V. The Divine
Four days pass.
You have spent so long practicing your art, it is easy for you to construct a routine. You wake before dawn so that you may spend an hour practicing your katas and your breathing exercises, then greet the sun with ablutions and give offerings to Ta-Sepa and Kegare. Then you spend an hour playing the game of lives with Marrow around a simple breakfast of bread and tea - he is steadily getting better from his dismal first showings. At noon and evening, parents release children from their chores, and they excitedly gather before the well to hear your stories; you tell them of Ta-Sepa and the Underworld, of the Butcher of Huan-Si, of the Lost Gold of the Yanze River, and more still. You vary the themes, make them wait and plead before you tell them another story featuring you. It does not take long for them to adore you, and though their parents see you with a little suspicion, they appreciate the entertainment you provide; some of them even attend the storytelling sessions, and there is always someone to gift you a little food at the end along with their thanks.
You don't think all of them believe you were once a mighty, respected magistrate, but some do, and even those who don't are starting to show respect, instead of pity. You are no longer just 'the meek;' you are bringing something to their community, something they can accept within the narrow confines of hospitality. You begin to spend some time in conversation with adults and children both, talking about the pains and comforts of their daily lives. Those taken in by the aura of a magistrate begin to ask you things that have nothing to do with your former occupation, merely because you seem wise and trustworthy. You tell women of the beautiful lands you've visited, and give them advice on handling stubborn and willful husbands. You advise men on making offerings and prayers for the prosperity of their households. You scold children and tell them to always obey their parents, while sneaking some advice on how to sometimes conveniently misinterpret their commands.
The rest of the time, you practice and meditate. After months of travel (for you set out long before you met Marrow), you find yourself rusty. Adapting your katas to your diminished body proves difficult - some of your techniques are difficult to practice with your wooden legs - but you improvise and learn more and more how to secure your balance without the flexibility of ankles and feet.
You missed this. You missed it very much. It is unfortunate that your makeshift legs are poorly-fitted and that you must stop every so often to rest your knees, but the pain feels like a small triumph. Like fighting against your condition.
Marrow is busy as well - it turns out his role as merchant brings much more expectation than simply buying and selling goods from his cart; he goes around the village, helping with the preparation of the festival in tasks such as cooking and wood-cutting. He laughs with the villagers, and every day finds a time to visit Abanya in his house for an hour or two, sharing a drink and sweet-talking the old man, slowly eroding his spite for the Adder by suggesting a more peaceful future.
And every day as well, he visits the Steel-Fanged Adder's dojo. Ostensibly he does so to pay visit to Shay, but it is an opportunity to talk with other students, whom he was never quite familiar with; and with them he shares some of his wares in a conspiratorial tone, as if these were gifts reserved from them rather than the village. He hears their stories, their complains about the feckless, ungrateful townsfolk who spite their protectors; and he appeases them as best he can, suggesting misunderstanding, occasionally - but never too boldly - pushing back by hinting a student might be in the wrong in their grievance. They rebuff him, but cannot take offense, for Shay's shadow looms over them.
But at night, when you gather in the trading square for one last drink before you go back to Abanya's house for the night, you cannot help but see the shadow on his face. He is playing games, and though he is good at them, good as a merchant should be, they pain him, because he is, on some level, using Shay. Even if he thinks it would be for his own good, with each passing day, he tells you of less hope - that though some of the Adder prove amenable to talks of reconciliation, Shay instead grows more distant, more cold.
On the fourth night, the night before the feast, Shay does not come to join Marrow in his tent.
"Do not feel guilty," he tells you. "I made that choice. I am trying to help him be better. If I cannot do this for someone I care about… what point is there in me caring for him?"
Still.
You do feel guilty.
And so comes the last night. You make your offerings to the gods, but they are silent; the omen they first sent you seems to be all the guidance they will provide, and so all you can ask for is their blessing, not knowing whether they will answer. Incense seems insufficient; prayer strips trite; so you dedicate your art to them, practicing your katas an hour after sundown, until all the world is dark and the only sound are the crickets in the brushes and the breath you exhale with each stroke. It is a dance that none can see, not even you; and thus it is a dance meant only for the gods.
Then you come back to Abanya's home, sliding into bed as quiet as you can, and let fatigue take you into deepest slumber.
You dream.
In your dreams you have legs of flesh and blood.
In your dreams you always walk.
You walk down the streets of Prasad behind a child of the Dragon; the people scatter flowers in his path and you tread upon them.
You walk the path that snakes along the cliff, each step risking a deadly fall, the monastery in the distance.
You walk the paved road to a great city whose marble spires have long been stained with soot, a beautiful jewel rotten from within by crime and corruption.
You walk the blood-slick stairs amidst the bodies of the fallen guards as the prince atop them looks down with fury in his eyes and draws his sword.
You walk the wind-swept hill, towards the figure of your master, their back turned to you, hair blowing, hands dripping red, ever out of your reach…
Ruvia, God of Roads, has been with you every step of your life. You ask Kagere for strength and Ta-Sepa for wisdom for they are your gods of choice, the ones you devoted yourself to willingly; but Ruvia is the one whose presence has shaped your existence from the day of your birth. Your life is a journey. You stride towards righteousness, towards truth, towards self-perfection…
"Rise, Strides-Towards-Heaven, my child."
Your name is Golden Road.
And for the first time in as long as you've had these dreams you reach the distant figure; you lift your hand to touch their shoulder and your master turns…
Fiery golden eyes burn into your soul. You stumble backwards, a silent cry coming from your lips, and you are knee-deep in water. The wind-swept grass of the hill becomes an endless field of rice and your master is a hound the size of a man with fur of gold, circling around you, steaming breath trailing behind it. And in the far distance, floating over the horizon, shimmering like a mirage - the Heavenly City.
"Who are you, child of light?" speaks the Hound, and you know you are in the presence of a god. You fall to your knees, water up to your waist, and bow your head.
"I am a pilgrim," you say humbly.
"You are not." The hound's voice is filled with anger, and yet past that anger you feel - fear? "You may play at the meek traveler, you may fool my people with old stories and aching stumps, but I see the truth of you. There is a spark in you. A power I cannot fathom. Are you one of the Chosen, then? Or a half-god child? Has Ruvia sent you?"
"The Lord of the Golden Barque has forsaken me," you whisper.
There is a moment of silence - and then you feel the fiery heat radiating from the beast, its fur alive with light; its presence blows like a wind of its own, and in each stalk of rice you feel a prayer held like a treasure.
"You have come for the boots!" the goddess barks, leaping to your side, looming over you, her breath as hot as an oven. "You know they were crafted with Ruvia's blessing! You think if you claim them, if you can bond with them, it will show that the god might still forgive you!"
"I may have come for the boots," you say through gritted teeth, "but I have stayed out of duty. You watch over this village, hound-goddess - you watch over it as the Adder bites and delivers poison into its people!"
The goddess named Hounds-the-Rain-and-Brings-the-Harvest opens her cavernous maw and howls. The sound alone makes your mind go blank, stars filling your eyes; you clasp your hands on your ears and the blast of her breath knocks you down, sliding through the water; you land on your back and for a second you are drowning. Then the water parts, the rice bends away from you, and as you rub dirt and liquid from your eyes you see the field fold, the tide turn into a whirlwind in the air, at the heart of which is the blazing hound.
"Nashai gives me honor!" she speaks, her voice tearing through the tinitus; you cry out in pain. She stomps the naked earth with one paw and it cracks ten feet out. "She gives me prayers and burns offerings in my name! Once, the rice of my field was given to the mountainfolk, to be offered to their repugnant goat-god! Now it feeds those who worship me!"
You struggle to stand, and realize that your legs are gone. You are but yourself again. All you can do is push yourself up, knees underneath you, supporting yourself on one hand. You breathe harshly, quickly, heart beating too fast.
You cannot spurn the gods. But what kind of faithful would you be, if you did not speak truth when they are blind?
"She is using you!" you manage to say, and it comes out a scream, raw and bloody. "She has no faith! She only worships the art, and her own self!"
A dead silence falls over the field. Water trickles back down to earth, and the goddess stares in burning, contemptuous silence.
"I have never lied to your people," you continue hastily. "I have not concealed my goals, or my past. They choose to see me as the meek traveler. I am a magistrate, and the truth is my purpose. If you see the spark in me, then you know to heed my words."
"Why should I?" the goddess says, but her fury is abated - you have struck at a doubt that must have already existed in her heart. "You seek the Golden Hounds, just as she does, but you are an outsider, and she has paid her dues. I have no reason to give you aid, and every reason to reward her."
She is right - you are an outsider. And you do have a personal purpose here. You do seek the Hounds, and if you are to claim them, then Nashai cannot. How can you convince a god to turn against her worshipper?
But that is not the right question.
You close your eyes, clasp your hands, and breathe deeply. You dwell within yourself, in your soul. Remember who you are. A student of the Centipede. A Magistrate of Prasad. And one who worships the gods.
It is not about making Harvest turn against her faithful. It is about making her see the truth. And if you are wrong - iIf Nashai is truly who she claims to be - then you must accept this.
When you speak again, your voice is calm, soft, and certain. "Give her a test. When she comes to you at the festival, when she gives her last prayers and offerings and makes her request, reject her. Refuse her the boots. If she accepts this - if she abides by your will, and turns away… Then call her back. Give her the Golden Hounds. She will have proven herself."
The beast falls quiet for a moment, staring at you with eyes like garnets. Her long, shaggy tail sweeps the rice stalks, sending ripples through the water, but it is the only part of her that moves.
"And if she passes this test," the goddess says, thoughtful, "you will give up your own claim, and leave Embercairn without further quarrel?"
You bow your head until your brow touches the water.
"This I swear," you say.
"Hah. Hah!" A long, rattling chuckle emerges from the goddess's fangs. "You are an interesting one, child of light."
"Will you…" you say, lifting your eyes to her, and she turns away.
"Enjoy my festival, and do not forget to burn incense in my name," she says, and the water rises up in an instant and swallows you and you are drowning and-
You bolt up in your bed, sweat on your forehead, on your face - and as you touch it you realize it is not sweat, it is the water from the rice paddy.
The sun is peeking behind Abanya's curtains. The old man is stirring in his sleep.
The dawn of Sun's Day has come. The festival is upon you.
You spend long in contemplation of the dawn, reflecting on the gods that shape your life as you give thanks to have come this far. When you rise, it is one god's name that is engraved in your mind:
[ ] Ruvia, whom you worship long after he has forsaken you; you will go into this day filled with the weight of your past and the need to atone.
[ ] Kegare, who has sent you an omen of his triumph; you will go into this day filled with the bitter resolve to end the injustice plaguing this land.
[ ] Ta-Sepa, who has sent you an omen of his defeat; you will go into this day filled with sorrow that the path of peace is barred to you.
