Traitors' God

The Queen's residence at the palace proper is called the pavilion of the moon. Until the current queen who is the third and last wife of the emperor came into possession, it had not been lived in. The emperor's first wife had never received the 'queen' title, his second marriage was dissolved and the pavilion of moon which was built in honor of a former king's beloved had never known either of those women.

It was a well thought out building, with a center tower that had a circular center courtyard, with its high walls simply opening into the heavens. Right beneath that opening was an engraved expense of a circular pond, with water as dark and as still as the night sky itself - reflecting the moon that shines above.

Intended as a place of reflection and tranquility, Queen Hyeon Jeong often found herself drawn by the mystical air of what she had named as the moon chamber. It is where Seo finds her, when he warily seeks out the queen. Hyeon Jeong has her fingers dipped in the ripple less water, her back turned to him, her eyes seeking out the water's dark depths.

"Your majesty," Seo kneels at the threshold of the room. The air is thick and pricking, congesting in his throat with a sense of vengeance. The water ripples faintly and Hyeon Jeong jerks. For a moment she says nothing and Seo clenches his jaw. "I dare to ask for your aid."

"I don't wish to see you kneel for me Seo," the queen says, her voice is reserved but void of the bitterness that he loathes. "You may rise." Seo complies, rising hesitantly. "I heard about the meadow and the sleep stealer."

"Then your majesty must know what I ask."

"Don't meddle with the gods - Seo - ya," she turns abruptly and looks at him over her shoulder. Her eyes are brown and wide, glistening in the moonlight with a warmth that motherhood and years have brought. "They don't understand how men are different from their eternal beings. They don't understand why we fear - why we die. It's difficult to expect feelings from a being that has no fear, no sense of loss."

"This official thanks your majesty for the kind counsel."

"Seo - ya!"

"I cannot leave the capital in the hands of a traitor who is willing to enlist creatures of old teachings to reach their ends," he continues as if she had not spoken. "I will not rest until the person who summoned the sleep stealer pays the price of his summoning. The man whoever he is should not learn what the sleep stealer's dreame had learned." He pauses, watching how the queen's fist tightens, her knuckles turn white. "But I don't want to lose myself in the process."

He extracts from his belt the silver dagger he had used before in the summoning grounds and approaches the queen, offering the short blade with both hands. "Save me - sister, yours are the only hands I trust."

The queen's hands shake as she accepts the blade, her lips are pursed. Her eyes squeeze themselves shut. She clutches the blade tightly, still the shuddering of her grip doesn't stop. Seo rises from the one kneed curtsey he had dropped into to offer her the dagger and dips his index finger in the water.

"The circle drawn in the water," he says, his words voiced in a tongue of old - musical but lost in comprehension to those who did not hail from the old gods. "There and then gone. Not to be undone - untied - unmade. To the circle of air I summon thee."

The air is no longer still, nor is the water in which he draws with his index. The water ripples and rises off the surface in the circle that he had drawn. The air whooses, dipping and thickening until the water's edge draws silver.

"Lian," he speaks into the circle. "I have paid the price in blood. I have bought the dreame that you stole."

The silver of the water begins to glow and his palm begins to bleed anew. The blood swirls into the water and dissipilates. Turning into tendrils of silver.

"Lian! I summon thee!"

The silver tendrils catch hold of the dripping blood, forming a web of fine silver around the drop of blood - the weaving of silver threads continue to the next drop and the next, until it tethers into the cut itself.

Seo rears back with a pained groan, yet the silver threads remain weaving into his palm, sweating around his wrist and climbing into his forearm. The silver of his eyes flash.

"It's been long…" the voice is an inhumane hiss, issuing from the water itself. "And you still fear the water and the moon…"

"Give back the dreame," Seo growls, his mouth twisting with distaste, animalistic in its own way.

"Should I? Should I? When there is a man in Qhitan who could have paid more - given more…"

"No blood would mean more."

"No?" The voice drags mockingly. "But when I tell him of the Hunter's Star - I was promised of delicacies…"

"You will not touch her!"

Seo plunges his entire hand inside the dazzlingly silver water and the voice screams. The air vibrates with it and so does his own wind pipe. Their voices mingle until one could not distinguish who screamed in pain, the man or the god. The silver of his eyes resembled the water, eerie and inhuman.

He did not retrieve his hand.

Not even when it brought him to his knees, trembling, writhing, twisting in pain. His throat ripped raw, his voice rough and peeled. For a moment, with a deep dragged inhale Seo collected himself and looked at Hyeon Jeong over his shoulder. She had scooted as further as possible from the water where silver pulsed. Her hands clutching the dagger as if it had been her last lifeline.

"Now - mama!"

Hyeon Jeong made a sound, half terrified and half a war cry and unsheathed the blade.

"No you won't!" The voice threatened. "Not you - No Kang would betray me!"

"NOW - MAMA!"

With all her will and fear and despair, she plunged the dagger into his shoulder and the silver of the water exploded in a ripple that rose towards the moon. Water - cold as ice scattered everywhere and the light dimmed away.

"Seo - ya, Seo!"

The queen wrapped her arms around the fallen man, weeping, her head buried against his chest.

*

In the residence of the Qhitan envoy, scribbler seized his throat - choking as if an invisible hand had plunged a knife into his back. The man fell forward, a mouthful of blood splattering into the parchment he had been writing on - fresh ink bleeding into fresh blood.

His candle turned over and the flame began to lick at the corner of the parchment.