by Liz Williams
And one by fearsome one, the women’s faces elongated into broad muzzles, eyes glowed gold, tiger stripes slid out to bisect tawny skin, and claws hissed against the stones of the terrace. Only the injured girl and the glowering Lara remained within a semblance of human.
“And for our first hunt—you might view it simply as an appetizer to whet your needs, since it won’t last long—we have a spirit of the forest, and a human soul!” Agni clapped his hands and the demon guard gave the unprepared Go a shove between the shoulder-blades. “Enjoy!”
57
Inari cried out as the weapon sped toward Mhara. She heard other voices from around the hall, shouts of woe and dismay, and underneath it all, a swift, ominous, and familiar muttering. Had Inari still possessed a heart, she might have felt it falter, for the voice she now heard was that of Chen. Then she saw him. He was at the very edge of the hall, half-hidden by a tapestry, with the badger at his heels. Badger looked as though he was about to spring.
“Chen Wei!” Inari mouthed. Her husband did not break his incantation, but he did glance up. She saw recognition, relief, worry, all flow across his face as the incantation went on. Whatever it was intended to achieve was not, however, clear: the blade reached Mhara, striking the Emperor in the middle of his breast-bone. Inari felt a shudder pass through her, as though the entire structure of the Imperial Palace had quivered. Her expectation was so vivid that it was almost as though she had already seen it happen: the Emperor rising, trying to stand, staggering, falling, lost—but this did not happen.
Instead, Mhara flew apart, disintegrating into a soundless explosion of dust and ashes. The hall became quite still, a tableau of paralyzed courtiers and Seijin standing frozen, one arm still outflung in the wake of the blade. Inari, looking down, saw the figure of the Lord Lady ripple, as if caught in the shockwave of the blast, and then split. A woman in a gray tunic and leggings stepped to one side, mouth open in a gape of horror. Her sallow skin appeared wrinkled, as if she had been crushed in some kind of press. She was joined by the figure of a man, wearing a helmet and the old armor of the steppes. Male and female self, Inari knew, and the shades screamed as they departed, hurtling out toward opposing walls of the throne room and scattering into shadow.
Seijin turned. The disguise was gone, torn away, perhaps, by the disappearance of the real Emperor. The assassin’s gaze slid over Inari, barely registering. The departure of the primary selves, in so short a time, had wrought a great change in the Lord Lady, and not just from the loss of the Mhara-image. Seijin’s once calm, once beautiful face had become a pinched mask like a shrunken head. The eyes slanted up, revealing the full extent of the empty socket, the mouth curled back from a demon’s teeth. A ragged topknot of greasy hair, more like that of a horse than a human’s, spilled across Seijin’s hunched shoulders. This is what Seijin truly was, once out of balance, Inari realized. And lack of balance had been occurring over hundreds of years, with every soul the Lord Lady swallowed or took.
Seijin gave a great anguished cry and sprang upward. A moment later, the assassin stood on the balustrade of the gallery that overlooked the throne room. Another spring, and Seijin was gone through the window in a crash and splinter of glass. Courtiers, the bonds of their paralysis cut, fled in all directions as sharp rain showered down. Inari braced herself for the tug that would pull her after Seijin, but it did not come, as though the cords that tied her, too, had been severed by shattered glass. Finally, she was free to soar down to those she loved.
“That seemed to work,” Mhara said. Chen, startled, stepped back and trod heavily on the badger’s paw. The familiar growled.
“Sorry!”
The Emperor of Heaven had manifested out of thin air, after that unnerving fireworks display during the assassination attempt.
“Shhh,” Mhara said. Blue eyes danced; Chen had the outrageous impression that the Emperor was enjoying himself. “They can’t see me, you know.”
“What did you do?” Chen hissed. There was so much confusion in the throne room that he could, it seemed to the badger, get away with being both a human intruder, and with talking to himself.
“A disguise to fool a disguise,” Mhara murmured. “Seijin took on my appearance, in coming here. So I put a simulacrum in my place.”
“But—what made Seijin change? Magic?”
“No,” Mhara said. “Actually, that was nothing to do with me, although it’s certainly helpful. I think the Lord Lady is cracking up.”
“Literally,” Chen managed to say, before the spirit of his dead wife whisked down from the ceiling and shot straight through him. Demons do not cry, no more do ghosts, but Inari’s still-beautiful face was twisted all the same.
“Mistress!” the badger cried.
“Inari.” Her name was a breath upon the air.
“He killed me, he stole me, and now I am here, I—”
“We have to find him,” Mhara said. “If Seijin dies—” His gaze met Chen’s own.
“Then Seijin must not be allowed,” Chen said.
Heaven’s resources were not as vast as they once had been, with the depletion of warriors by the war, and then by Mhara’s Long March to Earth. But there were still enough people to organize into search parties and squads, and Mhara, restored to visibility, wasted no time.
“My father had an easier task,” he said to Chen with a sigh. “If everyone thinks as you do, then they’re simpler to predict. Which is the whole point, of course.”
“I won’t suggest that you reinstate that state of affairs,” Chen said.
“I will not.” Mhara paused. “And now, I’m not even certain if I could. They’ve gained a surprising amount of independence in a very short time. Some would hold that to be a good thing.”
“I would be one of those,” Chen murmured.
“And I,” Mistress echoed. The badger said nothing, but he supposed that family spirits tended to have a different view of these matters. Chen was clearly trying to hide his desperate worry over Mistress. On the day of her death, Mhara had explained that he would not be able to bring her back, and now here her ghostly shade was, still with her faculties and personality seemingly intact. But how long would that last, badger wondered. And if anything happened to Seijin, then what would befall the inhabitants of the Shadow Pavilion, Mistress among them? It seemed to him too much to bear, that he and Chen should come so close to losing her once, only to watch her slip from their grasp, a sorrowing shade, slain through mere circumstance. He felt her cold self brush against his fur, and saw the look in her eyes, but that was all she could do. At least she no longer appeared attached to the assassin and that was both curse and blessing, now that they had no idea where Seijin had actually gone.
“I can tell where the smallest beetle creeps beneath the leaves of Heaven,” Mhara had told him, mouth downturned. “But I can’t find the instrument of my death. Seijin is hidden from me, by the last of my mother’s magic.”
This was not the time to reflect on how many of the wars of the three worlds had been fought out of familial dysfunctionality, badger thought. Not few, that was for sure. Chen said to Mhara, “I will help as much as I can, obviously. This is your world, your kingdom. You must instruct me.”
Mhara smiled. “Just stay by my side. All of you.”
Seijin fled through beauty, running down corridors of silk and garnet, across bridges made of silver and pearl. Willows streamed by, their golden fronds trailing across pools that flickered with carp and shone with lilies. The assassin ran down streets lined with marble, under low lacquered roofs, through courtyards where ceremonial braziers quietly smoldered. Seijin passed a lion-dog on a plinth, which shook itself from stone into life, too late, for Seijin was running hard now.
The Lord Lady had failed, and failure was unbearable. Female self had screamed as she vanished, male self had not made a sound. These separate selves, accumulated over Seijin’s long lifetime, had not stood the final test and this could not be borne—could not, and had to be. Seijin knew, deep within, tha
t death was close and the memory of female self was there, wailing that it was hubris and madness to think that one could slay a god. Demon and human, Seijin had treated the worlds as a hunting ground and now the hunt had turned.
Seijin had no knowledge of where this flight would lead, running blind in panic, an unaccustomed state. For years, such perfect poise, such balance, had been maintained, but now it did not seem like balance at all, for the seesaw had finally dropped and brought Seijin to ground with a bang. The assassin’s only hope lay in returning to between, to try to reconstruct more selves in the haunted peace of the Shadow Pavilion, and Seijin did not even know if this would be possible. But the other path led to death, and that was something to fear, the assassin now learned. Up until now, death had been something that was meted out to others.
Intolerable. Unbearable. Seijin ran on, seeing nothing of the wonders of Heaven. To the assassin, it had become a landscape of ashes and dust, a replica of the world that Seijin was seeking, trying to reel in between by sheer force of will. And between was calling.
“The Lord Lady will try to get home,” Inari said. She was drifting around the ceiling of one of Mhara’s small chambers, trying and failing to keep closer to the ground. Everyone had to crane their necks to look up at her and Inari was finding it annoying.
“Go to ground,” the badger said.
“Exactly. Seijin’s tried three times and failed. You saw what happened to those other selves—the assassin’s starting to break apart.”
“But Seijin is mad,” Chen said. “We have to ask ourselves whether there’s any rational thought taking place there at all.”
“I don’t think it’s rational,” Inari said. “Seijin was cracking up before coming here. Maybe a long time before. But the Lord Lady is bound to the Shadow Pavilion. I know that’s where Seijin will go.”
“Let it happen,” Mhara counseled. “Less harm will be done in between than if Seijin’s allowed to remain in Heaven. We need to open a door.”
“Are you sure?” Chen said, but Inari could see from his expression that he agreed.
“Yes,” the Emperor of Heaven said. “Open a door, and enter it. Get to between before the assassin.”
58
No Ro Shi’s head went up, a hound on the hunt. “Something’s happening.”
“Shit,” the demon said. “It’s a hunt.”
A long bell-like call sounded out across the valley, an old-fashioned English hunting horn. Where had Agni found that, Zhu Irzh wondered: some illfated Raj-era fox hunt, no doubt.
“So who are they hunting this time?” No Ro Shi murmured.
“Dunno.” But it didn’t bode well for Jhai. Zhu Irzh was aware of a compelling, and frankly unfamiliar, anxiety. He wasn’t used to worrying about Jhai—at least, not about her safety. He certainly worried about what she might be up to on any given occasion, although it was true that this lent a piquancy to life. But Jhai commanded so much power, so much wealth, was so self-assured even when she was completely wrong, that the demon was simply unaccustomed to concerning himself about her in that way. The idea of offering a chivalrous protection to Jhai was laughable.
At least, on Earth. But they weren’t on Earth now; they were not even in Zhu Irzh’s own home Hell, and Agni—for all his urbanity and foppery and whimsy—was presenting a real danger. This was his realm, and the encounter with Vishnu had shown Zhu Irzh that no one else would interfere: there would be no sudden intervention by a benign deity. Why should there be, after all? If Jhai truly belonged anywhere, it was here among her deranged tiger kin.
He’d fallen in lust with her, like many people of both sexes. He’d agreed to marry her because he’d been maneuvered into it and backing out would have been more hassle than going through with it. Besides, one had to marry someone, just to shut one’s mother up, and even demons grew older and more staid. And Jhai was a lot of fun. But suddenly, the thought of something permanent befalling Jhai—of no longer seeing her leaning over the balcony of her Paugeng apartments with a bottle of Tiger beer in one hand, no longer seeing the scheming look that crossed her beautiful face whenever she was plotting something, never again watching Jhai stalking barefoot across the salt-stained boards of Chen’s houseboat—the thought of losing this was suddenly intolerable.
He hoped it didn’t show on his face. He was reluctant to exhibit any weakness in front of No Ro Shi. Fortunately, it was twilight and the demon-hunter was staring in the opposite direction, toward the Hunting Lodge. Over No Ro Shi’s shoulder, Zhu Irzh could see an unpleasantly familiar scene unfolding itself on the terrace.
“Can you see Jhai?” His voice was urgent. So much for concealing weakness.
“No. Who are those two?”
No Ro Shi pointed. Up on the terrace, in the flaring light of the torches, Zhu Irzh saw a couple being locked into manacles.
“Shit,” he said again. He’d recognized both of them. One was Go, and the other was the deva, Sefira.
Having the little deva and Jhai in the same realm was disconcerting as well. Under more positive circumstances, women of whatever species were prone to exchange information at a level of intimacy that Zhu Irzh found frankly frightening.
No Ro Shi looked enquiringly.
“One’s a spirit. She helped me when I was here—if it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have escaped,” Zhu Irzh explained.
“A fine figure of a young lady,” was all that the demon-hunter said.
“The other one’s Go.”
“They’re setting up for a hunt,” No Ro Shi said. “I still can’t see Jhai—” but the next moment turned his words into a lie.
She walked out onto the terrace, flanked by two demons. Zhu Irzh could see her clearly in the torchlight and his heart sank. She was magnificently dressed: a scarlet sari that flared at the bottom, like a hibiscus flower, and a billowing red veil that streamed out behind her as if caught in its own wind. Gold glittered throughout the weave, sparking off the light of the torches. Zhu Irzh wasn’t all that familiar with Indian customs, but he did have a marriage coming up, after all.
“That’s a bloody wedding dress,” he said.
“If Agni marries her,” No Ro Shi said, “even if he does so against her will—what effect will that have, magically?”
Zhu Irzh had discussed this with Exorcist Lao shortly before they’d departed. “It ties her here,” he said. It had struck him at the time that this was why Jhai had been keen to get hitched, even to someone from Hell: with her own situation in Singapore Three having become somewhat more tenuous than previously (given what Jhai had inadvertently caused to happen to the city on earlier occasions, Zhu Irzh considered it a good thing that the local government was so spectacularly venal), Jhai probably now felt the need for a passport.
Well, it looked like she was going to get one. Along with a permanent residency visa to somewhere she had no desire to live.
A lawn had never looked so long. The world had become very bright, much brighter than it should have been from the flickering torches. Light streamed from the flowers, red columns of illumination shooting up from azalea and rhododendron, showering out across the lawn like a fountain. A bugle sounded, provoking a great roar from the crowd on the terrace, and Go and the deva set off at a stumbling run. Behind, glimpsed over Go’s shoulder, the tigresses waited, held back only by the movement of Agni’s hand.
It was hard to run in chains. Halfway across the lawn, the deva tripped and fell, nearly pulling Go down with her. Seeing that their only chance of genuine speed lay in dealing with the chain, Go scooped it up and wound it over his arm as he made his way to where the deva was scrambling up.
“You okay?”
“I’ll be all right,” the deva gasped, but she was limping and from the wince of pain that crossed her face, Go thought she had wrenched her ankle. Great. When Agni finally unleashed his harem, this would be like shooting fish in a barrel. The chain was heavy, slippery, cold. It bit through to the bone, making Go even more uneasy. This wasn’t natural,
it was some kind of magical fetter, something designed to hold souls, and its presence sipped at what little strength he had left.
“Come on,” Go said, all the same. He let the deva lean on him and together they tottered off down the lawn toward the shrubbery, followed by the laughter of the audience. Go thought he heard Agni call out something, a mocking word, and the laughter rose. He and the deva weren’t even the proper entertainment of the night; they were the comic turn. But then the bugle rang out again. Go and the deva lurched into rhododendron light, falling into a maze of blossoms, and the tigresses sprang after them.
59
Heaven was tearing down all around, shreds and tatters of beauty streaming away in the winds between the worlds, and Seijin could sense it now, the chilly nearness of home. A golden banner whipped by, followed by a young woman. She was dressed in white, her feet tightly bound, and she was smiling beneath her glossily lacquered helmet of hair. Her palms were together, as if praying. She smiled, bowed, and was whirled up into the rising storm.
Seijin now stood on a little bridge, looking down into chaos. The Emperor was behind this: Mhara’s presence—calm, implacable, working—was very clear: Seijin could taste his spells on the wind and they were strong and sweet. They burst into ashes in the assassin’s mouth, like the taste of failure. Once more Seijin howled, any semblance of control gone, as the Emperor dismantled Heaven all around and sent Seijin spinning down.
Chen and the badger were following Inari as quickly as they could, running down their own stretched lifelines back to between. The Shadow Pavilion called Inari like the tolling of a great bell: she could hear it ringing across the worlds and pursuing it was easy, she simply let it reel her in. She could not feel Seijin at all and that frightened her, that the assassin had already met an end and it only needed to catch up with her.
“Inari, wait!” Chen shouted once, racing through the ravaged chambers of the Dowager Empress toward the portal.
