Speaking Bones, page 78
O gods! End this torture!
He could no longer stand it. He was going to die of thirst. He screamed, pounded the ground, slammed his head against the ice, rolled around the room, but there was no relief, none. He could picture how the evil mushroom’s mycelia, entangled in his entrails, were sucking the blood from him, draining him bit by bit.
Wait. What is that? Wait!
In his struggles he had managed to dislodge a dresser in the corner of his room, revealing a few dried red berries. They must have rolled there when he had been sampling the goods in secret.
Ah, sweet relief! Even if I were to die now, I would die on clouds!
Oddly, though he couldn’t keep anything else ingested in his stomach for more than a quarter of an hour, the berries stayed down. The horrible feverish heat that roasted his body seemed to recede a smidge, and even the ever-present thirst slackened slightly.
He felt his mind clearing. Once again, he was invincible.
The bandit queens had said that there was no way to be free of the mushroom unless his viscera were removed with it.
We’ll see about that, won’t we? I will be my own doctor!
He began to cackle. Yes, he would save himself and then go seek vengeance against those bandit queens. He would use the gold to hire the best sword fighters and martial artists in all of Dara and hunt down the heartless women. He would torture them and find out where they got their supply of those magical berries so that he could continue his trade.
Tiphan Huto will rise again!
* * *
After a rushed and private funeral (supposedly the body didn’t even get to lie in the mourning hall for a full week, as was the custom), the clan declared Huto’s cause of death to be a mysterious disease.
Years later, long after the Huto clan had faded into obscurity, if one were to ply an old mortician in Toaza with plenty of drink and silver, he might sometimes break the vows of his profession and describe for bar patrons the most terrifying corpse he had ever prepared for burial.
There had been nothing left of Tiphan Huto’s throat and neck except a bloody, pulpy mess. If it weren’t for his spine, the mortician was sure Tiphan’s head would have separated from the rest of his body. He had to wrap layers and layers of silk around the base of the head to secure it to the torso.
“Did a wolf sneak into the Huto manor?” one patron asked in a frightened whisper.
“Was he attacked by a demon?” asked another, gulping rice beer for courage.
“No, no!” the mortician said, looking around at his audience slyly. “You’ll never guess.”
After another full tankard of rice beer had been set down in front of him, the mortician licked his lips and said, “It was him! He’d done it with his own fingers.
“He had scratched and clawed at his throat until he had torn away most of his neck! I cannot imagine his state of mind. Tazu must have been in his head.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT A REBELLION THAT ISN’T A REBELLION
PAN: THE ELEVENTH MONTH OF THE ELEVENTH YEAR OF THE REIGN OF SEASON OF STORMS AND THE REIGN OF AUDACIOUS FREEDOM.
The rain had started at sundown and grown heavier as the evening deepened. By the time bells at the Temple of the Twins tolled the second watch, rain was pouring in sheets, and waterfalls cascaded from every roof in Pan. Everyone, from merchants to ministers, from scholars to scullery maids, was home. Even the night watchmen shirked their patrols; not even gangs of thieves would work in such weather.
But on Pan’s city walls, soldiers of the empire maintained their vigilance. The Harmonious City was full of dissonance, and even the lowest foot soldier could sense the tension in the air.
In a watchtower over the Gate of Toyemotika, the westernmost gate of the city, two soldiers huddled next to a stove, fighting off the late autumnal chill by drinking hot tea so thin that it was indistinguishable from water.
“Do you think Prince—er—Emperor Monadétu is still alive?” asked Asulu, a young man of eighteen from Arulugi’s countryside.
Égi, a career soldier in his forties from the Tunoa Islands, chuckled at the question. “Of course he’s alive.”
“How do you know?” asked Asulu eagerly. “Did you hear something from a friend in the navy?” All available warships, excepting those needed to escort the tribute fleet to Rui, had been dispatched to hunt for pirates in the hopes of finding the missing emperor.
“No,” said Égi. “But I don’t think his disappearance had anything to do with pirates. What? Do you really believe that on the way home from Rui, the emperor decided to take a skiff out to fish away from the fleet and was kidnapped by pirates? Only children and fools would believe that preposterous story.”
Asulu’s face flushed. “But Prime Minister Cogo Yelu issued a proclamation for all fishing boats on the northern coast of the Big Island and Arulugi to stay home so the navy wouldn’t mistake them for pirates. My cousins back home wrote to me to say they are worried. Every day they have to stay away from the sea is a lot of coppers they aren’t earning.”
“You know how to read and write? Ha! I underestimated you.”
“I just know the zyndari letters, good enough to keep in touch with home without having to pay a letter writer. My cousins and I were among the first winter school students when Secretary Kidosu started building them.”
Égi retrieved a tiny flask from under his armor and poured the contents into his cup and Asulu’s. “Here, you need something stronger for the chill. I’m not saying that the navy isn’t out there hustling, but I don’t believe they are trying to catch pirates or find the emperor.”
Asulu took a sip and grimaced as cheap sorghum liquor, even diluted, burned his throat. “So what are they doing?”
“Do you remember how during the summer, right after the empress recalled the invasion fleet and signed a new peace treaty, there were all sorts of protests against the resumption of tribute shipments to the Lyucu?” asked Égi.
Asulu nodded. “I happened to be on leave in Ginpen when some scholars occupied the city-ships seized from the Lyucu by the emperor and chained themselves to the masts to stage a hunger strike, demanding the empress continue the emperor’s unfinished work.”
“Ah, yes, those hunger strikers. Didn’t Lady Ragi, the empress’s emissary, have to drug them to get them to eat in the end? Anyway, another group of scholars raised money and hired a fleet of fishing boats to try to stop the tribute shipments to Rui at sea.”
“I heard about that, too,” said Asulu. “The scholars’ boats got in the way of the tribute fleet and refused to budge, even when the navy escorts fired warning shots with stone-throwers. When marines finally boarded the fishing boats to seize them, several scholars jumped into the sea and drowned to show their resolve. Now those men and women had mettle!”
Égi sipped his tea. “Careful, you sound almost as if you admire those agitators.”
Asulu didn’t like contradicting a senior soldier, but he felt he had to say something. “I do think they were heroes. Usually, I only see bookworms debating nonsense in teahouses or cavorting in pricey indigo houses, their noodle-like arms draped around the girls. But those toko dawiji weren’t afraid to die, and they tried to stand up for the common people.”
Égi snorted. “How were they standing up for the common people? The tribute was going to feed the people of Rui and Dasu so they wouldn’t starve to death.”
“But the tribute ships were also sending over gold and silk for the Lyucu wolves! The scholars were saying that we should continue the emperor’s mission to fight the Lyucu and free our people, not work like dogs to appease them so they could demand more—”
“You really want an all-out war?” asked Égi. “I was just a kid when the Hegemon and Emperor Ragin were fighting to see who would be lord of all Dara, and let me tell you, nothing compares to the suffering back then. The empress was right to put a stop to the emperor’s military adventures. Better to be a minnow in peace than a cruben in war.”
“But those poor people in Rui and Dasu—”
“I’m not saying they don’t matter,” said Égi. “But it’s their tough luck to be born there instead of here. I’m not ashamed to say that I’m selfish, all right? I want to wake up safe and sound next to my Amo every day until I can’t get up anymore, and to see my four girls grow up happy and start their own families.”
Asulu didn’t agree, but he didn’t want to make the older soldier angry. “So what does this have to do with the navy and pirates?”
“Do you know who was leading those troublemaking scholars? It was Réza Müi, a bona fide firoa! After she and the other arrested scholars were brought to Pan, she refused to admit fault and apologize. I was surprised that the empress didn’t have her executed as a traitor right away but instead just imprisoned her and let her go after a month. Anyway, the empress and the ministers must be concerned about more copycat rebellions—you know how bookworms love dramatic gestures for ‘the good of the country’ and mutagé, and a high-ranking bookworm like a firoa is an irresistible symbol to them. That’s the real reason why fishing boats have been forbidden from going to sea, and the navy is patrolling to keep the waters clear for the tribute ships.”
“So… if the emperor wasn’t kidnapped by pirates, what do you think happened to him?”
Égi took a peek around the watchtower to be sure they were alone. Nonetheless, he lowered his voice as he continued, a cunning look in his eyes. “You have to use your head! Don’t just listen to what the palace says; watch what it does. Farseers are swarming all over the veterans’ societies; martial law has been imposed in the big cities; security in Pan has never been tighter. Why?”
“I thought we’re watching out for Lyucu spies and bandits,” said Asulu, looking bewildered. “To… protect the empress and the ministers.”
“Why would the Lyucu want to harm the empress? She’s basically their biggest ally and advocate here. And bandits? Why would anyone turn to banditry now when the harvests are good, taxes are light, and there’s plenty of money to be made in honest ways? But there is someone who, if he were still alive, would be plotting against the empress.”
A silkmotic lamp seemed to go on over Asulu’s head. “Wait… are you saying the empress is trying to defend against… against… a rebellion by the emperor?”
“Shhh,” shushed Égi. “Keep your voice down! There’s a difference between knowing the truth and speaking it. The emperor has been seething under her iron fist for years. Why are you surprised that he might now be raising an army against her?”
“But to rebel against his aunt-mother!? She raised him after his own mother died—”
“Do you think the Imperial family is anything like our families?” asked Égi. He spat contemptuously into the fire in the stove. “All that grand princes and Imperial consorts care about is power, and filial feelings are meaningless. Remember what happened to Mapidéré’s children after he died? Now that was some bloody family drama. In any event, Empress Jia has been holding on to power for so long that it’s clear she never intends to give it up to Prince—see, even you and I don’t think of him as the real emperor.”
“But what is the empress holding on to power for? She’s not going to live forever.”
“I don’t pretend to understand the mind of a woman like that. But as best as I can figure, she’s still trying to pass the throne to her son, Prince Timu—”
“The puppet emperor over there in Rui?”
“She was always scheming to have the succession go that way, back when Emperor Ragin was alive. And when he passed the throne to Princess Théra—who people say was closer to her father than her mother—I bet you ten silvers that Jia had something to do with how she drowned soon after—”
“Grand Princess Théra was sailing with her Agon husband to get us help from beyond the Wall of Storms—”
“Right, and if you believe that story, you probably also believe that Luan Zyaji once rode a balloon to the moon and brought back the secret of the silkmotic mill. Come on! There never was any Agon prince, no alliance with barbarians from beyond the seas, no crazy plan to sail through the Wall of Storms—what a fairy tale! It was all a sham manufactured by the empress and her cabal after they got rid of Théra, probably because the princess refused to be her mother’s willing puppet.”
The cascade of revelations was coming so fast that the younger soldier felt dizzy. “Uh… if there was no Agon alliance, how did we get the garinafin eggs?”
“Easy! Given how much tribute the empress has paid to the Lyucu, don’t you think they’d be happy to give her some garinafin eggs in secret to help her secure her own power?”
“You think our garinafins came from the Lyucu? Our sworn enemy?”
“Why does that surprise you? Remember, ravens are as black in Tunoa as they are in Dasu; all grand lords and ladies wanting to hold on to power think alike. We commoners may find it hard to trust the Lyucu because of what they did—are still doing—to our people, but that kind of history wouldn’t bother an ambitious person like Empress Jia.”
“It’s just so twisted and shocking—”
“You and I eat something and poop it straight out the day after. But the intestines of people who crave real power have eighty-one coils so that they can really let the shit ferment into cunning plots. Also, don’t forget that Tanvanaki is Jia’s daughter-in-law; they probably admire each other. If the Lyucu pékyu thinks giving Jia some garinafins will benefit them both, why should she hesitate?”
“That just doesn’t make any sense! Our garinafins fought theirs!”
Égi sighed. “You are so naive. I imagine when Tanvanaki first gifted the garinafins to Empress Jia, it was a secret. But eventually, Phyro discovered the garinafins and took them over, which was how he was able to force the empress to let him go to war. Or maybe Tanvanaki and Jia had some kind of disagreement, and Jia decided to let Phyro go to war to show Tanvanaki that she still had teeth. Anyway, the point is: You can’t believe anything the government tells you. There’s always some kind of conspiracy behind it, which you can only decipher with experience and close observation.”
Asulu took some time to digest all this information. “So… if I’m understanding this right: The empress was always bent on having Prince Timu on the Dandelion Throne. That’s why she engineered the death of Grand Princess Théra, maintained the peace with the Lyucu, and refused to step aside as regent for the emperor. The peace treaty with the Lyucu is a smoke screen for a secret understanding between the empress and Tanvanaki to help each other stay in power. The garinafins are bargaining chips. And the emperor’s failed invasion is really just the manifestation of a family power struggle.”
Égi smiled and nodded with approval. “Now you’re getting it. You gotta think for yourself. I bet you fifty silvers that once he reached the shores of Rui, away from the empress’s eyes, the emperor was hoping to turn the army against the empress and march on Pan. But the empress was the more skilled plotter and got the control of the army back from him just in time. That’s why he’s in hiding now, trying to raise a new army against her.”
Asulu felt chills going down his spine at this completely new view of politics. “Then… that means the empress didn’t end the war out of concern for the people!”
“And the emperor wasn’t invading Unredeemed Dara out of concern for the people either,” said Égi. “They were—are both just fighting each other for more power.”
“Surely it can’t be as bad as that!”
“That’s politics, kid. You must have heard plenty of teahouse storytellers. Emperor, duke, minister, general—they may talk of mutagé and ‘the welfare of the people of Dara,’ but ultimately, the only thing that matters to them is power.”
Asulu pulled his cape tighter around his shoulders. He hated this new view of the world. He wished he had stayed home by his parents’ side and never volunteered to join the army after seeing that inspiring play…. A new thought popped into his head.
“If you’re right, then we’re expected to fight against the emperor himself! That would be—”
“Treason?” Égi eyed him and chuckled. “I’m sure you’re not the only one bothered by the thought. That’s why the empress doesn’t openly say that the emperor is rebelling against her. Bandits and Lyucu spies make convenient excuses.”
“How can you be so calm about this? If you’re right, we’re fighting for a usurper! Kon Fiji always said—”
“I don’t give a sheep’s fart about what Kon Fiji said. The empress is the regent, and as long as she holds the Seal of Dara, I’ve got no problems with fighting for her against anyone.”
“But the emperor is the legitimate—”
“I don’t care about all that legitimacy nonsense,” said Égi. He took a moment to calm himself down. “Look, I know you must be confused why I bother to defend the empress when I think she’s a heartless, power-hungry schemer.”
“I do wonder.”
“All the Ano sages that the bookworms quote talk about serving the people of Dara, right? The way I figure it, it doesn’t matter who sits on the Dandelion Throne, as long as they don’t start wars, keep taxes low, preserve the roads from bandits, and let me and mine work honestly to fill our rice bowls. That’s serving the people of Dara, and everything else is just noise.”
“That’s like saying a baby should call anyone who gives it milk ‘mother.’ Life has to be about more than just having full bellies. Whatever you say, I still believe the emperor was fighting to free the people of Rui and Dasu, and that’s a cause worth rallying behind.”
Égi sighed and looked at Asulu with pity. “Freeing the people of Rui and Dasu… eh, but have you thought through what that would cost?”
“The Lyucu aren’t as invincible as some—”
“I’m not talking about the cost of the war itself—the lives lost would be impossible to measure for the families involved. I’m talking about something less lofty, but easier to measure. If somehow the emperor had succeeded and the Lyucu surrendered, do you realize how much it would cost to rebuild those two islands after what the Lyucu have done to them? Just taking care of the refugees from Unredeemed Dara now is bad enough, but multiply that by a hundredfold, a thousandfold! All of Dara would have to ship food, clothing, medicines, construction material… it’d be a lot more than the tribute we pay the Lyucu now, and I’ll bet you a hundred silvers that taxes would go up through the roof! All of us would have to pay to clean up that mess.”
