BENEATH AN OPAL MOON

By

Eric V. Lustbader
Published by Fawcett
Books:

THE NINJA
BLACK HEART
SIRENS
THE MIKO
JIAN
SHAN
ZERO
FRENCH KISS
WHITE NINJA
The Sunset Warrior Cycle
THE SUNSET WARRIOR
SHALLOWS OF NIGHT
DAI-SAN
BENEATH AN OPAL MOON

Quickly, man! Do as I say!"

  Moichi stepped back so that the 1iIle of trees
brushed against him. He looked to where Kossori
was gazing. South of them a shadow had
materialised as if out of the night itself. It was in
violent motion yet silent and smooth, running
lightly then leaping across the narrow chasms
between buildings as if it were but a wisp of
smoke. A cool breeze off the water rustled the
spiky leaves of the trees and ~oichi shivered
slightly, feeling his muscles tense. Still he watched
the shadow approach, the fluidity of motion
mesmerising, for there seemed to lie no
disturbance to the continuous flow of energy, runt
leap, run, leap.

  Now the shadow was spurting across the
adjacent buildings rooftop, the image abruptly
blossoming. But so swiftly did it move, that
Moichi only recognised it for what it was as it
landed on their own rooftop.



               BENEATH
               AN OPAL
                MOON
         Eric V. Lustbader
      FAWCETT CREST   NEW YORK
                  
A Fawcett Crest Book Published by Ballantine
Books Copyright A) 1980 by Eric Van Lustbader

All rights reserved under International and
Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published
in the United States by Ballantine Books, a
division of Random House, Inc., New York, and
simultaneously in Canada by Random House of
Canada Limited, Toronto.

This book may not be reproduced in whole or in
part, by mimeograph or any other means, without
permission. For information address: Doubleday
& Company, Inc., 245 Park Avenue, New York,
New York 10017.

ISBN 0-449-21649-7

This edition published by arrangement with
Doubleday, a division of Bantam, Doubleday,
Dell Publishing Group, Inc.

All of the characters in this book are fictitious,
and any resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, is purely coincidental.

Printed in Canada
First Ballantine Books Edition: March 1990

For Ralphine

 Contents
 PREFIGURE:
 On Green Dolphin Street        I
 ONE: CITY OF WONDERS
 Rubylegs                       13
 Koppo                          36
 Circus of Souls                66
 Snatch                         86
 TWO: PURSUING THE DEVIL
 The Lorcha                     101
 Mer-Man's Tales                116
 Fugue                          132
 Water's Edge                   164
 THREE: THE FIREMASK
 Intimations                    181
 Demoneye                       189
 The Anvil                      204
 Sardonyx                       220
 The Opal Moon                  231
 FOUR: LION IN THE DUSK
 Idyll                          243
 The Orphans                    250
 And All the Stars
 to Guide Me                    256

us

Thus we struggle so that our
history shall become the
salvation of our children.

    From the Tablets
    of the Iskamen
           
             PREFIGURE:
          On Green Dolphin
               Street

Or

THE Scarred Man enters Sha'angh'sei at sunset.
He pauses before the towering cinnabar
escarpment of the western gate and turns in his
dusty saddle. Above him, a pair of ebon carrion
birds spread their grotesquely long wings,
hovering, startlingly set off by the flare of the
sky. Piled clouds riding like chariots of crimson
fire obscure for long moments the bloated ablate
of the sun as it sinks slothfully toward the heights
of the city already lost within the thickening
haze. It is a unique mark of the sunsets in
Sha'angh'sei that the city itself and the land all
around it is first engulfed by the purest crimson,
sliding, as the sun disappears behind the
man-made facade into the amethyst and violet
which heralds the night.

 But the scarred man's deep-set eyes, slitted and
as opaque as dry stones, study only the winding
much-traveled highway behind him and the
steady lines of jumbled traffic ox-carts piled
high with raw rice and silk, horsemen, soldiers,
and traveling merchants, businessmen, farmers
on foot moving toward him and the city; the
outbound flow is of no import to him.

 His horse snorts, shaking its head. Gently, the
scarred man strokes its neck below the short
mane with a thin red hand. The stallion's coat is
lusterless, matted with the mingled dust of the
highway, the caked mud of narrow back roads
and the grease of many a hasty meal.

 The scarred man pulls at his hat, a floppy felt
affair which, constructed anaesthetically, does
little more than conceal his long and haggard
face. Satisfied at last, he turns and, slouched in
his high and dusty saddle, presses against his
mount with his heels, riding through the gate. He
raises his eyes as he moves, watching the
perspective changing, deriving pleasure

                  1
                  
2 Eric V. Lustbader

from the shifting angles as he studies the endless
bas-reliefs carved into the cinnabar of the dark
western gate, an epic monument to a dichotomy:
the triumph and the cruelty of war.

 The scarred man shivers even though he is not
cold. He does not believe in omens yet he thinks
it interesting that he enters Sha'angh'sei through
the western gate, erected as a sinister reminder of
a particularly odious aspect of man's nature. But,
he asks himself, would it really make any
difference if he had made his entry into the city
through the green-onyx southern gate, the
alabaster eastern gate, or the intricate
red-lacquered wood and black iron northern gate?
Then he throws his head back and utters a short
bitter laugh. No. No. Not at all. For at this hour
of sunset they are all stained crimson by the
lowering light.

 The scarred man breaks into the populous surf
of the great city and his journey is slowed by the
milling throngs of people as if he is passing
through a moving field of poppies. He feels an
end to long isolation, far from the companionship
of man, a seemingly interminable time with only
his stallion, the stars and the moon as his family.
Yet as he rides into the explicit riot of the city,
his mount walking through the clouds of jostling
men and women and children, fat and thin, large
and small, young and old, ugly and fair, as he
passes the bursting shops, stalls, stands with
striped awnings, the tangled buildings with their
dense cluster of swinging signs advertising the
tempting wares within, he realizes that never
before has he felt such an apartness from the
warmth of.the family of man. And this peculiar
alienness suffuses him with such completeness
that his body begins to quake as if he is ill.

 He digs his bootheels into the flanks of his
mount and shakes the reins, abruptly anxious to
reach his destination. Through this vast kinetic
sea he jounces, metal jangling, dusty leather
creaking, the grime of travel heavy upon him. A
torrent of filthy children, their torsos ribbed like
corpses, brush against his legs like a separate
eddy in this fetid surf and he is obliged to press
his boots tightly against the stallion's flanks lest,
howling, they pull them from his feet. He extracts
a copper coin from his wide sash and flings it
high into the air so that it catches the oblique
light. As it disappears into the swirling mass of
pedestrians on his left, the children abandon him,
rushing to follow the flight of the spinning coin.
They plow through the crowd, tenaciously
searching on hands and knees in the slime and
offal of the street.

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 3

 He moves on, turning a corner at an acute angle,
following the street. He inhales the rich musk of
coriander and limes, the heavy incense of charring
meat, the somewhat lighter scents of fresh fish and
vegetables flash-cooked in hot sesame oil. As he
passes the opening of a dark alley, the thick sweet
smell of the poppy resin for which Sha'angh'sei is
so famous, hits him with such intensity it takes his
breath away and he is dizzied.

 The din of the city, after so long on the road,
alone with himself, is claustrophobically
overpowering, a constant harsh cacophony
consisting of wails, shrieks, cries, shouts, laughter,
whispers, chanting, a glorious babble of voices,
testament to the indomitability of man.

 Within the deep shadows of the felt hat, the
scarred man is hollowcheeked. A long bent nose
leads inevitably to thick gnarled lips as if, in his
wild earlier years, he had fought with his fists
within the hempen circle, as is the wont of certain
of the folk of the western plains of the continent
of man. His hair is silver, silken, flowing long down
his back, held away from his wide wrinkled
forehead by a thin plaited band of copper. His
face, defiantly hairless, exhibits the tracery of livid
white scars puckering the flesh of his cheeks and
throat like rain on the surface of a pond. He wears
a long traveling cloak of a dark, indeterminate
color, owing to the grit of his journey. Beneath it,
a tunic and leggings of deepest brown. Hanging
from his waist from a simple stained leather belt is
a scabbarded curving sword, wide-bladed and
single-edged.

 He pauses beside a wine stall on Thrice Blessed
Road and, dismounting, leads his mount out of the
enormous crush of the thoroughfare. As he strides
into the dimness beneath the pattemed awning, he
spies the wineseller, moon-faced and almond-eyed,
arguing with two young women over the price of a
leather flagon of wine. With a sweep of his
deep-set eyes, the scarred man takes in the curving
bodies of the women, their faces tipped high in
anger. But they are restless, his eyes, and while he
listens and waits somewhat impatiently, his gaze
darts this way and that, alighting on a face here,
the pale flash of a hand there. For a moment, he
observes a man with eyes like olives and black
curling hair so long that it covers his shoulders,
until he is met by another man and they depart.
The scarred man's head cocks at the thumping
sounds of running feet, shouts echo and diminish
as a body rushes past outside, elbowing through
the crowd. He turns away. He asks the wineseller,
now free, for a cup of spiced wine, downs it in one

4 Eric V. Lustbader

swallow. It is not the rice wine of the region,
which he finds too thin for his taste, but the
heartier burgundy of the northern regions. He
purchases a flagon.

 The sunset is fading, the sky above Sha'angh'sei
turning mauve and violet as night approaches
boldly from the east.

 The scarred man leads his stallion left into a
narrow alley, crooked and filled with refuse and
excrement. There must be bones here, hidden
perhaps in the high dark mounds heaped against
the sides of the building walls. Human bones
stripped of all flesh, all identity. The stench is
appalling and he breathes shallowly as if the air
itself might be poisonous. His mount whinnies
and he pats its neck reassuringly.

 The alley gives out at length onto Green
Dolphin Street with its dense tangle of shops and
dwellings. Again the air is filled with the singsong
cacophony of the city and spices blot out the
more noxious odors. Half a kilometer away, the
scarred man finds the straw-filled sanctuary of a
stable. Leading his mount to a stall, he reaches
up, removing his saddle bags, slinging them over
his left shoulder. He places two coins in the dark
palm of a greasy attendant before venturing out
onto Green Dolphin Street. He walks for a time
down this wide avenue meandering, pausing from
time to time to peer into shop windows or turn
over a piece of merchandise at a street stall. He
turns often to peer behind him as he moves from
one side of the street to the other.

 At last he comes upon a swinging wooden sign
carved in the shape of an animal's face. The
Screaming Monkey, a dark and fumey tavern. He
enters and, skirting the multitude of jammed
tables and booths, speaks to the tavernmaster for
just a moment. Perhaps it is the din of the place
which causes him to put his lips against the other
man's ear. The tavernmaster nods and silver is
exchanged. The scarred man crosses the room
and mounts the narrow wooden staircase that
folds back upon itself. On the landing, midway
up, his gaze sweeps across the smoky room
bubbling with noise and movement. Natives of the
Sha'angh'sei region do not interest him;
outlanders do. He studies them all most carefully
and covertly before he completes his ascension.

 He walks silently down the darkling corridor,
meticulously counting the number of closed
doors, checking to see if there is a rear egress
before he opens the last door on the left.

 Inside the room he stands for long moments
just inside the closed door, perfectly still, listening
intently, absorbing the

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 5

background drift of sounds, setting it in his mind so
that, even if he is otherwise occupied, he will
automatically hear any deviation.

 Then he crosses over the mean floorboards,
throws his heavy saddlebags onto the high down bed
with its pale green spread, moving ilTunediately to
the window, drawing the curtains. When they stop
moving, he pulls one side carefully back in the crook
of one forefinger, gazing out onto a heavily
shadowed alley perpendicular to Green Dolphin
Street. He is, he knows, within the heart of the city,
far from the long wharves of the Sha'angh'sei delta.
Still, if he strains, he can hear the kubaru's plaintive
hypnotic work songs filtering through the hubbub.
Peering sideways, he can just make out a slender
section of the far side of Green Dolphin Street. A
seller of herbed pork and veal is closing his shop
and, immediately adjacent, the lights are
extinguished in a dusty carpet shop as three
brothers, pear-shaped and identical down to their
embroidered saffron robes, shutter the windows.
They are rich, the carpet merchants, thinks the
scarred man, letting the curtains fall back into place.
The more prosperous they become, the heavier they
seem to weigh, as if they have been magically
transformed into living embodiments of the taels of
silver which they hoard.

 The scarred man quits the far side of the room
and, satisfied that the curtains will hold in the light,
fires an oil lamp atop the scarred bedside table. One
corner is charred as if some former occupant had
clumsily overturned the lamp. He reaches into the
recesses of his saddlebags, withdraws the newly
bought flagon of wine, takes a long drink.

 He washes at the nightstand until the water is
black with grime and presently he hears light
footfalls on the stairs. His head comes up and his
right hand grips the hilt of his curving sword. He
steps soundlessly to the wall adjacent the door and
waits, scarcely breathing.

A knock on the door.

 - A young boy, tall and dark-haired, enters
carrying a tray of

steaming food. He comes to a halt seeing the
room empty.
Then the scarred man growls low in his throat and
the boy
turns slowly around. He tries not to stare at the
scarred man
but he cannot help himself.

"Well," says the scarred man. "Put it down."

The boy swallows hard and nods. He continues to
stare.

The scarred man ignores this. "Your father tells me
that you

6 Eric V. l:`ustbader

are quite reliable. Is this so?" His voice is thick and
husky as if he has something lodged in his throat.

 Fright mingles with fascination. The scarred man
sees these often aligned emotions flickering upon the
young narrow face.

"Well," says the scarred man. "Have you no voice
then?"

"Yes," stammers the boy, ''sir. I have one."

"Close the door."

The boy complies.

 "Have you a name?" The scarred man has gone to
the night table. He lifts a bit of fowl between the long
nails of his middle finger and thumb. The forefinger,
in between, juts out oddly. The scarred man swirls the
meat in the thick brown gravy, ignoring the long
wooden eating sticks Iying at the side of the plate,
pops it into his mouth. "Excellent," he says to no one
in particular as he licks the tips of his fingers. "Just the
right amount of fresh black pepper." He turns.
"Now "

"Kuo." Softly.

 -  "Ah." The scarred man studies him with an
awesomely

intense gaze, but even though he feels fear, Kuo
knows that
he must not show it. He stands ramrod straight,
concentrating
on controlling his breathing. He tries to ignore the
sound of
the hammering of his heart, which feels as if it has
lodged
itself in his windpipe.

  "This is for you, Kuo. If you do as I say." A silver
coin has magically appeared between the scarred man's
fingers.

  The boy nods, hypnotized by the shining coin. It
represents more wealth than he has had in his entire
life.

  "Now listen to me carefully, Kuo. My horse is in the
stable down Green Dolphin Street. At the first stroke
of the hour of the boar you must bring it to the alley
at the side of this place. This one." He points one long
forefinger toward the curtained window. "No one must
see you do this, Kuo. And once here, stay within the
shadows. Wait for me. When I come, there will be
another silver coin for you. Is this clear?"

  Kuo nods. "Yes, sir. Quite clear." The secretiveness
of his mission has excited him. How his friends will
envy him.

  "No one must know of this, Kuo." The scarred man
takes a quick step toward him. "Not your friends, not
your brothers or sisters, not even your father. No one."

  "There is nothing for me to tell," Kuo says, delighted
with himself. "Who would be interested in my
delivering another meal upstairs?"

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 7

 "Not even that!" And the boy jumps at the force
of those terse words, then nods. "No, sir."

 The scarred man flicks his thumb and, shot from
the arbalest of his nail, the coin arcs into the air,
shining. Kuo's fingers enclose it and he is gone,
swiftly and silently.

 The scarred man listens at the door. Then, as the
sounds of Kuo's descent fade, he turns his
attention to the food and for a time he is totally
consumed in the act of eating.

 Sounds drift up to him, given an eerie
etherealness by the closed curtains. The cries of
the night vendors, drunken laughter, the heavy
creak of wooden-wheeled carts laden with to-
morrow's produce and dry goods, the snort of
horses, hoofs clip-cropping on the cobbles; a soft
wind rustles the leaves of the plane trees lining
nearby Yellow Tooth Street. Night.

 Soft footfalls on the stairs and the scarred man
is up, wiping his greasy hands. He bends,
extinguishes the flame of the oil lamp. Silently, he
skirts the bed, opens the curtains. Dim, fitful light
from the thin corridor to the street seeps into the
room as slowly as blood drips from a corpse.

The footfalls cease.

 The scarred man has positioned himself well
within the deepest shadows of the room with a
good line of sight to the door. He stands immobile,
one hand gripping the hilt of his sword as the door
opens inward to reveal an ebon silhouette.

"Mistral," comes a whispered voice.

"Who is the messenger?" says the scarred man.

"The wind."

 "Enter, Omojiru," says the scarred man and the
silhouette disappears as the door is closed. There
comes the sound of a lock being secured.

"Cascaras,'' says Omojiru, "have you found it?"

 The scarred man hears the tremor in the voice,
barely held in check as he watches the other in the
inconstant light. He notes the high forehead, the
flat cheekbones, the narrow thinlipped mouth, the
intelligent almond eyes and thinks, It was those
eyes which took me in. But now I know that he
would be nowhere without his father's influence. I
regret his involvement. Not because he is ruthless
and unprincipled. He would be useless to me
without those traits. But because he lacks the guile
he believes he has. That can be dangerous. He sees
Omojiru's lips compress into the narrow line of
intransigence preparatory to violent action and he
recalls this man's volatile nature. How different
you are from your kin, Omojiru, the

         lyric V. I`ustbader

scarred man thought. If your father but knew
what you planned with me

 ' Tell me!'' Omojiru hisses, the words forced
out of him as if they are under pressure, and the
scarred man looks away for just a moment,
embarrassed for the other.

"I have found it."

 "At last!" Omojiru moves involuntarily closer
and now the quavering of his voice is
unstoppable.

 Greed, Cascaras thinks. And power. How many
would he kill to get them? "I do not have it yet."

 "What?'' The enormous disappointment shows
across the young man's face, unmistakable even
in the dimness.

"But I know where it is."

"Ah. Then we will go to it."

 "Yes," says the scarred man. "That is the way of
our bargain." And he wonders at what point
Omojiru will try to kill him.

"Where," Omojiru whispers hoarsely, "is it?"

 The scarred man laughs silently. How
transparent he is. He will do it now and take no
chances. ''We will go there together, Omojiru," he
says with great patience, as if explaining a dif-
ficult and complex concept to a child.

 "Yes. Yes, of course we will. I, uh, I only
wished to know what to take on the journey and
it would, it would depend on where we are
going.''

 Now the scarred man laughs out loud. "I will
tell you what to take, Omojiru."

 The door flies open, lock and hinges splintering
and in that brief instant of shock, as his head
turns in the direction of the violent motion and
sound, the scarred man wonders why he heard
nothing. Nothing at all.

 The lights are gone from the hall and it is as if
he looks out upon a starless night, dense with a
damp and clinging fog. His hand withdraws his
blade but already he hears the fearful sounds of
struggle, a strangled cry tom from the lips of
Omojiru, conveying as much terror as pain. The
sound of a whirlwind in the room and across
from him a great viscous bubbling, a hideous
animal grunting connoting coupling or death, and
with a shudder he realizes it is coming from
Omojiru. Something has him and is killing him.

 The scarred man's great curving blade is out,
naked in the night, lifted high over his head, but
something is careening at him from out of the
darkness. It is as if the night itself has

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 9

abruptly come alive, filled with vengeance and a
cold implacable hatred.

 His sword whispers in the air as it descends but
encounters nothing. Fingers like bars of steel
enwrap his right wrist, twisting. He fights, jabbing
with his left fist, his feet, his legs. His knee lifts for
a blow and something heavy smashes into it,
splintering the kneecap. The scarred man grunts as
the breath shoots out of him. Pain flares. His left
wrist snaps and he cries out. His blade clatters to
the floor.

 He is borne as if weightless onto the bed. A
tightness against his chest and then more pain,
lancing through him, turning his vitals to water.
He soils himself and is ashamed as the stench rises
about him.

 Skin and flesh part. His pulse pounds like surf
against his inner ear and sounds become distorted.
His heart feels as if it is being squeezed in a vise;
pressure in his brain. He cannot breathe. And at
the brink of unconsciousness, the questions begin
and repeat over and over until he must answer,
the meaning behind them gone from him. The
dark blood running out of his slack mouth, his
heart constricted beyond all limits and his brain
screaming for release, caring only about itself now.
"Yes," hisses a voice from very near above him.
"Yes, yes, yes." Sounding to him as if it was
coming from the other side of the world. A
balloon bursting against the fragile membranes of
his eyes. His mind screams, filling his entire
universe. Then his blood, like water from a
ruptured dam, begins to fill the room, soaking the
bed, wetting the floor, coursing across the room,
rushing out into the black hall.

            One
          CITY OF
          WONDERS

 ...

              Rubylegs

MOICHI Annai-Nin awoke to the sound of the
sea.

 For what seemed quite a long time he lay with
his eyes open, listening with all his senses to the
sluggish crash of the waves against the ancient
wood. He heard the clear sharp cries of the
hungry gulls and thought for an instant that he
was aboard ship. Then he heard the hoarse
shouts of the stevedores and the singsong litany
of the kubaru and knew he was in the port of
Sha'angh'sei. This both saddened and uplifted
him. He loved this city, perhaps more than any
other on earth, felt a peculiar and powerful
affinity toward it though it was far from his
home. Yet he longed most dearly for a ship
under the soles of his boots.

 In one fluid motion he was on his feet and,
crossing the wooden floor of the large room,
threw open the accordion jalousie window-doors
which ranged along the wall opening out onto
the sea. The sun, barely above the horizon,
turned the water to chopped gold.

 He lifted one huge hand, grasping the upper
lintel of the doorway leading out to the expansive
veranda which ran the entire length of the
building. He breathed deeply of the damp salt
air, his nostrils dilated with the fecund scents,
while he rubbed distractedly at his heavily
muscled chest. You eternal, he thought. The sea.

 The morning light, spilling obliquely across the
horizon, played over his enormous frame. His
skin was the color of rich cinnamon and when his
wide, thick-lipped mouth split in a grin, which
was often, his white teeth flashed. His eyes, large
and set far apart on his face, were the color of
smoky topaz, though in certain low lights it was
often said quite naturally in hesitant whispers
reserved for the darkest of secrets that

                 13
                  
14 Eric V. Lustbader

deep within them one could see an odd crimson
spark as of a reflection from some flickering
flame. His long hooked nose was further
highlighted by a tiny perfect diamond set into the
dusky flesh of his right nostril. His thick hair and
full beard were glossily black and curling. Overall,
it was a face filled with converging influences, an
intriguing admixture formed from facing adversity,
man-made and natural. It was a foreign face
according to those in Sha'angh'sei who knew,
because, above all else, it held a riveting power
alien to the people of this region of the continent
of man.

 Moichi Annai-Nin stretched and his muscles
rippled. He sighed deeply, feeling the inexorable
pull of the sea just as if he were a compass drawn
unerringly northward. He was the finest navigator
in the known world; thus his present predicament
was ironic indeed. Still, he did not find it in the
least amusing.

 He turned back into the room, moving in long
lithe strides to a carved wooden table upon which
sat a huge pitcher and a bowl of seagreen stone.
It was the hour of the cormorant, the time had he
been on a ship when he would return to the high
poop deck to see all the sea before him, feeling
the tides and currents and breezes, to take the
first sighting of the day. He bent, pouring cold
water over his head and into the bowl, scooping
it up in double handfuls, splashing his face and
shoulders.

 He was drying himself with a thick brown towel
when he heard the movement behind him and
swung around. Llowan had come up the stairs
from the harttin's huge working area on the
ground floor. This tall, spare man with the mane
of silver hair like a giant cat was bandsman of
Sha'angh'sei's waterfront, in charge of all loading
and unloading of cargo transported over the sea,
overseer of the city's myriad harttin.

 Llowan smiled. "Hole, Moichi," he said,
deliberately using the traditional sailors' greeting.
"Glad you are awake. A messenger awaits you
downstairs. He comes from the Regent Aerent. "

 Moichi folded the towel and began to dress.
"What news of a ship, Llowan?"

 "Are you not even the least bit curious why your
friend should send for you at this early hour?"

 Moichi paused, said, "Look here, Llowan, I am
a navigator and though I love your city dearly, I
have had the solidity of land under my feet for
too long. Even though this be

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 15

Sha'angh'sei, still I long for a good ship's deck to
stand upon." He drew on copper-colored leggings
over which he strapped leather sheaths covering
only the outside of his legs. He shrugged himself
into a brilliant white silk shirt with wide sleeves
and no collar. About his waist he wrapped a
forest-green cotton sash into which he inserted the
twin copper-handled dirks which were his
trademark. Lastly, he fastened a thin leather thong
about his waist from which a silver-handled sword
hung in a worn tattooed leather scabbard. The
diamond in his nostril flashed in the gathering
light.

 "Patience, my friend," Llowan said. "Since the
defeat of the dark forces of The Dolman in the
Kai-feng more than six seasons ago, the sea lanes
to Sha'angh'sei have been clogged with merchant
ships." He shrugged, running a hand through his
long hair. "Unfortunately, one of the by-products
of peace is a surfeit of people. All the navigators,
called to the last battle, have returned home now.
It is only just that they get first preference for the
ships of native registry. You can understand that."
He turned sideways, into the oblique light, and
Moichi saw sharply delineated the cruel
semicircular scar at the left corner of the
bundsman's mouth, arcing up to the base of the
nose, which had no nostril on that side. "Why not
be satisfied by the work I give you here, my
friend? What awaits you out there" his long arm
extended, sweeping outward toward the lapping
yellow sea beyond the harttin's wide ve-
randa "that could be so compelling? Here you
have all the silver, all the women, all the
companionship you could ever wish for."

 Moichi turned from the deep voice, stood in the
doorway to the veranda, staring out at the thick
forest of black masts, slashes of crosstrees, the
intricate spiderweb of the rigging of the armada of
ships temporarily at rest in the harbor or off-
loading baled goods from far-off exotic shores.
Too soon they would be setting sail again, leaving
Sha'angh'sei's clutter behind in their wakes. Only
dimly he heard Llowan saying, "I will send up the
tea. Come downstairs when you are ready; the
messenger can wait, I daresay."

 Alone again, Moichi's gaze raced outward, from
the teeming foreshore, riding the white crests of
the rolling sea like a stormtossed gull, recalling
those long days and nights aboard the Kiaku,
sailing south, ever south with his captain, Ronin,
who had returned from Ama-no-mori transformed
into the Sunset Warrior. Eyes clouded with
memories of a lush jade isle, un

16 Eric V. Lustbader

named, gone now beneath the churning waves,
and its lone sorcerous city of stone pyramids and
gods with hearts as cold as ice; a dreamlike ride
on an enormous feathered serpent high in the sky,
through a land filled with sun, onto a ship sailing
for Iskael, his homeland, where, with his people,
he returned to the continent of man tojoin the
Kai-feng; and the lightning of that last day of
battle when he scrambled across a morass of
seeping dead and dying warriors, mounds of the
slain and wounded, friend and foe, his clothes so
heavy with blood and gore that he could barely
move, to greet the victorious Dai-San.

 And what occupies his days and nights now?
Moichi mused. My friend. We each owe the other
a life. More than either of us can repay. And even
now, though he resides in fabled Amano-mori
among the Bujun, his kin, this world's greatest
warriors, though we are far from each other, still
do we remain closer than if we were brothers
joined in blood at birth. For we have been forged
upon the same anvil, tied by the terror of
imminent death. And survived. And survived.

Moichi moved out into the sunlight.

 Farther south still than far-off Ama-no-mori was
Iskael. So long since he had walked its blazing
deserts and its orchards, heavy with luscious fruit,
the long lines of stately apple trees
white-blossomed in spring, ethereal clouds come
to earth and, in the blistering heat of the summer,
with the incandescent sun a huge disc of beaten
brass, to stand within their cool penumbra to
reach up and pluck the hanging fruit, ripe and
golden. He could not count his hurried arrival
and even more hasty departure during the
Kai-feng. He had spent all of his time aboard
ship, supervising the preparations for war, plotting
their course northward to the continent of man.
And all the while, beyond the foreshore, alive
with frantic activity, bristling with bright shards of
weaponry and men saying their farewells to their
families, the dusky rolling hills of Iskael
beckoned, forged by Moichi and his people over
centuries of struggle from barren ground into a
land of plenty. But that return, for him, did not
count for the land was untouchable to him then.

 He turned, watching the head of the stairwell as
Yu's head appeared. She held a gray-green
lacquered tray on which sat a squat ceramic pot
and matching handleless cup. She knelt before a
low varnished table across from the massive
wooden desk set against one corner of the room
that Moichi regarded, despite his protestations, as
strictly Llowan's. Its hugeness made him feel
uncomfortable. Of course he was used to the

BENEATH AN OPAI' MOON 17

much more compact and functional writing desks
built into the bulkheads in ships' cabins. But
beyond that it reminded him of his father's desk in
the enormous bedroom in his family's house in
Iskael.

 He went into the room. observing Yu. She wore
a creamcolored silk robe. She was tall and slim
with a fine pale face dominated by dark expressive
eyes. She had slid the tray soundlessly onto the
tabletop and now sat with her hands in her lap and
her head bowed, motionless. Waitidg.

 Moichi could scarcely tell if she were breathing
as he knelt at the opposite side of the low table.
Yu's hands unfolded like a flower reaching for the
sun's warmth and slowly, precisely, she made the
tea ceremony.

 He settled himself. The quiet splash of the sea,
the cormorants' and gulls' cries, a compradore's
shouts, quite near, the scent of the warm sun
heating the salted wood and the barnacled tar, the
pale deft hands moving in their intricate orbits
tying it all together, mystifyingly. Moichi felt a
peacefulness wash over him.

 Yu handed him the cup and he inhaled the spicy
fragrance of the hot tea. He lifted it slowly to his
lips, savoring the moment before he took the first
sip. He felt the warmth sliding down his throat and
into his broad chest. Energy tingled his flesh.

 After a time, he finished his tea. He put down
the cup and reached out his hand. Put two
fingertips under the point of her chin, tilted Yu's
head up. It was a face filled with broad planes,
pale rolling meadows from which only the lowest
of fleshy hillocks rose. What other skills lie within
that body? he wondered idly. And can it matter at
all? Wasn't the wondrous tea ceremony more than
enough?

 Yu smiled at him and her delicate hands moved
to the fastening of her silk robe. Moichi stopped
her, putting his calloused fingers over hers, holding
them still.

 He took his fingers away, kissed their tips, put
them against her own. Then he stood up and
bowed formally to her. She returned it. Stillness in
the long room. He left her there, as quiet as
sunlight.

 Downstairs, it was a completely different world.
Kubaru, bare-cheated and sweat-soaked, trotted in
and out of the wide wooden doors open onto the
sprawling bund and, just beyond, the long wharves
where the myriad ships waited impatiently.

18 Eric V. Lustbader

Wheat dust stained the air, hanging, silvered in
thick bars of sunlight slanting in through the
doorway and the many windows lining the
harttin's seaward face.

 Llowan was talking with several stevedores,
perhaps discussing the disbursement of some
newly off-loaded shipment. Piles of brown
hempen sacks and wide wooden casks filled the
harttin, separated by narrow mazelike corridors
honeycombing the area.

 Moichi saw the Regent's messenger at once,
standing beside one of the narrow rear doorways
leading out onto one of the streets of the.city's
port quarter. He was muscular but still with the
thinness of a youth. One side of his face was
bruised a livid purple-blue fading to a yellow near
the perimeter. The flesh was still puffy.

 The messenger recognized the navigator as soon
as he saw him emerge out of the bustle of activity
within the harttin. He wasted no time with
unnecessary formalities, merely handed Moichi a
rice-paper envelope. Moichi broke the blue-green
wax seal of the Regent, read the note. It said:
"Moichi Apologies for the early hour of this
summons but your presence is urgently required
at Seifu-ke soonest. Aerent." Typically, Moichi
thought, he had left off his new title. Old habits
die hard. Moichi smiled to himself. Aerent is a
rikkagin, always will be, no matter what other job
he takes on; the training is ineradicable. And that,
I suppose, is as it should be. He is an excellent
choice for Regent of Sha'angh'sei, whether he is
aware of it himself or no.

"All right," Moichi said, looking up, "lead on."

 He waved farewell to Llowan as he followed the
messenger out.

 Out along the Sha'angh'sei delta it was already
sweltering even though it was yet early morning.
The jumble of narrow twisting streets, which were
among the city's oldest, ran with seawater and
diluted fish blood. Flies buzzed blackly and the
thin nervous dogs rooted in the refuse heaped
against the buildings' walls hoping to find fresh
fish entrails. Pairs of kubaru jogged by with loads
hung between them on flexing bamboo poles
bowed with the weight.

 They were in a ricksha, a two-wheeled carriage
powered by a kubaru runner. There were many
halts as they bounced along but their kubaru was
very good and he quickly got them away

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 19

from the frustrating crowds, taking them down
dark cramped alleys and bent lanes.

 Moichi watched the panoply of Sha'angh'sei slide
by him, thinking of the changes within the vast city
and, because of those changes, how it all stayed
essentially the same; its eternalness fascinated and
awed him. Even though now there was no Empress
to rule, just the rose-and-white-quartz monument
to her memory at Jihi Square, where the city's
delta met the region's major river, the Ki-iro; even
though the Greens and the Reds, or the Ching
Pang and the Hung Pang as they were also known,
Sha'angh'sei's hereditary enemies, united by the
now-dead Empress and their tai-pan for the
Kai-Feng, now held a balance of a truce between
them; even though the war, which had gone on for
more time than anyone living could remember and
was, some said, the cause for Sha'angh'sei's
creation, was at last finished forever; despite all
these changes. Moichi thought, Sha'angh'sei
abides, prospering, pushing ever outward,
mysterious, deadly, an entity unto itself, alive and
the giver of more pleasure and pain than any one
man could conceive. Still, for him, it was not
enough.

 "How did you get that'?" he said, indicating the
messenger's large bruise.

 The young man touched the tender spot
unconsciously with the tips of his fingers. "Oh,
combat practice with the Regent. You know, he
never misses a day and he is an outstanding
warrior even even now." He looked away from
Moichi, embarrassed by his blunder.

 Just then Moichi felt a shift in the kubaru's gait
and he leaned out of the ricksha. There was a
disturbance in the street ahead and the runner was
slowing. They were out of the port quarter now
and into an area swarming with shops of a
bewildering variety a sort of permanent bazaar.

 A cluster of people was blocking the street,
Moichi saw, and their kubaru was turning his head,
searching for an alternate route to the Seifu-ke.
But before he could turn them around, three
Greens separated themselves from the pack and
swag gered up to the ricksha. They were all
heavyset men with greasy black hair tied back in
queues. They were dressed in black cotton tunics
and wide pants. Short-hafted axes hung at their
sides.

 Moichi was on the point of asking them to help
clear the way when he saw one of the Greens
scowl and, grasping his ax, fling it, whirring, into
the carriage. It crashed into the chest

20 Erlc V. Lus,tbader

of the messenger with such force that, as his
breastbone shattered, he was propelled partway
through the ricksha's reed back. The young man
had not even had enough time to realize that they
were under attack.

 As blood spurted, Moichi jumped clear of the
carriage, keeping the small reed structure
between his rolling body and the oncoming
Greens.

 Time seemed to leap forward as the period of
shock passed and movement began all over.
People were running in every direction,
screaming, and this helped somewhat. But the
Greens were quartering, two, then three as the
squat man who had thrown the ax leapt up into
the carriage and jerked his weapon from the
messenger's corpse.

 Moichi had one dirk out, the point lifted slightly
higher than the heft, crouched in the attacker's
pose.

 He ran from them and they laughed as if they
had encountered a frightened child instead of a
warrior and they fanned out in a wedge-shaped
path. In a moment, he had whirled, one of the
Greens almost upon him, and, reversing the dirk,
threw it, heavy hilt first, directly into the
onrushing man's face.

 The Green screamed and reeled backward from
the enormous force of the blow. Blood gushed
from his broken nose and he tried to spit out
shattered teeth through his torn and ruined lips.
At the same time, Moichi was whipping out his
second dirk, rolling into the man. He slashed
once as he went by, cutting the Green's Achilles
tendon. He picked up the Green's fallen ax and
hurled it without having time for a proper aim,
using his peripheral vision from whence he had
seen the blu red movement heading toward him.

 The airborne ax glanced off the second Green's
kneecap. It hit him flat on and the man grunted
as his leg buckled at the joint. But he knew how
to fall, rolling, and he came up the angle had
been wrong and thus the knee was merely
bruised, not broken as Moichi had intended. He
let fly his own ax.

 Moichi ducked and splinters of brick and
mortar sailed at him, filling the air as the weapon
crashed into a building wall just beside his head.

 The Green was close enough now and Moichi
lashed out with his right leg, feeling his arch
make contact with the man's cheekbone at the
precise angle. Bones splintered and the Green
moaned, toppling over. His tongue came out, red
and sticky, almost torn in two by his own teeth.
But he was far from through. He bounced off the
wall, hurled himself at Moichi,

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 21

using his massive arms in a smashing blow against
the navigator's shoulder. The dirk flew from
Moichi's grasp and the Green's fingers went for
the throat, the nails long and deadly.

 Moichi let the hands in, looped his own around
them, slamming his balled fists into the other's
ears with such force that blood immediately
sprayed out as the eardrums ruptured. The Green
rose up, bellowing with pain, and Moichi brought
his massive hands together, breaking his neck.

 Rolling the bloody body off him he rose,
watching the third Green approach. He was the
squat man and he circled Moichi with some
caution. His ax blade shimmered crimson in the
sunlight.

 Moichi, keeping the splintered brickwork of the
wall at his back, drew his silver-hilled sword. "Why
did you kill him?" he said thickly. ''We meant you
no harm."

 "Meant us no harm?" spat the Green. "He was a
Red, wasn't he?''

 For an instant, Moichi felt disoriented, almost as
if he had somehow slipped backward into time,
into the Sha'angh'sei before the advent of the
Kai-feng. "What are you saying?" he breathed.
"The Reds and the Greens are at peace."

 The squat man hawked and a gob of phlegm
spattered at Moichi's feet. "No more, by the gods.
No more! That illomened truce is thankfully at an
end." He brandished his ax menacingly. "It was
unnatural. We all felt ashamed. As unclean as
defilers of little boys. By the great god of
Sha'angh'sei, Kay-lro De, war is returned to the
streets of the city!"

 He rushed at Moichi then and they fought close
together for long moments, breathlessly thrusting
and counterthrusting, each seeking a weakness in
the other's defence.

 Moichi shifted his sword to his left hand and in
the same motion swung it at the squat man in a
flashing flat arc. Thus occupied, the other failed to
see Moichi's right hand in time, fingers extended
and rigid as a board. He turned, far too late.
Moichi's hand, edge first, plowed into the nerve
cluster at the side of his neck and the Green
crashed heavily to the cobbles.

 The street was deserted now, save for the strewn
bodies; the kubaru had long since disappeared. But
Moichi could feel the eyes staring at him from the
many shop windows. Taking deep breaths, ignoring
the fire in his left shoulder, he hastily retrieved his
dirks, shoving them into his wide sash. Returning
his sword to its tattooed leather scabbard, he
turned down a side street, disappearing almost
immediately from view.

22 Eric V. Lu6~ader

* * *

"What I do not understand is what set it off."

"That is one of the reasons for your hasty
summons."

"You know?"

''Yes. "

"Tell me, then.''

 "I am afraid that it is not a simple matter. Not
simple at all. "

 Moichi sat in a room on the second floor of the
Seifu-ke. Through the large leaded-glass windows
which were open now to catch any hint of a sea
breeze, he saw the thick verdant trees lining Okan
Road still as a painting above the nearby slanting
rooftops.

 Months before, after the ending of the Kai-feng,
they had cleared away the old palace of the
Empress, levering its grandiose sleeping quarters
and its vast work chambers, its cold marble
columns and long echoing halls. Not because of
any disrespect to the fallen Empress; the
monument in Jihi Square was more than proof of
that. The palace, like its hereditary occupant,
simply belonged to another era. In its place had
been constructed a three-story dwelling smaller
and more functional of rough oxidized brick
relieved by glossy platinum fillwork at the
interstices and edges. This singular combination
of the grittily stark and the softly sensual gave the
new Regent's home a look of having been in the
center of Sha'angh'sei's tumult forever. This was
the Seifu-ke.

 Across a dark, highly polished sandalwood
table, rikkagin Aerent, the first Regent of
Sha'angh'sei, sat in a high-backed chair of carved
ebony. He was a tall, lean man with wide,
powerful shoulders, thick Braying hair and
close-cropped beard. His face was the color of
lightly cured leather, seamed beyond his years. It
was dominated by a curving hawk-like nose and
dark eyes which could easily have been brooding
but weren't. They were, instead, constantly full of
light and life.

 Just the opposite of his dead brother, Moichi
thought, who had been doom-filled, tortured by
his own inner nature. Looking into those eyes of
Aerent's, one saw the rikkagin, the superb
military leader, yes, but one saw much more.
There was absolutely no opacity there; they were
clear and so deep that they seemed to go on
forever. And at the core, what did one see? More
than a warrior; more than a commander of men.
A man. It was Aerent's deep and abiding
humanity which, in the end, made him so
extraordinary, Moichi thought. And Tuolin, his

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 23

brother? His only family. Moichi shrugged
inwardly. War. It was such utter madness. Was it
luck that had allowed him and Aerent to survive
while Tuolin was slain? Or was there some great
force, unknowable to man, which guided the
ultimate outcome of events? He shrugged again.

 "It was like a return to the old days, Aerent,"
Moichi said. "The hate is there still, even though
none of them could say why or how it all began."

 Aerent nodded. "Yes. Now it has begun again
and it is as if the truce never happened. They have
short memories for some things, the Ching Pang
and the Hung Pang."

 "But how did it happen? Some skirmish between
parties of the two?"

 The Regent smiled ruefully. "If only it were that
simple, there might be some hope at least. But as
it is " He shrugged. "What has happened," he
said deliberately, putting his hands flat on the
table, "is that Du-Sing's youngest son was found
murdered late last night."

 "Son of the tai-pan of the Greens!" Moichi
whistled low in his throat.

 "And that is not all." Aerent's heavily muscled
arms straightened as he put weight on them, into
his hands, levering himself up. He stood weaving
slightly for a moment until he was quite sure of his
balance. Then he walked, stiff-legged, somewhat
awkwardly for the first several steps, out from
behind the barrier of the table, crossing the room.

 Moichi would not be abysmally rude as to turn
his gaze aside, yet perhaps the sight of his friend
walking compelled him to say: "I am truly sorry,
Aerent. About that young man "

The Regent lifted a hand.

 "You did more than could be expected, Moichi.
He was a good lad." He turned and smiled. "I
thank the gods you are all right. I still think I
should call a physician to take a look at that
shoulder "

Now it was the navigator's turn to raise his hand.

 "At least use some of this ice," the Regent said,
pushing a bowl across the table. Moichi
acquiesced. The cold would stop the swelling and
it damped the ache, at least for the time being.

 Moichi watched his friend as he made his careful
way across the room to the window. He looks
more like an enormous insect, Moichi thought. A
praying mantis perhaps, locked within the
peculiarly articulated mode of locomotion devised

24 Eric V. Lustbader

for him. At length, the Regent made the window
and sat down on the wide sill, his long legs
stretched out before him. He put a long hand out,
feeling their gem hardness, saying: "It's gotten so
I hate to hide them now."

"I imagine it is not something one can easily get
used to."

 "Indeed, no." Aerent smiled thinly and thought,
Still, luckier than some. Thank the gods I at least,
was spared the grief of soul which plagued
Tuolin. Strange that only at the point of death
should he find love. He was a warrior to the last.
And, at the end, a true hero. Thus shall he be
remembered. It is only just.

 He sat straight as a ramrod, looking inward
while Moichi waited without, patiently thinking
his own thoughts. Aerent felt the soft wind that
sprang up, drying the sweat on his back, which
had caused his green silk shirt to cling clammily
to his skin. Then the sun had dimmed behind him
as the quickforming summer thunderheads built
up on the southwest quarter, racing hastily inland
as if late for some important assignation. He
sniffed once: the incipience of rain. It recalled to
him, like a flash of lightning, that sleeting
morning, racing across the battlefield before the
yellow stone citadel of Kamado, his sleek stallion
thundering under him with such coordinated
power and the fusillade he avoided by a mere
hairsbreadth by rolling from his saddle. But the
ground was treacherous, made slippery by the
blood and gore of many, so that the earth itself
was hidden by the grisly mattress of the piled
bodies. His mount had stumbled and panicked
and, as it had swerved hysterically, his booted
foot caught the edge of the metal stirrup, twisted
sideways, an inescapable trap. He had been
dragged across the humped ground, over bodies
and fallen weapons, a hideous and lethal gauntlet.
Armor had protected most of his torso and arms;
at the very end, something had sheared away half
his helmet so that he had mercifully passed into
unconsciousness.

 But there was nothing any physician could do
about his legs. The nerves were gone and in any
case the damage to flesh and muscle was so
extensive that they had had no choice. They had
left it to Tuolin's physician to tell him.

 Still, he did not despair for he had no room in
his bright soul for that bleak, immobilising
emotion. There is something good in everything
that happens, Aerent had thought, or, at the very
least, something important to be learned. His
body had been tested and he had come through.
Now his mind was

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 2~;

being put to the task. Here he would either survive
or perish emotionally.

 The physicians being useless to him once they
had cut the dead flesh away, he called for the
engineers, dismissing at once those who could not
keep from smiling and who averted their eyes or
who seemed bewildered by his summons, for those
were invariably the ones who told him that nothing
could be done.

 Aerent did not believe this and, at length, he
found a man who was both unafraid and who knew
what would be required. "They should, I feel, be
more than functional," were the first words out of
his mouth, and Aerent had been satisfied. "Do it,"
he had said.

 Money was no problem, of course. Aerent was a
hero of the Kai-feng and already a ground-swell
movement was forming for his appointment as first
Regent of Sha'angh'sei. The city, in effect, had
taken his legs from him; thus the city would
restore them to him no matter the cost.

 The engineer he was the same man who had
drawn up the plans for the Seifu-ke had worked
ceaselessly for a full season, abandoning all other
projects, and, at last, he came to Aerent with a
long thin package perhaps a meter long wrapped
in dark cloth.

"It is done," he said, laying open the contents.

 They were fashioned after the human skeletal leg
structure, the arcing bones carved from a ruby-like
substance that had all the tensile strength of the
gem but also had the required flexibility. The
joints were masterpieces of construction, gimbals
and sockets of onyx and solid brass brushed with
a dry lubricant which also protected the metal
from moisture and day-to-day wear.

 It took half a day to fit the legs but, then,
Aerent would never have to take them off. As he
worked on the last adjustments, the engineer had
said, "Of course we have many substances to mold
over these 'bones' so that the legs will seem almost
real. But" he tightened the last screw and stood
up, admiring his handiwork "to be quite frank I
prefer them as they are. It is what I would do if I
were wearing them. "

 Aerent had gazed at them for a long time,
searching perhaps for some emotion deep inside
himself, some guide. "Yes," he said at length. "I
believe you are quite correct. Let us leave them as
they are." He put his hands on the ruby bones, his
fingers feeling along their lengths. Then, with the
aid of a chair

26 Eric V. Lustbader

back, he stood up for the first time and, strangely,
the immediate sensation was one of enormous
freedom. It was not until much later that he
realized how much lighter his new legs were
compared to the ones of flesh and real bone.

 The rain had begun. Aerent's spine arched
involuntarily as the first drops pattered against his
back. The sky above Sha'angh'sei was dark and
rippling like a great beast's underbelly. Thunder
rolled distantly.

"It was all right then, after that," the Regent said.

 Moichi had to think for a moment. ''Yes. I
knew which streets to avoid."

 Aerent nodded. "Good. Those idiots!" He meant
the Greens who had attacked Moichi and the
messenger. "Omejiru, DuSing's son, was found in
a room on the second floor of a tavern on Green
Dolphin Street."

"Which one?"

"The Screaming Monkey, I am told.''

"Not the most savvy of inns. Have you been there
yet?"

 "No. I deemed it prudent to wait until morning.
Nothing has been touched."

"You've seen the body?"

 "Yes. It was brought here. Du-Sing picked it up
some time later. "

"How was the young man killed?"

"With great efficiency, I am afraid. It was no
street brawl."

"Hardly accidental, then.''

  "No. The sword strokes were as brutal as they
were efficacious. He was murdered by an expert."

"Murdered?"

  "His sword was still in his scabbard. I
ascertained subsequently, that it had not been
used."

"I see. But why does Du-Sing suspect the Reds?"

  "It comes down, I think, to the places Omojiru
frequented. It was rumored that he was the black
sheep of the family but the old man ignored this
as much as he was able. Still, it is fairly well
known that the lad used the gambling houses in
the Tejira Quarter."

"Territory of the Hung Pang."

  The Regent nodded soberly. "And then there
were the girls. It is said that Omojiru had a
voracious appetite for girls. Four and five a night.
None, they tell me, over the age of twelve." His
arms like corded steel and he was up again,
springing lightly across the room far more quickly
than any normal man could

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 27

manage it, the mantis afoot. "Omojiru, it can be
readily seen, was far from a source of pride to
Du-Sing. Still, he was family and, of course, a
Green. All other distinctions have been made
irrelevant by death."

 Moichi looked into his friend's eyes. "I do not
think that it matters to Du-Sing whether or not the
Reds actually killed his son."

 "In that you are wrong, Moichi," the Regent said.
"But I see your point. The war between the Greens
and the Reds is an inevitable course in
Sha'angh'sei. I see that clearly now. No truce could
hold for long. This city must find its own course.
Not one man or one woman, nor even a group of
people, can impose their ultimate will here. Even
Kiri knew that, did not attempt to cross certain
natural barriers, and she was a hereditary ruler, an
extraordinary individual. I doubt that anyone else
could have united the Greens and Reds for the
Kai-feng.

 "Well, I am here now and I am not Kiri. I do
what I can, what I must to keep this city together.
But Sha'angh'sei is an unstoppable entity and this
is its intrinsic strength, I firmly believe. To tamper
with it would be to risk the dissipating of its
life-force and this I will not do."

"You will not try to end the war?"

 Aerent smiled. "I did not say that, my friend. I
merely state what is. One must learn, in this
capacity, in what ways one can be most effective.
In Sha'angh'sei it is often said that the direct
approach is not always the most successful. I
talked quite briefly with Du-Sing when he came
with his escort to take the body of his son. His
mind is quite made up on this matter, I am afraid.
Now I must try other means to attain a reconcilia-
tion.''

"How can I be of help?" Moichi said.

 The Regent nodded. "There are two things, quite
unrelated. First, come with me to The Screaming
Monkey to aid in the investigation.''

 "You mean you wish to prove that Omojiru was
murdered by someone other than a Red."

 Aerent smiled. "I wish to get at the truth.
Omojiru may indeed have been felled by a Red
assassin. There is certainly enough motivation; his
gambling debts had risen alarmingly recently." He
shrugged. "Perhaps he was expecting money from
Du-Sing which was not forthcoming.'' The Regent
stood by the table now. It had been brought from
his old barrackshouse on Dawndragon Lane on his
insistence. It had served

28 Eric V. Lustbader

him well and faithfully when he was a rikkagin, he
had said, and it would do so again. He had
wanted no part of the ornate silver-and-crystal
desk which had initially been ordered by the
contractors for this room. He leaned over it now,
took a largebowled pipe from a black wooden
rack and made himself very busy for several
moments filling it with a dark tobacco. Only after
he had methodically tamped down the full bowl
and got the thing going did he continue. His
profile was to Moichi as he said, "Second, I have
just received a message of state from
Ama-no-mori. A fast clipper out of the southern
out-islands brought it in early this morning.''
Moichi sat up, certain that here was news of his
friend, the Dai-San. "I am told " he sucked at
his pipe "that the Kunshin's daughter will arrive
on tomorrow morning's tide." He swung around
to face the navigator. "I wish you to keep her safe
during her stay ''

"You mean baby-sit, by God!" Moichi cried,
standing up.

 Aerent smiled genially, calm as ever. "You know
Azukiiro, my friend. Do you believe that he
would send us a helpless girl?'' He shook his head
by way of emphasis. "Not the Bujun. No, the
Kunshin sends us a daughter who he wants made
aware of the world outside Ama-no-mori.
Besides" he grinned broadly "the message of
state specifically requested your aid in this
matter." Aerent paused, his pipe in his hand. A
thin curl of smoke drifted up against the side of
his face making him squint as if he were gazing
into the sun. The Regent's dark eyes were on
Moichi. Never had they seemed so clear nor filled
with such compassion. He put his hand on the
navigator's shoulder. "My friend," he said evenly,
"don't think that I don't know you. I understand
your restlessness here, your desire to return to
the sea. Be assured that I have talked with
Llowan. But for the time being, there is nothing
either of us can do. There are no ships available
now and we can only exert so much pressure on
the shipowners' guild. The time is not yet right
for you. But soon, eh? Soon."

 Rain beat down out of a low fulminating sky as
they rode through the streets of the city. They
were without an escort, an encumbrance Aerent
would not tolerate. The seals of state were
emblazoned on the Regent's mount's harness and
on his own dark swirling cape and this was all he
felt was required. As for the newly rekindled war,
if Du-sing or Lui Wu, for that matter, the
tai-pan of the Reds learned that he had been
attacked, the assailants would be summarily
executed by the

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 29

tai-pans' own hands. An attack was hardly likely, in
any event, since the Regent was well known
throughout Sha'angh'sei.

  There was construction on Brown Bear Road
and the ground there was mired in mud so they
detoured, taking Quince Street, then Park Paradise
until it bisected Thrice Blessed Road, from there
carefully picking their way onto Green Dolphin
Street.

  They dismounted before the swinging sign of The
Screaming Monkey, beaded in the rain, and Moichi
called to a boy sitting just inside the doorway,
handing him two copper coins, asking him to tend
to their mounts.

  Inside the tavern it was dark, the air thick. They
shook the rain off their capes, inhaling the mingled
scents of animal fat and charcoal, fermented wine
and sawdust. It was quiet this early in the day;
most of the chairs were still raised on the tables.
Still, there were three or four figures seated, eating
and drinking. A dark-haired woman with
black-lacquered teeth lolled indolently in a far
corner. Seeing them, she let her wrapped cloak
unfurl as if by accident and Moichi caught a
glimpse of a burnished calf and sleek thigh. The
woman sat up, stretching so that her ample breasts
arched toward him, half spilling out of her low-cut
robe.

  The tavernmaster came out from behind the bar.
He was a short man with a barrel chest and legs
like a bird. His skull was hairless. He rubbed his
hands together and assumed an obsequious
attitude in the hopes of forestalling the trouble
which he expected was coming.

  "Yes, Regent." His thin voice was almost a
whine. "How may I serve you? Some breakfast,
perhaps? A cup of mulled wine on this terrible
day?"

  "Neither," Aerent said. "We wish to see the room
where the young man, Omojiru, was found."

  The other shuddered as if his worst fears had
just been confirmed. "A monstrous act, Your
Grace. Simply monstrous. The room is up the
stairs, last door on your left." He closed his eyes
for a moment. When he opened them again they
seemed somewhat moist. "Forgive me if I do not
accompany you but "

"I understand," Aerent said.

  "Nothing has been touched, let me assure you,
Your Grace. All has been left as as we found it."

  "Tell me," Moichi interjected. "Did Omajiru pay
for the room in advance?"

30 Eric Y. Lustbader

 The tavemmaster peered at him. "Why, he did
not pay for the room at all."

"What do you mean?" Aerent said.

 "The room was paid for by another man. He
arrived during the hour of the cicada. Omojiru did
not arrive before the hour of the fox, I am quite
sure."

 "What happened to this man?" Moichi said.
"Did you see him leave?"

 The tavemmaster's face registered surprise.
"Why no. But but in all the excitement it would
have been easy for him to slip out."

"Do you remember what he looked like?" asked
the Regent.

  The tavemmaster gave them as detailed a
description as he was able.

  They left him and mounted the stairs. In the
large room behind them, the tavemmaster was
taking down the chairs. The dark-haired woman
pulled her cloak about her again, closing her eyes.

  They could tell almost nothing from the room.
The curtains remained drawn and what little
furniture there was seemed to be in place. The
bed, of course, was a mess, the sheets and
coverlets tom and rumpled, stiff with dried blood
and excrement. And part of the floor was stained
almost black. Moichi followed this out into the
hall, squatting down. He scraped at the wood,
licked the tip of his finger. Blood. He stood up.
Blood on the bed and the floor. A great deal of it,
almost as if an entire body had been drained.

  He went back into the room. Aerent was on the
far side, parting the curtains. He peered out the
open window, pulled his head quickly back.
"Phew! Someone ought to tell that tavemmaster to
clean up that alley. What a stink!"

  "Blood all over the place, Aerent," Moichi said.
"You saw Omajiru's body. Could this be his
blood?"

  The Regent shook his head. "Not the way he
was killed. The blood loss was minimal, death
came far too fast."

  "Perhaps the other man, whoever he is, is
Omojiru's murderer. "

  "Yes, but that leaves us with the question of
what happened to him."

  Moichi looked around once more; they had
searched in every conceivable nook and cranny
and found nothing. Nothing but blood. ''Well, the
answer is obviously not here."

They found the boy outside, throwing pebbles at
passing

B13N~ATH AN OPAL MOON 31

carts. He danced a little jig at each hit. The rain
had turned into a light mist while they had been
inside The Screaming Monkey.

 "The horses,'' Moichi said to the boy, and he
nodded, leading them down the street.

 "Just a moment." Moichi halted them as they
were passing the dank black alley to the side of
the tavern. There seemed to be a lot of movement
in the denseness, small chitterings, sibilant
rustlings.

Moichi went in and the others followed him into
the shadows.

Refuse and garbage, excrement and a humped
shape.

 Moichi bent down and hissed sharply, a quick
exhalation. Squeals of the rats, scattering angrily
before his looming presence.

 "There is something here," he said. "Something
new to cause such activity in these normally
nocturnal creatures." His hand reached out, fingers
moving rapidly, found stiff cloth, a hard and
irregular configuration beneath it. Blood stench
and a sudden geyser of fetid gas. Death. He
choked.

"Gods, it is a man!"

Together, he and Aerent dragged it into the light
of day.

 The boy turned away and vomited, retching
violently without letup.

 The eyes were gone and, of course, the nose.
They had been busy through the night, those
creatures; he could not have been there any longer
than that.

 They were both crouching over the corpse.
Moichi glanced up, saw the curtains blowing in the
room they had just come from. A neat drop, he
thought. Tidy. Let the scavengers of the city
dispose of the body.

 Aerent was staring at the corpse. His eyes
widened. "By the Pole Star, Moichi, look at this!"

 But Moichi had turned his head, knowing what
the other had found, and was watching the boy
who, terrified yet unable to leave, had turned back.
He noted the boy's paleness of skin under the
yellow tinge, the pinched look around the corners
of his mouth, the slight wildness of the eyes.
Everyone in Sha'angh'sei is inured to death,
Moichi thought. Even the young. Just another fact
of life here. What would cause such a violent
reaction in him? It was a terrible death, yes. But
was that the sum of it?

 "Moichi, who could have ?" He grasped the
navigator's arm, appalled. "Have you seen
this abomination? Death has

32 Erlc Y. Lustbader

been by my side for many long seasons, until I
think of it now as a kind of constant companion,
we have an understanding. But this Never have
1 seen its like. Not on the battlefield; not in the
military prisons. Nowhere."

 Moichi nodded, holding on to the boy now. He
looked again. The chest was a gaping maw, all
white and black, crawling with tiny things. But
there was nothing terrible about that; it was
nature. The creatures of the world were due their
right. The truly monstrous thing was that all the
blood was gone. Only man could do that.

 Because something had been done to this man's
heart. Something perverse and evil, slowly and
calculatedly, before he died, and Moichi still felt
the chills reverberating through him, making the
short hairs at the back of his neck stand up, a
vestigial reflex from the time when man still
swung through the trees, walking with his
knuckles scraping the earth. Someone had worked
on this man with a cunning more than human and
with an obvious dispassion that was quite a bit
less than human. Not the quick flashing death of
Omojiru for this man.

Moichi tightened his grip on the boy's arm. "Who
is he?"

The boy shook his head.

 "Tell me." Then, more sharply like the crack of
a whip. "Tell me!"

 The boy flinched, closing his eyes, but still he
was silent. Tears stood out at the corners of his
eyes.

"Tell me." Softly.

 "No. No!" he said miserably. "I promised." He
opened his eyes, pleading with Moichi.

 "Promised what?" He was relentless now. "You
must tell me."

"I promised him I would not tell anyone!"

 "Look!" Moichi barked, pushing the boy down
on his knees before the corpse. "He is dead now.
Dead. Do you understand?"

 The boy began to cry. Great gasping sobs shook
him and Moichi pulled him close, stroking his
head. "All right," he said softly. "All right. It does
not matter now, your promise. Do you
understand? What he was afraid of has already
occurred. You cannot hurt him by telling me what
happened. He is beyond that now." He looked
into the boy's tear-streaked face. "Kuo, here. Sit
here beside us."

 After a time Kuo told them what he knew of
the man who had given him the silver coin and
promised him another.

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 33

"Kintai. "

"How did they get it?"

 "The manufacture of the saddle. It's as distinctive
as a chop, you know. But they're quite clever here.
Given time, they could probably come up with the
exact town within the province."

"And the horse? Anything there?"

"Do you mean species?"

Moichi nodded.

 Aerent shrugged. "That's another matter entirely.
There is nothing remarkable about it. But, in any
event, he could have bought it anywhere, really,
even if it were a luma."

 They were sitting in the same room on the
second floor of the Seifu-ke where they had talked
earlier in the morning.

 Kuo had talked for a long time before he had led
them to the stable where he had quartered their
mounts, showing them to the stall where the dead
man's stallion was housed. He had brought it out
at the appointed hour the night before, precisely as
the dead man had ordered, only to find the horror
in the alley where he had expected another silver
coin and a few kind words.

"I know little of Kintai,'' Moichi said.

 "I am not surprised." Aerent faced the window,
his hands clasped loosely in front of him. The
storm had all but spent itself and, here and there,
over the rooftops of the city, he could see liquid
wedges of cerulean as errant clouds followed in the
wake of the rain. The Regent turned from the view
of Sha'angh'sei. "It is a landlocked region far to the
northwest. Not much is known of it, since its
frontiers are beyond even , the most northerly of
the forest people with whom we have trading
agreements.

 ''What would an outlander from such a far-off
place be doing in Sha'angh'sei with the son of the
tai-pan of the Ching Pang?

 "And who was it killed them both?" Aerent
tapped a long forefinger against his lips
ruminatively. "I think what we must focus on is the
difference of the modes of death."

 "I agree." Moichi nodded. "Omojiru is killed
almost instantly while the outlander suffers a most
hideous and painfilled demise."

"Information. "

"What?"

34 Eric V. Lus~ader

  "We can only surmise that the murderer
sought-information."

  "It must be of enormous importance to resort to
that kind of torture."

"My thoughts precisely. " Aerent was tapping his
lips again.

  "Perhaps Du-Sing should be told about this,"
Moichi observed. "It does not look now as if the
Reds were involved at all. "

  "Uhm. Dangerous to make that assumption at
this stage, I am afraid, tempting though it may be
to do so. We do not know how many men were
involved. Perhaps "

"Perhaps what?" Moichi prompted.

  Aerent poured them wine, handed Moichi a
crystal goblet imprinted with the Regent's seal in
silver. His brow was furrowed in worry. "There
may be a military aspect to this; that would quite
logically involve both the Reds and the Greens.
There are still many peoples in the world who
covet this port city with its vast wealth and
strategic location."

"Surely you are not suggesting "

  "An invasion from the north?" The Regent
shrugged. "I cannot rule it out." He sipped at his
wine, barely tasting it. "I can tell you one thing for
certain, my friend. This matter is about more than
just a murder. Much more." He put his goblet
down. "Well, we have done all we can for the
moment. I have sent for information on Kintai
and that will take some time to compile. The
newly formed Shobai will be most helpful. "

  Moichi laughed. "They had better, by God!
Without your aid those traders would have a
tough time with the Sha'anghisei bongs. "

  "The trading guild is a fine idea but who knows
if it will work? There are so many divergent
members from so many lands, they may burst
asunder with a very loud bang." He rubbed his
hands together. "It's getting late. Will you stay for
dirmer?"

"Another time, Aerent. I am meeting Kossori "

"Ach! What you see in that layabout I cannot
understand."

  Moichi smiled good-humoredly. "I think,
perhaps it is more his personality that rubs you
the wrong way, Regent."

  "Huh! I set no store by useless persons, Moichi.
You know that full well. How they act is of no
matter to me. This friend of yours does nothing
with his time, helps no one. Tell me, of what use
is he to others or to himself?''

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 35

  "He is a fine musician," Moichi said. It was not
the first time he wished he could say more.

  "That is as may be, my friend, but I have little
respect for those lazy enough to loll about the
squares of the city all day playing music. And at
night "

"Tonight he takes me to the Sha-rida."

  The Regent turned abruptly away. "I will forget
that I heard you say that."

  Moichi was puzzled. "Is it so terrible then?
There are many slave markets within Sha'angh'sei."

  Aerent spun around, his face drained of colon
''Do you not know?"

"What?"

  The Regent touched his shoulder gently. "My
friend, you still have a great deal to learn about
this city. The Sha-rida is a very special kind of
slave market. One I intend to destroy one day."

"Won't you tell me what it is?"

  Aerent shook his head as if he were suddenly
weary. "I will speak no more of it. Let your good
friend, Kossori, answer all your queries." He ran a
hand through his hair, walking away from the table
a little way. His legs clicked quietly. "But now,
before you take your leave, we have an important
matter to discuss. Azuki-iro's ship, Tsubasa, is
scheduled to dock tomorrow at the beginning of
the hour of the cormorant. I trust that your
late-night wanderings will not prevent you from
meeting me promptly at Three Kegs Pier, eh?" He
smiled.

  Moichi rose. "Have no fear on that score,
Aerent. I will be there. And by that time I trust
there will be news of the current happenings in
Kintai." He turned at the door. "By the- way, what
is the name of this girl, the Kunshin's daughter?"

"Chiisai. "

  Now it was Moichi's turn to smile. "A beautiful
name, at least. "

"What else did you expect?" said Aerent. "It is
Bujun."

                solo

KOSSORI lived on Silver Thread Lane, a
crumbling, narrow alley that belied its name.
There, it was always dark with the shadows of the
surrounding, taller buildings, days of twilight,
nights of perfect pitch blackness; the alleys of the
city had no night lights as did the wider streets,
avenues and squares. This perpetual darkness did
not seem to bother Kossori. On the contrary, it
amused him. He professed to love the darkness.

 With all that, however, he could rarely be found
at home. He preferred, as Aerent had indicated,
to spend his days in the wide sunsplashed squares
of Sha'angh'sei, making music. He was an
exceptional musician, adept at both the diets, a
wind instrument, and the kyogan, an ellipsoid
stringed instrument, quite thin, the tuning delicate
and most difficult to master.

 On any given day, Kossori could be seen in his
richly colored tunics at Hei-dorii Square during
the morning and, perhaps, Double Hogshead
Square in the afternoon, playing serenely as the
swarms of people swept by him at a frantic pace.

 He was not a large man but he had wide
shoulders and a narrow waist which, combined
with his enormously powerful legs, made him a
figure of no little distinction. His black hair was
glossy and longer than was usual in Sha'angh'sei;
the end of his queue reached down to the top of
his buttocks. It was but one outward
manifestation of his inner iconoclasm.

 He was a man of myriad acquaintances but few
friends, which made his deep friendship with
Moichi all the more unusual. Certainly it was his
strangeness which, in part, attracted Moichi, who,
more often than not, found himself bored by the
company of people who seemed obsessed with the
pursuit of wealth and women. And no doubt it
was those times more than

                 36
                  
BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 37

any others that Moichi felt himself pulled toward
the crashing sea, preferring the soughing of the
humid salt wind through the straining lines, the
comforting pitch and roll of the tarred deck, the
flying spray at the cleaving bow as all canvas was
let out before the following wind.

 Not that either of them lacked for women. Many
was the night they would set out through the vast
labyrinth of the city in search of the perfect wench.
They had, of course, never found such a one, for
then surely their sport would be through. Kossori
had an enormous appetite for women. Not
necessarily sex, but, seemingly more importantly
for him, companionship. And more than once,
Moichi had observed in his friend a serious, even
a desperate drive, beneath their playful nights in
the soft arms of the women of Sha'angh'sei.

 This evening Kossori was in the center of Jihi
Square, in the shadow of the rose-and-white-quartz
monument to Kiri, the last Empress of
Sha'angh'sei. The sculpture was of a woman meta-
morphosing into the Kay-lro De, the patron deity
of the city, said in legends to guard Sha'angh'sei
from all harm. It was a sea-serpent with a woman's
head and it was further said, by those who claimed
to have actually seen it, that this was how Kiri had
died during the last day of the Kai-feng, that she
had become the deity in order to help defend her
city. And who could gainsay them? Moichi
thought, gazing with fondness at Kiri's facial
likeness. In his adventures with the Dai-San, he
himself had been witness to stranger and more
terrifying sights.

 He approached Kossori through the milling
throngs rushing home to supper with families or in
the many smoke-filled taverns of the city, after
which a night of carousing would begin.

 Kossori was in the midst of a song. He was
playing the fliete. It was one that he had made
himself, eschewing the more traditional substances
of bamboo and ebony for silver. The metal gave
the blown notes a semi-sad plangency that was
unique to this instrument.

 Moichi stood on the far side of the square
watching and listening. He studied the man's face,
noting again the angular features the high
cheekbones, the wide firm-bridged nose  and the
light grey defiant eyes. It was certainly a strong
face, bold and unconventional. Yet beneath that
was a deeply hidden sadness, echoed now by the
music.

 The song ended and Moichi moved toward him.
Kossori, looking up, spied him and smiled.

"Hola!"

38 Eric V. Lustbader

"Hole, Kossori. A fine tune. Is it new?"

  "Completed just this morning." He stretched out
an arm. "Come and sit down in the shade of a
legend. It has been a hot day."

  Moichi, glancing up, said, "How long ago it
seems to me, the Kai-feng."

  "Uhm. Well, the human brain has a remarkable
ability for recalling the past. Pain and suffering
dim, thank the gods, more quickly than the
memories of pleasure, which never seem to fade,
no matter how many years have passed." He
slipped his silver fliete into its worn chamois
covering, thence to its hard leather case. "We are
well clear of that time, Moichi, that I can tell
you." He shuddered. "The world is a far better
place without the interference of sorcery."

  "There is white sorcery as well as black," Moichi
said, thinking of the Dai-San.

  "NO? my friend. As far as I am concerned all
sorcery is bad tsuzuru. "

  Moichi knew this as a Sha'angh'sei dialect word
which had a number of subtle shades of meaning.
Here he was certain his friend meant 'magic
spell.' But he was surprised and said as much. "All
these people" he raised an arm, flung it outward
toward the crowded square, taking in the people
hurrying by  "know you as a fine musician,
Kossori. Even the Regent is not unaware, I think.
But I know what you possess and I do not think
fear is part of your makeup."

  Kossori sighed. "There is none else in all the
world to whom I would dare admit this, Moichi,
but sorcery does indeed frighten me. It frightens
me because it conforms to no laws I can
understand. I feel impotent before it, even with
these." He made fists of his hands, put them in
front of his face. "Even poppa is no match for
magic."

  Moichi laughed and clapped the other on the
back. ''Come, my brooding friend, enough of this
gloomy talk. Our world has been reborn again
through the purging of the Kai-feng and The
Dolman. In this new age, there is no room for
sorcery on our world." They stood up. "I think a
bit of a workout at the doho will make us both
feel a whole lot better."

  Quitting the spaciousness of the square, they
plunged into the narrow swarming streets, at
length turning left onto Copper Foil Street. It was
the wrong end and they found themselves at once
in the midst of three solid blocks of outdoor stalls
so jammed with wares and milling customers that
they felt like

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 39

fish struggling upstream against a powerful
current. Spices hung heavy in the air: cinnamon,
marjoram, thyme, black pepper and heady nutmeg;
there were flapping multicolored rugs and pewter
lamps molded into lewd vertical shapes, fresh veg-
etables and dried fruits, candies and exotic
liquored sweetmeats, fresh fish on shaved ice and
crawling langoustes in their salt-water-filled glass
cases. The cries of the vendors filled the air like
the calls of strange forest birds, carrying their
strident staccato messages; customers haggled
prices and sellers cried out melodramatically,
pulling at their hair, turning over their goods for
feels of silver and winking to each other behind
the purchaser's back. Wire cages housed hissing
lizards with bright beaded eyes and dry wrinkled
hides smelling faintly of sweet loam; small red and
brown monkeys chittered from tiny wooden swings,
unconcernedly evacuating on the dirt below them
while they pointed to the passersby; yellow dogs
with matted fur crouched, tongues lolling, by the
sides of the stalls or ran, loping, through the
angustate aisles; children carried on their mothers'
back bawled, red-faced, tiny fists clenched, or slept
peacefully, their heads at an angle, resting on one
shoulder.

 At last they were through the crowds, on the far
side of the stalls. Here vendors had set up
makeshift grills on which bits of meat and
vegetables sizzled above coals glowing an incan-
descent white, and brown smoke hung in the air,
pungent and tangy

 Kossori led the way up a creaking wooden
stairway, the steps worn smooth by constant use.
They passed the first landing and, on the second
flight, were obliged to press their backs against the
wall in order to let a bulky man with an enormous
chest and belly pass by them. He wore only a
loincloth and he was sweating heavily. They knew
him casually; one of the many wrestlers who
frequented the doho. He nodded to them in
greeting and went on past, heading for the baths
on the second floor.

 They went to their lockers and changed into
plain white cotton robes that covered them only to
mid-thigh. But instead of heading toward the doho
proper, they chose instead to climb the last flight
of stairs to the roof. They often went here because
it was quieter, not only more isolated but infinitely
more pleasurable to be in the open, as now,
beneath the lavender evening sky, streaked with
haze and the black silhouettes of the circling gulls
above the distant harbor.

Three sides of the rooftop were covered, at their
borders,

40 Eric V. Lustbader

by dwarf trees, cultivated into gnarled, twisting
shapes. These formed a dense tangle to screen
the top of the doho from any prying eyes
attempting to observe from neighboring rooftops.
The fourth side held a sharply sloping rock
garden kept wet by a clever recirculating stream
of water which dribbled over the rocks at their
highest point. This constant moisture allowed a
wide variety of moss and lichen to grow in
weblike patterns in the interstices so that the
rocks appeared to be one variegated whole. It was
a beautiful sight, a spot meant for deep contem-
plation and meditation and it had been there for
as long as Kossori had been coming here, which
was much of his life. The floor of the rooftop was
constructed of wide wood boards held down and
together by hardwood pegs rather than nails. It
had been lacquered many times with clear coats
that, over the years, turned the wood an almost
bright yellow. It was perfectly flat, with excellent
drainage outlets on all four sides so that there
was never a problem with rain.

 Over the tufted tops of the stunted trees, they
could see the myriad, oddly shaped rooftops of
Sha'angh'sei stretching as far as the eye could see,
seeming to roll right into the sea as they turned
southwest, the buildings hiding the low sweep of
the bund and its long line of harttin.

 The sun's last degrees were slipping into the
shimmering sea and now the reflected light
became intense so that the nebulous clouds,
drifting high above the cityscape, were lit an
incandescent gold and plum even while the edges
of the rooftops were darkening to black, their
outlines firming up and hardening after the
glaring blaze they had endured during the height
of the sunset.

 This evening, they were alone up here with the
wind and the encroaching darkness spreading
slowly westward like a prayer shawl drawn across
the heavens by an unseen hand.

 As they began their warming-up exercises,
Moichi said, "Tell me, Kossori, what is it about
Aerent that rubs you the wrong way?"

 Kossari waited until he had completed his deep
breathing sequences before he replied. ''It's what
he represents, Moichi. I am afraid I'm just not
very good with those in power. The Regent's not
a bad sort, really. It's just what he has chosen to
do. "

 "But don't you think a ruler can be beneficent?
Help the state through his power?''

"No," Kossori said simply, "I do not."

       BENEATH AN OPAL' MOON 41
"But surely "

  "My friend, let me tell you something. Nothing
good ever came out of power. Yes, of course,
there are those whose intentions are at first good.
But the taste of power is too potent a draught and
they, too, gradually get caught within its web.
There are no exceptions. "

"Power corrupts, in other words."

  "Corrupts, yes. The mind expands with
self-importance while the soul withers into
impotence. There " His head swiveled quickly
and he whispered, "Step back."

"What ?"

"Quickly, man! Do as I say!"

  Moichi stepped back so that the line of twisted
trees brushed against him. He looked to where
Kossori was gazing. South of them a shadow had
materialized as if out of the night itself. It was in
violent motion yet silent and smooth, running
lightly then leaping across the narrow chasms
between buildings as if it were but a wisp of
smoke. A cool breeze off the water rustled the
spiky leaves of the trees and Moichi shivered
slightly, feeling his muscles tense. Still he watched
the shadow approach, the fluidity of motion
mesmerising, for there seemed to be no
disturbance to the continuous flow of energy: run,
leap, run, leap.

  Now the shadow was spurting across the adjacent
building's rooftop, the image abruptly blossoming.
But so swiftly did it move, that Moichi only
recognized it for what it was as it landed on their
own rooftop.

  It was a man dressed all in matte black clothing:
wide trousers, sash, open-necked shirt. His face,
too, was black, hidden by a mask which left only a
narrow band of flesh just enough to give him
unhindered vision exposed. He came toward
them, over the polished wood, dancing, his feet
seeming to glide through the darkening air. In one
hand he carried what looked like an oval box, also
matte black, flat on top and bottom. It dangled by
a black rawhide cord. His other hand was empty.

"Jhindo." Kossori's breath in a hiss, close beside
Moichi.

  Moichi had heard of these legendary creatures.
They were hired as assassins and spies and, it was
said, they knew so many methods to kill and maim,
to disguise themselves and to escape any trap set
for them that they never failed in their clandestine
missions. This was the first time, however, Moichi
had seen one in the flesh and it recalled to him
the tale the

42 Eric V. Lustbader

Dai-San had told him of the Jhindo who
infiltrated the citadel of Kamado to kill Moeru
but who, instead, was slain by his intended victim.
So Jhindo were not invincible after all. But, he
told himself soberly, Moeru had been a Bujun
and there were no greater warriors in all the
world.

Now here was a Jhindo seemingly come against
them.

 Kossori stood very still, eyeing the figure who
now approached them slowly. He raised his
hands, palms outward calm and seemingly
unperturbed. "Please continue your journey. We
wish you no ill."

 The Jhindo said nothing but slowly lowered the
oval box until its bottom sat on the roof's
flooring. He let go the cord. He was a tall man
and now, as he spoke for the first time, he
seemed to somehow gain in height. "It is your ill
fortune that you happen to be here at this
particular time. I cannot proceed further until all
evidence of my departure has vanished."

 Kossori did not turn his head away from the
Jhindo but his low words were directed at Moichi:
"Do not interfere, my friend. And, above all, do
not turn your back on this one. Jhindo possess
many small metal weapons which are quite lethal
when hurled with precision. Face them and you
have a chance. "

 "I urge you to be on your way," Kossori said to
the figure facing them.

 "Yes," said the Jhindo, "I will be on my way.
Just as soon as you both are staring sightlessly up
at the stars."

 He came at Kossori then, flinging out his left
arm and Kossori ducked away. The movement
now was almost too rapid for Moichi to see
clearly but the Jhindo had feinted and from
somewhere had brought out a thin twined cord,
knotted in the center. This he whipped about
Kossori's neck and, stepping behind him, jerked
back on the ends so that the knot jammed against
the other's windpipe.

Kossori rose into the air with the force of the
motion.

 "Ugh! " Moichi heard Kossori's brief cry and
moved to help. But as he circled the two he saw
that there was nothing he could do; they were so
tightly locked that any sudden movement might
bring Kossori under the attack of his blow. He
waited, restlessly prowling.

 It was an awkward position for Kossori and he
was kicking himself for letting the Jhindo get the
edge on him. His breath was already laboring and
the muscles in his neck were going numb from
the rapid loss of blood. His head throbbed and he

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 43

knew it was just a matter of time until the cord
would cause him to lose consciousness. He used
his legs first but the Jhindo saw this coming and
danced his own legs away. Then Kossori used his
elbows, ramming them hard, as if it was all he had
and he heard at length the answering grunt and
the cord went slack for just long enough for him to
turn around so that he was facing his opponent. A
small blade flew out of the Jhindo's left cuff, into
the open palm of his hand and Kossori let him
have it, watching the slash ballooning in toward
him, anticipating the angles vectoring on the final
approach. He used his right hand, knowing that,
for him, it did not matter, for a blow on the inside
of the Jhindo's wrist and the blade flew out into
the night, skittering brightly across the wood
planks, coming to rest at last, bright as a droplet
of blood, shimmering. But in its place was a jitte,
a double-bladed knifelike weapon, and now the
Jhindo's other hand was wrapped with a row of
black metal spikes arching over the knuckles.

 The jitte flashed in a blur, the Jhindo's spiked
hand following hard upon it, a lethal one-two
strike. The Jhindo was appallingly quick, faster,
perhaps, even than Kossori himself but there were
many other elements that must be considered.

 The jitte ripped aside Kossori's white robe and
his flesh shone palely underneath in the wan
monochromatic light of the newly risen moon.

 Then the row of spikes went home, sinking
themselves into the flesh of Kossori's right
shoulder.

 It was the end for the JhindQ and, to his credit,
his eyes registered this knowledge a split second
before Kossori's rigid fingers, held at a peculiar
angle, slashed down upon him. They moved more
swiftly than the eye could follow, the enormous
force of the blow snapping the Jhindo's right wrist
as if it were made of bamboo and, in the same
motion, sweeping upward now in concert with the
other hand, breaking both of the Jhindo's
shoulders. And before his sagging body had time
to sprawl upon the wooden rooftop, Kossori had
delivered a final strike as quick and devastating as
a living lightning bolt, shattering the Ihindo's
vertebrae.

 Moichi came up beside Kossori, feeling as if he
were moving through water. He had practiced with
his friend many times, had even seen the killing art
of koppo used on wood and metal. But never on
another human being. He was awed by the dev-
astation so few short bits of motion could wreak.
No wonder

44 Elic V. Lustbader

Kossori was never armed. What need he of
conventional weaponry when he possessed the
secrets of koppo?

"Where did you letup that, Kossori?"

 The other was staring down at the broken body
of the tall Jhindo. Blood pooled darkly, seeping
through his ebon garb. "We'll have to call
someone to clean up this mess," he said, almost
distractedly.

 "Kossori?'' Moichi put a hand gently on one
shoulder. "Are you all right?''

 "Quite good, this one." Kossori's voice was like
a ghostly spiral of smoke, dissipating on the night
air. ''So fast."

 "Kossori." Moichi stepped around in front of his
friend, saw the other's eyes come slowly into
focus.

 He smiled and shook his head. "It takes a little
time, my friend. The mental strain is the true
difficulty in mastering koppo. And, of course, one
tends to get caught in a kind of killing vortex.
Otherwise, we'd never have the strength " He
put out his hand and Moichi glanced down at the
humped body as broken as a discarded marionette
ripped apart by a vengeful child.

 Kossori ripped off a strip of fabric from his
robe and bound up the four puncture wounds
made by the Jhindo's strikes. "I was lucky," he
said. "Those things could have been poisoned. "

 Moichi went the short distance over the wood
to where the oval box squatted, flat and ugly. ''I
wonder what he was up to?''

 Kossori joined him. "Nothing good, of that I am
certain. Open the box. No doubt a clue to his
night's work will be found therein."

Moichi stooped and opened its lacquered lid.

 He saw the queue first, blue-black, gleaming
with fragrant oils that must have taken hours to
apply The hair was carefully and expensively
coifed. This, too, had taken much time to achieve.
Below, the brown almond eyes were open as if in
surprise, the thick lips parted as if in incipient
protest, the yellow teeth still shining with a film of
saliva. Blood had pooled about the stump of the
neck, a dark and brooding pond, coagulating
slowly, held inside the vessel only by the thin coat
of lacquer covering the interior

''I do not want any part of it."

"I am asking you as a personal favor. I ''

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 46

 "My friend, let me tell you, I am no good at
mysteries. Never have been. That is an area of
expertise over which you preside. I would be a
fool to dabble in anything about which I have so
little understanding or natural facility."

 "But that's just it, Kossori. If you will just listen
to me, I will explain how you can help me."

"Hmph!" Kossori eyed him suspiciously but was
now silent.

 They were sitting at a rough plank table in a
tavern on Iron Street that was crowded and
bustling with business. Set before them were huge
pewter plates filled with charred fowl and
vegetables seared in hot oil and sesame seeds.
Between them sat a fired-clay flagon of yellow
wine but their handleless cups were empty.

"Last night there was a murder "

 "Uhm, yes, I imagine so. One of several hundred
in Sha'angh'sei. What of it?"

"If you will stop interrupting, I mean to tell you."

 Kossori grinned and spread his palms
placatingly. "By all means, say on." He commenced
to eat while Moichi spoke.

 "The strange thing is," Moichi concluded, "that
the two were killed in disparate fashion."

 Kossori's shoulders lifted, fell. 'it only means
that there were two killers. Simple." He wiped
grease from his mouth with the back of one hand.

 Moichi shook his head. "Not so simple, really.
Omojiru was killed swiftly, efficiently and coldly as
if by a a machine."

 Kossori looked at him quizzically. "Machine?
What is a machine."

 Too late, Moichi realised that he had no way of
explaining this concept to his friend. He himself
had never seen a machine but had had it described
to him by the Dai-San during their long trek
through the thick jungles surrounding Xich Chih.
He would have to settle for a close equivalent. "I
mean to say a nonhuman source."

 "I see. And the other? This outlander
from where did you say?"

"Kintai. "

"Yes. Well. How did he die?"

 "Oddly. Very oddly. Something about it was very
disturbing." He described what had been done to
the man's heart.

 Kossori had put his eating sticks down beside
the plate of half-eaten food. "Extremely
unpleasant, I agree. But there are more ways in
the world, my friend, to get infommation out of

46 Eric V. Lustbader

a human being, than either you or I could collate
in a lifetime. The Bujun, it is said, are the most
adept at this kind of thing. How do you suppose
I can help?" .

 Two Greens came through the front door,
glanced around the large room for a moment,
then chose an empty table just to the right of the
door. They sat down, one facing Moichi. They
began to talk.

 "I don't know, really. Just a feeling." He
shrugged. "Perhaps there's nothing after all."

The waitress approached them but they waved
her off.

 Kossori patted Moichi's stout wrist. "Anyway,
it's good that you have an interest. This city's not
good for you, you know.''

 Moichi smiled. The Green facing him had
looked over once; he had seen it out of the
corner of his eye. But when he'd taken a look, the
man's eyes had already slid away. Now he was
careful not to glance their way. He seemed deep
in conversation with his companion. "I find myself
more and more these days thinking of home, I am
afraid."

 "But that's all to the good, don't you see?"
Kossori popped a last bit of vegetable into his
mouth, chewed and swallowed. "Time you went
home." He smiled. "You don't know how lucky
you are to have a family."

 Moichi had changed his angle slightly but he
still could not see their hands. He reached into
his sash, withdrew some coins. "Finished?" he
said, and, not waiting for an answer, spilled the
copper onto the table.

 "You're leaving way too much," Kossori
observed. "Wait for the change."

 "Get up," Moichi said in an intense whisper.
"We are leaving here right now."

 He kept the Greens in sight until they had
closed the tavern's door behind them. On Iron
Street, with the crowds already somewhat thinned
by the lateness of the hour, he took them left
then left again. They moved quickly and silently.
Into an alley which led out onto Green Cricket
Lane. Darkness closed about them within the
alley's dense shadows. At either end, the brief
yellow flickering of the wider streets' night lights.

 ''All right," Kossori said as they paused for a
moment. "What did you see?"

 "Those Greens." He was peering ahead, then
behind. "I think they were looking for me."

"But why?''

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 47

 "Offhand I can think of several reasons." He told
Kossori about the early-morning attack. ''Let's go."

 But they had only taken several paces when he
stopped abruptly, put his arm across the other's
chest. He nodded. "In front of us."

 The sounds of boot heels rattling against the
ground, scraping against refuse. The skittering of
rats.

 "Who goes there?" Moichi called, drawing his
sword. Beside him, he felt Kossori's muscles tense
as he readied himself.

 For a long moment, there was absolute silence.
Even the tiny scavengers were still, sensing the
tension in the air. Moichi saw his shadow and
Kossori's flickering along the dank walls in front of
him, elongated past all human recognition, limned
by the night lights along Blessant Street behind
them. They seemed grotesque and monstrous in
the terribly confined space.

 "Moichi Annai-Nin." Out of the darkness in front
of them. "We have come for you." A solid voice,
used to command.

"By what authority?" Moichi inquired.

 "By the supreme authority of our tai-pan,
Du-Sing of the Ching Pang."

 "Let's take these scum," Kossori hissed in his
ear. But Moichi ignored him.

"What is it your tai-pan wishes of me?" he
inquired.

 "That is for Du-Sing to say," the voice replied
from the darkness.

 Moichi saw that now there was no light coming
from the exit ahead to Green Cricket Lane.

 "Please do not attempt anything foolish," the
voice said. And at that moment, their shadows
disappeared on the wall as bodies blocked out the
light from Blessant Street behind them.

 The room was lined all in bamboo, split
lengthwise and lacquered clear so that it gleamed
in the low light emanating from the constellation
of small oil lamps scattered about on low tables
and mantelpieces. Above, the skylight had been
drawn back revealing the icy brilliance of the
glittering stars, remote, seemingly as hard as
diamonds. The moon was in another quarter,
unseen.

 The man who sat facing them was so enormous
that he seemed to overflow the bamboo chair,
despite the fact that it was so outsized that it was
obvious it had been constructed to order. He wore
saffron silk pants from which, it appeared, an
entire tent might have been woven and a short
wrapped jacket

48 Eric V. Luetbader

with wide sleeves, also saffron silk, quilted and
low cut in front so that much of his chest was
exposed. Against the naked flesh, dangling like a
second heart, was an enormous tourmaline which
moved as he moved.

 Yet when one looked at this man, one saw first
his face which was etched with the hard cruel
lines that only a lifetime of constant guerrilla
warfare can cause. It was a face, flat and circular
as a moon, of a power as ancient as the delta
upon which the nexus of the city was built.
Du-Sing, tai-pan of the Ching Pang, the Greens
of Sha'angh'sei, belonged to the earth and it, it
was said, to him.

 "Gentlemen." A voice like distant thunder, as
tactile as it was aural. "Tea?"

 Moichi nodded silently while Kossori looked on,
still as a statue.

 Du-Sing's eyes moved minutely and a young
man in black cotton leggings and quilted jacket
sprang into motion, filling cups standing on an
ornate silver tray on a table along one wall of the
room. Moichi accepted his cup but Kossori
ignored his. There was nothing Moichi could do
about this. He sipped at the hot liquid.

 Du-Sing waited until he had taken that first
drink before saying, "We worked well together,
once upon a time." He meant during the
Kai-feng, when all men were joined as if from
one family. "But that was a long time ago." The
tai-pan had left just a long enough pause between
the two statements to give the latter one an
ominous note. "You are remembered with great
fondness from that time by the Ching Pang,
Moichi Annai-Nin." He sighed and it was like a
dam about to burst, a sound of timbers cracking.
"That is why I am showing you this courtesy
instead of having you executed." He snapped his
fingers and the young man in black leapt to his
side, put a cup of tea into his hand. It was lost
inside that great fist. He drained the cup in one
swallow. "And how is the Dai-San, Moichi
Annai-Nin?"

"He is well, Du-Sing."

"Good. Good."

The tai-pan had made his point.

 "Why was I attacked this morning by Ching
Pang?" Moichi asked. "As you said yourself, I am
no enemy of yours."

 "Yes." Du-Sing lifted a fat finger. "I had thought
you a friend of the Ching Pang. Yet you traveled
in the company of a Hung Pang spy."

BENEATII AN OPAL MOON 49

  "He was a messenger sent by the Regent to fetch
me to the Seifu-ke. That is all."

  "Is it?" One eyebrow was raised interrogatively.
"We shall find out. Presently." He peered at
Moichi over the rim of the delicate porcelain
teacup. etched with gilt butterflies, almost as if he
were a demure girl on her first date. "I have had a
talk with the Regent. A long talk. And he has
agreed to dismiss all Hung Pang from his service."

  "He has?" This did not sound at all like
something Aerent would willingly accede to.

  "Do you doubt the words of a tai-pan?" For a
moment his eyes blazed within their folds of fat.
Then the light seemed abruptly extinguished and a
thin smile played about the thick lips, it did not
reach any further. " But no, of course not. You
would not be so discourteous, would you, Moichi
Annai-Nin? No, you have too many highly placed
friends in Sha'angh'sei Not to see the supreme
folly of such a course, hmm?" He signaled silently
for more tea, got it.

  "Can we get on with this," Kossori said, and,
alarmed, Moichi gripped his arm.

  "What was that?" Du-Sing raised one eyebrow.
"What was that?" He reminded Moichi of a great
stage actor; what was real and what was being put
on for his benefit?

  The tai-pan took the cup from his lips, swung it
from in front of his face. "Mmm, I see that your
friend is somewhat more ignorant of the social
graces than are you, Moichi AnnaiNin. So be it,
then. I shall come to the point directly. I had been
circling it only because it causes me much pain."
He put a great paw over his heart and now for the
first time he rose up. "It is my son, my youngest
son, Omojiru, murdered at the hand of the Hung
Pang. This is an unforgivable affront. Even your
barbarian friend must be well aware of this, eh,
Moichi Annai-Nin. I have no doubt that yore are."
Now there was real fire behind his eyes and
abruptly his face was transformed into a visage as
awesome as that of some avenging god. He took
one trembling step toward them and Moichi felt
Kossori tensing again; prayed that his friend would
make no move for, though he had seen no sign of
guards since they entered the tai-pan's inner
sanctum, he entertained no illusions that they were
alone here with Du-Sing. Koppo or no, if Kossori
made any threatening move they would both die
within instants.

  "It is my son who is dead, Moichi Annai-Nin!''
Du-Sing bellowed. ''The seed of my loins. It is I
and my family; it is

50 Eric V. Lustbader

the Ching Pang who grieve for him now. What
right have you to interfere in a matter that does
not concern you?"

  "But you are inaccurate, Du-Sing. If I may point
out, I am already involved through the
intervention of your own family, as you put it.
The Ching Pang attempted to kill me this
morning. I do not take kindly to such a threat.
You cannot blame me for those deaths. I have
every right to defend myself. I meant them no
harm."

"Yet your companion was a known Hung Pang
spy."

"He was a messenger for the Regent."

  "Worse still!" the tai-pan cried. ''By the gods,
Moichi Annai-Nin, the Ching Pang owe you no
apology! The Hung Pang work against us
constantly. War is war. But now they have gone
too far. To coldly murder Omojiru ''

  ''There is good reason to believe that the Hung
Pang were not involved in your son's death,
Du-Sing. We have "

  "Silence!'' roared the tai-pan. "What do you, as
Iskamen, know of the Hung Pang? Or the Ching
Pang? Only your friendship with the Dai-San
stands between you and execution now. Omejiru's
death is our business and ours alone. Do I make
myself clear?"

"Eminently clear," Moichi said.

  "We are avenging that death even as we speak.
That is all you need to know." He clapped his
hands once. "Chef will see you out.'' Without
another word, he swept from the room, moving
with astonishing grace for one of his enormous
bulk.

  "I would as soon break his fat neck as look at
him," Kossori said as soon as they were out on
Black Fox Lane. Moichi shushed him and they
turned right, walking down the wide thoroughfare.
Without looking back, he knew that the eyes of
the Ching Pang were following their progress. He
kept their pace to a saunter even though he was
anxious to quit this area of the city, a Ching Pang
stronghold. One could trust no one here for they
were all shopkeepers and streetwalkers, priests
and moneylenders alike in the employ of the
Greens.

  "Gods," Kossori continued, "I can see no reason
at all to have put up with that pretentious
windbag's pious sermon."

  Moichi glanced at him, a smile playing along his
lips. "That pretentious windbag, as you so
eloquently put it, could have dismembered us at
any moment he chose. There must have been at
least fifty Ching Pang waiting with weapons drawn
behind the four doors to that room."

"Huh!" was all that Kossori said, but Moichi knew
that he

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 51

was properly impressed. "So I take it you'll stop
this investigation then.''

"What gives you that idea?'' Moichi said.

 "Oh, well, I don't know. Maybe the great
Hottentot's ominous words back there had a bit to
do with it. Otherwise, I can't imagine where I
could get such a farfetched idea." He snorted.

 Moichi threw his head back and laughed,
clapping his friend on his broad back. ''I would not
worry overmuch about DuSing, Kossori.''

 "Oh yes, now you'll tell me that his bark is worse
than his bite, I suppose." His voice was heavy with
sarcasm.

 "No, no. Not at all. I just have to be more
careful in my movements, that's all. Anyway, I may
not be here too much longer. Tomorrow morning,
I trust, Aerent will have the information I need on
this land, Kintai, and "

''You mean to go there!" Kossori exploded.

 "Yes, I guess I do at that. I think we have
reached a dead end in Sha'angh'sei. If we are ever
to find out why those two were murdered, Kintai
will be the place to begin. Want to come along?"

 "Me?" Kossori laughed. "Gods, no! I have no
taste for that sort of thing."

 "At least take some time to think about it. I am
not apt to depart for several days yet."

 "All right. If it'll make you happy. But, I warn
you, the result'll be the same." He rubbed his
hands together. "Now what say we forget all about
this mystery of yours and spend some time at
Saito-gCshi."

Moichi laughed. "That certainly sounds relaxing.''

Kossori guffawed leeringly. "Gods, I hope not!"

 It was an ornate, three-story structure of glossy
black and vermilion lacquered wood, reachable
only across the exaggerated arc of a bridge that
spanned the narrow but quite deep moat which
completely surrounded the building. It had been
constructed on a piece of land originally quite near
the sea but during the time of the idai na
nami this great storm's wave was said to have
reached so high that it blotted out the sun  who
knows how long ago, the sea had broken through,
sailing across the land with such titanic force that
it literally gouged away the land, forming two
channels which became the basis for the present
moat. How Saito-gushi had been spared from

52 Eric V. Lustbader

the devastation wreaked elsewhere by the idai na
nami was still a matter of much conjecture within
Sha'angh'sei. However, Onna, who owned
Saito-gushi, was often heard to say that it was
because she and her women were favorites of the
Kay-Iro De and had thus been spared. Many said
that this must be so because, without fail,
Saito-gushi was closed one night a week so that
its inhabitants could make the pilgrimage across
the city into the heart of the kubaru old quarter
to attend services at the temple named after
Sha'angh'sei's legendary protectress.

 Indeed, the aura of the serpentine goddess
could be felt as soon as one set foot upon the
bridge whose metal railings were shaped into her
likeness and, set within the arched wooden floor,
was a golden bas-relief sculpture of the Kay-Iro
De. These manifestations of the supernatural
combined with the high semicircular structure of
the bridge itself to give one the feeling that one
was passing through some invisible barrier,
leaving the real world behind, entering some
fantastic mythological kingdom where anything
was possible.

 This, Moichi knew by direct experience, was far
more true than any novice to these high portals
could ever imagine. For within Saito-gushi's walls
reposed the most sumptuous array of women
gathered since the demise of Tencho.

 The doors were of beaten brass, bound with a
rock-hard mirrorlike substance. They opened
inward, as did those of a heavily fortified citadel,
and, indeed, the thickness of these doors would
do any wartime fortress proud.

 Yet inside it was warm and comfortable. Off
the long vestibule, all visitors were divested of
their street clothes no matter how rich and
elegant. They were hung with infinite care in tiny
cubicles by faithful attendant children and the
visitors led off to be bathed. Then they all donned
the silken robes of the house. Thus did Onna
make it plain to all who entered her portals that
they were under her rule no matter their standing
in the community outside. Here, Onna's voice was
law and, in the time she had been running
Saito-gushi, it had not once been questioned.

 Bathed and newly-robed, Moichi and Kossori
were led from the baths back into the vestibule.
The floor here was bare wood, highly polished.
The walls, too, were bare. But as they passed
through a doorway that was almost a true circle,
save for the break at the bottom where the floor
intruded, they came upon the true world of
Saito-gushi. Here all the floors were covered by
deep-pile scarlet carpeting. Within the small
rooms, which

BENEATH AN OPAI' MOON 53

appeared to go on forever, all the low tables,
round trays, eating and drinking implements were
of solid gold. The cool dim hallways between these
rooms invariably had ebony ceilings and fragrant
cedar walls. And other rooms, somewhat larger,
were divided by delicate ebony railings, sculpted
into scrollwork. There was even a miniature
Canton temple in one far corner of the sprawling,
spiraling structure so that patrons who were so
inclined would not pass up a visit here for the sake
of a missa or the spate of holy days which came in
the spring and the high summer.

 A woman in a pink silk robe with white
carnations embroidered across it met them just
over the threshold. She was slightly plump, making
her seem the fleshly embodiment of the maternal
symbol. Her face was painted white, her lips a
bright scarlet. Her teeth, Moichi knew, were white
and sparkling as were those of all her
women which was in direct contrast to the
free-iance prostitutes of the city's streets, who
were required to lacquer their teeth black. The
woman bowed to them, smiling. Her black glossy
hair swirled in an intricate pattern about her head.
Stuck through it were a pair of ivory pins perhaps
half a meter long. She had dark laughing eyes and
her chubby pale hands never seemed to be at rest
but fluttered in the air about her, semaphoring
enigmatic messages. She was always gay and
excited as if she were the mother of the bride on
her day of matrimony.

She leaned forward, kissing them delicately on the
cheek.

 "So nice to see you again, boys.'' She pointed a
finger at Kossori. '`But you, sweet. I see you've lost
some weight. Well, we'll have you fattened up by
the time you leave here." Her voice had the tenor
of a fine musical instrument played by a virtuoso,
so pleasing to the ear that one had to strain to re-
member that it had taken her eleven years of
intensive training to acquire it.

 This was Onna. Or, more accurately,
Onna-shojin. This was, quite literally, a title rather
than a name. It meant mistress, which is precisely
what Onna was. No one knew her actual name
and, because she had insisted on it at first, she had
become Onna to all who spoke to her or of her.

 "They're ready," Onna said. She prided herself in
knowing all her patrons' wishes after they had
entered Saito-gushi's portals once. At least as far
as Moichi and Kossori were concerned, she had
never been wrong.

The women were waiting for them in one of the
small rooms.

54 Eric V. Lustbader

Golden trays with sweetmeats and a variety of
exotic liqueurs from far-off lands, imported under
Onna's express direction, covered a multitude of
tabletops.

 Two of the women were petite but
well-rounded. They had pale skin and features so
startlingly similar they could have been twins and
perhaps they were. These were Kossori's. He
never took less than two to bed. Actually, he had
begun with three when he had first come here but
he found that late at night other women from
Saito-gushi's multi-tiered rooms would eventually
slip into his bed after satisfying their own patrons.
It seemed that gossip of this nature spread almost
instantaneously throughout the building. Kossori
was a superb lover with an unusually high
capacity for extended sex. But even for him, four
women a night was more than he could handle.
Afterward, he confined himself scrupulously to
two.

 The third woman was one of a number whom
Moichi invariably chose. She was slightly larger in
frame than the other two, brown-haired and with
a dusky olive-tinged skin which reminded Moichi
of the Iskamen women he had left far behind. Try
as he might he had never fully gotten used to the
paleness of the Sha'angh'sei women.

 "I will come to fetch you at the hour of the
snake," Kossori told Moichi as he gathered his
women about him with his long arms.

 "More likely it will be I who will have to come
after you," Moichi answered, and the women
giggled.

 He was not hungry or thirsty and so the woman
led him out along a passageway smelling of cedar,
its ceiling as dark as a starless night, and up a
spiraling flight of stairs to the second story.

 She opened a door and they went in. He heard
the sound of the surging sea and he went across
the room, parting the fluttering curtains. The
window was open, overlooking the ocean. Onna,
indeed, never forgot a thing no matter how
minute it might seem superficially. She was, after
all, in a business which was exclusively subjective
and extremely personal and to forget anything a
patron might desire would cause a disruption of
harmony. And harmony was, in the end, what
Saito-gushi was selling.

 This room was built as if it were a captain's
cabin aboard ship. It might have been the only
one like it in all of Saitogushi or, again, it might
be one among many. There was no way of telling.
And did it really matter?

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 56

 A low fog was rolling in, billowing across the
streets just high enough to reach a man's calves.
The moon was hidden by a bank of low-lying
stratus, perfectly horizontal, hanging heavily in the
otherwise spangled night sky.

 Moichi felt a gentle touch on his shoulder and he
turned around. The dark beams rose over her head
obliquely, faithfully following the slant of the roof.
The scent of cedar was strong even here but her
musk was stronger. She came into his arms and
kissed him with her open mouth. He felt the hot
electric flick of her tongue. Her hands fluttered
along his body and his robe slid, sighing, to the
floor.

 There was something tremendously erotic about
being totally naked while she was still clothed and
this reversal somehow reminded him of Elena. Had
he chosen this woman because of that?

 Her busy fingers reached for him and she gasped
as she found him tumescent.

 Abruptly, her robe was open, hanging from her
like the wings of a bird, and she was using her
thighs to climb his thick, muscular body, panting
into the hollow of his neck.

 Outside, in the sparkling branches of an ancient
pine tree, battered by the idai na nami but
unbowed, a great owl blinked twice into the
lamplight streaming through the window, called
out, hooting into the night.

 In the dead of night, he found himself standing
in the center of a familiar street. He was in
Sha'angh'sei but as he looked around he wondered
how this could possibly be, for the street was
totally deserted.

 It was Green Dolphin Street, he was certain. For
wasn't that the sign of The Screaming Monkey
swaying in the wind almost directly in front of
him? Yes, of course. And there was the alley
where

 His head felt tight, as if someone were squeezing
it in a giant vise. And now his nostrils dilated.
What was that stench?

 He looked down. In his hand was clutched a
handwritten note. He squinted but the uncertain
light made it impossible to read. Nevertheless, he
knew what it said: Meet me in the allay on Green
Dolphin Street.

 And he had come, it seemed. But why to this
alley out of all of those on this long winding
street?

 The stench seemed fiercer and somehow he
knew that it was emanating from the alley on the
other side of Green Dolphin

56 Eric V. Lustbader

Street. He should go there. It was why he had come,
after all. But he seemed frozen in his tracks as if
split apart, one half not obeying the other.

 - Fear rooted him to the spot.

He did not want to venture into that dank dark
alleyway.

 And now he saw himself as if from a height, an
ethereal presence watching, helpless, as his body
walked toward the alley. No! he wanted to cry out.
No, stop! Don't go in there! But he seemed voiceless,
too, unable to quell the feeling of mounting dread
which filled him as he saw himself enter the ebony
portal.

 Yet now, instead of disappearing into the shadows,
he found that he could follow himself and, as he
did, the swinging sign of The Screaming Monkey,
Green Dolphin Street, then all of Sha'angh'sei,
disappeared as if it had never existed.

 He saw, hovering, his body bending over a lumped
shape, saw the corpse of the man from Kintai,
destroyed, blasted, a hideous work of art, an
abomination.

 And then he knew that it was not this pathetic
remnant of a human being which had terrified him
but rather that thing which had perpetrated this evil.

 He forced himself to again look upon that horror
so that he should never forget and in that instant an
idea began to occur to him. Perhaps it was the angle
in which he found the body or, again, the kind of
wreckage made of its appendages. Something.
Something...

" chi, wake up."

 Someone shaking him, gently. But he almost had
it now and he turned away, mumbling.

 "Better let me do this." Another voice and a firm
grip, pulling him up, up, off the bed, out of sleep.

 Annoyed, he used the side of his hand in a
sword-strike, felt it caught in midair, halted by a
grip of iron.

"Take it easy, my friend. Wake up."

It was Kossori's voice. Moichi opened his eyes.

 He left the bed without a word and dressed
quickly. Looking back, he saw her sleek skin
dappled in moonlight and he leaned over, kissed her
lips.

Then they were away.

 It was the dead of night. The moon had already
long passed the zenith of its nocturnal path. Too low
now even for the line of thick stratus, it hung huge
and swollen and pale as bone just over the black
rooftops, slipping, slipping away toward the

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 87

horizon. The stars glittered coldly, seeming as close
as the moon.

 "We shall have to walk," Kossori said. "I dare not
summon a ricksha." He glanced at Moichi. "Are
you all right?"

 Moichi forced a laugh but his face was sober.
"Oh, yes. Just I had a most peculiar dream, that's
all.''

 There were few people about now, one or two
drunks staggering along buildings' walls, a family
asleep, huddled in a sheltering doorway, a pair of
fragile old men rolling dice. Shadows flitted, larger
than life, skittering along the brickwork like a
magic lantern show as they drew near night lights,
then passed them.

 Aher a time, Kossori said quietly, ''Will you tell
me then  about the dream?"

 Moichi sighed heavily, still feeling mired in wisps
of the nightmare. "I saw myself on Green Dolphin
Street, opposite the alley where Aerent and I
found the body of the man from Kintai." A dog
barked and then was still, padding hungrily
through the rubbish strewn helterskelter across an
alley somewhere ahead of them. "I found myself
examining that body again but now it seemed I
do not know, it seemed as if I was seeing it in a
new light." A light female voice came to them,
wafting from a darkened second-story window in a
building of brick to their led, singing a plaintive
Sha'angh'sei folksong in the kubaru dialect.

"What was different this time?" Kossori asked.

"That's just it, I cannot remember."

He could make out the words now: A tale of lost
love.

"Ah, well. Perhaps it is not so important," Kossori
said.

In the village of my birth

There is a fountain in a square

Dappled, such a tiny square in among the beech

It was there I met a man from the sea

Smelling of rich brine, sea-lace twined about his
feet

 "Dreams are often important," continued Kossori.
He shrugged philosophically. "At other times who
knows?"

I never saw him again, my great mer-man
Perhaps he slipped away beneath the rolling
waves
But now I am in Sha'angh'sei

58 Eric V. I`ustbader

And the sea is always with me  My mer-man,
ah!

  They came abreast of a house recently gutted
by fire and through the gap could see all the way
to the upper reaches of the city. High on the hill,
lights still shone brightly in the large mansions of
the walled city where the rich bongs lived guarded
by the paid protection of the Ching Pang. Here
and there, sculptured trees defined themselves in
the illumination, taking on an almost celestial
corona. Closer to hand, a whippoorwill flitted
from tree to tree. calling. Now they had left the
human voice far behind.

  They turned a corner. A light flared
momentarily in an alley; the smell of sweet poppy
smoke was pungent in the air.

  "How did it begin for you?" Moichi asked. "The
koppo." Because he wanted to take his mind off
the dream.

  Kossori whistled tunelessly for a moment,
imitating the whippoorwill, trying to get it to
answer him, but either it could tell the difference
between man and avian or it was gone. Moichi
heard the clap-clap cadence of their boots against
the gleaming cobbles of the street clearly in the
night. The moonlight cast shadows as sharp as a
sword-edge.

  "It was self-defence, in the beginning." Kossori's
voice earned eerily in the stillness; only the
cicadas gave concert, even the night birds had
disappeared. "I could never successfully handle a
dirk or a sword." He shrugged. "After I got beaten
into the dirt twice, I had had about enough." The
flames of Sha'angh'sei's night lights were narrow
boundaries between which they passed like
shades. Beyond, there seemed to be nought but
empty space, echoing vertiginously.

  "I had no home then," Kossori continued, "and
I went to the only place I knew well: the bund.
When I was younger, I would be there before
dawn, watching as the great three- and
four-masted schooners maneuvered in to port or
weighed anchor, their bellies full of produce,
bound for distant shores. And'' here he
chuckled "I used to imagine myself stowing away
far belowdecks, wedged between the huge sacks
of rice where no one would find me, coming out
only when we were far out to sea too far to turn
back and presenting myself to the captain, some
tall strong man with a face as tanned as leather,
offering to work as a sailor or even a cabin boy to
pay for my passage. No matter where we were
bound. What difference to me?" He laughed
softly. "But I lacked the guts,

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 59

dhen or, more likely, I had too much common
sense even at that age to attempt such a foolhardy
adventure. They would have made mincemeat of
me." He shook his head and began to whistle
again, this time dhe notes heavier, darker, seeming
to come at random as if this meandering melody
would help summon his past back to him. "Still, I
suppose some things are best left to the
imagination, oh?" He pursed his lips, preparatory
to whistling, then paused. "But you asked about
the kappa. Ah, well, by that time I had already
taken a piece of bamboo I had found in the
market and was working out dhe placement of dhe
air holes. It was a crude fliete, I admit, but I was
quite the crude musician, Then." Laughter in a
doorway, startlingly close by, abruptly cut off.

  "I lived for a time on the ground floor of harttin
along dhe bund, staying just long enough in each
one to avoid discovery. " He smiled. "Once I fell
asleep atop enormous sacks of poppy resin and
dreamed dhe dream of emperors.

  "The tasstan took me for a while but, of course,
There was never enough to go around of
anything, food, clothing, you name it. It was
heartbreaking and after several times filching
half-rotting apples and moldy mushrooms, I gave
it up and never went back to the boats. It was far
too depressing a way of life.

  "There was nodding for me then. Nothing at all.
I wandered the wharves through the nights,
working widh the bamboo mete, learning to play it
slowly, wonderingly, ecstatically as one learns dhe
body of a cherished lover. Sometimes dhe night
cooks along dhe bund would hear me and call me
in for a meal. But when I tell you that music was
my only solace, I am not being melodramatic. And
it was only my music which stopped me from tying
a stone to my legs and dropping into dhe harbor.

  "During these spells of depression, I would spend
long hours trying to reason things out, morbidly
returning to chat heavy weight which I would
certainly need, for I knew that I lacked the
determination of spirit to voluntarily allow myself
to go under and stay there until the water flooded
my lungs." He snorted, an almost derisive sound.
"That, however, was not all idle cerebration. I had
actually gone into the water one dark bleak night
when I could no longer bear to be alone, when
even dhe stars and the incandescent moon ceased
to be my friends and it seemed as if I was the only
person in all dhe world; everyone was a million
kilometers away, on those cold stars." He glanced
at Moichi. "It sounds mad, I know, but

60 Eric V. Lustbader

the more I thought of it, the more convinced I
became that it was real. I began to shiver and
before I really knew it, I was stepping off the pier
and was going down like lead. Down and down." He
shook his head convulsively. "That's when I knew it.
Down there. It was a hell, terrifyingly real. I wanted
life  to breathe, to see the moon and stars, the
sun, to feel the rain and the wind; to live, to live!

  "I struggled to the surface and dug my nails into
the slimy wood of the wharf just above the
waterline, gaining my breath back. After that, I
never truly contemplated suicide: what was waiting
for me down there in the deep was far worse than
whatever little life held.

  "But that was a fortuitous night in my life No,
much more than that. It was a kind of sign, a
symbolic turning point, '5 because it was just after
that that I met Tsuki.

  "I had just come from one of the bund taverns
looking for a free meal. Without luck. The one cook
who liked me was off that night. I walked back out,
strolling along the bund, playing the fliete if only to
distract myself from the complaints of my stomach.
The moon was full, I remember. A harvest moon,
they sometimes call it out in the countryside: flat as
a rice-paper disk and as glowing and golden as the
sun itself. In retrospect, that was really the strangest
part, because that's what her name means: the
moon."

  Down the street, an ox-cart was approaching,
making its slow and creaking way.

  "She was red-haired and green-eyed with flecks of
a soft brown swimming inside the irises. Her skin
was full of freckles, filled with the sun, and she was
wrapped in a sea-cloak of the deepest blue. "
Kossori's eyes had taken on a faraway look and he
ignored the rumbling cart as it drew near. "She
smiled when she saw me and stopped, listening to
the melody. I still remember it. Want to hear it?"
And without waiting for Moichi to reply, he pursed
his lips, whistling a meandering tune, as rough and
mournful as a barren moor on a chill winter's morn.
While it was a far cry from the accomplished
complex melodies Kossori composed these days,
Moichi nevertheless found within it a haunting
quality prefiguring the artist's development.

"Beautiful," Moichi murmured.

  Atop the oncoming cart, a sleepy kubaru sat on a
rough wooden bench. Next to him was a hunched
figure, asleep perhaps, hood pulled over head. The
reins were slack in the kubaru's hands as the ox
mooched along. A dog, annoyed by the

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 61

noise, ran out from a doorway, barking at the ox's
heels until the kubaru lifted his head and shouted
down at the yapping animal. The cart trundled
past them, moving as slowly as if it carried within
its wooden framework all the world's worries.

 "It has a quality, yes," Kossori said softly as if
addressing the wind. He had been silent for a time
after the ending of the tune. "But still the awkward
music of a boy.

 " 'You play very well,' she said to me. And,
although I didn't, I was pleased at the compliment.
'Who taught you?' she said. 'I taught myself,' I
replied. 'Really?' She raised one eyebrow. 'You
have real talent.' Now I really didn't believe her
and, wondering what she could possibly want from
me, said, 'Now how would you know that, lady?' I
think perhaps I expected anger but instead she
threw back her head and laughed. Then she pulled
out the most beautiful fliete I had ever seen. It
was wrapped in tar-cloth to protect it from salt air.
It was of ebony and all the air holes were rimmed
with silver. She began to play. I could not in ten
thousand years describe to you what she played or
how, but suffice it to say that she was a virtuoso. 'I
suppose that now you would like to learn how to
play this way.' The laughter was still on her face.
'Yes,' I said. 'Yes I would.' 'Then come with me
and I shall teach you.' She lifted up one arm, the
sea-cape spreading out like a great wave until I
was enfolded."

 They had come to the end of the street, a
singular occurrence in Sha'angh'sei, where all
thoroughfares seemed without real beginning or
end. It debauched upon a wide square one with
which Moichi was unfamiliar surrounded by
two-story dwellings all with delicate wrought-iron
balconies strung in an unending line like some
grotesque confection. The square was deserted,
and, though these buildings were obviously entirely
residential in nature, they nevertheless had the
appearance of being deserted, an unthinkable
actuality in crowded Sha'angh'sei.

 "The townhouses of the rich," Kossori said, as if
reading Moichi's mind. "Many of those who live
within the walled city find it convenient to
maintain residences in the city's lower
reaches when they want to descend into the mud
with the common folk." He laughed, a harsh,
discomforting sound.

 How he hates authority in any form, Moichi
thought. And how he covets the wealth of the fat
bongs who, in truth, rule this city.

Kossori led the way, taking them obliquely across
the de

62 Eric V. Lus~ader

sorted square from right to left, and presently
they had plunged back into the twisting labyrinth
of the city's streets, taking Purple Peacock Way
into Frostlight Lane and thence to Pearling Fast
Road. They were very far indeed from the
Nanking, Moichi knew, Sha'angh'sei's main
thoroughfare. In point of fact, they were a good
distance from any well-known landmark.

 "She took me to that inn," Kossori continued, as
if there had been no interruption in the flow of
his narrative. He was taking his time, Moichi
knew. But he was also aware that he was hearing
a tale that was both extremely important to
Kossori and which, he was quite certain, no other
had ever heard. Kossori was an individual of few
friends and great reticence. Moichi was being
accorded a singular honor and he was careful not
to take it too lightly. "It was the same one where
I had been thrown out earlier that evening. Now
they were ever so solicitous, for, it seemed, Tsuki
was well-known here. If she was not from
Sha'angh'sei, then she was obviously a frequent
visitor "

"You did not ask her where she was from?"

 Kossori glared at him as if he had been asking
the other to get ahead of himself. ''No," he said
slowly. "It never occurred to me to ask."

Moichi shrugged and remained silent, listening.

 "She had them bring food for me. In all my life,
I never ate so much nor has food ever tasted so
delicious to me. In time, I was sated and we went
up a winding rickety staircase, along a dark hall
and thence into a warm room with an enormous
high down bed against the far wall. Above its
covers, a double, leaded-glass window was open
onto the now quiet bund and the ships at anchor
just beyond. The scent of the sea was very strong.
"

"I can see where this is leading."

 Kossori turned to him. "No, my friend," he said
quietly, "I don't believe you do." He pointed left
and turned off of Four Forbidden Road into a
crooked lane, seemingly without a name. "I went
to sleep, exhausted."

 The lane had begun to run on a slight incline
and Moichi became abruptly aware that they were
ascending its winding way up a hill. It was darker
here, the narrow houses piled one against the
other without surcease. Too, the city's night lights
were fading, left behind in the tangle of wider
streets, and the starlight, where it touched them,
gave their faces and hands a slightly bluish cast.

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 68

  "I awoke late in the night," Kossori continued,
"when the moon had already gone down. I heard
the cry of a gull quite close and that put me in
mind of being on a ship far out to sea. I think I
even imagined I could feel the pitch and roll of
the vessel beneath me. I was still half asleep and,
turning over, I came in contact with her curled
body. Her warmth and the scent of her rich musk
suffused me. Quite without thinking, I put my arm
around her. She stirred and, in her sleep, put her
hand against my cheek and neck with such
tenderness and a kind of specialness that I cannot
adequately describe save to say it was as if I were
the first and only person she had ever touched in
that manner; I began to weep silent tears. There
was an inexplicable tightness in my chest and
crying seemed the only way to ease it. She awoke
then, by what stroke of magic I still cannot
imagine. Her eyes, so close to mine, seemed like
the sighting of a far shore through some
mysterious telescope. Her kiss was the most
beautiful in the world."

  The lane, in its myriad turnings and switchbacks,
at length crested, giving out onto a rather wide
street totally devoid of residential life. Large shops
lined both sides without the usual second-story
apartment windows in evidence. Rather, here, the
upper levels stared blackly at them, windowless,
apparently used for storage only. They paused for
a moment.

  Moichi was moved by Kossori's story but, beyond
that, he found himself shaken by the intensity of
emotions he felt being recreated. It had obviously
been an enormously powerful union. "And she
taught you to play the fliete," he said.

  Kossori nodded. "That. And the koppo." He
pointed to a narrow alleyway running between the
shops. "It is just behind there tonight, the
Sha-rida."

  But Moichi grabbed his arm, held him back.
"The black death take the Sha-rida, Kossori! Finish
your story."

  Kossori smiled, spread his hands. "But I have,
my friend. I have told you all there is to tell."

  "But what happened to her? Where is she now,
this woman of yours?"

  Kossori's face darkened. "Gone, Moichi. Away,
very far away. She disappeared one day as if into
the very air. I made inquiries all along the bund
but no one had seen her. If she had departed on
some ship bound outward into the world, no one
knew of it."

"And she never returned?"

"No." Kossori said. "Never." One hand went to his
sash.

64 Eric V. Leader

"But she left me this." He lifted out an oilskin
case from which he slipped a fliete of ebony and
silver.

"Her fliete!"

 "Yes. And, of course, there's the koppo. She
was an adept and, as such, well capable of
teaching. So now I know how to use my hands to
break bones, a feat which, some believe, is
sorcerous in nature. Naturally, that's not so. Well,
you know that. I've taught you all the basic
responses. Those, as you well know, are much
easier to learn than the attacks. But here is
something I'm quite certain you don't know
because we have never spoken of it. Koppo is
nearly three-quarters mental. A gathering of
internal energy, a focusing, an application derived
through physical means." He lifted his open hands
up.

 ' Have you ever been in a battle with another
kappa adept?" Moichi asked. "I mean a real
enemy, not working with a teacher."

 Kossori smiled. "No. And I doubt I ever will be.
There are extremely few koppo adepts in the
world. Its tradition is ancient yet so shrouded in
mystery that it is rare even to find an individual
who knows of it, let alone one who practices it."

 "But what would happen," Moichi persisted, "if
you did come up against one hypothetically, that
is?" And as he asked the question, he wondered
what it was that was making him pursue this line
of thought.

 Kossori shrugged, concentrating. "I'm not sure,
really. I doubt, however, that its outcome would
be determined by force. Cunning is the key to
victory against a koppo adept. And quickness, of
course. Such battles, I would imagine, are quite
brief, even among adepts. Shock is one of
koppo's most potent traits; it's over almost before
it begins. But by cunning I mean that one would
have to find a way of breaking one's opponent's
concentration. A split instant would be sufficient.
Unless one can manage that, there is little hope
of surviving such an encounter. You see, the
koppo's power is often called mizo-notsuki, or
the moon on water. The surface of a river gathers
up the moonlight as long as the sky is clear. But
should a passing cloud slide across the moon's
face, then the light is gone and darkness prevails."
He laughed and clapped Moichi on his back. "But
why be so serious, my friend? You need have no
fear. The only koppo adept you will meet would
never harm you."

 But Moichi did not return the smile for his
thoughts were elsewhere. Something Kossori had
said, a word, or a phrase,

BENEATH AN OPAI' MOON 65

he was not certain which, had triggered off a
remembrance, up until now forgotten, from his
recent dream.

 Light and shadows. It had something to do
with Then he had it and he exclaimed excitedly,
gripping Kossori's arms.

 "I have it!" he cried. "I have it, Kossori! The
dream I had tonight. It was trying to tell me
something. In it, I recreated the scene of the
real-life discovery of that body. Never mind that
one was during the day and the other, night. The
light pattern was the same. That dappling was
deep, disrupting perspective just enough so that I
did not know what I was seeing. " He saw Kossori
looking at him uncomprehendingly. "Don't you
see? My eyes and therefore my brain picked up all
the detail, storing it away. It was only my conscious
mind which was fooled. That's why it came out in
the dream!"

"What came out in the dream?"

 "That man from Kintai," Moichi said excitedly. "I
think he was killed by koppo."

           Crocus of Sots

IT was a configuration of shabby tents; a
five-pointed star. Once, no doubt, they had been
gaily colored but over the years sun and sand and
rain and snow had faded the patterns until now
they were barely distinguishable.

 Circling the tents at irregular intervals were
reed torches set into holes carved into the tops of
wooden pilasters. These were quite old, their
paint and lacquer worn away so that the natural
wood grain showed through and this had been
smoothed and polished until it shone. These
pilasters depicted fierce warriors with great
curling beards, glowering expressions and rings
through their noses; mermaids with fish-scaled
tails wrapped around their bodies, their upper
torsos naked and very human, bits of seashells
and periwinkles peeping through their long
winding hair; or, again, maidens of war, replete
with ornate breastplates and greaves, their
calloused hands gripping long spears.

 In all, the place had the air of a rather
disreputable carnival struggling to survive, an
anachronism in the midst of changing time.

 They had at last quit Blue Illusion Way, the
street of fancy shops, and, as they had plunged
into the utter blackness of the alleyway, Kossori
had said to him, "You must be mistaken, my
friend. What you have described to me, what was
done to this unfortunate man's heart, is certainly
not koppo, but a rather extreme, perverse form of
torture whose origins are totally unknown to me."

 "I do not mean his heart, Kossori, but rather
what was done to the rest of the body. Will you at
least take a look at the corpse?"

"Yes, of course. But I doubt I'll confirm your
suspicions."

 66       '

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 67

He shook his head. "Can't I interest you in
something else? Let your friend the Regent pursue
this matter of the man from Kintai."

 "No." Moichi's tone was firm. "I want to see it
through now and, in any event, I promised
Aerent." There were pinpoints of light now in front
of them where the alley apparently ended and he
put a hand on his companion's arm, stopping him.
"That reminds me. Aerent would not discuss the
Sharida with me. What exactly is it? I had assumed
it to be merely another of the slave markets which
proliferate throughout the city."

 "If that were so, there would be no need to keep
its constantly moving location a secret or to hold
it only when the moon is down, during that time
some call the shallows of night."

"It is illicit."

  "Illicit, yes.'' Kossori laughed. "As illicit as
anything can get in Sha'angh'sei."

"Aerent said that he meant to eradicate the
Sha-rida."

  "Ah, good luck to him, say 1." Kossori breathed
deeply of the night. "Others have tried before him.
Even the Greens. It is impossible. Best to forget its
existence rather than attempt to destroy it."

  "But why is it so difficult? You knew its location
this night. Surely there must be others."

  "Absolutely. And that is what, in the end, assures
the Sharida's existence."

"That sounds like a contradictory "

  "Look, my friend, it is not a matter of how many
people know of the Sha-rida but rather who those
people are." He pointed ahead and they began
walking again. "Come. I will show you what I
mean."

  Thus they had come upon Ebb Tide Square a
curious name considering how far inland they
were. Once perhaps, it had been the site of fancy
apartment dwellings. But these had been
abandoned over the years as the structures
decayed and rotted, until now they were totally
unsalvageable as proper houses. Like the ruined
stumps of an old man's once strong teeth, shards
of brick and woodwork still stood among the
mortared and dust-covered detritus.

And in the center, the rippling tents of the
Sha-rida.

  If the makeshift structures appeared grubby and
filled with patchwork, it was a perfectly practical
solution to the clandestine existence of the place,
for, as Moichi saw clearly now that

68 Eric V. Lustbader

they were upon the flapping tents, they were made
so that they could be struck in a moment's notice.
It would certainly be to the Sha-rida's advantage
to be able to pack up and disappear as quickly as
possible.

  Too, the shabbiness was in sharp contrast to the
denizens of the Sha-rida. These were almost to a
person swathed in dark anonymous robes or
cloaks. But once within the warmth of the tents,
they were obliged to let them fall open somewhat
and Moichi was startled to see that all of them,
men and women alike, were of the wealthiest
segment of the city's population.

  "They are the only ones who can afford to
patronize the Sha-rida," Kossori said in response
to Moichi's query regarding this fact. "Now you
begin to see why the Sha-rida is virtually
invulnerable to any law. It is these selfsame
patrons who see to that."

  Moichi glanced discreetly around this largest of
the tents, the center one. There were enough gold,
platinum and jewels here, he surmised, to keep
the entire kubaru population of
Sha'angh'sei including the vast numbers who
lived on the tasstan in the barber in food,
clothing and shelter for many seasons.

  "But what is it," he asked, "that they can get
here that they cannot obtain at any of the
legitimate slave markets?"

  "The Sha-rida is a flesh bazaar like no other in
the world." The brazen torchlight illuminated
Kossori's dark gleaming skin, Highlighting his
brooding eyes. "Here only the most beautiful men
and women, young and in perfect health, are sold.
And there is but one reason they are bought."

"Sex?"

"Death."

  For a time, Moichi said nothing, his eyes
wandering about the tent, which was rapidly filling
up now so that they were obliged to move closer
together, people now close enough to brush
shoulders.

  "Why do you come here then?" Moichi said. He
felt overcome by shame and he was angry, too, for
it was Kossori who had brought him here without
telling him what was going to happen.

  "I come here every so often to absorb by
proximity some of the intense perversity which is
its reason for existence."

"But you brought me here without "

  "My dear friend, I do not remember you taking
the time to ask me about the Sha-rida until we
were already upon it. And

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 69

this after the rather explicit warning given you by the
Regent. " Moichi was silent. He was right, he
thought gloomily. I cannot blame Kossori for my
own lack of responsibility. But was it really that, so
simple an answer? He thought not, now. Life, he
had found, rarely provides easy answers to
anything. That was for plays and such. The real
world was far too complex to distill down.
Eliminate complexities and you invariably lose
meaning. It was, after all, that he had wanted to
come to the Sha-rida, despite what Aerent had
hinted, he concluded.

 "Watch, now, Moichi," he heard Kossori murmur
at his side. "Now it begins."

 Upon a stage at what had been arbitrarily
designated the front of the tent, a stage that
Moichi had not noticed before now, stood a giant
of a man. He was shiftless and the titanic muscles
of his arms and chest bulged, glistening in the
flickering torchlight as if they had recently been
rubbed with oil. This man had no neck. His head,
as large and round as a great pumpkin, seemed
attached directly to his massive shoulders.

 "This night the Sha-rida comes to Sha'angh'sei,"
he announced in a voice like a thawing river. "It is
close to morning and before the dawn we will be
gone. It is little time. Yet, there is time for
celebration. I am Mao-Mao-shan, master of the
Sha-rida, hunter of a flesh beyond the meat of
food, beyond the penetration of sex. 1,
Mao-Mao-shan, am the purveyor of a flesh
designed for the ultimate sensations." He reached
out an arm as thick as a tree trunk, sweeping it
back theatrically. "Thus do I direct your attention
to the exquisite fruits of my nocturnal labors. For
my work is your gain and your only enemy now is
the rising of the sun. Please, then behold the
coming of the supplicants of the dominion of
death!"

 It was an effective speech; Moichi felt a slight
shiver run through him, though he knew this was
but hocus-pocus extremely artful, he had to
admit, but hocus-pocus nonetheless.

 A section of the tent's wall to the left of
Mao-Mao-shan ballooned outward and a man
stepped on stage. He was tall, with a finely
muscled body of chocolate brown. His startlingly
pale blue eyes stared straight ahead, oblivious to
the intense stares of the throng. He wore not a
stitch of clothing. Naturally not, Moichi thought.
What need had these people to see their potential
possessions with clothes on? The thought might
have been amusing had not the situation been so
hideous.

 "Eighty seasons old," said Mao-Mao-shan. "The
bidding begins at four hundred taels."

70 Eric Y. Lustbader

 Moichi turned to Kossori, whispered, "Four
hundred taels of silver?" And when the other
nodded, thought, My God, that is a city's ransom.

Movement in the crowd.

  Mao-Mao-shan nodded. "Four hundred taels,
yes sir. And?" He looked around. Out of the
corner of his eyes, Moichi saw a thin sandyhaired
man in a dark cloak nod. "And four hundred fifty
to you, sir. Very good! We are on our way. But
surely, this magnificent soul is worth far more.
Why, for four hundred fifty I could Ah, yes,
madam, thank you. The bid is now five
hundred "

  Moichi turned around, saw a fiery-eyed woman
of indeterminate middle age. She glared at him
and he quickly turned back to the spectacle on
stage.

  So the bidding went, until it reached a ceiling of
seven hundred and fifty taels and the fiery-eyed
woman came rustling forward to claim her soul,
as Mao-Mao-shan had called the
chocolate-skinned man. As soon as she had taken
possession of the man, the tent wall at
Mao-Mao-shan's side ballooned once more and a
slender young woman stepped onto center stage.
She was blond and blue-eyed.

  As the bidding began, Moichi turned his head
toward his friend, whispered fiercely, "How can
you condone this? It is monstrous!"

  "I don't condone it, my friend. I accept it as a
part of life. There's a world of difference there."

  The bidding was sluggish and Mao-Mao-shan
began to exhort the crowd, regaling them with
tales of the woman's fiery nature, fanciful yet
effective and the bidding took off in a flurry. He
was quite a showman.

  "You yourself," Kossori continued, "do not
believe in slavery, yes? Yet you tolerate it here in
Sha'angh'sei. Why?"

  "Because well, I suppose because it's part of
the way things are here. I "

"You see! "

"But the analogy Kossori, what they do here "

  "Take a look on stage, my friend. No, I mean a
good long look. Have you seen anyone there who
seems to object?"

  Now that Kossori mentioned it, it seemed quite
a curious thing. None of the souls appeared in the
least upset at what was transpiring. Perhaps they
did not know. But a quick query of Kossori
dispelled that notion.

"No, my friend, all are quite aware of what is to
happen to

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 71

them. It is not the finding of the souls which
occupies MaoMao-shan's time so much as the
weeding out of the undesirables."

The slender woman was sold for five hundred
taels.

 "You mean people queue up to to die?" Moichi
was incredulous.

"That is precisely what I mean."

"But why? I cannot possibly "

"Perhaps," he said quietly, "it's that they desire
release."

 "Now a very special acquisition," Mao-Mao-shan
was saying from his lofty position. There was a soft
stirring within the throng as the wall parted and a
man appeared. He was not naked but rather was
garbed similarly to Mao-Mao-shan. He was
bare-cheated, though not nearly so big as the
master of the Sha-rida. He wore dark pantaloons
and high dusty boots. Around his waist was
wrapped a wide sash into which was negligently
pushed a curving dirk. This man paused at the
edge of the stage and reached backward, as if
through the tent someone were jerking viciously. A
woman stumbled after him, out onto the stage.

 Immediately, Mao-Mao-shan was into his spiel
but Moichi paid him no heed. His eyes were
riveted on the female. She was naked as the others
had been.

 She was tall and a narrow waist accentuated her
wide shoulders and flaring hips. Her legs were very
long.

 "Don't you see?" Kossori said. "The Sha-rida is
part of the embodiment of the liberation of the
spirit of mankind "

 She had high cheekbones, a thin-bridged nose
with delicate flaring nostrils like some animal at
bay. Her defiant eyes were pure cobalt, the
deepest blue Moichi had ever seen. Her hair was
long, flowing loose over her shoulders, wild and
tousled now as if she had been in a struggle. It was
the color of flame.

 " Here the darkest part of the human soul is
loosed and assuaged, turned outward instead of
inward to fester. We all have it inside of ourselves,
in differing degrees "

 Her legs were the most beautiful Moichi had
ever seen. Firmly thighed and lightly muscled,
seeming to run on forever. He lifted his eyes.

" Here lust and death commingle."

 And his eyes locked with hers for just a moment.
A kind of shock traveled through his body until he
was certain that his very flesh vibrated. Then the
contact was broken. The bidding began, running
briskly from almost every quarter of the crowd

72 Erlc V. Lus~ader

with but the minimum of intervention from
Mao-Mao-shan. He knew a prize when he had
one.

 What had happened? Moichi asked himself
dazedly. Some message had been conveyed across
the physical space separating them, across the
wider gulf of their different cultures.

 The bidding stood at eight hundred and fifty
taels, hovering there for some moments. "Come,
come," Mao-Mao-shan proclaimed. "Eight
hundred fifty taels of silver is a paltry price to pay
for this soul. I can tell you honestly that a soul of
this magnitude has not crossed my path in many
a season. Now what Yes sir, my compliments.
The bid is now one thousand taels!"

 There was a concerted gasp as the throng
reacted to the enormous price and heads craned
to catch a glimpse of the bidder. But Moichi was
staring straight ahead at the woman on the stage.
There was something peculiar her wrists! She
had moved slightly as if she too were interested in
the person from the crowd who had offered that
much silver for her and he could see now that her
wrists were tied behind her back. Not only that
but, as she shifted further, he observed that she
had been working on the hempen bonds,
attempting to free herself. He nudged Kossori.

"Eh?"

"I thought you said that all who came here were
willing."

Kossori nodded. "That's so."

 "Observe yonder," Moichi said, indicating the
woman on stage.

"By the gods! I don't understand "

 The bidding resumed. A rather elderly woman
with a desiccated face upped the price to twelve
hundred and a voice boomed out within the tent,
shouting angrily, "Fifteen hundred!"

 Now Moichi turned to look, for it was the same
individual who had caused such a stir with his
one-thousand-tael bid. He saw, within the crush
of bodies, a tall man in a black cloak which
covered him from head to boot top. Moichi could
not make out any features for the light was poor
in that direction and the man had kept his hood
pulled up. Yet he was readily distinguishable from
those about him for he stood at least a quarter of
a meter taller than any of them.

"Eighteen hundred," called the desiccated woman.

 The tall man shouldered his way forward,
brushing protesting people from his path. He
lifted his head to call out, "Two

BENEATH AN OPAI' MOON 73

thousand tsels, by the god of iron!" And Moichi
thought he saw a cold glitter emanating from
within the hood as if the light had caught the lens
of an eye.

  Moichi turned back to the stage and found the
woman staring at him. And now he knew the
content of her message.

  "Twenty-five hundred tsels!" Moichi bawled, to
make certain all could hear him.

  "What!" Kossori caught his arm. "What are you
about? Are you mad? You don't have that kind
of "

"Twenty-seven hundred!"

  Moichi did not have to turn around to know the
voice of the hooded man. He was closer now,
edging toward where they stood, hard by the stage.

"Three thousand!" Moichi called.

  "Thirty-one hundred!" Then, in a lower tone,
"You disgusting slime, if you make another bid,
I'll "

  "Hey, you !" Kossori had turned around to
confront the tall man.

While Moichi called out, "Thirty-five hundred
taels!"

  There was movement behind him, as the hooded
man fought the throng to get to him hissing, "I
warned you Now out of my way, scum!"

  But now it did not matter because Moichi had
given the woman on stage enough time. She had
slipped her bonds and, in a flash, had torn the dirk
from her captor's sash, having used the scuffle in
the crowd as a distraction.

  Without a moment's hesitation, she plunged the
full length of the curving blade into the man's
flesh, slipping it deftly between the third and
fourth ribs on his right side.

  There was so much noise now that Moichi could
not hear his cry but he was already moving. "Come
on!" he called to Kossori and, aware that the other
was following him, he leapt upward, found a
shoulder in the now densely packed crowd to
launch him onto the stage.

  So stunned was Mao-Mao-shan at this unseemly
and singular conduct that he failed to react to
Moichi's presence until it was far too late. Moichi
hooked a boot behind the huge man's ankle and
pulled. Mao-Mao-shan went down like the side of
a house.

  Moichi put his arm protectively around the
woman's bare waist, feeling her warmth. Kossori
was with him and as they made for the opening in
the tent's wall, he glanced out into the crowd.
There his gaze alighted on the tall man who was
flinging people from him as he made his way
toward the stage.

74 Eric Y. Leader

He was bellowing something that Moichi could
not make out for the din. He had expected to see
a sword in the man's hand by now or, at the least,
some other weapon but the hooded man's hands
were empty.

  Then they were through the wall and into one
of the smaller, dimly lit satellite tents. This one,
obviously, was where they held the souls to be
bought, because it was filled with young men and
women, all handsome, all perfect, ready to be
possessed, as Mao-Mao-shan would say.

  The trio ran through this milling bunch, who
stared at them blankly, murmuring to each other.
Outside, the night was cool. Some of the torches
surmounting the ring of carven pilasters had
"uttered and gone out and Moichi led them
across the ruins of Ebb Tide Square, toward a
darkened section of the perimeter.

  He found the alley and they fled down this
ebon path, the sounds of their boot soles beating
back for the moment the clatter of the pursuit.
Moichi was certain who would be leading that
pursuit and it was not Mao-Mao-shan.

  "This is madness!" Kossori panted as they
ran."How could you have "

  "Save your breath, my friend," Moichi said.
"What is done is done." They were coming up on
Blue Illusion Way and Moichi knew that they
were going to need some of that in order to
escape the man in the black hood. Sounds echoed
back at them in the narrow alley as the men from
the Sha-rida entered it. "Anyway, I doubt you
would have allowed her to be sold to death,
knowing she was being held prisoner."

  "All right, all right." Kossori brought them up
sharply as they entered the wide street of shops.
"There's little time, so a debate is inappropriate
now." Echoes behind them, gaining rapidly. "Take
the girl right. One block then take a sharp left.
You'll know how to get home from there."

  "But what about you?" Breath hot in his lungs;
shouts from behind them in the blackness of the
alley. At least they had stopped out of the line of
sight of their pursuers.

  "Never mind me." Kossori waggled a hand in
the air. "I will decoy them. Now go. Quickly. For
this to succeed, they must believe you and the girl
are in front of me."

"But "

  "Go on now. Go on! In a moment it will be too
late and we shall all be caught like fish in a net.
Off with you now."

  Moichi grasped the woman's hand, hurling them
both down Blue Illusion Way, aptly named, he
hoped. At the corner, he

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 75

resisted the temptation to look back, rushed them
both into the concealing shadows of the cross
street. Looking up, as they ran on, he found he
indeed did know which way to go and, orienting,
he pushed them onward down black back alleys
with the squealing rats leaping from their path,
along brightly lit streets and across tree-shadowed
squares. Until, at length, they broke out onto the
Nanking and Moichi hailed a passing ricksha. He
was obliged to shout twice, for the sleepy female
kubaru appeared not to hear him at first. He
launched the woman unceremoniously into the
covered section, leapt beside her and gave the
street address of his harttin. As they began to
move, he slipped off his cloak, covering the
shivering woman and her magnificent nakedness.

They jounced along into the night.

"Aufeya. "

 He watched the play of muscles beneath the silk;
the strength of her thighs, the tautness of her
buttocks.

"A pretty name."

 She turned to face him, watchful yet totally
unafraid. Like some great mythical feline she was
filled with a dynamic animalism.

 "What are you looking at?" she demanded. "Have
you never seen a woman before?"

 Moichi went across the long room to the desk,
poured them both wine. He turned, holding one
cup out to her. Her eyes never left his; she made
no move. He shrugged, put the cup down, sipped
at his.

"Have you ?"

 "I will answer no question," she cut him off. "Do
not be so foolish as to think that because of what
happened back there, I owe you anything."

 He went back, near her, sweeping aside the
closed jalousies so that the bund, quiet at this early
hour, and the peaceful harbor beyond, were
exposed. It was still quite dark, dawn some time
away yet, but small lit lanterns swung from spars
like indecisive fireflies, dispersing the blackness
here and there.

 "If you had waited until I had finished," he told
her, "you would have known that I asked no
question. I was about to say, have you ever seen
anything more beautiful?"

 Slowly, almost reluctantly, as if she half expected
it to be some kind of ruse, she turned her head
away from him, gazing out at the harttin's view.

76 lyric V. Lus1i~ader

 Moichi passed her, stepping out onto the
veranda and, a moment later, Auieya followed.

"What is a harttin?" Aufeya asked.

 "It is the Sha'angh'sei term for a trading
warehouse. All the wealthy bongs have harttin in
which to store their produce as it is off-loaded
from incoming ships or awaiting exportation. "

"And this is your harttin?"

"No. It belongs to Llowan, the bandsman of
Sha'angh'sei. "

"Then what are you doing here?"

  "Waiting. " He went to the outer railing, leaned
his forearms upon it. Masts rose blackly before
him, combining with crosstrees and furled
shrouds, taut ratlines and rigging, to give the
scene a surreal geometric overlay.

  Aufeya took two steps toward him, paused, like
a doe scenting water but unsure of what might
lurk within the foliage lining its bank. "Waiting for
what?"

  "For a ship, querhida." He saw her stiffen,
staring at him, but she was silent. "A ship to sail
home to Iskael."

"Are you ? You are a captain, or what?"

  "A captain?" He smiled. "No, I am a navigator.
" He turned away, his thoughts seemingly far away
over the breast of the sea.

  She regarded him for a time, her cobalt eyes as
black as coal. He did not see it, but she trembled
ever so slightly, her head shaking, and she slipped
her hands into the crooks of her arms, folding
them just below her high firm breasts as if trying
to hold herself together. The terror had come
upon her again just after the storm had driven her
small lorcha off-course and into port. It was a
rugged craft but built expressly for sailing along
the coast; it was not an oceangoing vessel and
thus could not withstand a fierce gale without the
protection of a barber in which to ride it out.

  She was dismayed to find that they had come
upon Sha'angh'sei. A horrendous mistake but
unavoidable now. Beyond the port's limits the
storm still raged; they had had no choice but to
stay until the gale moved on or spent itself here.

  The storm had divested them of some sorely
needed supplies and she had gone ashore to
restock. That was when the man in the black
cloak had found her. Terrified, she had run from
him and straight into the arms of
Mao-Mao-shan. Thus she had been taken for the
Sha-rida. It was but a clever ploy, she knew. In
Sha'angh'sei, the open place where nothing could
be

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 77

hidden, the man in the black cloak could not seize
her directly without incurring repercussions he
could ill afford. Thus he had made a deal with
Mao-Mao-shan. She had seen them talking,
knowing that the man in the black cloak was
paying for her in advance. Her auction at the
Sha-rida that night would be a sham for she had
already been sold. Then had come the intervention
of this man and his friend. Fortuitous to say the
least. But was it? She knew the deviousness of the
man in the black cloak all too well. Was this but
another ruse of his? She would, of course, be
more inclined to talk to a friendly face. How could
she be certain? She shivered again, involuntarily,
as she thought of the man in the black cloak and
his vengeance. Dihos, what a fool she had been!
But now the end had come. No, she told herself
sternly, not the end. An end. What that would be
was still in doubt and she was going to do her best
to see that she had, at least, some say in its
formation.

 ''You said you are from a land called Iskael,"
she said so abruptly that he turned his head
toward her. "Tell me about it. Where is it, for
instance?"

 "Far to the south," Moichi said. "Farther even
than Amano-mori. "

She snorted derisively. "Ama-no-mori is but
legend."

He shook his head. "Have you never heard of the
Dai-San?"

"Of course, everyone has."

 "He is my bond-brother and he lives there now."
He raised a hand as if brushing an insect out of
the air. "But that is of no matter. Iskael is a land
of hot sun filled with rolling deserts and rich
orchards and the highest mountains in the world,
dominated by one peak. taller than all the others.
It is said, in the sacred tablets of my people, that
this mountain was made by the hand of God."

"Your people believe in one God?"

"Yes, querhida."

 She stiffened and backed away."You said it
again." Her voice was a tightly coiled whisper.
"You are playing with me. You knew all along."
She was backed against the far railing, her hands
gripping the wooden rim with such force that her
knuckles were blue-white. "You work for him."

 He heard the near-hysteria in her voice now,
knew she was on the edge, stupidly took a step
toward her. ''No, I promise

. ,,

1

 "I will die first," she cried, and, whirling,
launched herself over the railing.

78 Eric V. Lus~ader

 Moichi leapt, wrapping his arms about her legs
while she was in midair. Her forward momentum
carried him mto the railing, the top bar slamming
into his stomach so that he bent over, the air
rushing out of him. He almost lost her then but
he gathered his strength and hauled her in, back
onto the safety of the veranda. But he was
off-balance and still somewhat out of breath and
her planted heel on the back of his instep caught
him by surprise. He lurched backward with her on
top of him, felt her slim elbow drive powerfully
into his side.

 She fell on him, twisting, trying to get leverage
and now he knew that words were useless. The
heel of her hand smashed against his shoulder but
it opened her up and his right hand shot upward,
straight as a lance, the blow to her cheek stunning
her so that she fell limply at his side, mouth
hanging open, eyes glazed, and by the time she
recovered he had made certain she was a captive
audience.

 "Listen to me, Aufeya," he said calmly as she
began to struggle. "Listen to me and I will let you
up."

 "I make no bargains with my enemies." Her eyes
were on fire and if looks could kill, he would be
a charred corpse.

 He slapped her across the face. "Will you stop
for a moment!"

 She stuck her neck out, tried to bite him. "Get
away from me!" she screamed. "Get away! I will
listen to none of your lies! Your tongue is like
honey but I know who pays you !"

 Exasperated, without thinking, he leaned
forward, putting his mouth over hers. But what
had begun as a means of shutting her up soon
changed. He felt her lips, cool and moist, under
his and there was a slight taste like cinnamon, tart
and sweet at the same time, as if she had just
eaten a ripe apple. And he felt the same kind of
current pass through him that he had experienced
when her gaze had first struck in the Sha-rida.

 Perhaps she felt it too, for her eyes flew open
watching him, several expressions darting across
her features. "What what are you doing?" she
whispered in a husky voice when he pulled his
lips away.

 Moichi cleared his throat, unconsciously relaxed
his grip. "I meant only to silence you " He began
to move but she already held one of his own dirks
at his throat. He lay perfectly still, feeling
intensely her body Iying half atop his, her heat in
proximity, the heavy heaving of her breasts so
close beneath the thin layer of silk. There had not
been sufficient exertion, and, looking into her
eyes, catching a hint of the struggle there,

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 79

he knew that she too had felt the certain
magnetism.

 "Now tell me the truth." Her voice was still low
and thick with suppressed emotion.

"Or you will slit my throat?" he inquired.

 She said nothing, merely moved the blade of the
dirk a fraction closer to the tendons in his throat.

"You have already heard the truth from me,
Aufoya."

  "I warn you, do not fool with me!" Now the
razor-sharp edge of the blade commenced to
crease the skin. "You knew I am Daluzan. How
could that be if you do not work for him?"

  "I do not even know who 'him' is." He felt the
trickle of blood even though the blade itself was
out of his line of sight and he had not actually felt
the thing moving. "I am a navigator, remember? I
have been to many parts of the world. I have been
to Dalucia twice. Daluzan names are unforgettable.
I knew the moment you told me yours."

  She seemed to ignore this last and he became
concerned that her hysteria had narrowed her
perception to such an extent that she now would
hear only what she wanted to hear.

  "Where in Dalucia?" Voice as tight as a strung
bow, pulled back, waiting for release. He had the
uncomfortable impression that the arrow was
pointed directly at him.

"The port of Corruna. We were bringing cedar and
silks."

  "Descrtbame la puerta de la Corruna," she
snapped in idiomatic Daluzan. "Jao de Carruna."

  So she came from that city; it was the capital of
Dalucia, he knew. He told her everything he could
remember about the harbor.

  She tossed her head, hair like a burnished metal
crown, even in this darkness. "This means nothing.
If you are in his pay, you are sure to be
well-coached."

"My God, Aufeya, what do you want of me?"

"The truth, only."

"Who is this man you speak of ?"

"I ask the questions!" she snapped.

"As you wish."

  "Yes, as I wish." She paused as if considering.
"Why should I waste my time explaining to you
what you already know?"

"Perhaps I do not know it."

  She came to a decision, let him sit up against a
section of closed jalousies; the point of the dirk
hovered close, ready to strike should he attempt to
attack her.

80 Eric V. Lustbader

 Behind her silhouette, he could see a thin line
of pink begin to spread itself along the far
horizon, broken in myriad places by the hulls of
the ships at anchor. Gray was in the sky now,
bleaching back the darkness and he could feel
rather than see the wheeling of the gulls. Soon
they would be calling, calling to the ascendant
sun. "This is my favorite time of the day, the
dawn," Moichi said. "The hour of the cormorant,
we call it at sea." He thought of his appointment
with Aerent and the visiting Bujun girl. He would
have to be going soon.

 She watched him carefully. "If you had a ship,
you would go home to Iskael. That is what you
said."

 "Did 1?" he was surprised. "How odd. No. First
I would go to Kintai."

 It was as if he had delivered a physical blow, so
shaken was she. But she recovered enough to say,
"What do you know of Kintai?"

 "Nothing," he said, spreading his hands. "In
truth, I only learned of its existence this morning.
If you know something of the place I would be
obliged "

 "How did you hear of it?" The tension had
returned abruptly and he was wary again.

 "There was a murder here last night. One of
many, I have no doubt. But this matter is
altogether out of the ordinary. Two disparate men
were killed by disparate methods. One, the son of
the tai-pan of the Ching Pang, was slain by a
professional and highly proficient swordsman. The
other was tortured horribly. He was killed, I
believe, by an arcane and ancient art known as
koppo." He paused here to observe what effect, if
any, his words were having on her. Her eyes had
gone dead, seemed now as flat and opaque as
stones drying in the sun. "This man was an
outlander. He came, we believe, from Kintai." She
was on her haunches, her gaze turned inward. He
could now have disarmed her with the minimum
of personal risk. Yet, curiously, he decided to
remain motionless. "I think we can help each
other, Aufeya. It seems more than coincidence
that has thrown us together."

Her eyes focused on him but she said nothing.

 "Will you tell me about the man now? I truly
know nothing of him."

 "His name is Hellsturm," she said finally, her
voice containing a strange metallic edge, "and he
has pursued me for ten thousand kilometers. If I
believe what you have just told

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 81

me, only I am left now to stand against him. He
has murdered Cascaras."

"Is he the man from Kintai?"

 She nodded. "Kintai was where he had just come
from, where he had been searching for He
is was Daluzan, like me. A trader."

"But what ?"

 "It is the man in the black cloak. The one you
bid against. He is Hellsturm."

"And he killed the man from he killed Cascaras?"

 She nodded again. "It could only be him." Her
free hand curled into a tight fist, pounded her
knee. "Oh, how he must have gloated to see me
here! It was that cursed storm! I should never have
been near Sha'angh'sei. Cascaras and I had split
up, he to come here to hide and I Well, it does
not matter now."

 "It matters a great deal, Auleya." He lifted out a
hand, palm upward. "Won't you give me the dirk
now?"

 "No," she said. "No, I believe I believe I can
trust you now but I don't know this place. I will
feel safer if I keep it for a while."

"All right," he said. "Keep it as long as you like."

 She put it away within the silk pants he had
given her. They were a spare pair of Llowan's
work pants which he had liberated on their way
upstairs as they came into the harttin. His would
have been far too big on her.

 The sea was awash in pink and pale yellow as,
abruptly, the sun heaved its top over the horizon.
True to form, the gulls began their crying as they
dipped toward the sea's flat face, searching out
their breakfast. Their melancholy calling filled the
air.

 "You said Cascaras was tortured," Aufeya said.
"How bad was it, do you think?"

 "As bad as it could possibly be, I'm afraid." He
described to her what they had discovered.

 She shuddered and some of the life seemed to
go out of her for a moment. "Then I must assume
that Hellsturm has broken Cascaras, that he is now
in possession of Cascaras' half of the information."

 "Information about what? Is there some form of
attack being planned against Sha'angh'sei?" he
asked, echoing Aerent's fear.

 Aufeya laughed harshly. "Oh, no," she said.
"Nothing so mundane I assure you."

82 Eric V. Lustbader

 Below them along the bund, sounds were
starting up at such a rapid pace that they quickly
began to overlap one another, the commencement
of another day's city serenade. An armada of
fishing boats was already out at sea, having
successfully avoided the clogged shipping lanes
through which laden clippers and schooners from
the world of man were now maneuvering in order
to take the spaces dockside vacated by ships that
had spent the night in the barber and that now,
fully loaded, had raised canvas and weighed
anchor just before first light. These passed each
other in a stately quotidian dance, making up
much of the moMing's routine.

 He had so many questions to ask her and so
little time in which to ascertain the answers. In
fact, he realized guiltily, he had no time at all.
The hour of the cormorant was here and he must
be off. No matter how much he wished to stay
with Aufeya, he had his duty to think of, not only
to the Regent but to the Dai-San himself.

 "I want you to stay here," he said, standing up.
He could hear the movement downstairs of the
kubaru and the stevedores. He thought briefly
about asking Llowan for help but almost
immediately realized that would be an unfair
request. The bondsman already had more to do
than he had time in which to work each day. And
anyway, Kossori would be better able to handle
Aufeya's protection until he could return. And
return he would, as quickly as possible, with
Aerent in tow.

 Auleya rose also, her beautiful face troubled.
"Where are you going?" Her hand instinctively
reached into her pants for the hilt of the dirk.

 "I have an appointment. An official one, I am
afraid, and it is one I dare not miss."

"Then let me go with you."

 "No, I am sorry, Aufeya, that is impossible. This
is an affair of state."

 "I won't stay here alone." The fire had come
back into her eyes and he was thankful of that.
She was quite a capable individual when aroused.
He smiled to himself at the double meaning.

 "I do not mean you to stay alone, although I am
quite certain that this is the safest place in all of
Sha'angh'sei for you. Kossori will guard you until
I return. He was with me last night at the
Sha-rida."

 "The man who decoyed Hellsturm and the
others." She nodded. "Yes, quite clever. But what
has taken him so long?"

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 83

 ''He would not risk coming here until dawn
brought out the city's crowds. There was a chance
they might try to follow him once they realized we
were not with him."

 There was a clatter on the stairs, as if on cue.
Aufeya drew the dirk with lightning speed and
even Moichi, who was certain he knew who it was
climbing the stairs, felt his hand close about the
hilt of his sword.

 But it was indeed Kossori and he relaxed visibly,
making the obligatory introductions. There was no
time for more than that. As his friend went to the
desk, downing the wine he had poured for Aufeya,
Moichi told Kossori he would be back as soon as
he could and not to let Aufeya out of his sight
until then.

"You had no trouble slipping away?" he asked.

  "I led them a merry chase, my friend, you can be
sure," Kossori replied, pouring himself another cup
of wine, downing this too. "All the way to the
Tejira Quarter then down to the Serpentine." He
sighed, fuming to face them. "I have had a most
tiring night, my friend." He grinned wolfishly as he
eyed Auleya. "And I see, as a hero, I am about to
get my just reward. "

  Moichi laughed shortly. "I would not be so
anxious to try this one out, Kossori. She is as
deadly as a snow wolf."

  "Is that so?" Kossori eyed her even more keenly.
"The more arduous the chase, the keener one
enjoys the spoils, eh?"

  Aufeya was still brandishing the dirk and Moichi
went over to her. "Pay him no mind. He is in rare
good humor over this night's sport."

  "Sport?" she cried. "We are most deadly serious
here. You cannot imagine the import of what has
transpired."

  "No, not yet," Moichi agreed with her. "But we
shall soon enough, I promise you. Just as soon as
I return from Three Kegs Pier. Nothing will
happen while Kossori is here. A better protector in
Sha'angh'sei you could not find."

  He changed rapidly into a fine honey-colored
silk shirt with open neck and wide sleeves, tight
rust-colored calfskin breeches. In the midst of this
elegant garb, his old tattooed scabbard seemed out
of place indeed.

  He put his arm around Aufeya's shoulders, took
her back out onto the veranda. They stood by the
far railing. In the harbor, an enommous
four-masted schooner, known as a globespanner in
sailor's vemacular, was maneuvering slowly toward
one of the long wharves reserved for just such
behemoths.

84 Eric V. I'ustbader

Even with fully half its canvas furled, it was a
magnificent sight, guided as it was by a trio of
Sha'angh'sei harbor boats, dwarfed like toys
beside its grandeur.

 "Aufeya," he said softly, "I will not be gone
long." Looking into her eyes was a task now and
he wrenched his gaze away with an effort. `'I want
to ask you something before I leave. Did
you did you feel it also? Last night at the Sha-
rida? and then when our lips touched just
before?"

 He was still conscious of his dirk in her left
hand; it hung down loosely, its point toward the
wooden boards of the floor.

 She lifted her right arm and her fingers touched
the contour of his cheek, tracing it. "We are
unique in this land, you and I, Moichi." It was the
first time she had used his name and he felt a
shiver pass through him. "We are both children of
the one God. These heathens of Sha'angh'sei
worship many gods as do most of the people of
the world of man. Many gods must dissipate
power, don't you think? Some others believe in
no God at all. Surely this is not good." Her hand
was at her side again but his skin still tingled
where she had brushed it with her fingertips. No
one had ever conveyed so much in such a simple
common gesture. "I had thought the Daluzan
were the only people left who believed in the one
God. Now I find you. Surely this cannot be
coincidence."

"I do not believe in coincidence."

"What do you think it is then?"

 "Sei," he said, noting her uncomprehending
look. "The Bujun call it karma. There are many
words for it, I imagine. Part of the lifeforce which
brings people together at a certain time and
place. For some reason."

"What is the reason with us?"

 He traced the features of her face with his eyes,
resting for a moment on the half-open lips,
rose-colored and shiny. Impulsively, he leaned
toward her with his upper torso and kissed her.
Then, surprised, he found her arms reaching up
around his neck, the kiss prolonged, intensified,
her body warm all along the length of his own.

 "Go now," she said, standing primly back. She
shook her hair, copper where the sunlight struck
it. "Vejira con Dihos." And he saw her eyes
glowing with the enormous fear she felt for the
man Hellsturm. She struggled hard to suppress it,
and only because he was so close

She went with him, back into the room. Kossori
watched

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 85

them silently as they parted and Moichi went
quickly down the stairs.

 He looked back just before the floor cut off his
line of sight, saw her standing in the center of the
room with the new morning's light spilling all
around her, seeming to him a physical
manifestation of the invisible aura she possessed.
Her eyes met his just before he disappeared down
the stairwell but the confluence of emotions he
saw there confounded him all the way to his
assignation.

               Snatch

1 HREE Kegs Pier was quite a distance down the
bund from Llowan's harttin but, once outside,
Moichi resigned himself to walking. A ricksha was
out of the question though he passed several
vacant ones. These were cruising in search of
those new to Sha'angh'sei, just off the docking
ships, who would not know any beKer. Not only
was walking far faster in the early-moming crush
of sweating kubaru, hustling sailors, stevedores,
knots of passengers, fat bongs and their
representatives and bodyguards, and the
inevitable giomu, the sidewalk merchants who
moved from pier to pier as passengers
disembarked; but it was infinitely cheaper since
the hiring of a ricksha was based on time, not
distance. Time was, quite literally, money for the
kubaru.

 It was the beginning of a fine day. The air clear,
completely devoid of the haze which enveloped
the city, to a greater or lesser extent, each
evening. The sky was white where the pale sun
burned, still fairly low on the horizon, but, aloft,
the curving vault of the heavens was a deep
endless blue; traces of white puffy clouds trailed
like unfurled sails here and there.

 Deep within the cries and bustling confusion of
the bund, as he shouldered his way along, Moichi
became engrossed in the seemingly endless riddle
into which he had quite unsuspectingly plunged.
What had begun as an apparently simple act of
reprisal now had become something quite
complex and, it was being made clear to him,
sinister.

 If Aufeya was right, he had discovered the
identity of the murderer. But knowing who he
was and running him to ground were two
different matters, he knew. The man, Hellsturm,
had all of Sha'angh'sei within which to secret
himself. But as long as Aufeya was also hidden
here, he would not leave. Appar

                 86
                  
BENEATH AN OPAI' MOON 87

entry, Cascaras had but one half of the
information Hellsturm wanted. He would stay in
Sha'angh'sei until he got it or until Moichi
captured him. In this, he knew, Aufeya could be
most helpful. In fact, without her he would have
no clue as to where to find the man in the black
cloak for, he realised now, he had no idea what
Hellsturm looked like; he knew only that he was
tall hardly enough information to set about
finding him in this awesome labyrinth. But Moichi
possessed the real trump: Aufeya. For Hellstunn
wanted her desperately, if one could judge by the
distance he had pursued her.

 He had still been filled with Auteya's aura as he
had come down the stairs into the harttin's busy
commercial area. Briefly

he filled Llowan in on who was upstairs and why.
Then telling the bundsman where he was headed,
he stepped outside.

 He was almost within sight of Three Kegs Pier
now and he was close enough to see that the
Bujun ship had not yet docked. He breathed a sigh
of relief. If he hurried, he just might have time to
give Aerent some of the more important details of
what had transpired this past evening.

 Briefly, his thoughts turned to Aufeya. He would
have preferred not to leave her but he knew that
even had he been able to take her with him, she
would be in more danger out here. Hellsturm, he
was quite certain, had not come to Sha'angh'sei on
his own. Over and above the fact that the murders
in The Screaming Monkey indicated there had been
two attackers, he was sure he had seen others
moving to Hellsturm's command just before he
had ducked out of the main tent in the Sha-rida.
In this respect, Aufeya had been dead on.
Sha'angh'sei was too much of an open
place despite the intricate webs of secrecy which
inundated it for outlanders. But this could work
both ways. While Hellsturm was obliged to work
circumspectly to capture Auteya, he could, by the
same token, take advantage of the city's
enormously effective spy network to aid him in
finding out where she was hiding. No, all things
considered the harttin was the safest place for her.
And there was Kossori. Moichi would rather have
him guarding Aufeya than a score of Ching Pang.

 With that, he cleared his mind of the matter and
prepared himself to meet the daughter of the
Kunshin.

 The Regent was awaiting him, three quarters of
the way out on Three Kegs Pier. The pier itself
was clogged with kubaru runners and stevedores
preparing for the Bujun ship's arrival. Because the
vessel was not a merchantman, there were no
bongs

88 Eric V. Lustt>ader

of shipping agents about. Which was lucky,
Moichi saw now, as he went carefully along the
wooden planks: their space and more had been
taken up by a military honor guard fully three
pilings in length.

 As he passed their glistening, fastidiously
pruned ranks, he came upon Aerent, who was
gazing out to sea, presumably in the direction of
the coming ship. He held his hands behind his
back and this pose, combined with the brilliantly
shining dress breastplate with its plumed
shoulder-guards, caused him to appear once again
as the commanding rikkagin of the forces of
mankind.

"Hole, Aerent!" Moichi called.

 The Regent spun around on his ruby legs. The
sunlight, lancing through them, made them seem
eerily translucent, causing him to cast a crimson
shadow.

 Aerent smiled. "Ah, good morn. Good morn."
He unclasped his hands from behind his back,
rubbed at the side of his nose. "And how did you
find the Sha-rida? To your taste, perhaps?"

 Moichi laughed. "No, Regent, I think not, when
all is said. Still" he cocked his head~"there are
some good elements to it."

Aerent's face darkened as he said, "Tell me one,
then."

  "It was at the Sha-rida that I found out who
murdered Omojiru and the man from Kintai."
This was not, strictly speaking, quite true for he
had found out about Hellsturm after leaving the
Sha-rida. But he could not pass up the
opportunity to consternate Aerent.

  The Regent's surprise was evident and Moichi
began to outline what little Aufeya had told him.
At that moment, they heard a sharp cry from the
far end of the pier and both turned. A lookout
had his hands cupped to his mouth. "Here she
comes!" he cried, and, turning, pointed into the
sunrise. Sure enough, as they squinted against the
light dazzle, the sails and masts and, then, only
moments later, the bow of the Tsubasa could be
made out as the Bujun ship appeared over the
horizon.

  Moichi, staring longer at the vessel than the
Regent, drew in his breath involuntarily. "Look at
that, Aerent!" he said excitedly. "She fairly flies
over the water as if she were a winged creature."
And Aerent, looking again, saw that this was true.
The Tsubasa, which had, just before, been at the
limit of their vision now had leapt into
prominence.

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 89

  "Where is this Daluzan woman now, Moichi?"
the Regent inquired.

  "She is quite safe at the harttin." He was about
to add that Kossori was with her when he
remembered that his friend did not know of the
musician's martial prowess.

  "Clearly we must interview her as quickly as
possible. " He rubbed at his beard. "This Bujun
arrival has come at an accursedly inconvenient
time in light of what you have just told me. Well,
there's nothing for it but to make the best of it.
We cannot afford to offend the Kunshin's
daughter, can we? I have been informed that she
is carrying a communique from the DaiSan. I
daresay you will be interested in that, my friend."

  There was a contained rustling behind them
from the military contingent on loan from several
of the city's ranking rikkagin as the Tsubasa hove
to just outside the harbor's limits. She had cut sail
drastically and now seemed to float, majestic upon
the water, patiently awaiting a sea lane opening
into port.

  She was a most beautiful vessel, Moichi thought.
Sleek, somewhat slimmer than the oceangoing
schooners common to the Sha'angh'sei area. Her
upper hull was painted a glossy black from the
sheer-strake to just above the waterline, where a
thin gold band separated it from the vermilion of
the lower hull. Its bow was high and curving with
the figurehead of a cock. This was, he knew, the
Bujun symbol for growth and exploration.

  "This woman is Daluzan and the man in the
alley was, too," Aerent mused. "Moichi, did you
know that Kintai is on the northwest border of
Dalucia?"

  Moichi turned from the Bujun ship, making its
painstaking way into the harbor with the aid of a
small Sha'angh'sei escort boat, to look at the
Regent. "Interesting. It appears as if I should take
my leave of this place after all, Aerent."

  "With the Kunshin's daughter just about to
arrive? Impossible. "

"Why? You can take care of her, surely."

  "In any case, it is a moot point, don't you think?
You have no ship."

  "I do now," Moichi said. "Aufoya's lorcha is
docked at Fire Line Pier. I mean to sail it north to
Dalucia."

"And what of this man Hellsturm? I want him."

"As do 1, Aerent. And Aufeya is my means to trap
him."

"Uhm. Risky, that. The woman "

"The quicker we get him, the safer it will be for
her."

90 Eric V. Lus~ader

 The Tsubasa was nosing into Three Kegs Pier
now and kubaru and stevedores alike rushed to
and fro along the length of the wharf, handling
the thick hempen ropes thrown down to them by
the Bujun crew. They hauled on these ropes,
lifting their voices in singsong litany, working in
concert, in time to the music, at length securing
them to the thick metal stanchions along the
wharf. This was one of the many incalculable
benefits which made Sha'angh'sei the most
important as well as the wealthiest port on the
continent of man. Its waters were deep enough
quite close in so that large vessels even the four-
masted behemoths needed not stand off at a
safe distance from shore and ferry their cargo to
the mainland. Ships were loaded and off-loaded
directly at the piers thus saving time and money.
At Khiyan, for instance, where Moichi and the
DaiSan had embarked aboard the Kioku for their
long voyage south, this had not been possible; the
ship, standing off, had had to send a longboat in
to pick them up.

 The shuddering of the pier brought him out of
his thoughts. Timbers creaked and waveless
lashed at the wooden pilings beneath them. The
Tsubasa had docked.

Chiisai was an apt name for her.

 She was the only daughter of the Kunshin and
she looked like a flower. Moichi had no idea what
her name meant but what he thought of the
moment he saw her appear on the high poop
deck above him was a plum blossom. Dark and
vibrant.

 She was small, he saw, as she approached them,
coming slowly down the ornamental gangplank,
stepping onto the pier to meet them. But that, he
soon found, was deceiving for she was no girl but
a full-blown woman.

 She had a delicate flower-petal face with long
dark-almondshaped eyes and the high cheekbones
of the Bujun. Her mouth was wide and sensual,
which was unusual. She wore the wooden clogs
used for ceremonies and she was garbed in a silk
robe reaching down to the tops of her feet. It was
pure white, perfectly dazzling in the strong
sunlight. Embroidered upon it was a series of
leaping flying fish in a pale bluegreen.

 This was all as it should be. But as she came to
a halt before them and bowed, they bowing back
in turn, Moichi became aware of something odd
about her appearance. For a moment, he was
quite at a loss to define it. Then, abruptly and
with somewhat of a shock, he saw that her hair
was bound in the traditional Bujun queue usually
reserved for the male warriors.

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 91

 Two tall Bujun stood still as statues at either side
of the upper end of the gangplank, still on the
ship. No one had accompanied her down This, too,
seemed odd for this was the Kunshin's daughter.

 She smiled. "Aerent, Regent of Sha'angh'sei, I
bring greetings from my father, the Kunshin, from
all the peoples of Amano-mori and from the
Dai-San. We wish you well in your new post and
offer our congratulations." From within the folds of
her robe she lifted out a small wooden box sealed
all around its edges with pitch to keep out the
moist salt air. Upon its top was imprinted in
platinum the seal of the Kunshin of the Bujun,
three plovers in full flight within the circle of the
world. "With all our good wishes." She extended
the box toward him.

 Aerent, Moichi saw, had been taken somewhat
by surprise. Now, as he took the gift from her, he
seemed very moved.

"Thank you, Chiisai. It is an honor to receive such
a token. "

 "Oh, it is but a simple gift, Regent, I assure you,"
Chiisai said. Her eyes were still laughing.

 Aerent used the edge of his dirk to slit through
the congealed pitch. He pried open the lid of the
box and stared inside. He was quite still for several
moments. Then he carefully lifted out the platinum
ring. It was a setting of exquisite manufacture, the
set-piece of Ama-no-mori's finest precious
metalsmith. Within the setting sat a perfect pearl.

 Into the stunned silence, Chiisai said innocently,
"My father felt this was a fitting gift for the ruler
of the greatest seaport in all the known world."

 Slipping the ring upon the fourth finger of his
right hand  his heart finger Aerent lifted his
gaze to her face. "I am most delighted, Chiisai.
And overwhelmed." He gave her the present he
had selected for her: a Sha'angh'sei quilted jacket
of the finest silk and artistry, upon which had been
embroidered both a blue heron, the Sha'angh'sei
symbol of grace, and a rampant tigress, Bujun
symbol of mastery of the land. Now he felt it to be
totally inadequate in light of his own gift, but she
seemed genuinely delighted with it, donning it
immediately.

 Aerent stepped back a pace, about to introduce
Moichi, but Chiisai, looking up out of the corner
of her eyes, said, "And this must be Moichi
Annai-Nin. Ten thousand pardons for my bad
manners but I required some little time to
acclimate myself."

"That is quite all right, lady."

She laughed. "Please call me Chiisai. It would be
most

92 Eric V. Lustbader

unforgivable of me to continue this formality with
you, so great a friend of the Dai-San." She gazed
up at him without a trace of awe but with a
respect and affection he found surprising in its
intimacy. "He wished for me to give you this when
I saw you. "

 Moichi expected her to hand over the
communique Aerent said was to be forthcoming
but instead she embraced him, her grip firm and
warm, as one warrior would another. A link
stronger than blood, Moichi thought. My bond
brother.

"The Dai-San misses you greatly, Moichi."

"And 1, him."

 She stepped up beside him, put her arm
through his, as carefree as a little girl. "Well, I see
you have turned out the honor guard, Aerent."

"It is to your liking, Chiisai?" the Regent asked.

 "As to its grandeur and display, most certainly.
" She ducked her head. "Yet I must tell you in all
candor that it was quite unnecessary. This is a
visit of an unofficial nature. My father wishes, and
I wish, to make it quite clear that there should be
no official tours, no dinners in my honor, no
escort; in short, absolutely no affairs of state."

 "I see," Aerent said as they began to walk past
the precise gleaming rows of the honor guard,
though he most assuredly did not. "May I ask,
then, the nature of your visit to Sha'angh'sei?''

 "You may," she said, laughing. "Regent, you
must learn to treat me as a woman and as the
daughter of the Kunshin."

"Indeed, lady. I shall endeavor to do so."

 "Good. Now as to my being here. My father
feels strongly that I should not spend my entire
life on Ama-no-mori; the Dai-San agreed with
him. I am here to learn. That is why, you see,
official parties and such will do me no good. In
fact, I prefer not to have it widely known who I
am."

 Moichi laughed. "You set us quite a formidable
task, Chiisai. In Sha'angh'sei, secrets of that
nature are difficult indeed to keep from
spreading."

"How is the Dai-San?" Aerent said.

 "Well and happy. My father is delighted to have
him by his side. They are quite inseparable these
days. They often ride out from the castle,
spending many days in the wilds with only the
plovers for company."

"I am happy to hear it."

"The Dai-san wished me to inquire after your
injuries but I

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 93

see that there is no need." She had no more than
glanced at his articulated ruby legs once since
stepping ashore.

 They were at the foot of Three Kegs Pier now
and about to enter the maelstrom of the bund's
frantic activities. Behind them, stevedores were
off-loading Chiisai's baggage, directed by the
Bujun sailors. There was no sign of either captain
or navigator and this Moichi found strange indeed.

 But there was little time to contemplate such
matters, for Chiisai was already leading him into
the hive of the bond. Her skin, Moichi observed as
she reached back to pull him forward and the wide
sleeve of her robe slid back for a moment, was
lightly tanned. This, too, was out of the ordinary.
Bujun women prided themselves on soft white
skin, and wide bamboo parasols, he had been told
by the Dai-San, were plentiful in the streets of the
cities, rain or shine.

 The jostling of the kubaru, the smell of the
spices, the grain dust clouding the air, the shouts,
half-songs, were all like stepping out into the surf
of an unquiet sea.

 Chiisai seemed to know where she was going for
she took them into the throng, heading toward the
far side of the bund. There, almost directly across
from Three Kegs Pier, was a small blue-and-white
tent set up just in front of harttin's windowless
wall.

 They stopped in front of the tent's opening and
she said, "What is this place?"

"It is the tent of a shindai, lady," Aerent said.

 "A shindai.'' She said it as if tasting a new flavor,
testing its sound out on her tongue.

"Yes, as the local diviners are called."

"A fortune-teller. How delightful! May we?"

 Aerent frowned. Personally he did not like the
shindai, certainly set no store by their divinations.
But, save for their systematically fleecing the
visitors, they were completely harmless. "By all
means."

 Moichi, for his part, as he allowed himself to be
dragged inside the tent, wanted no part of this. He
was frankly anxious to return to Auteya.

 It was dim inside the tent and already hot but he
could make out the figure of a woman with a
vaguely porcine face. For all that, she was quite
pretty as she stood up and met them, smiling.
"Welcome," she said. "You have come to see your
future." She spoke to them all, but Moichi had the
uncomfortable sensation that she was directing her
remarks to him alone.

94 Eric V. Lustbader

 "Lovely lady," the shindai said, "please take this
deck of cards and arrange it in any manner you
desire."

 Chiisai took the pack, turned the bottom one
over, then one after the other she looked at their
faces. They were all blank. "I do not see how it
can matter," she said, but complied with the
shindai's request. Then she handed the cards
back.

 The shindai held the cards in her right hand
face downward. With her left hand, she picked up
the top card, turning it face up. On it was
imprinted the figure of a bird.

 "Ah," the shindai said. "You are about to
embark upon a long and arduous journey."

 Aerent laughed. "You are a little late, shindai.
This lady has just come from such travel."

 "Nevertheless," the shindai said firmly, ''travel is
indicated. And in the future."

 She slid the card, face up to the bottom of the
deck, turned over the second, now the top, card.
It depicted a statue of a half-clothed human,
placed quite oddly in the midst of a forest.

"This is what aids you."

"What?" Chiisai exclaimed. "A statue?"

"The statue is the symbol of artistry and beauty."

 Again the shindai's hands moved and the third
card was displayed. The figure was difficult to
discern for it seemed a black pictograph against
a black background. But now, as the shindai's
hand moved, the light hit the card in such a way
that the black disappeared, leaving behind, like
spindrift at a low tide, a spare shape etched in
black. It appeared to be a human skull.

"Death!" Chiisai breathed.

 "Now, really " the Regent began, thinking this
had gone on far enough and that he was a fool to
allow his guest to be frightened by this shindai
witch.

 "Not death, lady," the shindai interrupted him in
a voice that brooked no further interference with
her work. "Most assuredly not death. This is what
crosses you. A man. A man will desire your
death." Everyone in the tent heard her added
emphasis.

"Will?"

 "Yes," the shindai nodded. "He does not appear
to know that you even exist now."

"Then why will he want to kill me?"

"That I surely cannot tell you, lady."

The shindai's hands were quiescent now.

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 91;

"Is that it?" Chiisai asked.

 "Yes. The Three Servitors have been exposed.
They are the governors of the immediate future."

Chiisai turned to Moichi. "Have yours done now."

 He was about to protest when Aerent caught his
eye, gave him a discreet but distinct negative shake
of his head. Without a word, Moichi took the deck
and shuffled the cards quickly and negligently. He
wanted only to end this bit of nonsense. He
handed the pack to the shindai.

She displayed the first card. It was the sun.

 The shindai cleared her throat. She seemed
somewhat startled. "This is the symbol of Goal. I
must say that I have never before encountered it
in the guise of the First Servitor. Most unusual.
Here it would be the significator of great change."

 Second card: This had an entirely black
background like Chiisai's third card before it had
metamorphosed to white, the more common colon
In its center was what appeared to be a bier,
etched in white, and upon that reposed a female
figure, also outlined in white.

"This is what aids you."

"A corpse?" Moichi almost laughed in her face.

  "The past," the shindai said evenly, even as her
hands were bringing up the third card.

  This time they could all hear the tiny gasp of her
in-drawn breath.

The third card was blank.

"No one," said Chiisai. "Isn't that marvelous!"

"Not no one," the shindai said gravely. "Everyone."

  "Everyone crosses me?" Moichi scoffed. "But that
is impossible."

  "Perhaps so," the shindai said. "Yet it is what the
Third Servitor reveals."

  Aerent dipped into his sash and placed a silver
coin in the shindai's hand but she shook her head.
"Oh no, sir, I cannot take any payment for this
reading. It is my gift to this couple." She looked at
Moichi and Chiisai.

  "You are mistaken, shindai,'' Moichi replied.
''We are no couple."

  "If I am in error, sir, then I do apologise most
humbly. But either way I will accept no payment."
She placed the silver coin back into the Regent's
sash as deftly as if she had been a pickpocket.
"Good day to you all," she said, bowing. "Good
day."

96 Eric V. Lustbader

  After the stifling interior of the tent, the
colors,odors, sounds of the port quarter of
Sha'angh'sei swept over them like an invigorating
tide.

  "I hope," Aerent said, "that you take these
divinations in the spirit in which "

  Moichi stopped listening. He was watching a
kubaru runner hurtling along the bund pell-mell.
He knocked over a stevedore, leapt over a
chestnut merchant's impromptu stall. He seemed
to be heading directly toward them and Three
Kegs Pier. Moichi thought he looked vaguely
familiar and, at that moment, he caught the
kubaru's eye. The man obviously recognised him
for he veered away from the dockside and sped
hurriedly toward them. He shouted, bowled over
a pair of kubaru. Sacks of rice flew into the
crowd, opening and spilling out. Cries of anger
trailed him.

  The kubaru paid no affection, completing his
run. He reached Moichi.

  "You must come now, san!" he said. The
combination of the dialect and the cutting of the
words caused by the man's panting, made it
difficult to understand him completely. Still, the
gist was readily apparent. "Come now. Right
away!"

  Now Moichi recognised the kubaru and felt a
knife twisting in his vitals. The man was already
pulling at him and he needed no further urging.
Without a word he set off with the kubaru at his
side, hurtling down the bund.

"What has happened?" Chiisai asked, turning to
the Regent.

  Aerent's face was ashen for he too had
recognised the kubaru. "I am afraid to speculate,
Chiisai. Please come with me. " Taking her elbow
with his left hand, he guided her toward the
bund's landward fringe. There he hailed a passing
ricksha and, lifting her into it and quickly
following her, he gave the runner an address.
"Take the streets," he told the kubaru. "We are in
a hurry."

  Llowan was the first to meet Moichi at the
doorway to the harttin. He seemed to have aged
and his hands were shaking.

  "I cannot imagine how this happened, Moichi,"
he said, his voice unsteady. "There was so much
business this morning. Such confusion." He shook
his head sadly. "But there is no excuse. This is my
fault."

  Moichi put a hand on his shoulder. "Whatever
has happened, it has nothing to do with you. I
brought them here." Then he was mounting the
stairs, three at a time, emerging to find

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 97

 The room looked as if a fierce storm had hit it.
The bed was askew, chairs were broken, Llowan's
enormous hardwood desk was demolished, a pile
of broken firewood in the far corner.

 The jalousies had been smashed in at least three
places and, fearing the worst, Moichi went out
onto the wide veranda.

 Shards of the jalousies, furniture littered the
floor and He knelt, staring at the droplets of
blood strewn about. He picked through the debris
not knowing what he was searching for until he
found it. His dirk lay just under his fingers, both
blade and handle smeared with blood, still wet.

 He picked it up, stood looking around, wiping it
off. They were not here. He went back into the
room, started toward the far end. Aufeya was
gone, which meant that she was not dead but had
been taken by force; there had been no time here
to get information from her. Where would they
have taken her? Surely not somewhere within
Sha'angh'sei, a foreign city where they would be at
a disadvantage. But would they have also taken
Kossori?

 At that moment his eye caught a dark spot in
among the desk's debris. He leapt forward, hurling
the cracked wood and hanging brass fittings from
his path.

 Within a crude tent made by the splintered desk,
he found the body. The face, curiously, had been
untouched and it appeared as calm as if the man
had been sleeping. But the body. Arms and legs
were broken in too many places for him to count
but it was the hands which magnetized his
attention. They were bloody pulps, the knuckles
looking as if they had been crushed one by one
with precise and sadistic care. Moichi felt cold
sweat break out along his face.

 This broken corpse was all that was left of
Kossori, the man who could defeat half a dozen
Ching Pang without breathing hard.

What devil, Moichi thought numbly, had done
this?

But he already knew the answer.

             lWO
          PURSUING
         THE DEVII'
              
         The Aorta
LIT

JET is good to have a rolling deck beneath my
feet again."

 He breathed deeply of the salt spray and
fumed, briefly, gazing over the stern's
sheer-strake. Sha'angh'sei was but a memory,
floating somewhere beyond the low-lying haze to
the south.

 "Can you really speak their tongue?" she asked.
He nodded affirmatively and she continued, "It is
most strange, is it not, to think that all the
peoples of the world devised one tongue long
ago that amply fits them all?"

"The Bujun have their own tongue."

 She nodded. "True. But we all speak the
common tongue, also. Odd that these people do
not."

She meant the Daluzan.

 He went slightly for'ard, putting his hands on
the rail separating the elevated aft deck from the
rest of the sleek lorcha and, cupping his hands at
the sides of his mouth, called to the men in the
shrouds: "Ganarse las velas! A babor!'' Immedi-
ately, he saw with some satisfaction, they altered
the sails so that they picked up more of the
following wind and the vessel began to sweep to
port. "Navegas viento en papa!'' There came an
answering shout from the sailors in the shrouds.
The lorcha now sailed before the stiff wind with
every centimeter of canvas full out, racing up the
coast of the continent of man, northeast to
Dalucia.

 They had come, eventually, and taken the
ruined body away, silently and without disturbing
him as he had stood in the center of the room,
exactly where Aufeya had stood, staring at him as
he had leh. Aerent had seen to that. But the
Regent had not come upstairs and Moichi had
been grateful for that because

                 101
                  
102 Erlc V. Lus~ader

he thought that he could not bear to see another
living human being then without lashing out with
his dirk.

 He blamed himself, deeply and without quarter.
It did no good for the pragmatic part of himself
to point out that he had done what he had
thought best; that he had had no way of
knowing How had Hellsturm found out about
the harttin? For he had no doubt that Hellsturm
was behind the death of his friend and the snatch.
(What a pejorative word: snatch. But it was
proper and fitting for the most heinous of
crimes.) lust as it did no good for him to ask
himself, What else could I have done? It was just
too ironic that his meeting at Three Kegs Pier
had not been a high affair of state as he and
Aerent had believed it would be. He could have
taken Aufeya after all.

 God, what a monstrous death! And Aufeya?
Perhaps she already lay in her own lost fluids in
some dank back alley, like her friend Cascaras, a
gaping hole in her chest over her heart. Oh god,
he cried inwardly, let it not be so! Then where
had Hellsturm taken her? It could be anywhere.

 He had heard a sound on the stairs as someone
came up. Who would dare? He felt rage burning
within him and whirled. He found that he was still
holding the dirk he had given to Aufeya.

It was Chiisai.

  What did she want? he thought savagely, feeling
an unreasoning resentment. It was her fault. If
she had not arrived

  "I thought you might like to talk," she said, "to
someone who is a foreigner also."

  And with that, his anger dissipated and he felt
ashamed. No one was at fault. Sei, he thought.
Karma. Is that not what he had told Aufeya? That
seemed so long ago, now. Another lifetime.

  "He was a good friend," Moichi said, his eyes
wandering around the room.

  "He put up a valiant fight. But perhaps the odds
were too high. "

"He could take on six men at a time."

  She came toward him through the rubble.
"Interesting. He must have been up against a most
formidable foe."

  Moichi was abruptly sick of the room and he
went out through the ragged gap in the ruined
jalousies, onto the veranda. The day was still fine,
the weather bright and placid. The air was the
most pellucid he had ever seen it here, reminding
him of the air far out at sea.

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 103

Chiisai stepped through after him.

 He looked for the spot where he had found the
dirk Iying abandoned. Then he looked closer.
Where the dirk had been was no piece of wood.
Neither was it the floor of the veranda. He knelt,
reached out.

''What have you found?" Chiisai asked.

  "I'm not certain." He stood up with it. Surely he
could not be mistaken. It was a strip of silk ripped
from the shirt he had given Aufeya. There seemed
to be blood on it. He turned it over. For a
moment nothing registered. Then he saw it for
what it was: a symbol or, more accurately, a
pictogram. He knew it was kubaru but he did not
recognise it.

  "Quickly," he told her. "Ask Llowan to send up
that kubaru. The one he sent to Three Kegs Pier
to fetch me."

  In a moment, she had returned with the man.
He stood hesitantly inside the room even after
Chiisai had indicated to him to go through; he
would not move without a sign from Moichi.

  When at last he came out and stood next to the
navigator, Moichi could see the real concern on
his face. "I am most sorry, san," the kubaru said.
"Most grieved."

  "Thank you." Moichi inclined his head. "I am
indebted to you." He indicated the blood-soaked
strip of silk. "Perhaps you may help me again."

"Whatever you ask."

"Tell me" Moichi held out the silk "what this
means."

  The kubaru took the strip as gingerly as if it
were a priceless piece of hand-blown glass.

"That is a kubaru symbol, it it not?"

"Yes," the kubaru nodded. "It means 'home'"

  After he had gone, Moichi said to Chiisai,
"Home. Aufeya left that for me, clever woman.
Hellsturm takes her back to Corruna. That is
where I must go now."

"But you shall not go alone," Chiisai said.

"I must," he told her. "Aerent cannot go with me.''

"I was not speaking of the Regent."

  "Oh, no." he said. "You will stay here with him.
Here in Sha'angh'sei, as your father ordered."

  "Did not Aerent tell you I brought a
communique from the Dai-San?" There seemed to
be the ghost of a smile playing at the corners of
her mouth as she lifted out a small metal cylinder
from beneath her robe, handed it to him.

He opened it suspiciously. It was written in the
Dai-San's

104 Erlc V. Lustbader

own hand. "Moichi, my friend," he read, "Chiisai
can be the only one to deliver this to you. She will
do so directly by hand and only when the two of
you are alone and unobserved. What she told Aerent
is only a half-truth. This was done to protect him as
well as herself. Chiisai is with you now under my
orders. Of course, the Kunshin had no objections.
She is to stay with you now no matter what is to
happen, until such time as she deems it appropriate
to do otherwise. I am leaving this to her discretion.
You know me well enough that I need say no more.
Our trust is our bond as brothers." Moichi looked
up at her but she only shook her head.

"I know less of this than you do."

 He was certain she was Iying but knew that she
had good reason to do so. This was hardly his
concern, in any event. If she meant to come, that
was all right with him, as long as she kept her
place and did not get in his way.

She smiled at him. "I know what you are
thinking.''

"Oh, really? What?"

 With a deft gesture, merely a flick of her wrists,
her silk robe had parted and now slid off her
shoulders, puddling the floor at her feet.

"You see," she said, "I can be of help."

Moichi stared.

 Underneath the fallen robe she wore an
intricately carved breastplate of black metal inlaid
with gold filaments, tight black leggings of the
supplest leather. Around her waist was buckled a
thin belt studded with pink-and-white swirled jade
from which hung the two traditional Bujun
swords, the katana and the longer dai-katana.

 She laughed when she saw his expression, a
kind and gentle sound.

 I should have realized, Moichi thought. All the
signs were right in front of me.

 The shrouds cracked in the wind and the yards
creaked as the Daluzan lorcha sped through the
water. They were professionals, the men who
manned this craft, and it had not taken them long
to accept Moichi. He spoke their language and he
knew what had happened to Aufeya. Since she
had been missing they had been terrified at the
prospect of her death.

 "So we return home," Armaz6n said. He was the
bos'un, a burly man with a thick shock of white
hair and a seamed, leathery face, beaten into a
proud configuration by the wind,

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 10Ei

sun and salt sea. His eyes were bright bits of lapis,
liquid and knowing but withholding depths from
the casual observer. He shook his head now. "I
had no good feeling about this voyage from its
inception. I begged Aufeya to find some way to
reach a bargain with that man."

"Hellsturm?" Moichi said.

 Armazon nodded. Spray flew into his face as the
lorcha bucked down then up through an oncoming
wave.

 "A babor!" Moichi cried to the helmsman, and
the vessel immediately swung to port. It was a
well-designed craft, Moichi saw, and he
appreciated this. It was tremendously responsive,
much less ponderous than the larger three-masted
schooners. But because of its smaller size, it was
much more prone to subjugation by the whims of
the sea. If Auteya had set sail in a three-master,
she never would have run afoul of that storm.

 To his left, the coastline was a green-and-brown
ripple, distancing itself as the lorcha moved out to
sea. "Basta!" he cried, and the lorcha returned to
its northeasterly course.

 "What did she say?" Moichi had returned to
conversation with the Daluzan bostun.

 "Say?" The man snorted. "Why, she laughed at
me and said, 'You poor fool. No one can make a
bargain with Hellsturm. Once he is given a task to
perform, there is no one who can stop him!' "

 "Given a task?" Repeated it because it had been
some time since he had heard so much Daluzan.
The language had so many nuances, spoken
inflections changing the meaning of words which,
if written, were constant, that he needed to be
certain of what he had heard.

Armazon nodded.

"Hellsturm is working for someone? Who?"

 The bos'un shrugged. "I do not know. I am not
family. It is a matter strictly for the Seguillas y
Oriwara."

"You mean the seamerchant family?''

 He squinted up a Moichi. "Yes, Aufeya's family.
You did not know?"

 Moichi shook his head. In any other land, it
might have been a strange name. But, he knew,
the Daluzan custom divas for two people to
combine their names when they were wed. He had,
of course, heard of the Seguillas y Oriwara when
he was in Corruna. It would have been surprising
if he had not. The family was quite wealthy and
owned a sizable fleet of merchant ships.

106 Eric V. Lus~ader

"You have heard of Milhos Seguillas, piloto?"

"Yes. "

  "One of the finest men in Corrufla, in all of
Dalucia for that matter. Then he had to go and
marry the foreigner." He spat sideways into the
creaming sea. "That was his downfall, mark my
words well.'' He looked at the backs of his hands,
strong and blunt and capable, as dark as tanned
leather; the sea had made them that way. "Dead
now, the senhor is. Dihos make peaceful his soul."

  There was something peculiar in the inflection
that made Moichi ask: "How did he die, the
Senhor Seguillas?"

  "Violently, piloto. He died abominably, if the
truth be known. "

"How did it happen?"

  Armazon spat again over the side. "lust passing
the time, en, piloto? Something to do to wait out
the journey."

  "I think you misunderstand, Armazon," he said
seriously. "I wish only to get Aufeya back and to
destroy Hellsturrn. Anything you can tell me "

  He broke off at the other's grating guffaw.
"Pardon me, piloto, but you are a foreigner,
unused to our ways. You wish to destroy this
man, Hellsturm. Very admirable, I admit. He is
an evil man. But you do not know him. We have
a saying in Dalucia, piloto. 'Easy to say, hard to
accomplish.' You know it, eh? No? Well, now you
do."

  "I have seen what Hellsturm can do. He
murdered my friend. "

"Ah. "

"I will destroy him."

  "Bravo. Bravo!" Armazon clapped his hands
derisively. "You will pardon me, piloto, if I do not
join in the celebration just yet, eh? I have a
somewhat more pragmatic turn of mind than do
you, apparently."

"You were about to tell me about the Senhor's
death."

  "Ah, yes. So I was. He was murdered in a duel."
He squinted up at Moichi once again, gauging the
response to what he had just said. "Oh, yes, I
know what you must be thinking. One enters a
Daluzan duel as a matter of honor and one
accepts, honorably, what Dihos decrees as the
outcome. That is part of Daluzan law. It is fixed.
A constant. No one may interfere in a Daluzan
duel." His face was a sea of seething emotion, as
if the words, like individual bricks, falling from his
lips, anticipated the crumbling of some strong
wall. His voice became

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 107

a hiss of suppressed hate. "I tell you this, piloto, as
certain as I am standing on this deck speaking to
you now, someone violated that sacred law.
Someone interfered."

 Moichi stared at him silently. The man was
working himself up into a state of great agitation.

 "This is how I know, piloto. I knew Milhos
Seguillas well, very well I might even say. We
sailed together on many a prosperous voyage, not
all the time as master and bos'un, if you catch my
meaning. Aboard ship, well, piloto, who am I to
tell you? The tenets of the sea are much different
than those held on land, eh? Restrictions are
lifted, prohibitions vanish like so much mist, eh?
Eh? Here one is free to be oneself. The chains of
class and wealth ne'er apply. That was the kind of
man Milhos Seguillas was. He was a high lord who
cared more for the sea and those loyal to it than
all the silver in the world." He squinted up at
Moichi. "She is a cruel mistress, the sea, eh,
piloto? We both know that. She is harsh and
unforgiving but like a lover she cradles those who
are faithful to her. You think that superstitious
nonsense?" He hawked and spat, clearidg his
throat, as if from the clotted emotion spilling out.
"Listen to me well, piloto. Milhos Seguillas was an
expert swordsman. Expert! He would not have
been killed so quickly in a duel unless " He
paused, his mouth hanging open, as if he felt
himself on a precipice and in voicing this hidden
knowledge he had begun to fear his own words.
"He was poisoned, piloto. Poisoned just before the
duel began. I saw the body. I know. A substance
few know of, derived from a plant indigenous to a
region far to the northwest. But Daluzans, they
have little contact with poisons."

 "But for Senhor Seguillas to be poisoned in such
a manner  this could not possibly be
accomplished by his opponent," Moichi pointed
out.

 "Precisely, piloto. You have cut directly to the
heart of the matter. Senhor Seguillas' foe has a
cunning accomplice. One so fantastically clever
that the Senhor never even suspected."

"What are you saying, Armaz6n?"

 "lust this, piloto. Senhor Seguillas was poisoned
by his wife!"

"My God, man, do you have any proof of this?"

 "Proof, piloto? Aye. Proof enough. Not such that
would prick the interest of a magistrate. But, I'll
warrant, enough to satisfy me. I knew Senhor
Seguillas. And I know his wife."

"Does Aufeya know anything of this matter?"

108 Eric V. Lustbader

  "Not a bit, piloto. Leastwise, not from these
lips. I've breathed nought to a soul save yourself."

"Then why have you told me?''

  "You said you wished to save Aufeya, piloto.
Well and good. You are not Daluzan. You are
not blood. You can go where others, constrained
perhaps by the conventions of the land, cannot.
You must help Aufeya and Senhor Seguillas. You
must avenge his death. Kill Aufeya's mother!"

  Moichi looked away from those blue eyes,
burning with a manic passion. Thick cumulus
were building themselves low on the horizon
ahead of them to the northeast. Their tops were
pure white but, as they continued to mount, he
caught a glimpse of their dark undersides. Storm
clouds. A squall was forming. It was far off, too
distant to be an immediate threat, for the wind
had not yet changed. But the gulls to port were
already beginning to wheel, crying, toward the
high shore.

  He stared into those blue eyes. "I can promise
you no such thing, Armaz6n. Aufeya is my
concern, not her mother or her dead father."

  The bos'un's eyes blazed and he trembled with
rage. "Cobarde!" Spittle flew from his glistening
lips. "You meddle in matters over which you have
no understanding. You are an outlander! What is
Dalucia to you? Less than nothing." He laughed
grimly. ''Ah, for you! Save yourself the misery,
piloto. Throw yourself overboard before you
reach Corruna. Let the sea take care of you for
you look death in the face and you do not even
know it!" He went away from Moichi in a rush,
leaping for'ard, swinging around the mainmast,
almost colliding with Chiisai as she came aft,
before disappearing into the for'ard hatch.

  Chiisai came up from the position she had
taken near the bow soon after they had set sail.
All the day, she had stayed there, studying the
configuration of the shoreline, constantly checking
it against the detailed maps aboard the lorcha.

  "We are making exceptional time, Moichi," she
said making no mention of the altercation with
Armaz6n. She pointed to port. "See there, already
we are near the coast city of Singtao. "

  There, where she pointed, he could see the
cinnabar smudge of the urban sprawl, far smaller
than mighty Sha'angh'sei but important in its own
right. The city's color was no illusion of the light
for it was here that the famed red clay was
exported to the world of man. It was the finest in
all the world, and

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 109

artisans, no matter where they resided, insisted upon
using it. The light was peculiar now because the
vast bank of squall cumulus had not lowered
entirely and the sun, caught behind it, nevertheless
managed to fight through the underside so that the
sea was illuminated by what sailors called the trail
of the Oruborus, brilliant as molten metal where
the rays hit it, as deep and brooding as iron
everywhere else. Above the storm, the sky was a
peculiar canary yellow fading to a cold dense gray.

  His nostrils dilated and he scented. "It is coming
now," he told her. "And quickly." As if to
underscore his words, there came a deep but
distant rumble of thunder, echoing across the sea.
He looked to port. All the gulls were gone now,
having sought the safety of the shore. For us, too,
Moichi thought.

  "Un buque!" The piercing call of the lookout
vibrated in the air. A ship.

"Donde?" He called.

"Adelante!"

  He gazed straight ahead. For a moment he saw
nothing but the heaving sea, made dark and dull
by the confluence of the flying thunderheads. They
were very close now. Then he oriented and saw
the triangular sail emerging from out of the cloud
bank which now seemed to dip right into the
heaving water. Whitecaps were appearing with
alarming rapidity.

  "Cudl clase de buque?" He called to the lookout.
These were unfamiliar waters to him. Better to
rely on the Daluzans here.

"Momento, pilots!''

  The wind, gusting erratically, was plucking at the
canvas with intensity as the storm approached; the
rigging sang its mournful tune. Normally he would
have called for them to strike canvas. But some
sixth sense, born to him upon the sea, caused him
to delay. He wanted a positive identification first.
He swung abruptly around as a particularly strong
gust threatened to turn them. ''Firme! Firme, hijo!''
This to the helmsman, who he knew was young.

"Do you not think we should make for shore?"
Chiisai said.

  "Not yet." Moichi had turned back, was listening
for the lookout's identification. "Hellsturrn already
has a sizable head start on us. We cannot afford to
let him build on that advantage. He has outrun the
storm, I have little doubt. We must weather it."

"I have felt the force of the storms here in the
northwest.''

110 Eric V. Luetbader

She was, of course, speaking in relation to her
home, Amano-mori. Moichi thought of
Sha'angh'sei being in the south, which it was in
relation to the rest of the continent of man. "And
that was in a sea-going threemaster. Do you
think ?"

But Moichi had signaled her to silence. He was
concentrating.

"A lorcha!" The lookout's cry came. "Daluz'!"

"One of theirs," Chiisai said.

  "Vigilarse cuidadosamente!" he cried to the
lookout. Watch it closely. Because there was
something not quite right. He turned to the
helmsman. "A babor! Aprisa!'' Quickly now! The
lorcha swung to port, heading in toward the
shoreline. Moichi, after a brief glance into the
shrouds, kept his gaze fixed on the other vessel.

"What's the matter?" Chiisai asked.

He ignored her, calling, "Rohja! Don' estd?''

  A young sailor working at midships called for a
man to replace him, scrambled aft. "Piloto." He
was tall with a broad chest and muscular arms.
His face was long and thin, dominated by the
dark brooding eyes of a predator. He was dressed
in a white cotton shirt, dark trousers and a purple
headband. An exceptionally functional outfit.

  "What do you make of that?" Moichi said,
pointing to the oncoming ship.

The sailor peered ahead. "A lorcha."

  "The design is Daluzan. That is not the same
thing." He continued to peer ahead but the low
light was making sightings difficult. "Strange sail,"
he said.

"What do you mean?"

  "Just that I have never seen a Daluzan vessel
with black canvas before. Perhaps you should ask
Armazon."

  "I am asking you, Rohja," Gaze flicking from
the oncoming craft to the cumulus behind it.
Flash of lightning, blue-white upon the mirror of
the sea. The other lorcha had altered course but
it could be heading into shore as was Moichi's
vessel. He kept their course, heading in, but his
head was full of the calculation of vectors; he
needed no instrumentation for this.

"I think they mean to intercept us, piloto."

  "They may just be heading in to shore, as we
are," Moichi pointed out.

"The angle isn't right."

  "Tell me, Rohja, would Senhora Seguillas y
Oriwara send a ship after her daughter?"

"Not likely, piloto. No one knew where we were
bound or

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 111

even that we had gone until after we had set
sail."

Rohja was increasingly agitated but Moichi
remained calm.

 "The lorcha is primarily a merchant vessel, is it
not? Correct me if I am wrong." It appeared now
as if the other lorcha would reach them before the
storm did.

 "That is true, piloto. But I must point out that is
so only on short voyages around Daluzan waters.
For a trip along the coast" he shook his head "it
is far too small a vessel to be in the least practical.
You would not be able to load enough cargo to
make the voyage worthwhile."

 That, of course, was the point; the anomaly of
the other lorcha: it was coming on far too fast to
be carrying any kind of load. He called sharply to
the helmsman, "Recobrarse el curve!"

 The man spun the wheel as sailors leapt to the
rigging and the lorcha swept to starboard, then
righted itself. They were now moving out at a
tangent, away from the shore, into the full face of
the storm. The wind howled, just below gate level,
and the sky was a grey mass, low and roiling like
steam from a kettle. The horizon to the northeast
had disappeared into a kind of continuous blur as
rain slanted violently down.

 "You have been of much help, Rohja," Moichi
said. "Now go and fetch Armaz6n from
belowdecks. We shall surely need him. "

 The man left the aft deck immediately. In a
moment, the bos'un appeared with Rohja just
behind him. Both were armed with straight
narrow-bladed swords.

"Not Daluzan, then," Chiisai said.

 "If they are not, we shall see very soon now. "
Moichi moved back along the deck until he was
standing next to the helmsman. "Listen to me
closely now, hijo, and move this vessel as I speak.
Immediately, do you understand? Each moment is
vitas and any delay may undo us."

"I understand, piloto."

"Good. "

 The other lorcha halt altered its course away
from shore. It was close now, tacking away from
the wind so that it could cut across their bow and
intercept them.

''Hijo," Moichi said. "Steer us directly for them."

"Piloto?" The man was starred.

 "Do as I say, Oruborus take you!" Moichi
barked. "Head for him now!"

Armaz6n rushed aft with Robja in his wake as he
discerned

112 Brlc V. Lustibader

their course. The lorcha swung in an arc, directly
for the other vessel.

 "Are you mad?" Ammazon cried. "With all sail
and in this gale we shall surely destroy each other.
Sheer off!"

 Moichi ignored him, addressing Rohja instead.
"Will the canvas take the strain?"

 Rohja glanced upward. "Yes, piloto. There is no
problem from rips "

Moichi heard his tentative tone. "But "

  "But there may be some danger of capsizing.
With all sail if the storm caught us dead on, we
would go over and down like a stone.''

  "He is right, piloto!" Armazon brandished the
sword. "Either way, it is suicide! Sheer off,
devilfish take your eyes!"

  The helmsman was sweating and Moichi
mummured reassuringly to him, "Firme, hills.
Firme."

  They were heading directly at the oncoming
lorcha, the fierce wind propelling them dizzyingly
across the waves. They were coming up on it with
appalling swiftness, the storm front just behind. It
was gaining on the other ship.

  Fittings creaked as the canvas strained in the
bucking wind and men scrambled constantly to
keep the sheets at their proper angle. They were
making all speed.

  But Moichi's gaze had swung away from the
other lorcha. He watched the rising of the squall,
calculating distances and speed, the vectors
coming together. It was going to be very close.

  Dimly he heard Chiisai call his name. He
fumed, saw Armazon, sword gleaming, mounting
the short companionway to the raised aft deck.

  "Get away from there, piloto! Leave the helm.
You will kill us all in your madness'"

  "Chiisai," Moichi said softly so that she could
hear. "Stand just here, on the other side of the
helmsman. See that we stay bow on to the other
ship no matter which way he twists. Stand off this
deck, bos'un," he said, moving forward as he un-
sheathed his own sword. "You have a job to do. I
want the men armed in the event we are boarded.
See to it!"

  "I shall see to your death first, piloto!" He
swung wildly at Moichi, who slid his upper torso
away from the blow and at the same time, sent a
vicious two-handed slash obliquely across the
other's blade. It sheared through like a stalk of
ripe wheat. Moichi stepped up, sheathing his
sword, and let fly a

BENEATH AN OPAI' MOON 113

balled fist into the bos'un's face. His arms flung
out wide, Armazon plummeted backward onto the
main deck. There he lay, stunned.

 "Rohja," Moichi called, "see that he is all right.
Then make certain the men are armed. I want no
surprises. Quick y, now. There is little time!"

He returned to the helm, saw that they were still
dead on.

"Good," he murmured. "Very good."

 The other lorcha was now quite close. So close,
in fact, that he could see the individual men
manning it. "What ?"

 "Rohja!" He saw the man. He had just returned
from belowdecks. "Look to the other ship! Are
those Daluzan?"

"No, piloto, they are not!"

 Moichi had thought not. Those men were larger
than the Daluzans, broad-shouldered and heavily
muscled in a narrowwaisted athletic way. They had
hair as yellow as the sun and their skin was so fair
it appeared almost white.

"What folk mans that lorcha?"

"Tudescans," came the reply.

  "Who are they?" Chiisai said. "I have never
heard of them. "

  "Nor I," Moichi replied. "But we are about to
find out." Rohja scrambled aft in answer to
Moichi's summons.

  "The Tudescans are from the north, from a land
above Dalucia. "

"What could they want from us? Are they pirates?"

  "No, piloto, not to my knowledge, though they
are most certainly a villainous lot."

  Moichi considered this for a moment. There
were six different words for villainous in Daluzan
that he was aware of  perhaps there were
more and all had their own various shades of
meaning. The one Rohja had used had many
ramifications. Too many to contemplate now, but
he filed the information away for later study.

"Ahora!"

  The two lorchas were bearing down upon each
other now and he could see the frantic activity on
the other ship as it tried to maneuver away so that
it could close alongside.

  As it had worked out, Moichi was obliged to cut
it very fine, and if it did not work, their vessel
would be beam on into the ravaging squall with all
sails full and that would be the end, as Armaz6n
feared. Nothing in the world could save them from
going down.

114 Eric V. Lustbader

 "Steady," he urged the helmsman. "Steady. They
are trying to shake us off."

 Sheets of rain, so heavy they were almost solid,
were closing in rapidly, cutting light drastically;
judging distances accurately was now a major
problem mainly because the blurring effect tended
to foreshorten the distance. So it took a fraction
of a moment longer for him to guide the lorcha
as his brain interpreted the images of his vision
and made the necessary readjustments.

 Howling gusts of wind buffeted the sails, giving
the men great difficulty. But they were very good
and their course held true. Still he shouted
encouragement and they redoubled their efforts.

 Beside him, the helmsman had begun trembling.
In just a few short moments, the two bow waves
would be mingling. It was going to be that close.

"Steady," he crooned into the wind. "steady as she
goes."

 Masts bending in the gale. A sharp cry along
the maindeck. Ignore it.

 "Keep her bow on!" Moichi cried. He pulled the
shaking helmsman Tom his post; he had done as
much as could be expected.

The yards creaking. Howling like the hounds of
hell.

 "Steady now!" he told himself, his fingers
gripping the helm, guiding it. He felt the thrill of
the ship wash over him then, knew she had
recognised his competence, acknowledged his
leadership. She acquiesced, truly his now to
command.

 The men sweating, hauling on the lines, heels
trying to find a no-slip purchase on the tarred
deck.

"Right there."

 Felt Chiisai close beside him, welcoming her
warmth and support.

"Right here."

 The rain rushing toward them like a vast
funereal shroud, a waterfall of black liquid metal,
thick and blinding.

"Yes, right here!"

 The other lorcha, big and dark, looming over
them like a gargantuan tombstone, blotting out
even the oncoming storm with its bulk, with the
ebon of its spread sail, taut and leathery as a bat
wing.

 Abrupt wetness beginning and the helmsman
crying out in fear because he thought it was the
first onrush of the other ship's bow wave washing
over them; and Moichi crying,

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 115

-"Ahora! Now! Now! Hard to starboard!" He spun
at the wheel, but the seas were already so heavy
that there was enormous resistance. Chiisai leaned
into it with him and then the trembling helmsman,
his teeth chattering and his eyes rolling wildly so
that the whites showed all the way around. "Heave!
Heave!" The helm began to turn. "By the
Oruborus, put your weight into it! Heave!"

The lorcha bucked, swung to starboard.

 A solid wall of water rose up and the helmsman
was screaming again because he could already feel
the titanic death shudder of his vessel as the other
lorcha hit it.

"Don't let up! Heave!"

 And they were into the squall, another world,
crossing the threshold. The downpour obscured
everything and they hung on to the wheel, all three
of them, lest they be washed overboard. But
Moichi was already turning his head toward the
port side, watching, watching through the clouds of
hissing water, seeing, as if through some magic
viewer, the smudge of the other lorcha, made dark
and bulky by its angle and proximity, turned
broadside into the storm in its attempt to veer
away from their charge. It was breaking up. He
heard the splintering even above the crash of the
storm, thought he could even discern cries in a
strange language, guttural, cuneiform writing come
to life in speech, dying now amidst the torn spars
and splintered hull.

 He heaved with them, bringing them out of their
starboard arc, back onto a straight course.

 He relinquished the helm to the helmsman and
turned to find Chiisai staring at him. She put one
small hand, fingers outspread, on his chest. His
shirt had blown open and she touched his bare
skin. Rain drove at them relentlessly, filming their
faces, running down their necks. They were
drenched to the skin.

          Mer-Ma;~2's Tales

DURING the long night he dreams of home. Of
waiting Iskael, baking in the swollen summer's
sun. It is the season when nothing moves along
the vast tracts of the desert; not caravans which,
in the fall, will journey forth, laden with spices
and cedar; not pilgrims making the arduous trek
to the holy sites at the foot of the mountain built,
so it is said, by the hand of God. It is the time
when the desert is ruled by the scorpions and
sand snakes during the day, and the fleet pack
rats at night.

  It is the time when he is a boy, already tall and
muscular, when he rides his father's land on
horseback, supervising much of the work. He is
accompanied by Al'eph, his tutor, a man of
indeterminate age who is present in order to
assure Moichi's father that the boy's secular and
religious studies do not suffer because of his
work.

  "My boy," Al'eph calls to him, as they rein up,
atop a low bluff, "it is time for your midday
lesson."

"Not today, Al'eph," he says, "Please."

  "Moichi, I cannot force you but I am
constrained to point out that your father is
already most anxious about the slow progress of
your studies. This will do nothing to assuage his
anxiety. "

  "It is my life, Al'eph," Moichi says. "I know you
understand this even if he does not."

  The other nods. "This is quite correct, my boy.
But neither am I the one with the ferocious
temper. You are not the only one brought on the
carpet if matters are not to his complete
satisfaction."

  "I know what you put up with," he says, "and I
appreciate it. But today the sun is hot and the
shaded waters of the brook in the northwest
quadrant seem irresistible."

                 116
                  
BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 117

 Al'eph sighs. "All right. Go take your swim. But
in return you must promise to rendezvous with me
here just after sunset. We shall return home
together, as your father would wish it."

 Moichi lifts a hand in assent, digs his boot heels
into his mount's flanks and he is off, galloping
down the far side of the bluff, over the rolling
fields of wheat.

 In the manner of dream movement, he finds
himself at the brook, dismounted, staring through
a gap in the dense greenery. He sees the frothy
water, so inviting. But this day the brook is not
deserted, despite its distance from any major or
minor roads.

 Within the stream stands a girl with short auburn
hair. He moves slightly to get a better view and
sees that she is in the process of disrobing.
Already she is without her blouse, and her skin,
clouded with freckles, is tanned almost to the color
of teak. Lithe muscles ripple as she bends, placing
the blouse on the far bank, and he catches an
all-too-brief glimpse of one breast, firm as a ripe
apple, the nipple hard. Then she turns her back
and he sees the deep groove of her spine,
shadowed all the way down to the tops of her
buttocks, so unutterably erotic that he feels his
legs begin to tremble with the force of his longing.

 The water rushes onward, hiding her feet and
ankles, the bottoms of her calves. She wears only
a pair of cut-off pants now and her bare legs, like
the bifurcated stalk of some exotic flower, hold his
attention. They are beautifully formed, so full of a
hidden excitement that, for a moment, he imagines
himself to be a desert explorer who, after seasons
of searching, at last comes upon a previously
undiscovered mine of precious gems.

 His breath comes as hard as a bellows and he is
terrified that she will hear his stentorian wheezing.
The blood, pounding through his veins, sounds like
hammer blows upon his inner ear and his head
seems to jerk with every pulse.

 As if in terrible confirmation of his thoughts, the
girl turns, looks directly at him. He freezes, not
even daring to breathe. He stares, mesmerised, as
if seeing an ethereal faerie creature come to life.
Her eyes are enormous and as green and bright as
polished jade, long sooty lashes giving them a
highly mysterious aspect. A broad forehead, small
nose and generous lips. Her face is captivating.

 Then she turns away, miraculously without
having noticed him, and he feels a kind of chill
after that hot, hot stare, as if a cloud had passed
before the face of the sun.

118 Eric V. Lustbader

 Her hands are working now in front of her,
hidden from him, and this, too, increases the
eroticism of the moment. Then, incredibly, she
sways slightly back and forth as she works her
pants down her hips. And she is completely
naked.

 She begins to turn again but he can stand no
more. Moving back into the deep shadows of the
foliage, he feverishly tears at his clothes. He is
sweating. Buttons catch at the material of his
shirt, cloth sticks to his back and arms as he tries
to pull it off.

 At length, he is ready and, moving to the gap,
he thrusts himself through and, without pause,
hurls himself into the water of the brook.

 It is like ice and his flesh is raised in goose
bumps. He lifts his head from the water, shaking
the droplets from his brows and eyelashes, but he
is alone in the brook for as far as the eye can see.

 They sailed into the port of Corruna on the
wings of fair weather and a stiff fresh wind out of
the southeast quarter.

 Far from the sprawling splendor of Sha'angh'sei
that tended to awe the initiate, Corruna was
nevertheless a beautiful sight. The Daluzan port
was comparatively small and perfectly compact.
Stone jetties, mostly man-made, thrust out into
the blue water, amply accommodating the many
swift lorchas that, as Rohja had indicated, plied
Daluzan waters on short-range trade.

 Immediately to the northeast, a deep lagoon
was sheltered by a narrow curving peninsula, like
a welcoming cape to weary travelers in larger
craft. Near the bow, Moichi could make out seven
three-masters at anchor there.

 The city itself was laid out in a wide crescent,
the arms of its extremities encircling the port.
Corruna was a swath of white cubicular buildings
built around-spectacular circular plazas whose
centers were invariably filled with beautifully
sculpted fountains or small arboreal sanctuaries.
Bells seemed to peal almost constantly, emanating
from the blunt towers of myriad iglesias.

 The Daluzan culture did not use brick in its
constructions, perhaps for aesthetic reasons; used
only wood paneling and stippled stucco in its
interiors. Almost without exception, the buildings
of the city were made of a kind of fired adobe
that was meticulously sealed against the cold of
the winters, then thickly whitewashed to a matte
finish.

If the houses of Corruna seemed at first colorless,
the citizens

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 119

were just the opposite, for their clothing, in which
they took inordinate pride, was of the most
brilliant colors; every shade and its harmonic was
represented amid the tight formalism of the men
and the swirling ruMes of the women.

 The lorcha nosed slowly alongside a jetty and
fore and aft lines were thrown to waiting hands.
Moichi, awaiting their docking, was watching
Armaz6n. He had made an enemy there, he knew,
when he had knocked the bosom down in front of
his crew. He shrugged mentally. There had been
no help for it. But he knew that, while he was
here, he would have to keep a weather eye on the
man. He had told Chiisai the gist of his talk with
Armaz6n but nothing further was said of the
matter.

 They bumped against the wharf and Moichi,
moving back to midships, stepped off the lorcha,
followed by Chiisai. As they stood there, breathing
deeply, adjusting to being on land once more,
Rohja came up.

 "You will, no doubt, wish to go to the house of
the Seguillas y Oriwara," he said. "Allow me to be
your guide."

 "If you give us the directions, I am quite certain
we will find our way," Moichi said. "If you would
be amenable, I would ask you to do something for
me."

"If I am able, I will be most glad to help."

 "Good. I want you to hang around here. Do
whatever you normally do. I want to know if any
ship coming in on the same line as we did docked
here. It would be, oh, either early this morning or
late last night. Do you think you can do that?"

 Rohja grinned, adjusted the purple headband.
His eyes were bright. "Aye, piloto. It will be easy."

 "Do not make the mistake of taking this lightly,
Rohja," Moichi cautioned. "This man we follow is
most dangerous and he is certain to have
confederates here, I do not want to place you in
jeopardy "

 "Please do not trouble yourself on that score,"
Rohja said. "I can take care of myself. No one will
know what I am about. "

"That includes Armazon," Moichi said pointedly.

 Rohja snorted. "I need no reminder on that
score, piloto. There was no love lost between the
two of us long before I sided with you back there."

"lust be careful."

"Armaz6n is an old man. He will cause me no
trouble."

 Rohja was about to go but, on impulse, Moichi
held him back by asking, "Do you know anything
about the duel in which the Senhor was killed?"

120 Eric V. Leader

 The sailor thought a moment, then shrugged.
"Not much, piloto. I did not myself see it I was
not in the employ of the Seguillas y Oriwara,
then but I was told that the Senhor was
overmatched from the outset.''

"Was the Senhor an expert swordsman?"

  "By all accounts he was. But there is an ancient
Daluzan proverb: 'Excellence is fleeting, for
perfection does not exist; there is always someone
better.'"

  "A most sobering thought," Chiisai said. Robja
was one of the few Daluzans Moichi had
encountered who had a true grasp of the common
tongue. They had used it now not only for her
benefit but to ensure privacy in this public place.

  "Indeed," Rohja agreed. "Most melancholy. But
we Daluzans believe that it teaches one humility."

  "Do you know, Rohja,'' Moichi said, "whether it
was a fair duel?"

"All Daluzan duels are fair, piloto, by definition."

"ArmazOn seems to think otherwise."

  "Ah, Armaz6n. Well, I cannot say that I am at
all surprised. "

"Why is that?"

  "Well, he loved the Senhor, piloto, yes, as if
they were brothers. But something transpired
during the last year of the Senhor's life. I do riot
know what none of the men, I suspect do but
perhaps four seasons before the Senhor was killed
in the duel, he ceased to use Armaz6n's lorcha."
He turned and pointed. "This one, in point of
fact. The Senhor's fleet is vast, you no doubt
know, but he steadfastly sailed with Armazon
until " He shrugged. "It happened very abruptly,
you know. Very strange after so long a time."

"Did they have a fight?"

  "If there was one, it did not occur in public.
And, of course, Armaz6n would never speak of
it."

  "But what has this to do with what Armaz6n
suspects happened in the duel?"

"lust this. Ever since the Senhor's death, he has
changed."

"That is understandable, given "

  "No, no. I mean over and above the feelings of
grief. He has become, I don't know, someone
else unrecognisable to any who knew him in the
old time when the Senhor was alive. He is driven
by an emotion I detest. Guilt." He shrugged.
"Over what, I do not know."

Moichi looked over the other's shoulder at the
gently rocking

BENEATH AN OPAL' MOON 121

lorcha. "Perhaps we will never know now. Listen,
Rohja, we should meet tonight. Can you suggest a
place?"

  The sailor thought for a moment. "Aye. There is
a fisherman's taverna near here, along the docks.
It is called El Cambiro. It lies at the foot of Calle
C6rdel, where the street ends at the sea. " He
squinted up at the sun. 'iGive me until midnight,
piloto. These matters, you know, cannot be rushed.
Sailors are a stony lot on land" he grinned
broadly "until the liquor loosens their tongues,
eh?"

  It took them some time but, at length, they were
directed to the Plaza de la Pesquisa.

  It was constructed of shimmering white cobbles
which flashed in the sunlight like diamonds. In its
heart was a thick copse of green olive trees, half
hidden within which was a tiny bubbling fountain.
This last was of a grey stone, rough-grained j
almost like coastal granite, carved into the shape
of a man with brawny shoulders, a full curling
beard and the tail of a fish. He had deep-set eyes
and arching eyebrows. His hair was composed of
ringlets of tiny crustaceans. The stone swept up
behind him, apparently left in its natural state so
that it looked like a miniature cliff from whose lip
the water spewed out and over him. His entire
surface gleamed under the liquid lens of the font.

  "The Daluzans are a religious people," Moichi
said to Chiisai when she commented on the statue,
"much given to superstition, folklore and myths."

  "I heard about the Kay-lro De of Sha'angh'sei
from the DaiSan," she said, still staring at the
miniature figure.

  "Yes, well I think that the time of her physical
manifestation is gone now though, no doubt, her
spirit will never leave Sha'angh'sei. "

  "But time is cyclic, don't you think? These
creatures"  she indicated the fountain's
figures "or others very like them will return again
in some other age."

  "No doubt," Moichi said with a wry twist of his
lips. "But not, I trust, in ours.''

  The buildings around the Plaza de la Pesquisa
were a good deal larger and more ornate than
most they had seen on their way through the city
and this oversize effect gave to the plaza a rather
austere grandeur that was singular in Corruna.

  There were benches of scrolled wrought iron
scattered at different points around the copse. On
one, two old men, small

122 Erlc V. Lusd>ader

and with sun-dried skin like leather, sat smoking
pipes and chatting idly in the shade. They were
both dressed in pure white linen suits, as elegant
and neat as if they were on parade. This color,
Moichi knew, was reserved here for the elderly.

  "Perdoname, senhores. Don' estd la casa de la
Senhora Seguillas y Oriwara?"

  They both looked up, ceasing their low chatter,
staring at him from head to foot. They gazed at
Chiisai for a time before returning their attention
to him. One of the men pointed a bony finger at
Moichi, said something to his companion in
Daluzan dialect so rapidly that Moichi failed to
understand it. The other man laughed shortly, not
unkindly, cocked his head, his seablue eyes on
Moichi.

  The old man who still pointed at Moichi said,
"You are not Daluzan. Not of the blood." He
tapped the side of his nose with a finger. "I can
tell." He smiled enigmatically. His square teeth
were stained yellow by smoke. "But you could
pass, I warrant, in a pinch. I'll just bet you could,
yes." He stretched backward, pointed over his
shoulder. "There lies the house you seek. On the
far side of the plaza." He smiled again. "Is it not
always so, in life?" His companion nodded sagely
at his side, though he had been addressing
Moichi. "Good day to you, senhor. Senhora. Good
luck."

  Moichi nodded, murmuring his farewells, and,
with Chiisai went out from the edge of the copse,
across the sun-splashed plaza, past the rustling
olive trees, the buzzing cicadas, the small
black-winged birds flitting from tree to tree,
leaving the figure of the fountain behind.

  Moichi wore a sea-green silk shirt with wide
sleeves and tight cobalt-blue trousers which he
had tucked into his high brown sea boots. His
sword hung, scabbarded, at his side and the twin
copper-hilled dirks were thrust casually into his
wide leather belt.

  Chiisai still wore her armor breastplate but had
changed into tight pants the color of palest sea
foam, also tucked into her high boots. Over her
armor she wore her Sha'angh'sei quilted jacket.
Her twin scabbarded swords were clearly visible.

  The Seguillas y Oriwara house was an
enormous whitefacaded two-story structure on the
north side of the plaza. Its left side abutted
another building but, on its right, a street led off
the plaza. Lush trees lined this thoroughfare and
what portions of the house Moichi could make
out behind this verdant

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 123

screen were covered in ivy, reaching around along
the upper story on the front of the house.

 One was obliged to approach the
copper-and-hardwood staircase facing left, for it
curved out and around as gracefully as a swan's
neck as it ascended toward the high double doors
at the front of the dwelling. These were
wood-paneled, banded with bronze strips which,
Moichi was certain, had at one time found service
on an oceangoing schooner, for time and the
minerals of the sea had combined to give them a
greenish patina.

 They went up the staircase and Moichi knocked
on the doors. The small wrought-iron balconies
projecting from the upper floor windows in front
contrived to put them in an obliquely banded light.

The doors swung ponderously inward.

 Two short, dark-haired Daluzans in black cotton
one-piece suits held the doors but the man who
confronted them was not Daluzan at all. He was
tall, towering even over Moichi, dwarfing Chiisai.
He was too thin for his height; this was one's
immediate impression. His gaunt face was hairless
except for a thin black mustache which drooped
forlornly on either side of his mouth. His dark eyes
were almond-shaped and his skin had a yellow
cast. The vault of his domed head soared upward
above his narrow-bridged nose.

This man is from Sha'angh'sei, Moichi thought.

 "Yes?" the man said in perfect Daluzan. "What
is it you wish?"

 Not the most cordial of welcomes, Moichi
thought. The man wore a Daluzan suit in light
yellow which consisted of highwaisted trousers and
loose-fitting shirt tied about the waist with a
narrow braided cord sash. If he was anned, he
concealed it well.

 "We wish to speak to the Senhora Seguillas y
Oriwara," Moichi said.

 "I am afraid that will be quite impossible, senhor.
The Senhora is entertaining no visitors. "

 "Nevertheless, I believe the Senhora will wish to
see us. We have come to Corona aboard one of
her own lorchas and bring news of her daughter."

 Something glittered far back in the man's eyes
and he inclined his head. "Follow me, please, I will
inform the Senhora."

The doors were closed behind them as they went
down a

124 Eric Y. Lustbader

short vestibule and, passing through an arch of
stained glass, entered into the main hall of the
house. This was two stories high and was domed,
almost cathedral-like, paneled in pecan wood and
hung at regular intervals with small tapestries de-
picting scenes of the sea and its denizens; sea
lions, porpoises, whales sounding. At the end of
the hallway a most singular stairway wound
upward. It appeared at this distance to be carved
out of an enormous ship's figurehead, a maiden
of the sea, long tangled hair blown back by the
wind.

  On either side of the hallway, rolling doors
stood closed. As they passed the first one on the
right, Moichi saw it slide open for just a moment
and glimpsed within the shadows beyond dark
flashing eyes in a young female face.

  The man with the drooping mustache led them
through a rolling door further along on the left
and into a drawing room. Then, bidding them
wait, he left them.

  Here the plaster walls were painted green, as
dark as the depths of the ocean, and were hung
with paintings whose subject matter was invariably
religious in nature.

  "The Daluzans must have a very different
feeling about religion, " Chiisai said, pacing from
painting to painting. "How depressing. Is there no
happiness associated with their gods?"

  "They believe in the One God, Chiisai," Moichi
said. "As do my folk."

"As yet, the kami are unknown to these people."

"Kami."

  "Um-hum. The minor gods whose task it is to
guide the souls of the dead back into their new
lives."

  Moichi realized he knew very little of Bujun
religious thought.

  "We see existence as an enormous wheel; life is
merely one part of it." She was at the last painting
now and she paused. "Death, we believe, brings
an end to the corporeal only. The spirit lives on
and is returned to life guided by the kami and the
individual's karma. That is most important."

  She was interrupted by the sound of the door
sliding back. They both turned. Framed in the
doorway was the figure of a statuesque woman.
Her hair was long, framing her oval face, and it
was, startlingly, of the color and luster of silver.
She had the kind of face which would shine
through all around her no matter the
circumstances. Moichi could feel her intense aura
all the way across the room and was reminded
piercingly of

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 126

Aufeya. She wore a silk suit of deep green which
perfectly matched her large, inquisitive eyes.

  "I am the Senhora Seguillas y Oriwara," she said
in a voice like an ice floe. "May I know why you
have come here?"

  Somehow Moichi was not surprised by this
abrupt and decidedly inhospitable greeting. The
Daluzans were quite schizophrenic in this regard.
They were fiercely polite, even to the point of
exasperation. But on the other hand they could as
easily be disconcertingly blunt when they so chose.

  "My apologies for disturbing you, senhora,"
Moichi said, inclining his head slightly. He used
the polite grammatical construction. "I am Moichi
Annai-Nin of Iskael and my companion is Chiisai
of Ama-no-mori." He paused, hoping for a
reaction. He got one.

  The Senhora's eyes widened a fraction and she
stepped into the room. The mustachioed man
stood just outside the room's threshold as still as
a statue.

  "An Iskamen and a Bujun," the Senhora said.
With some of the chill gone from her voice,
Moichi could hear its true melodiousness. ''An odd
pair, to say the least." She indicated the man
behind her. "Chimmoku tells me you claim to have
sailed here aboard one of my lorchas. Which one?"

"The Chocante," Moichi said. "Armaz6n is the
bostun."

  "I see." The Senhora glanced back at Chimmoku
for a moment, her hands clasped against her long
thighs. "I did not even know that particular craft
had left Corruna."

"Senhora, your daughter commandeered the
Chocante."

  "Indeed." The eyes flashed briefly. "And where
was she headed, Moichi Annai-Nin?"

  "That I do not know. I came across her in
Sha'angh'sei." No point in telling her about the
Sha-rida. "She told me she had been blown off
course by a storm. That she had not meant to
come to Sha'angh'sei." He took a deep breath.
Now for the difficult part. "She also told me that
she was being pursued by a man." He paused
again, expecting an outburst. But the Senhora
stood calmly before him, her expression
unchanged.

  "Tell me, Moichi Annai-Nin," the Senhora said
slowly, "why have you come here?"

"Your daughter has been abducted," Moichi said.

  The Senhora turned and glanced at Chimmoku
again before addressing Moichi. "I am afraid dhere
has been some mistake."

  "Pardon me for saying so, senhora, but no
mistake has been made. A man named
Hellsturm "

126 Erlc V. Leader
 "Hellsturm "

"Yes, you know him then?"

 "What? No. No, I know no such person. The
name seemed odd to me, that is all."

"This man Hellsturm snatched Aufeya "

 The Senhora drew herself up, her eyes
imperiously cold. "What is it you want from me,
senhor. Money? Ships? You have made a grave
error. You will get nothing from me. Now if you
will "

 "Senhora!'' He felt as if reality were slipping
through his fingers, dreamlike. "Perhaps my
knowledge of Daluzan is inadequate. Shall I
repeat myself? Your "

 "Yes, I know. My daughter has been abducted
by a man with an odd name. Quite a fanciful
story a mer-man's tale, in Daluzan idiom."

 "My friend was murdered by this man
Hellsturm. He gave his life to protect Aufeya."

 "I am sorry about your friend, Moichi
Annai-Nin. Truly I am. But, you see, this has no
interest for me." The Senhora nodded in
dismissal. "I have no daughter." At last her hands
unclasped. "Now good day to you both.
Chimmoku will see you out." With that, she
turned and left them there.

 Outside, they stood at the edge of the plaza for
a moment. The Seguillas y Oriwara house
towered over them, mute and mysterious.

 They went toward the copse of olive trees, sat
down on a bench near the fountain. The old men
were gone but the blackbirds had not abandoned
their arboreal world. Oblique light found its way
into the plaza between the gaps of the
surrounding buildings and the tops of the trees
were aflame with the light of sunset.

 "Were you able to understand what was said in
there?" Moichi said.

 Chiisai nodded. "Pretty much. I'm excellent in
linguistics." She changed into Daluzan to
illustrate. "Why do you think the Senhora was
Iying to us?"

 Moichi raised his eyebrows and smiled. "Well,
I see you are a fast learner."

 She laughed. "I had Rohia teach me in the
evening when he was off watch."

"Very clever of you." His smile faded as he
recalled the

BENEATH AN OPAk MOON- I27

recent scene inside the Seguillas y Oriwara house.
"Something is very amiss."

 "I'll say. The Senhora's daughter leaves Corruna
secretly, is threatened by a strange man, is finally
captured by him, and the Senhora's only reaction
is to deny Aufeya's existence. It makes no sense."

"Not yet it doesn't. But at least we have a starting
point."

"You mean the Senhora?"

"That is exactly what I mean."

"But she will tell us nothing."

  "Then we shall just have to find a way of making
her talk, won't we?"

  "On the other hand, if Rohja successfully finds
out about where that other ship docked, we might
not need the Senhora's help at all," Chiisai pointed
out.

  Moichi was about to tell her that life never
seemed to be that simple when he heard a hissing
sound from within the shadows of the dense
foliage and he turned, one hand on the hilt of his
sword. lust above and to one side of the fountain,
he saw the vague outline of a human head. He
and Chiisai rose and went closer, standing beside
the fountain. He saw the face clearly then and
recognised those eyes as the ones regarding him
from behind the sliding door in the Seguillas y
Oriwara house.

  "Senhor," she breathed, and he nodded. "I could
not help but overhear what you told Chimmoku.
Do you know what has happened to Auteya?"

  "As I told the Senhora," Moichi said. "She has
been am ducted."

  "Oh, Dihos!" The young woman's cry was choked
off as she brought her hands across her mouth.

  "What do you know of this?" Moichi demanded.
The woman seemed to shrink back into the
shadows, murmuring.

  "Let me try," Chiisai whispered to him and then,
to the woman, "What is your name, senhora?"

"Tola, senhora. I am Aufeya's doncella."

Chiisai turned her head. "Maid," Moichi
whispered.

  "I am Chiisai," she said. "And this is Moichi. We
are friends of Aufeya." She pointed for emphasis.
"Moichi saved her life in Sha'angh'sei."

Tola stared from Chiisai to Moichi. "Is this so?"

Moichi nodded.

"How how does she look?" Tola asked.

12~3 Eric V. Lustbader

 Both Chiisai and Moichi looked bewildered.
"She was fine," Moichi said. "But you must have
seen her before she left."

 "Yes." Now it was Tola's turn to look puzzled.
''But that was many seasons ago. No one here has
seen her since she  she left with the Tudescan."

"Who was that?'' Chiisai asked. "What was his
name?"

 "Why, Hellsturm, of course.'' She wrung her
hands. ''Oh, I knew that was an ill-omened day."

 Chiisai leaned forward, touched the doncella.
"Are you certain, Tola? Aufeya left Corruna with
this man Hellsturrn."

 "Ay, yes, senhora. How could I forget? That day
the Senhora told all of us, 'As far as this house is
concemed, my daughter is dead.' "

"What do you mean?" Chiisai asked.

"Dihos! I have been gone too long. Perdoname, I
must go."

 "Wait!" Chiisai cried. But Tola was gone,
darting into the trees and out the other side,
using the shadows of the building to reach the far
side of the plaza.

 They found a smoky taverna of white adobe and
blackened wood in between a barber shop and a
building that was obviously a communal medical
clinic; there was a long queue passing through the
wide-open doors and out into the street. Inside,
they could make out the shapes of several prone
figures and smell the scent of various
herbal-based medicaments.

 The taverna was not as crowded as those in
Sha'angh'sei. It was painted a brilliant white, its
low ceiling banded by thick beams. One wall was
taken up by an enormous stone hearth whose
function was obviously ornamental, for the
kitchen could be seen behind a wooden
copper-topped counter.

 They found an empty table. The only people
near them were a pair of cures Daluzan
priests garbed in the traditional black dresses
and stiff square hats. One was quite young with
rosy cheeks and a thick bulbous nose. The other,
obviously older, with salt-and-pepper hair and a
spade-shaped beard, was a cure of no little rank,
Moichi observed, for around his neck swung the
gold chain and heavy double-cross pendant,
symbol of the Daluzan church

 As they sat down, a stunning waitress brought
them a pot of compana, the very fine local wine,
golden in colon Moichi ordered for them while
the woman poured the wine.

"Is it not interesting," Chiisai said, after she had
sipped at

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 129

the cup, "that now the matter of Auteya has been
somewhat clarified and also made more complex?"

"Yes. We now know why the Senhora disavowed
her to

us."

"At least it was not a lie."

  "In that sense, no. But, on the other hand, she
made no attempt to aid us and I find that curious.
After all, Auteya is her daughter. Would she really
prefer to see her dead rather than lift a hand to
aid her?"

  Chiisai shrugged. "We could debate that point all
night and not reach a satisfactory conclusion."

  Moichi grinned at her as the food arrived. "You
have a way of cutting right to the heart of the
matter, Chiisai. I like that. Now this is what I
propose. When we leave here, I will return to the
Seguillas y Oriwara to find out what I can. As for
you, there is yet another avenue that needs
exploration. Cascaras the Daluzan Hellsturm
tortured, is from here also. Aufeya told me that he
was once a trader of sorts. I would like you to
follow that up."

  "But where shall I begin? I hardly know enough
of Corrufia yet. "

  "There is a place in the centerof the city, the
mercado. It is a meeting place for the merchants
and traders, not only of Corrufia but of all
Dalucia. I would suggest you start there. Perhaps
someone knows where in Kintai he journeyed."

  "Hmph," Chiisai exclaimed with mock hurt. "You
just don't want me around when you interview the
Senhora."

"Whatever gave you such an extraordinary idea?"

"I saw the way you looked at her."

"I didn't look at her in any special way," he lied.

  "I was joking, actually." She smiled archly. "But
now I wonder you've protested so vehemently."

  "On another subject," Moichi said pointedly, "I
want both of us there when we rendezvous with
Robja. So meet me at the top of Calle Cordel just
before midnight."

She nodded and began to eat.

  As their conversation sputtered to a halt, Moichi
was able to pick up some of what transpired
between the two cures at the next table.

  " the money goes, Don Gode?" said the cure
with the spade-shaped beard. "The entire western
facade of the iglesia must be dismantled so that it
can be enlarged. Do you suppose

130 Eric V. Lustbader

we can count on the Palliate for all the funds for
this?" His tone was disdainful.

 ' But all that stained glass is so frightfully
expensive," said Don Gode, the young cure.
''Surely, Don Hispete, we can devise a less
expensive style in enlarging the iglesia. And the
money saved could be used to help feed and
clothe "

 "My dear Don Gode." the other interrupted,
heaving a great sigh as if the cares of the world
were couched upon his shoulders, "have you any
conception of the areas of Corrufia our iglesia
encompasses? These are monied parishioners,
men and women of great prestige and honor. And
our new iglesia must reflect this grandeur."

"But we are taught "

 "Yes, yes. I know all that," Don Hispete said
irritably. "I was once in the Palliate seminario
myself. Although, Dihos knows, it seems faraway
to me now. But when you have been with us here
a sufficient amount of time, you will begin to
understand the complexities of running an iglesia
in the Palliate." He reached into a serving dish,
plucking out a tiny boiled potato dripping with
cream. He popped it into his mouth, said around
it as he chewed, "What you must remember, Don
Gode, out here in the field, as it were, is to forget
everything you learned at the seminario." He
laughed uproariously, swallowing.

 He plucked up another potato. "Come, come,
my boy, surely you know I speak figuratively. But
the hard truth is that life out here is much
different. Books, after all, are no substitute for
life, eh?" He lifted one fat forefinger. A thick
gold ring gleamed, embedded in the pink flesh
near its base. "Do you understand? No?" He
brought a sliver of meat to his mouth, chewed on
it. "I agree. It would be very nice to use the
money we have so laboriously raised to aid those
neediest. But reality dictates otherwise." Grease
glinted along his half-open lips. A bit of meat sat
on his rounded chin, atop the curling black hairs
of his thick beard. "However much our hearts tell
us to do otherwise, we have a duty to the Palliate
that must override such personal preferences." He
took a quick gulp of wine and belched. "We get
our money from our parishioners, Don Gode. Let
me tell you, it's quite a task making ends meet in
these times. Oh, seasons ago it was much easier,
but we have grown since then and times have
changed, quite naturally. It is now a most complex
business. Money makes the Palliate flourish, Don
Gode, never forget that. Faith is all well and
good. We

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 141

mastery of the whole world. But this, too, you will
comprehend when I return from the Land of the
Opal Moon."

  For a moment Chiisai stood perfectly still. She
felt as if she had lost all breath and the rhythmic
thudding of her heart was lilce a series of
concussions against her rib cage. "Mar " She
cleared her throat. "Martyne, did I hear you aright?
Did Cascaras say he was journeying to the Land of
the Opal Moon?"

  "Yes. I did not recall it before. Why? Surely, it's
merely a figure of speech?"

  "Merely a figure " Chiisai stared at her. "You do
not know?"

  "Know what? Cascaras often talked in such
flowery language. It was a kind of verbal code he
made up for himself to protect his destinations
from those who might overhear."

  "Not this time." She put down her empty cup and
rose. "You have been of enormous help. More than
you realize. At last I know the cause of all of this."

  Martyne was staring at Chiisai curiously, for this
last she had said to herself.

"I'm glad I could help but "

  "Never mind. Perhaps I'll be able to explain it to
you one day. Goodbye, Martyne." And on light feet
she left the mercado.

  Behind her, a shadow detached itself from a
darkened corner and slipped out after her into the
night.

  The room was painted a very dark blue, deeper
even than the evening sky. The hue was enhanced
by the domed ceiling crisscrossed by narrow arching
gilt beams. Around the walls, too, the blue plaster
panels were surrounded by gilt edging. Paintings of
ships were hung at intervals.

  The room was dominated by an enormous down
bed, very high, with a brass headboard and a
coverlet of exquisite manufacture, of various shades
of green. Great leaded-glass windows opened out
onto a lush garden in back.

  In all, it was an unusual chamber bespeaking
iconoclastic tastes. Yet by far the most remarkable
feature was the painting. It hung as huge as a
harvest moon directly over the bed in a heavy
ornate gilt frame. It was so arresting, so chilling
that one was compelled to wonder how she could
sleep at night beneath its visage.

- It depicted a Daluzan farmer, muscles bulging, skin
sweatslick, in an open field painted in- such
perspective that it ap

142 Eric V. I`ustbader

peered to go on forever, flat and changeless. One
great arm was around his wife's waist; she
cowered into the protection of his massive chest
and shoulder as she desperately held on to a
small child. In his other hand, the farmer held a
great wooden-handled scythe which he had
obviously been using to harvest his field. Now,
however, it was raised into the darkening night
sky, for swooping down upon him and his terrified
family was an enormous creature, half man, half
bat. The wide wings seemed to beat at the heavy
air. Long curving talons extended from animal
hands and human feet, darting at the farmer's
throat.

  Just as the Senhora Seguillas y Oriwara's
extended fingers were slashing at Moichi's neck.
Yet, oddly, he was able to take all the room in as
they struggled across the floor.

  Moichi knew the basic blocks, but this could
only be termed a holding action for he had no
offensive training in koppo. Too, if she was an
adept, it would not take her long to circumvent
his knowledge of the basics.

  His flesh stung and his bones began to ache. He
blocked another vicious strike aimed at his
collarbone. Were it to land, he would be
immediately disabled.

  He rolled her over, using the force of her own
momentum to bring them both around fully, and,
as he rode on top for just an instant, used his
superior weight to drive his elbow and forearm
into her stomach. Still she came on with a nose
strike that would surely render him unconscious
if it struck. In utter desperation, he jammed his
elbow home again, crouched and used the full
bulk of his shoulder, driving downward, thinking
of her as a male opponent.

  "Oh!" The breath whooshed out of her and she
began to double up. She tried to gasp but he held
her down and no air was coming in. She gagged,
about to choke on her own vomit, and he let her
up, pinioning her arms behind her in a grip like
iron. She rocked against his shoulder, gaining her
wind. Astonishingly rapidly, he felt the strength
returning to her arms. He tightened his grip on
her wrists.

  "Now, senhora," he said. "Like it or no, you will
listen to what I have to tell you."

  He stared coldly down at her. Her eyes flew
open, the pain fast diminishing, and, as he
watched the tiny brown flecks in the jade, he
began to realise how extraordinarily beautiful she
was.

With an effort, he began to speak. "Cascaras is
dead, sen

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 148

hora. Tortured and then butchered in a Sha'angh'sei
taverns." "What is that to me?" she said savagely.
"I know no one by that name. " She twisted
violently, attempting to free herself from his
savage grip.

  "Perhaps not," he said calmly. "But I think you
do know of him. For he was a friend of your
daughter's. When I met her, senhora, Auteya was
in Sha'angh'sei, about to be sold at auction in the
Sha-rida."

  A swift intake of breath and, for the first time,
he saw true emotion swimming within the jade
seas of her eyes. Fear.

  "Yes, the Sha-rida, senhora, where a hideous
death awaits all who are sold. This would certainly
have been her fate had not I and a friend
intervened. Later, she told me she was being
pursued by a man, the same man who, I believe,
murdered Cascaras. It was but ill fortune which
took them both to the same city, for they had
planned it otherwise." He watched her face closely
and it seemed to him that it was constantly
changing now, but perhaps it was only the dim
light combining with his own fancy. "Auleya was
terrified of this man, senhora, and I made the
mistake of leaving her for a time. He came and
took her, the man, and in the process slew my
friend. And I tell you now, senhora, I mean to find
Auteya and bring her back just as I mean to
destroy this man, Hellsturm."

  Her arms pinioned behind her caused her firm
breasts to thrust out at him as if awaiting his
caress. In their battle, the tied top of her blouse
had come undone and now he could see all of the
tops down almost to the nipples. These were most
apparent as they pushed against the thin material.
He tore his gaze away and said, "Now I want you
to answer my questions. "

  She stared up at his face and under her acute
gaze he felt himself suffused with a peculiar
feeling.

  "Let go of me," she whispered. "Please." Her eyes
closed for an instant, then opened. She was very
close to him. He shifted his grip on her wrists to
aid circulation and this brought her torso forward
so that the hardened tips of her breasts grazed his
chest.

  "Release me," she murmured against the hollow
of his neck. "Release me and I'll tell you all you
wish to know." She moaned as if in pain. "All I
know." Then, as if she were reading his mind, "I
will not use the koppo."

Slowly, his hands came away from her wrists. But
he did

144 Erlc V. Lustbader

not take his eyes from hers for it was there that
he would know if she meant to betray him.

 She flexed her fingers, bringing them upward.
She stared into his eyes. Her fingers came against
him. This time softly, with no malice.

 "What do you wish to know?" Voice like the
sigh of the wind at night.

 Her arms reaching, her fingers climbing his
chest, past his shoulders until they went behind
his head, twined in his hair. She pulled his head
down to hers.

"I shall tell you," she whispered, "everything."

 But her lips opened under his, her tongue
licking at his teeth. Her torso pressed against him
and then she moved in some subtle way he was
unable to fathom and her legs were apart,
scissoring about his hips. He felt the frantic
pressure of her as his arms surrounded her,
pressing at the base of her spine.

 A rustling; and then a soft moaning, echoing on
and on and on.

 There was time now before she met Moichi at
the top of Calle C6rdel and, striding along
Corruna's night-dark streets, she began to look
for an open taverna, hoping that it was not too
late. She needed some time alone, to think.

 She had taken the first corner on her side of
the street as soon as she had left the mercado,
even though her mind had been filled by what
Martyne had unknowingly told her.

 It was a matter of routine. Bujun training. It
was, in fact, part instinct, which was perhaps one
of the reasons why it was so monstrously effective.

 Turning the corner was the first basic, used
whenever one was in a foreign city, and she had
automatically begun to listen to the sound of her
own footsteps, then sorting, one by one, through
the other sounds of the night around her: trees
rustling in the wind, the cicadas' whine, and
explosion of distant laughter, echoing, a door
slamming and, further away, a dog barking
angrily. Then she picked up the footfalls.

 And she had known she was being followed
almost as soon as she had made the turn.

 She did not vary her pace but continued to walk
down the street as if nothing was amiss. She
required two things now from her surroundings.
Another corner and a deep doorway, although a
dark alley would do, too, in a pinch.

Corner came up and she went around it to the
left, her eyes

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 145

alert for the deep shadows. Time became critical
now because there was little of it. She had to have
disappeared before

Found it. Slipped in on the left.

Waited, listening intently.

 She remained quite still as she heard the sound
of the footfalls approaching. She tensed her
muscles, ready to She frowned. Something wrong
in the sound.

"Chiisai?"

Gods! she thought. It's Martyne.

"Chiisai! "

 She began to sweat because she knew what was
wrong now. The sounds of the footfalls had
changed. There were two to look out for and she
was remembering what had been done to Kossori.

 Could see a figure now. Martyne. A silhouette
turning chiaroscuro as she passed a lantern. Then
a return to darkness. And it had to be now, before
she passed once more into light. It was a chance
and Chiisai briefly debated whether to let her pass
by. But this, too, was dangerous, especially if
Martyne was on the other side.

 Darted out, one hand reaching for Martyne's
arm, the other cupped over her opening mouth.
Back into the doorway.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered fiercely.

"Chit " The hand came over her mouth again.

"Whisper!"

 "I came to warn you," Martyne said softly,
breathlessly. "Someone is following you."

"I know."

"Oh." And then, "Oh, I'm sorry. Now I've ruined
it."

 Chiisai gazed out along the street. "Perhaps not."
She strained to hear the footfalls. The heavier
ones. And now she heard them, knew it was too
late to get the other woman safely away from here.
Well, she would just have to push her back into
the shadows and hope no one saw her.

 "Don't worry," Martyne whispered. "I'm armed."
She reached silently down to her waist, withdrew
something.

 Chiisai stared at it. It was fully half a meter in
length, longer than any knife she had ever seen
before. Its blade was of an unusual construction,
triangular. Chiisai had seen one like it in a village
in the countryside of Ama-no-mori. It was a
hunter's knife, it was explained to her, the blade
giving it exceptional force when it pierced the
animal's flesh: One must reach a vital organ quickly
and without destroying the flesh, for one hunts

146 Eric V. Lustbal1er

onlyforfood. This knife of Martyne's, she knew,
was a potent weapon, perfect for close combat.

 "It's a miss'ra," Martyne whispered. "A
Tudescan military weapon."

 Chiisai saw by the way she held the miss'ra that
she knew how to use it. And abruptly she was
happy to have this strange woman at her
side for she could pick out at least five distinct
sets of footsteps. Closing now.

 She drew her dai-katana, the Bujun longsword.
It was named, as was the custom with all
weapons, at the moment it had first tasted blood.
Chiisai's was known as Kishsu-shi, the Deathrider.

 She could see the glint of metal now as they
passed through the penumbra of the lantern and
then returned to darkness. She turned to
Martyne, whispered, "If we should get separated
somehow, meet me at the top of Calle Cordel at
midnight. No one must follow you there. Do you
understand?"

Martyne nodded. "You can count on me."

Chiisai fervently hoped so.

 With a chill battle cry, Chiisai leapt into the
street, the daikatana held high above her in a
two-handed grip, already beginning its lethal
downward sweep as soon as she had planted her
feet firmly on the cobbles.

 They were massive, their shadows, looming,
larger by far even than Moichi. But she was a
Bujun, a warrior from birth.

 Kishsu-shi split the night air, humming, then
slammed into the collarbone of one of the men
on the left, opening him up to his navel. The
corpse danced drunkenly, spewing blood and
organs into the street. The man had not even had
time to cry out.

 Their swords were straight, perhaps heavier
than her own, double-bladed. But they had not
been forged by the Bujun, the supreme masters in
such things. Her blade wove a deadly web of
silver in the air as pink and gold sparks flew at
the points where the weapons intersected,
clashing deafeningly one against the other.

 Her opponents, she saw now, were sturdy
Tudescans, immensely powerful and disciplined.
These two before her worked in perfect unison,
timing their blows and movements as if both
sword arms belonged to one body.

 Chiisai was aware, after only a few moments,
that Martyne had neither been Iying nor
exaggerating about the savagery of

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 147

the Tudescans. These were animals in the guise of
men, murderous fanatics, appallingly dangerous.

 She began to feel fatigue for it was as if she
battled an ungiving brick wall. Yes, she supposed
she was quicker in her reflexes, but these warriors
had only to move their huge weapons fractionally
in order to block her thrusts. This, of course, was
what they were counting on. Once she slowed
down, even slightly, they would move in for the
kill.

 There was a strategy open to her. She could
feign more fatigue than she actually felt, thus
forcing them to commit themselves prematurely.
But this, she felt certain, would fool but one of
them. Still

 She slowed down her defences and, immediately,
the Tudescan on the right attacked her with
ferocious acumen. Chiisai cried out and, ducking
beneath the murderous blow, swept her sword in
on a horizontal strike, leaning into it with all her
might. The man went down as if pole-axed.

 Now she stepped back, hearing for the first time
the sounds of battle behind her. Martyne.

 She withdrew her shorter blade and now she
stood, feet wide apart, doubly weaponed. She
attacked, slashing high against one warrior, using
Kishsu-shi in a horizontal strike across his chest.
This he blocked effortlessly by bringing his own
sword up obliquely. But Chiisai had already begun
the inward movement of the shorter sword. He
saw it at the last instant and all he could do was
move his body. It was not nearly enough to save
him. The blade's point punctured him on the left
side but, as Chiisai compensated for his defensive
motion, the sword slashed in toward his spine. His
knees buckled and he knelt on the cobbles as if
praying to his gods. Then he toppled over and lay
still.

 The fourth Tudescan moved in more cautiously.
But she had made a mistake in watching his face
and thus missed the blur of his swordpoint. It had
not been aimed directly at her so there was no
reflex action on her part. But the warrior had
contrived to slap her short sword a glancing blow.
Still, the blade was so huge and the force behind
it so awesome that the strike sent her short sword
whirling out of her grasp, clattering across the
cobbles.

 She went low, then high, and he blocked them
both. And all the while he was forcing her back,
slashing at her again and again. She realized that
she was expending energy more rapidly than she
would want. She saw too that she was coming

148 Eric V. Lustbader

to an alley, which meant a more confined space.
She would be at a distinct disadvantage wielding
the long dai-katana. The only thing to do was to
get rid of it.

 Thus, in the entranceway to the alley, she
allowed him to disarm her. Then she fell, rolling
into him with enough force to bowl him over. As
he went down, she withdrew her dirk and slashed
out, stabbing.

 He was now constrained to release his own
sword for, at these close quarters, it was more of
a hindrance than a help. But he got one hand up
quickly enough to ward off her first blow, deflect
the second, and then he was into a counterattack
which almost undid her.

 She panted and fought while he endeavored to
get on top of her in order to use his superior
weight to full advantage. She knew, however, that
if she allowed this to happen, it would be the end
for her and so she switched hands, driving the
dirk's blade from the opposite side. He saw it
only at the last moment and he tried to deflect it
again. But this time he was unprepared for the
angle and thus missed its coming in.

 Nevertheless, it was not a killing blow, the blade
passing through the fleshy area just above the
pelvis on the right side. He gritted his teeth and
tried once more for supremacy but Chiisai held
on, twisting the blade, with a tenaciousness that
balked him.

 Then he threw her off and, gaining his feet,
stumbled off down the alley, thinking only now of
resuming from whence he had come.

 Chiisai, aware of his intent, was obliged to
make another split-instant decision: to stay and
help Martyne or to follow the Tudescan. In the
end, it was not much of a decision because,
realistically, the odds were piled on one side. And
the odds said that if she were able to successfully
follow this warrior without being detected, he
would lead her to Hellsturm. Once his base was
known, she would hopefully still have time to
make the rendezvous with Moichi.

 Sheathing her dai-katana and retrieving her
short sword, she went carefully down the alley,
following the Tudescan home.

"You know, you look Daluzan."

 Her fine face was softened now by the loss of
tension, streaked with a combination of saliva and
sweat.

"That is why I did not believe your story."

And Moichi thought, She looks almost as young
as Aufeya

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 149

now. Younger, in some sense. She possessed a kind of
littlegirl quality that was hard to describe. Soft and
vulnerable yet without a trace of the weakness he
despised in people.

 "I am quite wealthy," Senhora Seguillas y Oriwara
said softly, "as you no doubt know. This makes me a
target." She was completely naked, Iying beside him
atop the coverlet of greens, her body magnificent in its
dusky sensuality. Shadows pooling in the sweeping
concavities lent her flesh a mysteriousness of aspect
matching her spirit. "There are very few days that go
by when someone or other is not seeking money. " She
sighed, softly, turning against him in the enormous
bed. The darkness of the painting rising above their
heads was subtly oppressive. "I rarely go out now
because often far too often these people no longer
ask but demand." Her eyes stared into his. "Can you
understand that position, being a man?"

 He laughed, attempting to leach away some of her
returned anxiety. It had leapt from her to him at first
contact and had pursued him doggedly throughout
their time of loving. "But with the koppo "

 She shook her head. ''You see, you don't
understand. Whether I am a warrior, whether I can
defend myself in whatever manner I choose, has
absolutely no bearing on this." She put a hand on his
chest, spread her fingers, caressing his skin. "Tell me,
would a man, whether skilled or not as a warrior ever
find himself in such a position?"

 He saw her point and shook his head. "No." She
relaxed somewhat.

"You mean that, don't you?"

"Yes, of course. I would not say it otherwise."

"Not even to please me?"

"Do I not please you in ways that are more honest?"

 -  For the first time since he had met her earlier
that day, he

saw her smile. "Yes. Yes. As I have pleased you?"

 "As you have pleased me, yes." He took her hand
from his flesh, kissed it. "Do you not care about your
daughter?"

 She came onto her back, staring up at the domed
vault of the cathedral ceiling. "A very long time ago,"
she said in a quiet voice, wrapped in the veils of the
past, "I was an independent woman. I sailed the seas
on my own ship, battled, taking what I wanted,
commanding a crew of thirty-seven, all fiercely loyal to
me and me alone. Does that surprise you?'' She
looked over at him for a moment, just the flick of a
glance.

150 --Eric V. ~6tbader.

 "Not particularly. There is a storm inside of
you. I felt it all the time we made love, a tidal
wave of emotion. You are far too strong to be
known as someone else's wife, no matter how
influential or wealthy he might be."

 She made no comment to this, merely returned
her gaze heavenward and continued. '1 was
happy, yet, at the same time, filled with an
inexplicable sadness which would overwhelm me
when I lay down to sleep. It got so that I began to
dread, then hate, the night. I could not remain in
my cabin, oppressed as I was by that nameless
terror, so I would walk the decks, avoiding those
on watch, save for the bos'un, who, the first night
he saw me up and pacing, brought me a mug of
hot grog. And every night after that.

 "It helped somewhat, being alone in the night as
if I could cleanse myself in the starlight and the
moonlight. But all that ran through my head was
the thought, It's not enough.

"But what was it I wanted?"

  A nightingale, perched upon the branches of
the spreading pine in the garden outside the
opened windows, began to sing. Over its shoulder,
he could see the thinnest slice of the new moon
like a sliver of delicate melon served up at the
end of a banquet. Above the treetop, the sluice of
the stars, part of the River of Heaven, as sailors
throughout the known world called it.

  "Soon I became convinced that it was more
money I craved. Thus, I assuaged my sadness and
fear by falling in with someone I met in a far-off
port by the shore of a river that has no name. We
made a pact. I was given many implements
which would aid me, and within the space of a
single season I had gathered in more money than
I had in the previous eight or nine. I began to
sleep at nights and I was certain that I had found
my cure.

  "My partner, of course, got half of all I took in,
but that bothered me not at all for the ship was
always riding low on the sea with the vast
amounts of gold and silver and precious stones I
had acquired.

  "So it went for many seasons, the ease of it at
first astounding and then, in the course of time,
taken for granted. But all too soon I found myself
again not able to sleep at night as I lay awake,
crying in my cabin. I had not, after all, found my
cure."

He watched the rhythmic rise and fall of her
breasts as she

BENEN1~6N OPAL-MOON ~G1

spoke, the play of soft light and shadow over the
features of her face.

  "Now, my partner requested certain things of
me assignments, you might call them. Some I had
no compunction against doing, others did not sit
well with me. But when I balked, my partner
insisted and I found myself, abruptly, in an
untenable position. Thus I began to be
manipulated as I was coerced. Now, this peculiar
unformed terror seized me always until at last I
could bear the pain in my mind no longer. I went
to my partner and said that I had no stomach for
the work. I was laughed at. She spat in my face
and told me that, didn't I know? All who worked
for her did so for the length of their own lives.

  "I told her that I could not bear to work for her
a moment longer and threw at her feet all the
arcane implements she had given me. She was
enraged. She shook her fist at me, saying that she
could slay me now but would not, that one day I
would remember that moment and wish she had
destroyed me then."

  She turned her head and looked at him, the light
turning her jade eyes black for a moment.

  "But I had to leave, you see, for I had at last
found out what it was that distressed me so. In the
course of my travels I had met someone. I had left
him, you see. Well, I had to; my work dictated
that. Now I realized that he was what I missed so
terribly that it was a scar upon my heart, throbbing
every night. I never saw him again, of course. One
never does in situations like that; the world is far
too vast. And, in any event, too much time had
passed to make such a search practicable.

  "Thus, when I took leave of my partner, I went
ashore in search of a man who would make me
happy. In due time, I met Milhos Seguillas and
never again have I been to sea." She was silent for
a moment and Moichi found himself wondering,
despite his fascination with her story, just what all
this had to do with Aufoya. "I do not want my
daughter to repeat my mistakes," she said at last.

  "I am afraid there is not much one can do about
such things. Life, it seems, is oftentimes the only
valid teacher."

"Yes, I have learned that. The hard way."

"What do you mean?"

  She sat up, as if some inner turmoil would not
now let her rest.

  "We have not been on the best of terms,
Aufeya and 1. Not for a long time. And before she
left before she left, what

152 Eric V. Lustbader

little we did speak to each other was awful. We
argued constantly. "

"About what?"

 She turned her head away from him for a
moment, her thick hair sliding across her
shoulders. "Oh, well, the usual things between
mother and daughter. Everything everything was
blown out of all proportion."

"Why did she run away, then?"

She was silent, still turned away from him.

 He reached out and touched her neck. "She did
run away, didn't she?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

 He could feel the tension singing in every
muscle of her body. "Yes, you do," he told her
gently. "I think you want to talk about it very
much."

 She moved back against him, a minute shift, but
it conveyed so much; He felt the vibrations,
realized belatedly that she was crying silently,
perhaps ashamed that he should see her thus,
more naked than ever she could be in purely
physical terms.

 Slowly he put his arms around her, holding her
to him, feeling the weight of her breasts against
his wrists. He rocked her gently, waiting for her
to continue.

 At length, she did. "I had only been in Corruna
a very short time when I met Milhos, you see.
Before that directly before mat I had been in
Rhein Tudesca on the last of my business
assignments for my partner. I had met a man
there, a strange, magnetic, beautiful man and for
the time I had been in port  well, I stayed with
him. It was Hellsturm."

 Outside, the nightingale had ceased its song and
now even the darkness itself seemed to be
holding its breath. But the night seemed a million
miles away to him, part of another universe where
people loved and laughed, did mundane things
such as have dinner, go out to a play or perhaps
just stroll quietly down near the sea. Here, a kind
of chilling numbness had entered the room at
some time when he had been looking elsewhere.
Now it seemed to enwrap them both even as the
leathery wings of the gigantic man-bat sought to
enfold the Daluzan family above their heads.

 "Many seasons later, he came to Corruna for he
had heard that was where I was bound when I left
him. By that time, I was already married to
Milhos and deeply in love. But none of that
seemed to matter to him. He wanted me. He was
persistent, but at last I prevailed upon him to
leave me alone. I

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 153

spent a night with him. Milhos knew none of this,
then. I knew how he would take it. He was a man
of great honor.

 "Then, for many seasons, life went on and I
forgot all about Hellsturm. I became pregnant and
I had Aufoya. Both Milhos and I were delighted.
She grew up. Time seems to accelerate when you
have a child. Then, inexplicably, Hellsturm
returned as if from the mists beyond time itself
and it all began again. Except this time there was
Aufeya." She put her hands against her face, her
fingers slender and lovely, her long nails gleaming.
When she took them away, her eyes seemed
haunted, the green dulled. "She was at an age
when everything seems difficult. She is an
extraordinarily beautiful girl, my Aufeya, and at
that time she was just ripening. She was wild and
never more so than at that age. She longed to be
a woman and thus delighted in keeping around as
many men as she could manage. It was a goodly
number. I objected to this most strenuously,
sending them away. And she was furious. But I did
not think it right. I too, was wild when I was her
age and I begrudged her no wildness of her own.
But I had had no benefit of parents in my youth
and had gotten into so much trouble that at times
later I would wonder how I lived to become a
woman. This danger I could not allow to touch
Aufeya. Yet my restrictions only served to make
her more contrary and we argued ceaselessly." She
shook her head and he watched her eyes.

 "Into this came Hellsturm, wanting the same
thing. This time I refused him utterly; it was out of
the question, I told him. I had thought, I suppose
foolishly, that one night would get rid of him
forever." She ran her fingers through her hair, her
head lifted, and now he saw the motes in her eyes,
as bright as flecks of gold. "He got to Aufeya. At
school, at the mercado, at a taverna; there were
any number of places. He told her many
things some, I imagine, based on truth. But he
has a way of twisting everything, even the truth, so
that it serves his purpose. He has a tongue of gold,
that one." She took his hand, palm upward, traced
the lines of his thumb and fingers. "Easy enough to
guess what happened next. He seduced her as he
had seduced me so many seasons before. But in
the process he poisoned her mind against me. She
went off with hire, Dihos only knows where. And
that was the last I saw of her. "

"What about the Senhor." Said it very softly.

 He felt her shudder. "I had to tell him, then,
naturally. His temper was, at times, uncontrollable
and, as I said, he was a

154 Eric V. Lustbader

terribly proud man. He challenged Hellsturm to
a duel."

 Now Moichi recalled in full Armaz6n's words
and wondered, Could he be right? Could the
Senhora have been in league with Hellsturm
against Milhos Seguillas? But for what reason?
There was one possible answer: The Senhora had
loved her husband but perhaps she loved her
daughter more.

 "Dihos, I was terrified! I knew from experience
what Hellsturm was like and I knew that despite
his prowess Milhos had little chance of surviving
against him. So I pleaded with him. I cried, I
screamed, I threatened. But it was no good. I am
not Daluzan, you see. I am not of the blood. l
had no clear idea, then, just how sacred was the
Daluzan duel. Once the challenge had been given,
there was no way to rescind it, even if Milhos had
wanted to, which he certainly did not. There was
no turning him away." She stopped abruptly, as if
she had come to the end of her tale.

"Go on," he prompted.

 "There is nothing much left to tell, really.
Milhos met Hellsturm and died."

 There was silence for a time and he listened to
the quietude of the night interrupted, only briefly,
by a soft clatter of wings. He wondered if a storm
was on the way. Inside this room, he had no way
of telling if the wind had shifted.

"I had heard about the duel before, I must
confess."

 Her hand moved back and forth over the
turned-back coverlet, smoothing nonexistent
wrinkles.

 "Aboard the lorcha," he continued, trying to get
her attention. "But then it had a somewhat
different ending."

"Oh?" She did not even turn around.

"It was said that the duel had not been fair."

 She laughed without humor. "Would that it
were so, Moichi. For then Hellsturm would be
fair game for me to hunt down and kill. I hate
him with all my heart and soul."

"But he's taken your daughter."

"She went with him willingly."

  "Then tell me why, when I met her, she was
terrified of him. 'He has pursued me for ten
thousand kilometers,' she said to me."

  "People change. Perhaps she has grown up. She
knows now just how evil people can be."

  He felt the need to return to the other
question. "There was talk of you poisoning your
husband in order to let Hellsturm win the duel."

 BENEATH AN OPAL MOON  155

Her head turned. "What? Who told you such a
lie?"

"Armaz6n."

"Ah. I might have known."

"It makes no sense."

"Oh, yes, Moichi. It makes perfect sense."

"Because he was devoted to the Senhor?"

She nodded. "Yes. And hopelessly in love with me."

Chameleon. That was the basis of it.

 The Bujun were masters at observing nature and
learning from it. The chameleon was a harmless
creature. It was nonaggressive and it could be
outrun by many predators. What nature had given
it was the remarkable ability of camouflage so that
it could blend in with any surrounding.

 The Bujun had taken this and adapted it as the
basis of their surveillance techniques.

Now she knew that it was not going to work.

Because there was something missing.

 In order to be able to blend in with one's
surroundings, one first needs those surroundings. In
Sha'angh'sei or in her own native Eido, there
would be no problem. But this was Corruha.

She needed people and there just weren't any.

So it was not going to work.

 Because the only way that wounded Tudescan
would lead her to his base was if he believed that
no one was following him. Had he even suspected
her presence, he would lead her on a roundabout
and, if she were going to sightsee, she preferred to
do it on her own.

 Naturally, the density of people during the
daylight hours is much higher than at night. But
cities such as Sha'angh'sei or Eido never sleep and
even in the dead of night there are a sufficient
number of people about.

Not in Corruha.

 By sound alone she was liable to be given away,
and the moment he suspected, she would have to
call it off because of the roundabout. Now each
moment she delayed increased the chances of his
spotting her.

She did the only thing she could do.

She went off the streets.

 He rolled off the bed, went across the room to
the windows, stuck his head outside and sniffed. A
red-winged blackbird, disturbed by the intrusion,
clattered away in alarm. A storm

156 Eric V. Leader

was indeed coming; from the west. Back inside
the room he kept his back to the huge painting;
it still gave him chills.

 "Perhaps they had a fight,'' he said. "A falling
out.'' He meant Aufeya and Hellsturm.

"I hope so. Knowing them both, it seems likely."

He turned on her. "You are certainly taking this
calmly."

  Her dark eyes watched him intently for a
moment. "You do not know my daughter at all
well, Moichi. She precipitates fights like clouds
release rain."

  "Fights are one thing," he said patiently. "But
she was obviously terrified of the man. He
tortured Cascaras, then murdered him. Cascaras
was a friend of Aufeya's."

  "Oh, well, there you have it then. Hellsturm is
a jealous man when it comes to his women."

  "She said to me, 'Only I am left to stand against
him.' I know what I heard. In any case, Cascaras
was old enough to be her father."

"That would certainly not deter her."

"By God, senhora, I do not understand you!" he
thundered.

  "Quite right, my darling, you don't." She
reached up for him. "Now come here."

"What do you want?"

"What do you think?"

  He knelt atop the bed and she drew him
toward her. He kissed her opened lips, his mouth
sliding down the smooth column of her neck. She
was quite irresistible. Apart from the lushness of
her body. Moichi had been with women who were
as finely formed. But she had an aura that was
palpable; a kind of sexual intensity which spoke
directly to the very core of his being.

Downward to her hanging, shivering breasts.

"Mmmm," she moaned.

  Afterward, the first thing she said was, "You
are in love with Aufeya."

His head snapped up and he stared into her eyes.

"What makes you say that?"

"A mother knows." She laughed, not unkindly.

He pulled away from her embrace. "This is fun
for you."

  She smiled. "And why not? I haven't had much
fun lately." Her fingers reached for him. "Can you
tell me honestly that you did not enjoy it
yourself?"

"No. But you know very well what I mean."

"Yes," she said, her eyes flashing, "I know only
too well.

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 157

But you must take my word for it. Aufeya is in no
danger. Hellsturrn will not harm her."

"How can you be so certain?"

 "Because," she said softly, "I have promised to
return to him. "

The major problem now was the inconstant moon.

 Clouds had begun moving in from the northwest,
riding past the face of the horned moon; its silver
light played in and out.

 Because of the night's monochrome illumination,
perspectives and distances were difficult enough to
judge under normal circumstances.

 These were far from normal circumstances.
Distances were, of course, increased and motion
was constant. But cerebration was continuing all
the time.

The only real danger was at the edges.

 Chiisai raced across a flat rooftop, slowing only
just before the low tile parapet. Now the moon
had gone in once more and the dense shadows
leapt upward, distorting the space between the
buildings. Corrections had to be made on the run.

 She sprang across the narrow abyss, hit a small
stone on landing and tumbled, immediately
drawing herself up into a compact ball. Rolling
dissipated much of the momentum and she was on
her feet again, silently flitting amid the flock of
bats hovering about the rooftop.

 The Tudescan had never left her sight and now,
though he checked behind him at odd intervals
and was quite thorough in other ways, using
shadows and doorways where he could, he was
totally unaware of her.

 Across the maze of Corruna they fled, the
hunter and the hunted.

 "It's part of the bargain we made," she said. "He
cannot touch her now.''

"But I tell you that he already has."

"That is quite impossible."

  "Then something has changed. Perhaps there is
an element you know nothing about."

  "He would not put in jeopardy what he desires
above all else. "

  Restless, he went back to the window, searching
for the moon. It was only a wan glow now, behind
small and puffy cumulus driving in from the
northwest.

15~3 Eric V. Lustbader

A storm for certain, he thought.

It was nearing midnight.

"I have to go," he said.

 "Will you come back?" Her voice seemed
suddenly small in the huge room with the
cathedral ceiling and the fearful painting.

 "Yes," he answered. "How could I not? But
perhaps not again tonight."

"In the morning, then."

"All right."

  She turned on him abruptly and he saw a fear
shining in her jade eyes. He started slightly,
seeing Aufeya there.

  "Promise me you'll come, Moichi." Her
fingers gripped him with a fierce pressure.
"There is only you now in all the world."

..I_.,

  "Are you not my friend, Moichi?" she asked
desperately. "Has this evening meant so lisle to
you?"

  "It has meant a great deal to me," he said,
thinking that perhaps he did understand her now.
He had been given a gift, something quite
precious, something she withheld from almost
everyone. Save Hellsturm, now. It was ironic.
Almost amusing, if it had not been so utterly
desolately tragic. This woman's love for her
daughter transcended everything else. Now it was
his turn. He could accept or refuse. "It means a
great deal to me. It always will."

"We are friends."

  "You do me a great honor." It was formal, even
seeming somewhat stilted after their previous
intimacy. Yet, he knew full well, one was of the
flesh and the other Well, it was quite easy to
make the body perform. Drawing the spirit in was
quite another thing. There was no known
coercion for that; only corruption.

  As if on cue, they came together, kissing each
other chastely on the lips. Inside, he felt her spirit
swirling toward him, felt his emerging. They
danced.

The room was quite still.

  Presently, they drew apart, she to draw on her
robe, he to dress for the street.

  Before he left, he asked her one question.
''Why do you have that painting in this room?"

"It is of the diablura. Do you know of it? No? In
the Daluzan

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 159

religion the diablura is the Ancient of Night, the
Emperor of Evil."

"The Devil."

"The Devil, yes."

"Why is it here?"

"To remind me, always."

 "Come and sit next to me, little one," the
Dai-San had said. "Little one" was what Chiisai
meant.

 They were in the palace of the Kunshin, just
outside of Eido, the capital of Ama-no-mori.

"Have you any idea what you wish to do with your
life?"

 She looked at him. He had been in
Ama-no-mori for some time now but she never
tired of searching the seemingly endless
configurations of his strange visage. Every time she
thought she had committed it to memory she
would look again and find it different than she had
remembered it, though she might have seen him
just the day before. Sometimes there was only
some subtle change; at other times, the differences
were great.

 He might appear frightening to others, like a
god embodied and come to earth for, more than
anything else, this was perhaps what he was. Yet
to her, he was much more. He was a brother. A
brother she had never had, but had always yearned
for.

 "Are you playing my father's role now?" she
asked him, only half serious.

 He smiled his peculiar smile, a devastating
gesture, and she realised abruptly how she
cherished his friendship and his love. He stood up,
towering over her. He took her hand in his, her
skin feeling the harsh abrasive hide of the
gauntlet.

 "Shall we go outside." The construction was of a
question but the inflection was not.

 It was just past midday. The heat of the
lemon-colored sun struck them, enveloping them
in its warmth. Cicadas shrilled and grey plovers
shot up from their hiding places in the tall grass.

 The horizon was laced with the domed
configurations of the cryptomeria and the high
sword-edged pines. Far in the distance loomed the
purple slopes of Fugiwara, wreathed now in a
gentle haze. And before it, she knew, was the
newly completed shrine at the site of Haneda
Castle, birthplace of the Dai-San, destroyed in the
titanic death struggle between dor-Sefrith and The
Dolman during the time of his birth.

160 Eric V. Lustbader

 "Are you happy here?" Though the Dai-San
spoke perfect Bujun, the ancient of languages,
which only a few Bujun still learned, the
configurations of his mouth lent his speech
peculiar inflections which took some time to
decipher.

 Chiisai wondered at his using the old tongue.
She, of course, being the Kunshin's daughter, was
also fluent. She longed to know what he wanted
or, at the very least, what it was she was expected
to say.

 As if divining her thought, he said, "Tell me the
truth, little one. Nothing else is important."

 "All right," she said, gratefully, feeling as if a
great weight had been taken off her. Under his
intense gaze, she felt a melting within herself and,
with it, a subtle tension which had been holding
her ebbing. "No, I'm not."

He nodded. "I understand."

  "You do?" She had not believed that anyone
would, which was why she had, until this moment,
held this knowledge secret even, in some ways,
from herself.

  "Oh, yes," he said, his voice like the rolling of
thunder over a vast plain. "1, too, have known the
restlessness which now haunts you. There was no
reason to hide it, little one."

"But my father "

  "My darling, your father understands these
things. He asked me to speak to you because he
knows well the power of Bujun tradition. "

"I could not tell him these things directly."

"He surmised this."

  "I want to go away," she said, for the first time
truly.realizing it herself. "But I don't want him to
think that I am abandoning him.''

  "I am quite certain that whatever sadness he
feels will be dispelled by his thoughts of your
happiness. " He looked away from her. "Now that
that's settled, where would you like to go?"

"I why, I don't really know."

"Would you care to sail to Sha'angh'sei?"

  Even recalling it now, hearing his echoey voice
again in her mind, she knew he had said it with
complete innocence, totally devoid of overtones
or hidden meanings.

She had been delighted and had accepted
immediately.

  He said, "When you arrive, I want you to see a
friend of mine, little one. You have heard me
speak his name often. My bond-brother. "

       BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 161
"Moichi "

 "Yes. Moichi Annai-Nin. This is very important,
little one. I want you to see Moichi Annai-Nin. I
want you to give him the gifts I have for him.''

"How long shall I stay in Sha'angh'sei?" she asked.

 He fumed to her, the sunlight striking the odd
planes of his face. Never had he looked more
startling nor more beautiful to her. "That is
entirely up to you, but I imagine that you may wish
to stay there quite some time."

 Now, as she flitted like some human bat across
the sloping rooftops of Corruna, Chiisai wondered
at that long-ago meeting. She thought that, for
once, the Dai-San had been proven wrong for she
had surely not stayed in Sha'angh'sei for any
length of time. Yet though she might well have felt
alone and afraid in this strange city, she felt only
a kind of excited warmth stealing over her. Was
this truly why she had come to the continent of
man? And was it merely a coincidence that she
had arrived at Sha'angh'sei? It was, after all, the
continent of man's largest port and, not so
coincidentally, the closest one to Ama-no-mori.

 Still, she could not put out of her mind the fact
that the DaiSan had suggested it as her
destination. She had never questioned that nor
second-guessed herself. Surely it had been she and
she alone who had been master of her fate. She
had always been free to choose whatever
destination she had desired. She had chosen
Sha'angh'sei.

Or had she?

 Echoes of the Dai-San's last words to her
rebounded in her mind now. I imagine that you
may wish to stay there quite some time. old he know
something that she did not?

 She shrugged mentally, putting the puzzle aside
for the moment. She had more pressing matters to
occupy her attention.

 They were now in the far western quarter of
Corruna and the Tudescan, despite his twists and
sums, was still heading almost due west. At this
rate, they would soon leave the city far behind
them.

 She glanced upward for a moment, checking the
position of the moon to gauge the time. It was but
a diffuse glow now, sifting through the scudding
clouds which had begun to move in more strongly
from the northwest. Perhaps a storm, she thought,
and fervently hoped that it would hold off until the
Tudescan reached his destination.

He was still moving west and she knew that unless
she broke

162 ~ ~ Edc Ye Lus~ader ;. ~'

off she would never make the rendezvous with
Moichi. Sweat broke out along the line of her
forehead and on her upper lip but, wiping it away,
she remembered Martyne and silently prayed to
her gods that the woman had been victorious and
would make the rendezvous in her stead. For the
moment, she ignored the other problem.

 For now the Tudescan was at last slowing,
carefully making a final check in all directions.
This was it and, waiting until he had completed
his survey of the surrounding area, she swung
down from the rooftop into the street behind him,
grateful, because the diminished light was making
long-range surveillance hazardous.

 They were in a section of the city densely
packed with twostory buildings only Corruna's
iglesias seemed to be taller  windowless, with
flat undecorated roofs. Warehouses, she surmised,
for it was here that the major overland trade
routes to other Daluzan cities, and to the lands
beyond Dalucia's borders, converged at Corruna's
western outskirts.

 Here, for the first time, she saw families of
people asleep in the streets, against building
walls, in darkened doorways. These were workers
who awakened each day just as dawn was about
to break in the eastern sky to meet the vast silent
caravans arriving from far-off lands and were paid
a few coppers to offload the myriad dry goods,
ferrying them on their backs to the nearby
warehouses of the merchants.

 She went carefully between them as the
wounded Tudescan had not wanted to wake them
and, at length, in a huge courtyard, she spied a
small caravan of perhaps six camels waiting to
depart. They were within the shadows of the high
western gate of the city.

 It was to this group of men, squatting around a
small fire, that the Tudescan went. Chiisai dared
not get close enough, in the quiet, desolate night,
to hear what they were saying but she crept up
until she had a decent view. One put a blanket
onto the ground for the wounded man, working
on him, while another, squatting near the prone
man's head, questioned him about what had
transpired. There came a quick movement from
the squatting man. He shouted something that
was quite incoherent to her and hauled the
wounded man up onto his feet. He seemed
enormously powerful. There came more shouting
and, abruptly, she felt movement behind her and
whirled, saw two huge eyes staring past her out of
a small face. It was a young cambujo girl, one of
the many children of the workers'

B8NIiATH AN OPAL MOON 168

families who lived here without proper housing.
She had been awakened by the noise and now
craned her neck to see what all the commotion
was about.

  Chiisai returned her attention to the scene of the
argument just in time to see the brief flash of
metal as the angered man thrust a knife into the
stomach of the wounded man. He threw the corpse
from him with the tip of his boot as if it was just
so much fetid garbage. Could this be Hellsturm? If
so, he had not taken kindly to his henchman's
failure.

  Now Chiisai could feel the presence of the
young girl closer behind her, so near, in fact, that
she could discern the other's shivers. She turned
her body slightly and opened out her right arm.
The girl crawled into the warm space and Chiisai
wrapped her in her cloak.

  Then, as she watched the caravan camp, she
knew that she had run out of time. All the men
were standing. One of them kicked desultorily at
the fire. Another swung a canvas saddlebag onto
the neck of one of the camels. She saw now that
the animals had been feeding. They were nearly
finished. When that happened, she knew, the
caravan would be off.

  She looked at the shivering girl crouched beside
her, head on her shoulder, then back to the
readying caravan. From her sash, she drew out
three copper coins, held them out so that the girl
could see what they were. Then she pressed them
into the small hand, closing the fingers around
them.

  The girl lifted her head, staring at her
wonderingly, and Chiisai put her lips to the girl's
ear for long moments. The girl's eyes were wide,
black as obsidian.

"Do you know where to go?" Chiisai whispered in
Daluzan.

The girl nodded emphatically.

"You must start now," Chiisai said. "What is my
name?"

  "Chiisai," the girl said. She smiled up at the
strange face. "Chiisai goes northwest."

        Water's Edge
r'

ALLE C6rdel was deserted when he arrived.

 It was just before midnight, he judged, squinting
up at the smudge of moonlight. This, too, was
fast disappearing as the cloud cover thickened.
He sniffed, could smell it now.

The storm.

 He pulled his Daluzan cloak tight about him
but the rising wind plucked at its edges, exposing
the silken lining.

 Had this been one of Milhos Seguillas'? If so,
he knew it was a singular honor that the Senhora
had given it to him. She was so much a lady

 He looked around him. Shuttered doorways and
darkened windows. Only a few flickering night
lanterns for company.

Where was Chiisai?

 He glanced upward reflexively again but now all
traces of moonlight had left the sky. In the
distance, he thought he could hear a rolling boom
of thunder.

 A thin grey dog with a matted coat padded
down a side street, stopped, regarded him for a
moment, then lifted its leg and urinated against
the side of a building. The dog turned and sniffed
it before mooching slowly onward, nose to the
ground for any trace of something to eat.

 The trees whispered their enigmatic sighing
song; they bowed slightly.

Past midnight now.

Where was she?

 He turned abruptly at a sharp sound. Boots
against cobbles. For a moment, they stopped and
he turned away. Then they resumed. He turned
back.

A woman came into view, tall and long-necked.
Her face

                 164
                  
BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 165

was in shadow. She stopped when she saw his bulk,
tentative now but unafraid.

 He saw that she carried a weapon in her left
hand, at the ready.

"Who are you?" he said.

  She said nothing but continued to stand in the
center of the street. There was no one else around.
He moved a step closer. The shadows made it
impossible for him to tell anything about her. This
he did not like.

  The knife with the triangular blade was lifted so
that he could see its explicit threat.

  "Come no closer," she warned. Her voice floated
to him eerily on the night.

  He felt the change in atmospheric pressure and
the rolling crack of thunder was unmistakable. He
stared from the black pool of her face to the
knife-blade. With a start, he saw that it was dark
and shiny. Blood. This woman had but recently
been in some kind of fight.

"Are you in need of help?" he asked.

She stood as immobile and silent as a statue.

"Are you hurt?"

  "I am unharmed," she said after a time. "Will you
leave willingly or " The blade moved a fraction
higher.

  "I am here to meet someone," he said. "A friend.
I will not move.''

  Now she took a step forward, partially into the
aureole of light from a nearby lantern, swinging in
its cage as the rising wind tossed it. "You are not
Daluzan."

  "No." He saw her face for the first time. Long
and narrow and attractive. A strong face, full of
character. He wondered who she was. Then it
occurred to him that she would be asking herself
the same questions. "I am Moichi Annai-Nin of Is-
kael. "

  This statement seemed to quell some of her
suspicion and he saw her relax somewhat. He saw
her peering at him closely.

"You are not Tudescan."

He stiffened. "What know you of Tudescans here?"

  "Too much," she said. "My friend and I were
attacked by five Tudescans some little time ago.
They followed her from the mercado and "

"Chiisai!"

  She stepped up to him, placed the knife-point
just under his breast-bone.

166 Eric l~ustbader

 He made no move, merely stared into her eyes.
They were large and glossy and intelligent.

"Quickly now. Tell me," she snapped. "Are you
friend or

 "Chiisai is my friend," he said evenly, taking no
offense at her brusque manner. "She is the only
daughter of the Kunshin of the Bujun."

"She is royalty?" said the other. "She did not tell
me."

 "She would hardly wish it known," he said. He
noticed that the knife-point still touched his shirt
front. ''I set a rendezvous with her earlier to meet
me here just before midnight."

 Now the knife disappeared inside the other's
cloak. "I am Martyne," she said. "Chiisai told me
to meet her here at midnight if we were
separated in the melee. We were."

"What has happened to her?"

 "She is all right. She killed three of the
Tudescan warriors and wounded a fourth.
Perhaps she did this deliberately, for she allowed
him to escape and then went after him."

 Clever girl, Moichi thought. But now they were
out of touch with each other. He shrugged
mentally. There was nothing he could do now but
carry on with what he had planned to do. He had
no idea where she was. He would just have to
wait to see if she contacted him.

 "Come on," he said turning. "I have to meet a
Daluzan in a taverna at the foot of Calle C6rdel.
You might as well come along. I want to hear the
whole story."

 El Cambiro was at the foot of Calle C6rdel,
hard by the wooden wharves of Corruna.

 The smell of the sea was thick in the air, rich
and heady and robust, and Moichi, breathing
deeply, felt instantly invigorated.

 The creaking of the ships' fittings as they rested
some distance out at anchor came to him as
sharp and clear as if they had been alongside.
That was the water, he knew, an excellent
conductor of sound both above and below.

 Fishermen were already taking down their nets
from where they had hung drying in the hot sun
all the long afternoon. Now they spread them out
along the quiet quays, before the dew got to
them, roofing the hemp, to pick out the last few
bits of seagrape and flotsam that had caught
there the day before, then rolled them carefully
up into long lines, taking them, two men to a net,
on board their fishing lorchas, stowing them on
deck and covering them with an oiled cloth tarp.

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 167

 A bit of canvas fluttered in the wind, thumping;
the slapslap of the tide against the piling,
increasing as the coming storm whipped up the
surface of the sea.

 Beyond the sanctuary of the port, he could see
that the sea was already heavy. Visibility was
unusually clear and the horizon, restlessly shifting
with the swells, stretched blackly away.

 The taverna was a low, squat structure of
whitewashed plaster with a swinging wooden door
through which lemon light poured beckoningly and
with a creaking sign over its frontage, depicting a
giant crab so elaborately carapaced it seemed pre-
historic.

They went inside.

 The place was as wide as it was deep, its
rough-hewn walls echoed in the plain wooden
tables and chairs stained with a combination of
drink and seawater. The ceiling was low with thick
wooden beams striping its length. An enormous
fire crackled in a stone hearth set into the far wall.
A dark wood bar curved along the left-hand wall.
Behind it, shelves lined with bottles. It was smoky
inside and smelled of liquor and fat and tallow.

 Moichi led Martyne to an empty table in a
corner opposite the bar where he could see the
door without having to turn around. They ordered
a local brew as thick and dark and almost as sweet
as mead.

 The place was not quite half full. A seaman sat
slumped over near the hearth, his head cradled in
his burly arms, a line of empty glasses at one
elbow. No one bothered to take them away, not
even when he twitched in his sleep and sent one of
them crashing to the earthern floor.

 A pair of weathered sailors, their faces lined and
scarred, played dice, the rattle rhythmic and
soothing like the slap of the sea against a ship's
hull.

 The fat man with greasy jowls and a
three-day-old beard behind the bar hummed a
tuneless sea chantey, wiping at the already
gleaming bar top.

It was well past midnight.

 A tall Daluzan sailor came in and, taking off his
knit cap, smacked it against his thigh several times.
He went to the bar and the fat man drew him a
drink, then went back to his wiping. The sailor
took the glass to an unoccupied table and slumped
down. He took a long swallow, smacked his lips
noisily.

Moichi sipped at his drink, not liking it much.
Martyne had

168 Eric Y. I`ustbader

told him as much as she knew, but he wished that
she knew more. She had obviously provided
Chiisai with a crucial clue to the key of this entire
affair. This she had repeated to him but he still
had no idea what it meant. He was abruptly angry
at Chiisai for running off. Unfortunately, he had
to agree with what she did. To allow such a
chance to slip past would have been inexcusable.
But, of a sudden, he felt in the dark, and it was a
truly uncomfortable sensation. He felt as if he
were battling shadows.

 The door opened, pulling him away from his
gloomy thoughts. A cambujo boy, thin and small,
came in and looked around. He had a package
under his arm.

 He spotted Moichi and trotted over to where he
sat with Martyne. He handed Moichi the package
and started to leave.

"What's this?" Moichi asked.

 The boy turned around, shrugged. "Only what it
seems, senhor. A package for you."

"How do you know me?"

 The boy shrugged again as if this were his only
gesture. "The man on the pier who gave me the
package. He told me what you look like."

"What man? What did he look like?"

 "It was dark, Senhor. Very little light. I did not
notice." He turned away and ran out the door.

 Moichi stared down at the package for a
moment. It was fairly small, wrapped in oiled
paper with fisherman's twine. Carefully, he
unwrappped it.

Martyne gasped.

  It was a man's heart, covered in blood. It was
wrapped with a sweat and-blood-soaked purple
headband. Rohja's.

  Moichi covered the thing up with the oiled
paper and very quietly said, ''I want you to get up
and walk out of here as if nothing has happened.
Go back to the mercado and forget all about this.
Do you understand?"

  "I want to help," Martyne whispered. "Anything
I can do "

  "I have just told you what you can do. Please do
it. Now. I will have Chiisai contact you when it is
safe; when all this is over. I'm sorry I brought you
here, Martyne. It was foolish on my part. Please
go now."

  She stared at him for a minute, then nodded
briefly. She slid out of the chair and went to the
door, went through it without looking back.

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 169

 When she had gone he stood up. He left Rohja's
heart where it sat, covered, on the table and left
the taverna. Now he burned with a cold fury.

There was nothing but the sea and the sky.

The racing clouds had erased even the shadows.

 He thought that it would be fruitless but he did
it anyway. Nothing could have stopped him. He
prowled the jetties and wharves, the tavernas and
fish markets, the homes of the waterside cambujos
and the two or three gigantic warehouses dockside.
He searched for Hellsturm. Surely it had been he
who had barbarously plucked the heart from the
young seaman. He recalled Martyne's description
of the Tudescans. They are like beasts. But she was
wrong, for no beast would ever do such a thing for
sport. Beasts hunted to eat; killed so that they
might continue to live. There was a terrible
calculatedness in this that went far beyond
bestiality. It was demonic.

 Just the splashing sea and the lowering sky and
Moichi AnnaiNin between, striding the creaking
timbers of the docks, his eyes alight with a ferocity
as the anger shook him. And along with it, he
knew he felt a kind of seeping despair. For the
world would neverchange. Men and women and,
yes, children too would die as others were being
born; and new cities would be built upon the
rubble of the old; and ever, ever would there be
those who practiced dark secret rites, the evil they
worshiped seeping from them like coagulating
blood.

 He was alone in the dark for now even the
fishermen who had earlier been abroad were
belowdecks in their lorchas, asleep before the
coming of dawn the last guardians gone, it
seemed to him and now Corruna was alight with
the myriad dreams of its inhabitants and he, alone
in all the city, awake.

 He thought, unbidden, of Kossori, of the man's
youth when he was utterly alone along the
Sha'angh'sei bund, and he felt tears welling up
behind his eyes. Now he knew what it was like. So
desolate, not like the real world at all. Even
animals had somewhere to go.

 At length, having exhausted his search and
perceiving that it was near daylight, he turned his
mind to more practical matters. Chiisai. She was
his only possible link now to Hellsturm. She
would, if she could, he knew, send him a message.
But to where? She knew of three places he might
be in Corruna; the taverna, El Cambiro, where she
knew they were to meet Rohja; the house of the
Senhora Seguillas y Oriwara; and Au

170 Eric V. Lustbader

feya's lorcha. He rejected the first immediately.
Even if he had met Rohja, Chiisai knew that they
would be there for only a very limited amount of
time; much too risky. Another kind of risk held
true for the house; Chiisai would have no way of
knowing how his "interview" with the Senhora
turned out whether he was now considered friend
or foe there; that was out. Only the lorcha
remained.

The sailor on watch saluted him as he came up
the gangplank.

 "Has anyone come on board tonight?" Moichi
asked him. "Other than members of the crew?''

 The man shook his head. "Not on my watch,
piloto. But I have only just come on.''

"Who had the watch before you?"

"Armazon, piloto. He is below now."

 "All right. I am going to see him. If anyone
comes anyone at all call me immediately."

"Aye, piloto."

 Moichi went forward, easing himself down the
companionway below decks. He went past the tiny
but superbly efficient galley, fortard into the
crew's quarters. Most of the berths were, of
course, empty, as many of the men had chosen to
spend the night in the city with their families or
girl friends. Annazon was not in his berth.

 He turned and went aft to the captain's
quarters. This was where Aufeya had slept, and
even on the return voyage Moichi had not stayed
there, preferring to give it to Chiisai. Now he
found Armazon asleep on the captain's wide bed,
one arm flung across his face.

Moichi woke him.

 "Oh, it's you," Armazon said. "Thought we'd all
seen the last of you." He rolled back onto the
bed.

"Has anyone come aboard tonight?''

"Huh? No. Nobody."

 Moichi went up the companionway and off the
lorcha. He had just stepped onto the timbers of
the pier when he thought he caught a movement
deep in the shadows near a pile of wooden casks.
They were empty, rotting husks now.

 He saw a small face appear and took his hand
from the hilt of his sword. He moved toward the
face but it darted away from him and he was
obliged to leap over the barrels. He grabbed hold
of the small body.

 "Come here, little one," he said. "Who is it you
seek?" He saw her clearly now, a small girl.

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 171

 "Begging your pardon, senhor, but would you tell
me your name before I answer?"

 Moichi laughed. "Yes, of course. I am Moichi
Annai-Nin." He gazed at her. "And who might you
be?" He sat and put her on his lap.

"Alma, senhor. I have a message for Moichi
Annai-Nin."

"Tell me it then,'' he said, on edge.

 She lifted one small hand up to his face. "Please,
senhor, let me see your nose."

 "My nose? Why in ?" Then he perceived that
she was looking for the diamond set into the dusky
flesh of his nostril. "Have you found it then?"

 "Yes, senhor. The message is from Chiisai. She
told me to come to this lorcha but to speak only to
you. I have been here for some time. I went
aboard earlier but the man blocked my way and
said he had never heard of you and to go away.
When I didn't, he said you would be away all night
but told him to take any message that might come.
I did not believe him, senhor. "

 "And you did well not to," Moichi said, tousling
her hair. "Tell me, Alma, what did this man look
like?" She described Armazon.

 "Chiisai found me near the western gate, senhor.
There a small caravan was about to depart. Not a
trade caravan, for we knew nothing about it. She
said to tell you that she is well and that she travels
northwest."

"She follows the caravan."

"Yes, senhor."

"Did you see any of the men in the caravan?"

"Not well enough to describe them to you."

Was Hellsturm among them? he wondered.

"I did right to wait, senhor?"

"Yes, Alma, you did."

"It's scary here, at night."

"Is it?''

  She nodded. "Yes, it is. That man from the
lorcha came around once or twice, looking for me.
But I hid behind the barrels and he didn't find
me."

  Moichi hugged her affectionately. "You are very
brave." He dug into his sash and gave her a silver
piece. "This will buy much food and clothing,
Alma. But if you take it you must promise me
you'll do something."

"What, senhor?"

172 Talc Y. Lustbader

 "Buy yourself a warm cloak." He stood up,
putting her on the timbers. Her arms reached up
and he lifted her. She kissed him on the mouth. A
decidedly un-childlike kiss.

 "Off with you now," he said softly. "See that you
go straight home."

 He watched her silently as she ran down the
length of the quay, as unobtrusive as a shadow,
and disappeared amidst the streets of the city.

 He went aboard the lorcha again, coming
silently into the captain's cabin. He hauled
Armaz6n out of the berth.

"What what are you doing?" the other
spluttered.

"No one came aboard asking for me, eh?"

  "Why, no," he said, righteously. "I told you that.
Anyone who says different is a blasted liar." His
fingers pried desperately at Moichi's grip but it
was like iron.

  "It's you who lie, Armaz6n." He jerked the
bos'un toward him. "About the Senhora. Now
about the cambujo girl." He dragged the man off
the bed; his pants were half off. "What a twisted,
mean soul you have. You disgust me!"

  "Listen, listen," Armaz6n cried. "It was probably
Robja who has filled your head with all these
stories about me. They are totally untrue, believe
me! He wishes only to become this ship's new
bostun. He'll say anything to get that "

  Moichi slapped him across the face and he
whimpered. "Shut up, you insect! Robja is dead,
but while he lived he said not one word against
you to me." He began to drag the man down the
ship to the companionway. "The little cambujo girl
found me on the dock."

  "But she lies!" Armaz6n pleaded. "I wouldn't
give the little beggar food, that's all. And who
could blame me? If I gave some to her, I'd have
to give to all of them."

"Do you think I'm an idiot to believe such a tale?"

  He hauled the bostun topside. He found a
suitable length of hemp and tied Armaz6n's wrists
above his head, then he slung the man up over his
shoulder and began to ascend the mast.

  Terrified, Armaz6n screamed, "I'll see you pay
for this! Gods, what are you going to do to me?
I'll see that the Senhora Seguillas y Oriwara hears
about this!"

  "You do that," Moichi said grimly as he tied a
knot to the crosstree. He let Armaz6n go so that
he hung there by his wrists.

Back on the deck, Moichi turned to the man on
watch saying:

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 173

"Tell the men. Whosoever cuts this man down will
answer to me. "

 The sailor, switching his gaze from Moichi to the
strung bos'un, swallowed convulsively and said,
"Aye, piloto. I will tell them."

 Dawn was just breaking and the gulls had begun
their echoing cries as they began skimming the sea
in search of food. Apparently, the storm had
changed course during the night and brushed by
the city; there had been no rain.

 Moichi went away from the rising pink sun, from
the coming warmth, from Armaz6n's cries.

After a while, there was only the sound of the
hungry gulls.

"It is descanso," he said. 'She is at the iglesia.''

"I have come to see her."

 "Yes, I know." His eyes were hooded in the
shadows of the doorway, his long drooping
mustache giving him the aspect of a lean and
hungry animal. "She asked me to give you the
directions."

`'1 do not have much time. "

"She anticipated this also."

"She did? Or you?"

 Chimmoku's thin eyebrows lifted but his gaze
remained impassive. "I? I had nought to do with
it.''

"Do you miss Sha'angh'sei?" Moichi asked
abruptly.

 The man stirred uneasily. "Perhaps," he said,
''sometimes. But the Senhora lives here in
Corruna. Here, too, I am."

"Did you meet her there?"

"In Sha'angh'sei? Yes."

"Along the bond?"

"Along the bund, yes. Is this important?"

"I thought you might be the man "

"Here are the directions."

 The bells were tolling from its tall spire, shining
gold in the newly wakened sunlight. Bronze turned
bright and brittle as they swung in the belfry. The
sound was somehow melancholy.

 It was a towering structure, brilliant white now
at the top, in shadows lower down near its arched
open doorway: the last pools of the night. To left
and right, flanking plane trees, large, ancient,
whispered in the wind.

 The doors were of oak on their lower half; thin
strips of hardwoods, one light, the other dark,
above so that a kind of

174 Eric Y. Lustbade~ -
natural toning was achieved without the use of
paints or lacquers.

A wide white stone stairway led up to the
doorway.

 Daluzans drifted in, wrapped in cloaks of muted
colors. The women, who dominated this early in
the morning, all wore lace shawls about their
heads.

 Inside it was cool and echoey. Incense drifted in
the still air and there seemed to be a distant
drone of muted chanting. Low backless benches
of highly polished wood ran the length of the
interior from back to front, separated by three
aisles. Where the seats ended in the front, there
was a flight of low steps leading up to a platform.
On the right was a carved wooden pulpit and on
the left was what looked like a miniature balcony.
Stone figures lined the walls on either side.

 He went down the center aisle and found her
near the front. He slid in beside her.

"I'm glad you came," she said, without fuming her
head.

"Senhora, I have little time "

 But she merely smiled and put a long forefinger
against her lips. There was movement at the front
of the iglesia and the congregation rose. A priest
appeared behind the pulpit and Moichi was
astonished to see Don Hispete, the cure with the
spade beard on whose conversation he had
eavesdropped at dinner the night before.

 Don Hispete lifted his arms, said, "Todos y cads
uno, sea ustedes bienvenidos a la iglesia del Dihos
Santo."

 The congregation knelt, bowing their heads.
Moichi found himself again surprised. The cure's
voice his public voice  was totally different
from the one he had previously heard. This was
persuasive and charismatic.

"Bien."

The congregation resumed to their seats.

 "This is the day of descanso," Don Hispete said.
"A most important and, indeed, significant day on
our calendar. For it recalls to us the sufferings of
our forefathers. This is a day for sorrow; for us to
feel deeply the loss of those departed and those
far from home and, by this day, remembering, to
free our daily lives.

 "Yet descanso has another purpose. For it is
this day that we devote ourselves to the
acknowledgment of evil so that we may know its
many shapes and therefore rise up against it and
protect ourselves from its wickedness.

"Thus, my children, we should feel the diablura's
great

ITN OPAL MOON 175

wings flutter in the air about us, for without him
we could not understand the eternal goodness of
Dihos. Thus, we reflect on the deeper meaning of
the descanso and its difficult revelation of the
darker side of ourselves and, in that recognition,
we better define our own goodness.... "

 Afterward, she ascended the stairs with Moichi
and took him behind the pulpit, through a plain
but quite solid wooden door. They went down a
short stone corridor at the end of which was
another door. She knocked and immediately
opened it.

 They were in Don Hispete's rectory. It was small
and cozy and cluttered in a quite homey way.
There were several overstuffed chairs, a functional
wooden desk and high-backed chair and shelves
upon shelves of books all the way to the ceiling.
Half of the left-hand wall was a leaded-glass
window, beyond which he could see a leafy garden.
A small door, half open, led out to it.

 Don Hispete had apparently just sat down
behind his desk but, when ho saw them enter, he
rose and came around the side to greet them.

 "Senhora," he said, smiling almost reverentially,
and bowing, he put his lips against the back of her
proffered hand.

 "Don Hispete," the Senhora murmured, "we
loved your summon." She fumed as if startled to
find someone standing next to her. "Oh, by the
way, this is Moichi Annai-Nin, a friend of mine."

 "Bienvenido, senhor." The priest inclined his
head but did not extend his hand. The social
amenities, it seemed, were reserved for those he
knew well. "May I offer you a drink?" He was
looking directly at the Senhora.

"Please."

 He reached out a tall crystal decanter
three-quarters filled with deep red wine. He
poured them all drinks and then, lifting his own
goblet, said, "Salhud!" He drank deeply and they
followed suit.

 Don Hispete put his goblet down on the desk
beside him and returned to his high-backed chair.
He folded his hands across his stomach. "How may
I be of assistance to you, senhora?"

"Has Hellsturm resumed to Corruna?" she said
abruptly.

 The priest stroked his spade-shaped beard with
one forefinger before spreading his hands.
"Senhora, I cannot "

 But she had already risen, had gone across the
small room. Now she stood before the window,
apparently regarding the foliage of the garden.

176 Eric V. Lus1bader

 "Such beautiful trees," she said. "You know,
Don Hispete, those olive trees, there, are old,
very old indeed. Grandfathers of their line."

"Yes, senhora. Indeed they are,"

"It's such a pity to destroy them."

 Once more, the priest spread his hands. They
reminded Moichi of a sea anemone about to
ensnare an unwary fish. "One hates to see the
destruction of nature, senhora, wherever it might
be. But in this case it serves the purpose of Dihos
because it will further his glory."

 "Oh, yes." Her voice was as sweet as honey.
"The glory of Dihos must indeed be served, for
that is the primary function of the Palliate. But,
Don Hispete" she turned away from the window
to face the cure "the Palliate cannot function
without the support of the congregation, is that
not so? I cannot imagine that the Palliate would
pay for well, everything."

 Two thin vertical lines had appeared in the
center of the priest's brow.

"Is that not so?" she repeated.

 Reluctantly, Don Hispete said, "It is so,
senhora. But I fail to see what "

 "And this expansion that the iglesia is
contemplating is expensive, is it not? Almost
exorbitantly so, one might say."

"Now really, senhora, I must "

  "And it requires the support the complete
support of every parishioner, does it not, Don
Hispete?"

  "Yes, senhora, it does. But everyone must know
he is expected to "

  "But those with, oh, shall we say, above-average
wealth are being called upon with somewhat
more, er, zeal than are the others."

Don Hispete sat as still as a statue now.

"I am one of those, so I know firsthand, as it
were."

  The priest tried to speak, had to clear his throat
before beginning again. "The Senhora is not
contemplating withdrawing her pledge.'' His voice
seemed thin and strangled now.

  "Why, I contemplate nothing of the sort." Her
voice was still sweet but it was obvious that she
was mocking him. "Wherever did you get that
idea? How absurd!"

  She sat down beside Moichi. "Now,'' she
continued, "shall we return to my first query?"

  "Senhora, you put me in quite a difficult
position.'' His face held a pained expression. "You
know well that I cannot break

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 177

my sacred trust to the Palliate. " A thin line of
sweat was rolling slowly down one side of his face.

  "I do so love those olive trees, Don Hispete. I
had not realized until I came here just how much
I would miss them if they were cut down. And, you
know, now that I think of it, there are others who
feel just the same way I do. Now "

  "Senhora, please " His voice was a whine now.
But her eyes had locked onto his and, at length,
his gaze lowered to the hands clasped in his lap.

  "He has been in the city," he said softly. "Here
and gone. He left at dawn."

  "What was he doing here?" Her voice was as
sharp as a whiplash and Don Hispete winced
under its dominance.

"That I do not know, senhora. This I swear."

"It was not on business of the Palliate?"

  The priest looked up, ashen-faced. He made a
quick sign across his chest. "Dihos, no, senhora!
We~ismissed him after that last, uh, incident."

  " 'Incident.' " Her voice was filled with
loathing.and contempt. "Is that what you call it
now? Well, you were always quick with the
euphemisms."

  Don Hispete shuddered. "Please, senhora." His
voice had been reduced to a whisper.

"Who does he work for now?"

"I I am not certain. I "

  She stood up and somehow it became one of the
most threatening gestures Moichi had ever seen.

  "I cannot tell you, senhora," the priest babbled,
clutching the gold chain about his neck as if he
feared she might lose control altogether and
strangle him.

  "Don Hispete, this interview is temminated." It
had the finality of a door slam. She fumed and, on
cue, Moichi stood up.

  "Wa wait, senhora." The cure rose, still
fingering his chain. "Please." She fumed back,
waiting calmly now that her victory was assured.
He blew air in and out of his mouth in rapid gusts;
the skin of his face was gleaming. "I have heard
that he works now for La Saqueadora: Sardonyx."

  The Senhora cried out as if she had been run
through with a blade.

  Don Hispete came around the desk, his face
filled with fear. "Senhora! What ?"

178 Eric Y. Lustbader

 Moichi grabbed her, felt her trembling
uncontrollably as if gripped by some terrible
force.

"Get me out of here!" she gasped at him

"What is it?"

"Quickly. For the love of Dihos!'' she cried.
"Quickly!''

 He picked her up and took her out, down the
corridor, through the now empty iglesia proper.

 On the wide stone steps, dazzling in the sunlight
he set her down.

"Senhora," he said. "What happened?"

 She kept her arms around him for support as
she said, "You were right. Dihos, you were right.
I understand it all now."

"For God's sake, senhora, tell me!" he cried.

  "Moichi, Sardonyx is the freebooter who was my
partner so long ago." Tears welled up in her eyes.
"She vowed a terrible vengeance upon me and
now it has come. Hellsturm will not honor his
pact with me now; that was but part of the deceit.
Dihos, he has taken her to Sardonyx! I am
undone!" She sobbed against his shoulder.

  "Senhora," he said softly. "Senhora." He stroked
her hair, felt her soft-strong body quaking against
him. He only partially understood her grief, he
knew. But a tightening knot in his stomach made
him realize his concern for Aufeya. The danger to
her was not only real; it was dire. It was the
northwest for him now, upon the fleetest of
steeds. "Senhora," he said, "I must go after
Hellsturm. Now. And you can help me."

  She looked at him, tears still rimming her eyes.
He tried to smile. "How ridiculous," she said, "to
continue to call me that. I cannot continue to be
so formal with you, Moichi. Not now and not ever
again." He saw the dancing motes in her large
jade eyes. "Call me Tsuki."

  He felt that all his breath had left him and, for
a moment, he thought he might stumble. Kossori,
he thought. Oh my God, Kossori! She is your
love.

          1llree
            THE
         FIREMASK
             
             ~timatdons

NORMALLY the rain would have worked
against him but now he blessed its delayed
arrival. The storm had stalled off the coast and
now had turned around, heading inland with
much of its initial force dissipated out at sea.

 It did not matter to him that the hoofprints of
the caravan were all but obliterated by the dust
turned to mud, because he knew where they were
bound.

 He had Tsuki to thank for that as well as for
the luma he now rode and the one whose reins
were attached to the back of his saddle.

Tsuki. ''The moon," it meant.

Where are you now, Kossori, my true friend?

I hope you approve. I think you do.

 The rain slanted down, hissing, a gray-green
blanket limiting visibility, soaking everything; it
obscured his pursuit from prying eyes.

 He was already half a day's ride from Corruna's
western gate, heading northwest for Kintai. His
luma's slick coat was a tawny topaz, fitted with a
black leather saddle, silver pommel and red
leather harness. The somewhat smaller mare was
a deep blue in colon He was grateful for these
luma, for their high intelligence combined with
their great speed and endurance made them
more desirable than mere horses. But, he knew,
they were wild and difficult and expensive to
train; thus there were few of them about.

 He plunged off the far side of a ridge of brown
fertile land into a long softly undulating valley.
He wiped the rain from his eyes. Trees were
sparse here and, for as far as he could see, low
brush and scrawny brown plants dominated. He
dug

                 181
                  
1632 Eric V. Lustbader

his heels into his luma's flanks and rattled the
reins. The stallion leapt ahead, lifted his head,
snorting into the wind.

  How strange life is, Moichi thought. Stranger
than any tale ever spun at night in a warm tavern
or around a leaping fireside. How it returns in a
circle; the end is the beginning. If Kossori had but
known he defended Tsuki's daughter with his very
last breath

  A death, Moichi thought, should not be useless.
Sad, yes, that life should come to an end but
inevitable, too. And, being so, should there not be
meaning in the final act? In this the Iskamen and
the Bujun were somewhat alike. Perhaps in other
ways, also.

  It was a hero's death for Kossori. More heroic
now than he would ever know. Or again perhaps
he would know, if, as the Bujun believed, the soul
is spun out, interweaving a long procession of
lives until perfection is achieved and one leaves
the endless wheel of life and death.

  So for the Iskamen. God is history, his father
never tired of telling him, and in history lies
man's only salvation.

  Now, at this moment, as he pounded across this
plain, so desolate in the rain, flying after evil,
Moichi knew that his faith had survived. The
blood of his forefathers pulsed through him, too
strong to be long discarded or ignored. Tears
came to his eyes, mingling with the rain, as he
thought of his father and the man's enormous
faith in God. Perhaps you were not so very
wrong, after all, Moichi thought, recalling their
bitter arguments of faith, the long silences,
suffered by the rest of the family, the long days
and nights of anger and frustration. All the time
lost because they were so strong-willed. But he
knew now that they had not fought over faith. No,
that had been a convenient but spurious
battleground both of them had chosen rather
spitefully. You were so intolerant of me, Father.
How you resented my growing up so independent
of your will. I was so unlike Jesah, who, perhaps
because he was the second, you were able to
mold into your own likeness. He did whatever you
told him while I resisted. Why would you not let
me be, Father? What was it you were so
frightened of? It couldn't be, as you professed so
many times, that I would turn away from God
because you caused that to happen to me
yourself.

  He rattled the reins again, sounding the litany
of his long journey over the land. I will never
know, now, because you took that answer with
you when you died. Like God, there was

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 183

not a forgiving moment in your life. The end was,
indeed, like the beginning.

All life is so personal, he thought, wonderingly.

There was death in the air.

 He sniffed again, and though he was far from his
beloved sea, he knew it still. He believed in
auguries. Not in any superstitious way but in the
manner of the Iskamen, whose turbulent history
was filled with such messages from God, guiding
His people.

 The rain lessened somewhat and, as the
mistiness lifted, he could discern in the fulminating
sky low, fantastic shapes alight in the darkness of
the billowing clouds. Far to the northwest,
lightning forked, blue-white and ghostly; a moment
later came the crack and after-tremor of the
thunder, rolling against his ears.

Onward the luma fled.

  No cultivated field, no house, no sign of man at
all could he see. Just the pattering of the rain.
Then, as the rain further abated, a line of
weathered mountains appeared, marching like
battered veterans along the horizon toward yet
another war.

  "I have no hope now," she said into his chest as
he held her. "It is Sardonyx and I am vulnerable."

  "'Vengeance is mine,' saith the God of my
people," he said, recognising the words of his
father.

  "You do not understand, Moichi. This is
Sardonyx we speak of and you must know before
you leave. She is a sorceress."

He laughed. "Sorcery is gone from our world,
Tsuki."

But she shook her head. "No. She can do the
impossible."

  "Then she is but a conjuror, a clever one. I have
met some of those. It is all illusion."

  "No, Moichi. No. Please do not make that
mistake. I know, believe me. That which she
creates is real, terribly real. Beware of her power.
Beware of it."

  It was nearing sundown and the high mountains
loomed over him; he was in the last stretch of the
vast plain.

  Trees were more plentiful now and grass grew
long and wild, so that his luma was obliged to slow
their pace, wary of rodent burrows hidden from
view.

  Almost directly before him he saw the slopes of
two mountains meeting in a narrow defile which
seemed the only way through. It was a question of
light now. It would perhaps be safer to camp here
for the night, then proceed through the narrow
pass at first light. But far too much time would be
lost

184 Eric V. Lustbader
that way and the caravan already had a large
head start on him.

There was no choice, really.

He made full speed toward the defile.

 To the east, the sky was still dark and unsettled
but above and to the west, ahead of him, it was
clear, lavender and plum, as if bruised by the
storm's passage. The plunging sun was too low for
him to see directly but the world was filled with its
reflected illumination.

 The moon was already out, a thick crescent and
as crimson as a drop of blood.

 The way became immediately rocky and
grassland sparser as he neared the foothills
guarding the mountain range. Great boulders of
granite and sparkling schist built themselves on all
sides.

 Soon he was engulfed in the defile itself. Thick
jutting shelves of rock shot up high into the air,
oblique, the evening's light spilling down them like
a cataract, turning the entire gorge mauve. Natural
rock terraces stretched themselves above his head,
rising in tiers until they were lost in the haze.

 As the sky darkened into night, the rock walls
seemed to close in on him, the terraces expanding
until but the merest sliver of sky remained.

 Signs of the caravan's passage were more in
evidence here. At first, he believed this to be a
result of the more sheltered position in the defile,
but as he looked closer he discerned that the signs
were fresher. He was closer to his quarry than he
had realized.

 This place seemed devoid of life. No avians flew
overhead, not even the scavengers; no lizard, no
insect. He began to experience an acute sense of
isolation, so strong that it was almost tangible.

 The nature of the rocks had changed, also. He
was obliged to pause and light a brand made of
tightly woven hemp treated with pitch. By this
flickering light he saw that the rocks were now
streaked with orange and sulfurous yellow and
their configurations had become contorted, almost
tortured, as if they had been formed during some
painful upheaval of the earth.

He reined in and drew his sword.

 Around a bend ahead of him, he saw the glow of
another torch. He waited, uncertain even of what
to expect.

 It was a solitary figure on horseback and now, as
it approached, he saw that it was a woman. She
was impossibly tall, narrow-skulled and
sunken-eyed. She was dressed in a

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 186

simple farmer's tunic of dun-colored cotton. She was
unarmed. "Greetings," she said, her voice floating
toward him, ghostly in the confines of the defile.

"Greetings," Moichi answered.

  "I heard your approach," she said. "I get so few
visitors these days I was curious to see. I hope
you don't mind."

  "Not at all," he said. "But I'm afraid that I have
lime time for small talk or pleasantries at the
moment."

  "You are in a hurry. Yes," she nodded, "it's plain
to see. Your mission is urgent. Is it all right if I
ride along with you to the end of the defile? Then
we may talk without my hindering you. "

  Moichi nodded and spurred his luma forward.
The woman turned her mount, fell in beside him.
There was just enough room for them both. The
jiggling of their harnesses echoed eerily off the
rock faces.

  "Whither are you bound?" she asked. "I know
this land well. Perhaps I can help direct you to
your destination. It's plain you've never been here
before."

  The mist was returning, although the rain
seemed to have departed. "I already have
directions, thank you,'' he said as politely as he
could muster. He frankly did not like having
anyone distracting him in such a perfect place for
an ambush. If she had heard his approach, could
not others?

  "They might be incorrect, you know," the woman
said thoughtfully. "That often happens these days.
People are not so conscientious as they used to be.
Not very fashionable, I expect, though I know little
enough of the world. Who was it gave you these
directions?"

  Moichi glanced at her briefly. What was wrong
with her face? The inconstant light of the torches
made it impossible to see clearly. "A friend," he
said noncommittally.

  "A friend," echoed the woman. "Yes, of course.
It would be. Well, even friends are liable to make
a mistake when much time has passed."

  Moichi was about to ask her to amplify that
statement when she said, "I fear I have tarried too
long already at your side." She spurred her mount
into an awkward gallop and in but a moment had
disappeared into the deepening mist ahead. He
wanted to call her back for he had been puzzled
by their rather one-sided conversation. but there
was nothing he could do to deter her save shout,
and that he could not risk.

He rode on, keeping to his former pace, and
presently he

186 - it- Erlc ~l. Lusher ~

felt rather than saw the sides of the defile widen.
Raising his torch, he could just barely discern that
the rock faces had begun to lose a bit of their
steepness. This effect increased rapidly and he
picked up his pace. Soon he had emerged.

 On this end, the defile debauched onto a long
valley. Above, the sky was streamered with stars.
Below, the land seemed as flat and featureless as
newly glowed fields.

 Over the rolling grasslands he flew, the wind
whipping against his face, cool and invigorating.
He revered in the open space around him, feeling
as if he had newly awakened from some
nightmare where he had been trapped in a coffin.

 Not long after, he spied a pinpoint of light on
the near horizon. Cautiously, he made for it; the
signs of the caravan's passage were fresher still
than at the last site, where the camels' dung had
been warm. As he neared, he saw that it was a
small cottage set on the near bank of a wide,
sluggish river which he saw, straggled west for a
short distance before turning south perhaps half
a kilometer past the house.

 He drew in and sat atop his luma for a time,
looking about and listening to the chirruping of
the cicadas and the quiet croaking of the river
frogs. Above him, the moon seemed greatly
magnified, as if seen through a lens. It was as red
as blood.

 At length, he dismounted and led the luma
forward. He peered into a window, saw only an
old woman, her back toward him. Abruptly, he
was famished, and, striding to the door, he
opened it and stepped inside.

 The old woman was bent over a circular stone
hearth set in the center of the floor on a sort of
stone plinth. "Close the door " she said without
turning around. "The night air is cold and it
disturbs me." Her voice had the quality of chalk
screaking along a slate board.

 She had a thin face, he saw, as she at last
turned around, a patchwork of skin, it seemed,
crisscrossed and sealed by the seams of time. And
the skin seemed glossy, as if it were not skin at
all. She had a wide, loose-lipped mouth upon
which red paint had been carelessly smeared, and
shiny button eyes that were all pupil like a bird's.

 "Are you hungry?" she said. But she was already
seeing the table with rough-hewn bowls and crude
utensils. "I have a stew all ready."

 Now that she mentioned it, he did smell the
rich aroma of food and his mouth began to water.
He looked beyond her,

BliNEAl~ AN OPAL M0016 .187

saw a black metal pot hanging over the flames of
the hearth.

"Have you seen a small caravan pass this way?" he
asked.

 "Come," she said. "Sit and eat." She was ladling
the stew, thick and hot, into the bowls. There was
a large loaf of black bread on a wooden board, a
knife Iying beside it.

He sat down.

 '.Haven't been outside all day," she said. "Don't
do that so much anymore."

"Did you not see the rider, then?"

"The rider?"

 "A rider. Odd-looking. Very tall. Surely she came
this way."

"I believe you met my daughter."

"She's not here."

"Obviously. She is hunting."

"At night?"

 "It's the only way here. All our game is
nocturnal." The old woman pointed to his bowl. "Is
my cooking so poor?"

 He took a bite of the stew. It seemed to have no
taste. He sniffed. It smelled delicious.

 "Do you follow the caravan?" the old woman
said. She reminded him of someone. "It's plain to
see you're a traveler. "

Something caught his eye.

"An n't you hungry? Of course you are. Eat up,
now."

 What was it? Time seemed to have slowed down.
He began to hear his own breathing, as stentorian
as that of a dragon's. He seemed to have trouble
moving, also, as if the air had turned to jelly.

"Go on with you. Eat. Eat."

 Comer of his eye, a million miles a-w-a-y . . .
Took some time to register. Firelight dancing,
pretty pattems. Hauled himself together mentally.
Slipping, slipping a-w-a-y . . . Firelight. Not the
firelight. Below that, glinting like the sea on a
moonlit night remember the time for God's sake
wake up will you what's happening colors
r-u-n-n-i-n-g together something important there
moonlight chopping the surface of the sea into ten
thousand f-r-a-g-m-e-n-t-s-s-s-s pull yourself
together man and con-cen-trate. Concentrate. No
circle. That was it don't let it slip away now
a-w-a-y No, stop it! The hearth was not round. It
was pentangle. Pentanglc, you nitwit, don't you un-
derstand?

He did.

Lunged across the table at the old woman, caught
her wrist

188 Eric V. Lus1bader

fast sliding away from him colors streaming all
around him like a flight of bubbles feathers
fanning the hot humid air sticky and sweaty after
working all day in the sun tremendous thirst
tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth bloated
and so dry that all he could think of was . . . Get
her! he screamed at himself. Twisted his arm, felt
her wrist snapping like an old dry twig.

 The old woman reeling backward the house in
tremor she stumbles the house shimmers she falls
the house dissolves about him.

 Dazed, Moichi sat in the grass, hands flat on
the earth. He felt as if he wanted to vomit.
Unperturbed, the night chirruped and croaked on
around him as if nothing untoward had hap-
pened. Some paces away, the luma, heads to the
earth, munched grass contentedly. What did they
know?

 Abruptly, he did vomit. It was over as quickly
as it began. He felt weak and he turned over, lay
back, staring up at the infinite river of stars,
glittering and close by, as if he could gather
strength from their illumination. The moonlight
hurt his eyes so he closed them. He found that
his chest was heaving as if he had run a long
distance. But he'd run longer than that, he knew.
He had run for his life.

Tsuki's words had saved him.

 He had met Sardonyx and almost been
defeated. Almost. What information had she
desired from him? And what had he given her?
Not much, he was certain. He opened his eyes.

 He walked back to the luma, feeling somewhat
bener, and swung up. Beneath the river of
starlight he headed northwest, after the caravan.

              Demoneye

WHEN he saw her, his heart lightened.

 She crouched in the lee of a great glittering
granite boulder perhaps a thousand meters from
the encampment. Just another shadow.

 Immediately he saw her, he dismounted and
leading the luma behind him, crept toward her.
The animals were perfectly silent and would
remain so now; they knew the enemy was close.
Chiisai whirled, her short blade out, but he passed
into a patch of starlight and she recognised him.
They embraced joyfully.

 "Thank the Gods you have come at last," she
whispered, her beautiful oval face sobering. "My
horse gave out yesterday and I have been on foot
ever since."

Quickly, he brought her up-to-date.

  "I'm so relieved that Martyne was unhurt. I was
worried about her since I left. But as for Auteya,
I think perhaps we are already too late."

  "What do you mean?" he hissed. "Has
Hellsturm already killed her? Then why don't you
stop him?"

  "Calm yourself, " she said. "I understand your
concern. But the fact is, she is not within the
caravan."

"Not here? But how is that possible?"

"I cannot say for certain, Moichi."

"Then she's already at Mistral with Sardonyx."

"Mistral?"

  "A strange castle, Tsuki informed me. On the
northwest shore of an even stranger lake known
as the Deathsea. It is inhabited by this sorceress."
And he told her all he knew of Sardonyx.

  "I see." Chiisai's brow was furrowed in thought.
"There seem to be plans within plans here."

                 189
                  
190 Eric V. Lustbader
 "What do you know? Martyne told me "

 "Yes. The Land of the Opal Moon. I could
scarcely believe it when I heard." She put her
back against a rock and, after taking a quick
glance at the caravan's encampment, continued.
"There is a legend that I have heard although I
do not think it has Bujun origins. Perhaps it had
its genesis during the time that Ama-no-mori was
part of the continent of man."

"You mean during the sorcerous wars."

  "Yes. It is said that there came into being at
that time a place where all time ceased to exist,
where all time coalesced, an opening in the fabric
of our universe, like the incision of a surgeon's
scalpel. Perhaps it had been inadvertently created
as a by-product of the continuing pernicious spells
being conjured, or perhaps through a means
totally unknown to our world. In any event, the
Eye of Time, once it was discovered, opened up
terrifying possibilities. If one could slip through,
for instance, all secrets of the future could be had
and brought back; victory for the first sorcerer
through would be assured. Yet it was not to be so
simple a task, for this Eye of Time was inimical
to humans and even sorcerous spells proved no
protection from the deadly vortex. Thus the site
was abandoned and its location forgotten; and
thus it passed into the realm of legend."

  "Are you saying that Sardonyx has learned of
this Eye of Time's location?" Chiisai nodded.
"But what good would it do her? This is the
future those sorcerers would have come to; they
would have found nothing."

  "You miss the point, Moichi. If Sardonyx
manages to gain entry there, she can go back to
the time of the Kai-feng or beyond; to a time
when sorcery was potent. She could bring back all
the sorcerous creatures "

  He raised a hand. "Enough! I see what you
mean. But  are you saying that the location of
the Eye of Time is here in Kintai?"

  Chiisai nodded. "The legend tells us that the
Eye is located in a land where the moon is always
full and when you look at it it appears round as
a ball, not flat as in other lands. Its color is not
the silver of the north nor the gold of the east
nor the blue of the west nor the orange of the
south. No, it is of all these colors and more. An
opal moon."

  Almost involuntarily, Moichi looked skyward.
"But look there, Chiisai. The moon is horned and
is as red as a rose."

"Yes," she whispered, "so it is. But the legend
states that

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 191

the one entrance to the Land of the Opal Moon is
across a plain lit by ninso-waru, the Demoneye."

"So here we are."

"Yes. "

  "Then, if Sardonyx's castle is near here, she has
been in possession of that bit of information for
quite some time. This is not what Cascaras and
Aufeya possessed."

  "No. There is, unfortunately, more.'' She sighed.
"After the end of the sorcerous wars, there came
into being a story about an artifact. It cropped up
in a number of disparate places, giving that much
more credence to its veracity. Somewhere, it was
postulated, was the artifact-key to the puzzle of the
Eye of Time. Some, even, claimed that they had
seen it. But since each gave a different location
and none, it seemed, proved to be correct, its
actual existence was discounted by most. Still,
others dreamed and hoped, keeping its name alive:
the Firemask."

There was a brief hissing along the narrow ledge
of shale.

  He remained motionless, staring into the tiny
ruby eyes of the scaled lizard, its horned ridged
crest making it seem like an apparition out of
prehistory. Its forked tongue licked out, questing
along the rock as it regarded him incuriously. A
slow pulse beat in the hanging flesh at the juncture
of its neck and lower jaw. Then it had scuttled past
him, into a crack in the rock face. It stared stonily
at him.

  He squinted upward. Streaky clouds, faintly
luminescent, drifted overhead but never came near
the bloody moon.

  He ignored the pain in his chest, straining his
ears, listening for the tiniest sound out of place,
because there was a lot of loose shale down there
below him and a totally silent approach, he knew,
was next to impossible. It could be a lot worse, he
reflected: Hellsturm could be a Jhindo and then he
would be in for it because the night was the
Jhindo's world. But Hellsturm was only a koppo
adept. He laughed inwardly but there was little
humor in it; he was not, after all, the Dai-San, and
the Tudescan had destroyed Kossori.

  While he waited, crouched high on the narrow
ledge, alone in the night, he had time to think. It
had begun well enough. He and Chiisai had both
decided that they could not let the caravan reach
its destination, which they knew now to be Mistral.
Hellsturm and presumably now Sardonyx already
knew half of the vital information; Auteya
possessed the other half.

192 lyric V. Lustbader

How explosive that information was! Pieced
together from what Martyne had told them about
Cascaras and what Auteya had told Moichi about
Hellsturm, this became the only possible
conclusion: Together, Cascaras and AuLeya had
discovered the location of the fabled Firemask.

 Whatever Hellsturm now brought to Mistral
would have to be intercepted. There was no
alternative.

 The caravan encampment was centered in a
shallow dell bordered on the left by a dense copse
of oak trees and on the right and to the rear by
sheltering rock.

 There were four Tudescan warriors. But
Hellsturm was shadowed by another man, short
and squat but as muscular as a bull. This man was
not Tudescan but Moichi recognised him as a
Tulc, a member of an obscure tribe of folk to the
north. They lived on the vast snow-covered
steppes and wore the skins of predatory animals
such as the wolf and the bear. Their headmen
wore the skulls of these animals, covering the top
halves of their faces. Moichi had come across a
Tulc aboard the second ship he had signed on
with. What the man was doing so far from home
Moichi never learned, but it had not even
occurred to ask him, for Moichi, too, was far
from his native land and had no desire to talk
about his own reasons for leaving. But he had
learned other things from the man. The Tulc
were a fierce people and, in many ways, only
semicivilized. What one was doing with Hellsturm
was impossible to ascertain.

In all, there were six.

 "A fair match-up," Chiisai had whispered,
grinning. But he had not shared her optimism.

 The Tudescans were up and battle-ready in an
instant, even though he and Chusai had come
upon them as silently as they were able. They had
another advantage, however, for the Tudescans
seemed contemptuous of a woman warrior. Until,
that is, Chiisai dispatched the first man they sent
against her with one swipe of her dai-katana. She
ducked under the attack of the Tudescan and
skewered him from front to back just below the
breastbone.

Cursing, Hellsturm immediately sent two men
against her.

 For her part, Chiisai was as calm as the water
in a lake as she faced this dual charge. She stood
her ground, unmoving, hands placed one above
the other on the long hilt of her weapon, holding
it vertically so that the tip touched the earth.

The Tudescans split, coming at her from either
side. So

BENEATH AN OPAI' MOON 193

massive were both the warriors, they appeared to
be giants rumbling toward her. The one on her
right drew fractionally first, beginnimg an oblique
strike.

 Left to right the strike came and, two-handed,
Chiisai brought the dai-katana up to block,
precisely as if she were holding a wooden staff that
had neither cutting edge nor swordpoint. In the
same motion she continued the sweep horizontally
and down so that, as the point dropped below the
second warrior's incoming blow, it lanced inward
with a blur, slicing the Tudescan open from his
right side through to his spine. His weapon flew
from his hands as he went down.

 Now she ducked under the first warrior's cut
and, leaning forward, tried a reverse blow. This he
parried and, in counterattacking, used such force
that she was almost struck from her fighting
position. She recovered in time to deflect a strike
aimed at her neck but the flat of the heavy sword
smashed into her shoulder. She winced and twisted
her blade upward so that the point pierced the
warrior just above his Adam's apple, slashing into
the brain.

 Moichi was now fully engaged in combat with
the remaining Tudescan warrior. The man struck
twice and on the third blow succeeded in
separating Moichi from his sword. Moichi cursed
himself silently for not having been a better
student. But he had never been sufficiently
interested in swordsmanship. Pity he had not
known about this moment then.

 The Tudescan's face split in a feral grin as he
moved m for the kill. That expression stayed
permanently in place. He had not even seen the
motion of Moichi's left hand. Foolishly, the grin
still in place, he stared down at the thick copper
handle protruding from his chest. He coughed
once and pitched backward.

 There was only Hellsturm now. And the Tulc.
That one moved toward Chiisai as Moichi turned
to confront Hellsturm.

 The hood of his cape had been pushed back and
for the first time Moichi saw his face.

 He was stunningly handsome. This came not so
much from the individual features of his face his
nose was too straight, his mouth just a touch too
wide, the lips thick and sensual  but from an
intermix which made of the whole something
unusual. There was about him the distinct air of an
animal  dangerous, cunning and amoral, all part
of the undeniable masculine magnetism which had
drawn both Tsuki and Aufeya.

His deep-set eyes were black and this, too, seemed
to be the

194 Eric V. Lustbader

only color he wore. His leather helm was ebon as
were his chain-metal corselet, leggings and high
boots. The only touches of color were at the front
of his helm and on the buckle of his wide
weapons belt. Here had been painted a small
blood-red cross surrounded by a circle of the
same hue.

 Moichi picked up his dirk, wiping the blade
clean on the dead man's cloak, then retrieved his
sword. During this time, his eyes never left the
figure in front of him. He put away the dirk, held
his sword, point slightly higher than hilt, in front
of him.

 Hellsturm smiled at him and came forward, his
white teeth gleaming in the moonlight, sharp and
moist and pink-tinged. He did not touch the
sword that swung slightly, scabbarded at his side.

"You know what I am."

 It sounded like the sibilant whisper of a
summer's breeze and the dissimilarity between
visual and aural was so enormous that he was
shocked. Hellsturm might have been talking to his
lover. Moichi winced inside when he thought of
Tsuki and Aufeya.

 He had a chance if he could get Hellsturm to
draw his sword. If he couldn't He lunged
forward in a feint but the other danced nimbly
away and shook his head, his tongue clicking
against the roof of his mouth so that now he
sounded like an old lady.

"Oh no," he said, "No, no, no."

And raised his hands like blades.

 Moichi sheathed the useless weapon,
maneuvered so that his side was presented, giving
a narrower target, but Hellsturm was too swift
and he came on and it was all Moichi could do to
deflect with his wrists the three, four, five
hand-strikes in rapid succession.

 He backed off but Hellsturm followed. He
blocked an eyestrike but only partially deflected
the next. Pain like a hot lance shot through his
chest and he did the only thing he could do to
stave off death. He ran.

 He had the face of a weasel, Chiisai thought, set
into a head that seemed far too big for the torso,
even though that was itself quite massive. He
looked like a freak. He had tiny eyes and almost
no nose, but the large gaping nostrils gave him
the animal-like countenance. His ears, too, were
small but the

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 195

lobes were distended, possibly by the stones set
into them. He was dressed in wolf pelts and he
stank.

She allowed the Tulc the first strike.

 Its tremendous force shook her down to her
ankles and had her blade been forged anywhere
other than Ama-no-mori, it would certainly have
been shattered.

 He allowed her not a moment's letup but swung
at her over and over without discernible rhythm so
that she found it increasingly difficult to defend
herself. Each time he appeared to fall into some
pattern of attack, he would shift out of it and she
would find herself slightly off-balance and thus
vulnerable.

 Her arms began to ache, the pain becoming
fierce in no time at all, until it became a chore to
lift her own sword over her head.

 The Tulc came on, a feral grin lighting his face;
she had seen that kind of look before, knew what
this man would do to her before he killed her.

 In that instant of inward-looking, she missed it.
The movement had to have been minute but
ordinarily she would have picked it up. Too late.
The blur shot toward her and she felt as if her
right shoulder had been dipped in flame. She cried
out as the force reeled her backward. She
stumbled and the dai-katana flew from her grasp.

 She landed hard, clutching her shoulder where
the spike was embedded. It had come from the hilt
of the Tulc's sword, some hidden spring releasing
it.

 Now he stood over her, staring stonily down, and
threw his blade from him. He withdrew something
from beneath his furs and when Chiisai saw it
gleaming in the moonlight, she knew that she was
finished.

 The lizard had gone but a small sound had taken
its place and he tensed, knowing that Hellsturm
was on his way.

 Still he had no clear plan. He had known only
that he had to get away from the machine of
death, find some sort of cover. Now he wracked
his brain, trying to recall everything Kossori had
ever told him or showed him about koppo. He did
not give way to despair, though he knew that this
man who now pursued him had killed
Kossori and he had thought his friend all but
invincible.

 The sound came again, no more than the scrape
of leather against rock, but now he could see the
beginnings of an outline, already closer than he
had imagined. Not much time left.

196 Eric V. Eustbader

 He resisted the impulse to move. Right now he
was fairly certain that Hellsturm had not spotted
him despite the fact that he was moving in the
right direction. No sense in giving the Tudescan
any more of an advantage than he already had.
The trouble was, his own mind was a blank. He
still had no idea what

 He lost the silhouette. One moment it was
there; the next, gone.

Where was Hellsturm? he thought desperately.

 There was total silence now. But a kind of
deafening noise pounded against his eardrums
and he realized he was listening to the sound of
his own pulse. He scanned the darkness before
him.

 Felt it rather than heard it and was in the
process of turning to meet it when the blow hit
him, glancing off his forehead, and then he was
rolling, half-dazed, knowing that if he had been
motionless when the blow caught him, it would
have split his head open like a ripe melon.

 He struggled to his knees but Hellsturm kicked
him hard in the side and he went down.
Hellsturm was on him, not giving him time to
recover, and he was having to block a series of
vicious sword-strikes to his sternum without
benefit of a clear head or proper leverage. Sweat
was in his eyes and he shook his head back and
forth very quickly to clear his vision, but this only
intensified the pain. Sharp points digging into his
back and dust rising, clogging his nostrils, and he
was almost pinned now and that would be
it because he knew that once he became
immobile for even the briefest time, he was dead
meat.

 They were at the verge of the shale ledge and,
as another sword-strike blurred toward his face,
he felt them going over, tumbling, weightless for
just an instant as they were hung suspended in
midair. Then, abruptly, gravity took hold once
more and the earth rushed up toward them with
terrifying swiftness.

 He willed his body to relax but Hellsturm was
still on top of him and Moichi hit with his right
shoulder first, the full weight of both bodies
combined with the momentum; he felt as if he
were caught in a vise. He cried out, feeling
something inside tear, and then heard a popping
that was, surprisingly without pain and he knew
that his right arm was dislocated. Knew, too, that
there was no hope now. None at all.

* * *

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 197

 She had seen this weapon before. It had a long
wooden heft ending in a sickle-shaped metal blade.
From the end of the heft swung a long link chain
with a studded metal ball. The sight of it terrified
her. With good reason.

 Chiisai was a shujin; that is, a grand master in
martial arts. Only shujin were allowed to wear the
dai-katana. And she was one of only a few women
in Bujun history to be so skilled.

Yet Chiisai had known defeat in Ama-no-mori.
Once.

Her opponent had wielded this weapon.

 She was paralyzed with fear; she had never
beaten this weapon and would not do so now.

 The chain whirled in the air, circling, and, as it
lashed out with blinding speed, the Tulc grinned.
She screamed as the chain whipped about her
neck, driven by the force of this throw and the
weight of the ball. The sound was not unlike the
snapping of a hungry wolf.

 Her breath cut off and she began to strangle, her
continued screams but a soft susurrant rattle deep
in her Groat, as in a nightmare when one opens
one's mouth to call out and no sound is heard.
Panic welled up inside her, clutching at her
stomach. She gagged, watching the grinning
gap-toothed face looming sweatily over her as his
thick filthy hands drew tighter by small degrees the
chain around her throat.

 He threw the weapon casually into the air,
caught it by its heft, chopped downward in a tight
arc, the sickle blade carving a swath closer and
closer to her heaving breasts.

 She struggled feebly with her legs and he hauled
back on the chain as if she were a fish on a line.
Her lungs felt as if at any moment they would
burst.

 A pearly blackness invaded her, mistily seeping
into the edges of consciousness, and she knew that
death was near. She was hypnotized into
immobility, staring up at him, impaled, certain that
this was indeed happening but to someone else,
not her, not her.

 Then she saw him do a curious thing. Keeping
one hand wrapped around the chain, he let go of
the heft with the other hand, dropped it to his belt
of polished teeth. Carefully, not taking his eyes off
her, he unwound it. Then the blade came down,
sliding through the leather ties holding her
breastplate together. He used the blade again to
turn it over, away from her. Now she had only a
thin layer of clothing and he stared, mouth half
open, at what lay beneath the silk. He unbuttoned
his pants and they slid down the hairy trunks of his
legs.

198 Eric-. ILustbade~

 Her gaze slid down to the juncture, and the
outrage of what he was going to do somehow
galvanised her out of her immobility. She no
longer thought about her one defeat or this
strange weapon which had caused it.

It was life now, and life only.

 She went back to basics. For all she had left was
the jai, a movement she had had to learn before
the cut, the parry or the strike. She heard again
her instructor, Hanid, saying to her, If you cannot
get your sword out in time, there will be no need of
any of the rest. Do you understand? She hadn't,
really, then. But she had learned it anyway,
learned it well, for Hanjd was the finest iaijutsu
master of all the Bujun. Now she understood and
blessed him.

 Thus it seemed to the Tulc that there was no
movement at all. One moment she was exposed,
at his mercy, and he straddled her, rampant; the
next, he felt a sharp spearing pain lancing through
his groin and lower abdomen.

 His eyes bulged and spittle drooled from one
corner of his hanging mouth. He dropped the
weapon. All sensation was gone from his legs and
they would not support him. He tumbled to his
knees, straddling her outstretched legs. His
trembling hands clasped.his oozing vitals, holding
them inside his rent flesh. In front of him,
awesomely close, was the juncture of her thighs
and he stared longingly there as a chill swept
through him, colder than any he had ever
experienced before, and he thought of the huge
snow-wolves of his frost-rimed steppes and the
intense joy of the hunt as an orgasm: the hot red
blood spilling upon the virgin-white earth, so stark
and, in its way, holy. And now with every pump of
his laboring heart, his own blood was pouring
through his impotent fingers into the dust before
him. The last thing he saw was another part of
him lying on the ground near him. He reached for
it as if, with it, he could hold on to the life that
was fast slipping away from him. He toppled over,
dead before he hit the earth.

 Chlisai was clawing desperately at the chain
strangling her. The weapon itself was caught
beneath the Tule's heavy corpse and she had to
roll him over in order to extricate it and thus ease
the pressure. Her nails were gone and her fingers
bloody as she, at last, freed herself from the
chain.

 Tears welled in her eyes as her lungs heaved
involuntarily. Vertigo set in and she knew she
dared not get up. She lay on the wet earth,
gasping, feeling that she would never get enough
oxygen, felt the pins and needles, the numbness
beginning

BENE~TH~AN OPAL MOON 199

along her nose and cheeks and lips, knew that the
carbon dioxide was building too rapidly and
deliberately slowed her breathing. Slow and deep.
Deep and slow.

  For what seemed to her an endless time, she was
content to just breathe, such a simple, ordinary
function, staring sightlessly up at the slow wheel of
the sparkling icy stars and the blood-red moon,
crying, crying but knowing now that it would be all
right.

  It came in on his blind side and he lost all
hearing there. He was moving away but it was not
enough and the kappa blow caught him just above
the right ear. My God, he thought, this is no man
but a monster.

  He reeled drunkenly away, bouncing off a
boulder, but Hellsturm followed relentlessly. Once
he felt the granite at his back, he knew what he
must do and, gritting his teeth against the pain and
the shock, he slammed his right arm against the
curved rock face at what he estimated to be the
proper angle.

  Light flashed behind his eyes and he groaned,
his stomach heaving. Felt the pop, though, as the
bone returned to its socket. Pain flared as shock
dissipated its effect on the nerves; thunder
following on the heels of lightning. Sweat broke
out all over his body and he shivered, taking a
deep breath. He wiped his eyes with his good arm
as he lurched away from the rock.

  Felt Hellsturm close behind him and he ran into
the night, climbing as if this alone could save him.

  God is my savior, he found himself thinking. He
watches over me always. It was what his father
used to say to him as a child just before he went
to bed. He found, too, that he no longer found it
a saying to scoff at. It had its own meaning for
him now. It was a kind of inner strength that
stopped him from giving in to despair.

  Sounds close behind him told him that
Hellsturm was gaining. The blocks, the constant
movement would be useless now as he felt the
energy draining from him with each step he took.
But, he knew now, it had been useless from the
beginning, nothing more than a holding action that
had only prolonged the inevitable. What had made
him think that he would be any match for this
devil? He had fought beside the world's greatest
hero, but what made him think that he was one
himself?

  Still, he sped upward, his soul unable to admit
defeat even as he was haunted by its specter. He
ascended toward the stars

200 Erlc V. Lustbader

and the bloody Demoneye which hung over him
like the gloating, greedy face of Sardonyx.

 The ledge upon which he ran described a sharp
turn to the left and he followed it up, the stone
crumbling under his boot soles, using his hands
along the inner face to guide him, help propel
him along, running, stumbling, catching himself,
breathless, running once more. His lungs were
straining and his throat felt as if it were covered
with dust. Excessive sweat pouring from his body
by the exertion only further depleted his fast-
fading strength.

 Water. He needed water. Suddenly this seemed
an even more powerful imperative than
outrunning Hellsturm.

 Abruptly, he quit the ledge, swinging up onto
the true face of the rocky hillside. Tore two
fingernails in the process, but now he was heading
inward, still climbing, away from the plain below,
scrambling over rocks and scrub brush, hunting,
buying time, the only thing left that was of any
use to him.

 He crested the hill, panting, willing his
breathing to slow, moving downward now, on the
far side; and he found himself amidst lush foliage.
He felt the first faint surge of distant hope
because he could scent it now. Water.

 His toe struck a projection, a rock or a root, he
could not tell which, and he tumbled down the
last bit of the incline and then was on his knees
on the narrow bank, scooping the cold water of
the stream into his mouth in great gulps until he
remembered and stopped, though his body cried
out for more and his mouth was still dry. He took
a last mouthful but, instead of swallowing, let it
stay in his mouth. Then he ducked his head and
splashed his head and shoulders. It soothed the
ache somewhat. He spat out the last of the water,
knowing that if he took too much he would vomit
it all up at the first hard sprint.

 He picked himself up and carefully forded the
stream, which was wide but quite shallow, the
gurgling water not even cresting his boot tops.
But the stones at its bottom were sharp-angled
and slippery and he did not want to risk a fall.

 He gained the far bank without incident and
moved into a thick copse of pine. He climbed a
ridge, turned and followed it until he found a
spot that suited his needs. Here, he had an
excellent view of the stream without himself being
exposed. He crouched and waited. And with each
moment, he grew stronger. Yet he knew full well
that mere physical strength would not be enough.

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 201

 He put his back against the bole of a tree,
smelling the heady scent of the bed of brown pine
needles carpeting the rich earth all about him,
hearing the sad call of whippoorwill high up in the
branches overhead. He looked upward, saw a
brown-andwhite speckled owl close by. But there
was something strange about it. He looked again.
Its eyes were closed. The owl was nocturnal so it
should be wide-awake at this time. Why wasn't it?

 Then he had the answer and with it came the
knowledge of victory. He had a chance now, he
knew. One chance in ten thousand. But it was
better than no chance at all. But he had to have
time to think it through.

 It was the moon. Even though it was not full, it
was yet magnified in this strange land and its
bloody illumination was of such a burning
brightness that it had caused the owl to shut its
eyes.

Moonlight on the water of the rushing stream.

 Like a key jarring open a lock in his mind, a
memory had surfaced. One of the reasons, Kossori
had once told him, that koppo takes so long to
master is that it is more than haymental. One must
learn to attain a spirit "as calm as moonlight." That
is, an attitude of dispassion, being at once aware of
the landscape in general as well as of the specifics of
detail. While this attitude is maintained, the koppo
adept may be considered invincible. But should some
element be inserted which is distracting, which
interferes with this attitude, then, as a cloud passing
before the face of the moon turns all the world dark
and shadowy, he can be undone.

 Demoneye exploded into a thousand shards as
Hellsturm plunged into the stream and gained the
far bank. He paused there, his senses questing for
his prey.

 Without moving the rest of his body, Moichi felt
around on the pine carpet with his hands until he
found what he wanted. He hefted it in his left
hand, judging its weight, then tucked it into his
belt around the back so that it was out of sight.

 But in so doing, his elbow had passed through a
small patch of moonlight and, like a hound to the
scent, Hellsturm's handsome head swiveled
around, orienting on him. The Tudescan launched
himself up the incline more swiftly than Moichi
had thought possible. His long, lean legs pumped
in seeming defiance of gravity.

The lethal hands were raised and Moichi moved
back. He

202 Eric V. Eustbader

stumbled and was obliged to block a blow as he
was falling backward.

 The man's strength was appalling, even at this
stage, and Moichi almost felt his nerve break as
he was borne under the demonic assault.

 They were getting through now and there was
no more time. In a moment, he would be beaten
into a pulp. He gritted his teeth as he used his
right arm, the one that had been dislocated, to
block the blows raining down on him. The pain
was like a living thing, eating at his flesh, but it
could not be helped because he needed his left
hand. It darted behind him, the fingers closing
around the cool, hard surface, pulled it out.

Now.

Head on fire from an only partially deflected
tiger-strike.

Now now now.

"Tsuki!" he called. "Over here! Quickly!"

 It was a desperate thing, a ploy once used so
often that now no one used it.

 Hellsturrn's head jerked, eyes opened a
fraction. His hands hesitated an instant, a cloud
passing before the face of the moon.

 Out of the shadows and the darkness Moichi
swung upward with all his might,
trapping-Hellsturm's right hand between the
trunk of the pine and the saw-edged rock in his
fist.

 There came a sharp, cracking sound as if a tree
had been felled. The skin shredded and Moichi
bore down, grinding the rock into the bone.
Blood spurted as the knuckles splintered one by
one.

 Hellsturm's head snapped back and his sensual
lips drew away from his teeth. The whites shone
all around his eyes and Moichi could smell the
stench of his sweat. But Hellsturm still had his
left hand and he used it now, driving the rock
from Moichi's grasp, oblivious to the pain, using
it as if it were a mace to bludgeon his opponent.

 Moichi drove upward with the toe of one boot,
caught Hellsturm in the stomach. But his chain
mail absorbed most of the impact and he bore
down. He had hold of Moichi's right shoulder
now and he dug his fingers into the already
wounded socket.

 Pain was a blanket that completely covered
Moichi. His eyes teared and he cried out, his arm
hanging numb and useless with the agony.

 But now his left hand was scrabbling at his belt
and he grasped the hilt of one of his dirks. He
tried to withdraw it,

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 203

but in the battle it had somehow gotten fouled in
the fabric of his shirt.

 Hellsturm, his handsome face twisted into a
mask of hate and bloodlust, continued to dig into
the flesh of his shoulder, pulling at his arm. In
another moment, the bone would be pulled from
its socket again and the pain would be overwhelm-
ing. If he passed out now

 He had it! The dirk came free and, without
further thought, he slashed upward, not really
aiming because there was no time. He felt the
bone slipping, grinding against the socket, and he
yelled. The blade of the dirk shot through the
night, the edge opening Hellsturm's face from the
right eye across the bridge of the nose, through to
the left eye.

 Hellsturm let out a howl like an animal and his
body jerked upward. On his feet he stumbled
backward, his ruined hand to his ruined face. He
tripped and almost righted himself but the incline
was too steep and there was too much blood on
him; he was blind and blood filled his ears and
mouth and he had no balance. He crashed
backward obliquely and his spine cracked against
the trunk of a pine. His momentum was such that
he spun off drunkenly, careening down the
embankment, spinning, until he hurtled into the
rushing stream, entangled in the rocks, the bloody
illumination of Demoneye dappling the body as if
it were no harsh intruder upon the harmonious
landscape.

              The Anvil

BEYOND the ending on the plain was the forest
and beyond that the bright shore of the Deathsea.

 It was midday before they breached the far
verge of the forest. It seemed a dismal place,
heavily overgrown with dense tangled foliage,
ropy vines and thorned creepers; the earth in
between littered with great malevolent-looking
mushrooms as lividly white as snow. But there
seemed little in the way of fauna. What birds
inhabitated its upper reaches were strictly
nocturnal, disappearing before the sun heaved its
bulk above the torn horizon.

They were both relieved to quit its dark and
intense interior.

 But what they saw now surprised them, for the
Deathsea was a deep and waterless scar upon the
face of the land, a rotting skeleton divested of all
skin and flesh.

 The Deathsea was dust and swirling ash,
glittering unrelievedly in the sunlight, undulating
sharply, its sloping sides turning into a baking
oven.

 They paused at the edge of it, staring directly
across its length, and there, upon the far shore,
just visible, were the shadowy towers and
fenestrations of Mistral, the home of Sardonyx. ~

 They decided almost immediately to take the
shortest route: through the Deathsea. The thing
was perhaps twice again as wide as it was long
and they estimated it would take them the better
part of four days to skirt it.

 The temperature climbed alarmingly as they
descended and, once, Moichi considered turning
back; but he could not bring himself to voice his
thoughts. His mind ever strayed to Aufeya and
what she might be suffering at the hands of
Sardonyx and his resolve deepened.

                2(}\
                  
BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 205

 All about them was dust and decay. Not the kind
of oozing rot one might find in the depths of some
leafy jungle or in a fetid swamp but rather a
peculiar kind of desiccation that bordered on
fossilisation as if all moisture had been sucked
from the sea.

 The deeper they descended, the fiercer the heat
became, a dry baking heat which mounted until
they felt as if they were roasting on a spit. Yet the
absolute lack of humidity made it bearable and
kept them going.

 The sun was white and hung swollen, seemingly
motionless, above them. Moichi, who had much
experience with terrible heat in the doldrums of
the southern latitudes, wrapped an extra shirt over
the top of his head and around his forehead,
bidding Chiisai do the same. He did not want
either of them passing out with sunstroke.

 They spoke infrequently and then only in
monosyllables. Much of this had to do with the
heat; the expenditure of energy was debilitating.
Yet there were other reasons, also.

 Just past noon they ate desultorily, without
appetite. Chiisai would have foregone the meager
meal entirely if he had not insisted that she eat
something; the sunlight sapped the body's energy
all too quickly.

 The floor of the Deathsea levered off now but
they seemed still to be in the shallows. Presently,
as if dropping from a shelf, they found themselves
descending on a steep incline to the true bed of
the Deathsea.

 They paused once in the afternoon to water the
luma, which like camels, tended to store up much
of their needed liquids. Chiisai took two sips of the
tepid fluid but Moichi declined. Limiting strenuous
exercise, he knew how~to conserve his body's own
water and keep drinking to a minimum. This might
be crucial later on, if they ran into any unforeseen
difficulties that required water.

 In the depths they passed a skeletal carcass,
rearing up higher than a house, the rigid dry bones
casting thin escarpments of shadow, bars of dark
and light, rippling across the seabed. The immense
skull, which lay half buried in the dust, was long
and narrow, almost all jutting jaw. It had double
rows of teeth and minimal cranial cavity.

 Further on, they came across the desiccated
carcass of another kind of creature. This one
seemed to have had wings, the bones spread out
on either side of the carcass delicate and perfectly
round and he saw where there was a
break hollow.

206 Eric V. I`ustbader

The lack of water vapor, of course, made the
Deathsea perfect for the preservation of
once-living things.

 He would have liked to explore more of these
fossils for they were of a sort he had never seen
before, but he had no time nor any way to search
them out at long-distance; the brilliance of the
place combined with the distortions caused by the
intense heat made it impossible to see anything
before they were almost upon it, even husks as
large as these long-dead creatures.

 The sky above them was cloudless, white where
the sun hung, fading to a pale blue, but now he
saw before them a kind of haze, hanging between
them and the far shore. He shook his head and
shaded his eyes, fearful that the heat was playing
visual tricks. He nudged Chiisai and she followed
his pointing finger, nodded.

 What they saw was a cloud, so low down that it
seemed to brush the floor of the Deathsea. Its
top did not rise higher than the shoreline.

 It seemed to be moving, fuzzy and continually
in motion and definitely headed toward them.

 Then it was upon them and they were abruptly
engulfed in a swarm of giant flying insects. There
was a droning buzz in their ears but the creatures
themselves moved too fast to get a good look at.
They were merely blurs, whizzing and darting. Yet
not once did any creatures come close enough to
touch either one of them and they seemed
harmless enough.

 They urged their luma onward and were soon
past the horde. They glanced back, watched the
insect cloud make its slow steady way across the
Deathsea. Moichi wondered what they fed off,
since there was nothing to eat in this desolate
place.

 Dusk came early for them since, as soon as the
sun dropped below the sea's high bank to the
west, their evening began even while the rest of
the world was still bathed in sunlight. It was a
blessing, for the temperature began to drop
almost as soon as the shadows began to creep
over the bed of the sea. Apparently whatever the
ground was composed of did not retain the day's
accumulated heat for long.

Soon they were engulfed in shadow.

 They stopped early and made camp, exhausted
not only from the day's journey but from their
toils of the night before. All the day, Moichi had
kept his damaged right arm close to his side,
forearm resting across his thigh; the heat felt
good on it.

They settled into a space with the gigantic ribs of
some

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 207

creature arching over their heads like a cathedral
shell. Its skull was wide and thick, a long straight
horn protruding from its forehead.

 There was, unfortunately, nothing with which to
make a fire, and as the temperature plummeted
they regretted this deeply. It seemed inconceivable
that just a short time ago this dust and air had
been shimmering with heat. The luma stood close
together, snorting, their blown breath making tiny
clouds of mist, and Moichi and Chiisai took their
cue from their steeds, huddling together for the
warmth their own bodies provided.

 There was time for talk after they ate but both
seemed reluctant to do so. Moichi had seen what
she had done to the Tulc but he still had no idea
what had been done to her. He knew Chiisai well
enough to understand that she was a naturally
gregarious person and this silence was disturbing.
Yet still he held back from speech. He felt,
instinctively, the importance of her initiating this
talk. That she had something on her mind he took
as a given.

 "How is your shoulder?" Her voice was soft and
muted although there was no wind to speak of
down here at the bottom of the sea. "Is the pain
bad?''

"Not so much now. The heat helped a great deal."

"You should put it in a sling."

 "Considering where we are bound, that's not a
very good idea."

"It's going to be of little use to you in any event."

"Tomorrow, I'll see if I can get it over my head."

"You're mad."

"Yes. Perhaps."

  She laughed but it seemed to choke in her throat
and she was crying against his shoulder, silent tears
rolling down her high-boned cheeks.

  "It's all over now, Chiisai," he said, the words
sounding foolish to his own ears.

  " 'What is terror,' " she whispered, " 'but the face
of one's own fears.' This is a saying among the
Bujun. One which I had heard many times, yet
never really understood until last night. I stared
death in the face, Moichi, and I was not afraid.
But the Talc " She hesitated and he knew that
this was what had been eating at her, the source of
her brooding silence. Bars of red and black striped
them moonlight and shadow caused by the giant
curved rib cage within which they huddled. His
luma stamped once and was still. "The Tulc would
have taken

208 Erlc V. l:'ustbader

me. Dead or alive, I don't think he cared.
Perhaps, even, he wished to see me die while he
was still " She stopped, unable to go on for long
moments. Yet, otherwise, she seemed in control;
her body was calm. Her arms clutched him more
strongly and he knew that she had not yet come
to the difficult part for her. "I have never been
with a man. And when I saw him standing over
me standing there and I could not allow that
to happen. I I was afraid and I am ashamed."
The last was said in a rush as if, once having
made up her mind to tell him, she was making
certain she would not back off at the last instant.
''I lost my nerve.''

  "No,'' he said. They were so close that his
deeper voice had a kind of sonic overtone. "It
saved your life. Nothing to be ashamed of in
that."

"I'm not fit to be a warrior, let alone a shujin."

  "Listen to me, Chiisai," he said, cupping her
chin so that she looked directly into his eyes.
"One thing I learned very early in life is that good
healthy fear is, at times, the only thing that keeps
you alive. Just think. You're here now to be
listening to me. If you hadn't been afraid " He
shrugged.

  Still she was silent. Perhaps time was all she
needed; then again perhaps not. He shrugged
mentally. His own battle had been quite an
ordeal. Through it, some ghosts had been ex-
orcised. But, he knew, others still remained.

  That night he dreamed of coming home, not in
bright searing flashes or odd disconnected
scenes not, to put a fine point on it, in the
timeless image-laden language of dreams but
rather as if he were awake, recalling the incidents
of his past.

  The wind had told him. At least that was how
he would always recall it.

  He awoke, come cormorant, and went up on
deck. It was the Biythee, his first ship. The sea was
as calm as a sheet of slate and the sun was a glow
as it hung incipient just below the eastern
horizon, where its pale light had already pushed
back the night.

  But everything was not the same as when he
had gone to bed. The difference was the wind.
Sometime during the short southern night, it had
changed, backing up until now it was coming out
of the south.

  He took a deep breath and scented it there,
hanging like a pall. He crossed to the starboard
taffrail, his eyes scanning the

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 209

horizon. But there was nothing to see save sea and
sky. Sky and sea. Still, it was there.

 He turned and called out the change in course
to the helmsman then, cupping his hand beside his
mouth; he cried into the rigging and within
moments all canvas had been broken out.
Moments later, the first mate came on deck and
Moichi informed him of the change.

 He had been away, it seemed to him, for a very
long time but perhaps this was merely subjective.
Certainly Alara'at seemed unchanged. The
Iskamen port city from whence he had first set sail
so long ago teemed with life. Yet, as he
maneuvered the Biy'hee in toward the wharves, he
could detect, here and there, a new edifice or
some reclaimed ground he remembered as
wilderness now transformed into a square or a
tiled plaza. But this was natural, for all healthy
cultures must expand over time. The tall shady
palms were still there, however, lining the shore on
the near side of the first buildings.

 His father had been the last person he had seen
when he left as a boy, turning his face up for the
brusque farewell kiss that Moichi thought was
more tradition than emotion.

 And now it was his father who brought him
home again. For that was the message the wind
had brought him, that his father was dying.

 And so it was. The main hall of his family's
house was ablaze with the myriad white candles of
death.

 It was just past midmorning and there seemed
little activity. No one paid him any heed until his
brother, Jesah, opened the cedar door to what he
knew was his father's room and stepped into the
hallway.

 They stood staring at each other, while servants
hurried by them, these two brothers who were so
dissimilar both physically and psychologically.
Where Moichi normally seemed massive, he was
dwarfed in the presence of his younger brother,
who was a veritable giant of a man. And, of
course, Jesah followed their father in all things. He
had always been contemptuous of his older
brother's interests, considering them unworthy of
one who might have been nay, should have been
shouldering responsibility as future leader of the
family.

 Jesah cleared his throat, "Well," he said. ''You've
come home, Moichi. You picked a perfect time to
show up."

"I came because he's dying, Jesah."

 "Ah, yes." He clasped his hands in front of him,
a gesture which he affected, believing it gave him
a rather solemn li

210 Eric V. I`ustbader

surgical air. Moichi rather thought it made him
look like a prissy school instructor. "From what
far-off land did you come?"

 "I was on the high seas, seventeen days out
from Bylantetan.''

"A long way away. I'm surprised you made it."

"He's my father."

"Yes. I know that."

"Just what does that mean?''

 "You've been away a long time but I see you
haven't changed. "

 "I did the only thing I could. It was you or me.
You could never defend yourself decently. That
boy was killed. One of us had to take the blame
and leave Iskael."

 "You wanted to leave!" The resentment in
Jesah's voice was tangible. "You dreamed of
shedding your responsibility to Father and to me
and the girls. The family never mattered to you.
Let Jesah take care of that, you thought, it is
what he loves anyway."

 Moichi stared at him. It was the first time he
had gotten an inkling that, perhaps, Jesah did not
relish his position. "Jesah, I " he began.

 His brother cut him off. "Father has been
calling for you," he said curtly.

"I would see him."

 "All right." As if he were giving permission to
an outsider. He stepped aside to allow Moichi
entrance.

 He had been in his father's room many times as
he was growing up. When he was a child, it had
been his parents' room. Until his mother had died
of a disease no physician could diagnose. Quite
naturally, his father felt that it was a sign from
God and there followed a year of prayer and
stringent discipline, as if the entire family had
been guilty of some sin for which each member
now had to atone. It was a place unlike any other
in the house. The stone-and-brick kitchen, for
instance, was light and airy with many windows
overlooking the rolling grassland; the sitting room
was dark and cavernous, dominated by the
immense flagstone fireplace whose hearth seemed
like the mouth of God when he was small, the
great flat stones rising through the roof and
reaching, he had once believed, to the very heart
of heaven. His father may or may not have
instilled this grotesque and absurd image but
surely he did nothing to dispel the notion; the
bedroom he shared with lesah he always

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 211

found cozy and comforting (the girls' rooms were
in the opposite wing and he had never seen those).
But his father's room was enormous, easily the
largest in the house, bigger even than the sitting
room or the kitchen, which included the long
cedar dining table around which the entire family
sat without fail three times a day. And, of all the
rooms in the house, it alone had a sloping roof,
this owing to the fact that it was part of the
original dwelling which, over time and the
furtherance of a large family, his father had found
it necessary to add to considerably. It felt old, too.
Not the oldness associated with must and death
and well, aging, but rather a peculiar kind of
stolid antiquity which Moichi found secretly
delightful, like a warm down comforter thrown
over the shoulders on a chill winter's night. When
he was quite small he used to love to creep
clandestinely into the room and just sit, not
moving, not touching anything, not even looking
anywhere in particular. just sitting in his father's
great scarred wooden chair by the desk which
might have contained all the secrets of the ages
and letting the aura of the room seep slowly into
him. And he found, as he grew older and thus
more subject to the daily aggravations of life, that
this room's silent, breathing atmosphere had the
power to calm him, as if it were somehow alive.

 Now there was a different feeling about the
room. As he stepped over the threshold and
pushed the door to behind him he felt again the
ancient quietude hovering, but held at bay,
perhaps, by the new sadness here.

 He crossed the bare polished floor and stood
beside the high brass bed. He seemed suddenly
very tall, the slanting roof almost brushing the top
of his head so that he unconsciously stooped a
little.

 The figure in the bed seemed frail indeed and he
realized with a start that he had been thinking of
him for quite a while as he had been when he,
Moichi, was young. He had deliberately
disregarded the encroachment of time and, like a
child still, refused to believe in age advancing at
all. Not for him. Not for his father.

 He could never bring himself to think of his
father as an old man, not even now, ravaged as he
was by time and disease. The man had always been
far too vital. That he was immobile now on the
bed attested to the gravity of his condition. Like a
horse, his fiercely defiant will would not allow him
to go down save under dire circumstances. And,
perhaps for him, death was the only one.

212 Eric V. Lus~ader

 Now Moichi leaned over the bed, listening to
the unquiet susurrus of his father's labored
breathing, sounding as if there was fluid in his
lungs; and he was unaccountably reminded of the
nights he would lie awake as a child, watching the
painfully slow progress of the moon in its arc as
it rode, like a schooner, the vast sea of stars, or
listening to lesah's gentle, shallow breathing from
the bunk below, as he dreamed of the unknown
sea lapping at the shores of Alara'at far away.

 His father's eyes were closed but the veined lids
seemed as thin and translucent as tissue. There
were blue circles around his eyes, as if the flesh
was somehow being eaten away from within so
that now the lethargically pumping blood was
closer to the surface, bubbling, threatening to
break through, to breach, at last, the portals of
mortality which had kept it safely in check for a
lifetime.

A lifetime.

 As he stood silently over his father he thought,
Here is someone I don't know. This person with
the old and tired face might as well be a stranger.

 His father died at sunset, peacefully, without
saying a word or opening his eyes, the shallow
breathing ceasing, it seemed to Moichi, just as the
distant sun slid behind the high peaks far to the
west, their tops so high it was said that even the
rock had capitulated and turned to solid ice.

 Darkness came for them both, the shadows
stealing through the window and into the room as
if sent as a messenger, and he realized that the
transition had been so swift, or, again, so subtle
that he had missed the actual moment of his
father's passing.

He turned and went out of the room.

 lesah and his three sisters and their husbands
two of them were married filed past him into
the room and he left them to it. No one said a
word to him.

 He went through the long wide hallway and into
the kitchen, still smouldering, since it faced south
and west, with the last of the reflected light of
dusk and, though the sun was gone from the sky,
still gloriously illuminated.

 He opened the back door and went out, hearing
at once the cicadas' shrill singing and the
infrequent throaty calls of the grey geese. He
became aware of a brown-and-white jackrabbit
sitting up on its powerful hind legs half within the
tangled shadow of a thorn bush, staring at him.
For a long while they were both immobile. Then
the rabbit's nose twitched as if it

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 213

were a character out of a children's storybook his
mother used to read to him and he saw the long
rodent's teeth underneath. In a flash, the creature
was away, bounding into the tall grass.

 He heard a sound behind him, knew someone
had slipped through the door. He did not turn
around and, for a moment, was strangely angry
that anyone would have the temerity to see what
he saw, hear what he heard, to intrude upon his
private world.

 Someone took his arm, slim strong fingers
wrapping themselves around his right elbow.

 It was Sanda, the youngest of his sisters. He
watched the sweep of her long dark hair as the
wind took it and her enormous black eyes set wide
apart and deep within her face. She was strikingly
beautiful, fineboned yet strong of countenance.
With a start, he realised that she looked more like
him man any other member of the family.

 "It's so good to have you home again," she said,
her voice rich and musical. "You'll not go go away
again, will you?" Her head rested against the crook
of his arm; she was as short as their father had
been. She required no answer, but said,
"Remember when you used to put me on your
shoulder and take me riding?"

"Yes, I remember."

"And Father would be so cross with you."

"You were much younger then."

 But she had already turned her face into his
chest, her body wracked with sobs. He put his arm
around her, filled with a great sadness, not for his
father, that dead stranger Iying in his parents'
room inside the house, but for Sanda, this young
woman, for all the time away from his land and for
a little girl whom he loved and whom he had
missed terribly.

 "You know, I always loved you for that," she
said, her words a vibration against his massive
body. "I was so proud that you thought enough of
me to stand up to him and to lesah. " She held
him tightly. ''You were the only one who treated
me as an individual, not as someone who was
always the last in line, who got the clothes when
everyone was finished with them, who was always
belittled because everyone else already knew the
things she was trying to find out." She wiped at her
eyes. "Do you know you never teased me. That's
what I loved about you most."

 Moichi laughed softly. "I could never deny you
anything. Remember the time I took you with me
into Alara'at without

21i ~ LrlcVi Lustbader

anyone knowing and you saw that bit of jewelry in
a shop window as we passed. You wanted it so
desperately and I laughed at you and told you
you could have it when you became a woman."

  "I remember," she said, her eyes as soft as mist.
"When I started to cry, you went back and bought
it for me."

  "I couldn't bear to hurt you. You know how
children are. They want everything they see and
then, a day later, it's Iying somewhere, forgotten.
But I knew I'd hurt you and I couldn't bear that.
I remember you wore it every day, and when
Father asked you where you got it you told him
one of the boys at school had given it to you."

  Her eyes flashed. "I still wear it." And her slim
fingers plucked at the small six-pointed star
hanging around her neck on a thin chain.

  "Do you not have a man who gives you jewelry
now?" he said, mock-severely.

  "Not yet." She put her arms around him and
squeezed. "And anyway, I'll never take this off no
matter what anyone else gives me. It's a reminder
of too many happy days."

  He would never remember the funeral with any
degree of clarity. It was as if his conscious mind
had pulled a misty curtain across that time so that
now, even in dreams, it had a vagueness, as if he
had never been present at all at the actual
ceremony.

  Afterward, as was the Iskamen custom, there
was an elaborate if solemn banquet for the family
and friends of his father which would precipitate
the seven days of fasting.

  Moichi sat beside Sandal To his left was a tall,
rather elegant woman. At a point when Sanda
was gone, he was aware that the woman was
staring at him. He turned and looked at her for
the first time. She had black eyes and dark hair
wound around and around her head. She wore a
shimmering bottlegreen gown which covered one
shoulder while leaving the other one bare. The
neckline swooped to the tops of her firm breasts.

  "Please excuse me for staring," she said in a
slightly husky voice. "But you are the other son.
The one who sails the seas. "

Their eyes locked for a brief moment.

  "I am Elena." And when the blank look
remained on his face, she added, "Justee's wife."

  Moichi was astounded. The death of lustee's
son in a brawl had been the cause of Moichi's
swift departure from Iskamer a long time ago.
lustee's son had picked a fight with Jesah and

B13NEATfl AN OPAL MOON 215

pulled a knife. Jesah, being unfamiliar with
fighting, would surely have died if Moichi had not
taken the other boy on. Justee, whose land
bordered Moichi's father's own, was only slightly
younger.

 "Unfortunately, he is ill," Elena was saying. "Else
he would be here with me to honor his closest
neighbor and friend. When he recovers, he will
come to the grave of your father and say his
prayers for his safe journey and his eternal peace."

"Did you know my father well?"

 "Alas, no. I am only recently married to lustee.
After his first wife died, he took me." Moichi
thought this a peculiar way to put it. "I'm so sorry
about your father. Please accept my heartful~"

 "Excuse me," Moichi interrupted her, standing.
He felt abruptly claustrophobic and went out of
the room. He went into the kitchen but this time
it was crowded with cooks and servers. He saw
Sanda in one corner going through the reserves of
wine with a server and he thought, They still have
her doing the chores.

 He went out into the quiet night, searching for
his stars, the Southern Cross and the Lion
constellation, but it was overcast and not even the
first-magnitude stars could be seen. The moon was
but a pale haloed smear etched upon the cloud
over. There was a wind from the southeast,
Wnging with it the heat and spiced aridity of the
Great Desert. He thought again of his father but
no emotion surfaced; he felt nothing.

"Do you not miss this land?" a voice said behind
him.

 He turned to see Elena standing behind him,
framed by the lemon light coming through the
open back door. She seemed at that moment both
coolly aristocratic and terribly vulnerable.

 "I'm sorry if I caused you to leave. I wanted to
tell you " She stopped, as if bewildered by him.
"Would you mind if I stood beside you for a
while?" There was nothing in her voice save,
perhaps, sadness.

 He nodded mutely and turned back, not knowing
why he had given his consent. He should have sent
her back inside the house. He heard the movement
as her thighs brushed against the fabric of her
gown, then he smelled the light musk, felt the heat
of her body close by.

"I always miss Iskael," he said after a time.

"Then why do you leave it?"

 There was a rustling in the tall grass to their left
and he imagined that the brown-and-white
jackrabbit was back.

216 Eric Y. Lustbader

 "My first love is the sea," he said, surprised by
the softness of his voice. "But one can have more
than a single love."

 "Yes. I see." She lifted a hand, wiped back a
stray strand of hair behind one ear. Out of the
small silence that built itself, she said, "No doubt
you wonder why I married lustee."

 He said nothing, knowing that any answer he
gave would be superfluous and that, in any event,
she would tell him now because that was what she
had come out here for.

 "He was so very kind to me. I came here from
the south, where the border skirmishes are
ceaseless even to this day." She meant between
the Iskamen and their neighbors of Aden. It was
an ancient and bitter dispute, for the Iskamen, it
was said, had been born in Aden. "That was how
my family died. My parents, my sisters. " She
paused to lick her lips. "I arrived here with
nothing and lustee took me in. I was not a beggar
but, in truth, I had nowhere else to go. My father
had once spoken of him but that had been such
a long time ago, when I was but a little girl.

 "lustee never asked how long I would stay or
even if I would ever go at all." The stain of the
moon waxed for a moment and then the running
clouds passed thickly before it, blotting out its
light. "His wife was already ill, then, had been for
some time, and he would become easily vexed by
her constant requests, the attention she required.
There was a need for me and I stayed with her
constantly until she died. Afterward, he came and
asked me if I would marry him."

"Did you do it out of convenience?"

"Convenience? What do you mean?"

"For his money."

 She seemed surprised. "Not at all. " But did not
take offence.. She shrugged. "Perhaps I needed a
father then." He heard all of the pent-up
frustration in her voice. "But not now.

 "I don't want to hurt him. But I
need something else now." Her cool fingers
touched his neck, warming as they picked up his
body heat. Her touch was very delicate and she
knew where to put her fingers.

 Abruptly, it did not seem absurd to him or even
wrong but merely the most natural thing to do.
He wanted it too. "Over there," he said thickly
and led her by the hand into the high grass.

She sank with him onto the earth.

 "I'm so lonely," she said, her lips against his so
that he felt as well as heard her words.

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 217

 Slowly he stripped off her gown and her skin
glowed in the night, a beacon lighting the way
toward what? Solace? Salvation? Perhaps nothing
so complex: pleasure only.

 Her skin was softer than any he had ever known
and so moist that he could believe she was a
nocturnal flower covered in dew.

 He spent a long time with her. A lifetime, it
seemed. And all the while she whispered to him,
soft words and endearments, cried questions and
languorous replies; and these soul-torn com-
munications he remembered more clearly than the
feel of flesh against flesh, the sensual contacts
which were in a way incidental, though, as part of
the whole, important.

 When it was all over, her cheeks were streaked
with tears for what he had given her, the chasm he
had filled, what she now possessed. It was the
intimacy of the listening while they performed the
most basic and beautiful of acts. As if she allowed
less men to hear her than to enter her.

It was a very special gift.

 He stayed on in the chirruping night after she
had returned indoors; after she had kissed with her
lips and her artful tongue his mouth and cheeks
and eyes. Thinking. It had given him great
pleasure and a release from a building tension.

 This had been the beginning: knowing that he
was doing it with her, knowing whom he was
cuckolding. But it was because of her, what she
was, that this notion was soon trivialised into a
childish fantasy. For there was an honesty about
her, a genuineness that had touched him,
transcending circumstance. She had approached
him without guile, made no bones about what she
needed. Can you give this to me? she had asked
him silently with her fingers and her lips. And this?
And this? And 1, in return, shall give you

More than he could ever have anticipated.

 He became aware of something settling over him
and he rose and went out into the grass, naked
still, clothes forgotten, as he had when he was a
little boy and his father would call to him to put
something on and his mother, laughing, would just
shake her head from side to side and let him
go until the house was but a black silhouette
punctured by smeared yellow light. He turned for
a moment and the blaze from the kitchen windows
seemed quite remote, as if on the other side of a
vast gulf.

 He felt now as he had always felt in his father's
room a warmth, an ancient protectiveness
cloaking him. And, at last,

218 Eric V. Lustbader

he knew what this feeling was: the long violent
history of the Iskamen, as palpable and as potent
as living entity. Truly, he belonged to them and
they to him.

 He faced outward, toward the distant but
invisible mountains where the Hand of God had
fashioned the tallest peak to guide the Iskamen to
this, their home.

 The night beat on around him. He was aware of
the tall grass brushing his calves, the cicadas' wail,
the stands of aromatic cedars and, further away,
the luminescent birch, scattered among the
grazing land, rising like signposts. Above all, the
mountains made their presence felt. He felt
himself brushed by

"Hello," he whispered.

"So you have come back."

"The wind brought me. It told me of your dying.''

  "The wind." The voice was scoffing. "It was
God. God told you."

"The wind. God. Does it matter?"

  "You speak as a foreigner." The tone turned
bitter. "But you did not have to leave home to
speak thus. Your brother "

"Would you have me as lesah is?"

"He is faithful to Iskael."

"He is unhappy."

"He is faithful."

"As am 1. "

"You are faithful to yourself only."

  "That is the difference between us. I see that as
good. You do not."

"You turned your back on me a long time ago."

  "No. Never on you. Only on what you tried to
make me into. "

"I knew what was best for you."

  "No, you didn't. The sea is where I belong. I am
happy there. "

"You have always defied me!"

  "I defied only the reins by which you meant to
hold me to yourself. People are not animals. You
cannot harness them in order to make them do as
you wish. This is the message of Iskamen
history "

"Do not blaspheme!"

  "Is that what I'm really doing? Listen to what I
say for once for once."

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 219

 "A child has a duty hi his father. He must
respect him. Obedience is a sign of that respect."

 "But you never understood that respect must be
earned. If you had listened to me, heard what I
was saying, you would have understood that I was
a person and not an extension of you. The
Iskamen broke free of their bondage in Aden.
This you can accept. Can't you see that this is the
same? I had to be free to choose my own destiny."

 There was silence for a time. Even the cicadas
had fallen still.

 "I was always a stubborn man. I did not want
you to leave my side."

"I never saw that."

"I could never express it."

"Someday, I will return to Iskael again, perhaps to
stay."

 "You will never stay here for long. But now I
know your heart. lust coming back, that is enough,
now my son."

 And he was alone in the night, tears distorting
his vision, thinking: Gone, gone gone. He's gone.

-
           Sardonyx
Or

~ HEY gained the far shore of the Deathsea at
dusk. Nearing Mistral, they passed through a vast
undulating field of daffodils and buttercups, their
heavy bells swooshing in the breeze, heralding the
beginnings of the night. In the sudden darkness,
their lush saffron was chilled in the ruddy
moonlight. Fireflies zoomed and swooped about
them.

 When they broke, without warning, from the
lush field, they found themselves upon a jutting
rock promontory below which was a drop of
perhaps six meters to a rushing, foam-filled river
beyond which Mistral stood.

 It was set on the peak of the high ground,
though beyond it lay land that was higher still as
the topography graduated toward the steppes and
mountain range in the northwest.

 Mistral might easily be mistaken for a crag
itself, for its foundations were composed of
rhyolite, a kind of greenish granite that,
nevertheless, was earlier more volatile as volcanic
magma. At its base, the castle was four-sided but,
above, the battlements, towers and crenellated
ramparts branched off into so many angles that it
hurt the eye just to stare at it too long.

 The portcullis stood open and, as they went
through, they felt vulnerable indeed. Inside, the
courtyard was deserted but they were startled to
hear a song playing, as if on the very air. Looking
up, Moichi saw that as the wind passed through
the turrets and fenestrated needlelike towers, it
set up resonances and harmonies with the
complexities of the architecture so that it was the
castle itself which sang this mournful tune.

 Before them, the stone doors to the main hall
stood open as if awaiting their arrival.

 They dismounted and went up the wide steps.
Above him, Moichi saw that an enormous atrium
towered the height of the

                 220
                  
BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 221

structure; and this, he realized, was what relieved
much of the heaviness of the stone.

 He saw the narrow staircase, made all of shiny
obsidian, arching like the tendril of some
mammoth spider's web, and he turned to Chiisai
to tell her

"You have been expected,'' Mistral said.

 He sprinted for the double doors but it seemed
a terribly long way now, saw them swinging shut
even as he thought this, clanging home with
funereal finality. He stopped. There were no
handholds on their inner side.

 Chiisai was gone. But how? He was certain she
had entered with him.

 "There is no escape there," said the voice. "Nor
anywhere unless I grant it."

 He whirled around. "Where are you?" he cried.
"Show yourself!"

"Here I am."

 He turned. Indeed the voice had seemed to
coalesce and he looked up, saw a shape at the first
landing on the staircase. He crossed the hallway
and climbed the stairs.

 He confronted a girl of perhaps ten, slender,
light-eyed, with a compassionately beautiful face
without a single hard edge. It was the face of
innocence.

"Where is Chiisai?" he demanded of her.

 "In another place," she said, smiling sweetly.
"Quite unharmed but also unable to interfere."

"Interfere with what?"

 The girl ignored this, reached out one hand.
"Come," she said. "Come with me."

"I want to see Aufeya."

"I will take you to her."

 Her eyes were soft and full of life as she stared
at him, daring him to take her proffered hand.

At length, he did and she took him up the
spiraling staircase.

 fler long hair shone, swaying with her motion.
"You shall see your Auieya. In time. But there are
other things you must view first, after which" she
shrugged "who knows, you may not even wish to
see her."

 They were at another landing now and the girl
led him to a door banded with iron. It appeared
firmly locked but, at a sweep of her thin arm, it
opened outward silently. "Behold!"

 It was a room dimly illuminated by one squat oil
lamp sitting high up on a ledge like a giant insect.
The cubicle was filled

222 Eric V. I'us~ader

with gems, cut and uncut, of every description.
Great glowing emeralds and fat bloody rubies,
flawless diamonds of untold karats and sapphires
as blue as the noonday sky. Interspersed among
these were the lesser gemstones: enormous dusky
topaz smouldering amethysts, fiery opals and
glowing pearls and, in one section, the deep
translucent green of royal Fa'sui jade, the rarest
in all the world.

 "What say you to this, Moichi?" the girl asked.
"What care you for one woman when this wealth
is here for you to use as you wish. Why, with this
treasure you could buy the city of Alara'at! "

"Alara'at?" He swung on her. "What know you of
Iskael?"

  But the girl was gone. In her stead was a
woman with the head of an ibis. Her lush body
was clothed in a gown of iridescent multicolored
feathers. Her head was as white as snow.

  "Come," she said, taking his hand again, leading
him upward.

  On the next landing was another door, behind
which he saw his house in Iskael. It was the rear,
just outside the kitchen. He saw Sanda and Jesah
obviously arguing but he could not hear their
words. Jesah struck her and Sanda whirled,
running off into the night.

  "What know you of my home?" Moichi asked.
"How can you conjure such a thing?''

  The ibis ducked its head and smiled, not an
easy gesture for an avian face. "Such images come
quite easily after a time. You'd be surprised."

  "I'm already quite surprised." He eyed her. "I
had a dream last night."

"Of home."

"Yes. Of home. Was that your doing?"

"How could it be? That is quite impossible."

"Yet you know of my brother, my sister Sanda,
my house. "

"I know these things, yes."

"How?''

  "As I said, it is not so difficult in time." She
turned and gestured. The door swung to. "Come."

  They went up to the head of the stairs. They
were close to the top of the atrium, and the
strange music was louder here

differently pitched.

"What ?"

He stood next to a tall woman with skin of gold
leaf. Her

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 22S

hair was platinum flex and her eyes were great
faceted rubies. Her nails were translucent
sapphires and her half-covered breasts were opals.
Her robe was cloth-of-platinum, a material no
ordinary seamstress could work, and her low
sandals were crafted from pelts of snow-ermine.
She wore a platinum helm, high and conical and
horned.

 "I have been to many places." The voice had
changed now, so that it had a hard, almost
metallic edge.

Was this her real voice? He had no way of
knowing.

 They were along the narrow balcony; a low stone
barrier, coining to just above his knees, protected
them from the sheer drop to the floor of the main
hall. Through a sculpted archway, they entered a
sort of sitting room. The stone floor was strewn
with ermine pelts before a large plush sofa and
several highbacked chairs. Behind the sofa was a
wall which jutted out three quarters of the way
into the room. To the left were a series of severely
narrow windows; the room was dark beyond them
and he had no clear idea of what might lie there
or even how far back it went.

 Upon entering, she threw herself down, lounging
at fulllength upon the long sofa. "I would offer you
something to drink or to eat,'' she said with no
trace of regret in her voice, "but, as you can see,
there is nothing of that nature here."

 "Why don't you conjure it up?" His left hand was
on the hilt of his sword.

 She smiled disconcertingly, her face glittering.
"An amusing notion. " She put a forefinger to her
lips. It looked like a slender jewel. "You are an
intriguing fellow. I would like to know you better."

 He laughed humorlessly. "I hardly think that
likely." He came across the room to her, sat on the
edge of the sofa and reached out one hand.

"What are you doing?"

 "Is this all real?" He indicated the room,
everything about them.

 "As real as is anything," she answered gravely.
But a soft smile still played on her lips.

"But you are not."

 She evinced surprise. "I? I'm as real as you are.
Come, touch me if you do not believe me.''

His hand hesitated in midair.

 She threw her head back, laughing. "Do you
expect deceit, then?"

224 Eric V. Lustbader

 He glanced around. ''There seems to be nothing
here but illusion."

 "Ah, no," she said, her head against the back of
the couch. "Now you do me an injustice." He took
his hand, brought it to her. She pressed his fingers
against one breast. He was surprised to find it
warm and resilient; she was flesh and blood, after
all. He felt her heart beating. "Now what do you
say?" Her voice was almost a whisper. Slowly, she
contrived to move his hand. Around and around.
He could feel her nipple now.

 He took his hand away and stood. From his
position, her eyes seemed heavy-ridded as she
gazed languidly up at him. "Why are you afraid to
show me what you really look like?"

"Afraid?" she said. "I am not afraid of anything."

"You're afraid of the truth, Sardonyx."

 "I like the way you say it, my name." She rose,
stood next to him. "I shall prove to you that I am
not afraid of the truth. Ask me anything."

"Where ia Aufeya?"

"Here. Above us."

"Is she alive?"

"Why, of course."

"Have you tortured her?"

"My dear sir, what do you take me for?"

"I'd rather not answer that."

She smiled wryly. "Yes," she said. "I do like you,
rather." "What was your business in Iskael?"

 "Why, my 'business' as you put it, was the same
there as it was wherever I journeyed. I bartered,
traded "

"Pirated," he finished for her.

 She nodded. "True, I am a freebooter. A
time-honored profession."

"And a sorceress."

She laughed. "Who told you that?"

"I learned it from a friend."

 Her face turned hard and there was a brittle
edge to her voice now. "A friend from Corruna,
perhaps?"

"Perhaps."

"What lies has that bitch told you about me?"

"Tsuki only wants to be left alone," he said evenly.

  "She should have thought of that a long time
ago, my friend. Too late now. Far too late."

"There's no need for "
"Don't be a fool," she snapped. "It ill becomes
you." She

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 225

lay back down on the couch. "Yet I am what I am,"
she said seriously. Her thighs moved slightly and
the slit of her gown widened, exposing her legs to
the hip.

 He turned away, crossed to one of the fissurelike
windows and peered out, but there was nothing
really to see. He turned back to her. She had not
altered her position or her state. "Where are you
from?'' he said.

 She made a sound like a snort. "What possible
difference could that make?"

"I asked, therefore I'm interested."

"I hardly think you would believe me."

  "You've given your word, Sardonyx, to tell me
the truth. Even sorceresses must have ethics."

  "Yes." She nodded. "I am not so different from
you as you would believe." She took a deep breath
and he watched her heavy breasts rise against the
platinum material of her gown. "I was born in the
land of Aden."

  "Aden, " he said wonderingly. "South of Iskael.
Our ancient enemies. "

  "The two countries border," was all she would
acknowledge. "I was born in the mountains,
however. Nowhere near the border. At a very early
age, my parents, being poor, and my mother,
crippled and unable to work, sold me into slavery."
She shrugged. "Not so very uncommon among
those people." He noted the lack of her use of
"my."

  "I was sold to a man. A merchant so wealthy that
he had had no need of work for the rest of his life.
Others saw to mat. The vast amounts of free time
left him bored and filled with ennui. Thus he
turned to buying women girls, to be scrupulously
accurate. I really think women would have
intimidated him too soundly." She stretched, her
arms behind her head. This was most distracting
for it pushed her already straining breasts even
further toward him. "He enjoyed tying me up.
Then he would beat me for a long time
until Well, I need not go into detail. Surely you
can figure out for yourself what would happen
next. Suffice it to say that it was most un-
pleasant." She smiled. "At first, of course, I did not
resist. As I said, slavery is well-known in that
land "

"How well the Iskamen know that, Sardonyx."

  "Yes. Of course, you're quite right. That is the
basis of the old enmity between the two people.
The Iskamen rose up and broke their chains of
bondage and went out of Aden."

"With the aid of God."

226 Eric \'. Lustbader

 "The god of Iskamen. " She gave him a peculiar
penetrating look. "How I envy you that." But he
did not know whether she meant the freedom or
the faith. Perhaps it was both. "After a while," she
continued, "I found I had far too much respect
for myself to allow this to go on. And during the
days, while he played with others of his toys, I
sought out the things I needed. One night, after
he had had his way and lay snoring contentedly,
I drew out four lengths of stout hemp which I had
scavenged and carefully bound his wrists and
ankles to the brass posts of the bed. He was a
sound sleeper, and I knew if I was most careful
he would not awaken. When that was done to my
complete satisfaction, I moved the bottom half of
his silken pajamas and I bent to my task." She
paused, eyeing him. "This isn't getting too graphic
for you, is it?"

"Go on," was all he said.

 "He awoke, of course, just as the pleasure was
filling him. He opened his eyes and stared down
at me. 'Go on,' he said imperiously. 'Go on, go
on. I had no idea you had such a taste for it.'"
She smiled. "He didn't know how right he was. I
used my teeth." She flicked an invisible bit of dust
from the golden flesh of her thigh. "I think, in the
end, he drowned in his own blood."

 Moichi watched her face as if those faceted
ruby eyes could tell him something that her voice
did not.

 "I fled into the mountains," she said. "They had
been my home and I suppose, I felt safe there."

 "And there," Moichi said, his tone ironic, "you
came upon an old woman, living far from
civilisation, who taught you how to be a
sorceress."

 She laughed. "You've got a sense of humor, you
know that? But that's all part of a children's
story. Nothing of the sort happened, of course.
They came after me and eventually caught me."
She shrugged. "It was a blessing, perhaps; I was
half dead of hunger and exposure when they
found me. Not very much left." She sat up, hands
in her lap as if she were some demure virgin. The
slit in her gown had somehow disapppeared under
her. "They threw me in a cell and left me there to
rot." She laughed again. "Which was not, I
suppose, very far away at that point. But I
couldn't complain too much. I got food and water
every day and no one bothered me. It was all
right until I got my strength back. Then I wanted
out."

"And you did get out."

"Naturally," she said. "Here I am."

BENEATH AN OPAI, MOON 227

"How did you escape?"

"I bribed my way out." She smiled. "With my body."

"That hardly explains all of it," Moichi said.

 "Of course not. You surely can't expect a girl to
give you all her secrets. At least not right away."
Her eyes glittered. ''And we've only just met." She
rose. "Now excuse me, but I must leave you for
just a moment. " She touched the back of his hand.
"Now, do be a good boy and don't wander away.
This place can be dangerous." She turned away
from him and went around the end of the wall to
the left, disappeared into the darkness.

 For a time, he stayed where he was, listening to
the song of Mistral. Then, as if abruptly making up
his mind, he whirled and followed her.

He turned the corner.

 There was no light. It was as if he had
unexpectedly stepped off a shelf of rock in the
shallows and plunged to the bottom of the sea. He
turned around the way he had come but he could
see nothing. No wall, no windows. He put his hand
out, questing. Nothing.

 He heard laughter from behind him and swiveled
to meet it. It was. Hellsturm, one hand on his
outthrust hip, insouciantly glaring at him. He lifted
his other hand, beckoning Moichi on.

 What is this? Moichi thought. Another illusion?
Or and now he felt a premonitory chill go
through him did I do battle with and kill an
illusion in the forest?

 He ran at Hellsturm and the tall man fled before
him, his peculiar bestial laughter echoing behind
him like a stream of bubbles. Moichi drew his
sword, slashed at the figure, cutting it in two. But
when he looked at the corpse, it was AuLeya's
and, as he stared, horrified, the thing slithered
away like a serpent into the blackness.

 Then he understood and, sheathing his blade,
stood quietly, waiting. After a short time, he could
discern the slap of her sandals and then felt her
hand, firm and cool, taking his, leading him out.

He was back in the sitting room.

"I told you to wait here.''

''What is that place?"

"A room. It is a room, only."

''A room to conjure images."

"Dreams, perhaps." She shrugged.

"He's not alive, then."

228 Eric V. Lustbader

 "Hellsturm?" She laughed. "My God, I hope not.
Not after what you did to him. No, he's quite
dead." She smiled. "I thank you for that."

 He looked at her sceptically. "Pardon me if I
am wrong, madam, but that devil was in your own
employ, I believe."

 "Was, I think, is the operative word," she said
evenly. "He had served his purpose. His
effectiveness was being destroyed by his growing
attachment to that bitch in Corruna and he was
becoming more trouble than he was worth. No,
he had quite outlived his usefulness and would
have died the moment he crossed the threshold at
Mistral. Fortuitously, he never got that far."

"I'll take Aufeya now, as my reward."

 She laughed and the golden goddess was gone.
He saw instead a woman with a flat face and high
cheekbones. She had night-black hair down to the
small of her back and eyes like chips of cobalt.
Her skin was soft and dusky like the women of
Iskael and Aden. She wore a mirrored corselet
over which was drawn an old leather waist jacket.
Below that she was clad in butter-soft black
fawnskin pants tucked into hunting boots reaching
up over her knees. A narrow black leather belt
was slung low on her hips, from which hung a
long scabbarded hunting knife. She was
surprisingly small.

"Is this the real Sardonyx at last?"

"If you wish it so."

"You are so full of surprises."

"No more than any other woman."

 "Can we end this now?" he said somewhat
harshly. He stepped closer to her and her eyes
turned wary.

"End what?"

"Impressing the country bumpkin."

 Her face darkened for a moment as if he had
hit a nerve, but when she spoke her voice was
very soft. "That was certainly not what I
intended."

"It's the impression you gave."

"I'm sorry about that. Really I am."

 He said nothing, though he suspected she
wanted some kind of confirmation from him,
needed it even. But perhaps that was mere fancy
on his part. Why on earth should she care what
he thought? "I want Aufeya."

"And me?" she inquired. "Do you not desire me?"

"That would be far too easy. Is this you?"

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 229

 "It doesn't matter," she said softly, touching his
arm. "I can be anyone you wish."

"Sanda?"

She became Sandal "Yes."

"Elena?"

She became Elena. "Yes."

"Tsuki?"

 There was a moment's hesitation, then Tsuki
stood before him. "Even she."

"It's too much," he said. "Or too little."

 She returned to the woman with the night-black
hair. "I was afraid you would say something like
that." She looked disappointed. "Too rich for your
blood."

''Perhaps another time "

"Another place."

"Who can say?"

  She smiled. "Go out through the way you came.
There is only one staircase to the floor above this
one. Aufeya is there. The Bujun woman also."

  "Then we are finished here," he said, his hand
upon his sword-hilt. "You will not prevent us from
leaving?"

  The night-black hair shivered as she shook her
head. "No. Not now. You may leave any time you
wish." She had been standing near the windows
and now she moved back into the darkness
beyond, fading. "Farewell, Moichi Annai-Nin of Is-
kael. "

  He went out almost immediately. There was no
point, he knew, in going after her. Only she had
the key to controlling what lay in the blackness. It
was a waste of time for him.

  Upstairs, he saw Chiisai first. She was bending
over a supine figure but she straightened up when
she saw him.

  "Moichi!" Relief flooded her face. "Thank the
gods you're safe. I had no idea what happened to
you. As I crossed the threshold I well, I found
myself stumbling around in utter darkness. Then,
just as suddenly, I found myself here. Where ?"

"I've been with Sardonyx," he said, anticipating her
query.

  "Then you've defeated her," she said delightedly.
"Then we have no worries about the Firemask."

  "The Firemask?" Moichi frowned. "I had
forgotten all about that.'' How could he have
forgotten something so important?

230 - Eric V. I=stbader. .

 Chiisai grabbed at him. "Moichi, where is she?
What happened to Sardonyx?"

 He brushed past her, kneeling. "Right now I'm
more concerned with Aufeya's condition." Her
face looked pale and drawn and dark blue circles
under her eyes looked like massive bruises. He
put one hand under her head, lifting it up
somewhat.

"Auteya," he said softly but urgently. "Aufeya."

 Chiisai was close beside him. "Moichi, where is
Sardonyx?"

 "Gone," he said, concentrating on Auteya. "I
know not where. What's the difference, anyway?"

 Auteya opened her eyes. At first they were
glazed, but they soon focused and she started
when she recognised him.

"Moichi." It was but a fragile breeze.

"I'm here, Auieya."

 "She told me you were dead. She said that
Hellsturm had  had " Her eyes welled with
tears.

 "It's all right," Moichi comforted her. "I'm here
now. Everything's going to be all right."

 But Auteya continued to weep, saying, "No, you
don't understand. It's not all right. When she
came to me now and told me told me you were
dead, I gave up all hope." Her eyes looked at
him, pleading forgiveness. "Moichi, I told her
told her my half. She knows she knows "

So that's where she went, Moichi thought.

 "Now she's got the Firemask," Chiisai said, her
voice like the tolling of heavy bells. "And she
means to use it."

              The Oral

 ~ E reined in at the foot of the steppes, cursing
himself for being taken in by Sardonyx. But,
oddly, he felt no anger toward her. She had not
deceived him. Her plan was plain enough and he
had ample opportunity to discern it but his brain
had been somewhere else.

 Beside him, Chiisai looked upward. There was
little either of them could do for Aufeya at the
moment and, though Moichi had wanted her to
stay with the Daluzan woman, he had respected
Chiisai's request to accompany him.

"Look," she said, pointing upward. "I was right."

 Moichi lifted his eyes as they rode on, into the
steppes. The moon was riding high and
full impossible, since it had been but a sliver
just last night and it no longer appeared flat. It
was round as a ball fireflashes of silver, pink,
emerald and blue winking down at him. He
lowered his gaze and stared at Chiisai.

 Her face was grim as she nodded. "The legend
lives, Moichi. There is little time now."

 Only the bleak stars, dwarfed by the awful
opalescent light, to guide them through the
hazardous steppes; and ever the great mountains
loomed before them, black as onyx in silhouette
against the sea of stars ribboning the heavens.

 Once they heard a howling, shivering the night,
and their luma, normally fearless animals, snorted
and reared in terror. But it did not come again
and they galloped on, flying through the steppes
until, at length, they came to the steep shared
side of the mountains and, gazing upward, saw a
spark of light, illuminating for a moment a
sharply defined ledge perhaps forty meters up. It
came again, then went out.

"Quickly," Chiisai said, dismounting.

                 281
                  
232 Eric Y. Lus1hader

 They found the semblance of a path to their left
and made all possible speed ascending the
rock-strewn face.

 lust before they reached the ledge, Moichi
stopped them, whispered in Chiisai's ear. "Let me
go first. She will be expecting me. If I can distract
her " Chiisai nodded and they crept on.

 The moment he reached the ledge, the spark
came again and he called out, frightened now that
it was already too late. If she had gone through,
there was nothing he or anybody else could do.

 "Sardonyx!" he called again, his voice echoing
off the mountainside hollowly, seeming to mock
him. "We have a bargain to complete! I have
reconsidered!" He would say anything now to
delay her even a moment.

 He came along the ledge and, abruptly, the
flash of light came again and this time he saw
her a figure blacker than the night and he
came on, crossing her sharp shadow, calling again.
And now she heard him.

"Too late, Iskamen. Regrettably, it is too late."

 Something odd in her voice, and as he came
closer she turned and he gasped in spite of
himself, damping down on the organism's
instinctive terror. Felt his mind screaming, Get
away from here! Get away now while you still
can!

She wore the Firemask.

  It was hideous, unholy, the depiction of the
ultimate monstrosity. It was beyond the aspect of
a gargoyle, beyond any human conception; so
alien, in fact, that his brain had a hard time
orienting on the information his eyes were
relaying back to it. The mask's surface seemed to
be composed of some substance with a mirrorlike
finish and it was this which sparked now and then
in the moonlight. However, here she was, still on
the ledge. Beyond her he saw the foreboding
blank entrance to a cave, a great gaping maw
down which, he felt certain, was the Eye of Time.
Why had she hesitated out here? Surely she knew
that no mortal could follow her inside the cave
once she had donned the Firemask.

  "I had hoped that we would not meet like this,"
she said calmly, her voice somewhat distorted by
the thing she wore. "Not like this, Moichi. I have
no desire to oppose you. Quite the opposite, in
fact."

  "I wonder why I don't find that in the least
flattering," he said, edging closer to her. His
sword was already half out of its scabbard. Still,
he was reluctant to draw it fully.

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 233

 "Now you mock me," she said sadly. "I do not
deserve your contempt."

"Are you not content with wealth? With
your gift?"

  She laughed harshly. "What is wealth but the
ultimate illusion. 1, better than anyone, know that
as truth. What has my wealth brought me but
sorrow."

  "What could you expect, sealed away in Mistral?
There is all the world out there waiting for you.''

  "The world," she scoffed, "wants nothing to do
with me. It was people who drove me to my
asylum of Mistral, Moichi or didn't you know?
Didn't your friend, the bitch of Corruna, tell you
that about me?"

"I know nothing of this.''

  "And now is not the time to tell you." She took
one step along the ledge toward the cave's waiting
mouth.

The whisper of metal in the night as he withdrew
his sword.

"Do not oppose me, Moichi. Please."

  "I cannot allow you to enter, Sardonyx." He
raised his weapon.

"Ah," she said softly. "The final solution."

"You have your way and I have mine."

"How true," she said sadly. And raised her arms.

  Then he did jump back, his heart pounding
mightily in his chest, for before him crouched not
Sardonyx but a creature out of the fevered
nightmare of man.

  It flapped its leathery wings and opened its
all-too-human mouth and he saw the rows of jade
teeth as sharp as two-edged sword-blades. It called
out, giving off a chilling inhuman cry, and he felt
cold sweat break out on his face. The short hairs
at the back of his neck raised.

  He faced the giant man-bat out of Daluzan
mythology and religion. From what deep hell had
Sardonyx called it?

Diablura, emperor of the underworld.

Now Chiisai was beside him.

  Her sword was drawn but she said to him, "This
thing is but an illusion, Moichi. Surely it cannot
exist."

He shook his head. "Illusion or no, Chiisai. It is
solid enough

  . ..
and

  "I don't believe it," she said, and launched
herself past him along the shelf of shale, directly
at the diablura.

"Wait!" he cried, but she paid him no heed.

The thing screamed and rose a meter into the
air, its wings

234 Eric V. Lustbader

beating carefully so that it would not hit the
projections of the mountainside. It was an eerie,
slithering sound that the pocked rock face picked
up, echoing and magnifying, until it filled the
night like a howl of a demon. The beast raised its
lower extremities, two horny four-toed feet ending
in long curved talons.

 It rushed at Chiisai, claws clicking, and the
dai-katana slashed into the thinly furred lower
body. It screamed again, its jade teeth blanched in
the opal moonlight, and the talons raked at her.
She swung the dai-katana again, but the thing was
far too powerful and the talons lashed out in a
blur, ripped into her left shoulder. She tried to
roll away but the thing had hooked her flesh and
she was impaled. Still she fought on with one free
arm, the edge of her blade biting into the furred
flesh again and again.

 She saw what she had to do but lacked the
position, caught as she was. And now he saw it,
too. He ran at the flapping thing and, lifting his
sword high over his head, he slashed downward,
through the dusty cartilage of its right wing. It
tore like a sail and he was hurled backward
against the mountain's face as the diablura lost its
balance for a moment and, screaming, flew
inward and down.

 He coughed in the dust and, swinging again,
severed the major cartilage along the upper part
of the wing-frame. The diablura's body shuddered
as it flailed to regain purchase in the air and
Chiisai was swung into an outcropping of rock.
Her sword fell from her hand and Moichi rushed
toward her. He threw the sword point-first at the
thing, saw it bounce off the bony chest and clatter
to the floor of the ledge. Stupid. But his only
concern now was Chiisai. He grasped her in one
arm, cradling her while he worked at the
embedded talons with the other.

 Freeing her, he laid her down on the rocks and
turned to face the diablura. The thing was still
flapping its loose and useless appendage, trying to
fly, dipping and rising.

 He timed it well and, as the diablura neared
him, he leapt upon its back. Drawing out one of
his dirks, he slit the thing's throat. It wailed and
rose upward. Up and up and up, ascending
toward the stars, a thin stream of dust, glittery
and dry, ribboning the air about it. He seemed
high enough now to reach up and grab hold of
the opal moon, bring it spinning downward to the
earth.

 Then the diablura canted over at an acute angle
and began to fall. It plummeted out of the sky
with appalling swiftness.

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 235

It cracked once, twice against the mountainside.
The third time, Moichi was thrown loose, tumbling
head over heels.

 He flung himself outward, using the length of his
body, and reached for the lip of the ledge. He
hung there, swinging with heavy momentum, back
and forth, his nails digging in as he began to slip,
feeling behind him his back crawling with sen-
sation. The night air was reverberating with the
frantic death throes of the diablura, still moving,
juddering galvanically, spastically fluttering like an
impaled butterfly as it careened away, down and
down the mountainside, spiraling lower and lower,
as if, even in death, it was reluctant to relinquish
its reign over the air.

 He took a deep breath and swung himself
upward, his right leg lifting to catch the upper
edge of rock. Missed. Tried it again and made it
this time, levered himself up onto the ledge.

 Stayed there for a long moment, gasping, until
he remembered Sardonyx and the Firemask. He
had to roll onto his left side to get up, his
wounded shoulder aggravated by the enormous
strain. He saw Sardonyx standing before the mouth
of the cave. Why had she not gone in? He went
toward her.

 There was the sound of hammers clashing onto
ten thousand anvils, the chittering of a cloud of
locusts, the resounding of great rams' horns, the
sizzle of flames against bloody meat, the dancing
of dust motes, the trumpeting of elephants, the
crackle and rumble of an electrical storm, echoes
upon echoes upon echoes.

And a heat fiercer than the sun.

 He reeled. Someone grasped him, pulling
insistently until he moved, his feet like lead, and
then he was away from the cave's mouth, gasping
for breath, his lungs on fire, his eyes watering, his
brain besieged as if by crawling insects.

 Sardonyx, face covered by the mirrored
monstrosity of the Firemask, held on to him. "How
could you be so stupid?" she said softly. "Another
moment and you would have been killed. "

 He stared at her, fighting to regain his breath.
After a time, he said, "I do not understand you."

 She patted his arm. "What's to understand? I
told you I liked you."

"I must be going mad."

"That won't solve anything.''

"Take off that thing."

236 Tic V. Lustbader

 She reached up and unsealed it. "I might as
well; I cannot get it to work."

He saw the woman with the dusky skin and
night-black hair.

He stood between her and the cave's mouth.

  "I don't know what's wrong with it," she said,
looking down at the thing, turning it over and
over. On its reverse face, he saw, it was a matte
black, deeper than the night. "It offers no
protection now."

  "Too old, perhaps,'' he said. "'All the magic's
gone." He looked at her. "But if that is all "

  "It's not all, of course." She was still trying to
find the key. The opal moonlight flashed against
the mask's outward face for an instant, turning it
into the beacon he had seen from below. "It's
supposed to allow its wearer either to open the
Eye of Time or close it forever."

  And he knew. It had been right before his eyes
from the very beginning the dazzling key. He
reconsidered. In fact, he didn't know. He
suspected and the one, he told himself, was
quite different than the other. If this were a tall
tale, there would be no indecision. But this was
life. His life. And he valued that highly. He had
places to go yet, many far lands to see and many
people to meet. He was not yet prepared to die.

  "Since it's no good at all now," he said, his voice
thick, "you won't mind if I take a look at it."

She eyed him suspiciously. "Over my dead body."

  He shrugged, began to move away. "All right.
I'm going to look after Chiisai."

"What are you up to?''

  He stopped and turned. ''My dear Sardonyx, I
know far less about that thing you hold and call
the Firemask than do you. What could I possibly
be up to?"

"I don't know, but "

 . He hit her a short chopping blow to the side of
her head just under her right ear and she went
down without a sound. He caught her as she fell,
murmured, "Now we're even." He laid her out on
the shale ledge, took the Firemask from her ac-
quiescent fingers.

 "I'm happy we didn't have to fight, Sardonyx,"
he said to her sleeping face.

 He turned the mask over, grimacing at the
hideous formation, seeing his own face
grotesquely replicated over its mirrored hills and
dales, as if he were viewing from a great height
the topography of the world.

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 237

 There seemed no way of fastening the thing to
his face but still he lifted it up, feeling again the
pangs of disquiet, the organism screaming for
self-preservation. But that was its job and the only
thing to do now was to ignore it.

 As the Firemask drew closer to his flesh, he felt
a certain sensation, as if his face were made of
metal and the mask an extremely powerful
magnet. It drew itself to his face, adhering to it
like a second skin. For a moment, he felt that he
could not breathe, then, as if he had found the
way, it was all right.

He looked about him; nothing had changed.
Naturally.

 The moonlight seemed even stronger now and
he took one last deep breath knowing that this
was, perhaps, the last moment when he would be
able to reach up and rip the unholy thing off his
flesh.

Instead, he turned his face upward, toward the
opal moon.

 As the moonlight struck the Firemask full on, he
felt a tremendous jolt just as if he had been struck
by lightning. He staggered, put an outstretched
hand against the rock face behind him to steady
himself.

 Now he felt a glowing heat upon his face,
seeping through the Firemask, into his skin, his
flesh, his bones. It spread through his entire body.
Vibrations began and, for a brief time, he believed
that an earthquake had begun. Then he realized
with a start that the sensation was entirely
internal.

 The strange opal moonlight had been the key
and he knew now that the Firemask had been
activated. But like some sort of alien sponge, it
continued to soak up the lunar energy, charging
itself until he thought he would shake apart with
power.

 He turned completely around, saw the supine
form of Chiisai and, closer to where he stood,
Sardonyx, behind him, and stared into the cave's
mouth. He knew something of what lay within,
having experienced the briefest of exposures
without any protection.

He moved to the mouth of the cave.

 It was no longer dark inside. The blackness was
dissolving, irising open to form textures; textures
in lieu of colon

 He entered and was immediately inundated with
the sounds of the Eye of Time. The clash of
burnished insects the flapping of birds' wings the
swirling of underwater currents the skirting of
unhuman instruments

 He paused for a moment, confused. He had
been certain that with the Firemask on he would
hear nothing. He had been

238 Eric V. Eustbader

wrong. The sounds were there all of them and
more. But they no longer sounded like a
maddening cacophony bursting concessively on
the eardrums and the mind. They were filtered
now through the Firemask.

 And as he moved cautiously forward, he came
to understand this. For there was no light; and in
the absence of color, sound became all-important,
for both volume and pitch would guide him to the
Eye of Time.

 There was no solid floor, no left, no right, no
up or down, his legs moving through brambles
now. It was hot and he took off his shirt, feeling
the warm sun drying the sweat. The fence was
down in this section and he found the spot
without difficulty and set about repairing it. Some
large predator had burst through, uprooting
several stanchions. It was hard work but he
continued to move forward, step by step with the
bellowing all about him, filling the colorless world
with the rushing as of torrents and buzzing as of
flies and he was at his desk in the large rural
school with its smell of pine tar and beeswax and
cherry wood. He was too young yet to ride the
family's land, as his father would one day decree,
uprooting him from school and substituting a
tutor. Heard the instructor's voice droning away
as if from a great distance his voice, too, like the
buzzing of drowsy insects. All in a mist now like
the pearled dawn, the silver night, the golden
noon, the amethyst dusk, one foot in front of the
other, hearing the moaning of the tides, the
gnashing of langoustes' claws along the seabed,
the stiff rustle of dragonfly wings, the soft
sibilance of a forest breathing, standing on a
hillock with the sky hanging over him marbled in
white and blue and grey streaks, turning northeast
from his vantage point, the highest on his land,
shading his eyes against the sun, searching for the
low sprawl of Alara'at and, beyond, the silver
splash of the beckoning sea, green in the troughs
where the sun didn't dance like diamonds off its
surface. Oh, my sea, my sea! Walking forward,
ascending now into the mountains with the fear of
God within him, his limbs trembling, his body
shaking, his bladder about to burst, falling down
upon his knees as he beheld . . . A peace filling
him at last as the ship set sail from the port of
Alara'at, taking him from Iskael. The figure of his
father as tiny as an insect, standing on the pier.
Are you crying, Father? On the sea, at last, the
sea which had sustained him through all the long
arduous days and nights. Not all of them, for he
thought of the times running triumphant and
laughing through the apple orchards

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 239

with Sanda on his shoulders, rolling upon the soft
ground, shinnying up the trunks, shaking the
branches so that the ripe fruit fell upon their
heads, all about them in a shower, or, in another
season, walking with her amidst the trees filled
with clouds of white and pale pink blossoms slowly
drifting through the air, dusting their hair and
clothes, coating the grass and the earth like a
mattress from heaven. Turning away from the
land, turning away from Sanda and the lush
orchards which would never see him now, not this
year, nor the next, nor. . .

 He steps downward and finds himself on solid
ground at last, a kind of promontory in the mist
that is no mist at all. Echoes still crashing like surf
upon his mind, the images out of time, eddies
from, he is quite certain now, the Eye of Time,
lapping at him, increasing in intensity as he
approaches.

 He sees before him a swirling vortex, coalescing,
dividing, reproducing, fissioning. A great iris.
Neither open nor closed. Couched. Waiting.

The Eye of Time.

The portal into endless yesterdays and unlimited
tomorrows.

 Now he is inescapably drawn toward it, volition
draining out of him. Hypnotized by the incipient
openings and closings, almost, but not quite.
stopping frustratingly short of completion.

 Shapes changing forming twisting spiraling
sucking lapping churned by a force so elemental
that it could have no name for the concept of
language that superseded it, could only be ex-
pressed in the complex symbology of the mind.
Directly.

 The sounds change subtly, suddenly, so that they
beat upon his eardrums most painfully even
through the protection of the Firemask. He claps
his fists to his ears but there is no change, only
now the sounds cease to be painful and an ecstasy
such as he has never known permeates him, a
heat, a fusion, an excitement he can only relate to
sexually, though even that seems a pitifully
inadequate comparison. His hands reach out as he
closes in on the vortex, drugged and exhilarated,
and, as he approaches, another sound cuts through
the others: a tone. Trembling fingers almost at the
tensile barrier about to caress it as a lover might
and the Eye of Time begins to iris-open,
revealing

No!

 From somewhere deep inside him, so deep that
the sounds of the vortex have not penetrated, a
voice of reason cries out. Use it! it cries. Use the
Firemask!

240 Eric V. Lustbader

 At first he does not comprehend and he is so
close to the kinetic framework that perhaps it has
become impossible to understand.

 He halts his motion, pushed onward by some
unseen but heard tide of immeasurable force, and
it feels to him as if he is attempting to hold back
the spin of the world.

Think!

Use it! Now!

 He concentrates. It starts in the brain, aflame
with the true music of the spheres, pushed
outward through his eyes.

And now it comes.

 The stored energy of the opal moonlight,
directed by him. Through the skin of the
Firemask it rumbles and flashes like spot
lightning. The heat builds just as it did outside on
the shale ledge so far away.

Crackle-boom of thunder.

His face is on fire.

Light of a cosmic beacon.

 Energy pouring forth, and for the first time he
sees the truth of the vortex, its ultimate sinister
nature, and like a surgeon he carefully sutures up
the rent in time. Slowly, slowly, with infinite
deliberation, sweating with the whole outpouring
of sizzling energy, concentrated and
focused until, at length, it is done.

 He relaxes and the vibrations begin, explosions
building, and he knows that the moonlight energy
has built up too far and threatens to run amok.
He bears down, his entire body trembling with the
effort, and he damps down on the field. Slowly,
ever so slowly, the heat recedes from the
Firemask from his face, and, stumbling, he turns
away from the dense intense quietude.

 Running, running now out of the cave, out of
the silence and into the star spangled night.

           Four
[ION ~ TO
DUSK

                Idyll

1HE first thing he saw was that she was gone.

 He reached up convulsively to pull the Firemask
away from his flesh but his fingers came away
coated in a dull grey powder. All that was left.

 He went quickly along the ledge but there was
no trace of Sardonyx. Chiisai sat, her back
propped up against the mountainside. She had
managed to shred the lower half of her shirt into
strips and wind them around her wounded
shoulder.

 She stood up when she saw him, smiling as he
came wearily toward her.

"It's over," he said, his voice sounding odd to his
ears.

 She handed him his sword and they went down
off the ledge, winding down the mountain.

 He told her briefly and as best he could what
had happened. "Did you see Sardonyx?" he asked
her.

 Chiisai shook her head. ''She must have been
gone before I awakened. I did not see her.''

 The luma were waiting patiently for them at the
foot of the mountain, contentedly cropping grass.
They mounted and, as they prepared to go, he
took one look back, wondering what seemed to
be missing. The carcass of the diablura was
nowhere to be seen. Surely he had seen it tumble
over the side of the ledge.

 Mistral loomed ahead of them and now he was
anxious to get Aufeya and leave this land far
behind him.

 All was quiet as they reined in in the courtyard,
but as he dismounted they heard a rumble from
high above them and, peering upward, saw a
section of the wall of a high turret shatter, stone
and masonry "outing outward, hailing down.

Moichi ducked through the falling rubble, ran
through the

                 243
                  
244 Eric V. I`ustbader

doorway into the main hall. He took the
spiderweb staircase three steps at a time, calling,
"Auteya!"

 Another quake shook the castle and he thought,
God, the whole place is breaking up. Dust filled
the vault of the immense atrium and the walls
were trembling.

 He raced upward, at last gaining the top and
found Aufeya where they had left her. Still pale,
she looked somewhat recovered from her ordeal.
He bent and scooped her up, sprinting for the
stairs just as the chamber next to hers imploded.
Choking dust billowed out with a scream of
demons.

 The chill north wind now howled dissonantly
through the splintering architecture. On the
second landing, part of the outside wall ballooned
outward and the door to the jewel room ripped
open. The chamber was empty save for the squat
lamp.

 Into the main hall, and he felt the structure
itself shudder and he leapt through the doorway.
Outside, Chiisai had his luma ready. He thrust
Auteya up onto the saddle. The entire front wall
of Mistral began to cave inward. Stone flashed by
them with the buzz of angry bees.

 Moichi leapt up behind Aufeya and they were
off, speeding through the shattered portcullis,
jumping over the strewn rubble.

 Behind them, Mistral rent itself, a funeral pyre
rising into the night sky, obscuring for a time the
bloody horned moon.

 On the way south, she whispered it all in his
ear, ridding herself of the terror she had lived
with for so long a time. "I became other people.
At first, they were people I knew or had known,
then they turned unfamiliar, becoming stranger
and stranger, distant and hostile. That was bad
enough and, foolishly, I thought I could endure
anything but that. But it was worse when it
stopped, because I became all manner of animals,
with minds as dull and syrupy as mud. I tried to
think and could not. Then reptiles, by turns
lethargic and energetic, like some monstrous
manic-depressive, for when my reptile mind could
function, all it thought of was food to fill the vast
stomach, a killing urge that was impossible to
ignore. Then the insects, my brain buzzing with a
thousand sights and scents, making up for the
deficiencies in other senses. I tried to think but
there was too much interference. And then I was
a fish, placidly swimming with nothing on my
mind. Who was 1? There seemed to be nothing
left. Was I truly a fish? Or perhaps a bird, or
another animal or The human me was gone and
I

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 245

felt the loss all the more terrifyingly because I
could not remember what it was I had been. I was
not even a serpent dreaming of being human. Even
that small thing was now denied me.

  "I screamed then and went on screaming until
Sardonyx came for me, scooping me out of the
water. That is when I told her what she wanted to
know," she said against his ear. "And you know the
really odd thing? I'm not sorry. I wanted my
humanity back. Whatever the price had been, I
would have paid it. Gladly."

  Moichi understood her all too well and could not
find it in himself to blame her.

  "Tell me," she said, "what happened beneath the
opal moon. "

  So he told her all that had transpired. She
seemed the most fascinated by what had taken
place in the cave of time and.he was happy to
elaborate, feeling that it was taking her out of her
own memories for a while.

  He felt her lips open against the soft flesh of his
neck as he spoke, the licking of her tongue,
inquisitive and naive as a child's, licking the salty
sweat; and with that, all his fear and anxiety for
her safety dissipated, as if with this simple gesture,
she had freed him as well as herself from the
enslavement of pity.

  He made certain that they took their time on the
way back. Not that he did not have a desire to
return to Corruha and, thence, to Sha'angh'sei, but
they were, all three, like the walking wounded and
he deemed it more prudent that they not expend
their last reserves of energy on a hard ride but
rather gain strength through a leisurely journey.
He did not, perhaps, think consciously of the fact
that he wished to be with Auteya, knowing
instinctively that when they arrived in Corruna
they would have to say good-bye.

  But Chiisai knew and, during the endless
afternoons they traveled only in the still coolness
of the morning and the slanting, diffuse sunlight of
the last of the day while they rested, she would
wander off under one pretext or another, leaving
them alone. Most often, she would explore the
ruins of past civilisations which dotted the
countryside.

  For her part, Aufeya understood the chemistry,
relaxed into it, grateful that Chiisai was so intuitive
and understanding and not at all jealous, and
delighted to be alone with him each day.

246 ~ Eric V. Lus~ader

So that it was, ironically, only Moichi himself who
did not clearly understand the vectors of human
emotion within which he found himself.

 In dappled sunlight sweeping over them like
honey, they held hands and spoke of their pasts.
Aufoya recalled her father with great fondness,
remembering most clearly the times when he had
taken her aboard one of his ships. There was one
day, she told him, when he took her up the
Daluzan coast to the town of Puerto Chicama,
from whence, she later discovered, he ran illegal
ruuma into the interior. "Why, there's nothing
wrong with the drink," he had told her later.
"Only the sanction of the Palliate causes it to be
outlawed. Do you think, though, that this makes
it unavailable? No. Only more expensive, for
more hands must be greased" he had winked at
her "including a number of cures I could name."
Later on, she told him, she had taken a trip into
the interior and there saw that what her father
said was true. Ruuma was drunk almost uni-
versally, with no appreciably harmful effects save
for a short doze in the heat of the afternoon.

"And your mother?" he asked her one day.

 She let off a stream of idiomatic invective that
left no room for debate.

 He knew better than to argue with her and
quickly changed the subject. And, indeed, this was
the only sour note in all the time they spent
together. The days and nights ribboned together,
as their flesh and Chiisai's, too, mended and
healed until only red scars remained and pen
came in infrequent remonstrating twitches now
and again, perhaps at the end of a day more
strenuous than most or when they came upon
heavy rain clouds rolling darkly on the horizon
and the air turned humid and the pressure
dropped.

 At night they all slept separately, peacefully
near one another, around the cheerful, crackling
fire. But during the afternoons when Chiisai was
away on her archaeological sojourns, they would
make love passionately and then languorously,
reveling in the hot sunlight on their naked flesh;
and then, if there was one nearby, they would
splash and paddle about in the rushing streams
that became more numerous as they traveled
further south, making love once more. It seemed
to Moichi that he could never get enough of
Aufeya, but perhaps this was because he
understood that their time together was finite.
Certainly he found that all his senses were
heightened because there would be an ending.

B}3NEATlI AN OPAL MOON .247

 Chiisai invariably returned just before they were
preparing to move out, giving them as much time
together as possible. But one day, when they were
already packed, she still had not returned. The sun
slipped from the sky and in the rather awkward
silence of the waiting, he realised unfair they were
being to her.

 Dusk was already giving grudging way to night
when she appeared over a low hillock embroidered
with a copse of plane trees. Over her left shoulder
was slung the carcass of a small hairy boar. They
had not eaten fresh meat of this kind for some
time, having grown used to foraging for nuts and
fruit and, when the opportunity presented itself,
spearing freshwater fish.

 Thus, it was cause for no lime celebration and
they set about searing the skin of hair, slicing open
its belly and gutting it. They let Chiisai build up
the fire as they went about their bloody and
stinking, but joyous, work. They braised the
outside, crisping the skin, then began the roasting.
The rich scent was so fragrant and delicious that
they all wondered if they could wait until it was
fully cooked. While Auteya washed the intestines
in the nearby stream and went to find nuts and
berries to stuff them with, Moichi contented
himself with watching the stars, cold and glittery
and remote. They were far out of the land of the
bloody moon and the one that reigned in the sky
these nights, he was happy to see, was his old
friend, silver and flat as a coin. It was
three-quarters full.

 Across from him, Chiisai sat near the fire,
sharpening her dai-katana. He came and stood
next to her, watching the quiet expertise of her
hands as they went about their work. He cleared
his throat and she looked up, her hands poised
over the blade of the sword. The firelight flicked
off it, illuminating its long precision-honed edges.
It was indeed a most magmficent instrument.

"I'm afraid that Auleya and I have both been
rather selfish."

  "Whatever makes you say that?" She wiped the
long blade, took it off her thighs and sheathed it.
"I've been quite content to explore this land as we
go." She laughed. "You would have known if I was
unhappy with the arrangement."

"Still "

  "Besides, Moichi, to tell you the truth I needed
this time by myself. There are a number of
important decisions I've got to make when we
return to Sha'angh'sei. I want to make certain I'm
prepared."

"You're sure?"

248 Eric V. Lusher

 She stood up and, standing on the tips of her
toes, gave him a long kiss.

 That night, with the moon riding high in the
sky, they commenced an orgy of eating. Yet,
rationed after that, the rest of the meat lasted
them all the way back to Corruna.

 During the last days of the journey, they spent
more and more time on the move, as if the closer
they came to the city, the stronger the magnetism
of its heart became. They spoke little during the
days, but at night, under the moon and stars,
Chiisai told them stories of Ama-no-mori and the
Bujun.

 Neither Moichi nor Auteya seemed much
inclined to talk and this she put down to the
simple fact that, quite soon, they would be
parting, perhaps forever. And she found herself,
unknowingly, feeling sorry for Moichi.

 She knew she loved him, but it was in the
manner of the Bujun and thus was not an easy
thing to express to outsiders. It was the love of
one warrior for another, growing together through
adventure and peril, in which true heroism could
later be appreciated and savored; in which the
two became closer than family or lovers. She
knew, for instance, without his telling her, that
Moichi hardly considered himself a hero. Yet, she
knew that he was. For it was some singular inner
vision that powered him, moved him onward. He
was his own morality, his own strength, his own
glory, his own world was as much a hero as the
Dai-San. She had supposed that she would envy
him this heroism but she found that she did not,
only loved him all the more for it.

 In that sense, she was content now, for she
believed that at last she knew why the Dai-San
had suggested she journey to Sha'angh'sei, and to
Moichi. Perhaps he had not actually known of
this of the Firemask or Sardonyx or even the
Eye of Time but, surely, he knew the karma of
his friend. She was grateful to have been part of
this adventure. Yet again and again she found
herself wondering during these long drowsy
afternoons amidst the crumbling, fabulous ruins
on the way to Dalucia, as she strolled with the
darting butterflies, felt the weight of the hot
slanting sunlight like bars of dusty honey,
illuminating these markers of an enigmatic past
civilisation  whether for her this was the end of
it.

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 249

 And then, like every Bujun before her who
had thought much the same thoughts about an
uncertain future, she shrugged to herself. She
would accept whatever would befall her. Karma,
she thought.

             The Orphans

 1 HEY passed through the western gate of
Corruna just past midday, riding swiftly through
the vast warehouse district, scattering the
cambujo workers as merchants with dark shining
faces and thick curling beards shook their fists at
them for the interruption, their shouts echoing off
the flat and featureless warehouse walls.

 The Plaza de la Pesquisa was placid when they
arrived, their luma's hooves loud upon the tiles of
the square. The two old men, dressed in their
immaculate white Daluzan suits, were in their
accustomed place on the bench in the shade of
the olive trees. The fountain was hidden from
view by the verdant foliage, but as they
dismounted they could hear the almost musical
tones of the water splashing.

 Now that they were actually here, Moichi was
troubled by what Aufeya's reaction would be to
coming home. He knew that he had an obligation
to return her here and for many days he had
fought to keep the consequences of this moment
from his mind. Tsuki, he knew, wanted her
daughter back home. But what of Aufeya herself?

 He took her by the hand and led her up the
winding stairs to the front door. This was thrown
open before he had a chance to knock and
Chimmoku loomed at the threshold. His face was
split by a grin and he said, "Welcome home,
Auteya!" with such obvious love that Moichi's
mind was put at ease. Perhaps it would be far less
difficult than he had imagined. The mind had an
uncanny ability, at times, to throw things out of
proportion.

 "Come in! Come in, all of you!" Chimmoku was
saying, stepping back. "We have prayed for your
safe return."

Moichi took Aufeya down the hall until they
stood at the

                 250
                  
BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 251

foot of the ship's-figurehead staircase. He gazed
upward.

 Tsuki stood immobile at the top, one hand
clutched at her throat. She looked tall and regal as
ever but her eyes darted from one to the other.

"Aufeya," she breathed.

Aufeya said nothing.

Tsuki's gaze alighted on Moichi. "And Sardonyx?''

"Gone," he said. "Defeated."

"Thank you for returning my daughter to me. Both
of you. "

"It was nothing, madam." He made a mock-formal
bow.

 She lifted her arms, fingers outstretched. "I'm
sorry, Aufeya, for everything. Welcome home,
darling."

 "Go on,'' Moichi whispered in Aufoya's ear. He
gave her a small pat on her backside. She turned
to him, gave him a tight smile.

 "Wait for me," she whispered. "I'll be right
down." Then she slowly ascended the stairs, one
hand sliding along the polished banister.

 Tsuki put her arm about her daughter's
shoulders and, together, they disappeared down
the hall. A moment later, he could hear the door
to Tsuki's bedroom closing softly.

 "There are no adequate means to thank you,"
Chimmoku said to them when they were alone in
the hall. "The Senhora has been beside herself
ever since you left. She was guilty for not having
gone. She abhors the interior, you see, and she felt
she would be more of a hindrance." He pulled
abstractedly at his long drooping mustache. "In
many ways Aufeya takes after the Senhor but in
this she is exactly like the Senhora."

 Moichi laughed. ''You've forgotten about the
time the Senhor took her up the coast to Puerto
Chicama."

Chimmoku looked at him blankly. "I beg your
pardon."

"When he went to sell the ruuma."

 Chimmoku pulled himself erect and his voice
took on a steely edge. "Senhor, Milhos Seguillas y
Oriwara would have no more to do with that
illegal and highly toxic drug than would I. He
would not lower himself to do such a thing and
certainly not with his beloved daughter."

 Moichi felt a sudden tightening of his stomach,
as if all the air had suddenly gone out of his lungs.
Still, he persisted. "Surely you must be mistaken.
I "

 "Senhor, I assure you that Aufeya has never
been to Puerto Chicama with her father. Perhaps
during the time she was away "

252 Eric AT. Lustbader

 But Moichi had already brushed past him,
leaping for the stairs. He felt chilled, thinking:
When had it happened?

"Senhor, I do not think that you should
disturb !"

 "Chiisai!" Moichi called over his shoulder,
ignoring the other. "Outside! The Senhora's
bedroom window."

 Chiisai turned and ran down the hall, opening
the front door and disappearing down the steps.

 Meanwhile Moichi had gained the second floor
and was pounding down the upper hallway. The
door at the head was closed. There seemed to be
no sound from inside.

 He tried the doorknob but it was locked. He
stepped back and, using one booted foot,
smashed at the lock. It gave somewhat but still
held. He kicked again, putting all his strength into
it, and the lock shattered, the door flying inward.
He rushed into the room.

 The room was dark, the curtains drawn. At first
it appeared empty. Then, as his eyes adjusted to
the low light, he saw a form upon the bed. He
ran to it.

 Tsuki lay sprawled on her huge bed. Blood
drooled from one corner of her mouth. Her dress
was ripped and she clutched a pillow to her
breast as if she were a child who had just
awakened from a nightmare.

But he knew now that she had awakened to a
nightmare.

 The hilt of a saw-bladed dagger protruded from
a spot on the pillow below which her heart would
be.

 But it was her eyes which haunted him and
would continue to do so for a long long time.
They held an immeasurable portion of disbelief.

 He went up onto the bed, scooping her up and
cradling her body. The room, he knew, was empty
and the window was the only other exit. He did
not even bother to cross to it to make certain. Let
Chiisai take care of the murderess for now.

 The first thing he did was carefully close her
eyes, even before he withdrew the dagger from
her chest. He was crying now. She had not
deserved this. Not this. Such a terrible way to die:
thinking you had been murdered by your own
daughter. And the very worst of it was that it was
a lie. Tsuki had not been killed by Aufeya. Yes,
it was her body, but, he was quite certain now,
Sardonyx had been animating it. How long, he
wondered, was I making love to her?

 He had failed, in the end. Tsuki was his friend's
first love. He had had an obligation to protect
her. As he had allowed Kossori to be killed, so
had he allowed Tsuki to go to her

BENEATH OPAL MOON 263

death. He knew, in his innemmost self, that he was
being far too harsh with himself. I did not care.

 He heard, as if from far away, raised voices,
recognised among those Chiisai's calling him.

 He ignored it, staring down at Tsuki's now placid
face, the fallen moon, set at last.

 They stood far apart at graveside, Moichi and
Auteya. Observing this, Chiisai sighed inwardly,
composing herself as the coffin, smooth as glass,
was lowered into the newly dug grave beside the
headstone of Milhos Seguillas y Oriwara. She paid
scarce attention to the words of Don Hispete as he
intoned the liturgy of the dead.

 She had had no trouble subduing Auteya as she
scrambled down from the second-story window to
the garden of the house. But by that time it had
been too late. She was, again, Auteya, bewildered
at being in Corruna, let alone outside herown
home. It was some time before they could tell her
what happened. She was stoic throughout. Which
was more than Chiisai could say for Moichi. He
had walked out midway through the telling and
now Aufeya knew that there had been something
between Moichi and the Senhora Seguillas y
Oriwara. Consequently, they had not spoken in
two days.

 Don Hispete made the sign of the Palliate over
the lowered coffin. Chiisai was grateful that the
ceremony was at last over. With the swirlling of
emotions, tension had been at a peak and it
seemed as if they had all stood here under the
shade of the huge olive tree for half a day, though
she knew it had been far less. She was grateful,
too, that Moichi had told her they would embark
for Sha'angh'sei this aftemoon, directly following
the service. She had had enough of that dark
dispirited house with its gloomy, self-flagellatory
paintings and its almost relentless aura of doom.
Too, her own decision had been made and she was
anxious to return to Sha'angh'sei. She looked at
Moichi's glum face and smiled secretly to herself.
His attitude would soon change when he got a
look at what was waiting for him in Sha'angh'sei.

 Everyone had gone, save the three, and now
Chiisai fumed away without looking at either of
them; she no longer belonged here. She heard the
sound of someone coming toward her. She stopped
and fumed. It was Aufeya.

"Are you going back to the house?"

254 Eric V. Lustbader

 "No, I'm going to the mercado.I want to say
good-bye to Martyne before we leave."

"You when are you leaving?"

"This afternoon. Almost immediately."

Aufeya shook her head, dismayed. "I didn't know.
I

 "If you two had been speaking to each other "
Chiisai was abruptly fed up. She had done as
much talking in the last couple of days as she
cared to do. "Excuse me." She walked off.

 Moichi stayed on, alone, as the attendant
shoveled the dirt into the grave. It had a hollow
sound as it hit the coffin's top but that soon
changed as the soil built itself higher.

 Then the man was gone and Moichi was alone
with her. The place was very still.

 "I am sorry, Tsuki." But, as he said the words,
he knew how inadequate they were. His shame
was so great that, had he been of another folk, he
would have killed himself there. But he was
Iskamen and that was not his way. He would have
to live with his shame. That would be his
atonement. He smiled inwardly, sadly, recognising
the voice of his father and his father before him.
On and on. The history of the Iskamen
inescapable. He might just as well stop breathing,
for it flowed through every molecule of his body,
through blood and bone, through muscles and
sinew, through brain and heart.

 Through his mind, then flashed a scene: the
moment just after he had met Chiisai on the dock
at Sha'angh'sei. What an odd thing to think of at
this time. Then he realized what had jarred the
memory. The shindai and her prophesy. What had
it been?

The Sun: significator of great change.

 The Past: This is what aids you. It had been a
corpse on a bier. Tsuki, from the past, now dead.

Everyone: This is what crosses you. Sardonyx.

And what was he to make of all that?

He became aware of a presence behind him.

 "There is nothing '' The words caught in her
throat and she swallowed convulsively. Aufeya's
mouth was dry because of the fear. She
recognized this as the most difficult thing she had
had to do in her life. Part of her screamed against
it, vexed, a child railing, but she gritted her teeth
and plunged onward because deep down she knew
that it was her only chance, that without this, she
was doomed, chained and bound here forever.

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 255

"There is nothing she has to forgive you for."

 Moichi stared at her, watched her face, seeing
the wild animal in her receding further back with
every passing moment. And, abruptly, he
understood the depths of his own self-pity.

"I see that, I think."

 She glanced down at the new grave, then back
up at him agaun.

He stood silently, watching her still.

"About the other thing " she said softly.

 "What other thing?" He knew very well what she
meant, he just wanted her to say it.

"About you and Mother "

  "It wasn't what you imagine, Aufeya. She wasn't
that kind of a person."

  "Don't tell me about it," she said. "That's all I
ask. I just felt " She broke off and her eyes filled
with tears. "She was always so beautiful, so very
very beautiful."

  He put his arm around her and they walked
away from there. In the spring, the grass would
begin to grow over the dark brown earth that no
one had bothered to pat down. It would not
matter to Tsuki Seguillas y Oriwara, only to those
who would come to visit her.

          And AD the Stars to
               Guide Me

C!

~JHA'ANGH'SEI, eternal Sha'angh'sei, Moichi
thought as they entered the harbor, maneuvering
around the myriad larger merchant vessels, keeping
well clear of the bobbing tasstan close to the bund.
How it swells my heart to see your shoreline once
again. Yet still, Iskael for me now. Home again.

 Chiisai stood on one side of him, unaccountably
nervous. Auteya was on the other side.

 "I would come with you to Sha'angh'sei," Aufeya
had said to him.

"But what of the family? The house?"

  "There is no family, really. Not anymore. just me.
The last of the Seguillas y Oriwara. With Mother
gone, Chirnmoku no longer wishes to remain. And I
no longer belong here."

"I will not stay in Sha'angh'sei for long, Auteya."

She smiled. "Is that a warning?"

  "I just want you to know." He looked at her
seriously. ''What will you do then?"

"One decision at a time, Moichi. All right?"

  He sent a kubaru runner to notify Aerent as soon
as they had docked, and Chiisai went with him.

  It was near to dusk. The vast sprawling city lay
entangled in its smoky matrix. The sky was hazed a
deep amethyst, punctured by the flickering lights
already coming on along the streets. High up on the
hill, the rooftops of the lavish homes of the city's
bongs in the walled city were already partially
obscured by the mist, as if they belonged to some
other far more ethereal world.

 - Along the jumble of the bund they went, until
Moichi hailed

256

BENEATH AN OPAI' MOON 257

a passing ricksha and they were immediately
engulfed in the maelstrom of Sha'angh'sei.

 They had taken over the long balcony of the
restaurant high up in the city yet with a
spectacular view of the harbor. Below them, the
brown waves washed against the ancient pilings
and the bobbing tasstan community was a swarm
of light as the kubaru began to clean up after their
evening meal.

 Aerent sighed expansively and leaned back in his
chair. He clapped Moichi on the shoulder. "It is
good to have you back, my friend. You were sorely
missed."

"I am sure not," Moichi said, wiping his lips.

 "Oh, gods, he is right, Moichi," Llowan said from
across the table and a litter of platters and plates
and empty decanters. "The business is a mess
without you."

Moichi laughed. "Now I know you have both gone
mad."

 "What will you do now, Chiisai?" Aerent asked.
"Return to Ama-no-mori?"

 There was a gleam in her eye. "No, Regent. I've
not yet had my fill of the continent of man.
Besides, I've never really gotten to see
Sha'angh'sei."

 "Very good, lady!" Llowan said, raising his
goblet. "Well said! I salute your resolve" he
laughed heartily "and your nerve. You may, if
you wish, reside in Moichi's old quarters. "

 "Now wait a minute,'' Moichi said. "I did tell you
that I was bound for Alara'at but, as you know full
well, it won't be as easy as all that. There still are
no ships available."

 "Oh," Aerent said smiling, "we'll get you off, one
way or another. "

 "As long as it's a proper ship," Moichi said.
"Iskael's a long way south and I do not propose to
paddle all the way."

 "Well, if we are finished," Chiisai said, standing
up, "why don't we go for a walk. I haven't had a
chance to see Sha'angh'sei by night. Moichi
spirited me away far too quickly for that."

 And that was how Chiisai came to give Moichi
his second gift from the Dai-San. It was there, as
it had been, since the morning she arrived.

"The Tsubasa," she said smiling. "It's your ship."

"Mine?" He could scarcely believe it.

"Yes. Now you can go home."

2543 Eric V. Lustbader

 "Home to Iskael," he breathed. "And what about
you, Aufeya?"

 She stood close behind him. "I wish to come
with you to Iskael. "

 "What? I do not think you have given this much
thought. It is not the kind of decision you "

 "On the contrary," she flared, "I have thought of
little else for some time."

"But, Aufeya "

 Then he saw the hurt in her eyes and he knew
the mistake he had made.

 "All right!" she exploded. "You're right. It was
a childish idea. I don't know where I got the
notion you would want me to come!" He reached
out for her but she whirled away. She wanted only
one thing now: to hurt him as deeply as he had
hurt her. "Say it! Say it in front of all your friends.
I'm sure they'll understand. You don't want me.
You never wanted me. It was my mother! You're
like all the rest of them who came into the house.
They came in and they saw her. It was always my
mother! Why didn't anyone pay attention to me?"
She flung herself away from the group, running
out onto Three Kegs Pier.

 Behind her a heavy silence fell like an opaque
carpet of snow, damping all sound. Moichi stared
at Chiisai for a moment, feeling helpless and
alone, but she was studiously staring at the whorls
in the wood grain of the pier plankings.

He cleared his throat and went after her.

 The world was now a forest of black masts and,
beyond it, the vastness of the rolling sea.

 He came up to her, stood beside her without
touching her, knowing, instinctively, that she
would not tolerate that now. The wind, coming in
off the sea, whipped her hair back from her face
and at that moment, with the moonlight gilding
her face, she had never looked more beautiful nor
more her mother's child.

 "I'm sorry," he said softly. "You took me
completely by surprise and I "

 "Yes, and I'll always be just my mother's
daughter to you," she said acidly. "Why don't you
just get away from me."

"I want you to come with me."

 She said nothing. To their right, past the
Tsubasa, on Four Winds Pier, a kabaru song
started up, bittersweet in the night.

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 259

He could not see any of them but their voices rose
clear and strong in their indomitable hymn.

 "Your mother loved you very much, Aufeya.
More than anyone or anything else in the world."

 "So she was fond of telling me," she spat. "Words
don't mean anything after a while."

"Her life had little meaning without you."

"Do you expect me to believe that?"

 "Auteya, listen to me. She was going back with
Hellsturm in order to ensure your safety." He had
not wanted to tell her this but what choice did he
have now?

 He saw the shock register on her face. "Dihos,
no!'' she cried. "She wouldn't have!"

 "On the contrary, it had already been arranged.
And it would have happened, save that Sardonyx
crossed Hellsturm.'' He reached out for her now.
"Aufeya, there is no one your mother could have
hated more than Hellsturm."

"Yes. I learned that, at least, at Mistral."

 "She loved you dearly." As he said it, he became
aware that what he was saying about Tsuki was
just as true for his father and himself.

 They held each other, as if for the first time,
while, beside them, the crew of the Tsubasa made
ready to get underway.

Dawn.

 Llowan was already dockside, having said his
farewell. Aerent took his arm, said, "Remember,
Moichi, Sha'angh'sei will always be your home.''
Then he turned and went down the gangplank in
his stiff, articulated walk.

Moichi turned to Chiisai.

"This is not the end, as I once told the Dai-San.''

 "No," she said. "Aerent and I will surely see you
again one day."

They embraced.

"I wish you good fortune, Moichi."

"And 1, you. In all you do."

 Chiisai kissed Aufeya and then she, too, was
gone from the ship.

 The gangplank was hauled in and he gave the
signal. Men scrambled to release the lines fore and
aft, and the anchor was weighed.

 "All away, pilot!" came the call from his first
mate at midships.

260 Eric V. I,ustbader

  "Aye," he called back, climbing the aft
companionway to the high poop deck. "As soon
as we are clear of the harbor set all sail."

"Very good, sir!"

  He looked at the trio still at the edge of the
pier. What adventures still awaited them? He
turned, gave a series of sharp, barking orders and
men scrambled up the ratlines into the shrouds.

  The next moments were spent guiding the
Tsubasa through the difficult and absorbing maze
of Sha'angh'sei's harbor. Aufeya went below to
change into her sea clothes.

  Presently, they were well clear of all ships and
he heard the first mate's strong command, then
the bright quick snapping as the men broke out
all canvas. He's a good one, Moichi thought as he
turned to the helmsman and gave him the course:
"South by southeast."

"Aye, sir!"

  The ship leapt forward, her bow waves high,
her wake thick and creamy.

  The sun was rising in the sky ahead of them,
turning the deep blue to white near its position.
Not a cloud could be seen in any direction, but,
far-off, near the western horizon, the pale moon,
full now, could just be discerned over the
rooftops of fast-disappearing Sha'angh'sei.

  He left the helmsman's side and, leaning
against the starboard taffrail, luxuriated in the
feel of the ship, the roll and scent of the sea,
exulting in his mastery over them both.

  "Isn't it strange that the moon should be visible
at this time of the day?" The female voice came
from behind him, rich and melodious and almost
half mocking.

  He turned quickly but he saw only Aufeya, clad
in high shining seaboots and sailor's loose shirt
and pants, coming across the poop deck, the sun
in her eyes, smiling at him.

          About the Author
Besides the Sunset Warrior Cycle, Eric V.
Lustbader is the
author of zero Shan, Jian, Black Heart, and The
Ninja, all
bestsellers. He lives in New York City and in
Southampton,
Long Island, with his wife, editor Victoria Schochet
Lustbader.
                  
A Master of the erotic and terrifying thriller...

                                
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BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 131

serve that up and it has its place, surely. But faith
will not cause that Palliate to survive and prosper.
Only money can accomplish that feat."

 "But, begging your pardon, Don Hispete, our
first duty is to bring solace to those in need; to
show them the way toward salvation in this life.
That is the miracle of the Palliate."

 "Uhm, yes." Don Hispete broke off a haunch of
seared meat at its white-and-pink socket. "But, it
too is a miracle, Don Gode, what money can do
for the Palliate. And without that, well" he
shrugged "the Palliate would be able to reach no
one." He tore into the flesh with his white teeth.
"Be of calm spirit, my boy," he said. "Our work is
all for the glory of Dihos."

                Fugue

THE Plaza de la Pesquisa was deserted.

 He stood deep within the shadows of the olive
trees, having chosen a spot with excellent visibility
to the east and west as well as to the north,
where he could observe the Seguillas y Oriwara
house undetected. He had been in this spot for
some time now. No one had come in or out of
the front door during that time. Four people had
passed by without stopping.

 He checked his other views, drew a blank and
returned his attention to the big house. Doors
were only one method of entrance.

 With extraordinary quickness and silence, he
flitted from shadow to shadow, out of the plaza.
An old man went slowly past and, some time
later, a young couple arm in arm, coming from
the opposite direction. No one saw him.

 At length, he gained the darkness of the small
side street to the right of the house. The second
tree in had the right configuration and he climbed
it, moving out from the trunk onto a thick limb
which arced inward toward the vine-covered side
of the building.

 He put the toe of one boot into a V notch
where one vine became two and, ascertaining that
it would indeed support his weight, launched
himself upward. Hand over hand, his fingers
grasping, tugging experimentally, he ascended.

 High above the street, he became aware of the
soft cries, as of thin wire whistling through the
air, and, once, he felt the tentative brush of a
leathery wing tip. He was not fond of bats and
these seemed unusually large but, though they
continued to dip near him, calling in their
high-pitched peculiar speech, they posed little
threat to his progress once he had acclimated
himself to their swooping presence.

                 132
                  
BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 13S

 Along the wall he went, clinging like some
nocturnal animal on a hunt, and soon he was at
the corner of the house. There was some
illumination here, mostly from the flickering lights
around the plaza he looked skyward: banks of
stratus cloud obscured the rising moon but he
was reasonably certain he could navigate this last
stretch of wall without being observed from below.

 The immediate problem now, however, rose
from another quarter. For the first hand- and
foothold he was totally blind and would have to
rely totally on touch.

 Cautiously, he reached around the corner,
extending his torso as far as he dared to give
himself as wide a search area as possible. He felt
his fingers close around a thick vine on the front
of the house. He tugged. It held. He tightened his
grip and let go with his feet.

 Afterward, he would remember how absurdly
lucky he was to have held on with his right hand,
because the new vine ripped under his weight and
he slammed against the side of the building, his
face scraping against the ivy as he slid downward.
He let go with his left hand and swung for a
moment, supported by just one handhold. Gravity
dragged at him, beckoning him down to the street
below.

 He used the toes of his boots to stop his
swinging and, pressing his chest against the side of
the house, searched for another vine along the
front. Found it and used it. This time it held and,
within breathless moments, he was swinging onto
the right-hand balcony which framed the shuttered
second-story window.

 He crouched on the strips of wrought iron for a
moment, feeling quite vulnerable in the light. In
addition, he noted from this vantage point that the
balcony was more decorative than functional. If it
was not meant to hold this heavy a weight

 He reached out a dirk and insinuated its point
into the corner seam of the wooden shutter. Found
the simple metal latch and flipped it upward.

 Slipped into the room beyond, pulling the
shutters to behind him.

 He found himself in a smallish room with a high
down bed and an ornately carved wooden dresser
above which hung an outsized oval mirror framed
in lacquered bamboo. A bamboo rocking chair
stood immobile in one corner as if awaiting its
master's return. The room was scented faintly and
a lamp was lit on a small table at bedside. This in
itself was peculiar, for

184 Eric V. Lustbader

the room had a deserted air, despite the obvious
attempts to make it seem otherwise.

 In three strides he had crossed the room and
put his ear against the door. Too thick to hear
anything. Cautiously, he opened it a centimeter at
a time. Hallway with a curving balustrade
overlooking what he took to be the first-floor
hallway.

 He went out, standing quite still. He could hear
the murmur of voices, echoing slightly, and he
knelt, peering through the wooden bars. The
Senhora Seguillas y Oriwara was standing at the
front door, talking to Chimmoku. Apparently he
was about to depart, for he was wrapped in a
dark cloak.

 " as quickly as possible." He heard her voice
drift up to him. "And for the sake of Dihos, make
certain he does not follow you back."

 Chimmoku nodded silently and slipped out the
door. Moichi now had to make an immediate
decision: to stay here with the Senhora or to
follow Chimmoku on his nocturnal errand. He
chose the former not only because it had been his
original plan but because circumstance had
proved to be his ally, leaving him alone with the
Senhora. To go against that now would be to
court disaster.

 The Senhora had bolted the door behind
Chimmoku and was coming toward him. She
began to ascend the stairs.

 Moichi went quickly and silently back to the
room from which he had gained entrance to the
house and closed the door to a slit. Despite the
lamp burning, he was quite certain this was not
the Senhora's bedroom. In a moment, he heard
her passing him and ventured a look. He saw her
go through a door at the far end of the hallway.
Over it, attached to the wall

was a polished brass ship's bell.

 There was no help for it now, he thought. And
any procrastination allowed that much more
chance that he would still be here when
Chimmoku returned. He wanted to avoid that.

 Taking a deep breath, he opened the door, went
out into the hallway and, without a sound, went
into her room.

 Chiisai had little difficulty in finding the
mercado. It was an enormous one-story structure
in the heart of Corruna divided into myriad stalls,
each rented to a different merchant or trader.
The proprietorship of these spaces could be
permanent or quite fluid, changing hands many
times within the space of several days as traders
came and went with their seasonal wares.

At times, as now that is, at night or during
inclement

BENEATH AN OPAI' MOON 135

weather the entire rnercado was covered.
However, during the dazzling sun-drenched
Daluzan days, the separate stall roofs were taken
away, giving the vast place a brilliantly dappled,
endless feel.

 Even now, after the day's selling had ceased,
there continued to be much activity within the
mercado, albeit of a different nature from that
which went on during the daylight hours. The
mercado of Corruna, it was said, never slept.

 Here, during all the night, shifts of workers
unloaded fresh produce, craftsmen toiled at their
work in leather, silver, gold, precious and
semiprecious stones, pearls, painting, tapestries
and sculpture in stone and clay; far in back, the
sweating metalsmiths worked their red-hot forges,
creating their weaponry. For the day was for
selling only and, at night, the artisans populated
the mercado like a mythic flock of nocturnal
tribesmen who disappeared with the coming of
dawn, replaced by the hard-bargaining merchants.

 This was the real mercado, one which few people
in Corruna ever saw, for this was not an all-night
city as was Sha'angh'sei.

 Chiisai stood on the mercado's threshold,
entranced, as if she stood on the brink of the
Promised Land. She was used to seeing artisans at
work, for every Bujun was also an artisan of some
sort What good is a Bujun, her father had told
her often, with just the knowledge to kill? But never
had she seen so many at once and the sight was
dizzying.

 Slowly, she strolled down the long aisles between
the stalls, watching a man split an uncut diamond
here, a woman spinning a cape of silver thread
there and, further on, a man etching a delicate
design onto a huge leather scabbard by dropping
acid on it.

 She paused, fascinated, to observe a woman
carving what appeared to be an enormous ruby
into the likeness of a human head. She waited
until the woman put down her tools to rest to ask,
"Will it be a man or a woman?"

 The woman turned to look at her, wiping at her
forehead with her arm. She was dark-haired and
long-eyed with thick lips and an exquisite neck that
Chiisai immediately envied. Her face had been
melded by years of determination, or so it seemed
to Chiisai.

"A woman," she said. "Eventually."

"Is it very difficult?"

 "Darling," the woman laughed, "it is very nearly
impossible."

136 Eric V. Leader

"Then why do you do it?"

  "Because it's there, for a start, and no one else
around here would dare to attempt it, man or
woman. This is my second attempt; the first one
I consider a failure." She put a hand out, her
fingers long and delicate, questing like the feelers
of some complex insect, stroking the coolness of
the ruby's irregular side. "Here, come here,
darling, and feel what I feel." Chiisai put out her
hand. "But I love the ruby for itself, you see," the
woman continued, "because it withholds from me
its very essence." She smiled. "Until the very end."

  "And that is important," Chiisai said, not
knowing whether she was asking a question.

  "As important as drawing breath," the woman
said, "for me. For without mystery, life would be
nothing and I should wish, when I put my head
down on the pillow at night, never again to
awake."

  Chiisai took her hand reluctantly from the ruby.
"Do you have a finished piece of yours here? I'd
like to see one."

  "I don't think " The woman searched below
the counter of the stall. "Wait. I've found one."
She lifted up a warrior carved out of tiger's-eye.
"It is not so fine, I'm afraid. It's a very early
piece. Still " She set the figure down on the
counter top and Chiisai picked it up. Something
about it struck her.

"This warrior's face looks familiar to me.''

  "It's a Tudescan," the woman said. "Have you
been to Rhein Tudesca? That is where I am
from."

Chiisai looked up. "You are Tudescan?"

  The woman nodded. "My name is Martyne."
She offered her hand. "And you?"

  "My name is Chiisai. I am Bujun." She took the
hand, found it cool and firm. "I hope you'll
pardon my ignorance, Martyne, but I thought all
Tudescans had light hair."

  "Most do, but only my mother was Tudescan,
you see. I have her light eyes but my father's hair,
I imagine."

  Chiisai returned her gaze to the figurine. It was
marvelously carved. She could clearly see the
cruelty of the man's visage. "We were attacked by
Tudescans yesterday," she said. "On the sea." She
waited a moment, then said, "You do not seem
surprised."

  "Why should I be? They are evil people. That's
why I am in Dalucia now."

BENEATH AN OPAL MOON 137

 "But you made this," Chiisai pointed out,
indicating the warrior.

"Yes. I made that as a reminder."

"Of what?"

 "My father came from the sea. He was a
freebooter who sailed into Rhein Tudesca one day.
And there he met my mother. And now they are
both dead."

"I am sorry."

  "So am I. They were exceptional people, my
parents. But my mother disobeyed the law and
they were both slain for that transgression. "

  "What could she have done that was so terrible
to have warranted execution?''

"She married my father," Martyne said simply.

  She whirled as he closed the door behind him. It
made a sound not unlike a sigh of resignation.

  Her eyes flashed and he saw the earth-brown
motes swimming in their jade depths. She wore a
loose cream-colored silk blouse with a drawstring
front, below which was an oval opening displaying
the swell of the tops of her breasts, and a long
skirt of a green so deep it appeared to be black.

"You!" she hissed. "How did you get in here?"

Not: pleat do you want?

Her hands hung loosely at her sides.

''I came in through a second-story window."

"Get out of here this instant!"

  It was worrisome because there was no fear and
even now her fingers were fully extended, not
balled into fists of outrage.

"Not until I get some answers, senhora."

  Had to drag his eyes away from the sight of her
heaving bosom. Not the way. He advanced.
"Senhora "

She stood her ground. "Get out!"

  Felt his muscles tensing of their own volition
and he began to worry in earnest because there
was information trying to get through.

  "Senhora, please. YOU must listen to me. Your
daughter's life "

"I will not debate with you." Her voice was like ice.

Image of Cascaras, dead in the alley.

"I will not leave."

  She moved then and, just before he was borne
backward by the full weight of her lightning attack,
he knew what it was.

13~3 Eric Y. Luger

As she leapt, he caught a glimpse of her fingers,
together, fully extended. They tumbled to the
floor, rolling over and owr, for he knew now that
any cessation of movement on his part and he was
finished. The one word reverberated through his
brain as the back of his head slammed against the
wooden boards and he saw a shadow looming
over him.

Koppo.

 "The folk of Rhein Tudesca live solely by laws,"
Martyne said, as they sipped compana. "It is how
they are born and brought up. A network of laws.
And that is how the country runs. Efficiently,
effortlessly. Bloodlessly." Her face was drained of
all color in the telling of this. "A Tudescan may
marry another Tudescan and no one else."

 Chiisai said nothing, staring into the depths of
the golden liquid.

 "The Tudescans hate outlanders, " Martyne
continued. "Oh, they tolerate those with whom
trade is vital, but visitors to Rhein Tudesca are
strictly limited and the crews of the merchantmen
bringing imports are never allowed shore leave.
And any outlander in the country is escorted at
all times."

"You have not been back?"

"No," Martyne said. "I would never return."

 "Do you know a Tudescan named Hellsturm?"
Chiisai said abruptly.

"No. Should 1?"

 Chiisai shook her head. "Not really. There's no
connection other than you're both Tudescan."

"I have no interest in others from Rhein Tudesca,
Chiisai."

 "Perhaps, then, you know of a Dalazan
merchant named Cascaras."

 "Oh, yes. Certainly." Martyne poured them both
more wine. "But it has been many seasons since I
have seen him. He was about to leave the city. He
used to have a stall over there" she waved a
hand toward the vastness of the mercado "but
that was some time ago. We became friendly be-
cause he specialized in archaeological artifacts."

"You knew him well, then?"

 She shook her head, her dark hair a nimbus like
the night. "Not really. He would have liked
to get to know me better. But I found out that
a number of artifacts he had were stolen."

"From collections?"

"Oh, no. He was a grave robber. He looted digs at
night.

BENI5AlH AN OPEL MOON + 139

Mostly to the northwest. He knew that region so
well I often told him he ought to give up the
thieving and become a cartographer." She gave
Chiisai a small smile. "He wouldn't hear of it, of
course. He loved the excitement far too much as
well as the enormous profits."

 "Did Cascaras say anything to you when you last
saw him? Anything at all?"

"Why are you so interested in him?"

"He was murdered, Martyne. In Sha'angh'sei."

  "Sha'angh'sei?" Her eyes opened wide. "Why
would he go so far south?"

  "He was being pursued by this man Hellsturm.
He was tortured. We believe by Hellsturm."

  "If Hellsturm is Tudescan there is a sure way of
finding out. "

"There is? What?"

  Martyne turned away from Chiisai and her hands
reached out, stroking the faceted ruby again, a
touchstone, a talisman against bad memories. "The
Tudescans are a remarkably savage people in many
ways, despite the veneer of civilizadon they have
cloaked themselves in." She paused, took a deep
breath, let it out as a shudder. "The day my
parents died, it was my birthday. I saw them
coming down the block because I was sithog in the
open window, waiting for them. They were
bringing home my presents. They were struck
down as they were crossing the street. Two men
had obviously been waiting for them. It took such
little dme, so little effort, and they were sliced
open, Iying there in their own blood, already dead.
One moment there; the next, not. I don't really
remember much of what happened after that. I
must've hid because they were certain to search
the house. Then I was out on the streets. How
much time had passed I have no idea. I only knew
that they would be looking for me and that I had
to get to the border.

  "I tried not to sleep but, of course, that was
impossible after a while. I was in the back of an
alley one night when a combination of sounds and
movement woke me. I should have run then but
something held me, a kind of odd paralysis. Lucky
it was, too, because I would have run right into the
three warriors; it was a cul-de-sac, you see." She
paused, her slender fingers exploring the ruby's
contours as if reading the past, divining the future.
"They were dragging a woman in from the streets.
Perhaps she was a prostitute, perhaps not; there's
no way of knowing. They raped her there in front
of me, a kind of blood

140 Eric V. I:us~ader

less ritual without even the semblance of passion.
And then, when they were finished with that, they
sliced open her chest. There was something more
they wanted from her; information, I imagine.
They got it in the end."

 Chiisai felt a cold constriction fluttering around
her own heart. "What did they do to her?"

 Martyne's eyes were bright with the memory.
"You really wish to know all of it?"

Chiisai nodded her assent.

 "In Rhein Tudesca torture is a high art. In a
society of secrets, you see, it is believed
imperative that those in power possess the means
to obtain those secrets. You understand?"

 Chiisai thought of what Moichi had told her
about how Sha'angh'sei society operated, so full
of secrecy yet open, too. "No," she admitted, "I'm
afraid I don't."

 Martyne shrugged. ''Well, no matter. I suppose
you'd actually have to go to Rhein Tudesca to
understand fully. The Tudescans have perfected
a way to expose the living heart and massage it
artificially so that the victim's life-processes are
slowed or speeded up from there. They can cause
great pain in this fashion without the coming of
death. No one can withstand this form of torture,
but it is only one of a great many."

"This was Cascaras' fate, I'm afraid."

"Then I shall pray for the peace of his soul."

 Chiisai touched the other. "Please, Martyne. It
is important that you try to remember if he said
anything to you before he left. "

 Martyne sat back, passed a hand across her
forehead. "Let me see. It was quite a while ago,
the beginning of summer. He was off now where
did he say? I can't really remember. Well, the
northwest, anyway "

Yes, Chiisai thought. Kintai is to the northwest of
Corruna.

 "He was quite excited, I recall. 'When I return,
Martyne,' he said, 'I will be so wealthy, so
powerful that you will give me your hand in
marriage.' But I paid him little mind. He always
had a scheme or two which, he was certain, would
make him as wealthy as an emperor. This I told
him, for wealthy or no, powerful or no, it made
no difference to me. I did not love him, therefore
I would not marry him. Of course, this had little
effect on him, for, as a man who believed that
money could buy anything, he felt I was just
leading him on. However, what he said to me was
this: 'You do not understand, Martyne. This time
I have truly found it, the key. With it I will have