Prince of Storms (5 page)

Honorable Jinda ceb Horat and Most Beautiful Ones.

I came among you, a foreigner. Lost in the great void, I found rescue among you. You knew the pain of separation and abandonment in the void, and mercifully brought me to a saving ground. For that I give you humble thanks.

Then I was a stranger in the cocreation of your great people. I did not speak your language or sit in Manifest. You did not know my heart, nor I yours. To learn, I asked for the tutelage of Nistoth, and as a Beautiful One, he accepted me, making me a member of those he instructed. For this I thank him with great fervor.

Even though the Jinda ceb were kind, I missed my husband and my land. Time was a slow dance for my husband. We did not know what would happen to him, though you graciously allowed me to view him in his different world. I looked in upon him and I could barely perceive that he moved. He looked still as stone, but that was wrong. He did move, like a seed moves in the soil toward germination, he advanced toward his terrible fate. Thousands of days passed for me, during which time I suffered to know what would become of him. I looked every day, each time seeing a different position for him. He was moving toward things we could not know.

When I finally saw that the Tarig meant to kill my husband, having him in prison, and Lord Ghinamid risen from his bier, I feared the death of the last hope of the Rose (that dark and splendid realm). I begged Nistoth to intervene though it would be an aggression, and not properly shared in Manifest. I urged the Beautiful One to haste. The Rose will die. My husband will die. Bring me into the Entire, I pleaded, and for the love the Beautiful One bore me, he carried me over.

I do not know what effect this had in Manifest. I do not know if my departure was seen as ill considered. If there were unintended consequences I wish to express my deep remorse. I owed you nothing but honor and to submit to instruction as I had asked. I value every day I spent in the artistry of your lives, though it was an ache in my heart to be far from home.

I did not say good-bye. My hope was to see my Jinda ceb friends again when you came home to the Entire. By my husband's decree, that will be soon.

I look forward with joy to seeing Nistoth again and my many Jinda ceb friends. I will be at your disposal to help you, if someone so unworthy as I can have anything to offer your most honorable selves.

—Ji Anzi

With his advisors, Quinn listened to the messenger's report.

“It was as quiet as an Adda floating to ground. As gentle as a curtain opening.” The sturdy Jout spoke with a poetic sensibility. But the subject was cosmic geography: the minoral of the Jinda ceb brought into conjunction with the Entire.

The Jout had finished his description of the great reconnection of the lost minoral of the Paion, although he had only witnessed the opening of the Scar to reveal the new minoral behind. He was a godder, it appeared. All of Zhiya's operatives were godders or had pretended to be. This one wore a white sash as evidence of his calling.

Quinn sat on a bench in the main room of the command tent. His occupation force—such as it was—looked like a camp. Some might wish for him to have formal quarters.

Zhiya was one. She hated the title he'd adopted. But: “Regent,” she said,
this being a council meeting, “the Jinda ceb may need a protective force near their minoral. They're hated. An incident wouldn't be helpful.”

“They beat back the Tarig for a thousand thousand days.” Quinn thought the Jinda ceb could take care of themselves.

Tai stood by, wearing his jeweled sword as always and with active scrolls in case something needed recording.

Anzi sat serene and warmer toward him today, if he judged aright. Thinking of her tangled in green silk robes sent a flash of desire through him.

Ci Dehai sat in the fifth chair. He had chosen to swear an oath to the regent of the Entire. Quinn trusted this decision, though Ci Dehai's ravaged half-face could not be read and although swearing to Quinn put him directly against the Entire. The general of the Long War had answered,
That is a war for another day
. Quinn accepted the statement at face value.
If it comes to war, you may decide again, General
. Ci Dehai had bowed, the bargain struck.

Quinn glanced at Anzi. She responded to Zhiya: “Let us ask the Jinda ceb when they arrive. They may want no reminders of wartime.”

A delegation of Jinda ceb would control and stabilize all the mechanics and physics of the Entire, as the Tarig had once done. So they would be tech masters. Without the Jinda ceb, he could never send the Tarig back to the Heart—where they were going as soon as might be arranged. They were already massed at the Ascendancy, every one of them, having been summoned home by Ghinamid before the fight that felled the Sleeping Lord. As far as Quinn knew, they sat up in their manses in that quasi sleep they used to alleviate boredom. They did not stir out, under his threat of using the mSap to close their door home once and for all.

Sometimes Lord Inweer came onto his balcony to gaze out. He was a true Tarig individual, or as close to one as a Tarig got. Those like him called themselves
solitaires
, who preferred never to mix with the general swarm in what the Lady Demat had called their
congregate state
. It gave Quinn pause, the thought of forcing the solitaires back to that primeval pool. But they had all—all of them—planned to burn the Rose. Banishment was a merciful punishment.

After the messenger left, Ci Dehai spoke. “Where will we billet the Jinda ceb representatives when they arrive at the Ascendancy?”

After a pause in which Quinn gave no opinion, Anzi offered hers. “The plaza. To keep some distance between them and the Tarig.”

Zhiya said, “So long as they are not next to us.”

“The farther away, the more exposed to a raid,” Ci Dehai countered.

“My godders do not like the Paion.”

Ci Dehai muttered, “A soldier does not have to like the company he gets.”

“My godders are not soldiers.”

Quinn held up a hand. “Ask your operatives, Zhiya, how they can best protect the Jinda ceb when they arrive. Report back to me.”

A brief nod as she cut a glance at the general. “We have all lost those we love to these creatures.”

Quinn sighed. So much for the peace of the Entire. How, by the Miserable God, had he arrived at this place, holding the Tarig at bay, changing the geography of minorals, inviting an ancient enemy home?
The Rose
, Anzi always reminded him.
We have done it all for the Rose. Otherwise, husband, would we not be in a far sway, finding peace in each other's arms?
That must have been in the first days after her return, before she decided that, next to him, she looked old.

“Without the Jinda ceb,” Quinn went on, “the Entire will roll up like a rug. Tell this to your godders, Zhiya, and make sure they understand. We need the Jinda ceb, or the Tarig will have to stay and keep things running. I may be the regent, but I'm not a lord and never said I was.”

Zhiya said, “We're putting the All in the hands of those we hardly know.”

What choice did they have? Compared with the Tarig, the Jinda ceb were vastly preferable, at least from Anzi's reports. They had rescued her when she had drifted between branes. Quinn was very predisposed to think well of them.

Quinn put iron in his voice. “Nevertheless, Zhiya, the Jinda ceb will take charge.”

“Regent,” she said, evenly enough.

“When the representatives arrive,” Anzi said, “I should greet them. It is best if they see a face they know. If they send a Beautiful One, then Titus, in respect you must come forward to see that individual.”

“Not without a guard,” Zhiya said.

Quinn shook his head. “No guards.”

“If they wish to kill us,” Anzi said, “they don't need proximity.”

“If they were strong, they would have won the Long War,” Ci Dehai said.

Anzi sighed. “They were afraid that the Entire would…roll up like a rug. They kept their war small. We should never forget their restraint.”

Quinn declared, “I'll meet any Beautiful Ones personally, without a guard.”

He looked around at his emergency council. Protocols with the Jinda ceb were the least of their issues.

There was Sydney, who wanted to preserve the Entire at any cost. Her goal would doubtless be to restart the engine at Ahnenhoon. To do so she needed either the Tarig or the Jinda ceb. He meant to banish the one and persuade the other. If either could be done.

There was also Geng De's claim to weave the future against him. Zhiya especially took this seriously. Because it was a navitar's vision—her mother's—she gave this idea more credence than he did. Despite Zhiya's mother, despite the mutterings of Ghoris, Quinn doubted anyone could direct the future, or reach out to constrain a person's will. Nevertheless, Zhiya had her operatives busy in Rim City, watching everything Sydney, Cixi, and Geng De did. So far, Sydney's plans were impenetrable.

“We should arrest Geng De,” Zhiya said, matching his thoughts.

“We're not strong enough even if they had given us provocation.”

“You have the brightships.”

And he could fly them, too. That had been John Hastings's first assignment, to figure out how to pilot them. Using the mSap, it had not taken long.

Ci Dehai said, “We could bring the army from Ahnenhoon. My forces would overwhelm the Rim City compound.”

Quinn wouldn't hear of an attack on the crystal bridge. “We have no proof.”

Ci Dehai countered, “No intelligence is ever perfect. With the stakes so high, strike first.”

“No,” Quinn said. He gazed at each one, locking his decision in.

Ci Dehai muttered, “The army has nothing to do. An idle force goes soft.”

“Not a reason for war.”

Zhiya snorted. “We have every reason.”

“We'll do nothing until the Jinda ceb arrive,” Quinn said. He looked at each of them. For the first time it occurred to him that any one of them might be influenced by Geng De. Geng De might want a precipitous action to incite the Entire against him or even to influence the Jinda ceb by showing him as aggressor.

He shoved the thought away, not wanting to believe such things were possible.

Nevertheless, the thought hovered.

BELLS CLANGED AND THREE-STRINGED INSTRUMENTS WHINED
as the tenth course of dinner came around. Unless it was the fifteenth course. Sen Ni hadn't kept count, having been satiated hours ago.

“I can't eat another thing,” she whispered to Cixi as another platter made its way toward the head table.

“Her favorite dish,” Cixi murmured to the servant. “A large helping.” And once more Sen Ni's plate was full. “Give no insult, dear girl. You can purge later.”

Cixi was in her element, officiating among clamoring servants, bestowing nods upon magistrates who'd come expressly to see her, and also to see the mistress, and of course to gape at Geng De, a personage of great curiosity, said to be Sen Ni's religious tutor. Lover, even.

The room stank of incense and sharp, spicy food. As it should: the mistress of the sway—the quite new sway, the sway that had never been a sway before—was embarking on a journey of great distance. Rumor had it that it would take three navitar vessels to carry her silks as well as presents for her favorite barbarian, Riod of the Inyx. The undertaking became an excuse for festivities, if Rim City needed a reason for a party, which it normally would not, except that dark times had befallen the city, the scene of riots and the Tarig quelling. All the more reason to be happy if circumstance allowed.

On Sen Ni's other side, Geng De had fallen asleep. He had gamely partaken
of the feast and listened carefully to the Red Throne priests' Admonitions for Travelers, but now, at the late hour, had closed his eyes.

Sen Ni rose from her place. “The wash stall, Mother.”

She made her escape through the crowd of merchants, officials, and hangers-on. Followed by Emar-Vod and another Hirrin guard, Sen Ni passed from the dining hall into the cool corridor, making straight for the wash stall so that no one would intercept her.

In the Entire, bathrooms were very large and the various apparatuses for washing and relieving functions were extensive. All Sen Ni's wash stalls had mirrors—an innovation. She splashed water on her face and dried herself, noting with annoyance her hair arrangement, a tangle of knots at the back of her neck along with colorful spiked tassels protruding. Riod would hardly recognize her when she went home.

No, Riod knew her by her heart, so it hardly mattered that she looked like a mandarin princess who couldn't sit a tall chair much less an Inyx. Silks so fine they wouldn't survive an hour's ride under the bright…

Oh, Riod, my heart. Look what has happened. The Tarig felled. We found their weakness, the place they cross over.
You
found it, Riod. And my father used it to own the Entire. Look at me, a princess in silks. Presiding over platters of food…She yanked at the knots in her hair, throwing the tassels in the waste channel, and ran her hands through her hair, freeing it.

By the time she got to her gardens, Emar-Vod had taken the correct measure of her mood, and held well back.

Kicking off her shoes, Sen Ni walked barefoot on the soft ground cover, releasing a pungent scent of cloves. From between the trees came a glimmer of the sea, never far from sight on this great bridge over the Nigh. The orphanage lay beyond the garden, its scalloped roofs graceful against the Twilight Ebb sky. Geng De had urged her to start the home. Cynically, he was all for the public gesture; she had taken his measure early on. As a babe, he had fallen in the Nigh and came out minus a heart, but with a talent for weaving. A terrible trade. Yet she called him her brother because she needed his powers, now that her father had betrayed her, as Geng De had predicted he would.

In moments of clarity she knew that it wasn't father against daughter—a question merely of who would rule. It was about which world would survive.
The Rose was vast and endowed with mass and sustaining economies of physics; the Entire was constructed, and would need resources from the Rose to sustain itself. The darklings should by rights share resources, but they would not. Even if they might claim they would, who would trust the Rose not to send a killing nan to eliminate a competitor? For this reason Helice Maki's proposition to have it all burn immediately had been the Entire's only true safety. But Helice was dead. And not only that, but Ahnenhoon was shut down. Soon, when Riod told the people what was at stake and how Titus Quinn had doomed them, the Entire would rise up and drive him off his throne.

Given the justice of this cause, it seemed diabolically unfair that Titus was the
one rogue strand
, the one sentient whom Geng De couldn't grasp in his hands. Why did heaven bestow such protection on Titus Quinn? Geng De was working very hard to tame that rogue strand, she knew.

Approaching the garden gazebo, she glimpsed a shock of white hair in the bushes nearby. A very small child bent over a ball and, laughing, threw it up in the air. It bounced onto the ground cover, where the child raced to fetch it.

He was so young that he still ran like he would fall over any minute. Dressed in a long tunic with his hair cropped close, he was too focused on the ball to notice Sen Ni's approach. He squatted down to pick up the ball once more, and then tossed it with a heave of his arm. She watched him, finally ascending the gazebo stairs to take a seat on the bench inside.

With jerky strides the boy pursued the ball into a tangle of vines. Once found, the ball flew out of the boy's hands again. This time it landed in the gazebo, rolling under the bench. He spun around, looking.

“Tiejun!” came a voice in the distance. “Tiejun!”

Now the boy saw Sen Ni, and at the same time, the ball that had come to rest near her feet.

“Tiejun!”

Sen Ni picked up the ball and held it out to him. “Here it is.”

The child stood soldier-still, considering her. Then he took a step toward the gazebo, his face suggesting that this interloper was something of a thief.

She rolled the ball across the floor toward him.

Just as he was about to pounce on it, a servant burst into the clearing, spying her quarry. “Tiejun! You are so bad a child!” She stalked forward and swept him up.

She noticed a woman in the gazebo. “Oh! Is that you, Yali?” Then, seeing her mistake, she quickly bowed. “Mistress, pardon!”

“No harm. Tiejun was entertaining me.”

The servant misjudged Sen Ni's mood, hastening to explain. “He ran and we tried to find him, but he wouldn't sleep…and this ball, we've had no end of trouble with the ball and then—”

Sen Ni stopped her with a wave. “Your name?”

“Ling, Mistress.”

“Well then, Ling, let him run free when you can. The children should play as much as possible, yes?” Sen Ni approached the nurse and child, holding out the toy. “Here, Tiejun. But bedtime now. Tomorrow, throwing again.”

The boy took the ball, not smiling, but eyes more forgiving now that she had not kept his prize.

That's right, small boy. Do not trust too easily.

“My sister.” A voice from behind.

Geng De had come into the clearing. “Here is a small party, escaped from the larger one.”

“Yes,” Sen Ni said. “We've been throwing a ball.”

On hearing the word
ball
, Tiejun thrust his fat fists in the air, holding the ball in two hands.

“Sen Ni is good to give you the ball, young one.” Geng De flicked a glance at Ling. “Is she not?”

“Yes, Master Navitar.” Ling's demeanor was now all formality, with two personages catching her in the errant duty of containing Tiejun.

“It was your mistress who made the orphanage and bid the children come. Remember to tell those you see.” He turned to Tiejun. “Can you say ‘Sen Ni'?”

The boy solemnly stared. “Sen Ni,” Geng De repeated.

“He has few words yet, Master,” Ling said.

“Oh? I am not used to children. Do they not talk from the start? I did. But no matter; it was the Nigh that taught me.”

Sen Ni waved Ling away, and the two figures disappeared into the shadows of the garden.

“The people love you for the children's sake,” Geng De said, watching Tiejun and the nurse depart.

“That's not why I wanted the orphanage.”

“It's why I thought of it.”

The youngsters' parents had been slaughtered by the lords in the midst of the city. Some of them fell before their own children's eyes. “You have no heart, Geng De.”

“No. Is it good to have one?” He sounded like he wanted to know.

It gave her pause. “I'm not sure.” When had
having
a
heart
ever given her anything but the most exquisite pain?

Oh Riod
, she thought. Tomorrow's journey would take her to him. If things could be as they had been—on the steppe with her one true friend—she would gladly give up the crystal bridge, the people's love. The coming war.

The old Jout had seen villainy in his day, but never murder. Now four citizens lay in their own blood on the Ascendancy's hangar floor, struck down by Tarig lords.

Breund felt sickened and angry, and though he was old and no great personage, he spat out at the nearest lord, “These deaths will be remembered.”

The lord's hand came up, claws extruded.

“Leave him be.” Lord Inweer had moved between Breund and the other lord. “He is mine.”

The claws retracted. “Kill him yourself, then.”

Breund steeled himself, though his petaled skin would make him hard to kill with mere claws. Lord Inweer resented him, he felt sure. Constantly at the lord's side, ready to report any irregularities. But Inweer made no move.

Across the hangar, Tarig crowded into the brightships. Just the solitaires, of course. The ones who feared the Heart.

The lord who had threatened him said, “We must all leave at once. Choose your ship, Cousin.”

Lord Inweer's deep voice came softly. “But all these ships are going to the same place. Therefore there is no difference among them.”

“No, my lord, we will separate. We will spread out.”

“Still. The brightships will fall from the sky.” Lord Inweer surveyed the five ships, adding, “Each one.”

“Ah? That never fell from the sky before?”

“A manner of speaking, Cousin. But you will all perish. Where can you go? We are hated, blamed for the Long War, despised for our very selves. Better to stay.”

Breund allowed a deep breath to fill his chest. Lord Inweer would stay. Breund would keep his prisoner. The regent had chosen a congregant of the Red Throne to watch over Lord Inweer, and it would not redound to the society's credit should he fail.

The other Tarig stared blackly. “Titus Quinn will force us back to the Heart. We will lose our particularity. You are one of us, Cousin. You wish to reform in the fire?”

“One does not wish it, but Titus Quinn can reprieve. He needs us.”

“He does not. He will have the Jinda ceb Horat. You are foolish, Cousin. With our lesser cousins, you will walk into the fire.” He turned and strode toward the nearest brightship.

Lord Inweer watched as the lord leapt through the open access hatch of the ship. The gap closed behind him. Inweer murmured, “Your regent will not banish this bright lord, Breund. Do not fear losing your post.”

Breund had never asked to be the lord's keeper and did not, in fact, fear losing his position so much as his good name.

A shimmer overhead. The shield above the hangar had evaporated. Without pause, the brightships leaped from their berths, rushing into the air like a flock of dragons. In perfect synchronicity, they shot out at angles, separating toward what might be their destinations in the five primacies. But who knew the Tarig mind? Surely not Breund, a retired merchant, an elder of the Red Throne, a common sentient who never knew the Ascendancy until the change of power came upon them.

He watched as the brightships vanished into the bright. What could they hope to do, these solitaires? Who would they rule, or where would they
find mansions to contain them? Titus Quinn would pursue them. Oh, but now all the ships were gone. Perhaps, when the Jinda ceb came, they would build new ones.