Guo wandered the encampment filled with recent refugees and battle-weary soldiers, with blacktongued bonemen and merchants. Nearly all were Bauruken in appearance and it was the common tongue though it bounced with myriad dialects through the makeshift roads and markets. Much of the population were women, children, and the elderly. Guo heard songs about the Pirate Queen of the Riverlands, the Wolf. They told of her exploits quartering Arcanes and robbing the Dragon Emperor’s merchant caravans all along the Dragonroad.

  “Sit with us, Auntie,” Piatra called to Guo. She stood beside a wide ornate rug with five other women of varying ages. All Bauruken. A thin blanket stretched as a canopy over them, shading the women from the suns. Guo pulled out her boneflute and played as she approached the rug and sat. Piatra sat beside her. She shrugged out of her wooden pack and set it onto the ground. Its contents rattled, the tinkling of glass. Opening it up, she pulled out a bottle of brown liquid and half a loaf of bread with a bag of dried fruit.

  She passed the bag around the circle, “Call me Guo.” She touched her lips and bowed deeply.

  The women returned the gesture and ate the fruit. They introduced themselves.

  Piatra, said, “I was all out of food but these here,” she gestured to the other women, “just shared like it was nothing.” She beamed. “We’re here. Can you believe it?”

  Guo laughed, “Ye should have picked fruit from the forest. There was much to eat all around us for weeks.”

  The eldest woman, Owoc, shuddered and spit out the fruit, “Forest’s full all kinds of demons and wicked spirits.” She pointed an accusing finger at Piatra, “You traveled through the forest?”

  Piatra swallowed, and Guo spoke, “The forest is home to many things. Many gentle but many dangerous. It is like anywhere else, except it holds its memories closer and remains ancient while all of this becomes new every time humans touch it.”

  Jelen, another young woman, leaned towards Guo, “Don’t mind her. She’s scared of her own shadow.”

  The circle laughed softly.

  Owoc folded her arms, “If not demons, what’s that screaming at us every time I get close? Never heard the like in Kern or Lebe.”

  Piatra said, “There’s no demons, auntie. Just us people doing harm to one and all.”

  Guo coughed, “A long time ago, many centuries past, the forests covered all this land and were full of wolves. Not wolves like ye have ever seen, but wolf gods. Stand double my height and stretch the length of a mule tied wagon. They say the wolf gods still wander the forests as guardians, though none have seen them in years and years.”

  Owoc touched her palm to her lips and raised her hand straight up, palm down. “See, even a Yuli believes in the old stories!”

  Jelen laughed, “Her stories sound different than yours.”

  “I am not Yuli,” Guo said. She uncorked the bottle of brown liquid and took a swallow. Grimacing, she sighed. “Burns like Her Blood, but it keeps the suns friendly.” She passed it around the circle.

  As they drank her liquor and ate her food, she spoke, “Those who live in the forest still believe in the old gods. The gods of land and sea and air. Of tree and stone and mountain and animal. Stories and songs still cycle through all of Saol. From continent to continent. Across oceans and seas and mountains. Because stories hold a power. Stories are more than true. They are not life and they do not always reflect life. But that is what gives them power. They are less—what is the word?—like not clean?”

  “Dirty.”

  “Foul.”

  “Messy.”

  “That is the one.” Guo jabbed her finger into the air. “Messy. A good word. Even the sound. Life is messy, but stories are not. They take the world and life and pull it into order. It does not matter if the old gods were real or if they still exist. What matters is that they tell us something true about life of the past. The people of the forest still rely on the push and pull of nature. They give life shape and meaning.”

  Owoc nodded slowly with her eyes closed.

  Piatra took a pull from the liquor. Her face contorted, and she jolted forward and spit it out, “Elya’s cunt!” She wiped tears from her eyes and made the sign of the Shattered Moon, “You drink this?”

  The older women laughed and Owoc said, “How old are you, child?”

  Piatra coughed and passed the bottle back to Guo, “I’ve seen ten Twilight Days.”

  “Days of the Wolf,” Guo said and took another swallow of the brown liquor. “That was the old name in this part of the world. Back when people believed.”

  “You a storyteller, auntie Guo?” Jelen said.

  Guo smiled with lips closed, “Many know me as such.”

  Piatra sat, “She is. She kept us all going the long journey here with her stories. Tell us a story, auntie. Don’t have to be true but don’t make it too long neither.”

  Guo fingered her boneflute and stared up at the clouds trudging towards them. The town of refugees sang with a thousand thousand voices and the slight wind caused the leaves and water to dance and laugh. “There is an old story. One almost no one has told. One so old few have ever heard. It is the story of a land far to the west. So far to the west that it is east again. The immortal city of Gu housed the emperor Liang Tiantang. The body bright and eternal. Liang Tiantang ruled in the city of Gu for a thousand years as the emperor of the Ren Shen. They called themselves gods and they believed it was so. Over the course of their tens of thousands of years they conquered much of that far off land. They tamed the oceans and made the gods of land and sea and air bow to their call. For they knew the language of the gods. They drank the blood of dragons, ate the flesh of gods, and built their city from the bones of leviathans. Their dresses from Angel wings. It is even said that they subjugated the Calibanians and befriended the Ariel.

  “Many stories trace their origins to that ancient empire. Stories of ships that flew through the air. Stories of magic that even your Arcanes would find hard to believe.”

  Jelen said, “They sound like the God Emperors of Soare.”

  “All empires now lost to history sound alike on the surface.” Guo leaned forward and took another swallow from the bottle, then passed it around again. “But the Ren Shen were far more ancient and powerful than Soare. The thousand years of Soarean rule are like a grain of sand on the beach compared to the millennia of Gu. It is even said that the first God Emperor of Soare was a refugee from Gu. That is part of this story.

  “There are many stories of heroes and villains from the Ren Shen. Much still applies to us today living half a world away. But this story is about their calamity and end.” Guo furrowed her brow, “What do ye call the world?”

  Owoc drank from the bottle and passed it to Piatra who passed it back to Guo.

  Jelen said, “What?”

  Guo frowned and gestured a circle with her hand, “This planet.” To the blank expressions, she sighed. “The land here. What do you call it?”

  Piatra said, “Welt. Or land, I guess.”

  Guo ate a dried fig. “The true name of the world is Saol. The Ren Shen knew this. They knew the true names of everything in the world. This was not magic. This did not bend the gods to their will. But the gods are unlike us. They do not act for the same reasons. The Ren Shen knew how to speak with the gods and so they were able to control them in a way. By making them listen. To push their behavior towards their desire. For it is said, If you ask a god to cut the moon in two, it will bite it in half and spit it back at your feet. Some stories tell us that is what happened to our shattered moon. A god took a bite and then spit it back down on the land.

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  “The Ren Shen, after so many years of power, believed they owned the gods. They believed they owned Saol. They pushed and pulled Saol’s seasons and rhythms to their bidding. They pulled at the suns and the moons. It is said that once there was only one sun in the sky until Leung Sheun Shen, the soul of wind and fire, pulled the second sun from another world twenty thousand years ago as a wedding gift for her wife. They cast droughts and floods on their enemies. They raised storms and earthquakes to swallow islands or sprout new ones.

  “What they had forgotten in their thousands of years was that every handwidth you push comes back in the end. After a thousand years of abusing their influence on Saol, she rolled back on them.

  “The immortal city of Gu, Liang Tiantang, the body bright and eternal, and nearly all the people and islands of Ren Shen were swallowed by the oceans. Their many cities built across the world were swallowed by the fires deep in Saol’s heart. The bones of the world ground against all they built and cherished.

  “This was not revenge. The gods and the world do not behave in that way. This was finding balance. The utter annihilation—is this the right word?—of the Ren Shen empire was caused by their abuse of the world and the gods and the people all around them. So complete was their destruction that almost nothing remains of their knowledge and power and history. They are a people blown out. Like a candle flame against a hurricane.”

  Piatra scowled, “But you said the Soare come from them.”

  Owoc said, “But also she said stories don’t got to be right to be true. Doesn’t matter if Soare comes from these Shen Ren or not—it feels like they do. What with their magic and their flying ships and their Angelwives.”

  Jelen said, “Yah, and just because the story said they all died doesn’t mean all of them did.”

  Guo blew a few notes on her boneflute and said, “It is said that the refugees of Ren Shen founded many cities. Including the Kingdom of Glass. Your Yuli would be direct descendants from the Ren Shen. Along with the Soareans and the Xue. This is a story of those survivors.” And Guo told them of Akiba, who would be known as Aksheba many generations later, built a great ship for his disciples and fled from the Ren Shen, decrying their abuse of Saol and the gods.

  The world turned, and the clouds shrouded the refugees from the suns as they fell to the horizon. In the shade, the air cooled and loosened its strangle on the day. The sky purpled above them and the first of the moons shown as a faint outline. The town sang with stories and songs and food and dance.

  Spices melded and filled the air as the suns emptied from the sky. Guo made her way to Reuban’s. Opening the door, a blast of music and fruity smoke and savory scents struck her. Spices and meats and vegetables and spilt ales and wines, and Ogma singing in Lapsan about the Kitsune fornicating with the council of thirteen.

  Guo wandered the smoky dark tavern, weaving through the tables and crowds. She leaned against a wood pillar and watched Ogma perform. Ogma noticed Guo and smiled. After finishing her song, she stepped away from the applause and made her way to Guo and reached for her right hand but found nothing. Ogma’s forehead knit. Guo raised the vacant wrist between them. Ogma simply grabbed her handless wrist and led her through the tavern to where Luna sat on the upper level above the open floored main room.

  Luna sucked on the hose connected to a large waterpipe and exhaled cumulously. The smoke smelled of figs. On the table was a bowl of olives.

  Guo laid her pack on the seat and Ogma leaned her lute against the table. Ogma sat to the left of Luna and Guo sat across. The din of the tavern made them strain to hear one another.

  Luna leaned forward, “Ogma’s been telling me a bit about who you are. And what you are. She says you’re like her, a traveler and storyteller.”

  Guo fingered her boneflute and turned to Ogma, “Where did ye get that lute?”

  Ogma yawned, “It was gifted to me by my master. It was gifted to him by his master, and she received it from hers, and on and on for longer than most could remember.” She winked at Guo. “I am the first to bring it to this continent, however. Maybe the thousandth to hold it.”

  Luna drummed the table, “I think I know why you’re here and I accept.”

  Guo smiled, “That makes things simpler.”

  Luna raised two fingers, “Two conditions. One, you tell my story exactly as I tell you. And two, you help me stop them.”

  Guo scowled and leaned back, “Who?”

  Luna snorted, “You know who. The Red Prophet, if he still lives. The young Dragon Emperor. You help me stop all of this.”

  “All I do is tell the tale. What people do with the story is up to them.”

  Ogma put a hand on Luna’s shoulder, “She’s not like me. She doesn’t fight or sing. She’s like a keeper of the history of Saol.”

  Luna slammed her palm on the table, “What they’ve done to my mother, to my daughters—” Luna inhaled slow through her nose and closed her eyes, finding control. Her voice steadied, “I will take them back or burn half the world trying. If you don’t help me stop this, then you’ll not hear my story. You’ll get the songs Ogma writes and the ones refugees shit out in their stolen time.” Luna’s words rose to a shout by the end, silencing much of the talk in the inn.

  “Beggared stories.” Ogma smiled.

  “Stories,” Guo said, “are all I have and telling them is all I can do.” She counted on the fingers of her left hand, “I have no power. No magic. No army. No wealth.” She extended her thumb and closed her fingers, “I can counsel you. Nothing more.”

  Luna inhaled slow and exhaled long, “Ogma knows about you. She’s heard of you. You speak to gods. Some say you’re a god yourself.” Luna leaned forward, “I’ve seen gods. Seen them with my own fucking eyes. Seen them crack open the sky and drink the stars. Felt as they leeched the life from my very blood. Felt them die in my hands. You can make them stop this.”

  Guo shivered. Sighing, she placed her boneflute on the table between them. “Do ye know what this is?”

  “A flute.”

  “That is its shape but not what it is. This is carved from the bone of a god. A bone given to me by that god’s lover. I carved it with the claw of a wolf god. I gave it to a yet another god—a god of solitude who I loved, who I believed loved me—who kept it for many years. I found it finally on a beach a thousand miles from where I gave it away. Forgotten and discarded as if it were absent of meaning or history.” Guo sighed heavily, picked it up, and spun it between her fingers. “No one knows—none can ever know or even guess—what the gods will do or why they will do what the do. To rely on a god is like counting the raindrops in a storm.”

  Luna’s lip quivered and she put a hand to her face. Her voice came as a harsh whisper, “I know—fuck, I know. I was there—” She exhaled a shuddering breath and dropped her hand, her mutilated face placid once more. “I’ll tell you about my mother. I’ll tell you the truth. The story you’ve likely never heard because only I was there. I’m all that’s left who knows and who will tell it how it was. The truth.”

  “That’s all I ask.” Guo’s eyes were fixed wide on Luna’s scarred and ravaged lips, as if memorizing every syllable.

  Luna nodded slowly and continuously and let the space between them deepen, the silence of those seated nearby become noticeable until a few rekindled their abandoned conversations. She took a long inhale on the smoke pipe and exhaled it slow through her nose while turning to Ogma, “Fetch some wine. Tell Micah to keep an eye out for us.” She turned to Guo. “How’re you going to remember all this?”

  “I will remember.”

  “My language isn’t yours.”

  “All language is mine.”

  Luna snorted and turned to Ogma who smiled wide. “Hurry up with the wine.”

  Ogma stood with her hands on the table. Breathless, she said, “Don’t start without me.” Then dashed through the watching crowd and down the stairs to Micah.

  “I’ve been afraid,” Luna stared down at her hands, her voice low so only Guo could hear. “Afraid for a long time. No one sees that. They can’t see it. But none of them know who I am. Not even Ogma, though she hounds me often for my past and why I fight against an empire alone. She believes I’m a bastard child of one of the dead Emperor’s mistresses. Perhaps the secret true heir of one of the long dead empresses.” Luna looked around the tavern, at the many faces suddenly turning away from them, beginning new conversations. “How did you find me?”

  “The wind does not lie. The bones of Saol do not forget. I followed your echoes for a long time.”

  “Horseshit.”

  “Hm?”

  “Means I don’t believe you.”

  “Why?”

  Luna wagged a finger, “That’s mine for you. Why’re you here?”

  Guo fingered the boneflute. “I believe this is a pivot in this continent’s history. Ye stand at the center of a storm that will shape this land for hundreds of years. More than anyone. More than the emperors and various rulers of this land. What ye do or do not do will be the silent hand spinning history’s loom.”

  “A silent hand.” She leaned back and smiled. “I like that. Horseshit, but I like it. So. What am I to do?”

  “Only ye can choose. But I will help ye navigate the currents, if ye like. If I can.”

  Luna met Guo’s gaze. Her eyes impossibly black and intense, unwavering. Luna said, “I remember looking at the moons as a child and wanting only to dance. As I grew older, I always wanted to get back to that sensation. But tragedy piled on calamity and the lightness of my heart turned to stone and I sank as I hardened. Now when I look at the fractured moon and the Lunar Archipelago, I only hope that tomorrow will be easier than today. I’ve lost much, Guo. I’ve lost everything. I’m tired. Afraid. Alone. When I look in your eyes I don’t see release or relief or hope. I see Death. The Walkers. The Child Goddess. I can’t say I don’t welcome it. If the last thing I do is tell my mother’s story, then I’ll die knowing at least someone knows the truth. Maybe someone will rise and stop all this horror. But I don’t think it’ll be me, Guo. I don’t feel it in my bones or my blood. I wasn’t made for this life.”

  Guo put her right arm on the table and Luna stared at the absence.

  Guo said, “Rarely do we choose our lives freely. Life is thrust on us and it is for us to keep from drowning in the river of endless flux.”

  Ogma placed the bottle of wine on the table and three glasses. “What I miss?”

  Luna uncorked the wine and raised it to her lips but did not drink. “Guo was giving me extremely useless advice.” She put the bottle to her lips and drank half of it before filling the three glasses with wine so dark it appeared black in the dimlight. She then swallowed what was left of the bottle.

  Ogma nodded to Micah who brought over a new bottle.

  Ogma grabbed her glass and raised it over the table, “To stories ancient and new.”

  Luna and Guo chimed their glasses against hers and they all drank.

  “All right,” Luna sighed. “Let’s begin.”

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