by Devin Madson
Tor scowled darkly and set his teeth, but made no comment.
“I can see there is fear in you,” the bearded pilgrim said, leaning toward me with a smile. “But you need not be afraid of change. We are all in the hands of God and always have been despite our insistence on worshipping spirits of the water and the moon and the forest. It is time to let go of these things and be free.”
He held out a pendant, its silver shining almost gold in the firelight. The Mask of God. When I did not take it, he shifted it closer, his smile a sweet, helpful thing as though he was aiding a lost child. “As we do not control this world, to fight change is to kick and scream at the dark.”
“Is that what your god demands?” I said, my voice sounding unlike my own, so constricted was my throat. “Capitulation? Surrender? That you do not strive?”
“Not at all, good lady, merely that we strive to build anew rather than fight to hold on to the old.”
I flinched as he took my hand and pressed the pendant into it. “For when you are ready to listen, good lady.”
Despite the presence of the pilgrims, I slept better that night than any other since leaving Mei’lian. Perhaps I was getting used to the hard ground and the interminable rain, or perhaps I had been calmed by the presence of the gods. Our gods. I had not been able to refuse the gifted pendant, but I had shoved it to the bottom of my pack where I need not look at it.
When I woke, the shrine’s thick, dusty beams were shadowed in dawn light. I could hear the three pilgrims packing their things and speaking in low voices, while beyond the lattice screens rain struck the ground with the force of hatred. Not wanting to face the trio of traitors, I pulled my damp blanket tighter around myself and sought more sleep, but all I could think of was that pendant and the indifferent shrugs with which they had discarded generations of Kisian leadership. I tried to tell myself these three were an anomaly and did not speak for the rest of my people, yet all the same fears and doubts assailed me. Had I any allies left?
A fevered whimper levered me upright. A few paces away General Kitado lay in the tangled remains of his own blanket. He let out a cry and rolled, leaving a patch of blood behind.
On hands and knees, I shuffled to his side. “General?”
He twitched but did not answer. I patted his shoulder and Kitado flinched and opened bleary eyes, staring at me like he had never seen me before. “Majesty?”
I looked around to be sure our unwanted companions were too far away to hear. “General, you are not as well as you would have me believe.”
“Merely fatigued, Your Majesty,” he said with a strained smile. “The ache makes it difficult to sleep.”
“You are bleeding again. You need a physician. I can ride to Syan on my own while you—”
“No.”
I scowled at him. “You are no use to anyone dead, Kitado. I will order you to ride for the closest town if I must.”
“Your life is my concern, not the other way around. One does not become the commander of the Imperial Guard to prolong their time in this world.”
“But—”
“Miko.” His use of my name shut my lips even as it twisted a smile from his. “I am going to die whether a physician looks at me or not. Whatever game we play, whatever pretence we allow ourselves, we both know that whether I stop and rest or press on, my days are limited. No, let me finish, please. The wish of this dying man is not to wallow in false hope but to see my task done. We may not be sure of his loyalties, but Grace Bahain is an honourable man and his son is your friend. If I could see you safely to them in Syan, I could die knowing some part of my duty to be discharged.”
I looked at the deep gash oozing blood through its torn bindings. He had kept it hidden each day beneath his armour, had let Rah clean and bind it each night with fresh strips ripped from a spare blanket, and their silence had allowed me hope.
“I am sorry, Your Majesty,” he said, all attempt at a brave smile sliding from his face.
“No, I am sorry. I ought to have left Rah to bleed out back in the fen.” Bitterness stained every word. “If we had kept moving, we might have stayed ahead of the Levanti search parties.”
“What is done is done. Look forward, Majesty, never back.” Kitado nodded to Rah, sitting nearby, watching. “He repays the debt, at least. He knew, though you did not. There are some wounds even the great Master Kenji cannot fix.”
“He stopped Kin from dying when half his body was burned.”
Kitado managed a smile. “Emperor Kin was a god, Your Majesty. I am merely a soldier. Now we ought to keep moving if we are to reach Syan.”
I wanted to argue, to tell him it would be all right because I was a god and I willed it, but they were the words of a child and I kept them to myself as I helped him sit. From the other side of the shrine, Rah watched. Kitado met his gaze and the two men shared a nod full of understanding and respect I could not but envy. They might come from different places and worship different gods, but a warrior was a warrior, carrying the same honour and fortitude with them like a cloak. Tanaka and I had play-acted such things, but while he would have earned that respect, it seemed I would always be a princess in need of protection.
We ate what little was left of our supplies, drank rainwater as it gushed from the eaves, then left Otobaru behind. Rah and Tor had to help Kitado into the saddle and Jinso was unsettled, but the moment the two Levanti mounted they became one with their horses, leaving me all too conscious of my own shortcomings.
The rain seemed intent upon drowning us and hammered with increasing fervour as we rode east, yet there was a panicked rush to our pace that had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with Kitado. I was not the only one watching him with a wary gaze. I tried to tell myself he would make it. That he would be all right. Rah had re-bandaged the wound before we left, the two of them speaking together while he worked though neither could understand the other.
It had been days since we’d left the enemy Levanti behind, days since we’d seen anyone but the occasional traveller, long enough that I had stopped looking over my shoulder. But not so long I didn’t almost choke on my heart at the thundering of hooves behind us.
Rah and Tor caught them at the same time and a quick flurry of conversation passed before Tor gestured off the road. “It sounds like at least five riders. We have to hide.”
At the sudden halt, Kitado swayed in his saddle, but held out his hand to show he was fine even as I reached for him.
“Quick,” Tor hissed, waving an anxious hand. “They’ll be in sight any moment. Get into the trees and keep the horses quiet. We’ll cover the tracks.”
I urged Jinso off the road into the thick undergrowth. General Kitado followed, brushing through reaching greenery toward a small clearing, but no sooner had he drawn level than he slipped sideways, his weight dropping onto my leg like a falling tree.
Panic swept me, but I held Jinso firm and shook the general’s shoulder. “General? General!”
He lurched up like a man shaken awake, his face pale with pain. “Hold there,” I said. “I’ll get you down.”
I dropped from Jinso’s back and dashed to Kitado’s other side, hardly caring we were being pursued or recalling the rest of the world even existed. Only the crush of undergrowth beneath boots made me turn. Rah was leading both his and Tor’s horses, Tor nothing but a dark shape farther back in the trees. The approaching hoofbeats grew close, hammering at my ears, but Rah dropped his reins and hurried forward to help me.
He caught General Kitado as he fell, and I closed my eyes as the roar of approaching hooves crashed over us like a wave. It seemed to last forever, my heart thudding to the same frenzied beat, until at last they began to fade. I opened my eyes upon a heavily breathing Tor, staring after the retreating sound. He met my gaze only to look away. “They didn’t even slow.”
Rah had laid Kitado upon the ground and I went to him, patting his pale cheek. “General? General!”
His eyes fluttered open only for him to
flinch and squint at the endless bombardment of the rain. Rah stood and a moment later the rain ceased, landing instead upon Rah’s tunic stretched over us like a badly made tent.
“Sorry, Your Majesty,” Kitado croaked, blinking fast. “I’m afraid I am going to fail you.”
“No, never, General,” I said. “It is I who has failed you. And I do most humbly beg your forgiveness.”
His chuckle became a wince. “You honour me, Your Majesty, but I will pretend… I did not… hear that. You are… our empress. You cannot… fail. You… cannot be wrong.”
A shadow fell and I glanced up at Tor.
“We need a physician,” I said. “You must ride to the nearest town and—”
The young man shook his head. “I will prolong the suffering of the dead no longer.”
“But he isn’t dead!”
“He has been dead for days. Let him go with honour.”
I made to argue, to shout him down, but Kitado gripped my hand and I had no further thought for Tor. “Majesty,” the general said, his eyes wide with sudden desperation. “Let them take my head.”
“What?”
He lifted a shaking finger at Rah standing half-naked beside us, unmoving despite the rain now dripping through the tunic he held aloft. “I want him to… release my soul. To the gods.”
“But—”
“Please, Majesty. I don’t want to be trapped here, in this broken body. If there is even a small chance they are right… Promise me, Your Majesty, I beg of you.”
“Yes. Of course. I promise.”
Even with more time I would not have argued, but as I gave my word the intense light drained from Kitado’s dark eyes like a sigh from his lips and he slumped back into the mud. His hand fell from mine and he slid into peace, the exact moment of his passing lost to the tears that filled my eyes.
“He wants Rah to take his head,” I said.
When no answer came I looked up to be sure Tor had heard me and found a notch cut between his brows. “Is it what you want?” He jerked his head at Rah. “He won’t do it if you’re going to scream at him again.”
“Do it,” I said. “It was his wish.”
Tor shrugged like it meant nothing to him and spoke to Rah. Their discussion passed over my head while I wiped tears on my sodden sleeve, then Rah withdrew his tunic leaving the storm to once more drown me in its sorrow. He drew his short knife but awaited further permission, and I knew not whether to honour him for the respect or hate him for forcing me to give it.
I nodded and moved back, letting him take my place at General Kitado’s side. I could not watch, could only stare at the endless storm and think of Tanaka’s severed head lying separate from his body.
Whether or not the Levanti were right about freeing the soul, from the moment Kitado ceased drawing breath, I was alone.
8. CASSANDRA
Despite Kocho’s lecture on wealth, I had expected better of the Witchdoctor’s house than a tumbledown mansion, its drive so full of potholes the whole carriage jolted. My injured leg banged against the door and a pained hiss escaped before I could catch it.
“Fuck.”
The girl stared.
I had been allowed back inside the carriage after the god-man stitched me up. Kocho had summarised the situation for him in a few terse words, and without comment or complaint, the Witchdoctor had set about his work. It had hurt more than I expected, but after a stop for food, water, rest, and fresh clothes, we had been on the road again, the watchful gaze of the silent woman on me at all times.
The rain had poured endlessly upon the carriage and now it drenched the run-down house, trying to wash it off the hillside. The surrounding terraces owned waterfalls, and the steep drive was little better than mud.
“What a shithole,” I said, though I might as well have kept my thoughts to myself for all the acknowledgement I received from either companion. Even She had been quiet since the arrow.
Empress Hana had been awake more and more as we travelled west, but although she was awake and seemed stronger, more often than not she stared at nothing as she did now, uttering not a word.
As the carriage climbed the drive the house disappeared from view, only to reappear around the next curve. An enormous tree standing in the grounds had moved with it, and I leaned closer to the window.
“There is a tree growing through the roof,” I said, frowning through the wobbly, rain-streaked glass. “Why the hell would anyone let a tree grow inside their house?”
“Tree?” Empress Hana said, speaking for the first time. She didn’t so much thrust me aside as insert herself before the window, forcing me to make space. We drew closer, proximity removing all doubt the tree was indeed growing straight through the roof of what must once have been an elegant country manor.
“So, there’s a bad storm and the roof collapses, letting rain inside the building,” I said. “Leaves fall in and compost down, and after a decade or so there’s enough dirt for a seed to take root. But surely if you see a sapling in your house you pull it out, even if you can’t afford to fix the roof. Unless they thought the tree’s canopy would make a good replacement, and hadn’t yet realised the damn thing was deciduous.”
Empress Hana started to laugh. It began as a throaty chuckle and I prided myself on having amused her, but she laughed for so long and with such an increasingly manic tone that I began to doubt she had even heard me. When she turned her bloodshot eyes upon the silent young woman, I was sure of it. “Why here?” she demanded, as imperious as if she still sat upon the grand throne in Koi. “Why does your master bring us here? It does not belong…” The empress trailed off, all assurance draining out through her slack mouth. Her eyes widened and her gaze darted about the silent woman’s face as though seeing it for the first time. All at once the carriage seemed not to have enough air.
“Saki?” the empress said.
The young woman cocked her head to the side as the carriage slowed. It halted with a jolt and the driver appeared at the door still hooded in his storm cloak. Another figure stood in the open doorway to welcome us, just like it was still a lord’s residence and not a rotting remnant.
Kocho appeared, his grizzled grey hair stuck to his forehead. “Mistress?” he said, looking from her to the empress and back. “The Deathwalker isn’t being foul again, is she?”
The young woman shook her head. She shot another glance at the empress then, with the flicker of a smile, took the wrinkled hand Kocho held out and stepped into the rain. Not seeming to care whether it drenched her, she ambled the short distance from the carriage to the house with Kocho harrying about her heels like a dog rushing her to safety.
“After you, Your Majesty,” I said, gesturing to the open door in through which the swirling wind blew dustings of rain.
“I am no empress anymore, Miss Marius, and I know whom I have to thank for that. I will not show you my back that you might stab me in it. Again.” She made a mock little bow. “After you, Miss Marius.”
I could have explained myself, have begged forgiveness and pledged to serve her in reparation, but they were the actions of someone with a heart and a conscience, the actions of a woman who gave a damn what the world thought of her, and I was not that woman. I had done what I needed to do, and the moment I got what I wanted here I would move on again.
So, with a grim little smile, I stepped out into the rain. After two blissfully dry days I shivered at the cold, clammy touch of the storm. The tight bindings around my wound wouldn’t allow me to run, but I quickened my hobbling hop toward the door. Despite the damp air, the front hall was thankfully dry. My experience of Kisian manor houses was limited, yet even the most stark entrance hall should have owned more than a few mouldering watercolours and a pot so cracked it looked to have sprouted teeth. A single passage led away into the building, full of shadows. One slowly coalesced into the approaching form of Kocho.
The servant holding the door looked me up and down as I hobbled in, making no attempt to hide his curiosity.
“What are you looking at?” I snapped as Kocho arrived.
“Don’t mind her.” He thrust a pair of walking sticks at the startled young man. “She seems to have made it her life’s purpose to be as nasty and miserable as possible. You’ll get used to it.”
He stepped back out into the rain to offer his arm to Empress Hana, all respect and deference.
“Where am I supposed to go?” I said, leaning upon the wall to ease the strain in my good leg.
“Umm…” The servant opened and closed his mouth and looked around for help. Finding none, he said, “I don’t know. There are rooms for each of the… of the… the…” He trailed off, leaning even farther back into the dark shadows behind the door.
“The subjects?” I suggested.
“Yes, subjects.” He let out a relieved breath. “Yes. I don’t know where yours is. I’m sure… Kocho—” He leaned out to address the old man as he and Empress Hana stepped beneath the portico. “Ah, Kocho, where is Deathwalker Three supposed to go?”
“I have a name, thank you. Wait—Deathwalker Three? There are others like me?”
“Not at present, but in the past… And the… the master does not use names for his subjects. It is simpler if everyone is referred to by their soul anomaly.”
“Their what?”
The man shrank back again, his gaze flitting to Kocho.
“Don’t answer that, Lechati,” the old man said. “Leave her to me.”
“Lechati?” I said. “So he gets a name but I am Deathwalker Three?”
“A few days ago you didn’t even want to be here.” Kocho turned to Lechati. “Here, you show Her Majesty to the room beside Mistress Saki’s. I’ll see to this one.”
The empress’s gaze snapped to Kocho. The name meant something to her. Saki. An old Kisian story spoke of a Saki, but this young woman with the sharp violet eyes was very real.
Heaving a relieved sigh, Lechati handed the walking sticks back to Kocho and bowed to Empress Hana. The movement brought him fully into the light, showing his skin to be even darker than it had first appeared, darker even than the Levanti. People from all different lands traded along the Ribbon, but in all my time in Genava I had never seen someone quite like Lechati. “This way, Your Majesty.”