by Duncan, Dave
The guard looked to First Musket for guidance. First Musket seemed to be unnerved by the way those sixty bare feet continued their relentless rhythm. Obviously, no one had sent him orders to shut the gate and the odds were impossible.
“If the honored strangers do not now withdraw,” he declared harshly, “Then I must instruct my troops to open fire.”
“The learned and valiant officer must obey his conscience,” Serpent said cheerfully, “but he knows that we patriots who follow the Bamboo Banner are immune to bullets. Shoot if you will. You will not harm us, but we will kill you all for trying.”
First Musket chewed his lip for a moment longer, then nodded and backed away. Serpent signaled the advance and his cadre trotted into Golden Aspect.
Already drums were beating in the heart of the little town. Cadres that had entered by other gates had already begun the distraction and the clandestine looting. Serpent brought his men to a halt at a crossroads and signaled them to assemble. They swarmed in around him, eyes bright and expectant.
“Spit,” he said and did so himself. Twenty-nine other wads joined the mire in the road. He unwrapped a banana-leaf package to reveal thirty precious yang leaves, then proceeded to put one in each man’s mouth as they all stood around him, gaping like fledglings. He took the last for himself, dropped the wrapping. As Man Valor chewed, he felt the welcome first rush of fire in his veins. The world danced and sparkled anew. With yang in him, a man was far more than other men—fearless, untiring, invincible. Even after he had chewed the leaf to a pulp, it would not quite lose its potency, and he would hold the cud in his cheek until the evening meal. Two leaves a day was the normal ration during training, with a third issued only at the start of serious operations such as this one.
“Rice,” Leaping Serpent said between chews. “We came for rice and only rice. First third will come with me this way. Skewbald will lead the rest farther along that road to fetch some mules. Go.” He watched two-thirds of the cadre run off and grinned at his own little band. His eyes were brighter already.
He jabbed a thumb at the shadowed, wormhole alley behind him, where a group of naked infants watched the strangers with wide eyes. The ground was layered in filth, but the buildings were built of brick in the vain hope of keeping vermin out of stored perishables.
“Just about every door along here is a rice shop. We have ample time before the mules arrive, so we can spread the word. Nobodies stay with your buddies and watch. The rest of you take a store each, go in and tell them about the Emperor and his demon mother. Explain their duty to support the Banner. Let them hit you if they want to, but no showing off—take no more punishment than you’ve proven to me that you can stand. Is that clear? If they contribute a bag, put it outside the door, bless them, and leave. If they argue, take two. Skewbald’s group will load it when they arrive. Use no more violence than necessary, but no less than you need. Questions?”
There were no questions. Only two of the cadre were nobodies, and the rest had all done this before. Bare feet squelched along the alley. Man Valor hung back to the end, watched men peeling off into the narrow doorways until only he and Serpent were left. They flashed smiles at each other and took the next two doorways.
As Man Valor was about to enter, the owner tried to slam the door in his face. She wasn’t quite quick enough, which saved her a repair job on her door. Although large, she was elderly, and Man Valor’s response catapulted her back onto the table where she usually sat to measure rice into her customers’ jugs. She lay on it, legs dangling, gaping up in terror at the fearsome smile above her. The tiny space must suddenly have seemed full of half-naked man.
“The Emperor is dead,” the intruder growled. He saw that the old woman was too shocked and frightened to take in very much of his lecture, but he told her anyway, and when it was finished, she nodded to agree that the Bamboo Banner was entitled to take two bags of rice—under the circumstances. Man Valor hoisted her back to the vertical, patted her head in blessing, and carried two weighty sacks from the store at the back to the doorway, one in each hand.
Outside, Leaping Serpent was keeping an amused eye on the doors that had been visited so far, making sure that no sacks vanished back inside. First Deputy Skewbald was just entering the alley with the first mule. Man Valor ran along the alley in the hope of finding a store not yet visited. He passed Carp Shining joyfully smashing a door apart with an ax. Then a man screamed.
Man Valor was closest and beat both Carp and Serpent to the noise. Still howling in agony, Mariner came staggering out with his hands over his face. Man Valor grabbed him by the shoulders. Mariner and he had been recruited in Face to the Sun on the same day, and had become friends, in as much as any of the Bamboo Banner had time in their lives for socializing or small talk. Mariner, however, was more strong than smart and had not yet risen above First Proving.
“Pepper,” he sobbed. “He threw pepper in my face! I’m blind.”
Man Valor shifted his grip to Mariner’s wrists and pulled his hands down by brute strength. “No, you are not blind! Pepper can’t hurt you. Look at me!”
Mariner tried. His eyes were hugely inflamed and watering, and he could barely force the lids apart to open slits. Rivers of tears had washed clean channels through the red dust on his cheeks.
“Pain is illusion,” Man Valor insisted, repeating the training mantras they chanted a hundred times a day. “Hurt is lack of faith. The ancestors make us strong because our cause is just.”
“I can’t see. …”
“You don’t need to see. You memorized the store when you went in, didn’t you? Of course you did, good man! You’re one of the best and strongest. Now go in there and bring out four bags of rice. Smash him if he gets in your way. I’ll be here if you need me.” He spun Mariner around and pushed him back inside.
Mariner halted. Man Valor pushed him all the way back into the dark little store. Mariner was taller than Man Valor, which was why Man Valor failed to see the blow coming. He felt the impact through his arms, and then Mariner slumped to the ground with blood and brains spilling out of a chasm in his skull. Beyond him stood an even bigger man, holding one of the Bamboo Banner’s own axes.
Man Valor roared in fury and leaped over the body. The storekeeper tried to hit him with the ax, but he was too slow. Man Valor’s hand closed around his throat and rammed him back against the wall of stacked rice sacks. The man gurgled, trying to batter Man Valor’s ribs with the ax, but he was holding it one handed, and the best he could do was use the head as a ram. Man Valor ignored his efforts.
For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to do next.
“All the way,” said Leaping Serpent’s voice behind him.
Man Valor crushed the storekeeper’s throat until blood gushed out of his mouth, then let him slide to the tiles. Serpent had gone, satisfied that Man Valor had the situation under control. He pulled Mariner off to the side so the body couldn’t be seen from the doorway, then heaved the dying shopkeeper on top of him to hide him even better. He had piled eight bags of rice in the doorway by the time Skewbald’s men arrived with the mules. Man Valor passed out all the rest. The storekeeper was dead and had no need of it.
He suspected he had a couple of broken ribs, though. He whipped his hand away from them quickly when he saw Leaping Serpent coming.
“It was the pepper,” Man Valor whispered. “He couldn’t see.” Yes, the Bamboo Banner patriots were invincible, but there were whispers. Once in a while, a man’s faith might waver, or he didn’t see danger coming.
Serpent smiled. “Looks like you picked up a few bruises there, Brother.” He produced a rolled-up yang leaf from a pocket. “This will take the sting away. No, don’t spit out the other.”
Man Valor stared at the treat longingly, but also unbelievingly. He hadn’t known that cadre leaders carried an emergency supply. “Two? So soon?” It would be like his first taste of the yang, the day he
took the oath, flying like a bat for hours.
He tried to protest that the pain was trivial, but Leaping Serpent pushed the second leaf into his mouth anyway. “There’s lots of room in there for this. Just don’t try and talk for a while, right? Or you’ll choke.”
Mouth full, Man Valor could only nod. Don’t talk! The Bamboo Banner might have taken other losses on this expedition, but by the time Leaping Serpent’s cadre had assembled and was driving the laden mule train out of town, the double dose of yang had made him too dizzy to try counting heads.
There were no assigned beds in the Bamboo Banner and no private possessions. Blankets were handed out at random and collected again in the morning—sharing the bugs fairly, they called it. Mariner would not be missed. A failure’s name was never spoken.
Before dawn, even before reveille, when Man Valor was reliving the shopkeeper’s death in nightmare for the third or fifth time, he was nudged awake by an ungentle toe. He blinked up at two men standing over him, dark against first light. He threw off his blanket, snatched up his headband, and had it back on his head even before he was upright. He stood at attention, shivering as the wind stroked his bare chest and back.
One of the two was Leaping Serpent. The other he had never seen before. He looked very young, thin and short, and with a stoop that thrust his head forward, but there was no weakness in his features. His teeth stuck out like the front of a wheelbarrow, so he looked rather like a dog on a leash, straining to bite someone.
“You’re going to be promoted,” Leaping Serpent said. “You’re reassigned to special training. If you can handle it, you’ll get your third knot. Well deserved. Congratulations.” He turned and walked away between the sleepers.
“You’re Man Valor?”
“Yes, Leader …”
“My name doesn’t matter,” the newcomer said, scowling up at him. “I’m sometimes called Silent, because my cadre is the Silent Cadre. We work twice as hard as the others. You’ll be allotted three leaves a day, otherwise you won’t be able to stand it. No man could. But that’s the only treat you get. Nod if you understand.”
Man Valor nodded.
“And you never speak unless I order you to speak. Not to me, not to anyone. You nod for yes and shake for no and if you don’t know the answer, you just stand and wait for me to speak again. Got that?”
“Yes, Leader.”
Silent punched him hard enough to knock all the wind out of him and double him over. He staggered backward, clutching his belly. By the winds, the kid was faster than thunderbolts! He punched at three times his weight.
Man Valor forced himself upright, wondering whether he was supposed to take that or not. He decided he was, so he opened his fists, relaxed his shoulders, and stepped back to where he had been. It wasn’t easy.
“Just this once, I’ll ask you again. Do you understand?”
Man Valor nodded. He did now.
“Do you have any questions?”
Man Valor nodded again.
Silent leered his splay teeth. “Ask them in three months, when you’ve earned your third knot. Now follow me.”
Chapter 5
“In the hope that Your Holiness will overlook my unforgivable presumption, understanding that it is provoked only by my extreme concern for your personal welfare,” Shard Gingko said, “I do urge you to leave Four Mountains very soon. In a handful of days, no more. My letter to Sublime Mountain would have arrived before the full of Ice Moon. A new warden will be at the gate before we know it.” He had been planning this speech for a week and was amazed to hear himself actually managing to say it.
The boy smiled. He was cross-legged on a cushion, wrapped in a blanket—he refused to wear anything but simple peasant clothes, although he still felt the cold very much. He was eating nuts. He ate all the time, it seemed. He joked about the Emperor owing him many meals, and costing more to keep that a battalion of guards, but clearly his maltreated body was trying to catch up. The servants brought him anything he asked for and many things he didn’t, and he ate them all.
He said, “Mandarins do not travel as fast as imperial couriers, especially in winter.”
“The roads are much improved. Tonight marks the start of Hare Moon.”
The Firstborn nodded. “You are right, of course. A replacement is overdue. Without offense to your rank or abilities, Clerk of Records, I confess I am surprised that the provincial governor did not send a stand-in.”
“And I confess that I did not send my report by way of the honored governor. The late warden’s instructions were to communicate with no one except First Mandarin, and I took it upon myself to comply when reporting his ascent. But the Emperor may not send a new warden all the way from Heart of the World. He may send a directive to an official in some place near us, naming him the replacement, even if only provisionally. There are four or five towns within two days’ ride for a strong man.”
“You are still right,” the Firstborn agreed, somber now. “I thank you for this correction, Clerk of the Tablets, and for the respite you have given me. But you know I cannot leave Four Mountains Fortress.” He glanced thoughtfully across the table at the peasant woman he always addressed as “Mother.” She was ignorant and stupid and rather ugly, and he treated her as if she were the legendary Jade Queen herself. He tolerated her presence day and night. He had given her his bed and slept on a mat in the corner.
The fourth person present was the boy, Mouse, who was now the Firstborn’s self-appointed lap dog, never leaving his sight. The Ancient One tolerated him, refusing all offers to remove him. Servants had overheard the two of them chattering together, but Mouse almost never spoke when Shard was present. When he did, his accent betrayed his local Qiancheng origin. He had taken his bowl of rice over to a corner and ate in silence, cross-legged on the floor.
The four of them had just finished a noontime meal in the Firstborn’s room. It was a good room, large and spacious, but his attachment to it was maddening. Shard had given him leave to go anywhere he wished in the castle, hinting broadly that if he wanted to go away, he would not be pursued, but he never took advantage of that liberty. As his health returned and the weather improved, he had started going out to the courtyard to exercise. At noon, rain or shine, he and the woman would appear on the parapet, where he would bless the crowd that was already gathering below. That was the limit of his wanderings. One could not argue or question anyone as holy as the Firstborn—not that there was anyone as holy as he—but Shard felt an overpowering duty to persuade him somehow.
He was a strange-looking boy, instantly recognizable to anyone who had ever seen his likeness—and who had not? His wavy hair was a curious shade of brown, his nose too big, his eyes too round. That was how the Firstborn was always pictured, not unlike some of the western Outlanders, but without their brutal look. He shaved the lower part of his face every few days because it sprouted crab hairs despite his youth. His winter ordeal showed in his extreme thinness, a bandaged wrist, and a limp that would likely stay with him throughout this life. But he would live. If he left now.
He was unfailingly gracious and even-tempered, even with the humblest. Enjoying humor, he would joke with the guards, laughing aloud in shocking disregard for his dignity. Yet he could quote the most obscure ancient texts like a high-ranking mandarin, and avoid questions he did not wish to answer so skillfully that the questioner did not even realize he had done so. Apparently, he never changed his mind on anything. Sage of sages, he knew that he was always right in all matters. But on this thing, he would have to be persuaded soon, and Shard braced himself for a supreme effort.
Before he could speak, Mouse rose to his feet and came across to the table. He stacked the used dishes on the tray, leaving only the Firstborn’s bowl of nuts. Then he carried the tray over to the door, laid it there, and resumed his previous watchful posture in the corner. Either he had decided to make himself useful or the F
irstborn had suggested that he do so, for any hint from his hero would be an absolute imperative for him.
He was probably very close to the same age as the Firstborn, and not unlike him in appearance, as if he had a touch of that same Outlander blood somewhere in his ancestry. Of course that was why the late governor had picked him out last fall to use as a faux Firstborn.
Shard said, “Holy One, you know that the Honored Sedge Shallows very nearly killed you. But he was not acting out of personal spite. I filed his warrants and have read them. I will show them to you if you wish. He was told to abuse you until you answered the Emperor’s questions.”
“I came to that conclusion quite soon in our relationship.” The Firstborn popped more nuts in his mouth, his eyes twinkling. “I am surprised only that such orders were put in writing. It would seem that the Son of the Sun aims to be even more bloodthirsty than his father was.”
“Oh, son!” the woman murmured, horrified at such blasphemy.
He patted her hand. “Emperor Zealous Righteousness cut off my head without a trial, Mother. Twice! The first time I had said some unkind things about him, I admit, but even the Courtly Teacher taught that Emperors may be censured when they stray from the path of righteousness.”
“Twice?” If her son was the crack of a musket shot, she was the slow grind of glaciers.
“The second time I was only eight years old. I cried as they carried me out to the block, because I did not want to die again so soon.”
It seemed that the Firstborn was trying to educate her to accept that he had a destiny she could not share, could barely understand. Shard had noticed him dropping many such hints lately.
“It grew worse, Holy One. Other instructions arrived. The honorable warden was ordered to torture or mutilate you in any way he wanted, to the death. Whether you were answering questions or not.”
The woman looked thoroughly bewildered.
