Authors: Cindy. Pon
Silver Phoenix (36 page)
S I LV E R P H O E N I X
“That is an incredible tale, Lady. I’m glad we were able to help free you.”
Ai Ling’s jaws tightened. “What about Li Rong?” She spoke too loudly.
His eyes were wet when they met hers. She regretted her callousness, felt her lower lip tremble at having caused him more pain.
Rash, stupid girl.
“Li Rong died performing a good deed,” Chen Yong finally managed in a husky voice.
Ai Ling felt even more wretched. Surely Chen Yong blamed her for Li Rong’s death, as much as she blamed herself.
Later, Chen Yong and the Lady retreated into the night to fetch water from the well. It was cool and refreshing; Ai Ling drank two cups. Without bothering to change her clothing or wash, she climbed beneath the thick blankets on one of the pallets the Lady had laid down and immediately fell into an exhausted sleep.
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Ai Ling woke from a dreamless sleep. Bright sunlight shone through gossamer silks draped across the paper panels of two large windows, forcing her to squint for a few moments.
“Finally,” Chen Yong said, smiling. He sat at the low table, a calligraphy brush poised over a bound journal. He put down the brush on the ink stone and crossed the room in two strides to her pallet, an expression like relief on his face.
His closeness made her self-conscious. She rubbed her eyes with limbs still heavy from sleep. “Good morning,” she said.
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“A peaceful afternoon to you,” he replied with a wry smile.
“You slept for two days. We couldn’t wake you. I was beginning to worry.”
Two days? She shifted back on her pallet and glanced around the room. “Where’s Li Rong?” Her mind skewed the moment the words left her mouth, instantly followed by a spasm of grief. Chen Yong winced as if kicked in the chest.
She covered her face with her hands, wishing she had not woken. Could one sleep anger and grief away?
Chen Yong touched her shoulder, and she dropped her hands; he rose and walked away from her, his movements stiff. “The Lady went out to gather fruit,” he said. “She brewed tea.”
Ai Ling crawled out of her warm nest, and Chen Yong passed her a cup. “Thank you,” she said, drawing the steam into her face, unable to meet his gaze.
“I can’t believe he’s gone,” he said, staring into his own empty teacup.
“I can’t either. I’m so sorry.”
She hid her face until the intensity of his gaze forced her to look up. Chen Yong carried his grief in his eyes. The sunlight hit his face at angles that made him look foreign, exotic.
“It’s not your fault,” he said after a few moments.
She blinked several times, caught off guard.
“We knew it was a risk, and we chose to come with you,”
he continued in a quiet voice.
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“He shouldn’t have died,” she said.
“Who knows what the fates have planned?” He filled his cup from the delicate porcelain tea jug.
“You sound like one of those esoteric monks . . . or the goddesses.” Anger swelled within her, and she swallowed the sour taste in her mouth. The gods didn’t care. Her eyes found her knapsack leaning against the pallet. She fought the urge to go to it, rifle through the contents—make sure it was still there. One month. It was enough time.
“Perhaps the monks know of what they speak. And who are we to question the Immortals?” He leaned toward her, both palms open, accepting.
She turned from him. Chen Yong could never know, not until she succeeded. The Lady entered. Her white gossamer gown shimmered, offering glimpses of the colors of dawn—
vermilion, pink, and gold. She smiled as she placed a tray of berries and apples before them.
“I hope they’re as sweet as the last batch.” She sat in one fluid motion, tucking her long legs beneath her. The scent of honeysuckle drifted through the air.
Ai Ling became aware of the gnawing hunger in her stomach. But she had no desire to eat. “I’m not hungry,” she said, realizing only after that she sounded ungrateful, spoiled.
“You both need sustenance.” The Lady proffered the tray.
Ai Ling plucked a few dark berries from it with reluctance, and Chen Yong did the same. They ate the ripe berries at the same time. The sweet tang of juice exploded in her 204
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mouth, making her stomach growl in anticipation. She was starved.
The Lady offered slices of crisp green apples next, and they both ate in silence. Ai Ling kept her head down, painfully aware of Li Rong’s absence, missing his easy banter.
The Lady grasped prayer beads in one hand, her fingers gliding over the iridescent stones. Ai Ling could not read her serene face. “You will have to continue on your journey soon. You need to return to the mortal realm below.”
The clear jewels of her hairpin reflected light across the room. “It’s not a straight path from these peaks to your world.
It is ever changing. There may be foe or friend on your journey. I am hoping you will fi nd the latter to guide you.”
She put a small bundle wrapped in blue satin on the low table. “Some fruit to take with you. It is not as fi lling as rice or broth, but it will sustain you.”
“Thank you, Lady. Yours rival those from the Gardens of the Golden Palace,” Chen Yong said.
“They were grown with cuttings from that garden.”
Chen Yong and Ai Ling took time to wash their faces and rub their teeth with coarse salt. They put on fresh clothing before stepping outside.
Ai Ling’s breath caught. What had been a black peak had turned verdant green, alive with lush plant life. A clear brook bubbled outside the doorstep. The house perched high; clouds mingled with thick mist drifted below, jade crests jutting through them for as far as she could see.
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The scent of wet earth filled her senses; she could almost see the spring buds unfurl, feel the velvet moss on stones.
The hard knot of grief expanded in her chest. Li Rong was not here to witness this. He would not be there to finish their journey.
Ai Ling turned slowly to admire the landscape, more stunning than any painting. She would bring Li Rong back and make it right. It would be worth the risk.
“Follow the path,” the Lady said. She bowed before them, her palms raised at the chest and pressed together. “My gratitude for freeing me from my curse.”
It did not take long for the opaque mist to envelop them, so thick she could not see her hand in front of her face. Chen Yong used a long branch as a walking stick, feeling for the dirt path.
“We could plunge to our deaths,” she said. “Or walk completely off the path.”
“Hold on to me. It can’t be like this for much longer,” he said, his voice a disembodied phantom. She reached out and touched his knapsack, moved her fingers to grip his shoulder. She shuffled forward with slow hesitant steps, trusting him to guide her.
The mist pressed against them like a living entity, making her chest feel constricted. It was difficult to breathe.
She took comfort in the warmth of Chen Yong’s shoulder beneath her hand.
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After what seemed like an endless time, the haze began to dissipate, revealing the side of a rocky cliff on their left and thick foliage to their right. Relieved to be able to see again, she looked back. There was no mist behind them, simply a wide, rutted path that rose slowly, instead of the steep one they had just descended.
“Chen Yong.” She squeezed his shoulder, then dropped her hand, realizing that she no longer needed his guidance.
He stopped and half turned to follow her gaze. “I know.
We can’t return from where we came.”
They continued to descend the gentle slope until Chen Yong paused and flung one arm out to stop her. She drew up to his side, and he pressed a finger to his lips. He tilted his head as if he were listening for something.
The sound of faint laughter drifted up to her, and she tensed. Women laughing. Chen Yong cocked his head toward the noise, and they continued around the bend.
He stopped abruptly again and stepped behind a large pine tree. She followed his lead. Two women were bathing in a small pond. Water cascaded from jutting rocks above, fi lling the pool.