by Sarah Zettel
So.
Neda frowned hard, glancing about the room. For a moment, Senja thought her gaze rested on the mirror, but all she said was, “I have heard no one else here agree to this plan.”
“There is no plan, only hopes and fears.”
The tiny, golden woman spread her hands. “Is this what we are driven to?”
Urshila did not even hesitate. “Yes.” Her gaze held steady and she turned it on each of the sorcerers in turn. “If we can find another way, then let us find it, but we may fail, or we may be too few or too weak. In that case, we will need power from wherever we can find it.”
Korta did not look at her; instead he studied the depths of the wine cup he held. “Surely Vyshko and Vyshemir will not permit the Firebird to destroy their realm.”
It was Sidor who answered, and his voice held the tone of defeat. “They permitted the Firebird to be released.”
Luden wagged his ancient head. “I do not like this, but I fear she is right.”
Lord Daren gripped the arm of his chair, as if hanging on for grim life. His whole body trembled, and for a moment Senja thought he was going to have a seizure, but he only spoke. “Let … it be done.”
So.
Senja lowered the witch’s eye. There would be more discussion, more planning certainly, and more swearing to secrecy. Things it would be useful to know would be said, but it did not do to spy too long on sorcerers through magic. She had what she most wanted from them. She needed to take the precious time she had left to communicate what she now knew.
Using the witch’s eye was tiring, but not as bad as what was to come. Senja tucked the glass sphere away under the bale so that if she was discovered, it, at least, would not be. Then, she took the herbs and the salt and poured them into the mortar. She rolled back her sleeve and laid the knife’s edge against her forearm.
The cut was swift and shallow. Glistening blood welled up immediately. She took up the pestle and began to steadily grind down the herbs and salt. The blood flowed from her arm, down her hand and down the pestle into the mortar. Her grinding mixed it well with the salt and the scrape of stone on stone mixed with the scents of the herbs, with the darkness and the blood.
When at last the paste was smooth, Senja dipped two fingers into it and smeared a quantity on her lips, the tang of salt and iron stinging her flesh, adding a bright flash of pain to the weaving.
“Earth to earth, air to air, blood to blood, breath to breath,” she murmured, drawing the magic in, pouring the magic out. “Knowing to knowing, Senja to Niku.”
Over and again she repeated the chant until she felt as if she had begun to fade. She was lighter than air, she was nothing but thought. She could be anywhere. She could be everywhere.
“Earth to earth, air to air …”
Senja. Niku’s voice, deep and solid as stone, sounded in her mind. What news?
Discipline helped Senja form a single thought. She might otherwise pour her whole mind out to Niku, leaving him with too much information to understand, and leaving her with nothing at all to return to. The Firebird comes to Isavalta. The sorcerers struggle to find a way to stand against it.
They will fail. There was no smugness in Niku’s tone, only calm certainty.
Urshila herself was less sure. Perhaps. What do the bones say of Ulla? She used Urshila’s true birth name. It was important to speak only truths when speaking mind to mind. Lies weakened the link, opened the gates to loose and losing thought.
She is weary and loses touch. We may not depend on her. Not yet. Her role is yet unclear.
Which was as she thought. Do the bones still speak of Kalami’s return?
Past life, past death. Blood calls him back. It is still part of the song.
I have seen, I think, how it may be.
Niku paused for a single heartbeat, but Senja felt his mind quicken. Tell me.
Senja felt her distant body smile with its bloody lips. She carefully fashioned memories of memories, showing Niku the meeting of the sorcerers. The song was true. Father and child would return, and the future would be complete in them. The murhata would fall in fire and blood, and Tuukos would have the victory too long denied.
The Holy Island would at last, at last, be free.
Chapter Nine
The long, hot day wore away. Mae Shan watched over Tsan Nu as the child slept, tossing and turning in what was surely the rudest bed she had ever known. Mae Shan dozed a few times, but always brought herself sharply awake. There was no one else to take this watch.
At last, the only way she kept awake was by running through the training forms with her spear. The familiar moves, with their emphasis on relaxation and concentration, helped shake the fog from her mind and reinvigorate her blood. It helped too that it was said these forms were given to the first emperor by the gods so he could use them to drive off the forty thousand companies of devils that occupied the land. With real devils in the sky overhead, every little bit must help.
She broke her bouts of training to make sure the boy soldiers rotated their watch in the tower, and to take their reports. Fires were spreading in the city. The clouds of ash and smoke were dense and the streets were filled with people. Mae Shan could hear their voices vibrating through the shutters of the blockhouse, crying, shouting, screaming in their panic. She ordered the windows closed. Fortunately, the mob had not yet thought to storm the garrison for weapons, but that would come. When they realized no word or command was to be had from the Heart of the World, that would surely come.
She looked at the pale child, still fitfully asleep in the officer’s bed, and thought of how firmly she had spoken her dreadful prophecy. Did she realize what it meant? Could she, foreigner and child that she was? Mae Shan could barely compass it all. Probably Tsan Nu mostly thought of it in terms of how foolish those around her had been when they failed to heed the words she had spoken two days ago.
Two days ago. Had it only been two days? Two days, and a few hours since she’d last seen Wei Lin.
It was the general custom of the ladies who were not required to attend at the emperor’s dinner to spend fine spring evenings out in the garden — reading, playing music, writing, or simply sitting and enjoying the twilight. Technically, as a resident of the women’s palace, Mae Shan was allowed to enjoy the Moon Garden, and its companion the Star Garden, whenever she chose, but she and the other bodyguards generally chose not to do so, as many of the ladies considered them coarse. It was simpler to avoid the pampered creatures rather than ignore their jibes. Her exception to this general rule was when she had a moment to catch up with Wei Lin.
Wei Lin was the oldest of the five daughters in Mae Shan’s large family. She was also the most beautiful. Their parents had cultivated that beauty carefully, keeping her out of the sun, taking her frequently to the baths and the doctors for cosmetics and treatments to keep her skin soft and her eyes bright. Nor did they neglect her education, sending her to the best girls’ school they could afford so she could learn reading, calligraphy, music, dance, and poetry.
Their investment proved itself. When the new emperor came of age it was determined that a new crop of ladies would be needed for the women’s palace. The procurers came to the nearby city, instructing all parents who wished to have their daughters evaluated to come to the Temple of Rains. Wei Lin was one of five girls chosen for imperial service. She was sent to the women’s palace, given the rank of Shining Lady, a full wardrobe, continuing education, and a stipend of twenty strings of silver a year.
Wei Lin’s privilege, however, had not spoiled her. She sent home ten strings of silver every year to the family. She had arranged for their oldest brother to gain a position in the city storehouses as a recorder, and three of their sisters were lady’s maids in the palace of the governor general. It was she who ensured that strong, square Mae Shan was admitted to the examinations for the Heart’s Own Guard when she turned fifteen.
Mae Shan remembered emerging from the southeast gate of the Moon Garden, blinking
in the fading daylight. Breathing the freshening breeze deeply, she strolled around the edges of the wall, moving silently, keeping herself quiet and unnoticed as she had been taught to do.
Some imperial ladies sat here and there among the flowers on low benches and beautifully carved folding chairs. Some read, or played soft tunes on their dulcimers, earning polite applause from their listeners. Others strolled between the artfully planted groves, arm in arm, talking softly among themselves, perhaps exchanging gossip and the news of the day. Possibly, as Mae Shan knew from Wei Lin, exchanging plans for bettering their own positions, or poison words to tear down one of their fellows, or both.
They were a moving portrait of womanly beauty and serenity, just as they were supposed to be, and every one of them was supremely conscious of how they appeared in that portrait. It was the work of their lives.
Wei Lin herself sat between a pair of silver-leafed birch trees, her sky-blue robes making a pleasant picture against their white trunks, a detail she surely had not failed to notice when she settled herself there. A folio of closely written pages lay open on her lap, and she read them with every semblance of great care. A pot of tea and two cups waited on a table beside the low bench where she sat and Mae Shan smiled. They were seldom able to arrange these evening meetings, but as suited one who must be prepared to be called to her own duties at a moment’s notice, Wei Lin remained ready for them.
Mae Shan had watched her sister for a moment, studying Wei Lin as she studied her folio. Sometimes Mae Shan wondered that she was not more jealous of this creature who had been so tenderly reared while she had been sent out to the fields to put her broad back and strong hands to “good use.” But there it was. Perhaps she had grown accustomed to seeing her sister as a treasured family artifact that must be carefully guarded.
“Good evening, Big Sister,” said Mae Shan at last, stepping forward. Her thoughts had threatened to turn toward her sister’s safety, which would bring them back to all she had heard that day, and those were things she could not dwell on. Her duty would come on her as it would.
Wei Lin turned and a pretty smile brightened her lotus-pink face. “Mae-Mae!” she cried happily. “Come, sit with me.” She patted the bench beside her. “Tell me what you have heard in the secret councils today.”
Mae Shan laughed and settled herself beside Wei Lin. “I heard that the Ninth Recorder of the Wharf has been turned into a bird and hung in the Sun Garden for daring to suggest that the Fifth Minister of the Northwest’s short wife was actually a boy in disguise.”
“Sister!” Wei Lin covered her mouth, her eyes wide in mock horror. “You shock me! Can it be true?”
Mae Shan looked around seriously, as if afraid of listening ears. “I could not say myself, of course,” she whispered, bending close, “but I have been told by my lieutenant’s sister’s cousin that she only goes to the baths at midnight, and then only with mute attendants.”
“Oh, but, Sister,” Wei Lin laid a hand on her sleeve, looking her in the eyes most seriously, “that is because she goes to meet her lover, the Tenth Undersecretary of the Third Wind.”
Mae Shan made her eyebrows shoot up, and Wei Lin nodded solemnly, and they held each other’s gazes until they could stand it no longer and burst out laughing.
“Ah, Mae-Mae!” she sighed, dabbing delicately at her eyes. “It is good to see you. Tell me how it truly goes.”
While Wei Lin poured the tea and wiped the rims of the cups, Mae Shan told her what she could of the small doings of the barracks, the promises of the new trainees, how Quyen, one of the bodyguards to the Nine Elders, had begun to make moon eyes at her and showed every sign of being about to contemplate writing poetry.
“And you have done nothing to encourage this, of course?” said Wei Lin archly as she handed across the warm teacup.
“Of course not.” Mae Shan stuck her chin out. “I’m a soldier. I think of nothing beyond my duty.”
“Oh, yes, and Kein never had to transfer to the city guard of Nhi Tao because you were caught with him in the …”
“I will dump this tea over your head and spoil your makeup if you finish that sentence, Big Sister,” growled Mae Shan.
They had laughed again, and sipped their tea as the daylight dimmed around them, enjoying the simple fact of being together.
But no more. No more.
Tears threatened and Mae Shan blinked hard and cast about for distraction. Dawn was brightening. Mae Shan lifted her eyes to the grey sky smudged with the black cloud that marked the ruin of the Heart of the World. The Moon Garden was a waste of ashes and coals, and where was Wei Lin? Did her ghost now cry in those cooling ashes? Did it call for her sister to come save her?
Did she understand that Mae Shan could not come? She rubbed her tired eyes. Which led to a new question.
What happens now?
Tsan Nu rolled over again, her wavy hair spreading across her pale cheeks. Mae Shan knew she must decide what to do, but a single thought kept interrupting all the others in her mind.
If no one had been able to save Wei Lin, no one had even tried to save Tsan Nu.
In the Heart, not one guard had hammered on the door. Neither of the maids had rushed in to reach the child. None of the tutors had come to find her. Tsan Nu, a foreign child, a hostage against her father’s good behavior and surety of his promises, had been left to burn.
And now invisible devils filled the sky to be fought by invisible ghosts, all presiding over a chaos that was only going to get worse.
She had to get Tsan Nu out of the city, had to take her somewhere safe until order rose from the ash again. That much was clear. But where could they go? The obvious answer was to Isavalta and the child’s kin, but that was a journey of weeks, even if they could find a boat to cross the Sea of Azure. If they couldn’t, it would become a journey of months across a country that was going to be in anarchy and disarray.
Goddess of Mercy, we would atone if we could, she prayed wearily. If you would just tell us what we’ve done. I’d throw myself on my dagger in the last apology if it would help, if I could just know what fault I’d help commit.
Boots pounded down the stairs from the watchtower. Tsan Nu shot bolt upright, eyes staring in panic.
“It’s all right, mistress,” said Mae Shan. “I’ll see what is making those boys raise such a fuss. You wait here.”
She sheathed her knife inside her jacket and strode into the common room.
“They’re coming this way!” Trainee Chen was telling his fellows. “What do we do?”
“Who is coming?” demanded Mae Shan.
Chen turned toward her and she saw the boy had gone as white as bone. “The whole world.”
Mae Shan hesitated. She should not go so far from Tsan Nu, but she had to ascertain the threat.
“Guard my mistress’s door,” she ordered Chen, and she ran up the watchtower steps.
Out on the battlements, the air still burned and ash swirled thickly on the wind. The sound of crying had grown into a heartrending wail the size of the whole city. Over the walls, she could count four, five, six fresh fires. That much was bad enough, but then Mae Shan looked down into the streets.
The streets were black with the size of the mob and the thunder of shouts and the weeping of both men and women reached up to Heaven.
God of us all, Chen was right.
No guards, no cryers, no curfew bells ringing over the din.
No order.
Mae Shan swallowed hard. The only way this could be happening was if the Heart was truly destroyed, and if Tsan Nu had again spoken the truth. The emperor was gone. The Nine Elders were gone. They were all burned to ash by the Phoenix and no god or guardian had risen to say this thing was not to be.
Mae Shan felt her knees tremble and gripped the rail running around the watch platform. Despite all, she hadn’t believed it possible. She had seen the Phoenix above the flames of the Heart, and she had still believed the Son of Heaven and Earth and the Nine Elders must survive,
because without them … without them there was no empire. The Red Center that was Hung-Tse was pierced through.
Goddess of Mercy.
She could not even begin to wrap her mind around the enormity of that concept. It was not something to even contemplate and to try left her paralyzed. The portion of her that was only soldier felt panic begin. Where were her orders to come from? What was she to do?
The mob spread. People were coming out of their houses and hearing the rumors and joining the dark mass, to pray, to run, to go mad, because there was nothing else to do. They ran from the spreading fires and from their own fear.
They ran from the end of the world.
She had to get out. Now, while they were still ahead of the mob. It occurred to her that Tsan Nu’s presence would slow her down. It occurred to her that there was no one left to know, or care, if she left the girl here to be swept up by the mob. She swallowed. There was no one else left for Tsan Nu, or the three boys either.
Mae Shan ran back down the stairs. She knew about mobs. She had been trained to deal with them, as a soldier though, with other soldiers beside her, not with three raw trainees and a child. Older parts of her mind spoke to her now. The parts that still remembered being a peasant girl in the southern provinces.
The trainees hunched together at the foot of the stairs, waiting to be told what to do, fearing there was no answer.
“We must get out of the city,” she told them. “We have a few minutes at best. Never mind your armor. If you have street clothes, get in them. We need food, water, and weapons, but most especially water. Wrap whatever you can in blankets. We will make for the Left Wall and try to get out that way. I’ll get the girl.”
Trainee Kyun fingered his mole nervously. “But should we not wait for orders? Our superiors will return.”
Mae Shan thought about Tsan Nu’s sky full of ghosts and devils. “I do not say this lightly, but I do not believe there will be orders. If they could, I think your officers would have returned by now. But, do what you must. If it helps, I order you to come with me.”
