by Julie C. Dao
“No, not Kang,” she moaned.
Koichi’s anxious words sounded like they came from far away. “I couldn’t wake her.”
The man crouched down and Jade struggled feebly, imagining his slow bloodthirsty smile, but neither Wren nor Koichi sounded frightened. They seemed to be answering the man’s questions as he lifted Jade in his arms, his deep voice rumbling against her shoulder.
The world swayed and she lost her vision, though she could still hear voices. She let herself go limp, feeling sick to her stomach as a great roaring filled her ears. Later, her sight came back in patchy flashes: the ears and mane of a great white horse, the sky deepening at sunset, and a large pale tent, its fabric flapping in the hot dry wind.
And then she was in blessed cool darkness, with something cold and wet on her forehead and someone pouring water down her throat. She fell into the oblivion of sleep. Days must have passed—she opened her eyes from time to time to see Koichi’s or Wren’s anxious faces as they lifted her head and gave her water. Had her sun-fevered mind only imagined Kang’s presence?
When Jade woke at last, she lay looking up at a ceiling of rough hemp a few shades lighter than the sand. She followed the fabric as it cascaded down to where she lay upon a clean, soft pallet. It was cool and quiet, and she was all alone.
Three other pallets lay on the sand nearby, their blankets neatly folded. The tent was spacious, with a long, low trunk along one wall that served as a table. There were pots for cooking, three crude lanterns and sulfur matches, a pile of clothing arranged on a rough stool, and barrels and sacks she guessed were filled with flour and rice and other grains.
An array of weapons lined the opposite wall, the likes of which she had only ever seen Xifeng’s men possess. Jade sat bolt upright, but the dizziness came back in a sickening rush, and she lay down again weakly. Whose home was this, that they should own such ferocious swords and daggers and axes? The metal seemed to wink at her maliciously.
Just then, the tent flap lifted and Wren walked in. At the sight of Jade, she rushed over with water, clucking like a worried chicken. If Jade closed her eyes, she could almost imagine it was Amah fussing over her.
“How do you feel?” Wren demanded. “You’ve been sleeping for two whole days.”
“I’m better,” Jade said, smiling, but the other girl scowled back.
“So stupid, to leave us all the water and insist on not drinking any yourself,” she scolded, pressing her hand against Jade’s forehead. “Koichi and I were afraid we’d lost you. He hasn’t slept once. He’s been sitting up with you every night.” She lifted a cup to Jade’s lips. “We were lucky we found that clean oasis. Ming said most of them are contaminated with animal droppings and he always has to boil his water first to kill what’s living in it.”
“Ming?” Jade repeated. She sat bolt upright again, fighting the dizziness. “Kang carried me here, didn’t he?”
Wren gave her a strange look. “You really aren’t very good with heat, are you?” she said good-naturedly. “That wasn’t Kang, it was Ming, and he’s as different from that evil eunuch as could be, because he saved us that day. He’s been living here for ten years.”
Jade groaned, lying back down. “Why would anyone live in the desert?”
“Because, young woman,” said a gruff, deep voice, “it is a perfectly quiet and habitable place if you know how to take care of yourself.”
The stranger stepped into the tent, and now that she saw him properly, Jade had to admit he looked nothing like Xifeng’s huntsman. He tied the tent flap to a rope hanging nearby, letting in a ray of sunlight, and crossed his arms, studying her as intently as she did him.
She guessed his age to be about forty. He stood more than a head taller than Wren, and though Jade had thought him bald, she saw now that his jet-black hair was shaved close to his scalp. He was striking in a rough, hardened way, with a strong nose and a wide jawline. His sleeveless tunic bared his arms, revealing faded black markings on his skin.
“You don’t need to be frightened. I won’t hurt you,” he said gently.
Wren grinned. “Captain Ming’s going to teach me how to fight.”
“I said I’d think about it,” he corrected her, amused. “I’ve never heard of a girl who was interested in such things before. Then again, I’ve never heard of two girls and a dwarf traveling the desert on foot without any food or water.” Jade shrank back under his piercing scrutiny.
Wren patted her shoulder. “It’s all right, we can trust him. If he had wanted to turn us in, he would have done it already.”
Ming’s lips thinned. “I have no interest in dealing with Imperial soldiers. They came a few nights ago, before I even knew you existed. I had a hard time convincing them that I didn’t know you, because your runaway horses had wound up at my door.”
Wren shouted with laughter at Jade’s bewilderment. “It’s true! Somehow the smart beasts found Ming when they left us at the oasis. Koichi’s outside feeding them.”
“Once the soldiers determined I had told the truth, they didn’t care a whit for me. And then you showed up after all.” Ming regarded Jade. “You seemed to be missed, young woman.”
“I was accused of a crime I didn’t commit,” she said carefully. “I’m running for my life. The Empress cannot let me go.”
“No, she’s not very good at that, is she?”
Ming crossed the room and scooped a few cups of rice and water into a pot, then lit a fire above some dried plants in the corner. Jade saw a sheathed dagger concealed against his body, hidden beneath one elbow, as he moved. Apparently he armed himself even while at home.
Just then, Koichi came in, and his entire face lit up when he saw Jade. She hadn’t known until then that it was possible to miss someone even while she slept. He hugged her fiercely and she gave in to his embrace, not caring about Wren smirking in the corner. Under the scent of the desert and his perspiration, Jade thought she could somehow smell the pine trees of the Great Forest on him. A great wave of homesickness overtook her.
“I was frantic about you.” Koichi pulled away, but kept his hands on her shoulders. “We were lucky Ming found us. We’re in your debt, sir, for your kindness.”
“I only did what was right. You would all have died,” Ming told him. “How came you to be without food, water, or your horses in the desert?”
Koichi hesitated. “We told you. The soldiers scared them away when we were sleeping.”
“And how did the soldiers avoid finding you? That is one thing you have not told me.”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
“I could insist on truth as payment for my kindness, as you called it,” Ming said.
Jade, Wren, and Koichi exchanged helpless glances, but at that moment, another person came into the tent, and they were saved from an immediate answer. The man who came in was younger and shorter than Ming, but just as broad in the shoulders. His hair was longer and rose up in the middle of his head, sloping back like the feathers of a rooster. But there was something strange about him, for his body wavered in the air like a column of dust. In fact, Jade could see the walls of the tent right through him. She had seen two people like that recently.
The ghost turned, and Jade’s heart clenched.
Somehow, he was familiar to her—she felt certain that she knew him, and yet she felt equally certain that they had never met before. He had died young, for he seemed to be in his early twenties. He had an open, likable face with thick brows and a mischievous set to his mouth.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” the ghost asked Ming.
“This is Fu, my personal nuisance,” Ming said grumpily, and Koichi glanced at Jade in amusement as they and the ghost exchanged polite bows.
Jade gazed at the ghost, struggling to frame her statement politely. “You’re a . . . that is, you’re no longer living.”
“It’
s true,” Fu said cheerfully. “I’ve been dead for a long time, I think.”
“You think? You don’t know?” Wren asked.
“I have trouble holding on to memories of my life: who I am, where I’m from. Bits and pieces come and go, which is rather inconvenient when you’re trying to figure out your purpose in this world so your spirit can pass on to the next.” He beamed at Ming, who wore an extremely unamused expression. “I only know I’ve been following him around for years.”
“Why Ming, of all people?” Koichi asked.
“Because he’s the one who killed me.”
Wren stepped away from Ming. “You’re haunting a murderer?” she asked Fu.
Ming growled. “It wasn’t murder. If you’re going to tell a story, at least tell the whole of the story, you irritating stone in my shoe.”
Fu winked at Jade. “See how lovingly he speaks to me? But he’s right, it wasn’t murder. He tells me I begged for death and he gave it to me as a mercy. I’m inclined to believe him, aren’t you? Someone like him would probably boast about murder.”
“I killed him in a swordfight,” Ming said loudly. “I’m not ashamed to admit I once fought for money. It put food on the table, and I was good at it. This one came rushing in before a match, pleading with me to free him from assassins who wanted his head. So I did him a favor.”
“That’s quite a favor for a stranger,” Jade said, startled, but Ming did not meet her eyes.
“It was all in a day’s work for him, I’m sure.” The ghost scratched his head. “I can’t recall if my tutors showed me how to use a sword when I was alive.”
“But you recall having tutors,” Wren pointed out.
“There! That’s another scrap of memory that blew into my mind.” Fu furrowed his brow, thinking hard, then gave up with a sheepish grin. “See how hard it is to live with me? But how rude of me, talking all about myself when you must be hungry. I can’t eat, myself,” he added confidingly to Wren, “but I’m sure I had exquisite taste when I was still living.”
Ming muttered something under his breath, rolling his eyes, and Jade pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. Koichi and Wren were both grinning openly.
“Yes, I must have had a refined palate,” Fu declared. “Too bad it’s wasted out here with a man who thinks rattlesnake is fine cuisine.”
“A refined palate doesn’t help one much when it’s the difference between living and starving,” Ming snapped, crossing his arms over his chest.
“He’s a bit sensitive,” Fu told Wren, who giggled. “How about you and this young man here come with me, and I’ll show you where to gather more kindling? Ming likes it when I make myself somewhat useful.” The ghost glanced at Jade. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, dear. I thought you’d die and grant me your ghostly company when you first came. I was happy because . . . well, you see what I currently have for companionship.” He twinkled at Ming, who looked like he would gladly kill him a second time, then floated out of the tent after Wren and Koichi.
Ming turned to Jade. He had uncrossed his arms, but his hands were now braced on his hips. She wondered if he had any stance that wasn’t confrontational or defensive. “Well, young lady,” he said, “I think we ought to clarify how long you expect to stay here at my expense.”
Jade blinked, stunned by his lack of hospitality. “I don’t believe we’ll be here long, sir. We have somewhere we need to be.”
“Is that so? And where in this forsaken desert do you have to be?” But Ming held up a hand before she could respond. “On second thought, don’t answer that. I don’t want to be involved, and I don’t need to know more than I already do. I know who you are, Jade of the Great Forest,” he said, not unkindly. “There’s no use pretending, not when Imperial soldiers are prowling the sands for a lost princess and two girls show up out of nowhere at my door.”
Her heart sank. “Please, Captain Ming, I beg you. If you must turn me in to the Empress, let my friends go—they are innocent and my stepmother wants only me.”
“What kind of man do you take me for, turning a child like you in to her?” he demanded. “Then again, it doesn’t suit me to harbor the runaway heir to a bloodstained empire. There’s a price on your head, Princess, and I don’t mean coins.”
Jade’s throat closed. “You want us to leave. You have your own safety to consider, and I understand. You’ve been more than generous.”
“I won’t pretend my past is pure and innocent, but I never brought the law upon myself if I could help it, and I don’t intend to start now,” Ming replied. “I’ve lived in the shifting sands for a decade with only my horses and that meddlesome ghost for company, and I’m happy to go on that way without the Empress’s eye on me. Alive and unbothered.”
She looked down at her tightly clasped hands. “The soldiers came to ask you about our horses. Was the Empress’s huntsman with them? He’s a eunuch, large and bald with cruel eyes.”
Ming gave a short, harsh laugh. “That’s what he calls himself? Her huntsman?”
“He’s hunting for me,” Jade said in a quiet voice, and his amusement died at once.
“No. He was not with them.” The man turned away, gazing out of the tent flap at the desert, his features relaxed and free of anger.
“We can’t ask any more of you than you’ve already given, sir,” Jade said, bowing her head. “I’m grateful for your hospitality, and my friends and I will go.”
“I didn’t mean right away,” Ming said awkwardly. “Stay until you’re a bit better, at least. But where do you think you’ll go that the Empress can’t find you?”
“It’s not so much a matter of hiding as it is doing all I can before she finds me.”
The man’s arms dropped to his sides as he scrutinized her. “You can’t be more than eighteen. I might have had a daughter your age by now if my life had gone a different way.” The sadness on his face vanished as quickly as it had come. “You’re only a child. Do you honestly think you can challenge the Empress?”
He spoke with brutal honesty, not malice. But hearing her own doubts from someone else’s mouth was worse than thinking them herself. Jade looked defiantly at him. “If Xifeng wants to destroy me, I intend to meet her with a fight. I’ve been given a duty, and I will do it while I can. Even if you don’t believe in me. Even if I don’t believe in me, at times.”
The hard lines around Ming’s mouth softened. “You mean what you say, and you’ll do it, too. That I believe. But I will say again for your ears: I do not want to risk myself and my peace any more than I must.”
“I understand. And thank you.” She lay down, dizziness overtaking her once more as she pulled the blanket over herself and turned her back on him.
Later that evening, Ming took his horse and rode off across the sands with Fu in tow—a habit the man had, Fu told Jade cheekily, of running from his demons. Jade didn’t know exactly what he meant, but she was glad to be alone with Wren and Koichi again.
“We’ve been looking at the map every day, every time we came in here to check on you,” Wren informed her. “No sign of Kang or his snakes. They must have gone farther south.”
“We thought we’d get a head start and try to figure out some of the other relics,” Koichi said in a brisk, businesslike tone. “There’s a sword embroidered over the mountains of Dagovad, and I am very eager to find out whether it belongs to Tu Lam.”
Jade grinned, feeling a rush of affection for her friends. “Has Wren heard the tale yet?”
“Koichi wanted to wait until you woke up,” Wren explained. “He kept building up suspense by telling me what a great warrior Tu Lam was and about all the feats he accomplished.”
“There are many tales of his daring adventures, but did you know he was a great cook?” Koichi asked, laughing at Wren’s horrified expression.
“Here is a man famed for his swordsmanship,” the young woman said
indignantly, “and you’re going to tell me how nicely he could steam shrimp for his supper?”
Koichi snickered. “His cooking skills led to recognition from the gods themselves. But I think I’ll let Jade have the honor of telling this story.”
Jade looked at their expectant faces, remembering how Amah had told her this legend: with a hushed, awestruck voice. She adopted her nursemaid’s style as she began and couldn’t help smiling as she did so—it felt like the old woman was sitting there beside her.
“The god who ruled over Dagovad, Kingdom of the Four Winds, was a great warrior himself,” she said. “Of the five Dragon Lords, he was the best swordsman, and he was known for recognizing brilliance in others. In particular, he noticed a Dagovadian nobleman who had three worthy sons. The nobleman couldn’t decide which to name his heir, so he set a challenge for them: whichever son brought him the dish he liked best would inherit everything.”
Wren gave a soft snort, to show what she thought of that.
“The eldest son brought fish and lobster, the costly fare of the ocean,” Jade went. “The second son cooked roasted peacock, the emblem of their house. But the youngest son worked hard alongside their people in the fields, fashioning rice cakes with his own hands. It was this simple, homely dish that won the youngest son his inheritance. Rice was the food of their people and a gift from their lands, and this meal showed it the honor and respect it deserved.”
“That youngest son was Tu Lam?” Wren guessed.
Jade nodded. “It was then that Tu Lam first attracted the notice of the god of Dagovad. In addition to his humility, Tu Lam also impressed him with his skillful swordplay. The god gave him a beautiful sword, and the Dragon King himself blessed the blade with his own blood, so that it would always aim true. As a result, the sword’s name became Silver Arrow.”