Shadow Magic (2009) Page 16

  There was another of Lord Ochir, who had particular skill for lisping his words, and whose head was painted onto the body of a snake. Another was of a man I recognized as Lord Kencho with a much younger woman, both subjects smiling foolishly for an unseen artist.

  “Where’re you?” Alcibiades asked, looking at Lord Temur.

  “Ah,” he said, in a tone that was very nearly intimate. I thought he almost sounded amused. Perhaps it was the palace itself that made the men and women in it so quiet and expressionless, and one needed only to remove them from it in order to witness a metamorphosis. “I believe there is one just there.”

  I plucked it from the rest before Alcibiades could get his hands on it. The picture showed Lord Temur dressed as a country peasant, standing in the middle of a rice paddy. I thought that it was fairly mild, as far as satire went, though perhaps Lord Temur was relatively well liked among the people, and anything crueler wouldn’t have been as popular. Of the caricatures we’d seen, it was only Lord Temur and the red-faced lord who had managed to keep their dignity more or less intact.

  “I think I shall buy this one,” I said. “How much is it?”

  But Lord Temur was no longer paying very much attention to me. His entire focus had been caught by another sheaf of porous rice paper, freshly painted and framed in the center of the artist’s display by all the other caricatures. It was of two men, both of whom were incredibly familiar, although I had to admit it took me a few moments to recognize them: the young prince and his overzealous retainer.

  Even Alcibiades didn’t have the presence of mind amidst his shock to say anything inappropriate that would spoil the glorious wonder of our discovery.

  The scene depicted was a dashing one—if I hadn’t known any better, I would have thought the young prince was a hero of the people, and not a traitor who’d turned on his brother, then fled. But perhaps this artist knew something we did not. He had painted—with loving, haunting colors—the image of the young prince on a small, sleek boat, helmed by his retainer, cutting through a dark sea in the midst of an even darker night. All around them, the only splash of color was the white foam of the waves, which looked more like apparitions and ghosts than the roiling of a common ocean storm. The closer I examined the print, the better able I was to see that in the swirls of foam were sharp, accusatory features—they were, dare I even say it, almost imperial—but the expression the retainer wore was fierce and determined, and the prince, the focus of the piece, seemed to draw strength from his posture. Ultimately, I was given the unshakable feeling that the two men, though caught in the midst of a deadly maelstrom, would reach their destination—an opposite shore, which the artist had chosen, quite wisely, not to include at all.

  “The Ke-Han have an interesting way of choosing their heroes,” Lord Temur said finally, breaking the silence. “I doubt they have reached the sea yet, in any case.”

  Then, in an action that seemed to surprise us all—even Lord Temur himself—he swept the print in question up in one hand and crumpled it with a sudden show of animosity that rose, from nowhere, like a crushing tide.

  “The cost,” I began, but he held up his hand for silence. I felt like one of the men under his command in the war, though I had no reason to; it made all the soft hair at the back of my neck stand on end.

  “We must return to the palace,” Lord Temur said.

  Even Alcibiades plainly felt there was to be no arguing with him. We left the prints and all of the artists’ alley behind us without purchasing anything, and without paying for the print Lord Temur had destroyed.

  CHAPTER SIX

  KOUJE

  One matter weighed heavily on my mind, more than all the rest: There was no way to reach any kind of haven without crossing the border between prefectures, and there was no way to cross the border between prefectures as two travelers without being caught.

  The first night after we heard the rumor, I could not sleep, and it was not because of the owls hooting or the mosquitoes humming by my ears, or because I had, shamefully, grown used to a soft bed during so much time spent at the palace. My thoughts haunted me the way fireflies haunted the bushes; the moment I thought I’d managed to quiet them, another worry lit bright and fierce in the corner of my vision, and I was wide awake once more, my throat tight and my heart pounding.

  I did not know whether or not my lord slept. It seemed he always did, sometime toward morning, but managing some sleep and being well rested were miles apart from each other.

  But if the arrangements did bother him, he hadn’t yet complained.

  That morning I watched him for some time as he slept, the distant light very pale as it rose not quite high enough yet to crest the trees. Mamoru wished for me to wake him when I began the hunt, but he was sleeping more peacefully now than before. It seemed a shame to disturb what little respite he had. Yet, if we were to be equals, I should honor his request as a friend the same way I had once honored his commands as a prince.

  “Mamoru,” I said, touching his shoulder.

  He was awake at once, with such a look of terror on his face that I could barely hide my remorse.

  “Oh,” he said at length, leaves tangled in his braid. “Are we hunting rabbits?”

  We did, and he was quiet at least, if not skilled enough to catch them himself. I taught him how to skin them, and though his mouth grew tight and his eyes widened, he was not sick at the sight. He was being very brave, but to tell him so was to patronize him. So I said nothing; and in that fashion, things between us were just as they had been at the palace.

  “Your hair,” Mamoru said, when we’d eaten our fill. “It isn’t right.”

  “My lord?” I began, confusion making me forget myself. “Mamoru,” I added hurriedly, forcing myself not to bow in apology.

  “It isn’t the same as the other merchants wear theirs,” Mamoru explained, motioning for me to turn my back to him. I did as he wished, though I turned to look at him over my shoulder. “It’s merely something I noticed yesterday in town. People of—People of our standing don’t wear their hair down. The women plait their hair, but the men twist theirs back, I assume so that it won’t get in their eyes, or perhaps to keep the backs of their necks cool while working. It’s very clever, for otherwise it gets in the way.”

  “I have no knowledge of how to fix my hair in that fashion,” I admitted.

  My lord smiled evenly and with his eyes. “I think I might be able to approximate it,” he said, brow furrowing. “It’s a small detail, but it might help us in some way. It is clever. It’s just a matter of what is most convenient.” He came closer, the leaves and grass crunching under him, and knelt behind me, undoing the haphazard knot I’d used to sweep at least some of my hair from my eyes. He combed his fingers through my hair once, almost as though he were about to return my warrior’s braids; then, his fingers began a different and unfamiliar task, twisting my hair up and back and doing his best, with a braid strap, to affix it in place.

  “Now turn around,” Mamoru said.

  I did so, and faced him hopefully. I’d barely asked “How is it?” before my lord began to laugh at me.

  “I’ve done it wrong,” he managed, after he’d regained composure. “It’s all to one side. Either that or it hardly suits you, Kouje. Here, let me try a second time. I’m doing something wrong.”

  It took three more attempts before Mamoru achieved a topknot that didn’t send him into fits of laughter, but by the time he was done both our moods were much improved.

  “Now,” I said, making an attempt at restoring what order we’d lost in our laughing, “I think it might be a good idea, Mamoru, if we were to bathe here. We are near the river and we might not get another chance for some time.”

  My lord’s eyes brightened with a laughter he kept hidden, this time. “Are you suggesting that the need to bathe has become rather dire, Kouje?”

  I bowed my head, but it was a friend’s gesture, meant to hide embarrassment and not to offer supplication.


  “That’s quite all right,” Mamoru said. He waved his hand as if it were a courtly fan in front of his face. “It is becoming rather dire, all things considered. I’m surprised we managed to sleep at all last night.”

  It seemed that he’d made a joke, and so I allowed myself to laugh. “I am glad we’re in agreement.”

  “So long as you keep your hair out of the water,” Mamoru stated, as firmly as he had ever issued a command to me before. He was smiling as he rose. “I shouldn’t think it a valuable use of our time if I have to try and master it again. We’d be here for days.”

  I nodded, joining him in the joke. “Indeed, it would seem that you will have to style my hair every morning from now on.”

  “I shall accept it as my lot in life,” Mamoru said, and placed a hand over his heart in an overdramatic gesture favored by actors from the theatre.

  My lord had a curious sense of humor at times, but a lively one. I found myself laughing on the path down toward the river more than I had in all my days since the war’s end combined. Without the palace to press silence in at us from all sides, I was finding myself caught up in conversation with my lord more and more, and I was pleased to learn that we understood one another well enough to wish to continue speaking of nothing at all.

  I had always known that my lord was kind, that he was clever and eager to learn, but I had never known him to play the fool quite so often. I would have been able to rest at ease knowing it was his wish only to make me laugh, but I couldn’t help wondering if he weren’t venturing at so many jests to hide his deeper feelings.

  We had not spoken of Iseul since leaving the palace that fateful night. I still feared that forcing my lord to confront the truth would break something inside of him, something that I would not be able to fix, but he seemed well enough, laughing at my side all the way to the riverbank.

  Still, as we sat by the water and shed our rough costumes, I resolved to keep a better eye on him—a closer eye, if I could. My lord was strong, but I would die before I failed him.

  The day would be warm, but it was still early and the heat was manageable. I felt a moment’s regret that we didn’t have the luxury to wait until noon, when the sun would be at its fiercest, and my lord might be able to warm himself on the rocks when we’d finished bathing. Then I pushed it aside. There was no room for me to feel regret, especially not when my lord behaved in a way that would set an example for the most noble and virtuous of men.

  I entered the river first. The water pooled around my legs and waist, the current of the river strong against my chest and bitterly cold. That particular river was one of the many that ran down from the mountains in the west; the glacier-melt from the snow and ice was what made it so, even in the height of summer.

  I heard a splash, and a yelp from my right, which announced Mamoru’s presence far better than he could have if he’d intended it.

  “The water’s cold,” I said, feeling a rush of apology once more. My lord had never bathed in anything but the heated baths at the palace, and the great tubs that one could build a fire under during the war. He was used to those hot baths, and to servants who passed him bath oils and lotions to scent the water and soothe his skin; it was not private, by any means, but the ceremony obscured the vulnerability of nakedness. Here, we were completely bare, and both pink-edged with the chill, our fingertips wrinkling.

  I should have warned him sooner.

  “It’s… it’s all right, Kouje,” my lord said, though I could have sworn I heard his teeth chattering. “Really. It’s very bracing. A good start to the morning, I expect.”

  My stomach tightened as a crow cawed overhead, and I strained to listen for any rustling in the bushes, any sound at all. It took flight over our heads. I watched it go.

  “Do you find it a good start to your morning?” I asked my lord, taking a cue from his fondness for making jests.

  He cast me a baleful look, for a moment resembling some pale river spirit and not my lord at all.

  I laughed, softer this time, for the crow had reminded me that we were not alone in the woods. “You’ll feel much better once you are clean and dried,” I promised.

  Mamoru nodded, pressed his lips together bravely, and ducked his head under the water to wash his hair.

  I allowed my body to drift with the current, trying to put my thoughts into the same ordered flow. We would come to a checkpoint at the border of our prefecture sooner or later. We would have to cross more than one, if memory served, to get to Honganje prefecture and the fishing village where my sister lived. I thought it likely that Mamoru’s disguise would get us safely past at least one checkpoint, since the guards had doubtless been instructed to stop two men, and not a man and a woman, but what would happen after that? My lord could not very well live out the rest of his life under such a disguise, despite his admitted experience in the practice. Such times were past. He was a young man now. More than that, he was a prince.

  I remembered a time when my lord had been just three months shy of his fifth birthday. Awakened by nightmares in the middle of the night and unable to sleep on his own, he’d roused me as well. His eyes had been very grave while I tried to comfort him in all the usual fashions, and finally, I had abandoned protocol that I might ask him directly what was the matter.

  “Kouje, why do I look different from Iseul?” he’d asked me. “Is there something the matter with me?”

  “No, my lord,” I’d told him. “There is nothing at all the matter with you.” And then, because I could not help myself, I added, “Things will change for you soon enough.”

  How could I ask my lord now to return to such a state of isolation? I had already taken him from his home, from his very station. I would take no more from him than that.

  A shout and a loud splash interrupted my thoughts—Mamoru, in danger—and a current of fear cut through the very center of me. My short blade was on the riverbank. Could I reach it in time? I scanned the land for any sign of movement while yet holding one hand out for Mamoru to take, that I might draw him behind me.

  “What is it, my lord?” I asked.

  “My ankles,” he cried, and pointed.

  Beneath the clear, swirling water, I could see the dark shapes moving with the current and between the larger rocks, their long whiskers swaying beside them.

  “Catfish,” I said.

  “Catfish?” he gasped, splashing himself and me in a poorly-thought-out attempt to run in water that swallowed him from the shoulders down. “It was enormous, Kouje—did you see it?”

  Relief made my knees go weak. “A catfish,” I repeated, just to be certain.

  “It was the size of my arm!” Mamoru cried, looking about with wild eyes. It seemed cruel to mock him, when he was so clearly apprehensive, but the words were out before I could stop them.

  “Your arms aren’t very big, Mamoru.”

  He looked at me in surprise and utter confusion. I couldn’t blame him. I’d never had much practice at telling jokes, and perhaps I’d misspoken. Then my lord was laughing, all the louder for how anxious he’d been a moment ago, and I felt my heart resume beating at a normal speed.

  That afternoon, we had catfish when we stopped to rest the horse, and my lord wore a particularly satisfied look on his face as he chewed.

  It was deceptively soothing to ride the daylight hours into dusk as we were, with my lord in front of me. We were travelers, and the steady pace was like a lullaby. While we were under the cover of trees, or passing by the rice paddies, or winding our way on narrow, empty roads that encircled the hills, it was easy to imagine we were all alone in the world. But soon enough, we would come to a resting stop by the side of a larger road, or crest a hill to find a small village laid out before us, and we would learn fresh news of our very own flight toward safety.

  “What shall we do at the border?” Mamoru asked me, shooing a mosquito away from his cheek. Thankfully, it was not their season. Nevertheless, he would feel the itch and the burn soon enough, and I would have noth
ing with which to soothe him.

  “For the crossings,” I began hesitantly, “I thought we might avoid closer scrutiny by continuing dressed as we are.”

  “I might pretend to be your sister,” Mamoru offered. If it troubled him to return to that mode of disguise—one so familiar and yet so remote—he did not show it.

  “Two men are suspect,” I agreed. “A man and a woman… That is not the quarry they seek.”

  My lord nodded, satisfied. “Yes,” he said. “They would never think…”

  He did not finish the thought. I wagered a guess as to why, and did not press him. At least he was not dressed as some lowly creature of burden, but a simple common woman. I knotted my hands in the horse’s reins, and we rode on.

  It was late in the day, the sun already beginning to sink below the distant horizon, when the dusty back road we were on opened up without warning, and we found ourselves riding into the roadside rest stop.

  There was a tea-and-noodle house, and a sheltered bench just outside it for rainy days, should any unlucky traveler be caught out beneath a sudden storm. Only two horses were tethered outside the shop, and the door was closed, but we could hear well enough the sound of a few voices from within—no doubt belonging to the shop owner and the few travelers who were stopped there for the night.

  In front of me, Mamoru breathed in deeply, as though he were trying to calm the quickened pace of his heart. After a moment, however, I realized the truth of the matter: he could smell food on the air, the simple, clean scent of white rice in the pot. There was a hunger in his eyes I’d never seen.

  We had some money from my old clothes; I’d spent most of it on new shoes for Mamoru and then, when he insisted, on sandals for myself, as well. There was a little coin left—enough for a night spent at a roadside inn, a bowl of rice for each of us, and some left over.

  Mamoru’s fingers tightened against the horse’s mane, and the creature whinnied. I thought of my prince sleeping on the forest floor, of his bathing in the forest stream, of skinning rabbits for his breakfast.