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“It is our land. Things happen in Gyongxe that can happen nowhere else,” he replied. “We must pray that is enough.”
A man had come to speak with him. Evvy watched, thinking, I can’t take Rosethorn and Briar from him. If I go, I bet Luvo will return to his mountain, so I can’t take Luvo, either — if he’ll stay for me, anyway. But I can’t leave and turn a whole country over to Weishu. Not without trying to help.
I just can’t let them get me again, that’s all.
Rosethorn went in search of First Dedicate Dokyi when they returned from their bath. Briar envied her energy, but he was still tired and his leg pained him. He apologized to Luvo for being poor company and went back to sleep.
The Snow Serpent River glittered in the sunlight. He sat on the bank, fishing. In the dream he knew that he rarely fished, but he was doing it here, and the crystal waters had produced a bite. He wrestled his fish up onto the riverbank. He had landed a body, that of an old woman. He looked at the river. It ran with the bodies of the dead: men, women, children, animals. They bristled with arrows or showed gaping wounds as the river turned them over and over in the rapids.
For some dream reason he put his hook and line into the water again. The next body he pulled onto the bank was Evvy. Her feet streamed blood.
He sat up in bed, gasping.
No more of that, he told himself. No more of that at all. He found a cloth and dumped some water on it from a pitcher beside his bed, then used it to wipe the sweat from his face and neck. Rather than try to sleep again, he would make himself useful, tired as he was. He collected a pack with his medicines and found his way to one of the infirmaries where the wounded were kept.
Much to his surprise, his work as a healer was not wanted, though the medicines were. It was true: Gyongxe had plenty of healer mages. He did find that his friends among the wounded soldiers wanted to see him. They were eager to introduce him to their friends. Briar did the rounds, sitting with each of them and joking, fighting to keep a cheerful face no matter how upset he might be at the extent of a soldier’s wounds. Many of them had mage fire burns, a sight that deepened Briar’s hate for Weishu. Why couldn’t the man be happy with what he had?
He was almost finished in the main infirmary when he saw Rosethorn, Evvy, and Luvo were also visiting the wounded. When he was done, Briar joined Evvy. Everyone wanted to meet the girl and the heart of the mountain. He helped those who could to sit up so they might talk with the odd pair. Evvy, so shaky in the bath and in their room, was endlessly patient as she lifted the crystal bear for those who could not sit. Briar realized that Luvo was giving out a soft hum, one so deep that he felt it in the soles of his feet as much as he heard it. It seemed to leave the wounded stronger.
They might have been there all night, except the healer in charge shooed them away so her staff could feed everyone and change bandages. A messenger found them with an invitation to join First Dedicate Dokyi for supper.
Rosethorn and Evvy were glad to see Dokyi. The old man was leaner than he had been when they saw him last, but his gaze was no less sharp as he looked each of them over. He clasped hands with Briar and bowed to Luvo, but he embraced first Evvy, who had been his winter student, and then Rosethorn. “You did well,” he told the woman quietly. “Very well.”
“Thank my horse,” she said wryly, her voice just as soft. “He took me there and back. And if we did so well, why do I still see moving paintings? My errand is over, yes?”
Dokyi smiled. “That effect may remain while you are in Gyongxe, where we sit between the divine and the earthly.”
“Paintings didn’t dance and cavort this last winter,” Rosethorn told him.
“Carrying the burden changed your ability to see the portals. That is what the paintings are.” Dokyi looked at Briar, who was chatting with the temple’s other supper guests, the God-King, Parahan, Sayrugo, and Soudamini. “Though I have yet to explain what happened to Briar.”
“He touched the pack that I carried my burden in,” Rosethorn explained. “We had to tie him to his horse for half a day. He wouldn’t sleep in the temple fortresses after that, though he didn’t tell me why.”
Dokyi grinned. “Ah. That explains why he jumps so. Like you, he now sees the little gods as they really are on the walls, alive in their doors to our world.”
“Are you two going to eat?” called the God-King. “Or do we have to finish all this ourselves?”
Rosethorn had needed a meal like this with friends and very little talk of the war. It was understood by the adults, she was certain, that they would be working on strategies soon enough. Evvy was quiet, not sulky. Something she told the God-King struck him as quite funny; he nearly choked, he laughed so hard. They broke up in a good mood and went to bed early.
In the morning, Briar and Rosethorn found a workroom in the part of the Living Circle temple given over to the use of the Earth temple. There, with pots and earth from the temple supplies, they began to replenish their thorny seed balls. Evvy helped, carrying in jars of water and filling the pots with enough earth to take the seed.
“I do not understand,” Luvo said as he watched them work. “Surely this emperor will go home now that he has lost so many of his people to the fighters of Gyongxe.”
“That is exactly why he won’t stop until we find a way to beat him like a drum,” Briar said bitterly. “He could lose three times as many people as he did and still have plenty more to throw against us. He wants this place. He wants the temples and the God-King’s palace and all their treasures. He wants a hold on all the religions that have temples here. And he won’t take no for an answer. He’s the kind of fellow who will burn a whole garden because one plant is sick.”
“I do not understand,” Luvo replied again.
Briar had just finished the tale of Rosethorn’s attempt to save the rose garden when Jimut arrived carrying two small wooden kegs.
“What are these for?” Rosethorn asked when he set them on the table.
“Well, a slinger who’s a long way off might not get one of your cloth seed balls very close to the enemy,” he said cheerfully. “That’s why I had to go back to my old way of fighting when we twisted the emperor’s tail.”
“It doesn’t seem to have hurt you,” Rosethorn replied with a smile.
“Yes, but I felt bad,” he told her. “Most of my friends never got to see what happens when one of your little balls explodes. And I was, well, I was exploring hereabouts, feeling like I have nothing to do. I just happened to find the wine cellars….”
Briar began to laugh.
Jimut said loftily, “And they have all these empty kegs waiting for transport to the Yanjingyi wine makers, except there’s a war. So I got an idea. What if you put one or two cloth balls in an empty keg and load that into a catapult? A small catapult, maybe, like the ones they have on the rooftops here? The keg will pop when it hits the ground, and your seeds will scatter and grow.”
Rosethorn clapped his shoulder. “That’s a very good idea. Now, go find the First Dedicate of the Water temple and ask her to donate her kegs. I’m certain she will be pleased to do so.”
Jimut stared at her. “I thought you might handle that part.”
Rosethorn sighed in mock regret. “I would, but I am growing thistles so they will give us more seed. Tell her I’m sorry I couldn’t come myself.”
Jimut looked at Briar, who shrugged. “I’m doing the same thing,” Briar explained.
“I’ll come,” Evvy volunteered, “if you think it would help.”
Jimut sighed. “No offense, Evumeimei, but you are not always careful about what you say. I will be in enough trouble when she hears I was prowling in her wine cellar.” He wandered off.
Rosethorn watched him go. “I hope Parahan and Souda appreciate that fellow,” she said, thinking aloud. “He’s clever, he thinks fast, and he doesn’t frighten easily. And he’s loyal. They should promote him.” She turned it over in her mind as she settled seed after seed in the earth and called to the gr
owth in them. Up sprouted the plants, to bloom and go to seed. It was work she would set a novice to at home, or several novices. It was pleasant to greet the plants — their thorns were as long as her forearm once they were more than two feet tall, though they were sweet-natured to the gardener who appreciated them — but she wanted to do more.
She could do more. For all the harm she had done, she was not a battle mage; she was a medicine mage, a planting mage. Rose Moon was nearly over; winter came early here. How much of the fields had the imperial armies destroyed already? “Evvy, you are now a thorn seed harvester,” she announced, moving her sprouting plants to Briar’s side of the room.
“I am?” the girl asked, though not irritably. She had been dozing on a heap of sacks.
“Evumeimei’s power is not with green things,” Luvo said from his spot of observation near Briar.
Briar started to explain how he could keep the plants growing as Evvy watched and harvested. Rosethorn hurried down the hall, searching for Dokyi.
“I did understand correctly?” she asked the First Dedicate when she found him. “Barley is the most popular grain crop in Gyongxe?”
“It is the hardiest of the grains,” he said. “Others do not fare as well. Why do you ask?”
“I know a way to replace some of the grain that’s been lost to Weishu’s army.”
Dokyi’s face lit. “That would be an incredible blessing to our people if you can manage it. Do you need anything from me?”
She nodded and began to explain. The First Dedicate listened to her idea, thought it over, and led her to a storeroom. He helped her carry a number of flat, shallow planting boxes back to the workroom, and appointed two strong young novices to haul in more sacks of earth.
She set out a row of the planting boxes and dug her hands into a bag of soil, feeling better than she had in days. This was what she needed to do, not killing. Not seeing visions. Moreover, the strength she still held after her stewardship of the Four Treasures surged forward as she worked, pouring into the dark earth in the boxes and the barley seed that she scattered over it. Of course the Treasures would lend themselves to crops.
She had to grip that power to keep her new plants a simple two feet in height. As it was, a quarter of them was heavy with seed. Swiftly she harvested and planted it all for a new crop. She remembered to teach them only to grow under an open sky when their farmers gave them a particular word. It would do no one any good if the new crop grew only to be trampled by armies again.
She also arranged her magic so the plants would grow to maturity in the field in four weeks. With luck, even if the war ran another couple of months, the people of Gyongxe would still be able to gather at least one crop, perhaps two, from these plants.
Dokyi brought their midday meal. He remained to help Briar, Evvy, and Rosethorn as they packed the seed that was ready to plant and sprouted more. Luvo had gotten bored and wandered off. Jimut and Riverdancer, who came by in the midafternoon, told them he was replacing entire walls by humming at the debris in the street until it rose and packed itself in place where the walls had been.
“He offered to teach some dedicates to do it, but they could not sing so low,” Jimut said with a grin.
“I don’t think this city is going to recover from Luvo’s visit any time soon,” Rosethorn observed. She looked at her hands and grimaced. Barley plants and constant hand digging had not been kind to her skin.
“I think it confuses him,” Evvy says. “Not all the temples, but why so many people would want to live in such a small place.”
Since the God-King had invited them to supper that night, they bathed in the temple’s newly repaired bathing room and dressed in clean garments for the evening.
Luvo joined them at the God-King’s table, as did Parahan, Souda, Sayrugo, and the First Dedicates of the Fire, Air, Water, and Earth temples of the First Circle. Rosethorn had feared that with so many adults present, Evvy might go quiet or find an excuse to leave. She had not reckoned on the girl’s friendship with the God-King. He was even able to startle a laugh out of Evvy. The other First Dedicates, who might have been stiff in such an unconventional group, relaxed considerably when Dokyi told them about the work they had been able to do toward proper barley harvests, war or no. Rosethorn was delighted to see Briar grin at them when he saw how happy they were. He, too, needed something better than combat to take away from his time here.
They had finished their meal and were simply lazing when a Gyongxin man in gold-trimmed armor and one of Sayrugo’s soldiers came to see them. Both communicated in whispers, the gold-trimmed man with the God-King. They left as soon as they had delivered their messages. The God-King and Sayrugo frowned as the others continued to talk.
Finally the God-King looked at his companions and smiled, though it was a smaller smile than usual. “There’s no reason not to tell you. General Norbu at the Lake of Birds reports that his scouts to the northwest are late to return, that’s all.”
Sayrugo said, “As are mine to the east.”
“We have been preparing for a fresh attack,” the God-King said. “The emperor will not catch us unawares. I think we should get a proper night’s sleep.”
Evvy stood. “We should all stay here in Gyongxe. Me, Rosethorn, and Briar. Till it’s over. Till he’s beaten.” She turned and fled the room.
Rosethorn took a breath. Evvy’s courage hurt her heart. “Wait a moment, Briar, Luvo. Don’t let her think we’re chasing her,” she said.
When Parahan spoke, his voice was cracking. “I wish I had the bravery of that little girl.”
Souda rose. “We will find such bravery for our own, or not, God-King, but we will fight for you. You will never regret taking us in.”
The boy looked up at her. “Make no mistake, Princess, Prince, it was the gods of Gyongxe who wanted you here.” He looked closely at each of them, and then at Rosethorn and Briar. “All of you. I am grateful, don’t think I am not, but the gods brought you here for a reason. It may take a long time or a short one, but sooner or later the gods of this land always have their way.”
When Briar and Rosethorn returned to their room, Evvy had brewed a pot of calming tea and was drinking some. She poured out cups for them. One corner of the room was crowded with the products of their day’s work: kegs upon kegs containing one or two thorn balls each, ready for the catapult, and bags of barley seed, ready to sow. Briar was thinking of burying some thorn balls in choice places before the gate as a way to welcome the imperial army when he felt the overwhelming need to sleep. Evvy and Rosethorn were already abed. Rosethorn’s light snore sounded from the other side of the barrier that gave them all privacy.
He could barely keep his eyes open. “Luvo, do you sleep?”
“Not as you do,” he heard the rock creature say. “Were I to sleep, it would be for centuries, and I would be reluctant to wake.”
“Oh. I s’pose this is different.” Briar had a jaw-splitting yawn overtake him. He curled up in his blanket. “G’night, Luvo.”
He didn’t hear Luvo’s reply. He slept deeply.
The big cats of the Temple of the Tigers nudged Briar, holding him up as the priestess’s cub tried to nibble his hair. He saw Discipline Cottage, his home. Lark was throwing his belongings out into the dirt. Rosethorn and Evvy floated downriver among other bodies, their eyes missing. Briar struggled to wake up, but he couldn’t. The emperor’s young mage, Jia Jui, stood in the air, a glowing set of beads in her hands. Briar fell, landing in a field full of the dead. Sandry, Tris, and Daja were standing on its edge, but when he pleaded for them to help him find Rosethorn and Evvy, they turned and walked away.
No matter how he struggled to wake, the nightmares went on and on. He called up dream plants and wove them into screens to shut out the view of ugly things, but they withered in his hands or collapsed when he held them up.
Just as he thought he might go mad, a rude hand poked his shoulder. A real rude hand. A voice shouted, “Wake up! No tricks! You’re a prisoner of our g
lorious emperor, and if you try anything, we’ll cut the girl or the woman!” The same rude hand pulled him from his bed onto the floor.
THE GOD-KING’S PALACE
GARMASHING, CAPITAL OF GYONGXE
Weishu looked glossy and pleased, seated on the God-King’s throne. He did not look like a man who had been fighting for weeks. Briar stared at the flagstones, wondering if there was dirt under them, and plants. Don’t try it, he warned himself. You’ll get someone killed. The God-King’s audience chamber was ringed with Yanjingyi archers, each with a crossbow pointed at a captive. The mages who flanked the throne had beads ready in case their foes among the captives got any ideas.
Like a vision from his ugliest nightmare, he saw that Weishu held a chain with the God-King at the other end. The boy sat on his heels two steps below the throne, his face unreadable. He showed no signs of a beating. Either the kid had gone along peaceably, Briar thought, or Weishu realized that hurting the God-King was a very bad idea.
Briar shook with rage. Parahan, Soudamini, and Sayrugo were badly beaten. Rosethorn had a bruise shaped like a hand on one cheek: If Briar had been awake when that happened, the one who dealt it to her would be dead.
“My good friends,” Weishu said in tiyon. “Did you enjoy your sleep? It lasted for three days. I trust you will forgive me. I had to travel for some time to sit in this splendid chair, and I did not wish you to wake until I could greet you. I hope you are not too stiff.”
“Where are my priests and priestesses, please?” the God-King asked. “The heads of the temples should be here.”
Dokyi, Briar realized. Is he dead?
“They are locked in their temples and still slumbering, boy,” Weishu replied. “I will not have this discussion interrupted with more religious babble than necessary.” He raised his right hand and beckoned with his fingers. “Hengkai, get them on their knees,” he ordered, his voice no less friendly.
