Pojalo turned toward the leopard with alarm. “We thought it looked like . . .”
“Not just looks like,” Zerif corrected. “Abeke has summoned Uraza.”
“How . . . ?” Soama whispered, eyes wide and frightened.
“How is unanswerable,” Zerif said. “What she does now is the only question. I offer my assistance. You must act swiftly. This leopard will earn Abeke many enemies.”
“What do you suggest?” Pojalo asked. “She is our new Rain Dancer, and is much needed.”
“Her power,” Zerif stated somberly, “will bring much more than rain.”
Abeke frowned. This stranger Zerif clearly had plans for her, and her father seemed eager to hear him. Did he want to be rid of her? Would he act so eager if Soama had summoned this leopard?
Zerif rubbed his facial hair with two fingers. “We have much to do. First things first — you may have noticed that Uraza appears edgy. I suggest you either give the leopard the dead antelope, or else separate them.”
3 JHI
MEILIN SAT ON A CUSHION BEFORE HER LOOKING GLASS, meticulously applying facial paint. She didn’t mind letting her handmaidens prepare her for festivals or banquets. But today was important. Today she wanted to look just right. And when you wanted something done right, you did it yourself.
After finishing the accents around her eyes, Meilin inspected her handiwork. It was a work of art atop a work of art. People always remarked that she was stunning. She had never needed paint on her face to earn compliments. But now she possessed an allure beyond her natural beauty.
Anybody could get the pale base and striking lips right. But Meilin knew some tricks her handmaidens didn’t — how to properly blend the blush in her cheeks, how to use gold flecks near the eyes, and how a hint of imperfection made her hair more appealing.
Meilin practiced a shy smile. Then a delighted smile, followed by a look of surprise, and finally a scowl. Smoothing her hands over her snug silk robes, Meilin silently proclaimed her work complete.
There came a hesitant tap on the door. “Mistress,” called a high voice sweetly. “Is everything all right? Can I offer any help?”
This was Kusha’s polite way of informing her that the Bonding Day celebration was at a standstill. The most important people in the province were waiting on her. “I’m almost ready,” Meilin answered. “I’ll be out in a moment.”
Meilin didn’t want to make everyone wait too long, but making them wait a little would ensure that all eyes were on her. The other candidates had sampled the Nectar already. Meilin would drink it last, in the place of honor. The conventional wisdom was that the last person to drink the Nectar had the best chance of summoning a spirit animal.
As the daughter of General Teng, one of the five high commanders of the Zhongese military, Meilin had been guaranteed the last spot at the quarterly Bonding Day ceremonies since birth. As his only child, her importance was elevated further. She had no brother to steal her birthright.
Her mother had summoned a spirit animal, as had all four of Meilin’s grandparents, and all eight of her great-grandparents. Her father, grandfather, and two of her great-grandfathers had been generals. The least of the others had been powerful merchants. Only the family of the emperor could claim a better pedigree.
Her father had not called a spirit animal, but even so had risen higher in the military than any of his ancestors. He was a formidable man — nobody was more cunning, or more observant, or more wrathful when crossed. Her father had told her last night that he had foreseen she would summon a spirit animal today. She didn’t know whether he had visited a soothsayer or beheld the vision himself, but he had acted certain, and he was never wrong.
Meilin gathered her parasol. Made of paper and intricately painted, it was strictly ornamental. She placed it over her shoulder and took a final look in the mirror.
A heavy fist pounded the door, startling her. This was no handmaiden.
“Yes?” Meilin called.
“Are you decent?” a male voice inquired.
“Yes.”
The door opened. It was General Chin, her father’s closest aide, wearing his most formal uniform. How late was she?
“What is it, General?”
“My apologies for the intrusion,” he said. He paused, licking his lips. He seemed perturbed, almost unsure how to continue. “I have . . . unfortunate news. The invasion of Zhong has begun. We must hurry with the ceremony, and then move out.”
“Invasion?”
“Surely you know about the skirmishes in the southeast.”
“Of course.” Her father kept few secrets from her. But he had shared no suspicions of a serious threat.
“We just received word that they were but a prelude to a major incursion. Your father had prepared for something of the sort, but our enemies have more men and resources than even General Teng had guessed.” General Chin swallowed. “The city of Shar Liwao has fallen. We are officially at war.”
Meilin couldn’t speak. She could hardly believe that General Chin was speaking the truth. Shar Liwao was one of the largest cities beyond the Wall, an important Zhongese port. Was this how wars started? On days that should have been happy? She suddenly felt ill, and wished she could be alone. Her father would be leaving soon. Zhong was powerful, and Erdas had no better general. He should be fine. But her father had described the uncertainties of war. A stray arrow could slay the mightiest hero. In wartime, none were truly safe.
“The entire city already fell?” Meilin had to ask.
“Yes. Reports are still coming in. The attack was lightning quick — an alliance of Zhongese rebels and foreign invaders.”
“I’ll skip the ceremony,” Meilin said. “I can do it later.”
“No, the news just arrived. The public doesn’t know yet. We want to keep it that way for now. Don’t mention the attack. All must appear calm and normal.”
Meilin nodded. “Fine, I’ll do my part. But it’s an emergency. Father can go.”
“He insists you drink the Nectar before he leaves.”
Meilin followed General Chin out of her home. She ignored the questions of her handmaidens, who fell into step behind them. Their mansion adjoined the parade grounds, so it was not a long walk to the ceremony.
Opening her parasol, Meilin strolled down the central aisle toward the stage. Thousands of people craned to see her. General Chin strode at her side, medals gleaming. People cheered. It seemed like an ordinary, festive occasion. These people had no clue what news was coming.
“Not just looks like,” Zerif corrected. “Abeke has summoned Uraza.”
“How . . . ?” Soama whispered, eyes wide and frightened.
“How is unanswerable,” Zerif said. “What she does now is the only question. I offer my assistance. You must act swiftly. This leopard will earn Abeke many enemies.”
“What do you suggest?” Pojalo asked. “She is our new Rain Dancer, and is much needed.”
“Her power,” Zerif stated somberly, “will bring much more than rain.”
Abeke frowned. This stranger Zerif clearly had plans for her, and her father seemed eager to hear him. Did he want to be rid of her? Would he act so eager if Soama had summoned this leopard?
Zerif rubbed his facial hair with two fingers. “We have much to do. First things first — you may have noticed that Uraza appears edgy. I suggest you either give the leopard the dead antelope, or else separate them.”
3 JHI
MEILIN SAT ON A CUSHION BEFORE HER LOOKING GLASS, meticulously applying facial paint. She didn’t mind letting her handmaidens prepare her for festivals or banquets. But today was important. Today she wanted to look just right. And when you wanted something done right, you did it yourself.
After finishing the accents around her eyes, Meilin inspected her handiwork. It was a work of art atop a work of art. People always remarked that she was stunning. She had never needed paint on her face to earn compliments. But now she possessed an allure beyond her natural beauty.
Anybody could get the pale base and striking lips right. But Meilin knew some tricks her handmaidens didn’t — how to properly blend the blush in her cheeks, how to use gold flecks near the eyes, and how a hint of imperfection made her hair more appealing.
Meilin practiced a shy smile. Then a delighted smile, followed by a look of surprise, and finally a scowl. Smoothing her hands over her snug silk robes, Meilin silently proclaimed her work complete.
There came a hesitant tap on the door. “Mistress,” called a high voice sweetly. “Is everything all right? Can I offer any help?”
This was Kusha’s polite way of informing her that the Bonding Day celebration was at a standstill. The most important people in the province were waiting on her. “I’m almost ready,” Meilin answered. “I’ll be out in a moment.”
Meilin didn’t want to make everyone wait too long, but making them wait a little would ensure that all eyes were on her. The other candidates had sampled the Nectar already. Meilin would drink it last, in the place of honor. The conventional wisdom was that the last person to drink the Nectar had the best chance of summoning a spirit animal.
As the daughter of General Teng, one of the five high commanders of the Zhongese military, Meilin had been guaranteed the last spot at the quarterly Bonding Day ceremonies since birth. As his only child, her importance was elevated further. She had no brother to steal her birthright.
Her mother had summoned a spirit animal, as had all four of Meilin’s grandparents, and all eight of her great-grandparents. Her father, grandfather, and two of her great-grandfathers had been generals. The least of the others had been powerful merchants. Only the family of the emperor could claim a better pedigree.
Her father had not called a spirit animal, but even so had risen higher in the military than any of his ancestors. He was a formidable man — nobody was more cunning, or more observant, or more wrathful when crossed. Her father had told her last night that he had foreseen she would summon a spirit animal today. She didn’t know whether he had visited a soothsayer or beheld the vision himself, but he had acted certain, and he was never wrong.
Meilin gathered her parasol. Made of paper and intricately painted, it was strictly ornamental. She placed it over her shoulder and took a final look in the mirror.
A heavy fist pounded the door, startling her. This was no handmaiden.
“Yes?” Meilin called.
“Are you decent?” a male voice inquired.
“Yes.”
The door opened. It was General Chin, her father’s closest aide, wearing his most formal uniform. How late was she?
“What is it, General?”
“My apologies for the intrusion,” he said. He paused, licking his lips. He seemed perturbed, almost unsure how to continue. “I have . . . unfortunate news. The invasion of Zhong has begun. We must hurry with the ceremony, and then move out.”
“Invasion?”
“Surely you know about the skirmishes in the southeast.”
“Of course.” Her father kept few secrets from her. But he had shared no suspicions of a serious threat.
“We just received word that they were but a prelude to a major incursion. Your father had prepared for something of the sort, but our enemies have more men and resources than even General Teng had guessed.” General Chin swallowed. “The city of Shar Liwao has fallen. We are officially at war.”
Meilin couldn’t speak. She could hardly believe that General Chin was speaking the truth. Shar Liwao was one of the largest cities beyond the Wall, an important Zhongese port. Was this how wars started? On days that should have been happy? She suddenly felt ill, and wished she could be alone. Her father would be leaving soon. Zhong was powerful, and Erdas had no better general. He should be fine. But her father had described the uncertainties of war. A stray arrow could slay the mightiest hero. In wartime, none were truly safe.
“The entire city already fell?” Meilin had to ask.
“Yes. Reports are still coming in. The attack was lightning quick — an alliance of Zhongese rebels and foreign invaders.”
“I’ll skip the ceremony,” Meilin said. “I can do it later.”
“No, the news just arrived. The public doesn’t know yet. We want to keep it that way for now. Don’t mention the attack. All must appear calm and normal.”
Meilin nodded. “Fine, I’ll do my part. But it’s an emergency. Father can go.”
“He insists you drink the Nectar before he leaves.”
Meilin followed General Chin out of her home. She ignored the questions of her handmaidens, who fell into step behind them. Their mansion adjoined the parade grounds, so it was not a long walk to the ceremony.
Opening her parasol, Meilin strolled down the central aisle toward the stage. Thousands of people craned to see her. General Chin strode at her side, medals gleaming. People cheered. It seemed like an ordinary, festive occasion. These people had no clue what news was coming.
