Prophecy of Tears: CH7: Triad

Triad - part 3

In contrast to the stories about it, the world of Falcon's Crossroads had its moments of meteorological calm. The wind had stilled from the previous evening, and now the chill draped over the mountain like a vast blanket of stillness. Far below where the Unyielding stood knee deep in snow, the monastery gleamed with the first golden rays of sunsrise from the primary star Gilseku. Within the hour, Arseku's light would also rise, painting the skies with emerald brilliance.

The ancestors remain quiet today, thought the Unyielding glumly. Just as well. By the Master's Sacred Toe, my bones hurt enough already.

He motioned to his long-time retainer, the Hiraishin Asira Timar, a younger man than the Unyielding, though still gray with years. "Come. We must continue." His breathing mask gave his words a spectral tone. He hated the device. It smelled of synthflex and sweat. Secretly, he hated all masks, though he recognized their necessity.

Timar's masked face nodded, the oxygen-chargers protruding from the cheeks like grotesque whiskers fashioned from chaingun casings. The two men proceeded to climb toward the summit. An outsider flying in from above would see them as two specks making their way up a dazzling slope. This mountain was called Jusent'antaka, the White Spear of the Falcon, and it was the holiest place of all the worlds of the Diamond Sword.

The Unyielding thrust his ice axe into the snow as he labored upward, relying on it to compensate for his weakened leg. Despite his limp, however, Timar had to struggle to keep up. They were not roped together. Each man or woman of the tribe had to approach Jusent'antaka in a solitary spirit. The ascent was as much about individual enlightenment as physical exertion. Even starting from the monastery, it was a difficult trek. The way was steep and at points precarious, so though the monastery lay only a kilometer below the summit, the route up was far longer. They had started long before dawn, and had at least two hours more before they reached the modest shrine where, it was said, the Enlightened Master had attained his moment of vajra.

There the Unyielding hoped he would find his own enlightenment to the doubts that plagued him. But that would wait.

They spoke seldom, saving their breath for the perpetual assault on the steep path before them. The Unyielding fell into a rhythm of breathe-step-step-breathe, trying with little success to clear his mind as he moved. The wooden sword of his office - called a bokken in the ancient Nipponese of Old Earth -- hung in a soft tubular case on his back. Though it weighed little in itself, it carried a crushing burden of duty, and he wished he were free of it.

Duty. It measured the length and breadth of his existence. Without duty, there was nothing.

But duty was also pain. Today he sought the solitude of the shrine to breathe the high holy air and pray for guidance.

The Pure had met with him the day before and informed him that the Reflective worked to undo the Great Plan.

"Have you proof?" he had asked bluntly.

"Very soon," she had replied. "Then the Ghost will have him."

The Reflective thought too much, perhaps finding illusory faults through overanalysis, turning inward like a cenobyte in his cell, confusing duty with compassion. Still, the Unyielding had found the man a sound thinker - else he would not be the Reflective - and had enjoyed long conversations on esoteric points of philosophy and art.

It would be a shame to kill him.

Perhaps it was also a shame to kill this independent girl, this Speaker, but the wheel had been turned toward this end long ago. The Unyielding had his own grandchildren and great-grandchildren; if duty required it of him, he would sacrifice them all instantly.

Too much was at stake for the Diamond Sword to falter. If the Pure was correct, the Reflective must die.

For generations, the Diamond Sword had prepared against the coming of the Hordes. For generations, they had probed and prodded the Tribes of Man and built their own strength, always hiding their secret purpose. They must not allow sentiment to sway them from doing what must be done. The sword half-drawn served neither peace nor war.

Be humble, he chanted silently, for you are made of dung. Be noble, for you are made of stars. Perform your duty with honor.

They crossed an ice-bridge and paused to rest and take refreshment from their jacket pouches, unclipping their masks to do so. The air was bitingly sharp, so much so that they ate as quickly as possible so they could cover their faces again. Frost began to collect on their cheeks within moments. Timar managed a smile before hurriedly reclipping his mask.

"It's too damned cold, Honored Lord," he said.

The Unyielding grunted agreement as he took the last bite of his ration bar and closed his mask. His fingers were clumsy as he tabbed the simple seals back into place. "We're far enough now. Give me the latest news from Ymir," he said. "We'll take a moment longer to rest."

"Yes, Honored Lord." Timar produced a small bamboo rod and handed it to the Unyielding. The rod opened to reveal a tightly rolled scrip of paper. The Unyielding opened it and read the carefully ciphered kanji.

The inner layer of meaning read: 'Fury prepares to strike at Outermost. She hopes to goad the Blood Eagle into mobilizing against the Starwolf. In this she appears to have been successful. All Blood Eagle Orders are on full alert, and Konovalev has ordered forces into place to secure the threads leading to Outermost.'

"They would have mobilized anyway, soon enough," the Unyielding muttered, but again Fury had deviated from the Triad's main projections. "Damn the woman. Cardinal Spear did well when they created her." Timar remained a respectful silence as his master grumbled. The Unyielding admired the Blood Eagle's rogue Sirdar more than any of the other tribes' leaders, but found the mysteries behind her rise… infuriating.

The note continued: 'DiVaragas fights to keep her coalition united. In this she appears to have been successful, but the effort has delayed her.'

The Unyielding grunted again. "Starwolf discipline. Like rooks cawing and flapping in a cage."

"Yet who can say what they will learn when the Hordes come, Honored Lord?" Timar gave a little bow. "When the heron stands in snow, he is no longer white."

"True enough! We'll teach them new ways soon."

"Will the Blood Eagle and the Starwolf destroy each other?"

"No." The Unyielding stamped his feet, feeling the cold despite the heating elements in his cold weather gear. They would have to move on shortly. "We've arranged matters so neither side will gain any decisive advantages, but both will suffer the loss of their strongest leaders. Both will be weakened. We have positioned ourselves in the neutral role. The Tribes of Man will have little option but to turn to us to fill the gap."

"What about Malderi? That one bothers me."

"He sails before the storm or drowns in it. Malderi is an aggressive scrof, but not as strong as he believes. The Phoenix Prime is a much more formidable threat." The Unyielding paused and finished the letter. Nothing out of the ordinary. As a general, the situation at Ymir fascinated him. It would produce the largest battle yet seen in the wilderzone, and he felt a stir of excitement as he tried to foresee all the permutations. Fury was outnumbered, of course, but the Starwolf were unused to wielding such a large force. Fury would do more damage than anticipated, and the Hordes would force both sides to put aside their differences.

The Tribes of Man would be a sword against the Scourge. And the Triad would be the hand.

Crumpling the letter, he stooped and made an iceball with the paper at the heart. Then he went to the edge of the ice bridge and tossed the ball into the crevasse. It fell into blue depths as a green hue tinted the sky.

Let the others' spies find that!

Turning, he began to limp upward once more, and Timar followed. The Unyielding felt suddenly empty, tired of all the deception, all the moves and countermoves.

Projections! Secrets! By the Master's Radiant Brow, there were secrets enough! The Triad itself sat on a secret here on Falcon's Crossroad that would cause tremors throughout the human space were it known. The other tribes would unite to destroy the Diamond Sword if but a hint of the secret came out. Such was the original need for the Ghost Facet: protection of the Great Secret. Bitterness flooded him. The price of the tribe's foresight was eternal secrecy. For generations, Falcon's Crossing had been the soul of the Diamond Sword's efforts, as well as the source of the Plan.

Damn the Plan. Damn duty.

No, that was the one thing he could not do. He was the Unyielding. He would do his duty. If the Reflective stood against the Plan now, then he would die, even if the Unyielding had to strike him down personally.

Do not concern yourself over good or evil, Shige, he rebuked himself as he struggled through a snowdrift. Only your duty.

And keep your hand on your sword.

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Triad

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