Stronger Than a Bronze Dragon

by Mary Fan

  “I can read. It’s just difficult. Characters don’t speak to me the way they’re supposed to. That’s all.” I roll up the scroll and shove it back into its slot. “I’m not a simpleminded peasant.”

  Tai places a hand on my shoulder. “I would never think that of you. I’m sorry if I insulted you—that was not my intention.”

  I exhale, deciding to accept his apology.

  We spend the next several minutes looking through scrolls, hoping to find something that might explain what we’ve seen. Meanwhile, the whispering voices continue scratching at my consciousness.

  Why … Why won’t you liberate me …

  Dark … I must destroy the dark …

  Can nobody hear me …

  A strange laugh escapes Tai. “Oh, Father. You’re so predictable.”

  I peer down at the bamboo scroll before him. It stretches across the entirety of the table, yet its end remains rolled in his hand. “What is that?”

  “A plan. My father is apparently aiming to use this fleet to overthrow the Emperor and install himself as ruler. Not surprising, really. The Emperor wouldn’t stand a chance … His forces are embroiled in the Border War, and he has nothing that can compete with a flying armada. Still …”

  Despite his light tone, the dismay is plain in his eyes, and I can hear what he would have said: Still, I hoped it wasn’t true.

  Just having this secret armada constitutes treason—which is punishable by death. The right thing to do is obvious: warn the Emperor of Kang’s betrayal. And from the look in Tai’s eyes, he knows it too.

  “Your father isn’t who you think he is.” My words sound hollow, even to me.

  Tai gathers up the scroll with such fury, I fear he’ll rip it to shreds. But he only returns it to its rolled state. It looks so innocuous—a fragile column of paper and ink—that I can hardly imagine it contains the downfall of a nation. “Father used to say he could run this country better than the Emperor. I thought it was idle talk.”

  He slams the scroll onto the table and buries his face in his other hand. His shoulders shake, and for a moment, I think he’s crying. But then I hear muffled laughter behind the palm pressed to his mouth.

  I don’t know what to do. The answers are clear to me—Kang intends to overthrow the Emperor. I may not have any particular loyalty to the Emperor—especially since he ignored Dailan in its most desperate hour—but I’ve seen enough of Kang to fear his ascendance.

  He must be stopped. It’s not even a choice to me—it simply is. Any hesitation I might have for Tai’s sake evaporates. I could sacrifice my own revenge for him, but this … this is bigger than either of us.

  And he knows it. That laugh—that harsh, cynical, tortured laugh—tells me so.

  “Tai!”

  He inhales sharply. “There’s more. This new fleet is different from the one he currently commands—it can fly itself without need for human operators. And it can be controlled as one unit, though this doesn’t say how.”

  I press my hand against my forehead, unable to imagine how much magic it must have taken to build such a thing. “How long did this take him?”

  “According to the dates on the scroll, he’s been planning this since before my mother died …” He shoves the scroll at me. “Here. I might burn it by accident.”

  He strides to the doorway. My heart aches for him. I wish there were something I could do, but comforting people has never been my strong suit. I’d probably make things worse.

  Clutching the scroll, I contemplate what to do next. The Emperor must be warned—but how? The capital would take weeks to reach. Meanwhile, Kang’s sure to notice that his plans have gone missing. With his flying ships, he could easily beat me there; for all I know, he could twist things to cast me as the traitor. And my people would suffer from Kang’s retribution.

  One question nags at me: What is Kang waiting for? His armada may not be complete, but surely he has enough to act. My mind wanders back to the River Pearl … how hungry he was for it, how much magic it holds. But it couldn’t be what he needs to activate the armada—after all, he flies the same ships now, though in smaller numbers.

  “Anlei! Over here!”

  I run toward Tai’s voice, following the curving shore of the underground lake. The bow of a massive barge protrudes past the water, blocking what lies beyond. When I round it, I stop in my tracks.

  Tai stares at rows of mechanical beings identical to the ones that attacked us in the passageway. They stand in perfect lines, their faceless heads watching the lake with dead mechanical eyes. Their numbers must be at least ten times—no, twenty times—the entire population of Dailan.

  Just the sight of so many makes me dizzy. “This … This is the army he’s going to conquer the Empire with.”

  “Why would he need it?” Tai approaches the machines, his eyes wide. “He has so many loyal soldiers … and people with cyborg enhancements are stronger than purely mechanical automatons.”

  “Soldiers could question or even resist,” I muse aloud. “Machines would do whatever he says, no matter what.”

  “And they couldn’t leak his secret.”

  “But we must. Tai, we have to warn the Emperor at once.” I place my hand on his arm. “This isn’t about you or me anymore.”

  Tai stares at the ground. For several moments, he doesn’t speak, and a muscle works in his clenched jaw. I watch him, my hands tight around the scroll. If he doesn’t agree, I’m prepared to complete this mission on my own, even if he tries to get in my way. But my heart tells me it won’t come to that.

  Meanwhile, the voices continue swirling around us.

  Just one ray of light … I beg you …

  Tell me who I am …

  Free me from darkness …

  Finally, Tai gives a single, sharp nod.

  I release a breath. I hadn’t realized how tense I was until that moment. I turn to leave, but stop in my tracks when I hear the latest whisper.

  Tai … Cousin … Is that you? And the human girl … Anlei …

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  VOICES

  Darkness … So much darkness … Cousin …

  Her voice is whispering, distant, like an echo without a call attached to it. Yet she feels near.

  “Suyin?” Tai glances around wildly.

  Who speaks to me from the darkness?

  “Suyin! Where are you?” Tai searches his surroundings with quick, birdlike jerks of his head. “Suyin!”

  Tai … Anlei … Is it really you?

  Why is her voice among those of the strange ghosts that seem to haunt this cavern? Who are they? Ghosts have been known to wander tombs before, but Suyin can’t be among them … Could she? “Is she …?”

  “She’s alive. I just spoke with her yesterday.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Tai’s expression hardens, and he turns away without answering.

  I hate to think that Suyin might have died suddenly and somehow joined the underworld chorus surrounding us. Yet if she’s alive, how could—

  “Remember the cursed woman in the passageway? What if there are more like her trapped inside these machines, and that’s whose voices we’re hearing? What if Suyin is among them?”

  “That’s impossible. She’s family—my father’s own niece. Do you really think he’d curse her?” Tai lets out an incredulous laugh.

  “Of course he would!” My mind reels with a mix of excitement and horror. Excitement because the pieces are clicking into place—and horror because of what it would mean. There are so many voices around me—uncountable, impossible how many. If each belongs to a cursed Yueshen, then that means Kang has trapped numerous people—so many, he must have been responsible for the Yueshen who went missing before Mowang captured them.

  Tai shakes his head at me and wanders down the rows of automatons. I want to knock him out of his denial, and the surest way to do that is to find Suyin. Though I should be racing to the capital with the plans we found instead of worrying about this,
I can’t abandon Tai—not now.

  Cousin … If you’re there … Bring me light …

  Suyin’s whispering voice seems to be everywhere and nowhere at once, wrapping my ears from every direction. She, like the Yueshen woman we encountered in the passageway, must have been cursed and bound to one of Kang’s machines. I shiver. No one deserves that fate.

  I draw closer to the automaton army and grab my sword in case they spring to life. But they remain motionless as I wander past them. Lanterns bob in the air, causing yellow sparks to dance upon their bronze limbs. Behind the rows of mechanical warriors, I spot several partially formed automatons lying side-by-side on the ground. Some are only torsos with their bars splayed and gears exposed. Others have only one or two limbs attached, or are only a head and an arm connected by a shoulder. The automatons closest to them are not part of the formation, but face away from it—toward their incomplete artificial comrades. And their fingers, instead of clutching swords, end in gleaming tools.

  Are they building others of their kind? Did Kang enchant his machines to multiply? That would explain how he has so many. And if he could enchant an automaton to create another automaton, then it’s certainly possible that he could enchant them to create more complex things—like mechanical dragons and flying ships. That must be how he’s building his fleet. It’s clever … If only automatons work for him, then there’s no risk of someone turning against him and warning the Emperor. If Kang weren’t using his brilliance for such vile purposes, I might be impressed.

  You … Human girl … You …

  “Suyin?” I whirl, but find nothing behind me. Yet that time, I was certain the sound was coming from behind … There was something more pointed about it.

  Here … I’m here …

  Definitely right beside me—the automaton to my left. I drive my sword through the machine’s torso before my mind has a chance to catch up.

  “Anlei!” Tai rushes toward me.

  I look up in alarm, expecting to see the automaton’s eyes light up. But it remains dark, deactivated. I exhale sharply and angle my blade upward. Since I’m only holding it with one hand—the scroll remains in my other—the action takes more effort. My muscles quiver from the strain. The cracking sounds of breaking machinery pop around me, but no sparks burst from the machine.

  By the time my blade pierces through the automaton’s shoulder blade, Tai is beside me. He swings his sword in time to decapitate an emerging Ligui before it can settle into its animalistic shape. I kick the automaton to free my weapon. My blood rushes, anticipating action.

  But none comes. Instead, a human-shaped shadow speeds upward, releasing an agonized wail. More shadows pour forth, and though I strike at them, they ignore my blows as they flee. Like the Ligui in the passageway did.

  What looks like steam pours from the fallen machine, taking the form of a translucent man as pale as moonlight and shimmering like water. Unlike the cursed Yueshen we saw previously, he looks entirely human, with a tall nose and a graying queue.

  He doesn’t acknowledge us, instead dissolving into nothingness with a long, haunting sigh.

  “He … wasn’t one of your kind, was he?” I ask.

  “Yes and no.” A warped smile curls Tai’s lips. “He wasn’t Yueshen, but then again, neither am I—fully, at least. He was human, and so am I—partly. Though unlike him, I’m quite alive.”

  “He was a ghost?”

  Before Tai can reply, another being emerges from the automaton. At first, I think it’s another Ligui—and it certainly looks like one, with its shadowy, falcon-shaped body—but then it shifts, stretching into a human woman. Except her face is twisted and deformed, with her nose higher than both eyes and her mouth spread across her chin. Her lips move, but no words emerge—only garbled syllables. Her whole body darkens and shrinks. I gasp. She takes the shape of a falcon once more, her limbs compressing and contorting. But parts of her body remain translucent instead of turning to shadow. The falcon’s wings are elongated hands, and both of the bird’s eyes appear human even as a sharp beak protrudes from what would have been a nose.

  The creature opens its beak and lets out a high-pitched shriek that’s somewhere between a Ligui’s screech and a woman’s scream. It—or she?—zips past us.

  I gape as the being weaves between the floating lanterns.

  “Cousin?”

  I whip back toward the automaton in time to see Suyin emerge from its bronze body. She looks the same as she did the last time I saw her, but her frantic expression robs her bold face of its authoritative air. Though she’s translucent and glowing, she appears dimmer, as if someone tossed a black veil over her.

  “Suyin!” Tai shifts into his Yueshen form and floats toward her.

  She opens her mouth as if to speak, but widens it into a yawn and thrusts her hands out toward Tai’s neck as she lets out a piercing scream.

  Tai grabs her wrists. “Suyin!”

  She kicks at him, still screaming—no, screeching. I raise my blade, but before I can act, Suyin freezes abruptly. “Tai? Are you Tai?”

  “Last time I checked.” Tai releases her wrists.

  I regard Suyin, wondering what happened to her. She appears fine,

  but she just emerged from a supernatural trap that also held Ligui and … and what, exactly? Ghosts of dead humans and cursed Yueshen who could shift into animals?

  “You.” She points at me with a shaking finger. “You’re human … You’re human!” She springs toward me, her eyes filling with a feral rage.

  I hold up my sword, but Tai tugs her back before she reaches me.

  “Suyin!” He gives her hand a jerk, and she spins to face him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Earth … I was drawn to the earth …” Suyin relaxes, and she glances at me. “Anlei?”

  I nod, unsure of what to make of any of this.

  Suyin digs both hands into her flowing black hair. “The earth was a great magnet, and I a tiny scrap of metal … I, a tiny …” She looks at her translucent hands. “Am I a ghost?”

  “You’re Yueshen.” Tai’s voice is calm, but his brows are low with confusion.

  “Of course … many of us were.” Suyin’s eyes widen. “Tai! Cousin! You found me!” She faces me again. “You’re the human girl who helped free us from Mowang! What’s your name?”

  “You just said it.” Whatever happened to Suyin when she was trapped, it’s causing her to forget who she is—and what everything is.

  She arches her brows. The expression is disdainful, but at least she appears in control of herself again. “Have some respect when speaking to a Yueshen noblewoman, Anlei.” A panicked look fills her eyes. “I must speak quickly, before the madness returns.”

  “What—”

  “Listen!” She cuts me off. “I was drawn to the earth by a strange force that overpowered my will. I couldn’t think, and I didn’t know what was happening. Everything went black, and when I woke, it remained so. I was in total darkness, unable to move and barely able to speak. Most of the time, I couldn’t hear anything either, though I sensed the silent screams of the others trapped with me. Once in a while, I’d hear snatches of the world. I started forgetting who I was. All I knew was that I was trapped, and that I had to attack, but I couldn’t move alone. I was no longer me, but an extension of a monster. Then I heard you … both of you … I tried calling to you, but I didn’t know if you heard me. After that, light flooded everything.” Her words become quick, breathless. “Some of those around me were Yueshen as well—we couldn’t speak with each other, but I felt the connection. But they were broken, twisted into something nearly unrecognizable. And they kept twisting and twisting until there was nothing left of who they were.”

  “So they were cursed?” Tai asks.

  “We were all cursed the moment we were drawn into the darkness.” A strange glint fills her eyes, and she darts upward.

  “Where are you going?” Tai chases her as she flies toward the cavern ceiling, where the other beings that emer
ged from the automaton are now clustered.

  Suyin stops abruptly. She dives toward me, her mouth stretching into a scream, but she freezes before she lets it out, a look of horror filling her expression. “Something … It keeps tugging at me, telling me to join the others, and that we must attack.”

  “The curse.” I think back to all the beings that emerged from the automatons, and I realize something. It’s so bizarre that I want to dismiss it at once. Yet after what I saw, I can’t deny it.

  I glance at Tai, who now stands on the ground beside Suyin, wondering if it occurred to him too.

  Tai meets my gaze. “The Ligui are Yueshen, aren’t they? That’s what you want to tell me, right?” He bursts out laughing.

  I stare at him in bewilderment.

  He doubles over and sinks to the ground, dropping his sword. “You’re right … Of course, you’re right … I kept hoping I’d find something to prove you wrong, but it’s all right here …” He buries his face into his knees, his shoulders shaking. “And to think, all that time I was wondering what happened to my people, the answer was right in front of me …” His words dissolve into mirthless laughter.

  Kang created the Ligui. He built traps to draw spirits into his machines, using them to power his inventions. Some were spirits of the dead, and some were living spirits—the Yueshen. That’s the great secret behind his genius—and it must be the darkest form of magic. Any rage I’ve felt toward him before seems like mere flickers of light next to the enormous conflagration burning my veins.

  Inside the traps, the spirits lose themselves, their minds poisoned and destroyed by the dark magic. Suyin had only been trapped for a matter of hours, but she was already starting to forget who she is. As time passes, the tortured spirits must evolve into Ligui … and those that escape the machines attack the living.

  That means Kang is responsible for every Ligui attack I’ve ever defended against. For every death suffered. My mind flashes back to those moments on the viceroy’s flagship when I thought I heard my father’s voice. Horror pours into every crevice of my being as I realize that it probably was him, trapped in the walls of the ship, lost in the dark magic. And the ship Tai and I took across the sky—that was powered by the same evil.