to the heart of the matter.
Grimly, the boy told us of how he had fallen in love with the girl trapped in the emperor’s palace and that she would be forced to become the bride of a man she despised. His only hope to save her was to beg favor of the wizard, the one his father had told him stories of since the time of his youth.
“But, son, there is no such wizard,” the father said, his limbs shaking. “I thought you knew. It was just a story. Your mother believed in the wizard and shared tales of him when you were young. I thought I’d continue the tradition to help you remember her.”
I could see the bunched muscles of the boy’s shoulders slacken in defeat. Lifelessly, he said, “Then there is nothing I can do. There’s no way to save her from her terrible fate.”
Ana murmured in a hushed voice, “Perhaps there is something we can do to help.”
As if noticing our presence for the first time, the young man turned and studied both of us. “Who are you?” he asked. “And why do you visit my home at such an hour?”
Without preamble, Anamika channeled her power and held out a hand. The Divine Scarf wound down her arm like a snake and undulated before them, shifting colors. The boy fell back. “What…what is it?” the old man asked.
