A delicate flush kissed her slanted cheekbones.
“I am seeking the key to the Underworld.”
He felt irrationally disappointed. He had been half hoping that this potent, beautiful woman had been looking for him.
“You can’t have it,” he said gruffly. “I won’t let anyone use it.”
“But I must go to the Underworld!” she insisted, taking a step closer to him, her hand hovering inches from his arm. “I need a black peony. My father’s life depends on it. Please, you were brought here by the Great Warrior, weren’t you? To protect the key? How can I prove myself to you?”
Bai looked at her in disbelief. The Great Warrior? Surely that was him. Perhaps he had lived in isolation too long if people no longer recognized him. He felt strangely reluctant to enlighten her though and settled for, “Tell me what you know of Kun – the key.”
She nodded earnestly. “After the monsters that plagued Earth were all locked in the Underworld, the gate was locked, and its key was given to the greatest warrior of all. He was slowly dying of his wounds from battle, but he carried the key to the White Mountain. He gave his life to cast a powerful protection over it.”
Bai knew she spoke the truth as she knew it. Cautiously, he examined her again, looking past the raw power into which he had sank, but he could read nothing. “How old are you?”
“I – I will be five thousand in the summer.”
“Five thousand?” Bai repeated. “You’re a baby!” When Bai was five thousand years old, he had not even thought of himself as a man, but as a stone. He had wandered Earth, abandoned by Aka, trying to understand who he was. He didn’t even meet Cheng until he was six thousand...
“You don’t seem all that old yourself,” she frowned, “even though your hair is white.” Her eyes flashed, and Bai was unnerved by how much he liked that. “Stop delaying – does this garden hold the key or not?”
“The key is here.”
She smiled, and Bai heard his own heartbeat. Her hand stopped hovering and wrapped around his arm. “Please, tell me how to prove myself.”
Bai’s eyes were drawn to that elegant hand, warm and soft against his skin, and he thought of several replies that had little to do with worthiness. Before he could find any words, he felt another twinge – a second intruder had entered his garden.
This one was a man, possibly young as well, but with the early signs of dissipation in his face.
“Jin?” he called, his eyes scanning the garden frantically. “Jin, can you hear me?”
“Of course I can hear you – I’m standing right here,” she snapped in irritation.
To Bai’s surprise, her will to be seen undid his effective invisibility, which she had extended to herself when she touched him.
The man gaped then quickly drew his long sword. “Release her,” he demanded.
“I’m not holding her,” Bai pointed out dryly.
The goddess – Jin – dropped her hand from Bai’s arm, and he immediately placed his own where it had been, as if he could catch the feel of her fingers before it faded.
“Xiao, don’t be obnoxious!” Jin scolded impatiently. “The key is here. He is its guardian.”
Xiao lowered his sword but didn’t sheath it. He moved quickly, interposing himself between Jin and Bai, and Bai allowed him to do so.
Warily, after his last experience, Bai looked for Xiao’s essence and his gut clenched. It seemed Zi and Hei had forgotten his warning; this man was their child. He reminded Bai of a rabid wolf, no less dangerous for the rot at his core.
A man as tangled as this one shouldn’t have been able to enter Bai’s garden. How had he found the clarity of purpose to do so? “And you are?” Bai asked, just to see what Xiao would say.
“Who are you?” Xiao countered.
“You can call me Trang. I live here.”
Xiao frowned over his reply, but Jin nudged him in the ribs. He looked at her. As his expression softened, Bai understood. Xiao’s love for Jin, pure and strong, had clarified his essence. It seemed Bai was not the only one she had manipulated, albeit unconsciously.
“I am the God of Pleasure.”
“Pleasure?” echoed Bai in disbelief, and Xiao stiffened.
“Yes,” he returned, and Bai realized he had offended Xiao. So, like Jin, was he unaware of the depth of his power? Oblivious to his own essential self?
“Search for the key, then,” he told them, “if you find it before I return, perhaps I’ll let you leave with it.”
“Return?” asked Jin, her brow knitting.
Bai smiled at her expression before catching himself. “Yes, there’s someone I want to talk to.” He commanded his garden to hold them and teleported to New Moon Manor.
“WHAT just happened?” Xiao demanded after the stranger disappeared.
“I think he set a teleportation ban so we can’t leave before his return.”
Xiao began running back the way they’d come, only to find himself turned in the same manner as when he’d first tried to approach the spring. Trang had banned more than teleporting.
When he reached Jin, he started to look for another route of escape, but Jin caught his arm.
“Xiao, we’re not ready to leave yet anyway – we should be looking for the key. He said he might let us have it if we find it.”
“How can you be so naive, Jin?” Sometimes Xiao found it hard to believe that Jin had travelled with Neela for three thousand years. Neela was always suspicious and hung out with many strange characters – so why did Jin always assume the best of people? “He might never return. The key might not be here. Perhaps he’s fetching reinforcements.”
Jin placed a slim-fingered hand on either side of Xiao’s face, forcing him to meet her eyes. She smiled gently. “Xiao, the key is here. You think I’m naive because I trust people, but actually, truly malicious beings are the exception not the rule. And Trang is the most beautiful being I have ever met. We can trust him.”
“What?” Xiao scoffed. “You’re judging him on his looks?” Sure, even I wanted to stroke those abs, and I thought I’d seen everything! But my face is better than his! Maybe I should try going around without a shirt.
“I’m judging him on his soul,” corrected Jin. “He is honorable, with a strong sense of duty to the greater good.”
“The greater good, huh? That sounds fine and dandy, but what if we aren’t a part of it?”
Jin dropped her hands. “How can you say that? We’re trying to save my father’s life.”
“Which is in danger because one of your siblings is trying to kill him. You and I both suspect Salaana the most – but wouldn’t that mean his death is just?”
Jin stepped back, as if he’d hit her. Xiao felt a pulse of guilt, but he didn’t apologize.
“I’m going to look for the key,” she told him. “You can help me or not.”
She spun on her heel, her wide orange pant legs swirling, and strode toward the door in the mountainside. Xiao made a half-hearted attempt to grab her thick braid and pull her back, but he missed. He waited several minutes, hating that he upset her and worrying what she might have found. Finally, he followed.
He arrived in a small empty foyer, its stone walls devoid of decoration. There were two tunnels off it, one straight ahead and one to the right. Both were dark and unlit. “Jin?”
There was no answer. “Jin, which way did you go?” he called more loudly. Still no answer.
He went straight. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Xiao moved cautiously to a strange glow from across the room. When he reached it, he realized that he was by a small fireplace that had already been laid. Still using the glow as light, he found some flint tucked in a niche in the mantle and lit the fire.
The firelight revealed an all-purpose room. The white stone walls were unadorned, though a long wooden shelf was stuffed to bursting with scrolls. Both the shelf and a low table were made from peeled branches and live edge slabs, pale and alie
n in the sterile room.
“Does he hate color?” Xiao muttered to himself. He turned to the source of the glow and was surprised to find a sheathed sword – its hilt had been the source of the light – leaning against the rough mantle. Based on the black streaks up the sheath, he guessed that Trang was using it as a poker.
Xiao lifted the sword to examine the hilt, and his breath caught. It was a dark gray metal; the grip was a slightly textured column with a plain oblate spheroid on the end. The crossguard was made of the same material and featured an intricate pattern of starbursts. He had seen a sketch that looked like this once. With fingers that trembled, he slid the sheath off the blade.
The most intricate patterning Xiao had ever seen in person was revealed, mimicking the starbursts on the crossguard. Xiao caressed the flat of the blade before testing it on his sash.
The silk parted so effortlessly, it was almost erotic.
“That idiot is using the Starlight Sword as a fire poker!”
Xiao resheathed the sword reluctantly, then slid the sheath halfway off again. It truly was the Starlight Sword; he was sure of it. The Great Warrior must have brought it here with the key.
Xiao liked the look of the hilt in his hand – he knew how to use a double-edge sword, even if he was more proficient with his short and long curved swords. He imagined how Jin would react when he told her he found the blade, her eyes round and her lips parted in admiration. She would see that no matter how “honorable” Trang was, he lacked insight – the fact he couldn’t just look at the blade and see its power!
“Nothing annoys Jin more than obliviousness,” he said with satisfaction.
After tying the sword to his back, he continued into the next room. “Jin?” he called softly.
JIN entered the mountain and paused just past the doorway, her lips parting in delight. A soft, white light had filled the space as soon as she entered. It came from swirling lines that covered the stone, evocative of clouds. There were three tunnels off the foyer. The one on the left was lit, the swirling lines extending into it.
Almost without conscious thought, Jin followed the light.
In sharp contrast to the pure whiteness of the foyer, this hallway was lush with color. To her right hung a variety of cloths – brocade silks, dyed cotton, embroidered hemp – traversing the rainbow from a bright scarlet to deep violet. To her left were hanging scrolls. Curious, Jin stepped closer to the first and blinked in recognition. Her father stared back at her, large as life, though never before had she seen such a sullen expression on him. Her eyes darted to the calligraphy on the side – it was odd and old, a predecessor to modern characters. But the stamp on the bottom was familiar, and she almost touched the black ink before catching herself. She had seen this stamp before, on her painting teacher’s most prized possession, a painting of a school of carp so realistic that the fish seemed to swim. It was the mark of the Scholar, an ancient immortal who had invented writing, painting, music, and mathematics. She looked into her father’s face again, taking in his smooth skin and his deep red hair – he looked barely older than Jin herself, both in this portrayal and as she’d last seen him, slowly dying in his bed. She had known, of course, that her father was the oldest being there was, but for some reason it had never occurred to her that he might have met the Scholar. What else could he have taught her about if she had only bothered to ask?
Jin dashed tears away from her eyes. She refused to believe it was too late. She would save her father from this curse, and there would be eternity to hear stories of his youth.
Jin moved on to the next portrait, an unfamiliar man with vibrant orange hair and eyes like embers. Like the first, it was stamped as the Scholar’s work. Then there was a woman, striking rather than pretty, with the palest hair that Jin had ever seen and gold eyes much like her own. Jin quickly identified the next as Haraa, the Healer, though she looked a few years younger and several pounds lighter here than she had in the Emperor’s bed chamber. The next portrait, a woman with brilliantly blue hair, made Jin frown. The face was very familiar and yet surely she would remember that hair. The woman clutched a bouquet of dayflowers, and Jin gaped in sudden recognition. Could this possibly be Neela?
The next man was unknown to Jin, but he was followed by her future mother-in-law, the Moon Goddess. She had reached the end and turned to face a solid black curtain. She drew it aside, but there was no passage, only a blank scroll hanging on the wall. Jin turned, thinking to return to the foyer, but to her surprise, that doorway was gone as well. In its place was the largest, smoothest piece of silver Jin had ever seen, reflecting her and the whole room perfectly. Jin strode purposefully to it and tried to push it aside, but to no avail. “Xiao?” she called. Then, when there was no answer, “Trang?”
When her throat grew tired, Jin returned to the scroll. Although that wall was as immovable as the mirror, Jin’s inspection of it revealed a brush and a pot of black ink.
So I should paint something, Jin mused. She looked back along the wall. Or someone. Jin preferred flora and fauna to faces, but her master had insisted she learn – if only she knew who to paint.
Thinking of the mirror on the other end, she impulsively did a self-portrait. It wasn’t too bad – after all, the most available model for an art student was oneself. But no sooner had Jin finished the portrait then it disappeared, with no change to her predicament.
Jin paced the hallway again. As she looked at the three unfamiliar faces, she worried that she had never seen the person she needed to record. A nervous giggle escaped her, and Jin had to take several calming breaths.
You know four of these people – what do they have in common? Some were deities, some weren’t. Some lived in the Heavens, some on Earth. They’re all very old.
Jin wasn’t sure of their exact ages, but she knew that Neela was older than Zi. Her gaze fell on the unknown man with indigo hair between Neela and Zi – he was short, with the same round face as Nanami. Could he possibly be the Sea Dragon? If he was, almost all the really old immortals that Jin knew of were here. The only one missing...
Feeling rather ridiculous, Jin painted a portrait of the Night God, Xiao’s father. It looked ridiculous – although she knew what he looked like, she had over-exaggerated all his features. It looked unfinished. The magic seemed to agree with her, for nothing happened.
Well, if there is one thing I can do, it’s make things look good. She placed her palm at the top of the scroll and dragged it down, replacing her rough strokes with an exact likeness of the Night God. As she lifted her palm away from the scroll, it and the wall it hung on disappeared. She looked back – the mirror was still blocking the other way. With a shrug, she walked on.
And dropped to the floor in a split to avoid a white blade of light, swung by a featureless golem of white stone. The golem managed to pull back its swing before the light sword met the wall that had filled the doorway. It turned its head, as if to look at Jin, though it had no eyes.
With speed earned through millennia of dancing, Jin pushed off the stone floor and past the golem. She removed her tessen from her sash, keeping it closed. She wasn’t sure what that blade of light could slice through, but she thought the fan’s metal ribs stood a better chance against it than her body.
The golem moved again, almost too fast for Jin to track – she settled for dodging again.
Within a minute, it was clear to Jin that she was outmatched. She was panting from the exertion of avoiding its attacks, and though she appeared to be slightly faster than it, that advantage was quickly fading for the creature seemed tireless. She should have attacked it immediately, pressed her advantage – but she had seen no opportunity. Jin could defeat most mortals in single combat, but she was far from the mastery with which someone had imbued the golem.
Well, as NeeNee says, if you can’t win a fair fight, make it unfair.
Golems tended to be simple creatures with a single purpose. When Jin was very small, NeeNee used to make golems
and challenge Jin to decipher them. Jin had loved the game, but one day after finding a golem’s purpose was to pick berries for NeeNee, Jin had tweaked it so that it would pick berries for her instead. NeeNee had been furious; they had never played the game again. In fact, Jin had almost forgotten it.
Taking a deep breath, Jin snapped her tessen open and caught the golem’s sword between the tines. It was a stupid maneuver – the golem was far stronger than she. But she only needed the golem to be still a few moments while she explored its thought.
Its purpose was, predictably, to kill intruders. Jin pushed on the kill and found it surprisingly easy to change into defeat.
The golem twisted its blade, ripping the tessen from her hand, and Jin knelt on the floor, stretching her palms before her and exposing her back.
“I surrender,” she said meekly.
The golem’s sword vanished, and it stepped back into the wall, seemingly rejoining the stone.
Jin waited a few minutes, catching her breath, but nothing else happened. She sat up. The golem did not reform.
She looked around her – although the threat was gone, no doorway had appeared. She stood and retrieved her tessen, tucking it into her belt.
“I’m not stuck,” she said aloud. “And if I were, Xiao and Trang would release me.” But, she realized, if Trang frees me, I won’t have found the key. And my father will still be dying.
“I am powerful. I am the daughter of the Sun Emperor. I am the daughter of the Goddess of Thought. A mountain cannot defeat me, Great Warrior or no.”
She marched up to where the swirling light on the ceiling disappeared into the wall. She placed her hands on the white stone and closed her eyes. She imagined fire burning through the wall, creating a beautiful arched doorway. When she opened her eyes, there was indeed an asymmetric arch with glass flames, shifting from a rich cerulean at the base to crimson at the tips.
Jin was so excited that she didn’t even notice the room beyond for a few moments. When she did, her breath caught.
Vows of Gold and Laughter (The Immortal Beings Book 1) Page 10