Celestial Matters (39 page)

“Not in Fortune, as you think of it,” Phan said. “In the certain knowledge that the world changes, and that between heaven and earth new things will come to be. It is a final desperate hope, but hope it is.”

Phan looked around at each of us in turn.

“And if nothing comes of the hope,” he said, “then perhaps it will not be so bad to be ruled by you.”

“What are you talking about?” I said.

“The war,” Phan said. “You ’Ellenes are winning the war. The Son of Heaven has lost his mandate. Maybe it is finally time for an outsider to rule All under Heaven.”

“What makes you think we are winning?” I asked.

Phan waved for the wine bowl. I gave it to him, and he drank deeply. “Everyone knows it. You have conquered the river Mississipp in Atlantea and begun to spread into the Western Territories. You have made incursions into Xin again. Our kites are no match for your celestial ships, nor our cavalry for your artillery. It is common knowledge around ’AngXou that we are going to lose.”

“But—”

“Aias…,” Aeson said.

The one word reminded me of the requirement of secrecy, and yet I could not keep still. Athena filled my heart with the need to comprehend.

“I must speak, Aeson,” I said. I turned to Phan. “I do not understand this at all. The Archons told us that you were winning the war. They said that you had made new advances in miniaturization.”

“Minor tricks,” Phan said. “They gave our warriors individual weapons that could cause injuries your doctors cannot heal, but nothing more came of it. It is not sufficient.”

“But our governors and generals are being assassinated,” I said. “Miltiades told us that Prometheus was our only hope for disrupting the Middler government.”

I lapsed into silence. Phan took a long drink, then closed his eyes. “Assassins are the weapons of desperate men deserted by the gods,” he said, “not the tools of a Son of Heaven bent on conquest.”

Kleio stirred in my heart. “I need to do some studying,” I said, and stood up. “We will discuss this matter again.”

Yellow Hare and I returned to my cave, each of us in quiet communion with our gods, I with Kleio, Yellow Hare with ’Era.

In my broken and battered home, I rooted around through the smashed furniture and wrecked cases until I found, wrapped in some old robes, the scroll Ramonojon had given me so long ago in the shadow of the Muses on the Acropolis, the scroll Yellow Hare’s presence had prevented me from looking at: the
Records of the Historian
by Ssu-ma X’ien.

“Yellow Hare,” I said, “I hope you will not think less of me for hiding this from you.”

“What is it?” she said.

“Middle Kingdom history. Ramonojon brought it back with him. I assume he obtained it from his Buddhist friends.”

“At first you did not know me to trust me,” she said. “Then you had Ramonojon to protect. Since then you have had other worries. There is no dishonor in your concealment.”

“Thank you,” I said.

I slid the rice paper roll out of its plain black lacquer case and began to read an eight-centuries-old account of Alexander’s war on the Middle Kingdom and the changes it wrought inside All under Heaven. It was a strange document, unlike the histories written before the Akademe banished Kleio; its chapters were titled with the names of different people involved in that war and in the placing of the first ’An emperor on the throne. Each chapter told the life story of that person and concluded with a brief explanation of Ssu-ma’s opinion of his character and how he helped or hindered the cause of the Middle Kingdom. And though it was a tale of men’s deeds it was not like reading a chronicle of heroes. There was no sense of worship, no reverence even for the most exalted people. It was more like a list of proofs than a remembrance for the honored dead.

I looked up some time later with an itch in my mind, as if Athena were trying to burst forth from my head. Yellow Hare sat against the wall where the cubbyholes had once hung, quietly smoking her pipe.

“I think I understand how both sides of a war can think they are losing,” I said to her.

She extinguished the burning leaves with her hand and stared at me with her wide golden eyes. “Say on.”

“What does Sparta teach is the most important element in the waging of successful war?”

“Generals whose souls have been filled with the spirit of war and the favor of the gods.”

“So if our side has no such generals we would lose the war.”

“Of course.”

“The Middlers see it differently. Instead of filling their leaders with the spirit, they choose as their generals those who won battles as captains. They take these earlier victories as proof that these officers wage war in accord with the way of battle.”

“I do not understand,” she said. “A successful captain may be made general if he shows the proper spirit; if not he would remain captain.”

“But to the Middlers war is a way, not a spirit. Spirits may help or hinder battles, and there are gods who oversee the progress of war, but they do not give victory or defeat; it is the way the general wages war that determines success.”

Yellow Hare closed her eyes and the mantle of war fell upon her shoulders. The gods of battle clustered around her as she thought upon my words.

“It could be done that way,” she said at last. “Without offending the gods, a man could be a general without a warrior’s soul. But he could not persevere as a Spartan must. Eventually he would give up the life of war and some other general would take his place.”

“And the same applies to their rulers,” I said. “We take as leaders those who show the potential to be heroes; they choose those who demonstrate accord with the way of heaven, which can change.”

“Our way is clearly better,” Yellow Hare said. “We find souls with constancy.”

“Is it?” I replied. “Consider Mihradarius.”

“What about him?”

“He had great potential, the genius that makes Athenian heroes. If he had not felt the need to stop Sunthief, he might have risen to the post of Archon. Or consider my father.”

Yellow Hare growled.

“He was an excellent general who inspired loyalty among his troops and governed cities well, but as you and Aeson have both pointed out, he violated the true essence of Sparta. A Middler general would hold to that essence while he served in war.”

“You may be right, Aias,” Yellow Hare said. “But how can both sides believe they are losing?”

“Consider what Phan said. He said the Middle Kingdom was losing battles and territory. That proved to him that the Son of Heaven has lost the mandate to rule, so the Middle Kingdom is bound to lose the war unless the Son of Heaven is replaced. They need to buy time for a new emperor to be found, so they engage in the desperate act of killing our leaders. The League’s view, on the other hand, is that its leaders are being killed, so we will not have the heroes we need to win victories, so we are bound to lose unless we can strike quickly and decisively.”

Her eyes widened, gold reflecting the silver light of the cave. Athena stirred in her mind and the Aigis gleamed through Yellow Hare’s eyes. “Both sides believe they are losing,” she said, “so as you say, both sides engage in desperate actions. The Middlers assassinate and the League creates the Prometheus Projects. Both sides are taking desperate gambles that are not necessary.”

She gripped the hilt of her sword. “Neither side has acted in accord with the proper conduct of war,” she said.

“Neither side is acting in accord with the Good,” I said, and the words of ’Elios flared again in my heart.

O

Kleio, I prayed after the revelation of Ssu-ma’s writings, you have shown me your mystery, shown me how you can grip the hearts of men and nations and draw them down paths so disparate that the men of one people cannot speak to the men of the other. But goddess of history, inspirer of a lost study, what am I to do with your blessing?

And in the shadows of my heart Kleio and Athena together answered me. History bridged the chasm Wisdom had shown, and a new place grew in my heart near where my understanding of science dwelled. It was a dark cavern, as yet unformed and unfilled with the light of knowledge. But in that umbral grotto I heard a sound, an echoing chord, the song of the Xi flow that spanned the air between Ares and ’Elios.

Then the chord fell silent and a voice resounding with heavenly thunder roared through the darkness: Fill this place!

I will, Father Zeus, I will.

“Yellow Hare,” I said, opening my eyes to the sight of the more familiar cave I called home, “would you have one of the guards find Phan and ask him to join me on top of the hill.”

“Yes, Aias,” she said.

The old Taoist met me half an hour later beside the stumps of Alexander’s legs.

“I need to know more about your science,” I said to Phan.

“Tell me how to teach you,” he said. There was a quiet glow in his dark eyes and something lay on his shoulders that made his seventy-year-old frame look younger and stronger. “If you can learn to learn, then perhaps I can as well.”

“What do you mean?” I said.

“I need to know your science, also,” he said, and his eyes grew brighter. “But where do we begin?”

“At the weakest point in the barrier between us,” I said. “The walls of theory are too high; let us start with practice. Show me your equipment. Pretend that I am not a scientist. Pretend that I am some ignorant bureaucrat who wants an explanation of your work so he can make out reports.”

The old man smiled and bowed. “Will you do the same for me?”

“Of course.”

Over the next week, Phan and I gave each other basic introductions to the paraphernalia of our sciences. I showed him how we used rare and dense air to create forced motion, and he showed me how gold, silver, and cinnabar placed along Xi flow could modify or control natural motion. Slowly, the dark cavern in my heart began to grow bright with a second vision of the universe, one of change and flow instead of matter and form. And as the light of practical work grew from a flickering candle to a solar beacon, it illuminated the bewildering Taoist texts I had studied over the years but had gained nothing from.

Memories boiled up in my mind of days spent poring over rice paper scrolls with block-printed characters, words in the Middle Kingdom language I had learned but not understood. There had been nights when the pictographs had seemed to dance before my eyes, mocking me with their hidden meanings. In those dark hours I had prayed long and hard to Athena and to ’Ermes, lord of translators, to help me penetrate the enemy’s mysteries. And now at last they had answered me, and the texts that I had memorized began to unravel themselves in the light of my new-made mental cavern.

Had I been given the freedom to do so, I would have been content to let
Rebuke of the Phoenix
stay in that orbit, letting the combination of pure air and divine favor fill me up with comprehension, but I had other duties, and I had to carry them out. So Phan and I pulled ourselves away from our learning and teaching. In two languages with two visions we plotted out the ship’s passage through the riptides of Xi that flowed out from the body of ’Elios, carried by the light and the atomic fire of the solar wind.

When we were satisfied with our calculations, I went to each of the crew in turn and spoke to them in private. We all knew that the flight through the sphere of ’Elios would be the most difficult test for the ship. If
Rebuke of the Phoenix
survived this leg of the journey we would have no difficulty flying back to Earth.

I spoke to Clovix first, praising him for his service since the disaster, and he bowed to me in thanks.

The soldiers I congratulated on their diligence, and I assured them that they had done honor to the army and the League.

Ramonojon and I shared a brief moment of silence, and let it pass at that.

Aeson and I spoke in quiet whispers of the mystery of Orpheus, then gripped hands and separated.

Of what passed between Yellow Hare and me, let that remain locked in the lips of Aphrodite.

Then Phan and I put on solar protective goggles and cooling cloaks and strapped ourselves into our pilots’ compartments, while the rest of the crew went below into the safety of the brig. The ship flew into the Xi flow between Ares and ’Elios; Phan activated the Xi strengtheners and I pulled the reins, banking
Rebuke of the Phoenix
down the paths of heaven toward the fire of the sun.

Out the front window of my cabin I watched ’Elios grow and grow until he filled the sky with spears of red flame, and the words he burned into my heart caught fire once again.

Am I not serving the Good? I prayed. Have I not crossed the chasm?

Not yet! the sun god roared as
Rebuke of the Phoenix
passed through the crystal sphere and bore down on the celestial fire. God of the day, I prayed, let me go; I must steer the ship. ’Elios released my mind to once again calculate and pilot. The currents of Xi flowed out from the sun, invisible spirals pushing the Selenean part of my ship away from the fireball; but there was a single contrary flow that pulled on the sun fragment, trying to draw it back toward the body of fire from which it had been stolen.

It was my task to keep the fireball away from that flow while Phan maneuvered us through the push of the main currents to reach the inner spheres. The Xi strengtheners hummed in a staccato rhythm as we darted from flow to flow, pulled to left and right by the riptides, but Phan’s sure hand kept us going downward, always downward. As we approached within five miles of ’Elios, I pulled on the port and up guide wires, drawing the fragment away from the sun, up and leftward. The sun disappeared beneath us, and the sky turned suddenly from the red of sunfire to the gold of sunlight as we flew over ’Elios.

I released the wires and the sun fragment dipped down again, I hoped to pull us past the sun itself; but the fragment continued to dip down farther than I had planned. The inward current had caught hold of the fireball and was trying to drag it under the ship and back around toward the sun. I pulled the central rein, tugging the cord of Selenean wire with all my might to call back the fragment, to hold it for just a few seconds.