(Art by Jennifer Lee; @Jen2Art on Instagram)

[Chapter 1] — Wu Wei

The palace sat proudly in the caldera, and the city cascaded down the dormant volcano like magma. Farms and pastures hugged the great wall that encircled the metropolis, and the vibrant greens crawled into the city, blending with the jade and turquoise of the lower quarter. The buildings further up were more significant, changing to reds and golds as flags waved from the bamboo and tile rooftops. The streets crossed each other in rattan patterns, and the vast span of homes, shops, and temples was a giant collage of astounding architecture.

His blue eyes, sharp as stilettos and campfire-bright, floated back and forth, taking in as much as possible. The size, the architecture, and the clearly defined districts fell rigidly down the mountain. He had sailed across the world, but then Akkael knew; he’d never seen a city until he saw Wu Wei.

Akkael squatted, rolling a blade of dark green grass between his dirt-clad fingers as he gazed at the City of Disciplines, peering from a forest he didn’t know the name of. The horse he arrived on whinnied impatiently as it tugged against the tether connecting it to a tree. Akkael reached over to settle it, still not taking his eyes off the city. None of his kin had seen it, and he rushed ahead of his company to be the first. Akkael had sojourned in Edokand for many years, but only as far as Tsul. The central island of Trim seemed a distant dream. But now he was there, on invitation from the Emperor himself.

“Akkael!” someone bellowed behind him. He turned to see two men on horseback leading a divided contingent. Half were people dressed in furs, padded leather, or nothing to hide their scarred torsos, which recorded the battles they’d fought. The other half were men wearing the heavy red armour of the Edokand’i.

The two at the front, wearing their leather and furs, were Akkael’s brothers. The largest was Magar, who shared little more than eye colour and dirty blond hair with Akkael. A broad sword strapped across his back, contrasting the hand axe in his brothers’ belts. Doran, the other rider, was the spit of Akkael, right down to the clothes they wore and weapons they chose. The only differences were the crow’s feet drawing trenches through Doran’s pale skin and the crown on top of his head.

“Brothers!” he yelled back at them, gesturing to the city. “I present Wu Wei! The prize of the east.”

Doran fiddled with the necklace around his neck. It was a thin chain with a silver pendant. His fingers glided across the triangular spiral, leaving smudges across the symbol like streaks on a desert dune. It was strange seeing someone wear such a necklace. If Akkael didn’t know better, he’d think Doran was religious. Of course, that was nonsense.

 Everyone knew the truth all over the world. Religion had died, and gods didn’t exist.

King Doran glared down at Akkael from atop his horse. “Not a prize, Akkael. We don’t want to take it. We want to settle here peacefully,” he said. “And you shouldn’t have ridden ahead like that.”

“Seeing it for myself was the prize,” grinned Akkael. “Seeing it first was a little extra just for me.”

Magar rolled his eyes. “You’re a shit, ‘Kael.”

Akkael held out his thumb, smiling wider. Magar responded with a different finger.

“It really is beautiful.” Doran rode closer to Akkael as he took in the view of Wu Wei. He slowly inhaled. The atmosphere seemed fresher on this island than on the others in Edokand. The size of Trim and the distance from the small vents off the coast that released toxic, volcanic ash made breathing refreshing. It was like a glass of cool water after a night of heavy drinking.

“Shame these goutuizi get to live there and not us.”

The armoured soldiers shuffled in the saddles at the use of the insult. Akkael turned around and smirked at their scowls. He knew many slurs for the Edokand’i army, but goutuizi seemed to strike hardest and used it often in their presence.

For the first time, Akkael saw how the Edokand’i horse riders saw him. The three brothers, the enemy, looked upon their capital with hunger in their eyes and jest on their lips. It was a nightmare many of them had. Akkael kept grinning like a wolf.

“Four years,” he said. Walking up to the closest mounted soldier, who was trying hard to stay silent and disciplined, the tenants of the Edokand’i army. He tapped the mounted man on the armoured leg before continuing. “Four years of war and bloodshed. All water under the bridge, I’m sure.”

He turned back towards his brothers, still marvelling at the city below them. Akkael wondered if the temples or the wall had caught their gaze. Or was it the tip of the palace pagoda peaking over the caldera’s ridge? Were they trying to make out landmarks they’d only heard of in passing or in books?

“Well,” started Doran, “now we’re here; let’s finish this.” The King didn’t smile, but Akkael could still tell when his brother was happy. The slow blink, the deep exhale, the tightening of his hands around the reins. He was a man who had achieved his ambition, and it was nice to see.

“Let’s finish this,” Akkael repeated before freeing his horse and lining up with his brothers.

Hooves drummed at the earth as the horses galloped towards the city, all twenty-four riders kicking up clods of dirt and grass. As they declined the hill, it was as if the wall began to hug the city tighter, rising to conceal more as Wu Wei sunk below the crenellated battlements. On the straight road to the lone mountain, Akkael could barely see any of the city but the red building peaking over the ramparts.

They rode up to the giant wooden gates of Wu Wei and waited as a second party rode to greet them. Three riders also headed a company of goutuizi soldiers, their red armour stark against the grey of their city’s walls. Akkael recognised the centre rider by his gold-trimmed pauldrons and ornate katana strapped to his belt. Lord Hideo’s hair was ivory white and tied back in a wolf tail. The hanafuda earring that hung from his left ear was so long it brushed his shoulder. He was a thin man. But the brothers never let that deceive them. A stern expression suppressed the derelict laugh lines and kindness, like an old civilisation buried under the sands of deserts.

To his right was his herald. A black-haired, porky lordling with a pompous pout dressing his face. To his left was a female monk in purple robes.

The herald was the first to speak, his appearance excited by the sound of his own voice. “Lord Doran. Magar. Akkael. The famous brothers Torne, we welcome you to our esteemed capital. You are in the presence of Lord Hideo Kazar of Sekando, general of the Sentinel Guard.” – goutuizi – “The iron hand of Wu Wei and the Second Pillar of Edokand.”

“I know who he is.” Doran understood the lengths Hideo was prepared to go to mock his people. He would have sent the herald alone if he could still see the ridicule unfold. He turned to Hideo. “We were invited here by the Emperor himself. Surely that’s enough for you to talk to my brothers and me directly?”

After staring coldly at Hideo, waiting for him to reply, Akkael smirked and began to address the herald himself. “It was nice of you to accompany him, however. Did you want to see us yourself, or did Hideo need a hand?” He looked back at Hideo but not at his face. He was looking at the prosthetic iron hand across his lap.

 “Lord Hideo has the authority to demand my presence on any outing he sees fit,” the herald retorted rapidly.

“So, he needed a hand.” Doran tried to stifle a grin at Akkael’s mocking.

“His lordship saw it as a polite formality to address you with the pomp befitting a fellow Lord.” Doran was a king, but he stayed silent at this hidden insult. The herald flicked between Magar and Akkael. “Speaking of politeness, it is customary for those of lower rank to bow to their betters.”

Akkael just raised his brow and smiled. “It’s customary for a lord to fight alongside his men. I saw a lot of dead goutuizi at Takakawa. Where was your lordship then?”

Hideo twisted his reins and kept them taut. He stayed silent, but his horse’s confused half-step proved the defeat was still a fresh wound.

The herald sputtered. “The Sentinel Guard of Edokand allows for a distribution of power that you would not understand. I’ll have you know Lord Hideo’s cousin was at Takakawa on his behalf as he conducted the defence of the capital. He has mourned his loss since he heard the news.” 

“And I’m sure the dead care.” Magar rarely spoke in parleys, so the comment seemed particularly cutting.

“To be fair, I’m sure his men were relieved he wasn’t present,” added Akkael. “After what happened at Skaldgard, I doubt they’d be comfortable following him into a bakery.”

“There is no such place as Skaldgard!” The herald raised his voice suddenly. “Lord Hideo acknowledges his defeat in Utajima and treats it as a lesson in dealing with savages like you.”

“I’m sorry, herald, what’s your name?” asked Doran, raising his voice.

“Ponzu. And I’m a steward.”

“Well, I don’t know the difference. But, anyway, Ponzu, we renamed Utajima to Skaldgard after we won it,” declared Doran. “The fact we are here proves you have not learned to deal with us.”

Hideo’s right fist clenched so tightly the tips of his fingers might have pierced through the back. “That’s enough, Doran.”

“So, he does speak.” Akkael became deflated, almost bored by Hideo’s surrender.

“Where’s the Emperor?”

“Waiting for you in the palace, King Doran,” said Hideo, spitting the name. “You think we’d allow our Emperor to meet you in an open field surrounded by Northmen?”

Akkael looked behind. “We hardly surround you. There are only a dozen of us, and we’re outnumbered three to one.”

Doran sighed. “But very well, I’ll go meet your Emperor.”

Akkael rose in his saddle and spoke in Solstic, the language of his people. “Brother, you can’t! You’re the King. Have me go instead.”

Doran hissed before Hideo spoke. “We agreed our meeting was to be conducted in Edokand’i!”

“We also agreed on a dozen men each,” Akkael responded.

“What did he say?” Hideo asked Doran, ignoring Akkael’s remark.

“My brother has voiced fair concerns.” Doran shrugged. “If I enter the city, how do I know I’ll be safe? We need reassurance.”

Hideo nodded. “And you’ll have it.” He indicated left. Monks in purple robes often escorted dignitaries, so Akkael had barely noticed the female sage riding beside Hideo. “This is Rigpa, the Grand Sage and Third Pillar of Edokand. She has volunteered to be part of a hostage exchange as you negotiate peace terms with the Emperor.”

She was an older woman with grey hair held in a bun by two sticks. However, she wasn’t ancient. Her brown eyes still had a youthfulness to them, and her wrinkles were the kind that would add character to a sculpture. The lines around her mouth made her look like she was smiling, even if she wasn’t.

“Grand Sage?” Akkael was grinning like an excited child. “I’ve always wanted to meet the queen of the wizards.”

The trivialisation of Rigpa’s station affronted Hideo. “The Grand Sage is the holiest example of human life!” yelled Hideo. “Their attachment to the spiritual links them to the cosmic energy in the universe. Rigpa is the incarnation of the Seraphim himself.”

“Oh, right, of course,” said Akkael sarcastically.

“She is our country’s third most important person!” yelled the herald.

“Well, that’s very specific,” said Akkael, widening his eyes as if he was impressed that they kept a record. “It just so happens my brother is the most important person in mine. We are not going to –”

“I accept the swap.”

Akkael hissed at Doran. He spoke in Solstic again. “You are not thinking straight.”

Hideo ignored the words he couldn’t understand from Akkael with a thin-lipped grin. “So, it’s done. Have your entourage bring the Grand Sage back in two days, and we will turn you over to them unharmed.”

Doran nodded with no emotion on his face. “Well, let’s not waste any more daylight.” He removed the crown from atop his head and thrust it into Akkael’s reluctant arms. Then, he rode slowly towards Hideo. After Lord Hideo’s signal, the sage rode towards Akkael, crossing the Northerner King in the centre of the gap between the two groups. The air stood still as they rode, only allowing the breeze to continue east once Rigpa and the King had settled.

The groups said their farewells. Akkael’s eyes locked on his brother before turning to ride back the way they came. Akkael looked behind, more at the stone walls than his brother’s back, and sighed.

He rode in tandem with the Grand Sage. Akkael was so close that he could feel Rigpa’s horse brush against his leg in the stirrup. Once they entered the forest, Akkael leant in and whispered in the older woman’s ear. “If anything happens to my brother, I’ll kill you myself. I don’t make empty promises.”

Rigpa just kept her eyes on the path ahead. 

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