Descendant of the Crane

by Joan He

  Doorways opened in the stone, leading to the crypts. The relic emperors had crammed them full of commoners suspected as rebels, left to defecate and die on top of one another. Hesina’s hand involuntarily rose to her heart. The emperors had committed unspeakable crimes. But her father—One—had too.

  At the arcade’s end, five guards posted themselves at the final gateway, while two ducked under a smaller archway with her, leading her to the cell.

  It was a protrusion of solid stone, curved like a kiln with thin, vertical slats carved at its base. When Hesina envisioned Mei carrying on in that lightless space, her throat closed. She set her puttering lantern to the ground and reached into her sleeve, drawing out the replacement candle. The guards at her sides didn’t move.

  As she transferred the dying flame to the candlewick, Hesina launched a volley of questions. What kind of stone was the cell made out of? How durable was it? Was there enough oxygen within? Was there anyway Mei could hurt herself?

  “I can’t have her dying before the execution,” she added sharply, detesting the words.

  The guards assured her the sooth had no chance of dying before the execution. There was enough air in the cell, her hands were bound, the walls were padded. The medicinal candle burned as they spoke, and Hesina took shallow breaths. With luck, Mei would know to do the same by seeing into the future.

  And the future arrived—quickly. The guards buckled, put to sleep by the candle fumes. Hesina lugged them to the wall as quietly as she could, trying not to alert the ones standing guard outside. By the time she managed to prop them in a sitting position, she’d gulped several mouthfuls of air and her own head spun.

  Hurriedly, she unfastened her cloak. She drew it over the guards’ helmeted heads and slid the lantern beneath the silken canopy, where the fumes might be somewhat contained. Then she knelt by the cell, pressing her lips to the slats. “Your parents are safe. So are many others.”

  Her anxiety swelled with the silence. Was Mei gagged? Hurt? Unconscious?

  There came some hmming, some shuffling, a quiet breath, and—Hesina’s heart jumped—words.

  “Thank you.” Muffled, quiet, but audible.

  Hearing Mei’s voice brought Hesina little comfort. In the morning, the swordswoman would be cut a thousand times, kept alive to the very last slice by a silt-coated knife that would clog the wounds and prevent them from flaming. Mei would die because of the Eleven’s Tenets, and because Hesina was a queen. She couldn’t bring down entire kingdoms for a single soul. She could do all she wanted in the dark, but in the light, she had to choose her people. She always had to choose her people.

  Still, desperation made Hesina forget herself. “I’ve put the guards out,” she whispered, tripping over her tongue in a rush to speak. “I can try to think of a way to distract the others. But I can’t open this cell. Can you…can you do anything like the girl who manipulated the sand?”

  “Hold out your hand.”

  Hesina did as Mei instructed. She bit back a gasp as her hand vanished. She could still feel it, but it had melted seamlessly into the cell’s shadow, which had simultaneously grown bigger. She wiggled her fingers, and they remerged.

  “All light dims,” said Mei. “So it’s as simple as moving light to a future state of darkness.”

  Simple to a sooth, perhaps. “That’s how you make your shadows.”

  “Yes, that’s how I make my shadows. But light and dark are no match for rock.”

  “It’s possible though? To change the stone?”

  “Yes. Some sooths were so powerful that they could See the future right up to the world’s end. They could turn anything into ash, stone included.” Mei paused. “But they don’t exist anymore.”

  The blood in Hesina’s wrists throbbed. “Because of the purge.”

  “Yes, but not in the way you think. Do you know why our blood flames?”

  Hesina shook her head before remembering Mei couldn’t see.

  But Mei had already Seen. “It’s because our power is a flame,” she answered without missing a beat. “But untamed power is like a flame that has overtaken its wick. It may illuminate; it can also destroy. Every sooth used to undergo years of training at the imperial academies, learning to tame the flame. The purge killed that institution. Now, the powerful ones can’t access their powers without literally burning up.”

  There were other limitations to what sooths could do. They couldn’t See their own futures, and the futures they did See came in brief flashes, one in a hundred possibilities. The most talented sooths could narrow a hundred down to ten, but the future was volatile whenever people were involved. Predicting the fate of a kingdom was a tall order.

  “It’s why the emperor’s sooths failed to foresee the overthrow,” explained Mei. “The Eleven were supposed to die, but in the darkest of moments, humans surprise.”

  Mei was trying to distract Hesina, and to Hesina’s chagrin, it worked. For once, knowledge did feel like truth. Everything she learned filled in another blank the books hadn’t.

  Were sooths able to detect other sooths?

  Not in any special way. There were small behavioral tells, but nothing was as reliable as blood.

  How many had both the Sight and magic?

  The Sight existed independently, but the Reel (“magic” was simply reeling in the line of time, moving future to present) required the Sight. One in every five used to be born as Reeler. Now, with the loss of so many strong bloodlines, it was closer to one in every twenty.

  A thought crept into Hesina’s mind. “Have any been able to See into the past?”

  “Theory on that remains sparse,” said Mei. “Kings never cared about the past. All they wanted was to know how to conquer the future.”

  Hesina could have listened to Mei talk forever. But they didn’t have forever. These were Mei’s last hours, and here she was, giving them to her.

  “Mei…” Hesina started, then stopped. She couldn’t apologize, or make empty promises, or comfort her, not when she was so scared herself. “Did you know?”

  That I would fail you?

  That my kingdom would fail you?

  All this time, Hesina had acted strong for Sanjing. She didn’t want to pretend anymore.

  “Did you?” she choked out when Mei didn’t answer.

  “Hesina, let it end here.”

  “Stop.”

  “I See a future without me.”

  “Stop.”

  “I See a future where the people are convinced I killed the king, and I was rightly put to death. I See this kingdom moving beyond this trial, healing, growing stronger. Let it end here. With me.”

  No. Hesina should have listened to Caiyan. She should have framed Xia Zhong when she’d had the chance. She should have done a thousand things differently. She should have had no regrets.

  “Will you be there at dawn?”

  Mei didn’t specify where. She didn’t need to for Hesina’s stomach to plunge. She’d read about sooth executions, how terrible they were to watch after the hundredth cut, how some sooths were force-fed concoctions, kept alive until the very end. Her voice wobbled when she said, “If you want me.”

  “I’d like a familiar face in the crowd.”

  “Then I’ll be there. I’ll be at the very front.”

  “Promise me you’ll keep your brother from going.”

  “I promise.” She’d have to lock Sanjing up, perhaps employ his own soldiers as guards. He’d hate her, but no more than he already did.

  “He’ll forgive you,” said Mei. “One day, you’ll forgive yourself too.”

  One day could be a century away.

  “Listen to me, Hesina. In the times ahead, you may not know whom to trust. So trust in yourself, and trust in your beliefs.”

  Hesina choked on a wet laugh. “I don’t know what I believe in anymore.”

  “The things you search for. The truth. You will find it,” insisted Mei when Hesina shook her head. “And when you do, you’ll have to make a decis
ion.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether—” Mei broke off. “Leave!”

  Not so loud, Hesina would have said, if the edge to Mei’s voice hadn’t startled her.

  “Leave! You have to go now!”

  “Why?”

  “Just go! Hurry,” Mei urged as Hesina pushed to her feet, her body heavy, as if in the throes of a dream. “Leave the lantern and run.”

  “Where?” Only the arcade of gateways waited beyond this cell.

  “Into the crypt—” Again Mei broke off. “It’s too late,” she whispered, almost to herself. The next thing Hesina knew, the two sleeping guards disappeared under a pall of shadow. “Come back. Come close,” Mei said as Hesina crouched again. “Make yourself smaller.”

  Hesina tucked into a ball. The cell’s shadow expanded, swallowing her knees. With Mei’s next breath, the rest of her disappeared as well.

  “Mei, what’s—”

  “Quiet. Stay still.”

  Why? What’s happening?

  Two thumps sounded in answer from the direction of the archway. Someone gurgled and choked, then fell silent. Moments later, feet whispered across the ground behind Hesina. Two pairs…maybe three.

  “What are you doing here?” demanded Mei. “With them?”

  “We’re getting you out.”

  Hesina nearly groaned. Sanjing. Of course. Who else would have had the audacity?

  “What did you do to the guards?” asked Mei.

  “It’s funny how so many people have love in their futures,” piped a new yet eerily familiar voice. “And how stupid it makes them when it’s Reeled into the present. All we had to do was ask for the way, and they led us right here. As for the unlucky ones…” Something swished through the air, and droplets rained onto Hesina’s back. “…Consider it merciful that we saved them from their loveless futures.”

  Hesina’s pulse spiked with urgency. Where had she heard this voice?

  “Sanjing, take these people away.”

  “Mei—”

  “Leave, or else I’ll never forgive you, not even after I die.”

  “But you won’t die. Don’t you see?” Her brother sounded so hopeful that it hurt. “You don’t have to die. I won’t let you.” The volume of his voice dipped as he turned to someone else. “Unlock her.”

  “Can’t,” replied the person, voice gruffer than the first stranger’s.

  “I saw you split that rock in the cavern.”

  Cavern?

  “Oh, no, no,” said the first voice, and Hesina smothered a gasp. She remembered. His face, pockmarked, scarred, and one-eyed.

  One-Eye.

  “What Tong means,” he said, voice creeping closer, “is that he can’t unlock the cell without a price.”

  “I’ve already paid it,” said Sanjing.

  “And I was hoping for a bonus. I thought we might find a queen down here, but sometimes you mis-See things.”

  Hesina’s heartbeat thundered, as if to announce her presence. She envisioned Sanjing tightening his jaw. “What do you want with my sister?”

  “Well, if there’s no queen, we’ll have to settle for second best.” A pause. “Huh. You’re a tragic one. Nothing but heartbreak ahead of you. Guess we’ll have to fight this fair and square.”

  Something struck the stone above Hesina’s head and rung metallic. A blade. A blade that’d missed her brother. A silent scream skinned her throat, and she uncurled before she could help herself.

  “Don’t.” Mei’s shadows rippled before Hesina could protest, and darkness engulfed the space.

  “Darling,” sang One-Eye. “You know I can see still him. How he’s going to feint. How he’s going to attack. And I think, if I’m not wrong, in the next moment—”

  A knife whistled through the air.

  “—how he’s going to die.”

  Hesina moved without thinking, scrabbling for the lantern pole. She stood, swinging.

  Bamboo, reed, and paper smashed with a crackling pop.

  The shadows shattered. One-Eye stumbled. Sanjing knocked out the other soothsayer and spun, covering his back. “Sina?”

  “I knew it!” crowed One-Eye in glee, with a dozen splinters in his face and a hand cupped over his nose. “I knew I could trust my Sight.”

  It took all of Hesina’s willpower to drop the broken lantern and spread her empty palms. “Here I am. Fight me, but don’t touch…”

  She trailed off as One-Eye uncovered his crushed nose. Blood ran, then dried, over his lips and chin.

  “You’ll—”

  Smoke curled into blue flame.

  —Burn.

  One-Eye winced as the fire crackled over his skin, but he didn’t put it out. “I know what you’re thinking, darling. This pain is nothing. You know what pains me more? Seeing my people grow content with their scraps, then lured by a queen into hoping. Do you know what happens when we hope?” He glanced at the cell. “We end up like her. She trusted your kind; she burned for it. A couple more like her, and we all burn.

  “So thank you for coming here today.” He withdrew a linen-wrapped package from his cloak. “And thank you for saving me the trouble. I was never good at striking the flint.”

  He tossed the package onto the lantern’s flickering remains. The smoke of burning linen immediately scratched at Hesina’s nose. A second smell reminded her of the annual spring festival.

  The tang of newly minted banliang coins.

  The warm musk of firecrackers.

  Metal and black powder.

  No.

  Hesina ran for Sanjing, but her legs were pushing through tar. She screamed his name, trying to reach him, grab him, but she was so, so far away.

  Then the distance vanished. Space and time snapped together, and she was flying, flying, flying, the dark bleached to white around her, its flesh sheared right off its bones.

  III

  TRUTH

  In the beginning, One gave up his name. He killed the king and surrendered himself to the legend he was fated to become. As the years stretched on before him, never ceasing, he assumed other names and other roles. But he always cradled the true one in his heart. Sometimes, he said it, just to himself. In the twilight hours when the rest of the world forgot, he remembered.

  He’d wake in the morning still as One. Bloodstained, revered One. He’d look at his kingdom from the terraces and see what it’d become.

  He didn’t tell anyone else—not even his daughter—because he knew they wouldn’t be able to accept. It was unnatural. Unreal. People feared what they couldn’t grasp. He didn’t want to be feared.

  But he should have thought of that before he burned the first sooth.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TYRANTS CUT OUT HEARTS. RULERS SACRIFICE THEIR OWN.

  ONE OF THE ELEVEN ON RULING

  IT’S NOT ABOUT WHAT YOU WANT. IT’S ABOUT WHAT THE PEOPLE NEED.

  TWO OF THE ELEVEN ON RULING

  “Milady.”

  “Na-Na.”

  “Sister.”

  “Sina.”

  “Hesina.”

  Their voices darted like minnows across the surface, their shadows barely filtering through the depths. Hesina reached for them as she plunged. Her life flashed through the spaces between her outstretched fingers.

  She drowned.

  “What happened to your knees, Little Bird?”

  She poked at the swollen flesh and winced. “Mother made me kneel all night.”

  “What for?”

  “I wore white chrysanthemums in my hair.” Lilian said it was in style. Hesina was never trusting her again.

  “What does white represent?” her father prompted gently.

  “Death.”

  “Yes. The absence of color is the absence of life. And if you witness enough death, it can take the color out of you too.”

  “Has Mother seen a lot of death?”

  “Yes. We both have.”

  “But you’re not unwell.”

  “We all handle loss di
fferently.”

  “Right,” she muttered. “Differently as in she’d be sadder if Sanjing died.”

  Her father hoisted her onto his knee with a grunt of effort. “No one’s going to die.”

  “But if I did, Mother wouldn’t cry. She doesn’t love me.”

  “She does.”

  “She doesn’t.”

  “I love you. Isn’t that enough?”

  “No,” she said, but inside, a small, less-stubborn part of her said yes.

  “Fever…burning up…”

  “…pulse erratic…”

  “Bring…the needles…”

  “Father,” she asked, putting on an imperial troupe mask, “do you believe people change?”

  He donned a blacksmith’s arm guards. “Of course they do, Little Bird.”

  She dug through his costume chest, looking for her favorite brocade cape. “Then do you believe the sooths have changed?”

  “I’m sure they have.”

  “Good. Because Scholar Niu says they did bad things three centuries ago, but he never listens when I say three centuries is an awfully long time.”

  “We…wait much longer…”

  “We can’t…decision without her…”

  “But the people…”

  “…More guards…”

  “At this rate…revenue…lives…destroyed!

  “…Wait until the queen wakes—”

  “If she wakes!”

  “She will wake,” said one voice above the others. Then softer, but steady with conviction. “Milady will wake.”

  “There’s something I must tell you, Little Bird.”

  She braced herself for another lecture on the growing tensions between Kendi’a and Yan.

  “I may not always be here for you.”

  She missed the father whose smile was given freely.

  “In my absence, there will be others who want the best for you.”