by Ryan Kirk
When no more brothers stepped forward to speak, Delun called for the flames. Typically, a single brother closest to the deceased lit the flames, but it had been decided that was not appropriate for tonight. The monks all joined, standing in a circle around the pyre, stepping forward as one and lighting the wood in unison. Only the four visitors stood apart.
Delun felt tears trickling silently down his cheeks. He saw the firelight reflected in the tears of the others. They stood in silence, watching their brothers complete their lives of service.
Hours passed before the flames burned low and the monks returned to their normal duties. Some retired to bed, but many had brewed tea and were sitting and speaking quietly in small groups.
Ping approached Delun. All day, Delun had tried to get a sense of the man. The visitors had thrown themselves into the preparations, but Delun suspected there was more to them than they appeared. He hated his cynicism at such a time, but old habits died hard.
“Thank you for the ceremony,” Ping began.
“Thank you for your help. You’ve done more than you perhaps realize.”
“If I may ask, what will you all do next?”
Delun looked around the courtyard, taking in the remains of the pyre and the monks scattered about. The monastery had been wounded, grievously, but it wasn’t dead. They fought on. “I don’t know. I suppose we must choose an abbot and have that abbot confirmed.”
Ping looked surprised. “You don’t know?”
Delun looked over at him. “Know what?”
Ping’s face fell. “Your monastery was not the only one attacked. Many attacks were carried out the night of the Harvest Festival. It will be some time before the abbots can confirm new leaders.”
Delun looked away, unable to meet Ping’s eyes. He wanted to call the man a liar, but the sorrow and anger in Ping’s voice was genuine. Delun clenched his fist, rage finally breaking through the void that had numbed him for so long.
Ping waited while Delun worked through the implications. He couldn’t. His mind, already tumbled about by his personal grief, couldn’t cope with the idea of losing so many brothers. “What’s happening?”
“The monasteries don’t have any organized purpose,” Ping said. “We are all struggling with our grief in our own ways.”
“Why are you here, then?”
“To offer what assistance we can. But also to make you aware that you and the monks of Two Bridges have options available to you. You needn’t remain up here, isolated from the world. It would delight many monasteries to have you, and there is strength in numbers now.”
Delun nodded, agreeing to the point. “Did you have a particular destination in mind?”
Ping shook his head. “Our own small group comes from several monasteries. But all of us have been brought together by this tragedy.”
The two of them stood in silence for a moment, Delun considering the other monk’s offer. Traveling to another monastery might be a wise decision. They wouldn’t be caught by surprise again, and it made sense for them to be together.
“May I ask a personal question?”
Delun looked over at Ping, surprised by the monk’s forthrightness. He nodded.
“Do you regret your actions in Kulat?”
“I regret having to turn against my brothers. But I still don’t believe there was a better choice.” He’d asked himself that same question many times in the years since.
“Why not?”
“Because they were harming the innocent. I believe the monasteries can and should lead our empire, but those men were not fit to lead. They massacred citizens who had done them no harm.”
“In response to an attack against them.”
“And if they had killed only those responsible, I would not have blinked an eye. If we are to have authority, we must use it wisely.”
“And what will you do now?”
“I will hunt and kill those responsible for these explosions.”
Ping took a deep breath and unrolled the sleeve of his robes, revealing a tattoo on the underside of his forearm. A dagger stuck deep into the ground. “You’ve seen these?”
Delun nodded.
They called themselves wraiths. A group of monks who had promoted aggressive reforms the past few years. They’d been a concern of Delun’s for a while. Many monks who broke their vows had some connection with the group, but Delun had never connected the crimes of an individual monk with the larger group.
Right now, he didn’t care.
“You and I agree on what we must do. Come with me to Jihan. We know the Order of the Serpent has been reborn, and that they are based there. You and any brothers who are interested may join us.”
A week ago, Delun would have turned down the offer. He fought hard to find a middle path, a place where monks possessed the authority they deserved but controlled their power.
Today, all that mattered was that Ping claimed he knew where to begin the hunt.
Delun would have revenge for Taio, for all his fallen brothers.
He looked around the courtyard, at the grief shared among them all. They needed a leader, someone to look up to and guide them through their grief and into a new purpose.
But he was not that man.
“I cannot speak for the others. I have no authority over them.”
Ping nodded, as though he’d suspected that.
“I will join you, though.”
9
The last time Lei saw the questioner had been ten years ago. The two hadn’t parted on friendly terms back then, and Lei had believed he would never see the man again. The thought wasn’t unpleasant.
Few people knew for certain that questioners even existed. Part detective, part assassin, part torturer, questioners solved the problems of the empire that most vexed the lords they served. The average citizen considered them rumors, a tale to frighten children with at night.
If only that were true.
Most citizens didn’t survive learning that questioners were real.
The man who stood in the training hall was an excellent example of the profession. He was younger than Lei, although not by much. His features were nondescript, with a face one forgot a moment after looking at it.
The questioner wasn’t gifted, but he radiated a dangerous aura. He carried himself with the calm assurance of a man who knew he held the power of life and death in his hands. Even Lei worried about the consequences of killing him.
A glance between Yang and the questioner confirmed that the two of them knew each other.
The questioner’s attention was focused solely on Lei. “You are about the last person I expected to find here today.”
“I feel the same about you.”
Yang stepped in, explaining to the questioner. “I’d invited him a while back to observe a demonstration of my students’ abilities. He finally accepted.”
The questioner accepted the explanation with equanimity. “Perhaps the fates have a purpose greater than we can imagine. His presence is fortuitous.”
The questioner looked around the hall with disdain. Yang understood. “Back to your regular duties, everyone.”
He received some good-natured grumbling in reply, but everyone obeyed. Shu lingered for a moment, as though she had something to say, but decided against it.
When they were all alone, the questioner spoke. “I bring grim tidings, I’m afraid.” He took a breath. “The most important is news I have just received. The monasteries have been attacked. Dozens, if not hundreds, of monks are dead. More are injured.”
Lei frowned at the news, but Yang stumbled, physically rocked. “What happened?” the abbot asked.
“We are still learning the details,” the questioner replied, “but the Order of the Serpent snuck barrels of black powder into many monasteries. They all exploded the afternoon of the Harvest Festival.”
The earth tilted under Lei’s feet. “Did you say the Order of the Serpent?”
“I did.”
“How? I thoug
ht I destroyed the Order in Jihan.”
Those terrible days had transformed his life. He had killed a student and a master, cutting short a plan that would have burned the capital to the ground. Although the fight had cost far too many innocent lives, the toll could have been far worse.
The questioner agreed. “We thought so, too. The original Order was just the two men. But the master left writings that have been discovered, collected, and shared. It has led to a rebirth of the organization. My colleagues and I have been gradually infiltrating them for over a year now, but we didn’t know this was coming.”
Lei relaxed his fist. Just the mention of the Order’s name triggered his anger.
“That isn’t the reason I came, though.” The questioner looked uncomfortable with the admission. “I just found out this morning and wanted to let you know.”
Yang’s voice was soft. “There’s more?”
“Disturbing news, yes, but not as tragic.”
Lei saw Yang steel himself. “And?”
“The princess was attacked, days before the Harvest Festival.” Before Yang could ask, the questioner continued. “She is shaken up but unharmed.”
Lei’s head spun. What was happening to the empire? “Was the attack linked to the Order?”
The questioner shook his head. “A wraith attacked her.”
Lei’s confusion increased.
Yang explained. “The wraiths are a group of monks who strongly believe that monasteries should be given more power in the empire. They’ve been a growing problem the last few years, but nothing like this has happened before.”
“Monks attacked the princess?” Disbelief coursed through Lei.
The other two men glanced at one another. There was another piece of information they weren’t sharing. The secret brought a smile to their faces, despite the news.
“What?”
Yang seized the opportunity. “The princess is gifted.”
Lei knew he’d heard Yang correctly, but he didn’t believe. He’d learned too much, too fast, and this, more than anything, sent his head spinning. The implications staggered him.
Dozens of questions raced through his mind. Only one reached his lips. “How long have you known?”
The questioner answered. “About two years. Her power manifested gradually, but there were signs that alerted the emperor. Yang travels to Jihan several times a year to train her.”
“She’s not the strongest,” Yang said, “but her gift is unique. She is skilled, and a very determined learner.”
“She defended herself from the monks’ attack. But if the wraiths harbored any suspicions, they’ve been confirmed,” the questioner said.
Lei looked around the training hall, as though he could find answers or guidance along its bare walls. Isolated as he was, even he knew the princess would take the throne after the emperor passed away. For the first time in history, a gifted person might sit on the throne.
Would the people even accept her if they knew?
“I came,” the questioner continued, turning to Yang, “to ask for your assistance. The emperor requests that you come, joined by your students, to protect the princess from further harm.”
Yang bowed in acceptance. “We shall prepare to leave by tomorrow morning.”
“Why Yang?” Lei asked. Kulat was a long way from Jihan. Why pass up the hundreds of monks between the two cities?
“Tensions between the government and the monks have been high,” the questioner answered. “Knowing whom to trust is difficult. Yang is trusted, and if the wraiths attack, his students are the best equipped to protect the princess.”
Of course. He wasn’t thinking clearly. Against other monks, Yang’s students were by far the best option. Bai would be better, but she had no friends in court.
The questioner turned to Lei. “I had not planned on visiting your village. But I know the emperor would extend his invitation to you as well.”
Lei found himself tempted. A crossroads of history approached, and the questioner offered him the opportunity to play a role.
Thoughts of Daiyu overwhelmed all else, though. He didn’t know the number of her remaining days. He would let the empire burn if it meant leaving her now. “I’ll pass, thanks.”
The questioner raised his eyebrow at that, but despite his profession, asked no probing questions.
Lei turned to Yang. “If it is permissible, I would stay here tonight, to see you off tomorrow.”
Lei wanted more time with Yang’s students. Not only were they uniquely gifted, they possessed impressive strengths. He could learn much from them in the time that remained.
The questioner bowed. “I will allow you two to continue your visit. You will forgive me if I cannot stay.”
After the questioner left, the two men stood in silence for a minute. Lei’s attention focused on the Order of the Serpent, a plague he thought he’d eradicated decades ago. Their return struck him as ominous.
Yang broke the silence, his voice soft. “I had hoped to have more time, both with them and with you.”
“The world rarely provides what we wish for.”
Yang gave a bitter laugh. “I’ve spent the past decade reforming Kulat, opening our doors to all. I suppose I should be grateful we were not attacked with the others, but I fear my work will be for naught if the violence spreads.”
“Good work is never wasted,” Lei replied. “It echoes throughout time, in ways we cannot imagine.”
“I hope you are right, friend.” Yang set his shoulders. “I have much to do tonight. But there is one question I have meant to ask you: where have your discoveries taken you?”
Lei affected a nonchalant look. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve heard the reports from monks traveling near Galan. They often assume the power is coming from the foothills. Most don’t know how far away your village is. Your power has grown. I would like to know how much.”
Lei debated. Yang’s educated guess was correct. But Lei had reached his own conclusions.
Still, the desire to share his discovery burned within him. Perhaps it was just a selfish desire to leave a legacy beyond the disaster that was the Battle of Jihan.
Lei nodded. He’d not trained close to another gifted for years. “This… might hurt.”
Yang backed up a few paces, as though that would make a difference.
Lei closed his eyes. He felt the currents of power running through the earth; the energy contained within Kulat, an enormous untapped reservoir.
He dove deep into the energy, opening himself up completely, a practice he’d been developing gradually year after year.
Lei didn’t feel the power like he once had. Before, it had filled his limbs and made him feel like his strength was infinite.
Now it felt like sliding into a pool of warm water. The boundary between him and the energy dissolved. All that was left was his will, the ability to shape the energy.
He only allowed himself a moment, both for Yang’s sake and for his own. High on the mountain, he had immersed himself for minutes at a time. Every time, though, he felt as though he risked losing himself. His experiences in that state had been confusing. Voices long dead called to him. He dared not remain too long.
When he opened his eyes, Yang was on the ground, arms up to ward against a power that never threatened to harm him. The abbot slowly cracked his eyes open. He didn’t have words.
Lei helped him to his feet.
A commotion sounded at the door. The door crashed open. Yang’s students stood there, prepared for a fight. They relaxed slowly when they saw no enemies. Their faces gave way to awe.
Yang finally found words. “I never would have guessed.”
Lei nodded. What more was there for him to say?
Yang’s eyes narrowed. “Will you pass this knowledge on?”
Lei shook his head. “I’d not really planned on even letting other monks know.”
“I see.”
Lei saw that Yang had more questions, but he also
had more pressing concerns. “We must talk more, soon. Perhaps later tonight. But you swear that skill will remain yours alone?”
Lei nodded. “Don’t worry, Yang. This technique will die with me.”
10
Bai crouched on a rooftop, a strong sense of deja vu haunting her observations.
She’d been on this same roof just a week before.
The brothel squatted across the street from her, several windows open to cool the fiery passions burning within. Bai kept her eye on one window in particular, opened wide enough for a nimble intruder to pass through. A woman wandered back and forth just inside.
Bai waited until the woman left the room, then leaped across the gap, passing through the open window with room to spare. She landed and rolled, coming to her feet alert for danger.
The sun had set not an hour past, and the brothel hadn’t reached peak capacity yet. Still, her footsteps were lost in the sounds of men grunting and women moaning.
Bai snuck to the door of the room and slid it open wide enough to peek through. The way to her target’s room was clear.
Bai stepped out into the hallway and hurried to the other room. The lights were off and no sound came from within. She opened the door and melted into the shadows, awaiting the woman.
Several assumptions supported her task this evening. If the whole trip to Windown had been a setup, the woman they’d escorted out of town hadn’t requested help. That led Bai to guess the woman would return to town.
Her first assumption seemed correct. Bai spotted the woman inside the brothel as soon as she bothered to look. The woman chatted amiably with the other women inside, and she carried no limps or bruises that indicated she’d experienced recent violence. Bai’s observations supported her suspicions.
Bai’s second assumption was that Hien lived. Bai’s fight had been against monks, which implied Hien had only been the gate through which they hoped to ambush Bai. Hien only served their ends if she continued breathing.
The assumption provided Bai slim comfort.
The woman in the brothel would know more.
Bai settled in to wait, but didn’t have to for long. She soon heard a pair of footsteps outside the walls. The door slid open, and the woman led a man into the room. Distracted as they were by each other, neither noticed Bai deep in the darkness.