Curt Benjamin - [Seven Brothers 03] - The Gates of Heaven

by Curt Benjamin

  “If Kaydu manages to tame that wind, we are still far from completing our quest,” he cautioned them. “Wars will be fought over our bones if we fail.”

  “Then we won’t fail,” Bixei said, as simply as if offering tea. Stipes added, “What do you want us to do?”

  They were so sure, so solid, that he found a smile creeping onto his lips in spite of how close to despair he had fallen over the betrayals of this voyage. If he gave it a moment’s thought, no one had surprised him in all the mess he found himself. Master Den was the trickster god, after all, and Pig was Pig. Though he put the safety of the Great Goddess and the heavenly gardens he tended before all other things, in matters to do with humans he would be what his nature made him.

  If Llesho’s own lady wife forgave her servant, as it seemed the Goddess had done, he could do no less. He’d take a lesson from the experience, however. Pig was his guide in the spirit world and a devotee of the Goddess, but the Jinn had never been a friend. It was a mistake to think of him that way. If he’d relearned wariness around the magical creature, so much the better. As for Pig’s actions in the past, while horrific, they didn’t change the present. Only Llesho could do that.

  “Do you really think Master Den has betrayed us?” Bixei asked him.

  Since he’d seen the trickster god crossing the deck of theGuiding Star, Llesho had thought so. But the conversation with Marmer Sea Dragon had made him stop and think.

  “I’m not ready to trust him completely, but he probably means us no permanent injury.” His teacher hadn’t kidnapped Tayy or carried him off to the galleys. He hadn’t sold Llesho back into slavery in a plan that was looking less well thought out by the stormy minute. As the patron of pirates and also the teacher of young kings, however, he had put himself in a position to watch out for both Tayy and Llesho. Not to see that they came to no harm, perhaps, but to see that they came out of the experience with a lesson well learned.

  That part wasn’t working any better than Llesho’s plan at the moment, but he hoped, by the time he’d pitched Tayy into the sea and breathed into his lungs to rescue him, that they’d both have learned something. With a sigh, he wondered why none of his teachers believed in writing his lessons on a slate.

  When he came out of his reverie, he discovered that Hmishi and Lling had returned and his companions had continued their conversation without him.

  “Where do you suppose he’s been this time?” Hmishi asked.

  Lling answered with a little shrug. “He gets that look when he’s deciding what not to tell us. Which happens right before he gets into trouble for keeping things from us.”

  “You’re right,” Stipes agreed. “That’s the look.”

  “It’s nothing worth telling.” At least, not until he figured out what it meant.

  It seemed they had learned that cynical twist of the mouth from each other, because he saw it in every direction he looked.

  “Whenever you’re ready.” Hmishi pulled the thong with the small bag of pearls from around his neck and handed it over.

  He didn’t really need the true pearls, but didn’t trust Pig around somebody else’s neck. The thought of Hmishi turned into a creature like Master Markko made him ill. Llesho didn’t know what Master Markko would do to his friend to seize the pearls for himself, either. Hmishi had already died for him once and he didn’t want it to happen again.

  Next, Hmishi drew out the silver chain around his neck and stared at it with sick dismay. The pearl in its wire setting was gone. “I had it, I swear,” he cried. “I haven’t taken it off since Stipes put it in my care, and I check the slide every shift to make sure it is secure.”

  “No one can hold Pig when he goes wandering. He’s around here somewhere,” Llesho assured them, and slipped the empty chain around his neck, next to the thong that held the bag of pearls from the Goddess’ necklace, the String of Midnights. “You haven’t found any more of these by any chance?”

  Hmishi shook his head. “I prefer to leave the adventures to you.”

  Llesho took the knife and the spear that Lling handed him with a wink. It would be their little secret, that Hmishi was having an adventure, at least until he figured it out for himself. But Llesho could well understand the impulse. One day, if he completed his quest to save his country and free the gates of heaven, he hoped only for a quiet life at the side of his lady wife, the Great Goddess. He was lucky he didn’t see Pig, or he might be tempted into just such a wish.

  “Her ladyship, the goddess SienMa, is waiting for me.” Llesho rose to depart, and then added, “Habiba will want to know how Kaydu is faring.”

  Hmishi made a face like he’d eaten something sour.

  “She is my captain and I trust her,” Bixei gave a helpless shrug and grabbed the edge of the table as the ship heeled over in the heavy seas. “I don’t want to think what will happen if Master Markko proves stronger in controlling this storm.”

  Llesho didn’t think Master Markko would prove strong enough to control the building typhoon, but he wasn’t sure Kaydu could do it either. He remembered Marmer Sea Dragon’s offhand comment about her familiar. He’d had his own suspicions about Little Brother—and hoped the monkey’s hidden depths were of practical use to his mistress as well.

  No time to question it now, though. He shook his head, feeling the buds of antlers rising above his forehead. When he reached the upper deck, he let his hold on his human form start to slip. And then, as he crossed the open expanse amidships, he began to run. A step, another, sharp hooves clacked across the wooden deck and he was up, up, rising above the tossing sea. In his totem form, the roebuck that Bolghai had taught him to find, he made in his mind the image of the mortal goddess of war and flew to her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “YOU’RE WET.”

  That was Habiba’s voice. Pig usually had the good sense to bring him to her ladyship’s witch first. It gave them a chance to sound out the situation before they went blindly into whatever crisis currently simmered around the court. Llesho remembered when he’d accidentally traveled into the dreams of the mortal goddess of war on his own. In her dreams the Lady SienMa wore the form of a great white cobra, which scared the life out of him if he admitted to such unheroic feelings. From their first meeting, when Master Jaks and Master Den had tested his aptitude for weapons, he had learned to fear her as much as he had later learned to honor her. He never wished to have her undivided attention.

  Habiba was, if not safe, at least not so visually disturbing. He had the power to take the shape of great and mystical creatures, but he seldom bothered except as needed during battle. Llesho had seen him fight as a great mythical bird and in the shape of a dragon, easier since witches and magicians all had a dragon somewhere on their family tree. Except for Master Markko, of course. He still didn’t know what to make of Pig about that. Even given that the Jinn could not know where his foolish actions would take them, it had still been an evil thing to do.

  Pig had disappeared again. The silver chain Llesho had reclaimed from Hmishi still lay empty at his throat, next to the Great Goddess’ pearls. He’d felt naked without the pearls; their presence comforted him in spite of the trouble he would have explaining them if his pirate captors caught sight of them. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Pig’s absence, though. Didn’t know what to say to him after the dragon-king’s revelation, but he wasn’t sure he could get back to the galley without him either.

  “Ahem.” Habiba was looking down his nose at him across a familiar lab table laden with bubbling equipment that oozed smelly vapors. He was awaiting an explanation for the seawater dripping on his marble floor, but somewhere nearby, her ladyship demanded Llesho’s presence.

  “Stipes sold me to the pirates. I’ve been rowing in a slave galley for the past day or so.”

  Habiba gave one slow nod to show that he’d heard but made no comment about Llesho’s return to slavery or Stipes’ part in it. “And my daughter?” he asked.

  That was why he hadn’t already
been hurried off to see the mortal goddess of war. Llesho had expected as much, and was ready for the question. “On her way to rescue us, as planned.” He didn’t mention whose plan, though her father would figure it out easily enough. “Master Markko is raising a storm that threatens to overwhelm us all, however.”

  Llesho considered passing on Marmer Sea Dragon’s opinion, that she wouldn’t be able to hold back the storm for long, but decided against it. Kaydu seemed to know what she was doing when he left her and he didn’t want to keep the mortal goddess of war waiting. He shook his head like a lion, sending a spray of seawater flying into the room. Droplets spattered Habiba’s robes with a dark, fine spray.

  “Was that really necessary?” The witch combed a hand through his beard, all that he would show of his exasperation.

  “Pardon.” Llesho bowed low to show the humility of his apology. “Her ladyship wished to see me?” He hadn’t mentioned Prince Tayyichiut’s fate, or why Stipes had sold him to the pirates, preferring to make his case only once for the mortal goddess herself. That suited Habiba as well, except for the sea water Llesho had brought with him in his dream travel.

  “You cannot go to her ladyship in that condition. Take those clothes off and get into something dry.”

  Llesho wondered first why a magician who could turn into a dragon at will and reappear with his clothing intact couldn’t dry out a few drops of sea spray. Then he wondered where he was supposed to remove his clothes, and where the dry ones were to come from. Before he had a chance to ask any of his questions, however, Habiba gave an annoyed wave of his hand. Suddenly, Llesho found that he was naked, but still dripping on the floor. Habiba made another gesture and a cloth of soft cotton fell over Llesho’s head and across his shoulders.

  “I don’t know why you didn’t just dry the clothes I had,” he grumbled. He had burrowed into the towel and hoped his mumbling would go unnoticed.

  In addition to the powers that dragon blood imparted to a witch, however, Habiba was graced with excellent hearing. “Clothing falls within the domain of man,” he replied tartly. “The sea, which you brought with you into my workshop, is the domain of Marmer Sea Dragon. Even in a dream, only he or his offspring can command it, to the finest of its drops.”

  “We’ve met.” Llesho emerged from the towel to discover Carina had joined them and, with Habiba, was staring at his back. The healer’s presence meant his brothers must be nearby. The princes were not on his mind when he hurriedly draped the towel to cover his front, however. Under Carina’s professional scrutiny, embarrassment had turned his skin a deep burgundy from his toes to the top of his head. Once he’d had hope of attracting her attention, but this wasn’t what he’d had in mind.

  “Let me treat your back before you put on new clothes.”

  “Pirates use the lash.” He’d almost forgotten, but his shrug set the angry welts complaining again along his ribs. The discomfort made it easier to bear her troubled gaze.

  “Have they broken the skin?” He wouldn’t refuse a bandage if he stood in danger of infection, or of spoiling dry clothes with bloodstains.

  Carina wrinkled her nose with distaste, but shook her head. “No blood, but you should have bandages to protect the welts from the rub of your clothes until they heal.”

  “Moll would know something was up if she caught sight of them,” he decided, “so I’d better not.”

  Habiba had been silent while the healer tried to persuade him to have his wounds treated, but now he stepped into the discussion with his own persuasions.

  “A fresh cut would open your shirt, revealing treatment you wouldn’t have received on board the pirate vessel,” Habiba agreed. “But a little salve won’t hurt. Something to prevent infection, at least.”

  “I have just the thing.” Carina had set up her small shop in the adjoining room and she returned quickly with a dark crock and unsealed the wax that protected it from air and moisture.

  In fact it did hurt, first burning like fire, then freezing like ice. But in a matter of moments, Llesho decided that he could hardly feel the welts on his back at all. His hands remained curled around his towel so she couldn’t see the damage there and he didn’t offer them up for treatment. They, at least, must look the way they had when he left. When the salve had seeped into the skin, Habiba offered him dry court clothes in the Thebin style. He couldn’t quite bring himself to release his towel with Carina still in the room, however, even if giving up his towel didn’t mean showing her the bloody blisters on his palms.

  “I’ll be nearby if you need me.” With a graceful bow and not a single comment about his foolish modesty in the presence of his healer, she left the room.

  “You can let that go now.” Habiba maintained a studiously blank expression as he handed over a shirt and drawers. Llesho was glad for the slide of fine linen on his skin again. He thought he’d escaped comment from the magician, but Habiba was waiting for him with a raised eyebrow when his head emerged through the neck opening of his clean shirt. Llesho drew a breath, though he wasn’t certain what he would say.

  The magician put up a hand to stop him. “A difficult situation handled with discretion, but now we must hurry. Her ladyship and the emperor await. Mergen-Khan of the Qubal clan has arrived within the hour; he demands words with you, and possibly your head. His nephew, Prince Tayyichiut, disappeared soon after you departed his camp.

  “He has sworn blood feud against your party, which grieves him as much as the loss of his kin, he says, for the debt his family owes your own. Since you are an exiled king, however, he has come to declare war against the emperor of Shan, who guaranteed your actions in the grasslands, if the boy is not returned to him.”

  “Nobody forced Tayy to travel with us. I tried to send him home from the beginning.”

  “I believe the first part of that, but suggest you work on sounding more convincing when you try to persuade his uncle of the latter part of that statement,” Habiba commented before adding, “Mergen-Khan would likewise declare war against his neighbor, Tinglut-Khan, for the murder of his brother by the Tinglut princess, Chimbai’s wife.”

  Llesho had paused to listen to this summary of events and Habiba hurried him with a wave of his hand. “Finish dressing. Her ladyship awaits.”

  A king obeyed the mortal goddess of war as quickly as a common soldier. He put on the fine woolen overshirt and slid the breeches up over the linen smallclothes. A servant came forward with a sleeveless Thebin coat embroidered in gold-and-crimson thread crossed with blue silk. Llesho slipped his arms into the slashed openings. The luxurious cloth drew his touch but he curled his fingers away from the shimmering decoration, afraid that bloody streaks from his damaged hands would spoil the work.

  As Llesho dressed, Habiba continued the briefing: “For his own part, Tinglut-Khan would have words with you about the disappearance of his daughter, the beloved Lady Chaiujin. He has declared war on the Qubal, but her ladyship has asked for a truce until the facts can be judged, perhaps again with your testimony to the injured party. And I see, by the guilty conscience that marks your face, that he may have cause for his complaint against you.”

  “I had nothing to do with the Lady Chaiujin’s disappearance,” Llesho began. His guilt had much to do with his dream in which the lady had come to him in her bamboo snake form and as a woman, whispering enticements in his ear, but he had no wish to share that intelligence.

  “Do you by any chance have my boots here as well?” he asked, turning Habiba’s attention from where he didn’t want it.

  The witch knew what he was up to, but conceded with a little smile. “By no chance at all, we do. And a belt for your knife and sword as well.”

  The servant brought out a pair of soft leather boots encrusted at heel and toe with gold filigree. Llesho pulled them on and buckled the belt at his waist. The scabbard for his sword hung empty at his side, but the knife slid easily home in its own smaller sheath. He settled the short spear at his back. Then Habiba opened a flat box that had rested
hidden on his lab table.

  “The others will be wearing their own crowns of state,” he said, and held up the silver fillet of a prince of Thebin. “We have yet to win back the king’s corona for you, but this will do for now.” When Llesho had settled the silver band at his brow, Habiba led him into a long corridor he thought perhaps he had seen before.

  “Are we in the governor’s palace at Durnhag?”

  “Itwas the governor’s palace. Now it is the emperor’s headquarters at the front. We may be on the march soon, but that, too, is a matter for her ladyship to discuss.” Habiba made it clear that he would say no more, and so they proceeded in silence to the audience hall where the gathered dignitaries awaited them.

  In the past, Llesho’s visits to the palace at Durnhag had occurred in secret and under cover of night. Pig had disappeared during those visits, too, he remembered. He’d seen the roof and the courtyard, various balconies, Habiba’s workroom on several occasions, and the private chambers of the mortal goddess and her chosen consort, the emperor of Shan.

  The last time he’d seen Shou, the man had been sharing her ladyship’s chambers, but he had seemed to take no joy in his place by her side. Rather, it had seemed as though he had hidden away in this shell of a palace to brood over the smoldering coals of his wounds. And her ladyship, he would almost say, fluttered around the glowing heat of his agony as though she needed his pain more than she needed the pleasure he might bring her. Not for the first time he wondered at her marriage to the governor of Farshore, who had been a man of peace until his murder at Markko’s urging.

  Such thoughts made him extremely nervous, more so than he was at the summons itself. Never before had the mortal goddess of war called him to a formal and public audience. It might bode well, but it didn’t get his hopes up.