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almondinflowerCharacters: (this chapter) erm, a lot of characters, but the only one who's making his inaugural appearance is Zhao Shi
Wordcount: 3200
Summary: In a world where divination is used to predict the future and govern nations, State Diviner Touya Akira and private investigator Waya Yoshitaka embark on a search for the heretic Sai, the ghostly diviner who may be the most powerful of them all.
This chapter: In which Zhao Shi is put-upon by Le Ping (and possibly vice-versa), Touya is seasick, everyone more or less angsts a lot, and progress is made geographically, if not necessarily plot-wise.
Earlier chapters.
“So, Isumi,” I said acidly, about five minutes after we'd left the Dukian embassy, “I suppose you were planning to tell me about this sometime in the next year or so?”
We'd left Suyeong behind, to hash out what looked like an uncomfortable and potentially very long conversation with An Taeseon. Yang Hai was coming with us to the palace. Isumi had business with the Records Department there, and Touya and I had a meeting with Yih's teenaged emperor.
Isumi looked embarrassed. “It was quite hard keeping it from you. It was just as well you've been so busy in the last few days. I wanted to tell you the good news sooner, after Le Ping told me what happened on the train, but...” He trailed off.
“But. You enjoyed watching me squirm.”
“No, that's--”
“Completely true.”
“Who's behind the legalisation proposal?” asked Touya Akira. He seemed only marginally less surprised than I was at this turn of events.
“Ahem. To be honest, that's--”
“Isumi and I have been working on it since he first came to Yih,” said Yang Hai. Down the road, a flock of pigeons emerged and scattered from the rafters of a sloped-roof temple. A sunburned man trotted past, hauling an empty rickshaw. A gleaming greenish fly landed on Yang Hai's linen sleeve and he shook it off, sending it towards Touya. “I was Chief Diviner at the time, so I was privy to the classified information that the Oligarchs sent the Emperor. I thought it was a great shame that your government and mine were both rejecting what I perceived to be the natural future of the art. Even if it took a ghost from the past to point us to it.”
“The historical records do suggest that active-control divination was known to the ancients, and forbidden even then.” The fly alighted on Touya's head and began crawling around. Irritated, Touya flicked at his own hair. “For instance, there is a mention in the Late Annals of the Go Empire of Fujiwara no Sai, stating that he was a practitioner of heresy and was executed by drowning for it.”
Yang Hai shrugged. “I don't think that historical precedent is sufficient for us to make a decision blindly. Men should be guided by their reason, don't you think? In any event, soon after I met Isumi, and discovered that he also wanted to legalise so-called heretical divination, although for very different purposes from my own. I'm not sure why, but he seemed to think it would persuade you to rejoin the State Diviners,” he said to me.
I was surprised and not a little gratified. “Thank you,” I told Isumi, who was – predictably – blushing a faint pink.
“It took us a while, since it was difficult persuading the right people to accept our ideas,” Yang Hai told Touya. “The Yihian Empire has a long tradition of being resistant to change. Fortunately Zhao Shi is even more passionate about the subject than we are, and he has been governing the country well since he came to the throne last year. In Ki, on the other hand, you need five of the Oligarchs to consent before negotiations can even begin, and until this week, the Ouza, the Kisei, and both your parents, Touya, were against the Commission.”
“My father felt that the time for legalisation was premature.” Touya's voice was strained. I automatically felt a surge of both protectiveness for him and hostility to Yang Hai.
“He was a Touya and a Meijin. He acted as someone in his position should have. If we take a shortcut here, we can enter directly into the Phoenix Court, saving ourselves some time.” Yang Hai led the way up a flight of stone steps that led through a leafy pergola..
Isumi said, “Kuwabara Honinbou has been helping us for some time now. He and Ogata Juudan telegrammed me yesterday, to say that the Council was willing to open talks for the Comission.”
“Who voted in favour?” asked Touya.
Isumi shrugged. “I haven't received that news yet. But there was a note saying that Morishita had been appointed the new Ouza. Probably he and Kurata, then.” He smiled at me. “I don't think I'm the only one who hopes you'll return to the Diviners.”
I tried to scowl away the lump in my throat. “Your lack of subtlety is almost frightening.”
“But effective, I hope?” Isumi placed a hand on my shoulder. I noticed that Touya was watching us, and chose to stare down, at the steep, moss-infiltrated steps we were climbing, at the stumpy penumbric shadows we cast, backlit by the sun.
“Don't hold your breath.” I spoke without rancour – and without conviction in the words I said.
#
Touya was about as convinced by my rejection as Isumi was - which was to say, not at all.
“Would you like me to sponsor you into the State Diviners?” he asked, as we travelled through the Phoenix Court. It was more decorative and floral than the outer court, and crammed with buildings and little gardens. We'd left Isumi and Yang Hai back near the Pagoda of Nine Stars, an imposing circular tower that stood a little apart from the surrounding structures.
I raised my brows. “Are you trying to make me angry? Because you know, that's a really good way.”
“Really?” He studied my face. “Before you always got angry for no apparent reason.”
“That's because--” Amused, I paused. It did make sense that Touya didn't understand why he frustrated people. He was, as far as I could tell, constitutionally incapable of jealousy. “It's definitely a very good way of making me angry.” I nodded firmly. “No more talk about being a State Diviner.”
“Okay.” A hint of a smile hovered about his lips, and I was pleased. If he couldn't – or wouldn't – talk to me about his father's death, then the only thing I could do was make sure that it wasn't on his mind all the time.
We arrived at the massive gilded pavilion where we were supposed to meet Zhao Shi. It was surrounded by water on four sides, and connected to land by two long walkways. As we came closer I spotted Le Ping, dressed in jeans and a sashed, wide-sleeved shirt. He was sitting on the balustrade at the edge of the pavilion, legs kicking the lake. Drops flew in the air. Sitting behind him on a long inbuilt seat was a boy about Le Ping's age, who had something of the look of a china doll.
“He says you don't need to kneel,” Le Ping said, as we drew close. He continued to kick the water. We bowed to Zhao Shi. Touya spoke something in Yihian and Zhao Shi replied. He was the kind of emperor one saw portraits of everywhere, even from street artists whose only glimpse of him was from other paintings. His face retained the soft roundness and delicate skin of a much younger child. His eyes were lustrous.
We sat at a stone table facing Zhao Shi, who said something to Le Ping. Le Ping swivelled around, barely avoiding the emperor with his dripping bare feet, and descended to sit cross-legged on the ground.
“So I'm the translator for today. My Kigo is better than your Yihian, right?” he queried Touya, who admitted that it was so.
Zhao Shi spoke in his soft, musical voice. Le Ping translated: “He wants to say that it's a great pleasure to speak to both of you like this, and he's heard a lot about the two of you, and – hold on. This is getting really long.” He turned to Zhao Shi and said something in rapid Yihian. “All right, it's okay, we can cut to business now. He wants to talk about this – heretical divination? What's the right word?”
“Active-control divination,” supplied Touya.
“Yeah, that. Anyway, all sorts of problems are going to crop up once it's legal, right? Even more people will want to learn divination than before. And what if more than person wants to change the same future at the same time? It's going to be chaotic.” Le Ping looked delighted at the thought. “So Zhao Shi wants to make sure there are limits on active-control divination to begin with.”
A brief conversation between Le Ping and Zhao Shi.
“We were worried about the land goban, after Isumi told us about it. All those old men in court are going to be freaking over it – a huge Weiqi board, that can affect chaos and order all over the world? So it'd be good if, after we've explained to them how Shi Zhen died” - and here he looked a little sad – “we could announce that the murder weapon had already been destroyed.”
I still wasn't convinced it was murder, but that had little bearing on the conversation.
Touya nodded his head. “Understood. In fact that was also on our minds.”
“It's the only real way to stop Shindou anyway,” I added. “At this stage I'm not sure he'll stop resurrecting Sai just because we asked him nicely. Plus, it wrecks our divinations every time someone uses that board, right?”
Zhao Shi smiled at us and made another little speech, which Le Ping paraphrased (I was under no illusions that he was doing a thorough or even exact translation): “Personally we think it's a pity to destroy such an important magical artefact, but without better international cooperation it would be too controversial to keep it around.”
Touya said, “You realise that in destroying the geomantic board we could potentially wreck the physical structures not only of the tengen, but also the other hoshi points.”
Another exchange between Le Ping and Zhao Shi. “That's something we will have to accept. My understanding is that most of the star-points are within the empire itself. Our messengers will take responsibility for sending warnings to everyone involved, including those outside Yih. And uh.” Le Ping darted a sidelong glance at Zhao Shi. “I think that's all.”
All of us stood and bowed. “Thanks for entrusting us with this responsibility.” Touya said to Zhao Shi. “We plan to leave for the tengen location as soon as possible – this afternoon, in fact. Your help is very much appreciated.”
“I want to go with you.” Le Ping leaned back on his hands and produced an uncovered yawn.
“Absolutely not,” I said. “Suyeong's coming as well, and if three's a crowd, then four's a midsummer parade, complete with elephants in full regalia.”
The young emperor leaned down and murmured something in Le Ping's ear. “Zhao Shi says no,” Le Ping said, pouting.
“Ah well.” I tweaked his hair. He pulled away, glaring at me. “Thanks for all your help, Le Ping.”
“I hate you.”
“Sure you do.” Touya and I bowed again, deeply, to the emperor.
#
The coach journey to the coast lasted several hours, beginning in early afternoon and finishing well after nightfall. Suyeong and I sat together, across the aisle from Touya, It was a cramped little vehicle, crammed with holidaymakers and their noise. There was barely enough foot space between the seats. For a while the road ran alongside the river, and I spent my time observing the opaque, sun-flecked water, the painted riverboats, and the thick reedy vegetation that covered each bank.
When the sky turned to twilight Suyeong unpacked a a hamper he'd brought with him and shared its contents among the three of us – smoked ham sandwiches and rice balls wrapped in bean curd. It wasn't what I'd have packed in my ideal lunchbox, but I was grateful that at least one of us had bothered to think about food. Suyeong possessed the efficient and minimalist organisation of the seasoned traveller. He'd had enough practice in the last couple of months, I supposed.
I wanted to ask him a thousand things about Shindou but couldn't. Not-talking about Shindou had become such a habit by now, I felt like I'd done it all my life. It was hard to believe that it'd only been two years.
The ferry was ready and waiting when we arrived at the port. Its departure had been delayed, we were informed, for our sakes. Isumi had booked us two private cabins; Suyeong took the smaller one. No sooner had we pulled out of the rippling, moon-pathed bay than Touya began to look extremely ill.
“Don't tell me you're one of those people who gets seasick at the drop of a hat,” I said, before quickly grabbing the bucket that stood beside the bunks and handing it to him. “You are, aren't you?” He was too busy chucking to retort. When he was done he dabbed at his mouth with the handkerchief I lent him (gave him, rather; I didn't want that handkerchief back any time soon).
“You'd better move to Suyeong's cabin.” he suggested, sitting down in his bunk and hunching up in an awkward manner that suggested he was trying to minimise all sources of discomfort. I hesitated, reluctant to leave him alone when he was in that condition. He gave me an imperious scowl. “Unless you enjoy watching me being sick.”
Wishing to spare his pride, I moved my things to Suyeong's room, which I discovered was empty. I went out and found Suyeong standing above deck, leaning against the railing and staring out into a cloudless starry night. The ferry's engines thrummed. Suyeong was dressed plainly for this trip, khaki pants and cambric shirt. He didn't bother acknowledging my presence when I came to stand beside him. We listened to the boat cut its way through the black water.
He asked, “What was Shindou like as a novitiate?”
I closed my eyes and considered all the ways I could respond. In the end the answer came out haltingly, fragmented. “Flaky. Impulsive. Surprising. Vulnerable. You couldn't leave him alone – I couldn't leave him alone, at any rate. And brilliant – but you know that. You saw that when you were in Ki.”
We segued into a natural pause, two men bound by a living memory.
“Tell me about Yeongha,” I said.
I heard the smile in his voice as he replied: “Impulsive. Suprising. Impossible to ignore. Yeongha is the kind of diviner who looks at an array of stones and sees the colour of tomorrow's sunset, or mildew in the crops, or numbers changing in the stock market. Often he seems more prophet than diviner. But he does it with a goban, and only with a goban.”
The wind blew in his face and he brushed his fringe away from his eyes. “He and Shindou took to each other immediately. I was really jealous at the time.”
“Are you still jealous?”
“Yes.” The boat changed direction, heading to open sea. “Yes, still jealous.”
“I've never been jealous of Shindou. I'm not sure why.” I added quietly, “We might have to fight and overpower them, you know.”
“I don't mind fighting Yeongha. Shindou – I'm not so sure. He was in really bad condition when he left.”
A tired old guilt went through my heart. “Do what you can. Touya and I – we'll do what we must.”
Again we sank into a silence that managed to be both comfortable and tension-filled. Eventually Suyeong made his excuses and went back below-deck. I remained a little longer, breathing the salt air; then decided to check on Touya before I retired to bed.
He was no longer retching; although a glance at the bucket and a sniff of the air told me that he'd probably expelled what little food he'd managed to ingest during the day. He lay on his side in his bunk, still dressed in his robes, body scrunched up into a little ball.
“Are you okay?” He was facing the wall and away from me; despite the irrelevance of the gesture, I touched his forehead to gauge its temperature. His skin was surprisingly cool. He did not speak or react.
With difficulty I coaxed him into turning around and looking up at me. To my horror I saw in his eyes the hard glitter of tears.
“Do you want to talk?” I asked. He shook his head wearily. I wasn't used to this. Isumi, unlike Touya, had a way of letting me know what he needed when he needed it.
Well, one thing was for certain; Touya wouldn't be able to ask for help unless someone was around to hear the request.
“Change of plan. I'm sleeping here tonight.” I told him, and went next door to retrieve my belongings. Touya seemed too tired to dispute my decision. He continued to lie there; I decided that persuading him to change into his nightclothes was a lost cause.
I replaced the bucket by his bunk, switched off the lights, and fell asleep once my head touched the pillow. The ferry swayed; I dreamed.
#
I shouted Shindou's name and he started. The stone slipped from between his fingers. All across the room, black and white pieces fell from the air, landing randomly on the stone grids and spilling across the edges of the boards. They clattered around my feet as I walked closer.
Shindou and the ghost stared at me. They were still, in some sense, the same person, occupying the same area in space and time; the eyes scrutinising me bore Shindou's wide green irises and yet contained more than that; something darker and wiser and more beautiful and terrifying. Then my fingers closed around Shindou's forearm, and they separated.
The ghost floated upwards, above us, achingly lovely. My nails dug into Shindou's skin.
Shindou's face hardened and, with his free hand, he picked up the white round that he'd just dropped.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Finishing.” His hand descended. Nine gobans resumed their chaotic dances.
“What are you doing?”
“Let me go!” Ineffectually he tried to pull away from me. “Waya, you have to let us finish. Tonight. Tonight's the last night. Five minutes. That's all. Please.”
I lingered, paralysed in indecision. Around us, the stones roared. The ghost gazed sadly down. And Shindou – Shindou just looked at me.
Finally, I assented. “Understood. I'll leave you alone.”
I withdrew my grip, leaving thin crescents of red where my fingers had been. Shindou gave a shaky smile of relief; the ghost bobbed gratefully. I averted my gaze as they melded again, and quietly let myself out of the shrine, walked through the falling moonlight.
I was leaving by way of a corridor when a hand fell on my shoulder.
It was Ogata Juudan.
On to Chapter 9.
Wordcount: 3200
Summary: In a world where divination is used to predict the future and govern nations, State Diviner Touya Akira and private investigator Waya Yoshitaka embark on a search for the heretic Sai, the ghostly diviner who may be the most powerful of them all.
This chapter: In which Zhao Shi is put-upon by Le Ping (and possibly vice-versa), Touya is seasick, everyone more or less angsts a lot, and progress is made geographically, if not necessarily plot-wise.
Earlier chapters.
“So, Isumi,” I said acidly, about five minutes after we'd left the Dukian embassy, “I suppose you were planning to tell me about this sometime in the next year or so?”
We'd left Suyeong behind, to hash out what looked like an uncomfortable and potentially very long conversation with An Taeseon. Yang Hai was coming with us to the palace. Isumi had business with the Records Department there, and Touya and I had a meeting with Yih's teenaged emperor.
Isumi looked embarrassed. “It was quite hard keeping it from you. It was just as well you've been so busy in the last few days. I wanted to tell you the good news sooner, after Le Ping told me what happened on the train, but...” He trailed off.
“But. You enjoyed watching me squirm.”
“No, that's--”
“Completely true.”
“Who's behind the legalisation proposal?” asked Touya Akira. He seemed only marginally less surprised than I was at this turn of events.
“Ahem. To be honest, that's--”
“Isumi and I have been working on it since he first came to Yih,” said Yang Hai. Down the road, a flock of pigeons emerged and scattered from the rafters of a sloped-roof temple. A sunburned man trotted past, hauling an empty rickshaw. A gleaming greenish fly landed on Yang Hai's linen sleeve and he shook it off, sending it towards Touya. “I was Chief Diviner at the time, so I was privy to the classified information that the Oligarchs sent the Emperor. I thought it was a great shame that your government and mine were both rejecting what I perceived to be the natural future of the art. Even if it took a ghost from the past to point us to it.”
“The historical records do suggest that active-control divination was known to the ancients, and forbidden even then.” The fly alighted on Touya's head and began crawling around. Irritated, Touya flicked at his own hair. “For instance, there is a mention in the Late Annals of the Go Empire of Fujiwara no Sai, stating that he was a practitioner of heresy and was executed by drowning for it.”
Yang Hai shrugged. “I don't think that historical precedent is sufficient for us to make a decision blindly. Men should be guided by their reason, don't you think? In any event, soon after I met Isumi, and discovered that he also wanted to legalise so-called heretical divination, although for very different purposes from my own. I'm not sure why, but he seemed to think it would persuade you to rejoin the State Diviners,” he said to me.
I was surprised and not a little gratified. “Thank you,” I told Isumi, who was – predictably – blushing a faint pink.
“It took us a while, since it was difficult persuading the right people to accept our ideas,” Yang Hai told Touya. “The Yihian Empire has a long tradition of being resistant to change. Fortunately Zhao Shi is even more passionate about the subject than we are, and he has been governing the country well since he came to the throne last year. In Ki, on the other hand, you need five of the Oligarchs to consent before negotiations can even begin, and until this week, the Ouza, the Kisei, and both your parents, Touya, were against the Commission.”
“My father felt that the time for legalisation was premature.” Touya's voice was strained. I automatically felt a surge of both protectiveness for him and hostility to Yang Hai.
“He was a Touya and a Meijin. He acted as someone in his position should have. If we take a shortcut here, we can enter directly into the Phoenix Court, saving ourselves some time.” Yang Hai led the way up a flight of stone steps that led through a leafy pergola..
Isumi said, “Kuwabara Honinbou has been helping us for some time now. He and Ogata Juudan telegrammed me yesterday, to say that the Council was willing to open talks for the Comission.”
“Who voted in favour?” asked Touya.
Isumi shrugged. “I haven't received that news yet. But there was a note saying that Morishita had been appointed the new Ouza. Probably he and Kurata, then.” He smiled at me. “I don't think I'm the only one who hopes you'll return to the Diviners.”
I tried to scowl away the lump in my throat. “Your lack of subtlety is almost frightening.”
“But effective, I hope?” Isumi placed a hand on my shoulder. I noticed that Touya was watching us, and chose to stare down, at the steep, moss-infiltrated steps we were climbing, at the stumpy penumbric shadows we cast, backlit by the sun.
“Don't hold your breath.” I spoke without rancour – and without conviction in the words I said.
Touya was about as convinced by my rejection as Isumi was - which was to say, not at all.
“Would you like me to sponsor you into the State Diviners?” he asked, as we travelled through the Phoenix Court. It was more decorative and floral than the outer court, and crammed with buildings and little gardens. We'd left Isumi and Yang Hai back near the Pagoda of Nine Stars, an imposing circular tower that stood a little apart from the surrounding structures.
I raised my brows. “Are you trying to make me angry? Because you know, that's a really good way.”
“Really?” He studied my face. “Before you always got angry for no apparent reason.”
“That's because--” Amused, I paused. It did make sense that Touya didn't understand why he frustrated people. He was, as far as I could tell, constitutionally incapable of jealousy. “It's definitely a very good way of making me angry.” I nodded firmly. “No more talk about being a State Diviner.”
“Okay.” A hint of a smile hovered about his lips, and I was pleased. If he couldn't – or wouldn't – talk to me about his father's death, then the only thing I could do was make sure that it wasn't on his mind all the time.
We arrived at the massive gilded pavilion where we were supposed to meet Zhao Shi. It was surrounded by water on four sides, and connected to land by two long walkways. As we came closer I spotted Le Ping, dressed in jeans and a sashed, wide-sleeved shirt. He was sitting on the balustrade at the edge of the pavilion, legs kicking the lake. Drops flew in the air. Sitting behind him on a long inbuilt seat was a boy about Le Ping's age, who had something of the look of a china doll.
“He says you don't need to kneel,” Le Ping said, as we drew close. He continued to kick the water. We bowed to Zhao Shi. Touya spoke something in Yihian and Zhao Shi replied. He was the kind of emperor one saw portraits of everywhere, even from street artists whose only glimpse of him was from other paintings. His face retained the soft roundness and delicate skin of a much younger child. His eyes were lustrous.
We sat at a stone table facing Zhao Shi, who said something to Le Ping. Le Ping swivelled around, barely avoiding the emperor with his dripping bare feet, and descended to sit cross-legged on the ground.
“So I'm the translator for today. My Kigo is better than your Yihian, right?” he queried Touya, who admitted that it was so.
Zhao Shi spoke in his soft, musical voice. Le Ping translated: “He wants to say that it's a great pleasure to speak to both of you like this, and he's heard a lot about the two of you, and – hold on. This is getting really long.” He turned to Zhao Shi and said something in rapid Yihian. “All right, it's okay, we can cut to business now. He wants to talk about this – heretical divination? What's the right word?”
“Active-control divination,” supplied Touya.
“Yeah, that. Anyway, all sorts of problems are going to crop up once it's legal, right? Even more people will want to learn divination than before. And what if more than person wants to change the same future at the same time? It's going to be chaotic.” Le Ping looked delighted at the thought. “So Zhao Shi wants to make sure there are limits on active-control divination to begin with.”
A brief conversation between Le Ping and Zhao Shi.
“We were worried about the land goban, after Isumi told us about it. All those old men in court are going to be freaking over it – a huge Weiqi board, that can affect chaos and order all over the world? So it'd be good if, after we've explained to them how Shi Zhen died” - and here he looked a little sad – “we could announce that the murder weapon had already been destroyed.”
I still wasn't convinced it was murder, but that had little bearing on the conversation.
Touya nodded his head. “Understood. In fact that was also on our minds.”
“It's the only real way to stop Shindou anyway,” I added. “At this stage I'm not sure he'll stop resurrecting Sai just because we asked him nicely. Plus, it wrecks our divinations every time someone uses that board, right?”
Zhao Shi smiled at us and made another little speech, which Le Ping paraphrased (I was under no illusions that he was doing a thorough or even exact translation): “Personally we think it's a pity to destroy such an important magical artefact, but without better international cooperation it would be too controversial to keep it around.”
Touya said, “You realise that in destroying the geomantic board we could potentially wreck the physical structures not only of the tengen, but also the other hoshi points.”
Another exchange between Le Ping and Zhao Shi. “That's something we will have to accept. My understanding is that most of the star-points are within the empire itself. Our messengers will take responsibility for sending warnings to everyone involved, including those outside Yih. And uh.” Le Ping darted a sidelong glance at Zhao Shi. “I think that's all.”
All of us stood and bowed. “Thanks for entrusting us with this responsibility.” Touya said to Zhao Shi. “We plan to leave for the tengen location as soon as possible – this afternoon, in fact. Your help is very much appreciated.”
“I want to go with you.” Le Ping leaned back on his hands and produced an uncovered yawn.
“Absolutely not,” I said. “Suyeong's coming as well, and if three's a crowd, then four's a midsummer parade, complete with elephants in full regalia.”
The young emperor leaned down and murmured something in Le Ping's ear. “Zhao Shi says no,” Le Ping said, pouting.
“Ah well.” I tweaked his hair. He pulled away, glaring at me. “Thanks for all your help, Le Ping.”
“I hate you.”
“Sure you do.” Touya and I bowed again, deeply, to the emperor.
The coach journey to the coast lasted several hours, beginning in early afternoon and finishing well after nightfall. Suyeong and I sat together, across the aisle from Touya, It was a cramped little vehicle, crammed with holidaymakers and their noise. There was barely enough foot space between the seats. For a while the road ran alongside the river, and I spent my time observing the opaque, sun-flecked water, the painted riverboats, and the thick reedy vegetation that covered each bank.
When the sky turned to twilight Suyeong unpacked a a hamper he'd brought with him and shared its contents among the three of us – smoked ham sandwiches and rice balls wrapped in bean curd. It wasn't what I'd have packed in my ideal lunchbox, but I was grateful that at least one of us had bothered to think about food. Suyeong possessed the efficient and minimalist organisation of the seasoned traveller. He'd had enough practice in the last couple of months, I supposed.
I wanted to ask him a thousand things about Shindou but couldn't. Not-talking about Shindou had become such a habit by now, I felt like I'd done it all my life. It was hard to believe that it'd only been two years.
The ferry was ready and waiting when we arrived at the port. Its departure had been delayed, we were informed, for our sakes. Isumi had booked us two private cabins; Suyeong took the smaller one. No sooner had we pulled out of the rippling, moon-pathed bay than Touya began to look extremely ill.
“Don't tell me you're one of those people who gets seasick at the drop of a hat,” I said, before quickly grabbing the bucket that stood beside the bunks and handing it to him. “You are, aren't you?” He was too busy chucking to retort. When he was done he dabbed at his mouth with the handkerchief I lent him (gave him, rather; I didn't want that handkerchief back any time soon).
“You'd better move to Suyeong's cabin.” he suggested, sitting down in his bunk and hunching up in an awkward manner that suggested he was trying to minimise all sources of discomfort. I hesitated, reluctant to leave him alone when he was in that condition. He gave me an imperious scowl. “Unless you enjoy watching me being sick.”
Wishing to spare his pride, I moved my things to Suyeong's room, which I discovered was empty. I went out and found Suyeong standing above deck, leaning against the railing and staring out into a cloudless starry night. The ferry's engines thrummed. Suyeong was dressed plainly for this trip, khaki pants and cambric shirt. He didn't bother acknowledging my presence when I came to stand beside him. We listened to the boat cut its way through the black water.
He asked, “What was Shindou like as a novitiate?”
I closed my eyes and considered all the ways I could respond. In the end the answer came out haltingly, fragmented. “Flaky. Impulsive. Surprising. Vulnerable. You couldn't leave him alone – I couldn't leave him alone, at any rate. And brilliant – but you know that. You saw that when you were in Ki.”
We segued into a natural pause, two men bound by a living memory.
“Tell me about Yeongha,” I said.
I heard the smile in his voice as he replied: “Impulsive. Suprising. Impossible to ignore. Yeongha is the kind of diviner who looks at an array of stones and sees the colour of tomorrow's sunset, or mildew in the crops, or numbers changing in the stock market. Often he seems more prophet than diviner. But he does it with a goban, and only with a goban.”
The wind blew in his face and he brushed his fringe away from his eyes. “He and Shindou took to each other immediately. I was really jealous at the time.”
“Are you still jealous?”
“Yes.” The boat changed direction, heading to open sea. “Yes, still jealous.”
“I've never been jealous of Shindou. I'm not sure why.” I added quietly, “We might have to fight and overpower them, you know.”
“I don't mind fighting Yeongha. Shindou – I'm not so sure. He was in really bad condition when he left.”
A tired old guilt went through my heart. “Do what you can. Touya and I – we'll do what we must.”
Again we sank into a silence that managed to be both comfortable and tension-filled. Eventually Suyeong made his excuses and went back below-deck. I remained a little longer, breathing the salt air; then decided to check on Touya before I retired to bed.
He was no longer retching; although a glance at the bucket and a sniff of the air told me that he'd probably expelled what little food he'd managed to ingest during the day. He lay on his side in his bunk, still dressed in his robes, body scrunched up into a little ball.
“Are you okay?” He was facing the wall and away from me; despite the irrelevance of the gesture, I touched his forehead to gauge its temperature. His skin was surprisingly cool. He did not speak or react.
With difficulty I coaxed him into turning around and looking up at me. To my horror I saw in his eyes the hard glitter of tears.
“Do you want to talk?” I asked. He shook his head wearily. I wasn't used to this. Isumi, unlike Touya, had a way of letting me know what he needed when he needed it.
Well, one thing was for certain; Touya wouldn't be able to ask for help unless someone was around to hear the request.
“Change of plan. I'm sleeping here tonight.” I told him, and went next door to retrieve my belongings. Touya seemed too tired to dispute my decision. He continued to lie there; I decided that persuading him to change into his nightclothes was a lost cause.
I replaced the bucket by his bunk, switched off the lights, and fell asleep once my head touched the pillow. The ferry swayed; I dreamed.
I shouted Shindou's name and he started. The stone slipped from between his fingers. All across the room, black and white pieces fell from the air, landing randomly on the stone grids and spilling across the edges of the boards. They clattered around my feet as I walked closer.
Shindou and the ghost stared at me. They were still, in some sense, the same person, occupying the same area in space and time; the eyes scrutinising me bore Shindou's wide green irises and yet contained more than that; something darker and wiser and more beautiful and terrifying. Then my fingers closed around Shindou's forearm, and they separated.
The ghost floated upwards, above us, achingly lovely. My nails dug into Shindou's skin.
Shindou's face hardened and, with his free hand, he picked up the white round that he'd just dropped.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Finishing.” His hand descended. Nine gobans resumed their chaotic dances.
“What are you doing?”
“Let me go!” Ineffectually he tried to pull away from me. “Waya, you have to let us finish. Tonight. Tonight's the last night. Five minutes. That's all. Please.”
I lingered, paralysed in indecision. Around us, the stones roared. The ghost gazed sadly down. And Shindou – Shindou just looked at me.
Finally, I assented. “Understood. I'll leave you alone.”
I withdrew my grip, leaving thin crescents of red where my fingers had been. Shindou gave a shaky smile of relief; the ghost bobbed gratefully. I averted my gaze as they melded again, and quietly let myself out of the shrine, walked through the falling moonlight.
I was leaving by way of a corridor when a hand fell on my shoulder.
It was Ogata Juudan.
On to Chapter 9.
