The Blood of Whisperers

by Devin Madson

  A man with no love for Emperor Kin. That hardly narrowed the field, yet the longer I stayed with him the more intensely I felt I should know his name.

  When the last of his arrows hit the target I went to fetch them. It was no more than twenty paces, but by the time I reached it and glanced back, Monarch had already stripped off his clothes. His armour sat in a pile at his feet, and his ripped and blood-stained tunic had been thrown unceremoniously into a nearby clump of duckweed.

  I looked away, concentrating on the target. It was made from tight coils of cloth capable of withstanding the punishment, and all eighteen of Monarch’s arrows were grouped around its centre. Careful not to crush the eagle-feather fletching, I gripped the shaft of each in the middle and yanked. They were not barbed like a war arrow and pulled out cleanly, but that would be little consolation to the man who found one of these stuck through his eye.

  Gathering them all, I turned back to see Monarch pulling on a loose grey tunic, his armour abandoned. He ran a hand through his hair; rolled his shoulders. Despite the ease of his manner, I knew something was wrong. Trouble stained the air around him. He had lost men, but surely a practical leader could not grieve over every loss. A man incapable of seeing his army as a whole instead of individuals, would never be able to lead them into battle.

  There were so many questions I wanted to ask, but I could not voice them and he would not answer. Of course, there was always another way.

  I clutched the arrows, deliberately positioning my hand in the centre of the shafts so it was impossible for him to take them without touching my hand. I held them out, listening to the flurry of my heart.

  The connection was blinding, his whole body becoming a complex weave of glowing threads and knots.

  No, she’s on her own. To go after her now would risk everything.

  I expected him to growl and pull away, sensing my intrusion, but nothing happened. Monarch had the arrows in his grip, his fingers touching mine, and desperate to hear more, I could not let them go.

  He’ll find out she’s an Otako. Then what? Kin hates us. Surely he would not kill her. Laroth wouldn’t let him. Damn it, there’s nothing I can do!

  Monarch gave me a strange look and stared down at the arrows. ‘Are you going to let them go?’

  I let go like they had become hot irons. The last echo of his voice died away, the knit of his every thought fading from his skin.

  Katashi Otako.

  Ignorant of the information he had unwittingly given me, Monarch drove the arrows, one after the other, into the churned earth at his feet. ‘I lost my quiver,’ he said, as though I had asked him why. ‘Had it since I was a boy.’

  Lord Katashi Otako, the exiled son of the last Otako emperor.

  He pushed his hair back and, without another word, nocked an arrow. He had said nothing. I had touched him and we had connected, but he remained oblivious. Was he stupid? Even without a brief glimpse into his soul I knew he was not, the serious cleft between his brows a sure sign that his mind never ceased turning. No, not stupid. Open. He hadn’t felt it because there had been no intrusion. He kept nothing closed away, no emotion stored deep. What he had he gifted the world, and the world loved him for it.

  An arrow pierced the very centre of the target, but Katashi wasn’t watching. Eyes narrowed, he held out his bow to me, its smooth wood seeming to glow from within. I dared not take it. A true archer knew never to take another man’s bow without permission.

  His lips parted into a grin. ‘See? I knew I wasn’t wrong about you. Take her. Her name is Hatsukoi. I want to see you shoot. I pride myself on being able to judge a man by the way he handles a bow.’

  I reached out my hand, looking up into his face. But there was no malice in him, no cruelty, and I let my fingers curl around the bow’s upper limb. Her power was invigorating, bleeding into me as I ran my hand along her curved form. Hatsukoi. It was a good name, a name that had been branded into the glossy wood. A one hundred and twenty-pound draw. The bow I had left behind in Jian’s wagon had been a ninety-pound draw, but I understood the difference in technique; in tapered arrows and a silk string.

  Taking his place, I turned my shoulder to the target.

  ‘You can move a little closer if you like.’

  He was laughing at me. I didn’t move, just adjusted my grip and pulled an arrow from the ground. The motions were instinctive; to hold, to nock, to draw, leaning in, the extra draw-weight enough to make my muscles strain. It was the same action every time, a little altered for a different bow and a different arrow, but enough like my own that I felt my heart soar. I was alive again.

  Just as Katashi’s had done, my arrow hit the target with enough force to make it bounce. My skin tingled with excitement.

  ‘Very good,’ the Pike Captain said, and I felt his surprise. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Endymion.’

  ‘Endymion who? That is not the way a commoner uses a bow. You grip like a nobleman, yet you pause before release, which means a soldier didn’t train you. You are a man who shoots for the joy, not the kill.’

  He held his hand out for Hatsukoi, and I gave her gently back to her master. ‘That’s an interesting theory,’ I said. ‘You’ve seen a nobleman use a bow?’

  ‘I was born a nobleman.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You have a lot of words now, friend. Tell me who you are.’

  I bowed. ‘I already did, Lord Otako. My name is Endymion.’

  His eyes grew hard. ‘How do you know who I am?’

  ‘A guess.’

  ‘Are you a spy?’

  I pointed to the still tender branding upon my cheek. ‘You said that one man’s enemy might well be another’s loyal servant.’

  ‘And are you?’

  ‘I am no one’s servant,’ I said. ‘But I have no reason to wish you harm or your enemy well.’

  ‘Then what do you want?’

  ‘Revenge on the man who did this to me.’

  ‘And who might that be?’

  I felt the change, sensed a presence before any sound came to my ears. Katashi drew his bow as I turned, a second arrow held by his little finger.

  Hope stepped onto the spur, curling the tail of his crimson sash between his fingers. He froze at the sight of Katashi’s bow drawn upon him.

  ‘I am well aware you dislike us, Lord Otako,’ he said in his quiet voice. ‘But I am not aware of having done anything to earn such a threat.’

  Katashi didn’t release the string, but spun and loosed the arrow at the target. I heard the thud behind me as it found its mark. ‘What do you want, Vice? Is your master back?’

  Ignoring the second part of this, Hope nodded at me. ‘I am here for Endymion. He can’t talk and I was afraid he might have gotten lost, but it seems you found him.’

  ‘I did,’ Katashi agreed. ‘Or rather, he found me. We’ve been having a very interesting conversation.’

  ‘Conversation?’

  ‘Don’t take it too personally,’ Katashi drawled. ‘To Hatsukoi goes the credit. He’s a natural archer, and as it happens, a natural talker, too. Who is he?’

  ‘I already told you my name.’

  ‘And I think you’re lying.’

  A small smile sat on Hope’s lips. ‘The Master will be pleased. He is resting at present, but I will let him know the moment he wakes.’

  Malice. He knew my name. He could solve the riddle.

  I bowed to Katashi. ‘Thank you for letting me use your bow, it was a privilege.’

  The Pike Captain said nothing. He let me go without further question, but I felt his heavy gaze follow me all the way back into the swamp. Katashi Otako. I touched my birthmark. The truth couldn’t wait any longer.

  ‘Is Malice in his tent?’ I asked, walking with the Vice through the dappled shade.

  ‘Yes, he is resting. He had a lon
g night.’

  ‘I’ll go to him now. We need to talk.’

  ‘I said that he’s resting. You can talk to him later.’

  ‘I heard what you said, and I’m sorry. This can’t wait. I need to talk to him now.’

  * * *

  I went in without announcing myself, halting a moment on the threshold while my eyes adjusted to the darkness. After the smells of the swamp, sandalwood smoke was a vast improvement.

  I blinked. Malice was watching me. He was sitting at the same low table exactly as I had found him the night before, his chin propped on his hand, long fingers pinching the top of an Errant piece. In this attitude he had frozen, one eyebrow raised, his long hair loose and pouring over his shoulder.

  ‘Endymion,’ he said, his lips smiling though he did not look pleased.

  ‘Malice,’ I said.

  His other brow went up and he let go of the Errant piece. ‘I see you have found your voice, yes? How miraculous. I had not expected it to happen so soon.’

  I sat. Jian had long ago taught me it was rude to sit without being invited, but Malice made no complaint.

  ‘Well?’ he said after a long stretch of silence. ‘I hope you have a reason for bursting in upon my game, yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I want to know why you sent your men after me.’

  ‘Would you have preferred to remain a prisoner? To find yourself working as a slave, exiled far beyond the borders of your homeland?’

  ‘Did I say that?’

  We stared at one another. Malice was the first to smile. ‘You’re not afraid of me, yes? That is refreshing.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ I said, though it was not entirely true. ‘You haven’t given me any reason to be.’

  ‘Have I not? How remiss of me.’

  ‘You still haven’t answered my question.’

  Malice leant forward, resting both elbows upon the table, his face close enough that I could see every imperfection in his skin and knew him for a man as real as any other. ‘There are not many of us,’ he said at last. ‘Empaths are rare creatures. It would have been madness to let anything happen to you, yes?’

  ‘And how did you know I was an Empath?’

  ‘You would be surprised at how much I know, Endymion.’

  ‘You know who I am.’

  ‘I know who you are, yes. I also know who your parents were and I know the name you were born with.’

  ‘Will you tell me?’

  Malice leaned back, tapping a fingernail upon the edge of the Errant board. ‘Is that all you want? The past?’

  ‘No. I want a way into Kin’s court.’

  ‘Revenge against Darius Laroth?’ he asked, touching his cheek.

  ‘My business is my own, but I’m not stupid. You want something from me. We can make a deal.’

  He sat back, and, untying the bone-ribbon from his wrist, began to gather his long hair. ‘Do you believe in the gods, Endymion?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you believe that they exist? Or, that they do everything they are said to do? It is two different things, yes? Do you believe the gods watch over us?’

  ‘I can’t imagine there is much else worth watching.’

  ‘Not quite what I meant. Do you believe they hear our prayers? That they receive our sacrifices?’

  Beginning to wonder where this line of questioning was leading, I said: ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘You suppose? That is certainly not the answer of a devout man, yes?’

  ‘Your point?’

  ‘I have not yet made one. Do the gods judge us when we die? Do they decide whether our soul deserves heaven or the hells?’

  ‘If they don’t, they should.’

  Malice nodded slowly. ‘Do you believe that Emperor Kin is a god?’

  ‘No.’

  He chuckled in his odd, humourless way. ‘The speed with which you answered will make you popular around here, yes? How about Emperor Tianto, was he a god?’

  ‘He had his head cut off.’

  ‘Does that preclude him being a deity?’

  ‘He was a man.’

  ‘And Emperor Lan?’

  I nodded.

  Malice lifted one of his immaculate brows. ‘Not a god?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And did they do well by our beloved Kisia?’

  ‘Where are all these questions leading?’

  He pressed a finger to his lips and hushed me gently. ‘Do not ruin it now, you are doing so very well, yes? Just answer the question.’

  ‘How should I know?’ I said. ‘I was a child when Emperor Lan died and a child when Emperor Tianto died. I have only one emperor on whom to base my opinion.’

  ‘Then do so.’

  ‘The answer is still that I don’t know. Kisia is a strange beast to me. There are things perhaps that I do not like, but as a whole it functions.’

  Another dry chuckle. ‘It functions, yes? How well put. Our glorious empire… functions. There was a time when Darius had a dream for this empire, to return it to glory – Kisia, the centre of the world. It was once, but time moves on and we fall away. We fight amongst ourselves, we fight for tradition when all the time the outside world presses in upon us, and it is all due to one cause, yes? No longer are we ruled by gods.’

  It was hard to mistake his meaning, but I asked the question all the same. ‘What gods?’

  ‘Us, Endymion, we are the gods, yes?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Think a little, Endymion. Can you feel another’s pain?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can you feel their hatred and their love?’

  I paused, wishing I could speak a different answer. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can you reach inside the heart of a man and see him for what he truly is.’

  Letting out a long breath, I nodded.

  ‘What are these abilities but those of a god?’

  ‘But gods are infallible.’

  ‘So you are infallible, more so than any court, than any jury of men. You know what is right and what is wrong and you can read it, black and white, in the hearts of men.’

  ‘Tell me what you want.’

  Malice rose slowly from his place, shaking out the folds of his simple linen robe. Without a word he crossed the floor, the crisp reeds crackling beneath his sandals. His incense had burned itself out. In no hurry, he took a fresh stick from a narrow wooden box and set it in the spider-shaped burner, its eight legs gathered to pinch the stick in place. Then, with a piece of tinder, he lit the incense from one of his many lanterns.

  ‘Perhaps you are not aware,’ he said, staring at the curling smoke. ‘That it is possible for our kind to leave a piece of our souls inside another person. In fact, it is something you have no doubt done before, by accident, shreds left behind in the heat of an unintended connection. When done deliberately, we call it “marking”, yes?’

  ‘The Vices.’

  Malice turned then, smiling, a full set of neat teeth visible between his thin lips. ‘How astute you are, Endymion, it is a pleasant change. Each of the Vices is indeed marked by me. It gives them an allegiance, yet they are each their own man, as you see.’

  ‘You want to mark me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Need I repeat how rare it is to come across another Empath?’

  ‘Would you control me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I would still be myself?’

  Again he smiled. ‘Yes, there will merely be a… stronger connection between us, as befitting brothers, yes?’

  ‘And you’ll tell me who I am?’

  ‘And I’ll tell you who you are.’

  I will find him and I will teach him pain.

  ‘If you get me into Kin’s court,’ I said. ‘Then you can do whatev
er you like with me.’

  ‘How much like a martyr you sound, yes? But I do not like your terms. I will mark you now.’

  ‘No. You take me as one of your Vices after, not before, or we don’t have a deal.’

  Malice looked annoyed, he even felt annoyed, the strength of his emotion getting the better of him. ‘You are irritating,’ he said. ‘And if you should die in the attempt of what you seek?’

  ‘You had better hope I don’t,’ I said, shrugging carelessly. ‘Because if I do, then you get nothing.’

  ‘You must think yourself very special indeed.’

  ‘How rare did you say Empaths were?’

  He returned to his place at the table. ‘Very well, Endymion,’ he said, leaning forward and fixing me with those glittering eyes. ‘You have a deal. Kin’s court for your soul, yes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Malice smiled. ‘Good.’

  ‘Now tell me who I am. Why was I branded a traitor? Why have I met fear wherever I go?’

  ‘Because, little lamb, you are dead.’

  ‘Don’t cheat me. I breathe the same as you.’

  ‘Yes, you do, but there is a gravestone in Mei’lian with your name on it. Or should I say, the name you were born with.’

  I felt my pulse quicken. Trying to keep my hand from shaking, I balled it into a fist. ‘And what name is that?’

  Malice’s smile broadened. ‘Takehiko,’ he said. ‘You were born Prince Takehiko Otako, and you are the only surviving son of Emperor Lan, the last true emperor of Kisia.’

  Chapter 12

  The Usurper hadn’t shown his face.

  It had been days. Purple and black bruises blossomed on my knees, my arms, and across my back. Even my skull felt bruised. The skin had not discoloured, but I pressed the tender flesh every day to ensure no kindness Kin offered could take away my anger.

  Anything I wanted was mine for the asking. Food came regularly, and while I had to eat, I would not indulge when it was Kin I had to thank. I took my frustration out on the servants. It was my sole entertainment. I changed my mind often, complained the food was too hot, too cold, or not quite what I had wanted, anything to force them to take it back after one mouthful, and try again. They did so without complaint, and sometimes I wished I had curbed my temper, but a servant had only to say: ‘What can His Imperial Majesty provide for you, my lady?’ to make me lash out all the more.