Khalem, the general in charge of Saemon's army, was as tough as steel. He nodded once and approached confidently, with purpose. He immediately knelt on one knee at Saemon's side.
Saemon bit at the inside of his cheek.
Surely, if anyone could make Saemon feel better about what he had seen, it would be Khalem. His years as a mercenary proved his instincts, not to mention the deep river of history and trust that ran between them. Khalem would set him at ease or take care of the problem – if one existed.
"Sheng Saemon. I am here to serve you," the General said crisply.
"Something feels wrong to me, Khalem. Do you feel it? There's something . . . something not right tonight."
"Feel what?"
Saemon shook his head. "I observed many things during the dinner that…don't seem consistent."
As Khalem raised one eyebrow, one side of his black mustache lifted with it. "Please explain?"
"The Nari and Ameya clans didn't drink. Kenzo was especially tense. Yuna, Azuma, Kenzo – they all left early, right after Ren and Isao."
"I noticed," Khalem nodded affirmatively.
"Strange, isn't it?"
"Out of the normal, yes."
"Am I overreacting?"
"Instincts rarely do, Sheng."
“I worry for Isao. What if they mean to bring harm to him tonight? Only he can – I mean, we must keep him safe at any cost. Any cost, Khalem. I want you to remove Isao from the imperial palace. We have no physical proof that he is in danger, but I will not take risks. I will not tolerate another soldier taking him; it is you who must watch over my son, Khalem. I insist. Take him away from here. Far away from here. I feel that this may be my last order to you. Will you do this for me, Khalem?"
“Sheng, I…” the General began, then trailed off, clearly arrested by the force of Saemon’s words.
This will be my last order to you.
The very air seemed to swell with those words.
“I must ask this of you,” Saemon spoke again.
Khalem’s eyes darted about the room. They drew in details, and seemed to constantly assess. Finally, the General nodded, having reached a conclusion. "Anything for you, Sheng."
Saemon clapped a weary hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Khalem. My trust in you is implicit. I shall be able to sleep knowing you are looking out for him."
Saemon relaxed, just slightly.
Khalem had never failed him. He would not this night either.
Khalem straightened. "I will serve you well, Sheng."
Saemon nodded, dismissing Khalem.
He stayed in the hall and sank into deep thought.
Without people to serve, the servants cleaning up the great hall moved slower. They yawned, exhausted no doubt, as they struggled to carry off the heavy plates and platters for cleaning.
A glint of gold drew Saemon's gaze .
Hovering above the banquet hall was the imperial crest. A muscular, winged lion cut across it, snarling with sharp teeth. It hung from the center of the wall, gracing all those who entered with the power and the might of the Empire, which could reach all four corners.
With a melancholy sigh, Saemon stared at it, feeling somewhat despondent. The scent of juniper had increased now that several jars burned in the dining hall. It stretched into the hallway and off to the courtyard beyond. The long day and all the feasting had left him with a headache. It throbbed in his temples, making him dizzy even though he sat in his chair still.
A brief pang struck him in the heart as he sat in his chair. Then another.
He would stay put until he felt a bit better.
Sheng Saemon stared about the now-empty banquet hall, consumed by his heavy thoughts.
The servants had bustled away a long time before, moving back to their rooms and leaving only a few torches behind to cast light on the wide, open space. The gritty scent of the Dhul powder still lingered in the room, filling his nostrils.
Saemon clenched his teeth, then consciously relaxed them. When his fingers clutched at the armrests on his chair, he forced them to release as well.
Some part of his body felt tense no matter his every attempt to stay calm. He could not think clearly when he was this tense, and an Emperor who couldn't think, couldn't rule.
Once Saemon relaxed his arms, his left leg jumped up and down.
Something . . . something still felt off.
Saemon sprang to his feet, walked partway across the banquet hall, then turned around and walked back. The frantic movements loosened some of the jitters in his chest. He did it again, this time turning to stride around the sprawling banquet table that had just hosted dozens of people instead.
As Saemon strode about the room, flashes of the faces of the celebration attendees ripped through his mind at an equally nervous pace.
Isao. Ren. Her sister Yuna. Their brother Azuma. Khalem. All the others.
He analyzed them one at a time; the way they had frowned, or smiled. Or had made no expression at all, such as Yuna.
It all meant something. Everything meant something.
His job was to determine whether it meant something significant.
Before he knew it, Saemon was pacing the room in ever widening, agitated circles, mesmerized by the clack of his shoes against the tile floor. The sound gave him some comfort, like that of a heartbeat.
Light from the few remaining torches guided his way until he noticed a strange sliver of color on the floor. He stopped, lifting his shoulders back, and glanced toward the wall. Beckoned as if by an unseen power, Saemon moved until he stood underneath the window, gazing up on the moon.
The blood-red moon.
Something cold and tight rippled through his chest, seized at his heart. Saemon reached a hand to his breastbone and pressed into it, as if that would stop the pain. His throat tightened. He swallowed, looking away.
Surely he dreamed it. Surely there wasn't . . .
"No," he murmured, unable to tear his gaze away.
He must be seeing things. It was just the long night. Too much wine and food and celebration. Indigestion led to all kinds of funny hallucinations, especially with rice wine. There was no possible way a red moon could actually rise.
Saemon tore his gaze away. "I do not see a red moon," he murmured. "This is a dream."
When he looked back to the sky, the crimson moon remained, looming like a specter of death.
Everything but the disturbing sight of the moon emptied from his mind. He no longer thought of the celebration, his agitation at the strange attitude of the guests, or the niggling doubt of fear that whispered warnings to his mind. All he saw was the bloody moon, and all he felt was the clutch of cold fear in his heart.
"It cannot be."
Saemon looked away, and then back, wishing again and again for it to go away, but the sight of the moon remained, haunting his mind. Everything in the banquet hall seemed to grow taller and more sinister, threatening to loom over him and drown him in despair.
The shadows growled. The air thickened, as if it would grow teeth and slash him in half.
Evil spirits surely would spring from the shadows at any moment now, swamping him in their misery, pulling him back to the depths. The depths he already visited oh-so-long ago.
"No," Saemon whispered, shaking his head. It could not be. "This is not real."
Something rattled in his memory, moving like the slow ebb of an ocean tide. It whispered up, stirring memories before it drifted away. Saemon grasped for it, losing the memory the moment it appeared. With a violent growl, he turned around, putting his back to the moon.
It was there. Lingering at the edge of his mind. Something.
Of their own accord, his eyes drifted back to the dripping appearance of the moon, thick with crimson shadows. His body trembled all the way to his bones, rattling his teeth until they clacked against each other.
With a shiver, the words brushed through his mind with an icy clarity, clutching his heart in a cold fist of terror. A veil of crimson cl
oaks the moon.
He had remembered.
Oh how he wished he hadn't.
Sweat beaded across his forehead. His palms became clammy. He tore his gaze away from the moon, seeking anything – anything – but that desperate, frightening orb of death. The shadows in the courtyard below took life. They slid up the walls, seeking him. The courtyard shuffled with noise and the clinking sound of moving armor, and a strange, flickering green light came through from another one of the windows above.
An odd shape on top of the courtyard fence arrested his gaze.
Saemon sucked in a sharp breath, and his throat tightened in fear. A bird-like creature was sitting on the iron railing that stretched across the stone wall separating the courtyard from the city. Sleek feathers the color of ash cascaded down its elegant back, giving way to wide, folded wings that would allow it to fly long distances.
"Gube," he whispered.
The sound of screaming and clashing swords in the courtyard below followed.
The creature turned in Saemon’s direction, its luminous yellow eyes wide and shining. Saemon gasped as the Gube's intense gaze bore down on him through the window, as if promising to pull him away and take him under.
The Gube, such a rare creature, was acting as if it would steal Saemon’s very soul.
Saemon choked, and stumbled back. Shivers racked his body. The Sheng knew this creature well.
The Gube. The mysterious, strange bird had appeared one other devastating, terrifying time in his life. The Horat-Vu war.
While men lay dying, having given their lives to stop the evil Shuran clan, the Gube had swooped through and around the battlefields, winging around the fields of dying men like a harbinger of doom. Its gray feathers had gleamed despite the dying light of day, the air full of thick smoke arising from fires within the ravaged cities.
Not once in the Horat-Vu war had the Gube looked at Saemon. It had only flown around, seeking others.
Death. Everyone knew that the Gube brought death.
Saemon pressed a fist to his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. "What was the rest? The rest of the words," he hissed into the night.
Below, the sounds of battle increased. Someone's scream turned into a gurgle. Saemon frantically searched the darkness of his mind, casting through the old memories and repeating the initial refrain to himself again and again.
"A veil of crimson cloaks the moon. A veil of . . ."
The words died on his lips. He straightened with a gasp, and supplied the words that came next with a faint whisper.
"The herald of the blackest night returns. Heed his mournful wail."
The herald.
The Gube.
An ear-splitting shriek broke the night, peeling through the air. Saemon clasped his hands over his ears with a cry as the Gube continued its hair-raising scream, and he fell to his knees.
Once the Gube finished, Saemon shot to his feet, rushing from the room.
"Guards!" he called, signaling the closest man. "We are under attack. Send Captain Jurobei to my chamber. Tell him to activate the Karu unit."
Saemon sucked in a sharp breath.
"We will be fighting for our lives."
Ren
Despite the cool marble floor and magnificent beauty of the imperial palace, Ren kept her eyes down and focused on the designs in the floor. The top edges of her slippers barely peeked out from underneath her hem with every careful step she took.
Behind her, the slight shuffle of her maids filled the strangely empty silence. When Isao had parted from her, turning to head down his own hall, the new couple had peeled away from each other without a word. Ren had wondered if she should have said something, then realized she didn't have the strength to try.
Halfway to her room, she noticed a vase on a pedestal. Intricate glass beads covered its outside in a swirling design of color meant to mimic the stars in the night sky. Ren paused, staring at it and feeling as small as one of the glass beads.
Small. Stuck in her place. Here because of the interplay of greater forces.
Ren blinked, the heaviness in her chest threatening to consume her.
Had it actually happened? Had she willingly married someone whom she didn't care for? Was her life knit with a total stranger? And, what would he say if he knew she had feelings for another?
Before these morose thoughts could consume her, a figure emerged from the shadows off to the right. Ren’s maids sucked in sharp breaths, then let them out.
Ren straightened, her eyes assessing the approaching figure until she spied a familiar head of short-cropped red hair in the flickering of the torchlights.
“Ren. Darling sister.”
Yuna lifted a hand, pressing it to Ren’s cheek and giving her a warm smile. Her fingertips caressed Ren’s skin softly.
“You look so sad, Ren. And this is your wedding day.”
Ren swallowed the lump in her throat. “I am happy to assist my clan.”
“Isao seems to be a good man. He will, no doubt, be a strong leader for the Empire. What more could you ask for?”
Ren nodded in assent, but said nothing more. She cast her eyes back to the ground, unable to meeting Yuna’s burning, cerulean gaze.
Yuna put her hand under Ren’s chin, nudging it higher. “Will you be so sad forever? Surely, your future cannot be as bleak as this.”
“Not forever. No.”
“Chin up, sister. There is much to celebrate.”
The words, spoken in an even, alluring cadence, settled the worst of Ren’s nerves, although her heart still ached. There was so much Yuna didn’t – couldn’t – know.
The bleak world that awaited her. A lonely one, filled with nights shared with a man whom she didn’t love. She would be forced to dream of the one she did for the rest of her life.
Eventually, her love’s memory would fade. Tear and shred as easily as the skin of an onion.
“Yes. There is much to celebrate,” Ren intoned, deliberately shedding such thoughts.
Yuna’s lips curved into a tilted smile. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve had a long day, and much has happened. Get some rest, and you’ll feel much better afterward. Everything always looks better in the morning, doesn’t it?”
Ren managed a small smile, exhaling a deep, heavy breath. Yuna was right. Everything looked darker through the lens of exhaustion.
“Yes, Yuna. You’re quite right.”
Yuna’s eyes lit up with a smile. “Yes. Yes, I usually am. Sleep well, sister.” She
ran her thumb across the apple of Ren’s cheek, then glided off into the shadows without a sound.
Ren watched her go until she disappeared into the darkness, seemingly at one with the night.
Upon Yuna’s departure, Ren’s maids seemed to come back to life .
“Come,” one urged, directing the bride down her hall. “We are almost there.”
In the privacy of her bedroom, Ren disrobed, letting the heavy dress drop to the floor. She was grateful to be ride of the long swaths of crimson silk.
After Ren briefly soaked in a quick, cool bath filled with rose petals, she got out. Her maids draped a loose robe around her, pulled her hair into a comfortable braid, and set out a fresh glass of water by her bed.
Darkness gathered again in Ren’s heart as she climbed into bed. It grew into an infinitely painful lump the size of which the universe could never measure.
With a wave, Ren dismissed her maids. They filed out the door, where they would wait in the hall for the rest of the night. Ren fell back on the downy mattress and grabbed the edges of her blankets. They were made from the soft fur of a silver mountain bear. Ren pulled them tight around her. Ensconced in their weight, she tucked her head into her chest and cried.
“My heart will always be yours,” she whispered.
Tears fell off her cheek, dropping onto the furs with a heavy plop.
Ren pulled a blanket over her face, crying into it until sl
eep claimed her.
Rakesh
The whispers of the crowd echoed through the square. “The whips!” they cried. “The Hangman will bring out the whips.”
“No, the chains. He’ll bring out the chains. They’re one of his favorites these days.”
“He hasn’t used the chains in months.”
“It’s going to be the whips. They have glass in them, you know. Embedded at the ends. It’ll shred skin on contact.”
“Yes. But the heavy weight of chains digging into the back is far worse. Chains bruise and break, not just rip. Most people don’t recover from chains. Whips? It can happen.”
From where he stood in the stocks, his head and hands shoved through tight holes that dug painfully into his skin, Rakesh stared straight ahead and tried desperately not to hear the words being uttered by those who had come to watch the spectacle.
With every bite of the whip into the skin on his back, Rakesh tried not to moan. The resulting pain numbed his mind, and everything around him now seemed to be happening at a distance.
The pain consumed him. Like fire, it licked up his back in long, burning flames.
The city square was crowded today, with even the most fearful and downtrodden having left their dank holes and hovels to gather and watch.
A cluster of fairy orbs hovered near the edge of the Fool Plaza where grotesque statues ringed the space with hissing, snarling expressions. The animalistic sculptures, backlit by the glowing orbs, looked to be uttering screams from out of the shadows.
Behind them stood pawn shops filled with odds and ends and mostly known for unsavory customers attempting to sell off rotten meat and outlawed items such as new razors and files. Today the shop owners had closed the doors and ventured outside to watch the upcoming punishment with hungry eyes.
“Fools, the two of you,” The Hangman roared. “To think you can come into MY house?”
He stood only a few paces away from the stocks. The inhabitants of Iskawan shrank back, trying to become a part of the shadows.
Jiro cried out as The Hangman’s servant turned the attention of the whip to him. Rakesh drew in a breath and clutched for threads of sanity during this brief lull in his own punishment.
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