There were few people other than Hu'Torii shu'Chang's class in the main nave of the temple: two or three of the wan'-and-shu' families in their fashionable jōes and jōas, several dozen jin', wei', or unranked citizens hanging farther back in the shadows of the vaulted interior. Guji Shiren wan'Tsung climbed the small set of stairs placed judiciously behind the High Oratory that stood in front of the quire; even when he stood on the top step, his balding head—adorned with a gold circlet with a riven globe—barely topped the wooden structure. Those below him saw mostly the hairless summit of his head.
Shiren had once been a lowly street performer, a dwarf gymnast in a traveling circus in the desert wastes in southern Sichuan, with no denotation of status before his name at all. But a young torii happened to attend one of the traveling circus' performances and had seen in the misshapen young man's startling performances of strength and agility the fact that Shiren was tapping, unconsciously and poorly, the power that those of Inari called "Misogi," the unseen energy the torii shaped through their deep faith and ritualized chants. Shiren Tsung, as he was known then, was brought to the nearest temple and converted to the Faith—easy in the Satellites, where Inari was the state religion, and anyone who wished to become shu' or wan' must be one of the Faithful. The promise glimpsed in Shiren by that torii—none other than Hu'Torii shu'Chang himself, then a humble in'torii—was found to be greater than anyone expected. Over the course of several decades, the dwarf had risen through the ranks from in'torii to his installation as Guji eighteen years ago.
Eighteen years as Guji. Shiren felt each of those years tenfold. Not too long from now, someone else would take the globe of Inari from his dead hands and wear the purple-and-white robes. Those around Shiren were constantly reminding him of his mortality, reminding him that he had yet to designate someone to be the next Guji, reminding him that far too many of the an'torii—those torii just under Shiren, who controlled the largest cities of the Satellites—didn't agree with Shiren's views and found him "soft." They wanted the Inari Faith to wield its power and strength, they felt that the proper response to heretical statements was not discussion and negotiation, but the measures outlined in the harsh Consensus of the Confession.
Shiren sighed, as much from the exertion of climbing the steps as from his thoughts.
He looked over the worn, polished oak of the High Oratory toward the small congregation gathered below him. He nodded faintly to Hu'Torii shu'Chang and also to his niece Luyu, there in the midst of the acolytes, and began his Liturgy.
"We of Inari know that the Statements is the word of Inari, given to us so that we would understand Him. To guide us along the right path, our predecessors within the Faith created a companion to the scrolls of the Statements, the Confession, and for long years, they have both served us. But we should always remember that while the Statements was inspired by Okami through Her son Inari, and while the Confession in turn was inspired by the Statements, the Confession comes from our minds: the minds of frail people, not from Okami or Inari or even the Otoko who in turn created us. Just as the Otoko which came from Inari were imperfect, so too are we. Even more so. In fact, we of the Faith must constantly look to the Confession we have made, and change it in response to the world in which we find ourselves ..."
It was an old Liturgy, one that Shiren had proclaimed so often that it required no thought on his part, and—he could see from the nodding heads before him—that those who came to the temple no longer even heard it when he spoke. He saw Hu'Torii wan'Tsung put his hand over his mouth to cover a small, injudicious yawn.
You bore even yourself, old man. Shiren wondered whether this was what Inari had intended for him: a long, slow, and sleepy decline from the vigor of his younger years. He wondered if this was why he'd fought so hard to become Guji.
Half a turn of the glass later, he ended the Liturgy and gave Inari's Blessing to the congregation. They left the temple gratefully, the acolytes especially half-running from before the High Oratory as soon as they were dismissed. Shiren moved slowly across the quire toward the vestry, his head bent down because of his curved spine. Baihu, his secretary and an ei'torii despite his relative youth, took Shiren's arm, helping him from the dais. "Guji," Baihu whispered urgently. "There is news."
Shiren raised bristling white eyebrows as he regarded Baihu's somber face. "Not good news, then. The Huangdi?"
"The Huangdi is fine. The news comes from Haixi."
"Ah. What has An'Torii wan'Kang done?"
Shiren could see from Baihu's plain, round face that the guess had hit close to the mark. But Baihu's next words nearly sent him staggering to the carpeted tiles. "An'Torii wan'Kang and Xiang wan'Cao have captured and executed several Mategician in Haixi Square."
"He dares ..." Shiren sputtered. The torii attendants at the vestry entrance looked at him quizzically, and he waved them away. They scattered as Baihu helped Shiren into the vestry and closed the door. Shiren sat in the nearest chair and looked up at Baihu. His heart pounded against the cage of his ribs, and his breath was tight. His weariness had vanished, and he felt a burning in his stomach as if he'd just taken a glass of firebrew. "Tell me," he said to Baihu. "Tell me what you know."
Baihu nodded. "The report is from Ei'Torii wei'Miao, who is the Xiangi's personal torii. He says that An'Torii wan'Kang had confessions taken from the captives in the Gaol Haixi first. Evidently many of the Mategician, when they were paraded out, could barely walk. They were displayed to the crowds while the charges were read and sentences given. At least five of the prisoners were drawn before their heads were taken. The crowd was much amused, according to wei'Miao." The torii swallowed hard; Shiren could see him imagining the scene. "The bodies were gibbeted on the square as a warning to any other Mategician in the city, and the Xiang and An'Torii wan'Kang both made speeches to the crowds. There were at least thirty killed, from the report that came here."
He could see the bodies. In their black iron cages, their skeletal faces stared at him. "I did this," Shiren said quietly.
"Guji?"
"I did this," Shiren repeated. "An'Torii wan'Kang has made no secret that he opposes my feelings toward the Mategician, but now he goes beyond words to actions. It is my fault: I have been asleep here. If I were a stronger Guji, he would not have dared."
"You can't blame yourself for An'Torii wan'Kang's actions, Guji. Only he is responsible."
Shiren nodded, wanting to believe Baihu, and knowing he could not. He could see the dead in Haixi Square, and all of them seemed to be looking directly at him. My fault...
This was Inari's warning. This was Inari telling him that he had been drifting, that if he continued to drift, far worse than this would happen.
My fault...
He promised Inari that the sign would not be forgotten. He began to breathe again, but the blaze inside him remained. "Draft a letter to wan'Kang," he told Baihu. "Make it clear to him that I am not pleased by this. And tell him that I expect him to come to Orbis for the Huangdi's Jubilee, and that we will talk further then."
"I will do that," Baihu answered. "Here, let me help you with your robes, and I will send for one of the in'torii to accompany you to your apartments. You can rest there until I bring you the draft."
"No," Shiren told him. "We will work on this together. In my office. I've been resting too long, Baihu. It's time to wake up once more."