The Veiled Throne, page 46
Nazu Tei looked over at Savo, who was examining the few silk-and-wax scrolls on her shelf with deep interest. She looked back at Goztan. After a moment, she looked away, sighed, and nodded.
Goztan said, “I understand it’s customary in Dara for parents to express their esteem of the teacher—”
“I don’t want any payment,” interrupted Nazu. “This arrangement must be kept a secret.”
“Of course,” said Goztan. “But something must be given as a token to show the seriousness of the commitment between teacher and pupil.”
She asked Savo to hand her his hunting spear. She broke the tip off the shaft and handed it to Nazu. “I made this for him with my own hands. Today I give this to you in the hopes that you’ll show him what I cannot: how to write instead of how to kill.”
Nazu examined the spear tip. It was made from a slender piece of bone, with a pattern of abstract wavy lines etched into the surface. Somehow, the smooth grooves of the patterns felt like a natural part of the bone instead of the product of craft. She pulled out the hairpin from her double scroll-bun and replaced it with the spear tip.
“Thank you,” she said.
Young Savo was then instructed to kneel before Nazu and touch his forehead to the ground three times in the native fashion.
“Since I’ve received a gift from you, it’s only right that I reciprocate,” said Nazu. “It’s customary for every student of the Classics to be given a formal Classical Ano name if he didn’t already receive one upon reaching the age of reason…. How about ‘Kinri’?”
“What does it mean?” the boy asked.
“ ‘A sign.’ ”
He instantly liked the way the name sounded. Is that also a sign? he wondered. While he had not been able to capture the petal-rumped deer, he had the premonition that he had caught something much more significant.
Later, after they had studied together for a while, she began to call him Kinri-tika, and he liked that even better.
* * *
Though Kinri wasn’t sure why his teacher had suddenly become so emotional, he waited a respectful few moments before venturing tentatively, “Shall we return to the game, master?”
“Of course,” said Nazu. She dabbed at her eyes and smiled. “I’m itching to start playing. We just have to get the rules out of the way. Now that we’ve covered the king, which piece’s movements do you want to learn next?”
The young man looked over the board and pointed at a few smooth, egg-shaped tokens with tiny toothpick oar-legs that prevented them from rolling around the board. “Are these airships? So I have four and you have only one?”
“Yes,” said Nazu. “These may move horizontally or vertically, as many steps as you please, in a single turn. They can even skip over one other token barring their way, friend or foe, unless the token is another airship. They are among the most powerful pieces on the board.”
“But what is the most powerful piece in zamaki?” asked Kinri eagerly. “Or is the game like cüpa, in which no stone is more powerful than any other?”
“Well, that’s not an easy question to answer. Since cüpa is a game based on strategic planning, it approximates the distant perspective of an adviser at court, to whom all soldiers on the front line are alike. Zamaki, on the other hand, is a game derived from battlefield tactics seen through the eyes of a field general, where the differences between individual playing pieces matter. However, just as the martial prowess of an individual fighter isn’t an absolute measure of their importance to the battle—it depends on their field position, support units, communication lines, and other factors—a zamaki piece’s range of movement isn’t the sole determinant of its power. For instance, a scholar-pawn begins the game with only the ability to move forward one step at a time, but once it has advanced inside the opposing side’s castle, it’s promoted to a pana méji, with the ability to move just like the king. A promoted scholar can pose a far greater threat to the king than a distant airship, just as a well-positioned assassin—”
“I’m well aware of such tactical basics, master,” interrupted Kinri, chuckling. “I am, after all, the son of a war thane. I can see now that in zamaki, the playing pieces serve similar roles as the components of an Ano logogram. But instead of a static structure of references and allusions, a zamaki army is a dynamic machine of potential and power, changing with every move.”
Nazu looked at him admiringly. “That is an excellent observation… one that I hadn’t even thought of. See, I told you we’d be playing with the same number and types of tokens in no time.”
Kinri blushed, pleased at the compliment. To disguise his embarrassment, he coughed and asked, “Master, let me change my question. Which piece has the most moves?”
“That would be the consort,” said Nazu. She pointed to two black and two red figurines, all depicting women. “Sometimes these pieces are also called companions or ‘wakeful weaknesses.’ The consorts in this set are modeled on Empress Jia and Consort Risana, on the red side, and on Princess Kikomi and Lady Mira, on the black side. Consorts may move horizontally, vertically, or diagonally, as many steps as you like each turn.”
“How strange!” exclaimed Kinri.
“Why?”
“Why are consorts the most mobile and capable pieces on the board,” said Kinri, “when women in Dara don’t fight in battles or rule kingdoms? Well, at least not until Gin Mazoti.”
“That depends on the historian you consult—” Nazu again stopped herself.
Kinri waited patiently. He knew that usually when his master stopped midsentence like this, it meant she wished to change the subject.
Nazu seemed to be debating herself in her mind. Her lips moved as she muttered in a voice too low for Kinri to hear. The only phrase he caught was “a sign.”
Abruptly, her face relaxed, as though she had made a decision. “The court historians have not always told the whole story, either in Kriphi or Pan.”
Kinri’s heart started to beat faster. His master was about to tell him something unusual and interesting.
“As you know, during the Diaspora Wars, there were many princesses and heroines who fought both with and against the hero Iluthan,” said Nazu, her voice unusually determined. “And during the early days of the Tiro states, many queens ruled—not just in their husbands’ or sons’ steads, but outright, asserting their own claims. And grand ladies attended court and gave counsel.”
“I thought all that stopped after Kon Fiji declared women should be excluded from politics and war for their own protection.”
“That is certainly the version most of the Moralists would like you to believe, and… the pékyu encourages it, as it proves that women have always been degraded in Dara, justifying the coming of the Lyucu.”
Kinri now knew that something truly unusual was happening. Master Nazu Tei rarely spoke of the Lyucu invasion, and never criticized Tanvanaki. Though his instinct was to argue with his master’s cynical portrait of the pékyu, he decided to hold his tongue for the moment to listen.
“But, if you pay attention to the Moralist classics, you’ll find that almost all the statements attributed to Kon Fiji concerning the separate sphere allocated to women came from texts written by Poti Maji, in particular, Acts of the Master. But Kon Fiji taught thousands of students in his lifetime, and of those, seventy-two achieved note as advisers to kings. About a third of these were women.”
“What?” Kinri was astonished. “I had no idea. I thought Kon Fiji didn’t teach women at all.”
Nazu gave a wry smile. “That is the official position of the modern Moralists and also the position of the Kriphi-approved curriculum. However, it isn’t true.”
“Um… Acts of the Master mentions no women studying under Kon Fiji at all.”
“Poti Maji was certainly the most ambitious and well-known student of the One True Sage. He and his disciples were responsible for creating the basis of what we now think of as the canon of Moralist classics. But there were other fragments and even entire books excluded from the canon, called apocrypha, that give a more complicated and nuanced picture of Kon Fiji’s views on women. For instance, based on apocryphal texts recovered from the tombs of powerful early Tiro queens, I think several of Kon Fiji’s most prized students were women, though Acts of the Master describes them as men.”
Kinri’s mind reeled. The idea that Dara’s history was not as he understood it was astonishing. And the implications troubling. What else did he not know? What else was untrue in the books taught by the court-appointed tutors? “How did you know about these apocrypha?”
“Like you, I’m interested in history. Before I came to Rui, I made it my personal project to recover, collect, and preserve texts that had been ravaged by Mapidéré’s destructive policies. In that process, however, I found out about a far earlier and perhaps more destructive culling of texts, conducted by the first Moralists. The only way for me to recover what they erased was to buy scrolls recovered from ancient tombs by grave robbers. To save the past, sometimes it’s necessary to borrow from and burrow into the past. To revere the dead properly, sometimes it’s necessary to conduct an outrage against their peaceful rest. Such is the irony of existence.”
Kinri nodded. This explained why his master was so familiar with the practices of grave robbers. “I would love to read some of the apocrypha.”
Nazu’s look grew wistful. “I donated all my scrolls to the Imperial Library in Pan out of gratefulness to Emperor Ragin for the Golden Carp program, of which I’m a beneficiary. But I’ve been teaching you snippets from them already, though I didn’t always tell you they weren’t from canonical texts.”
“I really had no idea.”
“It’s my fault for not being courageous enough to tell you the truth earlier,” said Nazu Tei, smiling tranquilly. “I’ll do better in the future. All right, enough digressions. Let me quickly go over the rest of the rules with you.”
She explained the movements of the rest of the tokens: ship, mechanical cruben, adviser, assassin, general, horse, kite, and marshal. She went over the movement restrictions and bonuses provided by special regions of the board labeled “island,” “mountain,” and “river/channel.” She taught him the rules of capture and promotion, the special cases for stalemates and repeated board positions….
* * *
They began to play, and while Nazu won the first two games, Kinri was able to win the third. Delighted, Kinri insisted on reducing his advantage by one airship as they set up the pieces for the next game.
“You’re improving faster even than I expected,” remarked Nazu. In a teasing tone, she added, “And you seem to have a lot more mental endurance today than usual.”
“Zamaki is much more enjoyable than studying the deliberately obscure Ano logograms in Gi Anji’s Commentaries on Morality,” conceded Kinri, fingering the smooth surface of a red coral airship piece. “Master, you said this game is often adapted to new developments in warfare, right? I can already imagine some modifications for the modern age. For instance, garinafin pieces could be added to the game to represent advanced Lyucu tactics.”
Despite the earlier promise to be more truthful with her student, Nazu looked hesitant. In the end, she chose to address only the first part of her student’s comment. “I can understand how you feel about those logograms. When I first began my formal studies, my master spent a whole month on Letter Composed from One Thousand Flower-Rooted Logograms, can you imagine?”
“That would be pure torture,” marveled Kinri. “There were sixteen different logograms in that awful book that all meant ‘cultivate’ in one sense or another, as I recall.”
“Eighteen, actually. But even obscure logograms can be interesting when you see the historical context. The proliferation of cultivation-related logograms is a reflection of how advanced the ancient Ano already were in their farming techniques. In fact, two of the logograms feature the ‘hemp’ semantic root—”
“Master, please! I’m interested in history, but talking about farming—”
“All right, all right. I’ll stick to the logograms. Despite the contempt of your thanes and your own impatience, know that they’re worth knowing well. Though I learned my zyndari letters and a few common logograms as a girl, I didn’t seriously study the Ano logograms until I was in my forties, when Emperor Ragin opened the Imperial examinations to women. It seemed such a chore at the time, and I would have far preferred to study music on my zither instead. Still, once you’ve achieved a certain level of expertise so that the wisdom of the ancient texts is fully accessible to you, you’ll discover a pleasure in playing with the logograms that can’t be found anywhere else. Your calligraphy really needs improvement—”
“Ah, I’m afraid I’ll never be a calligrapher,” said a despondent Kinri. “I just don’t have the patience or interest in making wax blocks pretty.” Before Nazu could object, he hurried on. “I like logograms just fine—they’re like intricate machines… except they don’t do anything. I’d much rather work with real, physical machines, like the amazing inventions of Na Moji, who was supposed to have built a mechanical eye to capture nature like one of the gods—”
The long, mournful sound of a garinafin-bone trumpet broke through the gentle susurrus of the surf. No music was perhaps dreaded more in Ukyu-taasa. The garinafin trumpet tune was used to summon Lyucu warriors to the battlefield.
The faces of both Nazu and Kinri changed in an instant. Kinri looked confused, then curious and excited. Nazu, on the other hand, looked stricken with terror before her features settled into an expression of determination.
Wordlessly, they got up, exited the hut, and climbed up the dune that had sheltered them from the wind and sun. From atop the dune, they looked down at the village on the other side.
About fifty soldiers—conscripts from among the Dara natives—commanded by several Lyucu officers had taken over Kigo Yezu. They had driven all the villagers, from nursing babies to cane-leaning elders, whether napping in their huts or working in the fields, into a tight huddle in the clearing around the village well. A garinafin crouched to the side like a living knoll, its wings folded on its back. The villagers gazed at this deadly beast with terror-filled eyes.
“What’s happening?” exclaimed Kinri. “Have there been reports of a pirate raid?”
Nazu ignored him as she surveyed the scene with a solemn expression. “What did you tell your guards and tutor about your plans for today?”
“The same thing I always say: to hunt and fish in the countryside.”
“Did you tell them where?”
“Yes. Everyone knows Kigo Yezu is a good bay for fishing.”
Nazu pondered the situation, her heart leaden. The appearance of the garinafin and so many soldiers couldn’t be just a coincidence. She looked at Kinri. “Think! You’ve told absolutely no one about learning zamaki from a native?”
“No… wait… I did say something to the pékyu-taasa, Dyu-tika.”
“What did you say?” Nazu struggled to keep her voice calm.
“Yesterday he was bored with all the games the courtiers knew, and I said I would teach him the soldiers’ game, the one with the little horses and swordsmen and crubens—”
“Those were your exact words?”
Flustered, Kinri tried to remember. “Maybe? I can’t remember. But zamaki isn’t forbidden! I know several Lyucu officers who learned how to play from native conscripts. I just thought you’d be able to tell me the history behind it. I was going to get the rules from a soldier before showing the pékyu-taasa anyway.”
Nazu closed her eyes, the muscles on her face twitching as she fought to suppress her rage and regret. Kinri had been after her to teach him the game ever since he caught her a few weeks back trying to work out some zamaki puzzles with these pieces. Careful as he was, he hadn’t realized that the version played by the native soldiers in Kriphi didn’t have cruben tokens, since the Lyucu had outlawed references to the powerful scaled whales. The creatures were considered by many to be allies of the House of Dandelion and often appeared in the iconography of rebel standards.
When she opened her eyes again, she began to scramble down the dune toward the village, careless of how she slipped and slid down the steep sand slope.
“Master, wait!” Kinri called out. Nazu made no sign of having heard him, and he ran after her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE A LESSON ON TRUTH
RUI: THE NINTH MONTH IN THE EIGHTH YEAR OF THE REIGN OF AUDACIOUS FREEDOM (KNOWN AS THE EIGHTH YEAR OF THE REIGN OF SEASON OF STORMS IN DARA, AND THE EIGHTH YEAR SINCE PRINCESS THÉRA DEPARTED DARA FOR UKYU-GONDÉ).
By the time they arrived at the village, native soldiers had forced all the villagers to kneel on the ground with their hands laced behind their heads. As a senior Lyucu commander paced back and forth before the kneeling villagers, soldiers under the direction of two junior Lyucu officers went into the huts, throwing open cabinets and upending trunks, smashing bowls and plates, kicking holes in the wattle-and-daub walls as if searching for secret compartments.
Two soldiers barred Nazu Tei’s way at the edge of the clearing.
“Stop! Stop at once!” shouted Nazu as she was held in place by her arms, panting. “What is the meaning of this?”
Kinri (or Savo, as he was known to the Lyucu), who was some distance behind her, stopped and instinctively hid himself among some bushes. Although it wasn’t exactly a secret that, in addition to lessons from his court-appointed tutor in Kriphi, he enjoyed visiting the countryside to learn more about native culture, the practice was enough of an eccentricity among the children of the Lyucu thanes that he didn’t want to make an appearance just yet.
The Lyucu commander strolled up to Nazu, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What are you screaming about, old woman? Can’t you see we’re in the middle of an investigation here?”
Nazu inclined her head to show her double scroll-bun. “My name is Nazu Tei, and I achieved the rank of toko dawiji in the Imperial examinations in the sixth year of the Reign of Four Placid Seas. Emperor Thaké has given all ranked scholars the right to intercede on behalf of the peasantry. I demand to know your name and what crimes these villagers have been accused of.”
