by Cat Bruno
With the sun still low, she reached the central square and hurried toward the dress shop. As she entered, Wei sung a greeting, approaching on silent, satin-slippered feet.
“Mistress Syrsha, you come too soon!” As Wei eyed her vest, she said, “Your robes are gone. Have you been banished from the temple?”
“Nothing of the sort, although I have news that might distress Min-Xi. The gown must be finished at once. She need not complete the hunting suit, although I will pay her all the same.”
Wei glided toward her and rubbed a delicate finger across an angled wolf ear.
“There is talk that the Emperor will visit Dengxi,” she cooed. As Wei pulled her hand back, she said, “It has also been reported that the laohu hunt will be called to please his Holy Highness.”
Syrsha waited, noticing a glimmer to Wei’s soft eyes.
Moments later, the woman squealed, “Tell me true, Syrsha, will this be your hunt?”
She nodded, and Wei exclaimed, “I know not whether to tell Mistress Min-Xi that the gown will be seen by the Emperor! We will be the envy of Dengxi once word spreads of the green-eyed crane.”
“None must know of the gown,” Syrsha interrupted, her voice stern. “But I must have it before the hunt, and your vow that none will lay eyes upon it before then.”
“Word is easy to give, Syrsha, for it serves us better that the Emperor will see it first.”
Wei noticed how Syrsha kept searching for Min-Xi and said, “She has not yet arrived, for she was here all last evening. But you must not hurry off, for Mistress nearly finished the gown.”
Returning to the temple would mean more lectures and stares, neither of which Syrsha needed. For a moment, she thought of visiting Jiang, but she still wore her armor, and did not wish to offend the Governor. Not now, only days away from meeting the great cats.
After excusing herself and promising to return in short, Syrsha walked toward the line of vendor carts. She was in no hurry as she strolled and enjoyed the time on her own, without any to guard her. Soon, she found herself away from the central square.
The sound of crackling timbers, splitting and shrieking, quickened her step. Around her, the houses narrowed, and many bore faded and peeling paint. Soot filled the air, graying it with ash. No screams could be heard, nor did she see any buildings aflame. It was not until several blocks later that Syrsha spotted a black-stained door, edged with curving metal and windowless. There were no markings or signs on the squat, brick building, yet it hummed with magic, like nothing she had encountered in Tian. With darkened eyes, she knocked, letting her knuckles tap against the splintered wood.
Much to her surprise, the door opened quickly, and a gray-robed man emerged, peeking up at her from behind a mask of sheer fabric.
Before he could rush off, she asked, “What place is this?”
Shaking his head at her, he said, “How do you know our words?”
It was a question she had learned to answer with ease, yet this time, she replied, “A gift from my father, who speaks of the Ancients as kin.”
Syrsha did not know if the man understood her, but he invited her to follow him.
The room was candlelit, but her eyes saw all. It was empty but for tables and bottles, although the smell of fire was nearer now. She tightened the ward around her, surprised at how strong it had become without her own effort. When the man turned from her, Syrsha called for flame, testing the power that seeped from the room.
Her hand blazed, the flame large and sizzling until she hurriedly closed her fist.
The man’s long hair, streaked with white, fell unevenly across his back and hardly moved as he led her to a small courtyard. He smelled of ash and dirt, of dung and mud, as if he had not bathed in a moon. But she followed him still, without fear, for her eyes were night-stained with so much power nearby.
Once they were both seated around a small, stone-rimmed fire, the man softly stated, “I receive few visitors.”
His voice faded like dull embers, and his words crumbled into dust. Wide eyes were lined with deep creases and sunspots dotted his face now that the mask had been removed. His hands, when he raised them to serve her tea, trembled, spilling steaming tea onto his hooked fingers. Syrsha jumped up, ignoring Tiannese etiquette, and grabbed the fire-burned pot from him. Moments later, they both sat holding dusk-colored mugs, made of simple clay and coarsely finished.
After sipping the bitter tea, Syrsha asked, “Do you know why I have come?”
Crooked teeth, yellowed by time, glowed as he croaked, “There is only one reason to seek me, child.”
She did not argue, for he was too old to not be wise.
“Your magic smells of fire,” she told him without accusation.
“To you, it might,” he nodded. “For others, it tastes of mud or sounds like thunder.”
“Where I am from, we call such magic Elemental. But I do not name myself as such.”
“All magic comes from the earth,” he scolded gently.
Ignoring his chastisement, Syrsha confessed, “I have been at the temple for over a moon now, yet feared to find you any sooner.”
Setting his mug atop his knee, the man asked, “You smelled the fire from so far?”
“Aye. But none else can. My senses are not as others might be.”
She would say no more, but his eyes glimmered with amusement and knowledge.
“I need your help, of course,” she sighed, knowing there was no other reason any came to him.
He motioned her to continue, and Syrsha explained how she would soon face the laohus, with the Governor’s blessing and the Emperor in attendance. Not once did the man show surprise.
“I am no warrior, child, nor will I provide you with weapon against the laohu. You might impress others with tales of the hunt, but not even I would harm a laohu.”
“What is it that you are called?” she asked abruptly.
With an unbalanced flutter of his hands and a tip of his head, he said, “Lao-Mu.”
“I am Syrsha,” she told him without breath. “And, Master Lao-Mu, it is not with the hunt that I need your assistance. It is what I must do after that requires aid.”
His eyes narrowed, and, against his silence, she continued, “There will be some who seek to stop what it is that I plan to do.”
“Explain yourself, jade-eyes.”
“The temple masters will not let me enter with weapon, while my own teachers, who have been at my side since my birth, will not allow me into the arena unarmed. The truth is simpler. I need no sword or dagger, no ally or kin. I am weapon enough.”
She spoke without arrogance, her words certain and spellbinding. Breathing deeply, Syrsha paused. She did not know this man, who was older than Gregorr and more tainted with dark magic than Aldric. Lao-Mu was not, as he admitted, warrior-trained. But his magic was strong, for its trail had burned all the way to Sholin Temple, as if calling to her. Moreover, Syrsha knew that she could not ask Aldric for assistance. Not again, after what had occurred when last she drew from his power.
Her thoughts suddenly heavy, she muttered, “What I ask from you will not be without risk.”
For a moment, she wondered why she had come. Men like Lao-Mu were not so unique, for each land had some who learned dark magic, although their names differed. In the Southern Cove Islands, they were named diauxie. In Cordisia, once exposed, they became exiled mages. In Lysandia and Sythia, and beyond, there would be those who sought Nox’s magic. Nowhere was the gift given freely. Nowhere did it come without great cost.
“I have coin to pay, but not nearly enough for what it is that I ask,” she admitted.
“I am an old man, and your tale is already long in the telling. Ask directly what it is that you require from me, and I will name a price,” Lao-Mu sputtered.
Between them, the fire burned, lower now. Flames fluttered, edged in blue-black, betraying their origin. Here, across from the tiny, stooped man, Syrsha suddenly dropped her ward. Her gaze remained tinted green, twinkling l
ike etched glass. The invisible mask across her face burned away, and ashes fell to the ground like flakes of gray. He would know her not as a daughter of the wolf, as many others did. Lao-Mu would know her true.
Looking across to him, she stated, “I am kin to the one you serve. But I am far from home, and my power is weak. Master, I have not seen the land of my birth in nearly eighteen moon years and must return at once.”
With cackling laughter and fearless eyes, he grunted, “Am I to find you passage aboard a ship that sails west?”
“I need no ship,” she told him, watching as his eyes sparked with interest, as black as the flames’ tainted edges.
As the morning sun rose and leveled out above them, Syrsha spoke of her plans. Lao-Mu listened, unhidden curiosity evident. Doubt appeared, too, near the end of her telling, as if her promises would go unfulfilled. He did not object or try to convince her that it could not be done. In truth, her plans amused him.
Finally, a full hour later, he rubbed at his chin and said, “If you succeed, you will become a Tiannese legend. Even in failure, few will forget you, Syrsha.”
“Will you help?” she asked, more directly now that so little remained unsaid.
“A few days is hardly enough time to prepare,” Lao-Mu warned.
“It must be enough,” she sighed.
Aldric and Otieno would both chide her for trusting the man, and they would not be wrong. However, her choices were few, and Delwin’s men had begun to march toward Eirrannia and the Tribelands. Even Gregorr would not defend her if he learned of her plans. His disappointment would burn the most.
“What is it that you will want in exchange?”
Her inquiry was necessary, and her coin less than he might request, Syrsha feared.
“My child, you have placed me in a bind. For if my aid is discovered and the means known, I will be jailed. Or worse. Not even gold will free me from such a fate. I have grown old by avoiding such discovery, while others are long dead.”
Her life pulse thumped hard, throbbing against the leather breastplate until the wolf head rose in response.
“I can make no vow that you will remain unknown. But your name will never come from my lips, if you so wish it,” she stammered.
When he remained unmoved, she pleaded, “Master, I will one day be queen, and even though the land is far removed from Tian, I would see you rewarded with land and gold.”
“I will die before I can spend your coin or see your lands,” he answered, although his words were not harsh ones.
“There must be something that you desire!” she cried.
“It is never wise to negotiate without boundary,” he scolded.
She could kill the man, and none would suspect. Even for as skilled as he was, he had not been able to disguise the dark magic trace. His death, to many in Tian, would be just and unsurprising. And, without him, Syrsha would only need to weave his spells toward the arena of the great cats. It would be enough.
His eyes, yellowed at the corners, watched her as if knew her thoughts.
“You will not harm me,” Lao-Mu stated cleanly.
With little more than a shrug, she answered, “It is not my way, for you have done nothing to deserve such an end.”
“What would your father do?” the man asked, hurried words racing from his creased lips.
After a long pause, Syrsha told him, “I know not.”
“And your kin? The immortal one? What would he do?”
Quicker now, she retorted, “An hour past, he would have killed you.”
Lao-Mu laughed so strongly that his mug fell to the stones and shattered.
“Does he pay your debts, child? For we are closer to an agreement now.”
“I want nothing from him,” she growled, bending to tend to the broken mug.
Small magics would not work on the dark mage as they had on the Governor and Jiang. A ward of shadows wrapped his body, unnoticed by most, but shining like blood to her eyes. His speckled face and balding head reflected fire and blood. The old man who had allowed her entry had disappeared, and, here, seated so near, was his true self. Aged and wrinkled still, but his fingers uncurled and his eyes cleared. Even his shaking had lessened.
“I could kill you still,” she told him, leaning against the bench.
“You will not.”
“Name your price,” she countered.
“One hundred gold pieces. And your promise that I will be granted safe passage with the others.”
“To Cordisia?” she gasped.
With an unconvincing nod, he said, “Perhaps I am not so old after all for a trip west.”
Before she could agree, he added, “The coin will be needed by the morrow.”
Syrsha had no gold. Yet she agreed and gave word that she would return before sunfall on the morrow. As Lao-Mu walked her to the door, she stared upon the room anew. Against a soot-spattered wall hung metal shackles. And from those shackles hung a naked man.
A leather gag, trimmed in thick thread, prevented the man from calling out. His ribs curved from his body, with little fat or skin to shield them. At first, she thought him dead.
Until his eyes, circled by bruising, flitted open.
Syrsha walked on, thinking on words Aldric once spoke, during his days at the academy in Cossima.
He who seeks war must first know its costs.
The gold coin that Lao-Mu required could be borrowed or stolen. It was not that cost which would haunt her.
*****
“Ohdra promises that the fennidi will be here within days.”
“The whole of them?”
“Aye, brother. Even the ones who have knowledge of tallora,” Conall explained to the High Lord.
“The librarian will be happy to hear that,” Conri stated dryly.
Conall smirked at the words and said, “He is a strange one. But he is more learned than most mortals.”
“How odd that Caryss called him friend.”
Conri had not planned on mentioning the woman, but the words came nonetheless. Even so many moon years later, he thought of her still and had not mated with any other for length. Little of that mattered and talk mostly centered on the Rexterran Royal Army and on the tallora that could fell them all.
“What of the remaining Wolves?” Conri asked.
Only scouting parties remained outside of the Tribelands, with most positioned between Edan Lake and the Wolf stronghold, Conall informed the High Lord. The Bears stayed just north of the lake, choosing no side, but willing to defend their homes if the Royal Army threatened. The Crows were quiet, as they had been for moons, which suggested that they readied for war. Their alliance was a tentative one with King Delwin, as Conri had tried to explain to his father. But the Dark God would not force Lord Kyran to sever ties with Rexterra.
Nox would wait, allowing his children to battle for Cordisia. Only after the battle’s end would he emerge to claim the land as his own. It mattered little to him that the Lightkeepers sought to eliminate all Tribe. To the Dark God, the robed mages were powerless and not worthy of his interference. If Conri or Kyran could not control such mortals, they did not deserve to be named as his kin, Nox had warned.
But it was his father’s unspoken words that worried Conri most. He waited, and not for his Tribesmen to conquer. He waited for the weapon he had long ago created. The Dark God waited for his queen. Cordisia would be hers to rule, under Nox’s reign. Little more did Conri know, yet he understood his father well enough to realize that Cordisia would not be what it now was. Shadow would replace light, and the skies would darken, causing Luna to flee in fear, as had long been the Dark God’s vengeful plan.
Tribesmen could live in such a land, but mortals could not. And Luna, mother to Tribe and guardian of the mortal night, would disappear for eternity.
Shaking himself free of the thoughts, Conri, his hands fiery and clenched, called, “Is Wolf the only one who honors our mother and remembers our cousins in the North?”
It was a question t
hat he had asked before, one that Conall could never answer. Even Crow and Bear refused to answer, for they so feared the Dark God.
“First we must face the enemy at our door,” Conall replied, his words ready for he had stated such often.
“I will destroy all who have chosen to forget,” Conri howled, low and hoarse.
“And I will be at your side, brother, as will our children.”
“If we have not received word of her travels within the quarter-moon, you must find her, Conall,” the High Lord commanded.
With a nod, his brother agreed.
“She will come, Conri.”
Until then, the Wolves would fight, defending the land his daughter must rule.
In her own name and under the gaze of Luna.
*****
Power brimmed here, flowing strong so near to the dark mage’s home. Even as Syrsha walked back to the Dengxi square, she could feel the strength of it. She thought of time-walking to the Tribelands, but her father would ask of her plans. If known, he would not allow what she must attempt, so Syrsha continued on, letting her body warm with the heat of magic. It had been too long since she had felt such a glow.
Before she entered the shop, she pulled a ward over herself and dulled the throbbing power. Even blocks from the mage’s home, the magic had remained. If his reach could be so strong to the arena, her plan would be served well.
Cloaking her eyes, she searched for Min-Xi until she found the woman seated alone, near the back of the shop. Across her lap draped the moon-blessed fabric – silvery, cream, and sparkling.
Near enough to see how the sheer fabric glimmered with threads of glistening gold, Syrsha gasped, “You have woven the moon herself, Mistress.”
“Hush,” the woman croaked. “It is a dress, no more or less.”
“It is the finest that I have seen,” Syrsha confessed, wanting nothing more than to trace her fingers through the threads.
“Have Wei come and help you undress. You must be fitted a final time.”