Silver Phoenix (38 page)

Chen Yong’s jaws were set in a rigid line, his reluctance to follow this stranger obvious. “Can you read his thoughts?”

Her eyes widened. “You jest.”

His silence was answer enough. She sighed, turned a fraction so her back was to the strange man on the horse, 213

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and flung her spirit toward him. She connected, sensed the anticipation from him.
The chief will be much pleased.

“It’s fine. Just as I said.” Ai Ling strode over to the man.

Stubbornness prevented her from glancing back to see if Chen Yong followed. Then he was by her side, his stare so intense she thought she felt the heat on her face. She dared not look at him.

The man doubled back onto the path they had already traveled. He kept his horse at a slow canter, so she and Chen Yong could keep the pace. No one spoke. The dense foliage they had passed earlier had changed to tall birch trees, their trunks glowing silver, the limbs and leaves towering above them.

Confused, Ai Ling glanced back. The pebbled path they had walked less than an hour earlier had turned to a narrow one covered in moss.

“I noticed it, too,” Chen Yong said. “The landscape is changing around us, in a way that shouldn’t be possible.

I don’t think we could find the pond where the women bathed if we tried.”

How would they ever return from this strange world?

The quiet was soon broken by the triumphant trills of the two-headed bird as it took flight, leaving the perch that was its master’s shoulder.

“Where does your bird fly to?” Chen Yong asked, one hand shading his face as he gazed upward.

The one-armed man did not respond but pulled the bow 214

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from his back and rested it against his thigh. Ebony in color, the bow curved in a smooth elegant arc. He drew an arrow from his leather quiver—also black, with bright crimson feathers on the end. He notched the arrow with his one hand, drawing the bowstring taut with his mouth.

Ai Ling gaped. The arrow flew among the trees. Chen Yong stepped forward with his sword raised. The one-armed man jumped from his horse and into the woods, returning with something that resembled a hare, only its short fur was a pale lavender. His arrow jutted from the creature’s midsection.

“My bird hunts, as do I,” he said. He removed the arrow and slung the carcass into his saddlebag.

Ai Ling shivered.

Chen Yong rolled his shoulders before sheathing the sword. The stranger remounted his horse, and they continued on their journey.

The moss-covered path started to slope downward. Ai Ling’s legs ached. They had been walking for hours. She wondered what the one-armed man’s city was like. Did they take baths? What did they eat? The sun cast its heat on their backs. Ai Ling drank from her flask, grateful she had filled it at the stream earlier. The path continued steeply downward until it rounded a bend to a plateau and a lush valley opened up below them.

She drew in a breath of disbelief. A wide river wound its way through the center of the valley like a silk ribbon. Seven 215

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arched bridges spanned the river. Both pedestrians and rid-ers on horses with flame red manes crossed the bridges, intent on the tasks of the day. All had but one arm, some protruding from the left, others from the right. Her arms prickled at the sight of so many of them.

The valley was surrounded by mountains, their round, blunted peaks forming shapes to incite the imagination. Ai Ling saw a tortoise, the side view of a hare, and a farmer’s woven hat. The pinnacles stretched endlessly into the horizon, making it seem there was no other city beyond the one nestled in the valley below—no other kingdom.

“Are there other cities near yours?” she asked.

Their guide glanced over his shoulder and stared at her with three unblinking eyes. “We fly our chariots, and the journey is long. This is the reason I believe you are far from Xia.”

Ai Ling’s stomach fluttered with unease. No matter how gentle his manner, she was not comfortable beneath his scrutiny.

They reached the edge of the plateau. Water from tiered rock pools cascaded down the valley wall, iridescent, catching hues of turquoise, gold, and green.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Ai Ling said.

Their guide’s smooth face betrayed just a hint of pride.

“There is none like our stair lakes anywhere. The waters in these pools formed from melting snow. The limestone was smooth-shaped by eons of water fl owing.”

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He guided his horse to wide steps carved between the stair lakes. They were also hewn from pale limestone, but the steps were wide and not steep, allowing the horse to step down with an easy gait. It appeared the horse had navi-gated them many times before. Ai Ling and Chen Yong followed.

The city was well laid out, with paths paved in white quartz. Ai Ling was used to dirt and, at best, cobbled streets.

They walked past a tower with a domed top, bejeweled and sparkling in the afternoon sun. Another building was constructed of hexagonal tiers, in a material that appeared silver and also refl ected the sunlight. She counted thirteen fl oors.

Another structure was built right on the river, with five rotating arms dipping into the water, spinning endlessly.

“It’s a different world,” Chen Yong said.

The strangeness of the place overwhelmed her, the unfamiliar shapes of the buildings, the glint of unknown materials. The city was stunning, but completely foreign. As were these people. She ached for home.

“I know not what yours is like,” their guide said from atop his horse.

“We never asked your name,” Ai Ling said, feeling foolish for having forgotten the simplest etiquette.

“We do not give our names so readily. But you may give yours to the Chief if this is usual to you. My people call me Archer.”

They continued to follow Archer, passing others on horse 217

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and foot. Although no one betrayed surprise, Ai Ling felt their stares. The paths were lined with trees and plants, many bearing fruit. She saw an apple tree and a diamond-shaped fruit the color of bitter melon, as well as dark orange berries that resembled cherries.

Their guide led them to the six-sided tiered building. It reminded her of the pagoda paintings she had seen in books at home. This one appeared much sleeker in its design, the sides so shiny they reflected her image. The door was hexagonal as well, made of a dark green stone.

Archer dismounted, petted the horse’s fiery mane, and whispered in its ear. The beast flicked its head as if in response to its master, who stepped up to the green door. It split open in the middle like a gaping mouth, receding into the shiny walls. Ai Ling could see her own reflection, her mouth round as a circle. She looked at Chen Yong’s image and felt better—he seemed just as astounded.

“Come. The Chief expects us. Crimson Tail brought news after her hunt.”

Utterly confused for a moment, Ai Ling finally realized he was referring to his bird. She ignored the hollow feeling in her stomach, blaming it on hunger, even as her throat clenched with doubt. Chen Yong followed her down a narrow hallway, his hand tight around his sword hilt.

The chamber Archer led them to was bright, although windowless. A giant shaft at the center flooded the room with natural light.

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Another one-armed man, dressed in a dark blue tunic and leggings, walked toward them. His hair flowed from a thick topknot, unlike their guide, whose hair was shaved close to the head. Ai Ling could not stop looking at the man’s hair; she had no words to properly describe the red color, had nothing to compare it to. The man’s eyebrows were so light she initially thought he had none.

Archer bowed his head low.

“Your pet sent news.” Ai Ling stared at his lips. His voice sounded like a woman’s, yet he looked like a man, nearly as tall as Chen Yong, broad shouldered and muscular. The bird was perched on his shoulder. He raised his hand in a graceful gesture, each finger bejeweled with large rings, and it flew back to Archer, both heads twittering in excitement.

The Chief took a seat and indicated for his visitors to sit before him, on the floor. The smooth white stone was cold, but Ai Ling was glad to rest. A small sigh escaped her lips. It did not seem very welcoming, to have them huddle on the floor. She had to arch her neck to see the Chief’s face.