Wild Born

by Brandon Mull

  Meilin practiced a shy smile. Then a delighted smile, followed by a look of surprise, and finally a scowl. Smoothing her hands over her snug silk robes, Meilin silently proclaimed her work complete.

  There came a hesitant tap on the door. “Mistress,” called a high voice sweetly. “Is everything all right? Can I offer any help?”

  This was Kusha’s polite way of informing her that the Bonding Day celebration was at a standstill. The most important people in the province were waiting on her. “I’m almost ready,” Meilin answered. “I’ll be out in a moment.”

  Meilin didn’t want to make everyone wait too long, but making them wait a little would ensure that all eyes were on her. The other candidates had sampled the Nectar already. Meilin would drink it last, in the place of honor. The conventional wisdom was that the last person to drink the Nectar had the best chance of summoning a spirit animal.

  As the daughter of General Teng, one of the five high commanders of the Zhongese military, Meilin had been guaranteed the last spot at the quarterly Bonding Day ceremonies since birth. As his only child, her importance was elevated further. She had no brother to steal her birthright.

  Her mother had summoned a spirit animal, as had all four of Meilin’s grandparents, and all eight of her great-grandparents. Her father, grandfather, and two of her great-grandfathers had been generals. The least of the others had been powerful merchants. Only the family of the emperor could claim a better pedigree.

  Her father had not called a spirit animal, but even so had risen higher in the military than any of his ancestors. He was a formidable man — nobody was more cunning, or more observant, or more wrathful when crossed. Her father had told her last night that he had foreseen she would summon a spirit animal today. She didn’t know whether he had visited a soothsayer or beheld the vision himself, but he had acted certain, and he was never wrong.

  Meilin gathered her parasol. Made of paper and intricately painted, it was strictly ornamental. She placed it over her shoulder and took a final look in the mirror.

  A heavy fist pounded the door, startling her. This was no handmaiden.

  “Yes?” Meilin called.

  “Are you decent?” a male voice inquired.

  “Yes.”

  The door opened. It was General Chin, her father’s closest aide, wearing his most formal uniform. How late was she?

  “What is it, General?”

  “My apologies for the intrusion,” he said. He paused, licking his lips. He seemed perturbed, almost unsure how to continue. “I have . . . unfortunate news. The invasion of Zhong has begun. We must hurry with the ceremony, and then move out.”

  “Invasion?”

  “Surely you know about the skirmishes in the southeast.”

  “Of course.” Her father kept few secrets from her. But he had shared no suspicions of a serious threat.

  “We just received word that they were but a prelude to a major incursion. Your father had prepared for something of the sort, but our enemies have more men and resources than even General Teng had guessed.” General Chin swallowed. “The city of Shar Liwao has fallen. We are officially at war.”

  Meilin couldn’t speak. She could hardly believe that General Chin was speaking the truth. Shar Liwao was one of the largest cities beyond the Wall, an important Zhongese port. Was this how wars started? On days that should have been happy? She suddenly felt ill, and wished she could be alone. Her father would be leaving soon. Zhong was powerful, and Erdas had no better general. He should be fine. But her father had described the uncertainties of war. A stray arrow could slay the mightiest hero. In wartime, none were truly safe.

  “The entire city already fell?” Meilin had to ask.

  “Yes. Reports are still coming in. The attack was lightning quick — an alliance of Zhongese rebels and foreign invaders.”

  “I’ll skip the ceremony,” Meilin said. “I can do it later.”

  “No, the news just arrived. The public doesn’t know yet. We want to keep it that way for now. Don’t mention the attack. All must appear calm and normal.”

  Meilin nodded. “Fine, I’ll do my part. But it’s an emergency. Father can go.”

  “He insists you drink the Nectar before he leaves.”

  Meilin followed General Chin out of her home. She ignored the questions of her handmaidens, who fell into step behind them. Their mansion adjoined the parade grounds, so it was not a long walk to the ceremony.

  Opening her parasol, Meilin strolled down the central aisle toward the stage. Thousands of people craned to see her. General Chin strode at her side, medals gleaming. People cheered. It seemed like an ordinary, festive occasion. These people had no clue what news was coming.

  Near the stage, the bystanders were seated. More money and status meant more convenience and comfort. As Meilin approached, even the dignitaries and merchants and government officials arose and applauded.

  Meilin forced the most natural smile she could manage. She gave small nods to faces she recognized. Everything felt brittle, fake. She wondered if the onlookers could see through her facade.

  A boy at one side of the aisle yelled her name. It was Yenni, from her school. His father was a provincial official. He had made no secret of his affection for her, even though he was almost three years older. She gave him the shy smile. His face turned red and he grinned from ear to ear.

  Meilin had never kissed a boy, although plenty had shown interest. She hated feeling like a trophy. Not only was her father rich, not only was he a popular general, but she was also attractive and refined. None of the boys actually knew her. She was just a prize, and there was no way of telling which aspect of the prize they wanted most.

  She wondered how they would react if they knew her secret. Underneath the facial paint, beneath the expensive silks, she was not the dainty flower they imagined. She knew her manners. She could paint, she could serve tea, she could garden, she could recite poetry, she could sing. But her favorite pastime was hand-to-hand combat.

  It had started innocently at age five. Her father was a general and a practical man. He had access to the best warriors in Zhong, and he’d wanted his daughter to learn the basics of defending herself. He had no idea how much aptitude she would demonstrate, nor how much she would enjoy it.

  The training had gotten more serious each year. All in secret, she became the son her father never had. She could fight with knives, staves, and spears. She could use longbows, crossbows, and slings. But her favorite discipline involved combat using her hands and feet. A scant six weeks past her eleventh birthday, she could outmaneuver all but the greatest masters. She was slender, but strong. After she reached her adult size, she would be very formidable.

  Meilin hoped that her spirit animal would augment her fighting skills. She knew that all sorts of powers could be derived from a strong relationship with a spirit animal. With the help of the right beast, good warriors became great, and great warriors became legends.

  What species would benefit her most? Her father called her the Tiny Tiger. A tiger would be nice, or maybe a snow leopard. An ox could grant great strength. She tried not to set her heart on something too specific.

  The crowd watched her enthusiastically. Only the top officials among them knew that war was coming. Soon they would all have much more than Nectar ceremonies to demand their attention.

  When she reached the stage, Meilin folded her parasol and passed it to a handmaiden. She saw her father in the front of the crowd, dashing in his uniform, and gave a polite nod. She saw approval in his eyes. He was admiring her poise.

  Many caged beasts were positioned on and around the stage, a royal menagerie including orangutans, tigers, pandas, foxes, alligators, cranes, baboons, pythons, ostriches, oxen, water buffalo, and even a pair of young elephants. Their province usually furnished a broad assortment, but this Bonding Day boasted the most variety she had seen. Her father had made sure of it.

  On the stage awaited Sheyu, the leader of the local Greencloaks. He was dressed si
mply, and since his clouded leopard was not in sight, it was probably in its passive state. If she recalled correctly, he wore the tattoo on his chest.

  Her father had mixed feelings about the Greencloaks. He respected them, but thought they had too much power and too many foreign ties. He didn’t like their monopoly on the Nectar and how they used it to remain involved in everyone’s affairs around the world.

  Meilin was privately impressed by them. Her reasons were simple. The armies of Zhong did not invite women into their ranks, but the Greencloaks didn’t fuss about such things. They measured people by their ability.

  Meilin noticed a stranger on the stage. She had a foreign air about her, in both her dress and her features. Her feet were bare. She was short and thin, with that fragile look some men preferred. The feathers in her hair gave her away as an Amayan. An exotic multicolored bird stood on the stage beside her.

  Sheyu beckoned Meilin. She went to him, remembering to face the crowd. It always looked amateurish when candidates turned their backs on the audience.

  In a strident voice he proclaimed the ceremonial words — the same words he always said. Meilin told herself that if her father was wrong and no spirit animal appeared, she would keep composed. Her father had made his way in the world without one — she could as well.

  Sheyu held a jade decanter to her lips. Meilin took a sip. The warm fluid was a bitter shock to her tongue — it took some effort to avoid gagging. Instead she forced herself to smile as she swallowed. For an unsteady moment Meilin was afraid she would choke on the taste, and then a fiery heat filled her belly. As the warmth radiated outward, her ears started ringing.

  The sky was clear, but the sun dimmed. There was a brilliant flash and she was joined onstage by a black-and-white panda. It was large for the species, with disturbing silver eyes, just like Jhi on the Great Seal of Zhong.

  The panda trundled over to Meilin and reared up to place its paws against her ribs. The fiery heat instantly drained away.

  For a moment, Meilin felt profoundly relaxed. She was no longer playing a role in front of a crowd. She was simply herself. She basked in the warmth of the sun, and rejoiced in the gentle currents of the air around her.

  Then the moment slipped away.

  Meilin stared at her new spirit animal in bewilderment. A giant panda? Nobody called giant pandas, because Jhi had been a giant panda, and Jhi was a Great Beast, one of the Fallen. A large statue of Jhi stood in the far corner of the parade ground, huge and somewhat ridiculous. A panda was basically the opposite of a tiger. More silly and cute than impressive or threatening. What skills would it bestow on a fighter? The ability to eat bamboo?

  The audience made no sound. Meilin found her father’s eyes. He looked shocked.

  The Amayan woman had come to her side. “I’m Lenori,” she said quietly. “I’m here to help you.”

  “Are you a Greencloak?”

  “I’m not wearing it, but yes. Do you realize what you’ve done?”

  “I’m not supposed to be able to summon a panda.”

  “Exactly.” Lenori took her hand and raised it high. “Meilin has fulfilled a prophecy that most have forgotten! Jhi the Fallen has returned to Erdas! Let us all —”

  Lenori never finished her sentence, because the alarm bells started to ring, a gonging clamor reserved for emergencies. Meilin scanned the parade ground, alert. Was this connected to the invasion? That made no sense. Shar Liwao was far away, beyond the Wall of Zhong. Just as Meilin remembered to guard her expression, the great horns on the city wall sounded three times — long, low notes that warned of immediate danger.

  The audience began to stir and exclaim. Aware that many eyes remained on her, Meilin held very still, trying to appear undisturbed. This was no practice exercise; the horns confirmed that. Something was horribly wrong. Did she smell smoke? It was hard to see much beyond the high walls of the parade ground.

  Then the screaming began. Toward the rear of the parade ground, beyond the carefully monitored seats of the dignitaries, fighting broke out. Men and women flung off cloaks, many summoning spirit animals. Swords and axes began to cut down bystanders. As people pressed to get away, a bull charged through the crowd. A trio of arrows curved through the air to thunk down on the stage.

  Meilin ignored the arrows, even though one landed close enough to kick it. The invasion was supposed to be far away, beyond the Wall! She had heard of riots in some of the outlying towns before, but nothing like that had ever happened in Jano Rion. It was a model city, one of the mightiest in all of Zhong.

  With a flash, Sheyu released his spirit animal. The clouded leopard gave a savage cry. Sheyu pulled on a glove fitted with four sharp blades. With his other hand, he seized Meilin by the upper arm, giving a yank to start her moving. “They must have come for you!” he yelled.

  As she stumbled after him toward the rear of the stage, Meilin craned to see the parade ground. Guards were engaging the rebels. Spear met sword, ax met shield. Some weapons found their mark. Men and women screamed. Meilin knew much about battle through her father, but until now, she had never seen anyone killed. In a few brief seconds, she saw death, and more of it than she could handle. Her last glimpse, before she jumped off the stage beside Sheyu, was of Kusha, her chief handmaiden, falling to her knees with an arrow buried in her back.

  Meilin’s father was there to steady her. General Chin waited at his side, along with Lenori. “Hurry,” her father urged. “We must get to the tower. We need to survey the city.”

  The words roused her. “Right,” she said, glancing back just in time to see her panda jump gracelessly from the stage. At least Jhi appeared unharmed.

  Would Kusha die from that arrow? It had looked bad.

  Her father ran toward the door behind the stage. Meilin followed, with Sheyu nearby. From one side, several armed rebels raced to block their retreat. A large dog ran with them, and a red panda, and an ibex with tall backswept horns.

  Generals Teng and Chin drew their swords at the same time. Veering away from the door, they met the rebels violently. Pulling on a second clawed glove, Sheyu rushed to join them.

  Meilin wanted to help but she was unarmed, and the enemies had weapons. She looked around frantically for a weapon, but found none.

  General Chin and her father engaged the enemy with the same poise they used on the practice floor. They worked in tandem, deflecting attacks, dispatching foes, and pivoting to lend each other assistance. Sheyu and his clouded leopard ducked and weaved among the rebels, narrowly dodging attacks and efficiently slashing opponents.

  Lenori dragged Meilin to the door. Jhi stayed near her. As a second group of rebels approached, Sheyu and the generals fell back.

  With blood flowing freely from his shoulder, General Chin opened the door with a key. “Hurry!” he cried. The group streamed through, and General Chin locked the door behind them.

  Meilin’s father took off at a run, leading them along the hallway within the parade-ground wall. Meilin stayed right behind him. The thick walls muffled the tumult from the parade ground, so their footfalls echoed loudly. Glancing over her shoulder, Meilin saw Lenori’s bird hopping and fluttering along. The panda brought up the rear, hurrying just enough to stay close.

  Meilin could tell where her father was headed. The lookout station at the corner of the parade ground offered one of the highest vantages of Jano Rion. They would be able to see most of the city and much beyond. It was the quickest way for him to assess the situation.

  As they raced along the hallway, Meilin resisted asking questions. Had they been alone it would have been different. But in mixed company, her father would volunteer information as he desired.

  The soldiers at the base of the lookout tower straightened and saluted as her father drew near. He gave a quick salute back and climbed onto the lifter.

  “What is that?” Lenori asked hesitantly.

  “An ingenious device,” Sheyu explained. “Counterweights will raise the platform to the top of the tower.”


  They all stepped onto the platform. The panda showed no hesitation. Meilin stared into those silver eyes as the lifter rose briskly. Despite the chaos around them, the panda appeared serene and disturbingly knowing. Meilin looked away first.

  When the lifter reached the top, Meilin’s father hustled them out onto the observation terrace. Soldiers with telescopes paused to salute.

  “Carry on,” her father said.

  The ranking officer approached, but her father waved him away, preferring to use his own faculties to assess the situation. Meilin stood beside him, eyes wide, hardly believing what she was seeing.

  Jano Rion was under attack. The capital of the province and one of the largest cities in Zhong had battles raging within and without. A huge host charged the city walls, rushing across the plain like a flood. Rebels swept through clusters of defenders trying to organize themselves. Many ran alongside animals. Others rode animals. They carried swords and spears, maces and axes. Where had they come from? Why had there been no warning?

  The city was burning. Black smoke billowed up from at least a dozen locations that Meilin could see. The old academy where she attended classes was aflame! That ancient building had stood for centuries. Her ancestors had studied there and now Meilin watched it fall. Fierce skirmishes came in and out of view down on the streets. Meilin craned to see, but buildings and trees blocked much of the action.

  Meilin’s heart squeezed as she glanced up at her father’s stoic face. She could tell he was shocked, but he hid it well. Those who did not know him intimately might not recognize how deeply he was stunned. He held out a hand for a telescope. Raising it to one eye, he focused on a few areas beyond the city wall, then a few within.

  “So many have spirit animals,” he murmured.

  General Chin had his own spyglass. “Unprecedented. There hasn’t been an army like this since . . .”

  “The Devourer,” her father finished.

  Meilin blinked. The Devourer was a legend from the past, a monster in nursery stories. Why would her father mention him at a time like this?