by Devin Madson
‘Not the name you were born with.’
‘No,’ I agreed. ‘But I don’t think the name we are born with is always our true name.’
He did not reply, but continued along the empty passage, eventually bringing us to a wing of the house in better preservation. Here, furniture filled the rooms, hinting at more recent habitation. But the decorative scrolls were curled and discoloured and the floorboards stained with the criss-cross pattern of damp reed matting. There was a musty smell to the air, too, and I wondered how long it had been since anyone had opened these doors.
Light greeted us at the end of a passage, shining through the intact paper panes of a sliding door. It felt like the last bastion of warmth and life in the whole world, so long had the house held me in its decaying grip. After the dusty stink of decline even the smell of jasmine tea was divine.
‘We have a guest, Kimiko,’ Darius said, sliding the door. ‘I found him wandering like a lost sheep.’
Kimiko was curled upon a divan, snuggled into a pile of thick furs. It was a small, cosy room owning little beyond a cooking stone and a low table. A servant’s room, not a lord’s. Avarice had left his smell behind. I could imagine a young Darius lying there, curled as Kimiko was. And Avarice, his work no longer taking him beyond this room as he became friend and carer, entertaining a little boy with stories of the outside world.
‘Endymion,’ Kimiko said, drawing my attention back.
‘Takehiko,’ Darius corrected, shooting a challenging look my way.
‘Takehiko?’
He sat down upon the edge of the divan. ‘Shall I throw him out, Kimiko?’
She didn’t answer, just stared at me long and hard. ‘You’re my cousin? I thought there was something familiar about you, but you don’t look like an Otako. You haven’t got the nose, or the eyes. You look more like–’
‘A Laroth.’
Kimiko turned to Darius. ‘A Laroth, yes,’ she said. ‘I see. Empathy runs in the blood.’
‘It does,’ he agreed. ‘Unfortunately, Emperor Lan did not know that when he signed papers assuring the world that Takehiko was his son.’
Kimiko sat up, pushing the furs aside. ‘I remember when you were born,’ she said. ‘No one celebrated, not like they did for Tanaka and Rikk. For them there were parties in the streets. But for you there was nothing.’
‘Kimiko,’ Darius said.
‘I didn’t understand at the time why everyone was so angry,’ she went on, ignoring him. ‘But I know now. Why celebrate the birth of a bastard, of an aberration born to the Imperial line?’
Darius moved away. Kimiko’s eyes followed him, her cheeks pale, her fingers curling amid the fur. ‘What a mess parents make of the world,’ she said, smiling though her emotions betrayed her. ‘The Otakos are meant to be dead, but now it seems I cannot turn around without walking into someone who is related to me.’
‘I’m not,’ Darius said, scowling through a narrow window at the thick night. ‘And technically Endymion is not either. His mother was only an Otako by marriage, just another lady who was charmed by my father’s apparent wit.’
‘Like Malice’s mother?’
‘Malice’s mother was a whore,’ Darius said, still not turning around. ‘Not an empress whore.’
Kimiko laughed. ‘How charming. Don’t listen to him, Endymion, he’s just cranky because all the tea is stale.’
He turned then, his eyes laughing back at her. I felt as little part of the scene as the walls themselves and thought to leave, but the moment did not last. Kimiko pointed to the cooking stone. ‘There is rice if you’re hungry,’ she said. ‘We don’t have much else.’
Rice clumped in the base of the pot, its cedar lid left askew. I hadn’t eaten for days, but I did not feel hungry.
‘I must see Kaze stabled and fed first,’ I said. ‘Is there a stable yard? And dare I ask for grain?’
‘We were fortunate enough to find some miraculously untouched by rats,’ Darius said, finally coming away from the window. ‘Come, I’ll show you the way.’
An old rein hung from the ceiling, holding a trio of lanterns. Each was lit, and Darius retrieved one, the candle flame flickering through a rip in the paper.
Kimiko said nothing, and Darius did not look back as he led the way into the dark passages once again. But this time the lantern drew colour from the old house – yellowing parchment scrolls, the red tinge of the wooden floor, and a brilliant green moss gradually stealing the house back to nature.
Still walking, Darius said: ‘Why did you come here?’
‘To find you.’
‘Afraid for my life?’
‘No.’
He stopped abruptly, lifting the lantern. ‘What do you want from me, Endymion?’
With only half his face lit, it looked more mask-like than ever. ‘I want your help,’ I said.
‘I thought we had agreed that we were both beyond help.’
‘You controlled your Empathy.’
His lip lilted into a sneer. ‘Controlled, yes. For a while I succeeded in pretending I was not the man I was born. Why? Do you want to know how?’
‘Yes. I don’t want–
‘You don’t want to be a slave to it? Don’t want to live the monster that is beneath your skin?’
‘Yes.’
‘Empathy doesn’t want to be denied,’ he said. ‘You are what you are born, and the effort of suppressing that will see you to an early grave as our father long since proved.’
‘But can you teach me how?’
His smile held no humour. ‘I can. It isn’t easy.’
‘I don’t care about easy.’
‘And you have to want it. You have to want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything else.’ He glanced over my shoulder, back along the passage. ‘As soon as you want something else more, you will lose. Do you understand?’
More than you think.
‘Yes.’
Darius looked down at the strip of white linen visible at my collar. ‘It would appear that you have injured yourself.’
‘I want my freedom.’
‘Don’t we all.’
He turned away on the words, and with the lantern lighting his path, continued into the darkness.
Chapter 11
Pick a side.
The afternoon passed quickly. Bei brought back news of Kin’s movements, and Wen and Yani dealt with Tika’s injured hand. They had to keep him quiet. A leather bit was thrust between his teeth, and Yani held him down while Wen worked. Tika grunted, breath hissing through his nose, but undeterred Wen dug into his flesh, setting bones and cleaning the angry wound.
When evening came the men grew restless. Shin vetoed the possibility of a raid until we had more information about Kin’s numbers, leaving the Pikes with nothing to do but complain about everything. Without a fire the food was cold and raw; there were no whores to rid them of their boredom; no wine to dull the senses – nothing but the unrelenting strain of camping in enemy territory. Four sentries sat high in the trees, each one trained under Monarch’s rigid rules. Shin hadn’t named us, but when I insisted on doing my duty like the others, he assented with nothing more than a grunt.
To travel light we had brought no tents, carrying only the barest provisions for man and beast. We tended our horses and ate our meagre meal, and with nothing else to do, Tili and I were left to ourselves, ostracised like lepers.
Tili ate in silence, staring down at a handful of early chestnuts gleaned from the forest floor. Shin had peeled them for her, seeming to enjoy the fiddly work of prising the thin shell off with his knife, piece by piece.
‘Is it always like this?’ Tili asked, turning the pale flesh of the nut over and over in her fingers.
‘Like what?’
‘Are soldi
ers always so sour? Or is that my fault?’
‘Men are just like that, and soldiers are worse,’ I said, recalling life on the road with Monarch and his Pikes. ‘Especially when they don’t get what they want. They don’t like me and they aren’t sure about Shin, so they’ll keep pushing to see what they can get away with.’
‘Why?’
‘So they know whether they can respect him.’
‘He put his knife through Tika’s hand.’
I nodded. ‘He had a reason and he did it without hesitation. They like that.’
Tili looked across the small campsite to where Shin was sitting, alone, glaring at a patch of dirt at his feet.
Pick a side, he had said. Pick a side.
With no tents, Tili and I made ourselves as comfortable as possible on the ground, clearing an area away from the rest of the group. It was far from cosy, but I was exhausted. In the morning we would begin our campaign of harrying Kin’s battalion, picking off his men and sapping their morale. And that was Katashi’s plan, to use dishonourable tactics against Kisia’s most honourable man. We had fought that way as Pikes, rebels taking kills where we could, but he was an emperor now. He was Kisia.
I fell asleep only to be shaken awake. Some hours must have passed, the camp now silent. Moonlight flickered through the canopy, lighting the slightly blurred form of Wen hovering above me. Sweat. Blood.
‘Your turn up the trees, my lady,’ he said, his breath carrying the tang of salted meat.
I sat up, hazy with sleep. ‘Which end?’
‘North end.’ He unslung his bow and handed it over. ‘Here. Bring it back in one piece. And watch out for Yani, he’s out to get you since you ruined his shot.’
‘Does this mean you trust me now?’
He dropped his quiver. ‘No,’ he said, walking away.
I scratched my head, digging fingernails into my scalp in an attempt to shake the stupor of sleep. The other Pikes were shadowy forms barely distinguishable from rocks, only Wen awake, crossing the camp to where he had left his belongings. It had always been Monarch’s practice to stagger changeover and Shin had learned from the best.
Slinging the bow over my shoulder, I left our small clearing and began counting my steps. I counted to twenty, then added a few extra to make up for my stride. Good lookout trees were hard to come by and tonight’s selection was poor. A few scraggly shorties and an ancient with broken branches cut the number to two, one an easy climb the other a challenge, and Monarch had always said the best lookout tree was one your enemy couldn’t climb.
Checking the bow and quiver were not going to slip, I dashed at the tree trunk, catching one foot on the rough bark and leaping up. I just caught the bottom branch and swung, throwing my leg over and levering myself up. The effort made my ribs ache and the bark scratched my sore hands, but the pain was almost pleasant, reminding me that I was alive.
I climbed into the canopy, swinging from branch to branch, a light breeze tugging at my curls. A sturdy branch was easy to find and I leant back, unshouldering Wen’s bow and settling in for the long wait. It took time to adjust, to stop hearing the sounds of the forest and start hearing the little noises that were out of place, the chatter of insects and the shriek of hawk owls nothing but an undercurrent. The forest floor, too, became a black background against which I watched for movement.
The night moved slowly. To pass the time I challenged myself to go longer and longer without scratching my nose or moving my legs, but though I tried to think of something else, it was Shin’s words that filled the night.
Pick a side.
My eyes began to glaze. I stared at the forest but did not see it, listened to the forest but did not hear it.
Pick a side.
Kin had been asleep. I’d had the blade in my hand. It should have taken no more than a moment to stick the knife in and leave without a word, ending the war before it began. I’d told Shin it was dishonourable to kill a sleeping man, but that thought hadn’t been in my mind. Now mountains of bodies burned outside Risian. Men would die. Women and children would lose their homes, their husbands, their fathers and brothers; be taken as whores and sold as slaves to the outer kingdoms.
And I called them my people.
'I am an emperor,' Kin had said at our first meeting. 'Your father believed that meant he could do as he wished without consequence, that he had no responsibilities, only rights. But he was wrong.'
He had asked me to marry him for the sake of peace, for Kisia, for the people, and I had refused, putrid hate pouring from my lips.
A whistle from the base of the tree snapped me from my troubled thoughts. A Pike was just visible, mottled in moonlight, his hands held up in the questioning gesture Monarch had long ago taught his men.
Do you understand sign?
Resting the bow on my legs, I held up both hands in the same gesture to show I did. Then, without waiting, the man started his message. Sounds east. Stay there. Possible attack. Unknown numbers. Heron call for sighting. Captain’s orders.
I made the positive sign, but added two words, a question: girl safe?
The Pike made a rude gesture followed by the positive sign, and with that I had to be satisfied.
The man walked away, leaving me to stare at the ground, alert now. I fingered the fletching of a ready arrow, glad that I had chosen the difficult tree.
Upon the forest floor a dark shape flitted between the trunks, a figure there and gone so quickly I doubted my own eyes. I leant forward as though it might give me a better view, all the while trying to swallow my heart. Everywhere shadows danced, giving life to the wind. The fox spirits were playing. That was what Monarch called it when men saw ghosts in the trees, when their minds played tricks on their eyes.
I blinked. The man was there again, a solid form crossing a narrow patch of open ground. A black-clad figure, he was briefly lit by moonlight before disappearing into the thicker nest of trunks beyond. Not a fox spirit at all, but not a Pike either.
During my months as a Pike I had learned their language. Sign was important, but even more so were the sounds lookouts used to alert the camp to intruders, friend or foe. The bark of a night heron was hard to imitate, but Monarch had taught me how to shape my lips just so and force the sound out like a cough. It had taken a lot of practice and he had laughed at my every attempt, that single dimple dug deep in his cheek. Now the sound cut through the buzz of insects, loud and clear. Watching the trees where the figure had disappeared, I waited for an answering call, but none came. So once again shouldering Wen’s bow, I hugged the trunk and slid down, sandals scraping on the loose bark.
At the base, I pressed my back to the trunk, drawing my short sword, its old leather hilt warm. The forest was quiet. Blood pulsed in my ears and I tried to calm myself, to breathe evenly as I crept across the forest floor.
A stick cracked behind me and I spun, ready to fight death.
Yani.
He raised his hands in surrender and nodded at my sword. I lowered it, but did not sheath it, framing the symbol for question with my fingers.
He didn’t answer with sign, just stepped forward to whisper.
‘What are you doing out here?’ he hissed in my ear. ‘Deserting?’ He gripped my wrist, his fingers digging into my skin.
‘There’s someone out here,’ I whispered back, tugging at my trapped arm. ‘Let me go.’
‘I don’t think so. You see, the captain ain’t here to save you now. I don’t like traitors and I don’t like whores. Guess what I think of traitor whores? Make this easy for yourself. Drop the sword.’
I looked up into his eyes, their intent hard to discern in the shadows. Wen had warned me. ‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t like cowards and I don’t like fools. Imagine what I think of cowardly fools.’
His grip tightened and I winced, no lo
nger aware of anything beyond his body, strong and sweat-laden in the heat. ‘You want an unclean death? Because I can do that.’
He tried to make me drop my weapon, digging the tips of his fingers between the bones of my arm. Pain shot up through my elbow. I tightened my grip and slammed my foot into his shin. He hissed and I pulled free, yanking my sleeve through his slackened fingers. Scuffing up leaves, I stepped slowly back, sword raised. Yani drew his own blade, a longsword, curving to a deadly point. His eyes glittered.
‘Want to fight?’ he said, no longer whispering. ‘You versus me. A contest of honour.’
My blade was nothing compared to his. It was good for close work, but if I couldn’t get past his guard it would make no difference.
‘Well?’ he said, stepping forward, turning his shoulder ready to fight.
I tested the weight of my blade, licking my lips. If I fought with honour it would get me killed. I was smarter than that.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘Catch.’
The sword spun, scything through the air. Yani threw himself down, kicking up leaves as he rolled, the sword hilt smacking into the tree behind him. Before he was up I had an arrow nocked to Wen’s bow. It shook, but I tightened my grip, drawing the string as Yani got to his feet.
‘Are you going to kill me?’ he said, spreading his hands, his longsword a silvery extension of his arm.
‘That depends,’ I replied, taking a deep breath. ‘If you drop your sword and walk away I might not put an arrow through you.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘Then we’ll get to see how many arrows you can dodge.’
The Pike shrugged.
An arrow flew past my shoulder and buried itself in his throat. It pierced his flesh, sinking so far its bloody tip protruded. Yani’s eyes bulged. His lips turned crimson. He tried to breathe but choked, spluttering blood onto his chin.
A strong hand gripped my shoulders and I turned, looking up into a familiar face. General Ryoji, the man who had saved me from the Pit. I lowered Wen’s bow.
