by Sarah Zettel
“As will I.” Avanasy picked up his own towel. “And we will speak more tonight, but I think now we must finish our washing. I fear poor Shien and Jiu will be fretting outside the door for not being allowed to do their jobs.”
Ingrid set her hair in order and Avanasy finished his wash. Then they attempted to help each other on with the robes, which had looked so tidy when Shien laid them out, but proved to be absolute acres of cloth that had to be carefully folded, wrapped, and tied. After several laughing attempts to get them on, they retired to opposite sides of the room behind separate screens and called for the servants. As Avanasy suspected, they were just outside the door. Shien bustled in behind Ingrid’s changing area and in moments had her wrapped and tied neatly in the thick, clean cloth so that the robe fell in graceful folds from her shoulders and her waist.
Now that her charge was dressed to her satisfaction, Shien busied herself with setting out the numerous diminutive bowls and cups that were evidently required for their meal. Each dish held just a taste of some delicacy; a few pieces of fresh melon, a piquant vegetable pickle, cold rice flavored with jasmine, some shelled nuts, a few small steamed rolls. The cups held various teas and liquors. It all seemed incredibly exotic to Ingrid, as she sat at the low table and allowed Shien to help her to various samplings and Jiu helped Avanasy, and yet at the same time was an undeniably refreshing way to eat on an afternoon that was becoming increasingly sweltering.
When the last dish was emptied and cleared away, and Ingrid had sipped the last of the orange-blossom water, Shien bowed low again and said she had been instructed to take them down to the study to meet their host.
The food and wine had mellowed Ingrid, but not enough to ease her apprehension. What sort of hospitality had they accepted? Avanasy’s reassurances notwithstanding, she knew something of banditry and even piracy, and such men might have honor, but it was of a notably expedient sort.
The study was in a well-shaded corner of the house on the lower floor. Cai Yun stood outside its screened entrance, and dismissed Shien with brief thanks and a wave as they arrived to stand in front of her. Cai Yun, in turn, led them around the screen into a spacious and beautiful room. Its many low tables were spread with maps or piled with scrolls or folios of thin paper. In the midst of these tools of scholarship sat a man whom Ingrid assumed must be the master of the house. He appeared to be a man just entering middle age, with sharp cheekbones and keen eyes. His black hair had been bound into a neat braid at the back of his head, and, unlike most of the other men of this country, he wore a thin beard that outlined his jaw. His robe was solid black with white cuffs and sash.
Cai Yun bowed to the seated scholar. “Uncle, may I introduce to you Ingrid and her husband, Avan. It was Ingrid who saved our family property and my honor this morning. Mistress Ingrid, Master Avan, may I introduce my uncle, Lien Jinn.”
Lien Jinn bowed without rising. “Please accept my thanks. My niece was on an errand for me, to meet a ship of mine that had come in. What you saved was much more than a maiden’s pocket money.” He gestured toward two chairs that looked to Ingrid to be little more than low platforms with thin pillows on them. “Will you sit with me?”
“Gladly, sir,” answered Avanasy. He was holding his face oddly, as if trying to keep some unwanted expression at bay. He and Ingrid settled themselves tailor-fashion on the seats while Cai Yun stationed herself at her uncle’s right hand. “I have only rarely had occasion to enjoy the fabled hospitality of T’ien, and my wife not at all. I am humbled by its extent.”
“Your words warm my poor heart,” answered Lien solemnly.
“I was most struck by the beauty of your home,” Avanasy went on. “Great care has been taken in its construction, and its protection.”
“What peace can there be if a man’s family is not safe?” Now it was Lien who narrowed his eyes, and it was easy to see the family resemblance between him and Cai Yun.
“This is wisdom.” Avanasy nodded. “Your own children are grown then?”
“My ancestors deemed my role should be to look after the health and well-being of my brothers’ families.”
“Having seen how you provide for strangers, I have no doubt your family is in excellent hands,” said Ingrid, beginning to get a feel for the rhythm of this conversation.
“It is a blessing to be able to help those who are far from their homes.” Lien’s face grew shrewd. “And I cannot help but believe you are both very far from your home.”
“Not so far as I have been,” answered Avanasy. “But not so near as I would be.”
“You did not wish to travel then?” Lien inquired mildly. Ingrid noted that although she sat silently, Cai Yun was watching both her and Avanasy, like a cat might watch a mousehole, not blinking, missing nothing. Looking for lies under the pleasantries, Ingrid was sure of it. Looking for what might be hidden by words.
Avanasy sighed. “In truth, no. We find we have become seekers, my wife and I.”
“And what is it you seek?”
“Something valuable, which was removed from its rightful place.”
“Ah.” Lien nodded sagely, as if Avanasy had spoken with perfect clarity. “This is a common problem. It must be very valuable for you to have traveled so far.”
“It is unique.”
“I thought it must be. It may be I am in a position to help you.”
“Indeed?” Avanasy’s eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. “We would be most grateful for any help that could be offered.”
“It happens in the course of trade that I occasionally hear of valued moveables, and may be able to bend my humble skills toward negotiating its retrieval.”
“I fear it is not only retrieval which we must concern ourselves with, but return. While I hope those who have it will return it willingly once certain conditions can be met, I fear they may not, in which case they may pursue it.”
Cai Yun frowned openly at this, but the light of curiosity sparked in her uncle’s eyes. “This enterprise could lead you to some expense, I think, my friend, as well as trouble.”
Avanasy bowed his head. “It can, and it has, but I am under obligation.”
“Ah, yes. I thought as much. Isavalta is noted for its dedication to duty.”
“And you, mistress, what are your people noted for?” asked Cai Yun lightly.
“Stubbornness, mistress,” answered Ingrid, which earned her a laugh. “And an inability to keep our opinions to ourselves.”
“Have you an opinion on this matter then, mistress?”
Ingrid decided to risk it. “It is my opinion that the Master of the House already knows who we are, and has some idea of what it is we seek. I believe he is taking our measure, for which I cannot fault him, but I think it would be beneath all our dignities to begin bargaining over the fate of nations like a fishwife over fish.”
Lien laughed out loud. “Well spoken, mistress. Well spoken. What do you say, Avan? Do we bargain thus? Or do we open our books each to the other and show what we know?”
“I would not presume to tell the master what to do in his own home. But I do find myself reminded of a legend they tell in my homeland.”
Lien’s eyes glittered. “I would be most interested to hear it.”
“I was trained by the sorcerer Valerii. When it came time for me to leave my master, he gave me many gifts. The most precious of these was the secret of making sailcloth that could catch the wind that blows between the worlds and enable a boat to sail between mortal shores and the Land of Death and Spirit. He told me the secret of its making had been won by a sorcerer from south of our home. This sorcerer, it seems, loved a young woman who was chosen to enter the Heart of the World as a concubine. But she continued to write to him, so the story goes, and he to her, swearing he would find a way to spirit them both away without even the Nine Elders being able to follow.
“My master went on to say that this sorcerer walked across the Land of Death and Spirit and, through immense patience and cleverness, won the secre
t of making the sailcloth from the Old Witch herself. But when he returned to his home, it was only to find that his love had been discovered and made to drink poison for her transgressions. The sorcerer vowed vengeance upon the emperor and all his heirs, and he has ever since been taking that vengeance, as slowly and as patiently as he took the secret he needed from the Old Witch.”
Lien’s eyes glittered. “So. You know rather more than I would have told you left to my own devices, Master Avan.”
“Avanasy,” Avanasy corrected him, and there was no look of surprise on Lien’s face. “I believe Mistress Ingrid is correct. The time has come for us to call things by their proper names.”
“And while we are so doing, what would you have of me?”
“Beyond a night’s shelter, nothing, if all is well.”
“And if it is not?”
“Safe transport for myself, my wife and one other to a destination of our choosing, safe transport that the Nine Elders cannot follow.”
“This item you seek, it is valuable to the Nine Elders.”
Avanasy nodded. “If they are so inclined, they will find it a treasure great enough to buy the peace of an empire.”
The smile on Lien’s face then was thin, and filled with greed, but his words were cautious. “I shall consider your words carefully. We shall speak again at the evening meal. In the meantime, I invite you to treat my house as if it was your own. Niece, show them the gardens.”
“Gladly, Uncle.” She bowed to him even as she rose.
“The peace of an empire?” inquired Lien as they turned to go.
“Perhaps,” said Avanasy. “If they have chosen safety over honor.”
At those words, Lien’s face turned utterly bitter. “That has ever been their choice in the past. I think we may easily rely on them to do so again.”
Chapter Sixteen
The temple city of Durah was normally a place of solemn monks, prayer fires, and the smells and smokes of sacrifice. Pilgrims filed up the narrow way to pay what coins they had to the priests and pray at the feet of the Mothers for guidance or deliverance. Today, however, the way was blocked by vigilant soldiers and those pilgrims who did not wish to return home waited in a makeshift camp at the bottom of the cliff. More soldiers crowded the alleys and twisted walkways between the temples and dormitories, pitching their own tents and adding the smoke of their cooking fires to the sacred smoke rising in tribute to the gods and the Mothers.
Emperor Samudra tya Achin Hariamapad, Father of the Pearl Throne, Beloved of the Seven Mothers, Warrior of the Gods, the Uniter and the Deliverer, having prostrated himself for a suitable time in the highest temple and having in addition paid for a seven-fold sacrifice and added a gift for the high priest, was given a priest’s house to use as his headquarters, and not too grudgingly either.
The house’s great room had been cleared of most of its furniture and appointments. In their place, great maps had been unrolled and laid on the floor, decked out with copper markers indicating where the enemy troops were last known to be stationed. The latest news from the scouts was not good. The Huni had dug themselves into the mountain fastnesses, and showed no sign of being willing to come out for a fight. Indeed, why should they? All they needed to do was wait for winter to descend upon the mountains and fill the passes with snow and ice. It was still early enough in the year to start a siege, but a siege would have costs, and not all of them would be paid on the battlefield.
The true problem lay in not having an accurate count of the enemy, nor a good idea of the state of their supplies. His generals were questioning some of the local villagers even now in other, quieter rooms, but so far they were not getting good answers. Shepherds could count rams and ewes accurately, but to them five soldiers were the same as five thousand: too many for safety.
“We could parley, Majesty,” suggested General Makul, seeing Samudra frowning at the delicately drawn maps and the copper coins. “Draw them out and take their measure across the negotiating table.”
“And have them think we are weak,” growled Samudra.
“The better to know how weak they are,” replied Makul calmly. He knew the growl to be purely reflexive, a mark of Samudra’s disappointment more than anything else. This had been meant to be a brief campaign. The march from the Pearl Throne had been accomplished quickly. He had believed that the rout of the Huni here might be the same. The Huni in these mountains were known to be fat and careless, convinced Samudra’s attentions lay elsewhere. It should have been a quick fight, with Samudra and his men home in time to supervise the tallies from the harvests and deal with Chandra, Yamuna and their antics, all the time having let Hung Tse know that their days of holding the land that belonged to the Seven Mothers were almost done.
But the Huni had been warned, and when Samudra arrived they were long gone.
“Would they parley, do you think?” he mused, rubbing his chin.
“I think they would sneer. I think they would bluster,” Makul replied. “And I think they would be glad of a chance to do so to Your Majesty’s face.”
“I think that some of our scouts led by a well-paid shepherd might keep watch at such a time in a hidden place, to observe their comings and goings so we might better know how they can be winkled out of their shells.”
“Your Majesty thinks wisely and well,” replied the general gravely.
Samudra let the flattery pass with a smile. “What do you think, Hamsa?” He lifted his head to his sorceress.
Hamsa stood in the corner of the room in front of a fire of smoldering sandalwood and incense. She balanced herself neatly on one foot, with one hand raised above her head, her fingers cupped in the sign of supplication to Jalaja, first of the Seven Mothers. She had been standing so for three days and three nights using prayer, smoke, strength and sacrifice, binding her magic into shape. She sought to see into the warp and weft of time, to see what was possible and what was not, at least as far — as she would have been the first to remind him — as the Mothers would permit. Despite her fierce concentration on matters beyond the flesh, he knew she heard him, for it was the consequences of what was said in this room that she was meant to see.
“I think …” she murmured, her voice slurred with trance and fatigue. “I think I see a ravine in the foothills where a tributary to the river Harsha cuts sharp through the rocks.” She swayed just a little on her one leg. “I think I see a man’s broken body at the bottom. His horse lies beside him for the ravens and the wolves. He came fast and far, that man, and he had a message.”
“What message?” demanded Samudra. Inside he cursed. What this ill-starred expedition did not need was more complexity.
“Gone,” said Hamsa thickly. She did not look at him, but stared straight ahead, seeing further than any untouched human might. “Consigned to the fire, blocked, blotted, ashes …” She swayed again, like a young, willow in the wind, bending so that Samudra sucked in his breath, but still she remained upright. “For that message could not reach the emperor, or all would be lost, lost …”
“Do you see the message, Agnidh Hamsa?” asked Samudra quietly, uncertain whether she would even hear him where she had gone.
“In the fire,” she whispered, her words swaying in rhythm with her body. “In the fire, first and last, beginning and ending. It was in the fire, it is in the fire, it will be in the fire, ever in the fire …” She shuddered violently, and Makul started forward, but Samudra stopped him with a touch on the arm. Samudra disliked magic. He shied away from it when possible. But he knew enough to know Hamsa had gone from a trance to an active working, and to interrupt could be perilous, to the sorcerer and the mortal attempting the intervention.
“In the fire,” Hamsa said again, bending forward from her waist, still balanced on only one leg, breathing the scented smoke deeply, weaving her spell of breath, smoke, sacrifice and words. “Fire, flame, ash, smoke, message to the mighty, message in the fire, in the flame, in the ash, in the smoke, in the fire, in the fire, in the fire �
�”
Hamsa lowered the hand she had held cupped over her head for three days and reached it unhesitating into the bright flames. When she drew it out again, she held a piece of sealed paper in her fingers.
“There,” she whispered, and let it fall to the floor. Immediately, she herself sank down to sit on the flagstones, arms and legs folded, eyes closed, and lungs laboring to keep breathing. This too was the way of things. Samudra motioned to the waiting servants. They knew what to do. Water, bread and fruit would be placed beside her so that she could regain her strength as soon as she was ready to rejoin the human world, but first, there was the message, which Makul had already retrieved from the floor.
What he had taken for paper was in fact white silk, tied with a saffron ribbon and sealed with saffron wax, the sort that was only used by one source: the emperor of Hung Tse.
Samudra slit the ribbon with his knife and unrolled the silk. The characters had been painted in red and black ink with a minute brush, and the whole of it was finished with the yellow dragon seal of the Heart of Heaven and Earth. Samudra allowed himself to sit and spread the letter out before him. He could read the language of Hung Tse, but not as quickly as he would have liked. For such a letter, however, no translator could properly be called, not yet. However it came to him, this message was from ruler to ruler and must be treated with respect.
So, slowly, he read:
To the Emperor Samudra tya Achin Ireshpad, Revered and Respected, Father of the Pearl Throne and Beloved of the Seven Mothers, we send greeting.
It is not our wish to speak to you with anger, but for the care we hold our sacred lands, our borders allotted to us by the will of Heaven and of men, we must protest the injustices that have their origin in the blood of the Pearl Throne.
The northern border of Hung Tse is assaulted, the leader of the assault is the nephew of the Pearl Throne, Kacha tya Achin Ejulinjapad. He moves to attack without provocation, without warning and without lawful reason. We would appeal to the lawful Empress of Isavalta and bring forth our suit to her, but it has come to our ears that she has been driven from her own court.