TenThousandBrokenDreams/Session33

Mother Cypress speaks:

“Hello, children. What tale have you come to hear tonight? Would you hear of Zaveta Keen-Eyed and her brother Tanta Loka, who ruled over Zebramani for three hundred and seventy years, and of what came at last between them? Perhaps you would hear, instead, of the wind-prince Cynis Melesh and his journey to the city of the cloud folk, where he left a legacy that would be a curse upon his House? Or would you hear more of the tale of the Solar Exalted, and of the doom of the Second Age.

“Well then. Come closer, my children; gather round, spread ears like elephants, and I shall tell you more of the tale of the Celestial Exalted, and their adventures in the East.”

* * * * *

Dawn shivered in the east. A light snowfall dusted the banks of the Yellow River. Whiteness filtered down through the trees. Zera Thisse slowly lowered his bow and shook his head.

“Where the hell am I?”

Memory came.

* * * * *

Thorwald of Stonehold continued to seek out his brothers. The tracks were hard to discern, between the snowfall and Zera’s propensity for leaping through the branches rather than walking upon the ground. In the end, he followed a thread of smoke to a campfire, where he found Zera Thisse sitting up in a tree.

“Why’d you do it?” Zera said. He did not come down.

“Why did I do what?” asked Thorwald. He sat by the fire.

“You punched me in the face.”

“I was trying to get the back of the neck. And all I regret is that I did not do it sooner… when it would have worked. I was not trying to hurt you.”

“Why?”

“I was going to gag you and tie you up and wait for your black mood to pass. And I would hope you’d do the same to me when my time comes.”

“Perhaps it would have been better if you had.”

“I blame myself. I should have acted sooner.”

Zera leapt down from the tree; his boots sank into the slush. He walked slowly over to the fire. “The one thing I am grateful for is that you did not see what happened after the boat.”

“I saw some of it,” retorted Thorwald.

Zera frowned. “You were miles behind.”

“Not so far behind as you think. It occurred to me I might have distracted Fetek, and forced him to attack me and let you get away.”

“You know what would have happened? I would have shot him in the back.” He sat down across from Thorwald, and stared into the fire. “What is happening to us?”

“It is a curse,” Thorwald replied.

“It’s the worst of us, the part of my head that I shove down, that I don’t want to listen to. It’s like it all comes out at once.” Zera sighed. “I fear Fetek may not return.”

“He will be at Great Forks,” said the Zenith. “He has sent me a message.”

“He will be waiting for us for some time, then. We have no horses, and we are in back-country.”

“He will also be angry.”

“We’ll deal with that when the time comes.”

“You must understand he does not deal with betrayal well… he never has. It will be difficult to reconcile you.”

“I’m not sure I want to be reconciled,” Zera muttered.

Thorwald regarded him reprovingly. “He was not trying to kill you. If he were, it would not have gone so easily for you.”

“The only reason it went as easily as it did,” said Zera flatly, “was that I sacrificed a whole family to his rage to buy myself time.”

The wind hissed through the trees. Snow sifted down; it sparkled in the sun. Rodents scrabbled deep in the brush.

Thorwald poked at the fire. It crackled cheerily in response. Suddenly, he grinned. “Isn’t this ironic? We wanted to go faster, and now we are delayed.”

“I think that’s the way it works. If not for Heaven Turtle, that sniveling worm…” Zera looked away. “Never mind.”

“I don’t understand you, brother. You want to help these weak people, but they are not strong enough to stand on their own.”

“Sometimes the people I help can’t stand up for themselves.” Zera caught his brother’s eyes. “Not everyone is as strong as you are, Thorwald. Not everyone is gifted with the stubbornness we have, to see things through despite the pain and the struggle. The power to change your circumstances is a gift, not a birthright, and the world is full of farmers and tradesmen and slaves who don’t have that gift of strength. Their lives are our responsibility. If we do not help them, no one will.”

“And then what? What does our help get them?”

Zera shrugged. “A second chance. Inspiration. Hope. Even if it’s fleeting. It’s not so long ago that we were just regular, everyday human beings. Their lifespans aren’t so long, you make them happy just one day, extend their life just another few hours…”

“You save a peasant from bandits. But they will forget a few days later, when new bandits come and take what they have.”

“I can’t be everywhere at once.”

“That is my point. We are doing this wrong. If we are indeed supposed to help people, then we go about it all wrong.” Thorwald stared into the fire and the rising smoke. It reminded him of Fetek, the way its shape kept changing. “I should have done something earlier.”

Zera nodded. “It’s hard,” he replied, “the three of us together. The other two, their moods are not so black. I don’t think I’ve seen Aekino do anything like this at all.”

Thorwald bit back on a sharp comment. Finally he replied, “Maybe the curse doesn’t affect him. Perhaps he’s too busy sitting on his arse getting pampered to be affected.”

“I’m not sure that’s fair,” said Zera. Then he laughed. “Hell, maybe it is. At least we do things, even if they’re the wrong ones.”

“Then what are the right things?”

Zera pondered. “I remember what that librarian told us. There are more like us… maybe we were meant to, I don’t know, bring the gods back.”

“What gods? The Unconquered Sun?” Thorwald uttered a bark of laughter. “What will that get us?”

“Let’s examine the world around us.” Didactic, Zera poked the fire with a stick. Sparks flew off on the cold wind. “The dead pass beyond their boundaries into life. The Wyld forces itself into creation.”

“It was always like this.”

“Not so. Not if our visions are to be trusted.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Thorwald spread his hands over the flames. “Look at this fire, Zera Thisse. It keeps the darkness away, but the darkness remains. We tend the fire, but one day it will burn out. Our fight against the enemies of Creation is the same.”

“I’m no philosopher,” Zera replied with a shrug. “All I know is that I’m here and I can do something… something most people can’t. And I will.”

“And what will you do if you do all these things and more harm comes of it? If you become the very thing you wish to stop?” The northman scowled. “I do not yet know if we are demons yet, Zera. We might still be.”

“Look at humans, Thorwald.” Zera squinted uncertainly into the flames. “It’s strange to call them that now… anyway, we can’t classify them as demons, even though so many of them steal and pillage and murder. The five of us who have traveled together, we can’t put ourselves on the same scale. We’re different.”

Thorwald looked baffled by Zera’s ramblings. “What do demons have to do with humans? Humans aren’t demons.”

“No?” Zera’s eyebrows lifted.

“They are not. They may do evil, but they are not demons. We may still be.”

“Then maybe,” suggested Zera, “we’re demons who do good.”

Thorwald snorted a humorless laugh. “Name one thing we have done good.”

“Amalion is gone.”

“It was our fault that she was there to begin with.”

“No, not at all. If we were never there, it still would have happened. If we were not there, Fetek could not have convinced her to leave.”

“Weigh that against the harm we did by freeing Cessair. Had we not done that, had their armies not been wandering through the forest looking for us, maybe they could have taken care of it themselves.”

“For all the good we’ve done, the demons we’ve banished, I think we’ve paid enough for our mistakes.”

“No!” The northman’s shout startled the normally unflappable Zera. “We must never think that. Ever. If what you think is true, that we are here to help, then we must never think that our indiscretions are justified. What if these flaws are what made others hunt us in the first place?”

Zera nodded slowly. “It makes sense.”

“Imagine it. Thousands of beings like us, with our power…”

“Catastrophic.” Zera shivered, and not from the cold. “Well, we’re not solving anything here, just sitting around. Let’s get to Great Forks. Let’s fix this.”

“Fix what? Things with Fetek? Or the family you slaughtered? Or the boat we stole? We came here to have a fresh start, and we have given ourselves a bad name and acted like the demons we are said to be.”

“Well, excuse me if I don’t lay down in the snow and give up. If nothing else, we’ll pay for the stolen boat by walking to Great Forks.” Zera stood, and began to dust the snow from his cloak. “I can’t fix the things I’ve done, no one can.”

“Let’s just go,” Thorwald agreed, rising. “A bit of hard travel will do us good.”

* * * * *

An eagle drifted west upon the air. Dark clouds curdled behind it, sweeping it across the Yellow River at the head of the storm.

It dipped toward the encrustation of buildings that thickened where the Rolling River met the Yellow. Its eyes gleamed silver as the lattices of Essence blazed within its vision. Great Forks was aflame with power. Pillars and geysers of white and green and gold fountained upward; the dragon tracks wrestled across land and water. It circled uneasily. Where might its destination be found?

Landing, the eagle took human form. The young Lunar, Fetek Breath-of-Midnight, emerged from a dark doorway; he made his way up through the streets, hunting among the glittering shrines of the temple district for the particular place he sought. He found it down a weedy alley between a priestess’ house and a seller of prayer strips, in a small and silent courtyard encircled by poplars. His boots crunched over raked gravel. He reached the temple’s half-moon doors just as the first drops of rain started to fall.

A shaven-headed monk approached, flanked by a pair of young acolytes. “Greetings,” said the monk as he bowed. “How may I help you?”

“Greetings,” the Lunar replied. “I’ve come to pay my respects.”

“This is the Temple of Hidden Letters, the house of the blessed Har-Razim,” said the monk, bowing again as he drew aside. “Please, enter and pay your respects to the god.”

Fetek stepped over the threshold. Within, another monk spoke with a gray-clad servant bearing a bucket of water. The servant turned his head to regard Fetek, smiling. The Lunar blinked as a scene from another life passed before his eyes. He stood within a smoky cavern; a pool rippled like quicksilver, reflecting the light from a dozen hovering flames. Incense smoke swirled. Elegantly penned scrolls lay unfurled upon a slab-like table of black jade. There, he spoke to the god Har-Razim; and he recognized that the same god stood before him now.

“Har-Razim.”

The one who had seemed a servant stepped forward. “You noticed me.”

“Of course. I would ask your sanctuary in the temple for a time.”

The god smiled and knelt, setting down the bucket and drawing forth a rag of soaked and tattered silk. “Sit,” he said. “Let me wash your feet.” He knelt and began to do so, saying, “Do you wander why I do this; to appear to you in the guise of a servant?”

“It is the way of the Court of Secrets to be inscrutable.”

The god shook his head. “It is way of the Court to know secrets. There are secrets in everything, even in this act. For instance, I can tell that you are well traveled from the calluses on your feet. You can learn many secrets through the most mundane things. The best secrets are those that are freely given, but the worst secrets are secrets that are freely given away.” He nodded serenely, continuing to lave the Lunar’s feet. “It is no secret why you are here.”

“I’m sure that is true. I hope to repair the damage that my ally has done.”

“Look to that tree, my friend. If I reach forth and break one of the branches, it cannot be unbroken. That is not to say amends cannot be made. A new tree can be planted, yes?”

“That is true.”

“Then plant a new tree, and see if it takes root. We will see if the Court finds it pleasing and makes up for that which was broken.”

“I will.”

The god departed. Fetek stood and sought the monk that had greeted him, his feet leaving wet prints on the sand-strewn temple floor. “I would ask for sanctuary in your temple.”

“It is given. There are small bedrooms in the wing to your right. Make yourself at home. Meals come at the tolling of the bell.”

“Thank you. There are others who are coming…”

The monk bowed his head. “This temple is not easily found except by those who wish to find it.”

“That is good to know.”

“Will there be anything else?”

The youth nodded. “I seek a sorcerer…”

* * * * *

The time had come for the Tournament to begin. Warriors, nobles and merchants all gathered in the stands that ringed the dueling circle. A great pavilion had been erected at one end, and eighteen figures sat enthroned beneath its awning. They wore silken robes of blue and green; their skin shone like pearls, and their eyes gleamed like gemstones. Each bore the horns of a deer upon its brow, and each had the left leg of a stag, ending in a cloven hoof. These were the Eighteen Princes of the Opal Branch, mighty among the Fair Folk of the East, whose patronage had brought the tournament to pass. They announced the terms of the battle, which most of those present already knew. Fights would proceed one by one, round by round, with a single loss sufficient to eliminate a fighter from the contest. One could not strike down a foe who had surrendered or fallen, nor might one do harm to one outside the circle.

A new figure stepped forth, resplendent in scarlet and gray. This was Sunipa, the war goddess of the East, and she raised her spear of colorless fire to signal the opening of the games.

Li sat with her companions in the stands. Burning Tiger hung upon her back. The swordswoman’s fingers twitched again and again toward the hilt of the great blade. It resented being sheathed, here in the presence of so many of the Dragon-Blooded. It wished to be set free; it wished to slay.

The eyes of the goddess Sunipa roved across the stands. Li of Orchid met that gaze, and she felt a shock of recognition. A vision came upon her. She was Katsuro the Righteous once again, and she sat opposite Sunipa upon a balcony that overlooked a dizzying web of towers, domes and streets, with a line of forest distant upon the horizon. They played at game of Gateway. Each piece was a city.

The vision broke. Li inclined her head; she spoke a prayer to Sunipa under her breath. A pair of warriors stepped into the ring. Battle was joined. Most of these fights went swiftly by, and Li watched every one, engrossed by the dance of blades.

“My sister,” said Tepet Aekino, “you appear to be occupied. Would you mind if I were to depart? I have some things I wish to speak to Ledaal Martin about.”

“Of course.”

Martin eyed Aekino uncertainly, but accompanied him nonetheless. They descended from the stand as their Dragon-Blooded companion, Alac Doren, handed a crushing defeat to his opponent, a massive ebony-skinned martial artist from some far southern land. The roar of the crowd faded somewhat as they walked out into the nigh-empty tournament bazaar.

“So,” said Martin. “What’s on your mind?”

“A great many things. But there are recent things that have taken place that I wish to discuss. You seem out of sorts, and it seems that I’ve been neglectful.”

Martin gave the Twilight a sour look. “You don’t say.”

“I daresay I just did say,” Aekino promptly replied.

Martin laughed helplessly. “Okay. So you do.”

“Ledaal Martin. Please understand that I am very fond of you. And you know about the egret-man and his problems with my former self.”

“I know all about that. I hear a ‘but’ hanging…”

Aekino shook his head. “You misunderstand me –” he began. A roar rose from the arena as yet another contestant fell; he waited until the noise died before continuing. “…but I feel I must explain that if I cared about you less, it would be easier for me to be with you intimately.”

More hooting and applause rose from the stands as a judge announced the participants in the next bout: “Ku Ru versus Garman Kaneko!”

“But –” began Martin.

“But I care about you greatly,” said Aekino, trampling his companion’s words, “and I am a married man. I have a child in the Realm. It would be inappropriate for me to be unfaithful.”

“Unfaithful to who? Ever since I’ve known you, Tepet Aekino, you have jumped from one bed to the next. Now all of a sudden you care that I am not just a dalliance.”

(Another roar rose from the dueling circle. “Garman Kaneko wins!”)

“Faithfulness is not about sex, Martin.”

Martin uttered a sarcastic laugh. “Well, since you’ve completely destroyed the definition I grew up with, what does it mean?”

“It means love.”

“Hah! Tepet Aekino talks of love.”

“Do not mock me, Ledaal Martin.”

They came then to a small teahouse, where they hoped they might speak privately, without interruption from the spectators’ chorus of shouts and catcalls that rose and fell like the sea. They stepped over the threshold into beloved silence.

(“Sau Long versus Dancing Water!” cried the judge as the door closed behind them. Tepet Aekino winced.)

A thin woman in a kimono led them to a private room. “Would you prefer the Haltan tea or Iehachi tea?”

“Iehachi brown, please.”

“Are you sure? It might be drugged,” smirked Martin. “Haltan for me.”

They sat quietly as the woman brought them steaming water and tea leaves. When she had gone, Aekino knelt at Martin’s feet and began preparing the tea.

“You don’t have to do all this,” Martin said uncomfortably.

“Where I come from… the place where you are so curious about… the mores are different, and I am bound by them; perhaps as bound as my brother Thorwald is bound to the rules of his northern home.” He handed the cup to the other. “There is one that I loved since I barely tasted adulthood.”

“A Dynast.”

“Yes. An Aspect of Water, named Mnemon Dara.”

“Water!” Martin brushed back his fiery hair. “Of course it’s a Water.”

“Is it not water that makes your tea?”

“And earth that makes my house and fire that keeps us warm. What’s your point?”

“The point is,” explained Aekino patiently, “that for me to remain faithful, I should not dally with someone I do not love.”

“Even your compliments have thorns.” Martin sighed. “Well, as much as it is a beautiful thing to hear, it also bites cruelly, don’t you think?”

“Truth often does.”

“So, does this cut out servant boys and waiters?”

Aekino pursed his lips. “Petty jealousy is unbecoming.”

“It’s a simple question.”

“In my upbringing, they were to be used as I saw fit.”

“I don’t see much difference. The act is the same. I didn’t follow you here to win your lifelong partnership; I’ve known since I met you that was impossible. I don’t know if I’m as ill-suited to that as you are. Maybe it’s the fire in me, or my mother’s influence; I can’t say. All I know is that we are what we are. We can die tomorrow. You intrigue me. Whoever this Water Aspect is, he is far away, or you would be there with him. But you aren’t. Live for the moment.”

“And shall I live for the moment with the next Dragon-Touched boy who comes along?” Aekino shook his head firmly. “I have told you, this would be different if circumstances were different… but they aren’t. We must be friends.”

“And you wait until now to tell me… when I could be with my mother, who is beset by enemies. You could have told me before I came all the way here.”

“You did not leave your father’s home for me, but for yourself.”

“But which way did I go? There are five cardinal directions I could have gone…”

Aekino gritted his teeth. “We must… we must have our relationship adjust to the truth of the circumstances. And if you can’t, perhaps it is best you go home.”

“You make it seem like I will hold you at sword’s point.”

“Though that sounds intriguing, I think it best that you make a decision based on your circumstances. I have always made that clear.”

“Oh, you are clear. It is a question of your timing.” Martin stood and glared down at Aekino. “I will say this. You are one of the most handsome, intelligent and intriguing men I have ever met. But if you cared even an ounce for someone other than yourself, you might become one of the most important men this world has ever seen. Enjoy your tea.”

Martin stormed out of the room. Aekino watched him blankly as he departed.

* * * * *

Li felt a light tap upon her shoulder. Turning from the current match, where a green-haired barbarian had just leveled his opponent with a single blow, she regarded her comrade Aekino. “Yes?”

“Seeing as how any conversation we have can’t go any worse than the last conversation I tried to have, would you step aside for a moment?”

“Of course.”

They walked away from the tournament circle. “Li,” said the Dynast over the fading roar of the crowd, “there’s something important I must speak of. I had some odd visitations last night. I don’t remember everything completely clearly, but some things were revealed to me in the dream. Multiple dreams, maybe; it’s hard to say.”

Li gave him a curious glance. “Was it a vision of the past?”

“No. I was speaking to someone… I do not remember who… and he spoke about one of our brothers. Our brother made a bargain of some sort, and received something in exchange for three nights of dreams.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t remember everything about it, but it was likely the demon Makarios who trades in dreams. It was given me to know, but I do not remember dealing with him myself.”

“Nor do I.”

“Then I was somehow transported bodily to the other side of the world. I… was reunited with my lover. My beloved, Mnemon Dara. I saw where he was, in the West. The patrol lanes that our fleets travel in the West are not known for great supernatural danger, but he has suffered many attacks. I fear for him.”

“The Sea has many mysteries,” Li solemnly replied, “and many dangers. Many pirates in the West truck with creatures beneath the waves, to whom they offer sacrifices and captives. It could be that your beloved has traveled to an area frequented by such pirates.”

“Perhaps.”

“It was said that Zerus, the dead pirate who pursues me, is the child of Siakal, goddess of blood and battle. When we first battled, two of the Children of Siakal, shark spirits of the deep, came at his call. Such things are not uncommon. He may be fighting the Lintha pirates, or privateers out of Skullstone.

“Wherever they were, I doubt that whatever could give me this dream would do so for the simple reason of reuniting me with my lover.”

“That seems plain.”

“I believe it might be a warning,” Aekino hypothesized. “I think it’s a warning that the forces that hold the world stable are beginning to break down. Beginning, naturally, in the West.”

“Where I am from, we do not commonly call it the Wyld. We simply call it the Sea, because it is always there, beneath the surface. It has always been that way. But as you say, it could be worse. After all, here we are at a contest hosted by the Fair Folk.”

“This visitation casts a pall on my presence here. I don’t wish to be here, I don’t want to stay. I want to go to the West.”

“If you want to go West,” the swordswoman agreed, “we will go West.”

“However,” the Dynast continued, “I do wish you to win this tourney first. Do you want it, Li of Orchid?”

“I must say I do.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

“Besides,” Li added, “Shima is here. If we left, she would pursue us.”

“Who’s to say she won’t anyway?”

“We made an agreement. I do not know if she will honor it, but perhaps she is a woman of her word.”

Aekino almost spoke more on the matter, but reconsidered. “I seem to have received an invitation to the Inn of Nine Chrysanthemums tonight,” he said, changing the subject.

“Are you going to go?”

“Probably. Would you do me a favor?”

“Name it.”

“Find Martin.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s angry with me, and he has reason.” The Dynast sighed. “I worry. I want him to know that I do care.”

“I will find him,” said Li.

“Thank you.”

* * * * *

Li of Orchid found Martin in a bar tent, swilling cheap beer and muttering to himself. She seated herself by his side. “Good evening,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing?”

Martin raised his cup. “Drinking.”

Li watched as he did exactly that. “Tepet Aekino said that you fought,” she observed.

“He just told me how it is.”

The swordswoman regarded Martin closely. She waved off the barkeep. “There is something I am curious about. Why do you travel with us?”

The question took Martin off-guard. “Why?” He pondered for a moment. “Tepet Aekino thinks it’s for fun, but I don’t think that’s it. I don’t know. It’s… it felt like he needed me. No one has even needed me. I told him that if he leaned to care about other people, he could be a great man someday. I just want see it happen.”

“I am glad you traveled with us. You are a worthy companion.”

Martin sucked down the last of his beer and called for another. “What are you people trying to accomplish, anyway?”

“I am not certain,” Li replied. “We are trying to find ourselves. This world hates us, and yet it once belonged to us. I do not want to rule the world.” She shrugged. “I am not sure what I want.”

“I’ll tell you one thing: I don’t think I’ll grow old.”

“We all grow old.”

“I don’t think you understand. We don’t die in our sleep.”

“Ah. This is true,” said Li.

“When my time comes, if I’m around the two of you, it will be for something worthy.”

“Thorwald says it does not matter when you die,” Li observed, “so long as you die well. But we will live well as well as die well.”

Martin raised his cup. “And if we do what we do well enough, maybe Tepet Aekino will die in his sleep.”

* * * * *

That afternoon, as Aekino passed through the bazaar, an unfamiliar voice addressed him by the name of Azure Tempest. This was a moniker he had gone by briefly, during his first journey into the East, and it surprised him to hear it again. The man addressing him proved to be a red-haired, dusky-skinned young merchant from the South, Emmer of House Sand. Emmer had heard of Aekino through gossip from the barge captain Saradene Marac, and had identified him by description and by his comradeship with Li of Orchid, whose appearance and armaments were highly conspicuous this far from the West.

Emmer was acquainted with Zera Thisse after the archer’s adventures in Chiaroscuro a few years earlier. He was disappointed that Zera was not present; he had hoped to involve Zera in a venture to Cozen, a lost First Age city in the deepest South. Would the noble Tepet Aekino, he wondered, have some interest in such an endeavor?

Aekino expressed some small interest in the venture, but refused to participate unless he received first pick of whatever wealth might be found there. When the merchant acknowledged that an heirloom of his House had been lost in Cozen since the failure of an earlier expedition, and that he needed to retrieve it for his family, Aekino balked. The Twilight would not participate unless he received first pick of treasure, including the heirloom that drove the expedition in the first place. Unable to pierce Aekino’s invincible sense of privilege, Emmer regretfully withdrew.

* * * * *

Come the evening, Aekino approached the Inn of the Nine Chrysanthemums, a cozy structure of wood and bamboo in the southern Calin style. Firelight gleamed from its many small, round windows. He displayed the invitation he had received, and the servants welcomed him inside.

“Would you be so kind,” asked Aekino, “as to tell me who my host is?”

“The honored Umebayashi Kaoru.”

“Oh, I see,” the Dynast replied, though he found himself no more enlightened than before. Who was this person?

Servants led Aekino through a courtyard cooled by an artificial waterfall, then up a stair to a well-appointed bedchamber. The young woman who awaited him there was lovely, if a little lush for his tastes. She lay upon a silken couch; her green and pink kimono glittered with precious stones. A servant fanned her while another refreshed her drink.

“Here you are, Tepet Aekino,” she said. “I’m so glad you got my note.”

“I am pleased to have received it.”

“Please sit,” continued Kaoru. She gestured to a servant. “Fetch us some tea and candied dates. You should try some, Aekino. They are delightful.”

Aekino seated himself beside her upon the couch, and accepted the refreshments with the fullest courtesy. “Might I ask what you wish to speak of?”

“I just wished to make your acquaintance. I have heard so much about you.”

“Of course.” The Twilight admired her delicate features and rosy complexion. The strands of green in her chestnut hair matched her eyes, he observed. She smelled of plum blossoms. “Might I ask where you acquired that scent?”

“From my grandmother.” She smiled. “A goddess of the Eastern forests.”

“Ah, I see. And you developed some measure of control over your essence. Fascinating.” He sipped his tea. “Might I ask where you are from.”

“Oh, Tepet Aekino, I think you know. I am from the city of Umeden in Iehachi.”

“I expected as much.”

“You are learned. But I suspect you wish to know why I have invited you here.”

To control his impatience, Aekino distracted himself by allowing his eyes and mind to drift across his hostess’ generous charms. “Yes, of course.”

“You were approached by an agent of mine – Suzaku Sentatsu. He spoke highly of you.”

“Ah, yes. I must admit, though, that I have made no decision as regards to the proposition that the graceful Sentatsu brought before me.”

“I would not expect you to. I just wanted to meet you myself.” She leaned forward, allowing her low-cut to reveal somewhat more. “My agent has informed me you have not yet appeared in the tournament.”

“Actually, I am here with others whose interest in martial matters exceeds my own.”

“I am sure that they are formidable.”

“That seems likely.”

She smiled. “You are skilled,” she said, performing an amusing act with a candied date. “You would do quite well for yourself in court.”

“I believe that I would do well anywhere,” Aekino replied archly. “However, I have obligations elsewhere that preclude the pleasures of your company.”

“Are you certain? There are many pleasures in Umeden that, were you to hear of them, might sway you.”

“I do not think that I shall be swayed, but I would not be averse to hearing more of them.”

She told him, then, of the magnificent gardens of Umeden. She told him of the shaded bowers and the fruit trees, of the blossoms and their scents, and of the pleasant warmth of the hot springs. She spoke of the graceful dancers, lithe and lissome as the willow, and of the elegance of their art. She spoke of the cuisine, with its braised meats and roasted fruits, their flavors melding incomparably. She spoke of the loveliness of the pleasure slaves, of their skills in the bath and the bedchamber. She slid closer to Aekino upon the couch. He did not object; quite the contrary.

“As much as I would love to take up your offer,” he sighed, “my energies must be devoted elsewhere. However, if I may, I would be pleased to remain here and speak further of the wonders of your city, and to bask in such well-mannered and beautiful company.”

“I assure you,” she observed, “you shall not regret it.”

He dallied in her bedchamber for some time, and they explored one another’s company. He felt no regrets.

* * * * *

Following the directions he’d received at the Temple of Hidden Letters, Fetek Breath-of-Midnight traveled to one of the wealthier neighborhoods of Great Forks. He opened an ornamental gate in the wrought iron fence and followed a gravel path behind a screen of cypress. Before him stood the abode of the sorceress Londa Burning Psalm: a colonnaded two-story house, its walls of white stone. He knocked upon the door.

A tall, thin youth peered out at him. “Yes?”

“I would like to speak with the sorceress, please.”

“One moment. She is expecting you.” The apprentice opened the door fully. “This way.”

Fetek followed the youth through a lace-strewn parlor and up a flight of stairs. Tuning his perceptions to the flows of Essence, he sensed glittering webs of thaumaturgy everywhere. Magical patterns flickered around portraits and mirrors; wards shone through the walls. He nodded with satisfaction. He had come to the right place.

An elderly woman awaited him in a broad, heavy chair upholstered in green velvet. White streaks marred her violet hair; her eyes were blue. She eyed the intruder warily; even if she could not sense the Essence that burned within him, the ease with which he moved in his moonsilver breastplate marked him as both an Essence wielder and one inured to hardship and battle. Likewise, she observed the silvery nubs upon his forehead, marking him as something not quite human. Their gazes locked; she turned away. “Whom do I have the honor of addressing?”

“This is Fetek,” said the apprentice.

“Ah, thank you,” she replied tartly. “I’m glad you at least had the wisdom to get a name for me.” Once the boy had departed, she offered a thin smile. “I am Londa, of course. Please, Fetek, have a seat. Would you like some tea?”

“That would be most appreciated.”

Slowly, she stood and walked over to a side table. She muttered a spell and touched a porcelain teapot; steam burst forth from its mouth. “Now, how might a humble practitioner of the Great Art help you?”

“I will be in Great Forks for several weeks,” he replied equably, “and I would like the opportunity to increase my knowledge of the mystic arts. For this, I will need a tutor.”

“Ah. Have you served a formal apprenticeship elsewhere?”

“I have.”

Londa brought back a pair of steaming cups on a tray. “And in this apprenticeship, were you given knowledge of the Lesser Art or the Greater Art?”

Fetek ignored his cup. “The greater arts.”

“I see. Very well. I must admit I am somewhat puzzled… you know the Great Art?”

“I have some knowledge of the Great Art, yes. I know two spells: the Flight of Separation, of which I am very fond, and the spell of Emerald Countermagic.”

“And what do you seek in return?”

Fetek shrugged. “That depends what you have available, sorceress. I wish to increase my complement of spells.”

“I can certainly help in this regard… but of course you realize that there is a price to be paid.”

“There is always a price to be paid.”

The sorceress nodded. “I demand strict obedience from my apprentices,” she said, ignoring Fetek’s slight frown, “but I think I can make a bit of an exception. Now, let me test your knowledge. If I were to inquire regarding the rune of Thal –”

“It is used in spells of summer, wealth, and fire.”

“Yes, of course. And if I were to ask you about the second stage of sorcerous initiation –”

“It is called the Zenith Station, and it involves the teachings of a sorcerous mentor. I have already had such teachings, and endured my initiation.” He twisted a bit in his chair, stretching. “Really, if you aren’t going to ask any difficult questions, I’m not sure why you’re wasting your time.”

Londa seemed nonplussed. “I see. It is rare that I receive the honor of training one as advanced as you. I would be glad to part with one of my spells, but I would ask to learn both of the spells that you know.”

“I am honored that you would consider my offer, but I would prefer our agreement to be more…”

“Equitable? But the training you receive will strengthen your basic skills. The knowledge alone should be enough to compensate.”

“Yes, but spells are a commodity, as you well know. I think that my life on the road is somewhat more dangerous than your life in Great Forks. Surely I have more need for such magics than you.”

“So you say,” muttered the sorceress; she was clearly loath to part with her spells. “I see that despite your resplendent armor, you lack even the most basic of charms or talismans. Obviously there is much more about you that you have not spoken of, but I will allow you what secrets you have, yes? Is it not enough to share my bounty with you and let you hold your secrets?”

Fetek’s brow furrowed. Was the sorceress threatening him with exposure? He was not intimidated. “I travel my road without talismans because I do not need them,” he replied. “Besides the two spells you give me, I can also offer a favor. Do not underestimate my aid. I assure you that I am quite formidable.”

Londa shivered a bit at his grin. “Very well, then. Two spells for two spells, and you shall owe me a service.”

“A reasonable service.”

She nodded. “Clearly, something in proportion to what I offer.”

“Agreed.”

“What would you learn from me?”

“There is a spell,” said the Lunar, “known as the Paralyzing Contradiction.”

Londa twitched, as if stung. “What an odd choice,” she observed with deceptive mildness.

“I’ve always found the philosophical underpinnings of that spell quite interesting. I’d like to explore them further.”

“And why is that?” she temporized.

“Because I find it interesting.”

“How so?”

“Because it interests me.” Fetek sighed. “I don’t see why you’re so interested in my feelings on the subject. I am well aware that you know this spell; you have something of a reputation for using it. If it is such a trivial spell, simply teach it to me and let me learn from my own folly.”

“It is a useful incantation for any sorcerer’s repertoire,” she muttered. “So useful, in fact, that it may be worth both the spell of Emerald Countermagic and the Flight of Sep – ”

Fetek’s eyes narrowed. “We had a deal.”

“I was unaware that we had a deal as yet.”

“Maybe I wasn’t clear. I thought we proposed an arrangement and we agreed to it.”

Londa shrugged. “If you do not like my offer, perhaps you can find your magics somewhere else.”

“Maybe so. But then, I’m here now.” Fetek leaned forward, half-rising from his chair. To the sorceress, he seemed to grow, not from any magic, but through his aura of menace. Essence blazed from his eyes; his teeth gleamed unpleasantly. “We may as well deal. What do you say?”

“Ah…” She squirmed backward in her seat, trying to get away from this madman. “Perhaps I have been hasty… ah…” She swallowed desperately. “Very well. But if I teach it to you, would you at least agree not to teach it to anyone else here?”

He regarded her speculatively. “What, in Great Forks?”

“Yes. I am the only one here who knows the spell, and I mislike competition.”

“All right. You have my oath.” He sat back down. Suddenly, he was all youth and smiles, his malevolent aura gone as if it had never been. “Shall we begin, then?”

* * * * *

Zera Thisse came awake. Thorwald was shaking him by the shoulder. He winced; their tiny boat creaked and stank of pitch and rotten wood. He sat up.

“We are close,” said Thorwald. And indeed, the domes and spires of Great Forks glittered before them in the morning sun. The shapes of birds and spirits drifted above the city among endless threads of smoke from altars and pyres and other, more mundane flames. Barges and boats traveled thickly here, gathering around the docks. “Do you see the sails of the ship that was supposed to take us here?”

“No.” Zera yawned heavily. He wiped the sleep from his eyes. “Too much time has passed. They’re gone.”

Thorwald nodded. “We must go to the temple.”

“Which one?”

“I will inquire.”

As the sun rose higher, they glided through the jumble of boats and tied themselves to a wharf. Leaving their boat to whoever might want it, they left the bustle and smell of the docks behind and moved on into the Temple District. They passed joss stick sellers and chanting congregations, shrines and monks and savory-smelling feasts. A temple parade temporarily blocked their progress, as dragonfly-winged sprites danced above a scarlet dragon puppet carried by a dozen men. Then they moved on to the Street of the Beggar Gods.

Priests and small gods lined the way, often standing on bales and crates to better catch the attention of the crowd. Their shouts and pronunciations melded into a deafening cacophony, from which only the voices of the nearest few might be interpreted.

“Graji Yi the Unveiled promises untold pleasures!” shouted a wild-eyed woman draped in green and gold silk. “Witness the unveiling!”

A half-naked Southeasterner shoved the woman aside and thrust a begging bowl toward the travelers. “Give sacrifice to the Jade Tiger Emperor, and he will strengthen your arm in battle and make you as mighty as his namesake!”

“I am Zgur-Lankar, Scourge of the Rivers!” hissed a crocodile-headed god dressed in bloody sailcloth. “Pray to me and I will make your every battle upon the waters a victory, and destroy the interloper who has deposed me, Swiftly Flowing Crimson!”

“Praise Tanbar the Twelve-Eyed!” cried another priest. “For a small donative, he shall watch over you each hour of the day!”

“Besuba’a the Bashful! Worship Besuba’a the Bashful!” a young acolyte called. A shimmering, veiled figure tugged awkwardly at his sleeve, saying, “Shhh! Stop that!”

“Amulets! Enchanted by Sarya of the Stone! Health and prosperity may be yours!”

“Only Viryana Viryan can save you from the coming of the Anathema! Give her your prayers, that you may be chosen to survive!”

“The Silver Butterfly Queen… see the visions from the Silver Queen of Butterflies as she flits…”

“The Mistress of Pleated Skirts! She’ll pleat all your skirts for three days of prayers!”

“Would you like to buy from the Unsolicited Merchant? Unsolicited Merchant calling!”

“Worship Unkor the Listless. Or something.”

Zera tugged at Thorwald’s sleeve. “How the hell are we going to find anything here?” he shouted. “I can barely hear myself think!”

“All these gods,” Thorwald grumbled. “I may have to hit one of them.”

“Zera Thisse,” called a voice. The archer turned. A goddess stood there, cloaked in dull and stony gray, her body misshapen and yet somehow majestic in its deformity. The shouting grew faint and distant near her. She leaned close; her eyes were black pits, blank and empty.

“I know you,” said Zera Thisse.

The goddess nodded. “I am Simaeon Sorel,” she said. “Once, I was the goddess of the Grey Stews of Thorns. You knew those slums like the back of your hand. You brought Sad Hawk and Karu Trem, who laid many fine offerings upon my altar, to the House of Chains. Of course you know who I am.”

“I know you,” he said again. “What do you want from me?”

“Worshippers come and go, Zera Thisse. Now, they mostly go. I was fortunate; I was here on holiday when Thorns fell. Few of my fellows, or my worshippers, were so lucky. Who shall think of me now?” She looked down at the pavement. “Offer me prayers, Zera Thisse, and I shall give you my blessing, a thief’s blessing, for what it is worth.”

Zera nodded, but said nothing. He turned away. Thorwald followed him. The noise returned, redoubled, as they left the slum goddess behind and plunged into the thick of the crowd.

“I am amazed at how much gods are like merchants,” said Thorwald.

“All men are merchants,” said the archer. “They all have something they want, and something they will give to get it. And right now, I would give a lot to find that temple.”

“Or a tavern,” Thorwald added. “I could use a beer.”