They passed through a corridor where the shattered remnants of pottery soldiers once stood. Along the northern and southern rims of the next vault pieces of terracotta chest plates, battle tunics and war boots littered the floor. Yongfang was a seasoned guide, having spent a thousand years entombed, and he continued until he reached the post of the former rearguard. Further on, he entered a black opening and Li followed him inside a T-shaped vault. Again they were confronted with broken pottery. Another hundred meters and they entered a third vault, a concave polygon, smaller than the others. Li stood along the wall, noticing two wing rooms, which Yongfang described as the seat of the Military Command.
A rap sounded, softly, and then another, louder this time. After a while, all was quiet and Li turned to locate her companion. He lifted his hand for silence, aiming a finger in the direction of the knocking. Dead silence ensued. Li wondered if she had erred, but it was too late for regrets. Three sharp raps came from somewhere ahead of them. The ground beneath her feet began to move. “This way!” he urged, and she bunched her arms to her sides to protect the scroll and her sword, just as the earth shifted, and a strange sensation consumed her. She was whisked forward, and a vacuum, a horizontal wind tunnel shot her into a labyrinth, and then stopped before she crashed into a wall.
Li stretched her eyes against the dark and saw tunnels, multitudes of openings into passageways. “What just happened?” she demanded.
“We have awakened the inhabitants of the other tombs. They are asking to be let out.”
“Who is in them, and if we release them, will they help us?”
“Only if they have reason to help us,” Yongfang said. “The question is: Do you wish to take the chance?”
Li had no army to aid her in a battle against hostile ghosts should they turn out to be thus, and she had no time to convince them to side with her. It was safer to keep them caged. Her best bet was to approach the Lady Dai. At least she was only one person. Li’s first priority was to slice off the tails of the Fox Queen, before she could even consider the rescue of Master Yun. And that road led through the crypt of Lady Dai.
“These tunnels,” Yongfang said, “lead to the various tombs. And look there. Isn’t that what you were seeking?”
Li saw the pale gleam. “The fifth rib of Dilong!”
Towering over Li, Yongfang reached down and lifted the dragon’s bone.
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Master Yun’s cage was five feet in diameter. He raised his hands to try a windblast to topple the spears of his prison, but to no effect. He called upon the earth to rise and rip the bars of his cage apart, but it refused to hear him. Finally, he slashed the Scimitar against the shafts only to send sparks of lighting ricocheting onto himself. The Fox Queen was powerful indeed. Over his head, Fucanlong circled.
“What a sad ending for one so long-lived,” Dahlia taunted him.
“I am not dead yet,” Master Yun said. “Why don’t you slice off my head and be done with it? Why the indignity of caging me like an animal?”
“Because you are my bait. I want you dead, but more than that I want the one they call the Pirate Empress. She’s your granddaughter, isn’t she? My kit Jasmine once spoke of a prophecy.”
Master Yun stiffened, keeping his facial muscles very still. “I know of it and already it is coming to pass.”
Dahlia laughed, the tinkle of her laughter sounding very familiar. “You know nothing. Jasmine saw a pirate queen with the one who would return the Middle Kingdom to its natural state. Well, who is to say what its natural state should be? You see, Master Yun, I must destroy the one they call the Pirate Empress. As long as she lives, there will be the possibility of the one who obliterates my world.” She chuckled at the look on his face. “No, Warlock, it is not Wu, the son of Brigade General Chi Quan, nor is it Lao, the spawn of Admiral Fong, the White Tiger. This one—is not yet born.”
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The labyrinth was a vacuum of tunnels that went neither here nor there, and yet they were somewhere because now they stood before a blank wall. Is this the end? How Li wished she could cheat death. How she wished she could cheat life. Was desperation all that was left to her? Her heartfelt advice to the young emperor resounded in her mind. Sometimes, only in the hour of greatest desperation does the road become clear.
The bone in Yongfang’s arms began to glow yellow. A crack formed near the ceiling and split down the length of the wall like a lightning bolt. The wall was thick, composed of three layers: the hillock’s natural red clay, a protective layer of white clay, and a thin layer of charcoal, like the tomb had been burned. Li choked as the vault released two thousand years of toxic air. She gasped and coughed and, after a few moments, could breathe though she knew not how or whence the new air came.
The tomb was divided into four, rectangular, pinewood compartments, each brimming with exquisite items. She estimated there to be at least a thousand pieces. A coffin was nested at the center, and there was no sign of anyone, ghost or otherwise. Li glanced up at her companion, but he offered no explanation. She looked to the ceiling, then back at the dragon’s rib, but whatever magic it contained for opening doors stopped here. The crack resealed, even as Li lunged to wedge it ajar, and the glowing bone glowed no more.
Li returned to the luxurious grave goods scattered all over the floor. She lifted a glistening red and black lacquer cup, matching wine containers, and boxes for storing cosmetics. A golden, silk gown embroidered with dogwood blossoms and a phoenix soaring over clouds caught her attention. Who was this noblewoman that she should be buried with such riches? Li slipped on a pair of delicate fingerless gloves, and picked up a spice-filled silk sachet, then dropped it when a curious wooden figurine captured her eye.
“A carving of a servant,” Yongfang explained. “See how the red lips are pursed in eternal mourning? And those statues on the floor where you found her, they are musicians.”
She saw that the wooden figures in question played wind instruments. “Enough!” She dropped the figurine, ripped the gloves from her hands and stood up. “Where is she? Where is the owner of all this wealth?” Li stared at the coffin in the center. It was draped with a seven-foot-long, T-shaped silk painting of fantastical animals and gods juxtaposed to a very flattering image of what must be Lady Dai herself. Would the lady tremble if she knew just how real those creatures were? Was she still inside that slim coffin?
Then Li noticed something she had failed to see earlier. The vignette was encapsulated within a stylized painting of a white dragon. “Shenlong,” she whispered. “The Rain Dragon.” Underneath the dragon’s black claws was the word xinqi.
“To keep a promise,” Yongfang said, speaking its meaning like it mattered.
“Between loved ones,” Li added, wondering aloud what significance the epitaph could possibly have. Her eyes skimmed the chamber and she realized that most of the goods were decorated with a stylized cloud motif. Clouds were vessels by which one ascended to heaven. Only gods went to heaven. Was this woman a goddess?
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
The Lady Dai
“The promise is broken,” a voice said. The tone was feminine, musical. Li was jolted from her examination of the silk painting overtop the coffin, and when she saw the nature of the speaker, she lost all ability to reply.
“Lady,” Yongfang said, and bowed. Li woke herself out of her spell and bowed also.
The woman who stood before them was dressed in multiple layers of silk and linen clothing. Horizontal silk straps bound the garments in place. Clearly this was her funerary trousseau. Had she not made it across the Golden Bridge to Heaven or had she been rejected? She lifted a dainty arm; the sleeve that draped it was so sheer it reminded Li of a cicada’s wing. She was quite beautiful, with an oval face, evenly rounded features and prominent cheekbones. Adorning her glossy black hair were tiny wooden flowers that framed her face. As she lowered her head to express her disapproval at the disturbance of her things, Li saw that the back of her hair was twisted and fastened in p
lace with a tortoiseshell comb, plus pins of horn and bamboo.
Li bowed again. “Lady Dai?”
“Yes?” the beauty responded. “What are you doing in my crypt? Have you come to rob me? Have you come to finish the job of the Foxes?” She sat down on the edge of her coffin and sighed. “One moment I was in Heaven, the next I am here. To answer your burning yet unspoken question, young war maiden—for I can see by your garb and weaponry what you are—I do not know whether I am dead or not.”
“Can you leave this place? Can you help me to get out?”
“Obviously, I cannot leave. Why would I want to be here? What good are luxuries in an eternity underground? As for you, how can I help you to get out when I can’t leave myself?”
“The world is in peril,” Li said. She shot a glance at the ceiling. “Up there lies the beginning and end of all things.”
“I know. Dahlia is alive and stirring. It is her fault that I am here. The world is upside down. And now there is no Heaven and no Hell. As I said, the promise is broken.”
“What if I pledge to return you to Heaven. Will you help me then?”
“I have no powers, War Maiden. But if I did, I would surely help you.”
Li studied the vaulted ceiling. She was at wits end: so close and yet so impossibly far. Master Yun stood just above her head, as did the Fox Queen. “There must be some way we can drill our way up there.” Up there, lay fifty feet of red earth, four feet of white clay, and two feet of charcoal. They had no magic that could plough through that.
“Yongfang,” Li said, turning to the ghost soldier, “Since you can leave, you must go and help Master Yun.”
“Where did you get that idea? I am as trapped in this vault as you are. I was only able to leave First Emperor’s tomb—the crypt where I was buried—because of his release. Only through that mound may I come and go.”
A thought struck Li. When Master Yun was rescued from the tomb earlier, the blue dragon had transformed into a Qin soldier and the gate to the mound had obeyed him. The secret of the gate must have something to do with the dragon itself!
All this time as they conversed the black eyes of Lady Dai watched them. “She is not trustworthy,” Yongfang whispered into Li’s ear. “She can’t leave unless someone remains to take her place. And clearly, she wishes to leave. Since I am already dead, it cannot be me.”
“I gave her my pledge,” Li said, “and abide by it. Why should she wish to harm me? If I can find my way out of here, I will be her saviour. Heaven is hers as I promised.”
“How do you know she speaks the truth? How do you know that that is where she came from? Maybe she never left this world. If you ask me, she is no goddess.”
Li meant to answer when something heavy hit her on the head. Her eyes swam and her last conscious images were of the bloodstained, wooden servant figurine tumbling to the floor.
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The foothills and the mountains rolled upward to heaven and Quan knew he was beat. He returned to the black dragon and saw that it held its ghostly captives in the wall. The spectre of First Emperor Qin and the majority of the Night Guards Army remained at large. And so, Quan bid the dragon farewell, found his horse and what stragglers of his battle-torn troop survived and sped away, abandoning the hopping corpses to their blood feast. At least he’d see no trouble from them for a while, but his futile attempt to catch the fox faerie had cost him dearly. If the ghost soldiers and Yaoquai regrouped, Master Yun could be in trouble, placing the Crosshairs in jeopardy.
From a distance of untold miles he discerned the hills of dust and the sharp, black circle of the Fox Queen’s regiments. Fighting took place on the fringes of the artifice in massive armed units. From all directions, Quan sighted the legions they had lured away returning to thicken her forces. A huge winged beast wheeled high over the center of the device, and Quan knew something desperate was in the works. “Quickly,” he ordered his men.
They stormed over the hillocks and down the other side, galloped across the plain, shouting and shooting their crossbows as they clashed with the first line of defense. He rejoiced to see that Altan and his Mongols were present with their C-bows and that the Jian and their riders no longer muddied the skies. They fought hand to fist when their arrows were depleted, using their bows as clubs against the remaining Tao Tie. When the skirmish looked secure, Quan signalled to the warlord that he was moving his troop south to offset the rampaging ghost army. When he reached the third hillock on the far side of the Circle, Quan raised a hand to stop his men. Something was wrong. Atop First Emperor’s mound there was no sign of life. At the base of the mound, a battle for possession of the tomb was taking place. The ghost of Emperor Qin himself led a line of fifty thousand men, and opposing him was Captain Huang and ten thousand soldiers. Quan had about five hundred left to his troop. If he didn’t think of something fast, the mound was lost.
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This time it wasn’t the tart smell of the sea wafting into Admiral Fong’s crate that awakened her, although she was surely confined in a box. She felt the river softness of silk and her nostrils scented sweet reeds and spice. The ceiling was three inches from her face and she sprawled flat on her back in the dark. Outside was complete silence. The instant knowledge of where she was sent fear straight to her heart. The lady Dai had put her inside her own coffin!
Li felt the back of her head. It was sticky with blood, and a huge lump was forming. Her shoulder where she had been struck by the dart in the battle against the Xiongnu also ached. No time to think about pain. She had experienced much worse. Before she lost consciousness, Lady Dai had been eyeing the fifth rib of Dilong. She knew something about the dragon’s bone that Li and Yongfang did not. Was it able to unlock the noblewoman’s tomb after all?
“Yongfang!” she screamed.
Had they escaped? Surely, the ghost soldier would not abandon her to an ignoble death?
Li drew a dagger from her sash. Could she cut her way out of here? This coffin was made of solid wood, lacquered to a hard finish. A dagger was not a saw. A thought occurred to her. How was it sealed? She pushed on the lid and, as she expected, it firmly resisted. She needed some light. Would Gwei-huo find a way to her even inside this box? She willed them to come and they appeared in a spangle of dancing lights. The interior of the coffin was just as she’d thought—lined with silk. Something underneath her poked into her shoulder blades and she shifted to remove it with one hand. An inventory, inked in black, on strips of chopstick-like bamboo, folded like a book. It listed all of the items in the tomb including food consisting of dried beef, venison and duck, and medicinal items comprising soybean seeds and water chestnuts. Hungry though she was, none of this was helpful.
On the back of the book was a sketch of the tomb itself. The location of all of the grave goods was depicted as well as a detailed drawing of the lady’s tomb. Li studied the diagram. The sides and lid were built of pinewood, and while the wood of the pine tree was softer than many woods, it was unbreakable without tremendous force. Lying flat on her back with no room to move easily made that impossible. But here was something useful. The lid was sealed with glue composed of glutinous rice. When rice was dried, it became rigid, hard as stone. But it could be melted.
As a pirate, Li had relied mostly on her martial arts abilities and her skill with a blade. Fear had prevented her from testing the unknown. Once, she had drawn fire from lightning, and often she had summoned the Ghostfire to cloak her, and thrice she had called upon the water god’s aid. Was this a matter of life and death and was she willing to pay the price a fourth time? Memory failed her now as she tried to recall what her last wish had cost her, or even what her last wish was. Not good. She needed her wits about her, and if the price of god-calling was the loss of her mind, then the price was too high.
She had the gift of geomancy like her grandfather. She needed heat to melt the glue without incinerating herself. Dare she try a geomantic shield? A geomantic shield would protect her from the fire if she called up a ma
gma surge.
She had to try. She closed her eyes and willed it to happen. The earth opened up beneath her and the heat began to crack the walls of her prison.
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Just as Quan felt the seeds of despair, Yongfang appeared atop the mound. “The children are safe,” he boomed. “Look above your head.”
In the sky, Quan spotted Wu and Peng on the back of Fenghuang. The phoenix circled low enough so that Quan could bellow to his son to stay aboard her. They must reclaim the mound. Quan surveyed their location. All around him, battle raged. What was the ghost emperor’s plan? To destroy the mound? How did he mean to do that? Did he possess some kind of weapon that Quan was not privy to? He knew First Emperor’s greatest desire was to eradicate his prison so that he would never be forced to return.
The Ming Empire was failing. Quan had few resources left. He looked westward to where a wide-open space glared suspiciously amongst the fury of fighting. That space he knew was not empty. It held his reserve of five thousand special soldiers. But were they a match for a ghost army? His general, Ren Xiong, seemed to know what was asked of him before Quan even signalled with his red flag. The Yeren understood that, this time, their foe was immutable. They couldn’t attack the enemy as though they were men subject to fear, and therefore killable. These warriors knew no fear and were already dead. Quan had devised no tactic for them to execute. Their strategy would have to be their own.
The crunch, crunch, crunch began, as the Yeren assembled into position. They remained invisible, but their footsteps sounded a line that became an arc with which to envelope the crescent of ghost soldiers battling at the foot of the mound. As Quan began to raise the black flag—the signal to attack, Yongfang suddenly materialized at his side.
“They have planted an incendiary device at the back of the mound. You must stop them from igniting it.”
“I am trying to do just that,” Quan said. “Step back so I can signal my army to charge.”
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