The Veiled Throne, page 59
“We’ll see about that,” said Phyro, smiling. After a moment, he added, “My father would have enjoyed meeting the two of you. He always loved to gather interesting people of talent around him.”
He led the way toward the airship that would bring them to Tiro Cozo, and Ofluro and Lady Suca followed.
* * *
MEANWHILE, SOMEWHERE TO THE NORTH OF THE BIG ISLAND.
- Why do you meddle in what you don’t understand, Tazu? Why do you pursue a refugee with relentless hate?
- Hate has nothing to do with it. It’s in my nature to unleash storms for sport and toss ships from wave to wave in play.
- Then don’t blame me if I reveal my nature.
- Did Kiji put you up to this, Rufizo? That featherbrain is such a pushover. Don’t tell me he asked you to intervene just because Tanvanaki invoked his name? Remember, they hate us over there in Rui and Dasu now; they call us false gods!
- Then let me prove them wrong.
* * *
One minute, the sky was perfectly calm.
The next minute, the stars and the moon were hidden behind roiling clouds, and sheets of rain drenched the sails and made the deck slick as though greased.
The pirate crew rushed about the deck, shouting for the heavy, waterlogged sails to be reefed. Savo, as green a sailor as the bile he vomited, tried to stay out of their way.
He hung on to the mast to prevent himself from being pitched into the water. And as he did, he seemed to hear two booming voices in the wind and the waves, contending against each other. One sounded like the beating of the wings of a thousand Mingén falcons, and the other sounded like a thousand sharks gnashing their teeth. How small was a ship, how insignificant the life of a man, how utterly helpless we all were when gripped by the power of great storms, whether natural or man-made.
And then a giant wave loomed over the ship like the curled tongue of a monster from the end of the Fifth Age, and he knew that all was lost.
PART FOUR SUN-KISSED BOUGHS
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE THE GRAND EXAMINATION
PAN: THE THIRD MONTH IN THE NINTH YEAR OF THE REIGN OF SEASON OF STORMS AND THE REIGN OF AUDACIOUS FREEDOM (TWENTY-SIX MONTHS UNTIL THE REOPENING OF THE WALL OF STORMS).
Among the angular walls and steep roofs of the academic quarter of the city, the cylindrical Examination Hall stuck out like a mushroom sprouting from a pile of neatly cut lumber.
And at this moment, the simile seemed to have become literal as the rioting scholars had torn the doors, window shutters, and wall planks off the dormitories and shops nearby and built tall barricades around the Examination Hall.
Standing atop the barricades, arm linked with arm, hundreds of cashima, the most promising students from all over unconquered Dara, had blocked off all access to the Examination Hall. Staring at the soldiers facing off against them, the students chanted rhythmically under the direction of a woman named Réza Müi, a scholar from Tunoa, the daughter of a soldier and a tenant farmer:
“Are we afraid to go to prison?”
“No!”
“Are we going to yield?”
“Never!”
“What do we want?”
“A real test!”
…
Normally, by now the Grand Examination essays should have already been scored, and the list of firoa posted so that the pana méji, the best of the best, could begin to prepare for the Palace Examination. However, this was anything but a normal Grand Examination.
At the beginning of the year, just as the cashima were gathering in Pan, Zomi Kidosu, the official in charge of the examination, had made the bold announcement that examinees this year would be prohibited from writing in Classical Ano, or even using logograms mixed with zyndari word-squares, as was sometimes done in drafts of official documents. Instead, the essays would have to be composed in the vernacular and written entirely using zyndari letters. As well, rather than being limited to citing to the Ano Classics, examinees were free to draw upon their own life experience in composing the essays.
(The old requirement to cite only the Ano Classics forced examinees into creative contortions to discuss their passions. Çami Phithadapu, for instance, had to begin her exam essay with a selection of quotes from Poti Maji and Üshin Pidaji on the role of whales in Ano life and the difficult trial of childbirth—as if these men would be the authority on that!—before pivoting, halfway through the essay, into actual evidence of midwifery being practiced among whales. Even then, she had to “support” the evidence from her own research with quotations from the Classics that barely applied.)
“No more forced appeals to the dubious authority of the Classics, no more compelled conformity to rigid logograms and archaic Classical Ano literary forms,” proclaimed Zomi. “Let a new era of freethinking, where speech is matched to writing, begin!”
In disbelief, the cashima petitioned the court for clarification.
There’s nothing to clarify, came the reply—written in brushed zyndari letters on silk scrolls bearing the official seal of the Farsight Secretary, as incongruous as a fishmonger’s accounting records being carved in jade. Any examinee using logograms will be summarily disqualified.
The cashima demanded an audience with the Farsight Secretary, but the result of the meeting infuriated them even more.
“I’ve told schools and academies around Dara for years to emphasize instruction in composition in zyndari letters,” said Zomi Kidosu. “What exactly is the problem?”
“That’s just intended to help students whose sights aren’t set on lofty heights, so that they could keep a ledger book or write simple letters to business partners, servants, and tenant farmers,” protested the representatives of the cashima. “No subject of consequence is taught in the vernacular.”
“Then perhaps it’s time for students who have been paying attention to the changes around them to succeed,” said Zomi. “With the rise in commerce and travel, more and more people in Dara are writing in the vernacular.”
The cashima, realizing that the Farsight Secretary was serious, left despondent and angry, and Zomi thought the matter was over.
However, on the morning the Grand Examination was scheduled to take place, a large contingent of examinees blocked the entrance and prevented anyone from entering, refusing to budge even when the Farsight Secretary arrived to administer the test. And when constables were dispatched to forcefully remove the protesters, a full riot broke out. By the time the city garrison was called to re-establish order, the cashima had chained themselves to the Examination Hall and proclaimed the start of a hunger strike.
Terrified of bloodshed, Cogo Yelu, the Prime Minister, came to the Examination Hall to ensure that the soldiers wouldn’t resort to violence against these scholars, most of them youths with little experience of the world. As night fell, Zomi Kidosu was forced to announce that the Grand Examination would be delayed until the next day.
By next morn, the ranks of the protesters swelled as scholars teaching and pursuing research in the Imperial Academy and the laboratories, all of them past participants of the Grand Examination, joined the movement against the debasement of learning. Sympathetic residents of Pan brought food and drink to the protesters—the hunger strike was forgotten in the euphoria of having successfully resisted the Farsight Secretary, even for just one day. And vendors set up booths near the protests to serve the crowd of curious onlookers.
Zomi refused to back down. The next day, she again attempted to open the Grand Examination.
Once more, the protesters rebuffed her.
As the standoff continued into the fourth week, petitions from the College of Advocates denouncing the Farsight Secretary teetered in tall stacks on the desk of Empress Jia, storytellers began to describe the heroic protesters in dramatic performances filled with improbable details, governors and nobles from across the land sent envoys to the capital to plead for their cashima, and officials and ministers waited impatiently for the announcement of the next session of formal court so that they could point out to the empress how, this time, the Farsight Secretary had simply gone too far.
But there was no response from the palace except deafening silence.
* * *
Phyro stormed his way out of the Inner Council Chamber without bidding farewell to anyone except Than Carucono and Zomi Kidosu.
Fools! Lily-livered cowards! Latrine rats with eyes only for the handbreadth of stinking mud in front of their noses!
He strode straight for the western side gate of the palace, which would lead him to the airfield, ignoring the ladies-in-waiting and courtiers who shrank out of his way, frightened by his dark expression. He was sick of talking. He needed to get back to Tiro Cozo, where he could do things that needed to be done.
O Mother, if only you were the Empress of Dara! You were by Father’s side throughout his campaigns; you understood what it meant to have to stand up for the people groaning under the yoke of bloodthirsty tyrants; you would not have turned your back on the people of Unredeemed Dara. If you had been made regent and not died in such a freak accident, I would now be the true Emperor of Dara. And the people of Rui and Dasu would have hope.
“Hudo-tika!”
He slowed down and saw that it was his little sister, Fara, standing by the winding path through the Palace Garden with a basket on her arm. Behind her stood Lady Soto.
“Ada-tika,” he said, his face softening. Then, more stiffly, he nodded at his old governess. “Auntie Soto. What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to see you, of course,” said Fara. “Aya and I told the Imperial kitchen to prepare rice balls with lotus paste and dates, your favorite. Do you want to come to Lake Tututika with us and Auntie Soto for a picnic? We have three new floral teas from Amu I want you to try. I’ve made a few logogram riddles that I think will stump you, and you should see what Aya has done with my airship—”
“Sorry, little sister, I can’t. I’ve got to go back to work right away.” Seeing her face fall at this, he sighed. “Thank you for the rice balls. I’ll take them with me.”
Fara gritted her teeth. “All right, there is another reason I want you to come. There is a crisis with the Grand Examination. I’ve secretly invited the leaders of the protesting scholars to join us. If you listen to them and successfully mediate in their dispute with Zomi, it will raise your standing among the ranked scholars. With them backing you, Gimoto won’t have any chance, no matter how much he tries to please our aunt-mother.”
“Listen to your sister,” urged Lady Soto. “Surely the garinafins can wait an afternoon.”
“The people of Rui and Dasu are suffering! How can I go out there and sip tea and munch on sweet snacks and chat with a bunch of bookworms about their inconsequential careers!?” Too late, he realized how much this sounded like a rebuke. “I don’t mean… I know you mean well… I just can’t.”
“I take it your meeting with the Inner Council didn’t go well?” asked Lady Soto.
Phyro sighed and said nothing.
He had come to Pan to report on his progress and to make a demand. Ofluro and Lady Suca had exceeded all his expectations. Under their tutelage, he was confident that he would have a powerful garinafin force in another year. With recent reports of instability in Rui and Dasu, he wanted the empress to authorize the immediate buildup of an invasion fleet to free the people of the conquered islands. Such an opportunity might not come again.
But other than Than and Zomi, everyone on the Inner Council argued against his proposal. Some pleaded the need for more funding for schools and cargo airships; some cautioned against provoking the Lyucu; some quoted from Kon Fiji’s admonitions against war; some insisted that signs of instability in Kriphi were a Lyucu trap. Cogo Yelu was the worst, coming up with reason after reason for why more military funding was imprudent. The empress said little, but in the end she sided with the majority. There would be no funds for an invasion fleet.
“Jia hasn’t forgotten the people of Rui and Dasu, you know?” Soto said. “But what you’re asking for is too much.”
“Too much?” Blood rushed into Phyro’s face. “Back during the Reign of Four Placid Seas, when Dara was far less prosperous, we could field a grand fleet of airships equipped with silkmotic lances and bolts to repel the Lyucu at Zathin Gulf. And now, after eight years of peace and growth, we suddenly can’t find the money to repeat the same feat?”
“Remember your aunt-mother is thinking of the long term, of what can happen when a state dedicates itself to war. Eight years ago, when the very survival of Dara was at stake, there was no choice but to devote all the resources of the nation to the stand at Zathin Gulf. But remember how quickly the empress discharged the veterans after the peace treaty, scuttled the expensive vessels and weapons so that components could be reappropriated for civilian use, took command away from the general and admirals—”
“I never understood why she did that. She seems to have an instinctive dislike for fighting men and women.”
“She does,” said Soto. “And as I told you once, it has to do with what she went through during your father’s rise. But more important, she saw how devotion to war can ruin a nation. The Tiro states under the Hegemon kept large standing armies, and during the years of the Chrysanthemum-Dandelion War, they came to dominate political life in all the states. No general or admiral wanted to see their command shrink, and so every year came the demand for more naval vessels, more airships, more soldiers, more horses; those merchants and manufacturers who grew fat on military spending bribed court officials and petitioned the court for ever larger shares of the budget; all men and women of ambition saw tapping into the network of military influence as the path to move up in the world. The army eventually became the claw that choked the body of the state—”
“That may be what she tells you,” said Phyro. “But I think there is a simpler explanation than that. My aunt-mother loves the Seal of Dara too much and views me as a threat.”
Fara gasped at this and looked about to see if his rash comment had been overheard.
“You wrong her,” said Soto, heat coming into her voice. “Have you forgotten the fate of Métashi, once the most powerful of the Tiro states? It was torn asunder by three generals, men whose ambitions were fed by the ever-growing army of a militarized state. When an army runs out of enemies, it will inevitably turn on its own people. She’s trying to protect you—”
“You speak of distant dangers beyond the horizon and theoretical risks in the mists of time,” said Phyro, uncaring who heard him. The frustration of the Inner Council meeting erupted to the surface. “A military buildup now is a matter of necessity. When the Wall of Storms opens in two years and the Lyucu are strengthened, it’ll be too late then to counter their invasion. The time to prepare for a strike is now.”
“Jia believes that Théra will succeed. There will be no reinforcements,” said Soto.
Phyro laughed harshly, a disbelieving bark. “I have as much faith in my sister as anyone, but it’s as absurd to trust our fate to her, far beyond the seas, as it would be to trust that the gods will come to our rescue because we’re kind and pious. The gods help those who help themselves. Does my aunt-mother really believe that the Lyucu will give up and go home if we sit on our hands here doing nothing?”
“I don’t know what Jia is planning either,” confessed Soto. “She has always been subtle in her thinking. But if you would just trust her and give her more time—”
“The people of Rui and Dasu don’t have more time!”
He bowed to her and embraced Fara quickly, whispering in her ear, “Take care of yourself. I know you mean well, but you can’t force anyone to live a story that doesn’t feel true to them.”
Then he strode away, not looking back.
Silently, Fara watched her brother leave. Then she stomped her feet, angrily wiping away the tears of frustration.
“You can only offer counsel,” said Soto, sighing. “It’s up to him to take it.”
“Forget it,” said Fara, sniffling. “I’m done with politics. Maybe I’m done with this whole family!”
Neither of them paid any attention to the two large ravens, one black and one white, that took off from the bough overhead.
* * *
The ravens landed next to the pool in the large rock formation near the camera obscura. The golden carp came up to the surface.
- If only Jia would work together with Phyro—
—instead of bickering with him like mortal enemies!
- Sisters, you can’t force two mortals who have different ideals about where they want to go to walk the same path.
- So now you’re an expert on mortal psychology?
- So are you going to enlighten us as to what Jia is up to?
- Wait, wait! Don’t sound so offended, Kana and Rapa. I’m just pointing out that we can guide and nudge, but ultimately the mortals, like their children, go where they will.
- Tututika, if only your charge had done a better job of mediating between her brother and aunt-mother—
—we’d be closer to getting to where we need and want to be.
- But sisters, all you talk about is what you want. What about what I want? We don’t all want the same things. Fithowéo wants to see Phyro at the head of a grand army, regardless of the consequences; the two of you want to see Dara triumph over the Lyucu, by strength or craft; Kiji wants to save the people of Rui and Dasu as well as the Lyucu but doesn’t know how; Rufizo keeps himself busy by rescuing refugees; I just want everyone to get along and leave my favorite princess alone; and Tazu—
- Nobody knows what that maelstrom-minded fish-trap wants.
