The Wall of Storms, page 64
“Nooooo!” howled Zomi Kidosu. “Mother! Mother! Oh, gods!”
Than Carucono held on to her even tighter.
The scene before her was incomprehensible. Her mother, burning; her mother, dying. She had promised to give her mother a better life, and this was what she had done.
Where a hundred people had scrambled and struggled for life a moment ago, now only a hundred smoldering pyres remained. The charred but still sizzling bodies maintained the poses of the last moments of their lives: a mother shielding the body of her child, a husband interposing himself before his wife, a son and daughter trying to cover the body of their mother—all three were now fused into one smoldering corpse.
Kuni struck the ground, and Mün Çakri’s arms softened the fall. The emperor’s lips moved but he could not find the words. He stared at the scene of horror, benumbed.
Some Lyucu soldiers came forward and unceremoniously smothered the smoldering embers with bags of earth they carried over their shoulders. About a hundred more civilians were driven forward to stand on the crematorium, over this field of slaughter. They screamed and resisted, but the Lyucu soldiers were relentless and shackled them to stakes driven into the ground. Then the Lyucu warriors retreated, and the garinafin put its head near the ground again.
The people in the ash-filled open space screamed and cried and begged for mercy, and the soldiers of Dara were so overwhelmed by this unprecedented sight and the smell of roasting human flesh that many retched and threw up.
“Emperor, order your soldiers to drop their weapons and your airships to land and stop resisting. All your airships.”
Mün Çakri gave the order for his men to attack, but they stood rooted to the ground, too shocked to move. The old general, eyes bloodred with fury, rushed straight at Tenryo himself by running through the huddled crowd.
“Hiyaaaaa!”
The pékyu chopped his arm through the air. The garinafin snapped its maw shut and snapped it open again, and a new tongue of flames flickered out, instantly incinerating the running figure of Mün Çakri and the men and women and children around him.
The fiery, dead figure of Mün Çakri continued to run at Pékyu Tenryo, as though the body was being animated by a spirit stronger than life itself. It crashed into the ranks of the Lyucu warriors standing in front of Tenryo, and four or five of the warriors were set afire by the burning body before they could stop him.
Behind him, another hundred flame pillars replaced a hundred lives.
Kuni recovered from his reverie. With tears in his eyes, he calmly ordered the soldiers of Dara to drop their weapons.
“You should have left, Rénga,” said Dafiro Miro.
“If I leave, I don’t deserve to be Emperor of Dara,” said Kuni.
He ordered Grace of Kings and all the other airships to land.
“This is my fault,” Zomi said, numbly. “I should never have left home. I should never have decided to make my talents known. My mother is dead because of me.”
“If you believe that,” Than Carucono said, “then you’re a fool. It is the nature of evil men like Pékyu Tenryo to make his victims think that they’re at fault. Do you think your mother would agree with you? Do you think Luan Zyaji would agree with you?”
Zomi stared at the chaotic scene before her. Slowly, her face settled into a look of determination.
She would have to use her talents to the utmost and avenge all those she loved.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
THE MARSHAL’S DECISION
PAN: THE THIRD MONTH IN THE TWELFTH YEAR OF THE REIGN OF FOUR PLACID SEAS.
Zomi Kidosu returned to Pan in a small messenger airship—the only one that the Lyucu allowed to depart Rui so that survivors could inform the people of Dara of the horrors they had witnessed. Emperor Ragin demanded that she be allowed to leave along with the senior officers of his army, and Zomi was grateful for the vote of confidence in her abilities.
“I will avenge my parents,” she whispered to the emperor. “And I will rescue you and the prince.”
The emperor nodded, but she wasn’t sure if he really believed her.
She carried back to the Big Island the ashes of Mün Çakri, who was given a state funeral befitting his rank in Zudi, his hometown. Zomi also brought back her mother’s ashes—mixed with the ashes of the other Dasu villagers incinerated in her vicinity—and the body of her father, and they were buried together in a quiet ceremony in a plot in the Imperial cemetery in Pan. Since Dasu was under Lyucu occupation, it was thought best to inter them here temporarily until their homeland could be liberated.
The last box in the passenger airship held the body of Luan Zyaji, who was buried in a lavish state funeral in Ginpen. All the Lords of Dara who could make the journey attended, and it was the first occasion where anybody could remember seeing Gin Mazoti cry.
Zomi also brought a message from Pékyu Tenryo demanding the immediate cessation of all resistance in Dara.
Empress Jia summoned all the governors, generals, ministers, and enfeoffed nobles to the capital to discuss a response. As the assembled advisers debated, two camps emerged.
One camp, led by Prime Minister Cogo Yelu, advocated compliance with the demands of the Lyucu.
“The safety of the emperor and Prince Timu is paramount,” said Cogo.
“Surrendering Dara to the Lyucu is not what Father would want,” countered Prince Phyro, who led the other camp advocating continuing war. “The Lyucu number no more than five thousand, and if each of the hundreds of thousands of the inhabitants of the Islands of Dara were to spit at the Lyucu, we would drown them! What’s the matter with you, Cogo? Have you turned timid in old age? Surrendering now would sully the names of all of us and the House of Dandelion forever in history.”
Anger colored Cogo’s face. “It’s true that we have the advantage of numbers. But after the seizure of the base at Mount Kiji and the loss of all remaining airships during the last assault, we have no realistic option against the garinafin riders.”
“The garinafins are not machines, you know. They do get tired and their fire breath runs out. We can certainly overwhelm them with a sufficiently large army and navy.”
“But at what cost?” Cogo asked. “How many people must die in this war of attrition you advocate to preserve the pride that you hold so dear? The emperor could have escaped but he yielded to Pékyu Tenryo so that the people of Rui would not die for his personal honor. Would you undo his grace with your brutal, barbaric tactic of human waves?”
Phyro flushed. “I of course want to lessen the loss of lives as much as possible. But have you thought through the consequences of surrender? The Lyucu have a way of life fundamentally different from ours. They will get rid of all the rice paddies, sorghum fields, apple orchards, silk plantations, water mills, and windmills, and replace them all with pastureland for their cattle. They intend to enslave the people of Dara.”
“I didn’t say that we would just surrender completely!” said Cogo. “As you point out, they’re but few in number. They must be daunted by the prospect of having to control a population so much larger than the occupying force. It may be possible to negotiate an agreement that will cede territory to them and acknowledge their suzerainty, while also preserving for the emperor some measure of autonomy over the majority of Dara. With the passage of time, it may be possible to change the strategic balance.”
“What makes you think that time is on our side? The Lyucu must surely be sending reinforcements from their homeland right now to make the next opening in the Wall of Storms. As time passes, some of the elites of Dara will find it convenient to work with the Lyucu for self-preservation and advantage, as Ra Olu has already done. Our only chance is to fight right now and to fight to the end!”
“It’s easy for great lords dressed in silk and gold to speak of fighting to the end, especially when it is others who will have to pay the price.”
The empress listened as the two sides argued on, neither yielding an inch; her expression was unreadable.
Jia passed by the schoolroom, where Soto Zyndu was now instructing Princess Fara in history. She stopped just beyond the doorway and listened.
“What did you think of the story about Queen Tho-zu?” asked Soto.
“I don’t understand how Ologa was able to turn the people against her,” said Fara. “The queen was waiting for her husband to return, so of course she was doing the right thing to say no to all the suitors. Why would anyone believe Ologa’s lies?”
“It’s because everyone thought the king was dead—he had been away at war for ten years, while most of the other warriors had returned. They thought Queen Tho-zu was a widow, which was why all the suitors were at the castle. They couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t marry any of them.”
“Even if her husband was dead, her son was still alive. She was trying to preserve the kingdom for him.”
“But Dacan was very young, remember, and he was also away from home. So there was another interpretation for Queen Tho-zu’s refusal. Ologa hinted to the people that she wanted to hold on to the power of being regent because she enjoyed it, and in that way Ologa ruined her reputation. He accused her of being ambitious.”
“Is being ambitious bad?”
“Many men think that’s a bad thing in a woman.”
Jia entered the room.
“Empress!” Fara stood up and ran over. But a few steps away, she remembered the protocols, stopped, and bowed in jiri.
Jia walked up and embraced her. “Would you leave me and Lady Soto for a moment? She’ll find you later to continue the lesson.”
Fara nodded and left.
Jia sat down next to Soto. The room seemed very quiet now with only the two of them in it. She remembered how noisy the place used to be when Master Zato Ruthi taught all the children in here. Phyro was now spending all his time with the generals while Théra had departed for Ginpen to study the garinafin carcasses brought back by mechanical crubens. And Timu . . .
She reminded herself that they were no longer children.
“Have you heard what they’re saying about me in the streets of Pan?” asked Jia.
“I have enough to worry about without listening to the prattle of the foolish.”
Jia smiled. “You don’t need to spare my feelings. I heard the lesson you were giving Fara. It’s timely.”
Soto said nothing.
“Even Cogo Yelu looks at me strangely these days,” said Jia, “as though he thinks it’s possible that I’m deliberately doing nothing because I hope my husband and son would remain in the hands of the Lyucu.”
Soto looked at her. “I once spoke to you of Lady Zy, whose role in history has largely been erased, though she was the force behind Lurusén’s philippics against Xana aggression.”
“That was what inspired me down the road to politics.”
“And the alternative to erasure is misunderstanding, Jia.”
“I know,” said Jia. “But why does this have to be so hard? To achieve a better life for the people, why must I choose to stain my name in the annals of Dara? Why do the gods mock us so?”
Soto placed an arm around Jia’s shoulders, and the empress leaned into her gratefully.
“Luan Zyaji was only half right,” said Soto. “The grace of kings may belong to all, but only few are fit to take up the burden.”
And Jia cried softly in the schoolroom as Soto held her.
Gin Mazoti had been moved into a guesthouse near the palace and no guards were posted. She was free to come and go as she liked, though she was without title or power—and, nominally at least, still a traitor to the throne.
She did not stray from the courtyard of her house. She received no visitors and spent her mornings instructing Aya in the art of war—with a sword and across a cüpa board. In the afternoons, she composed her book on military tactics.
“I may never lead an army again,” she told Aya. “But perhaps it’s best to leave some record of my ideas so that future generations may remember that I earned my title by talent and hard work.”
One sunny day, Jia came to visit.
Gin laid out tea and dried fruits for the empress. Like the tea, her demeanor was tepid and perfectly placid, as though nothing was happening outside the courtyard of the guesthouse.
They sat down across the table from each other. For a moment, it seemed as if they were two cüpa players about to begin a match, but then the empress slumped in her pose in resignation.
“Marshal, I don’t know what to do.”
The admission of weakness clearly was not easy for her. She lowered her head, and Gin noticed the gray at her temples and the lines at the corners of her eyes. She had aged years in months.
“Sometimes there are no good choices,” said Gin. “Though the sagas tell of heroes who struggle against great odds and triumph, most of the time, the odds work out the way they are supposed to.”
“You were right that Kuni may be a leader of generals, but he is not a suitable commander for an army,” said Jia.
“There is no shame in the emperor’s defeat. Pékyu Tenryo is a tactician of great skill.”
Jia hesitated for a few moments, but then made up her mind. “What if I’m willing to announce to the world that you were falsely accused by me and thus redeem your name?”
Gin stared at her. “You’d be willing to do that? Just so that I’d resume command of the forces of Dara? What about all that you’ve fought for? What if the enfeoffed nobles take advantage of your concession and grow in strength to threaten the House of Dandelion in the future?”
“I can’t strive for distant visions of palaces on the moon when the house is on fire, Marshal. My husband and son need you now. Dara needs you.”
Gin stood up and paced back and forth. Jia stared at her, trying to see signs of hope.
The marshal returned and sat down.
“No.”
Jia’s face fell. “Why?”
“Conditions have changed. If you clear my name now at the cost of your own, Dara will be thrown into utter chaos. And in any event, I see no chance of victory. Pékyu Tenryo is a worthy opponent, and now he has all the advantages on the board.”
“Is there truly no hope?”
“I have played through the variations hundreds of times, Empress. I can’t think of a way to defeat the Lyucu and save the emperor and the prince.”
“What if you do not need to save the emperor and the prince?” asked Jia.
Gin looked at her, her expression unchanged.
“Do not think I covet power,” said Jia. “I know I have little credibility with you. But if you can come up with a way to drive these invaders from our shores—even if you must sacrifice Kuni and Timu—I will immediately cede to you the position of regent. When Phyro is ready in your estimation, help him be a good ruler.”
Gin’s expression finally shifted to one of astonishment.
“Perhaps you never believed my explanations and thought me a selfish, petty woman who relied on palace intrigue to secure the position of her son. But remember that Kuni and I were willing to die to overthrow the evil that was the Xana Empire; he would never forgive me if I saved him by putting the people of Dara under a worse yoke than Mapidéré’s.
“I have always done everything I could to help the people. Believe me or not, as you will—I know only that we must not yield to the Lyucu, and I beg you to save the people of Dara, even if you must sacrifice the House of Dandelion.”
She knelt up in mipa rari and bowed until she touched her forehead to the ground before Gin Mazoti.
Gin knelt up in mipa rari as well and bowed back, touching her forehead to the ground in turn. “I confess that I have mismeasured you, Jia. You’re indeed a woman of capacious mind, a worthy Empress of Dara.”
They both straightened, and Jia locked gazes with Gin. “You have a way, then?”
Gin shook her head. “Even disregarding the lives of the emperor and the prince, I cannot think of a way to defeat the Lyucu without sacrificing tens of thousands, perhaps even hundreds of thousands. Even the best ideas for new weapons devised by Princess Théra and Zomi Kidosu, enhanced with my input, could only sting the garinafins in a moment of surprise.
“I will have to draft every man, woman, and child, and fight a war of attrition for decades. Though I have ordered the deaths of many in my life, I cannot contemplate such a price, not even to avoid servitude.
“I’m sorry, Jia. I can see no way out other than to yield.”
“Zomi!” Aya jumped up and gave her a great big hug.
“How are your studies going?” Zomi asked.
“Ma makes me practice hard every day.” Aya pointed to the heavy stones in the corner. “I can lift three of those overhead at a time now. I’m sure I’ll soon be able to go to war with her.”
After a quick greeting, Gin Mazoti invited Zomi to stay and have lunch with her. They sat down together with Aya, much as they used to do in the palace at Nokida, when Queen Gin and her advisers would discuss the various policy matters of the kingdom.
Zomi brought out a large book and laid it on the table between them.
Gin recognized it as Gitré Üthu, the book that Luan Zya—now Zyaji—used to carry with him always. She had read the report of Luan Zyaji’s adventures, of course, but it was different to see the original manuscript itself. With trembling hands, she opened it and began to read.
On the last page was a message that Luan had written.
It is only when one is away from home that one can see its beauty. Gin, my beloved, see you on the other side.
“What is this?” asked Aya.
“It’s a book written by your father,” said Gin.
“My father?” Aya didn’t know how to respond as she gazed at the signature on the last page. After a while, she said, “I thought you didn’t know who he was.”
A complicated series of expression flitted across Gin’s face.
