Ken Liu - The Wall of Storms

“What do you mean?” Solofi asked, the pipe of happy herbs in his hand temporarily forgotten.

“We were once kings, yet now we scrabble for a living among the bones of the dead and the vanities of the living, like so many rats. What sort of life is this? Do you not wish to be a king again?”

Solofi laughed. “The age of Tiro kings is over. Ambitious men now grovel at the feet of Kuni Garu and hope they can pass his tests so that they can serve him.”

“Not all men,” said Noda, holding Solofi’s gaze. He lowered his voice. “When Huno Krima and Zopa Shigin met, they started a rebellion that undid Mapidéré’s life’s work. When Kuni Garu met Mata Zyndu, they tore these islands asunder and knit them back together again. Do you not think it a sign for you and I to meet after ten years in this place, where so many ghosts still cry out for vengeance against Kuni Garu?”

Doru Solofi shivered. The sudden chill he felt seemed to be emanating from the mausoleum behind him. Noda Mi’s intense gaze and hypnotic voice were mesmerizing. He could see how such a man could convince crowds to give him money… He recalled the shark-toothed boy who had led him here. Is this truly a sign? Could Noda be right?

“There are others who think like you and me—disgraced nobles, the Hegemon’s veterans, scholars who failed to place in the examinations, merchants who can’t make as much profit as they like by cheating at taxes…. Dara may be a land at peace, but the hearts of men are never peaceful. I have learned much about fanning the flames of dissatisfaction, and you have a figure that is meant to ride at the head of a crowd. The gods meant for us to meet here today, and we can reclaim the glory that is our due from the weed-emperor. Remember, he was once no better than we.”

A small cyclone moved through the graveyard just then, whipping the snow into an imitation of the chaotic whirlpool that had once swallowed twenty thousand soldiers of Xana in a single day.

Doru Solofi reached out and grabbed Noda Mi by the arms.

“Let us call each other brother then, and we’ll swear an oath to bring down the House of Dandelion.”

“Please, Master Ruthi! Slow down!” the empress shouted as she ran down the long corridor leading from the Imperial family’s private quarters to the public areas toward the front of the palace. Ahead of her, an old man with a satchel over his shoulder was marching away at a brisk pace, not even bothering to look back.

Since the emperor wasn’t holding court today, Jia was dressed in a simple silk robe and wooden slippers that allowed her to run, instead of the formal court robe bedecked with hundreds of jade and coral dyrans, the heavy, tall crown of silver and bronze, and those three-foot-long court shoes that resembled small boats. She ran so fast that she was having trouble catching her breath, and her flaming red hair matched her flushed face. A retinue of dozens of ladies-in-waiting and courtiers and palace guards ran next to her, keeping pace—they couldn’t run ahead of her until she’d given the order to seize the escaping man, and of course she wasn’t going to do that . The situation was truly awkward for everyone involved.

The empress stopped, and the guards and courtiers and ladies-in-waiting skidded to an abrupt stop as well, some colliding into each other in a jumble of clanging armor and weapons, gasps of surprise, and clinking jewels. Empress Jia caught her breath and shouted, “Kon Fiji said a learned man should not make those craving knowledge run after him!”

Zato Ruthi, Imperial Tutor, slowed down and then stopped, sighing. But he did not turn around.

Jia caught up to him at a dignified pace, still huffing and puffing.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” Ruthi said, still not turning around. “I’m afraid that I can’t possibly be considered a learned man. You’d better seek other able teachers for the princes and princesses. My continued employment would only ruin their education.” His voice was so stiff that the words seemed to bounce off the walls like roasted chestnuts.

“I admit that the children can be a bit rowdy and mischievous,” said the empress, all smiles. “But that is precisely why they need you to discipline their minds with the wisdom of the sages—”

“Discipline!” Ruthi interrupted. The ladies-in-waiting and courtiers winced—nobody interrupted the fiery empress—but Empress Jia’s words clearly touched a nerve, and Ruthi was beyond caring. “Indeed, I tried to administer discipline and look what I’ve gotten for my troubles! All the princes and princesses are nowhere to be found when they’re supposed to be in their rooms working on their punishment essays!”

“Well, to be fair, not all of them. Fara is still in her room practicing her logo—”

“Fara is four! I’m sure the others would have taken her if they didn’t think she’d get in the way of whatever mischief they were planning. And they had the audacity to have their servants rustling paper in their rooms so that if I walked by I’d think they were working!”

“Of course such childish tricks would not be effective against a perspicacious teacher such as—”

“ That is not the point! Empress, you know that I have tried my best to teach the children, but even the most patient man has limits. Running away from their punishment essays was bad enough, but look at this. Look!” He dropped the satchel from his shoulder and twisted around to show the empress the back of his robe.

In childish zyndari letters, a couplet was painted on the fabric:

The faces of the courtiers and ladies-in-waiting and palace guards twitched as they suppressed the urge to laugh.

Ruthi glared at them. “Do you think it’s funny to be compared to the foolish man in Lurusén’s poem who played the zither for cows and then complained about not being understood? No wonder learning has such a hard time taking root in such thin soil.” Empress Jia’s retinue blanched and looked away.

Jia ignored the implied insult. “But another way of looking at this,” she offered in a soothing voice, “is to be pleased at the fact that your emphasis on the classics has clearly made an impression. I’ve never known any of the children to quote Lurusén—except maybe Timu, since he has always been studious—”

“You think I should be pleased?” Ruthi roared, and even Jia flinched. “To think that I once debated Tan Féüji and Lügo Crupo on the proper path of government! I’ve been reduced to being insulted by impish children—” His voice cracked, and he blinked hard a few times, took a deep breath, and added, “I’m going home to Rima so I can hide in a hut in the woods and continue my scholarship. I’m sorry, Empress, but the emperor’s children are unteachable.”

A new voice boomed into the scene. “Oh, Master Ruthi, how you wrong the children! My heart breaks to see them so misunderstood.”

Ruthi and Jia turned to find the speaker. Coming down the corridor from the other direction was a middle-aged man whose well-cut robe could not quite disguise his beer belly. Wearing a sad expression, he was surrounded by a retinue of his own courtiers and guards: Kuni Garu, now known by the court name of Ragin, Emperor of Dara.

Thank you, Jia mouthed at Dafiro Miro, Captain of the Palace Guards, who was walking at the head of the emperor’s retinue and nodded back in silent acknowledgment. Miro had run away to find the emperor as soon as Zato Ruthi started shouting at the empty rooms belonging to Prince Timu, Prince Phyro, and Princess Théra.