Jade Empire

by S. J. A. Turney

  There were over a hundred thousand men here if there were a dozen. Corrals of horses suggested cavalry. He could see several archery ranges. There were small areas given over to the construction of machines of war. This was no bandit king. Such a title could clearly not be applied to the Sizhad. This was an army, ready for war.

  At the centre of the huge bowl, that flattened hill bore a structure that had been a temple to the Inda gods. Dev could see the four towers that had stood at each corner. They had once borne the likenesses of the war gods. Now each bore yet another white and gold sun flag. The great, monumental and decorative temple of red stone and white marble in the centre had a huge ornate portal over which hung that same banner.

  ‘I hate zealots,’ the captain said under his breath, and Dev shot him yet another warning look. The party was escorted down to the camp at that same sedate pace, allowing plenty of time to drink in the impressive strength and unity of the force around them. They passed beneath the scrutiny of the Sizhad’s men and Dev felt once again not an iota of worry or respect from even the lowliest spear man, just disdain and conviction. The very idea of that sort of faith instilled in this kind of army made Dev shiver.

  Some of the men hawked and spat as they passed, not quite hitting the visitors, but coming close enough to display how little fear and esteem there was in this place for the empire. Dev tried to steady his nerves as they rode through the seemingly endless ranks of the Sizhad’s army. Finally, they ascended that low hill, passed through a gate in an outer boundary wall, and approached the great doors of the former temple.

  ‘You two,’ the white-clad officer said, pointing at Dev and the captain and beckoning.

  Dev nodded and turned to the nervous-looking horsemen behind him. ‘Stay here and do nothing. I am about to attempt negotiations and I want no unpleasant incidents out here impacting on that.’

  The four file officers saluted, and the fifth of a cohort of men settled in as Dev and the captain dismounted, paced around for a moment to exercise sore muscles, stretched, and then followed the white-garbed man into the doorway.

  The building had once been a glittering, wondrous homage to the Inda gods, but now the intricate wall designs had gone, whitewashed so that the entire building was gleaming monochrome. The temple was of a familiar design, for all its grand scale and recent changes. Square, it contained a wide internal courtyard, each side housing several chapels and shrines, now all stripped bare, whitewashed and repurposed as storage places. The two men were led through the building and into the courtyard.

  The great square was flagged with white marble, and due to the size of this wide valley, the height of the mound upon which the temple sat, and the design of the building itself, the sun still reached almost half the courtyard. The two visitors blinked again, having to let their eyesight adjust once more.

  The Sizhad was also not what Dev had expected. Despite the strange uniformity of the army he had seen in the great valley stronghold, somehow Dev had still expected a grand prince or hulking warrior. Either dripping with jewels and gold like the powerful rajahs of old, or armoured and dressed in leathers and furs like a mountain man. The Sizhad was neither. He was dressed in the same simple white clothes as every man in his army. Unlike the others, though, the Sizhad’s turban was not white, but yellow, as he sat cross-legged on a small mat at the centre of the courtyard with his head down. He looked humble. Young. Peaceful.

  ‘Why have you come?’ the man asked quietly. His face was lowered. In prayer? Dev wondered.

  ‘I have come as the representative of Bassianus, Emperor of the West, and his esteemed general, Flavius Cinna, who currently fights a war to drive the Jade Empire from the Inda Diamond.’

  ‘Sit,’ replied the Sizhad, gesturing to the white marble flags before him, gleaming in the sun. Dev did so, uncomfortably. The stone was sizzling hot to the touch and he could immediately feel his trousers and boots warming. The captain remained standing off to the side. Good. This might go better Inda to Inda.

  Then the Sizhad looked up and Dev’s world broke asunder.

  ‘Ravi?’

  The great bandit chief and fanatic, master of countless thousands and ruler of the mountains, gave Dev a sad smile. ‘Ravi is gone. Ravi died long ago.’

  Dev stared at his youngest brother. It had been too many years, and Ravi had been so young when Dev had left, but he would know him anywhere. He still had the three marks by which Dev would always recognise him. The slightly cleft lip where he had fallen and ripped his mouth on a table corner as an infant. The scar above his brow, between the eyes, where Dev had hit him with a sharp stick when they had been playing a game of warriors and heroes as boys. And most telling of all, the mismatched eyes, one green, one brown. It was Ravi and there was no denying it.

  A thrill of possibility ran through Dev. There was a chance. A real chance.

  ‘Ravi, we need your help. We can save the Inda. Drive out the Jade Empire. But we cannot do it without your aid. Join us. Bring your men to war and we can save the Inda, Ravi.’

  His brother’s face remained impassive, and in one glance at his eyes, Dev knew he would fail. This was his brother, all right, but it was not the same Ravi he had left in Initpur all those years ago.

  ‘The Inda cannot be saved, Dev.’

  ‘They can,’ Dev replied urgently, hopefully.

  ‘No, they cannot. The Inda are dying. Their time has passed. The world of old gods is fading.’

  ‘Is this your new sun worship talking, Ravi? Don’t you understand? This is more important than a simple cult.’

  Something terrifying flashed through the Sizhad’s eyes, and Dev recoiled at the sight.

  ‘Do not insult what you do not understand, Dev. Any other man who sat there and said such a thing to me would be burning by sunset for his impiety. I spare you for the sake of our father and what we have shared, but do not push me.’

  ‘Ravi, what happened to you?’

  ‘I told you. Ravi is dead. Ravi, son of Aram, died years ago. He survived Jai being taken. And he survived you leaving, though you broke his heart. But when his mother died and took his sister with her, he knew then that the Inda were doomed. Those false gods we trusted smiled at us as they took our loved ones, our heritage, our world. For a time, I was lost. I said farewell to our father, who would decline along with the Inda, and went to join a monastery.’

  ‘Our father—’ began Dev, but the Sizhad was still speaking.

  ‘I thought to understand the gods and why they seemed to hate those who worshipped them. The great teachers among the monks sought to enlighten me, and they succeeded. I realised, despite their own beliefs, that what we worshipped were not gods, but demons. We had been tricked at the dawn of our civilisation and had been paying tribute to demons, who kept us safe as long as we were useful to them. But then the empires rose to either side of the Inda and we became diminished. So those demons stopped preserving us and instead began to nurture those two great empires.’

  ‘Ravi, you cannot believe—’

  ‘Do not tell me what to believe, Dev. I have seen the truth. I left the monastery and wandered. I found peace and understanding in the hills with a holy man who opened my eyes to the sun. Where the old gods atrophy and decay like the demons they are, the sun remains strong and powerful. He gives light and life and dispels the darkness in our lives. He is constant and pure. And he can take the life of the wicked as easily as he gives life to the worthy.’

  ‘Horseshit,’ huffed the captain standing nearby, and Dev shot a glance up at the man. He was too late. The Sizhad barely nodded and an arrow arched out from somewhere in the shadows and slammed into the captain’s calf, sending him hurtling to the floor with a squawk.

  ‘I owe you no such considerations as I owe my brother,’ the Sizhad said in a cold voice. Dev made to move, but realised immediately that he could do nothing here, given the sheer power exuded by the master of this place. The captain had been insulting, despite Ravi’s earlier warning, and he would
be punished. A small group of white-clad men scurried over to the writhing captain. Dev frowned. None of them were armed, and he couldn’t imagine what they planned to do. The men turned the captain so that he was lying on his back, crying out in pain as the arrow in his leg was knocked this way and that against the marble, blood pouring out with each jolt.

  Dev’s blood ran cold as he watched the pained, struggling captain pinned to the sizzling marble with men holding down each limb in a tight grip. Another pair huddled around the captain’s face, and when they moved back, Dev was chilled further to see that they had used some kind of glue and dressing combination to pull open his eyelids and hold them there. The captain stared in panic, unable to do anything else. Then the two held his head tight.

  The sun burned down on the captain, who tried desperately to look away. He could not. His eyes rolled around, but with his eyelids held open and his head pinned in place, no matter where he looked the sun was still there, at least in the periphery, sizzling into his retinas.

  ‘If you surrender to the sun and gaze up directly, this will be over quicker,’ the Sizhad said in an oddly comforting voice, but such considerations were beyond the captain now. His desperate shouts were becoming extremely distressing, and one of the men finally gagged him.

  ‘He will not die,’ the Sizhad said, addressing Dev now. ‘He will either come to understand the truth, or he will leave here a blind man, unable to stand against us.’

  ‘Torture, Ravi?’ Dev said, disgust inflecting his voice, still watching the panicked captain.

  ‘Enlightenment, Dev. And I keep telling you: Ravi, son of Aram, is dead.’

  Dev turned to his brother. ‘Yes. I see now that you are not the Ravi I knew. He was a gentle boy. A good boy. Respectful and loving and part of a good family. Not a cold, zealous killer. Very well. Let me repeat my reason for coming here, not as an old friend and sibling, but simply as a representative of the empire.’

  The Sizhad nodded and Dev forged ahead.

  ‘You have an army here that could turn the tide of the war. Not using it helps no one. You could support the Jade Empire, but you would only hand the world to them. Or you could ally with General Cinna, drive out the Jade Empire from Inda lands and free us all. Whether you worship the sun or the old gods, you must still see the value of saving the Inda?’

  ‘As I told you,’ the Sizhad replied, ‘the Inda cannot be saved. Nor can the lands of the mad western emperor, nor those of the rigid, short-sighted Jade Emperor. They all worship those same demons who ruined the Inda. And now they are doing the same to the empires. But it is all part of the plan, Dev.’

  ‘Plan?’

  ‘For the unification of the world. As the old peoples and the demons they worship battle one another and create worldwide ruin, we grow only stronger. The empires will destroy the Inda. Then they will destroy each other. And when they are too weak to protect themselves, then my army will move. We will take back the world from the demons that have destroyed it. We will remove the mad emperor and his brood and give back hope and truth to the people of his empire. And we shall rip the Jade Emperor from his throne and open the eyes of his people.’

  Dev couldn’t help but glance back over to the captain at those words. He had fallen still and was issuing strangled sobs.

  ‘And the Inda will be no more, but only as the empires will be no more. We will all just be children of the sun, in peace and harmony forever. Do you not understand, Dev?’

  ‘I understand that you have gone quite mad, brother, and that you would willingly see the world burn for the love of your cult. You have the resources to save your people, yet you will not.’

  A few paces away, the white-clad men were now removing the arrow from the weeping captain’s leg and binding it.

  ‘There is another way, Dev.’

  ‘Oh?’ Dev turned back to his brother. ‘And what would that be?’

  ‘Join us. I can teach you. Bring you understanding. You could be my brother in a new way. A powerful, sacred way.’

  ‘My duty is to my commander, my empire, and also to the Inda and their preservation.’

  The Sizhad’s expression hardened. ‘I cannot let you go.’

  A chill ran through Dev then. He hadn’t, throughout this encounter, considered that possibility.

  ‘What?’

  ‘As well as being a commander of the enemy, you have seen all there is here to see and I have described the future to you. Whether you join me or not, you must understand that you can never go back.’

  ‘Ravi—’

  ‘Ravi is dead. There is only the Sizhad. You will be detained and given time to consider my offer. The same offer will be made to each of your men. I hope they choose enlightenment and understanding and decide to join us and change the world. But if they do not I cannot allow them to return to your false general and his demons.’

  Dev could think of nothing further to say, his expression blank as he rose. Three white-clad men were crossing to him now as the others helped the wounded and blinded captain to his feet, where he limped and hobbled around staring sightlessly in every direction.

  ‘Take them to the chamber of night. Let them consider the value of the sun.’

  Dev felt the hands on his shoulders and went quietly, rather than struggling. It would avail him nothing and he would need to preserve his strength. He had to get out of here and bring word of this new and awful threat to his general.

  For all this talk of the sun, the world seemed to have taken several steps into darkness.

  Chapter 10

  War wears many faces,

  Death wears but one.

  Ancient proverb

  Jai stood beneath the awning and squinted into the rain. All was quiet, but that would never fool a student of war. The sea can appear becalmed, but currents beneath the surface would still drag a man to his death.

  Death.

  Throughout these months back in his ancestral homeland, Jai had seen enough death to last him a lifetime. Long gone now was the enthusiasm and conviction the army had felt in those early days of capitulations and grand demonstrations. Now the world had settled into a morass of mud, blood and shit. He wondered how many students would have shied away from the Zu Academy and its arts of war if they had been introduced early to the stink of rotted corpses and opened bowels. Because that, apparently, was war. And for Jai, weaned on the elegance of academy swordsmanship, the difference between duels and war had been a brutal lesson to learn.

  Jalnapur was a name to be cursed. Jalnapur was a curse. For more than two months now they had been fighting here. After several weeks, the northern army had finally arrived from plodding around in the mountains where they had led a strangely successful campaign. Successful in that they had suffered few losses and garrisoned many former rajah’s palaces. Strange because they had met few rajahs and few warriors in the process. They had known that bandit chiefs lurked in those mountains with large forces, but had been entirely unable to locate them, and even under torture the locals had revealed nothing.

  The addition of that third great Jade Empire force to Jiang’s army made not a jot of difference in the reality of Jalnapur. The simple fact was that the entire battle, and because of that the entire war, relied upon that great bridge stretching across the Nadu River. If either side managed to cross the Nadu and secure a bridgehead, they could hope to win, but as long as that bridge remained at the centre, unreachable by either side and limiting the fielding of troops, there was little hope of an end to the hostilities, and numbers made precious little difference.

  General Jiang had even considered moving south and constructing a new bridge or finding another way to cross, but had soon dismissed the notion. Now that the two armies were facing off, if either moved, the other could track them along the length of the Nadu and wherever they stopped would simply become the next Jalnapur.

  The losses to the army over the past two months had been appalling. Every day saw a small but steady stream of casualties, either men who
had been scouting too close to the bank and met with imperial arrows, or those who manned picket points or the like who had become the victim of opportunistic enemy artillery. The hospital, which sat back behind the nearest hill where the heady stench could not drift across the army and sicken the healthy, was permanently in business. Bags of bloody bone went in one end, limping or whimpering men coming out of the other, along with amputated limbs, unspeakable waste and the numerous patients who failed to survive the fly-ridden, eye-watering interior. The smell of blood and foulness and sickly-sweet putrefaction combined with the spicy aromas of the many ancient natural remedies the surgeons employed in addition to the blade and the needle.

  And the next hill along was, if anything, worse. It contained the three great catacombs hollowed out by soldiers with grim faces, and the place of burning, where white-robed priests rendered the dead into ash so they could be placed in the catacombs.

  It was a mechanical process to reduce the army by degrees, and it was little consolation that much the same would be happening across the river. Indeed, Jai understood that the western empire burned their dead as a matter of course, and the columns of black smoke could be seen daily some distance behind their lines. The Jade Empire traditionally buried their dead in the ground whole, the deceased after a battle being interred beneath a tumulus. But this battle was different, since over many weeks the dead had been stacking up daily. Cremation had been the only sensible choice, unless they were to create the greatest cemetery in history, and no one wanted to be responsible for that monument.