Way Walkers: Tangled Paths (The Tazu Saga)

by Leigh, J.

  “I’m certain he was able to figure that out,” she said, “given the resoundingly loud rumors about me and my garden of red.”

  Jathen gaped at her. “You’re the one with the rose garden everyone’s been gossiping about?”

  “Yes, and I’m subverting the whole country. Haven’t you heard?” Her unfettered laughter chimed again. “Please, let me put my wicked history into perspective! My father was Ansonah, but you wouldn’t know them; they were completely wiped out around three hundred years ago. Father was a skilled one when it came to words. Silver tongued, they used to say. His friendship with the Emperor Rhean managed to secure not only a wife but a prestigious position as the ambassador to the Lu’shun Republic. His marriage to my Pai mother, the daughter of the Pan’ni First and a direct—albeit unofficial—descendant of the Mannas, was downright scandalous. So I was actually born here, in the Republic, on the Clan embassy grounds in the capital. My mother, sadly, did not make it long past my birth. I was two when she died attempting to bring another babe into the world. Her loss was a bit draining on my father.”

  “You were addressing the rumors, Nosalia, not a family history,” Yuta reminded her.

  “I’m getting to it.” She fluttered her fingers at him. “Since his death and my permanent move here, I have had five politically minded spouses, spawning the rumors about how I lure potential mates into my bed with the promise of political return via wicked Red magic. Ha! My other favorite rumor is how I bedazzle and then ensnare the most handsome and intelligent of the generation to weave my wicked wiles on them and thus sway the Republic to Clan-beneficial policies.”

  Nosalia sniffed melodramatically, scooping up a wineglass from the nearest tray with liquid grace. “Ah, how sad the truth is so much more mundane! I simply have the same taste in lovers I have always had—anyone who reflects a watery image of my father’s intellectual passion and charismatic demeanor, or the distant memory of my mother’s grace, is enough to sway my sensibilities. It is almost obvious I would fall for those with political ambitions and even more obvious a doting wife with a touch under a thousand years’ worth of experience in the political arena would have somewhat of an advantage when whispering advice in an eager spouse’s ear. I am no grand seductress, just an old, experienced politician’s wife with breasts that are still perky after nearly a millennium. Ah, the rumors jealousy spawns. And as to my scandalous roses, go see for yourself, out that side door there. They are as pink as pink can be, with just the slightest hint of red on the lips.”

  “As if that’s not a connotation for anything.” Jephue giggled.

  “Oh, Jeph, you are so bad!” She laughed, smacking him playfully. “How I have missed you!” Nosalia made a few more pleasantries before departing to make her rounds, leaving behind the scent of roses and vanilla.

  “She’s certainly interesting,” Jathen said, watching her flit like a hummingbird from group to group.

  “Typical outlander Clan.” Ass’shiri shook his head. “With the typical short attention span for anything that’s not about her.”

  “Aren’t you technically an outlander, Ass?”

  “Yes, but I’m never typical.”

  A few more Clan guests joined them, playfully praising Jathen for trying the life wine, and he made decent conversation in their native tongue. About half an hour later, Nosalia returned, surprising Jathen by coming up from behind and locking arms with him.

  “So, my tall Tazu prince,” she cooed, “what has Hatori been teaching you all these months in his company? Something better than life wine vintages, I hope?”

  “Um… not really.”

  “We’ve been teaching him Clan, actually,” Hatori said. “And he’s got an ear, but it’s slow going.”

  “I have heard it’s a difficult language to learn as a second. How are you managing?” she asked Jathen. “Do you find our native tongue to your liking?”

  Jathen swallowed at her veiled innuendo and replied as evenly as he could, “I’m managing well, I think. And actually, it’s my fourth language. The biggest difficulty I have is how similar everything sounds to an untrained ear. A slight mispronunciation can totally change a meaning.”

  “You should hear Old Clan,” Ass’shiri said. “That was before they took Clan and refined it at the same time they created Tar’cil. Now that is a difficult language, and it’s the basis for my mother tongue, so you can imagine.”

  “Oh, how remiss of me!” Nosalia’s thick lashes fluttered. Unlatching her arm from Jathen’s, she extended a friendly hand to Ass’shiri. “Tan’cha clan, correct?”

  “Correct.” Ass’shiri took her hand, bowing with easy formality. “Ass’shiri Tan.”

  “Ass’shiri Tan,” she repeated, raising a delicate eyebrow. “Errent’s son?”

  Ass’shiri shook his head, grinning. “Grandson.”

  “Ah. Well, at least I’m not completely out of the loop. I heard rumors a while back that he was in a fuss because one of his own was denouncing the name and becoming tar’ka-besh. That’s not you, is it?”

  “No, you are thinking of my older brother. He hasn’t taken his vows as of yet. Though he still intends to, last I spoke with him.”

  One of the other Clan guests snickered, a sliver of cruelty in the sound. “Nothing quite like hacking off all family ties to wound the soul. Eh, Chann?”

  Ass’shiri broke in before Hatori could respond. “Well, I don’t know anything about that. Grandfather took it in a bit of a huff, but he takes everything that isn’t specifically for the Tan’cha clan as an insult. I personally think it’s just fine for my brother, as he’s not the eldest, and considering the options of younger sons, tar’ka-besh is a pretty attractive profession, as are any of the Way paths to a Talent.”

  “It’s different, dear,” Nosalia said, “taking on a Way and being useful while still boasting your family name. What bothers him, I’m sure, is the loss of a family member. To be tar’ka-besh is to be for Tar’citadel and no other.”

  “What I’m sure bothers grandfather is the loss of recognition. If my brother isn’t a Tan by any official means, then all the great things he does with his Talent and training don’t go to fill the family glory cup.”

  “I’m sure you’ll add a few drops of glory to that cup, young one.”

  “No, m’lady. I don’t think so.” Ass’shiri winked. “I’m not much of a Talent. I can shoot a crossbow, but I’ll never go higher on the kasior Path than merely holding my kasior rank. I’ll shoot my crossbow to make my living. That’s it.”

  “You know,” Yuta said, his tone slightly playful, “I’ve heard of solitary kasior breaking off from the order and becoming assassins for hire. Ever think of trading glory for infamy?”

  Ass’shiri laughed. “Nah, I’m not so ambitious as that. Truth be told, I’ve never even shot a real person, just animals, monsters, and… oh, there was a time when I put a few into a soldier demon when some Red Follower actually managed to get into Tar’citadel and release a couple of them.” He grinned. “That was a fun day.”

  Yuta hmmphed. “Heh, true Rheanic we have here.”

  “Of course.” He bowed dramatically.

  The rest of the party passed in a blur of color, elegant conversation, and thinly veiled innuendo so obscurely wrapped in Clan politics and long history that Jathen couldn’t possibly comprehend all of them even while fully sober. They readied to leave, and he and Ass’shiri took a moment out in the fresh air while awaiting the rest of their company.

  “Believe it or not, that was a tame affair,” Ass’shiri said. “Compared to the Clan court or even the Tar’citadel embassy, that is.”

  “I believe you.” Jathen leaned against an alabaster banister. “Though, was it just me, or were there one or two slightly more acidic remarks tossed at Hatori?”

  “Maybe. But we all took a few hits. It�
�s sort of a Clan equivalent of a handshake, to see what you are made of by how well you parry a few sideways comments. They went after me, too, but I think I handled it well.”

  “Better than me. I stuttered all over myself.”

  “You’re not Clan. I’m the new outlander they are trying to gauge, not you, my dear Moot.”

  “Their comments did make me wonder, though. Why are you off wandering about the world rather than in the Clan Lands or on official assignment from Tar’citadel?”

  Ass’shiri turned guarded. “In all honesty, there is this girl...”

  “Really?” Jathen was completely incredulous, as Ass’shiri had never stuck him as the hopelessly romantic type, especially given his conduct in the Mei temples and the continuing advice with regard to Ishane.

  “Yeah.” Ass’shiri kicked at the ground, sending a few loose pebbles skittering away.

  Jathen was almost afraid to ask, but curiosity won. “Did… something happen to her?”

  “Oh, no, she’s alive and all. It’s just… some people, no matter how much you love each other, it’s not enough. For her to be with me—a kid really, with nothing but a crossbow to my name—she’d have to give up too much. Too much of who she is and what makes her… her.” Ass’shiri sighed. “The thing with being Clan is you can find connections with people of vastly different ages and have it not matter, but sometimes things like titles and position do matter, despite all the tolerance the Ways preach. So I’m out here to find myself, find some maturity, add some actual age and maybe even a little fortune, too. Then, I can go back and be something worthier of her.”

  “No offense, Ass’shiri, but it seems a little shallow of her. Don’t you think? To not want you unless you’re titled?”

  “I’m oversimplifying. Don’t think so little of her. I’m young, far younger than she is, more so than I can really describe, and I’m not just talking physical age, either. That plus the other, it’s just too much to ask her to overlook. A part of it is her pride, I can admit to that, but mostly it was my choice. I can’t ask her to compromise everything that she is just for little twenty-two-year-old me. Besides, a part of me wonders just how deep and real it was. If I wander long enough and return to something that’s just as strong as it was when I left, then I’ll know it was real. And worth it.”

  Jathen nodded. “And at the very least, you can say you loved strong and well for a little while. It’s further than a lot of people have gotten.”

  “Yeah.” He smiled lightly. “I do have that.”

  A shadow passed the line of manicured trees along the drive. It hovered a moment, a mass of deeper blackness against the dark green, and then was gone. A Native Near-Sider or a ghost? Or just a trick of the night and the light? Jathen was left with only the faint sense of being watched, and an unsettling shiver ran down his spine. Like on the plains in Zo’den.

  “Now you mustn’t forget to bring me my next little present, my favorite charm master.” Nosalia’s voice chased away the specter as she, Jephue, and Hatori walked out of the house.

  “I’m the favorite now?” Hatori raised an eyebrow.

  “Only because you bring Jephue.” She planted a kiss on Jephue’s cheek. “He’s the only one who makes you tolerable. And makes certain you dress well.”

  The round of goodbyes was exchanged. Then Nosalia stood on the porch, waving elegantly as Yuta’s carriage pulled away.

  “So that’s the mysterious patron,” Ass’shiri said. “I can understand all the shadow play, Chann. She’s got a lot going on there, doesn’t she?”

  “More than I even care to know about,” Hatori said. Jephue was using his shoulder as a makeshift pillow, and Hatori shifted, patting his lover’s wilting locks affectionately.

  Jathen said, “She’s who you meant when you spoke of ‘Clan who dig their heels and fangs into foreign soil,’ isn’t she?”

  Hatori’s lips quirked up at the corners. “Aye, boy. But remember, Nosalia is the best of that lot. Never can I speak ill of her, and you must not either. Nosalia is… family… in a way.”

  Chapter 30

  “Basically, I’m screwed.”

  With his thumb, Jathen traced the familiar lines of the ring beneath his shirt. He hadn’t taken off the Monortith crest since the day his mother had given it to him, and touching it was cathartic. The night was cool as he and Ass’shiri walked back from yet another dismal trip to Ca’june’s mei district. Gazing upward at the pale sliver of moon, he couldn’t even recall how the conversation had come up, but trying to fathom what trials Kyanith might put to him when he finally returned home was making the ember in his chest spark.

  “He’s going to make me fight a Tazu one on one, I know it.” Jathen sighed, feeling sick enough to consider abdicating the throne on the sole contingency of avoiding such a confrontation. “I wish I’d taken to Setsuken’s pressure-point training better; then I might have had a chance.”

  “Fighting we can handle.” Ass’shiri shrugged. “Even the most powerful Tazu will have a weakness you can exploit. Meanwhile, we’ll get you practicing your knife throwing more, as you really aren’t too bad at it. What worries me are the other two trials. Fighting is hard but obvious. It’s the clever tasks, the ones we can’t anticipate and plan for, that will be a problem.”

  “I hate to say it, but I almost wish I knew the man better. I have absolutely no idea how he thinks.”

  “It’s a little shy of four and a half years from now. You’ve got time, Jath.” Ass’shiri grinned. “Besides, I’ll be there to help.”

  “I appreciate it, Ass, but what I need, as you kindly pointed out, is some deeper insight.”

  “Well then, why don’t we detour to the shed and ask Hatori? He lived under your batwing of an uncle all those years. Maybe he’s got some thoughts.”

  “You sure he’ll be there?” Jathen asked. “Jephue’s had him out to so many parties in the last week since the gala I can hardly keep track of their schedule anymore.”

  “More likely there than in his room. If not, we’ll just bother him in the morning.”

  Halfway down the path, Ass’shiri halted, and Jathen collided with his backside. It was like walking face first into an unexpected brick wall, and Jathen cursed loudly.

  Ass’shiri shoved him to one side. “Grab the other one!”

  “What?”

  A streak of darkness skidded past Jathen on the left, and Ass’shiri shot away to the right. Gathering his wits, Jathen managed to connect the pattering sound of retreating footfalls with the dark figure fleeing back toward the street. Catch now, questions later. He scrambled after the trespasser. Five turns and six streets later, he was left panting for air, and the shadow had been swallowed by the night. Returning, he found Ass’shiri towing a captured figure, making the embarrassment of his empty-handed arrival bite harder.

  “Couldn’t grab him?” Ass’shiri asked, barely moving due to his prisoner’s struggling.

  “He was too fast, and I was too surprised. What happened?”

  Ass’shiri waggled the human by the scruff of his dirty, mud-caked coat. “I saw the pair of them trying to break into the shed. This one took off soon as he saw me, but the other one was nearly through the window before jumping out and away.”

  “He got through the ward?”

  “Seems like it.” Ass’shiri turned a dark look at the would-be thief. “Which means you have some explaining to do.”

  “Suck on the Red Dragon’s balls,” the man spat. “I ain’t telling no one nothin’.”

  “Oh really?” Ass’shiri gave him a feral grin. “Let’s see about that, shall we?” He shoved the slim, rough-featured man halfway up the side of the boarding house wall. “Jathen, who do you think will be the kindest to this little burglar, hmm? Me or Hatori?” He winked at Jathen. “Be honest now.”

  “Oh, I d
on’t know,” Jathen said, doing his best not to laugh. “It really depends. I mean, you’ll be quicker about it, but that’s only because you don’t have the patience to torture him. With Hatori, though, it would certainly be cleaner.”

  “To hell with both of you,” the man squawked. “No damned Way Walker is gonna go and kill me against all your sweet little codes.”

  “Who ever said anything about killing?” Ass’shiri snickered, drawing a tighter grip upon the man’s collar. “I want to know what you were doing back there and how you got in, little human, or I’ll dish you up more than enough pain to make you wish you were dead.”

  The thief smirked even as he paled. “Way Walkers do no harm. And you ain’t got no proof I’m anythin’ more than just some innocent bystander, anyways.”

  “What was it your father said, Ass?” Jathen asked. “About how it’s ‘not lasting harm if you can heal from it’?”

  The man blinked. “Your name is Ass?”

  Ass’shiri growled and shoved the man farther up the wall. “He gets to call me Ass because he is my brother, but you…” He snarled, displaying his teeth. “To you, my name is Ass’shiri. And you want to know why? Because you are going to be food, human, and food demands no respect from me. But food shall give respect. You will ruddy worship me before this is done.”

  Jathen had never seen that side of Ass’shiri—bright Clan eyes wide and feral, fangs bared. He found it... alarming.

  “All right, all right,” the man choked out. “I was paid to serve as lookout. They gave me four silver last night when I met ’em, and I was supposed to get another ten tonight afterwards. Was supposed to be a third person to help, but he didn’t show. I don’t know what they were after in there. Was just me and the other one.”

  “A name,” Ass’shiri demanded.

  “I don’t even know if it was a man or a woman. Wore a cloak with a hood, spoke low. Never saw so much as a hand from ’em. I swear it.”