“Haan.”
“Arulugi.”
“Faça.”
“East Cocru.”
Zomi looked around the Grand Audience Hall, her eyes flashing. “I am, of course, a daughter of Dasu. Master Ruthi, you’re from Rima, and the Prime Minister is from Cocru, but where are the other six judges on your panel from?”
“One is a learned scholar from Arulugi, and the others are all famous teachers in Haan.”
Zomi gazed at the emperor. “I think the numbers speak for themselves.”
“What do you think you’ve proven by this recital?” sputtered the fuming Zato Ruthi. “I’m a man of Rima. If I were as unscrupulous as you intimate, wouldn’t I have elevated at least one scholar from Rima into your exalted rank?”
While Ruthi’s voice grew louder like a raging storm, Zomi kept her voice as calm as a glacial pool. “Master Ruthi, I do not impeach your integrity. But an honest man may still administer an unfair examination.”
“What does it matter where the judges are from when we couldn’t tell who wrote each essay?”
“Can you not see how the results appear in the eyes of the people of Dara? When the distribution of honors is so lopsided, one must presume a flaw in the process. It is substance that matters, not procedure.”
Ruthi was so angry that he started to laugh. “You speak like that fool in Kon Fiji’s fable who lamented that copper was not valued as much as gold. Far from indicating bias, the numbers you point to actually prove that the panel did their job!
“It is well known that the people of Haan are dedicated to learning and scholarship, and the Ano Classics are taught to children as young as two. Rui, on the other hand, has few academies of renown, and the rulers of old Xana were never as devoted to the pursuit of wisdom. This was why Mapidéré had to recruit Lügo Crupo from Cocru and why even Emperor Ragin, when he was King of Dasu, had to scour the rest of Dara for talent.
“The cashima represent the best minds of each province, but when they are gathered in one place, it is natural that the cashima of Haan would excel the cashima of Rui or Dasu. Do you complain that the apples in the orchards of Faça are bigger than those from Cocru? Or that the crabs caught in the Zathin Gulf are tastier than those caught off the shore of Ogé?
“I’d think something had gone horribly wrong if not as many Haan scholars had achieved the top rank.”
“Is Haan all of Dara? Are the people of the other provinces of Dara of less worth?”
Ruthi slammed his ledger onto the floor and gesticulated wildly with his arms. He was beyond caring about decorum and appearances. “The emperor’s charge to me is to seek men—and women—of talent. I have faithfully carried out my duty. Your presence here is proof that the method is sound. Though you’re from a humble land of illiterate peasants, yet today the emperor and all the Lords of Dara have lent you their ears!”
“ ‘Talent’ is a loaded word,” said Zomi. “Is it truly talent that the examination measures or mere habits of mind?”
Ruthi laughed. “I’m familiar with that criticism of the examinations. Indeed, as a young man, I disdained the civil service examinations of Rima for the same reasons. Rima’s exams required students to regurgitate obscure epigrams from Ra Oji or fill in less-known dialogues by Kon Fiji. The only skill that truly mattered was memorization, and the narrowness of focus disgusted me.
“That is why I have redesigned the Imperial examinations to reward creativity, insight, boldness of thought, and refinement in expression. Do you think it’s possible to do well on the exams without a mind as sharp as the writing knife or as supple as heated wax? To know how to craft an argument, to support it with clever allusions from the Classics and well-drawn examples from life, to consider and anticipate opposing points of view—all while planning for the practicalities of fitting the logograms into a constrained space and making the most of limited resources under great pressure—this is a test of true talent.”
Zomi shook her head. “You see but the sun-dappled surface of the sea instead of the Hundred Fishes beneath. The examination prizes beauty of expression and fine calligraphy as well as sharpness of argument, but do you not see that these are judgments shaped by habit?
“For years, you and the other judges have studied together and read each other’s essays until you have formed a consensus of what is persuasive and what is pleasing. You have then taught these to your students, who in turn taught theirs, propagating a certain ideal. This ideal is most concentrated in the academies of Haan but thin elsewhere. What you call beauty and grace and suppleness in writing are nothing but the consensus of men who have grown used to hearing each other. When you judge an essay good, it is only because the words seem to you to echo your own thoughts. Even if you cannot see the faces behind the logograms, you pick men who are just like you! I am here because I learned to write as the image in the mirror you so love!”
Ruthi stared at Zomi, eyes bulging and breath labored. “You arrogant, disrespectful child—”
Before he could finish, Dafiro Miro entered the hall. “Rénga! I have urgent news.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
FIGHTING FIRE
By the time the four of them made their way down the tortuous cliff path back to the hamlet, the place was in chaos.
About a mile distant, a semicircle of gigantic, roaring tongues of flame licked the sky, and roiling columns of smoke drifted over the clearing, obscuring the houses and making it hard to breathe. Even at this distance, the heat was palpable.
A nobleman stood next to Curious Turtle with a retinue of about a dozen men dressed for the hunt. A few carried the tusked heads of boars, whose dead eyes stared at the world in a permanent grimace of rage.
“Get this balloon ready!” shouted the nobleman, who was coughing and gasping for breath. His men scrambled to obey, and it was evident that all of them had just run hard through the woods to get here.
A few yards from them, Elder Comi stood with the rest of the villagers, looking on mutely.
“Don’t just stand there!” shouted the nobleman. “Why don’t you organize the peasants to go fight the fire?”
The villagers looked at him, uncomprehending.
Fighting a forest fire like this is utterly preposterous, thought Zomi.
“Get shovels and buckets and whatever else you can find!” declared the nobleman. “If you concentrate your efforts, you may be able to delay the fire long enough for the balloon to take off.”
The villagers looked at each other, but no one moved.
“Oh, by Tututika’s blood! These savages don’t understand human speech.” He jumped up and down and mimed shoveling dirt onto fire and pouring buckets of water. He raised his voice, as though this would help the villagers understand him. “Go on! Go! I’m the Earl of Méricüso. Are you afraid to die? It’s an honor to die for the life of a great lord!”
Elder Comi turned away from him. He spoke to the villagers in a low but firm voice, and pointed at the cliffs. A few of the young women and men shouted at him and shook their heads. The elder smiled, pointed at his legs, and sat down with some difficulty on the ground in mipa rari. He bowed his head, pointed to the cliffs again, and spoke resolutely.
As Luan and the others ran to join the commotion, Zomi had the eerie feeling that she was watching a folk opera being performed. When she had first been exposed to the operas, she had found the lyrics, with their flowery language and complicated vocal decorations, hard to understand, and she had filled in what was happening by using the expressions of the players and their body language as clues. She could seize the strands of emotion in the air and color in the blanks.