"Yes," DeVore said softly, moving closer. "And now you do understand, eh?" He reached out and put his'fingers gently to the weal on Wyatt's cheek. "We'll find the truth of this, you and I. We've time, you know. Plenty of time."
And in the end, he thought, even you will believe you ordered Lwo Kang's death.
FROM HIGH ABOVE it seemed insignificant, a tiny circular blemish in the vast field of whiteness, yet as the craft dropped the circle grew and grew until it seemed to fill the whole of the viewing window with its blackness.
The big transporter set down on the roof of the City, close to the circle's edge. Only paces from its struts the surface of the roof was warped, the ice dented and buckled by the vast heat of the explosion. Seen from this close the huge dark circle revealed another dimension. It was a dish—an enormous concave dish, like some gigantic alchemist's crucible; the dark and sticky sludge of its residue already sifted and searched for clues.
They climbed down from the transporter, looking about them; sixty men from the lower levels, white-cloaked and hooded. Others handed down tools from inside the big, insectile machine; shovels and brushes; sacks and other containers. Old-fashioned tools. Nothing modern was needed now. This was the simplest part of all. The final stage before rebuilding.
They got to work at once, forming three chains of twenty men, three from each chain filling sacks at the edge of the sludge pool and handing them back to the others in the line. And at the top two anchormen moved backward and forward between the human chain and the big machine, passing the sacks up into the interior.
A wind was blowing from the mountains. At the top of the right-hand work-chain one of the men—a big shaven-headed Han—turned and looked back at the distant peaks. For a moment he could relax, knowing no sack was on its way. Taking off a glove he pulled down his goggles and wiped at his brow. How cool it was. How pleasant to feel the wind brushing against the skin. For a moment his blunt, nondescript face searched the distance, trying to place something, then he shrugged.
Looking down he noticed something against the dark surface. Something small and green and fragile-looking. He bent down and picked it up, holding it in his bare palm. It was a budding seed.
He looked up, hearing the cry of birds overhead, and understood. It was from the mountainside. A bird must have picked it up and dropped it here. Here on the lifeless surface of the City's roof.
He stared at it a moment longer, noting the shape of its twin leaves, the hardness of its central pip. Then he crushed it between his fingers and let it drop.
Kao Chen, kwai, onetime assassin, looked up. Clouds, mountains, even the flat, open surface of the City's roof—all seemed so different in the daylight. He sniffed in the warm air and smiled. Then, hearing the grunts of the men below him, pulled up his goggles, eased on his glove, and turned back.
PART I SPRING 2I9l
Beneath the Yellow Springs
When I was alive, I wandered in the streets of the
Capital;
Now that I am dead, I am left to He in the fields. In the morning I drove out from the High Hall; In the evening I lodged beneath the yellow springs. When the white sun had sunk in the Western Chasm I hung up my chariot and rested my four horses. Now, even the Maker of AH Could not bring the life back to my limbs. Shape and substance day by day will vanish: Hair and teeth will gradually fall away. Forever from of old men have been so: And none born can escape this thing.
—MIU HSI, Bearer's Song (from Han Burial Songs)
CHAPTER FIVE
Brothers
IT WAS SPRING in Sichuan Province and the trees of the orchard at Tongjiang were ablaze with blossom beneath a clear blue sky. The air was clear, like a polished lens. In the distance the mountains thrust into the heavens, knife-edged shapes of green and blue.
At the orchard's edge four servants waited silently, their heads bowed, heavily laden silver trays held out before them.
Beneath the trees at the lake's edge the two princes were playing, their laughter echoing across the water. The eldest, Li Han Ch'in, evaded his little brother's outstretched arm and, with a swift, athletic movement, grasped an overhead branch and swung up into the crown of the apple tree. Li Yuan rushed at the tree, making trial jumps, but the branch was too high for him to reach.
"That isn't fair, Han!" Yuan said breathlessly, laughing, his eyes burning with excitement. In the tree above him Han Ch'in was giggling, his head tilted back to look down at his brother, a sprig of pure white blossom caught in his jet-black hair.
"Come up and get me!" he taunted, letting one leg dangle, then pulling it up quickly when his brother jumped for it.
Yuan looked about him a moment, then found what he was looking for. He turned back. "Come down! Come down or I'll beat you!" he threatened, one hand holding the thin switch, the Other on his hip; his expression part stern, part amused.
"I won't!" said Han, pulling himself up closer to the branch, trying to work his way farther up the tree.
Laughing excitedly, Yuan stepped forward, flicking the leafy switch gently against his brother's back. The older boy yelled exaggeratedly and kicked out wildly, his foot missing by a breath. The boy on the ground screeched, enjoying the game, and hit out harder with the branch. There was another yell from above and again the foot struck out wildly. But this time it connected, sending the small boy crashing backward.
Han Ch'in dropped down at once and went over to where his brother lay, unmoving, on the earth beside the bole.
"Yuan! Yuan!"
He bent down, listening for his brother's breath, his head dropping down onto the small boy's chest.
Yuan rolled, using his brother's weight, as he'd been taught, and came up on his chest, his knees pinning down Han's arms. For a moment he was on top, his face triumphant. Then Han pushed up, throwing him off sideways. Yuan turned and began to scramble away, but Han reached out and grabbed his leg, slowly dragging him back.
"No, Han ... no ... please!" But Yuan's protestations were feeble. He could barely speak for laughing.
"Say it!" Han demanded, pinning the small boy's arms against his sides, his arms wrapped tightly about his chest. "1 order you to say it!"
Yuan shook his head violently, his laughter giving way to hiccups. But as Han's arms squeezed tighter he relented, nodding. The grip slackened but remained firm. Yuan took a breath, then spoke. "You are my master"—he coughed, then continued—"and 1 promise to obey you."
"Good!"
Han Ch'in released him, then pushed him away. The small boy fell against the earth and lay there a moment, breathing deeply. For a while they were quiet. Birds called in the warm, still air.
"What do you think of her, Yuan?"
Li Yuan rolled over and looked up at his brother. Li Han Ch'in was kneeling, looking out across the lake toward the terrace. The sprig of blossom still clung to the side of his head, pure white against the intense blackness of his hair. There was a faint smile on his lips. His dark eyes looked far off into the distance. "Do you think she's pretty?"
The question brought color to Yuan's cheeks. He nodded and looked down. Yes, he thought. More than pretty. Fei Yen was beautiful. He had known that from the first moment he had seen her. Fei Yen. How well the name fitted her. Flying swal' low. . . .
He looked up to find Han Ch'in staring at him, his brow furrowed.
"I was thinking, Yuan. Wondering what it would be like to have several wives. A different woman, perhaps, for every night of the week." He laughed strangely, a tense, high-pitched sound, then looked down, pulling at the grass. "I'm sorry. I forget sometimes. You seem so old. So full of wisdom. Like father." Han fell silent, then looked up again, smiling. "I guess it doesn't touch you yet. Never mind. You'll understand it when you're older."