“The Red Brows . . . marauded hereabouts only the night before . . . three peasants ...”
Words floated again from the official’s firesite. Not an unnatural animal then. She need have no fears for Willow, at least not yet. But what were “Red Brows”? Perhaps bandits. In which case, Silver Snow was doubly thankful for the gift of the bow . . . assuming it was not a terrible violation of all proprieties if she used it.
Better, she thought daringly, a violation of the proprieties than of her own body. She was a general’s daughter, an Emperor’s concubine-to-be: no prize for bandits.
The wind shifted, overpowering the rest of the words the official was addressing to his guard, and making her shiver.
Abruptly the stars overhead no longer held the promise of freedom. Instead, the very open spaces about her seemed to threaten, rather than promise release. As a gust of wind tossed sparks from her fire high in the air, like an army beacon, Silver Snow rose and entered her wagon, where she hoped to find among her baggage that jade-handled knife she could use either to let out a bandit’s life, or her own.
A scratching at the hanging of her cart made Silver Snow gasp and whirl around. The wickedly sharp little knife glinted in the firelight as she drew it, ready to her hand as the hangings parted.
Willow stood before her, her green eyes wary as a vixen’s as she noted her mistress’ knife.
“Lady?” she began, cautiously using one of the most formal of Silver Snow’s titles.
Silver Snow flushed and laid the knife aside. She was pleased to note that her hand did not shake, either from fear or from the cold. “Come in, Willow, before the winter rules in here as it does outside.”
“I rescued the soup, mistress,” Willow said, lifting the pot with one rag-wrapped hand as she drew shut the cart’s hangings behind her, leaving out the wind and the world beyond. As Silver Snow waited, barely schooling herself to patience, Willow made elaborate play of serving the soup, of adjusting bowls and cushions just so: all of which enabled the two of them to sit with their heads close together, bent over the bowls as if inhaling the fragrant steam.
“I am glad you returned safely,” Silver Snow whispered.
Willow laughed. “It is easy to go about the camp if you are considered ugly, mistress. The men touch amulets and let me pass with a jest or two: one listens and learns much, if one ignores their harsh words.” The glint in Willow’s eye reminded Silver Snow that that had been a teaching that Willow had found hard to master.
“And what does one learn in such a way?” asked Silver Snow.
Willow pulled out a small disk, marked with glyphs and ideograms that, for all of her learning, Silver Snow could not read, besides strange pictures, symbols in what, surely, was the tongue of the beasts.
“The troopers asked me why a woman as ill-favored as I should keep such a fine thing,” Willow commented, looking as if she wished to claw something. “I told them: to look behind me, and they laughed. But that is the truth: I use this to look behind me, and before and to the sides, lest not all men be what they appear.”
“And you have found such?” asked Silver Snow.
Willow nodded. “Yes, Elder Sister. Some are wolves.”
Wolves! That was precisely what Ao Li had tried to warn her of before their conversation was interrupted.
“What do you know,” she asked Willow, “about ‘Red Brows’?”
Willow’s bowl did not shake in her hand, but she looked up sharply. “I could glean very little news from near the camp, Elder Sister,” she said. “The brothers- and sisters-in-fur fear the soldiers’ bows and lances. And they fear more the wolves. There are men in this camp who take silver, but do not requite their hire as should honest men. But . .
“But?” Silver Snow snapped up the word. “If they were that much afraid, they would not dare to come speak with you.”
“That much is true, lady,” Willow conceded. “But they are more afraid of the Red Brows, who hunt, not from hunger but for the joy of slaughter, who burn villages when they have no need of warmth, and who slaughter babes, human and animal, as if they have no thought of tomorrow. The escort soldiers, too, are afraid, I think. When I passed them, the smell of fear was on the wind ...”
She grimaced, then sneezed. “What is worse, though many fear spies, some, I fear, are spies.”
“Would you know them once again?”
Willow nodded.
“Very well then. Watch well.”
Silver Snow produced her bow, flourishing it in delight when Willow’s eyes opened in surprise. “We are not wholly unarmed,” she said.
“Lady, if they know that you can shoot ...”
“Would they prefer me to hang myself with my sash in fear of ravishment? I shall make them pay dearly for any sport they plan and slay myself before they can enjoy it. Willow, do not forget that in addition to the merchants’ ware, we carry silk and gold ”—and jade, too —“to the Son of Heaven. Our train would be a rich prize. Could you discover a trail of these bandits?” she asked.
Willow laid her hand across her felt boots, one heavily padded to compensate for the fact that one leg was shorter than the other. “Ah, lady, had I a night to run in, I might know them again. But that leaves you unguarded, unattended ...” “What are you talking about?” asked Silver Snow. “I thought . . .” She gestured at Willow’s lame leg, where the folds of robes hid it. Certainly Willow could not be admitting that the ugly rumors were true. Surely she spoke only of spying, as a servant aged or ill-favored might well do.
But Willow shook her head vigorously. “When your honored father purchased me from the slave-merchant, I was little more than a kitling, lost from the herbalist who had taken me in. What chance has such to survive without a master? Less than none. So I remained. Elder Sister, let me ...”
I thought that you loved me. Now you say that if you were whole, then you would run away and leave me! The wail rose in Silver Snow’s mind, and her eyes filled. Willow grasped her hand in her own callused palm, almost like a paw, and kissed it.
“I would never leave you. It is only bandits that prey upon their own and foul their nests. Beasts feel gratitude to those who feed them, warm them . . . love them,” said Willow, bowing almost double. “This one is as a beast beneath your feet. Forgive me, Elder Sister, for such plain speech.”
It was too great a risk . . . suppose the bandits would see Willow as a victim for quick sport and slow pain. Yet Willow’s willingness to risk herself might save them all.
“Just until moonset.” Though Silver Snow had the right to command, her voice rose as if she asked Willow’s consent. “For was it not truly said by General Sun Tzu that ‘an army without secret agents is exactly like a man without eyes or ears’?”
“Did this sage serve with your father, may the Ancestors smile upon him?” Willow asked. Dear Willow! She would never willingly share Silver Snow’s lessons, try as she had to teach her.
For the maid, what counted was not the long traditions of humankind but the sights and smells of the country through which they passed, and the speech of plant and beast; for Willow, like the women of the Hsiung-nu, was wise in the ways of the land. Wise, perhaps, and something more, something that for all the years they had been together, Silver Snow had willfully refused to see.
Silver Snow, stubborn in her innocence, had been as steadfast as Willow. What if the rumors were true, and Willow truly were a fox-spirit? Answer your question yourself, girl, Silver Snow thought with an asperity new to her. What if she were a fox? She has given you her heart. That being the case, does aught else matter?