Under Heaven (39 page)

Sima Zian had waited.
"Can you spend a few moments with me?" Tai asked.
"I would be honoured," the poet said gravely, no hint of irony.
They started down the first long hallway together with the two women. Sunlight came from the west through tinted, silk-paper windows, casting a mild afternoon light at intervals. They walked through it as they went. Light and shade, then light and shade.

CHAPTER XVIII

T
he sun is low, reddened, there is a murky tint to the air. It has been cooler today, windy. Li-Mei wears a Bogu shirt over her tunic and a camel hair vest over that. She has no idea where Meshag found these for her in this emptiness. She has seen no signs of human life, not even smoke on the wind.
In the luxurious hot springs retreat of Ma-wai to the south and west across grasslands, the Wall, the wide, dangerous river, her older brothers are reciting poems for members of the Kitan court in a room of sandalwood and gold. Their listeners drink spiced pepper wine, and a sweet breeze softens the spring air.
Li-Mei keeps looking over her shoulder. She's been doing that, nervously, from the time the sun rose, offering light enough to see. They'd begun riding under stars, the thin moon down, the wolves invisible. Night noises. Some small animal had died in the dark, she'd heard a short scream.
Meshag never looks back. He allowed only two brief halts in a very long day. He told her during the first rest that they would not be caught that day, or the next. "They will have had to wait, to learn which way we go. They know now, but there is a dust storm. It will cost them some of a day."
"And us?"
He shook his head. "The storm? Not this far. Only wind."
Only wind, and endless grass, and a sky so much farther away than any she's known. It is difficult to feel that your life means anything under this sky. Are the heavens more removed from humankind here?
Do prayers and souls have a greater distance to travel?
Meshag signals another halt towards sunset. She's anticipated this one. Sunset is the other time he hunts. She dismounts. He nods curtly, his awkward motion, and rides off, east this time, along the way they've been going.
She has no idea how he chooses his direction. If she understood him yesterday, these are lands where his people rarely travel. The Shuoki here are enemies, and have also been restive, unsettled in their submission to Kitan authority. She doesn't know much about the Shuoki. Remembers a story about General An Li suppressing a rebellion, a heroic ride, something of the sort.
They haven't seen anyone. She has a sense it would be bad if they did, if they were found here. The grasslands are vast, however, beyond belief. That may be what saves them, she thinks.
No water this time, where he's decreed their evening rest. She was hoping for a pond. She badly wants to be clean again. It is a part of how she understands herself. This begrimed, lank-haired creature on a Bogu horse in Bogu clothes (the shirt is much too large and smells of animal fat) is not who, or what, Li-Mei considers herself to be.
She's aware that this is more and more inadequate as a way of thinking with every day that passes, every
li
she travels. The person she was has already been altered, destroyed, by the decision to name her a princess and send her north.
If she were really strong-minded, she thinks, she'd declare the girl who'd been raised by a stream near the Wai River, the woman who'd served the empress at court and in exile, to be dead.
She'd leave her behind with memories, like a ghost.
It is hard to do. Harder than she expected. Perhaps it ought not to surprise her. Who can so easily lay down habits and images of a life, ways of thinking, an understanding of the world?
But it is more than that, Li-Mei decides, stretching out her aching back. She is living--and riding--in a fragile but undeniable condition of hope, and that changes things.
Meshag, son of Hurok, is strange beyond words, barely human at times, but he is helping her, because of Tai. And his dead eyes do not undermine or refute steadiness and experience. He killed a swan with a single arrow. And he has the wolves.
He returns to her before night has completely fallen.
She is sitting in the tall grass, looking west. The wind has died. The hook moon has set. She sees the star of the Weaver Maid. There is a song about how the moon swings past her, then under the world through the night, and comes back up carrying a message to her love on the far side of the sky.
Meshag has water in the flasks and a saddlebag full of red and yellow berries. Nothing else. She takes the water, uses some to wash her face and hands. She wants to ask about rabbits, other meat. Does not.
He crouches beside her, places the leather bag between them. He takes a fistful of berries. He says, as if she's spoken aloud, "Would you eat marmot not cooked?"
Li-Mei stares at him. "Not ... not yet. Why ...?"
"No fires. Shuoki. More swans, maybe at night."
Searching for them. He has said she asks too many questions. She is not ready to let this part of her be dead or lost. She takes some of the berries. The yellow ones are bitter. She says, "Is it ... am I allowed to ask where we are going?"
His mouth twitches. "You
did
ask," he says.
She wants to laugh, but it is too difficult. She runs a hand through her limp, tied-back hair. Her father used to do that when he was trying to think. So do both her older brothers. She can't remember (a sorrow) if her little brother does.
She says, "I am afraid. I don't like feeling that way."
"Sometimes fear is proper. It is what we do that matters."
She'd not have expected a Bogu rider to admit the idea. She says, "It helps me when I know what is to come."
"Who can know this?"
Li-Mei makes a face. It occurs to her that they are having an actual conversation. "I only mean our intention. Where we are riding."
He is already harder to see. It has grown dark quickly. She hears the lead wolf in the grass, not far from them. She looks at the sky. She is looking for a swan.
Meshag says, "There is Kitan garrison not far. We sleep now, ride tonight. See it in morning."
She had forgotten about the garrison. The soldiers posted beyond the borders--here in the north, in the southwest, or west along the Silk Roads beyond Jade Gate--these seldom enter the thoughts of the Kitan. And many of them are recruited barbarians, she knows, moved from their own homelands to serve the emperor in a far place.
But that is not what she is thinking about now.
A hand goes to her hair again. She says, "But I cannot go to them! When they learn who I am they will take me back to your brother. You must understand." She hears her voice rising, tries to control it. "The emperor is dishonoured if they don't. I was ... I was
given
as a bride. The garrison commander will be terrified if I arrive! He will ... he will hold me and send for instructions and they will tell him to escort me back! This is not--"
She stops, because he has held up a hand in the darkness. When she falls silent, the night is very still around them, the only sound the wind in grass.
Meshag shakes his head. "Do Kitan women all speak so much, not listen?"
She bites her lip. Resolutely says nothing.
He says, quietly, "I said we see garrison. Not go there. I know they take you back west. I know they must do this. We see walls and turn south. Kitan fortress is protection for us from Shuoki, they not go near it."
"Oh," Li-Mei says.
"I take you ..." He pauses, shakes his head. "Difficult tongue. I
am
taking you to Long Wall, is only three days if we ride quickly."
But the Wall, she thinks, the Wall's soldiers will do exactly the same thing, whichever watchtower they come to. She remains silent, waiting.
He says, "Soldiers there also send you back. I know. We go through Long Wall into Kitai."
"But how?" She cannot help herself.
She sees him shrug with one shoulder. "Not difficult for two people. You then see. No. You ...
will
see."
She is heroically silent. Then she hears a strange sound, and realizes he is laughing.
He says, "You are try so hard not to ask more."
"I am!" Li-Mei says. "You shouldn't laugh at me."
He stops. Then says, "I take you through your Wall, sister of Shendai. Near to it is flat mountain. Drum Mountain, you call it? We go ... we are going there."
Her eyes widen. "Stone Drum Mountain," she whispers.
He is taking her to the Kanlin Warriors.

The two women bowed at the tall doorway to Tai's chamber. One of them opened the door. Tai let Sima Zian enter first. The women waited in the corridor. They didn't lower their eyes now. It was clear that they would come in if he invited them. It was equally clear that there was little he or the poet might think to request that would not be granted. Zian smiled at the smaller, prettier one. Tai cleared his throat.
"I thank you both. I must speak now with my friend. How may I summon you if needed?"
They looked perplexed. It was Zian who said, "They'll be right here, Shen Tai. They are yours until you leave Ma-wai."
"Oh," said Tai. He managed a smile. Both women smiled back. He closed the door, gently. The two large windows were open, screens rolled up. It was still light outside. He didn't imagine any real privacy existed here, but he didn't
think
anyone would be spying on him.
There was wine warming over a brazier on a small, lacquered table. He saw that the cups set beside it were gold. He felt overwhelmed. Zian crossed to the table, poured two cups. He handed one to Tai. He lifted his own in salute and drained it, then poured himself another.
"What just happened?" Tai asked.
He set his own wine down. He was afraid to drink any more. The intensity of the gathering they'd just left was washing over him. This happened in wartime, too, he knew.
This afternoon had been a battle. He'd been placed as an ambush, had engaged in single combat. Not necessarily with his true enemy.
Enemy.
That word again.
Zian raised his eyebrows. "What happened? You created a very fine poem, so did your brother. I will make copies of both."
"No, I mean ..."
"I know what you mean. I can judge the poems. I can't answer the other question."
Zian crossed to the window, looking out. From where he stood Tai could see that the gardens were glorious. This was Ma-wai. They would be. A little way north of here were the Ninth Dynasty tombs.
Tai said, "I think the emperor was behind the other screen."
"What?"
Zian turned quickly. "Why? How do you ...?"
"I don't know for certain. I think. Two painted screens, and what Lady Jian and the prince did together in there ... it felt like it was meant for an audience, and it wouldn't be me."
"It might have been."
"I don't think so. I've never heard of Prince Shinzu behaving in such a ... talking so ..."
They were both fumbling for words.
"So strongly?"
"Yes."
"Neither have I," said Sima Zian, almost reluctantly.
"He was challenging Zhou. And he couldn't have done it without knowing--surely!--that his father would learn of it. So it seems to me ..."
"That he might have been doing it
for
the emperor?"
"Yes."
Zian's last word hung in the room, with all its obvious implications, and all those they could not see. The breeze at the window was mild, scented with flowers.
"Could you see us? From where you were?"
Tai nodded. "She'd arranged for that. So what happened there? I need help."
The poet sighed. He refilled his cup again. He gestured, and Tai reluctantly drained his own. Zian crossed the room and poured for him. He said, "I have spent my life between cities and mountains, rivers and roads. You know it. I have never had a place at court. Never sat the examinations. Shen Tai, I am not the man to tell you what is unfolding."
"But you listen. You watch. What did you hear in that room?"
Zian's eyes were bright. The afternoon light streamed in. The room was large, gracious, inviting. A place to be easy, to seek tranquility. That was what Ma-wai had always been about. The poet said, "I think First Minister Wen was given a warning. I do not think it will cost him his position."
"Even if he was plotting murder?"
Sima Zian shook his head. "No. Not even if he had
achieved
your killing. What, they will say, is the meaning of so much power if you can't use it to rid yourself of someone you dislike?"
Tai looked at him, said nothing.
Zian went on, "They'd have cheerfully allowed him to have you killed--before the horses. It would have been a matter of no consequence. Whether he did it because of a woman, or to prevent you from threatening his adviser, your brother. No one here would have blinked if you'd died at Kuala Nor or on the road. The horses have changed that. But I think today was about Roshan. Your presence was that warning to Zhou. He's at risk. They were telling him that." He poured another cup. He smiled again. "I very much liked 'cold stars shine on white bones.'"
"Thank you," said Tai.
There were two pre-eminent writers among thousands in Ninth Dynasty Kitai. This man was one of them. You could go happily to your ancestors carrying praise from Sima Zian for lines you'd written.
Tai said, "You just gave me guidance, after all."
"Treat it with caution," said the poet. "I claim no wisdom."
"Those who claim are those who lack,"
said Tai. It was a quote, the poet would know it.
Zian hesitated. "Shen Tai, I am not a humble man. I am only being honest. I keep returning to this jade-and-gold, it draws me. Sandalwood and ivory, the murmur and scent of women. But to visit, to taste. It is no home. I need to be here, and when I come, I need to be gone. A man must see it as his home to understand the court."
Tai opened his mouth to reply, but realized he didn't know what he wanted to say.
Zian said, "There is more beauty in the Ta-Ming, or here at Ma-wai, than anywhere else where men have built palaces and gardens. It may be that there is more beauty here, right now, than there has
ever
been. Who would deny the wonder and glory of that? Or resist seeing it?"
"Or fear that it might end?" Tai asked.
"That is ... one fear, yes. Sometimes I am happy I am no longer young." Zian put his cup down. "I am awaited, friend. There are two women who promised me flute music and saffron wine when the sun went down."
Tai smiled. "No man should keep another from that."
"Truly. Will you come?"
Tai shook his head. "I need to think. I imagine there will be a banquet tonight? I have no idea how to conduct myself."
"Because of Wen Zhou?"
"Yes. No. Because of my brother."
The poet looked at him. "He should not have done what he did."
Tai shrugged. "He is head of our family. He will say Li-Mei brings us honour, stature in the world."
The poet looked at him. "He is correct in that." His eyes were bright again, a trick of the light. "Still, I could understand if you killed him for it. But I am not a clever man in these ways."
Tai said, "I'm not certain I am, either."
Zian smiled, a wintry look. You were made to remember that he'd been a warrior in his time. "Perhaps. But you must be clever now, Tai. For a little while, or for longer than that. You have importance now."
"The world can bring us gifts, or poison in a jewelled cup,"
Tai quoted.
The poet's expression changed. "I don't know that. Who wrote it?"
"My brother," said Tai quietly.
"Ah," said Sima Zian. "I see."
Tai was thinking of summer thunderstorms watched from a shared-bedroom window.
He was walking towards the door to open it for the poet when the knocking came. It didn't come from the hallway outside.
Both men froze where they were. A moment later the tapping came again. Tai turned to look at the wall beyond the handsome bed.
As he watched, a door-shaped panel swung away into shadow, and then a second panel did. Double doors, hidden in the wall. No one appeared. From where Tai stood he couldn't see within the recess. A corridor? An adjacent room?
The two men looked at each other. "This is not a time for me to be here," said Zian quietly. The poet's expression was grave. Close to Tai's ear, he murmured, "Be clever, friend. Be slow to act. This will not play out in a day and night."
He opened the door to the hallway himself. Tai's escorts were still there, one against the windows, the other across from her. The corridor was now lit by lanterns all the way down, in anticipation of sunset.
They smiled at the two men. Zian went out. Tai closed the door behind him, turned back into the room.
Six soldiers came in quickly, almost running.
They took positions, paired, by the two windows and the door, moving past Tai, ignoring him, their expressions impassive. They had swords and helmets and leather armour. The four at the windows looked out, carefully, but did not close them. The light coming in was beautiful, this time of day.
One of the soldiers knelt and looked under the bed. He stood up and nodded towards the recessed passage.
Wen Jian entered the room.
She didn't look at Tai, either. She walked across to the window opposite, then turned back to face the double doors, her expression sober. She was still wearing the green silk with pale-yellow phoenixes decorating it.
Tai's heart was pounding. He was afraid now.
Through the doors in the wall came six more soldiers carrying a curtained palace chair on poles. The curtains hid the figure they were carrying. You knew, however. You knew who this was.
The chair was set down in the middle of the room.
Tai dropped to his knees, forehead to the floor, hands stretched before him. He didn't look up. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to tremble. He remained that way, prostrate.
That was what you
did
when the Serene and Exalted Emperor of Kitai, ruling in glory through the mandate of heaven, entered a room. Any room, let alone your own bedchamber, having come to you in secrecy through a passage in the walls.
"You have permission to stand, son of Shen Gao." It was Jian who spoke.
Tai scrambled to his feet. He bowed, three times, towards the curtained chair. And then twice to the woman by the window. She inclined her head but did not smile. The soldiers who'd carried in the chair took positions along the walls, heads high, eyes staring directly ahead.
The curtains enclosing the chair were red, decorated with yellow suns. There were nine on this side, Tai saw, and there would be nine on the opposite, for the legend. Too much brightness for mortal men. That was the meaning here.
He had seen the Emperor Taizu three times in his life, from a distance.
The emperor had stood on a high balcony of the Ta-Ming overlooking a throng in the square before the palace on three festival days. The imperial party had been so far away and so far above that one of the students had said they might easily have been people hired to pose in imperial colours, under banners, while the real court were hunting or at ease in the Deer Park beyond.
"The august shepherd of our people wishes you to answer a question," Jian murmured.
Tai bowed to the curtains again. He was sweating. "Your servant is honoured beyond deserving," he stammered.
From behind the red curtain a voice came, stronger than Tai had expected. "Did you truly hear the voices of the dead at Kuala Nor?"
Tai dropped to his knees again, forehead to floor.
"You have permission to stand," said Jian a second time.
Tai stood. He had no idea what to do with his hands. He clasped them in front of his waist, then let them fall to his sides. His palms were damp.
"Your servant did, gracious and exalted lord," he said.
"Did they speak to you?" There was vivid interest in the voice. You couldn't miss hearing it.
Tai refrained, with an effort, from kneeling again. He was still trembling, trying to control that. He said, "Gracious lord, they did not. Your servant only heard them crying in the night, from the time the sun went down until it rose again."
"Crying. In anger, or in sorrow, son of Shen Gao?"
Tai looked at the floor. "Both, exalted lord. When ... when ... when bones were laid to rest, that ghost would cease to cry."
There was a silence. He glanced at Jian out of the corner of his eye. She stood by a window, late sunlight in her hair.
"We are well pleased," said the emperor of Kitai. "You have done us honour, and your father. It is noted."
Tai knelt again. "Great lord, your servant is not worthy of such words."
There came a chuckle from behind the curtain. "Do you mean that I am wrong in what I have said?"
Tai pressed his forehead to the floor, speechless. He heard Jian's laughter. She murmured, "Dearest love, that is unkind. You terrify the man."
Dearest love.
The Emperor Taizu, unseen, but also laughing, said, "A man who lived two years among the dead? I hope it is not so."
Tai didn't move, didn't speak.
"You have permission to stand," Wen Jian said again, and this time there was exasperation in her voice.
Tai stood.
He heard a rustling of the curtain--but it was on the other side, away from him. A moment passed, then the rustling again.
The emperor said, "We will formally receive you when such matters have been arranged. We wished to express our approval, privately. We always have need of brave men in the Ta-Ming Palace. It is good that you are here."
"Your servant thanks you, great lord," Tai murmured. He was perspiring now.
The emperor, in a quieter voice, said, "Honour falls into three parts, son of Shen Gao. One part restraint. One part right-thinking. One part honouring ancestors. We will leave you."
He didn't care what the woman had told him three times now: Tai fell to his knees again and put his head to the floor. He heard the soldiers moving, a creak as the chair was lifted, then the floorboards as they carried it back through the hidden doors.
He was thinking of those last words, trying without success to remember if he'd ever heard or studied them. Then, wrongly,
entirely
wrongly, the thought came to him that the unseen man who'd spoken them had taken his young son's young bride for his own concubine, was pursuing forbidden immortality with hidden alchemies, and was also building himself a tomb that dwarfed his father's and all those of his line.
One's own thoughts could be terrifying.
He heard the tread of the other soldiers, again almost running across the room. After a moment, he looked up.
Jian was by the double doors, alone, smiling at him.
"That was well enough done," she said. "I will confess, for my own part, that I find restraint to be over-praised. Do you not agree, Shen Tai?"
It was too much. Too many different directions for a man to be pulled in one day. Tai simply stared at her. He had no idea what to say.
She could see it in his face, obviously. She laughed, not unkindly.
"You are excused from my banquet tonight," she said.
He flushed. "I have offended you, illustrious lady?"
She shook her head. "Not so. There are gifts from the Phoenix Throne on the bed. These are the emperor's, not mine. My gift is your freedom tonight. The little Kanlin, so fierce in your service, is waiting outside this room with nine other Warriors. You will need guards when you go to Xinan tonight."