Lost Lore: A Fantasy Anthology

by Ben Galley

  They descended into the forest, passing from bright sunlight into a twilit gloaming. There was little underbrush, as trees with bark the color of mottled bone wove a dense canopy high above. The ground was covered by a thick carpet of moss; several times Jhenna’s slippered feet sank into it almost to her ankles.

  The silence surprised her. She had expected the air to be filled with birdsong and the buzz of insects, but the forest was as quiet as a temple…or a tomb. It was almost oppressive. She must not have been the only one who felt this way, as the babble of conversation ceased soon after entering the woods, replaced by furtive whispers.

  She gasped when she felt a presence appear beside her, and then gasped again when she turned and saw who it was.

  “My prince,” she murmured, ducking her head.

  “Consort Jhenna,” the emperor’s son replied.

  He didn’t seem surprised to see her, so that explained who had invited her. Jhenna’s heart quickened as she considered what this could mean.

  “You don’t mind traipsing through the woods like this?” Prince Ma asked, kicking at a fallen tree and sending chunks of rotten wood flying. A centipede the length of her forearm slithered deeper into the log.

  Jhenna shrugged. “I’ve never been in a forest before, but I’ve lived my life on the steppes, under the sun and stars. I don’t need silks and cushions to feel comfortable.”

  Prince Ma eyed her appraisingly. “That must make you unique among my father’s consorts. Most of them seem to believe that waking up too late to be served breakfast is the greatest hardship anyone could endure.”

  Jhenna glanced at the prince, in his fine clothes and bearing a jeweled sword. He seemed to hear her thoughts, because he chuckled. “Ah, you think I’m just like them.” He gestured at the Shan nobles stumbling through the forest. “Coddled and soft. But I’ve actually had my share of hardship.”

  She tried to better mask what she was truly thinking, but he saw her skepticism.

  “You don’t believe me. That’s understandable.” He looked away from her. “My father believes in strength, Consort Jhenna. He’s a student of history, you see, and the history of my people – the Shan – is riddled with stories of fallen dynasties. Strong emperors whose sons were raised in luxury and became weak, and invited disaster. So, when I was ten years old, my father sent me to live in a garrison bordering your home, which we call the Barrowlands. I was to accompany the soldiers when they ventured out onto the steppes – dine with them, care for my horse, suffer those scouring winds that bend the long grass, that sort of thing.

  “But a few days into our first patrol we were ambushed by the Mak Yari’s warriors. They butchered the Shan soldiers, sliced off swatches of skin to stretch across their shields, and took me prisoner. For five days I stumbled naked behind their horses with a rope around my neck. They joked about killing me, about cutting off my thumbs and nose and … other parts. I was sure I was going to die. I was tempted more than once to just stay sprawled on the grass when they kicked me awake in the morning and embrace the darkness that they would surely deliver. But in the end, I found my will to live, and I reached the Mak Yari’s encampment. What do you think was waiting for me there?”

  Jhenna shook her head.

  The prince grimaced. “Lord Ban, one of my father’s foremost advisors, and a regiment of elite dragonhelms.”

  “They came to rescue you?”

  “Not really. The ambush had been planned, orchestrated by my father with the help of the Mak Yari. It was done to temper my will and show me hardship. Lord Ban was there to collect me and bring me back, if I survived the steppes.”

  “Your father did it…”

  “Yes. But my father is subtle – the lesson was not just for me. Do you know who else?”

  Jhenna thought for a moment, and then it dawned on her. “The Mak Yari.”

  He smiled grimly. “Yes. You’re quick. The steppe tribes are always a threat to the empire, and the Mak Yari has united them for the first time in a century. By enlisting the Mak Yari’s aid in this scheme, he also demonstrated to the steppe warlord that he was a hard, brutal man, who would sacrifice anything to strengthen Shan. Not an emperor to trifle with.”

  They walked on together in silence for a ways, both lost in their thoughts. “Is that why you sought me out in the gardens?” she finally asked.

  She could feel him glance at her and look away quickly. “Yes. I…wanted to know more about your people. The only other Nasii I’d ever met were horribly cruel and vicious.” A small pause. “Though, I now know they were acting on my father’s orders.”

  “And what does that say about us barbarians?”

  “Perhaps that we Shan are not so much more civilized,” he admitted grudgingly.

  Jhenna could feel something building between them. She didn’t want to touch it, lest it collapse.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, changing the topic.

  Prince Ma shrugged. “A temple of some kind, I think. My father has been very close-lipped about this trip.” He gestured, encompassing the rest of the nobles trudging through the forest. “I had no idea half the Jade Court would come along.”

  “You truly don’t know what this is about?”

  “Some ceremony that’s done every few decades. It’s important, or else it wouldn’t be so well attended. I see the head of every great house, the four warlocks of Shan, even one of their apprentices, and those boys almost never leave the towers.” Prince Ma squinted, peering into the distance. “Wait, can you see that?”

  She could. One of the folds in the forest was ahead, a great hummock of earth covered with scraggly trees and waist-high red grass. A giant stone door was set into this hill, and long spidery roots had crawled down from the trees above to vein its surface, suggesting that it had not been opened in many, many years. A nervous muttering rippled through the gathered nobles as they finished emerging from the forest and formed a crescent around the imperial palanquins.

  It subsided into an expectant hush. Jhenna thought the seated emperor might stand or announce something, but instead the ancient Winter Warlock in his snow-white robes stepped from the crowd and shuffled toward the huge door, leaning heavily on a staff of gnarled black wood.

  “Lo Jin is a hundred years old, at least,” whispered Prince Ma. “I’m surprised he chose to make this journey. He rarely emerges from the red tower.”

  The hunchbacked old sorcerer glared up at the vast door. Then he extended his staff and rapped harshly on the stone.

  A deep grinding, and dust sifted down as the great portal swung slowly open. From the gathered nobles came a few cries, as if some feared what might be revealed.

  But it was only blackness, utter and total. Jhenna realized she’d been gripping Prince Ma’s arm fiercely, and she let go, hoping he wouldn’t see her flush of shame.

  Now the emperor did climb down from his palanquin. He slowly turned, his stern gaze passing over the great men and women of Shan.

  “Some of you know why we are here. You remember the last time we came to these doors, thirty winters ago. You know what will happen inside. But most of you do not. This is because it is forbidden to speak of what occurs here today. The punishment is death, for you and whoever you tell.” The emperor paused, letting that sink in. “This is no simple thing we do today. We did not come to make an offering to Heaven, or Mother Earth, or the Immortals. We did not come to pray for rain or victory in battle. We came to ensure that our children will live to greet the dawn tomorrow. That the empire – that the Shan – will persist.”

  Silence. Most of the nobles must have been ignorant of what would happen, as Jhenna saw surprise in nearly all the faces. Only a few of the oldest watched the emperor without expression.

  At a signal from the emperor, soldiers that had accompanied their wagons entered the darkness carrying torches, armloads of kindling, and a great rosewoo
d box. Moments later, larger flames appeared within three massive iron braziers that were already inside, illuminating the depths. The cave seemed to have been hewn by hands, as the floor had been leveled, and its sides curved up into darkness. At the cave’s far wall, another door had been set into the rock; this one was much smaller than the entrance, yet still it towered taller than any man. Aside from the braziers, the only thing Jhenna could see within was a chunk of pale white stone that had been placed in front of the far door, and the box, which the soldiers had set down beside it.

  Jhenna shivered. There was a coldness seeping from the cavern’s mouth, and she imagined ghostly fingers were brushing her skin, tangling in her hair.

  “You have all felt the earth shake these past few months,” the emperor continued. “A chasm appeared in the market square of Tianping town. The eastern walls of Lianjing collapsed. The priests say Heaven is displeased. The scholars say the fires deep under the ground are being stoked by demons. But neither is true.” The emperor pointed inside the cave. “Within there, something sleeps. A god? A monster? A hunger? We do not know. But it is stirring.”

  The three other great sorcerers of Shan came forward to stand beside the Winter Warlock, each wearing the robes of their office. The Autumn Warlock was dressed in the red of fall leaves; the Summer Warlock in the green of grass speckled with blooming flowers; and the Spring Warlock wore the blue of swollen rivers. Their ages corresponded with their seasons: while the Winter Warlock appeared to be on death’s door, the Spring Warlock looked only a few years older than Prince Ma. Jhenna had been told that when the Winter Warlock finally passed beyond the veil, the Autumn Warlock would take his place, then each of the other sorcerers would change their robes, and a new Spring Warlock would be chosen from the ranks of their disciples.

  The four sorcerers of Shan stepped inside the cavern. Jhenna saw that the Winter Warlock’s young apprentice accompanied them, supporting the old man by holding tight to his arm. No, that wasn’t right. It looked to her like the Winter Warlock was actually helping his apprentice to stand, since the boy – who couldn’t have seen more than eight summers – was walking unsteadily. Had he been drugged? A terrible thought occurred to Jhenna as the warlocks of Shan arrayed themselves around the white stone.

  The Summer Warlock bent down to whisper something in the young boy’s ear, then helped him to lie down on the rock. His arm hung limp, his fingers touching the stone floor, reminding Jhenna of Consort Wei dead upon her birthing bed …

  “No,” she whispered. “No, they can’t do this.”

  “What do you think –” Prince Ma began.

  The Winter Warlock withdrew a serpentine dagger from the folds of his robes.

  “Heaven’s Grace,” murmured the prince.

  The Summer Warlock crouched down beside the boy, speaking to him softly. The child’s head was turned toward him, and the sorcerer tenderly smoothed down his long black hair.

  The Winter Warlock moved across from the Summer Warlock, where the child could not see him, and cut his throat in one smooth motion.

  Startled cries from the Shan nobles. A few of the women swooned, and Jhenna heard someone retching. She wanted to scream, but she could not find her voice.

  A wash of dark blood. The Spring Warlock positioned a container beneath the wound, so that much of the blood flowed inside. It also dripped down the white stone, red fingers reaching for the cavern’s floor. For the first time, Jhenna noticed the faded russet streaks staining the altar.

  The boy had barely moved, and now he was still.

  Shadows pressed at the edges of Jhenna’s vision. She stumbled slightly, and Prince Ma grabbed her arm to steady her.

  The four warlocks positioned themselves around the stone, linking hands as they bowed their heads. A hot wind came rushing from the cavern, stinging Jhenna’s eyes and filling her mouth with the taste of ash. The sorcerers let their arms fall, and then the Summer Warlock bent over the boy. Steel flashed. When he straightened one hand clutched a dagger, and in his other hand he held something that he had taken from the boy with a cut of the blade.

  The Autumn Warlock scooped the dead child into his arms, and Jhenna moaned when the boy’s head fell back limply, turned toward the watchers outside the cave. He seemed to be staring right at her, but where his eyes should be, there were just dark holes. The sorcerer laid the boy down in the rosewood box, and then the Spring and Summer warlocks each took one of the box’s ends and lifted it up. Jhenna hadn’t seen who opened the door, but now it gaped wide like the maw of some beast, ready to swallow the sacrifice that had been made.

  The horror of this moment was overwhelming. Jhenna’s head whirled, and the darkness rushed up to claim her. She felt herself falling, spiraling down. And then nothing.

  What happened after, she later remembered as fragments. Stumbling back through the forest, Prince Ma keeping her from collapsing among the moss and leaves. The long wagon ride back to the palace, drowsing fitfully on scented cushions while Tan Pei and Puli curled up across from her, lost in their own memories of what had happened. A servant leading her back to her chambers, and then a deeper, dream-wracked sleep.

  When she finally awoke, moonlight drenched the room, burnishing her clothing cabinet and tea table in shades of bone and tarnished silver. She lay motionless, trying to ignore the fading echo of her dreams. But she could not. A child with a birth cord wrapped around its neck, its skin a pale blue, placed upon an altar of white stone. Something had loomed beyond it, a hole cut out of the dark wall – no, not a hole…Jhenna had felt hot exhalations and heard ragged breathing, and the jagged fringe around its edge had not been stone but teeth … the smell of rotten meat and dead things had washed over her and Jhenna had wanted to snatch up the tiny corpse, but when she’d stepped forward, the child’s eyes had flicked open and she’d screamed and turned away and fled into the black while cold tiny fingers brushed her neck…

  Jhenna pulled her blanket up over her head and shivered. In the warm, close darkness she sobbed for Wei and her baby, for the poor boy in the cave, for herself in this strange and terrible place. She even sobbed for Prince Ma, imagining him as a young boy tethered to a Nasii warrior’s horse, stumbling through the grass as they taunted him.

  With some effort, she mastered herself, her gulping cries subsiding into whimpers. Then, reminding herself that she was the daughter of a Yari, Jhenna drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  The sobbing continued.

  Quiet, but anguished. The back of her neck prickled.

  It wasn’t her. It was coming from somewhere else in her chamber.

  Slowly, she drew back the blanket. After being in the darkness under the covers, everything seemed brighter, her few small pieces of furniture etched stark in the moonlight. Her breathing thundered in her ears, but still she could hear those tiny wrenching cries. Clouds slid past the window, making the moonlight run like water and the shadows deepen. Jhenna eased herself up into a sitting position, peering into where the blackness pooled in her chamber: beneath the tea table, next to her bed, beside her clothing cabinet –

  Panic clutched at her throat, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. There was something there, in the shadow of her cabinet. A small, shivering shape.

  Please let it be another consort, or a servant fleeing a beating. Reaching within herself for all the courage she could muster, Jhenna swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

  “Who’s there?”

  No answer. But now there was silence, and the patch of deeper blackness within the shadows had vanished. Jhenna’s feet touched the cool stone, and she took a few tentative steps toward her cabinet.

  Nothing. She couldn’t hold back a little cry as relief flooded her. Just a dream. Jhenna climbed back into her bed, forcing herself not to stare where she’d thought she had seen the huddled thing.

  She did not fall asleep again until dawn lightened the sky out
side her window.

  A servant in imperial livery sought her out the next day in one of the great halls in the women’s quarter, where consorts reclined on velvet couches chatting or doing needlepoint. Jhenna was surprised to see him here, and she noticed every eye in the room following him as he approached her across the inlaid tiles.

  “Consort Jhenna,” he said, bowing formally.

  “Yes,” she murmured, hurriedly sliding from where she perched on the edge of a divan and standing.

  “Walk with me, please,” he commanded. Dutifully she fell in behind him as he turned and strode back the way he had come. She saw many heads among the lounging consorts coming together to whisper. More than a few rumors would be born today, she guessed.

  They passed out of the women’s quarters and entered the Labyrinth of Ten Thousand Blossoms. He led her along the twisting copper paths until they came to the blood-leafed steppe tree. Prince Ma was sitting under its boughs on a rosewood bench that had not been there previously. He dismissed the servant with a wave, and motioned for her to approach.

  “Good morning, Consort Jhenna.”

  “Prince Ma.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment. The events that had transpired in Sleeping Dragon Valley seemed to hang heavy between them.

  Finally, the prince cleared his throat. “I must…apologize to you. I did not know what would happen yesterday. If I had had even the slightest premonition, I never would have asked you to be included. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” Jhenna felt tears prickle the corner of her eyes, and she fought to keep them from falling.

  “And you trust my words?”

  “I do.”

  He looked relieved. “Good. What occurred in that cave … that is the old Shan. My father’s Shan, an empire built on blood and superstition. When I wear the yellow robes, such barbarism will end, I promise you.”

  “Then you do not believe what he said? About something in the cave?”