TenThousandBrokenDreams/Session30
- Mother Cypress speaks:
- “Welcome, children. You’ve come for a tale, have you not, little ones? So, then, what tale shall I tell you tonight? Would you hear of the duel between Katsuro the Righteous and the demon prince Ligier, and of the boon Ligier demanded of his vanquished foe? Or shall I tell you more of the tale of the Solar Exalted, and of the turning of the Age?
- “Come closer, my children. Gather round, and spread ears like elephants, and I shall tell you more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and of their departure from the city of Tul Tuin.”
* * * * *
“Cousin Vir.”
“Cousin Chen. What can I do for you?”
“We need to talk.”
“All right.”
“In private.”
“Fair enough. If you’ll join me in my study –”
“No. There are too many ears here. Let us go outside.”
“… Very well.”
The two Dragon-Bloods passed through rooms and descended stairs. They departed from the Tower of Winds beneath a crisp night sky. Winter winds blew, but the cold did not touch them. The children of the Dragons were inured to such things.
“Our younger cousins are disturbed, Vir. They came here for two reasons. To establish a stable base of operations for the family, outside of the… instability now growing on the Blessed Isle; and to destroy the Anathema.”
“And they’re disappointed I didn’t give them a chance for a brave and pointless death?”
“That’s not how I would put it. But, in sum, yes. There would have been losses. But the longer we wait, the stronger the Anathema will become.”
“My concern is for my people, Chen. I will not have needless bloodshed here.”
“Needless? The Anathema must be destroyed, cousin Vir. You and Goren may have gone soft in this matter – and don’t think the rest of us haven’t noticed – but for the rest of us, our mission remains clear.”
“They are gone now, cousin, and that is a good thing. You have not seen them fight. Your commendable obsession with their destruction would only result in our deaths.”
“Not so. The elders are coming, with soldiers at their back. They can do what we cannot.”
“Small solace for a city full of dead.”
“And what do you think will happen when the Anathema come into the fullness of their power? Vir. You know the histories. We must track them down now, whatever the cost. The price of leaving them to their own devices is far too high.”
“Good luck to you, then. They are three days gone already.”
“Do you think we simply let them go? Shima and her initiates follow them as we speak. If we are very fortunate, they will deal with the problem in its entirety.”
“And if they fail, the Anathema will come back. I can’t believe you would do this. We went to great lengths to avoid it. There was an arrangement.”
“With the Anathema. I hardly consider that binding.”
“When they finish with Shima, they’ll come back here.”
“And they will face the House guard and the elders. We will be ready for them.”
“And if we’re not?”
“That is a chance we are willing to take.”
“And since when is that your decision to make? I rule here… along with Cessair.”
“Yes, Cessair. Therein lies another problem. Our younger cousins, you see, still smart from your refusal to act against the Anathema. They know their duty. They are ashamed.”
“Better ashamed then dead, cousin Chen.”
“There are few of the Anathema left in the world, you know. These are the first Solar Anathema to be seen in generations. For the most part, the Wyld Hunt deals with other threats. Demons. The dead. Fair Folk.”
“What are you getting at?”
“If they cannot destroy one threat to Creation, they will destroy another. How fortunate for them that there is a convenient target for their animus.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“We already have.” Chen directed one pale finger at the windows of the Tower’s upmost floor. Shadows shuddered across the lighted panes. “It is already too late.”
“No!” Vir sprinted up the road to the Tower, knowing that he would not get there in time. Icy air burned in his lungs. The horror blazed through his imagination. He could see it, hear it, taste it: the dance of dark iron, the clash of blades, the sharp smell of blood…
* * * * *
A month passed. Two of the Sun’s children and their followers struggled through the blizzard that blew fiercely through Fanjen Pass. Snow whitened the icy air. From somewhere above came the muted cry of a horn.
Li held up a hand. “They are close.”
Then the arrows fell. Dark, shaggy shapes loomed out of the white, armed with crude bows and horn-tipped spears. Missiles fell from the cliffs above.
Gold fire flared around the Dawn as she cut and spun, her grand daiklave striking arrows from the air. Alac Doren stood by her; he unfurled the diamond whiteness of his anima, and arrows shattered upon his pristine jade armor. The others scattered, seeking cover beneath overhangs and in icy crevices.
* * * * *
“Mother Cypress! How did they get there? What happened to the others?”
“Yeah, Mother Cypress, and who’s Alec Doren?”
“Patience, children! All will be revealed… but if you wish, I shall tell you what happened earlier, and of how the Sun’s children parted ways as they went about their journeys.”
* * * * *
Afternoon sun bathed our heroes in pale winter warmth as they led their horses down the road from the Tower of Winds. Their saddlebags bulged with food and blankets; their personal belongings took up little room, as did Aekino’s small stash of ill-gotten gains. Even if he had announced that he’d claimed Vir’s books on sorcery as spoils, who would dare take them from him? But best, he thought, not to raise a fuss.
“I am glad that we are leaving this place,” said Thorwald.
“I sure won’t miss it,” Zera replied.
Hoofbeats echoed on the road behind. “Wait up!” cried a rider, his red hair trailing like a comet. This was Ledaal Martin. He reined in his steed among the others.
“Have you decided to join us?” Aekino asked with a smile.
“You didn’t think I’d let you leave without me, did you?” Martin replied, his face flushed.
They followed the road to the stony shelf where Amalion had raised her dark towers on the bones of the manors of the rich. There, amid the rubble and the gaping pits where cellars and foundations were laid bare to the wind, Vir’s soldiers and Cessair’s troops had set their camps. Clusters of pale tents sprouted like mushrooms from the rock.
A figure emerged from the milling soldiers, waving. “Hola!” This was Rei of Nechara, briefly companion to the Solar Exalted in their venture through the Tomb of the Anathema. Her garments were finer than they recalled; she wore wolf’s-head bracers of gold and garnets upon her wrists, and a silver officer’s medallion hung gleaming upon her breastplate. But her lopsided grin remained the same, as did the demon-sword that rested at her side.
Our heroes gathered round to meet her, and cheerful greetings were exchanged. “What have you been up to?” asked Zera.
“I’m moving up in the world,” she replied. “All that money went a long way. I have a house in Idris, and I bought myself a captainship. Pretty cool, eh?” Eyeing the Circle’s plentiful gear, she added, “And what are you all up to?”
“We’ve got some business to take care of. Some of us are going to Nexus. The rest of us are going to the martial arts tournament out west.”
“You’re going to the Contest?” Rei grinned. “I haven’t been there in years. Do you mind if I join you?”
“Of course not. But what about your commission?”
“Oh, that? Who cares?” She plucked away the officer’s medallion and flung it at her second-in-command. “Hey, you! Enjoy your promotion!”
Zera stifled a grin. “It’s that simple, huh?”
“Of course it is. Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s get going!”
* * * * *
They descended through the city. A tense mood lay thick upon the place; folk watched them furtively, or scurried past with faces averted. Who could be sure what this latest transformation portended?
Zera pulled Aekino aside. “Do you see her bracers?”
“Yes. What about them?”
“Remember Sondok? She had a crown that looked an awful lot like that. And you’ll notice that Rei still has the demon’s sword.”
“Yes. That I gave her.” Aekino sounded suddenly glum. “What do you think this means?”
“How should I know? You’re the expert. But I’ll tell you this, we should keep an eye on her.”
They rejoined their fellows as the Circle progressed through the lower city. There, they found dozens, if not hundreds, of folk gathering at the south gate, baggage in their arms and upon their backs, all trickling their way out of the city. An old woman stood in their midst, leaning upon a heavy walking stick. “Hail!” she cried. “Oh children of the Unconquered Sun!”
“It’s Nala,” muttered Aekino.
“We had best see to her,” the archer replied. “I’d hate to have an old lady hobbling after us.”
They approached the priestess of the sun cult. All around them, folk sank to their knees.
“Great ones,” spoke Nala, “we have heard of what has transpired in the Tower of the Winds. Why would you not warn us? How could you leave us?”
“Our doings are not your concern,” Aekino replied.
“Great one,” she answered, “now that we stand revealed, our lives depend upon your protection. Vir and Cessair have always hated our ways. Now that they have returned to power, they will take everything from us. Perhaps even our lives.”
Aekino looked away, chastened.
“Where will you go?” asked Zera.
“To Longcorner, or the Five Towns, or across the water to Brinlack, if they will have us.”
“Then follow us,” said Thorwald. “We are going there.”
They led the sun-cultists out of the city, and moved to commandeer ferries and fishing boats from the villages south of the city. The sky crossed into the west as the folk went west across the water, and it was evening by the time the Solars made their way into Brinlack.
* * * * *
“This will be difficult,” said Stone Rain. The Circle had gathered in his office while his aides saw to the gathering of additional supplies for their journey. “We are not ready to support so many people.”
Zera nodded. “But they have nowhere else to go.”
“I understand that, my lord. But we do not have enough food for so many, to support them through the winter. The early frost has spoiled the winter harvest; we’ll have to ration food just to support ourselves. Normally we’d buy more food from Tul Tuin, but they have their own troubles.”
“Will they have food to spare in Great Forks?”
“Assuredly. And in Marita, and maybe Longcorner and the other river cities. But that does us little good.”
“We can buy food there,” Zera stated. “And have it sent back upriver before winter’s end.”
“But we will need money for that,” Thorwald observed. “The trinkets I gave you before. Give them back.”
The mayor nodded. From a locked drawer, he brought forth a ring and a brooch forged of orichalcum. They shone brightly in the lamplight. “Sun-metal should be worth a king’s ransom, to those who know its value.”
Zera scooped up the glittering baubles. He looked Stone Rain in the eye. “You will have your food. I promise you.”
* * * * *
The following day, our heroes went their separate ways to make their final preparations for the journeys ahead. Thorwald went to see the older woman with whom he had found some comfort in the time he had spent there. He did not weep at their parting, for such was not the way of the People. But he did give her what little wealth he still possessed, and he gave her his iron necklace, as protection against the Fair Folk should such creatures come to Brinlack.
Li of Orchid went to the ruined temple of the god named Fading Fire. There, she learned with some satisfaction that, of those poor souls abandoned by Amalion, a goodly number had already regained their faculties. Li thanked the women who cared for the sufferers. She then went into a hidden place beneath the pagoda. When she emerged, she bore the blade named Burning Tiger once more.
Fetek Breath-of-Midnight took Zera Thisse to another hidden place, this one beneath the leafy Brinlack Manse. There, he showed the Night Caste where he had secreted the wealth he’d removed from the cellars of the Tal family: tapestries, furniture, candelabra, crates of tobacco, bales of silk, and all manner of heavy goods.
“This should be more than enough to feed Brinlack,” said Zera.
“I hope so.”
“Especially since we can’t go waving orichalcum around under the Guild’s nose. That would attract the wrong kind of attention.”
Fetek nodded. He did not mention the other cache of goods that he had hidden, the collection of shining black soulmetal that he’d found in the summoning chamber beneath the Tal cellars. Those tools of demon summoning would do Zera no good, would they? Better, he told himself, to keep them secret and safe.
* * * * *
Tepet Aekino and Zera Thisse sat in a well-appointed room on the fourth and highest floor of the finest of Brinlack’s inns, a refurbished old building whose suites accommodated the occasional traveling Guildsman or scavenger lord. A bottle of rice wine rested before them in a warming pan. The open shutters let in an icy breeze, and displayed a fine view of the city’s ragged walls, now bright with snow, and of the river and forests beyond.
“You have that look in your eyes,” said Aekino. He gestured broadly with his tiny porcelain cup. “But I do not think you are thinking of Cessair this time. Are you not?”
“You’re right. I am not,” Zera replied.
“Now, if I were to hazard a guess, I would say that you have a lover in Nexus, and that is why you are so eager to return there.”
Zera nodded. “Would it please you to know her name?”
“Certainly.”
“Ledaal Mya.”
Aekino made a querulous noise. “Is she Exalted?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s odd,” said Aekino eventually. “I was going to tell you that there is a certain Dragon-Blood whose death at your hands, or those of our brother, would make me rather cross.”
Zera took a slug of rice wine. He reached for the bottle. “I’m not surprised.”
“He is young and handsome, slim and graceful, with long dark hair. His eyes are gray as a storm at sea –”
“You mean Mnemon Dara.”
“Eh?” Aekino blinked rapidly. “How do you know?”
“You don’t think I remember you and Cathak Nerin talking about it as we left Thorns? When we were holed up in the tomb after fighting that hungry ghost, you couldn’t seem to talk about anything else. Of course I remember. I was flat on my back, not dead.”
“You weren’t talking,” retorted Aekino acidly. “It was hard to tell the difference.”
The fire crackled. The wind sighed.
“I will miss this,” said Zera.
“What, our witty banter?”
“Yes.” He watched the wine swirl lazily in his cup. “Be careful.”
“When have you known me to be otherwise?”
“All the time.”
“Then you haven’t been looking.”
Zera sighed. “Be extra careful, for you and for Li. She’s struggling with Burning Tiger. We can’t let her get too deep.”
“I wouldn’t worry about our sister. I worry more for our big brother.”
“I’ve got one eye on him. And one on Fetek.”
Aekino smiled. “Fetek can handle himself.”
They watched the river go by. Fishing boats paddled their way back to their villages, their catches thinned by winter. Threads of smoke rose from chimneys across the water, in Tul Tuin and its villages, and spread into a thin gray haze.
“I’ve a logistical question,” Zera said. “Once we have gone our separate ways, where do we meet again?”
“We can find you in Nexus,” Aekino replied. “If all goes well.”
“Assuming it probably won’t, where do you want to meet?”
“In Great Forks. At the temple of the Emerald Queen of the Maruto River.”
Zera gave a slow, emphatic nod. “Midsummer at the latest.”
“ I may send you messages via a demon. Keep an eye out.”
“Speaking of demons…” Zera grinned. “The others should be back soon. After that… shall we fight one last demon, for old time’s sake?”
* * * * *
The Circle crossed the River of Willows again in the late afternoon, then headed south and a little east. It was night before they attained the gray vale they sought. They tied their horses to a stand of trees, that the beasts not recoil in terror from what they faced, and approached afoot. The circle of ashes and black bones had spread beyond the vale; when they entered it, the moon and stars grew dim. They climbed the ridge, their boots slipping upon the gray dust, and looked into a valley as bleak and silent as the lands of the dead. There, in the shadows, a darkness moved.
They found, also, that they were not alone. A shadowy figure sat astride a horse. “I see you’ve come to take care of a loose end,” it said.
Thorwald’s brow furrowed. “Who is it that speaks?”
The man came closer. He wore white and russet leathers inset with plaques of white jade; his hair gleamed white above young, sharp features. Aekino’s eyes widened with something akin to recognition; clearly this was a Dragon-Blood, but he could not place the man’s lineage, let alone his face.
“A loose end indeed,” said Zera Thisse. “We’re not exactly dancing around the maypole, so you may want to clear out.”
“It is not that difficult,” said the man. “I can help.”
Zera smirked. “So you’re going to hang out here and watch the horses?”
“Is that any way to treat a Dragon-Blooded hero?” demanded Aekino.
Zera shrugged. “I speak this way to my friends.”
The man grinned; his teeth shone like the moon. “I am Alac Doren,” he said.
Our heroes regarded one another blankly. Did this man expect them to recognize his name? Puzzled, Aekino asked, “Where do you hail from?”
“Oh, here and there. For now, the Hundred Kingdoms.”
“And when did you first feel Pasiap’s touch?”
“A while ago.” Despite his evasiveness, the Dragon-Blood remained affable.
“Well, we can always use some help, but there may be difficulties. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of us?”
Doren flashed another grin. “Everyone has heard of you.”
“No more time for talking,” Zera said urgently. “It’s coming.”
“There are only three things it fears,” said Aekino. “Ice, red-hot metal, and the Magical Materials.”
“I shall give it a fourth,” said Thorwald.
Then the shadow was upon them. It came as a wall of rippling darkness, blotting out the stars all along its length. Li drew the blades Radiance and Brilliance; their golden fires cast the obsidian mass of shadow into sharp relief. And like a surging ocean wave, the shadow descended upon them.
Coronas of gold and silver, of scarlet fire and diamond brilliance, flashed into life around the Circle. The Exalted charged forward into the fray, their weapons of orichalcum and jade burning brightly with Essence. Black tendrils lashed at them, trailing icy white scars wherever they touched flesh. Thorwald, pressing on with his usual foolhardy confidence, staggered under the assault, as warmth and life and Essence spilled out from his wounds.
Strong as the demon was, it could not withstand the might of the Circle. While it focused its efforts on the fading Zenith, the others hacked at it with blades and blasted it with Essence. Ribbons of shadowstuff flew in all directions, crystallizing into pumice as they fell. It howled and it groaned, its vibrations rattling teeth and shaking the earth, so that even in Tul Tuin the people heard it and wondered.
Recoiling, the demon drew itself upward into a towering cobra of darkness forty feet high, which fell upon Li of Orchid. Though it slammed her to the ground in a shower of ash and basalt, she cut it deeply with her golden blades, and it moaned like the sea. The others gathered round, smiting it with daiklaves and staves, with moonsilver claws and arrows of golden Essence, so that it fell to pieces around them, whittling masses of pumice from its dwindling tenebrous shape.
At last, they lowered their weapons, there upon the ridge of ashes. The moon and stars shone clear and bright above. Nothing of the shadow remained.
* * * * *
Having finished their business in the vicinity of Tul Tuin, the Circle split in two, as there were many things that our heroes wished to do in too little time. They had considered many possible plans. Would they seek out the other tombs of Anathema that lay scattered throughout the East? Would they seek allies in the larger states of the Confederacy, such as Nathir, Tessen-O, Iehachi or Nechara? Would they boldly present themselves before the Confederation Council to seek alliance or fealty? Or would they go to the Eastern spirit courts and seek to reclaim their forgotten authority among the earthly gods?
Zera Thisse, for his part, had determined to return to Nexus. It was said that there lay hidden tombs of the Solar Exalted in the sewers and catacombs beneath the city, and there were bargains that might be made with the Guild that could be of advantage to the Circle. It seemed, too, that he might have some personal reason to visit that city, but if that were so, he would not admit to it. Thorwald chose to accompany Zera, for he had business in Great Forks; he had pledged to send food to Brinlack, and what could bring him to break his word? Fetek would join the pair, if for no other reason than to see the great cities of the Yellow River for himself.
The others chose to travel to the annual martial arts tournament in the hills near Mokuren, which lay to the west. According to such information as Zera had gleaned, and corroborated by Rei’s experiences there, the tournament served as a clearing-house for fighters and champions throughout the Scavenger Lands, where kings, nobles, mercenary captains and merchants might recruit captains and bodyguards. Those same kings and merchants also did business with one another there, finding it an ideal neutral ground for secret deals. And lastly, the tournament’s enigmatic sponsors, the Eighteen Princes of the Opal Branch, bestowed great wealth to the winner of the competition. Li would attend with the intent of winning the tournament, while Aekino would mingle with the movers and shakers in hopes of crafting an alliance in the East. Martin, Rei and Doren all chose to accompany them, each with their own reasons.
* * * * *
Two days later, as Thorwald, Zera and Fetek made their way south along the road, a pale shape descended upon the wind. The elemental Fourth Breeze had returned to Thorwald once more.
After their greetings were done, Thorwald asked, “What does the wind court say?”
“They are debating,” replied Fourth Breeze. He shrugged, like a tarpaulin disturbed by the wind.
“They need to know that we are leaving this place.”
The elemental nodded. “I will follow you.”
“Do as you like.”
Fourth Breeze bowed. In an icy rush, he became a quivering of the air, a shapeless wind that might follow them unseen through the dwelling places of mortals.
Not long after, the heroes stopped at a small village. The sun shone bright upon the snow from a clear blue sky. They came to the muddy patch that served as the village market with some hope of a hot meal. There, Zera Thisse recognized a couple of familiar faces by a wagon surrounded by bulging stacks of bags and baskets. One, an older woman with a cheerful face, shouted, “Zera!”
“Hey!” He approached and gave her a friendly hug. “Bamboo Purple! I’m glad to see you’re safe.”
“Same here. You remember my husband Brant, of course.”
Zera smiled at the younger man, and introductions were made with his fellow Circle-mates. Thorwald tugged on the archer’s arm. “Good gods, man,” he grumbled in what he considered a whisper, “do you know everyone?”
Soon, the Exalts were helping the traders load their wagon. “What are you doing all the way up here?” asked Zera.
“We were in Tul Tuin,” said Brant sourly. “But things went bad.”
Bamboo Purple nodded. “So we found another way to go. We picked up a good part of the local apple harvest.”
Zera nodded. “Where you going now?”
“Back to Tul Tuin.”
“I keep telling her she’s crazy,” Brant interjected.
“She is,” said Zera. “It’s not okay there. Believe me, you don’t want to go that way.”
Purple sighed. “Oh, very well. Back to Great Forks again?”
“Why not Nexus?” her husband retorted.
“I’m too old for the big city.”
“You are not! Why do you keep saying things like that?”
Zera raised his hands, gesturing for peace. “Why not travel with us to Great Forks, and then decide?”
And that’s what they did.
* * * * *
The southern travelers continued on their way. At one point, a wide stretch of shattered cobblestones obstructed their path. “That’s going to be a pain to get the wagon over,” observed Bamboo Purple with a sigh.
“Don’t worry,” said Thorwald. “I’ll fix it.”
Fetek rolled his eyes. “I hardly think we have time for that.”
With some effort, they maneuvered the cart around the hole, in large part by hacking away the bushes and small trees at the road’s edge. As they finally got the mule settled and the wheels back on the roadway, Thorwald planted his feet at the edge of the broken patch. “I’ll catch up with you,” he said, in tones that Zera recognized as unshakable. So the others went on, until the sounds of hoofbeats and creaking wheels and conversation faded away.
With a small grunt, Thorwald drew forth the old iron sword that he still retained from his days in the North. He set it reverently amid the broken stones, stones that he had shattered months ago on his way to Tul Tuin. “This sword,” he said softly, “was my father’s. It is the only one of its kind. I offer it to you.”
The forest sounds, the chirp and rustle of bird and beast, ebbed into silence. Thorwald waited, turning his head this way and that. He saw movement. Eyes glittered beyond a screen of thorns. Slowly, a stone dog emerged from the bushes, its gray haunches draped in lichenous green. It approached the Northman, ears swept back, and crouched uncertainly.
“Forgive my disrespect, spirit. I vow to treat other spirits better in the future.” Thorwald gestured to the blade. “Take this; it is my last link to my people. I want you to have it.”
The spirit hesitated. Was this a trick? No; the Exalt seemed sincere, even repentant of the harm it had done before. It calmed. “The road of Nine Green Ways is free for you to travel,” it said, and giggled uneasily. It then took up the sword in its jaws and trotted down the road. Each step took it further and further away. In moments, it was gone.
* * * * *
They reached the city of Longcorner a few days later. They crossed the river quietly aboard a large ferry, bringing their cargo of autumn fruit for sale. They found a small inn where they might rest for the night; at Zera’s insistence, Thorwald remained in their room while the others went out to explore the city in stealth. “Remind me,” grumbled Thorwald, “why did I come with you instead of going to the Contest?” Zera only rolled his eyes on the way out the door.
The three Exalts gathered that evening in their room, away from their peddler friends and from other, less friendly ears. “I’ve found us a berth,” murmured Zera, “aboard a south-bound barge. The Pride of Marita. It leaves in the morning. We’ll have a cabin all the way down to Nexus.”
“How big is Nexus?” asked Fetek. He’d heard a few stories of his companions’ adventures in that city, but no real detail on the place itself.
“Huge! It took us fifteen minutes to run through it when we were being chased,” rumbled Thorwald.
Zera blinked. “You mean, to run from one part of it to another. That’s not helping.”
“How big is it compared to Tul Tuin?” Fetek asked. He had never seen a city larger than Tul Tuin, and he used it as his benchmark.
“Tul Tuin could fit twice over in a single district.”
Thorwald snorted derisively. “Tul Tuin is small! It only takes us three minutes to run through it while being chased.”
“Are there many people?” Fetek’s curiosity about large cities remained unquenched. “How do they find their way around? And how do they all eat?”
Zera laughed. “Your curiosity will be answered soon enough. When we get there, you’ll be able to see for yourself.”
“I only ask one thing,” grumbled Thorwald. “If there are any fair folk or traveling dignitaries with messages, we must leave the boat.”
* * * * *
The next morning, they followed a jostling, noisy, smelly street to the docks. They carried boxes and sacks laden with the last of Bamboo Purple’s unsold trade goods. The peddler and her husband were off talking to a shipmaster in the hopes of selling off a few more things before their southbound departure, leaving the Exalts a few free moments.
“How are we going to find this person?” said Fetek. Zera had finally explained his reasons for traveling to Nexus, and the others were digesting it.
Zera shook his head. “I admit trying to find a single person in Nexus is like trying to find a needle in a stack… of… other… needles,” he said, winding down as he considered his own words.
“How hard could it be to find a needle in a stack of needles, if they’re all needles?” asked Thorwald. “Or do you mean a specific needle?”
Zera rolled his eyes. “Remind me why you didn’t go to the Contest again?”
“Because you insisted on my presence! ‘Thorwald, I’ll need your backup,’ you said.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“Well, you said it, so here I am.”
“Are we getting on a ship?” Fetek asked.
“Yes,” Zera replied, “this one here, named ‘Fair Folk Dignitary Express’.”
Thorwald glowered as the others laughed. “That is not funny.”
* * * * *
While the southern contingent made their way south along the River of Willows, the others traveled to the west. They cut across the northern edge of Stonegarden, where green-streaked crags slumped and sank into the abandoned Dragon Waste, until they reached the Ozawa River. Spotting pursuers in the distance, they sped southward along the river to the city of Gana Yava. From there, they made their way north and west to Fanjen Pass, where barbarians ambushed them in the thick of a mountain blizzard.
Lightning flared through the whiteness as Li charged forward, shattering arrows with casual flicks of her blade. She plunged into the thick of the barbarians; Burning Tiger sheared through them like lamb’s wool. Alac Doren joined her a moment later. Alien rage blazed through her for an instant, and she all but turned her fury upon him before she mastered it; the sword still hungered for the lives of the Dragon-Blooded.
The barrage of arrows continued. Despite having an arrow lodged in his side, Martin clambered nimbly up the side of the pass in a spray of sparks. Dull red Essence throbbed around him as he drew himself onto a high ledge and engaged the archers there. Sensing a lull in the assault, Aekino and Rei charged up the pass to join Li and Doren. Together, they hacked a bloody swath through the shaken opposition.
Lightning flashed again, a continual staccato flicker and rumble emanating from the head of the pass. The snow parted; a wizened old figure hobbled forward, leaning upon a spear, and the lightning crackled around him. He howled, and his voice was like thunder. “KATSURO!”
Li hesitated. Who was this old man, to know her from another life? She looked about; the barbarians were drawing back, leaving the battle to their aged shaman.
The pause did not dissuade Rei. “Friend of yours?” she called casually to the Circle as she approached the shaman, blade bared. But she had no chance to act. The old man gestured carelessly, as if brushing away a fly; lightning leapt from his hands and hurled Rei back twenty feet, where she tumbled into the snow and lay twitching, stunned and smoking.
Aekino’s eyes shone then, as he called forth the Sun’s sight. Above the shaman loomed a ghostly form: a maddened, regal old man in rich but tattered robes, bearing a broken staff. The Twilight touched Li’s arm. “He looks to be a small god,” he said, “with a bit of a problem with you.”
Li lowered Burning Tiger. She stepped forward. “Katsuro is not my name any more,” she said.
The old god howled again. Thunder rolled. “Katsuro…”
“I am Li of Orchid now. Katsuro is dead.”
The wind screamed through the pass. “No…”
In that moment, the shadow of Katsuro stretched itself forth across Li’s mind. She could feel him there, resting his hand upon her shoulder; and he drew her back across the cavalcade of years, into memories of the First Age. In those memories, she stood beneath the scrutiny of the Solar Deliberative, a hundred elder Exalts watching her from balconies of white jade as stern old Ambrani Rao named her a Celestial Rebel-Crushing General. In those memories, she sat astride a steed of sunlight caparisoned for war, bearing a lance of fire and a sword that shone like the day, and ten thousand warriors marched at her back. In those memories, the great city of Haruka blazed before her like a forest of jewels at evening, and one hundred thousand defenders stood bravely before the city walls, their spears raised to catch the last light. In those memories, she swept through the defenders like a scythe through ruby wheat, while her airships and siege engines brought down Haruka’s jeweled towers. And in those memories, an old god wept for a dead city and for dead men.
Li of Orchid blinked, returning to her self and to the snow and cold of the pass. “Ah Chün,” she said slowly. “I remember now.”
The shaman lifted his staff. Above him, a ghostly shape of the god flickered with blue flame. “You have killed my city, Katsuro.”
“What, would you kill me? I will return again and again. Perhaps one day, I will be lucky and kill you.”
“Then there will be an end.”
“This is unnecessary.”
“You have taken everything!” The god’s sudden shriek tore at the ears of the Circle. Somewhere behind them, they heard a sheet of ice fall away from the cliffs and crumble into the pass.
“And later it was all taken from me.”
“You have life! My city is dead!”
“Will killing me bring it back? Will my blood water your fields? New crops will not grow, and will not bring your city back to life.”
Ah Chün roared bitterly, and the pass echoed with his despair. “I want my city!” he cried, and the ice shook. “I want my people!” The walls rumbled. “I want my life!”
Li turned to her fellows. Her eyes were dark. “Run.”
The avalanche began.
* * * * *
Tepet Aekino emerged first from the billowing cloud of snow and icy particles, half-dragging Rei along with him. Alec Doren came forth a moment later, seemingly none the worse for wear, aside from a rakish layer of snow gathered atop his spiky white hair. As the snow began to settle, there came a rush of steam; Ledaal Martin came forth wreathed in a dull scarlet anima, wincing as he gripped his wounded side.
The cloud of debris cleared, leaving a layer of pristine whiteness through the pass below. Aekino looked from one companion to the next. “Has anybody seen Li?”
Martin shook his head, gritting his teeth against the pain. “I thought I was the last.”
Rei shrugged. “Maybe you were,” she said. “But I think Li will get out of this.”
“Is it unwise to help her?” asked Doren rhetorically.
“I haven’t been through too many avalanches,” Rei replied. “But if I were buried under tons of snow and ice, I wouldn’t mind a little help.”
* * * * *
Whiteness surrounded Li. She drifted in it, through it, as weightless as a wisp of fog in the mist. Her ears hummed with sudden silence. Things grew dreamlike. Somewhere, a distorted scarlet face taunted her with words she could not hear. Images rolled through the mist, dreams of battles fought, of bloody fields, of armies and dragons and devices of war. Katsuro’s image shimmered like sunlight on water. His blade rose and fell. He looked to be having a difficult time.
Katsuro’s phantom turned to regard her. His voice came from afar, muted, without echoes. “It gets easier,” he said.
“Really?” Li’s own voice seemed strangely distant.
“Almost everything does.”
“Some things get harder.”
“Yes,” he replied. “Being human.”
The light shifted. The dream-images faded, replaced by a throbbing ache. Li shivered with cold. The whiteness parted; she saw blue sky above her, and Aekino’s face. She took his hand and emerged from the snow.
* * * * *
The days went by. The icy winds of the pass gave way to a cool breeze, scented with wood smoke and fallen leaves. Before them, hills of green and brown and gold unrolled to the north and west. Autumn had not yet given way to winter here. A city lay on the horizon, draped in violet glow; even at midday, the air shimmered with twilight. This was Mokuren, the City of the Cherry Blossom, wherein the powers of spring remained ever ascendant.
“It’s lovely.” Aekino gestures grandly with his black dragon staff, encompassing the landscape. “Shall we?”
“Yes, it’s nice.” Doren brushed back his spiky hair. “I’ve been here once or twice. The tournament is that way,” he said, gesturing to the north and east. “I’m sure the city folk think of it as a comfortable distance.”
“Shall we find lodging in the city?”
“Is there any at the tourney?” asked Martin. Doren nodded.
“Regarding the tourney,” said Li, “do we hide our true nature?”
“I imagine it will become necessary,” said Aekino.
“Very well. We will agree that should it become necessary, that is what we shall do.” Li looked up. A white speck wheeled above. She squinted. “Brother. Look. A white egret.”
Aekino glanced up, and groaned. Surely, after all this time, his Lunar lover had not chosen this moment to appear? Their prior meeting had lacked for courtesy. “Sister?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for informing me. But sometimes it’s best for one not to know some things. I’m certain I’m in no danger. However, I’m certainly less pleased than I was a moment ago.”
“As you wish. Someone still follows us,” she added, glancing over her shoulder.
“Do they?” Aekino did not look for himself; he knew that he could rely on his sword-sister to observe such things.
“I saw a dozen shapes pass behind us.”
“Would you prefer to turn and face this band before we get to where we’re going, or would you prefer we put on more speed?”
“Our direction is obvious. We do not know their intentions.”
“Whoever they are,” mused Aekino, “they could go to Mokuren for reinforcement. Should we linger?”
Li’s face was glum. “If Zera were here –”
“But he is not. We will have to make our own decisions. What do you suggest?”
“Let us turn around and confront them.” She loosened her blades in their scabbards. “Rei. Doren. Martin,” she called to their companions. “We are being followed.”
Alac Doren shrugged. “And?” he said blithely.
“It would not do for us to allow our pursuers to go unchallenged,” Aekino replied.
“Why? They can’t hurt us at the tourney.”
“They may go to Mokuren for reinforcements.”
Doren shook his head. “I doubt that’s true, but even so, the tourney remains neutral ground. And wasting our energy on barbarians is counterproductive.”
“Why do you seek to sway us?” asked Aekino irritably.
“If you truly wish to fight, that’s up to you. I’ll help. But really, this is beneath you.”
Li halted in her tracks. Her companions gathered upon her flanks. The sun warmed them as they waited for their pursuers to approach. Slowly, the distant specks resolved into a dozen figures on foot that moved steadily closer.
“Two to one,” said Rei pleasantly. “That’ll be a fair dust-up.”
Aekino frowned. “They look to be Immaculates. The foremost is dark… an elder Water Aspect. This could be difficult.”
“Perhaps they are also on their way to the tournament,” said Doren.
“We will hail them, and we will see,” Li replied.
The monks came closer still. Their robes fluttered in a cool breeze. Martin started. “That’s Shima, isn’t it, Aekino?”
The Twilight looked again. “Yes,” he agreed. “The head of the Monastery of the Red Butterfly. This is her crusade.”
“So, what’s the plan?” asked Rei. “Do we wait until after the tournament, or do we handle this now?”
“They’re a little too close to run now,” said Martin.
And then the Immaculates arrived. Shaven and stern, clad in simple gray robes, they ranged from the elder Shima to Ledaal Martin’s younger brother Rivander, to a thirteen year old girl whom Zera had saved from sacrifice at a demon prince’s altar. The monks spread out in a semicircle. They bore staves and blades and hammers of glistening jade.
Shima swirled her staff lazily before her. She glided closer with the inevitable grace of the rising tide. Her eyes locked with Aekino’s own; they flashed like a storm at sea.
“Anathema,” she spat.
