FIRE BONES

Heng stood, a shadow

beside King Xau, King Donal,

and their generals, advisors, guards.

King Xau handed him the letter, and Heng,

though he wished himself invisible,

though he had never aspired

to more than the background,

the turning of pages,

the calm of a library,

nonetheless Heng had to translate,

for Siak had pneumonia

and Kwang was two hundred miles away.

“It opens ‘Beneath the eye of the sun,

in the glorious presence of King Tahj,

these words are transcribed.’”

Heng’s voice was a susurration,

a breeze stirring a leaf.

King Xau, too thin, too pale,

seated in the room’s one chair,

leaned toward Heng to catch his words.

Heng raised his voice a fraction.

“‘But the words are not King Tahj’s,

rather those of three elders’

—literally old men, however, the term

connotes respect—‘Three elders

who are undone by the deaths

of their sons, the warriors who died

a week before the summer solstice

in combat against King Xau.’”

“Vihaz’s fucking assassins,”

interrupted King Donal.

Heng nodded. “The term means warriors,

but, yes, it refers to the assassins.”

“Warriors?!” said King Donal.

“They were fucking cowards

with fucking poisoned swords.”

“Continue,” said King Xau, his tone level,

his steady gaze steadying Heng.

“‘The elders beg the king,

who is a four-times father himself,

to give back, in clemency, the fire bones’

—that is the cremated ashes—

‘of their fallen sons.’”

Darkness then in the king’s eyes.

The letter trembled in Heng’s grip.

“Then the scribe’s signature

and the royal seal of Sumbral.”

“Anything further we should know?” asked Xau.

“It is... notable... that King Tahj

expresses no regret for his father’s actions,

and, in addition, it is a clear insult

that the letter was written in Sumbrese.”

Xau looked at his senior advisor. “Artoch?”

“Tahj seeks to discredit you.

If you refuse, he will use that

to justify renewed hostilities.

If you agree, he may dispose of the ashes,

and likewise claim that you refused.”

Heng, withdrawn to a corner,

a shadow gladly overshadowed,

bowed his head, dismayed.

Vihaz had proven contemptible;

perhaps his son Tahj

would prove no better.

Yet Heng loved Sumbral,

had met only kindness

all the years he studied there.

“We will return the ashes,”

said Xau, “not to thwart Tahj,

but because it is right.

We will ride into Sumbral ourself,

ourself plus three guards,

to bring the fire bones

home to their fathers.”

Heng raised his head

and looked at the king,

an anchor of calm

in a sea of uproar—

advisors and generals alike protesting

that Xau should take, at minimum,

three hundred soldiers

for his protection.

Oddly, the loud-mouthed King Donal

stayed quiet, his hand resting

on the younger king’s shoulder.

Into the uproar, Xau spoke,

the room stilling about him.

“Our children are half-Sumbrese.

We would not have them judge

their mother’s country

by Vihaz and his assassins,

nor judge us by what

we knew to be right

yet feared to do.”

Something stirred in Heng

that he could not name