We soon identified multiple towns where sales of candles and lighting oil seemed far in excess of the people’s ordinary needs. More spies were sent to investigate in depth.
What they discovered was shocking: Noda Mi and Doru Solofi, two of the Tiro kings created by Mata Zyndu, had been building up a network of secret societies dedicated to the cause of rebellion. They had been operating out of caves and cellars at night, out of sight of our airships, where followers gathered to worship the Hegemon and to plot treason by the thousands.
Garrisons and priests from the mausoleum were dispatched to raid these cells. In the past, arresting and hanging cult leaders, followed by priests explaining that the only way to properly worship the Hegemon was at the mausoleum, was usually sufficient to end the cults. But this time, the soldiers had to fight. Not only did the followers of Mi and Solofi resist violently, they even slaughtered the priests, claiming that they were not the proper spokespersons for the Hegemon.
Rumors that Mi and Solofi could converse with the spirit of the Hegemon could be heard on every street corner, and we finally tracked down their source when we captured about a dozen mirrors endowed with strange magic. Although they seem plain enough, when placed in the sun, they project an image of the Hegemon in a supernatural manner. Duke Coda and I have studied these mirrors in depth, consulting expert mirror makers and scholars, even destroying a few of them in the process, but none could discover their secret. Noda Mi and Doru Solofi are now in open rebellion, and more foolish men and women rally to their cause daily, inspired by the belief that they have the aid of the dauntless spirit of Mata Zyndu.
I have sent a few of these mirrors with this letter in the hopes that you can help discover their secret. Though the rebels’ ranks are swelling, though they seem to be finding weapons out of nowhere, and though we have suffered some setbacks, yet we’ll fight them without fear, without relent, trusting in your guidance.
“Phyro has really grown up,” said Risana. “He sounds more confident with every letter, leaving behind childish sentiments. Listen to that final line—such courage.” She glanced at Jia and quickly added, “Still, he has to do more to match his brother. Dasu has done amazingly well at the Grand Examination this year, managing to produce three firoa and sending one candidate to the Palace Examination. Despite the problems we’ve uncovered in Dasu, no doubt much of the credit should also be given to Timu’s hard work in that remote outpost.”
“Or perhaps Master Ruthi just unconsciously taught the scholars of Dasu how to please the judges at the examinations,” said Jia, a faint trace of a smile on her face. “Phyro is doing the difficult work of keeping this hard-earned peace.”
“I detect the hand of Rin in this one,” said Kuni. “He used to be a letter writer, you know? He’s trying to make the best of a bad situation by emphasizing their efforts. Phyro might have written the report, but Rin can’t help adding in his special touch.”
Jia nodded to herself. Rin probably regrets taking my advice now. But this is only the start.
“Are you saying things are worse than the letter says?” an anxious Risana asked. “Shouldn’t you send aid?”
“Fathers cannot always fight all the battles for their sons,” said Jia.
Kuni pondered this. “Jia’s right. That last line is not quite a call for reinforcements. If I send aid now at the first sign of difficulty, I would undermine his authority by expressing a lack of confidence. Phyro was too quick and harsh in his dealings with the cults, but I have to let him work this out by himself.”
“How did things deteriorate so fast? I thought Rin and Hudo-tika had it all under control,” said Risana.
“It’s not how strong the rebels are now that worries me. It’s how much stronger they could become,” Kuni said. “This is one of those times when I really wish for the counsel of Luan Zya, who was always so good with strange contraptions.”
He tossed the letter aside and picked up one of the bronze mirrors from the platter. Walking near one of the windows in the private audience hall, he let the bright sunlight fall against the mirror and contemplated the projection on the ceiling.
The face of the Hegemon stared back at him. The carving was very skilled, with powerful lines that captured his angular features and unorthodox cross-hatching that gave the face depth. Mata Zyndu’s famous double-pupiled eyes stared down at Kuni in a confident scowl. As the mirror’s reflection shimmered in the heat from the sun, the image seemed to come to life.
“Hello, brother,” whispered Kuni. He shivered despite the heat.
“This is just a trick,” said Jia. “Even Fara wouldn’t be fooled.”
“But tricks like this can be far more convincing to the common people than the intricate arguments of learned scholars,” said Risana. “I’ve performed enough in my youth to know how effective spectacle can be.”
“Risana is right,” said Kuni. “Huno Krima and Zopa Shigin began their rebellion with a silk scroll stuffed into a fish, and they were able to bring down the Xana Empire. As long as the people believe this ‘magic,’ it has power.”
“We could dispatch all the airships to search for Luan,” said Jia.
“That requires knowing where he is,” said Kuni. “The sea is vast, and we… haven’t heard from him since his departure. I hope he’s at least safe.”
For a moment the emperor seemed at a loss as he imagined the fate of his old friend.
“But if anyone can survive the wrath of Tazu, it’s a disciple of Lutho, the aged and wise turtle, and a man who once rode on the back of a cruben. The gods help those who help themselves. I will get Cogo’s counsel. What really matters aren’t these mirrors. We must find out how the rebels are getting their weapons.”
He strode resolutely out of the private audience hall.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
AN OUTING
Théra and Fara sat on the wharf, dangling their feet into the cold water. Dressed in plain robes of rough hemp cloth, they looked like two peasant girls taking a break from the heat. In front of them, lotus leaves covered the surface of Lake Tututika as far as the eye could see, while giant pink-and-white flowers bloomed over them like dancers swaying with the wind. Small boats wove between the leaves, and young women sang as they harvested the lotus seeds.
“This is fun,” said Fara. “We should have adventures like this more often.”
Seventeen-year-old Théra put an arm around her nine-year-old little sister and pulled her affectionately against her side.
Since taking over the education of herself and her sister, Théra had stopped reading the Moralist tomes. Instead, she let their enthusiasms be their guide as they sampled the vast collection of the Imperial library: One day they might gorge themselves on Faça folklore, the next day they might admire the drawings in military engineering treatises, and the day after that might be spent on lyrical poems of the Diaspora Wars, whose obscure logograms they puzzled out with the aid of volumes of dictionaries. They spent more time reading than they ever did under the tutelage of Zato Ruthi.