Beneath an Opal Moon, page 9
part #4 of Sunset Warrior Cycle Series
“Why do you come here then?” Moichi said. He felt overcome by shame and he was angry, too, for it was Kossori who had brought him here without telling him what was going to happen.
“I come here every so often to absorb by proximity some of the intense perversity which is its reason for existence.”
“But you brought me here without “
“My dear friend, I do not remember you taking the time to ask me about the Sharida until we were already upon it. And this after the rather explicit warning given you by the Regent. ” Moichi was silent. He was right, he thought gloomily. I cannot blame Kossori for my own lack of responsibility. But was it really that, so simple an answer? He thought not, now. Life, he had found, rarely provides easy answers to anything. That was for plays and such. The real world was far too complex to distill down. Eliminate complexities and you invariably lose meaning. It was, after all, that he had wanted to come to the Sharida, despite what Aerent had hinted, he concluded.
“Watch, now, Moichi,” he heard Kossori murmur at his side. “Now it begins.”
Upon a stage at what had been arbitrarily designated the front of the tent, a stage that Moichi had not noticed before now, stood a giant of a man. He was shiftless and the titanic muscles of his arms and chest bulged, glistening in the flickering torchlight as if they had recently been rubbed with oil. This man had no neck. His head, as large and round as a great pumpkin, seemed attached directly to his massive shoulders.
“This night the Sharida comes to Sha’angh’sei,” he announced in a voice like a thawing river. “It is close to morning and before the dawn we will be gone. It is little time. Yet, there is time for celebration. I am Mao-Mao-shan, master of the Sharida, hunter of a flesh beyond the meat of food, beyond the penetration of sex. 1, Mao-Mao-shan, am the purveyor of a flesh designed for the ultimate sensations.” He reached out an arm as thick as a tree trunk, sweeping it back theatrically. “Thus do I direct your attention to the exquisite fruits of my nocturnal labors. For my work is your gain and your only enemy now is the rising of the sun. Please, then behold the coming of the supplicants of the dominion of death!”
It was an effective speech; Moichi felt a slight shiver run through him, though he knew this was but hocus-pocus extremely artful, he had to admit, but hocus-pocus nonetheless.
A section of the tent’s wall to the left of Mao-Mao-shan ballooned outward and a man stepped on stage. He was tall, with a finely muscled body of chocolate brown. His startlingly pale blue eyes stared straight ahead, oblivious to the intense stares of the throng. He wore not a stitch of clothing. Naturally not, Moichi thought. What need had these people to see their potential possessions with clothes on? The thought might have been amusing had not the situation been so hideous.
“Eighty seasons old,” said Mao-Mao-shan. “The bidding begins at four hundred taels.”
Moichi turned to Kossori, whispered, “Four hundred taels of silver?” And when the other nodded, thought, My God, that is a city’s ransom.
Movement in the crowd.
Mao-Mao-shan nodded. “Four hundred taels, yes sir. And?” He looked around. Out of the corner of his eyes, Moichi saw a thin sandyhaired man in a dark cloak nod. “And four hundred fifty to you, sir. Very good! We are on our way. But surely, this magnificent soul is worth far more. Why, for four hundred fifty I could Ah, yes, madam, thank you. The bid is now five hundred “
Moichi turned around, saw a fiery-eyed woman of indeterminate middle age. She glared at him and he quickly turned back to the spectacle on stage.
So the bidding went, until it reached a ceiling of seven hundred and fifty taels and the fiery-eyed woman came rustling forward to claim her soul, as Mao-Mao-shan had called the chocolate-skinned man. As soon as she had taken possession of the man, the tent wall at Mao-Mao-shan’s side ballooned once more and a slender young woman stepped onto center stage. She was blond and blue-eyed.
As the bidding began, Moichi turned his head toward his friend, whispered fiercely, “How can you condone this? It is monstrous!”
“I don’t condone it, my friend. I accept it as a part of life. There’s a world of difference there.”
The bidding was sluggish and Mao-Mao-shan began to exhort the crowd, regaling them with tales of the woman’s fiery nature, fanciful yet effective and the bidding took off in a flurry. He was quite a showman.
“You yourself,” Kossori continued, “do not believe in slavery, yes? Yet you tolerate it here in Sha’angh’sei. Why?”
“Because well, I suppose because it’s part of the way things are here. I “
“You see! “
“But the analogy Kossori, what they do here “
“Take a look on stage, my friend. No, I mean a good long look. Have you seen anyone there who seems to object?”
Now that Kossori mentioned it, it seemed quite a curious thing. None of the souls appeared in the least upset at what was transpiring. Perhaps they did not know. But a quick query of Kossori dispelled that notion.
“No, my friend, all are quite aware of what is to happen to them. It is not the finding of the souls which occupies MaoMao-shan’s time so much as the weeding out of the undesirables.”
The slender woman was sold for five hundred taels.
“You mean people queue up to to die?” Moichi was incredulous.
“That is precisely what I mean.”
“But why? I cannot possibly “
“Perhaps,” he said quietly, “it’s that they desire release.”
“Now a very special acquisition,” Mao-Mao-shan was saying from his lofty position. There was a soft stirring within the throng as the wall parted and a man appeared. He was not naked but rather was garbed similarly to Mao-Mao-shan. He was bare-cheated, though not nearly so big as the master of the Sharida. He wore dark pantaloons and high dusty boots. Around his waist was wrapped a wide sash into which was negligently pushed a curving dirk. This man paused at the edge of the stage and reached backward, as if through the tent someone were jerking viciously. A woman stumbled after him, out onto the stage.
Immediately, Mao-Mao-shan was into his spiel but Moichi paid him no heed. His eyes were riveted on the female. She was naked as the others had been.
She was tall and a narrow waist accentuated her wide shoulders and flaring hips. Her legs were very long.
“Don’t you see?” Kossori said. “The Sharida is part of the embodiment of the liberation of the spirit of mankind “
She had high cheekbones, a thin-bridged nose with delicate flaring nostrils like some animal at bay. Her defiant eyes were pure cobalt, the deepest blue Moichi had ever seen. Her hair was long, flowing loose over her shoulders, wild and tousled now as if she had been in a struggle. It was the color of flame.
” Here the darkest part of the human soul is loosed and assuaged, turned outward instead of inward to fester. We all have it inside of ourselves, in differing degrees “
Her legs were the most beautiful Moichi had ever seen. Firmly thighed and lightly muscled, seeming to run on forever. He lifted his eyes.
” Here lust and death commingle.”
And his eyes locked with hers for just a moment. A kind of shock traveled through his body until he was certain that his very flesh vibrated. Then the contact was broken. The bidding began, running briskly from almost every quarter of the crowd with but the minimum of intervention from Mao-Mao-shan. He knew a prize when he had one.
What had happened? Moichi asked himself dazedly. Some message had been conveyed across the physical space separating them, across the wider gulf of their different cultures.
The bidding stood at eight hundred and fifty taels, hovering there for some moments. “Come, come,” Mao-Mao-shan proclaimed. “Eight hundred fifty taels of silver is a paltry price to pay for this soul. I can tell you honestly that a soul of this magnitude has not crossed my path in many a season. Now what Yes sir, my compliments. The bid is now one thousand taels!”
There was a concerted gasp as the throng reacted to the enormous price and heads craned to catch a glimpse of the bidder. But Moichi was staring straight ahead at the woman on the stage. There was something peculiar her wrists! She had moved slightly as if she too were interested in the person from the crowd who had offered that much silver for her and he could see now that her wrists were tied behind her back. Not only that but, as she shifted further, he observed that she had been working on the hempen bonds, attempting to free herself. He nudged Kossori.
“Eh?”
“I thought you said that all who came here were willing.”
Kossori nodded. “That’s so.”
“Observe yonder,” Moichi said, indicating the woman on stage.
“By the gods! I don’t understand “
The bidding resumed. A rather elderly woman with a desiccated face upped the price to twelve hundred and a voice boomed out within the tent, shouting angrily, “Fifteen hundred!”
Now Moichi turned to look, for it was the same individual who had caused such a stir with his one-thousand-tael bid. He saw, within the crush of bodies, a tall man in a black cloak which covered him from head to boot top. Moichi could not make out any features for the light was poor in that direction and the man had kept his hood pulled up. Yet he was readily distinguishable from those about him for he stood at least a quarter of a meter taller than any of them.
“Eighteen hundred,” called the desiccated woman.
The tall man shouldered his way forward, brushing protesting people from his path. He lifted his head to call out, “Two thousand tsels, by the god of iron!” And Moichi thought he saw a cold glitter emanating from within the hood as if the light had caught the lens of an eye.
Moichi turned back to the stage and found the woman staring at him. And now he knew the content of her message.
“Twenty-five hundred tsels!” Moichi bawled, to make certain all could hear him.
“What!” Kossori caught his arm. “What are you about? Are you mad? You don’t have that kind of “
“Twenty-seven hundred!”
Moichi did not have to turn around to know the voice of the hooded man. He was closer now, edging toward where they stood, hard by the stage.
“Three thousand!” Moichi called.
“Thirty-one hundred!” Then, in a lower tone, “You disgusting slime, if you make another bid, I’ll “
“Hey, you !” Kossori had turned around to confront the tall man.
While Moichi called out, “Thirty-five hundred taels!”
There was movement behind him, as the hooded man fought the throng to get to him hissing, “I warned you Now out of my way, scum!”
But now it did not matter because Moichi had given the woman on stage enough time. She had slipped her bonds and, in a flash, had torn the dirk from her captor’s sash, having used the scuffle in the crowd as a distraction.
Without a moment’s hesitation, she plunged the full length of the curving blade into the man’s flesh, slipping it deftly between the third and fourth ribs on his right side.
There was so much noise now that Moichi could not hear his cry but he was already moving. “Come on!” he called to Kossori and, aware that the other was following him, he leapt upward, found a shoulder in the now densely packed crowd to launch him onto the stage.
So stunned was Mao-Mao-shan at this unseemly and singular conduct that he failed to react to Moichi’s presence until it was far too late. Moichi hooked a boot behind the huge man’s ankle and pulled. Mao-Mao-shan went down like the side of a house.
Moichi put his arm protectively around the woman’s bare waist, feeling her warmth. Kossori was with him and as they made for the opening in the tent’s wall, he glanced out into the crowd. There his gaze alighted on the tall man who was flinging people from him as he made his way toward the stage.
He was bellowing something that Moichi could not make out for the din. He had expected to see a sword in the man’s hand by now or, at the least, some other weapon but the hooded man’s hands were empty.
Then they were through the wall and into one of the smaller, dimly lit satellite tents. This one, obviously, was where they held the souls to be bought, because it was filled with young men and women, all handsome, all perfect, ready to be possessed, as Mao-Mao-shan would say.
The trio ran through this milling bunch, who stared at them blankly, murmuring to each other. Outside, the night was cool. Some of the torches surmounting the ring of carven pilasters had “uttered and gone out and Moichi led them across the ruins of Ebb Tide Square, toward a darkened section of the perimeter.
He found the alley and they fled down this ebon path, the sounds of their boot soles beating back for the moment the clatter of the pursuit. Moichi was certain who would be leading that pursuit and it was not Mao-Mao-shan.
“This is madness!” Kossori panted as they ran.“How could you have “
“Save your breath, my friend,” Moichi said. “What is done is done.” They were coming up on Blue Illusion Way and Moichi knew that they were going to need some of that in order to escape the man in the black hood. Sounds echoed back at them in the narrow alley as the men from the Sharida entered it. “Anyway, I doubt you would have allowed her to be sold to death, knowing she was being held prisoner.”
“All right, all right.” Kossori brought them up sharply as they entered the wide street of shops. “There’s little time, so a debate is inappropriate now.” Echoes behind them, gaining rapidly. “Take the girl right. One block then take a sharp left. You’ll know how to get home from there.”
“But what about you?” Breath hot in his lungs; shouts from behind them in the blackness of the alley. At least they had stopped out of the line of sight of their pursuers.
“Never mind me.” Kossori waggled a hand in the air. “I will decoy them. Now go. Quickly. For this to succeed, they must believe you and the girl are in front of me.”
“But “
“Go on now. Go on! In a moment it will be too late and we shall all be caught like fish in a net. Off with you now.”
Moichi grasped the woman’s hand, hurling them both down Blue Illusion Way, aptly named, he hoped. At the corner, he resisted the temptation to look back, rushed them both into the concealing shadows of the cross street. Looking up, as they ran on, he found he indeed did know which way to go and, orienting, he pushed them onward down black back alleys with the squealing rats leaping from their path, along brightly lit streets and across tree-shadowed squares. Until, at length, they broke out onto the Nanking and Moichi hailed a passing ricksha. He was obliged to shout twice, for the sleepy female kubaru appeared not to hear him at first. He launched the woman unceremoniously into the covered section, leapt beside her and gave the street address of his harttin. As they began to move, he slipped off his cloak, covering the shivering woman and her magnificent nakedness.
They jounced along into the night.
“Aufeya. “
He watched the play of muscles beneath the silk; the strength of her thighs, the tautness of her buttocks.
“A pretty name.”
She turned to face him, watchful yet totally unafraid. Like some great mythical feline she was filled with a dynamic animalism.
“What are you looking at?” she demanded. “Have you never seen a woman before?”
Moichi went across the long room to the desk, poured them both wine. He turned, holding one cup out to her. Her eyes never left his; she made no move. He shrugged, put the cup down, sipped at his.
“Have you ?”
“I will answer no question,” she cut him off. “Do not be so foolish as to think that because of what happened back there, I owe you anything.”
He went back, near her, sweeping aside the closed jalousies so that the bund, quiet at this early hour, and the peaceful harbor beyond, were exposed. It was still quite dark, dawn some time away yet, but small lit lanterns swung from spars like indecisive fireflies, dispersing the blackness here and there.
“If you had waited until I had finished,” he told her, “you would have known that I asked no question. I was about to say, have you ever seen anything more beautiful?”
Slowly, almost reluctantly, as if she half expected it to be some kind of ruse, she turned her head away from him, gazing out at the harttin’s view.
76 lyric V. Lus1i~ader
Moichi passed her, stepping out onto the veranda and, a moment later, Auieya followed.
“What is a harttin?” Aufeya asked.
“It is the Sha’angh’sei term for a trading warehouse. All the wealthy bongs have harttin in which to store their produce as it is offloaded from incoming ships or awaiting exportation. “
“And this is your harttin?”
“No. It belongs to Llowan, the bandsman of Sha’angh’sei. “
“Then what are you doing here?”
“Waiting. ” He went to the outer railing, leaned his forearms upon it. Masts rose blackly before him, combining with crosstrees and furled shrouds, taut ratlines and rigging, to give the scene a surreal geometric overlay.
Aufeya took two steps toward him, paused, like a doe scenting water but unsure of what might lurk within the foliage lining its bank. “Waiting for what?”
“For a ship, querhida.” He saw her stiffen, staring at him, but she was silent. “A ship to sail home to Iskael.”
“Are you ? You are a captain, or what?”
“A captain?” He smiled. “No, I am a navigator. ” He turned away, his thoughts seemingly far away over the breast of the sea.
She regarded him for a time, her cobalt eyes as black as coal. He did not see it, but she trembled ever so slightly, her head shaking, and she slipped her hands into the crooks of her arms, folding them just below her high firm breasts as if trying to hold herself together. The terror had come upon her again just after the storm had driven her small lorcha off-course and into port. It was a rugged craft but built expressly for sailing along the coast; it was not an oceangoing vessel and thus could not withstand a fierce gale without the protection of a barber in which to ride it out.
