The Grace of Kings (27 page)

Slowly, he made his way across the Big Island. It was true that after so many years, the hunt for him had slackened off. But he continued to live in disguise, wandering through the fishing towns of Zathin Gulf as a storyteller, biding his time.

The sights that greeted him depressed him. The empire had been able to get its fingers into every nook and cranny of life in old Haan. The people were now used to writing in the Xana way, dressing after the Imperial fashion, and imitating the accents of the conquerors.

It pained him to hear children mock his old Haan accent, as though he were the strange one. Young girls in teahouses played the coconut lute and sang the songs of old Haan, songs composed by court poets to celebrate the fragile beauty of a way of life: learning huts, stone-halled academies, men and women debating earnestly the methods of knowledge gathering. But the girls sang as though the songs were from another land, a mythical past, with no connection to them. Their laughter showed no understanding of the ache of losing their country.

Zya was lost. He didn't know what he was supposed to do.

One day, as he walked next to the beach outside of a small town in Haan, still enveloped in the fog of early morning, he saw an old fisher­man sitting on the pier, dangling his feet over the water and fishing with a long bamboo rod. As he walked by, he saw that the old man's shoes fell from his feet and splashed into the sea below.

“Stop,” the old man said to him. “Get down there and pick them up.”

There was no
please,
no
would you
, no
could I ask you a favor
. Luan Zya, still a son of the noble Zya Clan, bristled at the old man's tone. But he forced himself to relax, and dove into the water, retrieving the old man's dirty, ragged shoes.

As he climbed onto the pier, the old man said, “Put them on my feet.” His hazel eyes were impassive, staring out of a wrinkled face whose color was even blacker than Luan's own.

There was no
thank you
, no
I'm grateful
, no
sorry, but could you
. Luan was now curious rather than angry. He knelt down, still dripping with seawater, and put the shoes back on the old man's feet. The skin on his feet was calloused and full of cracks, Luan saw, and reminded Luan of the leathery skin of a turtle.

“You are not so arrogant as to be unteachable,” the old fisherman said. He smiled and revealed two rows of crooked yellow teeth full of holes. “Come here first thing tomorrow morning, and I might have something for you.”

Luan showed up at the pier the next day, before the first strike of the temple bells. The sun was barely up, but the old man was already sitting in his place, dangling his feet over the sea and fishing. He looked, Luan thought, not so much like a fisherman, but like a tutor in one of the old learning huts waiting for his pupils to show up at dawn to squeeze in an hour of study before the day's labor.

The old man did not look at Luan. “You are the youngster while I'm the elder. You are the student while I'm the teacher. How could you show up
after
me? Come back in a week, and do better.”

During the week that followed, Luan thought several times of leaving the town—most likely, the old man was nothing but a fraud. But
what if
gnawed at him, and
hope
told him to stay. On the appointed day, Luan showed up at the pier before the sun had even risen. Yet there the old man was again, dangling his feet and fishing.

“You'll have to try harder. One last chance.”

After another week, Luan decided to camp out at the pier the night before. He brought a blanket, but the chill night air from the sea made it impossible to sleep. He sat, shivering under the blanket, and again thought he ought to be put in a madhouse.

The old man showed up two hours before sunrise. “You made it,” he said. “But why? Why are you here?”

Luan, cold, tired, and hungry, was about to give the crazy old man a piece of his mind. But he looked into the old man's eyes and saw that they glinted warmly in the starlight. They reminded him of his father's eyes, when he used to quiz Luan under a starry sky about the names of constellations and the paths of the planets.

“Because I don't know what I don't know,” Luan said, and bowed deeply.

The old man nodded, satisfied.

He handed Luan a book, a very heavy one. While scrolls filled with wax logograms were used for poetry and song, books like this one, dense codices made from thin sheets of paper bound together, were packed with zyndari letters and numbers, suitable for note taking and the passing on of practical knowledge.

Luan flipped through it and saw that it was filled with equations and diagrams for ingenious machines and for new ways to understand the workings of the world—many of them elucidations and amplifications of ideas that he had already been aware of, but only dimly.

“Understanding nature is as close as men can get to under­standing the gods,” the old man said.

Luan tried to read a few pages and was overwhelmed by both the text's density and its elegance. He could spend a lifetime studying these pages.

Continuing to flip through the pages, he saw that the second half of the book was blank. He looked at the old man in confusion.

The old fisherman smiled, and mouthed,
Watch
.

Luan looked down and was astonished to see that figures and words began to appear on the formerly blank page. Logograms rose out of the paper as indistinct blobs but gradually gained sharp edges, smooth faces, and intricate details. They seemed solid enough, but when Luan tried to touch them, his fingers only moved through airy phantasms. The zyndari letters wriggled onto the page as faint traces, milled about and danced, and settled into tight, beautiful formations. Drawings began as blurred, black-and-white outlines and slowly became filled with vibrant colors.

The writing and illustrations took shape like islands rising out of the sea, like mirages gaining substance.

“The book grows as you grow,” the old man said. “The more you learn, the more there is to learn. It is an aid to your mind, an extension of your capacity for seeing order in chaos, for invention. You shall never exhaust its knowledge, for it is replenished by your curiosity, and when the time is right, it will show you what you already know, but daren't yet think.”

Luan knelt down. “Thank you, Teacher.”

“I'm leaving now,” said the old man. “If you should succeed in your task—your
true
task, not that which you now think is your task—meet me in the small courtyard behind the Great Temple to Lutho in Ginpen.”

Luan did not dare to look up. He touched his forehead to the wooden slats of the pier as he listened to the footsteps of the old man moving away, like an old turtle shuffling down the beach.

“We care more than you know,” the old man said, and then disappeared.

Because the magical tome given to him was without a title, Luan decided to call it
Gitré Üthu
, a Classical Ano phrase that meant “know thyself.” It was a quote from Kon Fiji, the great Ano sage.

As Luan traveled around the Islands, he took notes on geography and local customs in
Gitré Üthu
. He sketched the giant windmills in fertile Géfica, which tamed the mighty Liru for irrigation; he bribed engineers in industrious Géjira to learn the secrets of the intricately geared water mills that powered the weaving and textile workshops; he compared the designs of the battle kites of the Seven States and elucidated their advantages and disadvantages; he spoke to glassmakers, blacksmiths, wheelwrights, clockmakers, and alchemists and wrote down everything he learned; he kept a diary of weather patterns, the movements of animals, fish, and birds, and the uses and virtues of plants; he constructed models based on the diagrams in the book and verified its teachings with experiments.

He wasn't sure what he was preparing for exactly, but he no longer felt purposeless. He understood now that the knowledge he was gathering would be put to use in some great task when the time was right.

Sometimes the gods did speak clearly.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

BROTHERS

ÇARUZA: THE FOURTH MONTH IN THE FOURTH YEAR OF THE REIGN OF RIGHTEOUS FORCE.

“I haven't thought about that day in a long time,” Luan Zya said. His eyes focused far beyond the firelight.

“On that day, you showed me that one man
can
change the world,” Kuni said. “There are no impossible odds.”

Luan smiled. “I was young and rash. Even if I had succeeded, it wouldn't have done much good.”

Kuni was taken aback. “Why do you say that?”

“When Mapidéré died, I felt a momentary panic. He was responsible for the deaths of my family, of my promising future, of Haan. I berated myself for losing forever the chance to exact vengeance.

“But then I saw how things only got worse as Emperor Erishi and the regent turned the empire into their playpen. Mapidéré was but one man—and indeed, judging by rumors of his decrepit state near death, a weak, sickly man—but his creation, the empire, had taken on a life of its own. Killing the emperor would not have been enough. We have to kill the empire.

“I'm on my way to Çaruza now to offer my services to King Cosugi. It's time to bring Haan back and carve up the carcass of the empire.”

Kuni hesitated. “Yet, is it really better for us to go back to the days of the warring Tiro states? The empire was harsh, but sometimes I wonder if Krima and Shigin were any better for the ordinary people. There must be a better way than these two rotten choices.”

Luan Zya appraised this strange young man. He had never met a rebel who so openly questioned their cause, and yet, he found himself liking Kuni Garu.

“I think the rebellion is only the beginning,” Luan said. “It's like the start of a deer hunt: Many are in the field, brandishing their bows and spears, but as for who will bring down the stag, there is no way yet to know. How the hunt will end is up to all of us.”

Kuni and Luan smiled at each other. They shared the roasted hares and pheasants, flavored to perfection by Jia's herbs, and drank the sweet arrack from Luan's wineskin.

They stayed up and talked long into the night, after the others were asleep, after the fire had died down to mere embers, after the awkwardness of new friendship had given way to familiar sincerity.

“It seems that good friends are always parting too quickly,” Luan Zya said, and he clasped his hands together and raised them toward Kuni Garu in the traditional Haan formal gesture of farewell.

They were standing in front of the Second Wave, a comfortable but not ostentatious inn in Çaruza. Kuni had just gotten his retinue settled.

“I've learned much from you even after only talking for one night,” Kuni said. “Again, you've shown me how large the world is, and how little I know of it.”

“I have a feeling that before long, you will see more of it than I,” Luan said. “Lord Garu, I believe you're a sleeping cruben about to waken.”

“Is that a prophecy?”

Luan hesitated. “I'd call it a hunch.”

Kuni laughed. “Ah, it's too bad you aren't saying this in front of my relations and friends. A lot of them still don't think I'll amount to much. But no, I don't think I want to be a cruben. I'd rather be a dandelion seed.”

Luan was startled for a moment, but then slowly broke into a smile. “Forgive me, Lord Garu. I should have known better than to speak in a way that could be mistaken for flattery. You may not be born noble, but you have a noble mind.”

Kuni blushed and bowed back. Then he lifted his eyes and grinned. “My friend, I want you to know that there is always a place for you at my table, no matter what happens in the future.”

Luan Zya nodded solemnly. “Thank you, Lord Garu. But my heart is set on serving King Cosugi. I must go to him and fulfill my duty to Haan.”

“Of course, I meant no disrespect. I only wish we could have met earlier.”

King Thufi had no idea what to do with this “Duke of Zudi.” There was no such traditional title or domain, and he didn't remember crea­ting one. But with the same tact that he handled the news about the King of West Cocru, he graciously allowed this stocky young man, who looked more like a gangster than a duke, to introduce himself that way to everyone.

With the king's apparent acquiescence, Kuni Garu was amused to find that he now had to take his title more seriously. If even the king treated you as a duke, then you most definitely had to act like one.

“Your Majesty,” he said. “I came here not only to pay my respects to you, but also to bring you important news. Tanno Namen's forces are coming south, and many of the cities taken by Krima and Shigin may flip back to Namen since he has a fearsome reputation. Indeed, Zudi itself has already done this.”

So you are a “duke” without anything to offer,
King Thufi thought.
A swindler, in essence. I like how you kept this bit of news to yourself till I'd introduced you.

“I need troops to take back Zudi, and we should make a stand there to hold back the Imperial forces.”

Ah, a beggar and a bold one at that!

“Matters concerning military strategy must be discussed with Marshal Zyndu,” King Thufi said. He wanted to get this character out of his sight as soon as possible.

“Mata, I won't permit it. It's too much of a gamble,” Phin Zyndu said. “If Théca Kimo's version of the fall of Dimu is to be believed, Namen comes well prepared. It's better to wait for him to come to us.”

His nephew was about to argue some more, but the guards reported that Kuni Garu, Duke of Zudi, was here to see Marshal Zyndu.

“Who is this Duke of Zudi? Have you ever heard of the fief?” Phin asked Mata, and Mata shrugged.

Kuni came in and immediately sucked in his breath. Standing in the middle of the tent was the most amazing specimen of a human being he had ever seen. Mata Zyndu was over eight feet tall, and each of his arms seemed as thick as both of Kuni's thighs put together—and Kuni wasn't exactly
slender
, to put it mildly. Mata's long and thin eyes angled up at the outer corners like a dyran's body. And in each eye, there were two pupils.

But Kuni had spent so many hours in gambling parlors that he knew exactly how to put on his card-playing face. He clasped Mata by both arms, looked up into his eyes—he decided to just focus on the pupils closest to Mata's nose—and explained heartily how glad he was to finally meet the legendary Duke Phin Zyndu of Tunoa, Marshal of Cocru.

“That would be my uncle,” Mata said, amused by the boldness of the small man. Well, Kuni Garu wasn't really small. He was of average height, just a bit under six feet tall, but everyone looked small in comparison to Mata. And that beer belly meant that he probably wasn't the most skilled fighter—a fault in Mata's view. But Mata did like the fact that Kuni didn't appear intimidated by his height or his unusual eyes.

Kuni showed no sign of embarrassment at his mistake. He turned to Phin Zyndu and continued without missing a beat. “Of course. I see the resemblance most clearly. I must congratulate you, Marshal Zyndu, on having such a wonderful successor. Cocru is lucky to have two such great warriors defending her.”

The three sat down on plain mats on the floor. Kuni went straight into
géüpa
for comfort, crossing and folding his legs and settling his bottom on the floor. After a moment of hesitation, Phin and Mata followed suit. For some reason, Kuni's informal manners did not bother Mata. There was a warmth and enthusiasm radiating from Kuni that made Mata feel an instinctive respect for the man, even though he didn't behave at all like a noble.

Kuni quickly explained what he came for, and his plan for making a stand at Zudi.

Mata Zyndu and Phin Zyndu glanced at each other and both burst out laughing.

“Duke Garu, you won't believe this,” Phin Zyndu said after he recovered. “Right before you came in, my nephew had been debating military strategy with me. My view was, and remains, that we should stay on this side of the Porin Plains, fortify our positions, and wait for Namen to come to us. We should be prepared to give up all the cities in north Cocru. By the time Namen reaches us, his supply lines will be overextended and his men exhausted. We'll have a better chance of crushing him.”

“And my view is just the opposite,” Mata said. “I think we should strike Namen right now. So far, he has met no meaningful resistance—that fool Krima had no idea what he was doing. He will be arrogant, and his men overly confident. If Uncle Phin and I take a company of our best troops and go meet Namen head on at one of the cities on the plains, we'll be able to defeat him before he gets very far into Cocru. The victory will give a much-needed boost to the confidence of the other rebels after the death of King Jizu.”

“I think Zudi sounds perfect for what you have in mind,” Kuni said, catching Mata's drift.

“As I said, it will be a gamble.” Phin paused to do the calculation in his head. “You'll need at least five thousand men to stand a chance against Namen, which we can ill spare at this time. Should you fail to hold Zudi and lose the five thousand, you'll have greatly weakened our defenses here near Çaruza, perhaps enough to turn the tide of war.”

“All life is a great game,” Kuni said. “In war, there are no certainties. If you aren't willing to gamble, you'll never win.”

Mata Zyndu nodded. Kuni said exactly what was on his mind.

“But there is a moral dimension as well,” Kuni continued. “If you cede all of north Cocru to Namen, the people of all the cities of Porin Plains will suffer greatly under Xana reoccupation for having supported Krima and Shigin and King Thufi. If we abandon the people for the cold calculus of abstract strategy, we'll chill the people's hearts.

“They rose up under the banner of Krima and Shigin, and then of King Thufi, because of the promise that life will be better without the empire. Some of us have worked hard to make that vision come true, and I think we should try to do what we can to stop Namen from ripping that dream to shreds.”

Phin thought over the situation. He had been worried that Mata was too hot-blooded to be given his own command. But this Kuni Garu seemed to have good sense and would complement Mata's courage and battlefield prowess.

He nodded. “I'm giving Mata five thousand men. You will go with him as co-commander. Don't let me down.

“Meanwhile, I'll continue to recruit and train here to build up our forces. The longer you can hold out against Namen, the more likely it is that I'll be able to come and lift the siege.”