Mokoya stood silent, trembling, hands compressed into bloodless fists.
When Thennjay spoke, it was with the prickling, laden weight of air before a thunderstorm. “The philosopher Sadhya, a wise man, said that the powerful can make the truth dance to their song. That is why I brought my own recording.”
The boy reached into the generous fold of his clothes. His hand emerged curled around a shiny black sphere the size of a plum, embroidered with blue lines of Slack charge. A tug through metal-nature set it humming. The hum turned into a voice: rasping and faltering, the last words of a man speaking a language Akeha did not understand.
“I spoke to your man Jawal before he died. His story contradicts everything you’ve said. It would be quite scandalous if people were to hear of it.” He paused to let the implications sink in, like dye in a vat of water. When the Protector’s expression was sufficiently dismayed, he said, “I want Kirpa returned to us unharmed. Reparations must be made to the family. After that, we can discuss the terms of my ascension to the Grand Monastery.”
“Very bold,” Mother said. She tilted her head. “Do you really think you can threaten me with one insignificant recording?”
“Are you willing to risk it? You know how restless we Gauri are. The last riots you had were years ago, and your soldiers were overwhelmed. You had to beg the Grand Monastery’s pugilists for help. Can you bear more children for them? Or will it be grandchildren this time?”
Well done, Akeha thought. Thennjay had pushed Mother in ways they could only dream of. As a surge of genuine pride rose in them, they laughed into the ensuing, echoing silence.
Mokoya turned and fixed them with an acid glare.
Blood cooled in Akeha’s belly. That single gesture outlined, in a dizzy rush, what they should have realized a long time ago: That in this, as with all things, they were expected to remain in the background, quiet and passive.
In defeat, Mother’s face was a mask of deepest ice, pale and solid, betraying no trace of emotion whatsoever.
A clack of wood-on-tile echoed through the chamber. A familiar, rasping voice spoke up from the back: “Is this not something I should have a say in?”
Leaning heavily on a cane, Head Abbot Sung came shuffling up the interminable length of the chamber. He was a trembling, liver-spotted husk of the man Akeha remembered, but there was still enough pride and dignity left in him to face the Protector with bright eyes. Age had yet to diminish his mind.
“Master Sung,” the Protector said, pleasantly enough. Was it Akeha’s imagination, or was Sonami smiling behind her?
“Lady Sanao Hekate.” The Head Abbot was old enough, bold enough to address Mother by her name. “If the boy’s fitness for office is in doubt, the monastery has protocols, our ancient rituals, that can put them all to rest.”
“No one is disputing that the Grand Monastery has its own criteria for appointing an abbot, Venerable One.” Mother’s tone was perfectly civil.
“I am not opposed to the boy taking on the role. But if he is to do so, as prophesied, then he must pass the same trial that I, and all my predecessors, went through.”
“The mountain trial?” Mother’s lips curved into an imitation of a smile. “Of course. This is tradition, after all. And what is the Grand Monastery if not traditional?”
Thennjay looked to Mokoya. “What’s the mountain trial?”
Akeha knew the answer to that. But the mountain trial was supposed to be mythical or allegorical. That was what the books in the monastery’s library said.
The Head Abbot addressed him: “Do you know the name of the mountain that overlooks the city, boy?”
“Golden Phoenix Mountain,” Thennjay answered, with slight suspicion.
“Do you know why it is so named?”
Thennjay frowned. His confidence, Akeha realized, came from preparation, and this unexpected questioning unsettled him. “According to legend . . . a golden phoenix led a band of starving villagers fleeing a war to safety. It guided them to this valley and flew into the mountains to nest. They built a settlement that became Chengbee and named the mountain after their savior. That’s the legend.”
“Legends form around grains of truth,” the Head Abbot said. “To prove your worth as my successor, you must go into the mountains, seek out the golden phoenix, and return with two feathers.”
Thennjay’s face folded into a squint. “That’s the mountain trial?”
The Head Abbot nodded.
Thennjay looked to Mokoya for reassurance, but their twin could only shrug helplessly. Was the Head Abbot serious? Who knew. He had ascended to the position nearly forty years ago. No one spoke of this at the Grand Monastery. It was a very practical place, and practicality did not encompass talk of giant, mythical birds.
It was a convenient way for Mother to save face, though, allowing her to cede the appointment of the Head Abbot to the monastery. She didn’t have to admit that she had been outsmarted by a nineteen-year-old Gauri boy.
“Fine,” Thennjay said, as if he had any other choice. “I’ll do it.”
Chapter Ten
“YOU CAN’T JUST say those things to Mother,” Mokoya hissed at Thennjay. “You offended her. She’ll remember.”
“Good,” Thennjay said. “I want her to remember.” At this pronouncement, Mokoya’s face tautened with a mix of anger and worry. Thennjay laughed, but not unkindly. “I want her to remember that I can be a serious threat.”
They were corralled in the room assigned to Thennjay, a disused storage space in the servants’ sector, barely larger than a clothes box. In a spurt of generosity, Mother had arranged for the provision of a single sleeping roll, which Akeha now sat lotus-legged on, watching the other two. Passively, as was expected of them.
The room was very small. Their legs and feet ached with inaction.
“You don’t want her to remember.” Mokoya turned away and paced as big a circle as the room would allow. “You don’t know Mother. You don’t want to be caught on the other end of her grudges.”
Thennjay chuckled again, but this time there was weight in that sound, a history of stones and chains. “Nao. I’m Gauri. I think I know a little about living under the Protector’s grudges.” As Mokoya’s face wrinkled further, he said, “You don’t think I’m taking this seriously?”
Mokoya burst at the seams. “Thenn, why can’t you see that I’m worried about you?”
“Ai.” Thennjay took hold of Mokoya’s hands, held them gently. “I know.”
Mokoya froze at the contact, but only for a moment. Thennjay continued, “Don’t worry about me. It’s going to be all right, I promise.”
“So many things could go wrong,” Mokoya said. “Outside the prophecy. You don’t even know.”
“I’m not afraid. I trust in the fortunes. What is your mother, stacked up against such awesome forces? Only a mortal, like the rest of us.”