Shadowbridge

THE EMPEROR’S TALE



Way over there our span touches land. You can see the hills and the tower that stands high upon the tallest hill. We call that land Kochokana, and legend has it that’s because it looks so like the fluttering wings of a butterfly. The truth, however, is that we named it after a legendary empire. We don’t know where this original kingdom is now—some say it’s sunk beneath the sea; others claim it lies at the farthest end of the eternal bridge. Whatever the truth, at one time in our history the original land called Kochokana was ruled over by a warlord. As this title suggests, he was a man who came to power by violent acts, and who maintained his power in like manner.

He had been trained in the strategy of war from earliest childhood. This art he had taken to, proving to be the greatest strategist ever seen in Kochokana. With his childhood full of political and martial matters, he had never spent much time with women; and because of his position—because he was being groomed to be, one day, an emperor—only two women in the empire were considered worthy candidates for his affections. It is not overstating things to say he disliked them both intensely. They were spoiled and shrill creatures, and he would have nothing to do with them. Had his parents been alive, surely they would have arranged a marriage with one of these harpies regardless of her shortcomings, but as he was in charge of his life—ascending to the position of emperor at fifteen upon his father’s death—he simply refused to choose between them, no matter how much members of his court wished to see him produce an heir. He determined not to marry a woman he did not love. And so his life might have been spent—in endless battles—but for an accidental visit he made to the royal gardens.

Now, it’s often said by the most scurrilous of folk that we foxes are only out to trick humans. Not so! I tell you. We kitsunes are the victims of jealousy and bad publicity. It’s not our fault that we are handsome creatures, and that humans who fall in love with us fall very hard. It’s not as if we do anything to cause it.

So was the case here. There was a kitsune who worked as a royal gardener. She lived alone in the woods beyond the fortress, but she liked the company of people, and so every morning she assumed human form and came to work in the gardens. In this way she was part of the populace but outside and away from prying eyes, which suited her very well.

And then one morning while she knelt at her task, she sensed someone observing her, and turned to discover the emperor standing there. Recognizing him, she could not move, didn’t even dare to breathe. Dirt and sweat covered her, but the emperor saw only a beautiful maiden. Even beneath the dirt, her fox-magic shone.

The emperor knelt beside her in the black dirt. So close, he became transfixed by the beads of perspiration upon her lip, and by the scent of her body. “I’ve watched you,” he told her, “as you wiped your brow, as you dug a hole for this flower and placed it, filled it in. You were so intent upon your work that you didn’t even hear me.” Then he leaned forward and began to dig the next hole for the next plant, beside her. She sat stupefied. Here was her emperor ruining his silk robes as he clawed in the dirt with her. He held up his hands, admiring the moist dirt attached to them, and began to laugh.

“I did not know,” she said, “that our great lord enjoyed gardening.”

He sat back on his haunches and replied, “Neither did I. But that was because I didn’t realize what a radiant blossom I would find here.”

She blushed and lowered her face, but he put a finger to her chin and lifted her head until her eyes met his again. “Never bow to me,” he said.

“But, my emperor—”

“No, no. Not emperor. Husband, rather, if you would allow it.”

She stared at this handsome man, saw in his eyes the love he had for her, and fell in love with him in return there and then. She replied, lowering her head, “I would.”

Because he was the emperor and she was his choice, they were married, and his advisers, as they wished to keep their heads, kept their opinions to themselves. But soon enough it became obvious to them that this was no ordinary affection. The daily reports delivered to the emperor went unread. When someone tried to read one of them aloud, the emperor, lying on a divan beside his bride, waved him to silence and ordered that those he’d put in charge should solve these matters, not bother him with them. The daily reports ceased, and soon only the chambermaids saw the emperor and his bride. They reported back to the advisers that he and his bride saw only each other, utterly moonstruck in their affection.

Now, among his advisers lurked two spies from the neighboring province of Maitake. They had infiltrated the court long before in order to look for opportunities for invasion. Delighted by the news that the emperor was completely lost in the fox-woman’s charms, they’d no idea that she was a kitsune just as she had no idea that her love could doom a kingdom or rob her lover of his martial skills. The beauty of the situation was that, should anyone suspect them of plotting, they could blame the woman, even accuse her of being the real spy. The attack would appear to coincide with his bewitchment, and the minds of the men would forge the links to her.

When the weather turned warm, and the emperor and his court moved to his summer tower, far from the border with Maitake, the two spies sent word to their king that he must strike fast and furious. The emperor knew nothing of the attack when it came. His generals alone saved the empire from being overrun, and a border siege began.

In the summer tower the siege was but an abstraction. The emperor’s every thought was of his wondrous bride. When the generals petitioned for his advice in the siege he told them, “Do what you feel is necessary,” and then dismissed them. The greatest strategist their people had ever known had deferred to his generals and his advisers. The agents of Maitake gleefully reported that the empire must fall, and recommended more assaults on the borders.

The emperor’s advisers held an emergency meeting. “Can we trust the generals?” one adviser asked.

“Their allegiance certainly. Their skill against this formidable foe is…untested, though. They’ve never had to concern themselves with strategy before. We cannot be certain of the outcome.”

“We need him!” someone cried.

“He won’t listen. We’ve implored, importuned. It means nothing. He moons over his lowly gardener and waves us away. What fools devised this enchantment? Did someone here provide some potion in the hopes of producing an heir? Well, he may well produce one, but shortly there will be nothing to inherit.”

No one admitted anything but they all eyed one another distrustfully.

“There’s no way to move him,” said one. “The empire is surely doomed.”

Then a young member of the entourage said, “Wait, there is a way I’ve just thought of.”

“What?” cried the others—the two spies especially.

“If the empress were kidnapped by Maitake, then he would pay attention.”

“Brilliant!” they all cheered, until someone said, “But how do we get someone from Maitake to do this?”

“Ha!” cried the young man. “We don’t. We convince the empress to pretend to be kidnapped—for the good of our land.”

“Brilliant!” they all cried again.

The difficulty was in approaching her, since she was rarely out of his company. Finally the advisers approached her personal bather and explained to the woman what she must say to her mistress. The girl complied, and finally the fox-woman understood the danger she had brought to these people. Yet she could not unmake his devotion any more than she could stop her own heart from adoring him.

She stole from the bath to meet with the advisers, and agreed immediately to go along with their deception.

The two spies, at some risk, hastily returned to Maitake and reported the plot. Seated before their lord and his advisers, they said, “Look at this opportunity! We can put our own men in place and kidnap her for real! Isn’t that wonderful?”

The warlord of Maitake leaned forward and said: “Are you both idiots?” The two looked at each other. They didn’t think so, but this was hardly the response they’d expected. “If we kidnap her,” the warlord explained, “then her husband will bring all of his attention to bear upon our invasion and he’ll destroy us, just as he will if he thinks she’s been kidnapped. You fools must do everything in your power to disrupt this plot. She must not be taken by anyone!”

“But she’s in on it,” they complained. “She’s going to help.”

“Then,” growled the warlord, “you have your work cut out for you. We launch our supreme attack in two nights, and he had better not be paying attention if you want to have a home to return to.”

The two spies crept back into Kochokana and debated about what they should do. They knew they couldn’t stop the plot from unfolding. The empress would steal away in the middle of the night to the gardener’s shed in the royal gardens where the emperor had found her, and his advisers and generals would swear she’d been kidnapped. If they said anything else, their true allegiance would be revealed. “I suppose it could be worse,” said one. “How so?” said the other. “Well, the advisers could just have asked her to ask the emperor to destroy Maitake as a favor to her.” His partner pulled at his lip. “Let’s not mention that to anyone, all right?” he said. “But I do have an idea how we might undermine this without implicating ourselves.”

The “kidnapping” of the empress went off without a hitch. She withdrew to the hut in the gardens of the main fortress. Her disappearance was discovered by one of her women, and the alarm sounded. The generals importuned the emperor to gather his wits and help them destroy the enemy who had obviously taken her. But before they had even laid out their maps and battle plans, the emperor received a note from his queen, which told him to come to her at once in the gardener’s hut, where she was safely awaiting him. “Oh, my heart’s delight!” he cried, then raced from the tower and rode across his land to the royal gardens. Sure enough, he found his wife in her bath and was so overcome immediately with lust for her that they sent away the servants and made love there and then in the wooden tub. The battle plans remained untouched.

“How did he figure this out?” one adviser asked the group.

“He’s too clever for us,” replied a spy.

“No, she sent him a note. Didn’t you see?”

“Why would she do that?”

“Maybe she’s an agent of Maitake,” one of the spies suggested.

“Is that possible?”

“What other explanation is there?” the other spy asked. “The spell must have been her own.”

“What can we do? The enemy’s at the very gates! We need him now.”

“Maybe,” someone said, “we could have the spell removed.”

“We don’t know if there’s a spell.”

“There must be a spell.”

“Maybe we could kidnap her again. For real this time.”

“We can ask her to visit us. Can’t we? And then say she was kidnapped on the way here.”

“Will he believe a second kidnap plot?”

“Do we have a choice?”

They couldn’t think of an alternative, these clever men, and so they sent a message to the empress. To their dismay, she answered that she would not attend. Instead, she commanded all of them to attend her at the gardener’s cottage. At least, they thought, they might confront her in the emperor’s presence. However, when they arrived, they found her alone.

“Where is the emperor?” they asked.

“I sent him off to war.”

“You what?”

“As we were making love, he asked me what I wanted most in the world, and I told him that I wished to see him victorious over his enemies.” She unfolded a slip of paper and placed it in front of them. “He has more enemies than he knows. He tells me everything, you see. He keeps no secrets. He’s too good a man for secrets. I wish to do likewise, yet I cannot help but keep secrets when such plans as yours are required. Such plans depend upon deception.” She raised a hand to stop some of them from protesting. “Please, don’t defend the need for subterfuge. The problem with your method is that it’s quite easy to hide one deception inside another. This note, for instance. It’s a note from me, telling him that I’ve hidden myself in this cottage in order to have an assignation with him away from all the business of the court, and that the kidnapping was merely a ruse.

“I wrote no such message. I was playing your game, gentlemen. By your rules. Therefore, one or more of you must be a traitor.”

“Arrogant child! How dare you accuse us!” yelled one of the true traitors.

She stared at him, and the fox emerged from that black stare. The fox snapped its jaws at the spy’s throat. He clutched his neck with both hands and fell back a step. His neck was unmarked, but he knew that what he had seen would happen if he said one thing more; pale, trembling, he took his seat again while his partner looked on, fearfully mystified.

The fox-woman made some slight gesture and suddenly four armed warriors stepped into the cottage. All of the advisers reacted with fear then; but she watched their expressions carefully for any that were more or less than they should have been. She already had the first traitor. And now the second one gave himself away as his hand slid into the folds of his robe, where his hidden dagger lay. But the soldiers merely blocked the exits. They made no move to attack.

“All of you are under house arrest,” she said, “although I do now know the identity of at least two traitors in your midst.” She made a point of looking at none of them, although they looked at one another.

“I love your emperor dearly, yet nothing he says to me can I trust, because it’s threaded with magic, which is my fault. I told you that I would have no secrets from him, and I don’t. He knows what you are about to know.” Before their eyes she transformed then. Her sweet face became that which the traitor had seen. Her hands and bare feet changed shape and grew soft with fur. The advisers gaped; even one of the soldiers drew back. She continued to speak as if none of this had happened. “Because of my negligence, not one word could I be sure came from his true heart. The magic of the fox-people is such that we ensorcel you with our glamour whether we wish to or not. Now he knows my nature and when he comes back from this war, I will know his true feelings. In any case this siege is about to end, and there’s no need for further trickery. He will blast the enemy.”

“What if, when he returns, he doesn’t love you?” asked one of the advisers.

“Then,” she replied with bowed head, “I shall be no different from you.”

She directed the soldiers to arrest the two spies she had identified. If there were more than that, she knew they would now flee for their lives.

She left the advisers and retired to the tower to await her husband’s return and his answer. The execution of spies would come later. The guilt of those men meant far less to the fox-empress than the true heart of her husband.

The kitsune let the image of her in her tower hover in the air a great long time before he drew another breath and relaxed, so that his audience knew the story had ended.

“And what did he say?” asked Diverus. “What did her husband decide?”

The fox glanced at Leodora, who was beaming. “That,” she answered, “is another tale.”

“Just so,” the fox agreed, and bowed his head.

“Beautifully told,” she said. “I know no one who could tell it better.”

“Ma’am.” He bowed still deeper, his mouth curved in that slight smile that foxes wear. “We, all of us, have tales we could share with you if you care to hear them.”

“I do,” she replied. “Truly. But it’s evening now, and we were advised not to be out after the sun set.”

The fox shared a look with his fellows, and they all burst out laughing. But he said to her, “Quite right, you don’t want to be caught out.” More tittering accompanied the comment, though she couldn’t see what they found so amusing. “I think it’s best that you allow us to accompany you back to your accommodations, wherever they are. As a precaution against whatever it is you’re fearful of.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“It’s nothing. We can’t very well sit here playing once the sun goes down, and it’s just about to set, as you say.”

She stood with the fox, Diverus at her side. The rest of the group folded around them like a shield, and they began to walk back through the park. “And what is the name of your abode?”

“I think it’s called Eat This and Have a Cup of Tea.”

“Ah, know it well, know it very well.” He glanced at some of the others of the group with another meaningful look.

Leodora turned to the man beside her, intending to ask him…whatever it was, the question fell from her mind as she saw him. He was changing as they walked, no longer human. He had a great curling nose now, and his chin hung down as a beard might have on someone else. The man behind him was more grotesque still. His head had become part of his shoulders, flat-topped, and his torso funneled down into skinny legs and long-taloned feet, as if he were the child of a bird that had mated with a parsnip. He blinked back at her with round, inhuman eyes. The eyes all around her had changed: Some bulged, others had turned hard and black. Noses had reshaped, distorted, or vanished altogether. Likewise hair, which had disappeared or else sprouted in odd places, or transformed into feathers, reeds, seaweed. Only the fox, transformed before she’d met him, remained the same, although in the dark and among this company he looked more sinister and rapacious than before.

As they all walked down the seemingly deserted thoroughfare, more shapes emerged from the shadows or rose up through the pavement to double their numbers.

Diverus clutched her arm, all of his terror in his grip. He was staring behind them so intently that she looked back, too. A crowd had amassed, walking behind them, some thin and stalky, others squat and elvish, some slick and others furry. Two of the squat creatures held lanterns on long flexible poles and ran along the edges of the crowd to keep up. Behind the lights there were even more creatures, but in shadow, only now and then glimpsed between other bodies and in cast light. If anything they looked more grotesque than those nearby. It was a parade of monsters, and she and Diverus were their captives. Soter would say it was all her fault for not returning while daylight remained—that is, if he ever saw her again, he would. She wanted to speak to the kitsune, but he had drawn ahead to lead the parade. Two more lights on poles bobbed beside him.

Something cold brushed her shoulder, and instinctively she pressed against Diverus, away from the source, as a towering ghost drifted past. His mismatched eyes regarded her with surprise, as though he recognized her. He wore odd clothing—a black jacket over a white shirt with another strip of material hanging from his throat. She wasn’t sure what manner of pants he wore because his legs faded below the knee into an ill-defined grayness. He floated past and toward the front.

Then all at once the parade came to a stop. Beside Diverus the creatures stepped away, and there stood the fox. He grinned. “Well,” he said, “we’ve arrived.”

Behind him lay the steps up to Eat This and Have a Cup of Tea. The fox waved them out of the parade. Holding hands, they moved toward the steps.

“I couldn’t persuade you to come with us the rest of the way, could I?” the fox asked.

“Rest of the way?”

“To the end. The parade goes on to the very end.”

“Of the span?”

“Of time,” he said, as though surprised that she didn’t comprehend this already.

“So, we…couldn’t come back.”

“Quite impossible. But we should love your company. You know so many stories.”

Diverus was edging to the steps and tugging her after him. He said, “She can’t. She has a performance tonight.”

“Really?” the fox said.

“Yes, it’s true,” she replied.

“Oh, well.” He sounded sincerely regretful. “You’d best go on, then. But come again to the park and we’ll tell you another story. And you can share one of yours.”

“That would be…I would like that.”

“Good night, then, Leodora.” He made shooing gestures at them both, then turned and took his place at the front again. The parade moved off behind him. Some of the creatures watched her and Diverus as they passed. Others stared straight ahead as if this world did not exist; those in the very back somehow did both at once.

“He said your name,” Diverus noted.

“I’m sure I never told it to him.”

“You wouldn’t really go to the park again, would you?”

She made no answer. Gesturing toward the steps, she said instead, “We’re probably late.”

They climbed up and, after removing their shoes, entered the building. The moment the door thudded closed behind them, the noise and bustle of the front room died. All those within—every single person—turned from their meals, drinks, overtures, and conversations to stare at the new, and unlikely, arrivals.

Diverus and Leodora walked barefoot across the polished wood floor. With wide eyes upon her from every side, she felt as if she were still in the grotesque parade. The eyes tracked her closely as if expecting at any moment that she might transform. One man close by made signs in the air and threw some kind of dust at them that glittered as it sprinkled down, causing Diverus to sneeze violently, which in turn caused the man to dive for safety beneath his table. Leodora paused to brush the dust from her sleeve. When nothing happened, the man poked out his head, tittered nervously, and sat up facing his food, refusing to look at them. Diverus rubbed his nose. The crowd lost interest.

The proprietor entered then. He carried a woven tray full of covered dishes. “Ah-ha,” he said, “there you two are. That Soter has taken to drink because he couldn’t find you. He was sure you were gobbled up by goblins.”

Diverus glanced askance at Leodora, who asked, “Are we late?”

“Not for my needs, no. You can see—they are all still eating. However, I am not of a nervous disposition.”

“I understand. When is it we begin, then?”

“Oh, anytime you like, although if you would wait perhaps until those who ordered this food have had their fill, you’ll be less likely to play to an empty garden.”

“Of course.”

“Grand.” He hurried off to serve the food, leaving behind lovely smells.

The central courtyard was nearly deserted. Cut off from the street and the front room, the handful of patrons there did not react when the newcomers entered, apparently connecting them neither to the parade nor directly with the anticipated performance of puppetry.

At a small table beside the booth Soter sat alone, his head on his arms. Candlelight floated in a bowl by his head, illuminating his slack expression, telling her everything she needed to know of his condition. He stared at nothing, but then sensed her and shifted. When he saw her he closed his eyes, licked his lips, and pushed himself upright, swaying slightly.

“The vagabonds return,” he muttered.

“We were collecting stories,” she said sharply. “The way I do on every span. You know that.”

“The sun set long ago. You were even warned about it.”

“Our performance wasn’t set to begin before this, and it looks as if it will have to go on without you.”

“Nonsense.” He bowed his head as if tired of the argument. “What happened to you? You could have been consumed by the monsters that walk these streets at night, the parade—”

“We joined the parade,” she interjected.

“What? What happened?”

“They ate us.” She had the satisfaction of seeing him dumbfounded. “The good thing that came of it is, I have a story to perform belonging to this span, that we’ve never heard before, and perhaps more to come. Wasn’t that worth it?”

“My girl, my headstrong mad girl. You are your mother’s child, and like her you rattle the dark.”

She gaped at those words. He had no way of knowing that Shumyzin had said the very same, and for an instant she stood in two places, atop the tower on Vijnagar and here, as if two moments had merged, folding over the events in between, as if to say that she had followed the correct path and reached the next clue, although toward what end she had no idea.

“You rattle it long enough,” he went on, “and it’ll rattle you back.”

“So I shouldn’t look for new tales?”

“I’m not saying that. I’m saying, be careful you don’t become a tale.” He poured his cup, but then pushed it at her. “Here, drink for stamina before we go on.” She picked it up. “And don’t worry about my condition. I could do my part roaring drunk, and you know it.”

She sipped the wine and put the cup down. “I know you’ve tested the notion enough times.”

He snorted, smiled. “I have, and even before yours. Now go get ready, and where’s Div—ah, there you are, boy. Get in the booth. I’ll go call us up an audience. You apply your skills, the both of you, to this story you risked your lives to get, and tomorrow night they’ll be murdering each other to get in. We’ll save Nikki Danjo’s ghost till then.” He drew himself to his feet.

Leodora pushed into the booth with Diverus behind her.

He picked up his lute. “We risked our lives?” he asked.

She shrugged at him. “Maybe a little.”