Heart of the Sun Warrior, page 12
“The tales are told far and wide, sung in the mortal teahouses even,” I lied. “How they must pity you.”
“They would not dare!” His face twisted before it smoothed over, a mask slipping back into place. “Do you know, the mortals tell their own stories of the Moon Goddess? How she stole the elixir won by the noble Houyi, out of selfish desire to become a goddess. Some said she broke her pact with him to share the elixir, taking it all for herself. The entire one grants immortality, yet half of it would have bestowed them a long life beyond the mortal span. I would not have imagined such a ruthless heart to beat beneath this gentle exterior. How I applaud your choice, to disdain love.” His smile was sharp with malice. Repayment tenfold for her hostility.
“You know nothing of me, nothing of love.” My mother’s voice was hard and cold. I had never seen this side of her before, radiating ice and snow—the goddess the mortals knelt to worship.
“Love is worthless,” Wugang sneered. “Fleeting, inconstant, and shifting like the wind. All it yields is sorrow in the end, whether through indifference, betrayal, or spite. Those truly powerful have no need for love—a weakness, as it brought you all down today.”
His taunt seared. “Perhaps you’ve never truly been loved. Perhaps you’ve never really loved another.” A low blow as I wielded his pain as a weapon.
He laughed, though there was no joy in it. “What is love to eternal life?”
“Is that why you serve the Celestial Emperor even after he treated you so?” A part of me still hoped to sway him from the emperor’s side. To make him question his allegiance.
“Those of you who are born immortal take death for granted. You can’t comprehend the dread of an inevitable end, whether emperor or slave. That’s why your mother was banished instead of lauded, until you—her conniving offspring—tricked His Celestial Majesty into making a bad bargain. You were fortunate not to have died that day, a mistake that will be thoroughly remedied this time.”
“Not by you.” I fought for calm. Oh, he was skilled at deflecting my attacks, turning them upon me instead.
“His Celestial Majesty has been most generous to me. Immortality is the greatest honor any mortal could wish for. Worth any price, any insult, any betrayal—is it not, Chang’e?” His lips twisted into a cruel smirk.
An urge gripped me to lunge at Wugang, to attack him with my fists if need be. But my mother’s face contorted with fury as she rammed her elbow into Feimao’s gut. He released her, stumbling back—though he was a seasoned soldier and should not have been so easily overcome. As his eyes met mine, a flash of knowing in them, I dipped my head in silent thanks.
As Shuxiao and I rushed toward my mother, a soldier leapt into our path. Another swung her spear at my mother, slashing her arm. A deep gash split her skin, crimson blood oozing from it. My scream erupted just as Wugang shouted a furious reprimand. At once, the soldier lowered her weapon, seizing my mother’s arm. As she struggled, more blood spilled from her cut, scattering over the laurel’s undulating roots. A drawn-out sigh rustled from the tree, wistful and filled with longing—if such a thing were possible. The tree quivered, flinging its branches wide like a fan, its seeds showering upon the ground like rain.
I sucked in a ragged breath as I stared at them, nestled in the grass like luminous pearls of ice. Hundreds. Thousands, perhaps, yet countless more clung to the branches.
“Bind them,” Wugang barked at his soldiers, his eyes alight with sudden avarice.
Before I could move, glowing coils shot out from the Celestials’ palms, snaring my mother, Shuxiao, and me. They seared against my skin, biting deeper as I writhed against them, welts forming across my wrists. Fighting for calm, I channeled a burst of energy to break the restraints—yet more ropes whipped out, twining around my arms and legs.
My mother kicked out hard. Her head flew back, slamming into a soldier’s face. He swore but did not loosen his hold. I wrestled with the shimmering cords, a task made harder through my swelling panic. Sparks flared from Wugang’s hand, scattering over my mother. Her limbs went slack as her eyes rolled back, her body crumpling onto the ground, where her skirts pooled like water.
Terror jolted me at the sight of her so lifeless and limp. She’s alive, my mind cried, trying to rouse me from my stupor. She breathes; her aura shines.
Wugang crouched down beside her, his fingers clenching harder around his axe. As he raised it above her, fear shot through my veins, magic flaring from my skin, dissolving the cords that bound me. Rolling to my feet, I rushed toward Wugang—just as Ping’er threw herself forward, covering my mother’s body with her own. Wugang cursed, flinging a blazing bolt at Ping’er’s head—the force of his blow hurling her against a tree, osmanthus petals cascading over her like a shroud.
“No!”
My scream shattered the silence. I raced to Ping’er’s side, wrapping my arms around her, her body spasming in a broken rhythm like a puppet wielded by a novice. A warm wetness spilled over my palms, her blood streaming from the wound at the base of her head. At once I channeled my energy into it, sealing it as well as I could, though a thin trail of blood still trickled forth, her aura shuddering uncertainly.
My mother stirred then, blinking wildly as she pushed herself up. As her head swung toward us, the color drained from her face. “Ping’er! What happened?”
I could not speak, raising my hate-filled glare to Wugang. He showed no remorse, gesturing impatiently to the guards who closed around us. Rage spiraled unbound, loosening something deep inside me as I grasped my magic—a gale surging from my palms, crashing into the nearest soldiers. More rushed forward, but my caution had disintegrated, violence burning unquenched within. I whipped my bow free, releasing a bolt of Sky-fire at Wugang—even as his shield flared between us, my arrow fracturing into shining shards.
Wugang thrust his hand out, streaks of blazing light lashing forth. I ducked low, his attack searing the emptiness above me, crackling with malevolent heat. As I swung back up, Wugang was already moving toward me, the shadow of the laurel falling over his face.
An idea struck. “Run, Shuxiao! Take them with you,” I called to her, slanting my head at the laurel.
She nodded once, spinning to my mother, who lay crouched over Ping’er. As Shuxiao pulled her away, casting a breeze to bear Ping’er along—I drew the cord of my bow, a bolt of Sky-fire blazing between my fingers. Wugang’s expression tensed as his shield shimmered brighter, bracing for my attack—yet I aimed at the laurel instead, letting the arrow fly.
White light hurtled into the tree, coiling around its trunk like glowing chains—scorching the pale bark, hissing with smoke . . . yet the marks were already fading, the golden sap spilling across the wood once more.
As Wugang’s lips stretched wide, my pulse quickened in anticipation. He thought he had the upper hand, that he alone knew nothing could destroy the laurel. He was mistaken; that was not our intent. As I bolted after the others, a sharp snap ruptured the stillness—the snare triggered. Waves of translucent fire cascaded down, showering those beneath in a torrent of agony. Celestials screamed, casting gleaming shields that arced over them—as Wugang raced to safety, his instinct for survival ever acute.
As I ran, the air stirred, pulsing with power. Streaks of flame and ice shot past, narrowly missing me. Breathing heavily, I grasped my energy to weave a shield—yet one glided over me, its powerful energy cool and familiar. Unwelcome, even as a small part of me was undeniably relieved.
Wenzhi stalked from the trees ahead, his black robes swirling, his eyes churning like the storm-lashed sea. With a flick of his wrist, spears of ice plunged toward my attackers. As they struck their mark, cries broke out behind me, some falling to the ground.
Clouds descended from the sky, the Celestials running toward them—if mounted, they would catch us. Stumbling to a halt, I channeled my energy into a fierce wind that swept around the soldiers, halting their advance. Beside me, Wenzhi’s magic flowed, summoning a blizzard of hail, the jagged shards riding upon my gale, striking down those in pursuit. We moved as seamlessly as we used to, when we had fought together in the Celestial Army—when I had believed him honorable and trusted him with my life.
“The traitorous Captain Wenzhi,” Wugang called out in a gloating lilt from where he stood, a distance away. “No surprise, that you’d keep such treasonous company. The emperor will be most pleased at this proof of your treachery. Those who consort with the Demon Realm are our enemies too.”
“Better a Demon in name than one by nature. Striking the innocent, preying on the weak.” I did not deny his false accusations; it would do no good.
“Those who get in my way only have themselves to blame,” Wugang taunted. “A lesson you would do well to remember, as should your unfortunate attendant.”
A vicious darkness engulfed me, seething with hate. Perhaps this beast existed in us all, roused once we were driven to its depths. One thought blazed clear, that Wugang would pay for what he had done. As I grasped my magic, stalking toward him—Wenzhi caught my arm, his fingers searing like frost.
“Let’s go,” he commanded, in the voice that countless soldiers had obeyed unquestioningly.
“No. He hurt Ping’er,” I bit out.
“And he will hurt you. He wants you to retaliate; it’s a trap.” Wenzhi nodded toward the Celestials who were already stumbling to their feet. Too many for us to fight.
Swallowing my rage, I wrenched free of his hold, racing away from the soldiers until my calves burned. Wenzhi kept pace beside me as we barreled through the trees, ducking beneath the low-hanging branches. Outside the forest, my mother and Shuxiao were waiting upon a cloud, Ping’er lying beside them. As Wenzhi and I leapt upon it, Shuxiao cast a swift wind to bear us along. A dark mist flowed from Wenzhi’s palms, thickening as it closed behind us, concealing our path.
A low groan broke from Ping’er’s throat. I fell to my knees beside her, clasping her hand, so ashen and cold. More blood leaked from the wound at the base of her skull, my throat tightening at the sight of the torn flesh.
Closing my eyes, I released my power into her, just as Liwei had done for me before—letting it surge unbound, not halting even when a weariness sank into my limbs, darkness toying at the edge of my consciousness. She could not die; I would not let her. But there was no echoing warmth, the lights fading from her blood until it grew mortal-dull. I gathered more of my magic, hurling it into her—again and again—even as something pierced my daze, the sound of my name repeated in an endless refrain, each time more urgent than the last.
“Xingyin, stop! Don’t drain yourself.” Wenzhi’s voice rang out. Had he been calling me all this time?
“I can’t let her die.” Such anguish wracked me that I would fail, that there was nothing I could do to save her. Wenzhi’s hand clasped mine, and I had not the strength to tear myself away—numbed from exhaustion, from the agony that burrowed a hole through my chest.
“Let me try.” He released me to press his fingers to her brow. His eyes narrowed, as a bleakness settled over his face. “The wound is fatal; her lifeforce is destroyed. No matter how much of your energy you give her, it is hopeless.”
He spoke gently, yet each word hit me like a blow. As my mother’s sobs stabbed my ears, I took Ping’er’s hand again, refusing to yield.
Her eyes opened wide, startlingly bright like they were lit by some inner fire. Her chest convulsed, her lips parting, a labored breath slipping out. I leaned closer, placing my ear just above her mouth.
“Little Star, no more. I am tired.”
Fear was a dagger plunged deep through my heart, and twisted once to tear it anew. A hopeless wish wound through my mind: That this was not real, that I had not failed her, that she was not dying.
She reached for my mother with a shaking hand. “Mistress, it was my greatest honor to have served you. My honor and my joy.”
My mother clasped Ping’er, tears sliding down her pale cheeks. “The honor was mine, my dearest friend.”
Ping’er’s mouth worked as though she had more to say, though not the strength to voice it. She squinted like she could not see, darkness beginning to cloak her vision. As her grip tightened around mine, I squeezed back with all the love in my heart . . . but then she broke free to fumble at her neck, unlatching something that she pressed into my palm—the pearl I had seen once before. It had been warm then, yet was now glazed with a wintry chill.
“The daughter I never had. The light of my days.” Her words rang clear, a radiant smile upon her face. “Would you bring me home?”
I nodded violently, eager to do anything to lighten her cares. Hope burst in me at this show of strength, dissipating abruptly when she fell back down, as though she had struggled against the shackles of her broken body and could fight no more.
“The sea,” she rasped. “It is beautiful there.” Her body shuddered, eyelids fluttering in a frantic rhythm before going still.
Soft cries punctured the silence, those of my mother’s, as I stifled the screams that surged up my throat. I crumpled over Ping’er, clasping her tight—as she had held and rocked me in her arms when I was small enough to fit in them. But she was no more, forever gone . . . taking along with her a part of me.
Part II
12
The rush of the wind was a mournful lament as our cloud soared onward. My mother’s eyes were veined red, the coils of her hair undone, falling over her shoulders. As my gaze rested on Ping’er’s body, a wrenching pain suffused me. Without her vitality and warmth, it was nothing but a shell.
Memories flooded me: of Ping’er correcting the fingering on my flute, of her showing me how to pluck the strings of a qin, of her stories that gave me my first thrill of adventure. The times she had tucked me into bed and pressed a kiss to my brow when my mother had lingered too long in the forest. The tears came then, sliding down my cheeks. I would not wipe them away or flinch from these recollections, because they were all I had left of her. There was an aching finality to this moment, this immutability of death. For gone were the days that Ping’er would hug me, never again would she call my name. How did the mortals bear such anguish, knowing all they loved would meet this end?
A gust of wind ruffled Ping’er’s sleeves. I smoothed them down, my knuckles grazing her skin—so cold and still. I was a selfish creature to think of just myself. What of Ping’er’s family? My mother? This loss was not mine alone.
I touched my mother’s arm. “Are you all right?”
“Pain is no stranger to me.” Her eyes were dulled pools of despair. “At least we have each other.”
I wanted to tell her of my father then, to let hope spark in this impenetrable darkness. Yet my vow bound me fast, as did my shame. How arrogant I had been to think I could have helped my father, how reckless to steal from the Celestial Emperor, to have imagined we could escape his wrath, to have ever challenged him in the first place. For now Ping’er was dead, our home was destroyed—and I was lost.
Wenzhi bowed his head as he intoned formally, “May she find peace in eternity. May you and your mother find the strength to overcome your sorrow.” He reached out a hand to me, then pulled it back, his fingers closing into a fist.
Shuxiao hugged me tightly. “I’m so sorry. I’ll miss her too.”
Grief clawed me, endless recriminations ringing through my mind. If only we had fled sooner, if only I had been swifter—I might have killed Wugang before. Had I treated him with the same mercilessness as he showed Ping’er, his blood would be bathing the laurel and Ping’er would be alive.
“Where should we go?” Shuxiao asked as she released me.
“To my home. You will be safe from the Celestial Emperor there,” Wenzhi offered.
I recoiled from his suggestion, despite the sense in it. Once, he had brought me to the Cloud Wall against my will, and I had no desire to ever return. Even if Wenzhi truly wanted to aid us, what of his ruthless father? His vile brother? My nails dug into my palm. No, I would not thrust us into that nest of vipers. I would not lay Ping’er to rest there, in a strange place she had feared all her life.
Would you bring me home? Her words echoed through me, cutting through the fog of misery.
“We have to bring Ping’er back to the Southern Sea,” I said flatly.
Wenzhi frowned. “Queen Suihe is neither benevolent nor tolerant. She will not harbor you if she knows you are wanted by the Celestial Emperor; she will see you as a threat to her people.”
I did not expect a warm welcome from the queen. Fugitives, with neither friend nor kin there. The bearers of ill tidings. Yet Ping’er had never asked for anything before. This was a paltry request when she deserved so much more. While she had never expressed a desire to return, she always spoke of the sea with such warmth and longing, even with her final breath. No matter how far we had traveled from our home, it was a bond impossible to sever—rooted deep into what we were, entwined with all we would become.
My resolve hardened. “We will fulfill Ping’er’s last wish,” I replied, as my mother nodded in agreement.
“You must be careful,” Wenzhi said gravely. “Fortunately, the queen will not have heard the news yet. The Celestial Emperor will be keen to keep this quiet as your escape would be seen as another weakness, a failure. Do what you must, then leave as soon as you can.”
“We will,” I told him, even as I longed for a few precious days to recoup our strength, to plan our way forward. To mourn.
“I know you blame yourself,” Wenzhi said in a low voice. “Don’t forget, it was Wugang who struck her. The emperor who ordered the attack on your home.”
I glanced up, catching the tautness in his expression. “How did you learn of the attack?” I asked numbly.
“We have our informants at the Celestial Court. Unfortunately, this matter was so closely guarded, I only learned of it after the soldiers had left. I came as soon as I heard.”
“Thank you for your aid.” I spoke formally, listlessly, unable to muster the energy for more.
