The Divining

     Judah led her inside the house, which was quieter and with fewer people. A middle-aged woman dressed all in brown with a brown veil covering her hair sat upon a chair with several people seated on the floor at her feet. She was plump and reminded Ulrika of a rosy-faced partridge.

     Judah said, "My wife Miriam is like Deborah of old, a judge who was also a prophetess. Like Deborah, Miriam is not one who foretells the future but who hears a message from God and passes it on to others."

     When Judah introduced the young woman to his wife, Miriam reached for Ulrika's hands and said, "Do not be troubled, daughter, for you are blessed. God has given you a gift."

     "But I do not know how to use it." Ulrika replied. "I have been practicingfocused meditation, but I ca

     Taking Ulrika's hands, she looked deep into her eyes and said, "Do you fast before you meditate?"

     "Fast? No."

     Miriam said, "Fasting cleanses the body of the impurities that impede clarity of prayer. Fasting also keeps one awake. Hunger sharpens the senses, your mind will not wander. Do this, and you will be successful."

     "Thank you, Honored Mother."

     "I hear doubt in your voice. Let me tell you this, daughter: imagine your gift as a house filled with wonderful treasure. You do not know the way inside, but as you circle the house, you catch glimpses through windows, and you see fabulous things. Is this how it is with your spiritual gift?"

     "Yes," Ulrika whispered.

     "You need to find the door, daughter, and the key to its lock. Once you are inside, the treasure is yours."

     "Key!" Ulrika said, recalling what the Egyptian seer had told her in the Street of Fortune Tellers. "Is meditation this key?

     "I do not know," Miriam said. "But you are searching for a place, are you not, for the begi

     "That is what I have been told. Do you know where Shalamandar is?"

     "I know nothing of Shalamandar, but there is one who does. He will take you there."

     "Who is it?" Ulrika asked in rising excitement.

     Miriam closed her eyes and, swaying in her chair, murmured words that Ulrika did not understand—it did not even sound like a human language but a kind of gibberish. When she stopped, the rabbi's wife opened her eyes and said, "You must go to Persia and save a prince and his people."

     "A prince!" Ulrika frowned. "But how can I save a prince?"

     "If you do not, his bloodline will end. His people will be no more."

     "Is it this prince who will take me to Shalamandar? Will he give me a key? Can you tell me his name?"

     "All answers lie in Persia. Go in peace, daughter."

BOOK SIX

PERSIA

21

HE STOOD BEHIND THE cover of trees as he watched the tavern, the patrons coming and going with lanterns glowing against the forest night.

     He had followed her to this place, from the last village, tracking her along the mountain trail as cautiously as he would a deer. She had not known she was being followed—a young woman with fair hair and a confident stride. Her cloak covered her from head to foot, creating a tall, slim figure, with travel packs hung securely over her shoulders and on her back. She appeared to be strong, but as far as he could see, she carried no weapon. And she traveled alone, which was unusual, but which was going to make it easy for him to snatch her.

     As soon as she emerged from the tavern, one swift move and she was his.

     "I BELIEVE I CAN help you, sir," Ulrika said.

     "No one can help me!" the man cried. "A thousand devils plague my head! They spin the world about me in a fiendish game. I ca

     "Good sir," Ulrika said calmly, in a soothing tone as the other patrons in the wooden shack, where travelers and local people gathered against the cold night, looked on in interest. "I have seen this disorder before, and I have skill in treating it. If you would but allow me to touch you."

     The poor man had been complaining loudly when she had entered the small establishment and had taken a stool by the fire. A paunchy Persian with a stringy beard and shadows under his eyes, he had lamented to his companions about the affliction that kept him from working his small farm, that made it almost impossible for him to walk even, until Ulrika had risen from her stool and approached him, offering to help.

     This was how she had journeyed for the past fourteen months—going from settlement to settlement, earning her keep with her healing skills, staying always on the move, never in one place for more than a day or a night, keeping to herself, not even telling people her name, her mind focused on but one goal—to find the prince who needed her help.

     When Miriam the rabbi's wife had told her there was a stranger in Persia whom she was to rescue, Ulrika had believed her. After all, Miriam enjoyed a reputation for being a prophetess. But also, Ulrika had been born in Persia. This journey to aid a prince was meant to be.

     But there was another reason Ulrika had decided to undertake the mission to find the prince. Long ago, when she and her mother had journeyed through this ancient land, when Ulrika was not more than three or four years old, they had encountered a very striking-looking man seated on a magnificent throne and dressed in splendid robes. A tall round hat crowned his head, beneath which thick curls cascaded to his shoulders. His beard was prodigious, covering his chest to his waist, and coiled in tight ringlets. He held a staff in one hand and, curiously, a flower in the other. In front of him, a golden censer burned incense.

     Ulrika could not recall how long she and her mother had visited the nobleman, if they had dined with him, or slept in his house. She did notremember his name. But his appearance had struck her as so magnificent that she remembered him in detail. Was he the prince Miriam had spoken of? It seemed likely that this could be so. And perhaps he lived near the Crystal Pools of Shalamandar. Finding the man, Ulrika had decided, would surely be a simple task: all she needed to do was re-trace the route she and her mother had followed out of Persia eighteen years ago and she would cross his path.

     But the task had turned out to be not so simple after all. She had been following that route for over a year now, she was nearing the end, in fact, and was no closer to knowing the identity of that magnificent man, or where he could be found.

     Ulrika asked the farmer to lie down on a long table, while everyone gathered around and watched, men and women in woolen mountain garb, bearing the distinctive features of a race that had sprung from ancient Parthian blood mingled with that of invading Greeks. A handsome race, Ulrika thought.

     She paused to look at a niche in the far wall, where a solitary lamp flickered. She had seen many such niches since entering this mountain territory called the Place of Silent Pines. They were shrines to local deities called daevi, which meant "celestial" or "bright"—holy and beneficent divinities who had been worshipped in this region for thousands of years. Ulrika thought of the statues of gods and goddesses around Rome, and the massive Marduk effigies dominating the streets of Babylon. She thought of the oak trees in Germania, carved in the likeness of Odin, and Rachel's god near the sea of salt, who had no likeness at all. And now here in this remote mountain region, gods who were represented by solitary flames kept burning eternally.