Chapter Forty-Two Arun
Arun had never wanted to be the kind of person who couldn’t accept the truth. Even if it was inconvenient, even if it was unpleasant, he hoped he would have the courage and grace to accept things as they were.
Last night had been… Arun didn’t know how to describe last night, or the cocktail of emotions that accompanied it.
His breathless awe at the memory of Kasu’s face illuminated by the moon.
His embarrassment when he remembered his tears.
The way his heartbeat quickened when he thought of how close their faces had been, their legs pressed against one another, and his head on Kasu’s shoulder.
The guilt when he remembered that he was supposed to be grieving for his mother. Maybe she really was a thief, but there were unanswered questions that still bothered him. Questions that refused to be left behind in the under-realm.
The wolf’s last moments haunted him. Was it always like that? Ruo had described the moment they had killed their own target as a triumph. A rebirth. Not filled with the pain and regret Arun had witnessed in his mother’s curse as it had crumbled away.
A part of him wondered if he would ever be able to forget it. Perhaps witnessing the wolf’s lingering pain was its own kind of curse.
The party was the same tedious affair Arun had endured a million times before, filled with the same kind of pompous, self-absorbed people. The only difference between General Shusa’s party and the ones his father held was that his father’s often featured juggling bears.
The night’s entertainment moved on to a play about the creation of the three realms. Compared to the shows performed in the under-realm, this one was far more professional.
“This is much better than General Shusa: Life and Love of a Loser God,” Arun muttered to himself. He wondered if General Shusa was aware that every day a good portion of the under-realm came together to watch a variety of performances about what a buffoon he was. Would it offend the god’s ego?
“Better than what?”
Arun turned to find a dark-robed scribe looking at him with an inscrutable expression.
“Nothing. Just some under-realm play.” Honestly, he didn’t care if the demons wanted to make fun of General Shusa, but the acting had been objectively terrible.
The scribe peered at him. “You’re Sunan’s son.”
Hearing his mother’s name was a punch in the gut. “You knew her?”
“I worked with her.” The scribe took a calm sip of wine from a sparkling blue cup. “It must be hard hearing everyone call her a thief, but you should know she wasn’t a selfish person. I don’t believe she stole the wheel for her own gain.”
That got Arun’s attention. “What do you mean?”
The scribe gave him an appraising look. “Sunan used to talk about ghosts and demons being allowed to reincarnate. There are plenty of foul mortals who commit terrible crimes but do not fall outside the cycle of souls. She argued that reincarnation was not about morality, but a right that should be given to everyone equally.” He spoke slowly, trying to gauge Arun’s reaction to his every word.
“A radical idea, to be sure. You won’t find many in the heavens who would agree, but Sunan was …
kind. Too kind for her own good, some would say. ”
That sounded like the mother Arun knew. A bleeding heart who cared for others no matter what.
Arun had met plenty of nobles who beat their servants and cheated on their spouses, who stole from the people beneath them and sent innocents to hang.
One day they would die and pass through the reincarnation wheel to their next life.
What made them more worthy of being reborn than a desperate beggar selling their soul for a loaf of bread?
Or an orphan caught in the middle of a war, forced to commit heinous acts to survive until they turned into a demon?
Everyone claimed that Sunan had wanted to charge money for the privilege of going through the reincarnation wheel, but was that really true? What proof was there? Maybe his mother had stolen the wheel to give those trapped in the under-realm a chance to leave.
The man smiled and leaned forward, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Your mother had a good heart, and that led her down a wrong path, but that doesn’t mean she was mistaken in thinking the Heavenly Principles should be more …
flexible. Or that the Celestial Empress is an old fossil past her prime. ”
Arun was glad he was not drinking anything or he would have choked on his wine.
If Kasu had been around to hear such blasphemy she would have fainted in shock.
Arun’s eyes darted about the courtyard. The other guardian gods were in attendance.
He didn’t know what the punishment for blasphemy was, but if anyone overheard, he didn’t think the scribe would get off lightly.
“Did my mother really think the Celestial Empress was … an ‘ancient fossil’?” How many people in General Shusa’s estate thought that way too? Did the heavens know that there was mutiny brewing within the ranks of their beloved guardian god? Did General Shusa himself know?
“Your mother understood that things had to change. I might not agree with the idea of ghosts and demons reincarnating, but at least she was trying to do something different. The heavens are stagnating because it’s run by immortals who just want to do things their way for ever.”
The queasy feeling in Arun’s stomach settled.
His mother had tried to change things. She had tried to help the ghosts trapped in the under-realm.
Though she might have stolen a reincarnation wheel, she had not abandoned her kindness.
He was glad to hear that she had been the same generous, caring person he had always known.
“That does help. Thank you.” When Arun bowed, he meant it.
The scribe gave him the smallest of smiles. “Things will change soon, just you wait.”
Arun flushed. It was hard not to look around and see his mother everywhere, to think of all the times she might have crossed this very same courtyard, or spoken with the very same people who were here tonight.
Had she also attended events like this? Had she wandered past the koi ponds with a glass in hand, making awkward small talk?
How many people here knew her? And how many had just shrugged and gone along with things when she had been exiled?
How many secretly thought that she was right? Did General Shusa think that too? Arun had a sudden urge to find the god and speak with him.
With a final nod to the scribe, he set off to find the general, but Shusa seemed to have disappeared – strange, for a god as tall and broad as he was.
Arun wondered if he had left the party altogether.
As he scanned the area, he spotted one of the men who had been with General Shusa on the day they had tumbled out of the under-realm.
He was striding along the edge of the courtyard, heading for another building with a harried look on his face. In one hand he held a familiar object.
An aura mask.
The Sage of a Thousand Faces had said that he sold his masks to the gods. General Shusa had said that they used them when their heavenly business took them to the under-realm.
Arun’s feet carried him towards the guard. He followed the man’s shadow as he slipped into one of the nearby buildings. Arun paused to make sure no one was watching.
The coast was clear.
Relieved, he slipped inside.
Compared to the busy courtyard, the silence inside General Shusa’s estate was a relief. He strained his ears for footsteps, then silently followed the man down unlit hallways and through empty, unused rooms, past a lavish music room and a large library.
The guard was heading for the kitchens. The smell and the heat intensified the closer he crept.
Arun could tell from the sound of sizzling oil and the clatter of pans that the cooks were working at full speed to deliver food to the courtyard party.
The shouts and echoing footsteps reminded him of the palace kitchens whenever his father hosted a banquet.
Arun had always preferred the company of servants to the nobles who filed into dining halls to drone on about profits and taxes and whatever new statue of his father they wanted to build.
He followed the guard to the end of the hallway, then pressed himself against the wall as the man turned the corner. He leaned forward until he could watch the guard knock on the kitchen door.
“Special delivery. Don’t get it mixed up with the others.” The guard reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle filled with a dark red liquid.
“Red cups only, I know. The maids have been informed,” someone replied. Arun couldn’t see their face, only their hands as they snatched the glass container from the guard.
“Make sure you do. Without Lady Camellia, there won’t be another batch if you mess up.”
Arun threw himself back against the wall as the guard turned around and headed back the way he had come. Before he could be discovered, he scrambled back down the hallway and ducked into the library.
An eternity passed as Arun stood there, silent, listening to the guard’s footsteps fade into the distance.
Lady Camellia. A bottle. Arun had not got a good look at it, but he was sure it was the elixir. General Shusa had said he would send someone to fetch it, but why was his guard handing it to the kitchen staff? What was this about red cups?
Being born a prince meant being aware of certain things other people might never give a second thought to – which spoon to use for dessert, the exact number of inches one was expected to bow to a king compared to a prince. Border crossings, peasant uprisings and assassination.
Arun had seen what the elixir had done to Kasu, and she had only had one or two drops. An entire bottle … well, an entire bottle might drive the gods mad. Or even destroy them.