Silver Phoenix

8

Ai Ling walked at a brisk pace, already wondering where she would find a place to sleep. She had been frightened the first night she left home and walked through the darkness, but that was before she had encountered so much evil. It was as if the denizens of the underworld stalked her. Ai Ling shook that terrifying thought from her mind. But wasn’t it true? From the monster in the lake who had told her Father was dead, to the demon that had possessed Fei Ming. She recognized it now as the red-faced Spirit Eater from The Book of the Dead. Was it possible?

Goddess of Mercy, had it only been five days since she left home?

The sun descended, streaking the sky with ribbons of vermilion. There was no farmstead in sight. Lush terraced fields reflected the light. The fields had collected recent rains, and the crops grew from pools tinted rose, gold, and green. Ai Ling followed the muddied path beneath these terraces.

Her legs ached and her worn cloth shoes chafed her feet. What wouldn’t she sacrifice for a hot bath and meal. The comfort of the inn—for that spare room with the hard bed was a luxury in her tired mind now—and the extravagant meal at midday seemed a distant memory.

She needed to rest. A tree stump on the side of the road provided seating, and Ai Ling wondered how many other travelers had used it for this purpose. She unraveled one of the packets Master Tan’s chef had prepared, revealing strips of dried squid. She chewed on a piece along with a salted biscuit, then retrieved the last of her sugared walnuts.

They reminded her of Chen Yong. She kicked at a rock near her foot, annoyed at herself for thinking of him again. She kicked another rock in anger at him, for abandoning her so unceremoniously. Ai Ling winced and rubbed her foot, cursing her own foolishness.

She washed the rest of her dry meal down with cold tea from her flask before rising to continue on her journey.

The sun slipped lower, half hidden behind the hilltop, slowly draining the world of color. She was taking another swig of tea when she saw a shape farther down the path. A man. Not within earshot, but definitely a man. He stood unmoving in the middle of the road. There was something familiar about him, and her arms prickled as if a cold breeze had blown through her.

Ai Ling stood frozen, didn’t want to walk toward him. Even as she hesitated, the distance between them folded like a silk scarf, and she was face-to-face with him.

Chen Yong.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said.

The voice was hollow. Before she could react, he grabbed her by the wrist. He drew her spirit toward him, and Ai Ling plunged into an endless void, without life and warmth. It drew her in like a whirlpool. Her spirit fought to stay within her body. But this thing was strong. Too strong.

Ai Ling stared into its eyes, and they weren’t the amber eyes of Chen Yong. They were flat and opaque—swirling emptiness. The thing smiled as it continued to tug on her spirit, pulling her slowly now as if sucking through a reed dipped into a pond. She tried to wrench her wrist away but couldn’t even twitch one finger.

A sudden slash of silver arced behind the demon, and its head thudded on the dirt beside her. Vile green curdled from the stump where the head had rested. Chen Yong stood behind his own headless image. She managed a small shake of her head, and a soft wheeze escaped her lips. Was this another demonic imposter? Chen Yong raised his sword and slashed the demon’s hand with one stroke.

The fingers still held her in a death grip. Frantic, Ai Ling shook her arm, her entire body shaking. She sank to her knees, crouching over Chen Yong’s decapitated head. It spoke. “It’s futile to fight, Ai Ling.” The head began to laugh, even as rancid curd frothed from its lips. She choked on the scream lodged in her clenched throat.

Ai Ling hunched over, rocking in terror.

The sword sank and split the high brow in half. The head cracked open like a rotten melon. Ai Ling covered her mouth as the curdlike substance bubbled onto the ground. It stank of vomit. She jerked a hand over her nose, trying not to retch, trying to suppress her hysteria. The body toppled forward. She scrabbled back on her knees, still caught by its fingers, shuddering as she tried to wrench her captured wrist free.

Chen Yong kneeled beside her, steadied her arm and worked to unclasp the clawed hand. Ai Ling flung her spirit toward him in panic—it was the only way she could be sure. She felt the familiar tightness within her navel, the snap as she entered his being. She saw herself through his eyes, stricken and pale, felt her slick trembling hand in his own firm grip. Concern mingled with relief within him. His stoic expression concealed the gallop of his heart, the furor surging through his limbs. Thank the Goddess of Mercy, she’s safe.

She pulled back, the relief so overwhelming she wanted to throw her arms around him. Instead she struggled unsteadily to her feet.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

He seemed to ask that often.

Ai Ling willed her wobbling knees not to cave. She drew a ragged breath. “How . . .” She didn’t know what to ask.

“I left the city the next day. That night, I made camp in the open. When I finally slept, I was plagued with horrific dreams.” He still clasped her with a strong hand, and she regretted it when he let go. “I woke in the morning and knew something had been near. I could feel it moving away. I followed it.”

Chen Yong looked down at the decapitated head, split in the middle, each half’s mouth pulled in a grotesque grin. He considered it with horrified disgust. “Is that what I look like?”

Ai Ling wiped a sleeve over her face. “Why is this happening?”

“Let’s move away from here—this thing. Do you need help?” he asked.

She nodded, wanting his touch. He sheathed his sword and offered his arm. Ai Ling rested her fingers on the crook of his elbow, feeling self-conscious and grateful.

“Your necklace was glowing,” Chen Yong said.

She looked down at the jade pendant. It still held a wan light, so dim she thought she imagined it. “I think it protects me,” she said.

He studied the pendant, dull now, his face betraying nothing.

They walked at a slow but steady pace. Neither spoke for a long time. She waited for her fingers to stop trembling, for her heart to stop fluttering against her throat. Chen Yong, in turn, scanned the horizon, often stopping to listen to the drone of insects and the rustle of grass and leaves.

Ai Ling concentrated on the steady feel of Chen Yong’s arm beneath her hand. She forced her thoughts toward the mundane, pruning the plum tree in their courtyard, reciting poetry with her father. She suddenly remembered the bundle of letters she carried.

“I met with Master Tan again today. He wanted to apologize and—”

They turned at the same time toward the sound of galloping hooves approaching. It was near dark, and she could not clearly see the figure sitting astride the tall horse. Chen Yong stepped protectively in front of her, his sword raised. Her hand gripped the hilt of her dagger, her pulse racing. What now? She fought the panic that threatened to deluge her, the scent of it trickling from her pores, making her nostrils flare.

“Old brother!” A young man reined in the animal and smoothed its mane in an attempt to calm it.

“Li Rong?” Chen Yong asked, his dark brows drawn together, a hint of mistrust shadowing his face. His sword remained raised.

“Goddess of Mercy, did you pass the dead man on the road?” the young man asked. “Feng nearly threw me off in his fright.”

“It was no man. But it used my image,” Chen Yong said.

The young man dismounted in one fluid motion. He held the reins in one hand with the other arm thrown out wide. Chen Yong hesitated, but Li Rong stepped forward to clasp him in a hug, ignoring the raised sword.

“What happened?” Li Rong asked. The horse snorted, and Ai Ling approached to stroke its neck. It nickered, seemed to calm under her touch.

“The gates of the underworld have been flung open, it seems,” Chen Yong said. His voice was grim when he finished his tale.

“It’s the stuff of ghost tales and nightmares,” Li Rong said. He paused to pull something from his travel satchel. He lit a small gilded lantern as the stars began to glimmer in the sky.

“Is it truly you, little brother?”

“Could this world possibly endure two of me?” Li Rong grinned. Ai Ling guessed him to be her age—seventeen years. He stood slightly taller than she did and was attired in dark gray riding clothes, the long-sleeved tunic hugging his chest with billowing trouser legs below. The lantern illuminated his mischievous expression as he cocked his head at his brother.

“Won’t you introduce me to your beautiful travel companion?” Li Rong lifted the lantern and studied her with an open flirtation that made her ears burn. He was nothing like Chen Yong.

“This is Ai Ling. Ai Ling, my younger brother, Li Rong,” Chen Yong said.

“Ai Ling.” Li Rong swept his free arm with a flourish and bowed. His horse pranced. “If we were in distant kingdoms, I would kiss the back of your hand.” He drew a step closer. It was obvious he enjoyed making her blush. “Father tells me that is the custom in the foreign courts, old brother. You should try it. I bet it’d work, what with your exotic good looks and all.” He winked at Ai Ling as he nudged his brother in the ribs with one elbow.

Was he truly flirting with her after just passing a slain demon on the road?

“You fool.” Chen Yong thumped Li Rong in the shoulder with an open palm. “What’re you doing here? It’s a long way from home.” Chen Yong’s hand remained clasped on his brother’s shoulder.

“I’ve been trying to catch up to you ever since you left.” He led his horse to a sparse patch of grass on the side of the road and released the reins. “It’s fortunate you told me of Master Tan in Jiu Gong or else I’d never have found you. You travel too fast.”

“Mother let you out to chase after me?”

Li Rong dusted off his sleeve with one hand, obviously avoiding eye contact with Chen Yong. “Not exactly. I told her I was going into the capital for my imperial exams.”

“You lied to her?” Chen Yong thumped his brother on the shoulder again in reprimand. “She’ll have your hide when she finds out.”

“Don’t make me feel guilty now that I’ve finally found you! I was worried. I thought someone should be with you. And after your recent encounter, you definitely need my protection.”

Chen Yong opened his mouth as if to retort, but laughed instead. “You’ve always been too impulsive. Journey with us; you’ve come this far already. Then Mother can have my hide as well when we get home.”

“I take full responsibility, old brother.” He rocked back on his heels, his smile wide.

Li Rong offered Ai Ling his horse. He helped her to mount, then led the dark brown steed down the road. Chen Yong walked beside him. Ai Ling had never ridden a horse, but she was relieved to be off her feet and fell into the horse’s rhythm with ease.

“Have you discovered anything about your birth parents?” Li Rong asked.

“My father is a foreigner from Jiang Dao—”

“Jiang Dao! Where ice pellets fall from the sky and the people are as pale as mare’s milk?” Li Rong interjected. “Don’t they hunt spiked rats as big as piglets to eat?”

Ai Ling laughed despite herself.

“Don’t encourage him,” Chen Yong said, turning back to grin at her.

“And your mother?” Li Rong asked.

His brother allowed the question to hang in the warm summer air, long enough that Ai Ling wondered if Chen Yong had heard it.

“She was a concubine to the Emperor,” Chen Yong finally replied in a quiet voice.

“Wah! Who would have thought my older brother was born in the Palace?” He shook his head in wonder, his topknot swaying. Then the revelation hit him. “Your mother betrayed the Emperor? The heavens help her. Did she live?”

“I don’t know,” Chen Yong said. “The Palace is where Ai Ling is headed to find her father. And it’s where I’m headed now. It would seem our goals have merged after a chance meeting.”

Ai Ling’s fingers seized Feng’s thick mane. “I didn’t think you wanted anything to do with me after what happened.” She felt courageous for speaking this difficult thought aloud to him, garnering boldness from her tall vantage point astride the horse.

Chen Yong looked up at her, his features shrouded in shadow. He turned his head back toward the road before speaking. “I apologize for my actions, Ai Ling. What happened that night was terrible, and I shouldn’t have deserted you. I acted out of anger and disappointment.”

Li Rong tilted his head and studied her as a cat would.

“Thank you.” She was grateful for the darkness that hid her hot cheeks. Why was she perpetually blushing?

The moon hung low over the horizon. The sound of the horse’s steady hooves, an occasional bird call, and the rustling of leaves were all that accompanied their silence. Her shoulders tensed with each new stirring in the darkness. Chen Yong still clasped the hilt of his sword, while Li Rong strolled beside him in a jaunty, carefree manner.

Ai Ling finally broke the silence, speaking in a hushed tone, as if unwanted ears lingered close. “Master Tan mentioned a seer in the Ping Peaks. He said this Lao Pan may be able to help me . . . against the evil entities.”

“You mean to say you’ve seen more than that dead thing lying in the road?” Li Rong asked.

“More than anyone should,” Chen Yong said.

She simply nodded, not caring if they saw her. She did not want to speak of the events from the past few days.

“A seer’s insight couldn’t hurt,” Chen Yong said, stopping. Ai Ling retrieved Master Tan’s map from her knapsack and passed it to him.

He held it under the small travel lantern. “It’s marked on the map. Very prominently as well.” Chen Yong glanced up, the small flame highlighting his cheekbones and slicing shadows across his strong jaw line. “It appears only a few hours’ travel from here.” He leaned toward the parchment, put a finger on it. “Lao Pan’s cave is nestled near the bottom of the peaks.”

“Cave?” Li Rong said. “That’s worth the trip alone.”

They walked on until the moon rose directly overhead.

Ai Ling drifted toward sleep, listening to the two brothers catch up on family gossip in quiet tones. Chen Yong held the travel lantern in one hand, a tiny beacon in what felt like a vast world of dark shapes and fleeting shadows. Gradually the smooth lines of the terraced fields gave way to rugged hilltops, thrusting like gnarled fingers into the sky. They veered onto a path at the bottom of one such peak and started to climb slowly. The path soon narrowed, so they walked in single file, Chen Yong leading them while Li Rong guided Ai Ling on his horse.

Fully awake now as the ground below dropped sharply to her right, Ai Ling sat with her legs hugging the horse’s warm sides. After a long time of walking in silence, the path opened to a large landing. She dismounted to stretch her sore thighs, offering the horse an apple that Li Rong gave her. The horse chomped on it with enthusiasm and whinnied as she smoothed a palm over its strong neck.

“According to the map, the entrance of the cave is just around the bend,” Chen Yong said.

Ai Ling followed him while Li Rong led Feng behind her. She saw the two torches first, carved of a deep blue stone, reaching far above her head. They were on either side of the cave entrance, which was hewn in the shape of a tiger’s head, its mouth gaping wide in a snarl. Dark green stones glittered above them, representing the cat’s eyes. Fangs jutted from the ground and from above the entrance, formed from an unfamiliar milk white stone.

“This is the last thing I would’ve expected,” Li Rong said, his head tilted up.

“Strangers approach!” A reedy voice spoke from near the cave entrance. Both brothers reached for their weapons. Ai Ling rested her own hand on her dagger.

A spray of water shot forth from one of the lotus-leaf fountains that stood on either side of the cave. The torchlight revealed water swirling in a rainbow of color. Ai Ling walked with caution toward the fountain and peered in. Multicolored stones rested at the bottom of the shallow bowl.

“A girl with raven hair,” a voice said again. The sound came directly from the fountain.

“Stand back, Ai Ling,” Chen Yong said. Even as she did so, another plume of water erupted, landing at her feet.

“They all have raven hair, you slippery twit,” a voice warbled from the opposite fountain.

“Not so, not so,” the first fountain replied. Ai Ling leaned over again. Another spray splashed her cheek. She yelped from the cold shock of water, then wiped away the drops as her face began to burn. Her hand tingled painfully where she had wiped her cheek.

“You got wet, did you?” Li Rong chuckled.

She covered her cheek with one hand. “The water stings,” she said, unable to explain the pain beyond that.

Chen Yong gently pulled her hand aside to examine her face, while Li Rong held the gilded lantern close. “It bores a hole into the skin,” Chen Yong said, his voice quiet with shock.

“What?” Ai Ling asked. Tears streaked down her face. The pain was so intense she could barely think. She was too afraid to touch the wound and turned her face from the young men.

“I see you have met my water pets,” said a voice from within the cave.

A thin man approached with a torch in one hand. He wore his white hair in a single queue and a square gold cap on his head. He was attired in robes of the same color, a sash of bright crimson tied at the waist. Silk pouches in various colors hung from it.

“Come, Ai Ling. Let us apply the antidote to your cheek before you lose part of that pretty face . . . and more.” His commanding presence discouraged any questions as they followed him into the cave. She stumbled as her tears blinded her, biting her lip hard to keep from sobbing aloud. Chen Yong took her elbow and guided her.

The man pulled a jar from the cave wall as if he had conjured it. He pinched something between two long fingers, stepped up to Ai Ling, and rubbed the substance into her cheek. “Did the water touch you elsewhere?” he asked.

She showed him her hand, and he pinched more thin flakes from the clear jar and applied them to her burning fingers. “The pain should cease immediately. And you will heal as if you were never hurt.” He smiled at her, eye to eye. Even as he spoke, the searing agony faded. “I hope this teaches you to not look where you shouldn’t.”

“You knew my name.” The realization hit her long after he had said it, her mind was so crushed by the pain.

“Master Tan spoke of you when I was called to his manor. I performed purity rites throughout the home,” the seer said. Ai Ling’s thought flew to the new writings and characters plastered on the Tan manor’s main door. They must have been part of the purity rites, to ward off evil and cleanse the home.

“I am Lao Pan, an old friend to Master Tan. Please follow me.”

Lao Pan’s bright torch threw glimmers of light across the incandescent walls of the cave. After walking only a short distance, they were outside again.

It was a natural courtyard, oval in shape, nestled within the mountainside, with a small house tucked against the steep rock face at the back. A welcoming fire glowed in the middle of the wide-open space.

“We have no fresh grass, but there is hay for your horse.” Lao Pan pointed toward what looked like a small stable. Li Rong led Feng there, speaking softly all the while. The seer swept an arm toward stone benches under a giant starfruit tree, and the weary travelers seated themselves.

“It’s a breach within the mountainside. Nature shaped a perfect facade for my humble home,” Lao Pan said. A boy of about thirteen years emerged from the house with a tray of tea. “My grandson, Rui. Also my apprentice.”

“Did you carve the tiger head into the mountainside?” Chen Yong asked.

“Ancestors did. This place has been used by my family to pass on the art for many centuries.”

Ai Ling wondered what he meant by “the art,” but the seer spoke as if everyone should know, so she didn’t ask. “Were those enchanted fountains at the cave entrance?” she asked instead.

Lao Pan chuckled. “No, no. My water pets are fish caught from the Sea of Zhen.”

“Fish! That speak?” She touched her cheek. The skin felt smooth now, the pain completely gone.

“Indeed. They are mentioned in The Book of Lands Beyond. But scholars often read it as myth.” Lao Pan smiled as if amused by the foolishness of it. “The Zhen fish spit venom. The poison will eat flesh to the bone, then spread if not treated.”

A cool sweat broke over her brow. She could have died, slowly eaten away by venom until her entire body was nothing but agonizing pain and corrosion. As if reading her thoughts, the seer continued. “I keep the antidote at the cave entrance. It’s the scales of the fish themselves.”

“But I didn’t see any fish,” she said, her hand still pressed against her cheek.

“You wouldn’t. They conceal themselves to their environs. It’s why I laid colored stones at the bottom of the fountains,” Lao Pan said.

Chen Yong shook his head in amazement. “I didn’t know what to do when I saw that canker growing in Ai Ling’s cheek.”

She was glad she hadn’t seen it herself. The image would have been nearly as frightening as the pain.

“Have you not heard the tale behind these creatures?” Lao Pan asked.

“I’ve read some from The Book of Lands Beyond,” Chen Yong said.

“It’s not a tale Father ever shared,” she said.

Li Rong joined them on the stone bench. They could hear Feng’s contented snorts.

“It’s a love story, as so many of them are.” Lao Pan smiled. “Emperor Yeh, from many dynasties past, collected women for his pleasure as one would collect trinkets. He had more than one thousand concubines sequestered in his inner quarters, but it wasn’t enough.”

Rui returned with warm, wet cloths for the travelers. Ai Ling was relieved to wipe her face.

Lao Pan continued with the tale, his gaze intent on the fire. “One day an official near the borders visited. He brought his wife. She was sixteen years and of mixed blood—her mother from some frigid kingdom in the north, with hair so pale it was near white and eyes the color of warm seas.”

Ai Ling sneaked a glance toward Chen Yong. He was leaning forward, relaxed, captivated by the story.

“The Emperor executed this diplomat and took his wife. He went mad over the woman. Convinced that she would be taken from him, he exiled her to a small island in the Sea of Zhen. He asked the powerful sorcerers of his court to shroud the island in mist so no one could find her. And the fish of Zhen were created, to kill any person who approached. They were given voice so they could call out a warning to the Emperor as well as report to him when he visited.

“But the Emperor was so delirious for her he neglected his duties, instead spending all his time on this hidden island. When he finally returned to the Palace, he was poisoned by his closest adviser.”

“What happened to the beautiful woman?” Li Rong asked.

“She was forgotten. Left on the small island hidden in mist to die alone. A victim of her own beauty and the Emperor’s demented love for her,” Lao Pan said.

“Ah.” Li Rong sounded disappointed.

Ai Ling felt the same. This was no enchanted love story—it was too tragic and real. She felt immediate sympathy for the woman, kept prisoner because of the Emperor’s deranged love. Why were women always seen as things to be possessed by men in these tales, never worth more than their physical beauty?

The seer clasped his hands together and stood, his golden robes shimmering before the flames. “Rest assured you can sleep in this courtyard in comfort and safety. It nears the thieving hour. I think it best we all retire for the night and talk more tomorrow.”

Rui emerged from the house with three thin pallets. The tired travelers made their beds in a semicircle near the fire, like pack animals seeking warmth. The pallet was cozier than Ai Ling expected, and although she wanted to mull over everything that had happened that day, her exhausted body did not allow it. She fell asleep even before bidding a peaceful night to her companions.