Fox and Phoenix (25 page)

After we brewed a second pot of tea, we doused the fire. Quan stood and drew a knife from his belt. “I'll take first watch.”

No one even pretended to argue. Yún rolled up in her blanket close to the fire. Yāo-guài curled next to her. Lian poured herself another cup of tea and stared out the window, sipping from time to time. A handful of stars speckled the night sky, shedding a faint light through a single round window set high in the dirt wall. Her face was invisible to me, but I could make out the tense lift of her chin. I wondered what she was thinking now.

After a few moments, she sighed and set the cup aside. “You should sleep, Kai.”

“So should you.”

She gave a breathy laugh. “I will soon enough.”

In other words, stop snooping.

I yawned and lay down under my own blanket. Closed my eyes and waited.

Ten, twenty, fifty. I'd reached nearly a hundred before Lian stirred. Her clothes whispered as she stood and glided out the doorway. Moments later, the leather hinges of the front door creaked loudly.

Nothing else happened for a while. Just as I decided it really was time for me to sleep, I heard a rustling in the long dried grass outside the window. Quan or Lian? A stranger? That side of the house looked over the fields. Cautiously, I rolled over and rose into a crouch. My knife slid into my hand and I listened hard. The best gift I had for my enemy was surprise.

More soft-footed rustling that approached our window and stopped.

I was about to wake Yún when a young woman's voice floated through the night air.

“Quan.”

Grass crunched as Quan spun around. His tongue must have tripped once or twice, because it took him a couple tries before he said back, “Princess.”

A very long pause came next.

“I'm sorry,” Lian said softly. “I was wrong. I misjudged you—without any cause. I thought—Well, I made clear what I thought. I wish I could erase those words.”

“You don't need to apologize,” Quan said very quickly. “Or explain.”

“I do. I wronged you, Quan. I knew your character. I had no excuse. I—” Her voice broke off with a catch and quaver. In a lower voice, she continued, “Kai told me why you wanted the money. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you before.”

“It doesn't matter.”

“It does matter. To me. And I hope it matters to you that I'm listening now.”

A silence. A soft breath of exclamation.

That's when I
really
knew I had to stop listening. I coughed. Two thumps sounded on the dirt. Then the noise of rustling grass as two lovers hurried away. The nasty part of me cursed them. Why couldn't they wait until we reached Lóng City? Even better, why hadn't they smooched and made love speeches back in Phoenix City?

(You're just jealous.)

(Of course I am.)

I sighed and rolled over, trying to find a comfortable position on that lumpy dirt floor.

Only to see a gleam from Yún's open eyes.

“He's a good man,” she whispered.

“He's an idiot,” I said gruffly. “So is Lian.”

Yún shut her eyes. It was like the moon dropping from the midnight sky, leaving me in darkness.

(Okay, bright boy. Now what?)

(Apologize.)

(Too easy. What about that kiss in the secret passageway?)

My pulse was dancing around. I ordered it to calm down.

“Yún?”

No response.

The griffin fluffed out his feathers and made soft complaining noises, as if something had disturbed his rest. Gathering up the scattered bits of my courage, I levered myself onto my hands and knees and circled the dead fire to Yún's side. She lay so still, as still as a mountain in winter, I knew she was awake and listening hard.

(Make it good. You won't have another chance.)

I blew out a breath. This was like Chen's laundry spell. Mess up the syllables and rhythm, and things explode.

“Yún . . . I'm sorry. I thought last year that everything had changed between us. And it had, but I spoiled it by being such an idiot. I flirted with that girl from the teahouse. I pretended I didn't care. I stopped talking to you and that might be the worst and stupidest thing, because friends should always talk to each other.”

I paused, thinking I'd heard a soft exhalation from Yún, but she didn't stir.

Keep going,
I told myself.
Half a spell can wreck things.
“So,” I said. “So I did everything wrong. You're my best friend. You're someone I trust and need and want. And not just as my friend. I . . . I do care, Yún. Very much. And it scares me.”

Dead silence outside. Inside, my pulse thundered in my ears.

(She hates me.)

(She's laughing at me.)

Silence was the most eloquent answer the poets always said. I guess I got mine.

I was about to creep away, when Yún reached up to touch my cheek. “Kai. Don't go.”

My heart seemed to stop. For a moment, neither of us spoke, neither moved. All I could think was how soft and warm her hands were and why had I spent so many months shoving her away when I all wanted was to hold her tight against me. Then Yún shooed away a protesting griffin, and I was sliding down to press my body against hers. Our mouths fumbled around before we matched up into a long, hard, tooth-clicking kiss.

The taste of honey, the warmth of fire, the zing of magic.

“I love you,” I whispered.

(Was that really you?)

(Yeah, me.)

(Say it again. Before she thinks you were lying.)

“Yún, I—”

The outer door crashed open. The next moment, Quan was shouting for us to grab everything now, now,
now
! Lian had already snatched up her blanket and was stuffing it into her pack. Yún shoved me away and buttoned up her shirt. The griffin launched himself into a flurry of dust and feathers and high-pitched screeches.

“Can you quiet him?” Lian asked. The moon had risen high enough that its light flooded our room. Her hands were shaking. Her eyes bright and wide with terror.

“The emperor's soldiers?” I asked, breathless.

“Hundreds,” Quan said. “Soldiers, mages, and trackers.” He scooped the pots into his pack. Kicked dirt over our dead fire. It wasn't enough, I knew. Not if trackers made any search of this village. But it was the same kind of panicked thoroughness that drove all of us to pick up every bit of gear or clothing, even as Yún tried to capture the frightened griffin.

She snatched at him blindly and captured one leg. Yāo-guài screeched even louder and raked her with his claws. Yún let go with a yelp. Yāo-guài zoomed through the window and vanished in a glitter of magic.

“Yún.” I dropped to my knees next to her.

“I'm fine.”

“No, you aren't.” I ripped a length of cloth from my shirt and bound it around her bleeding arm. “You need washing and a healing. Can you manage until we reach a safer place?”

Her gaze swept up to meet mine. “Of course.”

“Hurry,” Quan hissed.

We grabbed our packs and ran. The soldiers came from the direction of Phoenix City, Lian told us. She and Quan had detected the first questings from the mages, then heard the tramping of many, many horses. But we had to assume they'd sent out sweepers and trackers in a great circle.

“How did they track us?” Yún whispered. “The smugglers?”

“Not Feng,” Quan said shortly. “Maybe you were followed.”

“No,” Lian said. “That's impossible. We—”

She stopped. “Yún. Kai. Your medallions.”

Of course. Those medallions came from the emperor's wizards.

We ripped the medallions from around our necks and hurled them as hard as we could toward the invisible soldiers. Then we took off again with Quan in the lead. A full moon emerged from behind a mass of clouds to illuminate our path. We could see the rough ground, the patches of tall brittle grasses, all limned in silver. The moonlight meant we could run faster without stumbling, but it also meant the emperor's soldiers could spot us more easily.

A voice shouted behind us. I felt the sting of magic. Quan immediately angled toward the northeast, toward a great black shadow on the ground that swayed back and forth. Trees.

We dived into the forest. The thick tang of red pine masked our scent. The thorny underbrush meant we had to creep as slow as worms, unsnagging our clothes from the thorns, testing before we set any weight upon a hand or knee so we didn't give away our position. Quan led us lengthwise through the thicket to a dried up streambed, and motioned for us to drop one by one into its not-so-comforting depths.

Once down, we jogged, doubled-over, until the ground rose to meet the plains again. Quan motioned for us to stop. I fell to my knees, gasping.
Āi-āi.
Surely the soldiers would overtake us. Then Yún leaned against me—just a moment, but enough that my courage flickered high.

“Now what?” Lian asked.

Quan stared ahead, across the gray-lit fields and open plains. “There,” he said. “More trees.”

I squinted. Moonlight flickered over the open ground ahead of us. Then I saw the feathery outline of Quan's trees. The breeze carried the scent of pine toward us. It would cover ours from the trackers, but what about the mages?

(We can't play hide-and-seek all the way to the mountains.)

A thundering of hooves yanked my heart into my throat.

“Run!” Quan said.

Yún gripped my hand and hauled me to my feet. Lian and Quan reached toward each other. One kiss and they scrambled over the rise and to their feet. Yún and I followed a heartbeat later, pelting toward that small speck of shelter.
We can't make it,
I thought. It was over a
li
to the trees. The soldiers would cut us down long before we reached them.

And then . . .

Light exploded in our faces. Something small and feathered struck my chest. I lost my hold of Yún's hand and tumbled backward. Blinded, I tried to fend off whatever monsters had attacked us. Claws and beaks snatched at my hands. I felt like I was wrestling with a bundle of wind. Someone was shouting—Yún. I wanted to tell her to shut up, remember the soldiers, when my vision cleared.

I froze.

The griffin sat on my chest, its flat black eyes two inches from mine.

“Yāo-guài?” I whispered.

I knew that voice.

A loud grunt echoed inside my head. A wonderful stink of piggy odor rolled over me.
Of course it's me,
said a familiar voice.
Wake up. We don't have much time.

I shook my head and looked around for my friends. Saw Yún with eyes rounded with amazement. Saw Lian rapt in some secret conversation. Faintly, as though veiled by the layers of worlds, came the flicker of a tall thin crane, a sharp-toothed fox, a blaze-bright creature that I recognized as a phoenix. (Quan? A phoenix?)

Oh, but what stopped my heart was the sight of a smoke-gray mountain cat, her tail switching around in barely contained impatience. The cat spun around and glared directly into my eyes, her own like pale moons on a spring night.

Nuó?
I whispered.

My mother's companion spirit gave me a familiar snarl. I winced and shrank into myself.

Meanwhile, Chen was nattering in my ear.
We were trapped in the spirit plane,
he said.
The emperor's doing. Nuó freed us. That horrible griffin led us to you.

You've wasted enough time,
Nuó growled.
We must take them through the gates.

What gates?
I shouted.

The gates to the spirit roads,
Yún whispered.
Qi told me.

I had no chance to demand any answers. My stomach did a hideous hop-skip. Something strange stuck claws into my brain, or at least that's what it felt like. My eyelids fluttered open, but the sight was too horrible to bear—a gulf of inhuman proportions opened below my feet, lit by fire. I clamped my mouth shut at the stink of sulfur and a strong metallic scent that reminded me of magic and blood and intense fear.

A hand pressed over mine. Yún. I knew that shape, that exact degree of warmth. My panic eased to a more bearable level.

Chen's voice whispered inside my skull,
Do not be afraid. I won't let anything hurt you.

He laughed uneasily.
Even Nuó.

Liar,
I said.

More laughter, this time Nuó's.
Shut up, boy. And follow your pig-creature.

I felt a tug deep inside my gut. I sensed a large heaving mass next to me—Chen had materialized in his largest form yet, and his shoulder loomed above my head. Instinctively, my hand reached out and clutched the stiff sharp bristles of his chin. Chen grunted in protest, but did not jerk away from me.
Trust me,
he whispered.

Night and the plains outside Phoenix City vanished. So did Yún, Quan, and Lian. There was only me and Chen, and the faint musky scent of Nuó, just ahead. I could hear the steady padding of her feet over stone.
Follow, follow, follow,
said their rhythm. Chen's hooves clicked next to me as I trotted through a dark tunnel. Shadows sprang up beside me. Bright sparks appeared and vanished. Monsters flitted past—ghostly creatures that expanded and shrank and spread out like a living cloud. The stink grew less and less. A new scent overtook it, one of snow and mud and a plethora of smells I could not catalog, except to say I knew them well.

Impossible,
I thought.

We are on the spirit roads,
Chen grunted.
Nothing is impossible here.