A Gift of Blades
"Damn, that's a long list..." Hsuan Lin looked in dismay at the list she'd compiled over the past week in Celeren. Seventeen organizations and individuals given names such as "Overzealous Immaculates", "Super Creepy Lady in Black", "Pathetic Wannabe Wyld Hunt", and "Tough Old Guy that Smells like the Sea" filled a sheet of cheap paper. For just a second, she thought about crumpling the paper up, and throwing it on the fire. That might actually be of more use than what she had originally planned.
She stood, and streched, muscles tired from sitting and scheming in her cramped little room on the poorer side of town. For the past few months, she had been travelling from city to city. At first, it was just because she could- and because none of the places she visited was Nexus. But eventually, the newness wore off and boredom set in. And then one day, quite by accident, she found a way to both never be bored again, and attempt to repay the one who gave her a way out.
Thus the list.
On some level, she knew, it was a hopeless gesture. Solars have power to challenge even the gods. And they do. Some of them quite regularly. And that kind of power, so effortlessly wielded, seems to attract mighty opposition: abyssals, lunars, dragon-bloods, demons, elementals, gods, ghosts, other solars; you name it. Against most of these, Hsuan Lin knew she could do nothing. But... if the ghost was not the ghost of an ancient lunar she could possibly beat it; if the god was one of the innumerable small gods, she would have a chance. And what about the boring everyday people (both villainous and virtuous) who didn't have sense enough not to get involved in the Solar's affairs? Such power as the Solars command would be demeaned if wasted on these small concerns.
So Hsuan Lin kept her ear to the ground, hoarding gossip the way that some people hoard gold, and eventually the list took shape. So far, in most of the places she had stopped, there was no real reason to write things down, either because nothing sinister was going on, or because there was no one at her level to oppose. Celeren, though, was different.
"Seventeen!" she hissed, "and most of them acting so damned mysterious!" It was a constant source of irritation to Hsuan Lin that spies and schemers were not overt. "There has to be someone on this list that I can do something about. Hmmm..." She scanned the list quickly, and read "Overly Enthusiastic Weaver" a third of the way through the page. Hsuan Lin shrugged. "It's not the creepy, pale-skinned witch wearing black from head to toe, but whatever."
"Um, no, I'm not really in the market for cloth of such...vigorous...hues." The cloth in question was quite hideous, but still, the weaver's face fell. "Actually," Hsaun Lin hurried to explain, "I heard that you've been asking around about the 'Sixteenth Son'." The man's eyes went wide, and he dropped the blue and orange cloth. He glanced quickly across the marketplace, but saw no one taking a special interest in their conversation. "Let me guess," she continued. "You read his sutras, didn't you? And I assume you know something about the man who wrote them, or you wouldn't be so nervous."
For just a moment,the man's gaze was piercing. But then, as he realized that she was definately an outsider very laconically discussing anathema, he relaxed a little. "What is your interest in The Teacher?" he asked suspiciously.
Hsuan Lin was only slightly surprised by Nameless Ravine's new name. "I am an ally of the Solars of Marukan. I don't want to see your interest in the Nameless Ravine cause him trouble. Also, you haven't been especially cautious in the way you ask after him. People are starting to notice. The wrong people would think nothing of crushing you to strike at him." The weaver's face paled, as if he had not fully considered this possibility.
He hung his head. "I should have been more careful...but I just had to know more!" When he looked up, Hsuan Lin was momentarily taken aback by the fervent look burning in his eyes. "He writes with such wisdom, such passion! And the letters themselves are beautiful beyond anything else I have ever seen!" He lowered his voice still further and added, "There are many of us in this town that have seen, and are no longer content to blindly follow the dead rules of the immaculate order."
"...ok. Well. Um. Yes. How about this: I will send a letter of your composition to the Nameless Ravine, that he might...ah...illuminate you more fully...but in return you've got to stop asking around about him and act like the subversive secret society you are. Deal?"
The man practically wept as he agreed. "I will need time to preprare this letter. It must be perfect. Perfect! Can you return here this afternoon?" Hsuan Lin nodded. "Bless you; bless you," he murmured as he hastily closed up shop.
Late in the day, as the streets of the marketplace were dyed a dull red from the setting sun, Hsuan Lin made her way back to the weaver's stand. Though the day was wearing on, the market was still busy; the streets were still crowded.
Her afternoon had not gone so well as the morning, and she had failed to locate either the preteen "Pathetic Wannabe Wyld Hunt" or the "Ninja-like Man in Black". She did, however, locate the "Weird Little Girl" but it turned out that the girl didn't actually know anything about the Solars; she just wanted to sound tough by talking about Anathema. Hsuan Lin also located the "Overzealous Immaculates" completely on accident, and was careful to steer clear of them.
She was about two blocks away from the appointed meeting place when the kindly old man stopped her. "Excuse me, miss?" She heard the voice from behind, and turned to see who would actually talking to her. Between her unnaturally luminous green eyes, her too pale porcelain skin, and the twin hilts of the daiclaives rising over her shoulders, people didn't usually try to make small talk.
"Me?" she asked, slightly puzzled. Puzzlement became wariness when the older gentleman audibly gasped. It's my eyes, Hsuan Lin thought. But even so, most people don't react so strongly...
"You...are you Hsuan Lin?" She frowned slightly as she considered lying to him. Nothing good can come of this. But before she could pretend that he was mistaken, he shook his head, as if at his own foolishness. "No. Nevermind. You must be. You look just like her."
At this point, Hsuan Lin forgot how to play nice. "Who are you?" she asked with deceptive calm, as she casually rested her hand on the hilt of one of the Unnamed Blades.
The older man's eyes flicked to where her hand rested so easily, but almost immediately he looked back to her uncanny gaze. "Just a friend of your mother's," he replied, sincerely. "How is Xia Ming?" he asked, lightly touching her shoulder, in a most unexpected move.
She shrugged out of his grasp, and her eyes were like thunder as she said, "I wouldn't know. I haven't seen her in nearly a decade." She remembered, as much as she didn't want to, the last time she saw Xia Ming- eyes glazed over, lost in some happy delusion of her own making; always looking for the next high, and never too particular about how she got it. Hsuan walked out on her for good when she was just twelve years old, and joined one of the many gangs of children on the streets of Nexus. She tried very, very hard to never look back.
The older gentleman seemed incredibly sad for a moment, as if he could hear what Hsuan wasn't saying. But then his face softened; he smiled and said, "But you are Hsuan Lin, daughter of Xia Ming?" Hsuan nodded tersely, and he took a small wooden box, intricately carved, from the depths of his flowing sleeve. "Take this, then; I was asked to bring it to you." He laughed soundlessly, then said, "Use it well; something tells me you'll need it."
She held the box, unsure whether to accept it. It was beautifully worked...but she would not be beholden to anyone. Ultimately, he made the decision for her, walking away; fading into the street traffic all too quickly. Before she could give the box back, he was gone.
She was left standing in the street; an invisible bubble surrounding her as the people filing past unconciously kept their distance. She opened the box then, and saw against a lining of black velvet two finely wrought knives, exceptional in quality, perfectly balanced, almost as if they were made for her hands. They were silver, with a tracing of fine gold wire to add a touch of delicacy. They were beautiful. Instinctively she knew that they somehow belonged with her.
She hid the box in the pocket of her robe; and if she was distracted as she retrieved Nameless Ravine's letter, the weaver was far too excited to notice.
