by Julie C. Dao
“There’s a thirteenth cloak?” Jade asked, surprised.
From the air, the sky-maiden conjured a radiant, pearl-white cloak identical to theirs, except that each feather had been rimmed with gold. “This relic returned to our keeping when the Dragon Lords’ alliance shattered. I will give it to you, Jade of the Great Forest, if you free our younger sister.” She pointed at an island in the center of Red Lotus Lake, which lay shrouded in silence. A few flowering trees dropped bright petals on the grass. “The ghost of her husband guards the cloak that belongs to her. Without it, she can’t return with us to the heavens, and he too is trapped on earth because of it, unable to find peace.”
A rowboat appeared on the shore, its oars laid at the ready.
“This sounds simple,” Wren said enthusiastically. “We’ll go together.”
The sky-maiden shook her head. “Only one of you may go.”
Jade approached the boat, knowing it had to be her, though the sight of so much water filled her with apprehension. She had learned to swim in the monastery stream, but it had been nowhere as deep or vast as this. She ran a hand over the oars, which had been crafted of thin, lightweight wood.
“I could go,” Wren offered. “I’m stronger—I may be able to get there and back faster.”
“Thank you, my friend, but this is my task to complete,” Jade said, more confidently than she felt.
Koichi contemplated the boat. “It almost seems too easy. We know each relic is linked to a story and a god. And the Grasslands god prided himself on his shape-shifting.”
“He was benevolent. He loved to disguise himself and listen to mortals’ conversations, by which he would reward people for their integrity.” Jade knelt down to examine the rowboat, and that was when she noticed the bundle of white cloth tucked into a corner.
The sky-maiden gave an inscrutable smile. “The task will indeed test your integrity, a quality required in every leader. Convey this bundle to the island, and no matter what you hear, you must promise not to look inside until you retrieve our sister’s cloak. Do you promise?”
Jade saw the same understanding dawn on Koichi’s face.
Just as the farmer promised his crane wife . . . except he broke his vow.
The bundle moved ever so slightly. Jade forced herself to nod, trying not to think of Xifeng’s snakes. This task would test her resolve in more ways than one. “Yes. I promise not to look into the bundle until your sister’s cloak is in my hands.”
“Then you may proceed, Princess.”
Wren squeezed Jade’s arm and took the brocade map from her. “You can do this.”
“When you come back with the cloak, we’ll celebrate by eating more roots and berries. We haven’t done enough of that yet, really,” Koichi joked, trying to make her smile.
“It’s a deal.” Feeling heartened, Jade stepped into the rowboat and tried to give the impression that she knew what she was doing. The sky-maidens twisted in on themselves until they were once again eleven white cranes, scattering themselves across the water. Jade sat facing Wren and Koichi with the bundle at the far end and pushed off by digging her oars into the sand.
She felt clumsy, but at least the boat was moving in the right direction. She prayed she wouldn’t hit any of the cranes as she navigated the water between them.
It took a while to find her rhythm, rotating each oar in the water. Her arms and shoulders began to ache, but the sight of her friends cheering her on kept her going. Every so often, she peered backward at the island. It had seemed close at first, no more than fifty feet from shore, but now, by some strange magic, it was so far away that Jade had to squint to see it. The lake had grown a hundred times in size, stretching so far that she could no longer detect the shore.
The moon disappeared, and it felt quieter and lonelier than ever by herself.
“I can do this,” she panted, sweat trickling down her back.
She continued pushing the oars, doing so with too much zeal once and splashing herself.
Slowly. There’s no hurry, she imagined Amah telling her, and she felt a rush of longing for the old woman. The sky-maiden had not told her to go quickly, only that she needed to get there.
A baby gurgled.
Jade froze, listening, but there was only silence. Perhaps in her stress, she had imagined the odd sound. She stretched her sore muscles and began rowing again, slowly.
The baby coughed once, then twice.
Jade’s eyes moved to the little white bundle, having nearly forgotten that it was there. It was moving again, more insistently, but not enough that she could see what lay inside. Whatever it was seemed to take offense at her silence and let out a furious wail.
The sky-maidens had placed a baby inside her boat!
Jade dropped the oars and reached for the bundle. Her fingers almost touched it before she remembered. You must promise not to look inside. But surely, the sky-maiden would not have left an infant at Jade’s mercy, not when she couldn’t give it food or comfort. What sort of cruel trick was this? It seemed like something Xifeng would do.
The baby’s wailing faded into a soft, sad cry. Little movements pushed against the cloth, as though its tiny arms were reaching out for its mother.
Jade’s heart twisted within her. “Shh, don’t cry,” she whispered. “Please don’t cry.”
The baby began wailing again, eagerly, when it heard her speak.
Perhaps it was hungry . . . Perhaps it couldn’t breathe properly through the cloth.
Jade wrung her hands, wondering if she could shift the cloth without seeing what lay inside. She turned her head away, just to be safe, and tugged at the bundle a bit. It felt warm. She didn’t know where the child’s face might be, but it seemed to work, because the crying stopped.
“That’s a good baby,” she said. She still couldn’t see anything the bundle contained.
With a sigh of relief, Jade continued rowing, trying not to mind the baby’s sad cries. It sounded just like the tiny village infant she had cuddled while the monks served food to his parents. She remembered his feather-smooth cheeks and rosebud lips, and when she had kissed him, he had gurgled with delight. How helpless humans were when first born.
So must Xifeng have been. It seemed unnatural that such an evil, bloodthirsty woman had ever been innocent. What if this child in Jade’s boat grew up to be cruel, too? Someone who lied, schemed, and cheated, and took what wasn’t hers and robbed people of their families and lives? It would be so easy to pull back the cloth and peep quickly. To see how this baby might appear.
Jade gritted her teeth and wiped sweat from her forehead, fighting against the impulse. The child began to wail again as though in severe pain, and thrashed inside the bundle. It can breathe, she tried to tell herself. Some of the village babies she had looked after had also fussed even when fed and comfortable. Perhaps this one had soiled its rags, but there was nothing she could do about that now. But if it was in pain . . . if something was hurting it . . .
She glanced desperately at the island, which was getting closer at last. “Just a little bit more,” she told the child. “We’ll be there soon.”
And then, from within the blankets, came a violent hissing like a serpent tasting the air, baring its fangs. Jade cried out and threw herself backward. The boat tossed as she braced herself for the snake that was about to emerge from the bundle.
But nothing came out, though the hissing continued, low and dangerous and poisonous.
Gooseflesh rose on her skin. What in the name of heaven was in the boat with her?
Xifeng, she thought.
But this could not be her stepmother’s doing—it could not be some terrible trap. The quest had been given to Jade by her mother, and she had followed the map stitched by Amah.
It was too late to turn back now. She had promised the sky-maidens she wouldn’t look inside the bundle and she cou
ld not—would not—break that vow.
The hissing blended in with the baby’s whimpering, an unnatural cacophony that raised the hairs on Jade’s neck. Were there two beings inside that bundle: a snake and a baby? It’s a trick, she thought, wishing she had cotton to stop her ears. A test to see if I’ll keep my promise. She rowed like her life depended on it, and at long last, her rowboat hit the island’s sandy shore.
Gingerly, she stepped out. “Hello?” she called.
This island was smaller than the one in the tengaru clearing, with a few sparse trees growing along the periphery. The moon still hid behind the clouds, and the cranes lay motionless on the water, looking for all the world like what they appeared to be—just drowsy birds.
“Hello?” she repeated.
But she saw no ghost, no feather cloak.
There was only an empty island, a rowboat, and a baby that hissed like a snake.
The ghost materialized.
Jade shrieked, her heart leaping into her throat. He was her height, with a bald patch on his head surrounded by tufts of wiry gray hair. He wore clothes of cheap hemp fabric and had a farmer’s rough, weathered skin. His outline was filmy and transparent, just as Empress Lihua had been in the tengaru clearing.
The man contemplated her with dead eyes. “I know who you are,” he said, in a voice as thin and threadbare as his body. “You seek something that is mine. Greedy, aren’t you?”
Her mouth opened in surprise. “I am not.”
“Anyone who wants a throne wants power.”
“Power is the last thing I want,” she retorted.
“Liar!” the ghost roared, and Jade jumped. He walked slowly around her, and then passed right through her body like a cold wind. “You can’t admit it to yourself, can you? You who profess to be good. You want a crown on your head, power in your hands, and people to believe in you when you cannot believe in yourself.”
“It isn’t true,” she said vehemently.
The ghost gave her a knowing smirk. “Don’t deny it. You’re just like Xifeng.” The name hissed from his lips like a sharp winter wind. “Like mother, like daughter.”
“She is not my mother!” Jade shouted.
There was a long silence.
“I don’t owe you an explanation,” she said, struggling for calm. “But I seek the throne because I want Xifeng gone, and there’s no one left to stop her from destroying Feng Lu. I can’t sit back and watch people suffer because of her. Not when I can help.”
The ghost did not say anything.
“Do you think I enjoy wandering far from home, knowing her huntsman could find me at any time?” Jade crossed her arms. “Perhaps it is you who are greedy. Weren’t you the one who broke your promise not to spy on your wife?”
“I had to know what she was doing.”
“She was weaving, like she told you. Why didn’t you trust her?”
“I did trust her,” he said, affronted. “But I wanted to know what she didn’t wish me to see. A loving wife ought to have no secrets from her husband.”
“Then you shouldn’t have promised her. A loving husband ought to keep his word.”
The ghost scowled. “She could have told me the truth and saved us all this trouble.”
“She probably hid the secret because she knew how you’d react,” Jade said, annoyed by his arrogance. “You could have saved us all this trouble by allowing her that small privacy.”
“Then you’re determined to take my wife’s side?”
“I take the side of whoever is reasonable.”
The ghost paced back and forth, hateful eyes fixed on hers. His outline seem to thicken and glow with his anger, and when he moved a bit close to her, she felt his sleeve brush her arm. “You’ve become corporeal,” Jade said, forgetting her irritation as she recalled how Empress Lihua had been able to touch her hand. “How is it that spirits can sometimes take form?”
“Through strong human emotions,” he snarled. “They keep us shackled to our humanity. Feelings like anger, for instance, or vexation toward an impertinent princess.”
From the air, he plucked a cloak that shone so brightly, Jade had to shade her eyes.
“This is what you’re after, then, noble young woman,” the ghost mocked. “This is all you cared about while you let that child suffer in your boat.”
Jade whirled with a pang of guilt. In arguing with him, she had forgotten all about the child. As if on cue, the bundle in the rowboat began to move and cry lustily. “The baby was not suffering,” she said uncertainly.
“How do you know? Some ruler of Feng Lu you will be, letting a child cry and suffer!”
“It’s not a child!” Jade’s chest felt cold and tight. “I heard it hissing like a snake.”
The ghost pointed to her forehead. “Perhaps you’re hearing the snake in there, the one she put into your mind with that poisoned comb. She’s in your blood now.”
Jade touched her head where Xifeng’s comb had been, horrified. “What do you mean? How do you know about that?”
“I see much from the spirit world,” he said smugly. “Her mark on you is clear. You’re not so different from her after all, and she knows it—she recognizes it. Do you think she’d feel so threatened if she didn’t see her own ruthless determination in you?”
Jade shook her head, feeling his words grip her mind like doubtful fingers. He’s toying with me, she thought, weakening my resolve. But a tremor ran through her hand as the baby wailed. Tonight, she might have sacrificed an innocent life to win the relic of the Sacred Grasslands—and if she had, how was she any different from Xifeng?
The ghost’s voice softened. “The only way to be rid of your stepmother is to embrace your good heart. If you are anything like Empress Lihua, you had better see to that baby in pain.”
The child’s cries weakened, and it gasped as though for air.
Jade took a tentative step toward the rowboat.
“This cloak is the last possession I have of my beloved wife.” The ghost stroked the soft feathers. “I will not part with it to a cruel, heartless person. Save that child and perhaps you will show me that you are worthy of earning it.”
On the lake beyond the boat, the eleven cranes glided toward them, and all at once Jade recalled that this man had taken the sky-maidens’ sister away from them. Even after death, he had kept her cloak, cursing her to never return home with her family. This was not a trustworthy ghost, and Jade herself had made a promise.
In the boat, the snake hissed and the baby gave a piercing shriek before falling silent.
Jade couldn’t help releasing a sob. “It’s not real. It’s only a trick . . .”
“And now you’ve killed the child in your hesitation, Xifeng,” the ghost taunted her, his leer ghastly as he called her by her stepmother’s name. “I’ll never give you this cloak.”
She wiped her eyes, furious yet determined to keep her vow. “You will give me the cloak,” she spat. “You call me cruel, yet you hold on to a piece of your wife that does not belong to you. She is not a possession. She deserves to return home with her sisters, and you had better relinquish that to me now.” She held out her hand firmly, proud that it did not shake.
The ghost’s eyes darted between her hand and the cranes, who had now come up onto the island with them. They ringed the grass like fierce sentinels, their gazes fixed upon their sister’s husband with hatred.
“You’ve made your wife and her entire family suffer,” Jade told him, her voice strong though tears slipped from her eyes. “And what for? You’re like a stubborn, overgrown child who wants to prove you were wronged. Well, I think you deserved to lose her. You broke your promise, so don’t you dare, don’t you dare try to shame me for keeping mine.”
The ghost’s hand trembled on his wife’s cloak. His face, so insolent and smug a moment ago, sagged at Jade’s words. “I only w
anted . . .” He let out a long sigh. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps you have more integrity than I ever did—or at least a true ruthless streak, letting a snake attack a helpless child like that.”
Jade ignored the jab, continuing to hold out her hand.
He smirked, but this time it looked forced. “You’ve completed the task successfully. Go and see what’s inside the bundle, then.”
“I am about to lose my patience with you,” Jade said coldly, advancing on the ghost. He took a step backward, his sneer vanishing. “You know very well I promised not to look until I retrieved your wife’s cloak from you. So thank you for the offer, but I’ll take that cloak now.”
All of a sudden the ghost laughed, and it was so unexpected, Jade let her hand drop. “You have more mettle than I gave you credit for. You remind me a bit of my wife.” His eyes moved to the feathers in his hand, his face sad.
“It’s time to let her go,” Jade said gently. “I’ve lost loved ones, too. But if I could choose between keeping them as prisoners or releasing them as memories, I’d set them free.”
The cranes stood watching in silence, their beady black eyes wet.
“Please let go.” Jade’s hand brushed the ghost’s cold fingers as she took the cloak.
From across the lake, there came a twelfth sky-maiden in her human form, beautiful and ethereal as the heavens. She left a trail of lotus blossoms in her wake and bowed low to Jade, accepting her cloak. The ghost stretched out his arms to his wife in longing, but she would not look at him as she draped her long-awaited feathers over her shoulders and was transformed into an elegant white bird. Her sisters gathered around her, their wings spreading with joy.
The ghost watched them with tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry I kept you from them,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I refused to give up your cloak and played cruel tricks. Let my spirit go now to its natural rest.” As he spoke, the crane that had been his wife moved apart from her sisters, stretching her great wings, and met his eyes.
What he saw in her gaze made the ghost fall to his knees before her. “Thank you for your forgiveness,” he murmured. He rose, climbing onto the crane’s back, and turned back to Jade as his body took on a wispy form once more. “Sacrifice is sometimes necessary to maintain one’s integrity, but you know this already, Princess. Perhaps you’re not much like Xifeng after all.”