The Dragon Republic

by R. F. Kuang

  “Savages!” Augus screamed. He waved one arquebus in an arc before him. The Ketreyids hissed and scattered backward; several sank into a low crouch. “Get out of my head!”

  “Augus, please,” Rin begged. “You’re scared, you’re not yourself. Look at me, you know who I am, you’ve met me—”

  Augus leveled the arquebus again at her.

  The Sorqan Sira’s silent command rippled through the clearing. Fire.

  Not a single Ketreyid rider loosed their bow.

  Rin glanced around in confusion.

  “Bekter!” the Sorqan Sira shouted. “What is this?”

  Bekter smiled, and Rin realized with a twist of dread what was happening.

  This wasn’t an accident. The Hesperians had been set free on purpose.

  This was a coup.

  A furious flurry of flashing images ricocheted back and forth in the clearing, a silent war of minds between Bekter and the Sorqan Sira blasted to everyone present, like they were wrestlers performing for an audience.

  Rin saw Bekter cutting the Hesperians’ bonds and placing the arquebuses in their hands. They stared at him, brain-addled in terror. He told them they were about to play a game. He challenged them to outrun his arrows. The Hesperians scattered.

  She saw the girl Jiang had murdered—Tseveri, the Sorqan Sira’s daughter—riding across the steppe with a little boy seated before her. They were laughing.

  She saw a band of warriors—Speerlies, she realized with a start—at least a dozen of them, flames rolling off of their shoulders as they marched through burned yurts and charred bodies.

  She felt a scorching fury radiating out of Bekter, a fury that the Sorqan Sira’s weakening protests only amplified, and she understood: This wasn’t just some ambition-fueled power struggle. This was vengeance.

  Bekter wanted to do for his sister Tseveri what the Sorqan Sira never could. He wanted retribution. The Sorqan Sira wanted Nikara shamans controlled, but Bekter wanted them dead.

  Too long you’ve let the Cike run unchecked in the Empire, Mother. Bekter’s voice rang loud and clear. Too long you’ve shown mercy to the Naimad scum. No more.

  The riders agreed.

  They’d long since shifted their loyalties. Now they only had to dispose of their leader.

  The exchange was over in an instant.

  The Sorqan Sira reeled back. She seemed to have shrunk in on herself. For the first time, Rin saw fear on her face.

  “Bekter,” she said. “Please.”

  Bekter spoke an order.

  Arrows dotted the earth around Augus’s feet. Augus gave a strangled yelp. Rin lunged forward, but it was too late. She heard a click, then a small explosion.

  The Sorqan Sira dropped to the ground. Smoke curled from the spot where the bullet had burrowed into her chest. She looked down, then back up at Augus, face contorted in disbelief, before slumping to the side.

  Chaghan rushed forward. “Ama!”

  Augus dropped the arquebus he’d fired and raised the second one to his shoulder.

  Several things happened at once.

  Augus pulled the trigger. Qara threw herself in front of her brother. A bang split the night and together the twins collapsed, Qara falling back into Chaghan’s arms.

  The riders turned to flee.

  Rin screamed. A rivulet of fire shot from her mouth and slammed into Augus’s chest, knocking him over. He shouted, writhing madly to put out the flames, but the fire didn’t stop; it consumed his air, poured into his lungs, seized him from inside like a hand until his torso was charcoal and he couldn’t scream anymore.

  Augus’s death throes slowed to an insectlike twitching as Rin sank to her knees. She closed her mouth. The flames died away, and Augus lay still.

  Behind her Chaghan was cradling his sister. A dark splotch of blood appeared over Qara’s right breast as if painted by an invisible artist, blossoming larger and larger like a blooming poppy flower.

  “Qara—Qara, no . . .” Chaghan’s hands moved frantically over her breast, but there was no arrowhead to pull out; the metal shard had buried itself too deep for him to save her.

  “Stop,” Qara gasped. She lifted a shaking hand and touched it to Chaghan’s chest. Blood bubbled out between her teeth. “Let go. You have to let go.”

  “I’m going with you,” Chaghan said.

  Qara’s breath came in short, pained gasps. “No. Too important.”

  “Qara . . .”

  “Do this for me,” Qara whispered. “Please.”

  Chaghan pressed his forehead against Qara’s. Something passed between them, an exchange of thoughts that Rin could not hear. Qara reached a shaking hand to her chest, drew a pattern in her own blood on the pale skin of Chaghan’s cheek, and then placed her palm against it.

  Chaghan exhaled. Rin thought she saw something pass in the space between them—a gust of air, a shimmer of light.

  Qara’s head fell to the side. Chaghan pulled her limp form into his arms and dropped his head.

  “Rin,” Kitay said urgently.

  She spun around. Ten feet away, Bekter sat astride his horse, bow raised.

  She lifted her trident, but she had no chance. From this close Bekter had an easy shot. They’d be dead in seconds.

  But Bekter wasn’t shooting. His arrow was nocked to his bow, but the string wasn’t pulled taut. He had a dazed look in his eye; his gaze flickered between the bodies of the Sorqan Sira and Qara.

  He’s in shock, Rin realized. Bekter couldn’t believe what he’d done.

  She hefted her trident over her head, poised to throw. “Murder’s not so easy, is it?”

  Bekter blinked, as if just coming to his senses, and then aimed his bow at her.

  “Go on,” she told him. “We’ll see who’s faster.”

  Bekter looked at the gleaming tips of her trident, then down at Chaghan, who was rocking back and forth over Qara’s form. He lowered his bow just a fraction.

  “You did this,” Bekter said. “You killed Mother. That’s what I’ll tell them. This is your fault.” His voice wavered; he seemed to be trying to convince himself. His bow shook in his hands. “All of this is your fault.”

  Rin hurled her trident. Bekter’s horse bolted. The trident flew a foot over his head and shot through empty air. Rin aimed a burst of flame in his direction, but she was too slow—within seconds Bekter was gone from her sight, disappeared into the forest to follow his band of traitors.

  For a long time, the only sound in the clearing came from Chaghan. He wasn’t crying, not quite. His eyes were dry. But his chest heaved erratically, his breath came out in short, strangled bursts, and his eyes stared wide, down at his sister’s corpse as if he couldn’t believe what he was looking at.

  Our wills have been united since we were children, Qara had said. We are two halves of the same person.

  Rin couldn’t possibly imagine how it felt to have that stripped away.

  At last Kitay bent down over the Sorqan Sira’s body and rolled her flat on her back. He pulled her eyelids closed.

  Then he touched Chaghan gently on the shoulder. “Is there something we should—”

  “There’s going to be war,” Chaghan said abruptly. He laid Qara out on the dirt before him, then arranged her hands on her chest, one clasped over the other. His voice was flat, emotionless. “Bekter’s the chieftain now.”

  “Chieftain?” Kitay repeated. “He just killed his own mother!”

  “Not by his own hand. That’s why he gave the Hesperians those guns. He didn’t touch her, and his riders will attest to that. They’ll be able to swear it before the Pantheon, because it’s true.”

  There was no emotion on Chaghan’s face. He looked utterly, terrifyingly calm.

  Rin understood. He’d shut down, replaced his feelings with a focus on calm pragmatism, because that was the only way he could block out the pain.

  Chaghan took a deep, shuddering breath. For a moment the facade cracked, and Rin could see pain twisting across his face, but it
disappeared just as fast as it came. “This is . . . this changes everything. The Sorqan Sira was the only one keeping the Ketreyids in check. Now Bekter will lead them to slaughter the Naimads.”

  “Then go,” Rin said. “Take the warhorse. Ride north. Go back to your clan and warn them.”

  Chaghan blinked at her. “That horse is for you.”

  “Don’t be an idiot.”

  “We’ll find another way,” Kitay said. “It’ll take us a little longer, but we’ll figure it out. You need to go.”

  Slowly, Chaghan stood up on shaky legs and followed them to the riverbank.

  The horse was waiting tamely where they’d left it. It seemed completely unbothered by the commotion in the clearing. It had been trained well not to panic.

  Chaghan lifted his foot into the stirrup and swung himself up into the saddle in one graceful, practiced movement. He grasped the reins in both hands and looked down at them. He swallowed. “Rin . . .”

  “Yes?” she answered.

  He looked very small atop the horse. For the first time, she saw him for what he was: not a fearsome shaman, not a mysterious Seer, but just a boy, really. She’d always thought Chaghan so ethereally powerful, so detached from the realm of mortals. But he was human after all, smaller and thinner than the rest of them.

  And for the first time in his life, he was alone.

  “What am I going to do?” he asked quietly.

  His voice trembled. He looked so utterly lost.

  Rin reached for his hand. Then she looked at him, really looked him in the eyes. They were so similar when she thought about it. Too young to be so powerful, not close to ready for the positions they had been thrust into.

  She squeezed his fingers. “You fight.”

  Part III

  Chapter 25

  The journey back to Arlong took twenty-nine days. Rin knew because she carved one notch each day into the side of their raft, imagining, as the time stretched on, how the war must be going. Each mark represented a question, another possible alternate outcome. Had Daji invaded Arlong yet? Was the Republic still alive? Was Nezha?

  She took solace during the journey in the fact that she didn’t see the Imperial Fleet on the Western Murui, but that meant little. The fleet might have already passed them. Daji might be marching on Arlong instead of sailing—the Militia had always been far more comfortable with ground warfare. Or the fleet could have taken a coastal route, could have destroyed Tsolin’s forces before sailing south for the Red Cliffs.

  Meanwhile their raft bobbled insignificantly down the Western Murui, drifting on the current because both of them were too exhausted to row.

  Kitay had cobbled the raft together over two days using ropes and hunting knives the Ketreyids had left behind. It was a flimsy thing, tied together from the washed-up remains of the Republican Fleet, and just large enough for the two of them to lie down without touching.

  Rafting was slow progress. They kept cautiously to the shores to avoid dangerous currents like the one that had swept them over the falls at Boyang. When they could, they drifted under tree cover to stay hidden.

  They had to be careful with their food. They’d salvaged two weeks’ worth of dried meat from the Ketreyids’ rations, and occasionally they managed a catch of fish, but still their bones became ever more visible under their skin as the days went on. They lost both muscle mass and stamina, which made it even more important to avoid patrols. Even with Rin’s reacquisition of her abilities, there was little chance they could win in any real skirmish if they couldn’t even run a mile.

  They spent their days sleeping to conserve energy. One of them would curl up on the raft while the other kept a lonely vigil by the spear attached to a shield which served as an oar and rudder. One afternoon Rin awoke to find Kitay etching diagrams into the raft with a knife.

  She rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “What are you doing?”

  Kitay rested his chin on his fist, tapping his knife against the raft. “I’ve been thinking about how best to weaponize you.”

  She sat up. “Weaponize?”

  “Bad word?” He continued to scratch at the wood. “Optimize, then. You’re like a lamp. I’m trying to figure out how to make you burn brighter.”

  Rin pointed to a wobbly carved circle. “Is that supposed to be me?”

  “Yes. That represents your heat source. I’m trying to figure out exactly how your abilities work. Can you summon fire from anywhere?” Kitay pointed across the river. “For instance, could you make those reeds light up?”

  “No.” She knew the answer without trying it. “It has to come from me. Within me.”

  Yes, that was right. When she called the flame it felt like it was being tugged out from something inside her and through her.

  “It comes out my hands and mouth,” she said. “I can do it from other places too, but it feels easier that way.”

  “So you’re the heat source?”

  “Not so much the source. More like . . . the bridge. Or the gate, rather.”

  “The gate,” he repeated, rubbing his chin. “Is that what the Gatekeeper’s name means? Is he a conduit to every god?”

  “I don’t think so. Jiang . . . Jiang is an open door for certain creatures. You saw what the Sorqan Sira showed us. I think that he’s only able to call those beasts. All the monsters of the Emperor’s Menagerie, isn’t that how the story goes? But the rest of us . . . it’s hard to explain.” Rin struggled to find the words. “The gods are in this world, but they’re also still in their own, but while the Phoenix is in me it can affect the world—”

  “But not in the way that it wants to,” Kitay interrupted. “Or not always.”

  “Because I don’t let it,” she said. “It’s a matter of control. If you’ve got enough presence of mind, you redirect the god’s power for your purposes.”

  “And if not? What happens if you open the gate all the way?”

  “Then you’re lost. Then you become like Feylen.”

  “But what does that mean?” he pressed. “Do you have any control over your body left at all?”

  “I’m not sure. There were a few times—just a few—I thought Feylen was inside, fighting for his body back. But you saw what happened.”

  Kitay nodded slowly. “Must be hard to win a mental battle with a god.”

  Rin thought of the shamans encased in stone within the Chuluu Korikh, trapped forever with their thoughts and regrets, comforted only by the knowledge that this was the least horrible alternative. She shuddered. “It’s nearly impossible.”

  “So we’ll just have to figure out how to beat the wind with fire.” Kitay pushed his fingers through his overgrown bangs. “That’s a pretty puzzle.”

  There wasn’t much else to do on the raft, so they started experimenting with the fire. Day after day they pushed Rin’s abilities to see how far she could go, how much control she could manage.

  Up until then, Rin had been calling the fire on instinct. She’d been too busy fighting the Phoenix for control of her mind to ever bother examining the mechanics of the flame. But under Kitay’s pointed questions and guided experiments, she figured out the exact parameters of her abilities.

  She couldn’t seize control of a fire that already existed. She also couldn’t control fire that had left her body. She could give the fire a shape and make it erupt into the air, but the lingering flames would dissipate in seconds unless they found something to consume.

  “What does it feel like for you?” she asked Kitay.

  He paused for a moment before he answered. “It doesn’t hurt. At least, not so much as the first time. It’s more like—I’m aware of something. Something’s moving in the back of my head, and I’m not sure what. I feel a rush, like the shot of adrenaline you get when you look over the edge of a cliff.”

  “And you’re sure it doesn’t hurt?”

  “Promise.”

  “Bullshit,” she said. “You make the same face every time I summon a flame any bigger than a campfire. It’s
like you’re dying.”

  “Do I?” He blinked. “Just a reflex, I think. Don’t worry about it.”

  He was lying to her. She loved that about him, that he’d care enough to lie to her. But she couldn’t keep doing this to him. She couldn’t hurt Kitay and not worry about it.

  If she could, she’d be lost.

  “You have to tell me when it’s too much,” she said.

  “It’s really not so bad.”

  “Cut the crap, Kitay—”

  “It’s the urges I feel more than anything,” he said. “Not the pain. It makes me hungry. It makes me want more. Do you understand that feeling?”

  “Of course,” she said. “It’s the Phoenix’s most basic impulse. Fire devours.”

  “Devouring feels good.” He pointed at an overhanging branch. “Try that shooty thing again.”

  Over the next few days she learned a number of different tricks. She could create balls of fire and hurl them at targets up to ten yards away. She could make shapes out of flame so intricate that she could have put on an entire puppet show with them. She could, by shoving her hands into the river, boil the water around them until steam misted the air and fish bubbled belly-up to the surface.

  Most importantly, she could carve out protective spaces in the fire, up to ten feet from her own body, so that Kitay never burned even when everything around them did.

  “What about mass destruction?” he asked after a few days of exploring minor tricks.

  Rin stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  His tone was carefully neutral. Purely academic. “What you did to the Federation, for instance—can we replicate that? How much flame can you summon?”

  “That was different. I was on the island. In the temple. I’d . . . I’d just seen Altan die.” She swallowed. “And I was angry. I was so angry.”

  In that moment, she’d been capable of an inhuman, vicious, and terrible rage. But she wasn’t sure she could replicate that rage, because it had been sparked by Altan’s death, and what she felt now when she thought about Altan wasn’t fury, but grief.