Part 23 (2/2)
This was one wild group of shadow warriors. They seemed as likely to embark upon an orgy as kill you. Although considering the overheated sentiments the ones I had encountered had been spouting up until now, I wasn't sure which would be the preferable fate to suffer.
(All right, that's obviously not true. But d.a.m.n, it sounded good, didn't it?) The one who had led me there stepped forward, placed her right fist into her left palm in front of her chest, and then mashed them against her b.r.e.a.s.t.s three times. The others promptly returned what was obviously their form of greeting.
And then, from beyond the candles, I heard a musical voice, filled with amus.e.m.e.nt and even vague interest. ”So... this is he. The renowned Po.”
”And you would be...?”
A woman stepped from the shadows, although to call her a woman would be to understate it.
She was, quite simply, the most magnificent creature I'd ever encountered.
The Anais Ninja once again performed that bizarre little ritual of breast pus.h.i.+ng, and the gorgeous woman who had taken center stage in this show of force and strangeness returned the gesture.
As for me, I had no idea how long I stood there, staring at her. Time seemed to freeze. No, not just freeze. To become utterly irrelevant. I could have remained there all day just gazing at her. The Anais Ninja had stepped forward and was speaking softly to this perfect creature, who was listening and nodding, glancing in my direction every so often as she took in the information. When she was done, the Anais Ninja stepped back and the woman straightened up, staring at me, giving not the slightest hint of what she was thinking.
Her fragile Chinpanese features gave her the look of a porcelain doll. Her face was pure white, her eyebrows and eyes delicately underlined and slightly exaggerated, adding to the exotic and erotic look of her. She was the most elaborately costumed individual I'd yet encountered. Her outermost garment was a wide-sleeved jacket, reaching to the waist, with a pattern of bird medallions brocaded in greens and yellows.
Attached to the waist of the jacket's back was a long, pleated train of sheer, white silk, decorated with yet another dragon design. This one actually looked surprisingly like Mordant. Beneath the jacket, she wore a purple kimono of what also seemed silk. It was abnormally large, the large skirt swirling out around her feet, since she was wearing more kimonos beneath.
Her hair was elaborately done up in an elaborate coiffure, and attached to her forehead were lacquered, gold-sprinkled combs over-laid with a gold lacquered chrysanthemum crest.
And her eyes... I could swim in her eyes. Drown in them, die in them, and go to a watery grave happier than I'd ever been in my entire miserable existence. She was as nothing I'd ever seen or could ever hope to see again.
All I could think of at that instant was what Mitsu had said to me about instantly falling in love. Atlooking into someone's eyes and seeing a reflection not only of yourself, but the life the two of you had spent together in some previous incarnation.
Madness. Insanity. I, Apropos the Cynic, Apropos the Realist, Apropos Who Knew Better Than Anyone Else. To even open myself up to the possibility of such an experience was to admit that there were far greater possibilities to life than I had ever dared imagine.
Romantics were fools. They were mold on bread, mushrooms upon trees. They grew upon the harsh reality of life and softened it and made it weak. They viewed the world through a wet prism of feebleness that bordered on the pathetic. I had always known this for a fact. To fall in love to any degree is to needlessly expose yourself to inevitable betrayal and falsehood and, ultimately, the object of that love not possibly being everything that you wanted them or needed them to be.
I knew all this. I knew it as surely as I knew my own name.
And yet, at that moment, I did not care. Seeing her there illuminated by the candles, it was as if light was being brought for the first time to the wretched and tortured thing I called my daily existence.
She was beautiful. She was soulful. And best of all...
She was evil.
Well, of course. Naturally. That had to be clear, wasn't it? She was evil. She was connected to this group of thieves and criminals and murderers. She was quite likely the leader, or one of the key figures, considering the deference they showed her. Perhaps she was even this mysterious ”Ho” I'd heard tell of.
What did that mean to me?
No chance of being let down. No chance of betrayal. No chance of her turning out to be something other than she was.
If I did follow the call of my heart, I was going into it with my eyes wide open. Dazzled by her beauty, but wide open. Every woman that I had ever become romantically involved with had not only turned out to be something other than what I'd expected, but had wound up betraying my trust in the process. Here was a woman, though, whom I knew I could never trust. Ever.
Most romantics believe that true, great love must be built upon a foundation of trust. This is patently untrue. True love is not built on trust. True love is built on knowledge. Trust is simply what you subst.i.tute for lack of knowledge, and then you hope for the best. But with this woman, with this G.o.ddess in a mortal world--and believe me, I know something of G.o.ddesses in mortal worlds--I knew that betrayal was not only a likelihood, but nigh unto a certainty. It removed all doubt. I would never have to worry if she would betray me; only how.
It was liberating. With the knowledge that she would betray me came the awareness that I could likewise betray her at some point when it suited my needs. All was fair, as the saying went. Love and war, gloriously intertwined.
Was any of this pa.s.sing through her mind? I couldn't know for sure. She appeared to regard me with open curiosity. She arched a single eyebrow which, thanks to her makeup, was laced with a subtext that was practically erotic. ”I hear tell,” she said, ”that you occasionally have been known to speak.”
I found my voice. To my surprise, it was huskier than it usually was. ”I am... Apropos. That is my full name, actually.”
”Apropos.” Her tongue seemed to glide over each letter. ”Ap-propos.” She said it several times, each time slightly different in her p.r.o.nunciation. ”A most unusual name.”
”And to whom do I have the... honor... of speaking?” I asked. My left leg was trembling slightly and I steadied it. Since that was my good leg, I certainly didn't want it going out from under me. Falling flat on my face was not the best way to make a good first impression.
”I,” she said slowly, ”am w.a.n.g Ho. Veruh w.a.n.g Ho. Leader of the Skang Kei family. Founding member of the Forked Tong. I am who your Imperior has been searching for, for quite some time.”
”He's hardly my Imperior,” I said. ”I'm just a visitor here.”
”And yet, for a visitor, you have made quite an impression and have found yourself in the midst of some very troubled circ.u.mstances.”
I shrugged, trying to sound casual in her presence. ”Call it a knack.”
”Oh, I call it far more than that. I call it... most interesting.” She was standing, but perfectly still, like a statue. Only her small movements, such as reaching up and thoughtfully touching her chin with an outstretched finger, convinced me that she was actually flesh and blood. ”So it is my understanding that you wish to join the Forked Tong. Why should we permit that?'
”The question could easily be turned around,” I replied. I couldn't let my overwhelming attraction to her shake my resolve or unman me. I sensed that this was a woman who respected only strength. To display weakness would be fatal. ”Why should I want to join? I have grievances against your organization.”
”Do you.”
”You killed my teacher. You killed my teacher, Ali.”
”Ali. Yes.” She nodded thoughtfully. ”The previous owner of that sword,” and she inclined her head toward the sword dangling from my hip. ”He imparted knowledge and wisdom to you, did he?”
”What my teacher taught me remains between he and I,” I said.
”Just as the unbalanced scales for his death remain between you and I.”
”I see. And what would you have, Apropos?” she asked with a faintly mocking smile. ”Revenge?
Revenge upon the sisters who killed him? Can you pick out which ones did it?” and she gestured sweepingly around the room.
”Perhaps I could just avenge myself upon you.”
”You could. However, be aware that I did not order the attack upon Ali. I do not direct every move the sisters make. In this instance, sisters were doing it for themselves. They have their own plans, theirown priorities.”
”So you do not condone what happened?”
”I did not say that.” She laughed. She had a l.u.s.trous-yet-light laugh, like morning bells calling vespers.
It was difficult for me to believe I was admiring the laugh of someone who was chuckling over the death of my teacher, and yet, so it was. ”For reasons you do not yet fully comprehend, what happened to Ali was no tragedy.”
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