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hou lay awake in the bed he had once shared with Shikai. For hours he tossed and turned, rising several times to meditate only to give up and lay back down upon the bedspread in the vain hope a cool breeze would pour through the open window. The sultry tropical night made everything heavy with its tepid dampness. Even the air curled into his lungs like water. While Kaineng could be humid and gritty, he had learned the fine art of dozing with the ease of a cat. Now everything irritated him from the creak of expanding beams to the cool tickle of sweat as it beaded and dripped over his skin and dampened the sheets.
When morning arrived, bleak and gray, he surrendered any further attempt to rest. He rose with a grunt at the sound of a servant entering with fresh lavender water for his wash stand. The roasted floral smell of fresh tea elicited a rumble of hunger from his tense belly. He draped a loose black robe over his naked form before the servant entered and nodded politely, uttering a clipped word of gratitude.
“Would Master Bei require anything?” the young man asked. His earnest face betrayed a mixture of reverence and concern. Everyday the same exchange for as long as he had dwelt as an officer in Dojun’s guild. Zhou knew without asking that the man had once been an orphan and was treating his simple job with all the seriousness and attention of an actor assuming a role.
“No, thank you. What news?” Zhou asked out of long habit. He moved toward the washstand to sponge away the sweat of his restless night. There was seldom a long answer to that simple question, but the man lingered in the doorway uncertain how to gain his attention. He could feel the man’s eyes lingering over the undisturbed side of the bed and sensed the clamor of questions the servant knew better than to discuss. Master Bei and Lady Shikai were never apart, had never quarreled. Zhou looked away to discourage prying, burying his face instead in a soft towel to finish his ablutions.
Illusion, he thought. Nothing was exactly as it seemed, not even to one skilled in the subtle arts. He had lain awake in sorrow and anger knowing that the truth had always been there but he had never wanted to see it. As a magician, he should have known better, should have seen through the carefully constructed veil of lies. As a magician he knew that illusion relied on the desire to see things as one wished, not as they were.
“There is news, Master Bei. Mashiro and Kazuma have returned from Elona with several refugees.
“Did they journey by boat?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Would you please go to the dock and ask that the boat remain here? I have need of it and I will negotiate the terms if the captain is willing.”
The servant bowed stiffly and departed, the sound of his running feet diminishing once he was outside the door. Zhou gazed at himself in the mirror, careworn and tired, the flesh around his eyes puffy with exhaustion. He dressed in silence, donning flowing pantaloons and a richly embroidered black tunic salvaged from the fallen guild hall in Kaineng. He frowned at himself for thinking of an inanimate object as an old friend but he felt more himself when he strode at last from his apartments and made his way toward the dock.
On the way there, Xiang Yi, Mashiro and Kazuma fell into step. The monk was grim and quiet while the necromancer and elementalist chattered in excitement. They were glad to see him back in good health and moving under his own power. They told him so many times. He smiled at them, but his reserve remained unshaken for his mind was focused elsewhere that morning.
The craft moored at the dock was a low sleek corsair vessel with a stepped mast and a pair of lateen sails fluttering from bowsprit and boom. Zhou had never met a sailor that was not to some degree superstitious. He saw frayed red ribbons knotted on the lines to ward against sea demons and more mundane perils of open water. Elonians often did not name their boats, believing a name gave something a soul and a boat was better off without one. This one, however, had the looping script of its homeland painted above the waterline. The Sea’s Treasure, she was called, and he chided himself for thinking the name propitious. The woman who walked down the gangplank to greet him was swathed in the weathered homespun robes of a corsair. Dark hair fluttered against her mahogany skin and her eyes were sharp and intelligent.
“I have need of your vessel,” Zhou began and the woman folded her arms and stared at him.
“I have need of coin. This is a fortunate meeting. Where do you wish to go?”
A shimmer of air magic fluttered lazily around her head, revealing that she was Chosen. He sensed she knew he was the leader of the guild and therefore the quickest route to her desired reward.
“I would hear your terms once I describe my need. You may not wish to undertake this quest.”
The woman shrugged.
“Reward is commensurate to risk. What is this task?”
Zhou gazed off across the water, folding his hands behind his back.
“There is a nature spirit that I wish to summon and bind to my will. She will lead us to my friend. Are you willing to go through with this?”
He heard a soft flutter of discussion from his friends, a tone of voice that suggested they thought him mad. The corsair, however, only tilted her head thoughtfully.
“There are essences I require from Grenth’s realm. I have collected them over time and I require thirty more. In the unlikely event that you have these available, I will receive them as payment and a sign that you do have the required skill to bind a water demon.”
Zhou watched her turn to walk away. He waited for a moment, allowing her to believe that she had escaped an unwelcome task.
“You do not wish to do this,” he remarked, “Naturally, you are afraid. I will seek another.”
The corsair barked a mocking laugh.
“My rate is cheap and my boat is equal to any such task. She has a keel of spiritwood. You will find no truer or sturdier craft. It is a pity you cannot afford my rate.”
And with that she walked up the gangplank, unable to hide her relief.
“I do have the required payment,” he said just loud enough for her to hear. Now he had to know if her fear or greed would prove an impediment. Torn between competing impulses, she turned and froze, gazing upon him thoughtfully.
“I do not see them.”
Zhou motioned to Xiang Yi, knowing his friend was appalled by what he was hearing. Zhou was a champion of the possessed and victimized. He had never bound a demon to his own purposes. It was wrong. Zhou read it in their expressions. They were afraid as well. It was a gambit, however. Ebony had told him how Aramathxes had been restored to a more benevolent form. He was counting on the demon’s love for Pendaran, and its remorse for what it had done to him.
To his relief no one breathed a word of protest although he could feel their concerns. Some moments later Xiang Yi returned with a thick black coffer, one of the last items of value to his guild. He released the catches and opened it, allowing the sunlight to glitter over rows of tiny bottles each containing a swirling fleshy liquid. He removed one from the thick velvet lining and allowed her to investigate it. Her hand was trembling when she gave it back.
“Here are my terms,” Zhou said evenly, “You receive fifteen now and fifteen when this boat returns to this pier when our task is done. If I am pleased with your service, I will add five more.”
The corsair’s eyes never left the open coffer and he could sense the eager counting of wealth she was soon to enjoy.
“I am Kitka,” she said simply, slapping her chest in a rough salute with her balled right fist, “I will be known by no other name.”
“I am…
“Bei Zhou An,” she chuckled, “I would have to be deaf not to know that by now.”
Mashiro and Kazuma chuckled softly behind him. He glanced at them and they nodded to his unasked question that she could be trusted. He instructed the servants to provide provisions and a place ashore for Kitka and her three-man crew to rest and wash should they desire it. The offer was enthusiastically accepted and he walked back up the hill, his mind awhirl with plans.
“I do not support this,” Xiang Yi said behind him, catching up with long loping strides, “Do not place your trust in this demon. It is subtle and cunning.”
“Yet Ebony has assured me it has reformed and it was bound against further harm.”
As if on cue, Ebony’s narrow form appeared, her eyes round with puzzlement and fear.
“Is what I have heard true?” she demanded.
“It is.”
“Master Bei, as a friend, do not do this thing. No good can come from this.”
Zhou paused in the corridor once he was inside. They stopped, walking in front of him as if physically seeking to block his actions.
“I will not abandon Pendaran. What would you have me do?”
“Ask Shikai,” Ebony said firmly, then fell silent when she sensed his discomfort.
“We have parted. She will not help me.”
There, he said it. Now it was true for everyone else as well.
“No,” came a sad sigh, an exhalation of grief so poignant his throat tightened. Before he could say anything, Lemony latched onto him, holding him as if afraid he would vanish as quickly and inexplicably as his relationship with Shikai, “It’s not right, you need her. She loves you.”
“Lemony, please,” he rasped, a mixture of humiliation and grief burning upon his face, “Not now. The tide goes out in five hours. There is much to do and I need all the help I can garner. I alone will bear whatever consequences are required of me.”
“Your grief makes you reckless,” Xiang Yi said.
“Perhaps it does. Nevertheless, it is the best option remaining to me.”
There was silence for a moment, then Zhou looked down on Lemony still clinging to him like a burr.
“Liang Meng, you are hurting my ribs. And there is work to be done.”
Lemony sighed and released him, then met his eyes.
“You won’t get lost again? Please?”
“Of course not, Liang Meng.”
“I’ll help!” she announced and he was taken aback by her sudden exuberance. Did she have any clue how dangerous this was?
Would it matter if she did?
He saw the others were chuckling, having reached the same conclusion. Zhou nodded to them and they all went quickly about their business.
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