Dragons on the Sea of Night (8 page)

‘The sea is a harsh master,' Aufeya said. ‘Perhaps you only traded one for the other.'

‘But it was
my
choice,' he said harshly. ‘Not his.' Then he put his head down and gripped her hand in his own. ‘How Sanda wept when I left. She ran all the way down to the port in order to beg me to stay. “I shall die without you,” she said, and I kissed her and laughed at such childish sentiments.'

Aufeya turned and gently kissed away the tears on his cheeks. ‘Perhaps one day,' she whispered, ‘you will realize that you miss your father as much as you now miss Sanda.'

The moon, bluish-white and full to bursting, broke from behind a cloudbank. Behind Aufeya and Moichi, shadows appeared, so faintly that they were like ghosts or angels, seen only intermittently in the corners of the eyes.

Moichi raised his arm and pointed into the moonlight. ‘There, across Mu'ad, the Great Desert, lies Aden.'

But Aufeya was looking to their left where, past the thousands of hectares of Iskael's famed cedar groves, beyond the blackened volcanic steppes that led upward in unsteady increments to the lowest reaches of what, even as far away as the horizon, appeared to be a towering mountain. It was impossible to judge its size, since its crown was obscured by billowing cloud, mist and what might have been ice veils.

She stared at the mountain, transfixed by something she could neither name nor imagine. The mist that clung to its ragged upper reaches appeared, in places, almost translucent. Once or twice she started, convinced that she had seen a flash of indescribable color, diffused and expanded by the curious, curling mist.

What she could see of its slopes convinced her that she had never come across a natural formation like it. In her time she had seen many kinds of hills and crags, those humped and rounded by age, others sharp-edged, deep-gorged and in their adolescence. But the formidable ridges and rills of this mountain defied category.

It was as if she were staring at a formation that had just now, in the darkness of the night, emerged from the molten core of the earth, raw and bleeding as Moichi's emotions, and still full of primeval, fulminating energy. The fluted rills were disquieting, like great ebon rifts in the crust of the earth, the ridges plumed and spiky. She felt her scalp constrict, and she wiped her eyes which had unaccountably begun to water as they had done when as a child, she had stared too long into the noonday sun. She was about to make the sign of the Palliate but shuddered instead, knowing it no longer calmed her.

‘Moichi,' she said in a hoarse voice, ‘tell me about the mountain to the north.'

‘I am afraid that would take years,' he said. ‘That is the Mountain Sin'hai, the place of God.'

‘The Iskamen God.'

‘The
only
God.'

And still she could not take her eyes off the terrifying and exhilarating sight of the Mountain Sin'hai. ‘Do you think that somewhere beyond it lies Syrinx, the land of Miira and her people?'

‘Only God knows,' Moichi said. ‘So far as I know, none has ventured there for centuries.'

‘The only God.' Aufeya turned to him briefly. ‘How can you say that? You who have encountered mages, beasts beyond imagining, sorceresses. You whose best friend is akin to a god.'

‘Because, Aufeya, there are gods and pretenders to be gods – and then there is the God who dwells there atop the Mountain Sin'hai.'

‘Have you ever seen this God?'

‘No. No one has. But the Mountain is his manifestation. Our archaeologists tell us that the Mountain Sin'hai is unimaginably ancient. Ages have passed. Wind storms, rains, hail and ice. It is impervious to all. And that is as it should be. God led our people out of Aden and into the Mu'ad. The Adenese laughed at us and let us go. They were convinced we were dead men, anyway, because that is what the Great Desert does best: kill. But our faith in the God of our fathers was absolute and He led us through the searing heat and out the other side to Iskael. We survived the Mu'ad where no other men could.'

Aufeya, entranced, said, ‘In fine weather what does Sin'hai's summit look like?'

‘No one knows. The mists and cloud swirl there perpetually.'

‘You mean no Iskaman has climbed the Mountain to see what is up there?'

‘We
know
what is up there, Aufeya. Besides, the Tablets forbid it, and with good reason. The Mountain Sin'hai goes on forever, rising upward into the realm of God. Mortal man cannot conceive of such a height let alone contemplate scaling it.'

In Ama-no-mori night was coming on, the shadows lengthening across the cryptomeria and carefully groomed red pines. In one of the myriad great halls of the Kunshin's castle, the Dai-San sat eating his last meal before setting out for his trans-oceanic journey on the armoured back of his Kaer'n.

His high helm cast dark and light across every corner of the hall, which was empty save for himself. At the other end, bathed in an ethereal light that appeared to have no visible source, was the Dragon Throne, the ceremonial seat of power on which only the Kunshin sat. It was carved of a single piece of Fu-chui jade, the rarest of its kind, a luminescent, translucent green the color of spring leaves just as they unfold from their winter buds.

There were few who were allowed into the Dai-San's presence – or who could bear to be scrutinized by those eerie faceted eyes. Only those few who knew him well understood what went on behind those alien orbs and weren't intimidated by their gaze.

One of these now appeared from out of the shadows, a beautiful woman, to be sure, with slanting almond eyes and an unusually wide and sensual mouth. But she wore her hair in the long, traditional warrior's queue as, indeed, did the Dai-San beneath his high helm. Also, she was armored in the layered steel of Bujun manufacture that was the finest of its kind, both strong and supple so that it would not split beneath even the most ferocious sword blows. Each section of her armor was imprinted with the platinum seal of the Kunshin: three plovers on the wing within the circle of the world.

‘Chiisai,' the Dai-San said even before she had fully emerged from the shadows, ‘would you join me for supper?'

The Kunshin's only daughter looked at the platinum ring on the index finger of his left hand. In its center was a blue pearl, the rarest of all, that she herself had plucked from a prized Kray oyster half-hidden on the bottom of Haneda bay. This oyster, which was now well over five feet in diameter, had been introduced into the bay by Chiisai's great-great grandmother. All the women in the Kunshin's direct line were exceptional divers, and part of their fortune had been amassed through the sale of pearls.

As Chiisai came and sat next to the Dai-San, she took his hand, her fingertips closing over the familiar warmth of the extraordinary pearl. She had been delivered of the secret knowledge of the pearl's properties by her mother before she had died, and one day, after she had taught her own daughter how to dive, she would divulge the secrets of the Kray oyster's blue pearl. Her father, the Kunshin, did not know these secrets, and neither did the Dai-San. She saw it as a symbol of the depth of her love for him that she had given him this gift of such hidden power.

‘Must you go?' she said, although of course she knew the answer.

‘I was created for war, Chiisai. Not for me home or hearth, family or love.'

She leaned forward, her face creased with worry. ‘But we love one another.'

His high helm flashed darkly as he turned his head. ‘We have been one, and when we couple I see your heart. That is very special to me.'

She wanted him to continue but she knew that he had already said more than he would to almost anyone else. Only Moichi Annai-Nin, his bond-brother, meant as much to him as she did. ‘I would go with you,' she said in an almost defiant voice.

The Dai-San wiped his mouth, pushed his plate away. ‘Why do you desire this?'

‘You know why,' she said. ‘It is because I desire you.'

‘That is not enough,' he said in his enigmatic way. ‘Besides, there are compelling reasons for you to stay.'

‘Do you believe Ojime?' she asked. ‘Are the forces of Chaos massing once again beneath a new banner? Is there really a successor to the Dolman?'

‘I believe the roll of the snow-hare bones,' the Dai-San said. He rose and, with him, Chiisai. They crossed to the slitted windows, staring out at the geese flying in formation above Haneda's fields and paddies, and beyond the dark, rising slopes of Fujiwara. ‘But as for High Minister Ojime, he is why I want you here in the capital. He has plans far and above those which he publicly espouses.'

‘Have you heard something? How do you–?' She gave a tiny gasp as those baleful eyes were turned upon her. Was it her imagination or did they glow with a febrile, unearthly light? What
was
he? Neither man nor god, but something in between, a creature for which there was no current definition.

‘Ojime fears me,' the Dai-San said, ignoring her questions for which there were no answers – at least no rational ones. ‘Perhaps he hates me as well. I daresay I would if I were him. But he bears close watching. He is a liar and a cheat. Also, he harbors grandiose ambitions. I am a stumbling block to those ambitions – as is your father.'

‘But what if this mission he has sent you on is false? What if he means only to get you as far away from Ama-no-mori as possible?'

The Dai-San regarded Chiisai's exquisite face. ‘Then your reasons for remaining here are all the more compelling.' He lifted her chin with one huge knuckle. ‘You are a warrior in your own right, Chiisai. It is not your karma to be either my concubine or my assistant.'

She nodded and sighed. ‘I returned from Sha'angh'sei and the continent of man to be with you. I had thought to stay there a long time.'

‘And you will go there again,' he said. ‘But your instincts are solid. I can assure you that you did not return home simply to be with me. There is danger here – serious peril. And it is your destiny to confront it.'

He stared again out the slitted window and she could feel his desire to be lifted into the clouds, to begin his long journey. It was as if a third entity had slipped into the hall and now stood, silent as a shadow, between them.

Chiisai shivered a little, despite herself. It was impossible to grow enured to his other selves, as she had come to think of his enormous energy. ‘Do you ever miss him?'

‘Who?'

‘Ronin. The human being you used to be.'

For a long time, the Dai-San said nothing, and Chiisai thought she had made a serious mistake. At last, the shadow between them stirred, and he said, ‘You cannot miss what you do not remember.'

‘You don't remember your former life?'

The Dai-San's fingers caressed the scaly hide of the six-fingered Makkon glove he wore. ‘I remember it as you would a dream.'

‘Oh, but that is so sad.'

He presented her with the smile he reserved only for her. ‘I never said I didn't dream.' He drew on the Makkon glove. ‘Red, green, blue. He is still here inside me, along with the tragic man-beast, Setsoru, and the female spirits, the essence of my old life, which I shed like the sere skin of a snake. Red, green, blue. Facets of a gem, parts of a whole.'

‘I do not understand.'

‘You were not meant to,' he said. ‘That is why I do not speak of it.'

‘Hold me,' she whispered, and with his arms around her, she felt better.

‘Are you afraid?'

‘Not for myself,' she answered, ‘but for mankind. I thought when you killed the Dolman at Kamado we had defeated Chaos for all time.'

‘Evil has one mind,' the Dai-San said like the tolling of a bell, ‘one lung and one heart. It is monolithic in its thinking and in its progress. Its influence waxes and wanes, but always it has many devotees who succumb to its siren call. Nothing can be defeated for all time. We won a battle at Kamado, nothing more. The War continues.'

The tea-green walls of the Chamber of Prayer were brocaded with shadow. The Shinsei na-ke Temple within whose heart the chamber lay was no more than a block from the moated castle of the Kunshin where Chiisai and the Dai-San were, at that moment, saying their farewells.

The chamber which, but a moment ago, had been deserted, was now inhabited by what appeared to be one more shadow. Its ebon length remained motionless for some time, then it detached itself from the spiderweb darkness and swiftly, silently crossed to the raised platform and, in its exact center, just below the calligraphied scroll which Qaylinn's great-grandfather had written, the shadow knelt as if in prayer.

The long agile fingers of High Minister Ojime reached out and, emulating those of the chief Rosh'hi, pulled up the polished boards. Inside, within the hidden compartment, he pulled out the lumped, sueded cloth. His hands shook as he opened the package. Inside was the tongue sliced from the Makkon.

Power!
thought Ojime in a fever of excitement.

He had managed to position himself during the interview with the Dai-San so that he could duplicate the movements the Rosh'hi had used to open the secret compartment. Then he had waited in a delirium of anticipation for the right moment. He knew he could not wait too long, for the power of the Makkon's flesh was ephemeral, and if it was allowed to dry out, it would dissipate uselessly. Ojime was determined not to allow that to occur.

Instead, he had formulated a plan and, arranging to be in the temple for some hours, had detailed the comings and goings of all the priests and Rosh'his. Then, at the time he had selected, he had stolen through the Corridor of Remembrance and, secreting himself within the thick shadows, had made certain that he was alone.

Now all his preparation had paid off. He had his prize!

Power!
his mind screamed, as he carefully re-wrapped the Makkon's tongue and placed it within an inside pocket. He rose to steal away. But as he turned, he became aware that he was not alone.