Chapter One-Hundred Thirty-Six
The city gates provided the first scrap of shade they'd seen since their landing beyond the wall.
No one else stood near the gates, which wasn't unusual at this time of day. Most desert travelers rested during the hottest hours of the afternoon to preserve water and energy, which meant that traffic at the gates would be minimal regardless of any other factors.
"Ready?" he asked, almost hoping one of his companions would come up with a reason to wait. There was something eerie about returning to a place you'd once lived, knowing that a terrible danger lurked within.
"You'd know the place best," Kurogane said, ever practical. "You take the lead."
Swallowing his nervousness, Syaoran shuffled the last few steps toward the gate. Magic tingled in his palm—if the residents of this city turned out to be hostile, he could draw his sword at a moment's notice and defend himself. "Hello," he said, addressing the guard standing in front of the gate. The man looked him over, then turned his stern gaze on Kurogane and Fai behind him. Syaoran tensed, fingers twitching. The last thing he wanted to do was to hurt someone, but he would if he had to.
"You must be here for the festival," the man said gruffly.
"That's right," Fai said, sparing Syaoran from answering. "We heard it was going to be quite the event."
The guard let out a gusty sigh that stirred the gray hair of his mustache. "Welcome to the capital, travelers. May you always find water and shade among our people."
Relieved by the traditional greeting, Syaoran bowed his head. "We humbly accept your hospitality."
With a flick of his hand, the guard gestured for the gatekeepers to let them through. The gates sprung open, swinging inward toward the city, and Syaoran started forward, glancing over his shoulder as if the guard would suddenly decide to stab him in the back of the neck. But the man did no such thing, and they entered the city unharmed.
"They don't seem hostile," Fai said in a low voice as they entered the residential district at the edge of the capital. Syaoran nodded, watching a cluster of children run down the street, chasing after each other as they laughed and shouted. One of the children's mothers called out, and a boy broke off from the group, hurrying over to take his mother's hand. Not hostile, Syaoran thought. Maybe not even aware of the danger here.
The laughter, the merriment . . . it made him uneasy. Ever since they'd arrived, he'd felt a wrongness about the place, as if the familiar dunes and flourishing city contained a great, unseen evil. Which it did. How is it that no one else can feel it? Is it some sort of perception filter, or are they really that trusting?
Once, he'd trusted in the goodness of people's hearts, trusted that he was safe in a crowd, safe in any familiar place. He'd learned to be wary of that complacency, but he liked to think that he still believed that people were good, in general. Yet he felt as if, at any moment, one of the doting parents might pass behind him and stick a knife in his back, or one of the children might expose him as an enemy of Fei-Wang Reed and bring the wrath of the city down on him.
A warm pressure on his forearm made him jump half a foot in the air. "Relax," Kurogane said, fingers closing around his wrist, then sliding down to take his hand. "You're too on edge. Be aware, not paranoid. You'll live longer."
I might not live to see tomorrow, he thought, but nodded. "Right."
They walked a bit further. Unconsciously, Syaoran led them toward the commercial district. He'd spent so much time there with his Sakura, and a part of him ached for that familiarity, even as his unease grew. They ended up at the edge of the main marketplace, in a section dedicated to imported food. "We may be able to find some clues here," he said, surveying the crowd. There sure are a lot of people. His hand tightened around Kurogane's. That guard said something about a festival. I should have asked him about it, but maybe I could ask someone around here. Although if there is a festival, it will seem strange if we don't know about it.
A sudden movement in the corner of his vision made him whip around. A young boy carrying a basket of apples had tripped and started staggering toward him, off-balance. Instinctively, Syaoran's hands shot out to grab the basket before the apples could fall. Stupid, he thought at once, reaching inside himself with his magic, about to summon his sword. Flames bloomed along his fingertips, and he felt the weapon beginning to form in his hands, but before it could, a voice jolted him out of his paranoia.
"Thanks, mister!" the boy said, grabbing the basket of apples and stepping back. Syaoran stared at the boy, his magic dying away, his sword disappearing with it. What am I thinking? I almost drew my sword on a child!
Kurogane had been right, he decided then. He couldn't let his paranoia influence him. Not now.
"Are you a traveler?" the boy asked.
Syaoran stared at him for a moment before answering. "Yes. We are."
"You'll like it here. The kingdom of Clow's a good place. Thanks again for catching that basket for me." The boy turned on his heel and ran off, not seeming to consider the possibility that he might trip again. Syaoran exhaled slowly, stepping closer to Kurogane as he tried to calm himself. The ninja brushed his fingertips down the inside of Syaoran's arm, where the skin was most sensitive.
"You all right?"
Syaoran nodded. "Yes, I think so. Just nervous."
"Do any of you sense anything odd about the people here?" Fai asked. No one answered, and after a moment, Mokona murmured something about finding Sakura.
"We should keep walking," Syaoran said, unsettled. This place feels wrong.
They started forward again, weaving among the crowds of cheerful festival-goers. He didn't sense anything wrong with them, specifically, but Fai had much more experience with spells than he did, and even if he'd given up his magic, Syaoran thought he'd still recognize the signs of sorcery. That he'd felt something strongly enough to mention it worried Syaoran greatly.
It was only a few seconds later that a shrill voice pierced the air. "Hey, mister!"
Syaoran's eyes flashed to the speaker—it was the boy who'd crashed into him a moment ago. His mother—or at least, Syaoran assumed she was his mother, given the way she watched over the child as he barreled toward their group—stood off to the side, holding the basket of apples.
"Thanks for the help back there," the boy said, eyes twinkling. Syaoran forced a smile, wishing he could think of a gentle way to point out that the child had already thanked him quite enough. "I got all the way here without spilling a single piece of our store's fruit thanks to you."
"It was nothing," he said quickly, holding his hands up as if to ward off the boy.
Moments later, the child's mother appeared at his side, her smile matching her son's. Oh, dear, Syaoran thought. "I want to add my thanks as well," the woman said. "There's no controlling my boy."
"Really, it was no problem," Syaoran said, glancing over his shoulder to see Kurogane and Fai speaking in low voices.
Other people gathered around, trapping them at the center of a wall of smiling faces. "Those sure are strange clothes," one man said. "Are you from some other country?"
I forgot how friendly the people of Clow can be, Syaoran thought as Fai answered in the affirmative.
"I see the three of you are wearing very different outfits," a different man said, stepping forward. "Does that mean you're all from different countries?"
"That's so great," said yet another stranger before Syaoran could answer.
"Traveling alone is fun, but I think it's better going with other people," a man said. The crowd seemed to tighten around them, like a net closing around a school of fish, and Syaoran began to rethink his decision not to draw his sword on these people.
"Yes, I agree," Fai said, raising his voice over the murmuring crowd.
"Well, take your time while you're here. The festival is coming up pretty soon."
"The festival," Syaoran said, isolating the speaker. It could be important. "What can you tell me about it?"
"It's going to be held over there by the ruins." The man pointed to something in the distance, but Syaoran didn't have to look to know he meant the wing-shaped ruins where the seeds for this journey had first sprouted. We're going to have to explore the ruins, aren't we? he thought, grimacing. It had been years since he'd seen the insides of the ruins himself, and many months since he'd seen them through his clone's eyes, and he preferred to keep it that way, especially with all the memories those familiar rooms would dredge up.
"Have you arranged a place to say?" asked the mother of the boy.
"No, not yet," Fai said. Syaoran was relieved that he'd taken the lead in wresting the conversation away from their growing audience. Fai was much better suited for working a crowd than the rest of their group.
"You should stay with us," said the boy who'd crashed into him.
"Yes, we insist," the mother said.
Syaoran fidgeted. Part of him wanted to avoid any further contact with any of these people. They seemed harmless, but the pervasive wrongness he'd felt about the place had disturbed him enough that he wanted to avoid exposing his neck to anyone. "Well . . . I don't know. I . . ."
"I think that's a good idea," one of the men said. "You're in the middle of a journey, so you should save your money." The man looked around, as if seeking confirmation from the others in the herd. They responded with easy agreement.
"Besides, the nights in this country can get really cold," a younger boy said. "Nobody could stand sleeping outdoors." This statement brought more murmurs of agreement, and Syaoran glanced over his shoulder in a silent plea for help.
Kurogane met his eyes and stooped down to whisper in his ear. "Are the people here normally this pushy?"
"Not really, no." They're still talking. How can they possibly be so fascinated by a small group of travelers? Even the archeological teams weren't met with this much curiosity! "What should we do?"
"We don't know how long we'll be here," Fai murmured, jumping in on the conversation despite the fact that he still had several people jabbering at him. "It might be wise to secure ourselves a place to sleep."
"All right." Syaoran lifted his head to address the mother and son. "It's true that we need a place to stay. We will gratefully accept your offer, if you choose to have us."
"Wonderful." The woman grabbed his hand, tucking the basket of apples under her opposite arm. "We live just a few blocks from here. Come on, dear," she said to her son. "We have guests to entertain now. No time to drag your feet."
"Coming!"
Syaoran allowed the woman to tow him from the crowd, and his companions slid through the throng like water flowing through pebbles. After a while, the woman released his hand, and he slowed slightly, falling back to walk alongside Kurogane and the others. Discreetly, the ninja brushed his fingers down Syaoran's forearm. "That was weird."
"It's almost as if they never see foreigners coming through the gates." But this is the capital city, he thought. More foreign dignitaries and travelers come through this city than anywhere else in the country. It would be strange not to see a few people from other lands moving through the market. He scanned the crowds, which had thinned out since they'd left the bustling marketplace, but he saw no one of obvious foreign origin. In fact, nearly everyone had the sandy, sun-kissed hair and tan so common among the people of Clow. We're the only foreigners in sight. And on the eve of a festival. There should be other people here—people who don't belong. But it's as if this place has been constructed to match everything typical of Clow.
He thought of the friendliness of everyone in the market. The people of Clow were more welcoming than average, or at least that had been his impression when he'd come here as a child. Still, there should have been people who were indifferent or rude mixed in with the more friendly citizens. Instead, the people here seemed homogenous, perfectly suited to match the expectations of an outsider. Almost, Syaoran thought, as if they'd been placed here.
No wonder they reacted so intensely to travelers, Syaoran thought. There's no variety among them. Everyone seems to match what one would expect the typical citizen to look like. It can't possibly be natural. He grimaced. That must be what Fai meant when he said there was something odd about the people.
"Here we are," the woman said as they reached a small dome made of sand. Syaoran recognized the type of house—his clone had lived in one with Fujitaka, and he himself had spent a lot of time in similar homes. And, as with the people, it was exactly the sort of house Syaoran would have pictured if someone had asked him to describe a typical middle-class house in Clow.
He glanced up at Kurogane, unable to swallow around the lump in his throat, then stepped through the doorway.