by Dave Gross
The Fox brushed against me and tossed her head in amusement. The other kami exchanged looks and flashes, but no one interrupted until we were miles away.
Chapter Twenty-One
Three Grandfathers
The cold didn’t bother me. What I hated was all the white.
Most of it was snow, which is pretty much all you find halfway up a winter mountain. Even when the blizzard paused to catch its breath, the sun was a silver coin on a white sheet. The snow glare was worse than the direct light. If I hadn’t been walking close behind Burning Cloud Devil, I would have lost the path in a minute.
My claws gave me a decent grip on the frozen ground, but kicking through knee-high drifts was exhausting. I leaned on the ringed staff I’d taken from the drunken boxer. With every step, the bronze rings chimed: Beasts and kami, watch your ass. Here comes an unholy person.
“Tell me again why we aren’t flying.”
Burning Cloud Devil trudged on without so much as a glance back. He’d heard me all right. He just didn’t care to answer.
I figured he was spent. He’d been casting plenty of spells lately. Sometimes it was another illusion to let us walk into a town without a fuss. When the night terrors woke me with visions of the boss in a dragon’s gut, Burning Cloud Devil would be nearby sitting lotus style, murmuring arcane words. His thumb moved from finger to finger, as if he was counting verses. It was no louder than his snoring, so I left him alone, poked the fire, and tried to get back to sleep.
He’d taken to casting a bunch of spells each morning, and one on each of us morning and night. When I demanded to know what it was, he said he’d warded us against the scrying of other sorcerers.
“Somebody coming after us?” I said. “I thought we were looking for a fight.”
“We want only worthy challengers,” he said, “not every ambitious disciple fresh out of training. And you have yet to perform the Twin White Palms strike.”
He made a couple of good points. Since the business in the cemetery, I hadn’t had a fight lasting more than a few swings.
Twice the local governors had sent their armies after us. Burning Cloud Devil had no patience for that. He set me loose to scatter the cavalry, while he called up his devils. Some were man-sized white tumors. Others were made of chains and malice. They tore into the soldiers with a passion that made my giant blade look like a breadknife. By the time Burning Cloud Devil unleashed his hell hounds, the survivors were in full retreat.
The second time, we followed the fleeing soldiers back to their post. Burning Cloud Devil set fire to their headquarters. When the men fled the burning watchtower, he froze them with a blast of frost. At last, the commander staggered forward to challenge him to a duel. Burning Cloud Devil laughed, the power of his voice buffeting the man until blood ran from his eyes and he died on his feet.
That kind of thing used to bother me. Now it wasn’t even interesting, except as a warning not to make a move against the sorcerer. I’d have better luck against his dragon.
On the snowy path ahead of me, Burning Cloud Devil stopped. I moved beside him, and he pointed ahead.
“There.”
He cast another spell while I squinted into the white abyss. Rising above the mountain’s shoulder was a cloud of white smoke against the slightly whiter sky. Beneath it I saw the regular curve of a domed roof and a chubby little chimney.
Burning Cloud Devil shook his hand as if he were about to throw dice. Instead, he opened his fingers, and a bunch of tiny balls floated up. Each swelled until it was about the size of one of the little oranges we’d enjoyed a few months earlier, only faint as gauze and with a blemish on one side.
One of them winked at me.
With a few words and a gesture, Burning Cloud Devil sent them gliding ahead.
“I thought you knew these guys.”
“I do,” said Burning Cloud Devil. “That is why I am cautious.”
We’d climbed halfway up the side of the world to see the Three Grandfathers. They were masters of criminal gangs throughout Quain. All winter they holed up in this hideout to settle disputes from the previous year and negotiate territory for the next. Until spring, they were sworn to a truce among themselves. To keep them safe from outsiders, they’d brought their strongest bodyguards.
It was one of those guys Burning Cloud Devil wanted me to fight. But first we had to ask permission from their bosses.
The Grandfathers hadn’t always been so peaceable. Years ago they had a terrific war. Two of them called Burning Cloud Devil in to settle matters, but he didn’t like their offer of money. It offended him to be treated as a paid assassin. Instead of killing the third Grandfather as they’d asked, he forced all three to make peace, promising to destroy the first to break the truce. If they were angry with him, they didn’t show it. Instead they bowed down and thanked him for his wisdom, promising to repay his favor whenever he asked.
He’d come to collect.
“You’re thinking maybe they’ve got short memories?”
Burning Cloud Devil shrugged. “The only reason they do not betray each other is that they swore an oath in front of their men. They have sworn no oath to me, except in front of each other. No one alone would betray me. But all three together ...”
“Got it.”
We built a windbreak out of snow and hunkered down beside the last of our firewood, which the sorcerer ignited by wiggling his finger. Before the warmth reached our bones, his magic eyes returned. He gathered them in his palm and squeezed them tight, closing his eyes in concentration.
His expression changed and kept changing. I saw surprise, confusion, anger, and then something like terror. Burning Cloud Devil clutched his beard and pulled. Slowly, his fearful expression melted into a hopeful smile.
“What is it?”
“A most unexpected opportunity.”
He didn’t elaborate, so I said, “Spill.”
He furrowed his brow. Even after the better part of a year, the fiendish language we shared didn’t always translate. Sure, I understood a couple hundred more Tien words, but no matter how hard I focused, I couldn’t say them. My tongue belonged to Hell.
“Tell me.”
“They have a visitor,” said Burning Cloud Devil. “A most potent visitor. Forget the bodyguards. It is he you must challenge.”
“Won’t that cause trouble with your pals?”
Burning Cloud Devil smiled. “No, I can assure you it will not.”
“You’ll smooth it over with them?”
He shook his head. “You must go alone. I will send my eyes to watch for me.”
“How will I know which guy to fight?”
“You will know.”
It smelled like bullshit, but there was no point arguing. All this intrigue was wasted on me, anyway. All I wanted was to get back into my old body and out of this damned country.
I pushed through the drifts toward the hideout, pausing only to run my scarf through the jangling rings of the staff. No sense ringing the bell.
Even without the cover of snow, the place was hard to see. It looked like the mountain had devoured a little temple. Its domed roof was the same color as the mountain stone, rough blocks of which formed the foundation. The irregular columns flanking the main entrance might have been natural formations, the round door itself a cave mouth.
From a distance, I couldn’t be sure whether the dark creases in the face of the building were defensive slits. The cold was settling in again, and I wasn’t feeling nimble enough to do the arrow dance.
Maybe the chill I felt had more to do with my knowing that something inside that lair was what Burning Cloud Devil figured to be a worthy opponent. Sure, I’d been stirring my pity pot. But the truth was, despite what I’d done and what I’d become, in the end I was a lot less keen on dying than I was fussy a
bout killing.
Putting on my business face, I veered off from the main door. Like a mole burrowing through the garden, I plowed my way over for a better look at the sides of the buildings. There was nothing between the corners and the mountain face. If there was a side entrance, it was well hidden.
I crept back to the front to check out the openings I’d seen earlier. They were arrow slits, all right. But I didn’t sense anyone moving on the other side. If there were guards, they had some stealth in them. I kept my head down and listened at each one.
From deep within the building I heard a god-awful racket. Either someone had finally had it with the cat, or else the singer was an old man who’d never hit a note in his life. Accompanying his wailing was some kind of lyre and a drum, both out of sync.
Little brothers cheer our elder.
His wisdom guides our steps.
Teach us, show us, Elder Brother,
Lead us to the golden path.
No wonder these guys met in the mountains. If they made a noise like that in the city, they’d be run out of town.
I moved closer to the main door and stopped when I saw it was hanging open. A few feet away I spied a man-sized tunnel in the snow and a pair of slippers disappearing into the blue gloom.
I reached in and grabbed a scrawny ankle. The snow muffled a few startled cries before I pulled out a skinny old man in the plain robes of a servant. He had a big red circle painted on the top of his bald head. I clapped a hand over his mouth to give him time to calm down. That took longer than it did back when I had a prettier face.
“What’s going on in there?” I knew he couldn’t understand my words, but I was betting my tone was enough.
“He will kill us all when he grows bored.” He looked past my shoulder, and his face wrinkled into a mask of fear.
“Who?”
“The Monkey King.”
The Tian and their crazy names. I released Baldy. He wormed back down his escape tunnel and resumed his excavation.
I peered through the open door. There was no one nearby, so I brushed off the snow and stepped inside.
The air was warm and full of good smells. There was lamb roasting in the kitchen, and somewhere were enough spices to open a market. I could also smell perfume, and not the cheap stuff. Beneath it I detected my favorite scent of all.
Women, and plenty of them.
For half a second I mused on the gratitude of rescued women, but it was no good even thinking about it until I was my old self again.
Beyond the front entrance was an antechamber with thick furs on the floor and heavy tapestries on the wall. Ahead of me was another big round door. To either side was a narrow hall full of sunlight from the arrow slits. There was nothing in them but a few abandoned crossbows and stools covered with lynx pelts.
Through the round door I found a couple of salons. They must have been nice little rooms once, filled with stained wood carvings, painted silk panels, vases, and statues. Now they were littered with rubble and the bodies of five guards.
Not all of them were corpses, I realized. At least two were still breathing, but neither was getting up soon. One was definitely dead, unless he had a knack for turning his head all the way around.
I followed the trail of destruction. No surprise, it led toward the horrible music. I peeked around the corner for a look.
The survivors of the attack had gathered in a banquet hall. Lining the walls were red silk tapestries embroidered in gem- and metal-colored thread. On mounts of pillows on either side of the hall sat eleven old servants like the one I’d seen outside. Their miserable expressions told me they weren’t happy to sit in the places reserved for their betters.
Wide braziers had been dragged into the center of the room, forming a line of blazing coals. To either side of the fiery path lay half a dozen brutal-looking men and the burliest woman I had yet seen in Tian Xia. Most of them looked unconscious or dead. The others groaned as if they wished they were dead or unconscious. I saw no wounds on them except for deep burns on the soles of their bare feet. So much for the bodyguards I was supposed to challenge.
Or maybe not. Two more knelt at the end of the line of braziers. One was a lean woman clad in little more than a dozen leather straps, each bearing two or three sharp throwing knives. The other was a bare-chested man with a colorful lion tattooed on his chest. Iron claws dangled from his wrists. The woman and the man held their slippers in their hands and exchanged you-next glowers.
At the foot of the dais, three old men capered while singing and playing the instruments I’d heard earlier. It was no mean trick, since all three were bound with yokes tied ankle-to-wrist, forcing them to crouch. Two wore expensive clothes, while the drummer had been stripped to his loincloth. Despite their predicament, I took them for the Three Grandfathers.
Sitting above them on a mound of pillows and furs, surrounded by the doting courtesans, sat the Monkey King.
He must have escaped halfway through receiving a curse, because he was only half-transformed. His body looked human enough except for the tail, but his face was all monkey. He wore silk trousers, velvet slippers with the toes curled up, and an open vest that revealed a wide expanse of golden brown hair.
The six consorts surrounding him each offered him a bowl of wine. They gazed into his monkey face with naked adoration as he drank them down. When he drained the last one, he smashed the bowl at the feet of his musicians.
“Another song,” he demanded. “In honor of our uninvited guest!”
And here I thought I’d been careful.
As I stepped out from hiding, the Monkey King plucked at the air and one of Burning Cloud Devil’s spying eyes appeared between his fingers. At the same moment, more than a dozen others became visible throughout the hall. With a gesture, the Monkey King summoned them all to a bowl, where they shrank down to the size of grapes. He ate them one by one, smacking his simian lips with relish.
The Three Grandfathers hopped and plucked and banged and warbled. Fear and shame wrestled in their faces.
The courtesans laughed and stroked the golden fur of the Monkey King’s arms. Alone among those in the hall, they appeared unafraid. I felt a pang of admiration for the guy. Unless he was using magic—and somehow I didn’t think he was—a guy who looked like that and could still make the ladies swoon was all right in my books.
Obviously this Monkey King was the guy I was meant to fight, but something about him bothered me. The way he cocked his head when the musicians played a rancid note, the way he poured as much wine down his chin as into his mouth, all seemed familiar. Even the name I thought I’d heard in passing, maybe in one of Burning Cloud Devil’s stories or at a festival.
“Who would like to try to kill me next?” The Monkey King beckoned to one of the remaining bodyguards. “You with the knives. It is your turn to tread the Glorious Path.”
Lion sighed in relief. Knives scowled and filled her hands. She threw the first blade as she leaped onto the coals.
The Monkey King plucked the knife out of the air and used it to pick his teeth. “You must reach me first.”
The woman drew another knife as she ran. Sizzling coals clung to her feet. With every other step she threw a knife. The Monkey King caught them all.
She faltered on the fourth step and tumbled to the floor on the sixth. There was more pain than fury in her shout as she fell beside the others who’d failed.
At the other end of the braziers, Lion kowtowed to the Monkey King. “All praise to the Fearless Son of Heaven and his mercy.”
“It is true I said I would spare the last challenger,” said the Monkey King. He looked straight at me and winked. “But you are not yet the last.”
Lion’s shoulders slumped as he turned to face me.
I brushed him aside. “Don’t worry, pal. You can still be last. I want a sh
ot next.”
He didn’t understand my words, but Lion was only too eager to step aside.
The Monkey King hooted and replied to me in Tien. “Brave words for a foreign devil.”
At least he understood me. Why was I not surprised? “Let me get this straight: Whoever runs down these coals to reach you gets a free shot?”
He smiled, parting his vest to show off his chest. Again, something about his manner was familiar. He pointed at the boxer’s staff. “Will you kill me with that weapon?”
I felt a guilty lump in my throat for no good reason. I swallowed it and tugged the scarf out of the rings. “Maybe.”
I slowed my breathing and concentrated my thoughts. From what I’d seen of this Monkey King, this was definitely a job for Burning Cloud Devil’s Twin White Palms.
Assuming I could finally throw it right.
I pulled off my slippers and hopped onto the first brazier. The heat of the coals was nice and toasty after the blizzard. I strolled toward the dais, twirling the staff to let the rings chime. Maybe I could rattle him.
The Monkey King threw back his head and whooped. I’d heard that boyish laugh before. “The first trial is no challenge for a devil who has come in from the snow so long before the spring thaw.”
“What do you mean, the first trial?”
Lion leaped on my back, his iron claws tearing into the back of my head. His attack surprised me so much that I nearly fell off the braziers, which I figured would queer the deal. Holding the staff for balance in one hand, I gave him the short elbow. Lion’s weight slid off me. He screamed as he hit the coals and rolled away beside his defeated predecessors.
“Too easy,” cried the Monkey King. He rolled his hands around each other as his consorts poured more wine into his upraised mouth. The dais rose twenty feet higher, the ceiling rushing ahead to make room. “This is more fun. Come on up.”