by Liz Williams
“I have come because of your wife.” Was there the faintest trace of disapproval in her voice? Chen could not tell: Kuan Yin, Goddess of Compassion and Mercy though she may be, still retained a capacity for expressionlessness that rendered her inscrutable. But she had withdrawn her support from him when Chen had married Inari, a clear and obvious sign of disapproval. One cannot expect one’s patron Celestial to sanction marriage to a demon, after all. At this memory Chen, although he had understood at the time and still did so, felt a distinct twinge of anger, and at this the goddess glanced up.
“Inari’s missing,” said Chen, feeling hollow.
“In fact, that is not true,” the goddess said, and sipped her tea. “She is sailing the Sea of Night, along with her own familiar and your Celestial friend.”
“The Sea of—”
“I’m afraid there are forces at work which have conspired to snatch your wife from Earth,” Kuan Yin said.
“My wife?” Chen asked sharply. “Or our child?”
“Ah,” the goddess said. “She is safe, you should know that. There we come to the crux of the matter. Few might concern themselves only with a little demon. But Inari has contacts—” Here she looked at Robin, and Chen knew that she was referring to Mhara, “—and powerful ones, these days.”
“Mhara,” Robin echoed. “And Jhai, and Zhu Irzh—his stepfather’s the new Emperor of Hell. I can see why Inari might be important as a game piece.” She grimaced.
“Precisely so,” the goddess said. “And I must tell you that there are also—intimations—of events to come.”
“What sort of events?” Chen asked. He didn’t like the sound of that.
“Rumors of war.”
“With whom?” Robin asked in dismay.
“I do not know. Your husband will have heard of them, but even he may not know more. The rumors are very faint and do not originate in our own universe. They may yet come to nothing—such things have been known before. But your child, Wei Chen—your child will be a warrior.”
“It’s the same spirit, isn’t it?” Chen asked, with a sinking feeling. “Seijin?”
“Not so much the same spirit. This is not a case of possession. It is more the role that gets handed down through the generations—a warrior for the world. Seijin occupied the last such role, but over the years became mad, unable to reconcile the male and the female self.”
“That mustn’t happen to our child,” Chen said, but he didn’t know if it could be prevented. “Are they always hermaphroditic?”
“Usually.”
“So someone wants—what? The child itself? Or to make sure it doesn’t come to term?” It seemed grotesque and awful to be discussing it in such cold and clinical terms, but he had to focus.
“I do not know.”
“But you said Inari was safe?”
“Yes. The boat was found and my own craft has it in tow. It will have to go first to Heaven, that is where it is bound. Then we will see about returning it to Earth.”
“But who abducted her?” Chen asked.
“The former Empress of Heaven,” Kuan Yin said.
Robin’s mouth dropped open. “My mother-in-law? But—we made sure she was closely guarded.”
“She needs more guards, then,” the goddess said. “Or guards of a different nature.”
“These were the best Mhara could find. He doesn’t trust his mother—can you blame him, after she tried to have him killed?”
Chen released a pent-up breath. “At least she’s safe. Thank you so much.”
The goddess inclined her gracious head. “You will need to wait, Wei Chen. The boat’s voyage must be completed before we can return the houseboat.”
Chen nodded. “I understand.” It was frustrating, but there was clearly nothing else to be done.
“You can stay here,” Robin said, reminding him that it wasn’t just Inari, the baby, and Miss Qi who had been abducted, but also his home. “Much better than a hotel.”
Chen agreed, and thanked her. “When will I know?”
“I will tell Inari where you are and she will call you herself,” Kuan Yin said. “And now, I must go back.” She put down the teacup and stood.
“Wait,” Chen said. “What about the Empress?”
“Mhara’s got to know,” Robin said. Once more the goddess inclined her head. “Then I shall let you tell him.” And with that, she was gone into a fading jade glow.
Chen stared after her. “She doesn’t want to get involved, does she?”
Robin snorted. “Can’t say I blame her. Have you met my mother-in-law?”
“Not as such. I’ve only ever seen her from a distance.”
“Believe me, that’s by far the best place from which to view her. Mhara couldn’t bring himself to dispatch her—and given her status, it would be incredibly difficult to do that, even given what she’s done and what he himself is. He had reservations about putting her on the boat, let alone anything more extreme.”
“Maybe she needs to be imprisoned somewhere with even greater security,” Chen said.
“Yes, but where? The Sea of Night is the only real option—other Heavens won’t take her and we can’t put her in someone else’s Hell, she’d cause too much trouble. The Sea of Night is the closest limbolike place available to us, apart from Between. And look what happened with Seijin—the Lord Lady set up a separate palace and moved between the worlds at will. We couldn’t guarantee to keep the Empress in there.”
“I just wonder what she wanted with Inari,” Chen said. He and Robin fell silent, in mutual acknowledgement that none of the options were good.
“At least she’s under the protection of Kuan Yin now,” Robin said.
“I wish I found that more reassuring.”
21
“An Ifrit,” Roerich said, straightening up from his examination of the stained hotel carpet. Jhai frowned.
“That’s an Islamic spirit, isn’t it? A kind of demon.”
Roerich nodded. “A lower-level one. They don’t have true intelligence—they’re like an animal form, but vicious and predatory. There are other species—they come in a humanoid version, but that’s rare in these parts, they prefer the Middle East, their true home.”
“How common are these things here?”
“Pretty common. I’ve seen them many times out in the desert. Some say that they originate from here, that they were an early devil that got co-opted into the Moslem Hell. But no one knows for sure.”
“Took some taking down,” Jhai said.
“I’m sure,” Roerich murmured.
“The Khan’s using them,” Zhu Irzh said.
“Yes, but that doesn’t actually make a lot of sense. He’s always deployed ifrits, but they’re of very limited use. They’re attack creatures, really, nothing more. Why would he have them in jars in what amounts to a lab?”
“Because he’s experimenting on them?” Zhu Irzh said.
“It’s got to be that, hasn’t it? I wonder what he’s trying to achieve.”
“Sentience?” asked Jhai, who was, Zhu Irzh suddenly recalled, no stranger to experimenting on other life forms. Oh well. We all need hobbies.
“You might be right. Perhaps he’s looking to the ifrits to provide an army … But it wouldn’t be a very reliable one, if that’s the case. They’re very much a law unto themselves.”
Jhai’s features had taken on a look of distinct calculation that made Zhu Irzh nervous. “But if they could be modified in some way—” she began.
Roerich’s head snapped up. “What was that?”
Something had moved outside the window and they were several floors up. Jhai and the demon flung themselves toward the glass, Jhai’s tiger stripes standing electric against her skin. Zhu Irzh was expecting to see another ifrit, or some being conjured at the Khan’s bidding. He wasn’t expecting to be smiled at.
“It’s quite all right,” said the elderly Asian gentleman who floated just beyond the window. “I can see your wards. I don’t expect you t
o invite me in.” His black robe, decorated with a pattern of flying cranes, drifted in swirls around his feet.
“You’re familiar,” Roerich said, behind Zhu Irzh’s shoulder. “Have we met?”
“Did you ever come to Japan in your many travels, Mr Roerich?”
“I visited many places throughout Asia,” Roerich replied, with a slight smile.
“We were contemporaries all the same. I believe you know my grandson.”
“You’re Omi’s grandfather?” Roerich asked, after a moment’s pause.
“Just so. The boy does not, in fact, require much of a guiding hand—he seems to be doing quite well by himself. But he will need assistance in the time to come and I can’t provide much in the way of tangible help—I’m a ghost, you see.” He gave an apologetic smile. “Long dead, alas. But free at least to observe.”
“A common problem,” Roerich said with a sigh. “I think you’d best come in.”
The old man sat a few inches above the surface of the chair, Zhu Irzh noticed. Perhaps he felt it was polite. He listened with careful attention as the demon recited the course of events so far and sat in thought once Zhu Irzh had finished.
“The connection with my own family is this,” he said. “We have a charge to kill the Khan; the result of an ancestral bargain. Although we do not, obviously, come from this part of the world, we were invested with the duty of dispatching this particular spirit.”
“Why was that?” Jhai asked. “What sort of bargain?”
“It’s what my family does. The women as well as the men—my own grandmother was a formidable warrior. We have spirit blood, the blood of the ancient tribal spirits of Japan, and thus we are able to walk between the worlds to some extent. In the past, we have fought devil generals; we have sailed the seas of Japan to battle pirates from other dimensions; we have retreated into the mountains to fight possessed monks—just a few of the many tasks that have befallen us over the centuries. In return, we are given knowledge, and the powers that come from service.”
“Most commendable,” Roerich said. “I believe I’ve heard of you, and others like you. You are guided?”
“Yes, by one of the Eastern Masters. He rarely appears in tangible form, but we hear his voice. Omi has only encountered him once, at my grandson’s initiation.”
“And where is Omi now?”
“Ah,” said the old man, “this is what I have come to tell you. He has had a task to perform, and has now carried it out. We are to meet him at a particular location, if you so choose.”
Zhu Irzh leaned forward. “Frankly, Nicholas, I think it might be prudent to get out of Kashgar. I don’t hold out much hope of another raid on the Khan’s villa.”
“You may be right,” Roerich said, to the demon’s relief. “We stand a better chance if we join forces.”
“Could I have a word?” the demon asked. “In private?”
Behind the bathroom door, he said, “Are you sure we can trust him?”
Roerich nodded. “His story is easily verified. I can contact the Master in question, I think—or at least, others who may know him. Leave it with me. I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”
The old man received this news graciously. “I will leave you, too. You young people don’t want a ghost hanging around your bedroom all night.”
“What’s left of it,” Jhai said, as the ghost slowly faded and Roerich left on a mission of his own.
22
Inari didn’t feel entirely comfortable venturing on board Kuan Yin’s boat: the goddess had been kind enough in giving them a tow but Inari didn’t think Kuan Yin would welcome the presence of a demon on board—particularly the demon who had caused so many problems for the goddess’ own acolyte Chen.
“She’s not like that,” Miss Qi protested. “I’m sure it would be all right.”
“No, I don’t feel right about it,” Inari said. “You go, Miss Qi. They are your kindred.”
“I’ll stay here with you,” Miss Qi replied firmly. “Unless—you would be happier with me gone?”
“I am just glad that you’re not seriously hurt.”
“I feel such a fool. Letting myself be possessed like that.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Inari said. “The Empress is obviously still powerful. Mhara will have to know, when we get back.”
Ultimately Miss Qi stayed on board the houseboat. They made endless cups of tea, and played mah jongg to while away the tedium. Inari had never spent so long on the Sea of Night and it was quite remarkably boring. Kuan Yin’s boat wallowed ahead, slow and ponderous. Inari took to looking out for the shore of Heaven at every opportunity, and failed to find it. Eventually, they decided to rest.
Inari did not think she would sleep, but she must have been more tired than she had realized, for when she next opened her eyes, Miss Qi was shaking her awake.
“Inari …”
“What is it?”
“We’ve stopped.”
Together, they hurried on deck. The scene was the same as before: featureless Sea, starless sky. Kuan Yin’s opalescent boat rocked a few yards distant, the rope between the two craft hanging slack. There was no sign of life on deck.
“I shouted,” Miss Qi said, “but there was no reply.”
“We could try again,” Inari suggested, but there was still no response from the other boat.
“I don’t like this,” Miss Qi said.
“Not after what happened earlier.” Inari surveyed Miss Qi anxiously. “Do you feel any different?”
“No. I can’t sense anything.”
“I could go,” said a voice at Inari’s ankles. She looked down to see the badger.
“That’s a good point, actually,” Miss Qi said. “If you don’t mind?”
“It is what I am for. I can run along the rope if you hold it tight. I do not like to swim.”
In the Sea of Night, Inari thought, the badger was more likely to simply sink and re-emerge in another galaxy somewhere. She shivered. They caught the rope and stretched it while the badger scrambled across onto the neighboring deck, then they waited anxiously. Just as Inari was thinking that they’d have to go in search of her familiar, the badger reappeared.
“Is everything all right?” Miss Qi asked, once the badger had come back onto their own boat.
“No, it is not. There are people on board—Celestials, maids, and crew—but I cannot see the goddess Herself, and all the others are asleep.”
“Asleep?”
“Or entranced. Their eyes are open, but I cannot attract their attention.”
“It’s the Empress,” Inari said. “She’s put them under a spell.”
“Also there is someone below deck,” the badger said. “I could hear them moving about, but I do not know who it is.”
“Maybe that was Kuan Yin?” Inari ventured.
“It was not. I am familiar with her energy—I have seen her before. This person felt different.”
“What sort of different?”
“Not good.”
Miss Qi looked at Inari. “I’ve got a nasty feeling we’re back where we started.”
“We can’t just sit here,” Inari said. “And where’s the goddess Herself? Could the Empress have—?” She found that she did not want to continue.
“I don’t know what the Empress is and isn’t capable of, after all this,” Miss Qi said blankly. “She’s supposed to be powerless but she obviously isn’t.”
They waited for a while, but the opalescent boat did not move and no sound came from it. At last Miss Qi and the badger took hold of the rope and, hauling hard, pulled the boats closer together. They had agreed to go together, just like last time.
The goddess’ boat gleamed like moonlight as they set foot on it. Inari did not feel comfortable here—it was one thing being friends with the kind Miss Qi, whom she felt to be a kindred spirit, but another exploring the boat of the goddess. Inari did not belong and she knew it. Within her, there came a faint twinge of discomfort, as if the child, too,
knew that this was not its place. Inari put a hand protectively to the base of her abdomen and kept close to the Celestial warrior. They moved through corridors glittering with pale jeweled tapestries, past elegant furniture. It made the houseboat feel homely and squat, but Inari thought she preferred it all the same. The air smelled faintly of perfume—jasmine, perhaps, or sandalwood. In one of the cabins, they came across a maid, frozen in the act of pouring tea. Her stiff skirts fanned out around her and although she had been arrested in motion, the tea had not: it pooled over the surface of the table and dripped down the legs. Inari, who liked order, had to stifle the urge to seize a cloth and mop it up.
“You see?” the badger said.
Inari nodded. She passed a hand across the maid’s eyes but the woman did not blink. Her face had a glassy, glazed expression—an ivory statue.
“At least she doesn’t seem to have actually possessed anyone,” Inari said doubtfully.
“Not yet.” Miss Qi turned to the badger. “Where did you hear this sound, then?”
“Down the stairs.”
Leaving the maid, they followed the familiar down the stairs and into another maze of passages. Despite the beautiful decoration, the boat felt claustrophobic and cramped. The badger paused outside a door and waved a paw for silence. Inari and Miss Qi listened. At first, there was nothing, but then they heard a distant scratching, like a mouse. Had it not been for the unusual circumstances aboard the goddess’ vessel, Inari might have suspected a more prosaic explanation, like vermin, but the frozen maid told a different story.
The door was open a crack. Miss Qi put her eye to it, but withdrew with a shake of the head.
“Can’t see anything,” she mouthed.
There was a brief, odd moment, almost as though an electric current had passed through the ship. Inari felt a tingling along her nerves; her scalp prickled.
The doorway erupted into movement: whirling limbs, a golden-black glitter as if some vast insect had whistled into view. Inari screamed as a bright edge swept down toward her; she threw herself to one side. Across the passage, Miss Qi was a blur, her own blade striking out. There was a cry, cut short. She could hear the badger growling. But Inari’s vision was filled with black and gold as she was picked up and turned upside down.
