When To Shoot The Messenger
Requiem of the Moth S02 E02
Previously on Requiem of the Moth…
After his appointment as Vessi, genius puppeteer Noe Yun received a warning that his cousin Vylira was plotting to poison him. Isvalri Usira, a reputed moth catcher sponsored by the Noe clan, seemed sincere in his offer to help undermine Vylira. When Yun accidentally poisoned himself on a hunting excursion, Usira saved him, cementing Yun's trust in him. At the Harvest Festival, Yun negotiated to gain allies but was wounded in an assassination attempt. Shocked at how far Vylira was willing to go, he pushed Usira away. Usira, however, refused to be treated like a servant and persisted until he met Yun again. With his help, Yun lured Vylira into a trap at the temple and blackmailed her until she signed over her position as clan treasurer. He allowed her to retreat into exile but still had her maidservant Yvara murdered as punishment.
After their victory and heated celebration, Usira was horrified at the reminder of Yun's ruthlessness. Meanwhile, Yun realized it was not Vylira who tried to have him assassinated. Isolated and in mortal danger once more, he must act faster than his unknown enemy. Usira, too, is faced with a new threat and determined to protect his family.
On to season 2…
Content warnings1
"More tea?" Yun motions to the twins. Zhiva brings candied apple slices, followed by Zhiven with two steaming cups.
Neither Lisith nor Cress drink though. The former, elder and higher-ranked, leads the argument. "With all due respect, honourable Vessi, the shares you promised are certain to fall next season. We are cutting it close for this season as it is. There's no telling how much of the melt water has already passed through. Why delay what is in the best interest of our clan? Do enlighten me."
Yun sighs. Lisith's greed is predictable.
Cress, on the other hand, will be one to watch. Three years younger than Yun, he has nevertheless charmed Zakiva with his sharp eye for mining and jewellery refining, procuring her beloved zircons. His rumoured connections to the Silvedhri promise access to precious metals, even gold. Whether he embellishes his stories is anyone's guess.
He only speaks up when Lisith pauses for air. "As for the northern mines, I had the contract drawn up. All it requires is your signature, honourable one."
"Send it to my office. I would not withhold what was promised in exchange for your support." After a thorough read-through.
To Lisith, he says: "You know I would never stand in the way of clan profits. However, I have seen shares rise and fall in a matter of nights, taking hasty investors down with them. Far be it from me to question your wisdom, uncle."
The fact that he has to spell it out, though... Lisith gulps some ginger tea to hide his distress.
"Now, I will need your continued..." There is a tap on his shoulder.
Frowning, Yun glances at Zhiven who has materialized at his side. His puppets never interrupt him, never act on their own. He builds and conditions them according to blueprints he has devised himself in years of painstaking work, trial and error. What has gotten into Zhiven?
"A message for you, master," Zhiven whispers.
"Go ahead."
"It is... delicate."
Yun narrows his eyes. Is this a suggestion from his own puppet to send away his guests for a message that may or may not be important? "Who sent it? How do you even know? You haven't left since this morning."
Zhiven is puzzled. "I do not know. Only that a message has arrived. May I retrieve it?"
Yun sees Lisith and Cress off, thanking them for their support. "As always, let us work together for the good of clan Noe."
He knows they will be back. For now, he drains his cup and extends a hand for the missive Zhiven has retrieved. It is a narrow slip, with one word written in the center: Listen. "Listen?" he mouths.
"Well met," Zhiven drones in a monotone Yun has never heard come out of his mouth before. "Congratulations on your promotion to treasurer of clan Noe. We trust you to honour the agreement we had with your predecessor Noe Vylira these past five years. To that end, we will collect the next payment in the usual manner in three days. We look forward to continuing our fruitful relationship. Do not look for us. Our representative will..."
"Who are you?" Yun interrupts. "Why did Vylira..."
"We are an organization beyond your reach. That is all you need to know for now."
"Will you at least tell me who am I talking to?"
Zhiven hesitates. "You can call me Ulan if you wish." Cloud.
"The agreement..."
"We will come to collect in three days."
Yun anticipates and dreads the next words but there is only silence. "Zhiven?"
The puppet bows. "Until then, we remain your faithful allies."
"Zhiven!"
The puppet blinks. "Yes, Master?" And is Zhiven again.
Yun glances at Zhiva, who is the picture of round-eyed shock, then back at Zhiven. "Do you remember the last few stalagmite drips?"
"I retrieved a message and handed it to you, Master."
"And then?"
A beat of silence. "And then you called my name."
Yun jumps up, strides to the door. "Wait here, both of you."
"Master, what..."
He ignores Zhiva. Halfway through the city, he realizes there is only one safe place for him now—only one place far from the public, where no Noe puppets can intrude.
He keeps his head down until he reaches the workshop. His latest work lies on the worktable like a corpse, fully assembled and awaiting its breathing. His fingers shake so much that kindling a fire takes several tries. Once the first flame licks up, he collapses on the stone floor.
Betrayed by his own puppets! If Vy saw him now, she would laugh—her absence is small consolation. Now that he has witnessed the impossible, all he can do is investigate who took control of Zhiven, how and why. With all his experience, he has never seen or heard of anything like it.
He forces down that tiny sliver of fascination, focuses on the danger. From now on until he gets some answers, Zhiva and Zhiven cannot be trusted.
No one can be trusted. Staring into the fire, Yun refuses to admit that this truth echoes more hollow now than it ever has.
He is alone.
Usira glances over his shoulder for the fifth time in so many drips. In the early afternoon, the bath house courtyard is all but deserted. A few elders huddle over a steaming pot in the corner, sharing soup and neighbourhood gossip, and he wonders how they managed to heat it up. A pair of young girls stand with drinks in hand, whispering to each other and finger-combing their opulent hair.
He watches them leave over his shoulder. When he turns back, new shadows fill his alcove.
Usira jumps, croaking. "Who..."
The taller shadow lifts a hand. "Quiet," a deep voice warns and Usira sags. They are only people after all, the people he has been expecting.
They perch next to him on the ledge, too close for comfort, and Usira realizes they're wearing black masks. He can only make out pointed ears and blunt snouts before they take the masks off and faces emerge as if from a deep lake. Pale but ordinary faces, white hair pinned high on their heads, dark short-sleeved tunics for ease of movement. In bath houses, neighbours gather and everyone knows each other but Usira has never seen these two before. They offer no names and he doesn't ask.
After Yvara's funeral, someone whispered to him in an alley, inviting him to this courtyard if he wanted answers. "Who are you?" he hisses.
Again, it is the taller one who responds. "Your behaviour has attracted our attention. You might be able to help us, as we might be able to help you in providing answers."
"Answers to what?"
"To everything that has been happening. You want to act but you know that every action you take might put your family in danger. Are we wrong?"
Usira grits his teeth. Here is the truth he has banished even from his thoughts: Yvara didn't have to die. He could've saved her, which means her blood is on his hands too.
"We hoped so. Anyway, we can't risk being overheard here. Count to fifty, then leave. We will find you outside."
Later, he has barely taken three steps out of the bath house when someone touches his shoulder. "Usira, is that you?"
It's the same deep voice, the same ordinary face, although the hair is in a loose ponytail now—fitting for this district of drip houses. "Melvi," he blurts the first name that comes to mind. "How have you been? We must catch up!"
"As it happens, I have one stalactite drip until my next client. Walk with me."
They call themselves Ithreyesh—Sunshot. Usira barks a hard laugh at the insolence. Then again, only the bold could do what they do: work for greater equality between nobility and common folk, between all classes. No commoner should be beholden to the whims of the noble and wealthy, no merchant or craftsperson should be beholden to monopolies laid down by clan or priesthood officials. Everyone should have a right to speak up, to have their voice heard.
Usira feels the corner of his mouth twitching and hates himself for it. "You expect all this to happen tomorrow?"
Melvi—as he has decided to call his companion—smiles thinly. "It might sound ludicrous but we have some of the finest minds alive thinking about these problems, working on solutions together. We are optimists but far from suicidal."
"The fact that I've never heard of you speaks for itself," Usira admits. As does the fact that you trust me with this knowledge. "You should recruit officials, high priests, even clan members if you can. What do you want with a mere moth catcher?"
Melvi's smile morphs into a smirk. "You underestimate yourself, Isvalri Usira. Word of your reputation has travelled far and wide. You are a cunning hunter but you also wield the rare gift of diplomacy. Is it not true that you serve as your family's liaison to clan Noe now?"
"A happy accident," Usira mutters to hide his unease. He hasn't seen Yun since that disastrous day at the temple. Since he learned what Yun did to punish Vylira. "Don't put too much stock in it."
"You sell yourself short! Someone like you, free to come and go in the clan quarter as well as drip houses, would be invaluable to us."
"And what would I get in return? Moral superiority doesn't protect from poisoned tea."
Melvi laughs, as if he'd joked about the dust in the air. "Call it moral superiority but you would help make this world better for everyone." He pauses. "Even if our efforts are in vain and we achieve nothing, this cause is still worth fighting for. Yvara was a good woman and far too young to sink into the depths. If we don't fight to protect ourselves from those clans, no one will. Don't you see?" he snaps. "We are the change! If we don't step up, who will?"
Usira sighs. Before that night in the Black Room, he thought Yun would protect him and his family if asked. Once Yun got what he wanted, he thought, he'd be free to listen, to understand and help. Now, Usira realizes he has been naïve. Yun will never look out for anyone but himself—it's how they are raised. Yvara was right after all. No more excuses.
It is time Usira looked out for himself and his own.
"It's too risky," he repeats, even though the words taste like sulphur on his tongue.
Author Notes
I drafted this chapter over two weeks ago. It was too bland an opening to season 2, I thought, just another afternoon of Yun sipping tea and talking politics. Then I wrote the interlude that became the true opening and posted it quickly, before I could talk myself out of it. Now this chapter reads like a good response to that one.
While dragging my feet, I kept writing on though. Now I can rework and shuffle scenes to a certain extent—an unusual luxury for the serial writer!
We will revisit the parasite soon enough. For now, Yun is struggling to juggle his new position as treasurer, his old position as Vessi, and the promises he made to relatives to get the former. Usira is haunted by guilt, thinking he could have stopped Yun from killing Yvara in the season 1 climax. Both receive messages from anonymous parties in a surprising manner… How will they react to these new revelations?
I hope this season will be more exciting than the first but I also have to resist my urge to make it more complicated. The line between deep and convoluted is thin indeed!
Loneliness