"The tree," Ben said. "That's the legendary fu-sang, the hollow mulberry tree—the dwelling place of kings and the hiding place of the sun. In the tree are ten birds. They represent the ten suns of legend which the great archer, the Lord Shen Yi, did battle with. You recall the legend? Mankind was in danger from the intense heat of the ten suns. But the Lord Yi shot down nine of the suns, leaving only the one we know today."
Li Yuan laughed, surprised that he had not seen the allusion. "And I—I am meant to be the Lord Yi?"
He stared at the drawing, fascinated, astonished by the simple power of the composition. It was as if he could feel the horse fearing beneath him, his knees digging into its flanks as he leaned forward to release the arrow, the bird pierced through its chest as it rose, silhouetted against the great white backdrop of the moon. Yes, there was no doubting it. It was a masterpiece. And he had watched it shimmer into being.
He looked back at Ben, bowing his head, acknowledging the sheer mastery of the work. But his admiration was tainted. For all its excellence there was something disturbing, almost frightening, about the piece.
"Why this?" he asked, staring openly at Ben now, frowning, ignoring the others who had gathered to see what was happening.
Ben signed the corner of the paper, then set the pencil down. "Because I dreamt of you like this."
"You dreamt. . . ?" Li Yuan laughed uneasily. They had come to this point before. "You dream a lot, Ben Shepherd."
"No more than any man."
"But this . . . Why did you dream this?"
Ben laughed. "How can I tell? What a man dreams—surely he has no control over that?"
"Maybe so. . . ." But still he was thinking, Why this? For he knew the rest of the story—how Lord Yi's wife, Chang-e, goddess of the moon, had stolen the herb of immortality and fled to the moon. There, for her sins, she had turned into a toad, the dark shadow of which could be seen against the full moon's whiteness. And Lord Yi? Was he hero or monster? The legends were unclear, contradictory, for though he had completed all of the great tasks set him by Pan Ku, the Creator of All, yet he was a usurper who had stolen the wives of many other men.
Ben surely knew the myth. He knew so much, how could he not know the rest of it? Was this then some subtle insult? Some clever, knowing comment on his forthcoming marriage to Fei Yen? Or was it as he said—the innocent setting down of a dream?
He could not say. Nor was there any certain way of telling. He stared at the drawing a momertt longer, conscious of the silence that had grown about him; then, looking back at Ben, he laughed.
"You know us too well, Ben Shepherd. What you were talking of—the essence behind the form. Our faces are masks, yet youre not fooled by them, are you? You see right through them."
Ben met his eyes and smiled. "To the bone."
Yes, thought Li Yuan. My father was right about you. You would be the perfect match for me. The rest are but distorting mirrors, even the finest of them, returning a pleasing image to their lord. But you—you would be the perfect glass. Who else would dare to reflect me back so true?
He looked down, letting his fingers trace the form of the archer, then nodded to himself. "A dream. ..."
KLAUS EBERT roared with laughter, then reached up and drew his son's head down so that all could see. "There! See! And he's proud of it!"
Hans Ebert straightened up again, grinning, looking about him at the smiling faces. He was in full uniform for the occasion, his new rank of major clearly displayed, but that was not what his father had been making all the fuss over—it was the small metal plate he wore, embedded in the back of his skull; a memento of the attack on Hammerfest.
"The trouble is, it's right at the back," he said. "I can't see it in the mirror. But I get my orderly to polish it every morning. Boots, belt, and head, I say to him. In that order."
The men in the circle laughed, at ease for the first time in many months. Things were at a dangerous pass in the world outside, but here at Tongjiang it was as if time had stood still. From here the war seemed something distant, illusory. Even so, their conversation returned to it time and again; as if there were nothing else for them to talk of.
"Is there any news of Berdichev?" Li Feng Chiang, the T'ang's second brother, asked. His half-brothers, Li Yun-Ti and Li Ch'i Chun, stood beside him, all three of Li Yuan's uncles dressed in the same calf-length powder-blue surcoats; their clothes badges of their rank as Councillors to the T'ang.
"Rumors have it that he's on Mars." General Nocenzi answered, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "There have been other sightings, too, but none of them confirmed. Sometimes I think the rumors are started by our enemies, simply to confuse us."
"Well," Tolonen said, "wherever he is, my man Karr will find him."
Tolonen was back in uniform, the patch of marshal on his chest, the four pictograms—Lu Chun Yuan Shuai—emblazoned in red on white. It had been the unanimous decision of the Council of Generals, three months before. The appointment had instilled new life into the old man and he seemed his fierce old self again, fired with limitless energy. But it was true also what the younger officers said: in old age his features had taken on the look of something ageless and eternal, like rock sculpted by the wind and rain.
Klaus Ebert, too, had been promoted. Like Li Yuan's uncles, he wore the powder-blue of a councillor proudly, in open defiance of those of his acquaintance who said a Hung Mao should not ape a Han. For him it was an honor—the outward sign of what he felt. He smiled at his old friend and leaned across to touch his arm.
"Let us hope so, eh, Knut? The world would be a better place without that carrion Berdichev in it. But tell me, have you heard of this new development? These 'messengers,' as they're called?"
There was a low murmur and a nodding of heads. They had been in the news a great deal these last few weeks.
Ebert shook his head, his features a mask of horrified bemuse-ment, then spoke again. "I mean, what could make a man do such a thing? They say that they wrap explosives about themselves, and then, when they're admitted to the presence of their victims, trigger them."
"Money," Tolonen answered soberly. "These are low-level types you're talking of, Klaus. They have nothing to lose. It's a way of insuring their families can climb the levels. They think it a small price to pay for such a thing."
Again Ebert shook his head, as if the concept were beyond him. "Are things so desperate?"
"Some think they are."
But Tolonen was thinking of all he had seen these last few months. By comparison with sdme of it, these "messengers" were decency itself.
A junior minister and his wife had had their six-month-old baby stolen and sent back in a jar, boiled and then pickled, its eyes like bloated eggs in the raw pinkness of its face. Another man—a rich Hung Mao who had refused to cooperate with the rebels—had had his son taken and sold back to him, less his eyes. That was bad enough, but the kidnappers had sewn insects into the hollowed sockets, beneath the lids. The ten-year-old was mad when they got him back: as good as dead.
And the culprits? Tolonen shuddered. The inventiveness of their cruelty never ceased to amaze and sicken him. They were no better than the half-men in the Clay. He felt no remorse in tracking down such men and killing them.
"Marshal Tolonen?"
He half turned. One of the T'ang's house servants was standing there, his head bowed low.
"Yes?"
"Forgive me, Excellency, but your daughter is here; At the gatehouse."
Tolonen turned back and excused himself, then followed the servant through and out into the great courtyard.
Jelka was waiting by the ornamental pool. She stood there in the shade of the ancient willow, dropping pebbles into the water and watching the ripples spread. Tolonen stopped, looking across at his daughter, his whole being lit by the sight of her. She was standing with her back to him, the white-gold fall of her hair spilling out across the velvet blue of her full-length cloak. Her two bodyguards stood nearby, looking about them casually, but as Tblonen came nearer they came to attention smartly.