by Devin Madson
A gong sounded. Other gongs and bells took up the call, echoing around the city. The second curfew warning.
‘We must go now,’ Jian said, moving more quickly than his usual pious appearance allowed.
‘Do we have far to go?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘A house near the palace. I know the street.’
Together we stepped out into the city. I had expected the worst, but my curse was kinder at night. The sleeping mind is a lazy thing, most thoughts barely reaching the edge of the pillow. Mothers might listen for the sounds of sleeping children and old soldiers never slept easy, but still my curse worked the same, spreading my consciousness to thieve from every mind it found. Each step through the nest of close houses brought something new – the chill of a night terror, a joy that quickened my pulse, and again and again the pleasant lethargy of people so deeply asleep they did not dream. Sometimes I tried to imagine what true peace felt like. The closest I ever came was in solitude, but even then there were lingering shadows, traces of a world increasingly afraid.
The city was almost deserted, street urchins and guards its only inhabitants. The guards eyed us doubtfully – a priest about his business was not to be stopped lightly, yet the final curfew would soon be called. Jian smiled at them and walked on full of purpose, his hands clasped upon the knot of his white sash.
Soon the palace was ahead and Jian turned into a street lined with houses, each one pressed up against its neighbour. It was dark but for a single string of lanterns, yet Jian seemed to know where he was going, quick steps taking him across the road to a yellow door. He tapped on the heavy wood, and in the silence the knock echoed loudly.
‘Are you sure this is the right place?’ I asked.
‘Shh,’ he hissed.
A soft footfall sounded beyond. The door opened just a crack, the smell of salted fish breathed into our faces. ‘Who’s there?’
‘My name is Brother Jian.’
With a grunt from the man, the door swung wide, admitting us into a low hallway lined with screens. ‘The other is here,’ the man said, jerking his head toward a doorway. ‘In there.’
He went away on the words, taking his lantern with him. Left in darkness, Jian hesitated, barely a step inside the door.
Out in the city the last gong sounded.
‘Too long,’ Jian muttered. ‘Bah!’ He scowled, and pulling himself tall, went to the door.
The small room beyond owned a single inhabitant, a man kneeling at a narrow table, eyes fixed on the opposite wall. Jian’s brother. I could not have mistaken him. From the flat forehead to the square jaw; the trappings of the priest only made the likeness more obvious.
‘Good evening, Jian,’ Kokoro said, making the effort to rise. ‘You have grown old.’
‘I could say the same of you. More so.’
Jian was right. The difference in age was marked, although it was possible Kokoro looked older than he was – his face lined by troubles, not years. His eyes had a sharp, glittering look as he turned them to me. ‘And this is Endymion, I presume.’
I bowed, showing the respect his position demanded, mindful of Jian’s plea. ‘Father Kokoro,’ I said.
‘I expected you last night.’
‘We were detained,’ Jian said. ‘We have been having more and more trouble with Endymion’s papers.’
‘That,’ Kokoro said, resuming his place at the table, ‘is because they are forged.’
I stared at him. ‘Forged?’
Taking the offered place at the table, Jian shot me a warning look. ‘That has never been a problem before, Kokoro.’
‘That’s because checking papers is no longer merely a task to keep the gate guards busy. Surely you have noticed the tone of the empire has changed.’
‘We have been in Chiltae for six years.’
‘Then you should have stayed there.’ Kokoro looked up at me with a smile, and indicated a place at the table. ‘Do join us, Endymion. You may as well, since I believe it is to talk about you that I have been summoned.’
‘I don’t want to be a priest.’
Father Kokoro’s greying brows shot up. ‘You don’t want to be a priest?’
‘No.’
‘That is a pity.’
‘Why?’
‘Endymion,’ Jian warned.
‘No, Jian. I want to hear what he has to say. Please, Endymion, sit down.’
I knelt upon the faded silk cushion beside Jian, the throb of his mortification like an external heartbeat. Kokoro exuded no such emotion, just sat calmly, his expression one of faint interest.
‘Tell me why you do not wish to be a priest, Endymion?’
How could I put it into words this man might understand? ‘I do not think I was made to help people.’
‘And what were you made to do?’
‘To wander,’ I said.
Kokoro leaned forward. ‘How about to steal and to hurt? I am well aware of what you are, Endymion. Your father was an Empath, too.’
Breath caught in my throat. ‘You know? You knew my father?’
Kokoro looked at Jian. ‘Why did you bring him to me?’
‘I want to tell him. If he will not stay with me then he needs to know who he is. He needs to know who his father was.’
The older man reached across the table and gripped Jian’s clasped hands. ‘Do you have a death wish? Do you not remember what Nyraek told you? He is not a normal boy.’
‘He is harmless. He suffers under a great burden, but that is far from his fault.’
‘You’re a fool. It may not be his fault that he was born an Empath, but he is far from harmless.’
‘I’m right here!’ I snapped. ‘Would you prefer I left so you can talk about me in peace?’
‘Infinitely,’ Kokoro said.
Jian shook his head. ‘No, stay. You are old enough to know.’
‘No. You are of an age to be more dangerous than ever!’ Scowling, Father Kokoro looked even older, his face criss-crossed like crumpled parchment.
Someone cleared their throat. Our host stood waiting on the threshold, a tray in his hands. Receiving a nod from Kokoro, he entered and began to serve the meal. Jian and I never ate what the nobles called their midnight meal, and I stared hard at the bowl of sugared beans placed in front of me. Tea was poured, but it was not ordinary tea. The liquid that flowed from the earthen spout was reddish-brown, its aroma sweet. Roasted tea. It was a delicacy I had tasted no more than twice in my life, our meals more often about sustenance than elegance.
Waiting for the man to finish, Kokoro picked up a bean and crunched it between his teeth. I had no appetite. All I could taste was Jian’s ill-concealed fury.
Our host departed and I pushed the bowl away. ‘Who is Nyraek?’ I asked.
Kokoro ate another bean, but he nodded at Jian. ‘You may answer that. Any book might tell him.’
Turning his shoulder to his brother, Jian addressed me. ‘Do you remember the night you were brought to me?’
‘It was raining.’
‘Yes. Do you remember the man who brought you?’
I put a hand to my neck, drawing free a silver pendant that hung beneath my robes. All I had was a single memory. A careworn man dressed in a dark travelling cloak, raindrops shimmering in his hair. He had protected me from the rain as best he could, holding me close on the steaming horse. When I closed my eyes I could still remember his smell – a mixture of sweat, blood and fine jasmine oil.
‘Yes.’
‘His name was Lord Nyraek Laroth. He was the Fifth Count of Esvar and worked for a time in service to Emperor Lan. Some–’
‘You should not wear that here,’ Kokoro said, eyes locked to the pendant. ‘It doesn’t mean what it used to.’
‘You interrupt me, brother.’
‘With good reason.’
I t
ucked the necklace back beneath my robes. ‘Why? What does it mean?’
‘It is called the Eye of Vice and it will do you no favours in Kisia.’ Kokoro sipped his tea. ‘A group of criminals called the Vices use it as their calling card.’
‘We stray from the point,’ Jian said.
‘A point upon which we shall not agree. Go back to Chiltae. Endymion, you will take the oath and give up all family ties to become a man of the gods. For your own good, I suggest you stay away from Kisia.’
Another bean crunched between his teeth, his jaw shifting as he ground each grain of sugar. I watched him closely, wondering if the lines on his face spoke some message his emotions failed to convey.
Kokoro lifted his brows. ‘Trying to read me, Endymion? I know you can lift my emotions out of the air, but I am not one to wear my heart on my sleeve.’
‘I want you to take him to see the minister.’
Kokoro turned his attention back to his brother. ‘I do not think you can hear what you are saying, Jian. Shall I call for a girl to clear out your ears?’
‘I know perfectly well what I’m saying. I have had Endymion with me for sixteen years, and you can be sure I know him better than you. He is no threat. Organise a meeting with the minister.’
‘Lord Darius Laroth does not know Endymion exists,’ Kokoro said. ‘And that is the way it will stay.’
Jian shrank back. I did not need to feel his disquiet to know something was wrong. ‘He doesn’t know?’
‘No.’
A pause, terrible in its silence. Kokoro glanced up and found me watching him. There was a stab of discomfort. ‘We have left Endymion out of the conversation again, Jian. Allow me to explain that Lord Darius Laroth is Emperor Kin’s right hand man. He is also Lord Nyraek Laroth’s son, which is undoubtedly why Jian thinks you ought to meet him.’
Lord Darius Laroth. The name tingled on my tongue.
Kokoro picked up his teacup; his fingers trembled.
‘Drink up your tea, Endymion, and we will be on our way.’ Jian’s tone was jovial, but there was trouble on the air. The men did not look at one another.
‘Why are we leaving?’ I asked, my tea untouched.
‘Because we have made a pointless journey. We will return to Chiltae.’
‘No. I want to know who my father was.’
Kokoro reached for another bean. I wanted to slap it out of his hand, but I controlled the urge and glared back at him. ‘Tell me,’ I said. ‘And I will take the oath and go back to Chiltae.’
‘If only I could believe that.’
‘It is not important, Endymion,’ Jian said. ‘When you take the oath you will have no family. Sign us a curfew pass, brother, and we will leave.’
No family. But it was a lie. Nothing could change the blood that ran through our veins. Dokei would always be able to read the truth writ large upon our flesh.
‘Tell me.’
‘I’m afraid I cannot do that,’ Kokoro said. ‘I gave my word and I will not break it so lightly.’
His hand was on the table, the distance between us nothing. There was no guarantee I would find what I wanted, but I would never have another chance.
I gripped his wrist. Kokoro flinched, but I forced the connection, forced my Empathy through his dry skin. Fear filled my heart. It turned my stomach sick as though every vein ran with its poison, and there in his mind’s eye, I could see myself.
Father Kokoro snatched his hand away. ‘You have no idea what you’re doing,’ he said, his breath coming fast.
‘You’re afraid of me.’
‘By the gods I am and I have good reason.’ He looked toward his brother, half risen from the table. ‘I’m sorry, Jian, but I have no choice.’
‘Sorry for what? Don’t do anything stupid, Kokoro.’
‘I’m afraid it was you who did that. You should never have brought him here. Guards!’
Heavy footsteps echoed through the house, my heartbeat rising to their tempo. Spilling through the narrow door came a dozen guards, each with their hand upon their sword, grim expressions promising no pity.
‘Take the boy,’ Kokoro said. ‘Endymion, you are under arrest. You are a traitor to the great Emperor Kin, first of his name, and to the Imperial Expanse of Kisia for the practice of sorcery. You will be executed for your crimes and your body returned to the soil from which it came, the mercy of the gods willing.’
I heard the words but could not move, could not speak. The punishment for sorcery was burning. There was no other way to release the demon.
A man grabbed my arm, pulling me roughly to my feet.
‘Kokoro, you can’t do this!’
‘I must,’ Kokoro said. ‘Bind his hands and do not touch his skin. I’m sorry, brother.’
Fingers closed around my wrist, but I snatched my hand away, backing across the floor. Three guards followed. I could hear Jian pleading. ‘Just let us go, Kokoro. We will leave. You will never see us again.’
Another step brought me up against the wall, the wood rough and old. One of the guards unclipped his scabbard from his belt but kept his sword sheathed. ‘Come on, boy,’ he said. ‘Fighting us isn’t going to end well.’
Breathing hard, I lifted my hands to strike – the same hands they would tie to the stake before they lit the fire.
The man lunged, gripping my wrist and wrenching me around. The butt of his scabbard slammed into my back. I hit the wall, fighting for breath. Air would not come. The scabbard pinned me like a bug. Sucking hard, I tried to focus. Someone grabbed my arm and I flailed, hoping to find skin, but they held me fast.
Men screamed as they burned.
A rope slid up my arms, tightening around my elbows. Another around my wrists.
When the flames died there would be nothing left of me but bones and ash.
‘May the gods judge me as they judge us all.’
Chapter 2
I knelt at the table, tapping one manicured finger upon the polished wood. The emperor had kept me waiting. It was his prerogative, of course, his little game, but that didn’t lessen my frustration at such wanton wasting of my time.
A gong sounded out in the chattering city. Night had fallen over Shimai and now the gates were closing. It had been light when I arrived, but now shadows grew in every corner, claiming the room with their reaching fingers.
One by one the lamps were lit, spreading their golden glow across the reed matting. The imperial lantern lighters went about their job in trained silence, unacknowledged ghosts that allowed the court to function. I watched them glide around the room, giving me a wide berth. Lord Darius Laroth was not a man one wished to inconvenience.
An uneven step approached; one leg dragging, the other spry. Cups clinked. The tray was lowered, a little unsteadily, but the boy was getting better.
I turned to find him bowing, nose pressed to the floor.
‘Pour,’ I said. ‘You don’t need to prostrate yourself. Remember that liars and sycophants walk these floors. I would not wish you to catch their sickness.’
‘The court has a sickness, Excellency?’
‘The court is a sickness.’
‘And you, Excellency? Are you sick? I notice you are called to court often. It was five times yesterday.’
‘You are fortunate that your ability to count makes you invaluable as a servant. One day you will be a secretary and look down your nose at everyone. As for sickness, let us say I have some symptoms. I am a brilliant liar, but I have not been at court long enough to develop such an important skill as sycophancy.’
‘A great inadequacy, Excellency,’ the boy said, trying not to laugh. He would have to work on that.
‘Indeed,’ I said gravely. ‘Serve the tea.’
Bowing again he did so, his hands a little unsteady. The first time he had shaken so fiercely that tea splashed across the table, b
ut I had kept him all the same.
He handed me a cup, and while I sipped he watched me with an expression rather like a puppy, unsure whether it would receive a pat or a kick.
‘It’s good you little wretch,’ I said. ‘Now be off with you.’
At the head of the room a pair of doors slid open.
‘Ah, good evening, Laroth,’ spoke that hated voice with its sickly sweet tone. ‘Are you here to see His Majesty? How sorry I am that we kept you waiting. We got to talking, you know how it is.’
I set my cup down and looked up, wincing theatrically at the sight of Councillor Ahmet’s robe. The busy turquoise silk did his ruddy complexion no favours. ‘Ah, Councillor, I wonder at him being able to stomach the sight of you for so long. Prolonged exposure to that robe would make anyone feel bilious.’
The boy snorted. He had the sense to look at the ground, but the sound had drawn Ahmet’s attention. ‘Ah, is this the crippled serving boy I have been hearing about? What strange taste you have, Minister. He is not even pretty.’
‘I am quite pretty enough for the both of us,’ I said, signalling for the boy to leave. He did so, bowing only perfunctorily before hobbling out, his bad leg dragging behind.
Ahmet watched him go, but his sneer was for me. ‘There is nothing more disgraceful than a vain man.’
‘Better a diamond with a flaw than a pebble without.’ I rose from the table, leaving Ahmet to struggle for a retort.
The Imperial Chancellor was waiting in the doorway. ‘His Majesty is waiting for you, Excellency,’ he said.
‘Then I will go in. Good evening, Councillor.’
Ahmet’s face had reddened, and with pursed lips he strode away, leaving me to enter the throne room alone.
‘His Excellency Lord Darius Laroth,’ the chancellor intoned. ‘The Sixth Count of Esvar and Minister of the Left.’
I was used to an echo, but the throne room in Shimai held nothing of the usual grandeur. It was a pleasant room, informal rather than majestic, each wall covered with hundreds of small scrolls. They bore the great words of emperors and scholars alike, the wisdom of the entire empire contained in a single room.
