by Alec Hutson
“Oh!” Kan Xia exclaimed, as if just remembering something. “A servant pressed this into my hand outside in the street. She said it was for you.” He withdrew a small roll of parchment from the folds of his robes and held it out for her to take.
Puzzled, Cho Lin accepted the scroll. A message from her brother? Or from Red Fang? Who else knew she had left the mountain? She studied the characters pressed into the wax seal. Bai Hua. She had known someone by the name, many years ago. But certainly it couldn’t be her.
Cho Lin broke the seal and opened the scroll. The writing was firm and graceful, with a playful edge. She had seen it before. How could this be? Her thoughts whirled as she read.
Long-Legged Lin, I can’t believe you have come to my dreary little town. My old servant recognized you yesterday as you passed her coming through the city gates. Do you remember Aunty Cao? She insisted she had seen you, but of course I laughed away her words, for why would you ever visit this awful place? Yet now I am told the lanterns have been raised outside the Cho house, so you must really be here! Visit me tonight! I want to hear all about your adventures and what is going on in the capital. My manse is the last and the largest on the Street of Orchids. I will wait for you! Don’t you dare leave without a visit!
Bai Hua, first wife of Dao Lis, head magistrate of Ras Ami.
Cho Lin let the scroll fall to the table, more than a little shaken. This was not what she’d been expecting at all. An echo from a time long vanished.
“Who is it from?” Kan Xia asked, concern in his voice as he studied her.
Cho Lin rolled a small piece of wax between her fingers. “Kan Xia, you were with my father when he brought my brother and me to live with him at the Jade Court, weren’t you?”
“I was. Your father had the old emperor’s ear in those days.”
“Do you recall the children I used to play with?”
Kan Xia nodded. “Yes. The sons and daughters of the Thousand Voices, and also a few of the boys who were being groomed for the Phoenix Throne.”
Cho Lin picked up the scroll again. “This is from one of my old playmates. We were close, almost like sisters. I’d heard she married an official in a city outside of Tsai Yin, but I had no idea she lived in Ras Ami.”
“And so this is an invitation?”
“Yes. She wants me to come tonight.”
Kan Xia waved his hand, as if to dismiss the very idea as preposterous. “Of course, you will politely refuse. We know someone hired assassins to kill you, and I very much doubt they will have given up after one failed attempt. Here within these walls you are safe.”
“I can protect myself, Kan Xia.”
“But, Mistress –”
Her voice hardened. “You forget yourself. Only the emperor and my brother can command me.”
Kan Xia lowered his eyes, his face reddening. “Yes, Mistress.”
Cho Lin stood suddenly. “The Street of Orchids is only a short walk away. This is likely to be my last night in Shan for many months, and I mean to enjoy it.”
Kan Xia swallowed. “As you wish, Mistress. But the sword –”
“Comes with me.” She strode across the courtyard and picked up the slender black bag she had left leaning against one of the red pillars. It looked like a carrying case for a keppa, the long stringed instrument that was becoming popular among the noblewomen of Shan. Anyone who saw her on the street would assume she was a musician on her way to a performance, or a lady returning from her evening lesson. They couldn’t suspect that inside the bag was the most legendary weapon in the Empire of Swords and Flowers.
“A few warriors of Cho should –”
Cho Lin made a cutting gesture with her hand. “What better way to attract attention than with an armed escort? I will go alone.”
Kan Xia ducked his head in acquiescence as she shouldered the bag. “As you wish, Mistress.”
His lowered eyes looked hurt. Cho Lin sighed. “I will be fine. You know I appreciate your care, Xia. Grant me this last night to savor a civilized life. Tomorrow, our journey into the north begins.”
He said nothing, but she thought she saw his expression soften. Good. They would have to traverse a thousand leagues together, and it would be best if they weren’t annoyed with each other before they had even set off.
Cho Lin slipped between the forest of red pillars, nodding at the pair of grim-faced Cho warriors guarding the compound’s entrance, and stepped out into the streets of Ras Ami. This was a quiet district, broad avenues hemmed by soaring walls, behind which towered the multi-story houses of the port’s richest families. Paper lanterns dangled from the ornate metal posts arching over the road, drenching the slate tiles in shades of red and green. Cho Lin breathed deep of the evening air, enjoying the scent of the pear trees lining the road. There was another flavor layered underneath this sweet smell: the distant aroma of meat grilling. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she’d barely touched her supper. Hopefully Bai Hua was having some delicious snacks prepared.
The Street of Orchids was quite close by, barely more than a stone’s throw from her family’s compound. She followed it to its twisting end, and soon arrived at a soaring manse ablaze with dozens of hanging lanterns. Bai Hua must have expected her to accept the invitation.
And how could she refuse? They had been close during those golden summers, when the very air had seemed to shimmer with the wonder and magic of the Jade Court. Cho Lin remembered the celestial courtiers, tall and straight-backed in their rich black vestments, proceeding in stately columns into the soaring hall where they would then prostrate themselves before the Phoenix Throne. And she remembered that shiver of excitement she’d felt every morning when the great doors clanged shut, the sound signifying that until nightfall the imperial grounds belonged to her and her coterie: Jai Po, dashing and cunning, with a smile that would have charmed an immortal; Bai Hua, a plump little girl who danced and sang as well as a courtesan trained by the Swallows; and the three boys who were studying to succeed the elderly emperor: Tan Ho, Rei Xin, and Dai Feng. Feng—sweet, doting Feng—had eventually ascended to the throne, though Cho Lin had not spoken to him in many years.
There were no guards outside the manse, which surprised Cho Lin slightly, but of course in a civilized city like Ras Ami there would be little need for such overt displays of security. It would take a thief of uncommon brashness to rob from this district—the full might and ingenuity of the judiciary would be brought to bear if such a crime occurred. Far better if those blackguards contented themselves with the sparser but safer pickings in the merchant and tradesmen districts.
A silken cord dangled beside the arched wooden moon door, which had been beautifully carved with a serpentine dragon. One of the servants of the Four Winds, she suspected, and this suggested that the honorable Dao Lis must have mercantile as well as administrative interests. The dragons of the Four Winds were usually venerated by those who dared venture across the trackless waters.
She pulled the cord, and from within the manse she could faintly hear a musical chime. Moments later the door was opened by an elderly woman in a servant’s simple green hanfu dress, the deep lines in her face suggesting she had spent many years toiling in the fields before coming to work for this house.
“Aunty Cao?” Cho Lin guessed, and the hint of a smile touched the old woman’s creased face.
“Welcome, Mistress Lin.” Her accent was rough, flavored by the eastern hills. “The lady of the house will be very pleased to see you. Follow me, please.”
Cho Lin fell in behind Aunty Cao. The manse was grand, especially for the home of a provincial official. The lintels above each doorway they passed through were carved with elaborate landscape scenes, intricate friezes of rolling hills scattered with tiny pagodas. Glazed white vases only a little smaller than Aunty Cao lined the walls, decorated by herons and fish drawn in jagged blue brushstrokes. These looked like arti
facts that might have predated the destruction of the ancestral lands of Shan, and only a great family could possibly have retained such treasures. Bai Hua hadn’t married very far below her station, it would appear.
To Cho Lin’s surprise, they did not enter the courtyard in the center of the manse but skirted its edge as they moved to another wing of the great house. Aunty Cao paused outside an open doorway and gestured for Cho Lin to enter.
She stepped over the threshold and found herself in a small parlor, its walls decorated by long tapestries. Cho Lin tensed as a tall beautiful woman rose from a couch where she had been reclining.
“Older sister!” cried the woman, her eyes bright and her smile radiant as she rushed towards Cho Lin in almost girlish excitement. She wore a dark green cheongsam patterned with blooming flowers, and her long, glossy black hair glistened like the water of a lake at night. With obvious joy, she clasped Cho Lin’s hands and gave an affectionate squeeze.
Cho Lin gaped. Bai Hua? Her last memory of her was of a chubby girl, her face a mask of concentration as she performed a slow and stately dance in front of a gathering of court ladies. But yes, there were the dimples she remembered, and the laughing eyes were the same…
“Younger sister,” Cho Lin said, still amazed by the transformation. “It’s been too long.”
“How long?” Bai Hua asked, dragging Cho Lin towards a pair of cushioned chairs positioned beside a low wooden table. “Ten years? Twelve?”
“At least. I was trying to remember myself, to be honest.”
“Well, now that I see you again I feel like we’ve never parted!” Bai Hua exclaimed happily, gathering up her long dress as she sank onto one of the chairs. “Put down your bag and sit. Is that a keppa? Have you brought it to play?”
“No, no,” Cho Lin said quickly, a little flustered. “It's… it’s… uh, a wall hanging I bought earlier today.”
Bai Hua’s laughter was high and free. “Ah, Long-Legged Lin. Still a terrible liar, I see. But I won’t press you, if that’s Cho family business.”
Cho Lin smiled gratefully and sat, leaning the long bag against her chair. She suddenly felt a little self-conscious, as she was dressed in her simple traveling clothes, while Bai Hua shimmered in her radiant silken dress. A beautiful butterfly to Cho Lin’s drab moth. A true lady of Shan, even though they were both daughters of Jade Court mandarins.
The old pain briefly surfaced, but Cho Lin tamped it down, forcing a polite smile for her old friend. It wasn’t Bai Hua’s fault that she had lost her childhood… and the life she should have had.
“Come, have a cup of wine with me,” Bai Hua said, leaning forward to fill two cups from a silver pitcher on the table. She glanced at Cho Lin with a mischievous glint in her eye, as if daring her to refuse.
“Wine? I have to travel tomorrow, Little Hua, and I don’t want to set out with a heavy head.”
Bai Hua waved her words away. “This is firewine, from the barbarian lands. Very rare! My husband will be aghast if we drink some, so I do hope he’s punctilious in keeping records of his stores. He’s adorable when he’s angry.”
Cho Lin shook her head ruefully and picked up her wine. Same old Little Hua. How many times had that impish smile led their little band into trouble?
“To old friends,” Bai Hua said, and drank deeply.
“Old friends,” Cho Lin murmured, sipping from her cup. The wine’s spicy tartness surprised her, as it was far different than the sweet yellow and green wines from Shan. But it was delicious—perhaps she could find something to replace her nightly tea while traveling in the north.
“So, you must tell me what brings you to Ras Ami. You said you were traveling?”
Cho Lin licked her tingling lips. “Yes. I’m setting sail tomorrow for the barbarian city of Herath, in the desolate northlands.”
Bai Hua raised her painted eyes. “Whatever would compel you to undertake such a terrible journey?”
“It’s my father,” Cho Lin began, swirling her wine. She had spent the walk over to Bai Hua’s house carefully crafting her story. “I’m not sure if it’s common knowledge yet, but he was killed while on a trading expedition in the north. My brother received word only a few weeks ago and sent a message to me while I was studying with the monks on Red Fang.”
Bai Hua opened her mouth, as if she wanted to ask more about that, but bit back whatever she was going to say by taking another quick swig.
Cho Lin continued, knowing she would have to answer many questions later about Gold Leaf Temple—no doubt her time atop the mountain had been gossiped about among the nobles of Shan. “A few of his personal effects were returned to us, but there were a few priceless heirlooms—a moonstone ring from before the Raveling, a jade pin that had once belonged to the Empress Bin Mei—that are still missing. I am to see if they can be found.”
Bai Hua set her cup down. “An adventure,” she said, with a possibly-affected hint of envy. “How romantic.”
“If you think sleeping in a cramped ship’s cabin with only moldy rice to eat and stale water to drink sounds like an adventure, perhaps you could accompany me. We could share a room.”
Bai Hua cocked her head, as if actually considering this offer. Then she sighed in mock sadness. “I have too many duties here, unfortunately. Though the thought of the two of us striking out together is rather tempting. A vagabond swordswoman and her trusted companion, earning our way in the world with the edge of your blade and my indefatigable charm.” Bai Hua laughed again. She took another sip of wine, and when she set down the cup her face had grown serious. “Ah, Lin. How did you slip the bonds that bind us? How did you avoid all this?” Bai Hua gestured around the richly-appointed room, with its rosewood furnishings and long, flowing landscape paintings. “You should be married to some boring mandarin of the Court, and yet instead you are a disciple of Red Fang, on a quest that will take you into the barbarian lands.”
A warmth had stolen into Cho Lin as Bai Hua talked. It pooled inside her belly, sending out tingling waves that made her hands feel numb and her head spin. How long had it been since she had drunk wine? This firewine from Gryx must be incredibly potent for a single cup to make her so unsteady.
Cho Lin rose, bumping the low table with her leg and knocking over the wine decanter and her empty cup. “I’m sorry,” she said, holding tight to the back of her chair to keep herself from falling.
Bai Hua watched her calmly as Cho Lin stood there swaying. She took another unhurried sip.
The room tilted, and Cho Lin’s breath rasped in her throat. She couldn’t feel her arms or legs. “What –” she managed to whisper hoarsely, and then the hanging lights blurred as she toppled backwards. Her head struck the floor, but the pain was far away, like a bell ringing from a great distance.
She was falling within herself, and she became aware of a slow thudding, a sluggish pulsing that was gradually slackening.
Her heart. Her heart was stopping.
Cho Lin stared up at the ceiling, willing herself to live.
She was being moved. Someone had grabbed her ankles and was pulling her along the floor. Then the whisper of a panel being drawn back. Darkness. Her head struck the edges of stone steps again and again as she was pulled down a set of stairs. She couldn’t feel anything, though. Cho Lin tried to twist her body and break free of whoever had a hold of her, but she was weaker than a babe.
The steps ended. Light flared in the blackness, a flickering torchlight. Above her there was an ancient picture painted on the ceiling. It filled her vision. She concentrated, trying to make out what it was, panic washing through her in waves.
A hill, with a great stone door set in its side. A procession of Shan nobles was approaching this entrance, men and women attired in clothing that had been popular long ago. And at the back of this column walked an old man in the robes of a warlock, his back bent by age and the terribleness of his task. In one h
and he held the hand of a small black-haired child. In the other he held a curved knife.
Cho Lin tried to scream, but she only managed a thin rattling.
Hands grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into a sitting position, her back against a wall. Her head lolled as she struggled to keep it up. She was in a small room with earthen walls, empty of furnishings except for a slab of cracked black rock. Bai Hua crouched in front of her, studying Cho Lin as if deep in thought. She was tangling her fingers in her long, black hair, just like she had done when they were children together. Bai Hua! Cho Lin tried to scream. What are you doing?
Cho Lin heard the faint scrape of footsteps descending the stairs. Moments later Aunty Cao entered the room carrying the bag Cho Lin had brought to the house. The old woman untied its end and withdrew the sheathed Sword of Cho, then held it out for her mistress to take. Bai Hua rose and crossed the small chamber, gripping the proffered hilt with two hands. She carried it gingerly, as if it were a snake, and turned back to Cho Lin.
“It looks like any other sword,” she said, slashing the air clumsily. “And yet gods have fallen before it.”
Not gods! Cho Lin wanted to cry. Demons! Monsters! Anger and fear filled her. She was going to die.
Bai Hua approached her again, struggling to keep the tip of the heavy sword from dragging on the floor.
Cho Lin’s pulse thundered in her ears, each beat slower than the last. Her heart was faltering, her blood congealing in her veins.
“The venom of the black silk spider,” Bai Hua murmured, studying the spiraling lines of poetry that wrapped around the sword’s dragon-bone hilt. “The same poison, actually, that turned your brother into a ruined husk.”
Cho Lin would have gasped in surprise, if she could.
Bai Hua must have seen the slight widening of her eyes, and she smiled. “Yes. It was a servant of the Chosen who poisoned your brother, all those years ago. Her, in fact.” She nodded towards Aunty Cao. The old woman stared at Cho Lin with coal-black eyes, her face expressionless. “Cao was a high priestess of the Raveling long before she became my nursemaid. She was the one who gave the poison to our servant in your house. What I slipped you was a far weaker dose, because I want you aware of everything I say, and of everything I do to you.” She ran her finger along the edge of the sword, leaving a dark smear of blood.