We Lie with Death

by Devin Madson

  I gripped the reins. The horse backed and tossed its head, almost lifting me from the ground. The young man stopped arguing with his companion to sneer. “I said they do not let you ride them. Levanti only.”

  Rah pointed to another horse. Agitated talk ensued, and like when he had tried to take the woodcutter’s head, his temper flared. Rah thumped his chest with his fist and spoke with great feeling, his words weighing down his young companion’s head with shame. He spoke with fervour and assurance, and for a fleeting moment I saw Tanaka once more standing in the throne room, appealing to the masses, spilling his heart in the moments before losing his head.

  The discomfort of being present for such a dressing down only increased when he gestured to me. I had looked at the ground rather than acknowledge Tor’s embarrassment, but in the end, Rah had led the other horse toward me, talking to it all the way as one might to an anxious child.

  “Jinso,” he had said, indicating the grand animal.

  Tor rolled his eyes. “This is Rah’s horse, Jinso. Rah says Jinso will let you ride him with Rah here.”

  More snapped Levanti followed, but Rah shook his head. And after a moment of silence the translator went on: “He will hold Jinso’s reins while you try. None of the others will let you ride them, but they will let him. Your companion can ride the Kisian horse. It is very tame and will give him less trouble with his wounds.”

  Comfortable sounds gathered around us—the clink of a bridle, the snuffle of a nose in hay, a shifting hoof. The horse was taller than Kin’s war charger, but ignoring the fear wriggling in my stomach, I took hold of the pommel and lifted my foot to the stirrup.

  Jinso had snuffled and moved his feet in the straw, but Rah held his reins as I climbed into the saddle. And while Rah crooned to his horse, Tor said nothing. He was scowling again and would not meet my gaze.

  At last Jinso stilled. Fretful tension remained, but when Rah stepped back, his horse did not buck me off. After a few more minutes Rah took another step, then handed me the reins over Jinso’s head with a nod suspiciously like a bow. My heart sped to a panicked tattoo as he stepped clear and Jinso backed, tossing his head.

  “Rah says you must stay calm.”

  I knew how to ride a horse and my back stiffened. “Step away,” I said. Fear gnawed, but I squeezed Jinso’s sides with my knees to set him walking, his only protest a toss of his head as we went from the dusty dry out into the rain. There he lengthened his stride and exhilaration beat aside my fear. He moved with such ease, with such unspent power in the bunching of his muscles. In that saddle I could forget my troubles. Could feel invincible. No wonder the Levanti lived as they did. Fought as they did. Died as they did.

  We stopped at Otobaru Shrine, the resting place of the old Otako emperors. Once a place of pilgrimage, it now sat tucked away in the woods between Shimai and Quilin, the contingent of guards that once tended and protected it disbanded long before my time. The graves were overgrown and the statues worn, and though there were signs that others had camped here over the years, the tracks were old and the fire pit filled with grass and kanashimi blossoms drooping in the rain.

  Rah crushed a clump beneath his foot as he eased himself from the saddle. Almost I snapped at him to take care, shocked anyone could see those flowers and not step over them. I could explain, but neither Levanti would understand.

  I took an exaggerated step over a clump, looking for somewhere to tie Jinso’s reins. Rah, having left his horse untethered, pointed at the shrine and spoke.

  “Is that a holy place?” Tor translated.

  “Yes,” I said. “It is a shrine to Qi. And this is the resting place of emperors.”

  Tor passed my answer on and Rah nodded. He untied the bloodstained sack from his saddle and carried it toward the shrine.

  Kitado slid from his horse only for his knees to buckle, landing him in a tangle of long, wet grass. I went to him but he shook his head.

  “General,” I said. “You cannot deny me the offered opportunity to check your wounds.”

  He forced a grim smile. “Your handiwork is very fine, my lady,” he said, indicating the gash on his arm I had sewed. “Whatever would Lady Yi say if she could see you stitching skin instead of silk?”

  “It has something of the same resistance, the same… force required to push the needle through and pull it out the other side. But I will not allow you to hide behind Lady Yi. You know that isn’t the wound I wish to look at.”

  “It is, however, the only one you shall see, Your Majesty.”

  He wore his jutting jaw proudly. “Very well, General,” I said. “You are safe for now. Can I get you something to make you more comfortable there on the ground?”

  Kitado looked up at his horse and its bags, a battle seeming to rage behind his eyes. “I hate to request anything of you, Your Majesty, but I don’t think I can unload or tend my own horse just now. If one of the Levanti—”

  “I can carry bags and tend horses, my friend. Have I not proved I am made of flesh and blood, not porcelain and gold? I am a capable woman, not just an empress.”

  “You will always be a god to me, Your Majesty.”

  Had I not laughed at the silent apology in his eyes, I might have cried.

  An old stone altar sat at the base of the shrine’s wide stairs, and kneeling before it with a dirty, decapitated head in his hands, Rah began to chant. As with the way he had spoken to Jinso, it was a musical sound, rising and falling with a poetic cadence that almost transcended language. There was grief in every word and yet the whole came together with a sense of joy that filled my heart with hope.

  “What is he saying?” I said, looking to Tor, who was tending his horse.

  “He is singing a lament. He will pray as well and offer each soul back to the world. The lament is not required, but as this is not an altar to Nassus he wishes to first draw the attention of the gods.”

  “Nassus?”

  “The god of death. He rides with us. We are branded in his name that he may always know our sacrifice. We are the Swords that hunt so your hands may be clean. We are the Swords that kill so your soul may be light. We are the Swords that die so you may live.”

  “And why the heads?”

  My question crushed Tor’s fervour to a scowl. “So the soul may be taken to a holy place and released. If not, the soul gets trapped in this world, in the cage of its flesh, never to be reborn. It is dishonourable to leave a soul to Reside, even an enemy’s.”

  General Kitado shifted in his seat of mud and flowers. “Reside?”

  “To stay here. Unable to be reborn. That is why he tried to take the woodcutter’s head.”

  Tor had said so at the time, but I had been too furious at the desecration and the woman’s pain to give it any thought. I had sat with the woodcutter’s wife as she laid out his body. I had lit the incense. I had prayed with her and offered reparations I could not yet pay, but all she had said was “Thank you, my lady” and “You are too kind, my lady” and looked dead inside. Despite her loss I had fretted. It was dangerous to linger, yet guilt pinned me in place like a butterfly to a board. Minister Manshin had scarified himself that I might live to fight another day, but everywhere I went I brought nothing but more death to my people.

  All the while Rah had hobbled about the yard, tending the horses and cutting off heads. He had collected them in a sack, blood oozing through the hessian. It had seemed a lot of work to go to for trophies likely to rot by the day’s end.

  “Why heads?” I asked once more, my gaze sliding toward Rah as he knelt chanting before the altar. “Why not fingers or toes? They would weigh a lot less.”

  Tor sneered. “What use would it be cutting off fingers and toes except for sport? The soul resides in the head, not the hand or the foot or the nose. That is why we brand and paint the back of the head.”

  “But you don’t have a branding. Or shave your head. Why?”

  For a brief moment he met my gaze, before turning back to his horse without an answer.
I glanced down at Kitado, dripping with as much sweat as rain, and he gave an infinitesimal shake of his head.

  I did not ask again.

  While General Kitado rested, Rah built a fire from the wood Tor gathered. I had been against having one, but the shrine had a stone entryway and we needed hot water, so I gave in and hoped no one would notice smoke leaking through the shrine roof.

  I carried all the saddlebags inside and set pots to catch rainwater, but none of the Levanti horses would let me tend them, not even Jinso though I had ridden on his back all day. I hated leaving the job for Tor, but the horses gave me no choice. The young Levanti had headed back into the trees in search of more firewood, but he soon returned empty-handed and sped over with what I had come to think of as his permanent scowl. “There are people coming.”

  I tensed. “People? What sort of people?”

  He made a gesture part shrug, part impatient hand wave. “I don’t know. People. Kisian people.”

  “Kisian? Where?”

  “On the road, heading this way.”

  I couldn’t tell if fear or excitement owned more of my thoughts. People meant news, but the wrong people could mean trouble.

  “Should I kill them?” Tor said, the words spoken in so innocent and helpful a tone that it took me a moment to register what he had said.

  “Kill them? No! Don’t kill them, I mean… not yet. What have they done to harm us that your thoughts jump so quickly to death?”

  Tor’s cheeks reddened and his scowl returned. “You’re hiding. Killing people is safer,” he said a little petulantly. “Or I could go welcome them. I’m sure that would go well.” He gestured to his face and he had a point. Explaining to anyone why two Levanti were travelling with two Kisians would be a feat.

  “How far away are they?”

  “They’ll be here any minute.”

  I touched the covered form of Hacho. “Armed?”

  Again with his odd impatient shrug. “Not obviously, but knives are easy to hide.”

  Almost I snapped that I was well aware of that, but instead I pointed to the horses. “They won’t let me tend them. You do that and—”

  Voices sounded on the road, followed by hoofbeats, and I swallowed the urge to pull my bow from its place on my back. The road that led to Otobaru Shrine went nowhere else. As a road of pilgrimage, it bore signs of old glory—cracked and weathered statues, writing etched into the stones, and overgrown flower beds that must once have looked beautiful.

  Three young men were approaching, their horses overladen with supplies.

  “Good evening,” I called out. “Have you come to shelter at the shrine?”

  “Evening!” one of them returned. “Indeed we have. There is little other shelter to be found, so it’s no surprise to find others here in such weather.”

  “No indeed.” I waited until they drew closer before adding, “I hope it will not trouble you to share your shelter tonight.”

  The seeming leader—a young man of means by the look of his horse and his attire—smiled and made a respectful bow. “Not at all, good lady. We must all come together at such difficult times.”

  He looked around the clearing, and although General Kitado was out of sight resting inside, both Rah and Tor went about their tasks, wary eyes upon our newcomers.

  “These Levanti are not our enemies,” I said, pre-empting questions. “Whatever part they played in the Chiltaen attacks.”

  “Were forced to play,” one of the other three muttered—a young man with a finely manicured beard bisecting his chin. “They are also our liberators.”

  “Yes,” the third said, shocking me with his suppressed vehemence. “And if Dom Villius trusts and follows them then who are we to doubt.”

  As though those words closed the conversation, all three dismounted and began to settle in. I stared at them as their words washed over me. They didn’t all make sense, but I ought to have picked up the signs they were followers of the One True God—no family sigils, simple clothing despite their fine cut, and each wore a silver necklace around his throat. Two wore them tucked beneath their robes, but the bearded man had the silver mask sitting proudly atop his clothing for all to see.

  Belief in the One True God had never been popular at court. Kisian believers tended to hide their religion, all too easy was it to equate with treasonous support of our enemies. The world was full of nuance, but a lifetime at court had taught me that power lay in convincing the masses it wasn’t. Us and them, good and bad, right and wrong—the most powerful messages were the divisive ones.

  “Did you say Dom Villius?” Tor said, as Beard carried his pack under the shrine’s portico.

  The young Kisian lifted his brows, no doubt as surprised at the question as that Tor could speak our language. “I did. We heard of his return and are on our way to Kogahaera to join him.”

  “Return?”

  The man dropped his heavy pack and straightened with a little groan of stiff joints. “The One True God has blessed him with new life, finally proving the long hoped-for truth that Dom Villius is Veld Reborn. We go to serve him as is called upon by all followers of the True Faith.”

  Before Tor could ask further questions, Rah turned from the fire. “Leo?”

  The resulting interchange looked heated, with Rah sitting forward and gesturing to the newcomers and Tor grumbling back, and I thought of Dom Villius sitting atop the hill at Risian surrounded by Levanti. They had seemed to value him, preferring to protect him themselves rather than leave the job to Chiltaens.

  Whatever had troubled Rah, he settled into scowling silence while the newcomers unpacked their belongings on the other side of the shrine. There were a dozen things I ought to be doing, but while Tor went back to tending the horses I just stood awkwardly, all too aware of standing between worlds. They didn’t know me for their empress, their god, yet even so it was a Levanti emperor they rode toward and a Chiltaen man they worshipped. Was this what all Kisians would soon look like, if I failed? If the empire fell? Was it already too late?

  We had not ourselves been a chatty group, but when the three pilgrims joined us around the fire that night the silence was so deep and awkward that I wished my people would go away again. I might not understand their language or their ways, but the Levanti made sense. Kisian believers of the One True God made me uncomfortable.

  “We have wine and meat and bread we are happy to share,” said the one I thought of as their leader. “It would give us joy to help others.”

  Back at the woodcutter’s house, General Kitado had shown me how to smush all our leftover rice into patties, wrapped up in waxed paper. We had little else and still had far to go, so it was with reluctant relief that I accepted their offer and offered none of our food in return. It was not the hospitable way, but I had two injured men and farther to go.

  The trio’s meat and bread were still fresh, and the sight of them spread beside the fire made my mouth water. How many days had it been since I’d eaten good food?

  Rah pointed at the meat and spoke low. Tor replied with his impatient shrug. More conversation passed between them, and after watching them for a few moments, the pilgrims began their own low-voiced conversation about how many days they thought it would take to reach Kogahaera. They were still discussing the point when Tor took a piece of the Chiltaen-style flatbread and lined it with meat before rolling it up. This he showed to Rah, seeking a nod of approval, before handing it to General Kitado sitting propped against the shrine wall a few paces back from the blaze.

  My cheeks reddened with the shame of not having thought to see what he needed myself, so caught up had I been with the strange newcomers. General Kitado thanked the young Levanti, not seeming to realise Rah had instigated the provision.

  “How long have you been camping here?” the head pilgrim asked, despite the answer being obvious.

  “Only tonight,” I said, sure they actually wanted to know who I was and where we were going. Did they suspect? I didn’t recognise them, but if they
came from Mei’lian there was every chance they would recognise me.

  I shifted my weight and sought a change of subject. “You said you were joining Dom Villius in Kogahaera. You are not afraid to go there with the Levanti present?”

  “The deeper the faith the shallower the fear, good lady,” the man replied, touching the pendant hidden beneath his simple robe. “Besides, the Levanti emperor is receiving Kisian oaths and gathering allies; he has no reason to harm us.”

  Receiving Kisian oaths and gathering allies. The words pierced my heart with icy fear, and it was all I could do not to glance at General Kitado. My mother had spent years cultivating alliances, but almost all of them were in the north—the north that had been decimated in the Chiltaen invasion, the north that had been burned and broken, the north that was bowing now to a foreign emperor. The feeling that walls were closing in on me intensified and I could not shake it, could not shake the fear that I had already lost, that my empire had moved on without me.

  “I’ve heard talk that he’ll marry Empress Miko,” the young man continued, sublimely unaware of the second jolt of fear he dealt me. “That should help people accept him.”

  “You want a Levanti emperor?” General Kitado asked from the shadows beyond the fire.

  “We want an emperor who will not repress our religious beliefs as the Otakos and the Ts’ai have been doing for generations.”

  His tone was belligerent and his chin jutted, challenging the injured soldier to argue. Whether in possession of his full health Kitado would have done so or not, he countered with a gentle “You do not fear that Levanti rule will destroy all that makes us Kisian?”

  “A lot of the common people seem to have that fear,” the leader said, proving I had been right about their social standing. “But if he marries a Kisian and allies himself with Kisians, eats like a Kisian, talks like a Kisian, and lives like a Kisian, is he not Kisian?”