by Sarah Zettel
The tale in Isavalta was that their emperor had succumbed to an “illness of spirit” shortly after his marriage. That illness was supposed to have rendered him childlike and incapable of carrying out his duties. This was the lie that had been sent in official communication to the Heart of the World. Whatever the nobles of Isavalta believed, none in the Heart had been taken in. Here, thanks in large part to An Thao and her spies, it was well known that the emperor of Isavalta had been enchanted. The dowager had let it be believed that it was her new daughter-in-law, Ananda, First Princess of Hastinapura, who was responsible for her son’s “illness.” Careful investigation had shown that to be another lie.
“The broken spell is the clearest evidence that the dowager truly has fallen,” went on En Lai. She spoke slowly, as she always had, as if the element she represented infused even her words.
“Are these words official?” asked Chi Tahn, the Minister of Water. Xuan sat at his left hand and could see the blue whorls on his skin and the silver dragons of his robe in minute detail. He searched Chi Tahn’s face for some indication that he was about to ask the important question, the only question.
“Not yet,” An Thao answered. “I received this communication from our informant early this morning. The change took place in midwinter and there was no way to get through until now.” Isavaltan winters rendered road and sea impassable. It was possible, of course, to have spies in place who carried magic with them, but magic was easier to intercept and guard against than a slip of paper, a pair of sharp eyes, or a vague word in the proper ear. “But it is of course expected that Isavalta will soon send a message.”
Nha My, the Minister of the East, shifted her weight. Her green and red robes rustled, giving voice to her uneasiness although her face remained composed. “If the dowager is not dead, is there a possibility that this is a temporary reversal of her fortunes?”
An Thao shook her head. “It does not seem likely. The Lords Master of Isavalta were all said to be eager to take the oath of loyalty to the emperor. I cannot imagine they would do this if there was the possibility the dowager would retake power. No, my brothers and sisters, Medeoan is dead or gone and she has an heir who is of sound mind.”
“But what of the guardian?” The words burst out of Xuan. It was not his turn, it broke the order of direction and precedence, but he could not hold silent anymore. Did it truly matter who held the throne? Did anything matter but that the northern blasphemy had finally been undone? Should he even have to ask this question? Should he not know what had happened already? “What of the Phoenix?”
An Thao bowed. “I regret to say I have no word. If the guardian is free, it has not been seen by our eyes nor heard by our ears.”
Xuan realized his chest was heaving. The rasp of his breath filled the chamber.
“Brother,” said Chi Tahn. “Speak to us. What is it you know?”
“Nothing,” said Xuan and his hands trembled. “Why do I know nothing?”
He gazed at each of them in turn. Together, they were the eternal protectors of the Red Center of the World that was Hung-Tse, and not one of them had an answer for him. They had met in this place for three thousand years, ever since the third emperor had completed the palaces that comprised the Heart of the World. There had always been answers. Always. The Nine Elders commanded the highest magics, the magics of true transformation and summoning. They were gifted by the gods with the ability to manifest on earth the power of the heavenly guardians, as had been done almost thirty years ago to save Hung-Tse from invasion by Isavalta.
But at that time, an unimaginable blasphemy had been perpetrated. Medeoan, then the girl empress of Isavalta, had from somewhere acquired the knowledge to trap the Phoenix, the gift of Heaven, and hold it in a golden cage.
Each of the four walls around them was dedicated to a different guardian. The north wall had been drawn with the tortoise, the east with the k’i-lin, and the west with the dragon. Xuan looked to the southern wall, where the chamber’s only door was located. It was covered in images of the Phoenix — his guardian, his element brought into glorious life.
Trapped in a cage in Isavalta for thirty years.
At the base of each wall was a collection of spirit tablets. The initiation of an Elder to their place required many spells, but although they did not speak of it beyond themselves, it was never forgotten that a life was surrendered in service each time the examinations were held and a new Elder was chosen. After the day of choosing, when the bindings began, a spirit tablet was made for the one who would become Elder. It was placed in the appropriate direction beneath the appropriate guardian. There was one beneath the Phoenix for the boy Seong, who had entered this place thirty years ago to become Xuan.
Once the ceremony was done and Seong was Xuan, he remembered all the other times the ceremony had been done. He knew in mind and spirit all the other moments of sacrifice, the glory and pain of transformation, the dissolution of self into the whole that came with the magics and the highest communion of thought.
But that was not how it was this last time. This last time, part of him remained withdrawn. Part of him was lonely and afraid, as a child is afraid, and angry as that same child when he does not understand. He understood why this was, and so did his brothers and sisters. The Ceremony of Naming should have recalled the whole of Xuan into being, weaving the body and power of Seong into the whole, but it could not. Part of Xuan was caged in the form of the guardian, ten thousand of li away.
When its work was complete, the Phoenix should have returned to Heaven to wait for that time when its essence would again need to be drawn down to the mortal worlds. So it was each time a guardian was summoned. But it did not, and it had not, and so Xuan remained incomplete.
Xuan wondered what debate the others had held before calling for the examination. Should they wait for the full death of their brother Xuan before his new self was chosen? Could they afford to wait? Without fire represented among them there could not be harmony, so the great spells of protection could not be worked. There had to be balance, or the great ghosts and devils, held at bay for so many years, might break free.
So fire was chosen, but fire was flawed, and Xuan knew it, and so did the others. They looked at him with the composure of courtesy, but they pitied him and they feared for themselves and for Hung-Tse, and the gap between Xuan and his brothers and sisters in art deepened.
Xuan breathed deeply, trying to find control of himself, trying to gain strength from his brothers and sisters, as he had in the past. “Surely when the dowager died, the spell holding the guardian broke and the guardian rose. Such a thing could not have gone unseen.”
And if the Phoenix rose, why did it not send some sign, some dream, so that I might know?
Because you failed, whispered a voice from the hollow place in his mind that none of the others could touch. Because in all these thirty years, you could not find, could not free the gift of Heaven. Do you think to still have Heaven’s favor after that?
“The dowager may not be dead,” said Qwan, the Minister of the South. He spoke without sympathy, merely reminding a colleague of a salient point. As Minister of the South, the Phoenix was his guardian as well. Like Xuan, he felt the Isavaltan blasphemy in his bones, but he was complete and he could still hold firm to propriety and right.
Xuan turned to Qwan, in danger of losing his countenance altogether. “With respect, Brother.” Tension made the word tremble. “Do you believe Medeoan would relinquish power while alive?”
The Nine Elders sat for a long moment, considering and giving Xuan time to recover himself. He hated his lack of control and the division between himself and the others, as a crippled man hates his withered limb. He tried to endure, but time passed so very slowly.
If the guardian had returned to Heaven, would the part of Xuan it harbored return to his body, rejoining the rest of his spirit? Would it end his separation from his brothers and sisters? There was no precedent, and no body of knowledge to study. Xuan suppressed
a shudder. It had been a long time since they had encountered something so unknown.
“What of Kalami?” asked Chi Tahn, diverting talk and attention from Xuan, giving him time and deflecting shame. Xuan was grateful and irritated at the same time, for his heart could not completely believe there was anything else they should be talking about at this time.
Was An Thao relieved at the change of subject, or was that his agitated imagination? “Valin Kalami has vanished,” she said. “Word from the Isavaltan court is most confused, but it appears that a new sorceress has risen to prominence and driven him out.” Her shoulders straightened minutely, a sign that she had yet more difficult and important news. “This new sorceress may be the child of Avanasy.”
Avanasy. Medeoan’s chief advisor, her second in blasphemy. His life had been given to make the cage that held the Phoenix. His spirit stood guard over its captivity and could not be exorcised or dissuaded. They had tried.
The Isavaltans passed the story back and forth that Avanasy had fathered a child, one who would take up the protection of their realm as he had done. It was a story the northerners told with eager hope, and that the Nine Elders heard with a mix of horror and contempt.
“Avanasy’s daughter is a rumor,” said En Lai, her knuckles whitening as she clenched her hands together to try to keep her anger from reaching voice and face. Despite her efforts, a flush had crept into her skin beneath her red and green sigils.
An Thao bowed her head in acknowledgment of En Lai’s statement. “That conclusion may have been mistaken.”
“Was not Avanasy’s child to be the dowager’s ally?” asked Nha My. She leaned forward slightly as she spoke, perhaps to put herself between her sisters who might be getting ready to quarrel.
“That conclusion also seems to have been mistaken,” said An Thao. “If this is Avanasy’s child, what is clear is that this sorceress has taken the emperor’s part, and the empress’s.”
“A point not to be forgotten,” said Chi Tahn. He ran one hand down his blue and silver sleeve, smoothing out wrinkles that did not exist. He stared into the distance as if seeking to see the winds that were his charge and provenance. “The daughter of Hastinapura also assumes the throne.”
Xuan, even with his disordered mind, had not forgotten that. He was sure none of the others had either. He could see in the set of An Thao’s jaw that she was glad she was not the one who had to say the words. She had delivered enough bad news. They had lost a gamble in the game of empires. The enemy to the south had a favored daughter on the throne of the enemy to the north. And the guardian was gone, or was lost, or, worst of all, was still caged and in unknown hands.
That thought cut through Xuan’s weakened composure. The muscles of his face ticked and twitched. Qwan leaned minutely closer to Xuan, giving him what little comfort he could.
“Do we believe that Kalami will be able to continue with his plans to overthrow the dynasty?” asked Qwan.
“If Kalami lives, his power is sure to be much diminished, even if the dowager herself is yet alive. It is difficult to see that he will be welcomed in the new court as he was in the old.”
“Is anything known of the new emperor’s mind toward the Heart of the World?” Chi Tahn turned his head to look directly at An Thao. Xuan knew what he was doing. By keeping the talk on Isavalta and on politics, he kept Xuan from having to speak until he was ready to do so, thinking to save him from the shame of a quavering voice and disordered thoughts.
An Thao pulled her own composure around her like an outer robe. Xuan felt for her. This was a combination of event she had not foreseen. In that, she too failed in her duties. “Nothing certain. All is too new.”
“The emperor must be told,” said En Lai. It was a poor time to be stating the obvious, and the way she dipped her eyes said En Lai knew that. Apparently, he and An Thao were not the only ones who were now deeply disconcerted by what they knew, and what they did not know.
“There is another question,” said An Thao. Her words were clipped. Xuan had the feeling that if she’d had any choice, she would have left this until later. Possibly, much later, but who knew what the next days would bring?
“What is that?” Chi Tahn’s voice held a frown. He was ready for this to be done.
“The child,” said An Thao. “The daughter of Kalami.”
Chi Tahn waved his hand with its blue and silver dragons in a gesture of dismissal. “Kalami pledged his daughter’s safety against his ability to move in cause of the Heart.”
“Is she to be killed then?” An Thao’s voice was just a little too casual, Xuan thought. She knew the child, he remembered. She oversaw the girl’s education and reported on her progress and actions.
“Surely, it is too soon to make such a determination,” said Qwan smoothly.
“Yet it must be thought on.” Chi Tahn folded his hands again. Xuan narrowed his eyes slightly. Why would Chi Tahn insist? He was the one whom Kalami had contacted with his bargains. He was the one who had first brought his plans before the ministers.
Therefore he felt he was the one who had failed and been most betrayed.
But to take that out on a child?
Oh, yes, Xuan reminded himself. Especially this child. If he fears her, it is not without cause.
“Surely to undo such potential as she carries would be regrettable waste,” said An Thao. “Her tutors say she is loyal and obedient. This is the only home she has known. Is it difficult to believe she will serve the Heart willingly?”
“Is it difficult to believe that such a father as she has would try to reclaim her, pledge or no?” replied Chi Tahn calmly. “We speak of one who would help the enemy of his liege lord topple an empire. Can we allow such power as the child represents to return to Isavalta, or even to Tuukos if Kalami is still alive and working to wrest that island from the empire? Can we allow any save Hung-Tse to possess the potential of this child?”
Those words rang around the chamber, and settled heavily in Xuan’s mind. Even An Thao seemed startled into stillness.
What Chi Tahn said was not without merit. Xuan remembered the last report An Thao made of the girl’s annual examinations. If the child had not been a barbarian, if she’d had even a trace of the first blood in her, An Thao would have taken her to train in preparation for the examination to become one of the Elders, possibly even the Minister of Water to be their voice to the emperor.
Could they risk such power finding its way in the wilderness of the north, where all was chaos and a child queen could cage the gift of Heaven?
That thought caused Xuan’s heart to beat heavy and slow. An Thao, however, tried to take refuge in old loyalty. “Can a barbarian sorcerer fallen from his place breach the defenses of the Heart?”
Chi Tahn blinked, as if he could not understand why she would say such a thing. “Can we say that the child of that barbarian will remain loyal when she learns of her father’s downfall? Or what she will do if he lives and she comes to believe that he has been abandoned by the Heart? For all the teaching she has received here, she is a great and unknown power. Do we risk that power turning against us?”
It was a necessary question. Distasteful, but necessary. And yet, to destroy a child … any child, especially one who had the potential to do such good for the Heart of the World, out of fear and revenge …
Would An Thao speak the word “revenge” aloud? Would she accuse Chi Tahn of acting out of that weakness? It would be bad if she had to do so, it would be a sign of disharmony.
Disharmony brought by the imbalance of one of their number being flawed.
“Do we risk eliminating the child too soon?” Xuan heard himself ask. “We do not know yet that Kalami is dead. Now is not the time to act in haste.”
An Thao shot him a look of gratitude that he had no way to acknowledge. Qwan inclined his head once, thoughtfully. “Kalami may yet serve as eyes and ears in his land. We may yet bargain with him.”
But Chi Tahn was not ready to be convinced. “And he may yet
claim his daughter’s loyalty. Can we stifle her filial piety?”
Again, Chi Tahn’s words held a core of truth, but there was something missing. Xuan felt it in his blood and in his spine. Something none of them had thought of, with all their separate cares. They were not united as they should be, not thinking as one whole. They together captured the essence of the world and held it safe in the Heart. They acted in concert or they did not act. It was true. His isolation had finally begun to pull the others apart.
“An oracle is needed,” he said, almost before he realized he had spoken the words aloud. “These circumstances went unseen when the child was taken as hostage guest.” And perhaps it will tell me what thoughts I cannot seem to bring to the fore of my mind. Of all our minds.
“Let it be done then,” said Chi Tahn. Did he feel it, then? This fragmenting? This discord? “We will gather at the eleventh hour to hear what has been found. I will go with the Minister of the North and the Minister of the South to speak with the Son of Heaven and Earth.”
“With respect, Brother,” said An Thao. “Should I not be the one …”
“You are the one who has the most knowledge of events in Isavalta,” replied Chi Tahn. “The Son of Heaven and Earth will wish to question you closely. Our brother, Xuan, will cast the horoscope for the child.”
Thank you for your trust, Brother, said Xuan silently. He met An Thao’s gaze. He tried with his silence to assure her that he would work with care, that he would find all that could be revealed about the child’s destiny, and the destiny of the land to which she belonged.
An Thao bowed. Xuan and the others bowed in return. No further ceremony was needed. The meeting was done. In single file, with Chi Tahn leading them, they walked from the Chamber of Eternal Voices and descended the great, winding iron stairs. No magic could stand in the face of so much cold iron. Each piece had been cast in molds crafted by the Minister of Earth and the Minister of Metal and held sigils of purity and protection embedded in the black metal. Xuan had presided over the smelting of the ore and remembered how the workmen had labored in fixing each join, hoisting each new section into place as the tower rose around them. He remembered the pride and the wonder of it, seeing this as the truest symbol of the Empire of the Center. It was from here that they would protect the chosen of Heaven. Even incomplete, it had been a great thing.