Banner of souls (15 page)

The next day, the hours before noon seemed interminable. Eventually, Lunae grew tired of kicking her heels on the bed and made her way to the uppermost part of the tower. She curled up once more on the windowsill and stared out across the harbor. There was a fine mist this morning, blurring the contours of the city Ships drifted through the fog like spirits, their lights soft as flowers, but a shaft of sunlight bathed the Peak. Farther along the sill lay the silk-moth chrysalis, where Lunae had left it. She watched it, hoping that it would split and release the moth into the morning air, but the chrysalis remained as tightly sealed as a lotus bud. It crossed her mind that she might once more accelerate time, win a few days for the silk-moth, but something held her back. Today was her time for flight, not the moth's. Still filled with fear that her leaving would, after all, be prevented, she jumped from the window seat and ran back down to her room. The kappa was waiting.

"The Grandmothers wish to see you before you go," the kappa said.

The nurse seemed agitated, her thick fingers fluttering about the folds of her clothing. Lunae followed her along the corridors. The Grandmothers were waiting, bright-eyed and spidery, amid the hangings of the bed. There were no last-moment revelations of pride or love. Right-Hand did most of the talking, echoed in a senile mumble by her companion.

"Dreams-of-War has told you where you are to go. Obey her; do not rely too heavily upon your own judg-ment. Remember that you have little experience and are still unformed. We will send messages. Do not think we will forget about you." Right-Hand beckoned. "Come closer."

With reluctance, Lunae did so. Left-Hand seized her wrist, pulling her down onto the bed. Left-Hand smelled of old, musty flesh; flesh that had lived too long, Lunae thought. She would rather be close to the kappa, with her shore and seaweed odors, than the Grandmothers.

"Remember what you are," the Grandmothers hissed. "Now go. The litter is waiting for you."

Right-Hand gave Lunae a push, none too gently. Lunae left the Grandmoth-ers' chamber and did not look back.

Dreams-of-War was standing on the steps of Cloud Terrace, impatiently tapping an armored foot.

"Have you seen the Grandmothers?" she asked.

"Yes."

"And? Did all go well?"

Dreams-of-War's face was as anxious as it could be, so Lunae answered only, "Yes. We discussed the voyage. I am to obey you in all things."

"You can tell me all about it in the litter. It's at the gate. But first, there is something we must do."

Today Dreams-of-War's armor was covered with por-cupine spines; her head rose above a column of linked steel rings.
She is afraid
, Lunae thought. She
bristles
.

"Come with me," Dreams-of-War said. She marched down to the mansion's blacklight chamber, normally a place where Lunae was forbidden to go.

"What are we doing here?" Lunae asked. Dreams-of-War closed the door behind them.

"Armor!"

Lunae watched as the armor flowed from Dreams-of-War's body, leaving her standing in her underhamess, as hard and marmoreal as Lunae had imagined her. The ar-mor's shattered head turned toward its mistress in inquiry and Lunae stared at the half-faced form.

"Who is she?" Lunae breathed.

"She is Embar Khair, the warrior whose spirit inhabits this armor." Dreams-of-War turned to the armored form. "This girl who stands before you. Envelop her."

"Dreams-of-War—!" Lunae started to protest, but the armor was already flowing obligingly over her.

It weighed her down and she gave a muffled cry at the unaccustomed pressure,

"Let her imprint you," Dreams-of-War commanded. "Her soul-engrams, her DNA. Read her well and file the information."

It lasted only a moment. Minutes later, Lunae stood ruffled on the floor of the blacklight chamber and the ar-mor was once more moving to encase Dreams-of-War.

"What was that for?"

"I wanted the armor to have a record of you. If we are ever in a position of grave danger, then I have instructed the armor to respond to you as well as to me. It will also be able to detect you if you are lost. I should have done this before. I was remiss. And now, the litter is waiting."

At the gate, Lunae looked around at the tangled gar-den, then back at Cloud Terrace, which rose in its untidy jumble above her to blot out the sun. She wondered whether, in time, she might come to miss it.

She was cer-tain that she would not miss the Grandmothers. It had been wonderful to stand before them and believe that this might be the last time she would ever set eyes upon them. With this thought, Lunae turned and hurried to the litter.

The journey down through the streets of the Peak was as frustrating as ever. Lunae pleaded for the shutters to be drawn back just a fraction, so that she could see what was passing by, but Dreams-of-War refused. Beside her, the kappa nodded in eager agreement.

"Now more than ever, it is dangerous," the kappa said. "What if someone were to spot you? Besides, the shutters are shielded."

"What does that mean?"

"They're filled with deflection traceries, to baffle scan-ners," Dreams-of-War murmured.

"Do you think that the Kami might be trying to trace me?"

Dreams-of-War frowned. "It's not known what equip-ment the Kami use, so it's impossible to protect oneself against it." Lunae saw her mailed fist contract. "I would prefer it if I knew for certain that they could not tell where you were going. I suspect them of being behind the assas-sins."

"
Assassins
? But there was only one." She frowned at Dreams-of-War, but the Martian did not reply.

"But
why
? Why would they want me dead? Because of what I am?"

"I do not know."

Lunae pressed her face against the wall of the litter, trying to glean sounds from the world outside.

Imagina-tion and memories supplied the lack of vision. She saw remedy-women with baskets of dried snakes and engi-neered glands; the ancient shopfronts of circuit makers, hands genetically attenuated to perfect the finest details; Malay traders with racks of cheap stimulants. Even after the incident with the Kami, she longed to break from the litter and bolt into the maze of streets. It was so tempting to think that she might alter time, just for a handful of minutes, find a way to step outside and see.

But Dreams-of-War was right; it was a dangerous situ-ation. And how must an ordinary child feel, confined by parental dictate for weeks, months, years, without Lunae's own accelerated pace of growth?

She thought that it would drive her mad to be such a child, and perhaps this was what happened to most people; that by the time they were fully grown it was already too late, and they were driven crazed by their own lack of control.

That would explain the demeanor of the Grandmoth-ers, she thought, but Dreams-of-War seemed different. Perpetually irate she might be, but not actually demented. But then, Dreams-of-War's girlhood seemed to have been relatively free. For a long moment, Lunae envied her, then sighed. No point in rewriting the past, certainly not now, when the future lay before her with all its intricate possi-bilities.

The litter lurched along, its bearers stumbling through the streets. Dreams-of-War knocked sharply on the wall.

"Where are we? Is this Heng Seng?"

A muffled reply came back. Dreams-of-War leaned back against her seat, apparently satisfied.

"It won't be long before we reach the harbor." She gave Lunae a sharp glance. "Do you feel anything, sense any-thing?"

"No. Only confinement," Lunae muttered. The litter had grown stuffy and hot, filled with the scent of old sweat and dried lacquer.

Dreams-of-War smiled thinly. "I dislike it, too. I shall be glad when we are out upon the high seas."

"There are seas on Mars, aren't there? Have you sailed on them?"

"The Small Sea is little in comparison with the oceans of Earth," Dreams-of-War remarked, giving Lunae the dis-tinct impression that it was an unfortunate thing for a planet to be so wet. Perhaps she was right. Lunae had seen the ancient maps, when Earth possessed a wealth of land.

Dreams-of-War leaned forward, as if scenting the air. "The harbor. I can smell it."

The litter at last jolted to a halt. The shutters slid back, flooding them with sunlight. There was a strange electric sizzle, presumably as the localized weir-wards were switched off. Needing no encouragement, Lunae scram-bled down to find herself standing on a dock. A hot salt wind washed around her, redolent with weed and the smell of dead shellfish. Lunae took a deep, uncritical breath.

Warm stone baked up through the soles of her boots. Eagerly, she looked about her, seeing the harbor stretching before them. The great junks rocked under the wind, tethered like stormclouds, crimson sails furled. She could hear the creak and ache of wood bowing before the elements: wind, water, sun. She thought of the Grand-mothers' chamber and the twists of driftwood. Had that come from ancient forests, long drowned, or from more recent wrecks? A swift image flickered across the face of her mind: an empty shore, the Grandmothers scuttling sideways along it like a pair of contorted crabs, snatching up a fragment of prow, a tatter of sail…

The kappa tugged at her hood. "Keep your face hid-den!"

Lunae turned from her reverie to note that Dreams-of-War's armor had all but vanished, forming a slick sheen across her skin. The kappa melted away into the shadows.

"Where is she going?"

"To see if there's anyone about," the Martian said grimly.

The air was suddenly acrid, chemical-tinged, as a freighter sailed up the harbor. A slick of oily water washed up against the wall, leaving a faint gleam in its wake. Be-hind them, the tumbling towers of the Peak stretched all the way up to the toad-presence of Cloud Terrace. Lunae turned swiftly back to stare out across the harbor to High Kowloon. Dozens of smaller boats rode the waves, an-chored in a labyrinthine network that extended halfway across the harbor. Between the boats, she could see columns of rotting stone encrusted with shellfish. The green-black spears of mussels gleamed in the watery light; the pale muscular neck of a clam waved briefly forth be-fore retreating.

"What are those columns for?"

"Ruins. This part of the city was high above water once. This is the typhoon shelter," Dreams-of-War ex-plained. "Our vessel waits beyond."

The kappa came bustling back. Dreams-of-War glanced questions at her, but the kappa pursed her lips and shook her head. Dreams-of-War led Lunae down a flight of rickety steps and across the deck of a narrow pon-toon. A young girl was banging a mass of writhing tenta-cles against the harbor wall with rhythmic, precise ferocity. She threw down the pulped mass of octopus, reached into a bucket, drew forth a second, and swung it. There was the sound of soft meat hitting stone, a wet succession of thuds.

Lunae swallowed and turned away.

Before her, women were frying fish in a wok, shred-ding green fronds of weed, talking in shrill, hissing voices. The bite of chili and hot fat caught at the back of Lunae's throat, smelling nothing like the bland and delicate foods of Cloud Terrace. She was suddenly ravenous.

"Can we get something to eat?"

"Not here. I'll find food on the boat."

Resentfully, Lunae followed her guardian across the deck. No one paid any attention to their passage; it seemed quite usual for strangers to be making their way through other folks' homes. She badly wanted to stop and look at the strings of charms that hung from the lintels of doorways and portals, at the icons of bronze and glossy wood that stood in every available niche, at the skeins of dried fish, as desiccated and gnarled as leather. But Dreams-of-War marched on like a one-woman army, look-ing neither right nor left, pausing only to help Lunae along the swaying, tottering ladders that led from boat to boat. Lunae shook off her guardian's assisting hands, irritated by the assumption that she was a child, needful of help.

Dreams-of-War appeared not to notice.

"Where is our vessel?" Lunae whispered as they crossed the slippery plank between two black-hulled prows.

Dreams-of-War pointed. "There."

The junk lay a little distance from the maze of boats, riding gently on an unseen current. Its sides were weath-ered ebony and its ruby sails billowed in the wind. A dragon figurehead crested above the waves, eyes bulging, mouth flared wide to display gilded alligator teeth. The ropes that secured its sails snapped and cracked. To Lu-nae, it was the embodiment of freedom.

As they reached the last boat of all, a scull skirted the junk's black hull and veered toward them.

"For us, I hope," Dreams-of-War said, shifting rest-lessly from foot to foot. A woman sat in the prow, dressed from head to foot in ragged red clothes, rowing vigorously.

"Who is that?"

"I don't know. One of the sailors, I assume."

"Why is she dressed in red?"

"It is traditional."

The scull edged alongside the tethered boats and a rope was thrown to secure it. Then the sailor was standing before them. Lunae saw a long face, narrow eyes above a slab of cheekbone, hair scrunched up in a topknot and slicked with something wet. The skin of her face and fore-arms was covered with tattoos; intricate whorls and spi-rals, like carved wood beneath the ragged sleeves.

"Who are you?" Lunae whispered.

"I am your captain. My name is Ayadatarahime Sek. You may call me 'Captain.'"

A harsh voice, and a strange accent. Lunae had diffi-culty in understanding some of the words. Sek grinned, displaying teeth stained black by chewing-nut. Certain of the teeth, like the Martian's, had been filed into points, or perhaps were implants. Her eyes were a flat darkness. Lu-nae took an instant dislike to her. She stared ahead, but Sek must have seen the flicker in her eyes, for the captain's sharp, rotten smile widened.

"You have had no trouble?" Dreams-of-War asked sharply.

"There is always trouble. Raiders from the Siberian Is-lands, from Hakodate. In the Fire Islands, problems all the time with
your
people." She nodded toward the kappa, who fluttered her hands. "They delight in putting obsta-cles in my way. And in the city, bureaucrats all wanting their cut of the harbor revenue, whether or not they are entitled to it. I do not know which is worse." Sek sounded both self-righteous and aggrieved. Lunae's dislike deep-ened, unreasonably.