Chapter 20
Thus was Sheiji’s life. Over the next three months, Suyo taught him everything he knew about survival. Sheiji became nearly as adept as Suyo at climbing buildings, leaping from walls and running through crowds. He was competent at stealing, but he preferred to let Suyo do it, and Suyo had no problem with that. They traveled from city to city. When they grew tired of one, they moved to the next.
At first, Sheiji thought daily about Fa-Ying and Sui-Tsai and his kingdom and his flight. Sheiji managed to work his way in a more or less northerly direction each time they moved on. As time went on and as he became more accustomed to this new way of life, he began to dislike his weighty responsibility. He felt guilty that he had not arrived in Jiwu as he was supposed to. But he rationalized that he couldn’t possibly have done anything differently. He told himself that he would go to Jiwu and reclaim his throne, but he must first learn how to live like the street boys. The guilt was shoved down temporarily, only to resurface later, stronger and more terrible than before.
It was impossible to forget it completely, but Sheiji could now go a few days without thinking of his journey. He had found a wonderful friend in Suyo, who, though often strict and reserved, could be very kind and friendly when he wanted. As they lived together longer, Sheiji began to see more of Suyo’s friendly side. There were times, usually when their bellies were adequately filled, that Suyo would open up and speak as Sheiji had never heard him speak. But there was always something distant in Suyo’s manner, something inaccessible and mysterious.
One night, Sheiji and Suyo sat by a small fire in an abandoned house. They had just finished off a pot of rice and lamb stew, stolen from a careless vendor, and were lounging lazily while watching the dancing orange flames.
“Do you ever feel guilty, stealing so much, Suyo?” Sheiji asked.
Suyo didn’t answer. Sheiji repeated the question to him, but he continued to stare into the flames. At last he replied, “Yes, but how else are we to survive? I don’t have a trade and I can never hope to become an apprentice. I have no parents, no family at all that I know of, and no money. What would you have me do?” Suyo’s voice was soft, “Did you think I chose this life?”
“I didn’t know what to think. You said some street boys are running from their parents or just want adventure…”
“Yes. I said that. I suppose you couldn’t have known,” Suyo replied. “Since I told you how I am here, it would only be fair for you to tell me about yourself.”
“I suppose,” Sheiji said slowly, “that I am running away from things at home. My parents are dead and my brother is cruel and would be rid of me.”
“So you ran away,” Suyo said. He shook his head slowly. “Was it so bad at home?”
“He wanted to kill me.”
“Why would he do that?”
Sheiji paused, “My father had an inheritance. He left it to me, but my brother believed it was rightfully his. That is why.”
“Would you teach me to read and write, Kitu?” Suyo asked Sheiji.
“If you like,” Sheiji replied. “Tomorrow.”
Sheiji’s seventeenth birthday came and went, and still he made no progress towards Jiwu. He had nearly forgotten about his journey and no longer had any desire to be king. He was content to run the streets with Suyo: eating, sleeping and traveling whenever he pleased. They had been traveling quite a lot lately, not staying in one city for more than a week.
One afternoon, Sheiji and Suyo stood watching a parade of soldiers. Their white tunics all had a purple lotus embroidered on the left shoulder and they wore long, curving swords, easily accessible. It had been a while since Sheiji had seen such a group of soldiers as that. The last time he could remember was when Imatsuro was at war with a neighboring country.
“Where are they going do you think?” Suyo asked.
Sheiji had a gnawing suspicion, recalling the paper he had almost signed after Sui-Tsai had announced the arrangement of the betrothal between Sheiji and Mirala. Perhaps Sui-Tsai had at last declared war on Nakuchi.
The soldiers stopped and one stepped forward. He held a large scroll in his hands. It covered his face, so Sheiji could not get a look at it, but the man looked strangely familiar.
“Attention people of Imatsuro!” the man began to read. His voice, too, was familiar. “We have made a thorough search for our dear king, Sheiji-Yueng, who was kidnapped seven months ago. As he has not been found, and no ransom asked, we can only assume that he is dead. Thus, it is my rightful duty as oldest son of the late Vua, Kawa-Matsu, to take the throne in place of Sheiji-Yueng, and become the next king of Imatsuro. It is with deep sorrow and solemnity that I do this. May the blessings of the Royal Family be upon you. Signed, His Imperial Majesty Sui-Tsai’vua.”
The man lowered the scroll and Sheiji could see his face clearly. True, he had changed. He was older and sported a new black beard, but his expression remained the same. It was Inon.