The Wall of Storms, page 28
Jia nodded. “And when you expose such plots, you’ll earn Kuni’s eternal gratitude and gain yourself a bigger budget.”
Rin thought through the plan and grinned. It reminded him of the way low-level bosses in rival gangs sometimes colluded to secure their positions in the eyes of their respective bosses through manufactured conflict. He bowed deeply. “I can’t thank you enough, Jia. A single conversation with you is worth ten years spent in a schoolroom.”
Jia chuckled. “Flattery does not suit you, Rin. If you carry the plan out, Kuni and I will both have much to thank you for. But of course, this will only work if you keep it a secret, otherwise Kuni will not be so impressed with the plots you foment and uncover.”
Rin nodded like a chicken pecking at rice. “Of course. Of course!”
Jia watched as he left, the smile on her face gradually fading like a ghost.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
PARTINGS
PAN: THE FOURTH MONTH IN THE SIXTH YEAR OF THE REIGN OF FOUR PLACID SEAS.
Though it was good to catch up with old friends and to indulge in the fruits of civilization, there were only so many banquets one could attend and only so many teahouses one could visit before the appetite waned. It was time for Luan to leave the Harmonious City.
Gin came to the city gates to see him off.
“Will you come to Nokida to spend a few days with me?”
Luan shook his head.
“I had hoped you would come so that you could meet . . .” Gin’s eyes dimmed for a moment before turning resolute again. “You have your journey, and I have mine. I take it you’ll head north to prepare for your search for the Immortals?”
“Yes,” said Luan. “But first, I have some ideas for outfitting the expedition on the cheap that will take a bit of time to work out.”
He wanted to embrace her but stopped himself. Ever since the night of the celebration held for Mün Çakri’s son, Gin had been acting cool toward him. Perhaps it was a way for her to dull the sorrow of parting by not getting too entangled in the first place. And who was to say he wasn’t doing the same thing himself?
Still, it was not easy to leave a lover without saying what was on his mind.
“Be careful, Gin. You’re too proud. Don’t make enemies with those who will always have the favor of the cruben.”
Gin looked at him, her eyes narrowed. “Have you ever known me to shy away from a fight?”
Before Luan could reply, a crisp voice called out from the side. “Teacher!”
Luan turned and saw Zomi Kidosu striding toward him from the city, holding a satchel over her shoulder.
“I thought we already said our good-byes, Mimi-tika.”
“Did not Lurusén say that it was the duty of a student to accompany her teacher for ten miles at the start of every journey?”
To the side, Gin shifted and cleared her throat.
Zomi turned to her as though realizing that the queen was there for the first time. “Your Majesty, I meant to come by and thank you earlier. I was very fortunate that Princess Théra was able to secure your help on my behalf.”
Gin nodded imperiously. “Don’t mention it.”
“I’m curious, Your Majesty. How did she—”
Gin interrupted her. “I said not to mention it. Don’t you understand?”
Zomi’s face flushed, and she nodded.
Luan observed the exchange quietly, suppressing his irritation at Gin. She was clearly annoyed that Zomi had not acknowledged her, a queen, before acknowledging her untitled teacher—Gin’s pride verged on arrogance. He was a bit puzzled that Gin and Zomi would know each other, but he decided not to pry as it was clearly not a topic Gin wanted discussed.
Gin glanced back at Luan, seemed about to speak, stopped, tried again, stopped again. Finally, she said, “A pelagic anemone cannot be cultivated in an aquarium. I wish you well.”
She turned to leave.
“You never looked at yourself in the Fool’s Mirror!” Luan called out.
Gin stopped. Without turning around, she said, “You say I am proud; so why should I not compare myself to the winter plum?”
Then she left.
“You look sad, Teacher,” said Zomi.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” said Luan. “Just thinking that we all have to be true to our natures.”
The winter plum was a poetic companion to the chrysanthemum. Just as the chrysanthemum was the last flower to bloom before the onset of winter, defiant against death, the winter plum was the first flower to bloom before the coming of spring, refusing to shield its powerful fragrance from frost and snow.
Have you ever known me to shy away from a fight?
“The emperor finally decided on a position for me!” said Zomi.
“Oh, what is it?” asked an excited Luan. At the end of the Palace Examination, there had been so much consternation and outrage at Zomi’s performance that the emperor said that he needed some time to think about a suitable assignment.
“He has appointed me to the College of Advocates!” said Zomi. “I’m starting at second rank, above all the other new appointees.”
“Deservedly so!” Luan was pleased. Zomi’s voice would be exactly what the emperor needed to carry out his plan.
And the two walked ten miles together, stopping every mile or so to drink from the bottle gourds Zomi carried in her satchel. Zomi told him her plans for reshaping Imperial policy and for bringing her mother to Pan, and Luan nodded and laughed, seeing hints of the shape of the future.
“Teacher.” For the first time, doubt and hesitation crept into Zomi’s voice. This was the end of ten miles, the last chance for her to ask her question. “What if I were to tell you that I’ve done something terrible, something that would change the way everyone sees me?”
Luan looked at her. “I once counseled a king to break a peace treaty so that thousands would be slaughtered in order to save hundreds of thousands of future lives. The emperor once betrayed his best friend to give Dara a better future, elevating the grace of kings above personal honor. Let the past be the past, Mimi-tika, and endeavor to make the future that resulted from your choice be a better one.”
Zomi carefully considered this advice, and then she nodded and bowed.
“Teacher, may you continue to find treasure everywhere you go.”
Luan drained his cup, turned it so that Zomi could see it was empty, and then bowed back and left without another word.
Let old heroes fade into story and song; the world will be remade by new heroes.
“Brother, I’m glad we have a chance to chat before you leave,” said Jia, raising a cup of plum wine. She sat in relaxed géüpa, her legs folded easily under her. “It is so rare for the Imperial family to be together.”
Across from her, a nervous Kado Garu raised his cup in response. He remained in stiff mipa rari. “Sister, I’m honored by your invitation.”
Kado and Jia had never been close. He was certain that the empress had summoned him for some purpose.
“You’ve done an excellent job with Dasu,” said Jia. “You know how special the island is to Kuni—it is his second home, in some ways. He gave the island to you because he couldn’t trust anyone else to run it.”
Kado turned Jia’s words over in his mind. What does she mean? She knows very well that I’m doing nothing in Dasu. I haven’t even visited the place more than half a dozen times since I was made the “king,” letting Kuni’s governor-regent do whatever he wants in my name.
“I’ve been blessed by an able assistant picked by Kuni,” said Kado. He hoped that the answer was what Jia wanted to hear.
“You don’t need to be so modest,” said Jia. “To have a scholar recommended by you take the first place in the Palace Examination! No one expected that of poor little Dasu.”
Ah, so that’s it, thought Kado. He had seen how Jia seethed as Zomi Kidosu embarrassed Prince Timu during the Palace Examination. Rumor had it that the empress was extremely protective of her son since Kuni seemed to favor Phyro over Timu. A cold sweat broke out on Kado’s back. If Jia thinks that somehow this Zomi Kidosu is my way of further strengthening Risana’s push for Phyro to be designated the crown prince . . .
“I have a confession to make, Sister,” he said. “I didn’t recommend Zomi Kidosu.”
“Oh?” Jia lifted her eyebrows.
“I was not being modest when I said Ra Olu, my regent, really runs everything on my behalf. For the Grand Examination this year, I signed the blank passes ahead of time, and he filled in the names of the top cashima, sending the list to me later for ratification. I really had nothing to do with the candidates.”
“Still, you could have revoked her pass. You’re the one who sent her on her path to fame and glory.”
“That’s just it, Sister.” Kado put down the cup and leaned forward conspiratorially. “Zomi Kidosu’s name wasn’t among those sent to me for ratification.”
Jia froze. “What?”
“When I saw her at the Palace Examination, I was surprised.” Kado smiled. “But I didn’t say anything because . . . uh . . .”
“Because you figured if she did well, you could take credit for recommending her. Why mess with success?” Jia said, smirking.
“Ahem.” Kado cleared his throat awkwardly. “I can’t hide anything from you. Yes, I’m sorry, but such a thought did cross my mind. I should have been more circumspect, of course.”
“So if you didn’t recommend her, how did she come to be in possession of a pass to the Examination Hall? Was it a forgery?”
“I did do some discreet investigating afterward. She got in with a proper examination pass, but it wasn’t one signed by me.”
“Who did sign it?”
“Queen Gin of Géjira.”
Jia looked thoughtful. Then she smiled and raised the cup again. “Thank you, brother. Thank you.”
A breeze passed through the courtyard outside, caressing the nodding blossoms of the dandelion.
GUSTS AND GALES
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE MAGIC MIRROR
TUNOA: THE SIXTH MONTH IN THE EIGHTH YEAR OF THE REIGN OF FOUR PLACID SEAS.
The veneration of the Hegemon had begun with his death on the shore of the Big Island, across the channel from Farun.
Eight years earlier, Mata Zyndu, the greatest warrior who had ever walked the Islands of Dara, had committed suicide along with his faithful consort, Lady Mira, after being betrayed by his erstwhile friend, Kuni Garu. When news arrived that the Hegemon had refused to cross the channel because he could not bear the shame of facing the people of his homeland, many had vowed to fight Kuni Garu to the bitter end to avenge their lord.
However, instead of sending an invasion force, Kuni had pardoned all of the Hegemon’s followers and planned a lavish burial outside Çaruza to show his great affection and admiration for the man. The gods of Dara had also cooperated by intervening at the last minute to take the body of Mata Zyndu into the realm of myth and legend.
In the rest of Dara, people whispered of the generosity of Kuni Garu, now known as Emperor Ragin. Scholars competed with each other to write biographies and compose odes to the emperor, celebrating his friendship with the Hegemon and the tragic flaws of Mata Zyndu that had made the breach in their friendship inevitable.
But in Tunoa, commanders of the last army units loyal to the Hegemon reminded the common people that those who were victorious by sword and horse never lacked willing accomplices who wielded the carving knife and the brush. After all, the greatest flaw of Mata Zyndu was trusting that wily Kuni Garu, the bandit-of-a-thousand-lies, too much.
Then the emperor announced that the Tunoa Isles would not be enfeoffed to a noble, but would remain directly under Imperial administration. To honor the man the emperor had once called brother, the people of Tunoa would not have to pay taxes for five years. The palace would buy all the dried fish it needed exclusively from Tunoa at guaranteed prices as well as offer positions in the palace for the women of Tunoa to work as Imperial embroiderers. Finally, Zyndu Castle would be renovated and turned into a mausoleum for the Hegemon, and the Imperial Treasury hinted at a large roster of local masons, carpenters, blacksmiths, and general laborers who would be employed.
It was a transparent ploy, as was the wont for vulgar Kuni Garu. Still, people needed to eat and drink, and children needed to be fed and clothed. The Hegemon’s remaining captains and lieutenants found fewer and fewer people who echoed their calls for vengeance, and eventually, they stopped. Quietly, their soldiers deserted the garrison forts, sold off their uniforms to collectors, and faded into the fishing villages.
By the time the emperor’s emissaries arrived at Farun harbor, bearing the headless body of Réfiroa, Mata Zyndu’s famous black steed, and his weapons, the magnificent bronze-iron sword Na-aroénna and the fearsome toothed war club Goremaw, the people of Tunoa stood onshore silently to welcome the relics of their lord. Without having to fire a single arrow or spill a drop of blood, the emperor’s emissaries accepted the surrender of the Hegemon’s last commanders.
Réfiroa was buried in the family cemetery for the Zyndu clan, and, after months of work to renovate and enlarge the ancient structure, the sword and the cudgel were installed in the highest room in Zyndu Castle, a place of honor they shared with the weapons left behind by past generations of Zyndus. Priests and priestesses of Rapa and Kana, paid a stipend by the emperor himself, maintained an everlasting flame in the ancestral hall, and pilgrims came from everywhere in Dara to hear about the deeds of the great man and to view the weapons that had transformed Dara.
The emperor had carried out his promise, and the people of Tunoa smiled as copper pieces jangled in their pockets. There was no more talk of vengeance or honor.
That was the way of the world, wasn’t it?
But keeping alive the memory of a spirit had its costs: It was hard to keep such a spirit confined.
Mota Kiphi had grown up hearing stories of the brave deeds of his father, one of the Hegemon’s original Eight Hundred warriors.
He had been born after his father had already left Tunoa with the Hegemon for the Big Island seventeen years ago to join the rebellion against the Xana Empire. It was said that Mota’s father had killed twenty Xana soldiers at the siege of Zudi and that he had fought by the Hegemon’s side during the charge at Wolf’s Paw, killing three Xana hundred-chiefs and earning the rank of hundred-chief for himself.
His father had never returned, which only made the stories truer.
What boy didn’t wish to emulate his father?
But the two men in front of him now didn’t look like deposed Tiro kings. In fact, with their ragged clothes and scraggly beards, they looked like desperate robbers who had turned to begging. The Tunoa seaside cave in which they “held court” was small and dank, and the stuffy, hot air was infused with the stench of briny sea and rotting garbage.
“I was the first to discover Kuni Garu’s treachery at Thoco Pass,” said one of them, who called himself Doru Solofi, King of South Géfica. He seemed insulted that Mota did not know who he was.
“Did you really know the Hegemon?” Mota asked, skeptical.
Solofi chuckled. “What a time we live in that a king could be interrogated by a child.”
“Any fraud could claim to have known the Hegemon,” said Mota. “I used to play at being the Hegemon myself when I was little.”
“Here, I’ll show you proof,” said the other man, wiry and dark-skinned, who called himself Noda Mi. From somewhere deep in the cave, he retrieved a long bar of jade carved with intricate patterns. “This is the Seal of Central Géfica, the Tiro state created by the Hegemon for me.”
Mota examined the jade bar carefully. Though he couldn’t read any of the Ano logograms, he could tell it was very valuable and the workmanship was exquisite. He decided there was a chance that these men could have been nobles—or at least they were pirates or robbers who had stolen this artifact from nobles.
“If you were Tiro kings, how did you end up here in this cave, not even able to afford to pay me for the food I brought you?”
“We didn’t ask you here to talk about food and money!” snapped Doru Solofi. “I saw you showing interest at that dancing troupe’s performance honoring the deeds of the Hegemon, and I thought you might be willing to serve the Hegemon again.”
“What do you mean? My family already venerates the Hegemon. Not only do we go to the mausoleum in Farun once a year, but we have a private shrine set up behind the house—”
“That isn’t serving,” an impatient Solofi interrupted him. “Are you willing to fight for him?”
Mota backed up a few steps. “That is talk of treason! I won’t join some plot against the emperor, who’s been respectful of the Hegemon’s memory.”
“What if the Hegemon himself told you that it’s your duty to avenge him?” asked Noda Mi, a cold glint in his eyes.
“Wh-what do you mean?” Despite the heat, Mota felt a chill going down his spine.
Noda walked to the back of the cave, where a crack in the ceiling let in a single beam of bright sunlight that fell against a natural ledge. He knelt at the bottom of the ledge as though at a shrine, retrieved a silk bundle, and reverently unwrapped it.
“Come,” he said, beckoning to Mota. “Gaze into this.”
Gingerly, Mota walked closer and picked up the mirror. It was made of bronze and very heavy. The back of the mirror was carved in relief, and by the illumination of the beam of sunlight, he could see that it was the figure of the back of the Hegemon, standing tall with Na-aroénna in his right hand and Goremaw in his left, both pointing at the ground. He flipped the mirror around and looked into the smooth, brightly polished surface. A reflection of himself stared back. Nothing out of the ordinary.
“I’ve seen mirrors like this all over the place,” said Mota. “This is better made than the one my mother has—”
