Chapter 11

The Firstborn had planned to travel southeastward across Wanrong, roughly paralleling the course of the Golden River, but not going close to it until he reached Wedlock. For several weeks after leaving Lady Cataract’s palace, this is what he did.

Despite the lady’s grand plans, her expedition did not travel as fast as the Firstborn had done when he rode a donkey and his two disciples walked. Her retinue had swelled from an estimated dozen people to twenty-two, because she needed two teams of bearers for her litter and had forgotten to count in a cook, hostlers, and wagon drivers. Unless horses were given many hours a day to graze, they needed huge amounts of grain and hay, which meant more wagons, and wagons needed guards.

Shard Gingko expected the Firstborn to grow impatient at their lack of progress, but he did not seem to mind. The old man was reluctant to complain to the Firstborn, but one evening, as he was watching the servants pitching camp, he grumbled to Mouse that they had achieved nothing since morning except cross a single wide valley. Mouse looked down at him with a gentle smile obviously modeled on the Firstborn’s. Even when Shard stood as straight as he could, Mouse was the taller now.

“There is plenty of time, Master.”

“There is? Time for what?”

“Time for him to reach the Portal of Worlds before it opens.”

Shard felt a jolt of what he ashamedly decided might be nothing more than jealousy. “The Urfather has told you this is what he plans?”

Mouse shook his head and looked puzzled. “No. No, he hasn’t. But somehow I feel sure that this is what he plans. He expects to meet the Bamboo Banner at the Portal of Worlds.”

“The Desert Teacher said, Knowledge not based on learning is built upon quicksand.”

“I thank you for this wisdom, Master.”

“Can you write it?”

“All except quicksand, Master.”

“The character for quicksand is water followed by sand. Write out that maxim in your fairest hand and show me.”

The following day, as the cavalcade approached a village, four men came out to meet them, three carrying clubs and one an ancient musket. They lined up across the road, obviously hostile. The Firstborn slid off his horse, handed the reins up to Mouse on his, and hobbled forward to speak with them. They recognized him. One knelt, but the others stood their ground, looking uneasy. By then, Shard had also dismounted and caught up.

“We come in peace,” the Firstborn said.

“But you bring many hungry mouths,” replied the eldest.

“And our own food. Are you so short that you grudge hospitality to strangers?”

The old man shifted his feet uneasily in the mud. “We still eat, but starving hordes are pouring out of Shashi. They are walking dead, with pebble eyes, but they are also locusts. Must our children starve to feed strangers?”

Sunlight shook his head. “But eat as little as you can and share what you save. In some other life, on some other world, they will return the favor. Tell us what other news you have.”

“News from the north is that the Empress Mother has mounted the golden chariot.”

“Has she indeed?” The Firstborn glanced thoughtfully at Shard. “And what difference will that make? What do you think?”

“You are the Bearer of Wisdom, Ancient One, not I.” Shard discovered that he was smiling, and hastily rearranged his face into proper scholarly impassivity. Normally, one would look to history for answers, but here, history gave far too many answers. Released from ancestral control, some Lords of the High and the Low had been freed to follow their own course at last. Sometimes, the immortal army of palace eunuchs had been raised to power instead, able to rule an inexperienced stripling more easily than his sly old harridan mother. And this case might not follow any precedent, for the Portal was due to open, signaling a change of dynasty.

“We will have to wait and see,” Sunlight said thoughtfully. “Heaven will reveal its will soon enough.”

By then, the villagers were reassured—and of course charmed—enough to invite the Urfather into their homes. He, Shard, and Lady Cataract drank tea with the elders, refusing solid food. Mouse sat cross-legged in a corner, silent and attentive as always.

Whether the report of the Empress Mother’s death was true or not, the elders told many tales of death and devastation, of shattered homes and flooded lands. Warehouses that had survived the trembling had been destroyed by fire or water, creating famine that could only grow worse, for the spring planting had been washed away by landslides or inundation. The great city of Wedlock had been totally destroyed. Heaven’s rage had been aroused against it by the devilish boats they used, breathing fire and moving without oars or current.

The Firstborn’s eyes filled with tears. “If such trouble is a sign from Heaven, then only someone much wiser than I can tell you what it means. The great teachers gave many answers. The Courtly Teacher said, when asked to explain a famine, It is an examination, such as the candidates for the mandarinate take, and our promotion will be based on our response.”

Then he quoted other precepts, none of which, in Shard’s opinion, offered any more comfort. Light will always cast shadows, the Desert Teacher said, but the Urfather knew better than to mention that one.

Later that day, when the expedition moved off along the trail, four stalwart villagers begged to go with them a way, carrying Sunlight’s chair. Shard Gingko was able to walk alongside and hold a private conversation with the Firstborn when no one else could overhear. It was an opportunity that arose rarely now. They spoke, of course, in Palace Voice, which would be close to gibberish to the locals.

“You spoke originally of heading for Felicitous Wedlock of Waters, Master. Now that it is reported destroyed, will you change your plans?”

The Firstborn chuckled. “We had to head for somewhere. The problem is never where we were going yesterday, only where we should be going today.”

Shard Gingko wondered if that was a memorable quotation, but decided not to ask. At times, the Firstborn could be maddeningly hard to pin down. The twinkle in his eyes suggested that this might be one of those times. He was being Sunlight, not the All-Wise.

“Where I want to go depends on where I think the Bamboo Banner is going. Where would you go, if you were Bamboo, my learned friend?”

“Home, Master.”

That won a boyish laugh. “A mandarin of the fourth rank could speak no greater wisdom! But he must cross the Golden River somewhere if he wishes to reach Heart of the World eventually. I think he will veer west, planning to ford it, for he cannot hope to capture enough ferries to transport a host across downstream from Wedlock. He will, I believe, go westward, into Shashi, not north to Nanling.”

“Toward the Portal of Worlds, Master?”

“Heaven does seem intent on bringing Bamboo and the opening of the Portal into conjunction, and perhaps the Emperor’s army also. I will be very disappointed with it if it does not succeed.” He fell silent for a few moments. “And, just maybe, this time I will be invited to the party also. Whenever I am near the Portal, I always try to visit a fort known as Goat Haven. It is a stronghold to dream of, and it has been held by a varied succession of brigands. The last one I met was Sky Hammer 3, a lovable scoundrel. I am interested to see if his descendants still rule there.”