by Phil Tucker
It was, Audsley had been told, propitious for the humble masses below.
They drifted forward, Audsley doing his best to keep his outrageously fashionable sleeves from dragging, and entered the Minister's estate. The Red Rowan was determined to introduce him to a number of important personages, but he had eyes only for the house that rose above them. Being on the Second Level meant that there was little more to top the Minister's home; only the Ascendant's own palace was higher, and the White Gate itself.
"Shall we pay our respects to the Minister?" He tried to keep his tone light.
"In due time. We have no interest in him, recall; we are here to meet with his enemies. Let's not waste our time fawning over those who don't deserve it. Now, come. That's Pale Oak, I believe, there in the ivory robes. A former envoy to Bythos. He no longer holds an active post, but his connections nearly match my own."
"Ah, delightful." Audsley forced a smile. "But, here. Let me set our boat on the banks of the river. I shall return shortly."
Before the Red Rowan could protest, he bowed deeply, backed away, then turned to hurry toward the small lake along the edge of which a miniature wharf had been built. Slipping past languidly moving personages of extreme importance, he hurried to the lake, set his boat down, tied it to a post, then turned to find a way up to the house.
Your plan is ludicrous, said the demon.
Perhaps, but there is no time. No time at all. I shall seek inspiration in the moment.
You will be ejected from the estate. The Red Rowan will sever all ties with you in shock at your gaucherie.
Perhaps, perhaps. Audsley didn't waste time arguing with the demon. What use were endless maneuvers if he was still fiddling at the sidelines when Iskra invaded? Now was the time for bold strokes. And, to be honest, the endless ritual and courtesies were growing unbearable; the Red Rowan had been seeking an advantageous position ever since her husband died. To think she'd accomplish anything in a matter of weeks or even months was ludicrous.
Audsley hurried up the path, winding around manicured bushes, shaking his head frantically at servants who sought to serve him choice delicacies and continued to climb toward the house.
You are passing willfully through zones of exaltation, said the demon. You insult yourself simply by approaching the estate without a suitable escort.
Yes, yes, thought Audsley. By the time anybody composes a suitably cutting poem, however, I'll be long gone.
The music was subtle and plangent, and grew louder as he drew closer to the house. He avoided eye contact, tried to keep a benign smile on his face and not pant, and soon reached the side of the house. It was a massive, rambling estate, disparate wings and outbuildings connected to each other by covered walkways. Pools, miniature trees, statues and wind chimes were everywhere, along with countless servants and the most powerful people in the Empire.
Audsley slowed and came to a stop. Now was when inspiration was supposed to strike. He didn't dare actually enter the house, so he stopped by the side of a veranda and gazed through the complex, trying to catch sight of his Minister. There were simply too many sumptuous robes, too many servants. How long could he wander about before somebody asked him his business?
He needed a vantage point from which to observe the entire house. Perhaps he could simply find a quiet corner to fly up into the night? No. Too risky. Where, then?
Audsley scanned the area, and his eyes alighted on a waterfall that cascaded down the side of the stonecloud itself. A series of steps had been carved up its side that ended in a viewing platform. Perfect.
He slunk over, crossing two of the covered walkways, left the house behind and climbed up the steps. They were broad and slick with spray from the waterfall. He labored up, reached the small square platform, and hurried to its far edge so as to gaze down at the house.
He was sufficiently high up that he could see not only the building in all its rambling complexity, but the gardens as well, along with the gleaming streams, the hundreds of lamps, and the drifting guests in all their finery. It was a stunning view, a glimpse into the very heart of the most privileged society in all of Aletheia.
A crawling sense of wrongness washed over him, causing the skin between his shoulder blades to itch and his throat to close up. Audsley gripped the railing to steady himself, then slowly turned. What had he missed? What had he overlooked when he climbed up here?
A young woman stepped out of the shadows. She was stunning. Nineteen, twenty at most, wearing an aggressively fashionable set of robes that were actually torn along one sleeve, the tear revealing six layers of robes beneath.
Oh, whispered the demon in throaty delight. Now, this is high fashion. Note the clashing of plum purple with canary yellow, the disingenuous way she allows the left sleeve to cover her entire hand, the strands of hair that fall from her coiffure as if she has just arisen from a lover's bed. "Daring" is to put it too lightly. This is aggressively –
Audsley almost covered his ears to block out the demon's voice. There was something ineffably languid about the young woman: an attitude just shy of bored, a cruel amusement in her eyes, a pout on her lips, a marvelous poise that spoke of a lifetime of privilege. And she was beautiful, almost painfully so. He met her smoldering gaze and bowed.
Demon-touched?
Assuredly, said the demon. And she can no doubt sense the three of us within you as well.
The young woman stepped past Audsley, not acknowledging his bow, and laid a hand on the railing. She gazed out over the estate and sighed. "Have you come to escape as well?"
Audsley turned and stood beside her. What do I say?
Nothing. Stay quiet.
Audsley fought down the urge to apologize for something, and instead linked his hands behind his back.
The young woman finally gazed up sidelong at him. "I've not seen you before. I would have remembered you."
Nod your head. Don't speak.
Audsley nodded, his face grave.
She studied him, then reached out and touched his robe, rubbed its fabric between her fingers.
Oh, I worship this hellion, sighed the demon. What a delicious insult! And yet she will not find us lacking. There is no one better dressed here than yourself.
The girl ran her hand down Audsley's arm, then returned it to the railing. "An old-fashioned sense of dress," she mused. "Have you recently emerged from a cave?"
Old-fashioned? The demon nearly spat. A cave? Tell her that distinction, true elegance, is eternal, and that should she live to be –
"In a manner of speaking," said Audsley. "Though I am sure anybody would feel that way upon stepping into your presence." He then gave his most mocking smile and looked away.
Hmm, said the demon after a moment. Not bad. Nicely undercut, I suppose.
"A silver tongue," laughed the young woman. "Who are you, Noussian?"
"Nobody of consequence. You, however, must be the Ascendant's Empress?"
The young woman laughed in a charmingly youthful manner, covering her mouth with her hand. "You wield your flattery with such clumsy sincerity that you charm despite yourself. No, I am no empress. At least, not yet." She paused, suddenly pensive. "I am Small Zephyr, member of the Fujiwara clan and granddaughter of the Minister of Perfection."
Theletos' sister?
Or cousin. Regardless, a truly dangerous personage. Do not let her youth deceive you.
"And why does such an illustrious young lady hide her beauty behind this waterfall's veil?"
She sighed again and leaned her chin on her palm. "Another night, another festival, another endless round of fruitless conversation and machinations that lead nowhere. I'll not play games when the ending is foregone."
"Foregone?"
She gave him an annoyed glance. "If you don't know of what I speak, I'll not waste my time explaining."
Audsley tipped his head slightly in acknowledgment. "The game is rigged, as you say. Then why does everyone insist on pretending to play?"
"What else wou
ld they do with their time? It is better to pretend than to openly accept despair. At least this way, they might catch my grandfather's eye and signal through their willingness to be duped that they are suitable tools."
"And you are not?"
"I have no choice in the matter. Willing or not, I shall be used."
"It would seem you already have been." Audsley waited, suddenly frightened by his own forwardness. Would she understand? Of course she would. But how would she react? He clenched the railing and forced himself to breathe easily.
Small Zephyr remained quiet, leaning on the railing, then gave the slightest of shrugs. "Can one be seduced by one's fate?" She tapped her lips, fingers rippling like the fin of a fish. "I enact my petty rebellions where I can, more to salve my own conscience than anything else. In time, I am sure I will grow as jaded and decadent as the rest. I'm simply trying to enjoy my descent by applying as much friction as I can get away with. The pleasure, you see, lies in learning to enjoy the resultant burn."
Audsley nodded, only half understanding. Was she only nineteen? She seemed more world-weary than Tiron and wiser than Iskra. He remained silent so as not to utter something foolish.
Finally, she straightened and looked up at him. "I should introduce you to my uncle. It's what would be expected of me, given your... condition, and I am sure to earn a pat on the head."
"Your uncle? The Minister of the Moon?"
"Indeed. If you wish to flee whimpering into the bushes, now is your moment."
Audsley laughed. "And soil my robes? I would never forgive myself. Lead on, Small Zephyr. It seems we're both busy dancing with our fates."
She nodded and then moved to the top step and extended her arm to him.
Ah, you have done well, said the demon. Quite well. I must admit I am impressed.
Audsley took her arm, and together they descended to the lawn. Small Zephyr led him toward the house, up a short flight of steps and onto the broad veranda.
It was astonishing. Whereas before he had been ignored, now a path opened before them as if they were preceded by an invisible force. Ministers, courtiers, and consuls sensed their approach and drew aside, bowing their heads and scrutinizing Audsley with sharp interest.
Small Zephyr ignored them all, leading Audsley into the heart of the estate, into the home proper. The sheer opulence of it was simply too much to take in; Audsley ignored the treasures all around him and instead focused on the small crowd of men reclining in the great hall. A trio of musicians had just finished playing, and several of the listeners were openly weeping in appreciation of what they had just heard.
"Uncle," said Small Zephyr, leading Audsley to a spread of cushions on which three men were sitting. "May I have the honor of introducing somebody of no consequence."
Audsley's whole body grew tense. At least five of the individuals present radiated that profound sense of wrongness that spoke of demonic possession. They all were staring at him, some with greater self-control than others.
But none of them were quite so offensive in their pollution as the man Small Zephyr had addressed. He had a trailing mustache that hung past his clean-shaven chin; his nose was hooked and his eyes were alert and sharp. A fierce intelligence burned within those eyes, and as Audsley bowed to the Minister of the Moon, he desperately tried to think up a plan. This was the moment toward which he'd been angling ever since he first saw this man outside the Virtue's Temple.
"I find that hard to credit," said the Minister of the Moon, taking in Audsley's robes, examining him openly as if he were a penned letter and not a man. "When will you outgrow your paradoxes, dear niece?"
"When my life ceases to exemplify them," Little Zephyr said carelessly. "Dear stranger, won't you be seated?" She lowered herself onto a broad cushion, settling her robes around her with artful nonchalance.
Audsley wanted to turn and run. Not even when he was fighting the demonic army at Mythgraefen had he felt so imperiled. These Fujiwara men were studying him with dark intent. The Minister gestured for him to sit, and Audsley tried to lower himself elegantly and not simply collapse onto a cushion.
This is an unheard-of honor, whispered the demon. You stand on the most treacherous of ice. Say nothing of consequence, and we may escape unscathed.
"From whence do you hail, stranger?" The Minister looked away as if he was bored, but Audsley wasn't convinced.
Repeat as follows: When the Winds of Zaggai blow down from Mount Atar, then even the most innocuous of petals may find itself carried before the moon.
Audsley almost protested, but then the intensity of the situation undermined his resolve, and he spoke the demon's words.
Their effect was rewarding; Audsley sensed a grudging approval in the subtle movements of the men around him, though the Minister betrayed no reaction. One of the Fujiwara men, young and handsome and with a striking resemblance to Small Zephyr, sat upright.
Gazing off into the near distance, the Minister sighed. "Such are the revelatory powers of the midnight moon that even its most errant beam may pierce the darkest heart."
He is not honoring you with his best efforts. Tell him this –
Audsley didn't wait. "An iridescent petal may for but a moment act as a mirror; at such times, even the moon might be advised to turn away its face."
No. You didn't say that.
The Minister turned slowly to regard Audsley, an eyebrow raised in mild curiosity. "When celestial bodies dance to songs as ineffable as they are strange, even the prickliest of pine needles may find themselves being stepped upon."
Silence filled the small room. All eyes were on Audsley. Even without the demon's prompting, Audsley knew what was expected of him: to bow down and press his forehead to the ground, then crawl out backwards on his stomach and pray that he'd not be banished from Aletheia altogether.
Madness suffused him. He saw that young archer draw his second arrow, arms shaking, staring at him in defiance as he aimed it at his heart. Did this minister – did any of these men – care for what happened in their Empire, for the lives that were snuffed out every day so that they could play their maleficent games and weep crocodile tears as they listened to music?
He wouldn't scrape his belly on the ground. He wouldn't back down. The only value he could attribute to his life was that which he earned in seeking justice for those he had killed. In and of himself, he was worthless. What need did he have to fear this Fujiwara, then? None. He need only fear failing those who had died so that he might effect some change, no matter how meager.
"When the moon dances drunkenly across the stars, even mortals might wonder at the black source of her midnight inebriation."
The tenor of this new silence was completely different. It was no longer mild outrage, but rather stark shock. The Minister's face paled, and then he smiled thinly and rose to his feet. Everyone else did the same, Audsley scrambling up last of all.
"I find myself wishing for cleaner air," said the Minister to his friends. "Shall we step outside?" And with that, he simply walked out.
Wait – he's not responding? It was Audsley's turn to feel outrage. He's going to just ignore me?
Everybody filed out, Small Zephyr giving him an inscrutable look as she departed, until only the young Fujiwara remained. He stepped forward, affecting a casual air though his whole body was rigid with tension. "Long have I gazed from this cliff over the desolate ocean, but never has and never shall the sun rise in the west."
Then he too walked out.
"What was that?" Audsley blinked, trying to make sense of the words. What just happened?
The demon sighed. Those were the ceremonial words. You have been challenged to a duel.
"A duel? What, by him?"
Yes. Did you see the crescent moon embroidered on his sleeve? That marked him as the Minister's premier poet.
Audsley hesitated. Wait. You can't be serious.
I see that you will never learn, the demon said sadly. What use is the ability to cut the flesh, here in Aletheia? Th
e only martial art that is respected at this pinnacle of perfection is the ability to wound the soul.
Audsley pressed his fingers to his temples. So, I have to duel him with poetry?
Precisely. Fear not; I have fought in dozens of such duels. The importance of the occasion will not fray my concentration. As gifted as this young Fujiwara may be, he cannot compare to my erudition.
Audsley nodded, trying to reassure himself. And if we win?
Then your standing will rise immeasurably. The Red Rowan will gain countless allies, and even the Minister of the Moon may be held to an accounting.
Good, good. Audsley took off his spectacles and wiped them on his sleeve. And if I, ah, lose?
Then you will be ostracized from all Aletheian society, and those who knew you will be irrevocably blemished.
Audsley tried to swallow and found that he couldn't. "I see. Then perhaps we'd best win."
We will. The demon's voice was resolute. But only if you speak as I command. Further improvisation on your part will doom us all.
Audsley nodded quickly. "Very well. No improvising. When is the duel?"
Now, said the demon. They await you outside.
And indeed, Audsley suddenly realized that the music had stopped, as had the continuous gentle murmur of conversation from all sides. The urge to dive into the corner and pull the cushions over his body was nearly overwhelming. Feeling faint, he crept out of the small room, down a narrow corridor and out onto the veranda.
The sight outside was the stuff of nightmares. Everyone was staring at him. Hundreds upon hundreds of guests were standing along both sides of the gravel path, watching him and not speaking a word. Even the servants were standing still. Only the wind moaned as it threshed itself on the eaves.
Audsley tried to swallow and failed once more. Flashes of heat and cold passed through him, and he felt his face darken with a terrible blush. He wanted to duck back into the house and run out the other side, but there was no fleeing this.
He took a deep breath and thought of that young archer's bravery as he stared at him, knowing that certain death was seconds away. Audsley stepped down onto the gravel path.
