The shadow of the Warrior raised his sword to the sky. Lightning erupted from the sword point, a symbol of a blessing from the heavens themselves.
“When the Warlords regained control of their limbs, each and every one of them agreed to serve the new Dragon Emperor. And so Nikan was united without the shedding of a single drop of blood. For the first time in centuries, the Warlords fought under the same banner, rallying to the Trifecta. And for the first time in recent history, Nikan presented a united front against the Federation invaders. At long last, we drove out the oppressors. And the Empire, again, became free.”
The mountainous silhouette of the country returned again, only this time the land was filled with spiraling pagodas, with temples and many villages. It was a country freed from invaders. It was a country blessed by the gods.
“Today we celebrate the unity of the Twelve Provinces,” said the puppeteer. “We celebrate the Trifecta. And we pay homage to the gods who have gifted them.”
The children burst into applause.
Kitay was frowning when they exited the tent. “I never realized how horrible that story was,” he said quietly. “When you’re little, you think the Trifecta were being so clever, but really this is just a story of poison and coercion. Nikara politics as usual.”
“I don’t know anything about Nikara politics,” said Rin.
“I do.” Kitay made a face. “Father’s told me everything that happens at the palace. It’s just the same as the puppeteer said. The Warlords are always at each other’s throats, vying for the Empress’s attention. It’s pathetic.”
“What do you mean?”
Kitay looked anxious. “You know how the Warlords were so busy fighting each other that they let Mugen wreck the country during the Poppy Wars? Father’s convinced that’s happening again. Remember what Yim said the first day of class? He was right. Mugen isn’t just sitting quietly on that island. My father thinks it’s only a matter of time before they attack again, and he’s worried the Warlords aren’t taking the threat seriously enough.”
The Empire’s fragmentation seemed to be a concern of every master at the Academy. Although the Militia was technically under the Empress’s control, its twelve divisions drew soldiers largely from their home provinces and lay under the direct command of the provincial Warlords. And provincial relations had never been good—Rin had not realized how deep-seated northern contempt for the south was until she arrived in Sinegard.
But Rin didn’t want to talk about politics. This break was the first time in a long time that she was able to let herself relax, and she didn’t want to dwell on matters like some impending war that she could do nothing to stop. She was still dazed by the visual spectacle of the shadow puppetry, and she wished Kitay would leave the serious matters be.
“I liked the part about the Pantheon,” she said after a while.
“Of course you did. It’s the only part that’s pure fiction.”
“Is it, though?” Rin asked. “Who’s to say the Trifecta weren’t shamans?”
“The Trifecta were martial artists. Politicians. Immensely talented soldiers, sure, but the part about shamanism is just exaggeration,” said Kitay. “The Nikara love embellishing war stories, you know that.”
“But where did the stories come from?” Rin persisted. “The Trifecta’s powers are terribly specific for a kid’s tale. If their powers were only myth, then how come that myth is always the same? We heard about the Trifecta all the way in Tikany. Across the provinces, the story has never changed. They’re always the Gatekeeper, the Warrior, and the Vipress.”
Kitay shrugged. “Some poet got creative, and those characters caught on. It’s not that hard to believe. More credible than the existence of shamans, anyhow.”
“But there have been shamans before,” said Rin. “Back before the Red Emperor conquered Nikan.”
“There’s no conclusive proof. There are just anecdotes.”
“The Red Emperor’s scribes kept track of foreign imports down to the last banana cluster,” Rin objected. “They were hardly likely to exaggerate about their enemies.”
Kitay looked skeptical. “Sure, but none of that means the Trifecta were actually shamans. The Dragon Emperor’s dead, and no one’s seen or heard of the Gatekeeper since the Second Poppy War.”
“Maybe he’s just in hiding. Maybe he’s still out there, waiting for the next invasion. Or—maybe—what if the Cike are shamans?” The idea had just occurred to Rin. “That’s why we don’t know anything about them. Maybe they’re the only shamans left—”
“The Cike are just killers,” Kitay scoffed. “They stab, kill, and poison. They don’t call down gods.”
“As far as you know,” Rin said.
“You’re really hung up on this idea of shamans, aren’t you?” Kitay asked. “It’s just a kid’s story, Rin.”
“The Red Emperor’s scribes wouldn’t have kept extensive documentation of a kid’s story.”
Kitay sighed. “Is that why you pledged Lore? You think you can become a shaman? You think you can summon gods?”
“I don’t believe in gods,” said Rin. “But I believe in power. And I believe the shamans had some source of power that the rest of us don’t know how to access, and I believe it’s still possible to learn.”
Kitay shook his head. “I’ll tell you what shamans are. At some point in time some martial artists were really powerful, and the more battles they won, the more stories spread. They probably encouraged those stories, too, thinking it’d scare their enemies. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Empress made up those stories about the Trifecta being shamans herself. It’d certainly help her hold on power. She needs it now, more than ever. The Warlords are getting restless—I bet we’re barely years from a coup. But if she’s really the Vipress, then how come she hasn’t just summoned giant snakes to subdue the Warlords to her will?”
Rin couldn’t think of a glaring counterargument to this theory, so she conceded with silence. Debating with Kitay became pointless after a while. He was so convinced of his own rationality, of his encyclopedic knowledge of most things, that he had difficulty conceiving of gaps in his understanding.
“I notice the puppeteer glossed over how we actually won the Second Poppy War,” Rin said after a while. “You know. Speer. Butchery. Thousands dead in a single night.”
“Well, it was a kid’s story after all,” said Kitay. “And genocide is a little depressing.”
Rin and Kitay spent the next two days lazing around, indulging in every act of sloth they hadn’t been able to at the Academy. They played chess. They lounged in the garden, stared idly at the clouds, and gossiped about their classmates.
“Niang’s pretty cute,” Kitay said. “So is Venka.”
“Venka’s been obsessed with Nezha since we got there,” Rin said. “Even I could see that.”
Kitay waggled his eyebrows. “One might say you’ve been obsessed with Nezha.”
“Don’t be disgusting.”
“You are. You’re always asking me about him.”
“Because I’m curious,” Rin said. “Sunzi says to know your enemy.”
“Fuck Sunzi. You just think he’s pretty.”
Rin tossed the chessboard at his head.
At Kitay’s insistence, Lan cooked them spicy peppercorn hot pot, and delicious though it was, Rin had the singular experience of weeping while eating. She spent most of the next day squatting over the toilet with a burning rectum.
“You think this is how the Speerlies felt?” Kitay asked. “What if burning diarrhea is the price of lifelong devotion to the Phoenix?”
“The Phoenix is a vengeful god,” Rin groaned.
They sampled all the wines in Kitay’s father’s liquor closet and got wonderfully, dizzyingly drunk.
“Nezha and I spent most of our childhood raiding this closet. Try this one.” Kitay passed her a small ceramic bottle. “White sorghum wine. Fifty percent alcohol.”
Rin swallowed hard. It slid down her throat with a marvelous burn.
“This is liquid fire,” she said. “This is the sun in a bottle. This is the drink of a Speerly.”
Kitay snickered.
“You wanna know how they brew this?” he asked. “The secret ingredient is urine.”