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Forty-Eight

Robin rested her hands on the rail of the balcony and looked out across the lake. It was, of course, beautiful. A huge, low moon hung over the water, much closer than it seemed on Earth, although it had been explained to her that this was illusion. If she half-closed her eyes, she could almost see the pavilions and temples that were said to lie upon it in this dimension, the Imperial Court of Mhara's mother, the Lady of Mists. The lake itself was equally lovely: starred with fleets of water lilies and drifts of swans, crossed by a sequence of charming little bridges. Now, under the moonlight, it was a world of indigo and silver. Robin gazed across it and longed for the view into her own grimy back alley. Because what good was it being in Heaven, if you couldn't spend your time with the person you loved?

She had certainly been well-treated. She had been granted a set of rooms in a long, low mansion, dressed in silk robes, and given a maidservant, with entrancing good humor and no sign of obsequiousness, who appeared to regard it as an honor to look after her. But she had seen nothing of Mhara for the last three days. She had asked and asked, and received polite, evasive answers, expressed with exquisite regret. Eventually hope gave out and Robin admitted what she had known all along: she was an embarrassment. The son of the Lord of Heaven wouldn't be allowed to have a mere human as his consort. And when she had gone to look for Mhara, she discovered that all her wanderings seemed to bring her back to the lake, as though the land itself was carefully and cautiously turning her around.

So, Robin asked herself miserably, was this it? Was she supposed to stay here for the rest of her life, in the proverbial gilded cage? How long might that life be, since she was now in Heaven and perhaps, therefore, an immortal now herself. It seemed unlikely that anyone ever died here.

Then, below the balcony, something whistled.

Robin paid little attention at first. The lakeside trees were filled with delightful, sweet-singing birds; their song wafted through the fragrant air from morning until balmy night. But something about this was different: sharper, more insistent. Hope suddenly flared up all over again and Robin leaned over, craning so far that she almost fell off the balcony. Mhara stepped out of the shadows.

"It's you," Robin hissed.

"Robin!" Mhara jumped, caught the bottom of the balcony and hoisted himself over it. Robin could see at once that he was different. The dreaming serenity had been honed to a keener edge, voice and movements were decisive.

"We have to leave, Robin." He took her by the shoulders and kissed her quickly.

"Thank God," Robin said before she could stop herself.

"Well, no. My father has nothing to do with it."

"I can't flee in a dress. These skirts—"

"There's no time. Come on." He dropped from the balcony and held out his arms. Robin gritted her teeth and jumped down into them. It was an awkward landing and they both staggered, but then Mhara caught her by the hand and pulled her into the bushes. "This way. As quietly as you can."

Robin brushed through thick branches of hibiscus and oleander, releasing a scent like roses and cinnamon into the air. That was the trouble with Heaven, she thought, it was all too much. But perhaps it wasn't designed for human senses: perhaps spirits, such faint things as they were, needed overload in order to sense anything at all.

The shrubbery ended by the lake. On a narrow strip of shore, two deer were waiting patiently. They were white with silver horns, and bore saddles.

"We're riding these?"

"They're quick, that's the beauty of them. Don't worry, you won't fall off and it knows where to go." He boosted Robin into the saddle.

"There aren't any reins."

"You won't need them. Just hang on."

And indeed, hanging on to the saddle horn took all of Robin's concentration. The deer moved as swiftly as thought, racing along the lake and into the series of low hills that she had been able to see from the windows of the mansion. Groves of flowering trees rushed by, quiet villages in the folds of hills with fat cows in their fields, picturesque outcrops of rock with water at their feet . . . Idyllic, and Robin felt that it was all too good for her. It didn't bode well for her life after death, if she actually made it back to Earth. She loathed the Night Harbor, couldn't settle in Heaven—that left Hell and she didn't fancy the thought of that, either. But Heaven with Mhara by her side—heaven indeed, and impossible. She gripped the saddle more tightly and the deer flew on.

At last, just as Robin was beginning to grow tired, the deer took her up the side of a small hill. Heaven's sky was starting to lighten now with the roseate gold of dawn and the air felt pleasantly cold and moist, like early autumn. At the top of the hill stood a little temple, and unlike the rest of Heaven, it was almost a ruin. It had been built of a stone that looked like lapis, flecked with starlit sparks, but the roof had fallen in, leaving the temple open to the sky, and as they drew near a flock of golden birds shot up from it, startled by their approach, and vanished into the dawn. A plant like a small, blue vine had covered much of the temple and Robin could smell fermenting fruit.

"Mhara, what is this?"

Mhara dismounted from the back of his deer and smiled at her. "This is my temple."

"Your temple? But it's a ruin."

"I never wanted worship, Robin. Other sons of other Jade Emperors have had temples all over the place, all the followers they could wish for. But I hadn't done anything to merit it, you see. If people were going to worship me, then I wanted to be worthy of it, and I haven't done much with my life so far. I am young, by Heaven's terms, but even so . . . That was partly why I went to Earth, to see what could be done."

"Yet you said this is your temple."

"It's the only one. Someone disobeyed the edict and built a temple to me. In terms of Earth, it lies just outside Singapore Three—or it used to. The suburbs have crept up around it. On Earth, the equivalent to this building is surrounded by apartment blocks. It's a real ruin; I asked them to desist—and the priest left, so there was no one to take care of it. There's not much left. It sits on a piece of waste ground and it's a home to stray cats, mainly. But here, as you can see, it's in the middle of nowhere. No one comes here, I'm sure all the family have forgotten about it. But apart from through the Night Harbor, it's the one place where I can enter Earth: my own portal. It's how I came in the first place. I should have headed back there, but Paugeng's troops turned up and we were forced into Shai."

"Kuan Yin didn't need a temple to send those policemen back," Robin said.

"No, because all of Heaven is her precinct, and that of the other major Lords. But if she manifests on Earth, she can only do so for any great length of time in her own temple, and if she travels to the Night Harbor, for instance, where she has no place of worship, she has to journey there like anyone else. Well," Mhara amended, "not quite like anyone else, but she still needs a vessel." He glanced at the growing light. "They'll soon notice that I'm not in my bed. We have to get going."

He turned and whispered to the deer, who sprang away down the hillside. Then he and Robin stepped together into the quiet ruin and Mhara spoke a word.

It was like stepping into a moving lift. The world fell away, rushing past Robin's ears. She felt them pop with pressure. The breath left her lungs and she clutched Mhara for support. Moments later, the air of Heaven was replaced with fumes and the smell of cat piss. They were back.

 

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Framed