Saint-Germain 18: Dark of the Sun: A Novel of the Count Saint-Germain

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “You got here safely,” said the Apostle.

  “My traveling companion and I have but one wagon and six ponies and three camels.” Zangi-Ragozh shrugged. “We are not worth the risk of stopping.”

  “Hardly a caravan,” said Dukkai, and fixed him with her pale eyes. “Or is it better on the other side of the Great Wall, and you are telling us this to protect what they have?”

  “Anyone who claims so has not been there recently,” said Zangi-Ragozh, choosing his words carefully. “The market at Holin-Gol was half-empty when I was there.”

  “Then you say they lie?” Apostle Lazarus sounded troubled.

  “I say they have not been there since last winter. The yellow snow has fallen in many places, and the veil over the sun has been present from near Lo-Yang to this place. It may extend farther, but I have not seen it for myself,” Zangi-Ragozh told them.

  “The yellow snow,” said Dukkai, making the words a condemnation. “It has fallen steadily into the summer, not only in the Tien Shan, but on the wastes of the desert, and it still falls.” She fingered her broad, embroidered leather sash. “It is not wholesome.”

  “No. It burns the fields and sickens many animals. I have seen whole flocks of birds fall dead from the skies,” said Zangi-Ragozh.

  “That has happened here, as well,” said Apostle Lazarus. “It is God’s Hand, laid upon us for our unrepentant behavior.”

  “It is the gods contending over the earth,” said Dukkai in a tone of voice that suggested they often debated such things.

  “Whatever it is, it is deadly,” said Zangi-Ragozh.

  “And many are suffering because of it,” said the Apostle, going on with increasing emotion. “To have so much taken from us at one time can only mean that God wills it.”

  “If that is so,” Dukkai countered with the ease of long custom, “why would your God demand so much misery of his worshipers?”

  “God gave His Son to be the Light of the World. He allowed His Son to suffer on the Cross, for the sins of all men.” Apostle Lazarus spoke as if to a recalcitrant child.

  “If the son paid for the sins of men, why does your God visit more wretchedness on everyone? Was not that son’s expiation sufficient?” Dukkai leaned forward in genuine curiosity as she waited for his answer.

  “This is one of the many things that only Christians understand,” said Apostle Lazarus. “I am sure that you must know there is only one Son of God, and He reigns in Paradise with His Father.”

  “So you tell me,” said Dukkai, shaking her head slowly. “But that does not explain the travail of the world, not if the son’s sacrifice was acceptable to your God, and of true worth. If it truly did redeem men, then no Christian should have to endure want or pain or loss, yet we see they do.”

  “There is the Fallen Angel, who brought Original Sin,” said the Apostle.

  “And that should have been discharged by the sacrifice. Are you saying that your God has rivals who are as powerful as he, and who prey upon his people? Why has he not killed them all? Or is it that his power is not without limits, and Fate has sway over him as well as everything else?” Dukkai broke off to take a cup of buttered tea from the table in front of her. She drank half the liquid and put the cup back. “I forgot to tell you this when I arrived last night: I have some tea bricks for you, Apostle Lazarus. Not as many as last year, but not too paltry a gift.”

  “You need hardly purchase your reception here,” said Apostle Lazarus. “You are welcome if all you have is the breath in your body.”

  “You do credit to your faith to say so, but my gods would not favor me if I neglected the rules of hospitality,” said Dukkai. “My escort will present the bricks to your kitchen-master, and that will please me, and Baru Ksoka, who leads the Desert Cats, will not be dishonored in accepting your hospitality.”

  “That is his understanding, not mine,” said Apostle Lazarus with a warm smile. “It is an opportunity to serve God, having you and your escort here at Holy Trinity, and it is fitting that you should permit me to extend my welcome to your people.”

  “I believe you, but Baru Ksoka is the Kaigan, and I am obliged to respect his wishes,” said Dukkai.

  “After all these years? What is it?—seven years you have been coming here? Surely your Kaigan is aware that I expect no gifts other than your presence?” Apostle Lazarus shook his head again. “Your Kaigan is a stubborn man.”

  “And you are not?” Dukkai countered.

  “It is fitting that I tell you that I need nothing from your Kaigan, that my hospitality does not depend on his gifts to me, although I will accept them as donations of our faith, for God will render what gifts I may need in this life, and bring me to glory in the next.” He refilled her cup from a large, earthenware pot that sat on a warming plate atop a small butter-stove. “Let us assume that we have had our usual wrangle. I will thank your Kaigan for the bricks of tea and you will not have to insist upon it.”

  She laughed, sounding lighthearted. “I will tell him of your high regard for him and your gratitude for his gift, as I always do.”

  Zangi-Ragozh felt like an interloper, intruding on old friends, and it made him awkward. “You have had this discussion before, I take it?”

  “It is a ritual, almost,” said Dukkai. “I would be disappointed if we could not dispute the Kaigan’s gift.” She drank a little more buttered tea. “Baru Ksoka would not understand our amusement, and he would be troubled by what we say to each other.”

  “He will hear nothing from me,” Zangi-Ragozh assured her, understanding her intent. “Why should he? We may never meet.”

  “I think you will,” she said. “If you are to remain here for more than a few days, he will come to the compound and will want to know all strangers here.”

  “Is that part of his leadership?” Zangi-Ragozh asked.

  “He is afraid that being in this place, dangerous teaching may leach away my magic,” said Dukkai.

  “You do not seem worried about that,” Zangi-Ragozh observed.

  “Magic cannot be taken in that manner. This place is a magical one for Christians, but that does not damage other magic. Few places are so pernicious as to do that.” Dukkai drank down the rest of her tea. “I am expected to maintain the secrets of all the gods, to keep them apart from disbelievers, and to preserve their rites for the clan alone.”

  Apostle Lazarus stared at her in amazement. “So stringent a burden for you to carry. I am surprised that you speak to me at all.”

  “We share many things in our work,” she said. “You and I have rituals to uphold, and many responsibilities to our people, who are afraid the gods may fail them. Yet you trust in the strength of your God as I trust in the strength of all of mine. It is not something the others understand. You probably do not understand it, Zangi-Ragozh.”

  “When I was a very young man, I was initiated into the priesthood of my people,” he said quietly, and not quite comfortably, as it was a part of his past that he usually kept to himself. “It was a long time ago, and my people are disbursed over the earth, but I recall what I was taught in my youth.” That had been two and a half millennia ago, but he had not forgotten that night in the sacred grove, when the god had made him one of his blood.

  “Then perhaps you do understand,” she said. “I would like to hear what your priests taught you. It makes a change from what Apostle Lazarus and I usually discuss.”

  Apostle Lazarus leaned back in his chair. “Yes, Zangi-Ragozh. I am most curious. My father told me about your skills as an alchemist but nothing of your having been a priest.”

  “From priest to alchemist to merchant,” said Dukkai. “It must be a most fascinating journey.”

  “That is not a word I would have chosen,” said Zangi-Ragozh, meeting Dukkai’s ice-blue eyes with his blue-black ones.

  “No; those living a life do not usually see the remarkableness of it,” said Dukkai. “They leave that to magicians, and story-tellers.”

  “How can you say such thin
gs?” Apostle Lazarus exclaimed. “The lives and writings of holy men are examples, not tales to entertain.” He grinned, ready for lively conversation.

  “It may be so,” said Dukkai, “but the tales of the gods are often as much adventure as instruction, so that people may understand the nature of the gods’ powers.”

  “Of your gods, perhaps,” the Apostle countered.

  “Of all gods,” said Dukkai firmly. “As well they should be, so that people will want to remember them.”

  The Apostle made a humorous groan. “This is going to be a long day,” he said merrily.

  “At least until Baru Ksoka arrives,” said Dukkai. “Then there will be things we must do.”

  “I will keep that in mind,” said Apostle Lazarus.

  Zangi-Ragozh sat back and listened to the Apostle and Dukkai match wits while the shadows on the walls grew dim as heavy clouds covered the wan sun.

  Text of a letter from Eclipse Trading Company senior clerk Hu Bi-Da to Councillor Ko She-Hsieh, both at Yang-Chau.

  To the most excellent Councillor Ko She-Hsieh, the senior clerk of the Eclipse Trading Company, Hu Bi-Da, sends this requested report and provides the justly deserving Councillor with the information he has asked be included, on this, the first day of the Fortnight of the White Dew.

  This person regrets to inform the Councillor that there has as yet been no further word from Zangi-Ragozh, the illustrious foreigner who is the owner of the Eclipse Trading Company, and who has been gone from Yang-Chau for fifteen fortnights. As the Councillor is aware, the company is well-funded and the instructions left by the illustrious foreigner Zangi-Ragozh provided for the continuing trading of the company, as well as guaranteeing the paying of duties and taxes. Should word come at any time, this person will immediately inform the Councillor of that fact and apprize him of as much information as is to be had. The messenger from Dong-Lin provided proof that Zangi-Ragozh passed through the town, paid the required duties, and went on, which at present is the sum this person knows of his employer’s activities.

  I Mo-Ching, Captain of the Morning Star, has at last returned to port. His ship is somewhat damaged but not beyond repair. He has brought a cargo that is generally satisfactory, and the goods will be released for sale as soon as the customs officials decide on what duty to charge. I Mo-Ching himself is preparing a report for the Council regarding what he has observed on his voyage, the kind of damage he has seen, the aftermath of such damage, and his assessment on he impact of this on trade. This person urges you to give his account the utmost attention, for he will not lead you astray nor expect you to embrace tales of fanciful events.

  This person has provided a copy of the accounts of Eclipse Trading Company for the last twelve fortnights for your review. This person vouches for the accuracy of the records kept and, on pain of legal action, declares they are complete and veracious in all details and particulars. This person adds that the loss of the Bird of the Waves and The Shining Pearl are listed separately for the value of the cargoes of these lost ships can only be estimated, and so this person has based his assessment on previous cargoes of these ships. In addition to the two lost ships, word has arrived that the Phoenix has been badly damaged and most be extensively repaired before it may safely sail to Yang-Chau. This person has arranged for funds to be transferred to cover such repairs and, further, has been advised that the Captain is dead of fever and will have to be replaced. Should the Council authorize it, this person will hire a new Captain to carry the money for repairs to the Phoenix and assume command of her reconstruction as well as her voyage home. However, this person will not ask many Captain to take to sea after the Fortnight of the Frost Kings, when darkness and bad weather make navigation hazardous in good times. Given what has happened in the last twelve fortnights, this person cannot in good conscience send any ship to sea, for great waves might still strike out of nowhere, and ferocious winds drive all ahead of them, sending ships to destruction. If this person is erring in these decisions, he asks that the Councillor remember that Zangi-Ragozh entrusted his business. to my care, and this person is bound to use caution in difficulty circumstances, which these surely are. If, upon his return, Zangi-Ragozh should choose to chastise or penalize this person for his decisions, then this person will accept what is meted out to him as the right of his employer. Otherwise this person will continue to uphold his position in the Eclipse Trading Company in as prudent a manner possible.

  Submitted with the inclusion already mentioned, with the abiding respect and regard of

  Hu Bi-Da

  Senior Clerk, Eclipse Trading

  Company

  (his chop)

  3

  “What do they call you in the West?—certainly not Zangi-Ragozh,” said Dukkai as she stood in the alchemical chamber a week after the foreigner had arrived in Kumul. “That must be what the Chinese call you.”

  “It is,” said Zangi-Ragozh, looking up from the crock of moldy bread that stood on one end of the long table. He had donned his black silk sen-hsien and put his black shearling shuba over it, for the day was cold and the fire in the distant stove made little headway against the chill.

  “What was the name you were given?” She cocked her head. “If you may tell me without offending your gods.”

  “My gods are long-forgotten by everyone but me,” said Zangi-Ragozh with a wry, sad smile.

  “Then why do you hesitate? I know you are hesitating.” Dukkai moved out of the glare of brassy early-morning sunlight so that she could see Zangi-Ragozh more clearly.

  “Yes, I am,” he admitted, fiddling with the lid of the crock.

  “Why? Is it because I am not of your clan?” She obviously regarded that as a good reason to keep such information private.

  “No, that is not the reason,” he told her. “I am not accustomed to revealing so much.”

  “Ah.” She nodded. “But we will leave shortly, and then you will, as well, and even if we share the road for a fortnight or a year, once we part we may never meet again, so where would be the harm? Whom would I tell that could hurt you, or would even know who you are?” She paced down the center of the room and came back to him.

  “Why does it matter to you so much?” Zangi-Ragozh asked her, puzzled by her persistence.

  “It is a matter of trust and respect,” she said after a reflective pause.

  “That it is,” he agreed.

  “You have imparted much information to me, and to the Apostle, willingly and graciously, but you withhold this most intrinsic part of yourself, as if you seek to remain a stranger,” she said. “I am glad for the knowledge you are willing to share, but I know it has little importance to you. So I ask for a token of your respect, something that you esteem, to seal our friendship.”

  “I have given you an emerald,” said Zangi-Ragozh; it had been among the first batch he had made four days ago. “You said it was a pledge of mutual friendship.”

  “It is a beautiful stone, and a great treasure, but it is from you, not of you,” she said.

  “I grant you that,” said Zangi-Ragozh, beginning to chafe; the first cordiality between them was already changing to something more profound, and more complex.

  “You have been about the world a great deal—far more than I or anyone I know has been or ever will be. You have seen places whose names I have never heard, and you have walked roads leading beyond everything I have dreamed of,” she said. “Your homeland is far away, you tell me, and your people no longer live there. For their sake, let me know who you were to them so they will not be completely gone.”

  “They are gone,” he said flatly. “Many, many years ago.”

  “So you have told me,” she said. “It must make you very lonely, to be the last.”

  “Upon occasion,” he said, resisting the rare pang of isolation that gripped him suddenly.

  “Because I am a magician,” she said. “I have ways to ease the bonds that all carry.”

  “For your people. I am a foreigner, and your m
agic may not be mine, or accessible to one of my blood, no matter how generous your offer.” He studied her broad, angular features, hoping to see an answer there that was as much a part of her answer as anything she might say.

  “All the more reason to tell me,” she persisted. “It strengthens my magic without upsetting my clan.”

  “How does it do this?” He fixed the lid on the crock.

  “It gives me access to the heart of your being, and that provides illumination of an unearthly kind. I would cherish your name as I will treasure your emerald.” She held out her hands to him.

  Zangi-Ragozh relented. “My father was called Ragosh, so I am Ragosh-ski, my … I suppose you would call it clan, or territory, name is Franzic, for the area where my father’s kingdom lay; my personal name is Holy Jermen,” he said, slurring the j a little. He was a bit surprised at himself for telling her so much.

  “How complicated,” she said. “Are all men of the West so encumbered with names?”

  “Some are more complicated, most are less so,” he said, glancing at the door.

  “Why are you called Holy? Is that your name or a title? Are you an Apostle, too?” She took his hands in hers, drawing him closer to her.

  “No. I was called Holy because I was given to my gods.”

  “Your forgotten gods?” Her fingers tightened before she released his hands.

  “Yes. Those sons of the King born at the dark of the year, as I was, were given to the gods, to become one of their blood, and for that blood were called Holy.” He felt some of his despondency lift as he said this, and it surprised him. “Is Dukkai all your name?”

  “As a name goes, it is Dukkai of the Desert Cats Clan, daughter of Gobor the One-Eyed, and niece of the magician Tejamksa, who served the clan and taught me.”

  “Why is he called Gobor the One-Eyed?” Zangi-Ragozh asked, considering what he had heard.

  “He is called that because he is dead and there are many Gobors who have died. When I am dead, I will be Dukkai the Magician.” She watched him inquisitively. “Do not your people distinguish the dead?”