Back | Next
Contents

FIFTY-SEVEN

Inari cried out as the weapon sped toward Mhara. She heard other voices from around the hall, shouts of woe and dismay, and underneath it all, a swift, ominous, and familiar muttering. Had Inari still possessed a heart, she might have felt it falter, for the voice she now heard was that of Chen. Then she saw him. He was at the very edge of the hall, half-hidden by a tapestry, with the badger at his heels. Badger looked as though he was about to spring.

"Chen Wei!" Inari mouthed. Her husband did not break his incantation, but he did glance up. She saw recognition, relief, worry, all flow across his face as the incantation went on. Whatever it was intended to achieve was not, however, clear: the blade reached Mhara, striking the Emperor in the middle of his breast-bone. Inari felt a shudder pass through her, as though the entire structure of the Imperial Palace had quivered. Her expectation was so vivid that it was almost as though she had already seen it happen: the Emperor rising, trying to stand, staggering, falling, lost—but this did not happen.

Instead, Mhara flew apart, disintegrating into a soundless explosion of dust and ashes. The hall became quite still, a tableau of paralyzed courtiers and Seijin standing frozen, one arm still outflung in the wake of the blade. Inari, looking down, saw the figure of the Lord Lady ripple, as if caught in the shockwave of the blast, and then split. A woman in a gray tunic and leggings stepped to one side, mouth open in a gape of horror. Her sallow skin appeared wrinkled, as if she had been crushed in some kind of press. She was joined by the figure of a man, wearing a helmet and the old armor of the steppes. Male and female self, Inari knew, and the shades screamed as they departed, hurtling out toward opposing walls of the throne room and scattering into shadow.

Seijin turned. The disguise was gone, torn away, perhaps, by the disappearance of the real Emperor. The assassin's gaze slid over Inari, barely registering. The departure of the primary selves, in so short a time, had wrought a great change in the Lord Lady, and not just from the loss of the Mhara-image. Seijin's once calm, once beautiful face had become a pinched mask like a shrunken head. The eyes slanted up, revealing the full extent of the empty socket, the mouth curled back from a demon's teeth. A ragged topknot of greasy hair, more like that of a horse than a human's, spilled across Seijin's hunched shoulders. This is what Seijin truly was, once out of balance, Inari realized. And lack of balance had been occurring over hundreds of years, with every soul the Lord Lady swallowed or took.

Seijin gave a great anguished cry and sprang upward. A moment later, the assassin stood on the balustrade of the gallery that overlooked the throne room. Another spring, and Seijin was gone through the window in a crash and splinter of glass. Courtiers, the bonds of their paralysis cut, fled in all directions as sharp rain showered down. Inari braced herself for the tug that would pull her after Seijin, but it did not come, as though the cords that tied her, too, had been severed by shattered glass. Finally, she was free to soar down to those she loved.

"That seemed to work," Mhara said. Chen, startled, stepped back and trod heavily on the badger's paw. The familiar growled.

"Sorry!"

The Emperor of Heaven had manifested out of thin air, after that unnerving fireworks display during the assassination attempt.

"Shhh," Mhara said. Blue eyes danced; the Emperor appeared to be enjoying himself. "They can't see me, you know."

"What did you do?" Chen hissed. There was so much confusion in the throne room that he could, it seemed to the badger, get away with being both a human intruder, and with talking to himself.

"A disguise to fool a disguise," Mhara murmured. "Seijin took on my appearance, in coming here. So I put a simulacrum in my place."

"But—what made Seijin change? Magic?"

"No," Mhara said. "Actually, that was nothing to do with me, although it's certainly helpful. I think the Lord Lady is cracking up."

"Literally," Chen managed to say, before the spirit of his dead wife whisked down from the ceiling and shot straight through him. Demons do not cry, no more do ghosts, but Inari's still-beautiful face was twisted all the same.

"Mistress!" the badger cried.

"Inari." Her name was a breath upon the air.

"He killed me, he stole me, and now I am here, I—"

"We have to find him," Mhara said. "If Seijin dies—" His gaze met Chen's own.

"Then Seijin must not be allowed," Chen said.

Heaven's resources were not as vast as they once had been, with the depletion of warriors by the previous Emperor's war, and then by Mhara's Long March to Earth. But there were still enough people to organize into search parties and squads, and Mhara, restored to visibility, wasted no time.

"My father had an easier task," he said to Chen with a sigh. "If everyone thinks as you do, then they're simpler to predict. Which is the whole point, of course."

"I won't suggest that you reinstate that state of affairs," Chen said.

"I will not." Mhara paused. "And now, I'm not even certain if I could. They've gained a surprising amount of independence in a very short time. Some would hold that to be a good thing."

"I would be one of those," Chen murmured.

"And I," Mistress echoed. The badger said nothing, but he supposed that family spirits tended to have a different view of these matters. Chen was clearly trying to hide his desperate worry over Mistress. On the day of her death, Mhara had explained that he would not be able to bring her back, and now here her ghostly shade was, still with her faculties and personality seemingly intact. But how long would that last, badger wondered. And if anything happened to Seijin, then what would befall the inhabitants of the Shadow Pavilion, Mistress among them? It seemed to him too much to bear, that he and Chen should come so close to losing her once, only to watch her slip from their grasp, a sorrowing shade, slain through mere circumstance. He felt her cold self brush against his fur, and saw the look in her eyes, but that was all she could do. At least she no longer appeared attached to the assassin and that was both curse and blessing, now that they had no idea where Seijin had actually gone.

"I can tell where the smallest beetle creeps beneath the leaves of Heaven," Mhara had told him, mouth downturned. "But I can't find the instrument of my death. Seijin is hidden from me, by the last of my mother's magic."

This was not the time to reflect on how many of the wars of the three worlds had been fought out of familial dysfunctionality, badger thought. Not few, that was for sure. Chen said to Mhara, "I will help as much as I can, obviously. This is your world, your kingdom. You must instruct me."

Mhara smiled. "Just stay by my side. All of you."

Seijin fled through beauty, running down corridors of silk and garnet, across bridges made of silver and pearl. Willows streamed by, their golden fronds trailing across pools that flickered with carp and shone with lilies. The assassin ran down streets lined with marble, under low lacquered roofs, through courtyards where ceremonial braziers quietly smoldered. Seijin passed a lion-dog on a plinth, which shook itself from stone into life, too late, for Seijin was running hard now.

The Lord Lady had failed, and failure was unbearable. Female self had screamed as she vanished, male self had not made a sound. These separate selves, accumulated over Seijin's long lifetime, had not stood the final test and this could not be borne—could not, and had to be. Seijin knew, deep within, that death was close and the memory of female self was there, wailing that it was hubris and madness to think that one could slay a god. Demon and human, Seijin had treated the worlds as a hunting ground and now the hunt had turned.

Seijin had no knowledge of where this flight would lead, running blind in panic, an unaccustomed state. For years, such perfect poise, such balance, had been maintained, but now it did not seem like balance at all, for the seesaw had finally dropped and brought Seijin to ground with a bang. The assassin's only hope lay in returning to between, to try to reconstruct more selves in the haunted peace of the Shadow Pavilion, and Seijin did not even know if this would be possible. But the other path led to death, and that was something to fear, the assassin now learned. Up until now, death had been something that was meted out to others.

Intolerable. Unbearable. Seijin ran on, seeing nothing of the wonders of Heaven. To the assassin, it had become a landscape of ashes and dust, a replica of the world that Seijin was seeking, trying to reel in between by sheer force of will. And between was calling.

"The Lord Lady will try to get home," Inari said. She was drifting around the ceiling of one of Mhara's small chambers, trying and failing to keep closer to the ground. Everyone had to crane their necks to look up at her and Inari was finding it annoying.

"Go to ground," the badger said.

"Exactly. Seijin's tried three times and failed. You saw what happened to those other selves—the assassin's starting to break apart."

"But Seijin is mad," Chen said. "We have to ask ourselves whether there's any rational thought taking place there at all."

"I don't think it's rational," Inari said. "Seijin was cracking up before coming here. Maybe a long time before. But the Lord Lady is bound to the Shadow Pavilion. I know that's where Seijin will go."

"Let it happen," Mhara counseled. "Less harm will be done in between than if Seijin's allowed to remain in Heaven. We need to open a door."

"Are you sure?" Chen said, but Inari could see from his expression that he agreed.

"Yes," the Emperor of Heaven said. "Open a door, and enter it. Get to between before the assassin."

Back | Next
Framed

Back | Next
Contents

FIFTY-SEVEN

Inari cried out as the weapon sped toward Mhara. She heard other voices from around the hall, shouts of woe and dismay, and underneath it all, a swift, ominous, and familiar muttering. Had Inari still possessed a heart, she might have felt it falter, for the voice she now heard was that of Chen. Then she saw him. He was at the very edge of the hall, half-hidden by a tapestry, with the badger at his heels. Badger looked as though he was about to spring.

"Chen Wei!" Inari mouthed. Her husband did not break his incantation, but he did glance up. She saw recognition, relief, worry, all flow across his face as the incantation went on. Whatever it was intended to achieve was not, however, clear: the blade reached Mhara, striking the Emperor in the middle of his breast-bone. Inari felt a shudder pass through her, as though the entire structure of the Imperial Palace had quivered. Her expectation was so vivid that it was almost as though she had already seen it happen: the Emperor rising, trying to stand, staggering, falling, lost—but this did not happen.

Instead, Mhara flew apart, disintegrating into a soundless explosion of dust and ashes. The hall became quite still, a tableau of paralyzed courtiers and Seijin standing frozen, one arm still outflung in the wake of the blade. Inari, looking down, saw the figure of the Lord Lady ripple, as if caught in the shockwave of the blast, and then split. A woman in a gray tunic and leggings stepped to one side, mouth open in a gape of horror. Her sallow skin appeared wrinkled, as if she had been crushed in some kind of press. She was joined by the figure of a man, wearing a helmet and the old armor of the steppes. Male and female self, Inari knew, and the shades screamed as they departed, hurtling out toward opposing walls of the throne room and scattering into shadow.

Seijin turned. The disguise was gone, torn away, perhaps, by the disappearance of the real Emperor. The assassin's gaze slid over Inari, barely registering. The departure of the primary selves, in so short a time, had wrought a great change in the Lord Lady, and not just from the loss of the Mhara-image. Seijin's once calm, once beautiful face had become a pinched mask like a shrunken head. The eyes slanted up, revealing the full extent of the empty socket, the mouth curled back from a demon's teeth. A ragged topknot of greasy hair, more like that of a horse than a human's, spilled across Seijin's hunched shoulders. This is what Seijin truly was, once out of balance, Inari realized. And lack of balance had been occurring over hundreds of years, with every soul the Lord Lady swallowed or took.

Seijin gave a great anguished cry and sprang upward. A moment later, the assassin stood on the balustrade of the gallery that overlooked the throne room. Another spring, and Seijin was gone through the window in a crash and splinter of glass. Courtiers, the bonds of their paralysis cut, fled in all directions as sharp rain showered down. Inari braced herself for the tug that would pull her after Seijin, but it did not come, as though the cords that tied her, too, had been severed by shattered glass. Finally, she was free to soar down to those she loved.

"That seemed to work," Mhara said. Chen, startled, stepped back and trod heavily on the badger's paw. The familiar growled.

"Sorry!"

The Emperor of Heaven had manifested out of thin air, after that unnerving fireworks display during the assassination attempt.

"Shhh," Mhara said. Blue eyes danced; the Emperor appeared to be enjoying himself. "They can't see me, you know."

"What did you do?" Chen hissed. There was so much confusion in the throne room that he could, it seemed to the badger, get away with being both a human intruder, and with talking to himself.

"A disguise to fool a disguise," Mhara murmured. "Seijin took on my appearance, in coming here. So I put a simulacrum in my place."

"But—what made Seijin change? Magic?"

"No," Mhara said. "Actually, that was nothing to do with me, although it's certainly helpful. I think the Lord Lady is cracking up."

"Literally," Chen managed to say, before the spirit of his dead wife whisked down from the ceiling and shot straight through him. Demons do not cry, no more do ghosts, but Inari's still-beautiful face was twisted all the same.

"Mistress!" the badger cried.

"Inari." Her name was a breath upon the air.

"He killed me, he stole me, and now I am here, I—"

"We have to find him," Mhara said. "If Seijin dies—" His gaze met Chen's own.

"Then Seijin must not be allowed," Chen said.

Heaven's resources were not as vast as they once had been, with the depletion of warriors by the previous Emperor's war, and then by Mhara's Long March to Earth. But there were still enough people to organize into search parties and squads, and Mhara, restored to visibility, wasted no time.

"My father had an easier task," he said to Chen with a sigh. "If everyone thinks as you do, then they're simpler to predict. Which is the whole point, of course."

"I won't suggest that you reinstate that state of affairs," Chen said.

"I will not." Mhara paused. "And now, I'm not even certain if I could. They've gained a surprising amount of independence in a very short time. Some would hold that to be a good thing."

"I would be one of those," Chen murmured.

"And I," Mistress echoed. The badger said nothing, but he supposed that family spirits tended to have a different view of these matters. Chen was clearly trying to hide his desperate worry over Mistress. On the day of her death, Mhara had explained that he would not be able to bring her back, and now here her ghostly shade was, still with her faculties and personality seemingly intact. But how long would that last, badger wondered. And if anything happened to Seijin, then what would befall the inhabitants of the Shadow Pavilion, Mistress among them? It seemed to him too much to bear, that he and Chen should come so close to losing her once, only to watch her slip from their grasp, a sorrowing shade, slain through mere circumstance. He felt her cold self brush against his fur, and saw the look in her eyes, but that was all she could do. At least she no longer appeared attached to the assassin and that was both curse and blessing, now that they had no idea where Seijin had actually gone.

"I can tell where the smallest beetle creeps beneath the leaves of Heaven," Mhara had told him, mouth downturned. "But I can't find the instrument of my death. Seijin is hidden from me, by the last of my mother's magic."

This was not the time to reflect on how many of the wars of the three worlds had been fought out of familial dysfunctionality, badger thought. Not few, that was for sure. Chen said to Mhara, "I will help as much as I can, obviously. This is your world, your kingdom. You must instruct me."

Mhara smiled. "Just stay by my side. All of you."

Seijin fled through beauty, running down corridors of silk and garnet, across bridges made of silver and pearl. Willows streamed by, their golden fronds trailing across pools that flickered with carp and shone with lilies. The assassin ran down streets lined with marble, under low lacquered roofs, through courtyards where ceremonial braziers quietly smoldered. Seijin passed a lion-dog on a plinth, which shook itself from stone into life, too late, for Seijin was running hard now.

The Lord Lady had failed, and failure was unbearable. Female self had screamed as she vanished, male self had not made a sound. These separate selves, accumulated over Seijin's long lifetime, had not stood the final test and this could not be borne—could not, and had to be. Seijin knew, deep within, that death was close and the memory of female self was there, wailing that it was hubris and madness to think that one could slay a god. Demon and human, Seijin had treated the worlds as a hunting ground and now the hunt had turned.

Seijin had no knowledge of where this flight would lead, running blind in panic, an unaccustomed state. For years, such perfect poise, such balance, had been maintained, but now it did not seem like balance at all, for the seesaw had finally dropped and brought Seijin to ground with a bang. The assassin's only hope lay in returning to between, to try to reconstruct more selves in the haunted peace of the Shadow Pavilion, and Seijin did not even know if this would be possible. But the other path led to death, and that was something to fear, the assassin now learned. Up until now, death had been something that was meted out to others.

Intolerable. Unbearable. Seijin ran on, seeing nothing of the wonders of Heaven. To the assassin, it had become a landscape of ashes and dust, a replica of the world that Seijin was seeking, trying to reel in between by sheer force of will. And between was calling.

"The Lord Lady will try to get home," Inari said. She was drifting around the ceiling of one of Mhara's small chambers, trying and failing to keep closer to the ground. Everyone had to crane their necks to look up at her and Inari was finding it annoying.

"Go to ground," the badger said.

"Exactly. Seijin's tried three times and failed. You saw what happened to those other selves—the assassin's starting to break apart."

"But Seijin is mad," Chen said. "We have to ask ourselves whether there's any rational thought taking place there at all."

"I don't think it's rational," Inari said. "Seijin was cracking up before coming here. Maybe a long time before. But the Lord Lady is bound to the Shadow Pavilion. I know that's where Seijin will go."

"Let it happen," Mhara counseled. "Less harm will be done in between than if Seijin's allowed to remain in Heaven. We need to open a door."

"Are you sure?" Chen said, but Inari could see from his expression that he agreed.

"Yes," the Emperor of Heaven said. "Open a door, and enter it. Get to between before the assassin."

Back | Next
Framed