She had cried for him every night, over and over again. Would wake up from some nightmare, of hideous beasts and nymphs and bad memories twisting themselves around her like snakes, and call for him until her voice was hoarse. Hana would hold her and try to sing to her, but she had lived all her life with her brother at her side and she had not been ready to give him up.
Now, of course, she was too old. At sixteen, girls got married, gave birth, carried households on their shoulders. Hana was younger when she’d married Oji—the thought of that alone was often enough to give her strength for another day. She wondered where they were now, if she was hanging around the agan-soaked mirror waiting for Sume to reach her again, because she knew—she must know that Sume was going to try again no matter what she said. Could she be stitching Dai’s robe after another schoolyard fight? The boy was entirely too troublesome for his age. And Dai—well, he was probably sleeping, and if he wasn’t he ought to be.
She fell asleep against the wall, a crumpled shirt on her lap. She saw Oji in her dreams as she often did these months past. He was smiling sadly at her, even though she couldn’t remember him ever smiling like that when they were growing up. The last sentence in his last letter to her had said, You’ll soon be very surprised, my sweet. Just wait and see. It didn’t seem that long ago anymore.
It was not yet dawn when she awoke. The candle had melted and someone had draped a blanket over her while she slept. She went downstairs and found everyone asleep in the dormitory. The silence overwhelmed her. Out of impulse, she stepped out into the dark street and began the long walk to the harbour.
The sea stretched out like an enormous blanket, shimmering in shades of blue and grey in the thick fog. Sitting on the sandy shore some distance off the busy docks, she pretended she was in Akki. The empty platform that obliterated the view of the city to her right was now a palm tree, and the palm tree to her left was the lighthouse. On the road above her, a cart passed by, carrying rice cakes. It made the wrong kind of sound but that was fine. If you squinted hard enough, if you made everything around you disappear in place of what was in your head, even long lost brothers could be sitting beside you now, reassuring you he was home forever and ever.
She started. A man was walking towards her, limping. She groped around for a rock.
“Don’t come out here alone next time,” the man suddenly murmured. “It’s too dark and nobody will know if something happens to you.”
“I know that,” she said, trying very hard to sound as angry as she could.
“If you did, that’s even stupider of you.”
“That’s extremely rude of you.”
“Be thankful this is the kind of rude you get, and not the kind of rude that goes up your skirt.”
She fingered the rock and considered throwing it. In the distance, faint traces of bright orange coloured the sea. The fog was dispersing.
“I’m sorry,” the man muttered. “I saw you and thought—well, I suppose you think you can take care of yourself. I’ll leave you alone, now.”
“Suppose? Think? Am I so uncertain these days?” She saw him turn towards her and suddenly recognized the Kag the town-crier had harassed. His haggard face was darker than when she saw it yesterday. It was marred with shapes, and she couldn’t tell if they were bruises or mere patches of shadow. “Then I suppose I should be thankful for your courtesy.”
He shrugged.
“I’m going now. Will you be all right?”
“Yes.” She paused. “If you’re looking for Akki, you’d have to wait till dark to know where. If you know exactly where the star Kiba is, then that’s where Akki is right now, at this time of the year.”
He looked surprised. She grinned. “Your manner of speaking. You learned Jinan from Akki, didn’t you? Then you must know the saying: Wherever an Akkian stands, he can look under Kiba and be one step closer to home. Now if you waited long enough, that advice won’t be accurate, so you’d have to pester the ship captains yourself for the proper maps. Of course, if you were nicer to me, I’d tell you.”
“I’d take my chances with the captains.” A seagull passed over them. He glanced back at the sea and the expression on his face softened. The sun was slowly rising. Under the grey light, she confirmed that the marks on his face were indeed bruises. There were also bruises along his lean arms and shoulders.
“Do you want something to eat?” she asked, all in one breath.
He wanted to shake his head, she saw. But she also saw the hunger on his sunken face. She had seen it on Dai often enough. The thought of the boy moved her. He would have been too proud to accept, too. Tentatively, she gestured to him, and quickly walked away so he wouldn’t have the chance to refuse.
She took him to one of the open-curtained eateries near the docks—nothing more than a small stall, with room for three or four people. For five aekich you had enough for a cup of fish soup and a bowl of steaming hot rice covered with boiled chicken and a spicy kind of sauce. The man cupped the bowl in his hands and stared at the food for a long time. Feeling a little embarrassed for him, she turned away and focused on eating.
“I’ll pay you back,” he said when he finished. The vendor, his back turned to them, snorted.
Sume smiled. “No need to. You could use this newfound energy of yours and find work.”
She meant it as a joke, but he clearly took offence to it. He turned away and slurped the last of his soup, his brow deeply furrowed. “I’ve got work. How do you think I’ve lived this long? People here aren’t very charitable to foreigners.”
“We’re in Jin-Sayeng. What do you expect? The prophet says—”
“Of course, of course. You step on shit you trip on it, that kind of deal.”
She blushed. “I’ve never heard it put that way before.”
“Your prophet also said blind people shouldn’t own monkeys.”
“Where did you hear this nonsense?” She laughed. The vendor rolled his eyes and she ordered another bowl to keep him quiet.
“Kibouri’s teachings aren’t as crammed down here as you thought they are,” the man continued, accepting the second bowl with a hopeful smile. “I’ve heard them elsewhere. Comrades quoting them in the barns and laughing about it.”
“What would they be doing in barns?”
“Why, that’s where you go to fu—” He stopped, looking somewhat embarrassed. “Feed horses. And stuff.” He crammed a spoon down his throat.
“I wouldn’t be surprised. When they opened trades, it wasn’t just our grain and figs that got out. Some of these philosophies, too. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard that one though. Monkeys. Huh.” She tapped her foot absently against the stall. “What are you doing here, if you don’t mind me asking?”
He grunted. “I mind,” he murmured.
She decided not to press him. The sun was climbing higher up the sky and she needed to get back to work. She smiled warmly at him. “Any time you need my help,” she said. “Go to Mistress Iamme. The seamstress. I’m Sume. Sakku watch you!”
She skipped down the street and waved to him. It felt as if he was an old friend. She was so far now that she could not see his face.
It was only when she’d returned to the workroom that she realized she'd forgotten to ask his own name in return.
Chapter Six
The week following Sakku’s Day was called many different names, depending on who you talked to. To the priestesses, it was The Four Days of Cleansing as they walked the length of town with incense and prayers in an attempt to rid the streets of last year’s filth and degradation. The locals called it holidays, as most took the time to close their businesses and journey back to their hometowns.
The brazenly honest and witty Kags—merchants, shop owners, prostitutes, and all—called it the hole-in-the-pocket. A few brave ones would try their luck all the way out in Yu-Yan, where the summer festival followed Sakku’s Day, but that was deeper into dragon territory and was seen as foolhardy by most. The royals were less tolerant of the Kags
after centuries of isolation. Pointing out that it was the king himself who opened Jin-Sayeng’s borders was the same as inviting a royal to run a sword through you. Sume could still recall her father’s drawn-out wail that day he realized no one in the mainland was willing to buy out the shipful of Kag goods he had spent all his money on. There was just no winning some battles.
That was a long time ago, though, and Sume, who was raised by a man who idolized the Kags and all they stood for, had no qualms in stepping into her sandals and going out into the streets during The Blessed Four. There was no work, anyway—most of the seamstresses had gone home to their families and the workshop was closed. Tetsung met her around the alleyway, having received a hastily scribbled note from her the night before. He was wearing a bright blue tunic and had tied his hair in a tight knot above his neck.
“You look nice,” she said, tipping her head in greeting. “What’s the occasion?”
He blushed a deep red and mumbled, “Let’s just go.”
Apart from the line of priestesses and the occasional gawking passer-by, the streets were vacant. Sume found the emptiness exciting. She had lived in a bustling town her whole life, always surrounded by other people. Even when you slept back home, you could hear the neighbour’s snores through the bamboo-weaved wall. The Four Days After Sakku’s in Akki was different in that there were even more people there than usual; young men and women who had gone off to search for their fortunes in the mainland would be back to share a few meals and laughter with their folks.
Oji, of course, never came home. When she was younger, she would wait for him out by the docks and watch the ships come one by one until the kind old man at the lighthouse would go down and tell her that no more were expected. He would write later, tell her he was sorry, but he was finishing a job or he had sent all of last season’s money and couldn’t afford a vacation just right now. She had stopped waiting these last few years, though she still saw the letters and Hana’s face assuming that strange expression by candlelight, a look that seemed to hover between breaking down and I couldn’t care less.
“What are you thinking about?” Tetsung asked, frowning.
“Nothing,” Sume said at first. And then she glanced at him. “Have you ever heard of the Seven Shadows?”
“I’m from a family of merchants. Of course I have. They’re the group of merchants who helped spearhead Jin-Sayeng into a new future. Heroes, all of them.”
“Mmm,” she replied. “My brother idolized them. Wanted to go off and have adventures and change the world like they did. My father loved to tell us these stories.”
“Every boy and girl our age looked up to them. Didn’t you?”
She didn’t answer. Silence, it seemed, disconcerted him. “Sume,” he managed. “Don’t you enjoy being with me? I thought...”
Sume patted his hand and smiled. She glanced around the street. They had just reached the Kag area near the docks, and half a dozen shop owners were looking at them expectantly. She broke into a grin and grabbed Tetsung’s hand. “I was thinking we could start off with a meal, and then you’ll take me shopping.”
“I’ll take you shopping?” he asked, aghast.
“It’s strange to walk with girls without taking them shopping, Tetsung. Your mother should have told you that. There!” She clapped her hands and pointed at an open eatery, where the smell of smoke and roasting meat was coming from. She dragged him by the arm down the street and picked a bench where you could see the sea. There was only a handful of other people there: a Kag couple, a peddler, and a bony old man who grinned up at her when she glanced past him.
A woman came by with the menu and a smile on her face. “Thank Agartes,” she said, flinging her yellow hair behind her. “As if business isn’t tough enough these days. Why, look at you two.” She tapped her chest. “Reminds me of when I was your age. Ah, those were the days! What would you like to have? Our special today is crab, squash, and mussels in a sea of coconut milk, an Akki specialty.”
“Oh!” Sume exclaimed, clapping her hands. She threw Tetsung a glance. Tetsung sighed and nodded. “And two glasses of rose wine. Don’t give me that shocked look, Tetsung, you need rose wine with crab. Didn’t your mother tell you anything? Honestly...” She threw the Kag woman a smile. “Men, huh?” She said the last part in Kagtar, so Tetsung wouldn’t understand. The woman laughed and left them to grab their orders.
Tetsung scratched the sparse hairs on his lip before reaching back to rub the top-knot on his head. “Have you written to your family? You said you would.”
“I wanted to try using a talk-through mirror,” she mumbled under her breath.
Tetsung’s face turned red. “You want to try what? Sume, didn’t your mother tell you not to mess with that Kag witchery? What if someone heard and told the priestesses, or the guards!”
“Lower your voice!” Sume whispered. “Sakku in a rat’s nest, Tetsung, you’re surrounded by Kags. Look, it’s not a big deal. I did it once already and I didn’t sprout horns or anything.”
“The sisters don’t say it happens overnight,” Tetsung mumbled. “Probably years and years later. It’s a warning, don’t you know? When the Kags brought their evil magics with them Jin-Sayeng became such a mess.”
“I told you, lower your voice. Sakku, you men, I swear.” She gave an exasperated sigh and tapped his hand. “Why is it any different than what the priestesses and their markers do, you tell me that? They chant all this nonsense to clean water and make crops grow and whatnot. I once saw one who visited Akki, she sang and this bed of flowers just opened up and rose from the ground in front of her. Everybody clapped. If a Kag did that, I think she’d be stoned.”
Tetsung dropped his eyes down so he wouldn’t have to look at her while he spoke. “That’s different. You know how it is here. When babes are born with Sakku’s touch you give them to the priestesses. It’s not even a question of you don’t want to, Sakku blesses us with these people to bring prosperity to Jin-Sayeng. They don’t use it for profit. In the Kag, you can do whatever you want. Charging money so lonely souls can talk to their families?”
“You make it sound like such a bad thing.”
“Maybe it wouldn’t be, if they didn’t ask money for these services. Or use it for their own good. I was listening to the crier the other day and he said they found a hut full of dead children in the Kag. Somewhere near Cael City. Drained of blood. They think it’s a ritual of some sort. That’s too close to Dageian arts for me, don’t you think? They’ve got these magic-borne beasts and whatnot stalking through the Kag. Is that what you really want for Jin-Sayeng, Sume? To have to wait till daylight to travel and scare your children silly before they go to bed?”
She sighed. “If you put it that way, I suppose not.”
Tetsung gave her a strained smile. “I have nothing against the Kags, Sume. They bring in good trade. We need that now more than ever. But there’s something called too much of a good thing and if we embrace everything they do then we’ll lose out on what makes us Jinsein. Like having the damn decency not to nab children in the dark and sell them to the dark gods.”
Sume was relieved when their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of their food. A steaming bowl of cream-coloured stew was laid out in front of them, followed by a pot of rice and two plates. There was also a complementary plate of steamed ferns on a bed of noodles. Sume glanced at the server to thank him and recognized the face as the Kag from several mornings ago.
“Oh!” she said. He seemed to remember her, too, and looked noticeably startled. She grabbed his wrist before he could run off with the tray. “I didn’t know you work here! Imagine running into you again. I have something for you. Hold on.” He started to slink back, and she tugged at his shirt. “Don’t go anywhere. Look at this man, Tetsung, he thinks I’m going to bite his head off.”
“You do have that look sometimes,” Tetsung admitted with a grin.
She gave him a mock glare and started searching through her purse. “Here,” she
said, pulling out a small piece of leather. She shoved it into his hands. “It’s a star map. I got it from one of the Akkian captains the other day. We got to talking about stars, and it turns out what I told you wasn’t very accurate. He’s got a dozen of these and gave me one. See, you can figure out the time of the year and where the stars would be. Now you can always find them and even tell the whole Akkian ballad of Kiba if you choose.”
“The Akkian ballad of Kiba?” Tetsung asked. He sounded amused. “Mind telling me about that one?”
“Why, sure,” she said. She glanced at the Kag. “But first, you have to join us. You don’t have a lot of customers and surely I can convince your boss to give you a few moments. You don’t mind, do you, Tetsung?”
Tetsung frowned, but he said, “I guess not.”
She yanked the Kag to the seat before he could refuse. “Kiba. Right. Well, if you look at the sky, it’s the star that forms the beak of what you mainlanders call the Smiling Swan. In Akki, that’s Kiba, who was once a man until the goddess put him there as punishment after he saw her bathing naked in the sea. She must have been very unattractive.”
Sume drew back and told that whole story from the start, even though she noticed that the Kag wasn’t looking at her. His mind seemed to be on something else entirely. She started to think that maybe he was uncomfortable around Tetsung, or maybe it was because he was supposed to be working, but she noticed something else—a slight flicker in the corner of his eye, as if he was trying very hard not to cry. That unsettled her. Eventually, she let her voice trail off and watched as he fidgeted in his seat.
“I talk too much,” she said with a laugh. “You should tell me your name and why you talk Jinan like an Akkian. Can’t you hear it, Tetsung? The way he rolls his rs.”
An Elegy of Heroes Page 8
