Keikoku
by
Yaeko de Nirohmy

Seien. Weirdly beautiful. That was what they called him, how they advertised.
It was true. His features were handsome, without a doubt, but he had never been beautiful in any common sense of the word. Everything about him conspired, it seemed, to shock. His skin was a sandy colour that was unpopular - most preferred a pale-skinned lover in those times. His nose might have been considered rather severe, on someone else, but on him, but seemed regal and perfect. Likewise, the soft lips would have looked unbecoming on any other man, but they suited him well. His eyes were twin, golden flames, flickering and alive. Certainly, they were disconcerting, and looking into them had left many a man dazed and half-blind, as though he had looked too long into the setting sun. His curly purple hair was certainly remarkable. It would have made him beautiful all on its own, had his other features been commonplace. But there was nothing commonplace about him.
For a one-time slave, he carried himself with remarkable grace, and something about him leaked a sense of strength. He could look at anyone, man or woman, peasant or warlord, and draw them in with his molten gold eyes. Then he would break the glance, and walk away, leaving his chosen victim standing in the middle of the street, wondering what had hit them.
It was, perhaps, his inner strength that frightened some people. He seemed to wear that power like a second skin; he knew it was there, and simply took it for granted. He wielded such secret power, and yet, if he was required to be, he was the most innocent, helpless lamb in the flock within the blinking of an eye. Clients had been heard to say of him that he knew what was coming to him, and that he had the power to know what was coming to everyone else, as well.
Whether the boy was clairvoyant, or not, was irrelevant to most. They came to him for his absolute magnetism, for his strange eyes, his versatility, his soft hair, or perhaps for the way he could merely touch them into ecstasy.
Seien. That was what they called him, on the cards they set in windows and on notice boards. His face, or rather, those glowing eyes and a shock of his purple hair, could be seen no matter where you went in the city. The heavy-stock cards, about the size of one’s hand, were snatched by schoolgirls and merchants alike to keep in their pocket, reminding them of, perhaps, the most beautiful thing they had ever seen.
In actuality, few people ever saw him. Mostly for security, they kept him inside during the day. When he he did go out out, he was obliged to cover his face, neck and hands. His masters would not allow his most sensual body parts to be seen by those who were not wiling to pay for the privilege. At night, he was escorted to his engagements by a small handful of armed men, who were under strict orders never to allow him out of their sight. Then, at midnight, he was taken back to his quarters in the lord’s palace to entertain the favored customers, those who paid dearly for his individual, undivided attention.

Seien.
He smashed his mirror.
Someone came rushing into the room. “Keikoku-sama?” asked a man in a hesitant voice, obviously noting the broken glass and bleeding skin.
“Take it out,” he said quietly, motioning languidly at the mirror.
“You’ll need a mirror to do your make-up,” said a woman’s voice.
He sighed, idly licking blood from his slender fingers. “I don’t care, Laja. I know this face so well, I don’t need a mirror.”
The woman growled. “Hurry up and get rid of that ruined wall-plate. Bring another from the treasury, and send the doctor,” she said to the startled servant. He collected the mirror and ducked out of the room.
Technically, he was not allowed to have a mirror at all in his quarters. None of them were, in fact. That small mirror hung, most of the day, from the wall, its mirrored side facing the wall. The back of the mirror was decorated lavishly for this purpose. It was obvious that every keikoku used mirrors, but it didn’t matter. There were strict policies regarding mirrors, so strict, in fact, that some keikoku, like him, did not even have glass in their windows. Instead, sheets of wispy silk were stretched over the windows, to admit light and breeze, but to avoid providing a reflective surface.
It was all an act. Nothing in his life was what it seemed to be. The innocent air he often affected was no more real than the no-mirrors ordinance the lord held.
He lapped again at his fingertip.
“You don’t have play sensual around me,” Laja snapped.
He looked at her. “I should hope not,” he replied with a rather disgusted look on his face.
“Underneath your make-up, boy, you really are just a cheap bitch.” She glared at him from the doorway.
“Yes, how very observant of you, Keisei-san,” he said, smirking slightly. He had just pulled rank on her, and she reacted appropriately. Laja turned on her heel and stalked out of his chambers.

That boy was always causing problems! He’d arrived at the harem so completely broken that it was a wonder he’d been alive at all. And, yet, he had not even acknowledged his pain, his bright eyes simply regarding everything with the same, somber expression. He seemed to always be calculating how a person would act. Perhaps, if one believed what some people said, he was not calculating, but foreseeing.
But, as far as she was concerned, the boy was not an oracle. He was just a lonely, angry child trapped in a place where he didn’t belong. She certainly didn’t know who his parents were, but she had the feeling that they wouldn’t have expected to see their son in a whorehouse.
No matter what anyone else called this place, that’s all it was. The fairest of the land were a commodity in Bibou City. Women, and, less often, men were purchased and brought to Bibou City to become the keikoku, or keisei, or joufu, or, more often, plain old shougi. No matter how much political power a keikoku wielded, he or she was still simply a beautiful face one could pay for to own.
At least the boy had no illusions regarding this fact. He was very influential in Bibou City, and very popular, as well. But he knew he was nothing more than a glorified whore. And, actually, he hated it. He was a very unhappy soul, as far as she could tell. Those with any sensitivity could feel it. Along with all his strength, he also radiated melancholy like the sun radiates light. Behind every seductive glance, she could see that he was screaming.
She nearly ran into Laja in the hallway. “So, what has he done this time, Keisei-sama?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow.
“Oh, shut up,” the head of the harem snapped. “The stupid bitch just smashed his damn mirror and bled all over one of his nicer dressing robes.”
She repressed a smile. “I’ll see if I can talk some sense into him,” she said to the space where Laja had been before she stalked off down the hallway.
She walked the rest of the way down the sunlit inner hallway of the koukyuu. The wood beneath her feet was a bright golden-tan colour, and the walls were a corresponding off-white, with scrolling gold designs etched atop the paint. The western wall was all glass and golden, varnished wood, letting in the warm light of the setting sun.
She pushed open the door to the boy’s room, only to find him sitting in a chair before his cosmetic table, staring at his bloody hand. She let out an exasperated sigh, and he looked up.
“Smashing mirrors?” she griped. “Really, now I have to go and fix that pretty hand of yours.”
He snorted. “Pretty hand, hmmm?” He glared at the offending appendage as though he would very much like to cut it off. Then his expression changed to a curious gaze. “Why do we consider hands so sensual, Stellar-sensei?”
“I don’t honestly know, Keikoku-sama. Because the ideal lover is able to bring someone to climax using only their hands, should they desire.”
He snorted again. “I wish I had ugly hands,” he said ruefully, although he looked bitter, and not rueful at all.
“Now, now, you know you don’t,” she clucked as she set about cleaning and bandaging his hand. “Now they’ll have to cancel your appointments until you heal.”
“I’ll heal it myself,” he murmured. “That way, I won’t have a scar and I won’t have to cancel.”
“Hai, Keikoku-sama.” She swiped a bluish cream across his washed skin.
He looked at her, one dark eyebrow cocked. “You look displeased with me, Stellar-sensei.”
“No, it’s not that, Keikoku-sama.”
“What’s the matter, then, if it not my hand. I should certainly hope something as stupid as my hand does not concern you, at least.”
He spoke with the practiced, measured elegance that all keikoku used. The boy had spoken sullenly and with many expletive when he’d first arrived at the koykyou. But once the Lord had been how stunningly beautiful the child was, beneath all the bruising and scabs, he’d given specific orders to coax the child into obedience and begin training. So coax they had, and they’d started his training by teaching the boy to speak properly.
“I certainly don’t care about your hand,” she said shortly, smoothing the last of the second, violet poultice into his hand. “Go ahead and heal it now.”
“I could have done that before you got here. Laja needn’t have called you.”
“Then you should have done it before I got here and sent me away when I arrived, shouldn’t you?” She replaced the jars of cream in her black bag, and turned to go.
“I didn’t because...” he began, trailing off and staring at the place where the mirror had been on the pale violet wall. “Because I wanted to talk to you.”
She turned around again and looked him straight in the eye. “What is it?”
“I think... I think I’m sick.”
She blinked, staring at him. “What?”
“I don’t know, but there is something stirring in me that should not be there. I think that... Duke Dermayle died recently.” He looked away.
“I see.” She set the bag down again on the cosmetic table. “Heal your hand, we need to talk.”
Calmly, he placed his good hand over the injured one, and took in a breath. As he exhaled, the space between his two hands glowed a red-gold colour. When he relaxed again, the tiny cuts were gone from his tanned skin and he was flawless once more.
She sat in the other chair, the one Laja usually took when she oversaw the boy’s more extensive cosmetic sessions. Stellar was in a position where she could look straight into his face. “What symptoms do you have?” she asked.
“Dizziness,” he said with the same amount of cool calm, “insomnia, headache, hot spells, often followed by shivers, occasional shortness of breath, bordering perhaps on hyperventilation.”
“Insomnia?” Everything else made sense, but she could not place sleeplessness with any sexually transmitted disease she knew of.
He looked away. “I have strange dreams. I often awake screaming, in a sweat, or some such, and am unable to fall back to sleep. I’ve been taking that tea for it recently, because I’ve not been getting enough rest.”
“I see.” She didn’t think nightmares had anything to do with any disease he might have contracted. But perhaps this was not any sickness at all, but that clairvoyant sense the boy supposedly had. He was only seventeen, and she had the nagging feeling that it was not his time to die.
“They... Often I dream of Kanure.”
She blinked. This boy, this beautiful, famous creature was dreaming of her dead daughter.
“I’m sorry, Stellar-sensei,” he said quietly. “I seem to have startled you... I dream that she is alive, and calling to me. Excuse me for saying so, but in my dreams, she is better than a doctor’s adopted daughter. I dream...” He laughed, rather bitterly. “I dream that she has taken the place of the Great Mother.”
Stellar simply stared at the youth in front of her. It was probably quite rude, but she was utterly shocked. Beyond her medical training, she was a bit of a mystic herself, but even she was not fool enough to think that these dreams the boy was having were prophetic at all.
“I dream of myself as a warrior, Stellar-sensei. I am strong.” He smiled as though remembering a mother’s touch. “I dream that I am no longer a whore, that people love me, and that I have a useful place in the order of the universe. I suppose it is usual for young men to dream of being great, though...”
Then the soft smile faded from his face. “Other times, I dream of my childhood before I made it to the koukyuu. There is always a great deal of blood in those dreams. Those, I think, are mostly the ones I wake screaming from.”
He was suddenly silent, having said more than he had probably intended to. She sighed deeply. So he was dreaming of Kanure. It made sense enough. They had been best friends while he was still in training, before she had been kidnapped.


They had been playing on the koukyuu’s garden roof. Everything was green and blooming with the spring.
Then low, authoritative voices had drifted up the four stories to their ears. They had run, hand in hand, to the edge of the roof, and gotten down on their stomachs to peer downward. At the gates of the koukyuu below them, four cloaked figured were conversing with the guards. Three of the strangers wore black cloaks, and the fourth wore a simmilar ne in white. Their entire bodies were completely covered with heavy cloaking cloth.
““We have come to claim the avatar of the Great Mother,” said the one in the white cloak.
“There is no avatar here,” said the sentry carefully.
“Do not deny us, man,” persisted a second, black-cloaked, man. “We come in the name of the God-King and Goddess-Queen.”
“There is no avatar here,” repeated the guard.
“You cannot resist the will of Tenrin-Ou Yakushia and Seiou-ba Aporos,” said the white-cloaked one stonily. “There is nothing you can do to stop us. We will carry the Mother out by force if we must.”
Kanure had then, for no reason, let out a piercing scream. Everyone below, the guards and the strangers both, had looked up at them on the roof of the asterix-shaped complex. He had pulled Kanure into a standing position, and had sought to run towards the door back down into the complex.
But, two steps later, he ran face-first into a white-cloaked body. When he had managed to stumble back, he saw that the four strangers had simply appeared on the rooftop. He heard the guards below sounding an alarm. It would only be a few minutes before someone reached the roof. If he could stall them...
The man in the white cloak, who was standing a step or two in front of the others, raised his arm. The boy felt afraid that the strange man was about to strike Kanure, but, instead, he simply knocked back to hood of his cloak and knelt reverently, his head bowed.
“Mother,” he said, great respect in his voice. The black-cloaked men also dropped to their knees and repeated the one, obeisant word.
The boy could not take his eyes off of the white-clad man, who was obviously the leader. He was beautiful, stunning... The man had white-blonde hair and the blackest eyes anyone could ever have. His skin was as pale as chalk. He was tall, and thin as a rake, but there was a definite, overpowering strength flooding from his very core. The boy felt sure that if this man wished to, he could tear someone’s soul straight from their body and rip it to shreds.
They rose as one smooth body and two of the black-cloaked men took one of Kanure’s arms each.
“Stop!” cried the boy.
The strangers all looked at him and froze.
“Mille Feuille,” hissed the white-cloaked one. How had he known...?
“You can’t take her!” he cried, fighting tears.
“You will understand, one day in the future, that we must,” said the blonde leader. He stepped forward, his hand outstretched. The boy flinched back, having learned not to trust anyone’s touch. But the man did not hurt him. He simply brushed his fingers over the boys’ eyelids, and Mille fell to the ground, asleep.

When he woke, he’d been in his bed inside the koukyuu. Kanure was gone, along with the strangers. He never told anyone what the white-haired man had said, or how they had bowed to Kanure. He simply said that they had taken her and run off. It was easy enough to believe. The different levels of the complex were not one-on-top-of-each-other. One floor went in one direction of the asterix. The first two floors formed the cross of the asterix, and the second two floors formed the X part of the star burst shape. It would not have been terribly hard for a professional assassin or kidnapper to drop the distance from one story to the next.


“I’ll give you this for now,” she said finally, handing him a pouch of herbs. “Mix them with your sleeping tea each night. It should do something for the dizziness, and the headache. Keep an eye on your symptoms, and alert me if there are any changes.”
She stood, closed her bag, and turned to go again.
“And do try not to smash any more mirrors.”
As she went out the door, she heard him whisper, “Thank you.”

As Stellar sat down a her desk, she could not help but keep thinking of Mille Feuille, the highest grossing keikoku the koukyuu had ever had.
One of the townspeople had brought him the the koukyuu, seeing that he was beautiful, and hoping for some monetary compensation for what might only be a beautiful corpse in a few days’ time. But the peasant had gone away with a rather surprising sum, because Laja had been summoned.
They’d thought he was a girl at first, perhaps that was why Laja was willing to pay that tradesman so much money. He was painfully thin, and small. Beneath the bruises, dirt, and scabs on his face, it was already quite evident that he was very beautiful. His hair was long, and although very ratty and dirty, it had a beautiful, vibrant purple colour. Even in his half-conscious state, his eyes burned brightly and vigilantly.
They had undressed him, to clean him, and assess the extent of the damage, and the likelihood of death. The man who brought him had claimed he found the child collapsed on the path to his home, which was on the outskirts of the city. He said he suspected that the child had run away form somewhere, coming through the forest that surrounded Bibou City. The man’s family had done nothing to clean up the boy, because they couldn’t even afford to waste the soap it would have required to cleanse him sufficiently.
After recovering from the initial shock regarding his gender, Stellar and her small medical team had gotten to work assessing the damage. His body was practically one, massive bruise, and he had a broken leg, as well as several fractured ribs. He had scabs and rope burn about his wrists and ankles, suggesting that he had been bound. His tiny chest was streaked with thin, vertical wounds, probably from a knife. His back bore the marks of what had obviously been a whip. The backs of his legs had tiny, round marks on them, and the soles of his feet were torn and blistered, no doubt from running through the forest without shoes. His hands were shredded, too, his nails worn away as though he’d tried to claw his way out of something, a finger or two broken.
Worst of all, though, was certainly the internal damage the boy had interred. The child’s rectal walls were nothing but scar tissue and fresh wounds. Some of the wounds had probably been older and had reopened and started to bleed when he’d escaped from where ever he had been. Others seemed so recent that Stellar had wondered how much this small boy had suffered. It made her sick to think that someone could do such things to a five-year-old boy.
The clothing they’d torn from the boy’s body had been pathetic, gauzy shreds. The shirt and pants had been of some black, gauzy material, like the fabric slaves wore. Much like his body, the cloth had been caked with dried, flaking blood and had a thick layer of mud weighing it down as well.
They had treated all of his wounds with their best, most efficient medical devices. The next day, Laja had come in and demanded that they use magic to heal his wounds. They’d gone into the room where the boy lay sleeping, only to find that he was already half-healed. Only the damage on the inside walls of his body had remained unchanged. The bruises were turning the yellowish colour bruises tend to turn before they heal, the scabs were diminished, even the lines on his chest had changed from lines of scabbing into angry streaks of red scar tissue.
Stellar had used her magic to heal the boy the rest of the way. Scars and wounds dissolved into creamy, tan skin stretched tightly over his bony form. She could not succeed in eradicating the internal scar tissue, however, only in healing the yet-unhealed tears. It seemed that he would be stuck with those forever...
She sighed. Stellar also remembered the first conversation she’d ever had with the boy who would become Mille Feuille. She’d been the one to wait with him until he awoke, and when he did, he’d launched a shocking train of expletives at her.
“If you’d like to stay here, and stay alive, I’d suggest that you speak more kindly to the higher-ups,” she’d said, smiling bemusedly.
“Go to hell,” he’d said in a gravelly, tiny voice.
She’d shook her head and handed him a glass of water, which he eyed suspiciously before downing in one breath. He coughed a little and clutched the glass with a punishing grip. “I’ve had worse, don’t worry.”
“What do you want?” He was eying Stellar even more cautiously than he had looked at the glass of water, and more dangerously, as well.
Now that was self-preservation. The boy was only five years old, and he’d already learned the importance of ascertaining people’s motives.
She sighed heavily. “I just want to ask you a few questions.”
He had looked up at her, some of the venom in his expression replaced with dim hope. “You won’t take me back?”
“I can’t very well take you back if I don’t know where you came from,” she pointed out, a slight smile tugging at her lips.
“So ask,” he prompted.
“What’s your name?”
He’d looked at her carefully before shrugging. “Wa-Su always called me Inu.”
“Inu?” She blinked. He’d... Whoever Wa-Su was, this man had called him a dog. Wait a moment... “Wa-Su?”
The boy nodded. “He’d a Lord.”
That did it. She had known, then, why she recognized the name Wa-Su. “The Lord of the Bandits.” The boy nodded. So this boy had been some sort of slave to the fearsome Lord of the Bandits. No wonder he’d been such a mess when he’d arrived at the koukyuu. The Lord of the Bandits was notorious for his cruelty. Stellar paused for a moment to organize her thoughts.
“Where did you come from?”
“If you don’t know where I came from, you can’t take me back,” he said smugly. All right, he had her there. “Somewhere outside the forest, in the mountains. I don’t know.”
She believed him. Sighing, she continued, “How old are you?”
He shrugged again. “I dunno.” He thought for a minute. “Four? Five?”
Stellar had simply shaken her head. “Do you know where you are?”
For the first time, the boy seemed to take in his surroundings with that calculating gaze. “No,” he finally admitted.
“You’re inside one of the most famous koukyuu in Bibou City. Does that mean anything to you?”
“No.”
“A koukyuu is a harem, where women, and a few men, who sell their bodies live. You’re here because someone found you and sold you to us. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” He was eying the window hungrily.
“Don’t even think about it,” she warned. “Your leg is broken.”
“I know,” he said simply. “It was broken when I ran away.”
She stared and exhaled tiredly. “Which brings me to another question. How did you get away. I’ve heard that no prisoner escapes Wa-Su alive.”
The boy looked back up at her defiantly. “I set him on fire.”
Again, she just sat still and stared. “You what?”
“I can’t be angry at Wa-Su, ‘cause he hurts me if I talk to him. So I save it all up. And then I used all my being angry to set everything on fire. Everything but Kaj and Mother, and me.”
“You have family, then?”
“Not anymore.”
“What?”
“Wa-Su killed Keahi when I was born.”
“What about Kaj, who is he?” She decided to ignore the fact that he had made a point of not setting fire to his dead mother.
“Keahi’s brother,” he said. It looked like this was painful to speak of, but she had to know. “Wa-Su killed him before I set everything on fire. It was pretty.”
“The fire?”
He nodded. “It looked like a big bird, and it swallowed up everything but Kaj’s body and Mother’s bones hanging on the tree. I strung up Kaj’s bone’s, just like Mother. Then I ran away. I hope Wa-Su is in hell.”
“I think a lot of people agree with you on that score,” she said quietly. Stellar had heaved another sigh. “You need a name,” she stated after a time.
“What name?” The boy seemed ready enough to accept some other title.
“Well, eventually, you will doubtless be Keisei-sama to most people, if you’re lucky, perhaps even Keikoku-sama. But, for now, I think... Mille Feuille.”
“Mille Feuille,” the boy repeated.
Stellar had heaved another sigh and watched the boy for a long moment. “Yes, I think so.”


“Good evening, kotei-sama,” said the keikoku, bowing reverently.
“Mille-san.” The middle-aged emperor smiled benevolently, and took the youth’s hand. He thrilled as he saw those golden eyes lift from their downcast position, a smile sparkling in his expression. “It has been a while, has it not, since we have seen each other after the midnight hour?”
“Certainly, your Excellency, it has,” the curly haired man replied.
The keikoku was dressed as lavishly as possible when one is hardly dressed at all. His pants were a sheer, gauzy material, of a dark, shimmering purple-red colour. The robe he wore was also of that silky, translucent fabric, this time in a shade of violet so pale that it looked, unless the light hit just so, to be white. He left this garment hanging open, although the smooth planes of his chest and stomach were barely less concealed than the clothed parts of him. The youth’s hair was left hanging down his back, a twisting, shining mass of silk. His jewelry was all of glimmering gold, soft and heavy. He wore a set of dropped earrings, a chain of little gold spheres that hung down past his chin. A delicate, thin neckplate curled over his throat, and linking, scrolling bangles hung about both his wrists. Like most of his peers, his make-up was subtle, but stunning. His eyes had been rimmed with black kohl, his eyelashes also blackened, his mouth softened with balm and then painted the gentlest lavender colour. It all complimented his delicately tanned skin, which had been brightened by a light dusting of red-bronze power on the tops of his strong cheekbones.
The emperor sighed. “It has been a while since anything good has happened in this place.”
Mille looked up, his face cautiously closed, reflecting none of the nonchalance his voice held. “I am pleased, Excellency, that you enjoy my presence, but what could make you say such a thing of our fine country?”
“Don’t tell me, Mille-san, that you are not aware of the situation that is building in Spooner.”
“I’m afraid that the koukyuu is as isolated as it is mirrorless.” He smiled disarmingly. This was not a lie. One could, if he had the proper connections, acquire anything or learn any news without ever leaving the confines of the harem complex. It was simply that this ability was kept a secret, like the mirrors that weren’t technically supposed to exist.
The emperor only half smiled at the joke. Not a good sign, Mille thought, as the emperor was a good-natured man. “The magic-users are gaining power, my dear. They are conspiring with those in power, even some other keikoku, to bring rise to a sorcerer revolution.”
“Surely the Emperor jests. This country’s magic-users are no more real Mages than I am a real politician. In the same way, they are about as fit to be politicians as I am to be a Mage. Certainly, I may dabble, exercising my will on occasion, but I am not the real thing.”
“These presumptuous men and women disagree with you, love. They believe they are capable of ruling Spooner. I agree with you, in that they should not gain control, but I am beginning to fear that they will rule never the less.”
Mille sighed playfully, brushing the emperor’s cheek with the tips of his fingers. “Kotei-sama, you worry too much. And unless I am mistaken, I am not a politician at all, but your lover. Let us make use of that fact, ne?”
The emperor heaved a deep breath and caught Mille’s wrist in his hand. “Yes, you are right, my beauty, as you most often are.” That night, the emperor, a gentle man, took the keikoku with a strange, almost violent urgency, and left in a hurry once it was done.

When the night had neared its end, Mille found himself alone and considering the emperor’s words. He certainly knew something was stirring, it was so obvious he could taste it in the air. He hadn’t previously thought something so grave as revolution could occur in such a short time. But if the emperor, who was nothing if not sure of himself, was worried, perhaps he should reconsider.
As usual, Mille had told the emperor the truth, but not the whole truth. He probably had a lot more influence than anyone had yet realized. He had the heartstrings of many an important leader in his hands, and could doubtless sway many more with simply the right sort of look in their direction. Likewise, he was also much more of a magician than anyone knew. Only Stellar knew about his fiery attack upon the Lord of the Bandits, and most assumed that his skin was flawless because he’d been born and raised inside the safety of the koukyuu.
He lived in the City of Beautiful Faces, but he found it more appropriate to call it the City of Two Faces. No one in Bibou City was what they seemed, cosmetically, or in the way of motives. Comments must always be carefully screened for hidden meanings, and one’s own personal opinions are hidden behind the sound of a pretty phrase. All the beauty was a lie. Upon close inspection, most of the keisei and keikoku in Bibou were dislikable, angry women who were simply fighting to survive. They were, as Laja had said to him, no better than the common shougi with their crude face paint and their catcalls for customers. It was merely a matter of physical appearances, affectations, and the ability to manipulate the truth.
He sighed, knowing there was nothing he could to to change anything, despite his considerable political sway. He shifted in the bed where his last client of the evening had left him chained. Mille flipped his wrists and the chains fell away easily. He closed them again and put them carefully into a wooden box inlaid with pearl designs. He rose from the large, canopied bed, bothering to pull on his filmy robe only out of habit.
After replacing the box in his chest of ‘tools’ and playthings, he sat down at his cosmetic table and turned over the small mirror that hung on the wall. He didn’t like the face he saw reflected there. He could no longer pretend to himself that he found himself beautiful, or even intriguing. He touched the cheek in the mirror. When you knows your own skin so well, he thought, I suppose it loses its mystery. A town you have lived in all your life is not exciting to you as it is to a traveler who had never visited before.
He looked down at his hands, which were folded on the smooth surface of the table. They were nice hands, flawless because he was capable of healing himself with the magic he’d possessed all his life. Had it not been for those healing spells and trance incantations, he would have died, or gone mad, before he ever reached the koukyuu.
His eyes wandered over the bottles and jars of skin treatments and cosmetics. Something in him wanted to throw a ceramic jar against the wall, just to get the satisfaction of hearing is shatter. But before he could even really consider acting on his impulse, something caught his eye.
One of those heavy-stock calling cards was wedged between two jars of a four-part skin care treatment. It was one of the advertisement cards that had his face printed on it. Wondering why he had saved one of his own calling cards, he picked it up to examine it, but dropped it the moment his fingers touched the paper.
Whispering a curse, he glared from the card to his hand, which had been burned at the contact. He blew on the burn, intending to heal it, but the tiny incantation wasn’t working. He glared harder at the paper until, suddenly, it burst into flames. There was not even ash left on the table when the card had burned away, and Mille knew that he had not set the thing on fire.
A short knock on the side door interrupted his thoughts. He rose and opened the door without inquiring as to the person’s identity. He knew it would only be a servant calling him for his bath.
Sure enough, a young girl stood behind the door way. She glanced at him, and cast her eyes on the floor humbly, a blush beginning on her round cheeks. The realization struck him that she had not lowered her eyes out of respect, because why was he deserving of reverence anyway, but out of modesty. He was, after all, wearing nothing but the thinnest, least opaque robe and a large amount of jewelry, and she was probably not even eight yet.
“Y-your bath is drawn, Keikoku-sama,” she said quietly.
“Thank you.” He broke off the smallest sphere of the earring on his right ear. Taking her wrist in his hand, he held open her palm and placed the bit of gold in her hand. He closed her fingers around it and planted a gentle kiss on her knuckles, smiling kindly. “I’m sorry to have startled you.”
Then he slipped past the shocked girl, towards the washroom, planning to wash away the residue of the night’s work.


“Have you heard?” someone said in a hushed tone. “The emperor of Verre Grand-Province has been murdered.”
Mille tuned out of the conversation he was part of to listen to the gossipers somewhere behind him.
“How terrible! Have they caught the killer?”
“No. It was arson, so it is, of course, fairly untraceable. They’re looking into it, however, but have no leads, as far as I know.”
“The emperor of Verre killed by fire. That makes a second one, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, indeed,” said a third voice. “The Mayor of Free City Chabo also dead by fire in the past few weeks. Mandarin was his name, or something, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, Mandarin sounds about right...”
“... As opposed to metaphysics, don’t you agree?”
Mille refocused on the science professor he was currently pretending to pay attention to. “Most certainly, Professor.” He wasn’t sure what they were talking about, but he had the vague idea that what the scientist had just said was incorrect. He knew about metaphysics, probably more than this lauded professor knew. One may learn many things when one’s days are completely unoccupied.
The scientist smiled broadly, baring his crooked teeth. “Tell me, Mille-san, how is it that you are blessed with both intelligence and beauty, while some of us must settle simply for one or the other?”
“The Professor exaggerates,” Mille said, batting his eyelashes. “I am no great thinker. I merely pick up what I can from listening to great men such as yourself.” Now, that was a lie! He tried not to snort thinking of all the science students who had no doubt been miserably misled due to this man’s stupidity. “But if you will forgive me, sir, I must excuse myself.”
“Certainly.” The aging man eyed him covetously. “Perhaps we may speak again, some time after the midnight hour.”
“Perhaps I shall be so lucky,” Mille returned, deliberately brushing a strand of hair from his neck with delicate fingers. He smiled disarmingly and swayed off, knowing he had probably left that dislikable teacher in a particular state of discomfort.
So the emperor of Verre Grand-Province was dead. Mille had seen him alive just a week ago. Alive and worried, in fact. Mille had no doubt that the emperor’s death was related to the very faction he had been concerned about...

Later that evening, not long before his first client was set to arrive, he summoned the small girl to whom he’d given the bit of his earring. He asked her to sit down beside him at his make-up table as he wrote a note for her to deliver.
“Are you training to become a keisei?” he asked, not looking up, as he wrote out his message.
“Yes, sir. Maybe even a keikoku, like you.”
He stopped writing, and studied her. She was still young, but she was showing indications that she would become a beautiful woman. Her pale blonde hair called to mind the man who had kidnapped Kanure. But her eyes were not that same, unsettling black, of course. The girl’s eyes were a stunning purple-blue in colour, that was also very familiar. She seemed like a bright girl. “You’ll turn into a very pretty woman, little sister. It could very well happen.” He shook his head. “But don’t wish for a position such as mine. They say that it is lonely at the top, but that’s not the half of it. No matter how many men, or women, love you, you are always alone as a keikoku. You can never love anyone back. You may never marry, never become concubine... The only person you shall ever has as a keikoku is yourself. Remember that, ne?”
She blinked, and then nodded, and he turned back to the note. Upon finishing it, he sprinkled salt on it to dry the ink and rolled it up, trying it with a long magenta ribbon. Then he searched through one of his jewelry boxes and produced two small gold coins.
“I want you to deliver this to the fortune teller on Oranguu Street. Do you know the one?” She nodded, of course. All the servants of Bibou City’s koukyuu knew of the fortune teller he spoke of. The man served many of the highest-ranking and most popular keikoku. “Good. Wait in the shop until he returns. Bring whatever he may give you in return straight to me. Wait until whoever is in my room leaves, then slip in, and give me his response. Can you do this for me, little sister? It’s very important.”
The girl nodded, and he smiled, handing her the rolled paper. She turned to go.
“You forgot these.” She came back and he dropped the two coins into her hand, smiling.
“Thank you.” She bowed hastily and jogged out of the room.

His first client arrived only moments after the girl left, and he opened the door. It was one of his few female clients, a woman in her mid-twenties who was much married to a rich overlord many years her senior.
He bowed deeply, and kissed her hand. “It is a pleasure to see you, Lady Anbar.”
She smiled. “As always.”
He stepped forward and kissed her ruthlessly on the lips. He slid his arms around her waist, and she rested a hand on his chest. Lady Anbar was a woman who liked to be dominated. He stopped, however, her the hand on his chest was no longer gently resting against chest, but pushing them apart.
“My Lady?” He raised an eyebrow.
“I must speak to you tonight, Mille. I haven’t time to make both love and conversation, not tonight.” She smiled ruefully.
“Come, let us sit, then,” he said, seating himself on the bed. She sat by him and took his hand in hers. He stroked her soft wrist, noticing with some satisfaction how her breath quickened. “What have you to say that is some important than love, my Lady?”
Anbar sighed, part pleasure, it seemed, and part frustration. “My husband... My husband is a murderer.”
Mille blinked in surprises before regaining his composure. “Surely, love, you exaggerate. Every good lord may have to kill a few of his serfs. It is only necessary to maintain control.” Sometimes he hated himself for the lies he told, but he was simply telling her what she needed to hear to keep from despairing.
“No, not serfs this time, my love. Something strange has happened to my husband. I may say here that I never loved him, but at least he was not a cruel man. He killed a servant yesterday for following the Church of the Mother. It was known that the man was a follower beforehand, and my husband never cared before. Most of our servants are followers, in fact, they like Her peaceful teachings. He said the poor man was undermining our beliefs, but we have never held any bias against the Church of the Mother!”
She was crying now, tears rolling down her pretty face. “Then, today, I overheard conversing with the assassin Ichi, you’ve heard of him, of course. They spoke regarding the deaths of both Mayor Mandarin and Emperor Maago. Mille, my love, I’m afraid that my husband has allied himself with the the Sorcerer faction!”
“Surely, Lady Anbar, there must be some more rational explanation...”
“I haven’t come here tonight simply to tell you of my situation, however,” she cut in, stopping him from saying anything else.
“Oh?”
“I came to warn you. You were lover to both men, were you not?”
“Indeed, I was.” He knew what was coming, had known ever since Mayor Mandarin had died a week and a half ago.
“Then what I have heard is most likely true, and they both loved you deeply, and perhaps even trusted you.”
“Perhaps.”
“Then it is likely that both of them confided to you secrets of the state, and spoke to you of their worries regarding this Sorcerer rebellion. If this is so, then I worry that my husband may soon find your name at the top of his black list. Don’t let it happen, please. For me?”
“Of course, Lady.” He kissed her gently, reassuringly. It was not a lie, for once. He wasn’t going to let some misguided, two-bit landlord kill him. He wasn’t that stupid.
Before the kiss could deepen, Lady Anbar pulled away, unshed tears still shining in her eyes. “Good night, Mille.”
“Fair rest, my lady love,” he replied. The woman rose before he could lay another kiss on her hand and left the room silently and quickly.

The girl did not arrive back from the fortune teller’s during the time in between his first customer’s departure and his second customer’s arrival. So he was stuck playing submissive for a rolly-polly banker.
Once again chained to his bed, pretending that it was hard to stay silent, he let his mind wander. He didn’t want to think about the grimy hands that were roaming over him. So, instead, he considered the young girl, which led him to thought of another girl, from years ago, with a similar shade of purple-blue eyes.
Kanure had been his only friend in the koukyuu. She’d been kidnapped when he was eight and she was ten, two years before be started service as a keisei. She’d always said that she didn’t want him to becoming a keisei, so, in a way, he was glad she had been kidnapped. At least this way, she didn’t have to see what he had become.
She had not really been Stellar’s daughters. In fact, she was the granddaughter of the lord who own the koukyuu. Her mother, who had only been sixteen when Kanure was born, was the man’s daughter. He’d been keeping her for marriage to the son of an important associate. When Stellar had pronounced the poor girl, who swore she was still a virgin, pregnant, the lord had been of a mind to kill both the girl and the child. The doctor had intervened, however, arranging for the girl to be moved to the servants quarter’s of the koukyuu. She would be sent away once she had given birth, and Stellar herself, who had no interest in men but had always desire a child, would take care of the baby, under the pretense that it were adopted.
“M-Master!”
A slap. “Silence, bitch!”
“Ohhhn... Please, Master!”
When Mille was seven, still in training, he had spoken back to his dance instructor. He was already the odd one out, due to the fact that he was the only boy in training at the time, and because he had a tendency to be rude, and the dance instructor, in particular, disliked him. The woman had informed him that he was a stupid, graceless dog. Mille had, understandably, been upset, and had informed her that he had learned twice as much as the other students in half the time. It had been a rather grievous mistake, because the woman was virulent on even her best days, and it was a rather well-known fact that said dance teacher had been slow to learn as a child.
So the woman had dragged him out of the lesson room, into the courtyard. She’d ripped off his shirt and used it to tie his arms around one of the stone pillars that supported the building. His face pressed against the cold, rough stone, he’d endured a harsh beating with her cane, which she usually used to beat out the time of the dances she was teaching.
Kanure had waited in the courtyard all day and through most of the night. Then, some time after midnight, when all the keisei and keikoku had returned from their outside engagements, she’d darted out and untied him. Mille had fallen into her arms, finally letting himself cry, now that no one was left to see him besides her.
She’d taken him to Stellar, who had treated the bruises and tears on his back, as well as the abrasions on his cheek from being pressed against the column. He’d cried the entire time, only half-ashamed because he knew these two women didn’t mind whether he cried. After the doctor had treated his wounds, she and Kanure had gently healed them magically, refusing to let him do it himself. He had fallen asleep in Kanure’s arms that night, tucked safely into Stellar’s bed.
“Oh, please!” He shook with affected need. Gods, he hated himself.
“No.”
Not very long before she was abducted, Kanure had gotten her first kiss, from a twelve-year-old boy who often delivered the cosmetics for the koukyuu. She’d seemed quite excited. Mille, however, couldn’t understand why.
He knew what kissing was, of course. Anyone who lived in a koukyuu would’ve had to be blind, deaf, and utterly stupid not to know that. He’d begun his instruction regarding how to make love, and such, and he’d seen other keisei and keikoku kissing their clients. He’d even been kissed himself, when he was very young, by Wa-Su, or other men in the group of bandits. He knew what kissing was, and so he knew that it was nothing to be excited over.
And yet, Kanure had been very excited. So, of course, being the curious type, he’d asked.
“Why is kissing a good thing?” The two of them had been sitting on the hardwood floor of the doctor’s office, playing a game of marbles.
Stellar, who was more or less indifferent to the entire matter of Kanure’s kiss, looked up from her paperwork. She looked slightly amused.
“Because it feels good, I guess,” Kanure had said without really looking up from the marbles.
“Is it supposed to feel good?”
The smile had faded from Stellar’s face. “Yes.” She had gotten up from her desk and walked around it, crouching near the small boy. “If it didn’t feel good, why do you think people would do it?” She stroked his hair.
He shrugged. “Because they got paid?” Stellar had almost laughed - almost. “I don’t know, it never felt good to me.”
Stellar had heaved a heavy sigh and, pushing one final tendril of hair away, gone back to her desk and her work.
“Master! May I come?!?”
“Yes.”
So, he screamed and forced himself to release.
The fat banker had collapsed on top of him, wheezing to catch his breath. It took all of Mille’s resolve not to shove the large man off of him. Even after seven years, he hated it when they lay on top of him like that, smothering him. Something in him was violently claustrophobic.
But, then, finally, after a few horrible moments, the banker rolled off him, and released Mille from his binds. He thanked Mille profusely as he dressed. The man then presented him with a worked gold slave collar as a gift, and Mille pretended to love it. He snapped it around his neck with adoring flair and bowed to the banker in thanks, suggesting another such after-midnight session to show his true appreciation...
He sighed after the banker had finally left, and scrubbed idly at the sore skin around his wrists. He was rubbing some cream on them when there came a knock at the door.
Hoping he had not been so long with the dominant banker, he threw on a brocade robe, put away the restraints, and tried composed himself before opening the door. It had certainly been a long night, so far, and it was nowhere near over.
When he opened the door, he let out a relieved sigh. It was only the young girl, back with a rolled letter and a small package.
“Come in,” he said, letting the girl enter. “You can sit down on the bed, if you’d like. It’s softer than that old chair, although it may not be in the best condition right now.” He glanced at the bed, and then steered the girl, who was halfway to the bed, back to the chair. “On second thought, you’d best sit in the chair.”
No doubt startled, the girl simply sat down, and then set the bundle and the letter on the table.
“You may want to turn your eyes,” Mille warned with a slight smile playing on his lips. “I need to change before my next patron comes.”
Once again, the girl cast her eyes towards the floor, and opened his closet doors. He pulled off the robe and slid a silk under robe on. “What’s your name, little sister?” He chose a corresponding kimono, and tired his obi in the front before sliding it around to the back. Couldn’t have himself looking like a common prostitute...
“Uan Suy,” she said quietly, her eyes still fixed on the planks of the floor.
“Good then, I’m Mille Feuille.”
“I know.”
He laughed. “It’s safe now, Uan. You can look up.” He sat down in front of his cosmetic table.
“What... What do you have on your neck?” the girl asked.
He raised his eyebrows, and his fingers went to his throat. Then he laughed again. “My last client gave it to me as a gift. Thank you for reminding me.” He took it off and set it rather carelessly in one of his jewelry boxes, making a mental note to wear in next time the banker came to see him.
“I saw him leave. How can you stand someone so big and ugly?” Uan crinkled her nose.
Mille shared her childish look of disgust for a moment. “Just barely,” he confided, turning over his mirror. “What gauges your greatness as a keikoku is how well you can lie. I happen to be a very good liar.” He carefully wiped away the half-melted make-up and set about putting a paler foundation all over his face, including his lips. Then he puckered his mouth at the mirror and spread a bright red over the most prominent portions. When he relaxed again, the old lines of his mouth had disappeared and his lips were a rose-bud shape.
“What did Ajo-san say?” He swept red paint in a particular shape over his eyelids.
“He said to let you read the note yourself. Ajo-san doesn’t seem very nice.”
Mille laughed again, as he pulled his hair into a tight pun on the top of his head. “Ajo-san is about as pleasant as a lover with garlic-breath, if you see my meaning.”
Uan looked disgusted. “That’s...”
“Disgusting, yes, it is. But when you first start out, you must be prepared for the worst. When you are still a no-name keisei, you have to work as much as possible to build your reputation, and all without working after midnight.”
“But how do you make money, then?”
He stood from the make-up table and went to make the bed. “You work before midnight, of course! You go to as many parties as you can for thirteen months, building your reputation, attracting potential lovers, all sorts of hard work.” He winked at her. “And then they auction off your virginity.”
Uan’s eyes widened in horror. “Do they really?”
“Mmmm-hmmm,” he said absently as he finally got around to opening the scroll Ajo had sent.
Then there was a knock at the door. Mille looked pained for a moment, and then nodded towards the door to the washrooms. He stepped over to her and whispered into her ear, “Be quiet, and wait. Don’t be scared. I’ll get you when he’s gone.” Uan obeyed, and darted out the side door.
Mille took a deep breath and opened the door, smiling adoringly. “Good evening, Magistrate. I’m sorry it took me so long to come to the door, but,” he looked ruefully at the chest across the room, baring his long neck as he turned his head, “I was trying to get my shamisen out of my strongbox, and was having terrible trouble with the lock.” He looked innocently at the Magistrate. “Do you think you could help me?” Lucky for Mille, the key was still in the lock from when he’d hastily hidden the handcuffs.
And so that was how it was, for the next hour or so, the ever-helpfull Magistrate made sweet, soft, obnoxiously slow love to the troubled keikoku.

When the Magistrate was finally gone, Mille made an exasperated face opened the side door. He took a few steps into the darkness, and tapped a half-asleep Uan on the shoulder. She looked up, startled.
“I heard groaning,” she said as they walked back into the lighted bedroom.
He sat down and began to strip of the thick red and white make-up he had been wearing. “People make very strange noises in bed.”
“Did he hurt you?” She resumed her place at the side of the table, watching him as he cleaned his face.
“No.” There was no true expression on his face as he dabbed some moisturizer on his face. “I don’t feel anything when I’m with clients.”
Uan looked horrified. “Will I?”
Mille shrugged, and stood to change his clothes again, his face still slack. “Probably. You may even be lucky and have a patron, or two, who actually takes your personal pleasure into consideration. You’re pretty enough that it might happen.”
“Does that happen to you?” Uan couldn’t help but look at Mille’s smooth back as he stripped and changed. Then she blushed and lowered her eyes again.
“I suppose so, on occasion.” His voice was very distant. “But it doesn’t matter. I don’t feel anything, no matter what.” He sensed her confusion and spoke again before she could ask. “I got hurt when I was very little. I can’t feel things like everyone else.”
The blonde girl looked at him, quite confused. Some day, when she was a high-grossing keisei, or perhaps a keikoku, she would understand. But not today, and he didn’t care to explain.
After a long silence, she shifted her gaze. Mille was seated back at the cosmetic table, wearing a loose, billowing blue shirt and tight black pants. His bare feet were tucked beneath him. Uan paused and watched his feet. He sits, she mused, like a child. The girl was drawn out of her reverie when Mille undid the fortune teller’s black ribbon and placed it carefully in one of the table’s drawers.
She watched his profile as he read, wondering what he had written to Ajo-san about, and what the mean old man had said in reply.

Feuille-san,
I believe that your dream may, as you speculated, have special significance.
As I am sure you know a group of overlords with magical powers, calling themselves the Sorcerers have begun a dangerous alliance. These men and woman assert that those with magical power, and aristocratic birth, should be ruling Spooner, and believe that the current rule is not capable of governance. They have begun a not-so-secret society: beware anyone with the inverted-triangle tattoo, they are surely not to be trusted.
All of this you surely know, because you have written to me regarding the matter.
But I wonder if you know this: The Church of the Mother has recently gone through a metamorphosis. The new Great Mother has been chosen, and she seems to be shaking things up, as it were. She has even changed the name. Now, they are calling it the Stellar Church. In any case, the new Goddess intends to stand against the “Sorcerers.” Of course, they must abide the ‘strike not first’ policy of the Church, some tenets can never truly be changed. But she is improving the elite “Haz Knights,” and she is quietly putting together a group of journeymen they are calling Sorcerer Hunters, in the interest of controlling the rebellion. Who knows what will come of it all.
In any case, I have had the pleasure of ‘meeting’ with this woman, in that I have seen her astral image. She quite resembles this Kanure girl from your dreams. I have checked your numbers, and the days, and it seems that you are, at least, partially correct.
Rebellion is stirring, and I am fairly sure that you will, eventually, play a rather important part in the Church’s defense. As to your thoughts of an attempt on your life, I feel that it is more than likely. Many of the women in your koukyuu are pro-Sorcerer, and there is a small party of magicians in your number, you being one of them. That you are a magician but not pro-Sorcerer makes you reasonably unpopular on this recent platform. By the looks of it, someone may either try to coerce you into participation, or launch an attack at you. Be wary.
So, this in mind, you can see that I would like to keep you alive and safe. I may be a grouchy old man, but I know a thing or two. In the packet your girl will bring to you, you shall find some gold shavings, taken from the steps of the Stellar Church. Have it melted down and made into some item you may keep close on your person at all times. Do not remove it, for that gold will keep you safe. Perhaps a ring, boy, or some such. The circle is an auspicious shape for this venture.
Take care.
By the grace of the Gods,
Ajo

Mille sighed. Things were getting complicated. So Ajo had confirmed his fear, as had what Lady Anbar had said after he sent Uan away with the letter. He’d half-hoped that Ajo would tell him he was misguided, even after Lady Anbar had said her piece.
He noticed that Uan was still watching him. He pushed the bundle in her direction. “I know it’s late, but I need one more favor of you before you go to sleep tonight, little sister.”
“Yes?”
“Take this package to the goldsmith and tell him to make me a pair of large, gold hoop earrings. Do not allow him to use any other gold in the mixture. This is of the utmost importance, and must be done quickly. If he has objections, tell him he may speak to me only after the job is done.”
Uan nodded and plucked the bun from the table, scurrying away.


He awoke the next morning to thunder. No, he thought, rubbing his eyes, that wasn’t right.
Someone was knocking at his door. He tumbled out of bed and pulled on a robe. His head was aching, due to how little sleep he’d gotten the night before. What sort of person had the nerve to knock on his door at such an ungodly hour? Keikoku were supposed to stay up late and sleep in, not be awoke by impertinent persons rapping continuously at his -
It was Uan. He had opened the door to find the girl there, a box under her arm. He just blinked.
The girl held out the box. “From the goldsmith.”
“That was fast,” he said groggily. He heaved a sigh, and accepted the box. He sat down at his table and removed the lid. Uan followed him in and closed the door behind herself. Inside the box were a pair of heavy gold hoop earrings, attached to posts. They were about three inches in diameter, and nestled into a swath of maroon silk.
“Very nice.” He put them on appreciatively, and wondered idly how he was going to sleep with them on. If they got caught on anything... But he couldn’t really worry about that right now. “Thank you, Uan.” He studied the small girl for a moment. “You look tired. Why don’t you take a nap.” He nodded towards the large bed.
The girl’s bright eyes widened in surprise, but she nodded, and walked over to the bed, yawning. Uan curled up on top of the sheets and was asleep before Mille had even finished the first part of his skin treatment.


“Niisan, I can’t sleep.”
He sighed and smiled wearily. “Have your big, hairy patrons frightened you again?”
“Yes.”
“Would a bed-time story do any good?”
“Yes.”
“Then come and lie down.” He patted the space next to him. “And I’ll tell you a bedtime story. Maybe you’ll still be able to get a few hours of sleep.”
“Hmmm,” she replied, hugging his waist and pressing her head against his chest.
“Right. Bed-time story. Let me think.” So he thought. “All right...
“Once upon a time, high in the mountains, there lived a band of ogres. The ogres had abducted a two royal children, a prince and his younger sister, when they were still very young. They both had tanned skin, and lovely purple hair, and they both had shining blue eyes. The ogres had found them beautiful, and they abducted the poor children so they would have something pretty to look at. Ogres always desire pretty things: gold, silver, jewels, silk, or, if it suits their fancy, children.
“So the royal children grew up with the ogres, knowing that the were different from the monsters, but unsure of how they could possibly escape. The brother and sister stayed near each other and protected each other, for they loved each other as much as two siblings can.
“One day, fifteen years after the ogre tribe had first acquired the royal children, they captured another non-ogre. He, too, was of royal blood, and he was a Mage. Unlike most magicians these days, he used his magic for good, and he was a good man. He was very handsome, with pale skin, pale hair, and golden eyes. He fell in love with the princess girl who was now part of the ogre tribe. She loved him back, and so they were married with the blessings of the ogres, who were not all completely horrible.
“But one of the ogres, the King of the Ogres, had had his eye on the beautiful human girl. He’d wanted her for his own bride, but she had refused him repeatedly, and now he would be forced to marry one of the ugly girls. The Ogre King, a vicious and cruel creature, seethed quietly, plotting the revenge.
“When the human girl gave birth to a child, the evil Ogre King finally killed her, with a horrible, fiery arrow. The human Mage, angry and grieving, cursed the ogre tribe to a slow, painful death by fire, but would not do it himself. He stripped the body of his wife until there was nothing left but her clean, white bones. He set a spell on the remains to bind them together, and hung them from a tree outside the ogre’s cave as a reminder of his curse against them before disappearing into thin air. They say that his golden eyes, in time, turned black from his rage.
“For five years, the Ogre King tortured the human child, and the prince was unable to do anything to protect his sister’s baby. One terrible day, the Ogre King gave in to a fit of rage, and killed the prince when he tried to stop the ogre from hurting the boychild any more.
“The boy, hardly even knowing what he was doing, summoned his father’s fire magic and burned each and every one of the ogres to death. He stripped his uncle’s bones, just like his father had stripped his mother’s bones. He hung them up with magic, on the same tree, next to his mother’s remains. Then he had run away, out of the mountains and through the forest. And if you went up on that desolate mountain today, you would find that tree in front of the ogre’s old cave. Two sets of clean, white bones are suspended there, bound together by magic. The bones still rattle in the wind, and the sound echoes through the deep cave, sounding, for all the world, like a song.”


It had been almost four years. It had almost four years since the Sorcerer revolution had begun, since he’d taken Uan under his wing, since he’d been burned by a piece of paper. Four years since he’d had his earrings made, four years since he’d begun to think that perhaps Kanure was not so dead.
He stared at his reflection in the mirror. Uan had been auctioned off six months ago. She was successful as a keisei, although she no longer had any desire to become a keikoku. He was glad.
He stood on the rooftop garden of the koukyuu, staring out, through the early morning mists. The sun was beginning to rise in the east, the sky pink and white-gold. In the distance, to the north, the grey, shrouded mountains stood sentinel. He called to mind the sound of bones clattering, echoing through a mountain cave like eerie music.
More and more often, he found himself standing atop the koukyuu, staring at the sunrises. Previously, he had always fallen asleep, heavily tired from his night’s work. But now, not matter how many patrons he entertained, he always awoke shortly after he fell asleep. His dreams were becoming more and more persistent. Kanure was speaking to him every night, her sweet voice mingling with the weirdly beautiful song of rattling bones and the humming of air elementals.
Mille could not help but wonder what was coming. The Sorcerers were gaining power. There was even talk in the koukyuu that his owner had changed sides in exchange for magical powers.
The Stellar Church, formerly the Church of the Mother, had been more or less silent for those four years. But his suspicion, which the late Ajo had originally fueled, that Kanure, his childhood friend, was the new Great Mother was certainly not still within him. In his dreams, Kanure spoke of something called for Four Peer Gods, the Shichuuten...
The dreams, as well as the feeling of overall disrest that he could feel roiling over the city, only seemed to point to something great. Slowly, anti-Sorcerer leaders were being weeded out, and those who were still alive were switching sides in exchange for promises of power.
Ajo, his fortune teller friend, had been killed right around the same time as Uan lost her virginity. He’d been found hanging from the ceiling of his apartment by a rope that no one could see. The police had dismissed it as suicide. But it was well known that the police force was under the sway of the Sorcerers. The problem was, few people cared anymore.
That was to say, few people in power cared anymore. The commoners were terrified, and so were many middle-class merchants. The keisei were divided on the subject. Some were already in the Sorcerers’ grasp, others were horrified. The joufu and shougi were, as a group, opposed. They were not in a position where they would benefit from the Sorcerers’ rise to power. Their clients were not, on the whole, influential men, but the middle- and lower-class citizens. They, like their clientele, would only be subject to oppression if the Sorcererous faction took control. The keikoku, however, were a completely different matter. Almost all of them supported the Sorcerers. They wouldn’t see, for all their proficiency in lies, how empty the Sorcerers’ promises were. Once they came to power - if they came to power - the keikoku would be reduced to common prostitutes, no matter what any member of the Sorcerers’ Council said.
The world was closing in around him. He had become less popular recently, due to his quiet opposition to Sorcerer rule. Most of the men who could afford him were pro-Sorcerer, and even his own master had probably tattooed his forehead. His calling cards were yellowed and bent, with other keikoku’s cards pinned atop his own. Actually, he didn’t mind it so much. Perhaps he would die before he had a chance to become a miserable, unwanted old man.
Stellar had stuck by him through everything. She was still anti-Sorcerer, even though she was a magician herself. She, like most of the middle class, agreed with the current non-violent, non-magical government. As she had often said, a non-magic-using government represented the general populous. Less than five percent -
He felt a tremor. His knees almost buckled, and he thrust his arms outward for balance. Then everything was extremely still. Too still. The general disease swirling above Bibou City had just increased at least three-fold.
Mille ran, carefully but at break-neck speed away from the roof, and down to gather Uan and Stellar. He would get them out if it was the last thing he did.
Uan was hardly coherent, startled into wakefulness by the shaking. He wrapped her in a blanket and carried her out of her quarters.
He met Stellar in the second-floor hallway, as she was making her way up to find them. The second tremor shook the structure as they turned around and ran in the direction Stellar had come from. He realized that the hurried glimpses he was taking of the complex might very well be his last. His earrings banged solidly against his jaw as he ran.
“What’s going on?” he shouted at Stellar over the din of feminine screams that was beginning.
“I don’t know, but it isn’t natural!” They clattered down the stairs, making their way to the first floor. The ran out of the koukyuu and into the main grounds. The tall, wrought-iron gate had been toppled in a third shake, and so they ran over it, into a safe, open town square. They found themselves surrounded by mercenary groups.
“So much for the ‘strike not first’ ideology,” one of them muttered.
“What’s going on?” He cast about for some scrap of understanding.
All eyes seemed to be on the three of them. “The Stellar Church has attacked the Yn-leac Koukyuu, that’s obvious enough.”
“No!” He stared at his home of sixteen years.
“That is not true.” The three of them turned to see a dark-cloaked figure standing in the midst of the soldiers. He looked directly at Mille, almost seeming to look through him. “Yn-leac attacked the Stellar Church with a force of five thousand men. This is a counter attack.”
Suddenly, a blast of what seemed to be purple lightning ripped through the sky, followed by the greatest quake so far, and the structure collapsed onto itself, billow dust and purple smoke. There were screams of agony, sounds of the dying.
Before he could even really react, there was a great, thunderous sound, and the sky above the ruined koukyuu seemed to rip apart, revealing only an indescribable nothingness behind it. From that blankness stepped one tiny figure. The figure descended regally through the sky, as though walking down stairs. As the form came closer to the earth, it was obvious that it was a woman, robed in a long, flowing purple dress, her wavy hair a shimmering nimbus around her.
She was only a few hundred feet up in the air, and not far from Mille and his two companions when she stopped. She looked to the ruined structure, and then directed her gaze at Mille himself. Once again, it felt like she was looking at his soul, and he gasped as he felt her, for it was without a doubt her, touch something in his mind.
Join me, Mille Feuille, she said to him without using any words. Join me in the fight for a free world. You and I have always wanted freedom, have we not?
Kanure?!? He couldn’t believe it. It was her! Just as she had appeared in his dreams. She was the Great Mother.
Yes and no, Mille Feuille. I shall explain after the battle.
He found himself rising through the air, walking up his own set of invisible stairs, towards her. He was strangely free of the burden of Uan’s slight weight, but a glance downwards told him that Stellar was holding her, gaping up at what had become of her adoptive daughter.
He reached her, and she stretched out her hand. He touched it reverently, and felt a brilliant electrical charge surge through him. He knew she felt he same sort of energy pulsing through her own fingers
Yn-leac, his lord for so many years, appeared, hovering over the ruins on his complex. “You shall not win,” he called out, his voice biting, but weak in the crisp, cool morning air.
“I do not seek to win,” she returned, her melodious voice carrying, it seemed, through the entire city. “I seek only maintain the balance you desire to throw off.”
“Your Mages are fools. You are no different from the Sorcerers’ Council.” Yn-leac looked as though he were buying himself time. Mille wondered how a man who looked so ordinary could pose a threat, but he could feel the stolen power pulsing through the lord’s veins.
So that was how they were doing it, he realized suddenly. Stolen power. He would have to discuss this with Kanure, but now did not seem the time.
I am going to work through you, she warned him in his mind. It will no be pleasant, but we can defeat him together.
Yes...
“We are different in that we do not use our magic to better our own positions, and to oppress others.” She sounded so sure of herself. “We do not siphon from the poor. We do not cater to the elite. We, unlike the Sorcerers, do not work against Fate.”
“Bold claims, Lady.”
If nay more was spoken, Mille did not hear it, as a white, aching pain spread through his body. He felt as though he were being drained of blood. He realized, watching the battle as though removed, that this was more or less true. Kanure was using his power, manipulating it for him. The bright red-gold light he saw filling the sky was his own magic.
At last, Yn-leac fell to the earth, his body breaking on the ruins of his whorehouse, and Mille’s first battle was over. He collapsed, but did not fall. Kanure maintained him suspended in the air, and then lifted him easily, as though he weighed nothing.
She walked back through the sky at a slow pace, leaving Bibou City far below them and beyond them. She stepped through the rift in the fabric of Being, and after they had disappeared, the sky sealed itself behind them without even so much as a scar.
So began Mille’s freedom, if it could be called that. So began the Mage Wars.



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