by Ree Soesbee
The note was soft at first, growing in intensity with the echoes of the forest. As it swelled, Mara's hand squeezed gently. Her eyes grew wide, taking in the radiance ... and something else that Daini could not hear. Around them both, the single horn sang louder, gaining volume as it spread out among Siksa's frozen populace.
Then, from the west, a sudden ray of sunlight exploded through the open branches of the oaks. Rays of light, white and golden, showered the city in sunset radiance. The horn swelled again, and Daini saw more naga lifting horns to their lips, carrying the call until it pealed from a thousand instruments. The walls of the city, arched stone that wove through the massive trees, began to glow with gold. Beneath a thousand years of moss, the intricate moldings of precious metal and stones burst into light.
If the walls were clear, Daini thought in shock, the effect would have been nearly blinding. "By the Fortunes..." Daini whispered, forgetting Mara's touch. "How did the empire miss this?"
"Siksa, like all the cities of the naga, was hidden by the spell of the Great Sleep. When we awoke, it returned from the mists that had hidden it. Nirukti knew no such fortune. The spell there was incomplete, and many of my people died."
Daini remembered ancient rumors of stones in the Shinomen that would fade and reappear. How many of the old legends were true? Looking at the green-skinned maiden at his side, Daini hesitated to guess. The Shinomen Forest was enchanted. Any samurai knew that. Everyone knew of the ronin and bandits that fled into the forest never to return. The Falcon, keepers of the border of the Shinomen, claimed that ghosts haunted the forest, hiding in stone cities ... cities such as this one.
"The Great Sleep?" Daini repeated, trying to understand as sunset glowed on the city walls.
"A spell cast by the Cobra jakla, to keep us ready until the Second Burning of the land . . . there is too much to tell, Mirumoto-daini, and I do not have all the words." Mara laughed brightly.
"Yet, you know much of our language. How is this?"
"The Greensnake awoke before the others, and we have been trying to learn the language of your people," she replied. "I am one of the first. You are lucky I was on patrol today, or the others might not have understood your purpose."
"Lucky . .. hai." Daini stammered, remembering how the other naga had seemed unwilling to put down their bows.
The horn tones around them began to fade as the sun moved low in the sky.
Mara tilted her head to the side as if listening. "I see." She said to no one in particular.
"What?" Daini asked, watching the city's transformation. The glow faded slowly, and one by one, the horns ended their siren call. As they did, the stars above the city began to appear, twinkling lightly through the thick cluster of branches and leaves. He looked at the naga maiden beside him. Suddenly, in that instant of peace and tranquility, he realized she was beautiful.
"The Shahadet wishes to see you, Mirumoto-daini. Immediately." Mara's eyes grew troubled. "Follow me, and do not say a word. Your life will depend on your silence." Letting go of his hand, she stepped through the open arch and headed for the city. Not once did she look back to see if he followed her command.
Daini hesitated only for a second. Then, without a word, he followed her into the wide streets of the city of the Asp.
xxxxxxxx
Within the city twilight, the boughs and vines of the clustered ceilings took on a snakelike appearance. Daini could almost imagine them twisting above him in scaled masses. Passing beneath them, Mara and Daini reached the palace of the Shahadet. The structure was huge and ornate, hidden beneath the open canopy. A long ramp led down from the mosaic plaza into a massive stone chamber beneath the ground.
A ramp, Daini thought, because creatures with tails cannot use stairs.
At the bottom of the ramp, Mara knelt, pressing her hands together and then touching them to her forehead as she whispered sibilant syllables. Taking her cue, Daini knelt as well and glanced curiously around the tremendous chamber.
At least forty warriors lined the walls of the pit, with arched bows on their backs and strangely curved swords hanging from jeweled belts. Many wore armor of silver and gold, their slitted eyes peering at Daini with a mixture of curiosity and hatred. One opened his mouth in a grinning threat, and Daini saw poison trail in a thin strand down the creature's fangs.
The city of the Asp, indeed, he thought with a shudder.
In the far wall, an alcove had been carved. It contained a tremendous chair fashioned from the stone of the natural earth. The throne sparkled with jewels and ornate figurines, and it had no arms. Behind it, in an elaborate mosaic of patterned tiles, a figure with six arms and a long naga tail danced, its head shaped like a dragon's, with snout and fiery breath. The figure held flaming torches of starlight in eight-fingered hands and dancing on a golden city.
In the center of the room, a young naga hung by his tail, suspended from the high ceiling by feathered vines. He was perhaps fifteen, perhaps a bit younger, by Daini's guess. Below him, a circle of flame lit the room in flickering shadows, and I he boy spun gently. As he turned, his hands remained in the white-hot flames, and a pool of boiling water directly beneath his head sent up puffs of strange-smelling smoke.
"That is the water of the River of the Sky," Mara whispered to Daini, noting his stare. She pointed to the blue-black water in the basin beneath the slowly spinning naga youth. "The young Ashamana lingers in his Pah'ra ceremony. Those who drink—or even touch—its water are given a vision of their future. If he succeeds, he will conquer the darkness in his own soul and become one with the great mind of the Akasha. Each of us is given a vision from its power. The river once flowed through my people's city, Nirukti, though the Greensnake ritual of Pah'ra is nothing like this. My own vision on my day of testing spoke of your kind. That is how I came to meet you, Mirumoto-daini. The River of the Sky sent me." She was confident, unafraid, and completely sure of herself.
The other naga surrounding the flames chanted softly, their tongues hissing with fierce pride as the boy's hands blackened in the fire.
"It is his maturity ritual. Your kind have another word for it—gem'puk-hu?" Daini nodded silently, and Mara smiled. "The boy who now tests his Pah'ra hangs above the well. He sees things we do not see and lives within the Akasha in that place of testing. Yet in a way, we are with him there." As she spoke, Mara closed her striking golden eyes and breathed deeply.
Daini looked at the others in the room, afraid to ask his questions lest he break the silence he had been commanded to keep. With him? What did she mean? Of course they were all with him ... in this room. Or was that not Mara's intent? Did the naga see something that Daini could not see?
"Look at the Asp with the spear," Mara whispered softly.
Daini noticed that one of the warriors slithering around the fire held a spear made of pearl and jade.
"That is the youth's Sehalai," Mara murmured, regarding the Sehalai with narrowed eyes and a cautious tone. "If the Asha-mana fails, it is the Sehalai's duty to kill him before the Ashamana's failure taints the Akasha with falsehoods. The Asp rituals are far more bloody than those of my own bloodline." Her voice held scorn, but carefully hidden.
So, these naga were not a single people, then? Bloodline? Was that their word to differentiate their clans? The Sehalai's duty was to kill the one undergoing the ritual. . . . Daini's face turned white. These people murdered their own children? How could they live with themselves? The Ashamana—certainly a title, and not a name, from the way Mara used it—continued to spin, his face dark from paint and the pressure of hanging from his tail. Daini smelled the tinge of flesh burning in the fire, and saw that the boy's hands were blistered and raw.
The tone of the chanting changed, and many of the warriors began to move away from the wall, toward the fire. The Sehalai lowered his spear, shaking it violently as the others parted. His tail shook with a warning rattle. A low thrumming began, rising from the throats of the surrounding warriors, and movement began inside another dark
alcove. This one was deeper, perhaps leading into another chamber entirely. The passageway for the creature they called the "Shahadet."
The naga entering the chamber wore no armor, carried no weapon save a single unsheathed blade at his side, curved nearly into a V and strangely forged. It hung from a loop around the warlord's chest, the leather thong tightening around massively bunched muscles. Green eyes scornfully swept through the chamber, eyeing Daini and Mara as invaders to this sacred ritual, but he said nothing. The Shahadet raised himself high to oversee the proceedings, standing more than ten feet in the air above another length of green tail. Weaving from side to side, he raised a hand silently, and the Asp parted to allow him to see the spinning Ashamana within the orange and white flames.
"Shahadet," Mara hissed, bowing her head low to the ground. Daini quickly did likewise.
Suddenly all the naga in the room turned as one toward the youth above the fire. Mara gasped, covered her eyes and turned her head into Daini's shoulder.
A scream burst from the Ashamana's throat.
Daini watched in horror as the boy's face blackened, and his hands crumbled to ash, scattering among the flames.
The naga holding the pearl spear hissed loudly, his tail rattling in a frantic chant. Daini looked away, shocked, but he heard the Sehalai strike. There was a scream from the Ashamana. An echoing wail rose from the throats of the other warriors in the room, and a cry of release erupted from the Ashamana's throat. The ceremony had failed.
Around them, the Asp hissed, their sibilant language filled with an almost unspeakable pain and anguish.
"It comes. ... It comes. . . ." Mara translated in broken words, her voice cracking as the youth swung within the flames.
Daini glanced toward the ritual pool. There hung the Ashamana's body, arched and sparkling with a mystic fire. Blood trailed from his wound as his Sehalai withdrew the spear, and Daini looked away again, overcome by the brutality. Agonized seconds passed as the youth screamed a single echoing note.
Then Daini heard a third stroke from the Sehalai's spear, and the boy's cry ceased.
"The Ashamana ... has failed." Mara whispered huskily.
Ravaged by wounds and covered in blood and smeared paint, the youth hung from the high ceiling vines, his white eyes creasing with death. The Ashamana's hands fell, no longer outstretched, and his fingertips brushed the glossy water of the pool beneath his swinging body.
"By the Pale," Mara choked. She pressed her head to Daini's chest as if seeking comfort, and the samurai instinctively reached to touch her golden hair. It was soft, like spider webs and silk, and clung to his fingers gently as he touched her. Mara smelled of sage and the ocean, he thought faintly as his mind sought somewhere to hide that was not filled with blood and pain.
"Huu-man."
Mara moved, her eyes clearing, and she pushed gently away from Daini's arms. "My thanks, samurai," she whispered shakily. "I have never seen a Pah'ra end in Foul. It is ... horrible."
Daini looked up and saw one of the Asp approach them. The naga's hand lifted as if to motion the samurai to his feet.
Mara stood, pulling Daini up beside her, and faced the Asp. Uncertain what else to do, Daini bowed politely to the warrior and was completely ignored. Mara stepped past the warrior and headed toward the throne alcove. Daini followed her without question.
In the alcove, the massive Shahadet reclined, his tail wrapped about the base of the pillar that served as the seat of his throne. Mara knelt, and Daini did as well The Shahadet stared down at them quietly, allowing the other warriors in the room to assemble once more. Daini noticed that the body of the Ashamana was being attended to by two of the largest Asp. Without hesitation, they reached up to touch the dead body, and Daini's eyes opened wide in revulsion. Warriors—samurai?—touching the flesh of the dead? Revolting.
The Shahadet's heavy-lidded eyes studied the human before him, taking in every detail. The naga had not removed Daini's swords from his side. Etiquette demanded that the prisoner of an Asp be allowed to kill himself in combat rather than starve in a prison. Scornfully, the Shahadet began to speak to Mara, his hissing words punctuated by gestures and the understanding of the Akasha.
Mara turned to Daini. "The Shahadet gives you permission to speak. I will translate your words to him, that you may parley."
Daini bowed again, touching his forehead to the ground before the daimyo of the naga. "Please thank the Shahadet for his time."
Mara hissed sofdy, and Daini continued to talk, trusting her to translate. "My name is Mirumoto Daini of the Dragon." That caused a stir among the naga and with the Shahadet. "I am here to parley with the naga, to ask that their warriors aid us in eliminating our enemies, the Crab."
Mara responded almost as she finished speaking, "Who are the Crab?"
"The Crab are a clan from the south," Daini responded.
"Ah, the south lands," Mara nodded. "The Foul."
The Shahadet's face twisted as his forked tongue slid between perfectly even, white teeth. A pair of snakelike fangs extended just over his lower lip, and as Daini watched, he raised a hand to catch a falling drop of poison. He and Mara conferred for a few moments, and then the maiden turned again to Daini.
"You say that your people fight the Foul?" she asked.
"We fight the Shadowlands and the Crab, who work with them." Daini went on to describe the armies of the Crab that held Beiden Pass, and the terrible oni that fought beside the Hida necromancers. When he was done, the Asp warriors around him were hissing madly, their eyes tinted red with firelight and anger.
The Shahadet had not moved at all from his throne, but his powerful arms had tightened into fists, and his stone face had frozen into a look of hatred. Daini's voice faltered, but Mara prompted him, eager to learn.
The Shahadet spoke once more, and his hissing language echoed from the other Asp. As if they had been provoked, several of them reared above the others, gesturing with their hands and shaking swords in strange leather scabbards.
Mara's face fell, but she raised her hands in a gesture of peace, palms extended toward the Shahadet. Quickly guessing that her gesture was conciliatory, Daini did the same.
The Lord of the Asps stared down with bitter tolerance, and then made a sweeping gesture with his arm.
"What is he saying?" Daini said quietly as the other Asps bared their fangs and raised their weapons. "Will they help me?"
"No," Mara's tone was final. "They refuse to believe you. Right now ... they're debating what to do with your corpse."
"I can't let them kill me." Daini blanched, his thin mustache shaking as his lips trembled. "If I die . .. all the others of my clan will be destroyed by the Shadowlands.
"There is nothing to be done. The Asp do not believe that you fight the Foul. They say you are working for it, to draw us into your huu-man wars." The serpents surrounding the Sha-hadet's throne slid backward as their leader lifted his tremendous bulk and reached for a golden spear.
"Let me prove myself."
"How?"
The Mirumoto samurai bowed briefly, startling the naga around him, and stood. Mara leapt to her feet and hissed, clicking her tongue behind her teeth as she calmed them. Walking slowly, Daini stepped toward the empty circle of flame and the large basin of water.
"What are you doing, Mirumoto-daini?" Mara said hesitatingly as the Asps began to close.
"You said the water would give me a vision. Let me show them the future of the empire, if the Shadowlands are allowed to succeed." Terrified, Daini sprinted through the surprised Asps, leaping toward the circle of flames.
"Mirumoto-daini!" Mara threw herself between the samurai and the spears of her people, flinging her arms wide to protect him as she hissed in their strange, snakelike tongue. "No, Daini!" she turned to look at him with terrified eyes. "Not while there is blood in the water!"
Ignoring the raised spears and swiftly strung bows, Daini stared down at the red-tinged waters of the basin, seeing his own face clearly reflected past th
e flickering flames. Taking several short, deep breaths, he tore the sleeves from his gi and punched through the fire. There was blood in the water, but
Daini did not care. What honor did he have left after he had given away Hitomi's life? The flames bit into his flesh, searing nerve and burning hair, but Daini did not stop until his hands were immersed in the icy water.
How can the water be icy when it boils and flames? The thought lasted a fragment of a second, a fleeting glimpse of what Daini had been, before the visions began.
Fire surged, leaping up only inches from Daini's face, and then fell to darkness. A thin trail of flickering coal laced the edge of the water's basin, lighting the swirling red waters within. Daini felt his burned hands ease, then turn to ice within the water's grasp. It was as if two cold hands clutched his own, refusing to release him from the well.
The water boiled again, but not from heat. Something within the waves moved and writhed. Images began to flicker across the water's surface. Faces that Daini knew swirled in the bloody waters. He saw Yukihera, Mitsu laced to the torii arch in Beiden Pass, the Dragon as they marched down from their high mountains. But these were visions of the past, not the future. Daini reached farther into the pool, sinking his wrists and forearms to strive harder against the water's pull, and felt the visions change again.
Otosan Uchi... in flames.
Echoes of madness drifted from the pool's inky bottom, but Daini held fast to the frozen hands. Across the water, false flames reflected—flames of spears and arrows, released against the Dragon. This, then, was the future. Daini saw a tremendous army massed around the Imperial City. Lion killed Lion, and the Crab Champion's face, broken with pain and anguish, screamed soundlessly within the waves—Kisada, fallen.
Again, Daini pulled, and the blood in the water grew clear. Otosan Uchi. The Crab armies and a terrible dark wave of un-dead stormed from the southern mountains with flesh in their hands and blood on their spears. Laughter swelled up from the water, but it was not the laughter of a man, or of anything Daini recognized. The icy hands suddenly had blades in their fingers, cutting Daini's flesh as he held fast to their watery grasp. The empire lay before him, reflected in the waters of the boiling pool, burned by flame and tainted by the Shadowlands. Armies of zombies and necromancers marched along blackened roads, and Daini saw them setting flame to the Shinomen. In Otosan Uchi, the throne lay on the ground, the crack grown wide. Blood trailed over the gleaming dais, swelling like a river, flowing to the ocean and over the empire.