TenThousandBrokenDreams/Session32

Mother Cypress speaks:

“Ah, my little birds have returned to the nest. What tale would you hear tonight? Would you hear the tale of how Vishap-Laran, God of the Spear, the Patron of Peasant Soldiers, fell in love with a guardswoman of the Hundred Kingdoms? Would you hear of how she slowly overcame her fear of the god, and of the romance that bloomed between them? Would you hear, too, of her untimely death at the hands of the Anathema, and of how the god cried to Heaven for vengeance? No? No, you would hear more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and of how they brought an end to the Second Age.

“So. Come closer, my children. Gather round and spread ears like elephants, and I shall tell you more of the tale of the Solar and Lunar Exalted, and their battles in the lands of the East.”

* * * * *

“We must go faster,” said Zera. He leaned out over the rail of the Pride of Marita, watching as patches of mist broke apart and rejoined, glowing in the light of the moon. A few errant snowflakes drifted out of the sky. Zera Thisse paced, plotting, and his comrades sought to keep up.

“There is not much we could do,” said Thorwald patiently. “The boat will move at its own pace. Nothing will move it any quicker.”

“Then we catch another boat at Great Forks. This boat does not move fast enough. The slaves don’t row very well.”

Thorwald blinked. He looked up at the sail, which cracked and billowed with a charmed wind. The creak of oars rose from the barge’s flanks. “Even if we find a boat that is faster,” he replied, “there is no guarantee that it will leave immediately. You know that. And you know it will take longer to book passage on a new boat.”

Zera smiled nastily. “Who says we have to book passage at all?”

“What do you mean?” asked Fetek, not liking the turn the discussion had taken.

“We find a proper boat, and we take it.”

“Aren’t we trying to be more subtle?”

“You think I can’t do it subtly?” snapped the Night.

Fetek squirmed. “Not at all.”

“It would not work,” said Thorwald. “I am the only one who knows how to sail, and not all that well.”

“Then we can steal a captain,” Zera replied.

“I am going up deck,” said Thorwald finally. “I will give you time to think this over, and perhaps change your mind.”

Fetek listened to the Northman’s receding footsteps. “If we ‘steal’ a captain, we will have to worry about their crew. These are river people; news spreads quickly among them. Word of what we do will pace us to Nexus.”

“Well, then we can’t have anyone talking, can we?”

“What’s wrong, Iron Wolf? You don’t seem yourself.”

“Nothing’s wrong. I have goals. I intend to pursue them. If you don’t like my methods, you can leave.”

Fetek regarded his comrade with hurt and surprise. He sought only to understand his friend’s need. Why should Zera Thisse snap at him so? “Are… are you tired?” he asked.

“No.”

“Maybe you’re coming down with something. I’m concerned.”

“That’s the trouble with emotions,” Zera replied sharply. “They get in the way.”

* * * * *

Fetek joined Thorwald on the deck. Lanterns glimmered elsewhere on the barge, their light muted by the fog. The wind’s cry insulated them from the crew’s night watch. They stood their for a while, enjoying the cold and the shifting silhouette of the shore.

“This happened once before,” said Thorwald. “The Cessair matter, right before we went to Idris. We met a child on the road, or at least it looked like a child. I think it was a demon. It said it had lost its parents, and we took it with us, because Zera wanted to help. I woke in the night, and it was sitting over Zera Thisse. It was drinking his blood. We killed it but, he wasn’t the same afterwards. I thought it was because of the attack.”

“And you think this has something to do with right now? Is he sick?”

“It broke his shadow, left it twisted and weak for days.” He shook his shaggy head. “Nothing like that is wrong with him now. This is something from within. But I think it is the same, with the demon child and with Heaven Turtle. He sees someone that he wants to help, and that person betrays him…” Thorwald looked gloomy. “The whole Cessair problem was because of it. He did things he would have never done, told secrets he shouldn’t have said. And he will do it again, if it serves his needs.”

Fetek cast his gaze across the glittering edge of the shore. “We need to get off this ship.”

“Yes. I would rather ride two horses to death than risk him destroying this boat, and further wrecking our reputations.”

“I fear he may try to take over the ship or something. I fear he may feel about the slaves the same as you do about the horses.”

“ I am afraid of it as well, and he will never forgive himself afterwards. Zera has some strange beliefs. He believes the weak should be protected.”

Fetek looked affronted. “That’s not what the weak are for.”

“Whatever they are for, when they refuse to help themselves or show ingratitude, it hurts him.”

“Perhaps he will hurt them back.”

* * * * *

Daylight. A cabin boy had brought bowls of porridge with milk and raisins, to which Thorwald and the peddler Bamboo Purple applied themselves vigorously. Purple’s husband Brant continued to sleep; Fetek was elsewhere. Zera Thisse whetted a knife.

“This ship cannot go any faster,” said Thorwald.

Zera nodded. “Which is why I intend to take another one as soon as possible.”

Thorwald looked to the trader. “Woman, what is the likelihood of finding a boat faster than this one?”

Bamboo Purple shrugged. “Pretty likely. We have oarsmen to speed us, and wind-sprites fill our sails; but barges like this one are flat-bottomed and unwieldy, and laden with cargo.”

“Assume I care nothing for the cargo. Because I don’t.”

The trader frowned. “But we do have cargo, and I do care about it.”

“Say I wanted to throw it overboard to lighten the load?”

“What?”

“Maybe I should steal a boat and make it my boat, so there is no cargo!” The northman grinned. “Then I could go as fast as I wanted.”

“I don’t think I want to hear about this,” said Bamboo Purple. She peered intently at her porridge, as if it would illuminate the northman’s madness.

“Then again, we are not sailors. So perhaps I will not steal a boat. It will not serve our purpose of going faster, will it?”

Zera snorted at the northman’s ham-handed attempt at reverse psychology. “That approaches subterfuge,” he said.

“I do not know what ‘subterfuge’ is,” Thorwald replied, “but if it is good, I will approach it.”

Zera shook his head. Sheathing his now-gleaming knife, he quitted the cabin. Thorwald sighed; he set his empty bowl aside and started on Zera’s untouched breakfast. No argument was going to spoil his appetite.

* * * * *

The day passed. Farms and villages slid by, as did fishing boats still casting their nets despite the cold. Evening came, and still Zera’s temper did not wane. His brethren confronted him. As always, Thorwald took the lead. “The night is as dark as your mood, Zera Thisse.”

“My mood is irrelevant to what we have to accomplish.”

“This is the fastest way, with the most convenience.”

Zera smirked. “This may be the most convenient, but it is not the fastest. I have been on many ships. This is not the fastest.”

“Zera. Perhaps the best thing to do is to get enough food for the three of us – the devil take your slave – and sail nonstop to Nexus. But we do not have the skill to do that. We will still get there slower than this barge! And I will have no chance to make my money back from these accursed sailors.”

“I am not waiting here.”

“If you want to do this, we will do it,” said Thorwald. “I will even sail the damn thing. But I will tell you right now that I am not good enough to do what you are asking. There is much that could happen. But I am more than up for the challenge.”

“Good,” said Zera.

Thorwald grunted. “Then we have to get a boat.”

“This is the plan,” said Zera Thisse. “If my recollection serves me correctly, there is a manor a day or so from now. This place has several boats. One of them should serve us nicely.”

“Won’t the owner chase us?” asked Fetek.

Zera smiled at the notion. “He can try.”

“ I have a better idea,” said Thorwald. “Why doesn’t Fetek fly to the next city with money and buy a ship? We won’t have to steal a boat. Stealing will just earn us trouble. If someone stole my boat, I would chase him! Or shoot the ship with flaming arrows to prevent its use.”

“We will steal it at night. I have a plan.”

“Anyone who owns a manor will be rich,” said Fetek. “He will have men at his disposal. He may even be a Dragon-Blooded. Even if we avoid pursuit, word of our theft may spread. That can cause us difficulty in this region.”

“If you’re scared of any course of action we’re going to take – ”

Fetek’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not afraid. I could kill both of you and everyone on this boat.”

“Bold words from one so young,” laughed Zera.

“Try me and see.”

The archer shook his head. “I haven’t time to waste on teaching you your lesson,” he said. “Perhaps after we get to Nexus. We’ll see.”

“Let’s worry about getting to Great Forks first,” said Fetek.

“We’re not going to Great Forks,” Zera replied.

Fetek blinked. “But we need to stop at Great Forks,” he said, “so you can make reparations to the Sage of the Lilac Garden.”

“The Sage of the Lilac Garden can bite me.”

“This is foolish,” Fetek warned.

“I can mention other foolish things that have been done, with no reparations made.”

“Like what?”

Zera smiled. “All you had to say to her was ‘go’.”

Fetek gritted his teeth. Thorwald placed a supportive hand on the boy’s arm. “Do not use Amalion against him,” he said to Zera. “It is heartless, and it is cruel.”

“So what?” The Night caste smiled at the furious Lunar. “Now leave me, both of you. I have plans to make.”

Thorwald led Fetek across the creaking deck, leaving Zera Thisse alone to brood. As they went, Thorwald muttered, “At least he isn’t throwing the slaves overboard.”

* * * * *

“Kill her!”

Onlookers hooted and snarled as Li of Orchid confronted the barbarian woman in the tournament circle. The old god Ah Chün had found a new body, it seemed, and had returned to pursue a grievance he had nursed for two thousand years. Li’s face tightened. She would waste no more time on this petty vendetta!

Li sprinted forward, drawing her twin blades from their sheaths. Her possessed foe did likewise; a bright blue corona flared around the barbarian’s spear. The crowd gasped; lightning raged against demon gold as their weapons clashed in a swift, furious exchange of blows. They struck at one another a dozen times in a matter of seconds. Ah Chün came away with a scratch upon the shoulder, where an attack rode high off a parry. Li remained unharmed.

Li stepped back. “This is pointless, old god.”

“I live, Katsuro,” said Ah Chün through the barbarian woman’s throat. “I live, and you cannot stay lucky forever!”

The crowd cheered. This was clearly a grudge match; such things were always exciting. The spectators laughed and shouted and pointed, trying to gauge the skill of the competitors. The clatter of coins wagered on the outcome could be heard here and there, until the clash of blades drowned it out. Li and Ah Chün circled and struck, circled and struck, each seeking advantage over the other. The sun shone bright upon them; despite the chill of the wind, they began to sweat.

Lightning flared again, but Li batted it away. The two swordswomen rushed together; Ah Chün reeled back, bleeding from a deep cut across the chest. The god-ridden barbarian spat forth a harsh laugh. “Pain! What is this pain, compared to what I have already suffered?” The spear licked out, and forked lightning shattered against the Five-Fold Bulwark Stance. “You have taken everything!” screamed the god. “You took my children!” Their weapons clashed. “My city!” Blue sparks blazed in Li’s eyes, searing her face and blurring her vision. “My people!” Ah Chün’s fury drove the woman’s spear through Li’s guard, first ripping open her right arm, then piercing the Dawn’s thigh. A sheet of blood hung in the air as Ah Chün withdrew the spear. Li reeled back; she fell. Desperately, she turned the spearhead aside again and again, fighting one-handed, struggling to return to her feet.

The barbarian woman grinned mirthlessly, her face gleaming like an old skull in the crackling storm-light. The god laughed through her teeth. “Bleeding, Katsuro? If you bleed for a thousand years, you will not feel the pain that I do!”

Regaining her footing, Li continued to edge backward, but this time in a controlled fashion. Golden light gleamed from her blades as she turned the spear aside again and again. Ah Chün’s attacks grew wilder as he fought to force his way past Li’s defense, yet he could not penetrate it again. Awed by Li’s skill, her obduracy in the face of the lightning and the spear, the crowd began to chant what they thought to be her name. “Katsuro!” they cried. “Ka-tsu-ro! Ka-tsu-ro! Ka-tsu-ro!”

Sweat dripped down the barbarian woman’s face; it flew from her hair, her necklaces of teeth and claws. Her breath panted in quick gasps. Li’s retreat slowed, then stopped. Though she, too, felt the rigors of their bout, the Essence gave her strength. “This had gone on long enough, old God,” she said, returning to the offense.

Li’s swords flashed in the sun. Now it was she who pressed her enemy back. Ah Chün still fought on, stubbornly, but the limbs of the body he wore had grown heavy. The corona of lightning faded and died. Panting, the barbarian woman lashed out with one final flurry of attacks, but Li managed to turn them all aside. The woman dropped to her knees before Li, who raised her blade for the death-blow. Unwilling to surrender, Ah Chün parried the worst of the strike with the point of her spear, though she still took a wound. Li struck again and again, finally shattering the woman’s spear and leaving her prostrate upon the bloody earth.

“Enough!” cried the judge. “It is over!” Li’s blade hovered, wavering, ready to strike one more time. Then she let it drop to her side.

The woman looked up at Li. “Katsuro,” said the god through her lips. “Do what you have always done.”

Li’s face twisted. “I am Li of Orchid,” she spat, and turned away.

She hesitated. An expectant stillness had fallen over the crowd. One after another, then, they took up the chant, until the field echoed with it: “Katsuro. Katsuro! Katsuro! Katsuro! KATSURO!”

Li spun about, staring at the spectators that surrounded the field. She raised a bloody sword to the sun. “I am Li of Orchid!” she shouted, her eyes wild. “I AM LI OF ORCHID!”

“Li!” they chanted then, as she stormed off of the field. “Li! Li! Li! Li! Li!”

She did not look back.

* * * * *

“Tell me, Doren, which would you say is more like friendship: tea or wine?”

“What an odd question. What would you say?”

“A fine tea, of course. Hello, Martin! How is the wine?”

Aekino and Doren had drifted into yet another tavern in search of Martin. The young Ledaal scion sat at a table with three rough-looking mercenaries, playing the card game called Manses; he looked up as Aekino called his name. “Terrible,” he replied.

“Tea, then. Doren, my friend, could you prepare a pot for me?”

Doren rolled his eyes. “I would be glad to serve you, Tepet Aekino,” he replied, his voice oozing sarcasm.

“I know,” Aekino replied, smiling. “Martin, would you be so kind as to join me?”

Having rid himself of Doren in the interest of privacy, Aekino led Martin to a secluded booth wherein they might talk. “What is happening with Shima?” he asked, drawing the paper screen closed behind him. “What sort of reaction is she receiving, and in what quarters? What sort of gossip is being spread?

Martin shrugged, mildly disgruntled by the Twilight’s brusque attitude. He had hoped that Aekino had rid them of Doren in order to allow a more intimate sort of discussion. “If this were the Blessed Isle,” he said, “and an Immaculate came into town talking about how we were evil, we’d be swinging from the gallows by now. But out here, who listens to the Immaculates? It’s not the same; out here, you have outcastes, god-bloods, spirits… I’m not sure that there are many people who care.”

“But it’s still spoken of?”

“It’s in the streets. Most people think she’s crazy,” Martin added, giving matters his own personal spin.

“Yes, but what of the people of influence?”

At that point, Doren drew aside the privacy screen. “Your tea, Lord Tepet,” he said caustically, setting a tray down on the table with a clatter.

“Why, thank you, Doren. Now, as I was saying, about the people of influence – ”

As he spoke, a richly dressed old man approached, flanked by bodyguards. With the paper screen set aside, he stepped into the archway leading to their booth. He smiled graciously at Aekino. “Pardon me, good sir, but I have just noticed your Tepet features. They are the finest I have ever seen. You have the blessing of power around you.”

“Er… thank you…”

“And you!” The old man turned to Alac Doren. “You, too, are of pure blood. Easily a strong lineage.” Smiling, he turned to Martin. “And you have the features of a Ledaal, but strange…”

“Oh, thank you!” Martin rolled his eyes. “Please, do go on about my blood.”

“Why, I do believe that I have forgotten my manners.” The old gentleman bowed to the three. “I am Suzaku Sentatsu of Iehachi.” After our heroes introduced themselves, Sentatsu continued. “Have you ever been to Iehachi? It is a land that rivals the Blessed Isle itself! Though lacking, perhaps, in something of the Scarlet Realm’s splendor.”

Aekino digested this. “What brings you so far from your home, gentle sir?”

“Very well, I will make myself plain. You are blessed, all of you. I have been gifted with the title of royal matchmaker to the Eight Great Houses of my homeland. You, Tepet Aekino… there is a noble named Mnemon Illyrio, who emigrated to our land some years ago. He would be overjoyed to bring Realm blood of your purity into his line. You cannot have children together, of course, but he may ask you to sire a child upon one of his wives.” He regarded the three paternally. “All of you, this would enrich you greatly. Men of your breeding are highly worthy, and it is my duty, humble as it may be, to find people who can improve the royal lineages.” He turned again to Aekino, from whom he sensed the most potential interest in his proposal. “I see you have the look of the Isle about you, so I do not know if you have a marriage already arranged. I am sorry if I have been too forward.”

“Thank you. I am flattered. But – ”

“I’m sure it doesn’t happen often,” the old man continued inexorably, “that you are approached by strangers and offered promises of marriage to people you have never met in a land you have scarcely heard of…”

“I think that happens to Aekino twice a week,” Martin smirked.

“Come to Iehachi as my guest. I will be your host, and you shall want for nothing.” Framing the words with his hands, Suzaku Sentatsu spoke at length of the pleasures and wonders that his patronage would afford. Mineral baths fed by shimmering crystal waterfalls; courtesans and catamites of inhuman skill and unearthly beauty; the finest wines and liquors from the Realm and the East; cocaine, heroin and marijuana of the finest quality; and many other things beside. He spoke skillfully, enticingly, of the marvels that he might provide, and Tepet Aekino shivered to envision them.

Eventually the old man wound down. Aekino licked his lips. “As much as I appreciate all your kind words and all the honors you do us,” he said, “we have other matters to attend to.”

“Of course,” Sentatsu replied with a benign smile. “But our invitation stands indefinitely. Were you to visit us for fifty years and leave without ever marrying, we would be honored nonetheless.” With a flourish, he brought forth a ring of red gold set with a ruby; engraved upon the stone was the sign of a bird in flight. “Should you change your mind, come to Sadashiro with this upon your finger, and my House shall arrange matters to your satisfaction.” He gestured to the inn’s staff, which brought forth platters of freshly roasted meats and flagons of fine wine. “Please accept these small tokens of my esteem, good sirs. Now, I fear, I must take my leave of you. I do hope that I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again in the future. Fare well.”

Martin and Aekino watched the old gentleman depart with stupefied expressions. Finally, Martin asked, “What was that?”

“I see this has been your first experience with the matchmakers of Iehachi,” Doren replied, raising a morsel of succulent roast duck to his lips.

“Are they all like that?”

Doren smiled. “For centuries, the nobility of Iehachi have bred with anyone and anything that might imbue their lines with Essence. A finer mongrel breed cannot be found anywhere else. That is why I would never take a wife from among them. But he would make good on all his promises.”

Aekino poured himself a glass of wine. “All I’m interested in right now,” he replied, “is teaching a certain monk about the consequences of dragging my name through the mud.”

“What a grudge! You’ve really sunk your teeth into her,” laughed Martin. “You dog, you.”

* * * * *

Another day passed on the Pride of Marita. Zera Thisse refused to rest, lest the place he sought pass them by while he slept. He stayed on watch through the next night. The first pale light of false dawn tinged the east when he woke the others.

Thorwald rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Is it time?”

“It is just ahead.”

“What are we going to do, jump off and swim?”

“We will take the rowboat.”

“The rowboat is not ours.”

Zera smirked. “After we’re done, you can return it.”

Moments later, Fetek and Thorwald manhandled the rowboat onto the aft rail. A couple of sailors approached to investigate the clatter. “What are you doing?” one called.

Zera didn’t bother to reply. Instead, he lashed out with his unstrung powerbow, pummeling one in the temple and knocking the wind out of the other with a blow to the solar plexus. Before the sailors could get their bearings, Thorwald left the rowboat to the Lunar and grabbed both sailors by the collar, knocking their heads together and leaving them in a stunned, crumpled heap. “Forgive me,” he murmured. “That was a bittersweet experience. The one on the left, I like; but I’m sure the other one cheats at dice.”

Within moments, the barge dwindled downstream, leaving our heroes bobbing in its wake. Thorwald and Zera rowed to the shore, where several boats rocked alongside a wooden jetty, all overshadowed by a wide, squat keep. Fetek, in the form of a pike, swam alongside.

As they drew the rowboat up against the dock, they spotted movement in the shimmering pre-dawn light. The keep’s guards had spotted them! Bronze shone as a dozen guards trotted down the path. “You there!” called the guards’ sergeant. “Stop in the name of Count Agrani!”

The travelers were little inclined to attend to the local Count. Zera sprang from the rowboat to the deck of the largest yacht with a single jump; Thorwald climbed onto the jetty in the conventional way, and Fetek resumed man-shape and clambered from the water onto the yacht’s flank.

By the time Thorwald and Fetek had reached the yacht’s deck, the guards had come into bow range, and more were already leaving the keep. A handful of desultory arrows wobbled onto the yacht. Zera frowned. He sheathed the knife he’d been using to cut the lines, and strung his bow.

Thorwald shook his head. If Zera murders these men for the sake of speed, he told himself, he will not forgive himself when he emerges from this black mood. Essence shone faintly around his fist as he slipped up behind the archer.

For better or worse, Zera Thisse could not be so easily surprised. He whirled about as the Northman’s fist descended, and a blow meant to render him insensible served only to split his lip. Reeling from the attack, he caught himself on the rail, then jumped from the deck. His Essence-charged leap carried him dozens of yards, all the way to the shore, where he immediately began to run.

Arrows flew in all directions as the guards reacted to this supernatural agency with more than a little panic. Two shafts struck home in Zera’s arm and side before his next few leaps carried him out of arrow range. Thorwald took to the water, remaining underwater for several minutes before he emerged far downstream. Fetek, for his part, took eagle’s shape, and his avian shadow outpaced Zera Thisse as the sun rose behind them.

Zera bounded westward across the snow-spotted landscape like a hare. Within moments, the halfhearted pursuit mounted by the guardsmen faded into the distance behind him. He slipped into a farmhouse, where he pummeled its owners into unconsciousness and stole their clothes, then changed his face and made his way north, toward the woods. But he could not elude Thorwald’s keen senses, and upon seeing the Zenith in pursuit, he shed his disguise and resorted again to great ground-spanning leaps, his anima flaring to life around him.

Drained of Essence, aching from his wounds, the archer lost ground steadily to his pursuer. He made his way into the woods by dusk. Thorwald was but a hundred paces behind. Drawing upon the last of his power, Zera wove a web of concealment around himself. Thorwald could not penetrate that magic, and so he walked right past the thicket in which Zera lay. Exhausted, the archer slept.

Come the morning, the archer woke to a fine dusting of snow. Shadow moved across the light; Fetek was waiting for him. But the dark mood still lay upon Zera. He had been pursued; he faced a threat to his goals and his liberty. He nocked an arrow across his orichalcum-laced bow of black and green jade. “Why,” he asked, “shouldn’t I shoot you?”

“Because I didn’t kill you in your sleep.”

“You tracked me.”

“I followed you,” Fetek replied, his patience thin, “because you had arrows sticking out of you.”

“That’s my problem. You had best take that treacherous barbarian and get away from me. You’re not wanted.”

“I’m your friend. I thought you were mine, but now I’m not so sure.”

Somewhere, a branch snapped. The stupid, lumbering northman’s come back for more, thought Zera. And the boy would hold me here until he arrived. Treachery. Leaping, he vanished into the trees.

Fetek looked up. Frustration boiled through him; why did things have to be so difficult? With a word and a gesture, he dissolved into a flock of magpies amidst a flare of silver light. The birds swirled easily among the branches. He swept past the fleeing archer in a cloud of wings.

Zera paused atop a bough to draw his bow. Essence flared; a dozen arrows flew, each tipped with the emerald taint of the Sixty-Seven Precious Venoms. The flock screamed. A dozen magpies fell dead, their bodies shot through with liquid green fire. The rest slammed together, reforming Fetek’s body; he stumbled, tumbled to the ground below, bleeding from a dozen wounds.

Fetek lay there for a moment, shuddering with the shock of pain and betrayal. A minute passed. Then he rose to his feet, and a blaze of hatred leapt up behind his eyes. Now his own dark mood lay upon him, and he would not be satisfied without blood.

In eagle’s form, he took to the wind. His prey would not escape.

* * * * * 

With the tournament about to begin, Aekino decided that it would be wise to speak with such Dynasts as were in attendance, to gauge what rumors and truths Shima had spread about the Circle. Accompanied by Doren, Martin and Rei, he went then to the nearest of the Dynastic pavilions, a mass of blue and white silk beneath the banner of one Peleps Taru. When he clapped, a servant drew the tent-flap aside, revealing a spare, wiry gentleman seated upon an upholstered stool, partially dressed in armor of blue and black jade. A servant was tightening a vambrace upon his left arm; in his right hand, he held upright a naginata of blue jade. “Who is there?” the Dynast inquired.

“I am Tepet Aekino,” replied his visitor, bowing gracefully.

“I’ve heard of you, Tepet Aekino,” said the Air Aspect. “Forgive me if I don’t invite you in. What can I do for you?”

Aekino frowned. “I must then shout my needs across the threshold?”

“I thought I made that plain when I did not invite you in.”

“I find this behavior regrettable,” said Aekino. “However, I will proceed as you see fit. I hear that there has been some discussion about my nature, and I wish to simply discuss the reasons why this was brought up. However, if Immaculate monks are making Dynasts treat each other in such wise, then I shall go elsewhere.”

Taru smiled beneath his mustache. “Ah, but you are no Dynast, my friend. From what I hear, you are Anathema. My honored father taught me to treat all civilly, but you are an exception.”

“And you have seen this with your own eyes?”

“I have no reason to doubt the words of the redoubtable Shima.”

Ledaal Martin stepped forward then. He sneered at the Dynastic warrior. “I’m glad your father is not here to see how stupid you are.”

Taru blinked. Had he misheard? “What did you say, pup?”

“You heard me.”

“Do you want to step into the ring, pup?”

“I would, but I wouldn’t want to embarrass you. Why don’t we just step outside, where there won’t be as many people around to watch me kick your ass?”

“You’re brave,” Taru replied, amused. “Who are you, boy?”

“Ledaal Martin.”

“Ah! You are Vir’s pup! I met your brother, Rivander. I did not like him. It seems being an ass runs in your family.” He turned to the Twilight. “Tepet Aekino, he is with you?”

“Yes,” Aekino replied.

“Good. Then I trust you will bury him properly.”

“I hope that will not be necessary.”

Taru laughed. “You do not seem to understand, Master Aekino. This is not a matter of what you can avoid or not. Now, what was it you came to speak to me of?”

“It seems that discussion is no longer necessary. Good day, Peleps Taru.”

Aekino drifted away from the pavilion; his companions followed him into the crowd. As they went, Alac Doren said quietly, “You had best control your man.”

“He’d best control himself,” Aekino replied.

Doren shook his head. “You’re supposed to be a bodyguard,” he said to Martin. “It’s your place to stop fights, not start them.”

“You’re not really thinking of fighting Peleps Taru, are you?” Rei interjected. “Isn’t that kind of a mismatch?”

“Nah.” Martin grinned. “I’m better than him.”

“I still want to go around,” said Aekino, “to see if there are others who have heard Shima but not listened.” He glanced upward at such sky as could be seen amidst the forest of flapping banners and merchants’ signs. “Maybe we should go to Iehachi.”

Rei shook her head. “If you go to Iehachi, you’ll never leave.”

* * * * *

When they returned to their inn for dinner that evening, they found a well-dressed young woman waiting for them. A pretty young catamite stood in her shadow, clad in a revealing robe and an ornamental slave’s collar of gold and silver filigree. “Good sir,” said the woman smartly, “are you Tepet Aekino?”

“That is correct. What can I do for you?”

“My lord, I am named Natsuko. It is my master, the most esteemed Sentatsu, who has sent me to bear his words to you.” Smiling, she gestured towards the door. “He has procured for you a room in the Inn of the Fountain, the finest accommodations to be found in the place of the tourney. Likewise, he has provided this youth for your pleasure. All has been arranged on your behalf.”

“It is most generous of your master to do these things,” murmured Aekino. He eyed the slave boy lecherously.

“Such is his nature,” Natsuko agreed. “Alas, one of your companions, the lady from the West, has refused to allow my master’s porters to carry your belongings to your new lodgings. She implied that, perhaps, you might prefer to remain in this place. What shall I tell my master?”

Aekino tore his gaze from the handsome young slave. “It would be terribly insulting not to accept your master’s offer. If you will be so kind, please inform my companion that we will indeed be moving, and that she is to allow your master’s porters to gather our possessions.” Smiling, he turned to Ledaal Martin. “Would you escort me?”

Martin crossed his arms. “Don’t you want that waif?”

“Actually,” Aekino replied with his most charming smile, “I wanted both.”

“Never mind.” Martin rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I’ll just go and find Li.” He stormed off.

“What did I say?”

* * * * *

That night, Aekino slept in a feather bed beneath satin sheets scented with lavender. And as he slept, he dreamed. He dreamed of a city of black stone and brass, of a million shifting forms wending across slender bridges and flitting through the air, all illuminated by the fires of a mad green sun. He stood upon a broad, high ledge, before a pair of pale and shining doors. The doors opened, admitting him to an atrium of silver and alabaster. Another door opened in the sudden silence. He stepped through.

Memories flooded back as Aekino regarded the vast, green-lit chamber before him. He knew its thousand wonders, its astrological devices and vials of rare perfume, its dazzling silks and ancient tomes. Likewise, he recalled the copper-haired, rainbow-eyed youth who sat behind a table carved from a single enormous sapphire. “Makarios.”

“It is a pleasure to see you again, Tepet Aekino.”

“Likewise, it is an honor to resume our acquaintance.”

“Your words are sweet, Tepet Aekino. But now, let us get down to business.”

Aekino nodded, seating himself in a chair of gold and ivory. “Of course. You are a merchant, after all.”

“Indeed I am. And I am renewing my offer.”

“Ah, yes. The three books of sorcery.” The Twilight quashed the impulse to tease more information out of his host. “Why should I have changed my mind? Has one of my brothers accepted your offer?”

“Indeed. One among them has already yielded certain dreams unto me, in exchange for a vial of a most unusual venom.”

“It is generous of you to inform me of this. And will I forget this when I wake?”

“Ah, no, I will allow you to keep this memory. You may remember more, should you choose to purchase some of my goods. Indeed, I have many other things to offer you.” A tiny frown line touched the demon’s perfect brow. “I do not know why you will not bargain for the Book of Three Circles. I am a merchant, not a brigand. I am not trying to steal from you or trick you. I only wish to acquire three nights of dreams, yours or another’s, that I might use them to spin wonders.” He gestured to a quiver of arrows that appeared before him, a dark blot on the shimmering sapphire table. “These black arrows will kill a man with but a touch. I spun them from the dreams of Zera Thisse. They can be yours; likewise, any number of the other marvels you see here. Three nights of dreams is all I ask.”

“Once again, I must decline.”

The demon merchant nodded. “That is your prerogative. My offer remains open; I have no doubt that we shall see each other again. But I must inquire: where will you learn the secrets of the Solar Circle? Or even of the Celestial Circle? The moon-children will not reveal them to you.”

“If I am to have these powers, I will earn them.”

“How very noble of you.”

“It is not nobility. The trial, the passage, the initiation… that’s where one derives the power.”

“And how is this not a trial? You can follow the map through the Threshold and find the book, or fail and die. What other trial would you need?”

“I am still not going to accept.”

Makarios chuckled. “I am sure that you will make a fine sorcerer one day.”

“I thought I was now,” Aekino replied stiffly.

“That only shows how much more you have to learn. But let us speak no more of this. There is another who would converse with you. If you will pass through that door…”

Aekino departed the demon merchant’s presence with a perfunctory bow. Beyond the chosen door lay a winding stairway. Many tall windows opened on his left as he wended upward, revealing more of the green-lit demon city. Far below, black plazas thronged with masses of demon bodies; brass fountains, stained green with verdigris, sprayed ocher and violet liquids into the air. High above, stars squirmed and pulsed past the green metal sun.

The stair led to a high tower chamber, whose many windows looked out in all directions upon the demon city. A black wind swirled past, laden with sparkling sand. It became a swarm of golden dragonflies, and then a gaunt female form, white-haired, whose eyes seemed carved from amber, that greeted the Twilight as he approached. This was Langlaua, That Which Preserves, who was great among the demon princes.

Aekino regarded the visitation with some ambivalence. “We’ve met before, have we not?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want to be here right now.” Aekino looked away. “You’re going to say something I don’t want to hear.”

“Don’t look so downcast. I am going to give you a gift.”

Aekino looked up then, startled. The demon queen smiled at him. “You are young,” she said. “You know too little; you have lost too little. So, I shall grant you a gift… it is a thing that will please you, I think, but it will be some time before you understand its nature.” She gestured to a cistern of water that rested at the center of the tower chamber. “Look here.”

She moved her hand upon the water. Ripples spread across its surface, shattering the reflection of the demon sky. When it cleared, it showed a cabin aboard a sailing vessel. Blue sky peeped through a tiny porthole. A dark-haired young man lay upon a cot. His features, though slack with sleep, bore the hardness, the sharpness, that was the unmistakable stamp of House Mnemon.

“Dara,” whispered Aekino.

“Step closer,” Langlaua instructed him. “Closer… closer… closer…”

Hypnotized, the Twilight leaned over the waters of the cistern. Closer, closer… until at last his fingers brushed the surface of the water. Instead of disturbing the reflection, he felt himself sliding forward, into the image. The air around him shimmered, then took on a sudden solidity. He thudded onto the sticky, salt-smelling planks of the cabin. The ship creaked. Somewhere, he heard the cry of a gull.

The young man stirred. He opened his eyes. “What –” His gaze fell upon Aekino; he raised himself up on one elbow. “How did you get here?”

“Quiet.” Aekino knelt; he kissed the young man, then gently touched his hair.

“Wait.” The young man drew back a few inches. He regarded Aekino’s eyes, his face. “How did you get here? What are you doing here?”

“It’s not important.” Aekino waited to see what would come next. Had word of his becoming Anathema reached this far? What reaction could he expect?

“Sit down,” said the young man. A moment passed. “I’ll probably be disciplined for this…”

Aekino grinned. “I can arrange for that now.”

“On a vessel such as this, one takes what comforts one can.”

“Dara…”

Mnemon Dara regarded his former lover thoughtfully. “Some things change… but some things don’t.” He paused. “You’d be surprised how almost being killed by a creature big enough to swallow the ship can change your perspective.”

“You’d be surprised how well I understand that.” Aekino thought of the crawling city, Juggernaut, and shuddered. He forced his mind to other things. “What, didn’t my mother didn’t arrange for a ridiculously handsome man to be here with you?”

“She did. But he died three months ago. A kraken.”

A pause. “Where are we?”

“In the west, on patrol. We fight mostly pirates, but there are things down deep that no sane man could fathom.”

“Again, you’d be surprised.”

Dara sighed. He looked long upon his visitor, his expression inscrutable. “Well,” he said at last, “if I’m going to be court-martialed anyway… then I would rather have you one last time.”

They sank down together upon the cot. They did not hear the plash of the waves, nor the cry of the gull. For that time, their attention lay elsewhere.