by Cindy Pon
“Are the Sea Shifters something you’ve encountered before?” she asked Peng.
The captain fiddled with a gold button on his shirt. He hadn’t shaved, and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes. “No. It’s a tale we shared while drinking to try to spook one another.” Yen poured him more tea, and Peng thanked him by tapping a finger against the table. “I wasn’t even certain the fire would work. It was a risk to our ship, but the Sea Shifters were far more dangerous.” He gave a slight shake of his head. “Da Yun was the first crew member I’ve ever lost.”
“Chen Yong said they take on the image of a loved one,” Ai Ling said. She swallowed the lump in her throat.
“According to lore. Yes.” Peng studied her, and she tucked her spirit close. “A loved one, living or dead. They prey on guilt, on unspoken emotions, or the unresolved….”
They sat at the table without speaking for long moments, each lost in thought.
Everyone dispersed after the meal, and much of Lao Lu’s delicious food was left in the pot.
Ai Ling went up on deck. Several of the crew nodded somberly as she strolled the perimeter of the ship. The dampness seeped through her, and she drew in the salt air. The Gliding Dragon flew over the waters.
She stepped over Yam Head and Xiao Hou, who were sprawled on the deck, playing war with wooden sticks. “Wanna fish with us again when the winds drop, miss?” Yam Head asked.
She ruffled his hair. “We’ll see,” she said, although a chill crept down her spine. They were so vivid, these memories that were not hers, it felt as if she had lived them. Had she made them up? At the stern she wandered up the two flights of stairs to the top deck without thinking. It was her favorite place on the ship because of the quiet.
She almost turned around when she saw Chen Yong hunched on a stool, facing the sea, his head bowed over a book. Instead, she stood and watched him. She realized he was sketching and smiled. She knew that he studied art as she did but had never seen any of his work. She took stealthy steps toward him, hoping to peek.
He turned when she was only a few paces away and closed the book, his mouth twitching into a half grin. Dark shadows curved beneath his eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping well either. “I was drawing,” he said.
“And I was trying to steal a glimpse.”
He smiled. “You’ve never shown me your sketchbook.”
“No.” She leaned against the railing, facing him. “I didn’t even know you had one.”
“I remembered our last journey together and you always sketching in yours. I packed one for this trip.”
“So—” She held out a hand.
Chen Yong gave her his sketchbook. “This means I’ll get to look through yours?”
“No promises,” she said. The book was bound in soft brown calfskin, luxurious to the touch. She ran her fingers over the cover before opening it. The Gliding Dragon’s masts, bridge, and stern were rendered in strong strokes. There was the same boldness in his drawings as in his calligraphy. Portraits of the crew, including an exact likeness of Yam Head, grinning mischievously from the page. She came across a profile of herself, chin tucked in one hand. She was drawn in delicate, careful lines, a dreamy look in her eyes.
“It’s me.” She glanced up, amazed.
“Oh.” Chen Yong stood. “I think you were looking out to sea.” He took the sketchbook and closed it.
“You’re very good,” she said.
“It’s only a hobby.” He fumbled, finally clasping the book behind his back. “Are you all right?”
She remembered the slow-rising terror; the shrieking and jumbled emotions pulsing across the massive ship. “I hadn’t seen the like since…our last journey together.”
“I know,” he said in a low voice.
“I couldn’t do anything to stop them. I tried.” At least until she was seduced by the image of Li Rong.
“I’m sorry for locking you below. I was worried. I—” He was studying her intently, as if she had changed somehow. As if he didn’t recognize her. “You always act with courage, Ai Ling.”
She remembered the frantic look in his eyes, the way his voice had reached through to her. She hadn’t felt courageous; she had felt lost. “You were the one who saved me.”
He blushed and dropped his gaze.
They climbed down the steps to the main deck together, without speaking. Awkward as wooden puppets.
Zhong Ye hiked back toward the sound of flowing water. His trip seemed shorter in the daylight. Still, when he came upon the edge of the deep gorge, it was a surprise. He dropped to his knees and leaned over, feeling a small gust of air from below. The crevice was no wider than the length of two men, and from what he could see, it both narrowed and widened as it wound its way down the mountain. The drop could kill him; he would have to climb down. He stood and scanned the skies, tilted his head to listen for any other sound besides the river below.
He decided to hike along the edge of the gorge and stopped when he saw the waterfall. A sheer rock face prevented him from climbing higher. The sun was directly overhead; the silt below glittered with gold and coppery flecks. The bottom of the gorge was much closer now but still not close enough to jump. And there was nothing to tie a rope to.
He ran his hand over the sharp black crystal of the crevice walls. The rocks were uneven, and he could find handholds; but one mistake, and he’d fall, an easy meal for the Poison Eagle. He left everything at the top, except for the spear that he strapped to his back, the lantern, newly filled with oil, his flask, and a few slices of dried beef. He secured the gold dagger at his waist.
Zhong Ye had done many things as a farm boy, but he had never climbed down the face of a rock wall. He prayed as he concentrated on finding one sturdy foothold after another and carefully navigated his way down the jagged wall. His arms began to burn, and his palms became slick. After what seemed like hours, he finally jumped and landed gracefully on his feet.
He went to the stream and drank deeply, then flung himself down on the damp dirt. In the next moment, when he opened his eyes, the day had darkened: he had fallen asleep. He cursed himself for his stupidity, then stood quickly and looked around. He could see or hear nothing except the waterfall.
Hidden beside the falling water was a fissure wide enough to slip through. He pulled his spear from his back and cautiously stepped through the opening. The ground squelched beneath his feet. It was a small cavern, and he glanced up to catch a circular view of the sky. Water trickled down one wall and collected in a shallow pool. He crouched and examined it; it was not more than two hands deep.
Zhong Ye left the cavern and climbed to higher ground. He would wait for night, search for her when dark then bright. He settled against the rough wall of the gorge, feeling safer with it pressed against his back, and chewed on a piece of dried beef. It was already dusk, and he lit his small lantern in anticipation of evening.
The darkness gathered in degrees, until all he could see was the small beacon from his lantern. Alert, he strained his eyes in the darkness. Nothing. He squeezed through the fissure again and approached the pool. The lantern light reflected in the shallow water.
He extinguished the flame. A glow seemed to emanate from the pool, so indistinct that he blinked several times, wondering if he imagined it. As the moments passed, the glow grew brighter. Faint circles the size of his fist bloomed. He rolled up his sleeves, then plunged his hand into the water. He began to scoop out cold mud in handfuls and was elbow deep when he finally touched something smooth and firm.
Zhong Ye’s fingers were numb by the time he was finally able to pry the object free. He lit his lantern again with a long pinewood match, and the flame guttered and danced. Almost the size of his palm, the empress root was ebony colored and shaped like a peanut, which could be described as a woman, he supposed. He cut off a thin slice with his dagger. A subtle scent like almonds wafted through the air. After placing the root carefully in the satchel slung across his shoulder, he turned back toward the shallow pool.
He snuffed the lantern and closed his eyes, his heart racing. When he opened them again, he counted the number of glowing circles. Eight. He noticed that a faint glow still hovered above the spot where he had found the first root. He spent the next hours digging in the dark. He was shivering and exhausted by the time he had all eight empress roots secured in his satchel.
He was lighting the lantern when the wail of an infant echoed through the small cavern, and he cursed, dropping the match. There was a soft titter by his ear. He lunged for the cave opening, and something massive swept overhead, then thumped him from behind, gouging holes in his back. He sprawled to the ground, teeth clacking. He could hear mad giggling through his pain.
Zhong Ye crawled on his hands and knees, fumbling for his spear in the dark. Where was it? There was a loud wail, and he rolled away, felt the flap of wings as sharp claws tore into the arm he had thrown across his face. Warm blood dribbled across his skin. Zhong Ye shouted in anger and pain and drew his dagger. If he were to die in this cavern, he would die fighting.
A sudden swish of wings, and he thrust the dagger through the air and connected with something leathery and yielding. The monster screeched and swooped away. Grinning, he spun to follow the noise. “It’s pure gold—if you’d like another taste!”
The abrupt silence was eerie, and the dimming phosphorescence from the shallow pool did nothing to illuminate the cavern. He stalked toward the opening of the fissure, gripping his dagger, too furious to notice his injuries.
Zhong Ye stepped out into the gorge and was just able to catch a breath before he saw a blur of motion, a shadow in the starlight. Two brilliant yellow eyes stared at him. The monster was pacing. It was the size of a tiger, the color and print of its fur impossible to make out in the darkness. But he saw the shape of the beak and a long tail swishing, and as it came at him, its huge wings unfurled.
He pressed himself against the rock wall, heard the waterfall splashing into the stream beside him, felt a soft spray and the stick of blood on his arms and face. The monster sat back on its haunches, the same stance the palace cats took before leaping upon their prey. Zhong Ye crouched, dagger drawn, as it pounced.
Claws dug into his shoulders, almost a hug, as the Poison Eagle stabbed him with its beak. If it pierced his throat, he would die. Zhong Ye tucked his chin and drove his dagger up. It slid between the beast’s ribs. The Poison Eagle wailed, sounding exactly like a hurt babe, and fell back. Zhong Ye lunged after it, slicing through one of its wings.
The monster whipped around, spitting poison, and swiped at Zhong Ye with its huge paw. If only he had his spear. The Poison Eagle stalked toward him, tail thrashing. Zhong Ye was beginning to feel faint. It sprang again. He twisted as the horn slashed across his midriff before puncturing his side. He fell to his knees, and the beast followed, its beak slicing into his scalp. He slammed the dagger into the creature’s throat. It gurgled, then collapsed to the ground, shuddering. Pain erupted in an explosion of light, and he forced himself to rise, clutching his side with one hand, blood running between his fingers. He drove his dagger into one golden eye and looked away as the beast’s body twitched, then stilled.
After a few moments Zhong Ye pulled the blade out, gagging at the thick scent of blood. He limped back into the dark cavern, head spinning, and crashed unconscious to the ground.
When Zhong Ye woke, he wished he hadn’t. Every bone in his body ached; every muscle screamed in agony. It hurt to breathe, and he couldn’t abide the thought of moving. Had he actually lived? He tried to flex his fingers but couldn’t feel them. He began to shake and groaned as he struggled to rise to a sitting position. Light shone from above, but he had no way of knowing what time it was—or even what day. He glanced down at the dagger, surprised that he still clutched it.
The dampness of the earth had soaked through him, and his teeth chattered from the cold. He slowly rotated onto his hands and knees and, still holding the dagger, crawled to the cavern entrance. Dagger hand. Other hand. Scrape. One knee. Other knee. Shudder.
Somehow he made his way outside, where the daylight drove a spike of agony into his throbbing head. The Poison Eagle’s corpse sprawled in front of him, and he swayed away from it toward the stream, where he fell onto his stomach to drink from the edge like some wild animal. He kept drinking until he felt sick, then submerged his face in the water. He managed to pull back and lay his cheek on the bank, before losing consciousness again.
Perhaps it was the warmth of the sun that stirred him awake. Zhong Ye opened his eyes to find himself staring at the Poison Eagle’s corpse. Like a leopard, the creature had a golden coat with black spots. But its head was that of an eagle, with a sharp beak and a horn the length of his index finger on its head. Its claws were lethal.
Zhong Ye staggered to his feet. His tunic was crusted with dried blood, and he gingerly pulled it over his head, biting back a cry of pain. A deep, jagged gash stretched from his navel to his waist. He bundled his tunic and pressed it against the wound. A tight burning radiated from his shoulders across his upper back. He wouldn’t be able to climb up that rock wall. He searched for the last piece of dried beef in his pocket and forced himself to eat. Even his jaw ached. He hadn’t thought to pack any medicinal herbs. He had expected either to succeed unscathed or to die, not to be injured and barely alive.
His eyes fell on his satchel by the water. He limped to it and withdrew one of the empress roots. What a fool he was! According to the ancient text, he had the best healing herb in the world right here. He rummaged for the thin slice he had cut from the first root and pinched it between his fingertips. The subtle scent of almonds perfumed the air, and he drew his next breath without shuddering. The flesh of the root was ivory. Cautiously, he licked it—a little sweet—then popped it in his mouth. It crunched like a water chestnut, although drier in consistency. Instantly he felt stronger, the pain lifting from him.
But how much should he eat? He glanced at his midriff. The gash closed and healed even as he stared at it in amazement, forming a thick scab that snaked across his waist. He watched, transfixed, as the deep hole in his side knitted itself together. He threw his arms over his head, flexed his shoulders, and felt nothing. Zhong Ye stripped off his trousers and walked into the water until he was waist deep, then stood underneath the waterfall and scrubbed the dried blood and dirt from his body. The empress root pulsed through him, exhilarating and potent.
His clothes were ruined, and he only donned his trousers for the climb back up. He tied Silver Phoenix’s handkerchief at his waist. With one finger he traced his wounds, now lines of soft pink skin, and shook his head in awe. He jogged back into the cavern to retrieve his spear and lantern. The spear was resting flush along the far edge of the cave; the shallow pool gave no clue of what it had carried.
Zhong Ye left the cave and crouched beside the Poison Eagle’s carcass, wishing he had brought paper and charcoal so he could sketch the beast for Yokan. Instead, he hacked off one sharp claw with his golden dagger; the dagger had been poisonous to the beast and had saved Zhong Ye’s life. He wondered if the monster had eaten enough of the empress root somehow to resurrect itself; would it rise to live again, growing back the claw that he had taken? After committing every detail of the creature to memory, he packed up his belongings and started up the side of the gorge. He did it without thinking, like a spider on its own web. When he reached the top, his heartbeat had barely quickened; he had never felt this invincible.
He changed into fresh clothes, secured his provisions, and jogged down the path, resting only once before reaching the base of the Mountain of Brilliant Tears.
When Zhong Ye returned to the palace, he went straight to Mei Gui’s quarters. Silver Phoenix rushed into the reception hall and barely closed the panel to the bedchamber behind her before he swept her into his arms and lifted her off the ground to spin them both in dizzying circles.
She gasped and laughed. The sound sent a surge of love, then desire through him. He set her down
with care and kissed her. She gasped again, a different sound this time, and pretended to push him away. “I’ve been so worried over you,” she whispered. Her face was flushed, her parted lips, a deeper color.
Zhong Ye glanced toward the bedchamber and stepped back decorously. “How is Mei Gui? How is the babe?”
“She’s beginning to thicken at the waist. She glows.”
He caressed her cheek. “How beautiful you would be, with child.” In his exuberance, he did not think before he spoke, and time stopped, the words hanging between them like jagged ice. An overwhelming sorrow filled him. He could never give her a child, this woman he adored. Zhong Ye swallowed hard, wished he could swallow his words. Silver Phoenix reached for his hand and drew it to her lips.
“I’m so glad you’re home.” She smiled, her dark eyes bright.
Home. He would make one for her someday. One where she was the mistress with dozens of handmaids to serve her. “I’ll give the Emperor the good news. I’m certain Mei Gui carries a boy.”
“Will I see you again soon?” she asked.
“Never soon enough, love,” he said as he stepped from the quarters.
He went next to Yokan’s study. The foreigner jumped off his stool to greet him. “You were delayed. I began to worry,” he said.
Zhong Ye retrieved the empress roots from his satchel and felt a twinge of regret as he placed them on the blackwood table. Yokan let out a long whistle as he picked one up, turning it in his hand. “Are you certain this is it?”
“I would be dead if it wasn’t.”
Yokan’s brows lifted, and he gestured to a stool. “Tell me everything.”
Yokan listened to Zhong Ye’s story, interrupting with a question here or there, shaking his head in wonderment all the while. When Zhong Ye was finished, Yokan directed his servant to fetch them a hot meal. He rubbed his hands together, a faint smile on his thin mouth.