Savage Divinity

“You expect the Lin Clan to bid for what is rightfully ours? This is preposterous!”

No, what’s preposterous is an accomplished diplomat losing his temper so readily. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Yuzhen waited in stoic silence for Lin Xiang Gu to realize the severity of his actions. Though he was no warrior, pounding the table and advancing on the Marshal of the North was a severe breach of etiquette which had her guards reaching for their weapons. Yuzhen was well within her rights to have him lashed or worse and he knew it. Oh, how difficult it was to hide her smile as she watched his ruddy complexion go from purple rage to white terror, his cheeks quivering and mouth working as the Lin Clan’s foremost diplomat struggled to invent an excuse for his actions.

Papa taught her to use silence as a weapon and though she was content to wait, Yuzhen’s assistant signalled it was time for lunch. Gesturing for her guards to remain in place, she stood and left the room without a word, leaving the fat toad and his counterparts from around the province to stew in her absence. She’d already said her part and her disregard for everyone present should clue them in to how little this lucrative contract meant to her. If any of them had done a little digging, they would've realized she could easily fulfill the contract herself, but her efforts were better spent elsewhere. Gone were the days when those men and women held all the economic power in the North. Now, she threw scraps to her lieutenant marshals and expected them to thank her for her generosity. For Lin Xiang Gu to expect Yuzhen to shower his clan with prosperity showed just how hard papa had to work to get things done. Thanks to his sacrifice and Sanshu's economic power in her pocket, Yuzhen had freedom he only dreamed of.

And she’d trade it all away for five minutes at his side, but such was life.

Striding across the hall and into her private dining room, she smiled at the sight of her beloved sitting in wait. Sporting a black eye and cut lip from his morning training, Gerel the perfect husband, a strong, confident, quiet man, content to stand at her side without needing his ego stoked every time they were alone. Papa would have hated Gerel and his cold, stoic attitude, seemingly uninterested in advancing his career or anything unrelated to the Martial Path. Papa used to call people like him ‘lunkheads’, fanatics too focused on personal strength to see farther than their own nose. By all appearances, Gerel fit the mark, shrouded in a practised air of indifference which bordered on disdain, but Yuzhen knew he was so much more. Hiding beneath his frigid arrogance was a man of passion and warmth, an intelligent, loving partner who’d been starved of affection all his life.

Orphaned as a babe, Gerel’s talents in combat and command caught the eye of his ‘Mentor’, a pretentious, conceited woman who forbade others from revealing her name. Although Gerel claimed he spent months tracking her down and begging her to teach him, Yuzhen knew if his mysterious Mentor didn’t want to teach, then she would never been found by a boy of fourteen years. Worse, the bitch strung him along for over a decade now, teaching him bits and pieces to keep him on the hook while denying their relationship to this very day. Because of this, neither his mentor, his people, nor the Empire wholly accepted him as one of their own, this brave, talented, fiery-eyed man an outsider wherever he went.

Perhaps that’s why he never missed a chance to tell her how beautiful she looked or how much he loved her. She loved the way he stared at her, the way he said her name, even the way he moved her hair aside to gaze into her eyes. It broke her heart to learn he had no friends or family of his own, an outcast instead of the celebrated hero she thought him to be. A private man, he never volunteered why the Behkai treated him so poorly and Yuzhen never pressed him for answers, but it vexed her to no end. His brush with the Spectres was too recent to explain his complete lack of friends, but she was content to wait until he was ready to tell her everything. Until then, having him at her side was enough.

Settling into his lap, she kissed him deeply before breaking away, tilting his face for a better look at his injuries. “Oh my little lamb, you look even worse than yesterday.” Gingerly poking his ribs in search or breaks or fractures, she tilted her head and said, “Goodness. Did mean old Rainy bully you again? Shall I have a word with his Mentor? I can’t have my future trophy husband banged up all the time, the taverns will be rife with rumours of my heavy-handed ways.”

His sour grimace made her laugh out loud and she kissed him once more to make up for her teasing. Wincing as her fingers found a bruised rib, he smacked her behind lightly and shook his head. “You joke great beauty, but I fear the day will soon come when those words ring true. Rain’s progress is nothing short of astounding.”

“Worry not my battered love. Young shoots grow fast but old ginger is spicier.” Running a finger around his blackened eye, she added, “This, however, is a first. How’d he get through your defences to bruise your pretty face?” She wasn’t too upset, the injuries made Gerel look more savage and dangerous.

“A trick.” Gerel spat the words out, his lip curled in scorn. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, you have two bruised ribs, a black eye, and a cut lip.” Giving his earlobe a playful nip, she whispered, “How did your opponent fare today?”

“... I lost my temper and took both his legs off. Right above the knee.” Oh the poor child, her love was a brute. Perhaps she should ‘sacrifice’ herself to temper his aggression. “Not that he cared, the idiot reattached them without blinking. Complained more about his ruined pants than the pain.”

Men and their fragile egos. He almost sounded like he admired Rain’s resilience, but the young hero was ever the touchy subject for Yuzhen’s otherwise supremely confident husband-to-be. She could hardly wait to announce their betrothal, but as a dutiful daughter, she intended to mourn papa's passing as custom demanded, with no celebrations to take place until a year and a day passed. Patting his cheek, she said, “You still came out ahead, nothing to worry your pretty little head over.” Sliding off his lap and into her own chair, she squeezed his thigh and grinned. “Now stop pouting and eat. You’ll need your strength, my little lamb. I’ve plans for you and a schedule to keep, so make haste.” While she couldn’t keep all those dignitaries waiting for too long, an hour or so wasn’t going overboard, and so much fun could be had in an hour.

Halfway through their meal, the doors burst open and a squad of armed soldiers marched in uninvited. Reaching for her weapon, Yuzhen froze as she spotted the red, gold-trimmed banner strapped to the leading soldier’s back. An Imperial Messenger, here to deliver the Emperor’s orders. Falling to her knees, she frantically instructed Gerel to follow her lead through Sending. An Imperial Messenger flying the Emperor’s banner represented the Emperor himself, so she prayed Gerel wouldn’t do anything rash. Bowing her head, she said, “Ten thousand years of boundless longevity upon the Emperor. Imperial Servant Yuzhen awaits her orders.” Head still bowed, she presented both palms as protocol demanded.

Placing a missive in her hands, the Imperial Messenger said, “The Emperor Demands.”

“And this servant obeys.”

Instead of turning to leave, the Imperial Messenger side-stepped to stand before Gerel. Confused, she coached Gerel through Sending as he repeated her words verbatim and received a missive of his own.

They both remained kneeling until the Imperial Messenger left the room with his escorts and her servants closed the doors. A cold drop of sweat trickled down Yuzhen’s spine as she imagined what would have happened if the Imperial Messenger arrived a half hour later. Perhaps it would be best to limit their romantic trysts to rooms with locked doors, but half the fun was the thrill of possibly getting caught. After checking the wax seal for signs of tampering, she unfurled the scroll and read her orders, heart growing heavier with each passing word. Though superficially innocuous and transparent, these orders could spell the end of the Empire as she knew it.

Her little lamb Gerel wore a rarely seen grin as he celebrated his good fortune, unable to see beyond the surface. Rather than burden him with her worries, she offered her congratulations and quietly made her plans, seeking to turn crisis into opportunity. Who could she turn to? Nian Zu? No, he undoubtedly would receive orders of his own, as would his successor Bataar and every other soldier or Warrant Officer of note. Perhaps Akanai could help Yuzhen through these troubled times.

If not her, then who else?

Wrapped in her lover’s embrace, Yuzhen closed her eyes and prayed for Gerel’s safety, wishing him all the best in the coming trial and tribulations.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Wonderful news!” Zian started at Uncle Yang’s sudden joyous exclamation. His scruffy beard and unkempt hair made him look the part of a madman as he danced a merry little jig around the foyer with scroll in hand, celebrating the news brought by the Imperial Messenger. “I feared the worst but the Emperor has not forsaken me. This is a Heaven sent opportunity to mend my reputation.”

“Congratulations, Uncle.” Zian said. These past months had been hard on all of them, but he was happy to see the man smile again.

Grinning, Uncle Yang used his scroll to tap its twin being held by Zian. “This isn’t just good news for me, boy.” Clapping him on the back, Uncle Yang pulled him into a half-hug, a rare show of affection spoiled by the foul odour of sour sweat. Zian didn’t even want to think about how long it’d been since Uncle Yang bathed. “Your talents have been noted and your future unlimited. You will win great glory for our family and clan in the months to come, this I know.”

A twinge of guilt ran through Zian as he watched his uncle celebrate. The only reason Zian hadn’t withdrawn from Clan and Society affairs was because Uncle Yang’s future had yet to be determined in the wake of his blunder here at the Wall. Now that the Emperor had spoken, Uncle Yang’s career and life was no longer at risk, which meant Zian could renounce his position as young patriarch without fearing for their safety. Coughing to clear his throat, Zian steeled his nerves and asked, “Uncle? What if... What if I were to withdraw from Clan affairs to focus on my Martial Path?”

His words brought an abrupt end to Uncle Yang’s celebration. For long seconds, Zian inwardly cursed himself for opening his mouth as he sweat beneath his uncle’s stern, silent glare, the imposing Martial Warrior reinvigorated by the Emperor’s absolution. Absently running his fingers through his tangled beard, Uncle Yang sighed as his eyes glazed over, reflecting on memories of distant past. After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “It pains me to admit this boy, but I am not a talented man. Forget being first among my peers, I wouldn’t even dare to claim a spot in the top fifty, yet I survived where better men died, my career advancing while greater talents stagnated. This led me to believe I was blessed by the Mother and destined for greatness, so I spent my days and nights dreaming of leading the Situ Clan to prosperity.” Shaking his head, he continued, “But man proposes, and Heaven disposes. The truth is, I owe everything I have to high birth, phenomenal luck, and hard work. I’ve known for years now that I’d never be Clan Patriarch, but I found it difficult to abandon my lifelong dreams. When I learned of your Heaven sent talents, I knew you would surpass me in every way and a part of me hoped to ride your coat-tails to the success I once dreamed of. I was wrong to do so.”

“Uncle...”

“Quiet boy.” There was no anger in Uncle Yang’s voice, only steely direction, commanding compliance through sheer force of will. “You, Situ Jia Zian, are a dragon among men. It is my greatest pride to call myself your uncle, and my greatest shame to admit I had no part in shaping the man you’ve become.” This time, Uncle Yang pulled him into a full hug and Zian didn’t even notice the smell. “Whatever choices you make in life, I will defend you to the best of my meagre abilities.” Pulling away, Uncle Yang frowned and said, “It’d be best if you waited until we’re out of your Mother’s reach before informing her. She loves you dearly, but she might... overreact. You know how she is.”

Swept up in a whirlwind of emotions, Zian had trouble comprehending what just happened. At least Uncle Yang wasn’t against him abandoning clan politics which was a welcome relief. “Defend me from what? Why would Mother oppose my choice? She never wanted me to have any part in Clan politics, but the Patriarch made me his successor regardless of her objections.”

“True, true, but your decision will still upset her. Your father tried to do something similiar and... well, I’m sure you know the rest.”

“The rest of what?” Almost everything Zian knew about Father, he’d learned from reading the gravestone marker; Lu An Jing, Husband to Situ Jia Ying. Zian wasn’t even mentioned because it would still be months before he was born. In fact, he’d only guessed Father used dual sabers because of the two inert Spiritual Weapons hanging on the wall of Mother’s bedroom.

“Oh? I was sure he’d have told you everything by now.” Holding a hand up to stop Zian before he could speak, Uncle Yang shook his head. “I promised your mother never to speak of it in your presence, so don’t ask. If you want to know more, then ask the cantankerous bastard you call a Mentor.”

Confused and bewildered, all Zian could do was stutter and stammer like a drunken fool. “Wha-? Mentor? Who? I would never...” How did he know? They’d been so careful to keep things secret...

Rolling his eyes, Uncle Yang turned away, standing straight backed with hands folded behind him as he stared out the window. “I’m no spurned maiden to be let down gently. You made a good choice accepting Jukai as your Mentor.” Striding towards his bedroom, Uncle Yang ended the conversation with, “After all, who better to teach you your father’s style than his most trusted martial brother?”

The door slammed shut and Zian was left alone with mouth agape, struggling to comprehend this stunning revelation. No wonder a man of his skills and rank was willing to serve under a mere Warrant Officer, Jukai was looking after his Martial Nephew. Collecting his wits, Zian strode out of the foyer in search of his Mentor, mentally going over everything Uncle Yang had said.

Father wanted to withdraw from Society affairs. Strange considering there was no Lu Clan and Zian had no ties to any of the various sects. What position did Father hold? Did this decision lead to his death? Is that why Mother left the Clan estate to make her own way in life? Or why she never told him about Father, to keep him from seeking retribution? Was it vengeance driving her to gather personal power, enough to rival the Society?

Whatever the answer, Zian was determined to have them. If Father’s death was due to treachery or political maneuvering, then as the only son and heir it was Zian’s duty to avenge him. For that, he would need power and allies, both in short supply if his enemy turned out to be the Society. Oh Mother Above, did this mean he’d have to ally himself with the Bekhai?

Clutching the scroll containing the Emperor’s orders, Zian shook his head and smiled. Like Uncle said, these orders represented a Heaven sent opportunity, a chance to make new friends and allies. Though no longer the number one talent of the North, he was still a highly qualified bachelor and Mother always said marriage was a powerful tool. If necessary, Zian would charm the fattest, ugliest, smelliest woman in the Empire so long as she came from a faction with sufficient power.

Anything was better than going to Rain for help.

Anything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pressed against the vertical cliffside, Huushal fought the ever-present urge to look down at the vast void beneath him. The howling winter winds pummelled him from all sides as the bitter cold pierced him to the bone. Numb and exhausted, he closed his eyes and steadied his breathing, knowing this tiny, fist-sized perch was his last chance to rest before the final stretch. Directly above him was a steep overhang, which meant climbing almost parallel to the void below before reaching the top, easily the most perilous stretch of his deadly, two kilometre climb. It was madness to do this without a net to catch him or rope to arrest his fall, with only a burden sitting in a rucksack slung over his shoulder to ‘aid’ him.

As if hearing his thoughts, the burden shifted in his rucksack and almost caused Huushal to lose his grip. “Hmph,” the burden snorted, poking Huushal through the rucksack. “Still not there yet? Worthless! Is this what Ghurda calls talented? Wasted months tryin’ to teach you and you still ain’t worth shit. Enough dallying, you’ve a visitor waiting. Up, up, up!”

Quashing the compulsion to unfasten his rucksack and let the wizened old bastard drop to his death, Huushal grit his teeth and resumed climbing. Polished smooth by years of buffeting winds, the overhang’s underside offered precious few finger or toe holds, but neither retreat nor surrender was an option. Sanshu and Uncle Kalil's death showed Huushal just how little strength he truly possessed, and he was determined to rectify this. No risk ventured, no reward gained, and if this was to be his death, then at least he’d take the wrinkled burden with him, the world a better place for his absence.

No no, that’s no way to treat your great, great... whatever great grand mentor. Even if he’s a crotchety old geezer who reeks of alcohol and spits when he speaks.

Huushal’s foot slipped and his heart leaped into his throat. His legs dropped away from the cliff side and he Lightened and Reinforced for all he was worth, clinging to the stone by his fingertips as he screamed with exertion, both feet flailing about in futile search of purchase. Muscles burning and lungs emptied, Huushal fought a losing battle against gravity and fatigue, his arms trembling as he desperately tried to keep his grip, but it was not to be. For a brief, eternal moment, his entire body felt weightless, as if suspended in the air against all logic. Then, time resumed and the cliff side sped off into the distance as he plummeted to his doom.

Then he jerked to a halt and fell to his hands and knees, face planted in the snow with sturdy earth beneath him.

What?

How?

Is this the afterlife? Why’s it still so cold?

“Worthless.” Even in the afterlife, the old bastard was still here to pester him. “Can’t even climb a simple cliff. How am I supposed to teach this fool? He’s nothing compared to you.”

Ma’s gruff voice sounded and Huushal idly wondered what she was doing here. “All due respect but it’s been decades since I made the climb. Open your blind eyes and have a gander, the cliff’s smoother than a baby’s behind. I’m surprised he made it far as he did.”

“Bah. Excuses.” A boot prodded Huushal in the ribs and he scrambled to his feet. “Quit lying around boy, and go greet the Imperial Messenger. I’m too old fer kneelin’. Damned girl, always finding more work fer me to do. Now I suppose you want me to find a new cliff...”

His mind in disarray, Huushal followed Ma’s Sendings and stumbled down the path before kowtowing in the dirt, unable to lift his head even if he wanted to. After saying all that was required, he collapsed with a scroll in hand, too exhausted to care what the Emperor wanted from him. Whatever it was, it could wait.

A short nap, a quick meal, then back to the bottom to try again.

Such was life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dropping the Imperial Missive to the table, Fung clicked his tongue in annoyance. Knowing Fu Zhu Li had read it from over his shoulder, Fung turned to the man and raised a single eyebrow in question. “So... what now?”

Instead of answering out loud, the ever cautious ‘manservant’ Sent his reply. “The Emperor walks upon the razor’s edge. There will be difficult times ahead.”

“Indeed,” Fung Sent, cupping his warm teacup with both hands. “Our hand is forced. Either we obey and risk losing everything, or we openly rebel and do the same. The Emperor has left us no third option.” Sending without physical contact was incredibly draining, but being able to do something better than Rain gave Fung a massive sense of accomplishment. The animal obsessed maniac was too talented for words. “So the question remains: What now?”

Fu Zhu Li gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shrug, the first time the half-weasel advisor had failed to offer an answer or guide Fung towards one. “I’ll send word to your father. Whatever his decision, we shall abide by it.” With those simple words, Fu Zhu Li left the room.

Still cradling his teacup, Fung sank into his chair and pondered over what the future held in store. Where would father stand? With the Emperor, or with the North? As he moved to sip his tea, Fung found himself trembling from head to toe. Scoffing at his meek apprehension, he swallowed his fear stilled his body. So shameful. So his peaceful days here at the Wall were at and end. What of it? So he might be at odds with the Emperor. Big deal. Any warrior who aspired to the pinnacle of strength would be lying if they said they’d never dreamt of overthrowing the Emperor.

Placing his empty teacup aside, Fung flicked his sleeves and headed towards the sparring grounds, eager to see what his friends thought of their orders. Rain was likely beside himself with joy, feigning objection and reluctance as he prepared to run roughshod over anyone who dared bar his path. A good friend to have and a fearsome enemy to cross, such was Falling Rain.

Who knows? Perhaps in a few weeks time, Falling Rain would no longer be known as the number one talent in the North, but number one talent beneath the heavens!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With a sigh of relief, I stand up and stretch my back, annoyed by the need for all this bowing and scraping. It’s a messenger, why do I have to treat him like the Emperor himself? Besides, fuck that guy, what’s he done lately besides abandon the Western Province? Turning to Dastan, I grin and say, “Thank the Mother you were here or else they’d be dragging me off for execution right about now.” Don't look at the messenger, don't address the messenger, don't turn your back on the messenger, so many unspoken rules, how am I supposed to remember them all?

Overzealous subordinate that he is, Dastan takes my words as a personal affront. “Not while I still live and breathe, boss.”

The man has zero chill. “Some day, we’ll sit down and you’ll teach me everything you know about courtly manners and protocol and stuff.” Unfurling the scroll, I’m greeted by a wall of beautifully flowing script. ‘On the twenty-seventh day of the first month of the thirty-fifth year...’ Is that how they write the date? So complicated and inefficient. ‘His Majesty, the Son of Heaven, Emperor of the...’ Good god it keeps going on and on like this. How long can one man’s name be? More inane preamble and greetings... Ah, here we go. ‘... invites Warrant Officer Second Grade, Falling Rain of the Bekhai and his retinue to take part in the First Imperial Grand Conference, where decorated heroes and promising youths from all around the Empire will gather to discuss measures to combat the growing Defiled threat, with contests and prizes to be awarded to our Empire’s most valiant warriors and able generals. Hosted by the city of Nan Ping in the Central Province on the Spring Equinox, attendance is mandatory and absence will be taken as mutiny, punishable by...’

Welp, so much for my hermit plans. No problem, I can do this. I’ll just stay out of trouble and not offended anyone while surrounded by the Empire’s most arrogant warriors and spoiled noble brats. Easy peasy.

...

......

.........

Maybe I should fake my death...

Nah. I'm overreacting. Things'll be fine, plus I might even get to see Yan again.

Besides, what's the worst that could happen?

Chapter Meme

– End of Volume 15 –