She Walks in Shadows(67)

But she could hear purring and the dog’s soft whimpers. They must certainly realize something awful had happened. Both had stayed faithfully beside her through her illness, through the belly-pains and the evil dreams. And they had followed her, maybe secretly stealing in after the shaman’s acolytes had arranged her on the slab, to keep vigil. Would they recognize her when her soul transmuted? That child was still a baby, though she’d indicated its identity.

She herself had no bodily issue. At least she would be spared seeing her own children grow old when she herself lived in a new body, and in the body after that, and a series of such bodies, each chosen carefully before transfer, unto the end of time. For the scriptures taught the hard truth: When the Empress died a true and permanent death, then the empire itself would fall and all would be mortality and dust.

She waited. Soon, the shaman would start the ceremony to transmute her soul into the chosen unborn girl. She felt cold and sadness but no fear. She had prepared for this passage. She did not remember previous passages as personal experiences but as stories so vivid they brought both tears and the heat of joy.

Flowers: She could smell the flowers and the incense. From memory, she knew the slab on which her swathed body lay was lapis lazuli, the sacred stone. She could feel the presence of her little cat and dog. But were the mourners asleep? She lay unconscious for a length of time, then awoke to a voice she knew and then another voice.

Yaje. Her favorite. She remembered ecstasies, the warm pressure of his kisses on her lips, her belly, her feet. Yaje was speaking. She yearned for him, yearned for the moment she would reveal herself to him in her new body, though that could not be for years, not until the new vessel was grown to be a woman.

Voices. Yaje and the Nai’uchi, the head priest.

“Whom did she choose as her vessel?” Yaje said. “We have to appear to obey her directives.”

Ayahuasca’s love-longing turned to bewilderment. Appear to obey? Was this her Yaje, who covered her feet with kisses? Who swore he would go into the shadow world with her to await transplantation to a new body?

“You atheist!” said Nai’uchi. “Ignore her instructions? Then, when she’s transplanted again into a new vessel, she’ll destroy us.”

“Oh, you pretend belief, you old hypocrite. But your eyes lit up like the full moon when we talked of gold and riches coming your way. Come on, you’re already in your vestments. Burn the herbs, say the words, create appearances.”

Nai’uchi said, “I took your offering, but there is no bribe that can make me forget my duties. I won’t taint the transmigration ritual.”

“I can outwait your stubbornness.”

“But the people will not. Listen! They press against the gate, awaiting her resurrection. They scream to know what vessel will hold their ruler. Even in the zoological gardens, there are signs: The snow leopard paces, refusing its meat. The baboons gibber. The snakes are striking at the bars, bloodying their jaws.”

Bribe? Ayahuasca didn’t understand. She had made her will and chosen an infant to contain her soul. The baby had been born two years past, in the month of the scorpion, a child of the water-dragon house. Ayahuasca’s testament should lead them to the ordained little girl, marked with a strawberry mole like a third eye upon her brow.

“If you refuse, Priest, I’ll expose you. Witnesses saw our transactions. Lady Natema —”

“Your concubine —”

Concubine? Ayahuasca’s soul trembled like flame. Yaje dared touch another woman while First Consort in her court?

“My tool, yes. Don’t tax me with her; you’ve had alley-lovers enough. Just do the ritual. Say that Empress Ayahuasca’s soul goes into Lady Natema’s unborn child.”

Ayahuasca’s fury glowed molten. But her body was cold and unmoving, and her incorporeal soul could touch nothing.

“Unbeliever!” The shaman rolled his eyes to heaven in fake piety. “Gold and spices and slaves may buy my actions but never my conscience.” Then his voice softened. “Yet, I must send the Empress’ soul somewhere — shall it be to your bastard child?”

Yaje’s voice was crafty. “You sly old fool, did I say the child is mine? What if it is? But on the off chance that the soul exchange is real, let’s not risk Ayahuasca’s strong character invading that baby. Send our bitch-queen’s soul elsewhere. The child shall be all mine. I’ll send Natema abroad — no, better, Lady Natema won’t survive the birth. Under my protection, the new Empress will teach her subjects respect — and they’ll double and triple their tributes.”

Ayahuasca’s fury exploded like green wood in fire. She had ruled fairly, demanding only modest tribute. Under her, the country had prospered, no child hungry and no foreign power threatening the people. She wanted to scream and tear her hair. Yaje was a parasite! He’d been false all along! Death had come to her too young, her last days filled with evil dreams and agony in her belly. And why had she never conceived, either by the now-dead Emperor, or by her consorts? Perhaps he’d even conspired to poison her.

Nai’uchi insisted. “I need some vessel for the Empress’s soul. I can’t perform the ritual without a target, even if I lie and say the soul lives in your bastard.”

Yaje’s voice went flat, as if he had already dismissed the issue. “Send it to the puppy or the cat, then.”