Shadow on the Sun by David Macinnis Gill Page A

The mistress’s nose is red and puffy. A dot of dried blood marks the spot where Yadokai’s needle hit its target.
    I wonder what the master looks like, she thinks.
    â€œWorse than me,” Shoei says, as if she can read Vienne’s mind. “Your expression always gives your thoughts away.” With a bow, the old woman leaves and gently pats Vienne’s head on her way out.
    As Vienne sips the miso, a dog bounds up the stairs, barking.
    â€œYes, I know you are here,” Vienne says. “I could smell you a kilometer away.”
    It circles her, drops a toy—
    â€œNo, I don’t want to play.”
    â€”then bounds away.
    â€œYou are too old to behave like a puppy!”
    The dog bounds back in, followed by Ghannouj, the rotund abbot of the monastery.
    â€œTruer words were never spoken.” Ghannouj is dressed in plain white robes. “Yet I find it impossible to keep my puppy self contained within my too-old self.”
    â€œMaster,” Vienne says, “I was speaking of the dog.”
    â€œAnd I,” he says, “I was speaking for the dog.”
    â€œWould you care to share my breakfast?”
    They both sit in the lotus position on the deck that overlooks the teahouse pond. A cup of tea is between them. He removes a wooden box from the bell-shaped sleeves of his robe and places it in front of Vienne.
    She lifts the box and slides it open.
    A queen bee is resting inside.
    â€œAgain?” she asks. “I thought we were finished with this exercise.” When he doesn’t answer, she sighs and braces herself.
    â€œYou have visited the acolytes this morning?” he says. “They are well, I trust.”
    â€œAs well as could be expected.” Vienne drops the bee into her open palm. The queen crawls up her forearm to her neck. “For children who have lost their homes and families to this war.”
    Ghannouj sips from the cup. “The tea is bitter this morning.”
    She hears a buzzing sound, and a cloud of bees approaches. The drones land on Vienne. They gather around her neck, forming a beard. More bees cover her chest and arms. She tries to relax but can’t. She exhales loudly, huffing bees away from her nostrils.
    With chopsticks, Ghannouj removes the queen and drops it back into the box. A few seconds later, the bees begin to desert Vienne.
    â€œYou are troubled,” he says.
    Vienne plucks a wriggling bee from her mouth and sets it free. “Finding the staff was my last act of penance, but I still feel . . . burdened.”
    â€œPerhaps,” he says, “we have placed too much value on an old piece of wood.”
    â€œIt’s not the staff; it’s me.” She shakes her head. “No, I doubt that I am worthy of being anything but a prisoner. Ghannouj, I did so many unspeakable things.”
    â€œSo have we all,” he says. “None of us are without sin. Along with returning the staff from Christchurch, you have brought us Ema, who carries such hope.” He pats her hand. “This is not the place for saints and angels, Vienne. If it were, I would not be here. You speak of wanting to do penance, but you cannot unmake what has been made. All you can do is learn from your mistakes and choose not to repeat them.”
    â€œIt’s not.” She looks at the pond, where the ripples are spreading across the water. “That easy.”
    â€œNo choice worth making is easy.”
    She looks to the caverns in the high, misted walls that surround the monastery. “Is there still no sign of him?”
    â€œNone that I can detect,” Ghannouj says.
    â€œBut it’s been almost six months. He’s not invisible, so there would be some sign of him that you could read. Unless he is—”
    â€œDead?”
    She blinks away the tears. “Is he?”
    Ghannouj smiles. “As I have said, I have no way of knowing that. He was relatively healthy when I sent him