Then he thought of the Vale, and had an inkling of what a northern forest might be.
The other man said, “Do you see it? The ship? If my Seeing was a true one, it left a few days ago and should be here today.”
“No, Zhantse,” the young man said. “Not y—Wait!” He shaded his eyes with one hand. Yes, that was a sail. Once again, his master had Seen truly. Not that he’d doubted; Zhantse’s visions were never wrong. Hard to understand sometimes, and sometimes mistaken in interpretation, but in the the end, they were never wrong.
He squinted up at the sun and did some quick figuring. “She,” he corrected absently, “not ‘it.’ All ships are female, my mother says.” How something that never lived could be male or female was something he didn’t understand. His mother had only laughed, and told him that perhaps one day he’d find out. “She’ll be here before the sun drops another two hands in the sky.”
He cupped his hands to his mouth and called the news to the men waiting in the shadow of the rocks on the beach below. They waved acknowledgment. Most went back to drowsing in the shade.
But why was the ship here? She’d not been due for another span of days or more. Was something wrong? Had some evil befallen their Assantikkan partner? Zhantse had spoken of an uneasiness underlying the vision … .
“I wonder if—” He broke off. The air caught in his lungs as if some giant hand crushed his chest. Cold sweat dripped down his bare back and chest.
Panic swept over him. His mind seized on the image of the mountain’s worth of rock mere handspans above his head. It was falling, falling to crush him like a beetle under a sandbear’s paw.
Run!
His horse responded to the unconsciousness squeeze of his knees and bounded into the sunlight.
The sudden glare blinded him; his eyes filled with burning tears in protest. He welcomed the pain they brought. For with them passed the sudden madness, the need to run away. He brought his mare to a skittering halt.
Gasping, he leaned on the pommel of his blanket-covered saddle. Spirits help him, what was wrong with him these days?
“Shima!”
The sharp voice penetrated the fog that clouded his mind after each of these panics. He made himself look around, answer calmly. “I—I’m well.” He looked away before Zhantse saw the lie in his eyes.
A deep shuddering breath; he looked at the rock cliff stretching up and up to the sky; looked at the older man still sitting his horse in the dimness of the shallow cave, and knew he couldn’t go back in there.
The men on the beach had noticed, damn it; he saw them exchange puzzled glances. His father’s milkbrother, Nathua, stood up, a worried frown creasing his brow as he brushed the sand from his short kilt. Shima waved him back. Nathua hesitated, clearly minded to investigate for himself.
Shima held his breath. He did not want to try to explain this to his prosaic clan-uncle. Once more he waved Nathua back. He even found a smile from somewhere. To Shima’s relief, Nathua shrugged and sat down again.
The shaman rode out into the sun. “Again?” he said. “The Feeling?”
Shima nodded. “Yes. As if the cliff …” He shook his head at the images conjured by his mind. “Each time it’s as if everything is closing in on me. I have to get away.”
“I’ve heard of such a thing before,” Zhantse said. “But usually it’s a thing that is with you from childhood, or else brought on by some harrowing exer-ience. Yet I know that no such thing has happened to you. So why?”
“Indeed,” Shima said bitterly. “Why? Why do the Spirits torment me this way? One moment I’m well; the next, out the door, and running for the largest open space I can find.”
“And then?” Zhantse prompted.
“And then the feeling disappears, and I feel like a fool.” Or a madman.
Shima passed a hand over his eyes. Was he going mad? He didn’t think so. Yet it was said the mad never considered themselves to be.
Perhaps he should throw himself from a cliff before it got worse. He couldn’t stand the thought of his parents’ pain as they watched their oldest son sink into insanity. A clean death would be better. But something inside him shrank from the idea, driving him further into despair.
Coward.
A hand on his shoulder brought him back. He jumped.
“You are not going mad,” Zhantse said. “Yes, I know what you’ve been thinking. I’ve known you from a child, remember? I can read you like a hunter reads tracks.
“But just what is happening to you, my young drummer, I don’t know. I’ve tried to See, but … Something blocks me; there’s a window there, but someone has hung a blanket over it. I have only a vague sense … .” The shaman frowned. “There’s another path before you. But where it leads, I cannot tell. I should be able to See. But I can’t; I sense … change of some kind ahead of you. And that’s all I can say.”
Shima rolled his eyes at his master and managed a wan smile. “All life is change, Zhantse. How many times have you told me that?”
Despite his wrinkles, Zhantse looked remarkably young and mischievous when he grinned like that, Shima thought. It usually meant trouble ahead—for a certain spirit drummer at least.
The shaman patted that same drummer’s shoulder with a fatherly hand. “So you shall have a little more than the rest of us. You’re young; you can stand it,” the shaman said cheerfully. He urged his horse down the beach, calling back over his shoulder, “You have always wished for an adventure, Shima. Perhaps one is coming.”
Shima made a wry face as Zhantse laughed and danced his brown and white gelding in and out of the breaking waves. It was true he often wished for an adventure like those of the ancient heroes of the tribe. But that didn’t mean he really wanted one. He sighed and sent his mare after the shaman.
At least he needn’t fear another attack while under the open sky.
The Phoenix Lord was in a fine temper, Jhanun thought, as Xiane scowled at the troupe of entertainers cavorting in the gardens for his amusement. One youngster was so frightened by that sign of imperial displeasure that he dropped two of the balls he juggled.
Xiane waved a hand. “Take them away. I would see the performing horses instead.” He slouched in his chair, muttering, “I hope these can count better than the last ones.”
Sturdy young eunuchs moved in and herded the performers away. Jhanun thought he knew the true source of Xiane’s bad temper: the concubine Shei-Luin was far enough advanced in her pregnancy that Xiane could no longer go to her. Indeed, even now, preparations were being made to bring her to the Phoenix Pavilion where, by custom, all imperial children were born.
From his spy among the emperor’s eunuchs, Jhanun knew that Xiane had called a different concubine to his bed every night for the past moon, and was dissatisfied with all of them.
The time was ripe. Indeed, he couldn’t wait much longer. If Xiane didn’t take the bait dangled before him, and soon, Nama would have to be disposed of.
He knelt before Xiane. “Your Majesty,” he said. “I see that you are displeased these days, and I think I understand why.” He smiled as one man to another.
One corner of Xiane’s mouth curved up.
“I know that we’ve disagreed,” said Jhanun, “on the subject of the concubine Shei-Luin, but it grieves me to see my lord so distressed. Alas that my dear, late wife and I never had a daughter that I could offer you as a concubine to ease your cares. But I have a niece that I have caused to be brought to the imperial capital, and I would offer her to you instead. She’s a pretty girl, delicate as a butterfly, and as dear to me as the daughter I never had. Will you accept her?”
Xiane considered for so long that Jhanun thought he would refuse. But at last the emperor nodded.
Jhanun fought to keep from betraying his elation. “You honor me, Phoenix Lord. With your permission, I shall have Nama escorted to the quarters of the concubines right away. She’ll be so happy.”
Xiane nodded once more, this time in dismissal.
J
hanun rose. Now how to make certain she is brought to him before it’s too late … . he thought as he bowed and backed away.
But as he stepped down from the pavilion, the Phoenix smiled upon him.
“Lord Jhanun!”
Jhanun turned back and bowed. “How may I serve you, Imperial Majesty?”
“When your niece is brought to the concubines’ quarters, tell them to make her ready for me tonight,” Xiane said.
“With the greatest pleasure, Phoenix Lord.”
Yes, with the greatest pleasure do I watch the tiger fall into the pit. Thank you, Xiane.
Shima stood with Zhantse and the ship’s captain at the top of a dune. As the captain called instructions to his crew, Shima watched his fellow tribesmen tread the narrow path to the cliffs above, heads bent against the tumplines of their packs. Each man bore on his back one precious sapling. They looked like a line of ants.
But there were so few trees this time. And the Spirits only knew when their Assantikkan partners would dare send more. Or even if they ever would again. If the ship’s captain—a man they knew only as the Sailor—was right, House Mimdallek might even now be facing the wrath of the Assantikkan emperor.
The last man reached the top of the cliff where the carts waited. Shima listened to the various sounds: Nathua shouting a final order; the rumble of voices; the creak of the wood as the men swung up into the carts to make themselves comfortable among the young mulberry trees for the ride to the Vale. Once there, the men would pack the saplings in along the narrow trail that was the only way in or out of the Vale.
Shouts; the drivers were urging the horses on. The men began a song, a deep-throated chant to encourage the young trees in their new land. The song rolled down the cliff in a shimmering wave of sound, took wings and flew, a paean of hope to gladden the heart and spirit. Shima listened as it faded into the distance.
Someday that hope would be realized.
He pulled his attention back when it would follow the song and forced it to pay heed to the Sailor, who spoke once again. It rebelled; the Vale was a pleasanter thought. But Shima was stern.
“As I already told you, drummer,” said the Sailor, “the return of this Taren Olmeins …” His face twisted in fury. “Gods damn him—and me for being fool enough to pick him up. I should have had his throat cut and dumped him overboard then and there no matter what Gil—”
He stopped short; Shima waited until he mastered himself once again. The man went on, “My … supplier is in danger.” The angry accusation in his voice was like a blow.
The Sailor spoke good Yerrin, though with a heavy accent. Shima answered him hotly in the same language.
“And we told you when all this began five years ago, that Zhantse has Seen no danger to your partner.”
“What says he?” Zhantse demanded in their own tongue. “I can follow a little, but not enough.”
Shima translated; Zhantse shook his head.
“Tell him,” the shaman said, “tell him that no act of mercy is wasted. I cannot see what part this Taren is to play, but I know that it will bring about great change. Tell him that even now I See no danger to him or his.”
Shima passed the message on to the Sailor. The man still looked grim, but Shima could see in his eyes how he longed to believe. At last the Sailor spread his hands out; acceptance or defeat, Shima could not tell.
“It’s in the hands of the gods now,” said the Sailor as he shrugged. The amulets woven into his many braids clicked together. “And may your shaman have the right of it.”
The unspoken Or else hung in the air between them.
“He does,” said Shima boldly. I hope.
“Your litter is ready, Favored One,” Murohshei said.
“At last,” Shei-Luin snapped. She clapped a hand to her belly as the baby inside her kicked.
“A strong one,” Tsiaa said approvingly. “That’s well.”
Shei-Luin slanted a dark look from under lowered lids at her maid. But Tsiaa only laughed gently at her and helped her up from her chair.
“I know, I know,” the maid said as she smoothed Shei-Luin’s robe. “You hate this part of a pregnancy. True, it’s uncomfortable, but it will soon be over, my lady, and you shall have another fine son.”
They walked the short way down the hall to the courtyard of the concubines’ quarters. Waiting by an ornate litter were eight eunuch bearers; they bowed when they saw her.
Shei-Luin leaned heavily upon Tsiaa’s arm as they crossed the smooth stone paving. Just as they reached the litter, the gate to the courtyard swung open and another litter and its bearers entered. Shei-Luin stopped and stared in surprise, for the closed curtains of the new litter bore the crest of Lord Jhanun.
“Wait,” Shei-Luin said when Murohshei drew back the curtain of her own litter, and Tsiaa made to help her in. “I would see what passes here.”
She thought furiously. Lord Jhanun was a widower, she knew. Likely his wife found death a blessing after living with that prig, Shei-Luin thought. They had had no children, so this couldn’t be a daughter of the house.
The bearers set the litter down. One drew back the curtain and offered a hand to the occupant. A moment later, a young woman—pretty enough, Shei-Luin thought, in a demure way—emerged. Her scarlet and blue gowns were rich with embroidery; Shei-Luin caught a glimpse of a tiny slipper dotted with seed pearls. There was wealth behind this woman, and Shei-Luin knew whose.
So what plan did Lord Jhanun hatch now?
The woman started across the pavement at the urging of the lead bearer. Shei-Luin looked over her shoulder. As she thought—one of the harem eunuchs now came to meet this new denizen. Shei-Luin turned back; her gaze met the new concubine’s, and she almost forgot to breathe. She had never seen such emptiness in another’s eyes; it was as if this woman’s soul had fled. Even as Shei-Luin wondered if this was no human woman but a fox-ghost come to trick Xiane, the other woman stared up at the palace, and all-too-human despair filled her face.
Shei-Luin watched her disappear into the palace before getting into her own litter. As Tsiaa settled in beside her, Shei-Luin said to Murohshei, “Find out who she is.”
“I will, Favored One, and then join you at the Phoenix Pavilion,” Murohshei said. He bowed, then untied the cord that held the curtain back.
As the interior of the litter went suddenly dim, and the world shrank to four panels of silk brocade, Shei-Luin heard Murohshei clap sharply. Instantly the litter rose up and up, until it came to rest on eight sturdy shoulders.
Then they set off for the Phoenix Pavilion to await the birth of the next Phoenix heir.
“Psst! Hodai!”
Hodai turned from Haoro’s sickbed. He tilted his head in question at Tsiru.
The acolyte looked embarrassed. One hand rested on his lower belly. “Um, ah—I don’t think I should have eaten that fish.” A look of pain flashed across his face. “Would you watch—”
Hodai flapped his hands at him. Go! Go!
“Thanks. I’ll remember this,” Tsiru said even as he hurried for the door. The thwap! thwap! of straw sandals against stone floor retreated down the hall.
Hodai went back to studying the hated face, looking for signs of—what? Death? Awakening? Hodai knew what he hoped for, what he feared—and they were one and the same.
Time passed. Hodai listened to the regular breathing, loud in the stillness of the paneled chamber. He fidgeted, shifted from foot to foot, tugged at his robe, all the while wondering when Tsiru would return.
Then he realized that Tsiru hadn’t lit the evening incense before leaving in such haste. Sighing in annoyance, Hodai went to the room’s altar and, with flint and steel, struck a shower of sparks onto the bed of dried sweet grass that held the disk of incense. The grass caught; tongues of flame sprang up in a mad dance of red and yellow, only to die down almost as quickly. But the smoldering embers were enough to set the incense alight. A wisp of fragrant white smoke rose in the still air of the room.
He r
eturned to the bedside. Once more he studied the hated face. No change; none at—
The eyes opened. Haoro smiled up at him with a skull’s evil grin. “Hello, Hodai.” The voice was hoarse with disuse, and weak, but it held all the old cruelty, all the terror in it. “Come to see how I’m faring? I’m touched.”
Strangled screams caught in Hodai’s throat, threatening to choke him, as he fell back from the bed. His hands beat uselessly against the air.
Haoro laughed a thin, terrible laugh.
Don’t even think of telling the emperor what happened.
Nama sat unmoving as Zuia fussed around her, readying her for the emperor’s summons. I am empty inside, she thought. There’s nothing left to feel with. She retreated into the place in her mind where nothing touched her. It was a place she’d found during the living nightmare she’d endured. Let Zuia do what she would … .
A hissing in her ear brought Nama back to herself. She jumped a little, startled, and looked to Zuia. “What is it?”
The look of angry frustration on the maid’s face puzzled Nama at first. Then she understood. Of course; Zuia dared not slap or pinch her lest she leave a mark that the emperor might see. Seeing Zuia so confounded lightened Nama’s despair, if only by the weight of a grain of millet. Little enough, true, but Nama clung to any victory she had nowadays.
Zuia thrust her fan at her. “Don’t forget this,” the maid snarled. “And don’t forget what is hidden in it.”
Ah, yes; the tiny blade with which she was to cut herself slightly, so that she would bleed as a virgin would. Nama took the loathesome thing from Zuia’s hand, handling it as gingerly as she could.
“Above all,” Zuia went on, “don’t forget to use it. The emperor has bedded virgins before; he knows what to expect.”
Somewhere deep inside a spark of rebellion leaped up. “And if I tell the emperor what was done to me?”
Zuia laughed at her, a cruel, cold laugh. “My lord will deny everything. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time that a girl who’d played the whore and found herself with child claimed she’d been raped. And even if you were believed, it was your duty to kill yourself when your family’s honor was so besmirched. You didn’t. So you would be cast out as a ruined woman. Perhaps you could find a brothel to take you in—one that caters to those with … exotic tastes. Some men, I’ve heard, find pregnant women exciting. Or perhaps you would just starve on the street.
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