Savage Divinity

Though the sun had barely risen when the knock sounded at his door, Baatar was already wide awake and tending to Sarnai’s needs. Frowning at the intrusion and smelling the food, he instructed the servant to leave breakfast at the door and go, as they did every day. He’d made his wishes known long ago, no one was allowed into the room aside from family or Healers. If he allowed strangers in, she’d scold him until the heavens fell from the sky for letting people see her while she slept. A foolish woman, always worrying about her appearance even though she was still as beautiful as the day they’d married. He remembered it like it was yesterday, kneeling across from her with fingers interlocked and voices intertwined as they said their vows.

Heart aching at the memory of better days, he finished wiping his wife’s face with a warm washcloth, praying she would open her eyes and smile at his tender touch. Unresponsive for weeks now, there had been little to no improvement in her condition, and after he passed over all authority to Major General Han BoHai, there was nothing left for him to do but watch as his sweet rose slowly withered away, day by tortuous day. Repressing a sigh, he took a deep breath before opening the door to find a welcome surprise on the other side. Standing behind a small cart, Rain smiled and said, “Hello. I’m back.”

The boy’s arms went wide and Baatar pulled him into a warm embrace. “Welcome home, boy. The journey was hard on you. You’ve done well to survive your tribulations and won much honour and glory for the People.” Half-dragging Rain and his cart into the room, Baatar closed the door behind them and inspected his disciple. Though still short of stature and lean of frame, the boy had grown in this short half-year of separation. With broader shoulders and a straight back, there was no sign of the timid, anxious child he’d once been. Whether it be from the glint in his eye or the set of his jaw, Baatar knew a warrior stood before him, a man forged in battle and bloodshed. Weary and worn from his struggles, Rain stood ready to face whatever the day might bring with his head held high.

Good. Good.

“Sorry for not coming by earlier. We arrived long after midnight and I didn’t want to disturb your sleep.” Moving the dining table next to the bed, he set down a tray of food and gestured for Baatar to sit. “I ate while cooking, so you go ahead.” Placing a steaming bowl on the nightstand, Rain turned to Sarnai and took her hand. “After I heard what happened, I made you some eight-treasure soup. Both delicious and nutritious, it’s a nourishing broth which will help keep your strength up. It still needs to cool, but you can enjoy the fragrance as it does.”

Seeing his upbeat and bright manner, Baatar couldn’t help but shake his head. “She can’t hear you, boy. She’s wholly unresponsive to sound, light, touch, and smell.” Though he still held hope for his rose, he couldn’t deny the situation looked grim.

Smiling gently, Rain shrugged. “The mind is a strange and mysterious thing. Not even Teacher can claim to know all its mysteries. I’ll admit, it’s unlikely she can hear us, but nothing is lost by speaking.” Reaching under the cart, Rain pulled out an ornate porcelain vase and some flowers, placing them on the window sill. “These are your favourite flowers, the violet mountain roses which grow in big clusters. There’s a whole field of them nearby, you should make Mentor bring you to see them after you wake. It’s a breathtaking sight, but you should hurry if you want to see them before next spring.”

Grateful for Rain’s optimism and support, Baatar ate his breakfast and watched as the boy bustled about the room, describing his gifts out loud for Sarnai’s benefit. A painting depicting the Sacred Tree in all its glory, an eighteen-petal lotus blossom carved out of the finest lavender jade, a solid gold censer adorned with silver sculpted dragons, Rain’s little cart was filled with a multitude of riches which left Baatar gaping in shock. One or two luxurious gifts might be explained as a reward for the boy’s accomplishments in Sanshu, but this was far too extravagant. Though Baatar had little experience in appraising works of art, any fool could see these gifts were priceless and Rain already placed five of them around the room, with no sign of stopping. As the boy pulled out his sixth gift, a wedding barge carved out of ivory, Baatar was forced to speak up. “Boy, did you save Sanshu or pillage it? Where’d you get all these works of art?”

With a toothy grin, Rain patted Baatar on the shoulder. “Why not both?” Seeing his frown, the boy winked and Sent, “I’m kidding, don’t look so sour. Magistrate Tongzu won’t be hunting me down for looting his city, these are spoils of war I took from the Butcher Bay hideout.” Out loud, the boy said, “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you. On the way back, we saved a merchant from some bandits, with help from the Society Warrant Officers. As thanks, the merchant sold us all his expensive wares at bargain prices before returning home to retire. I guess he found the merchant life too dangerous and was happy to recoup his costs.”

Stifling a laugh at the shameless and poorly acted lie, Baatar shook his head and listened as the boy regaled them with tales of his adventures in Sanshu. As fanciful and astonishing as they were, Baatar knew Rain well enough to know he wasn’t bragging. If anything, the boy was probably downplaying his accomplishments. To hear him tell it, he was merely a bystander going along with the flow instead of someone who played a pivotal role in the entire matter. He focused more on how adorable his pets were than the battles he won or skills he developed. Though there were many questions to ask and mysteries to uncover, Baatar was content to listen in silence, taking pride in his disciple’s achievements and accepting everything at face value, knowing Rain would explain everything in time.

A good child and an even better disciple. Baatar couldn’t take credit for teaching him well. Everything Rain accomplished, he did so on his own, but Baatar still took pride in seeing this young man blossom. 

The hours flew by as Rain kept them company, but just before lunch, little Lin arrived to collect him, his hare-brained Teacher seeking him out for work. As Rain listed off a checklist of last-minute instructions and exercises to help Sarnai, Baatar held back his tears and basked in the warmth and care shown by this filial disciple. He only wished his daughter shared Rain’s optimism, but he couldn’t fault her for it. The girl was pragmatic and hardheaded, just as he’d raised her to be. It wasn't easy on her either, and were it anyone else, Baatar would have given the same advice she gave him; accept Sarnai’s loss, mourn, and move on, but this was his wife, his love, his rose.

How could he give her up for dead while she still drew breath?

An Aura washed over him and Baatar's sword hand twitched in response before settling down. Nothing to be concerned about, the boy was merely showing off his skills. A second surprise lay in wait though, as the boy’s Aura filled him with warm comfort and doting love. Staring at Rain in shock, Baatar hardly believed his senses, this little disciple hiding so much beneath the surface. How was this possible? All his life, Baatar thought Aura was only used to shelter allies and unnerve enemies, but the boy showed him it was so much more. The raw emotion displayed by Rain’s Aura was so vivid and tangible, his love and devotion couldn’t be any clearer. “I can’t promise I'll save her,” he said, “but I’ll study hard, do my best, and ask Teacher to do the same. So long as there is life, there is hope, so you need to eat more, dress better, and er... bathe. Please.” Smiling, he added, “Else when Sarnai wakes up and sees you like this, she’ll scold me into a pile of quivering tofu for not taking care of you. I’ll have someone send lunch and come back when I can, okay?”

As Rain strolled out hand in hand with his betrothed, Baatar took Sarnai’s hand in his own. “Do you hear him, my rose?” he Sent, squeezing her fingers lightly. “This is the little foundling we’d feared would never recover, grown into a splendid young man. Forget his accomplishments and achievements, earning his love and affection was well worth the risk.”

His heart skipped a beat and he held his breath as he stared at his wife. Was it his imagination or did she just squeeze back? Almost giddy with joy, tears dripped down his cheeks as he Sent message after message, telling her how much he loved and missed her, but there was no response. After a long time, he dried his tears and breathed deep, smiling for the first time in weeks.

Although little had changed upon Rain’s return, Baatar felt more optimistic now that his disciple was working to save Sarnai. He couldn’t explain why, but he knew if anyone could turn things around, it would be Rain, his miraculous little disciple.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seeing his uncle in such disarray, Zian was shocked into silence. Once a proud, confident leader of men, Situ Jia Yang seemed like a different person as he sat slumped in his cushioned chair. Still wearing his wrinkled nightclothes in the middle of the day, his shoulders trembled in repressed fury as he stared out from behind baggy eyes and sallow skin. “The savage brat returned last night,” he said, without a word of greeting for his nephew. “Rode past midnight to get here. I heard you’ve been travelling with him for weeks now, not even stopping to see your mother on the way back. Strange thing is, if you’re such great friends with the brat, then why weren’t you travelling with him last night? Is the great Situ Jia Zian too timid to ride in the dark? Or have you cast aside all filial responsibility for your new barbarian comrades?”

Taken aback by the outright hostility, it took Zian a moment to recover. He’d never admit it out loud, but sixteen hours of travel a day for weeks on end had almost driven Zian and his retinue to the brink of exhaustion. Had he dared order his soldiers to press on into the night, they might have snapped and murdered him on the spot. “Uncle Yang, what happened?”

Slamming his palm on the table, Uncle Yang screamed, “I’m still your Mentor, boy! You will show me the respect I deserve!”

Narrowing his eyes, Zian slowly counted to ten to rein in his temper. When that failed, he counted to ten again, and once more before he trusted himself to speak. “Are you saying,” he said, carefully enunciating each word, “that you believe ‘Mentor’ a loftier title than ‘Uncle’? If so, then you’re gravely mistaken. You’ve been my Mentor for less than a year but an uncle all my life. You are the blood of my blood and the only living relative I have aside from my mother. Though I can always find a new mentor, I could never replace you.”

Zian’s words had a more profound effect on his uncle than expected. Hanging his head in defeat, uncle Yang drew a trembling breath. “You’re right,” he said after exhaling slowly. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’ve been too stressed of late, with my closest allies turned to ashes and scattered to the wind while my enemies crawl out of the woodwork to condemn my actions. Worst of all, I’ve no recourse against them, with no choice but to sit here and accept their insults and lies.”

Though no apology was made or would be forthcoming, Zian knew this was the best his uncle would offer. Aggravating, but Zian was more concerned than annoyed. What happened in his absence to discourage Uncle Yang so? Before he could find his voice, his uncle stood and patted Zian on the shoulder, an awkward, unfamiliar gesture of affection for both of them. “I’ve made a proper mess of things and failed horribly. I’ll be lucky to get off with a court-martial and a fine, so you’re the last hope of our branch of the family now.”

“What?” Zian could hardly believe his ears. How could his domineering Uncle Yang give up so easily? “What happened, perhaps there’s still hope.”

“Ha.” Uncle Yang barked out a note of harsh laughter. “The only way I won’t be punished is if the Defiled return to take the Wall and raze the Province.” Shaking his head, he settled back into his seat with a defeated sigh. “It seemed like the right thing to do. The outer walls were taken, the inner walls crumbling beneath the assault, the battle all but lost. To conserve our strength for the battles ahead, I pulled my soldiers back to fortify Shen Yun. Who would have thought the Defiled would falter, pulling back at the first sign of rain?”

“Rain? What did that scrawny brat have to do with anything, he only arrived yesterday.”

“Not the brat, fool. Rain, precipitation, drops of water falling from the sky.” Taking a drink straight from the teapot, some liquid with a distinctly non-tea like smell spilled down Uncle Yang’s chin. Alcohol? Uncle rarely drank, a proponent of sobriety and moderation all his life. “Oh it was a heavy downpour to be sure, with day turned dark as night, but no thunder or lightning, no wind or hail, just... rain. The Demons and Defiled fled so quickly you’d think they were made of sugar, worried they’d melt away in the downpour. The damn luck of the Bekhai, eh?” Sighing, Uncle Yang took another swig of the teapot and laughed. “At least the province is safe, right?”

Unable to formulate a response, Zian stood in stupefied silence. Uncle Yang was no coward, he wouldn’t have abandoned the Bridge unless the situation called for it. Unfortunately, with how things turned out, their enemies would twist the truth to their advantage. In truth, a court-martial would be lenient. Even with all his years of meritorious service, Uncle Yang could be executed for cowardice if sentencing went poorly. How did things go so wrong?

“Calm down, boy.” Uncle Yang spoke softly, his smile not reaching his eyes as he comforted Zian. “I’ve still a few favours to call in, the Justicars won’t demand my death. In fact, it’s better if you keep calling me Uncle instead of Mentor. This way, my failures cannot be used against you and besides, Mother knows I’ve taught you next to nothing. Your strength and prowess results from your hard work and dedication. Forget about me, boy. My star has dimmed while yours still rises.”

Guilt welled up within Zian as he thought about how he’d intended to replace Uncle Yang with Jukai as his Mentor. “Uncle...”

“None of your soft-hearted, girlish ways, I still know what’s best for you. Soon enough, I’ll have no time to teach you anyways. Without my rank, my enemies will grow confident and I’ll be forced into hiding. Don’t worry, I’ve not lost my wits or my strength, I’ll show them Situ Jia Yang is not a man to be taken lightly.” With a grimace, Uncle Yang hesitated before continuing. “Be honest now, I won’t fault you. Have you made peace with the little savage?”

“Sort of.” Clasping his uncle’s forearm, Zian explained the entire situation with Yo Ling’s treasure through Sending, having practised with Jukai the entire journey home.

When he finished telling the tale, Uncle Yang shook his head in disapproval. “You take after your father. An unstoppable warrior but a bumbling diplomat. Should have asked for more or refused to go along.” The words stung, especially since Zian knew little about his father, and Uncle Yang noticed his mistake, quieting for a moment. After a consoling pat on the cheek, he continued. “Well, this is fine. The Bekhai are experiencing a meteoric rise in power and you cannot afford to antagonize them, not anymore. Forget the brat’s accomplishments, the wolf's already being hailed as the next Nian Zu, here to defend the province for hundreds of years to come. Doesn’t even deserve it, owes all his success to luck and coincidence.”

After some more grumbling, Uncle Yang’s voice dropped to a whisper. “About your father... It’s no secret we never got along, but he loved your mother. More importantly, she loved him and there was nothing I could do about it.” A small chuckle escaped his lips and for a second, Uncle Yang looked twenty years older. “Then he died, doing stupid things for stupid reasons.” Wrapping Zian in his embrace, he whispered, “I’ve never had a son, but I’ve always thought of you as one. I envy him you know? Seeing you fight and earn glory in his style, you’ve done him proud. You’ve made me proud. Never forget this.”

Choking back his tears, Zian snarled and said, “Stay alive uncle. Give me a few years and I’ll become strong enough to protect you, I swear it.”

“Ha. That’ll be the day. The great Situ Jia Yang relying on a profligate dandy to protect him, I’d be better off dead and burned.” The mocking tone was softened by Uncle Yang’s smile. Dismissing Zian with a wave of his hand, Uncle Yang said, “Begone now, go write a letter to your mother before she marches down here to chew you out in person. Neither of us will survive if that should come to pass.”

“Yes uncle.” Pausing at the door, Zian turned to see Uncle Yang already gazing out the window with a forlorn look. Swallowing his words, Zian stepped out and closed the door behind him. It’s likely the clan would disavow Uncle Yang before the court-martial even took place, and without the Society’s protection, he was in more danger than he let on. It disgusted Zian to see his uncle abandoned so readily, half the enemies looking to kill him were made carrying out the Society’s interests.

Complaining won’t change anything, the only way Zian could help was by seizing more power, both personal and political. Gathering his thoughts, Zian abandoned his plans to renounce his place as young patriarch and focused on drafting a letter to his mother. If he wanted power, the quickest and easiest method would be an alliance through marriage. If the Situ Clan wouldn’t stand behind Uncle Yang, then perhaps someone else would, someone stronger. With the Bekhai’s growing power, Sumila, daughter of Akanai would have been a perfect choice, but she was already betrothed to Rain, the lucky bastard.

No matter, there were plenty of single, attractive, well-connected women in the empire, who weren’t betrothed to Falling Rain. In fact, he quickly picked out a second possible candidate, a beautiful, talented, rising young dragon in the central province, with ties to the Bekhai and the Du family: Du Min Gyu’s Terminal Disciple, Du Min Yan.

...At least, Zian prayed she wasn’t betrothed to Rain.

Be reasonable, how lucky could one man be?

Chapter Meme