Queen of the Eight Banners

Part 4, Scene 7 - Past

Enebish was waiting for her in her room.  "Ah," the shaman said as she entered. "I knew you would arrive today. Is your son with you?" The blind woman angled her face downward towards where Ojombi walked beside her, hand in hers.

"Yes," she said, wearily.  It was a relief to speak her own language, but all that did was highlight how worn she felt.

The shaman clucked her tongue and gestured towards the fire and her bed rolled out before it. "Lie down and rest. You still have time before the ceremony."

Ilha turned towards Nomin and Jumara who accompanied her.  "Would you see to it that Liurong is informed we have arrived? And tell the Empress that the Rites will go forward jointly tonight.  We will honor our dead together. Nomin, go with her. You may have to act as interpreter."

Both women bowed. "Yes, Khatun," Jumara said.

Ilha waited until they were gone and the door had slid shut before sagging against the wall.  Ojombi pushed at her leg, trying to fit himself between it and the wall to hide behind as Enebish approached.

"Come. Rest," the old woman said, offering an arm.

Ilha huffed a laugh; a blind crone offering a guiding arm to her?

"Thank you, but no, shaman, I've come this far--" She pushed herself off the wall and moved to sit on the bed, bringing Ojombi with her.  Once she was settled he tucked himself into her lap, hiding his face near her heart.  She lay back, cuddling him to her chest as she stared up at the ceiling.

"I should warn you about tonight," the shaman began.  Her words seemed to drift down from a great distance.

Ilha tried to rouse her thoughts. "Yes?"

"While you have been gone, the Empress has been busy."

"Preparing to honor her dead, I hope."

"Yes. As you ordered. But Liurong informs me that she sent for a Deathworker of the Old Order for the rites tonight."  The shaman pronounced the words carefully, giving them an added, significant weight.

Ilha stirred then realized that the heavy weight on her chest was Ojombi, fallen asleep.  She stroked his hair down to his tiny braid. "What do you mean 'Old Order'?"

Enebish inhaled as if to speak, then seemed to think better of it. She hobbled closer, knelt carefully into a respectful line of sight.  The firelight flickered over her face, casting shadows into her wrinkles, making them as cragged as rough bark.  In that moment, she seemed like one of the enduri herself, a spirit bound by the gods to the earth.

"My grandmother used to tell me stories of the Old Order of Gui Deathworkers, but to her it was not 'old,' only dying--or perhaps, becoming a lost art.  In her time, the shaman arts were more widely practiced, as well. Every tribe had their own shaman and shaman apprentices. They healed the sick and the wounded.  They summoned creatures both living and dead as guides or guardians. They even participated in the tribal wars, using their link to the spiritual world as a weapon. Because of this, the enemy's shaman was always the first targeted and so among the first to die.  Now we are mainly healers and occasional prophets. It is safer that way, if we distance ourselves from battle and don't become involved.  Those were wilder, more brutal times, and I am glad to see them gone.

"But in those days, the Gui had their own order.  Deathworkers they were called then as they are now, but back then the word was used more literally.  I know only by way of stories told, but the stories speak of the dead summoned and given a piece of the Deathworker's own life, his essence, enough to touch and harm mortals.  The Gui Empire was built on the backs of their dead long ago. 

"Now, it seems, the Emperors rely more heavily on assassinations, treaties, and their own cunning.  The rites are still performed, but they lack much of the power--though none of the honor. Now their dead sleep and guard them much more invisibly--as our own do."

"But you are worried."

"Yes.  The Empress summoned someone special to perform the rites tonight. Someone who, if rumor is to be believed, was banished from their City many years ago."

Ilha sighed and let her gaze drift once more to the ceiling above her.  She waited for a solution, for thoughts to form and shine on a path to take, but none came.  Every turn of her thoughts produced no good end, no solution to satisfy all her desires.  She wanted the Empress to trust her. She wanted peace.  She wanted everyone alive, well, and safe. She wanted an end to the disunity and bloodshed between their peoples. First Dorgon testing her limits and now the Empress.

Finally, she gave up. "Thank you for the warning, Enebish.  We will continue with tonight as if nothing's amiss."

"But, Khatun--"

"I cannot save the Empress from her own follies, but I can certainly stand by and watch her watch them play out.  We will be prepared, but we will go on as planned.  Perhaps this man she sent for was simply an old friend she wishes to pardon at the death of her husband. Perhaps the Emperor kept her under as tight a leash as he kept his own people.  Perhaps there is no danger here.  Either way, I will not arrest him when he has done nothing wrong except by rumor.  That is not how I wish to start my rule."

"That is a lot of perhapses."

She sighed again, bone weary. "Yes."  She turned her head to seek out the shaman's blind gaze. "And you will be there, by my side?" A threatening tear stung her nose and eyes as emptiness threatened--and hope pierced her.  She could not bear to do this alone.

The old woman smiled, but it was a grim one. "Yes. Always." Then she chuckled, wry. "Someone has to keep you out of trouble."

"Then let us pray there will be none tonight."