Part Five

The present, in the year 3704 (1006 C.E.)—

It was at that hour of twilight that the sky overhead is black and glittering with stars, the horizon a soft blue green with what remained of the sunlight bleeding faintly purple into the tenuous clouds that hovered there. And with the night silence descended over the palace. There was no droning horn, no chants to signal the sunset as one might hear if he passed a Buddhist temple at this time of day; no song of the muezzins, calling the Muslim people to evening prayer, reached this far. The only sound beside the hush of the wind was a single peacock crying somewhere within the walls. It was trying, that that plaintive sound should be the only thing that dared bring the day to a close. Was it still possible for one to read into it finality and comfort?

As the call came to him in his room, Zoisite found himself contemplating prayer, like one contemplates suicide. But he did not know how after ten years. Nor did he feel the remorse for sin that usually drives men. He had wanted too badly to kill the man who had destroyed his family; this act of vengeance so long overdue had merely been a scene in the script of his destiny. No need to thank God or ask his forgiveness. Yet, that family seemed so distant, and he felt he had no right to call it his own anymore. After all, they belonged to a boy named Shamim who had died with them a decade ago. What remained was this truth: he had killed a man. He had felt the life leave him, running over his bare hands. The nausea brought on by the sight of so much blood had been exciting.

Now the exhilaration of the act was gone. So was the sickening feeling in his gut, but still something pulled at him. He felt sated, but not for the reasons he should have. And he did not understand why.

Soon the waning gibbous moon rose. The nova was gone, resting on the other side of the Earth. The city slept. But sleep did not come easy for a man with a troubled conscience.

He thought of Bunbo, asleep in the next room. He was only fifteen; yet, if he were bothered at all by his master's violence he showed no sign. In his reserved way, the boy had offered water, rest, any distraction that would make his master feel better. He was not afraid, and said with wisdom beyond his years that what happened was unavoidable in the great scheme over which Fate presided. He justified the amir's death far easier than Zoisite, and it was something the emperor of the southern kingdom envied, for that was what he had tried to do since his one weakness that one night.

I.Sunset

He dreamed he was a boy again, back in his palace in Araby, the way it was when his father was still alive. He was playing in the gardens, looking into the pool where a big black beetle was drowning. Already a few of his fellows' carcasses littered the bottom, and this one was struggling to reach the surface. It was not of the swimming variety, so its struggling was quite in vain. He watched it for a while in fascination, then reached into the pool. He cupped his hand under the insect, and it almost drifted out of his reach, but he was able to lift it out of the water.

He set it on the stone tiles, where it moved in place trying to reorient itself while its limbs were dripping wet; but the sun was at its zenith and did not show the mercy the boy had. It dried the beetle's back in no time, but as the insect tried to crawl away it moved sluggishly, each step a huge effort. He urged it on—he had saved it from the water; it had to save itself from the heat—but it dragged its limbs as though they became heavier with each step.

He looked up to see his mother. Her light-gold hair and peridot-like eyes were more brilliant than in his memories, even as they were darkened by shadow behind her veil. Her face was uncovered, but for some reason the features appeared nebulous to him, escaping his gaze. He did know it when she smiled and said his name, and asked what he was doing as she knelt down beside him. And he tried to explain how he had saved the beetle from drowning, but that it was not even grateful enough to move out of the sun.

His mother's smile grew grave, and she took out a book he had not seen before. She opened it to a page, and showed him the picture on it. What stared back at him was an awesome being, half human, half devil and sexless, with too many arms to distinguish and surrounded by robes that were rustled by an impossible wind. It had a face shriveled like a mummy that was both hideous and holy, too hideous and holy for an ordinary man to be worthy of gazing upon if it were not simply a painting. The writing around it was completely foreign to him.

"This is Mercy," his mother said. Her voice was the sweetest water to a thirst he had forgotten he had. "She is the greatest force of Love on Earth, the Love of God for his creations, but she can be just as cruel as beautiful. Why do you think so many songs speak of the Love of God? It is the most beautiful thing, so beautiful it pains the heart. Men stretch out their necks in submission to the Hand of God, because they trust that his Mercy will be greater and more just than anything else could be in this tangible world that brings nothing but suffering." She looked distracted for a brief moment. "You saved the beetle from drowning, and that was a kind thing to do. But because of it, its fate is worse; its death would be slow and painful."

He felt his eyes water at her harsh words. It was never his intention to see the creature suffer, quite the opposite; but knowing that he had nonetheless caused a guilty pain to blossom in his chest.

And then she stepped on it.

Tears blurred his vision and tickled his face. Why, mother? Why, he wondered, after the effort to save the insect's life must it be taken so quickly and effortlessly? His mother began to answer his silent question, but he never heard her reply. Through the tears and the reflected sunlight he vaguely saw her shoe, under the soft leather sole of which lay the dead beetle. How swift and indifferent God's mercy was. He felt a shiver despite the midday sun.

—o—

Zoisite woke suddenly. He lay still as a corpse but for the movement of his eyes. Something was wrong, but he could not place what it was. It was too quiet in his quarters, that much he knew. Yet in his dream he swore he had heard a noise too sudden and too near to be the cry of peacocks.

When his keen senses had assured him there was no one else in the room, he sat up. He dressed quickly in trousers and a long-sleeved jacket, and took a thin Middle Kingdom sword from its stand on a table near his books, leaving the scabbard behind. His footsteps made no sound on the stone floors, the result of years of diligent study of the martial arts. Keeping his back to the walls, he sneaked into the hallway in the direction he surmised the sound had come from.

He rounded the corner, sword at the ready—and stopped. Relief flooded him at the sight of Bunbo, breathing hard through his open mouth and hands shaking in nervousness, face pale. At his feet, as Zoisite had expected, was one he recognized as the amir's man, his face turned toward Zoisite as he lay sprawled on his stomach. His expression of surprise was frozen in death, and blood had begun to pool around his head, sprung from where the point of a silver compass had penetrated the jugular.

"Zoisite, sir . . ." the boy said quietly. "He was going to kill you. . . ."

He looked as though he would cry. Whether in abject relief or horror, his look made Zoisite smile. "And thanks to you he failed."

The reaction was not what he would have liked. Bunbo appeared even more repulsed at his gratitude, forgiving though it was. He swallowed, and took a step back from the corpse. "But I—" he stuttered.

"You did what you had to," Zoisite assured him.

He did not expect his words to be a comfort. It was the first life Bunbo had taken. He knew himself what miles lay between that and merely watching a man die. What precious covenants were broken.

Crouching down beside the body, Zoisite took up the curved knife that was held loosely in the lifeless hand. He handed the boy his own sword, knowing he would not accept anything off the dead man's body, not even the compass that was worth more than should be easily discarded. "There will be more of them. I don't suppose they'll be satisfied until they've avenged their master," he explained to Bunbo, then muttered to himself: "The blame lies with them if they fail to accept that the vengeance is mine."

Bunbo hesitated. "Please— I can't—"

"Take it, Bunbo, if only for your own protection."

Strengthening his resolve, there was only a slight jitter when the boy accepted the weapon.

They tread quickly and silently to the main entrance of the living quarters. Standing still behind the thick pillars, Zoisite recognized their Arabic. Three men occupied the foyer, their backs to him and the boy, talking of returning home, and what they should do now that their leader was dead. He could practically feel the familiar tone of one's suspicion toward his fellow man in each voice, like it were a physical thing seeping cold through the back of his clothing.

One glance told him all he needed to know: the lack of the guard's presence was explained by the prone bodies on the marble. The amir's men had been escorted back to their ship in the port that evening, but Zoisite had known to expect some attempt at retaliation for that day's atrocity. He had ordered the guard to be cautious of just such a thing, but either they had not believed him or the warning had been inadequate. In either case, he had no doubt a similar fate must have met other parties as well.

Bunbo met his eyes. It was only natural he be curious, their language being foreign to him. Zoisite was about to give him a sign of reassurance when one of the men said, "I wonder what's taking Naji so long. How hard can it be to slit the little shit's throat?"

"Maybe he ran into some resistance," said another.

There was strained laughter. "Hardly likely, the way he trains his guards. I'm going to take a look."

Hearing footsteps, Zoisite braced himself against the pillar and felt Bunbo do the same. A moment later, the man passed into the dark hallway before them, and their presence went unnoticed in the shadows. For a second, at least. Zoisite wasted no time in taking him out, breaking his large nose hard with the palm of his hand and sending bone fragments up into the man's brain.

The loud crack would have alerted the others. Following his example, Bunbo dashed into the foyer, raised the sword's blade to the second man's shoulder, and sliced down across the side of his neck. The man put his hand to the wound automatically, trying to staunch the pain and the flow of blood even as he collapsed to one knee. Both assailant and victim exchanged looks of disbelief.

The third man saw his mates go down and turned to run. Bunbo shouted out a warning, but Zoisite had already seen him move. He threw the curved dagger, striking the man solidly in the back. He went down, rolling in pain, and allowing Zoisite to catch up with him. He rolled the man onto his back, placing a foot on the shoulder under which the blade was buried and shifted his weight onto it. The man groaned. "I guess this little shit isn't so easy to kill after all," Zoisite said.

Bunbo checked the guards for pulses the way his father had instructed him. They were bloody, but at least one seemed to still be breathing.

"Where are the rest of you?" Zoisite asked the man pointedly in his own language, but the man did not answer, either out of defiance or injury. In any case, Bunbo answered for him, pointing: "They're in the street."

That satisfied Zoisite. Ignoring the groaning man, he picked up a fallen scimitar, hefting it in his hand. "Get the guard, Bunbo," he told the boy. Then to the obvious questions in his wide eyes, added, "Don't worry: I'm more than capable of holding my own until then. But I won't wait around. I started this; I have to finish it myself."

They parted ways, down the narrow streets that ran between the separate buildings. There was no room for a confrontation here. No, Zoisite knew they would be waiting somewhere more open, and with more places to hide than these blank, white walls. He glanced up. Would it have been too much to ask for this night to have fallen on a new moon? The gibbous moon lit everything clearly around him, the green and copper roofs and gold flame-tipped ridges, and the few clouds that were too thin to block its light even if they passed before its face. At least it would tell him where his opponent was.

He found the amir's men gathered in a courtyard surrounded by tall, window-less walls. He walked out into the open driven by adrenaline, scimitar hanging from his left hand, a clear target in the pale light; and he called out to them: "Were you waiting long?"

The men started, hands going to their arms. "What? He should be dead!" one said in disbelief.

Zoisite smiled. "If that were the goal," he said lightly, "you should have sent more than one man to do the job."

"No matter," said another, an older gentleman with a scarred face that Zoisite otherwise recognized from the distant past. A distasteful smirk tugged at the corner of his own mouth. "We'll finish him off now, before any guard can come to his rescue. Naji may have been incompetent, but he can't take on all of us alone."

A good twenty paces remaining between them, Zoisite stopped, hefting the sword onto his shoulder. "You sound so confident, Uthman, but I think you have it backwards. It's a shame. Here I was even gracious enough to let you and your men return home with your lives. You would have even taken over Hashim's office. But I take it you don't value those things that much after all? Your actions leave me no choice but to rescind that offer."

"Impudent devil," Uthman growled, "only ending your filthy life will bring justice for Amir Hashim's soul."

"Come, now—you of all people should know that death was merciful compared to what that godless swine deserved for all his crimes."

"It's you who deserves to die."

Zoisite spread his arms in a gesture of invitation. "If that's true then may God strike me down right here."

Something flashed in the corner of his eye. He glanced without moving toward the rooftop where he had thought he had seen it, but there was nothing. One of the amir's men? Perhaps he should have been worried.

"Kill him," Uthman ordered, and Zoisite forced whatever it was from his mind as a dozen men unsheathed their swords and charged him.

He raised his own sword at the last moment as the first few surrounded him. The ring of steel on steel reverberated across the courtyard. Undaunted, the closest men counter-parried, while their comrades attempted to take Zoisite from behind. Forcing the blades of two above their heads, Zoisite riposted before they could react with a cut across their abdomens. They fell just as he spun to dodge a stab in the back, and more rushed forward to take their places. It was no good: facing attack from all sides, he only had time to defend himself, and the longer he stayed the center of the circle the more he pushed his luck.

He grabbed one man by his sword arm, turned, and flipped him over his shoulder at his comrades. Zoisite snatched the scimitar from his loosening hand in the process, ducked the sloppy attempt of another to decapitate him, and tripped the man's feet out from underneath him. He twirled the second sword in his fingers, finding a comfortable grip. It much easier utilizing them both to slowly whittle away their numbers.

At last he managed to break temporarily away from them, just long enough to catch his breath, when something shot past his right shoulder. A stinging pain followed a moment later. But Zoisite resisted tending to the wound, however bad it may be. He ran his blade through the throat of a man bearing down on him, and hissed with the effort.

In that brief moment, he looked up. Archers, balancing on the roof, and one of them had a fresh arrow drawn back, pointed straight at him.

Then suddenly the man crumpled and plummeted toward the stone tiles, his shot going wild into the air as he took an arrow himself. Zoisite followed the line of fire to the other shooter—but he was dressed no differently from the rest of the amir's men. It hardly seemed possible he should have a supporter among their number; but straining to see the man's face rewarded him with nothing, as it was covered from the bridge of his nose down. Still, there was something vaguely familiar about him as he stood there framed by the moonlight.

Uthman had also spotted him. There was a haughtiness in the poise of the enemy shooter, deceptively dressed in an Arab's clothing, something in his eyes as their gazes met that Uthman loathed with a religious passion. "Bring him down!" he shouted, pointing at the stranger. "I don't care how!" And saying so, he drew his own sword, turning his attention to his real enemy. He would not let the amir's murderer live.

Meanwhile, Zoisite deflected another blow and retreated a step. The shooter's arrow had only nicked his arm, and he ignored the pain of such a small wound, scimitar flashing vigorously as ever before him. Then he felt something fall quietly to the stone tiles behind. Another assassin, he thought, spinning and raising his sword to slash the newcomer through from shoulder to hip.

It was stopped before it could make contact however.

He started. His blade was caught skillfully between a pair of bare hands; and recognizing the face behind them, he was relieved it had been. "Careful where you're swinging that thing," the other said.

"Jadeite?"

Jadeite smiled at his disbelief. But there was no time for tender reunions. Drawing his own short sword from its sheath, Jadeite rushed at an attacker and plunged it deep into his side, while Zoisite turned to take care of a man at their other flank. "Sorry to steal some of your glory," Jadeite said lightly through a grunt. "Bet you weren't expecting to see us so soon."

The feeling of his comrade as they stood back-to-back in combat brought a new rush of adrenaline through Zoisite's veins. Though he wondered at Jadeite's choice of 'us,' he riposted: "What took you so long?"

With a shrug, Jadeite pushed away to engage the enemy.

And Zoisite turned to face his opponent—only to see Uthman's gaze meeting his on the other side of their clashing blades. The sadistic ill intent in his eyes sent a brief shiver down Zoisite's spine. "Enough of this nonsense," the man growled. "You're mine, Shamim."

Zoisite grunted as Uthman's strength forced their swords back toward him. "Nonsense? If your men's sacrifices are nonsense, then you only have your own foolishness to blame," he countered, "for continuing to push my hospitality in this way."

Uthman snorted.

"Hospitality? Is that what you heathens call murdering the man who cared for you for seven years?"

He swung his sword hard, and Zoisite sidestepped as he blocked, wielding the scimitar in his left hand. "Don't deceive yourself, Uthman," he said. "You know what he was like. You know he wasn't the saint he made himself out to be. Now that he's dead, there's no need to continue supporting him."

"Do you think I can leave now?" The man's attacks were vicious, focused on the kill. "Do you think I could hold myself with honor to return having done nothing? No, Hashim was no saint. But he knew what you were from the start: a devil—that should never have been allowed to live!"

And in a fit of rage, Uthman bore down on him with everything left in him. The suddenness of his attack took Zoisite by surprise. He started—and Uthman stumbled backwards, struggling to remain on his feet as something invisible and immaterial seemed to slam into his blade full force. It was his own energy going into the attack reflected back at him, a technique Zoisite had had drilled into him and had used unwittingly on instinct.

But Uthman did not know that. To him it was only confirmation: only something inhuman could repel an attacker in such a way. He could only stare, and try to back away, as Zoisite rushed into the opening he left and ran him through, side to side. He arched backwards in a spasm of pain, then collapsed on the courtyard tiles, dead.

Zoisite let the sword go with him. A quick glance around told him there was no immediate need for it. Between he and Jadeite and the mysterious shooter the courtyard was littered with prone bodies. Those who still stood lost their desire to fight with Uthman. He closed his eyes for a moment in the meantime, catching his breath. His uncle's second-in-command had sought to rattle him with those last words, but he was unsuccessful. Still, Zoisite's limbs trembled slightly after the battle with a tension that was not unpleasant.

Bunbo arrived shortly with the guard. They had orders to execute what remained of the amir's party, though they did not need Zoisite's reassurance it was an honorable end to put their doubts at ease. It was the least they could do to repay their inability to protect their emperor that night. In truth, half of them seemed in awe that their master had defended himself from more than a dozen armed men nearly single-handedly and received only a scratch in return. The rest were in awe that Endymion, the Prince of Earth, stood among them like a fellow soldier when Jadeite revealed the mysterious archer's identity.

"My lord, you could have told me you were coming," Zoisite said.

Endymion tugged the cloth away from his face and removed the Arab head covering, running a hand through his black hair as was his habit. "Why? So you could tidy up? I didn't want to ruin the surprise," he said, blue eyes shining. "Besides, you could have told Jadeite you were in trouble."

Zoisite exchanged a look with the man in question. "It was a personal matter, none of the Middle Kingdom's concern. I thought I made that clear."

"You made it clear it was urgent," Jadeite said. "That could have meant anything."

Zoisite ignored the comment. "Captain," he barked to one of his men. "Send a party down to the amir's ship. If there's anyone left, I want him brought here to me. Make it clear I have no intention of killing him. I will have a message prepared for him to take home, or for the crew if there is no one else left to carry it."

"Please, leave the letter to me," said Bunbo as the captain of the guard affirmed his orders.

With a smile of appreciation, Zoisite nodded to the boy, having the utmost confidence in his eloquence.

"Sir," he said to Endymion, "I can't assure you enough this was an isolated incident that will never happen again. I have no desire to start a war with the west—"

"And we have no right to pry," Endymion cut him off, "so I won't ask you what this was all about." Even so, the familiar spark of curiosity burned in his stare. "My advisers would say different but they never have to hear about this. I know you will handle any fallout with discretion. In any case, there's no need to worry about what-ifs after all is said and done."

"Just confess," Jadeite said to him, "you enjoy the drama. Behold, the Prince of Earth's secret persona: Moonlight Knight."

Endymion blushed in embarrassment. "That's terrible."

"Where did you find those clothes, anyway?" Zoisite asked him matter-of-factly.

The Prince shot him a mock-innocent look, spreading his arms. "What's wrong with it? I thought this was how people dressed in Siam. As for the head cloth and weapons, I stole them from one of the men on the roof. You should find him on the other side of that building."

"Quick thinking."

"I would expect no less," said Jadeite.

The two explained for Zoisite's benefit that when their airship arrived on the palace grounds it was already late into the night. They had expected an armed guard to meet them upon landing—thinking their timing would attract suspicion—and escort them to the palace, but were surprised when no one was there to greet them at all. Their instincts told them something was wrong; and it was when they left the ship that they found the guards unconscious and badly injured. It wasn't difficult to catch up with the amir's men, and even less to figure out they were up to no good. Half out of curiosity as to whether he could do it, Endymion slipped in among their ranks while Jadeite staked them out from afar. The rest Zoisite knew.

"Which brings me to the question," he said: "to what do I owe this visit in the first place?"

"To the letter I sent you," said Endymion.

"Yes, I know, the one ordering my return to the Middle Kingdom. But what it wasn't so clear about was why? And why now?"

—o—

Sleep being far from the three, they sat through the early hours of morning before dawn in a private room, close together over pots of tea and coffee. Beneath his sleeve, Zoisite had his wound dressed, but it had already ceased to bother him due to the Prince's having dressed it.

The Prince's calm demeanor was soothing as well, as he related to Zoisite the reason behind his request.

"The ministers have been preoccupied with the nova lately," he said. "Despite that for all appearances it poses no immediate threat, if any threat at all, and that Nephrite has ceased drawing conclusions from the event in the meantime, they still worry about what it will do to the kingdom. They think it would be best to consolidate our spiritual power in the Capital, which in their words entails the shitennou returning to the heart of the Middle Kingdom."

"Superstitious old windbags," Zoisite said under his breath. He meant it seriously, however, in contrast to the usual playfulness with which the words used to roll off his tongue. "If it's the balance of the universe they're so concerned about it makes more sense to keep us where we are, and put Beryl up in the palace permanently."

"You and I know it's about more than that," Endymion said. "Most of them don't have the ability to look at the big picture like you and Jadeite. The nova scared them. Significance aside, whatever it may be, we can all agree it was definitely out of the ordinary. They believe that if they had the four lords close by they would be able to breathe easier."

"As much as they hate to admit it," Jadeite added, "they depend on our advice and our presence. And you have to agree, Zoisite, that if not for our presence the few rational minds like Oblong have little advantage in court over the old conservatives you criticize so much—even with the Prince's influence."

"It's never been my experience that they exactly trust us," said Zoisite.

"No, but they fear us. And more importantly, they fear being without us, just as they do the Moon Kingdom. Their main complaint is this: they detest that they can't control us, and that even when we were young their hold on us was tenuous."

"I understand that much, but worry about their decision to leave the tributary kingdoms without their emperors. Have they decided who will govern in our places?"

"Of course, the tributary kingdoms will be left in the control of its governors and prefects," Endymion said. "After your work over the last few years, Kunzite and I are confident the kingdoms will remain united—or, at least, we don't expect disputes between minor kingdoms to worsen much. That has always been the primary function of the tributary emperor to begin with, to instill a sense of nationalism, to rally the people behind one leader who in turn was loyal to the Capital. That shouldn't change in your absence, should it?"

"Don't misunderstand, I don't question my people's loyalty to the Middle Kingdom," Zoisite said, leaning forward over the table, to which Endymion sat up to listen most intensely. "We have more bureaucrats reporting to the Capital than ever before. The people are proud of their involvement; they see being a tributary kingdom as a challenge to improve themselves. And I've understood from Kunzite that the Northern Kingdom is no closer to the Capital now than it was a century ago. I do worry about what kind of leaders the Capital's ministers plan to replace us with, especially in the East. And what will the West do without Nephrite? Can they be trusted not to secede?

"—I mean—" He glanced at Jadeite uncertainly, worrying he might have hurt his friend's feelings with such a carelessly-made statement; but Jadeite waved it off.

Putting down his cup he said, "I don't know how India feels about these things, but Japan for one would see it as an affront if the Capital suddenly wanted nothing to do with her. There's a feeling, a strong one, among even the peasantry, that the Middle Kingdom has saved her from herself and brought a higher standard of life. There is a certain level of debt there. If it were not for that, I wouldn't have agreed to abdicate the throne."

Zoisite put down his own cup in surprise, before he could take a drink. "Abdicate? I figured you of all of us would retain his title."

"It isn't so uncommon in my country for an emperor to retire at a relatively young age," the other explained to him with an amused smile. "Though there are usually more ordinary reasons for it than my case: to deny the material world, to be banished, make room for someone more impressionable. It doesn't mean I'm abandoning my country. It certainly doesn't change the fact my mother traced her descent from the sun goddess." He nodded to himself, turning to Endymion. "I have a distant cousin on her side who will succeed me. A teenager, but my father won't be able to control him like he did me. I'm actually looking forward to the old bastard's reaction when I go back to make it official, after we return to the Capital."

"Is this what's expected of each of us?" Zoisite wondered aloud. "To become generals and lords?"

"But no longer kings, you mean," Endymion asked. "Only in name."

"Kings without countries or crowns." Zoisite nodded to himself, and a smile slowly formed on his lips. "So, we are to become symbols." And sometimes symbols had the greater power. "It certainly is an interesting notion, Endymion."

"Then you don't have a problem with the move."

"I've already outlined my concerns, but I never presumed to have a choice in the matter. My lord, you already know you have my eternal gratitude and obedience," he said, standing and bowing from the waist. "I can be ready to leave in two days' time."

Letting out a breath, Endymion returned the nod gladly. But it was Jadeite who said, his own look becoming serious: "If you'll pardon my frankness, Endymion, there is one aspect of our orders that still remains a mystery to me. I hear talk of the Moon Kingdom in the Capital but everyone is reluctant to clarify a word of it out loud, not least among them Kunzite." Pacing to work his tired legs, Zoisite's interest was piqued to hear the first of the Prince's generals mentioned in such a context; he had nearly forgotten Kunzite's uncharacteristically cold secrecy on various occasions when he had pried into a matter. With each passing year he became more clearly aware of Jadeite's frustrations with the man. "Will you indulge us, Endymion?" he goaded gently. "It's only the three of us here."

Endymion appeared taken aback. "I don't know what you want me to say," he started.

"Are they angry with us? Is that why the old court officials talk about them like some plague to be avoided? Not that it would surprise me: the nova has brought out the worst prejudices in those old men."

"I don't know why they would be angry. From what I've heard, officials in the planetary kingdoms are concerned about the nova like we are. Perhaps not in the same way . . ." A thoughtful, distant look clouded his features for a moment. "How could you not have been aware of this?"

Endymion forced a laugh. And Jadeite leaned over the low table on his elbows, between the china. Zoisite said for him, "Like I said, they don't trust us much."

Endymion said almost as though to himself, "I should have written you those letters myself. You two of all people should have been notified. Goodness, Nephrite's known for months."

"Known what?"

"That the order to move to the Capital permanently isn't exactly correct, and it wasn't only for the reasons I gave you before. It's true the court ministers have been antsy ever since the nova event, and have been looking for some excuse to gather the shitennou around them, but Queen Serenity had some influence in it as well."

"What would she want us all in the Capital for?" Jadeite asked, but by the wide grin forming on his lips he already had some idea and merely wanted to hear it from the Prince.

Before he could answer, however, a knock came at the door. Bunbo opened it a crack to say, "Excuse me, sir, the man from the ship you wanted to see is here. And I have the letter you requested—"

"Thank you, Bunbo." Zoisite turned to the other two, still seated, saying, "If you'll excuse me, Endymion, Jadeite, I must leave you two for a while. I have some loose ends to tie up—"

"Why don't you bring him here?" Endymion said.

"For what?" Zoisite asked him. He was eager himself to be done and hear what the Prince had had to say about the Moon queen, but reluctant to involve the Prince in his own affairs.

"Perhaps there's some way I can be of service to you."

"With all due respect, you haven't been brought up to speed on this matter. . . ." But Endymion was already standing. "In any case, I couldn't ask you to go out of your way for me any more than you have already."

"After tonight, after hearing you speak your concerns about what's going to happen to our unity," Endymion reassured him, "I couldn't help thinking my involvement in the tributary kingdoms hasn't been adequate. Maybe it's only the nova and its fallout; but I used to think I knew so much about the world, and yet these last five years now seem to have flown by like a dream to me. I think it's about time I took a greater interest in matters outside the Capital."

II.Fifth Year

In the fifth year of Zoisite's reign as emperor of the Southern Tributary Kingdom and my time under his tutelage, the nova was witnessed in the Hen constellation—bright enough to be seen clearly in the daytime when the light of other stars was drowned out by the sun. Superstitious as Earthmen are, the whole Middle Kingdom was in an uproar immediately after the event; and from what I hear of the Moon Kingdom—and as their decisions regarding the matter ultimately affected us—some level of fear and precaution occurred in the rest of the solar system. It was for this reason that the old ministers in the Capital convinced the Prince to order his four emperors' return, the extent of time indefinite.

After the incident with the visiting amir, the tension that continued to exist between the two parties appeared to matter little to Zoisite. Once we boarded the airship, his eagerness to return, and his relief, was apparent. Assured that instead of a king he would become a symbol, he seemed not to mind what was otherwise a demotion: from tributary emperor to general. That did not change the fact that he had been proclaimed a Heavenly Guardian, the avatar of the nobleman who defended the southern winds. And he understood symbols could be more powerful than any earthly title.

In any case, a transformation overcame him as it did every time he was reunited with another of the kings, or with the Prince, that seemed at once so different from his solitary confidence, almost omniscience as Emperor of the South, and yet not different. As though he had been tamed by them, but the biting impulses and cunning intellect that made him such a strong leader in his territory were only finding subtler ways of expressing themselves. As though Endymion had at once rescued him from his inner self, and set that self free.

Nor could I hide my own excitement: to return to the center of civilization on Earth and to my teacher, and to promises of something new. Despite what everyone said, for some time afterward I could not dismiss the notion that the nova had been a harbinger—as well as (in all likelihood) the cause—not of disaster and grief, but of great things to come.

—o—

"That should about wrap it up."

With those words Oblong and his assistants began to gather up the scrolls they had brought to the throne room in order to bring the new arrivals up to speed, and be brought up to speed on their own happenings in Bangkok.

"In that case, it's about time I got going," said Jadeite.

"So soon?" said Nephrite.

"M-m." The other smiled. He had expected his stay in the Capital would be short, and that he would have to return to Japan to settle his affairs in order to be at the Prince's beck and call before long. Though a few years ago he would have relished the opportunity, he seemed more reluctant to return now, sighing, "Duty calls, and I shouldn't keep country waiting any longer. Family on the other hand . . ." He shrugged good-humoredly.

"Our airship is already waiting for us at the dock," Bunbo said with much less enthusiasm. Zoisite knew that was just his nature, but there had been a hesitant look on the boy's face when he suggested accompanying Jadeite to his homeland. He might never have the chance again, he had said to boost his own spirits; he did owe it to his parents.

"Then let's not keep you any longer," said Endymion. "But remember, Jadeite, I want to be kept abreast of every step of your retirement, and the new appointment—"

"I know, I know," said Jadeite, sounding like a pestered child but for the smile of understanding on his lips. Despite the facade, in private he admitted he liked the new, more involved Prince, who pried into his generals stately affairs. It brought the five of them that much closer, made them that much more a well-oiled machine.

There was no need even to say good-bye within their small group, who were used to spending years at a time apart, knowing they would see each other again, and comforted by the constant presence of lunar technology that would enable that in no time at all. Tearful farewells were a thing of the less sophisticated past.

Reunions, however, were always welcome. And when everyone else had excused himself and gone from the room, Kunzite remained as though waiting for Zoisite. They must have been thinking the same thing, for Zoisite had purposefully not moved a foot from his position. He merely turned to his comrade, who did the same, and they shared a smile.

"I didn't get to say hello to you properly," Zoisite said and together they turned in the direction of the exit. "It's been almost two years since we last saw each other in the flesh. Hard to believe, looking back, that they could have passed so quickly. They didn't seem to at the time."

"It's the last couple months that make it feel so, certainly."

"Right. They must be keeping you especially busy, traveling here and there, what with the spacemen's concerns about the nova." Kunzite shot him a quick, narrow look as though to ask where he had heard that. Zoisite continued with a mock-innocent shrug, "I must say, now that I think about it, that you strike me as the ideal mediator between the two sides."

"With my appearance?"

"I was going to say with your ability to keep a secret. Why, it must rival the Moon Queen's. I can never pry anything out of you. And it can't be easy to keep the ministry from looking like the flock of lily-livered old men they have a tendency to be." Zoisite smiled, and Kunzite snorted. The tension lifted somewhat.

"Do you know it's been almost five years to the week since the first time we met?" said the latter, changing the subject, a small breath like a sigh escaping him.

"I'm aware of that."

"The chrysanthemums will be in full bloom in a short while, I believe."

"I would very much like to see them again."

"Are you free at the moment?"

Zoisite gave him a hard look, reading his companion carefully for his exact meaning. "I thought you said they weren't in bloom yet." He smiled to himself at some private joke, and tilted his head coyly in Kunzite's direction as he continued, "As a matter of fact, I have much pressing business to attend to. You dragged me away from my kingdom quite suddenly—"

Kunzite feigned surprise. "I did that?"

"Well, that's beside the point." But Zoisite couldn't keep the grin from his face. "I have correspondence of the highest priority to keep waiting for me on my desk, my minister's reports—a meeting with the prince of a minor kingdom scheduled for this afternoon—"

"A meeting?" said the other. "You're thousands of li away and you want to conduct a meeting."

"Yes. It's the most remarkable thing, this Moon Kingdom invention. I can communicate instantly with my governors from my offices in the Capital—have some sort of remote control, if you will. It must be reassuring for my people to know I can still fulfill my duties from any place on Earth."

Now it was Kunzite's turn to grin at his comrade's exuberance for such things. "You really have changed," he remarked fondly. "The Zoisite I first met would have cringed at a word like duty. I see this is what giving you your own kingdom does to you."

Zoisite's mood suddenly turned colder at his observation, however. "I do wish you wouldn't patronize me, Kunzite," he said. "I am only doing what I was born to do. And while I'm sure being the Prince's right hand and playing diplomat is very trying business, it is quite a step away from coordinating the efforts of dozens of smaller kingdoms who still like to think themselves independent."

Yet even this chiding did not last long, and he relaxed as he turned to face Kunzite. "But I'm sure it counts as a matter of duty, as well, to catch up on the last few years. Shall we make it an official appointment?"

—o—

Upon Bunbo's return, he learned his family had moved to a villa in the country outside Kyoto. His parents treated it as a form of punishment, but for all he could see the larger house and open vistas and fresh air were an enviable improvement. Had they been such complaining people his entire life and he simply never noticed? Why, if they only cared to imagine what their own son's journey had been like, moving from one part of the globe to another, risking his life, perhaps they would have been more grateful.

However, though he had heard his father was ill, Bunbo never expected to see him in this condition. The man who had been the epitome of professional vanity, always impressing on his son the need for propriety in everything, preferred to talk with him in his sitting room with his kimono hanging off his shoulders, and his graying hair in a state of disarray that years ago he would have corrected as soon as he woke. A young woman he had trained as a practitioner in his heir's absence applied a moxy treatment to his back while he leisurely drank his tea. The smell of its burning was strong in Bunbo's nostrils, and his mind, bringing back memories of mixing simple formulas in his father's shop and shooting furtive glances when his tutors weren't looking at the middle-aged and elderly men who came in for similar procedures, bags under their eyes and skin sagging loose and discolored on their bones.

"He says its his kidneys," his mother had explained to him, almost as soon as she laid eyes on him. "I told him he should drink less and eat more cabbage rather than stink up the whole house with that stuff, but he believes firmly in his treatments. He says they've been using them in the Capital for ages, and the Chinese wouldn't still be doing it if it was wrong. Oh, well; I guess he is the scientist," she would finally admit with a sigh.

Inside, Bunbo let out his own sigh in his soul. Not even a week had passed and he wearied of being here, longing for the time he would be able to return. He looked forward to Jadeite's letters from the capital, written in his own hand and comically personal voice—too personal for the awkwardness the two still had in person—that told of his progress in the court, the ladies who lived there, his cousin's eloquence, and his father's displeasure. The way Jadeite seemed to laugh at this, as though it were something disconnected from himself, bolstered Bunbo's feelings of independence from his own parents, and allowed him to continue his stay in their house, even though his novelty was clearly wearing off.

"Another letter from the Emperor!" his mother would exclaim when she saw the messenger arrive at the gate—the signal for Bunbo to intercept the letters quickly before she could. No doubt she was dying of curiosity to read them; but Bunbo doubted she would find the contents living up to her expectations. Instead she gloated to her husband: "Aren't you proud of what your son has become? He is friends with the Emperor! Oh, what it must be like to be in the confidence of that charming young man. And what a privilege for us, to have a son reporting back to the Middle Kingdom court! Do you think we must have been connected somehow in a past life?"

No one could really say with such things, so Bunbo allowed her the small pleasure of that thought. But he could not help feeling embarrassed to be born to such simple-minded people as these, and felt himself reluctantly sympathizing with Jadeite even more, with whom in the court, with each letter, he longed to be.

If not for family duty. . . .

As for his father, he could never tell if that man were as proud as his mother was. Bunbo noticed the success of the business: his father had offices in Kyoto and Nara, and the practitioners he had trained worked in noblemen's palaces. All of it brought enough income to buy land in the country and live comfortably for the rest of his and his wife's lives. The family name would surely continue in the legacy it left in medicine.

But there would be no son to pass it along. It was that guilt that Bunbo felt his father was trying to impress upon him; and he blamed Zoisite for it all.

Not that it mattered. His father's displeasure could never make Bunbo regret his decision. It only confirmed in his heart what he had already suspected: this had never been his home.

—o—

With a satisfied groan, Zoisite allowed himself to be carried away by the pleasure of a transient moment. He sighed at the breathless kisses Kunzite left on his bare collar bone as he slowly withdrew, and fell on his own back on the wide bed panting. It made Zoisite chuckle once he had caught his own breath to see his normally unmovable comrade affected so by such a mundane thing as sex. In a sudden fit of affection, he murmured without even thinking, "I love you."

"M-m," was all Kunzite said back. If he felt uncomfortable in that moment, however, he hid it well. His smile reached to his bicolor eyes, shining clear in the morning light. "Good to see I haven't lost my touch, then."

It was tempting to stay like this all day, lying in his own bed with Kunzite with the sunlight of another clear autumn day pouring at an angle through the shutters into the room. The last week had seemed a dream compared to his life in the south from which he never wanted to awake: long stretches of quiet interrupted only by the birds that flitted across the tiled roofs and Kunzite's visits, even the heavy workload seeming like a pleasure.

Mustering his strength, Zoisite willed his body to rise out of bed. As he moved himself gingerly to the edge of the mattress, Kunzite said, "What? Did I say something?"

"Can't stay in bed all day," Zoisite told him over his shoulder. "It's growing late even as we speak."

"I'd be surprised if we've even entered the Hour of the Dragon."

"More like the Snake."

"That's an exaggeration and you know it."

Zoisite smiled to himself as he went to pour water into the wash basin. Soaking a cloth he wiped his face and his stomach, then tossed it good-naturedly to Kunzite. "Then stay a while. I'm not in any hurry to have you leave." With Bunbo away, there was no reason to be cautious about having Kunzite in his quarters. "You can help yourself to making a pot of coffee if you wish," Zoisite said as he quickly pulled back his hair and pulled on a casual suit of clothes. "I would love to share it with you when I return."

"Return? Where are you going?"

"Just out for some fresh air," Zoisite assured him. "I shall be back momentarily."

The air outside had the definite chill of the autumn months to it, though the bright sunlight that hit the planking of a wooden walkway in slanted parallelograms seemed to have a tangible warmth to it. It could not have been as late as Zoisite had claimed. Nor was it early enough for the first rush to prepare the day for the nobles who lived in the city.

On a whim, he walked the path that led to one of the Capital's gardens. It took him past a temple that had been wedged into the winding corridors, with open colonnades that would be ideal for meditation. That morning had left him in an adventurous mood, so he stepped inside to see the dark shrines that were now all but abandoned after morning prayers.

The smell of incense smoke winding its way to the dark rafters was heavy in the air when he approached the buddha statue at the back of the room. It was a standing piece of an old style, the blank face of which did nothing to impress Zoisite or rouse in him any sense of obligation to the religion he had once superficially taken as his own. Rather, his attention was captured by a small portrait that sat beside the statue. It was a picture of the goddess the Hindus called Kali, and that he had dreamed of his mother calling God's Mercy, her black skeletal, asexual body and hideously grinning face gilded with gold leaf that was worn in patches with age.

"Have you come to offer a prayer?" said a voice beside him. Zoisite turned to see Boxy approaching him in his red monk's robes and yellow surplice. "Forgive me, Master Zoisite, it's just that I never see you in a place such as this."

"Unless it's expected of me, right?" Zoisite shook his head. "No. I merely stepped in on a whim."

"No one is drawn to the Buddha on merely a whim, or just to look," said the other. "It is the weight of his karma on his soul that brings him inside, especially from such a gorgeous day as this."

"Perhaps you're right," Zoisite admitted after a moment. Staring transfixed at the small portrait, he could not help remembering that day in his own palace before the Prince came, and feel a chill that was not caused by the weather. Feelings that had been relegated to the back of his mind, repressed for the sake of more pressing concerns, resurfaced in his consciousness. The things that had happened to him . . . The things he had done . . . Had he really done them, or had it been a dream had by someone in the distant past?

Startled by that admission, coming from such a stubbornly atheistic man, Boxy lowered his voice as he pressed: "Did something happen in Siam, my lord?"

Turning his head, Zoisite made as if to leave.

"Please. If your soul is tortured by something, don't leave it unresolved—"

"I broke one of the commandments," Zoisite told him, keeping a faint smile on his lips as a shield. "Not that I would normally worry about such things, but the fact of the matter is it does not sit well with me. I killed a man, Boxy."

"Oh." The monk paused to gather a response. "Well, we can't all be saints. You four were trained to take life if needed, to protect the Prince or yourselves—"

"It was not in self defense. It was an act of revenge."

Another pause. "There must still have been good reason. If a vendetta is justified—"

"It isn't that either!" Suddenly Zoisite felt restricted in the dark room and found himself longing for the bright light in the open air, away from the blank eyes that sat in judgment. He regretted stepping into the temple, knowing it might ensnare him like a trap. Keeping his back to Boxy and the statues at the altar, he confessed quietly: "I killed a man, and I enjoyed it."

—o—

My fifth year in Zoisite's service was a pivotal time in the Middle Kingdom. Within the Capital and in the major cities throughout the kingdom, tradition and the new Moon Kingdom way of life existed side by side. The superstitious could no longer shun godless scientific finding, it was in one way or another woven into their lives, and the two were constantly weighed on the moral scale. Was it better to have the knowledge and the luxury of the gods, but be utterly dependent like the spacemen upon its delicate functioning? or to be free, but work harder for a smaller yield of crop, die of curable diseases, and spend weeks and months on an important journey that could be taken in days? To you, Princess, it must seem foolish and unsophisticated; but to us it was necessary. It was a question of our identity. I wonder if the planetary kingdoms have ever in their long reigns experienced the same struggle.

It was about that time the Middle Kingdom's attentions shifted rather suddenly from Earth to Outer Space.

—o—

On most days Bunbo was allowed to enter Master Oblong's house without first being announced. But today his tutor had a guest. Bunbo heard them talking quietly as he stood outside the door. The subject was fuzzy, only parts of sentences understandable; but it was not the subject that interested him. He recognized Oblong's typical strong, wizened voice. The other was strange to him, for the person sounded young, about the age of Endymion and his generals, yet possessed a calm authority in his voice even greater than the Prince's; a soothing and sophisticated yet vibrant timbre that drifted through the air to him like ripples in liquid. At the sound of it, Bunbo's humble nature made him hesitant, even regretful of bothering his tutor when he was engaged in something so obviously important.

"Young master Bunbo is here to see you, sir," Oblong's attendant announced with a curt bow.

Bunbo interjected quickly: "Laoshi, you have company. I'll come back another time."

"That won't be necessary," came his tutor's voice. "I'm sure my guest won't mind too much."

"Not at all," said the other cordially. Having that voice directed at him, ringing loud and clear in the hall, made Bunbo's heart beat faster. "I would be honored to make the young master's acquaintance."

Bunbo stepped away from the wall against which he had been leaning. It seemed he didn't have a choice now. He wondered why he hesitated to step into Master Oblong's study. The nervous feeling he had about the guest was irrational and unsupported by any glimpse into the future; yet he could not deny the slightest twinge of fear that he told himself was spurred by the novelty of the guest's voice when he said to Oblong, "As far as I'm concerned, the more acquaintances I can make while I'm here the better."

Bunbo stepped into the doorway, head bowed and eyes downcast in both respect and mental preparation. Behind him the attendant bowed and left. Not wanting to seem rude, he lifted his eyes to greet the guest and was momentarily taken aback by what he saw.

The man sitting across from his tutor was tall and pale with long white hair, so that at first glance he resembled Kunzite. However, Bunbo noticed, his hair was much longer and his frame far thinner than Kunzite's. In fact, he was so gaunt his body seemed to be folded into the chair rather than just sitting on it. Though he sat perfectly erect, the silvery blue silk suit of the Chinese court hung oddly on his body and seemed misplaced on him. That was not to say he appeared emaciated. His long-boned hands, one resting lightly on his knee and the other on the rosewood table, and his facial features were soft, hinting at a life of complete luxury, his complexion healthy. He wore a Buddha's smile, peaceful and hardly readable.

But it was his eyes which unsettled Bunbo most of all. They were too large for his face. Not to the point of being grotesque or impossible, just noticeably different. They reminded Bunbo of a cat's eyes: intent and calm and curious. In fact, his whole appearance and poise could best be described as feline—inherently so, unlike those described as such who displayed merely a graceful composure or quick reflexes. It was as though his apparent frailty was just a front, and he would leap out of the chair at any moment. That he would do something unpredictable, yet it would seem as natural as anything in the world. Rather suddenly the thought struck Bunbo that this man's body, though it seemed frail in the confines of this Middle Kingdom house, would be perfectly suited for a place of lesser gravity.

With that revelation, Bunbo realized he was staring at a true spaceman.

In that moment while he stared and forgot his manners, Oblong said to him, "Bunbo, this is Artemis, of the Moon Kingdom."

—o—

And finally, Outer Space saw it fit to send us a representative.

III.Spacemen

"Well, for the final order of business," Artemis said after a short pause, "Queen Serenity has extended an invitation to her kingdom to the Prince and his generals, the five Heavenly Emperors. Arrangements have been made so that they may be able to depart as soon as possible."

He waited a moment for a response. Thus far the ministers he had made the journey to address had received news that the Moon Kingdom was worried about the political and economic nature of their relationship, and that the Queen wanted to open communications immediately to best assure a successful future, with an apathy that, under the circumstances, one in his position had to take as a sign of concurrence. The silence did appear to disturb him somewhat.

"I hope the officers of the Middle Kingdom have no objections," Artemis continued, trying to appear undaunted. "The planetary kingdoms may be reluctant to say it, but they require the Prince's help."

"The Prince's help?" Master Rhombus spoke up. "They always want the Prince's help. The Queen wanted his father's help as well, and we know what became of him. Are we to send the guardians of our kingdom up into space, so that you may benefit from their guidance and we are left with none?"

"We have no such intentions. In fact, we have technology that will allow the tributary emperors to stay in contact with their kingdoms even from the moons of Jupiter—"

"And what should happen if that technology fails you?" said another elderly minister. "If the spaceships cease to function?"

"What are these idiots thinking?" Jadeite whispered loud enough for the four of them to hear, though it was Nephrite's ear he leaned toward. "You'd think they hadn't heard a word the man has said, dwelling on petty things they know nothing about."

Hearing that, Zoisite felt his blood begin to boil at the old officers' ignorance. It brought back memories of his first time in the Capital—or before even that, when in Jadeite's court, when he had served as emperor of his country, Rhombus and his fellows had doubted Zoisite's competency, telling the entire dining hall how certain he was the monks had made a mistake in choosing this one.

"Excuse me for one moment, gentlemen," Zoisite said suddenly in a loud, clear voice, and stood and turned to the crowd. "If you have a valid objection to Queen Serenity's request, I'm sure that Master Artemis would be grateful to hear it so that all our misunderstandings can be quickly cleared up. But if you prefer to waste his and the Prince's and all of our times on these thinly veiled and, frankly, embarrassing expressions of your distrust, then I suggest you take it directly to the source rather than projecting your fears onto this man who is only trying to do his job."

Artemis' already large eyes had widened at the initial interruption, but now they showed a nervous displeasure as he leaned toward Zoisite. "Please," he said softly, "I wish you wouldn't make this harder for me—"

"Just what are you suggesting, Master Zoisite?" said the ministers, shocked that he would raise his voice against them.

"He's suggesting," Endymion retorted from his seat, "that the old Prince's council is too cowardly to say what it really means."

Over their mutterings of disapproval, Artemis went on, "I know the fear of spacemen runs deep in Earth culture, but it must not stand in the way of either of our civilizations' progress. Those I represent before this council may not be of this world, but they are humans who bleed red when you hurt them, and they laugh when you humor them. They look no different from any of you."

"Easy for an outsider to say," said one temerous official. "To you all humans must look alike."

That set off a new uproar among the old officials, unwilling to give up the mistrust they had clinged to for so long, and the new. It took a conscious effort for Artemis to retain his calm and patient exterior before them.

It all came out in private later.

"Those doddering, flatulating old fools!" Artemis spat as he paced the small garden within the confines of Kunzite's house. The failure of his heretofore impeccable manners caused Jadeite to smile, but none of them found it humorous. "Where do they get off treating Her Majesty's messenger like that? Don't they realize they are only hurting themselves spouting that prejudice. And they call themselves professionals and wise. . . ." He stopped pacing and stifled a growl of frustration, then raised his head. "Excuse me, gentlemen, but I could not stand for their behavior."

"Neither could we," said Kunzite, who leaned with one foot on a large rock while he let the other blow off steam. "Endymion has made it clear that kind of treatment is unacceptable. They should do themselves good to listen to you with a clear head next time."

Artemis nodded. "I don't understand," he said. "I am a person of the kingdom of the Moon. I have a mother and a father. Right, Jadeite?"

Jadeite looked pleased as he recognized the quote from his own country's literature. "Right."

"In any case," said Zoisite, leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed, "they can't keep us from accompanying you back to your kingdom. If Queen Serenity has summoned us to her court, who are we to refuse? It's about time Nephrite and I saw space."

"Yes, it is!" Artemis' fowl mood evaporated all at once at the thought that suddenly rose to his mind. He turned to the two. "It's time you experienced the effects of your invention for yourselves."

"Our invention?" said Nephrite. "It's in use already?"

"In the ships that brought me here," said Artemis, smiling. "Thanks to your work, the engines in the new models allow us to leave the Moon's gravity well with more ease than before. I am eager to see them at work breaking free of Earth's, just as they were designed to do. You must be excited as well."

"Of course. . . ." Zoisite exchanged a slightly bewildered look with Nephrite. "A little nervous, perhaps . . ."

Artemis seemed somewhat bewildered himself at that response. "Sure, it is new technology; it's natural to have doubts. If it will reassure you, the Queen's own royal engineers supervised the assembly—"

Zoisite shook his head. "No. I have the utmost faith in the spacemen's know-how," he said with a lopsided smile, remembering fondly the model rockets of his youth in India. But if he were honest, he had even more faith in his co-inventor's genius.

—o—

A few days later and they were miles above the Earths' surface on their way to the Moon Kingdom. The two silver ships took off smoothly, rising with deceptively little effort through the atmosphere and leaving the massive grounds of the Forbidden City to shrink rapidly behind them in their wake. It really took no time at all. According to the captain of this ship, they would reach the Moon Kingdom in hardly more time than it took him to arrive at the Capital from India. The sheer force and speed required for such a feat went entirely unnoticed now that they were in the vacuum.

"How does it feel?" Artemis said, coming up behind Nephrite, who stood at the windows looking out to their rear at the receding Earth.

Nephrite answered him without turning from the window: "How does what feel?"

"Looking at the Earth from afar like this for the first time. Seeing it in its entirety. Watching it shrink slowly before your eyes."

"It is . . ." Nephrite smiled. "Quite something."

"It doesn't bother you?"

"Actually, it does," he acquiesced. "When you're on the surface, it never crosses your mind that you could ever see the entire Earth at one time, let alone that it could ever seem small enough to fit in the palm of your hand. It's disorienting."

Beside him Artemis shrugged as though in a silent sigh. "I know the feeling. Each time I leave the Moon, I can't help wondering if this is how my ancestors felt leaving their world, knowing that was the last time they would ever set eyes on it. But when I reach Earth and look up into the night sky, she's there, the same as she ever was, waiting patiently for my return."

Nephrite glanced sideways at him, unsure how to respond to such an intimate profession that almost seemed a confession of love. Instead he said, out of sheer curiosity: "You call the Moon your home, but you are not of the same race as those who live there, are you?"

A smile slowly appeared on Artemis' lips as he looked out the window. "No. I am not. I hear that Earthmen and spacemen once lived together in one place, though no one is sure where that was. My ancestors came from a different star system entirely. They left it after some great catastrophe made their homeworld incapable of supporting them and spread out across the galaxy, betting on the chance that in at least one direction they would find a place to start again."

"That's an incredible story," Nephrite said, and though his tone did not convey it he meant it with all his being.

Artemis just shrugged. "Yes. It's a nice story. I wonder sometimes how much of it is true, and how much is merely meant to console those of us who made our living in this system."

"How many of you are left?"

"Only a handful, scattered across the planetary kingdoms." Suddenly seeming self-conscious, he pulled back his arm that had been leaning against the window frame. And eager to change the subject, said: "I worry about your friend Zoisite, though. It's usual for Earthmen to feel some remorse parting from their mother planet for the first time, but he seems positively ecstatic. Are you sure he hasn't been into space before?"

"I assure you," Nephrite said feeling a smile come to his lips, "he hasn't. I don't think it's anything to be concerned about, either. He has been somewhat of a nomad for much of his life."

"I . . . see," said Artemis slowly, sounding as though he did not.

"That and he can't help but take any new experience with a mindset that is rational to a fault."

Despite the sarcasm in Nephrite's voice, a bit of fondness must have crept in as well, for the other broke into quite a grin as he said, in such a way as to suggest he thought himself clever for making the connection, "Then that's it. I knew there was something about you two that was so similar, but that explains it. That must be why you two don't seem to get along."

Don't get along? Nephrite was about to open his mouth to refute that claim, but something inside stopped him. It was true that sparks like static electricity seemed to fly about a room whenever some debatable issue came up while they were both in it. He couldn't deny the irritated feeling that rose up within him at those times they argued, that lacked the enjoyment they once had and caused him to go so far as to defend positions he knew he was against wholeheartedly. When exactly had they let it get so out of hand?

At a console on the upper level of the bridge, in a seat positioned almost directly beneath the center of the wide windows that opened up to the sparkling field of space, Zoisite sat leaning his chin against his hand. His attention was not for the starfield but for the screen in front of him, on which annotated images of the moon went by.

Sensing Nephrite's approach, he raised his head. "Tell me, Nephrite," he began, "if the Moon has some of the richest lava flows in the civilized solar system, why does it rely so heavily on the Earth for its supply of grains?"

"Perhaps it has something to do with the lesser gravity. —Or the fourteen-day nights."

"Oh, right." Zoisite said quietly to himself. "I forgot about those."

"An easy thing to do."

Zoisite turned in his chair just as Nephrite joined him, each hand preoccupied with a goblet that looked both silver and almost translucent, fashioned in a shape that was both organic and not. Items that must have come with the ship. He extended one of the cups to Zoisite, who accepted it but did nothing else. "What's this?" he said skeptically.

"Now, Zoisite, what's with the suspicious look? You act as though you think I would attempt to poison you."

"The thought hadn't crossed my mind. But now that you say such a thing, I can't help but wonder, can I?"

Nephrite smiled despite himself, though it hurt to know Zoisite was perfectly serious. "It's a lunar wine, from the Queen's special reserve," he explained. "Made from a special fruit that hibernates in the daylight and matures on starlight." Zoisite took an experimental sniff as he continued. "Artemis thought you could use a drink. He doesn't quite buy your nonchalance in all this. Your ward is spacesick, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Bunbo? Of course I noticed. But there's only so much that can be done about that." He took a small sip of the goblet's contents and his eyebrows rose in surprise. "This actually isn't bad," he remarked, feeling the warming effects in his blood already.

"No, it isn't. —Say," Nephrite said as he took a seat on the arm of the chair next to Zoisite's, "if you need something to drink to, how about our engine's success?"

"Of course. Thank you for reminding me, Nephrite. I never doubted it would work."

They clinked their cups together, the strange material making a remarkably clear ring, and Zoisite tipped his back. Nephrite, however, raised the cup to his lips but didn't drink, instead watching his comrade. "Never doubted, huh? Then that look you shot me when Artemis gave us the news was just for show."

Zoisite shrugged. "What else? Those things to which I was referring happened a long time ago. —And besides, you always ruined our work on purpose. Here I was trying to get a rocket to fly, and you'd secretly changed the flight plans to explode."

Nephrite laughed, a sincere, rich laugh that Zoisite suddenly realized he hadn't heard in a very long time. The nostalgia of remembering those carefree times suddenly brought with it a feeling of melancholy and regret in the dark vacuum of space.

He found himself saying, "What happened to us, Nephrite?"

"Has something happened?" The mirth was still evident in the other's voice, even as he looked down at the swirling wine in his cup.

"You know what I mean," Zoisite said. "We used to be so close, then something changed and now it's as though we have our separate orbits. I can't reach you anymore."

"We've changed. Responsibility has changed us."

"I know that, but . . ." He sighed slowly. "We used to be like brothers. Like Krishna and Sudama."

"Which at heart is an unequal relationship," Nephrite told him pointedly. "We may have treated one another like brothers, but we were always trying to outdo one another, upping the ante each year, undermining each other's arguments. It was only a matter of time before it became too serious, and I couldn't just shrug it off anymore. Working on this project together, there were times I wanted to strangle you for telling me such a thing wouldn't work, or that the calculations that had taken me so long were wrong."

"And I resented you for dragging me into it, even though I'd been interested since you first showed me the proposals." Zoisite shook his head. "How did we let it get so out of hand, Nephrite?"

"When we started taking every little thing as a personal insult, I'd say."

At one time, the humiliation being shown up by Zoisite caused had been enough to keep him from giving up entirely. It had been the motivation to study harder and become better. Somewhere along the line, that feeling must have grown exponentially until it became a deep resentment, ridiculous in its utter weight. Now he felt how much he wanted to be rid of it.

"I don't want to live like that anymore," Zoisite said as though reading his thoughts.

Nephrite looked up at him and their eyes met.

"It just feels wrong, out of balance," said the other. "You don't suppose it's too late, do you, to start over? We can never go back to the way things were when we were boys, but I can't bear the thought of losing your confidence forever."

It seemed a long two seconds before Nephrite broke a fresh grin. He raised the glass in his hand toward his lips in a secret toast. "Neither can I."

—o—

Endymion looked up from his game of chess with Kunzite when Jadeite entered the room. "Nice of you to join us," he said amiably. "And just in time. You can take over for me. I could use a break."

"Certainly. Space travel does have the added effect of loosening your bowels. Auntie always said if you want to stay regular—"

The other two men smiled at Jadeite's tone that recalled street peddlers of medicine and old wive's cures, but Beryl, who sat cross-legged tuning a biwa, failed to see the humor and rolled her eyes. "Do you mind, Jadeite? Such crude talk is not welcome in this company."

"Oh. Pardon me, my lady," the other retorted sarcastically.

"It's all right," said Endymion with a slight chuckle as he rose. "I need merely to stretch out my legs. They've started to ache from all this sitting around."

"Which reminds me," said Jadeite as the other left and he went to take a seat across from Kunzite, "why I came in the first place. The captain has just informed me we've passed the halfway mark. The Moon should start to look much larger from this point on. Already? you say— Whose move is it?"

"Yours."

"Right." He leaned over the board. "Well, for that you can thank our good friends on the other ship. I wonder how they're taking all this."

"Yes," Kunzite agreed, but his tone seemed uninterested as he gazed blankly out the window into space. "It's the experience of a lifetime."

Jadeite leaned back in his seat. "And what about you, Beryl? Do you remember your first time on the Moon?"

"How could I forget?" she said ambiguously, strumming a few notes as she bent over the lute, and nothing more than that.

"The week-long parties, beautiful faces wherever you turn, and the food—God, I can never forget the food!" Jadeite leaned his arm over the chair after he had made his move, closing his eyes as though revisiting those distant places for only a moment. "Although, perhaps my young mind was so entranced with the novelty of it all and Serenity in particular that my memories are fonder than they are true, but what do I care. Knowing the Moon Kingdom, none of it will have changed a bit."

"Well," said Kunzite distantly, "some things will have changed."

Neither of his companions said anything after that. Beryl turned once again to her biwa. A knowing smile spread on Jadeite's lips as he let the silence stretch out and become uncomfortable, finally prompting Kunzite to ask him, "What?"

"Your move, daydreaming Genji."

Kunzite appeared only a bit shaken to realize his attention had shifted from the board. He made his move in an instant, however, causing Jadeite to wonder if he hadn't made the wrong decision and unwittingly doomed his Prince should Endymion return to finish the game. Without once looking up, Kunzite said, "Stop giving me that look, Jadeite."

"What look?" Jadeite shrugged. "You are thinking about her, aren't you? You're as transparent as usual."

The other's ignorance was not completely ungenuine. "About whom?"

"The Morning Star who flies close to the Moon's side." As though it would be somehow too much to say what he meant outright, he pointed his chin out the window into the black space that had captured the other's attention until only a moment ago.

Catching his meaning, Kunzite smiled. "I was wondering how Nephrite and Zoisite are taking the trip. I hope they're enjoying their first view of the planet Earth. But at least I know where your thoughts lie."

A nostalgic mood came over Jadeite as he contemplated his next move. "It's been more than twelve years since we last spoke face to face. I was still just a child then; I thought I knew everything. Until I kissed her, that is, and received one of the soundest beatings of my life." He smiled at some private memory deep within his self. "It's only natural to feel a strong sense of anticipation—and anxiety—when faced with the frank truth. I knew nothing. Will she even remember that?" he asked no one in particular, then frowned. "Oh, yes, undoubtedly she won't have forgotten. It's just unfortunate for me mine's manners about visiting Earth aren't as poor as yours."

Kunzite continued to smile at his sarcasm, vaguely and out at the stars.

Scowling suddenly at the train their conversation had taken, Beryl rose with her biwa and excused herself from the room. It was as though she had read his mind, Jadeite thought, as he had been wanting to catch Kunzite alone sometime on this trip.

"When we were teenagers," he started again, breaking the silence that had fallen, "we were carefree, weren't we? But when I became an adult, my tutors told me to put away amorous dalliances, as though they were mere childish diversions I had grown out of. After all, I would eventually take a wife; and those little love affairs may have been harmless fun in my youth but had no place in the wedding chamber." He paused. "Have you told him yet?"

"Told whom?"

"Zoisite, of course."

Silence answered him.

"I'll take that to mean you have not. I suppose you were just going to let him find out for himself."

"Why shouldn't I?" Blinking, Kunzite turned in the other's direction. "It's really none of his business, is it? Just like however he ends up getting along with Mercury is none of mine."

Jadeite narrowed his eyes. "You actually believe he'll share your opinion of the matter."

The other shrugged. "What choice does he have? In any case," he added pointedly, his tone turning cold, "you know not of what you speak, Jadeite, so I suggest you reserve your judgment for art and the affairs of court ladies."

Jadeite snorted. The smile that stubbornly clung to his lips turned malicious. "You cold-hearted bastard. You really think I don't know? You think no one else figured it out?" He gazed up at Kunzite from under his brows. "I care about Zoisite very much, Kunzite—"

"Then I suggest you don't allow your jealousy to get the better of you and do something you regret," the other cut him off. And even with the calm that Kunzite exuded, Jadeite knew it would be futile to try and win an argument of this nature with his elder comrade. He would lose just as soundly as he was losing this game—as soundly as he had lost Zoisite. Behind the lopsided smile, Jadeite gritted his teeth so hard they hurt.

As though reading his train of thought, Kunzite added somewhat gentler, "For his sake."

IV.Moonrise

Unable to sleep in this alien place with its strange sense of time, Zoisite slipped out of his new quarters for a stroll through the palace grounds.

However, in comparison to the rest of the city around it, it could hardly be called a palace. The whole of civilization on this satellite appeared wealthy and equal; no part was so much fairer than another. Here there was no need for separating walls to keep the poor and criminal from noblemen's eyes: there were no poor nor criminal. There was no need to confine architecture to what gravity would allow: it was not the same restricting force it was on Earth. Pillars rose untopped into the night sky, terraces that knew no symmetry were the giants' steps that led up to the domed halls and rounded towers, with windows pane-less and misty-white walls draped with the clinging vines of plants that blossomed in starlight and hibernated in the fourteen-day-long day.

From these steps hours ago he had first seen the Sea of Serenity, before known only by hearsay. Tranquil as its name bespoke, it sparkled faintly from the reflection of the stars, like light causes the finest snow to sparkle as if it were made of diamonds. And it seemed cold as ice from here surrounded by nothing but the ashen gray hills and monotone buildings, dotted by hardy vegetation of such a dark green color as to appear also muted in the faint light of the lunar twilight.

He had often heard it said that the moonpeople never slept, conjuring images of celebrations held for their own sakes lasting for days on end, the revelers napping in shifts if at all. It could not have been true if the silence that had descended now was any indication. And standing looking at the ancient sea alone, he was at once disappointed and overwhelmed by the vastness of the place, and its great age. Compared to this permanence and immutability Earth was a volatile planet, a vivacious planet, changing its appearance like one changes clothing.

In the horizon above the mountains hung the gibbous Earth. Larger to him now than the Moon had ever appeared from Earth, it was the only thing of brilliant color in his entire field of vision. It was indeed like a gem, blue as Indian sapphires mottled with jasper and topaz, peridot and green zoisite, the clouds swirling about it like delicate lines of strata in white agate. From this angle, this side, he could not point to his kingdom; he could not point to anything. If he were to hold out his hand, he was sure that orb would fit with room to spare inside his palm. As large as it loomed on the horizon, it still seemed only a tiny marble floating in the great sea of the sky. It was such as to give someone a sense of insecurity, realizing the insignificance of his world. Yet for Zoisite it was filled with a new sense of importance that even he could not quite understand. Something akin to a feeling of patriotism.

As he turned to go, a human face glimpsed out of the corner of the eye made him stop. From a balcony, a figure watched the Earth just as he had done. The figure was that of a girl of fourteen or so. The suggestion of a lithe young body under the slip of a dress she wore and the delicate bare arms folded neatly upon the railing told him so. The wide eyes that gazed rapt at the sky had in them the purity of youth—and the naivety of it as well. In the soft earthlight, her pale skin and immaculate white dress, and the golden locks that fell freely over her shoulders almost seemed to become as hazy as the Moon itself and glow.

Yet Zoisite felt nothing but the simple recognition: she must be the princess of the Moon. Here was that figure that drove the shepherd prince Endymion to marvel in awe in his dreams—what drove Bajie in lust to his downfall and cursed rebirth—the shining child Kaguya who was a treasure to a lowly bamboo cutter—that chastity to which Hippolytus had sworn himself until death: the Maiden of the Moon. The very being that ruled the most primitive kernel of religion in man's heart.

And he felt unmoved. She seemed no different from any of the snub-nosed adolescent girls to be found on Earth. If this was the future of their kingdom, he could not help but think, thus far it did not look as spectacular as it was told.


End of Part Five