by Mary Fan
This man must be a powerful spellmaster … or employ one. Who is he?
“Viceroy Kang.” Su keeps his chin lowered as he speaks. “You honor us with your presence. We are deeply grateful for your assistance.”
He’s the viceroy? I inch closer. I’ve heard of the great Viceroy Kang, of course—everyone has. He governs Sijiang Province and won many victories for the Emperor in his youth. It’s said that he’d still be fighting to this day—defending our nation’s northern border—but for a battle wound that prevents him from wielding a sword anymore. So he sends his generals to fight in his stead but is still known as one of our nation’s greatest war heroes. But if that old injury hinders his movements, I can’t tell from the way he walks.
I never thought that such a high-ranking official would find his way to Dailan. I once hoped, along with everyone else, that he’d send his army to protect us, but as the years passed with no help I thought he’d forgotten about us—or decided we weren’t worth saving.
So what changed his mind?
The same thoughts must have occurred to Su, because he says, “Forgive me for my impertinence, Your Honor, but I must ask why you’ve come now. We’ve sent many messengers to Tongqiucheng pleading for help but were always told that you had no troops to spare.”
Viceroy Kang lets out a long sigh. “I deeply regret my past inability to protect your village. You must understand that I had to protect the cities first.”
“Of course.”
“But now, I’ve unlocked new secrets of science and magic that have allowed me to build this mechanical fleet.” Kang gestures at the bronze dragons, sweeping the wide cuff of his gleaming sleeve. “They are far more powerful and effective than human soldiers alone, which means we’ll be better equipped to fight the Ligui. Soon I hope to have a mechanical army large enough to protect the entire province.”
I narrow my eyes. It’s always bothered me that the viceroy knows the Ligui are real, but the Emperor, whom he advises, still believes them to be superstition. Either Kang isn’t a very effective advocate, or he’s purposely leaving something out when he sends his official reports to Zhongjing.
Su bows his head. “Forgive me once again, Your Honor, but would the Emperor allow so great a force to exist outside Zhongjing when the law states that no magic is to be greater than his own?”
I huff impatiently. Dailan is so isolated, the rest of the Empire sometimes feels like a faraway tale that has nothing to do with me. I certainly don’t care about its politics.
“How dare you question my plans?” Kang scowls at Su. “I know the law better than any village headman ever will.”
“I meant no offense.” Su clasps his hands. “So little news reaches us here. I was merely curious.”
“I will remind you, then, that the Emperor’s own army wields many powerful enchanted weapons and boasts many mighty vehicles.” The viceroy gives Su a disdainful look. “Any rumors claiming that my fleet has the potential to be greater are utter nonsense. I even shared my designs with the Emperor’s engineers, and though they’ve been unable to replicate my success so far, they should be able to with time. I have nothing but respect for the Emperor, and I won’t have you questioning my loyalty.”
“My deepest apologies, Your Honor. That was not my intention.” Su’s continued deference stirs my frustration. He should be demanding protection for us.
“Though my resources are limited, I am not ignorant to Dailan’s struggles,” Kang goes on. “I was passing over on my way back from a diplomatic trip when I saw the Ligui attacking your village, and I had to intervene.”
Though he sounds earnest, churning discomfort remains in my gut. A powerful man like Kang doesn’t grant favors without desiring something in return. What could Dailan possibly offer him?
“I have a matter of official business to discuss.” Kang gestures up the cruiser’s gangplank. “Please, join me on board my ship.”
“Of course, Viceroy.” Su’s gaze pans over the gathered villagers, who stare at the first visitors we’ve had in years. “Everyone, go back about your business!”
The villagers scatter. Su waits for Kang to return to his litter then follows the automatons into the dragon-shaped vessel. Too curious to leave, I watch them board. The automatons retract the gangplank. The whoosh of steam and the clang of machinery pour from the ship as the gangplank telescopes into a narrow slot in the cruiser’s hull.
“Anlei!”
Hearing Pinghua’s voice, I turn. A red gash cuts across her cheek, and the left leg of her trousers is torn and bloodstained. From the way she limps, I know she’s injured, and I briefly wonder what happened to her before the bull-shaped Ligui flashes through my head.
She was fighting it, and I … I abandoned her to chase the Shadow Warrior.
What was I thinking, leaving in the middle of a fight? All I remember is that one moment, I was facing the bull, and the next, I was chasing the Shadow Warrior.
Pinghua glares at me. “Why did you run?”
“I’m so sorry. I … I saw the Shadow Warrior—the one that killed my father.”
“That’s no excuse. If you can’t be part of a team, then maybe you don’t belong with the Guard.”
My jaw drops. “I’m the best fighter here!”
“You’re arrogant and selfish. It doesn’t matter how well you can handle a sword if you lack discipline.”
Shame winds through my chest. I look away. Headman Su told me the same thing during my training, and Father used to lecture me for my impulsiveness and conceit as well. I don’t mean to think only of myself … I just have trouble connecting with the rest of the world and sometimes forget it’s there, especially when powerful urges drive me to action and drown out my thoughts.
“I’ll do better,” I murmur, more to myself than to Pinghua.
“Good.” She gestures for me to follow her. “We should return to our posts.”
I glance doubtfully at her wounded leg. “Are you sure you can—”
“I’m fine.”
Though there seems to be little point in going back to the watchtower with Viceroy Kang and his fleet here, I walk with Pinghua.
When I reach my post, I gaze down at Kang’s enormous cruiser. Somewhere inside, the viceroy and the village headman are discussing matters that could change all our fates. I yearn to hear what they’re saying.
The mechanical dragons land on the water and float placidly beside the flagship, their bodies forming arches above the ripples. Watching their smooth, undulating movements, I almost forget for a moment that they’re machines like my pistol.
If the River Dragon returned now, would he welcome them as his brothers, or would he see the artificial creatures as a threat?
CHAPTER THREE
WARRIORESS
“Qi lai!”
My little sister’s high-pitched voice pierces my ears, telling me to get up. Sleepiness sits in my head like a bag of rocks, and my muscles feel as if someone replaced them with clay.
“Qi lai!” Insistent hands seize my shoulders and shake me. “Jiejie, we have to prepare our act!”
“No, we don’t. The next festival isn’t for months.” Without opening my eyes, I shove Anshui back. Though she and I once showed off our acrobatic skills regularly, since the Ligui started attacking we do it only for special occasions. I miss our days of journeying, when we’d accompany our parents on their errands for Dailan and perform for neighboring villages to earn extra money. Even though we never went far, it was still something. Now, it’s too dangerous for anyone but a few select messengers to leave Dailan. If Mother weren’t so passionate that my sister and I keep performing to preserve her family’s traditions, we’d probably have given it up years ago.
“Jiejie!” Anshui’s voice takes on a whiny tinge.
Weary as I am, I’d rather get up than return to the dreamscape, where the Shadow Warrior taunts me within an inch of my sanity. I can still see his menacing white gaze glowing against an otherwise faceless darkness. The
crescent on his neck burns in my memory, and I can almost hear him say, “You had me right in front of you. But you failed, and because of that, I will slaughter many more fathers while yours lies deep underground.”
I blink against the sunlight streaming through the window in our small wood-paneled room. My sister’s face peers into mine. Two bright black eyes tilt gently toward a delicate nose, which bisects a watermelon-seed face. Like me, she takes after Mother, with her pointed chin, cherry mouth, and mildly arched brows. I wouldn’t be surprised if, when she grows the last inch between our heights, people start asking if we’re twins.
“Kuai qi lai!” Anshui shakes my shoulders again. “We have to rehearse, and there’s not much time!”
“What are you talking about?” I reluctantly sit up. The sun was already rising when I finished my guard shift, and judging by its present angle, not much time has passed since.
Anshui grins. “We’re throwing a festival in honor of Viceroy Kang, and Headman Su requested that we perform! Can you believe it? We’re performing for an official!”
I smile back, but I’m not nearly as excited. While I’m grateful that Kang’s forces spared our village further tragedy, I still wonder about his intentions.
Anshui grabs my hands and tries to pull me up. “The show is this afternoon, and it’s been forever since we practiced our routine. What if I can’t do it anymore?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I remember my part, and you’re much smarter than me.”
She looks away. “No, I’m not. I don’t know why you always say that.”
I cock an eyebrow. “You can read through miles of characters without pausing and understand every meaning of every sentence. But to me, characters don’t look like words—they’re just meaningless lines unless I concentrate hard and absorb each stroke one by one. Anything that requires reading hits a wall in my head.”
“But you’re a warrior. Like Father.” Admiration shines in Anshui’s eyes. “Intelligence is about more than reading.”
“I suppose that’s true.” I’m an expert at recalling the intricate movements of a martial artist and can recite epic tales word-for-word. But though she’s only thirteen, Anshui already possesses enough skill in science and magic to craft gadgets like the ones Grandfather used to make. Before disease took him a few years ago, Grandfather was the village’s greatest spellmaster; “I only wish I could understand Grandfather’s notes like you do. Maybe someday you can explain them to me.”
Anshui shakes her head. “Magic can’t be learned through oral teaching alone. You have to know how to treat strings of characters like mathematical equations.”
Just thinking about that makes my head hurt. “I hate that I’ll never fully understand the magic that powers my weapons.”
“You could if you wanted to.”
“But it would be extremely difficult. You make it look so easy.”
Anshui shrugs. “We’re all gifted in our own ways. Don’t forget, Father once failed to master his father’s craft before finding his calling as a soldier in the Emperor’s army. Grandfather and I may have been blessed with intellect, but you and Father were blessed with ferocity.”
I smile. “It seems you were blessed with wisdom too, meimei.”
Anshui blushes. “Xie xie.”
As I pick myself up off the bamboo mat I glimpse a pair of spectacles with copper frames sitting on the ground surrounded by tools and stray gears. Apparently my sister turned our bedroom into a workshop this morning. Unlike ordinary spectacles, the ones she’s been tinkering with have multiple lenses layered on top of one other. Each is perfectly circular, and bronze gears adorn the sides. I point at them. “Are you still tinkering with those? It’s been weeks!”
Anshui twists her mouth. “The magic still doesn’t flow through the gears as well as it should.”
“Are you ever going to tell me what they’re for?”
She grins. “It’s a surprise!”
“Well, they don’t belong on the floor.” I give a teasing smile.
“If you don’t put your things away, the Yueshen will steal them.”
I expect my sister to be annoyed by the common village saying, but instead her face takes on a wistful expression.
“I wouldn’t mind if they did. It would mean they were back.”
Her eyes flick over to the corner, where lines of red ribbons sit on a small wooden table. They’re an offering she’s left out since the Yueshen vanished. It’s said that if you leave out trinkets or food for the Yueshen, they’ll grant you favors. They can carry small objects across great distances in an instant, and so you might ask them to bring you medicine when your mother is ill. Or since they can move invisibly, you might ask them to whisper to the boy or girl you like that you’re the one to pursue.
Anshui was too young to request anything like that before they disappeared, but she told me that a Yueshen girl visited her when she was seven, and I know better than to doubt her.
She smooths out one of the ribbons with a sigh. “I don’t even want any favors. I just want to see my friend again. I just …”
She doesn’t finish, but I know what she wants to say.
She just wants life to be normal again. She was only eight when the Ligui came, but that was old enough to remember how fun it was to see new places with Father, old enough to be aware of how carefree life seemed, knowing that no matter where we went, Father would keep us safe.
“So do I.” I wrap my arm around her and give her a squeeze.
Mother appears under the wooden doorframe holding an unfinished baby garment. It’s probably for our pregnant neighbor, who’s been too fatigued to do housework and whose fisherman husband agreed to give us a share of his daily catch in exchange for Mother’s help. She lifts her thin black brows at me. “I thought you’d be dressed by now. I want to review your routines before the performance, and we only have a few hours before then.”
I grimace. While I enjoy performing, Mother, who was an acrobat herself when she was young, is a relentless perfectionist. Ordinarily I don’t mind her strict instruction or the grueling rehearsals, but I hate the idea of putting in so much effort for the pleasure of that pompous viceroy, especially since I’m still weary from last night’s battle. “Why does it matter? We aren’t true professionals.”
“As long as my family’s blood flows in your veins, you will honor these traditions to the best of your ability.” She approaches, and the streaks of gray in her tightly wound black hair catch the sunlight.
Anshui bows her head with respect. “Yes, Mother. We will always honor our family’s art.”
“If your family is so important to you, why did you leave them?” I’ve asked Mother this question many times, but she has yet to give me a satisfying answer.
Anshui rolls her eyes. “Because she and Father wanted to settle down in his hometown. How many times must Mother explain this?”
I cross my arms. “I know what happened. But it still doesn’t make sense to me that two people who’d traveled the entire country—Mother with the troupe and Father with the Emperor’s army—would choose to settle down in a middle-of-nowhere river village.”
Anshui scowls. “Dailan is our home! It may be small and mundane compared to the great cities, but it’s ours.”
“Of course, that’s why I defend it with my life every night. But … what have we missed? If Mother and Father hadn’t settled down, our family would still be journeying—maybe even as far as the West.” Imagine those strange nations where men cut their hair short and women bind their waists. Anshui’s lips quirk.
“Yes, it would have been exciting. I’ve dreamed of it too … performing in exotic cities full of tall stone buildings with colored-glass windows. But we would never have known Dailan—we would have been born on the road.”
“We wouldn’t have missed much.”
Her scowl returns. “Jiejie!”
“We’d have seen so much more! And … we’d have been miles away before the Ligui attacked … Fat
her would still be with us.”
Anshui’s expression falls, and tears fill her eyes.
Mother, who’s been watching us with a patient look, places a hand on Anshui’s shoulder. She kisses her forehead, then mine. “I miss him too. But it will do no good to dwell on what might have been. I never inherited my parents’ wanderlust and disliked the dangers of the road. When your father told me of Dailan, I asked him to bring me here because I wanted to raise our children in a quiet, peaceful place.”
“Your plan failed, then,” I grumble. “Look at us now.”
“That’s enough.” Mother’s jaw tightens. “Get dressed. We have work to do.”
She strides out of the room, covering her face as she walks out of view. Anshui wipes her eyes and leans down to clean up her tools.
I glance in the direction Mother left in, then turn back to Anshui. A sense of misery weighs on both of them, and I know I caused it. I never meant to hurt them—I only spoke what was true to me. But I should have considered how my words would affect them.
I lean down beside Anshui. “I’m sorry.”
She sweeps the stray gears into a little cloth bag but doesn’t look at me. “It’s Mother you should apologize to. You made it sound like it’s her fault that Father’s gone.”
“That’s not what I meant!”
“But it’s what your words implied.”
I press my fist to my lips. So often the meaning of my words comes out all wrong, but this is the worst thing I’ve ever said, even though I didn’t mean to say it.
I rush to find Mother. She sits in the small but well-lit main room of our house, her expert fingers working at the baby garment. I walk up to her, twisting my hands nervously behind my back. “I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it.”
“I know.” Mother looks up. “You must watch your words, Anlei. And you must consider the perspective of others.”
“Yes, Mother.” But understanding the unspoken meanings behind words, like reading, is something I can only accomplish with great focus and effort. I wonder if I’ll ever learn how to do what comes so naturally to everyone else.