by Ryan Kirk
Bai raced to assumptions of her own, but she held onto them. No doubt Lei had already tested every possibility.
The larger pattern worried her, too. An attack on the princess, the explosions at the monasteries, and the ambushes of both Yang’s students and her? Try as she might, Bai couldn’t draw any line between the events. But she shared Lei’s apprehensions. Too much was happening for it to be mere coincidence.
Daiyu interrupted Bai’s gloomy thoughts. The matriarch of the village brought out an oversized bowl of noodles that found its way in front of Bai. The steaming broth was filled with meat and vegetables, all of it no doubt from the community gardens.
Bai bowed to Daiyu in appreciation.
Daiyu smiled. “I imagine you haven’t been eating well, as usual.”
Bai heard the reproach in Daiyu’s voice. “I’m sorry, Mother.”
Lei chuckled at that.
Daiyu disappeared for another moment, then came out of the kitchen again carrying two more bowls for her and Lei.
Bai noticed Daiyu’s movement then, the slow and cautious steps that were not the woman she remembered. She hadn’t been here in over a year, but she knew something was wrong. “Daiyu?”
She gave Bai a weak smile and turned to Lei. He gave a small shake of his head.
Daiyu sat down with her bowl. “I’m dying.”
Bai’s stomach knotted. When they had first met, the two of them hadn’t seen eye to eye. But for years Bai had counted Daiyu as one of her closest friends.
And if not for Hien’s injury forcing her return, Bai might never have known of Daiyu’s illness. Shame flushed her cheeks.
She almost stood up to run around the table and embrace the woman, but Daiyu pointed her chopsticks at Bai’s bowl. “Eat. There’s no point in worrying about what can’t be changed.”
Bai sat frozen, torn between the earnest desire to embrace her friend and Daiyu’s request.
It was so like Daiyu to refuse comfort. Lei never could have married anyone else. The woman had enough steel in her to gird the hearts of an entire army. Bai surrendered to Daiyu’s command.
The noodles were almost good enough to wash away Bai’s despair.
As they ate, Daiyu told Bai of her disease. Her voice rarely wavered, and only once did she pause to compose herself.
Bai’s heart went out to Daiyu. Death came for them all, of course. But Bai had the luxury of being a warrior. She suspected that when death came for her, it would be sudden, one final surprise to cap off her tumultuous life.
To see it coming, though, to know every day was another step towards the end, that took a courage Bai didn’t know if she possessed.
Her respect for Daiyu had never been greater.
Bai offered to help in any way she could. The gesture felt hollow even though the words were heartfelt.
She didn’t expect Daiyu to pounce on the offer.
“You should take Lei and go to Jihan.”
Bai glanced at Lei. His jaw was set. Her sense of danger lit like a signal fire. She had unwittingly stepped into the middle of an ongoing argument. No one with an ounce of wisdom desired to be stuck between two people of immense will.
He put his chopsticks down and took a deep breath. “I will not leave you, Daiyu. That is final.”
Bai imagined the air between the two twisting with tension. Lei was the strongest warrior Bai had ever met. Perhaps he was the strongest history had ever seen. But Daiyu’s will matched his own.
Daiyu sighed, indicating her acceptance of Lei’s wishes. Knowing Daiyu, though, Bai suspected the acceptance was more a strategic retreat than a surrender.
Lei turned his attention to Bai. “Although I know Daiyu wishes me to move on with life, her idea isn’t without merit. If there is a larger pattern to the events unfolding, the center of that pattern lies in Jihan. Your presence there could tip the scales of whatever occurs. You could meet with Yang’s students. He gave me directions to do so, in case I changed my mind.”
The decision wasn’t a hard one. She would need to say a difficult farewell to Daiyu, but little else held her here. Even if she remained for her friend, there was nothing she could do to influence the outcome. The chance to meet others like her was a temptation she couldn’t ignore.
Someday she would find a way to settle into a new life.
But not today.
14
Delun began his investigation into the Order of the Serpent inside the city’s taverns. What the method lacked in originality, it made up for in effectiveness. Someday men would learn that alcohol and secrets didn’t mix. Until that day, Delun planned on visiting plenty of drinking holes. He sipped at his beer as more men came through the door wearing the uniforms of the city watch.
This was his third tavern in six nights. So far, Chao’s information hadn’t yielded results. Patience had never been so difficult or so necessary.
It hadn’t taken long to locate the establishment, one of a half dozen found within Chao’s papers. These were places where sympathizers gathered. In the previous locations, Delun had found plenty of citizens upset with monks, but he had observed nothing more suspicious than drunk and bitter men.
This tavern gave a different impression. Delun’s eyes wandered over the crowd. Almost every patron was a young man, full of the energy that comes from being drunk with companions who were closer than blood.
Delun ignored a slight pang of envy. Alcohol was not permitted for most monks. Despite also being part of an order of warriors, Delun would never know the camaraderie that formed from intoxication with a fellow brother. The friendships formed through training and duty were only strengthened over a strong tankard of ale.
At least, that was what he believed.
Sitting along a wall, Delun felt old. It was more than his years, though. There were a few commanders in the group tonight, men nearly his age. It was the exhaustion deep in his bones. He sat surrounded by youthful energy, but he didn’t feed off of it.
He finished his beer more quickly than he intended. Many years ago, it had taken him months to acquire the taste for beer, but his willingness to drink was one of the small details that made him uniquely suited for the task at hand.
The details mattered. The art of investigation was the art of relationship. If he didn’t drink, or if he asked too many questions, suspicions surfaced. It was why so many monks failed utterly in their attempts to root out the conspiracies that haunted the monasteries. The monastic system created excellent monks, but it didn’t create men who made friends easily. Robes identified a monk at a distance, but even a blind man recognized a monk when he encountered one.
He could say the same of the city watch. Although the young men in the tavern varied in many ways, identifying them as soldiers took no skill at all. Even out of uniform the men had straight bearings, their bodies all right angles. Delun didn’t think he saw more than a handful of men slouching in the place.
He mimicked them, almost unconsciously. He sat up straight and drank his second beer with a hint of stiffness. For the first part of the evening he smiled, said hello when greeted, but mostly kept his eyes and ears open. He joined in a game of dice, losing a few silver pieces with good grace.
He didn’t ask questions.
The moon had been up for at least three hours when Delun found the first hint of what he was looking for. A group of young men had taken a table in a corner and were whispering to one another. When he casually stumbled by, they glared at him and fell into silence as he passed.
The evidence wasn’t conclusive. The men were too wary to listen in on, nor did he dare approach them and try to ingratiate himself into their conversation. Doing so would only increase their suspicion. He memorized their faces, then paid his bill and left the tavern.
Delun found a dark alcove that gave him a view of the tavern entrance. He pushed himself deep into the shadows and waited.
He risked failure.
But even failure served as information. Chao’s sources identified the ta
vern as a spot for dissension. The city watch would have connections to black powder. A group of men conspired about something. Perhaps the talk had been as meaningless as a discussion about one of their member’s marriage prospects. But perhaps they were part of something greater.
Only time would tell. If his instincts misled him, tomorrow was a new night.
The four men exited the tavern together.
After speaking in hushed tones for a few minutes, the group split apart. Two left together, with the other two traveling in other directions. Delun followed the pair that remained together.
Following the men proved challenging. The streets of Jihan were eerily empty, as though citizens understood a storm was brewing and hid themselves indoors. Without a crowd for cover, Delun ran a higher risk of discovery while trailing the men.
Fortunately, while the men glanced backward occasionally, they didn’t seem concerned about being followed. Delun worried his intuition had guided him wrong.
The two men stopped outside of a house in a residential area. Delun’s heart sank. He’d been so sure of his instincts, but tonight looked to be a false lead.
Another brief discussion was held, the watchmen looking up and down the streets cautiously, then stepped inside. Delun hid in the shadows, wondering if the night was a loss.
A few minutes later, a third man stepped out of the house. The monk memorized the face in case they met again.
His suspicions returned. The house held at least three men, and from the look of the third, all of them were members of the city watch. Why would so many watchmen be entering and leaving a residential house? If they were unmarried, they had bunks back near the center of Jihan.
The streets were perfectly quiet. The moon hung high in the sky, illuminating Jihan with a milky, pale light.
Delun waited.
A city watch patrol marched down the street, four guards evenly spaced. Their eyes were sharp, but they missed Delun motionless in the shadows. They didn’t seem to make a special note of the house, but Delun couldn’t be certain.
Less than an hour later another patrol marched by. Delun’s eyes narrowed. In a city this large, two patrols so close together was unlikely.
Eventually, Delun’s curiosity demanded satisfaction. He crossed the street and tried the windows of the house. They were all closed, locked, and covered. Hidden deep in shadows, he tested the locks of one window. It didn’t budge. He tried another with similar results.
Should he enter? He risked discovery. Word might spread and he would lose any element of surprise against the Order.
At the moment, he didn’t mind the risk. His patience waned. Weeks had passed since the explosions and the perpetrators still ran free.
He creeped to the front of the house, checking to ensure the street was still deserted. Then he pushed the door open a crack.
It opened without a sound. Delun crouched next to the door, his head tilted, listening for sounds. He heard voices, but they sounded as though they came from a far room.
When he was fairly certain that the front room wasn’t occupied, he pushed the door open the rest of the way. He stepped inside, checked the room, then shut the door.
The room was unoccupied. It was also bare. It held no furniture, no decorations, nothing. Delun’s suspicions grew.
The voices continued, coming from a room in the back. Delun sneaked forward, able to make out two distinct voices.
“It’s not enough?”
A short pause.
“How much more?”
“Two barrels, at least.”
Delun clenched his fist. They had to be speaking about black powder. Was it being stored here?
“When?”
“Our next shipment arrives at the end of the week. The captain will make sure the paperwork is in order.”
“I’ll let the men know to be ready.”
Delun heard the creaking of wood. The men were returning to the front room.
Hide or fight?
There was no place to hide. The room was devoid of any cover.
Delun drew a knife from a sheath hidden in his robes. These men had sacrificed their own lives the moment they attacked his brothers. Monks weren’t allowed to carry blades, but Delun had started after his fight with Bai ten years ago. He wanted every advantage, and the use of a weapon would disguise what happened here.
The men stepped into the room, surprise painted on their faces when they found Delun standing there. Delun stepped forward, the knife coming up and under the first man’s jaw. His eyes went blank. The other man reacted, but Delun was too fast. He pulled the knife free of the first man and drove it through the second man’s hand and into the wall behind, pinning him there as he screamed.
The guard’s free hand went for a weapon. Delun intercepted it without a problem. The man stopped screaming when Delun drove his knee into the guard’s stomach. He coughed and spit, and Delun used his free hand to pull the man’s head up by his hair. He leaned in close.
“I’ve got questions.”
The sun rose on a brisk day by the time Delun left the house. He left bloody footprints outside the door, an unavoidable problem. He had considered lighting the powder stored in the back room. Too many innocents lived nearby, though, and he had a better idea. He would return soon with help to remove the black powder. The Order’s greatest weapon was about to be stolen and used against them.
And thanks to the helpful guard, he now knew who to hunt next.
15
Lei walked a narrow path leading away from his village. It came out on a small ledge that provided a spectacular view of the empire stretching to the horizon and beyond.
From this altitude, the world appeared so peaceful. The tensions that threatened to shatter the empire weren’t physical. They couldn’t be seen like an advancing army or billowing storm clouds pierced by lightning. But the invisible threat posed more danger than armies or the forces of nature. Ideas were as dangerous as swords, if not more so. Shields could deflect or block a sword, but ideas were nearly impossible to contain.
Lei focused on his breath. The events of the past two months caused him to doubt his decisions, the path he had set for himself. Yang’s question, asked amid overwhelming grief, echoed in his memories.
How can you have so much power and not act?
Yang hadn’t understood. But he also hadn’t been in Jihan, all those years ago, when Lei had first fought Fang and the original Order of the Serpent. Their duel had caused incredible destruction and changed the course of history. Decades later, Jihan was still a rallying cry for citizens across the empire, a symbol of monastic power taken too far.
Most today didn’t know that for all the lives lost, he had saved many more. The Order’s plan to light the capital on fire had never become public. Lei saved the city, but that day still became equivalent in most people’s minds with the Massacre of Kulat.
He couldn’t predict the ripples that spread from his actions. The stronger he became, the wider those ripples expanded. If he truly believed his decisions would change the world for the better, he might not have voluntarily gone into exile. But even well-intentioned actions brought horrible consequences.
Daiyu had shown him a better way. She reminded him that a modest life could be a pleasurable and rewarding one. They ran the village, gardened, and had a close-knit group of neighbors and friends. The empire went on without them, and Lei woke up early in the morning looking forward to the day.
Let the young attempt to change the world. He wouldn’t trade his life for anything.
But life changed.
Somewhere down there, far out of sight, Bai made her way to Jihan, set on making a difference. Off to his right, also beyond view, Yang mourned in Kulat, rebuilding his dream on top of the bones of his beloved students. In the village directly behind him, Daiyu’s fate grew ever nearer, as inevitable as the changing of the seasons.
He turned away from the view and wandered to his house, nestled near the center of the gathering of bu
ildings. A quick look through the small house revealed that Daiyu wasn’t inside. He exited through the back and hiked a well-worn trail that led to a terrace. There he found Daiyu, tending to their garden.
Even after thirty years together, she looked gorgeous. The illness sapped her strength, but her appearance remained unchanged. He still thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever met.
She looked up at him and gave him a soft smile.
He considered reminding her she needed rest, but what good would it do? She loved being outside in the garden, loved watching the plants grow through the seasons. It was far better that she enjoy her time than strictly follow the healer’s orders. The end of the story was the same, so why not enjoy the journey?
Lei finished hiking the path and joined her. She harvested the last remaining vegetables, the ones determined to finish growing before the weather turned too cold. Their village hadn’t had a frost or snow yet, but the time was soon coming.
Daiyu dropped the vegetables in a basket and brushed her hands off. “How was the view?”
Lei chuckled. He didn’t know how Daiyu knew where he’d been. But the woman’s gift of observation was second to none. Long ago, Daiyu had worked for the triads, and habits died hard. She collected information the way others focused on money.
“Quiet.”
Daiyu kneeled next to another patch of late-season harvest and went to work. “You’re torn.”
“Perhaps.”
In their years together, secrets had disappeared. She knew his mind too well for him to hide from her, and she trusted him with everything.
“Has your decision changed?”
“No. I remain here.”
His response agitated Daiyu. Her outward expressions were almost invisible, but they had been together too long. The slightest tic was enough for him to know the course of her thoughts. For a few moments, the only sound was that of the breeze through the trees. They no longer rushed to fill the silences between them, content instead to give each other time to find the words they meant. As they had gotten older, time itself meant something different to them.