Portal of a Thousand Worlds

by Duncan, Dave

  “There are higher loyalties.”

  “No there aren’t. That’s what I’m saying.”

  “There is one. Why don’t you fill your mouth with nails again so I can speak for a change? The present Emperor is the same age as you are, and very nearly as big, but his bulk is grease, not brawn like yours. He suffered a serious illness as a child and has never recovered. He has the mind of a two-year-old. He is incapable of feeding or cleaning himself, let alone fathering an heir. His mother, the Empress Mother, has ruled as regent in the hope that one day he would recover, but obviously he is not going to. There is no clear successor.”

  Horse glanced briefly at her and then away. He could guess that he had just been told a secret more dangerous than six angry cobras.

  “Have you heard of the Bamboo Banner, Brother?”

  “Some bad tales.”

  “When the rebels claim that the Emperor is dead, they are not far from the truth. He isn’t dead, but he might as well be. Very few people know the truth. They have kept the secret for many years, but the time has come when we absolutely must have a viable Emperor, a visible Emperor. Someone must perform the rituals, make the sacrifices, and receive the Outlander ambassadors. And so on. He cannot hide behind childhood any longer.”

  Horse dropped the shoe and his tools and straightened up, staring at her in horror.

  “There is no alternative at all except revolution and civil war,” the woman said. “I swear! I hung that picture of Zealous Righteousness in your room because I expected I would have to coach the aide I chose to practice resembling him. But you already have a look of him, enough that no one will question your relationship, at least not on those grounds.

  “So now I ask you where your highest loyalty lies—to the Emperor, who is an imbecile, and always will be, or to the Empire itself? To the hundreds of millions of the Gentle People who depend on the Empire to keep them safe from war and famine and terror?”

  After a moment he licked his lips and whispered, “My client?”

  “Your client is the Empress Mother herself. She named you. She wants to smuggle you into the imperial harem to provide her with a grandchild who can carry on the dynasty. She will continue to run the government as she has for years with great success. In a year or two, when you have done your duty, you will be appointed abbot of a house very far away.”

  “But the Emperor is holy! He is the conduit through whom Heaven dispenses its blessings to the Good Land.”

  The woman sneered. “Heaven has accepted substitutes since you were born. You are not content just to tell the Empress Mother how to rule, but now give instructions to Heaven as well?”

  “No, no!” he protested. “But how can I be pretend to be the Emperor? People will know.”

  “Leave that to us. You will not appear in public. You are required to perform the imperial duties in bed, not on the throne. Dozens of concubines eager to please, if that is your fancy. It is a fair offer, I think.”

  “Not one that appeals much to me, lady.” But one that he would have to accept, because if he refused, she would speak the words of his leash and even the thought of that made him retch. “Who are you?”

  “Sister Twilight. In the palace, I am known as Lady Twilight, a long-time confidant of the Empress Mother. That I am a Gray Sister is no great secret. That I have poisoned people for her on occasion is not much more of one. Will you be another of my victims, or will you accept this contract and the name she gave you, Brother Butterfly Sword?”

  He bowed his head and thought about it. If the Empress Mother was still in charge and if she was ordering this in the Emperor’s name, then it was his duty to obey. If he refused, then Twilight would use his leash on him and squeeze his mind through her fingers like bean curd. He had no real choice.

  “Will Her Majesty give me these orders, face-to-face?”

  “You think she doesn’t know her own son? Of course she will.”

  “Well, then … I am true to my oath of obedience, my lady. I will obey. What happens to Novice Moth?”

  “Mind your own business.” Twilight stood up and beckoned impatiently, no doubt to Novice Simple returning. “Finish nailing up that pestilential horse as fast as you can and come back to the priory.”

  Chapter 7

  Heaven surprises us to remind us how ignorant we are. So said the Desert Teacher. Truly, Shard Gingko had never expected to return to Long River. Only a couple of months ago, he would have dismissed the prospect of going there without the armed guards who had escorted him the first time as certain suicide. Yet, here he was, sitting on the edge of a riotous party around a bonfire in the village center, while inhabitants plied him with choice fragments of roast pork and potent rice wine. The difference this time was that he had come in the company of Sunlight, the Firstborn. He had brought their hero back, and the Firstborn vouched for him.

  Six days ago, he had walked out of Four Mountains Fortress and away from his former life. He had left behind no orders or explanations. No one would take command for days. No one would send soldiers after them. But the new warden might, when he arrived, and the first place he would look would certainly be Long River, so the Firstborn must not be allowed to stay here very long. He was too recognizable to hide.

  Shard was not. Not now. On their second day afloat, he had cut off his queue and his trailing mustaches. But that was not quite true. A laughing Sunlight had suggested that he ought to do this, and when Shard had reluctantly agreed that the scholarly trimmings made him conspicuous, the Firstborn had handed his own razor to Mouse and told him to do it. At first, the boy had refused, horror-struck at the thought of demonstrating such disrespect, but the Firstborn had insisted. Mouse knew how shaving was done, because he watched Sunlight all day long, never taking his eyes off him. So he had shaved Shard’s face and scalp, and by the time he had finished, he was smiling.

  Shard had never seeing him doing that before. Sunlight caught his eye and remarked in Palace Voice, with a wink, “As all the teachers said, There is a first time for everything.”

  So the missing Clerk of Records had melted back into the anonymous millions of the Good Land from which his family had emerged three generations ago, and if the Emperor’s men came looking for him, they would look in vain. Son and grandson of mandarins, Shard had done well in child school, and had passed the prefecture examinations, which ninety-five out of every one hundred failed. He had then spent several years studying for the second level and traveled to Heart of the World for the examination. Alas, the stars had been inauspicious for him that day, and his eight-part essay on the use of flower symbolism in the work of lesser Seventh Dynasty poets had been deemed too generalized. Unable to finance a second attempt, and thus unable to progress to the third-level examinations, where a pass meant a place in the mandarinate and eventually a role in administering the Empire, he had been condemned to the humble life of a scribe. Since then, he had lived his life of dull mediocrity, working for various officials who paid him a pittance, from their own private purses, that he had eked out with no more than the usual corruption. With his daughters gone into marriage and his family line ended, he had been waiting until he could follow his wife to the Fifth World. And then—wonder of Heaven!—he had somehow become a disciple of the Ancient One, the Firstborn, who perversely insisted on being addressed as Sunlight.

  We are children of Earth, so Heaven surprises us.

  Now Shard wore a peasant’s conical straw hat, which kept off sun and rain and hid the gray stubble on his scalp. He ate peasants’ food, wore peasants’ clothes, and scratched peasants’ lice in a mysterious state of bliss. He ate well, because the Firstborn shared with him and Mouse what the peasants were so eager to spare from their meager lot. He had no money, no income, no worries. How could even death be a worry around the Man of a Thousand Lives? Did not he prove that there were many more lives to come, even if he alone always remained in the same
world?

  The Urfather was recognized everywhere now. At times, men came close to blows arguing whose boat would have the honor of transporting him to the next village, or whose roof would shelter him overnight. He was only a weedy, stunted adolescent with bent legs and a persistent cough, but they revered him as if he outranked the Emperor, which he probably did in the eyes of Heaven. They would have kowtowed and worshipped him had he allowed it, but he did not. He responded to their excitement with unending patience and good humor, like a mother caring for her children. By nightfall, his throat was hoarse and his cough harsher, but he never complained.

  He settled disputes, gave advice, and taught the wisdom of the ancients, most of whom he had met. Sometimes, he would mention them as if they had died just days ago, instead of centuries. “Yes, the Rose Teacher did say that, but he thought about it for three days before he found an answer that satisfied him!” He quoted poets long dead in their original dialects, which even Shard had trouble understanding, but which often brought back a luster their words had now lost. Then the Firstborn would smile and translate. Sometimes, when he was in the mood, he would mischievously recount local history, deeds of famous persons who had lived in that village millennia ago, or battles fought nearby.

  Two days ago, they had arrived at Long River and met a tumultuous welcome. The spring planting was over, so the whole village had a few days’ respite from labor, and had used it to organize a gigantic party and keep it going indefinitely. Here, Sunlight seemed content to linger, despite Shard Gingko’s anxious muttering about pursuit. He insisted he had business to attend to, conceding only that if he stayed too long, too many feasts would eat up all the villagers’ stores.

  Now it seemed he was about to make a speech.

  Since sunset, he had been sitting at the far side of the bonfire with his mother and stepbrothers beside him. They had all been laughing and celebrating, like everyone else, but now the odd-looking boy was rising to his feet. He raised a hand for silence and the whole village, from babes to bent old elders, heeded. Whispers and sniggers in the background stopped. Even the fire and the torches seemed to crackle and hiss less loudly. Moonlight decorated the scene with silver.

  “Honored Mother, elders, family, neighbors, friends …” He spoke well. He had been practicing since before the count of years began, since long before the First Dynasty. “The great teachers all agreed on one thing, the only thing they ever did agree on, and that is that one must honor one’s parents and ancestors. My true father, I cannot remember, if indeed I ever had one. I have had too many mothers to count. The latest, dear Quail, who you all know and love, sits here at my feet. None has been a better mother to me than she. Her husband, who reared me and was a father to me as much as he could be, is dead because of that, my good fortune and his misfortune. …”

  Shard should have guessed what the “important” business was. The Firstborn was going to see the woman settled. That was what it was all about. Her brothers’ wives had cared for her other children in her absence, although the youngest had died, and the rest were grown up and married now. Her husband, Sunlight’s foster father, had perished from abuse in the dungeons of Four Mountains—as Shard had admitted to the Firstborn, who had broken the news to her on the boat. The woman had wept sorely.

  He would not, could not, take her with him on his travels, and the lot of a widow was ever hard, especially one too old to supply a new husband with many sons. She was hiding her face in her hands, speechless. Her other children were smiling and chuckling, even the oldest deferring to the Firstborn’s authority.

  “Men of Long River! Here is a strong and upright woman, and a very loving parent. She thinks she may yet produce another son or two; with some help. …” Sunlight waited for the laughter to end. “And she insists that she will be willing to try. I have asked her if there is any man she especially wants …” The entire village exploded in a cannonade of laughter at the outlandish idea of asking her opinion. He grinned, waiting for silence again. “And she is too shy to tell me his name!” More laughter. “So I must ask if there is any man here who has room at his hearth for a first wife or another wife.”

  The gathering rustled. To Shard’s astonishment, it seemed that every male in the village was on his feet at once, from striplings to bearded antiques. No peasant could afford more than one wife, and very few even that many, if she were a prolific breeder of daughters. But to cherish the mother of the Firstborn would be a meritorious act.

  Now she was on her feet also, half pushed by her other children and half pulled up by Sunlight. He led her partway around the bonfire and beckoned to a man at the rear, who was immediately shoved forward by his companions. The cheers began as he took Quail’s hand in his. He was a stocky youngster, seeming little older than the Firstborn himself. There were shouts of “Grainstalk!”—apparently his name.

  “A very good choice,” a harsh voice commented at Shard’s ear. “Strong but gentle. His wife died two months ago. Has a son already. He’ll care for her.”

  He twisted around and recognized the speaker as Sunlight’s chatty aunt Kettle, a toothless crone who might be forty and looked like a mandarin’s wife would at eighty. He had met her four years ago, when he had come with the warden’s men to collect the villagers’ testimony for forwarding to Sublime Mountain. By that time, the Firstborn had been old enough to be discreet, but the damage of his youthful chatter had been done and rumors of his current incarnation’s whereabouts had reached the authorities. The Golden Throne had sent men to confirm his identity. If Shard had dared to warn the villagers, they would have either disobeyed him or put too much trust in their Emperor’s benevolence. Both, likely.

  “Would you expect him to choose a bad man?” Shard remarked.

  Kettle’s wattled neck turned her head so she could scowl at him.

  “I know you. You were the governor’s spy, writing down everything we said about the Firstborn! Weren’t you?”

  The crowd was packed in thick around them, many eyes and ears.

  “I was,” Shard admitted.

  “And gabby old Kettle was a big help to you, wasn’t she? Took all my words and used them against Sunlight, you did. ‘A fine healthy babe, he was,’ I told you. ‘Born in the year of the Phoenix, yes. … No, what the others told you was wrong, it was the Phoenix.’ Played me for a fool you did. Oh yes, I go and tell you all how about the toddler who asked about people no one else had ever heard of. How, by the time he was working in the paddies, he was boasting about talking with Emperors, so we all knew that he was the Firstborn returned. I even told you how he used to tell stories about long ago, when there wasn’t no Emperor and people dressed in skins and hunted in forests where our fields are now. And you wrote it all down and thanked us by taking him and his parents away in chains!”

  Shard heard angry whispers at his back, but nothing that sounded like a call to violence—yet. “I did. I was obedient to the Son of the Sun, as we must all be.”

  Kettle snorted, but her reply was forestalled by a neighbor’s comment: “Grainstalk’s too young for her!”

  It seemed that Grainstalk was in some way related to Kettle, so she sprang to his defense, claws out, and Shard was forgotten for the moment.

  Then the argument progressed to whether it was not Quail’s children’s job to care for her in her old age so Sunlight should not be meddling, the holy Firstborn or not. They decided to put the question to the visiting scholar.

  “Everyone in the family seems happy,” Shard said tactfully. “He is very fond of her, even if she isn’t really his mother.”

  “And why isn’t she?” Kettle demanded in a gust of rice wine fumes. “You think he came out of her easy like a bee from a hive? Oh no. I was there. There was blood and tearing and screaming just as always. If you men had to bear the consequences, there’d be a lot less heaving and bouncing on the mats every night.” She hiccupped. “Three Willows’s got a gift for yo
u, Scholar.”

  She pointed across Shard to an elderly man on his knees, who seemed to be tongue-tied, either by lack of wits or by the ordeal of addressing a stranger, for he thrust a cotton-wrapped bundle into Shard’s hands, scrambled to his feet, and waddled away as fast as his wobbling legs would take him.

  Puzzled, Shard, extracted his gift from the bag. It was a wooden box, the sort of box scribes used to pack their equipment, but the moonlight was not bright enough for him to see details. Then a dawn of torchlight warmed and brightened the scene. Mouse was holding the torch. The Firstborn dropped on one knee to inspect the box.

  “Very nice!” he said.

  It was nice enough to strike Shard dumb. It was a classic scribe’s box of sandalwood, containing ancient cracked ink stones, brushes with pure camelhair bristles and ivory handles, such as were never seen nowadays, and sheets of fine paper, slightly curled and discolored by age, but well-enough preserved to be still usable. Judging by the exquisite marquetry, the box was Ninth or early Tenth Dynasty. It had probably been hidden away here in this fleck-speck village ever since.

  “Belonged to an ancestor o’ his,” Kettle explained, chuckling. “Wants you to have it.”

  “Me? But this is worth …” Except that one could not sell an heirloom like this, and a peasant trying to do so would be accused of theft. “Why? Why me?”

  “’Cause you’re the Urfather’s disciple. So’s you can write down his words and how he was born in Long River.”

  “Accept it,” Sunlight whispered in Palace Voice. “You must not insult them by refusing.”

  Shard gushed thanks to the satisfied watchers, praising the quality and venerability of the box without mentioning that it was worth more than six fine fishing boats.

  “Now come,” Sunlight said softly. “Excuse us, all my friends. I must be gone before the Son of the Sun’s men come looking for me. If that happens, do not tell them lies. Heaven’s blessing be with you all.”