by Devin Madson
Once more letting go of his tea, he gestured to the house. “The Laroths were Empaths. Generation after generation of Empaths who struggled with their lack of understanding and ultimately died out because of it. Saki is the last Laroth. Rare and unusual because females almost never survive birth.”
“She can remove my soul from my body.”
“Yes, not a common Empath trait, but something a strong female is able to do. The master has never met another and already has whole shelves of notes dedicated to her. Empath Forty-Four.” A slight note of bitterness there, but I bumbled on with more questions.
“And the Witchdoctor, what is he?”
Kocho’s excitement faded. “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to find out, when I’m not needed here, but there are so few texts that reference anything like him. And those I can find are in languages I don’t understand, so waiting for translations has been slow.” He gnawed at his lower lip, staring hard at the floor as though seeing through it to a whole world beyond. “But he’s old,” he went on. “And not old like me but old old. Over a thousand years old. He never ages. He is never ill. When he’s injured, he heals so fast it’s like it never happened. He has notes about every soul anomaly he has ever come across. He has notes about every disease and injury he has ever treated. He has diagrams of the inside of the body, not only of us, but of every animal he has ever found. He drinks knowledge like we drink water and he never dies.”
The roasted tea sat untouched, teasing me with its colour all too like that of Stiff. “So, he is a god?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. He’s not without his flaws. And if there’s something this job teaches you, it’s that our ideas of gods and souls and heavens and hells are all ridiculously narrow-minded. Did you know there used to be a tribe that worshipped a turtle that got caught in some reeds near their village, and when it died they all killed each other because the world had come to an end? And there was a whole civilisation in the north that believed every bad thing that ever happened was punishment from their gods. The master isn’t cruel like that, he’s just curious. He doesn’t see individuals as anything more than information.”
He laughed and went on telling tales from the Witchdoctor’s journals, but my mind seemed to be full and unable to take in more. Reincarnation abnormality. Two souls born into one body. Had I entered it first? Or had She? Who did it really belong to?
At last Kocho sighed and drank the dregs of his tea. He seemed to have talked himself out, and I had to wonder, then, if he had actually stayed because he had wanted someone to talk to. When he set his tea bowl back on the tray and stood, I was sure of it. He had the look of a man well satisfied. He had given me answers, but I was not satisfied. I just had more questions, increasingly complicated and unable to be given form.
“There are always more questions,” he said. “I have been very fortunate being able to work with the master. To know something of the inner workings of life, of people, to know things no one else might ever know, and yet I will have to let it all go. Because one day I will die with questions unanswered, and even if my soul is reincarnated for an eleventh time, I won’t remember any of this.”
He turned his face away. “I’m a tired old man. Save the rest of your questions for another time,” he said, and slid open the door. “Goodnight, Cassandra. Goodnight, Kaysa.”
He left. And in his wake, there could only be silence.
Despite the setback, the Witchdoctor returned within a few days, and after all Kocho had told me I watched him closely, looking for signs of age in his perfect face. But it truly was a perfect face, not the foulest expression able to mar its precisely hewn beauty. Though like stone it rarely formed such expressions, instead seeming to watch the world with a detached half interest, owning nothing like the fire that had burned bright in Kocho’s eyes.
When I arrived, the old man was sitting in his usual place at the bench, quill and paper at the ready.
“We shall not be taking notes as we go today, Kocho,” the Witchdoctor said, looking up from where Saki was writing. “You are required for the initial test.”
“Ah, like that, is it,” the old man said, and I added yet another question to my ever-growing list. Could Kocho read his master’s mind? Or was it so unlike anything he was used to as to be impossible?
I sat in my chair and prepared for another session of tests in the hope I might one day be free, might one day be alone in this body. She had been increasingly quiet. I tried not to think too loudly, but it worried me. Every time Saki took me from my body, I feared She would get up and run.
“Today we will attempt the relocation of each of Deathwalker Three’s souls into a living host body, to see if there is something about them that more easily allows for cohabitation,” the Witchdoctor said. “Kocho, you will be the first, before we move on to others across a broad range of ages, abilities, and races to see if there is any difference in how well, or poorly, it works. Are you ready?”
“Yes, Master.”
No one asked if I was ready. I was just expected to sit and let Saki work her magic, pushing and pulling me around like I had no more power over my soul than a leaf caught upon a current. And like a limp leaf I sat and waited for her to pull me from the bright, noisy world of my head and thrust me into the comforting warmth of someone else’s. The swirling nausea at being suddenly disembodied seemed less pronounced today, and the voice inside Saki’s head had no time to utter a greeting before I was sent flying toward Kocho. Where I hit bright, searing noise.
The soul is taking only while I hold my hand here, just like with the deceased bodies.
You are getting as anxious as your god.
All the words melded together like a symphony of the room, every person’s thoughts adding layer upon layer atop Kocho’s—an ever-swelling song without end.
He’s going to be frustrated.
Because he doesn’t want to lose you.
Not yet. Not yet. I must be patient. When least expected.
Before I could get used to the noise, I flew free, returning in a whirl of movement. I blinked as brightness pierced my eyes and a loud bang rang through my skull.
“What is it?” the Witchdoctor snapped. “We are working.”
“It’s the Empress, Master,” came a voice through the thick workroom door. “She’s… She’s collapsed.”
“Bring her in.” He took long strides toward the door as Lechati entered, half carrying, half dragging the limp form of Empress Hana. Her long blonde hair fell in ropes over her face and her robe hung loose about her thinning form. Lechati had struggled, but the Witchdoctor lifted her like a doll, just as he had lifted me onto his horse with a single hand.
Over a thousand years old, Kocho had said. He never ages. He is never ill.
The god-man laid the empress down upon one of the cleared benches more commonly occupied by a corpse, but for all her ill appearance, Empress Hana was not dead yet. Her eyes fluttered, trying to focus on Saki’s face.
“Her temperature is low,” the Witchdoctor said, and pressed fingers to her throat. “Slow heart rate. Limp muscle tone. The body appears to be going into a state of torpor.”
“She was a little tired, but well enough when I took her breakfast in this morning,” Lechati said, hovering like a worried fly. “I was late going back for it because… well… and I found her slumped over her writing desk.”
Ink smeared one side of her face and stained the fingers of her right hand.
“We need to infuse her system before she dies.”
I got to my feet but even as I stepped toward the bench, I knew there was nothing I could do. I could not fix her body. I could not help her fight this.
I had no reason to care for Empress Hana’s fate, no reason to care for her grief or her loss or her legacy, yet the thought of Kisia’s Dragon Empress fading to a whisper in some mouldy corner of her empire was so wrong, a poor chord struck on the strings of history. And it was my fault. My fault this woman had lost her empire. Los
t her daughter. I ought not to have cared about that either—one doesn’t get far as an assassin with a conscience—but I could not but think of Aunt Elora whenever the empress gathered her pride and refused to break.
You think of Aunt Elora like you gave a shit about her.
“I did.”
“You didn’t,” She said, wrenching away control of my tongue. “You are the reason she suffered as she did. You’re the poison that was born into my skin and ruined my life. You made me everything she would have hated.”
She had spoken aloud, but the others were too busy to pay any heed and I wallowed in guilt alone, knowing deep down She was right. Aunt Elora had lost so much because of me, just as Empress Hana had, and I had not been there to fight with her.
“Kocho, fetch my”—the Witchdoctor looked down as I gripped his sleeve—“restorative box.” Still looking at my hand, he added, “Something you wish to say, Deathwalker Three?”
“Put me inside her head.” Doubts assailed me the moment the words left my mouth, but I rushed on. “She hasn’t got a reason to live. She has lost her daughter. Her son. Her empire. She needs someone to give her a good kicking, but I can’t do that from out here if she can’t hear me. Let me talk to her. Inside.”
Saki looked to the Witchdoctor. His moment of frozen thought lasted only a second, during which the door opened as Kocho ran for the restorative box. “Yes,” the Witchdoctor said. “Yes, Saki, it will also allow us to test whether the proximity of the host body to death has any impact on its retention of other souls. As I theorise the body opens up to release a soul at death, so it might be more open to absorbing another.”
The young woman scowled at him but pointed me back to the chair. I sat, gripping the armrests with shaking hands. I was going inside Empress Hana’s head.
You’re not afraid of her. You’re afraid of me. There was triumph in Her voice. Don’t worry, Cass, I think Torvash will need a bigger distraction than a dying woman for me to take my body and run.
Saki pulled me from my body. My body. The only body I had ever known and ever wanted to know, smiling at me now as I was drawn away. It sat back in the chair, stretching out its legs as though settling in to watch an entertaining play.
It was too late to go back, and no sooner had I reached Saki’s head than I was moving on to Empress Hana’s. From comfort to pain, from darkness to a biting cold and fatigue that dragged upon every part of my body. It marred every sense and distorted every sound, turning the world from the sensible workroom I had left to a feverish nightmare in which people ran screaming. Everywhere I looked something was on fire—no, not something, a city. A burning city. The flames danced upon the dark surface of a river at my back, while before me a crowd tugged at my arms and legs, shouting and screaming. If I could just jump into that river of fire, I would be free.
No! I shouted to the flaming darkness closing in upon me. You can’t do that. You can’t give up.
Fear swirled like a storm, and disembodied as I was, Empress Hana’s voice replied, I failed. Just let me die in peace.
The only way to fail is to give up. You can still fight for Kisia. You can still save it.
What for? came words more moan than speech, each one seeming to crackle from the flames. Still people pushed and pulled at every part of me, edging me toward the river. There is no one left to give it to. My children are dead. I made a promise and I failed him.
“You killed us,” hissed the figures around me. Each grew a face, the same pair of faces repeated over and over—Miko and Tanaka Ts’ai. They bared their teeth and peppered me with sprays of blood and accusations. “You let them kill me,” the boys said, all at the same time, their lips moving as one. “I was so scared, Mama, but I knew you would save me. I knew you wouldn’t let him do it. But you didn’t save me. You didn’t.”
One by one each of their heads rolled forward off their necks, torn free to land with heavy thuds of finality upon a glossy black floor.
Even as the heads rolled, the collection of Mikos hissed their own diatribes. “You ignored me though I was smarter. You ignored me though I was the better fighter. You ignored me though I had as much ambition and all the political sense Tanaka lacked.”
But where the grasping figures of Tanaka had died and fallen, the Mikos stilled their lips and their hands and stood like a silent, endless army with their accusing gazes fixed upon me. The river was so close. I could just step back and—
No! You are the Dragon Empress. You must do your duty before anything and your duty is to Kisia. Your children might be gone but your empire is not. Its people are not and they need you.
A moment of peace batted back the chaos, and in its stillness I shouted over the scowling Mikos. They found no body. That means there is still a chance your daughter is alive. And if she is then she needs you now more than ever. Don’t let her down again.
The gathering of Mikos repeated my words. “Don’t let us down again.”
You can still redeem—no!
Saki’s skill tugged. I shouted and clawed to stay, but spun away from the fire, away from the city and the army of broken children. I must have returned via Saki’s head, but I did not open my eyes until I was sitting in my chair once more.
“The needle, Kocho,” the Witchdoctor said, as the three of them continued to crowd the unmoving body of Kisia’s empress. Her stillness belied the chaos inside.
“Is she going to make it?” I said, hating the croak of my voice, overused, I told myself, not emotional.
“Still losing her,” Kocho answered, something like apology in his tone.
My head spun and I wanted to be sick. Why had I come to this wretched place? There were no answers here, no future.
“The will to live is a frustrating variable, unable to be calculated or reset to a constant,” the Witchdoctor said. “External work can only take a body so far, leaving the last leap of effort to be made inside. For some the leap is too great. For others no matter the ease of crossing it, no effort is made. I apologise for being unable to do more,” he added, turning to Saki. “Her condition is manageable only while she wishes to manage it. We ought, I feel, to leave her in peace.”
“No!” I leapt from my chair and hobbled to the bench without the aid of my sticks. “No!” I thrust Kocho out of the way. “She was going to fight for her daughter, just in case there’s a chance. No, damn it!” I gripped the empress’s slack shoulders. “No. You are going to fight, you hear me!” I shouted. “You are going to survive and you are going to fight for your daughter because she needs you. If she’s out there then she needs you alive, not dead. You’re no good to her dead.”
“Deathwalker, there is not—” the Witchdoctor began, but I gripped Empress Hana’s pale cheeks.
“Fight, damn you!” I shouted into her face. “Fight for—”
Then as though Saki had gripped my soul, I tumbled into darkness—a darkness that sucked at my very being, closing me in its cold, suffocating grip. No fires now, no accusing stares, just an endless pull of water dragging me screaming into its depths.
12. MIKO
Stairs followed still more stairs as Edo and I climbed the heights of Kiyoshio Castle in silence. In the main hall he sent servants bustling with low-voiced orders and a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He turned that smile my way when he found me watching. “I imagine you must greatly desire a warm bath and some fresh clothes, Ko—Your Majesty.”
“If I have learnt anything since we parted it’s that there are many things more important than warm baths and clean clothes. We need to talk.”
He grimaced. “And if I have learnt anything it’s that there are certain honours due one’s name and rank. It would do neither of us credit to converse when you are at the disadvantage of being illattired and hungry.”
“Nor would it be wise to bathe and eat while unsure of where I stand. You answered none of my letters.”
Surprise widened Edo’s eyes and he hovered like a wary hare at the bottom of the next flight of st
airs. “I have received no letters and can only apologise for having given you reason to doubt me.”
Despite his stiff formality, relief flowed through me. I was shocked by the strength of it, at how much the hurt of his betrayal had been eating at me even though I had not acknowledged it.
“And your father?” I said, trying to keep hope out of my voice. “He isn’t here?”
“No, he is with the eastern battalions.”
More relief, and I closed my eyes a moment to stop the swell of exhausted tears. “I am glad to hear it, Edo, I confess. I am not entirely empty-handed myself, you know; despite everything I am still capable of bringing something to the bargaining table. That Levanti I brought with me is brother to the one calling himself emperor and may be of some use to us.”
Edo glanced at the guards standing around the main hall. “Ah, he will be interested to hear that, I’m sure,” he said, but although his smile stayed in place it looked strained and my renewed confidence waned. This was not the Edo I knew, not the Edo I needed. Something was wrong and he could not or would not tell me what it was. Too much had changed perhaps, the weeks since we’d last met in the throne room at Koi having made different people of us both.
“Shall we?” He gestured for us to continue and together we climbed the next flight of stairs. Kiyoshio Castle appeared to have them in abundance. It was hard to tell without them side by side, but at first glance it appeared taller even than Koi, narrower, more like a continuation of the cliff than a castle. Roofs and balconies jutted all over, and where there was neither bolthole nor window, there were carvings of Ichio the water spirit, lifting his hooves from the roiling sea.
Despite the castle’s grand scale, its passages were narrow and dim. There were lanterns aplenty but few had been lit, perhaps because, apart from Edo, no one appeared to be home.
“Have you heard from your father recently?” I said as we reached the end of an upper passage where weak daylight spilled through an archway.