The Blood of Whisperers

by Devin Madson

  ‘Captain Ash seems to feel I should not be executed without a name.’

  The captain tried to explain, but Minister Laroth held up his hand, effectively shutting the man’s lips. ‘Pull up your left sleeve,’ he commanded.

  Breath caught in my throat. He knew. My saviour had confided in his son. Yet there was still no softening of his features, no recognition.

  Pinching the fabric of my sleeve, I drew it back, exposing the twist of silk around my wrist. The minister’s eyes darted to it. ‘Who was your father?’

  In the passage the guards sniggered.

  I let my sleeve fall. ‘I don’t know. That is what I want you to tell me. They are torturing my friend.’

  Minister Laroth turned to the captain. ‘Captain Ash,’ he said, his slow blink strangely sinister. ‘This boy is no one important. Your devotion to our emperor is certainly to be commended, but I think we can dispense with this charade. By order of Emperor Kin Ts’ai, first of his name, this man is to be branded a traitor and exiled, and he is barely worth that much of our time.’

  I gripped the bars, pressing my face to the cold metal. ‘You know who I am,’ I said, reaching out my left arm, wrist turned up. ‘Tell me who my father was.’

  A slow step brought him closer. ‘Are you sure you want an answer in front of so many witnesses?’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Very well. Your name is Endymion and you are the bastard son of a dead man who has no honour left in this world. His name will not save you. Captain, carry out the sentence.’

  The captain bowed. ‘Yes, Your Excellency, but what of the charges of sorcery? Father Kokoro–’

  ‘Father Kokoro?’ A frown flickered across that serene face. ‘Father Kokoro is a pious man prone to see evil where there is only stupidity. This young man may be a traitor, but he is no more a sorcerer than I am.’

  ‘He threatened us!’

  Murmurs of agreement came from the crowd of guards.

  Minister Laroth’s eyebrows rose in slow disbelief. ‘You question my word?’ With a final step he closed the gap between us, gripping my hand and squeezing it to the bar. His hand was warm. He was alive – a living, breathing man beneath the smooth façade – yet when my Empathy touched him it found nothing. There was no emotion, no soul, just a frightening blank where his heart ought to be.

  ‘What are you?’ I whispered.

  ‘I could ask you the same question.’

  He let go of my hand and stepped back. Every eye was on him, every breath held close. Glancing around, he spread his hands in a theatrical gesture. ‘I am, as you see, unscathed. Brand him and put him on the next cart to the border. I don’t want to hear any more about this, Captain, and gods help you if His Majesty comes to hear of it.’

  ‘Yes, Your Excellency.’

  The minister said no more. The grey silk of his robe twisted about his feet as he turned, guards scattering before his imperious step. In an instant he was gone, the truth with him.

  One by one the guards returned like stalking wolves, their grins wide and slavering. The captain had gone with the minister, leaving me to the mercy of his hate-filled men. ‘That’s disappointing,’ said the man I thought of as their leader. ‘We wanted to see you burn, freak.’

  I let go of the bars and stepped back.

  The man’s lip curled. ‘Open the cell, Bale.’

  ‘We should wait for the captain.’

  ‘Just do it or I’ll brand you, too.’

  Bale took a ring from his belt, keys clinking. Their threats were all too fresh in my mind.

  ‘Stay away,’ I said. ‘Or I’ll hurt you all.’

  Their leader laughed. ‘We’re not scared of you. Hurry up, you fools, bring the branding iron.’ He stepped up to the door, his lips drawn back from his teeth. The key turned in the lock. My fingers trembled, heart hammering loud in my ears. I wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go.

  The door swung and I took another step back.

  ‘Afraid of me, freak?’ the man sneered, entering my cell ahead of his pack.

  ‘No.’

  His teeth seemed to lengthen in the shadows. ‘We’ll see, shall we? We’ll see if you squeal.’

  I watched his hands. Skin was what I needed and I could make him squeal.

  Movement flickered in the corner of my eye, but I was too late. Arms grasped me around the chest, stitched leather arms ending in stained hands, crushing the air from my lungs. My assailant breathed in my ear, hot and damp.

  ‘Get him on the floor.’

  Faces were everywhere in the thickening nightmare. Hands grasped my feet. I tried to kick them off, but the unyielding arms tightened about my chest. I could barely breathe. Light flashed in my vision. Men gripped my hair, my robe, tearing at the fabric like vultures at a carcass.

  The arms let go, other hands pressing me to the stones.

  ‘Hold him down!’

  There was no air. They swarmed over me like a suffocating blanket, my every gasp a taste of hatred. I tried to find skin, to tear at hands and faces, to share my fear, but every touch was so fleeting that nothing passed, leaving it to pool in my body like poison.

  ‘Out of the way!’

  The mass of bodies thinned. I tried to squirm free of my skin, but it would not let me go. The men had me pinned to the cold ground, their grips like steel, their every breath a heavy huff in the thickening air. Then came the hiss of coals. An orange trail blazed before my eyes and I lost all sense. Panicking, I tried to buck them off, to bite, to claw, to rip, to spit, anything that might gain me freedom.

  ‘Hold his head down or I’ll get it through his eye.’

  A weighty hand pressed upon my temple. Unable to move, I stared at the worn sandal before my face: broken reeds and broken toenails. The smell of dirt. The smell of blood. Anticipation. Every moment I imagined the branding iron hovering above my cheek, and every moment it didn’t come was worse than the last, the latent heat like a candle held too close.

  The sound came first. The hiss of searing flesh. Then the pain drove from me all power of thought; behind my eyes a world of white-hot agony. There was no end to it, even when the weight of the metal was drawn away the pain went on. And the smell. It was like acrid charcoal. I wanted to be sick. That was my skin I could smell, my blackened flesh.

  Their grips slackened and I rolled over to retch.

  The branding iron pressed into the back of my head. The hiss was louder, the stink of burning hair clogging my every attempt at breath. Bile leaked out of my mouth, and like a roar the men jeered.

  The iron twisted. It ripped at hair and skin, tearing flesh. I could no longer scream. Paralysed, I moved beyond my body, the pain balling in my gut like lead.

  ‘Give me the other iron. This one’s going cold.’

  Hands tightened about my limbs. The men began to chant. ‘Traitor! Traitor! Traitor!’

  The ambient heat returned, and in my heart a dreadful urging, a voice I’d never heard before. Do it, it said. Do it and you’ll suffer.

  The iron touched my flesh and my hatred chanted back. There will be justice. You will be judged. You will suffer.

  A scream shattered the air, wrenched from my lips like burning bile. It was the torment I could not contain, the hatred, the great heaving injustice weeping from my skin.

  Their chant died. Grips faltered, but it was too late. I had let the pain rise, a push all it took to make it burst from my heart, turning my cry into a harmony of many.

  Screams filled the air, delicious in their anguish. Darkness gathered at the edges of my vision, but I swatted it back, wanting to remain, to revel in the justice of my creation. But fatigue crept upon me, and I could not fight it. The night called and I surrendered, letting it take me for its own.

  Chapter 5

  Father Kokoro was waiting for me. Morning light caressed the room and
he knelt in its midst, his hands cupped around a steaming teapot. His hair glowed golden under the sun’s touch. Dust danced. And on his sleeve, silver birds spread their wings to fly free.

  ‘Father Kokoro,’ I said, sliding the door closed behind me. ‘You save me the trouble of sending for you.’

  He looked up, his lined face more marked in the hazy light. ‘Yes, Your Excellency. I heard you were called to the guardhouse.’

  ‘Indeed. Your spies are well informed. I have just this moment returned.’

  Father Kokoro lifted the teapot and poured two cups. ‘Do join me, Your Excellency.’

  ‘To be invited to drink tea in my own tea room is a great honour,’ I said, watching him closely. He had been at court longer than I, but we did not often cross paths. After all, it was his job to seek pardon of the gods, and my job to anger them.

  Accepting his ironic invitation, I knelt opposite him. ‘You have something you wish to say to me, Father Kokoro?’

  ‘I rather think it is you who have something to say to me, Excellency.’

  Faintly smiling, he looked like an absent old man, a part he played admirably for the court. ‘Never mind,’ they would say. ‘It’s just Kokoro. He’s harmless.’

  I removed the necklace from my sash and dropped it on the table in front of him. The weight of the pendant made a satisfying thud, leaving the silver eye staring at the ceiling. ‘Can you explain why a boy, imprisoned at your command, was in possession of this particular trinket?’

  ‘A step too far, Excellency. You admit you know why it was brought to you, when you should have feigned ignorance.’

  ‘If it is a game you want, my Errant board is in the chest.’

  His smile broadened. ‘I would not presume. Beside your skill, mine is meagre.’

  He sipped his tea, his restful demeanour grating. It was one I often used to great effect, but he had been perfecting it much longer. I was holding my fury tight, but looking at that vague smile I would have given much to tear it from his face, leaving ragged flesh where lips had once been.

  ‘We play at cross purposes,’ I said instead. ‘Perhaps you think I am ignorant? My mind is not so slow, I assure you. That being said, I have no desire to prolong your stay, so I will begin. This pendant belonged to my father.’

  ‘Perhaps the boy stole it.’

  ‘You must think me remarkably dense. You knew my father, I think. What ever else he was, he was by no means an imbecile. It was his only redeeming quality in fact.’

  Father Kokoro’s smile remained untouched. ‘What a dutiful son you are to speak so well of him.’

  Letting this pass, I said: ‘That boy is no thief. Did you really think I would not know him? Tell me, Kokoro, how is it that Prince Takehiko Otako just happened to come your way?’

  ‘Very clever, Your Excellency. Did you tell him?’

  ‘No. I think I already explained that I am no fool.’

  There were words we did not need to speak. Kokoro was no ally, but in this we were agreed. The boy was dangerous. Kokoro had been right to arrest him, but burned alive for sorcery? Even if one knew what he was, that was too much.

  Father Kokoro went on sipping his tea, a picture of innocence with his greying, frazzled hair. It was hard to tell just how much he knew.

  ‘The last surviving son of Emperor Lan,’ Kokoro mused. ‘For myself I will not be mentioning the matter to His Majesty.’

  ‘You would not be able to keep your secrets if you did.’

  He acknowledged this with a gentle nod. ‘May the gods judge us wisely.’

  ‘I am sure they will, but it is His Majesty’s judgement you should fear. You may purchase my silence on the matter with an answer. I want to know where the boy has been all these years.’

  The old man eyed me speculatively. ‘Living with a priest named Jian.’

  ‘A priest who was known to you?’

  ‘I think you specified one question, Excellency.’

  ‘In fact I did not specify at all,’ I said, mimicking his calm. ‘You will answer the question. I won’t ask again.’

  Across the table our eyes met – his curiously hard. He might possess the words of gods, but he would turn his gaze before I backed down.

  ‘You are very like your father,’ he said, looking into his empty cup.

  ‘I do not consider that a compliment. Answer my question.’

  ‘Yes, I know him. Once I called him brother.’

  ‘They tortured him–’

  ‘I know.’ Father Kokoro rose. ‘It is in the hands of the gods.’ Brushing a hand down the front of his pale robe, Kokoro walked toward the door. ‘You need not rise to see me out. You were my guest, remember?’

  I rose anyway and went to the door, pausing with my hand on the frame. ‘He won’t burn. I will not see a child of that blood suffer.’

  Father Kokoro’s smile twisted. ‘I see. I understand, Your Excellency, but I fear the outcome.’

  ‘He is to be branded and exiled. Captain Ash is hungry for promotion. He will not fail me.’

  ‘One of your men?’

  ‘There are few who are not.’ I slid the door, signalling the end of the discussion. ‘Thank you for the book, Father. I do hope today’s journey will not fatigue you unduly.’

  ‘As do I, Excellency, as do I,’ he said, smiling his vague smile. ‘I am glad to be going home, aren’t you?’

  ‘Home is a matter of perspective, Father. I have not been home for a very long time. Good day.’

  * * *

  We began in fine weather, but it soon soured. Fortunately, the journey between Kisia’s sister cities, Shimai and Mei’lian, was only a matter of some ten miles. On foot it might take three hours, on horseback it was less.

  But it was a slow cortege that departed Shimai in the early afternoon. The Imperial Court was a swollen beast. At its head rode Emperor Kin, guards flanking his progress and his crimson robes sweeping toward the road. The neck was made of courtiers, forced to maintain the pace he dictated, each manoeuvring to spend the maximum amount of time riding at Kin’s side. The body that followed was as broad as the road would allow, a staggered collection of palanquins carrying the women of the court, carts and carriages of their belongings travelling close behind. Lagging behind came a long trail of servants, of supply carts and artisans’ wagons as far as the eye could see.

  Kin ignored it all, riding ahead with a scowl upon his already harsh countenance. Several men of his Council had attempted to ride with him, all falling back after a few minutes, defeated. I was not foolish enough to make the attempt. If he wanted me, he would ask for me. If not, I had my own thoughts to occupy the journey.

  Takehiko Otako.

  Would they have already branded him and sent him on his way? I touched my cheek. Three horizontal lines crossed by a diagonal. The same mark had been burned into Kun’s youthful skin.

  I had seen a man branded; heard the hiss and the scream and watched him writhe. It hadn’t troubled me. Then it had just been another of my duties, but this was different. He was no commoner, no petty thief to be shipped away disgraced, but I’d had no choice. There was too much fear, too much unrest. Katashi had made sure of that. The Otakos just would not die. At the fall of the axe they would duck beneath the water and swim into the murky weeds, just like the pike that symbolised their name.

  The sun continued its inexorable journey across the sky. Sunset, he had said, the words in the blood impossible to ignore. If I did not make it, there was no saying what he would do.

  The plains were already growing dark.

  * * *

  The twin gatehouses of Mei’lian greeted us in the fading light, their stern bolt-holes like narrowed eyes. Despite the slide toward dusk the gates remained open, and the captain of the city guard was waiting. An escort. I looked from the large group of guards to the blackened clouds upon the horizon.

>   I was running out of time.

  The cavalcade stopped. Kin exchanged a few words with the captain, who bowed low enough to touch his nose to his knees. The lords and councillors laughed behind their hands – the man was inviting the emperor to enter his own city. Kin was already looking as black as the thunderclouds, and expectant eyes turned my way. But I was thinking about the city, about its narrow streets and its curious citizenry. This was going to take hours I did not have.

  A stand of tallow trees ran along the centre of the road, blocking one gatehouse from view of the other. Through their narrow trunks I could see empty stones. It was the Leaving Gate, but at this hour, and with a storm threatening, no one was leaving.

  Sure I would not be missed in the crush, I wheeled my horse around and pushed through the crowd of court and commoners. People scurried out of the way, their various bundles and goods thrown over their shoulders.

  There were advantages to being feared.

  Pulling free of the lines, I let my horse saunter toward the second pair of gates, ducking my head as the colt pulled through the reaching leaves. I felt eyes linger on me and hoped Kin was not so mad as to call me back.

  ‘Excuse me, my lord,’ a guard said, rushing up as I approached. ‘This is the Leaving Gate.’

  ‘And I am Lord Laroth,’ I said, hearing the irritation creep into my voice. ‘I am well aware this is the Leaving Gate, but no one appears to be leaving.’

  ‘Your Excellency.’ He swallowed, and glanced through the trees to the main body of the court, its great bulk clogging the road for many miles to come. ‘A bit of a crush.’

  ‘An understatement. Now let me through, man. I’m in a hurry.’

  ‘Certainly, Your Excellency. You have your papers?’

  ‘My papers?’

  The guard coughed, not meeting my eyes. ‘Yes, Your Excellency. General Ryoji sent orders ahead that all men coming and going were to be checked.’

  ‘Do you plan on checking every man who follows in the emperor’s train?’

  ‘Yes, Your Excellency.’