“That isn’t true. It takes only about a month for a child to learn the zyndari letters and to start composing in the vernacular. Yet we deem writing with only zyndari letters to be unacceptable and require years of schooling to learn the intricacies of the dead words of Ano philosophers and twist our thoughts to fit their mold. Schools constructed around the logograms can only be attended by those who do not have to live off the fruits of their own labor.
“The kind of arguments prized under such a system are sclerotic, lifeless, oriented toward the past. If we abolish the need for the Ano logograms and write the wisdom of the new age in the vernacular using only zyndari letters, there will be such a flourishing of learning across Dara that you will have a much better chance of finding the talent you desire. Instead of seeking pearls in the shallow reefs near the wharfs of Haan, you will be casting the net far and wide across the entire ocean.
“I do not advocate that we discard the logograms altogether. I well know their advantages in beauty, in literary expressiveness, in maintaining a connection with the past, in allowing people who speak differently to communicate, in crafting and shaping a worldview that offers joy and comfort. But the cost they impose on the examinations is too high. I love the logograms as much as any of you, perhaps even more, yet just because we love something doesn’t mean we must hold on to it when circumstances have changed. It’s time to abandon old machines and remake the minds of Dara.”
The Grand Audience Hall exploded with voices of outrage and argument.
Now, she thought, if only my secret can stay hidden.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
HEIR TO THE EMPIRE
In the back of the palace, behind the wall that divided the public halls from the private quarters of the Imperial family, there was a garden.
About equal in area to a medium-sized farm, it wasn’t large by the standards of the old Tiro kings, who often had private hunting grounds and seaside resorts that took up thousands of acres of land, but it was intricately laid out and reflected the tastes of the Imperial family.
The western end of the garden belonged to Empress Jia, who had filled it with decorative flowers and useful herbs. Varieties of chrysanthemums and roses in every hue bloomed in coral-and-obsidian lined planters arranged in concentric rings that echoed the whorls of individual flowers (the planters made it easier to move the plants into hothouses during the cold months). Herbs collected from all corners of Dara were grown here in grids, each square clearly labeled with the herb’s name, place of origin, and a warning if the plant was toxic. A work shed constructed in the style of a medicine shop of Cocru sat in the middle of the herb plots as though it had been plucked from the streets of Zudi.
The eastern part of the garden belonged to Consort Risana, who had chosen to build a maze made up of thick, trained hedges; deep-lake rocks full of wrinkles and perforations that resembled massive sponges; coral formations taken from the sea; and small ponds that held schools of colorful carp and tranquilly reflected the sun like tidal pools. Herbs known for their mind-altering qualities were grown here and there, and Consort Risana sometimes entertained the children by practicing her smokecraft, turning the maze into a fantasyland filled with friendly immortals who provided sage advice, as well as mythical monsters who delighted the children with fits of terrified laughter.
But the few visitors who had the privilege of being allowed into the garden all agreed that it was the central part of the garden, the emperor’s own preserve, that was the most distinctive.
The children, who had lingered in the Grand Audience Hall after the conclusion of the Palace Examination to observe the rare sight of all the Lords of Dara leaving the hall by rank and seniority as though performing some choreographed dance—in truth, they were also motivated more than a little by the thought of avoiding having to deal with Empress Jia and Master Ruthi’s inevitable scolding for their interruption of the proceedings—finally left the hall to return to the family quarters at the back of the palace.
They went through the guarded door at the Wall of Tranquillity, crossed the small arched bridge that traversed the thin stream that flowed from west to east and marked the division between the public and private sections of the palace, and entered the garden.
On their left was a flooded field that would become a rice paddy later in the spring. On their right was a taro patch and a vegetable garden filled with trellises for climbing vines. Had one not known that this was the Imperial garden, one might have thought the princes and princesses had just stepped into a Cocru farm.
And there was even a man dressed in the traditional garb of the Cocru farmer: white leggings made from long strips of hemp cloth, a large-brimmed hat woven from reeds to keep the sun off his face and neck, and a thin robe with the hem tucked into the belt to allow freedom of movement. He was hauling two buckets of water dangling from the ends of a carrying pole from the stream over to the vegetable garden.
“Rénga,” Timu called out. “Your obedient children give you their respects.”
The man in the reed hat stopped, slowly turned around to keep the water in the buckets from spilling, and smiled at the children. It was indeed Kuni Garu, Emperor Ragin of the Islands of Dara.
Though Féso and Naré Garu had been farmers by trade, they owned their land and were not sharecroppers. By the time Kuni was a young boy, the Garus had settled inside the city of Zudi and rented out their farm to support their other business interests. Kuni had but the vaguest recollections of life on a farm. But after he became emperor, and especially after the death of his father, Kuni had taken up farming as a sort of hobby that he pursued with dedication in the Imperial garden. Perhaps it was a way for him to honor the roots of his own family and indeed the economic foundation that supported all of Dara.
“Come and help me,” said Kuni. “I can show you the budding taros and string beans.”
“Most Revered and Honored Father,” said Timu, “this is a most delightful invitation that humbles me. Your solicitude of the well-being of the lowliest subjects of Dara is unprecedented! To debase yourself to perform the task of coaxing sustenance from the earth is akin to a cruben deigning to act the part of a mere shrimp. By experiencing the life of the common people, the virtuous sovereign may feel himself closely attached to the people. Indeed, Kon Fiji, the One True Sage, once said—”
“It’s all right, Timu,” Kuni interrupted him. He was still smiling, but a hint of impatience was in his eyes. “All you have to say is: ‘I’m busy. Thanks but no thanks.’ ”
“Er… Master Ruthi indicated earlier that there are some important lessons he wishes to impart to his foolish student. I am caught in the difficult position of having to choose to obey my father, Sovereign of the Empire and mold of my body, and my teacher, Sovereign of the Realm of Knowledge and author of my mind—”
“Go, go!” Kuni said, one hand waving as though chasing a pesky fly. The motion disturbed the pole balanced over his shoulder, and some of the water spilled from the buckets.
“I am most grateful for your indulgence, Rénga.” Timu bowed and hurried away.
Kuni chuckled, but he sighed inside. I know well that you think it’s beneath you to dig in dirt and perform physical labor, because you think Kon Fiji meant it literally when he said that menial tasks made the mind mean. Sometimes I wonder if reading so many books is a good thing. Why are you so unlike me?