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“Nothing?” Ziya demanded.
“She won’t say anything,” Riga scoffed. “Little Daji knows what’s best for us.”
“You’re a coward,” Ziya snarled at her. “You’ve always been.”
“Oh, don’t bully her—”
“Fuck you.” Ziya slammed his staff against the floor. The sound made Daji jump.
Riga laughed. “You want to do this now?”
“Don’t,” Daji murmured, but the word came out in a terrified squeak. Neither of them heard.
Ziya flew at Riga. Riga opened his palm and immediately Ziya dropped to the ground, howling in pain.
Riga sighed theatrically. “You would lift your hand against me, brother?”
“You’re not my brother,” Ziya gasped.
A void opened in the air behind them. Shadowy beasts poured through, one after the other. Ziya pointed. They surged, but Riga sliced them down like paper animals, fast as they came.
“Please,” Riga said. The smile never dropped from his face. “You can do better than that.”
Ziya raised his staff high. Riga lifted his sword.
Somehow Daji found the strength to move. She flung herself into the space between them just before they rushed each other with enough force to split cracks in the stone floor, a force that shattered the world like it was an eggshell. Decades later she would wonder if she had known what she was doing back then, when she threw her hands against their chests and spoke the incantation she did. Had she known and accepted the consequences? Or had she done it by accident? Was everything that happened after a cruelty of chance?
All she knew in that moment was that all sound and motion stopped. Time hung still for an eternity. A strange venom, something she’d never summoned before, seeped through the air, rooted itself into all three of their minds, and unfurled to take a shape none of them had ever seen or experienced. Then Riga collapsed to the floor and Ziya reeled backward, and they both might have shouted, but the only thing Daji could hear past the blood thundering in her ears was the ghostly echo of Tseveri’s cold, mirthless laughter.
Chapter 12
Private Memorandum on the Nikara Republic, formerly known as the Nikara Empire or the Empire of Nikan, to the Office of Foreign Affairs of the Republic of Hesperia.
Open trade in the Nikara territories continues to reveal assets justifying the Consortium’s investment, and efforts to acquire these assets proceed smoothly as anticipated. The Consortium has secured the rights to several critical mining deposits with surprisingly little struggle (in truth, I imagine the Nikara are ignorant to the riches beneath their feet). Beyond tea and minerals, our agents have discovered a number of local goods that will find an eager market at home. Nikara porcelain has a shine and translucency that, quite honestly, bests our domestic wares. Nikara carved jade figurines will no doubt attract customers looking for novel interior decoration (see Box 3, attached). The local textile craftsmanship is impressive given their lack of automated looms—their artisans have developed particularly clever mechanisms to harness the power of water to spin cloth far faster than a single weaver could. (I expect our ladies will be parading the streets in silk robes and parasols before too long!)
The Gray Company representatives of the Order of the Holy Maker have encountered more significant difficulties. Indigenous opposition to conversion proves thorny (see the attached letter from Sister Petra Ignatius of the Second Spire). This is not so much because of an existing religion that defies replacement—indeed, most of the natives seem to be quite indifferent to the question of religion—but because of the social discipline that religion entails. They find regular weekly worship a waste of time and resent being corralled to chapel. They are used to their squalid, superstitious ways and seem unable to accept the blinding proof of the Maker’s eminence, even when laid out slowly before them in their own language. But our efforts will continue, surely if slowly; our duty to the Architect to bring order upon every corner of the world necessitates no less.
We find minimal risk that Nikara natives could mount a concentrated armed uprising. Our studies of the Empire have long indicated that their strategic culture is made pacifist and stagnant by an Empire with no inclination to territorial expansion. The Republic has never mounted a seafaring expedition to conquer another nation. Save for their conquest of the Isle of Speer, the Republic has only ever absorbed foreign aggression. Now that Yin Vaisra has finished quelling the remnants of Su Daji’s regime in the north, we expect that over a five-year timeline our fears of domestic warfare can be put to rest.
The greatest threats now are the indigenous guerrilla movements in the south, whose bases are concentrated in Rooster and Monkey Provinces. Their perceived trump card is the Speerly Fang Runin, whose pyrotechnic displays have convinced them of a pagan shamanistic belief that rivals the Order of the Holy Maker. (Our liaisons in the Gray Company believe these shamanic abilities to be heretofore unseen manifestations of Chaos—see Addendum 1: Nikara Shamanism.) This threat should not terribly worry the Consortium. The numbers of shamans are few—aside from the Speerly and Yin Vaisra’s heir, the Gray Company have identified no others on the continent. The southern rebels are still centuries behind even the old Federation of Mugen on every front, and they attempt to fight dirigibles with sticks and stones.
Their so-called gods will not save them. Sister Petra assures me that in addition to improved opium missiles, which we have confirmed negates shamanic ability, research efforts to devise countermeasures proceed smoothly, and that in several weeks we will have weapons even the Speerly cannot best. (See Addendum 2: Research Notes on Yin Nezha.) The south will fall when the Speerly falls. Absent some divine intervention, we shall promptly produce upon this barbarous nation every effect we could desire.
In the Name of the Divine Architect,
Major General Josephus Belial Tarcquet
Chapter 13
When Rin awoke, her head was fuzzy, her mouth felt like it had been stuffed with silkworm cocoons, and a throbbing ache snaked from the scars in her back through every muscle in her lower body. She heard a roar so loud it seemed to envelop her, drowning out her thoughts, making her bones thrum with its reverberations.
Her gut dropped; the floor seemed to lurch. Was she in a dirigible?
Something cool and wet rubbed against her forehead. She forced her throbbing eyelids open. Daji’s face came gradually into focus. She was wiping Rin’s face with a washcloth.
“Finally,” Daji said. “I was starting to worry.”
Rin sat up and glanced around. Up close, the dirigible carriage was much larger than she’d always imagined. They sat alone in a room the size of a ship’s cabin, which had to be one of many, for none of the Republican soldiers were in sight. “Get away from me.”
“Oh, shush.” Daji rolled her eyes as she continued scrubbing grime from Rin’s cheeks. The washcloth had turned rust brown from dried blood. “I’ve just saved your life.”
“I’m not going . . .” Rin struggled to make sense of her thoughts, trying to remember why she was afraid. “The mountain. The mountain. I’m not going—”
