6 years Later

  LANGSHEN-LORD’S KEEP

  It was, of course, raining, on the day that Emilia faced the Jut’layi, the lord of the province of Langshen. It had taken her a full day of travel towards the dawn, on horseback, escorted by the warlord’s soldiers, through driving rains with barely any rest, to reach the city of Langshen. They had swapped mounts at a garrison at some point in the middle of the night, she had been given some simple rations and the barest amount of watered down rice-wine, and then upon arrival, she had been directed to dismount, ascend the steps to the lord’s keep, and had been marched inside and ordered to await him here.

  So, here she was. She found herself kneeling on a cold stone floor, marble bases of wooden columns painted a vibrant and vivid red just visible at the edge of her vision. Carved archways in the style favored currently by the nobles and dragon-soldiers of Ryulong stretched above her across the ceiling of the elegant space, and servants walked by on velvet carpets that muffled their sounds as they passed, completely disregarding the young woman prostrated before the throne of the warlord. Her knees hurt. Her back hurt. She’d been kneeling like this- feet tucked underneath her, cloak and hair sopping wet, with next to no sleep or food, for long enough that the aches and pains of the rushed journey were adding up. All this with him just… staring down at her. Waiting for his soldiers to take their positions in front of the scarlet columns that lined what was now his palace.

  Her legs were trembling as her feet started to go numb, the cold from the fall rains biting deep into her bones. Why couldn’t he have summoned her earlier? When things were warmer, and the freezing rains didn’t come quite so hard as they surged up from the sea to the south?

  She mused, for a moment, that she really hated dealing with the nobles of Yosae. In Qúa, she had rarely if ever had the “priveledge”, and now, into her second year as a spirit guide, she was less than pleased with the experience. Of course, this was her first time facing a Jut’layi, one of the leaders of provinces, warlords who deposed their predecessors through martial power. Before this, she’d had to deal with appointed nobles, officials, tax collectors, and highborn families who wanted their land cleansed, or who wanted a restless spirit subdued.

  If rumors were to be believed, this one had killed an Oxe-Dragon shortly before taking the throne of Langshen.

  She, like anyone from Qúa, had hoped never to be in the exact position she found herself in now.

  As was required by custom when meeting the warlords, her pian’dao lay on the ground beside her in it’s sheath, parallel to the lining of the carpet, her black liuqin laid on the floor next to her equally parallel, both reflecting the light of the sconces that shone on the walls.

  She had lived under the domain of this particular lord for about five years, since he had arrived in Langshen and deposed the previous Jut’layi, pronouncing himself the new ruler of the province. Surprisingly, after the initial bloodshed, things had been kept rather peaceful. Even he hadn’t been able to quell the attacks though. Almost every month, some village in the valleys was attacked. Some attacks were laid by the Kursk, the shelled monsters coming in from the sea, but most… in most villages, the reports stated that their own ancestors climbed from the tombs, and began to butcher all in sight.

  For two years she had been following in the footsteps of those attacks, desperately trying to figure out the cause.

  She was left to her thoughts for a few more moments.

  “You may lift your gaze.”

  it took all of her self control not to wince or groan as she lifted her forehead from it’s place atop her hands on the cold floor, as she straightened her back to meet the warlords gaze. In some places, such a move was unwise. However, in almost all places, it was recognized that offending one of the few people able to commune with the gods and lesser spirits was… equally unwise. Even one as young and inexperienced as she was.

  “You summoned me, Jut’layi?”

  “I did.”

  “I assume that you have been having trouble with a local spirit? Or a lesser god? Some way I may be of service?”

  “Such an assumption is natural. It is however, only partially correct.”

  Emilia hesitated. There were three kinds of magic in this world. Three realms for souls, three stages to life. Warlords only called upon those like her who relied upon Divine magic when they were dealing with problems associated to the divine. Mountain and river gods enraged or in petty squabbles, wraiths or restless dead who required subduing. Why else would she be there?

  He leaned back. Regarding her.

  “Your name… it comes from the west. It is not a name native to Yosae.”

  Emilia ducked her head again. Everywhere she went, her family name came back to bite her. Too foreign, too out of place.

  “I was named for my great-grandmother.”

  “Hm. Did she come from the west? From across the sea?”

  “No- my-my great-great-grandfather came from the merchant nation of Aveshtan. My great-grandmother was named for his first wife. “

  “My scribes tell me you have been aiding in caring for the natural spirits of my lands for some time. Others tell me you are a vagabond, from a useless village in the mountains. One I confess I had not heard the name of before this very week.”

  “My lord?”

  “Tell me, is it true you work magic through that instrument at your side?”

  Emilia hesitated.

  “Yes, honored one.”

  “You do not use the chants, oils, herbs, and prayer cloths which other spirit-guides favor?”

  Emilia lowered her head.

  “I-I do not know how to, Jut’layi. The goddess I serve has instructed me in other ways.”

  “So you serve only one god? How unusual. Do you still offer prayers to the river-gods, the gods of forests, stones, and other such beings?”

  Emilia frowned. “I venerate them as is customary. Many local gods are appeased by offerings, my lord.”

  “And yet you serve yours directly. Few gods are worthy of priests or priestesses, Spirit-guide. The high-gods in their temples, and yet you serve yours, according to my scribes, with a fervent dedication.”

  Emilia was at a loss for words. Everyone in Qúa grew up knowing the importance of La-Catrina. Her halls were a way station on the road to judgement, a place where the remembered could stay, eat, drink, and celebrate life. She… protected them. Until they were ready.

  She supposed her little town was stranger than she had assumed. La-Catrina wanted to help all, wanted all families to remember their departed, but she had met other smaller gods. Gods of mountains, gods of forests. Smaller spirits who called themselves the god of a specific tree, stream, grove, or valley. Was that more normal?

  Her anxiety only rose as the Jut’layi stood, rising from his wooden chair, and taking a single step down out of six from his dais, the golden embroidery on his verdant silk robe shimmering in the magical light of the enchanted alabaster sconces that lined the room.

  “Enough discussion on that topic, woman. I seek to know one thing: are your proclamations and admissions true, Emilia-Yun? Are the rumors that have reached my lands from my soldiers correct, that you have been summoning the spirits of the dead to commune with their living relatives?”

  Emilia froze. That wasn’t illegal, was it? Sure, raising the bodies was forbidden across nearly all of Tian’Xia, but there were no laws against letting a mother comfort her orphaned son were there? La-Catrina offered many blessings, and had very few requirements of those who made offerings to her. It was customary to offer prayers to the dead, was it so rare for them to answer? She knew that the darkest of arts- the animating of the corpses of the dead, was punishable by death, usually in a truly horrifying spectacle carried out by the Willshapers, but communing with the dead, that was an entirely different issue, wasn’t it?

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  She paused.

  “My goddess allows me to connect the living to their ancestors for a brief moment, so long as the dead are provided with offerings to sustain them in the halls of the remembered.”

  The warlord took another step down. Emilia’s heart began racing.

  “And how long do these… shades of the dead, remain here within the realm of the living, spirit-guide?”

  Emilia hesitated. There wasn’t any point in lying, she still wasn’t very good at that particular skill. Despite the countless times she heard the whispered voice of La-Catrina reminding her it could be a shield.

  “Usually,” she hesitated, forcing herself not to cower or shrink back from the imposing presence of the Jut’layi. “They remain for only moments. Enough for a question or two, or a brief embrace if recently departed. The light of my godddess only allows them a brief window to speak, and I can only keep that window open as long as I can keep the music playing.”

  True. Mostly.

  The warlord paused, the jade ornaments adorning his boots and headpiece shifting slightly, the stones clinking against each other as he stopped before taking another step down from the dais, one hand still resting on the ceremonial sword he bore at his waist.

  “A god of the dead? Aside from Xip’oli? You lie. None can speak to the dead. Many spirit guides before you have tried, and their twisted machinations have left Wraiths scattered across the ruins of cities and towns far greater than your petty farming village, wrested from their peace in the eternal heavens, unable to find solace again. All others who try or promise this are met only with disappointment.”

  Emilia didn’t know what to say.

  “I swear, honored one, I speak no falsehood. The goddess I serve is kind, and gentle, she seeks only to protect the dead, that they may rest, and improve for a time. Seeing their descendants… it brings them great peace.”

  The Jut’layi proceeded down the remaining four steps, regal as the light caught the Lord’s knot his black hair was kept in, and Emilia forced herself to maintain eye contact with him throughout his stately approach to her kneeling position.

  When he crouched in front of her, weight still on the balls of his feet, it took every ounce of will she had not to cower in fear. He would take that as a sign of her being caught in a lie. He would take that as weakness. She kept her chin down, even as her eyes followed his. If she raised her head further her sincerity would come across as defiance, and she would find that ceremonial blade buried in her chest before she could sing a single note, before she could summon a desperate shred of light to protect her.

  The warlord spoke quietly, barely louder than a whisper. Quiet enough that she knew the many armored guards, resplendent in their emerald green lacquered scale armor wouldn’t be able to hear.

  “You will prove to me that you do not lie. And then… I may have need of you, if what you say is indeed true.”

  “A test?” She asked, forcing herself to swallow.

  “A test, and a service. You will prove to me first that you are what you say you are. Inheritor of a family god. A spirit-guide, and not a Will-shaper pretending to be one. You will then prove to me you have no connection to the attacks of the dead upon my domain. Lastly…” he tipped her chin up, and she could hear her pulse in her ears, could feel her heartbeat in her throat. “You will prove to me that you can indeed call back the fallen, to speak one last time.”

  Emilia nodded, as much as she could with the warlord’s hand forcing her gaze to meet his .

  The warlord stood then, facing the guards, as well as the two scribes that waited in the corner, their bamboo pens poised to record whatever the Warlord said next, the smoky lenses of their spectacles ground to reflect the light from the great hall.

  “Hear my words, all of Langshen.” Emilia wanted to roll her eyes. There were a total of seven people in the room. “She speaks with conviction, and according to the accounts of the last three towns this Spirit-talker has passed through, she has not yet broken our law, and forced the body of a departed or crawl up from it’s grave. As such, she will be given a chance to prove herself to me, and to our city. Emilia-Yun and her family’s god will be given three tests. If she passes, she shall henceforth bear my personal seal, and trust. She will be given freedom to go where she wishes, to travel as she wishes, to accomplish these tests, and my seal will be placed upon her.”

  An honor-a dangerous one. While she bore his seal, her words would be treated as his, and her demands as his. However, if anything she did while she possessed it reflected poorly upon him… she blocked out the images of the last execution she had seen. A local Jiak- a rank capable of owning land and with authority to enforce their own laws, had given someone a similar priveledge. And been displeased. A honeyed trap.

  “These tests will begin on the morrow, as the sun rises. I have spoken.”

  He turned, and moved back to ascend the steps up to his seat.

  Emilia bowed in the Jut’Layi’s direction as relief flooded her, forcing out one question.

  “And if I fail, my lord?”

  The warlord paused at the foot of the steps to his Dais, turning back to look at her. The emerald green of his eyes caught the light of the lanterns, illuminating the flickering spark of golden ki beyond.

  “If you fail, Spirit-Guide, then I shall execute you myself.”

  He held up a book of bound bamboo sheets, covered in writing.

  “And I will ensure that there are none alive to remember you. Or your goddess.”

  Emilia could do nothing but nod.

  She was led to the servant’s quarters of the castle by a young maid in a blue over-shirt, folded and layered much like Emilia’s own, who led the girl deftly through the mess of steam, laughter, chaos, laundry, and everything else as they traversed the servants corridors behind the main guest spaces.

  The space was full of energy, and Emilia caught many young women staring up at her with wide eyes.

  She leaned over to the servant girl who had been assigned as her lady-in waiting during her trials.

  “Why are they staring at me?” Emilia asked.

  The girl glanced at her, annoyed.

  “You touch the divine. How many people have you met capable of speaking with the spirits?”

  Emilia hesitated. Now that she considered it… the only example she could think of was a stuffy man in layers upon layers of robes, who had offered to cleanse the fields of Qúa of foul spirits at the cost of nearly a third of their harvest. They’d driven him off without a second thought, and had just made sure to place more offerings of wine, bread, and favored foods at the graves of their relatives, and within the shrine of their goddess.

  “No?” She offered hesitantly. “Maybe once?”

  “Well there you go. They’re meeting one, and one who is a peasant like the rest of us.”

  “what do you mean?”

  “What, your villaige has a local lord right? Even if they’re a lost Ronin from Ryulong, someone always takes charge.”

  Emilia hesitated, pressing herself flat against a wall, piandao grasped tightly in her hand as she tried to get out of the way of a hulking woman with what appeared to be freshly washed bedding.

  “Well, Gen-Hua runs the brewery with his son-in law, and his daughter, Chu-Hua, is influential with the ink- makers, so they’re pretty respected. Theas-Loa trains the boys to fight, after the restless came through six years ago and killed half the village, and everyone listens to Nana Loa, just because… she’s the oldest.”

  The girl actually paused to regard her. Her expression soured.

  “You’re lucky then. The court of Langshen, and the greater court of Yosae, have their fingers in every other town across this spirits-damned countryside. All other spirit guides-“ Emilia ducked as a broom nearly slammed into her face. “Are highborn. Nobles who took their third or fourth sons and daughters, the ones they don’t need to run wars, inherit the estate, or marry off to other greedy nobles, to whatever temple they could afford, and had them learn to be spirit-guides. Most are useless. Those that actually connect to the divine…” she shrugged. “Immediately snapped up by people like our Jut’layi and sworn into loyalty. They never leave the big cities after that, keep those areas nice and well fed for the noble’s feasting.”

  It would have been nearly impossible to miss the bitterness dripping from the girl’s voice.

  Emilia did not miss it. It also did not surprise her.

  “The nobles seem weirdly fond of making people kneel.” Emilia offered, hoping to connect to the girl somehow.

  The girl scoffed.

  “They live showing everyone how much better they are based off of who will bend the lowest.”

  “There are different kinds of bows?”

  The servant girl waved her hand dismissively. “Not for us commoners. Although, if his lordship Hyunjae-Langshen decides you are what you say you are, I suppose you won’t have to bow as low as we do ever again.”

  Emilia blinked rapidly as they walked at a brisk pace through clean hallways, paper windows letting in dimmed light from outside as the rain continued to fall, giving a gentle sound to everything as they moved through the castle of Langshen.

  she glanced down at the other woman’s feet. She took insanely dainty steps , her feet moving so quickly in mostly-tight servants dress that she seemed to glide forward. Emilia had noticed that almost all of the women of Langshen city seemed to walk this way, and she decided it was pointedly useless. If one of the restless fell upon them while working, they wouldn’t be able to run, or fight. Her own red dress seemed to be of an entirely different style too, compared to the city. Women here wore so many extra layers- not like the relatively simple garments she wore while traveling.

  Eventually, the servant girl stopped, and gestured to a door stained a vibrant red, gold patterns painted onto it’s surface in the symbols of the arcane.

  “This will be your room, while the Jut’layi deems you worthy of his attention and observation. Is there any assistance you need?”

  The room was sparse, with only a window that led - not to the exterior, but to an inner layer of the castle to preserve warmth while allowing some light from the enchanted sconces that lined the hallways.

  it was roughly the size of the main room of her famlily’s cottage in Qúa.

  “I-no, thank you. I don’t think I need assistance. What do I call you?”

  The girl hesitated. “I am Nai-Bo. And I am nobody.”

  The servant backed out of the room, nodding once to the younger spirit guide, leaving Emilia to her thoughts.

  She thought of taking the mat and blankets off off her pack and lying down, but she knew she needed to do one thing first.

  she set her traveling bag on the ground, unslinging it from her shoulder, taking care to set her mother’s liuqin in the corner as she pulled a few prized possessions from the pack.

  Three pictures.

  Her mother, Jia-Yun.

  Her father, Julio-Yun.

  Lastly, a small drawing. Painted by her mother, a corner singed, a reminder of what had happened.

  A smiling baby, chubby hands clutched happily to his chest.

  Doongmin-Yun.

  She pulled three candles from her bag with practice, setting one before each of the images, as she knelt in respect, pulling a leather cord from around her neck. These bore names. Most were written in the decorative script of Yosae. One was written in the strange glyphs of Ryulong. Her mother’s father.

  Two were written in that strange Aveshtani language, written from right to left, flowing, and fluid, the names seemed to flow like water across the carved tablets.

  She whistled a single clear note, bringing a tiny little golden flame to her fingers, and she carefully lit each of the candles, waiting untill they burned evenly, illuminating the pictures and the tablets draped across them.

  She knelt, setting her hands in her lap, and sighed.

  “Well… I suppose I should tell you all about my day.”

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