by Cat Bruno
Having explained to the mage that she would visit only once more, Syrsha departed. On her way back, she strolled by three Tiannese men excitedly chattering. The Emperor had arrived.
And made his way to Sholin Temple.
Syrsha rushed to arrive first, passing near enough to the entourage to see the sun-bronzed top of the Emperor’s large litter. Carried by a dozen men, it was the largest she had seen. Red-stained sides framed curtains of golden silk, hiding Emperor Wanli from view. But Syrsha did not slow, running until she was just outside the bathhouses of the temple, which were empty as acolyte and master prepared for the Emperor’s visit.
After stripping off her leathers, she scrubbed herself clean, erasing the fiery taint of the mage’s dark spells. Wrapped in a length of unfinished silk, she hurried to find Sharron. She spent little time with the healer of late, but knew not where else to go.
Sharron’s face brightened as Syrsha entered the bamboo-floored room, and she called out, “What is it that you wear?”
With damp hair stuck to her cheeks, Syrsha explained, “I was wearing my armor when I learned that the Emperor had come. I know not what to don to meet one of such importance.”
“You expect to meet him, then?”
Nodding as she braided her hair across an exposed shoulder, Syrsha said, “The Governor mentioned some sort of welcoming party must be had if Emperor Wanli accepted the invitation. My presence will be expected, as well as yours and the others.”
“So I will get to see the Governor’s son,” Sharron mused, her words without threat or warning.
The healer had always treated her kindly, and with love, but Syrsha had long kept the woman distant. As she had gotten older, Syrsha knew that her actions were much the result of anger over her mother’s death. She neither wanted nor needed another to take Caryss’s place. Sharron had never attempted to be such, but Syrsha could not overcome the burden of her mother’s death. She learned of the healing arts, although she would never be as skilled as either of the Eirrannian women and listened when Sharron told tales of her mother. Occasionally, she would seek out the healer for advice or guidance, but even those moments were strained ones.
Which is why she had told her nothing of Jiang.
“He has been a friend to me here and allowed me to live, briefly, as a girl and not as a queen,” Syrsha admitted.
“I have no objections, Syrsha, and long wanted you to be able to do just that. You have come for a gown. Now let us see what we can make of that problem.”
They had traveled with little, and, after Sythia, even less.
“Would you want something from Tian or of the North?” Sharron asked.
Without concealing her surprise, Syrsha answered, “I did not know anything from Eirrannia had survived.”
“In truth, I have nothing that would serve to meet the Emperor,” the healer confessed. “But with alteration, perhaps we can come close.”
Sharron searched the room, and, when she had not found it, said, “Wait here. My satchel must be in the sleeping rooms.”
After the healer slipped from the room, Syrsha pulled the curtain closed and removed the silky fabric. She folded it tightly into a square and placed it on a small bench. Standing naked, she breathed in relief.
Moments later, she searched the shelves for mandrake. It would be easy to identify by its lengthy, brown root, which resembled a woman with unkempt hair. Even though it was not native to Tian, Syrsha did not doubt that Sharron would have some saved for injuries that required a submissive state. On a shelf near the rear of the room, she found the mandrake, a bundle of loosely tied roots. Beside them lay packets of dried leaves. It was only the root that she needed, and Syrsha quickly pulled one free. Without delay, she hid the mandrake in the folds of the silk and waited for Sharron to return.
She did not wait long and looked up to find the healer carrying a gown the color of ripened juniper berries.
“Willem, who was both Master Healer and prince, gifted your mother and me with trunks of clothing when we left the Academy. I daresay this is the only dress that remains.”
As Sharron unrolled the dress, Syrsha stepped closer, admiring the deep blue shading. The color was an unusual one and reminded her of a stormy sky.
“Have I seen this before?” she asked.
“As you can see from the wrinkles and creases, it has been long tucked into my satchel,” the healer laughed. “In places, it is threadbare and torn, but I will be able to stitch it well enough.”
Shaking the dress gently, Sharron added, “The wrinkles will fade with heat, but I do not think the dress will be long enough. Here, let us slip it on.”
Its sleeves hung to just below her elbows, billowing and wide, but Sharron was correct that the hem was far too short, and her bared feet glowed pale and exposed. The style was typical of a Rexterran gown, finely stitched and structured to fit snugly. But even the twilight coloring could do little to make the dress interesting. After her fitting in Dengxi, no other fabric could compare.
“The sleeves could be removed and used to extend the length,” Sharron suggested.
When Syrsha offered no objection, the healer found a small, narrow-tipped dagger and sliced off the sleeves. She kneeled on the wooden squares and began stitching strips of the blue-black cotton to the bottom. Her hand was deft and steady, with each layer increasing in width, which resulted in a tiered effect.
“I had not known you to be a talented seamstress,” Syrsha commented.
“Oh, I do not think I am such, but I have held needle and scissor for over thirty moon years. Hold steady now while I hem the shoulder straps.”
By the time she had finished, the alterations were enough to make the dress a much more striking one.
“What will you wear, Sharron?”
“I have grown accustomed to the Tiannese healer’s garb and have nothing else here,” the woman admitted.
Syrsha quieted, understanding the woman’s sacrifice.
“The Governor will send an escort for us before the evening meal. There is something that I must do first,” Syrsha explained, moments later.
With the water-stained silk bundle in her arms, Syrsha made way to a small room near the arena, stopping to pick up the wrapped battle gown on the way. On the morrow, she would ready in the room. After placing a ward over both, she returned to the temple entrance to wait for the Governor’s men. Soon, she was joined by Gregorr, Aldric, and Liang.
The mage’s hands were covered by thin wrappings of cotton, but she knew that he had not yet regained full movement. It still pained her to think on what she had caused.
“Where did you find such a dress? I have seen the like in Cordisia,” Aldric addressed her with friendliness.
“Sharron has had it since our exile,” she told them, as Otieno and the healer joined.
“Does she not look lovely? How nice it is to see Syrsha out of armor and robes,” Sharron laughed.
The whole group seemed to be in great spirits, eager to meet the famed Emperor and enjoy an evening of pleasure. Syrsha could not remember such a time of happiness since Cossima and forced her eyes to clear. I will allow them this night, she told herself as the sounds of chariot wheels could be heard.
When Jiang stepped from one of the doors, Syrsha smiled, letting her mind empty of what would come on the morrow.
*****
Emperor Wanli proved to be rather unremarkable, although he was covered in swirls of gold, with painted black and purple dragons dancing upon his robe. A thin beard covered his chin, pointed and dark. He had greeted Syrsha with a small bow, coming only to her chest. She had followed the gesture with a deep curtsy, as she might to a Cordisian king. Like most, the Emperor was surprised and delighted to hear her speak Tiannese, and again she told the tale of her long ago tutor.
Emperor Wanli did not conceal his interest in Otieno, and asked much of him, with Syrsha serving as interpreter. It was rare for one to travel so far, and the Islander was more beloved than she, Syrsha soon realized. When she fin
ally found a moment to excuse herself, Liang hurried to her side.
“Jiang is even more handsome than I had guessed. And his eyes watch you always.”
“He knows that I am not long in Tian,” Syrsha stated in Common.
“I overhead talk from a few men that you are too thin and too much a lady to best the laohu,” Liang whispered, laughing.
She was half-drunk with rice wine, her sash loose and crooked below her flattened chest. Dressed in a traditional skirt and blouse, she looked as if she had never spent time in Sythia, until one noticed the scar that slashed across her throat.
“Find me on the morrow, after I train with Otieno. I require your assistance with something,” she told Liang, hoping she would not forget. “For now, enjoy the evening. How far you have come to now be dining with the Emperor!”
Liang smiled and spun away from her, back toward the opened doors that led to the courtyard. Before long, Jiang approached.
“My father has never been so content, I think,” he mused quietly.
“And you?” she asked, staring into the moonlit courtyard, silver crescents swirling in the stream.
“I like it far better when there is none but the two of us,” Jiang told her in truth.
He had never looked so handsome, and his hair gleamed as if made of onyx. Donning a robe that she had not seen before, Jiang rivaled the Emperor, for his robe nearly matched her gown, dark and glimmering. Across it, firebirds soared in shades of red and orange.
“My mother had hair the color of the firebird,” Syrsha whispered, trailing her fingers along his shoulder and across the flaming head of one of the birds.
“The fenghuang is unlike any other, for it is both male and female. When paired with the dragon, it is female and offers harmony,” he informed her. “But, more, it reminds us of our duty.”
His intended meaning was clear, even if he did not admit it. But before she could object, Jiang added, “Your mother was a healer.”
Realizing his words to be a question, Syrsha answered, “With vows to do no harm.”
“Then her hair was colored true, for the fenghuang never kills, not insect or animal, and eats only bamboo seeds.”
Syrsha had learned much of the red-crowned crane, but knew little of the fenghuang and begged him to tell her more.
Jiang’s eyes shined with knowledge, for he was no warrior, but he was wiser than most.
“It is the rarest of birds, and its appearance scarce. The firebird stays hidden nearly always, perhaps in the heavens or in the trees, and only appears to mark a new age. An age of justice. Once seen, all know that a new day has dawned and prosperity will triumph. It has been long loved by Empresses.”
“Or queens,” she breathed.
Only then did his smile reach his serious eyes.
“And queens,” Jiang agreed.
“You offer me too much,” Syrsha told him, her words thick and true.
“A blessing, no more. For I have nothing else to give.”
Caring little if any noticed, she reached for his hand. “Jiang, you have given me more than you know.”
Behind her, she heard the flutter of silk and dropped his hand. Her cheeks burned red as the Emperor, with his tiny wife hobbling at his side, called her name.
“Come, Syrsha, I have someone that you must meet. He, too, has faced the laohus.”
With that, she turned to follow Emperor Wanli, but, before she could, Jiang pressed something into her hand. When she looked down, she realized it was a small, leather-bound book. Glancing at it hurriedly, Syrsha eyed a script that she knew to be a Western one, from lands beyond Sythia. The Emperor waited, and she could not ask Jiang anything further as she tucked the book into her side. Ahead, Wanli beckoned for her.
The rest of the evening was spent sipping on wine and allowing the Emperor to parade her as his prize. It soon became obvious that few of his men believed that she would triumph over the great cat. Their jests were good-natured and their advice sound. Yet, Syrsha was relieved when Aldric came to warn her that the hour was late. With bows and kind words, the group departed, mostly silent for the short ride back to Sholin Temple.
Unlike the last half-moon, Syrsha stayed in the bunkroom with the others. And let the great cats cry her to sleep.
*****
23
Liang entered the room in near silence, as did Wei. But Mistress Min-Xi hobbled, and her wooden-soled shoes clapped against the bamboo planks announcing her presence. Syrsha had expected them and welcomed the break in silence. An hour before she had sent Aldric and Otieno away, and Gregorr had just gone. Each had offered advice and warning, even the fennidi. She could hear no more, despite their good intentions.
As the two dressmakers fitted her one final time, Syrsha called to Liang, “You have made the arrangements?”
When the woman nodded, Syrsha stated, “The others will question you without mercy. Gregorr will be of some assistance in explaining what must next be done.”
Wei, unaware of what the two had been discussing in Common, clasped her hand to her mouth and, with muffled words, said, “It is even more beautiful than when last I saw it.”
“And to think the girl will wear such a gown into the arena,” Min-Xi admonished, patting at Syrsha’s hips in gentle scolding.
“Never before have I had so many watching,” Syrsha sighed.
“Show her,” the Mistress clucked at her assistant, who unwrapped a window-sized looking glass from squares of fabric.
As Wei lifted the glass high, Syrsha glanced at her reflection.
“What of my hair?” she asked, much to the women’s surprise.
There was little that she could say, for it was not her first time seeing the gown. But she could not tell the women as much, for they would not understand how she had long remembered what only was just finished.
“I have some skill with braids and the like,” Wei told her, lowering the heavy glass.
The dress, deceiving its appearance, moved with ease, clinging to Syrsha’s body as she stepped forward and slunk to her knees. Around her high cheeks, tresses curved, like snakes against marble. Wei pulled long, thin pins from her own hair and placed them between her lips. Next, she reached for Syrsha’s hair and began twisting it between her slender fingers, looping it as if she were tying strands together. She had not finished when Master Ru’s voice could be heard nearing.
“It will do,” Syrsha whispered. “Now hurry off to your seats.”
Liang escorted Wei and Min-Xi toward a door at the rear of the room. Moments later, Ru strode in unaccompanied, which Syrsha had not expected. His eyes widened as he noticed the gown.
“The Emperor is here, along with a thousand others,” he stuttered.
“I need no armor,” she told him, squeezing the mandrake root between her fist to conceal it.
“Even now you show no humility.”
“I face the laohu on even ground, without weapon, iron, or leather. Is that not humility enough?”
Groaning with resignation, Ru told her, “You will live. Or you will die. It matters naught what you wear. Come, Syrsha, it is time.”
Following him from the room and back into the main hallway, Syrsha uncurled her fingers. With her gaze watching to make certain that the shihon did not turn, Syrsha lifted her empty hand to her hair. Her fingers separated the largest of Wei’s plaits, and, just as quickly, her other hand hid the mandrake among the twined hair. She shook her head quickly to test that the root would not dislodge, and then walked briskly until she was at Ru’s side.
“You will enter the arena first and be allowed some time to take position. On my call, the laohu will be released.”
Her eyes were shards of gemstones as she asked, “What is the name of the great cat?”
He seemed unwilling to answer, but soon said, “Jao-Yang. A male laohu who is new to the arena.”
“Jao-Yang? Named for the sun,” she reasoned.
Over the chatter of the unseen crowd, Ru said, “The rising sun.”
“The tale of this battle deepens, Master Ru,” she told him, bowing slightly.
They stood just outside the arena, behind an iron-worked gate. Through the metal posts, Syrsha saw the stone-paved floor, gray and faded by moon years of sun and smoothed by wind. She did not look up; her gaze held steady on those stones. Syrsha knew where Otieno, Aldric, Sharron, and Gregorr would be seated. Just as she knew that Liang’s hired mercenaries stood just behind them, rows back and hidden, waiting and watching. The arena, used by all in Dengxi, permitted weapons, although few Tiannese would carry such, she knew.
She wanted no harm to come to them, yet she could not risk their inference, not with all that must occur for her plans to succeed. The men had been instructed to never draw weapon, even if threatened. Instead, they must offer warning that others would be injured or killed if a battle raged so near the crowded arena.
It had to be enough, she reminded herself, loosening her shoulders and stretching her legs.
“Your dress,” Master Ru mumbled, causing her to look to him.
“I only now realized what it resembles,” he continued, breathlessly. “You fight as Chang-a, moon goddess and ruler of the night sky.”
Shaking her head, she told him, “I fight as Syrsha, daughter of Caryss, a healer who vowed to harm none.”
Before Ru could object, Syrsha unlatched the gate and rushed into the arena. Behind her, the sheer, shimmering fabric trailed, like starfall.
Screams and cheers erupted, thunderous and echoing. Like rolling waves, the noise rippled and crested. Some chanted, although Syrsha could not understand the words. Only when they quieted did she know that the great cat came.
*****
“Did you know of this?” the diauxie clamored, leaning so close that spittle dampened Gregorr’s cheek.
“No more than you,” he answered, wiping at his face.
“Lend me your bow,” Otieno grumbled, although his words were not a request.
Underneath his bark-colored cloak, the shortbow fell across his back, strapped with leather ties. None had thought to check him for weapon, for his size marked him as a child. Unlike the local Tiannese men, he would not be allowed the bow.