“Your blood?” Jin echoed. Her eyes came back to the present and latched on his face. “What does that mean?”
“I used to be alone in the world...” Memories rushed to him. There hadn’t even been animals when he first came to be. One day, when he was exploring the Crescent Moon, he had seen an eruption to the north. Curious, he had set off to see what it was – at that time, he hadn’t known what a volcano was nor how dangerous it would be. A few weeks later saw him at the caldera of the Korikami’s Tomb, and he had tried to climb down a ways to inspect the lava.
He had slipped, and Bai had realized that the magma would be his death as little else could be - it would melt him. He had grabbed frantically for a handhold, and he had found one, but he badly sliced his hand in the process. Blood had been all over the stones, but Bai had disregarded it for he was focused on scrambling to safety and then bandaging himself.
It had not been the first time Bai had bled, but it was the first - and only - time that his blood had become another being. Bai had never seen something so similar in structure to himself, although the coloring had been quite different. Hair the color of coals almost extinguished and eyes the exact shade of Bai’s blood.
Aka.
Aka had spoken first, but even then Bai hadn’t understood that he was a being with thoughts and opinions as unique as his own - that idea had been too new, too inconceivable. Bai had tried, unsuccessfully, to control him, like a limb that had suddenly detached itself.
He laughed at his own folly, and turned to look at Jin.
She was looking back as if he had just changed into a monster.
“Anything can become an immortal, you know,” he felt defensive.
“Yes, but – does this mean you’re my grandfather?”
“No! As fate laughs at us, no. No more than a dayflower is your great-grandmother. When my blood left me and transformed, it became a totally separate being that really had nothing to do with me. It took me a long time to understand that, though. I spent a few hundred years trying to control all aspects of Aka’s being, before he rebelled and left me. I didn’t see him again for...” Bai had to stop and think. It wasn’t until Aka declared himself a god and collected human worshippers that Bai had encountered him again. “... about twenty thousand years.”
“I just can’t understand your scale of time. How old are you?”
Bai shrugged. “I never kept track of time until Aka formed. But my best guess is seventy-five thousand years.”
Jin passed a hand over her eyes. “Haven’t you been lonely?”
“Yes, frequently,” he admitted.
He very much wanted to hear her response, but just then a shout rose in the marketplace.
“Thief! Thief!”
Two emperor’s men, dressed in red and black with swords at their waists, pushed their way to the shopkeeper, a man selling embroidered goods. His finger, thin and long, pointed at a child huddling against her mother, both of them held in place by the crowd. The mother held her child with one hand, and the other clutched a colorful pendant.
“My daughter’s not a thief!” protested the mother loudly, but Bai could hear the lie in her voice, and the fear. Bai looked away, but to his surprise, he saw that Jin had risen and was watching the scene closely. He looked back to see what held her interest so.
“Check her pockets!” howled the merchant. “She stole a little blue purse.”
Sure enough, the purse was produced. The merchant determined it ruined, covered in grease from the child’s hands.
“She didn’t mean it! She doesn’t know better!”
“It’s your responsibility to teach her better,” scolded one of the emperor’s men. “I’m tired of your excuses, Goodwife Dawa. If you won’t teach her not to steal, we will.”
The emperor’s men each seized one of the girl’s arms and pulled the girl from her mother. Her face made Bai pull back in shock. Red and splotchy from her crying, her forehead was too large and her features too small. Bai recognized her as a Forever Child, and he knew that despite her small stature she might be fully grown. Bai shifted uncomfortably. Forever Children, in addition to retaining a childlike appearance, had a simplistic view of the world. As her mother claimed, she might not have understood the wrongness of taking the purse. Bai turned away, unwilling to witness any more. But Jin moved into the crowd, transforming before his eyes. The darkness in her eyes leached away, leaving them gold and glowing. He didn’t think she changed either her hair or her clothes, yet he suddenly found himself thinking her impossibly grand and beautiful. The crowd agreed. They prostrated themselves as the Goddess of Beauty moved among them.
Jin held her hand out to the merchant, who rose onto his knees to offer her the embroidered purse.
“It is beautiful work. The needlewoman was skilled,” she said. She turned to the Forever Child, still standing, no longer crying. “Beautiful things call to each other, don’t they?” She handed the purse to the Child, who clutched it to her heart. Jin then let several coins trickle into the merchant’s still open palm, glittering like water in sunlight. Bai had enough presence of mind to realize this was more of her manipulation.
“This market is full of lovely goods. I am proud to have my mark graven on so many stalls.” Briefly the mark that Bai had noted earlier, the circled bars, flared everywhere it was carved or branded. “But you must remember, the greatest beauty of all comes from the good thoughts of humans. Jamyang’s kind heart and happy soul is a blessing upon this town. She sees beauty everywhere, and so has mastered the most important skill of my followers.” Jin touched Jamyang’s cheek, and Bai had to admit that her innocence and great joy made for a particularly beautiful smile.
Jin then surveyed the crowd. “It is common to cringe away from the unfamiliar, to reject those who are different from ourselves. But, to see the infinite beauty of the world, we must keep our minds open and unafraid. To ask before we accuse. Jamyang, will you share your eyes with this town, and help them see the beauty that surrounds them?”
Jamyang nodded and Jin’s mark gleamed on her forehead, marking her as a chosen of the Goddess of Beauty, whose prayers would always be heard. Behind Jamyang, her mother pressed her mouth as tears streamed down her cheeks.
Jin smiled and made her way from the crowd, holding them in place with her overwhelming beauty. Bai did not move for fear of breaking her spell. Once she was out of sight, the people rose, and slowly returned to their business, though many cast sidelong looks at Jamyang. Bai waited a few minutes longer, then hurried after Jin.
He found her clutching a wall in an alleyway, face white, breath harsh, looking nothing like the Goddess who had just awed the crowd. Jin tried to take a step toward him, but her leg crumpled beneath her.
JIN closed her eyes, unable to find the strength to catch herself, but she needn’t have worried. One of Bai’s arms wrapped around her shoulders and the other caught her under the knees. He swept her up, and her head lolled on his shoulder. He was just as strong as he looked.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded, his brow furrowed in concern.
Jin tried to smile to reassure him but ended up coughing. “I – I don’t know,” she managed.
“You used too much magic helping that mortal.” He shook his head, even as he started walking briskly. “If anything happens – because you helped a thief!” The words burst forth from him, wholly unlike his usual manner. “No one will remember her in thirty years.”
The harsh words might have upset Jin, if she hadn’t felt his deep worry beneath them – from his thoughts, that worry was for her.
“She might not be remembered by history or create anything of cultural significance, but every day she will bring sweetness and joy into those who surround her. Her mother prayed to me for help, and she did not deserve ten lashes.” Jin coughed again, though she tried to suppress it.
“I may have used a lot of power, but I’ve never had a reaction like this before, even when I used more.
”
Bai’s hold on her tightened. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to leave Kunjee behind so that I could take you to Haraa.”
Jin shook her head. “I could wait for you.”
Bai scowled fiercely, and Jin felt a spike of adrenaline. “I’m not leaving you,” he said.
He began to stride quickly out of town, following the river. People passed them, and though they moved out of Bai’s way, they barely seemed to notice them.
“What did you do?” asked Jin curiously.
Bai followed her gaze to a mortal woman carrying jugs past them. “You’re not the only one who trick the eye. I call it whiting out. It makes it hard to focus on me.” He walked faster. Jin tried to move her legs experimentally but could not.
“I can’t feel or move my legs,” she said, “and the rest of me hurts.”
Bai’s eyes flicked to hers and then back to the path. “I think you’ve been poisoned.”
“The chatamaris?” she asked in disbelief.
His mouth twisted. “I don’t think so. It’s just a guess, but I think the reason we haven’t seen your assailant again is he knew he had succeeded in his task – the throwing star must have been poisoned.”
“But – it’s been over a week...” Jin protested.
“And you’ve been feeling poorly for much of that time.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I should have realized sooner. I’m so used to reading poison in a person’s essence... If I had to guess, the poison is triggered by your use of magic. The poisoner probably expected you to teleport immediately, which would have led you to this state much sooner. Our small use of power on the riverboat kept you feeling ill, then–” He swallowed.
Jin swallowed as well. Bai’s obvious fear for her was contagious. “If you can’t read my essence, then you can’t know it was poison. Perhaps I did overexert myself.”
He didn’t need to speak to make his opinion clear.
It appeared he found whatever he was looking for, as he turned off the path and settled her on a stretch of slightly muddy beach beneath a tree with large white flowers. A dove tree, Jin thought it was called. Bai plucked two of the petals and, faster than Jin could follow, he had made a riverboat. It was nearly identical to the one that they had purchased passage on, except it was as white as bone.
Bai stared at the boat a few moments, then plucked another six petals. “We might need them later,” he explained when Jin made a questioning sound.
“But – can you steer this?”
His serious, almost frightening aspect softened as his lips twitched. “The Kuanbai River would never do me ill,” he told her. “It carried me as a stone when it first formed, and I watched it mature from a trickle to a river.”
Jin, who was trying to imagine a small stone becoming the man before her, made no objection as he lifted her onto the boat, and launched them. As he had implied, the river seemed to steer the boat for them and allowed Bai to examine her, his hands floating mere inches above her body. His frown grew ever fiercer, and Jin couldn’t summon her voice to ask him what he was learning.
Finally, he touched her cheek, his finger skimming where the shuriken had cut her.
“I’m sorry,” he said, producing a small blade. “I need to reopen the wound.”
Jin closed her eyes and held very still. When she opened them, he was examining a drop of her blood on his index finger.
“It is poison,” he confirmed, “triggered by magic use. It will paralyze you and put you in a coma, but it will not kill you.”
“How...?”
“I can still read the essence of the poison, even if I can’t read yours.”
“Do you know the antidote then?”
He shook his head. “It needs to be removed from your body. If there is an herb or medicine that would do so, I don’t know it.” He sighed, meeting her eyes. She found them no less fiery for being black rather than gray.
“I have no affinity for blood. But you do – red has dominion over blood, and blue in a more limited way. Have you ever seen Aka clean someone’s blood?”
Jin remembered it vividly: Xiao had fallen to his knees, screaming, when Aka had burned the toxins from his blood. “Yes,” she admitted reluctantly.
“Then you must do it now, before the poison progresses farther.”
Jin flinched. The idea of causing the pain that Aka caused, even if only on herself... “No – no, I can’t do that.” To cover her fear, she argued, “What if I fail? Surely the poison will be quickened.”
“You must believe you can,” Bai said fiercely. “Imagine your blood flowing through your body, then imagine it purifying, cleansing itself.”
Jin closed her eyes. But she couldn’t imagine the blood; she certainly couldn’t burn away the impurities. She was the Goddess of Beauty, not blood nor healing nor fire.
“This won’t work,” she told Bai.
Bai glared at her, making Jin feel worthless. “Not if you have that attitude! You–”
“Stop!” Jin scolded him. “Stop yelling at me. We need a solution that is viable.”
“Leave Kunjee here,” he suggested again. “And I will bring you to Haraa.”
“No,” said Jin. “I have a different idea.” She took a deep breath. “What has blue to do with blood? How is that possible?”
Bai shook his head impatiently, but he held up his hand. “See the veins? They are blue. When we see our blood through our skin, it’s blue.”
“Then Neela could cleanse it.”
“Yes, but who knows where she is?”
Jin laughed despite herself. “I do. She’s my grandmother – of course I can summon her. But are you sure she can help? I don’t want to bring her here just to see me...”
Bai seized her hand and squeezed it. “Summon her.”
Jin closed her eyes. Just as she had a thousand – no, a million – times before, she sent out a tendril of thought. NeeNee? NeeNee? I need you.
The last thing Jin heard was a querulous voice demanding, “
What’s going on here?”
Chapter 8: How Nanami Met Justice
THE East Gate, Jin had called it, but the characters above the gate itself read “Lightning.” To either side of it were life-size bronze statues – the Goddess of Justice and the God of Destruction, by their accoutrements. Nanami wondered if they were accurate likenesses. There was certainly a family resemblance – both were lean and tall with patrician noses and sharp cheekbones. Perhaps any bronze statue would seem forbidding, but Nanami found Salaana’s expression particularly severe.
Taking a deep breath, she walked before that statue, and prostrated herself, toes tucked under her heels and hands spread beneath her shoulders. The ground was a warm grey marble – not immediately unpleasant, but hardly forgiving. She felt vulnerable and uncomfortable.
Within five minutes, Nanami heard people walking through the gate. Some paused by her, as if she were placed for their entertainment and openly scrutinized her as the Goddess of Justice’s latest petitioner. Others hurried past, one nearly stepping on Nanami’s calf, she was so beneath her notice. Nanami resented both reactions, her gut roiling and her fingers tense against the marble. Even though it was a mere two days she had to lie here, the time stretched eternal.
XIAO arrived in Jin’s empty bedchamber. Through a half open sliding door, he could see Yeppeun and Luye sitting in the garden. Some purple flowers, like grapes, dangled from a canopy over their heads. They were both holding flutes, though they appeared to be speaking rather than playing.
His first impulse was to call out to them – to tell them of the quest’s progress and seek their help in uncovering Jin’s enemy. He quelled it. The less people who knew a secret, the easier it was to keep. He took a deep breath and stumbled into Jin’s low table-desk, knocking a blue and green vase to the ground, spilling water and white flowers across the wooden floor. He cursed loudly.
Yeppeun and Luye both turned their heads toward
the building; moments later they entered.
“Divinity, have you returned?” Yeppeun called. She caught sight of Xiao and froze. “Oh. Hello.”
Luye peered over Yeppeun’s shoulder. “What’re you doing here? Where’s her divinity?”
“Oh, fine, fine, she’s just worried about dear-old-dad, so she sent me to check on him.” Xiao lurched toward the two women. He worried he was overacting, but they cast each other resigned looks and moved to steady him.
“Why, thank you ladies.” He attempted to drop a kiss on Yeppeun’s cheek – she smelled the rice wine he’d drunk, and her nose wrinkled in disgust. She turned her face so that his kiss landed in her hair. “Which of you wants to get me a drink?”
“Don’t you want to see the emperor first?” Luye bit out sarcastically.
Xiao laughed. “I doubt he cares one way or th’other.” He shrugged away from them. “I’ll just make my way down to the theater district and catch up on the gossip. You ladies make the bed ready for my return, won’t you?”
“We aren’t your disciples,” said Luye.
“Well, I’m marrying your mistress, aren’t I? Better get used to me as a master.” He gave them each a swat on the bottom, then made his way to the gate, walking just a bit crooked.
He glanced back to see the unhappy disciples arguing. Well, I daresay everyone will know Jin sent drunk Xiao back to get him out of her way by tomorrow.
Xiao meandered between the outer wall of Jin’s residence and her younger brother’s, the small smooth stones crunching beneath his feet. The Palace had not changed during the past several days, yet its opulence now seemed ominous. It was a struggle to maintain his tipsy and relaxed facade. A drink would have steadied my nerves.
Guleum, the God of Wind, stepped onto the path with two attendants behind him. Guleum was too young to have disciples; these were servants assigned to him by his parents.
“Hello, Xiao,” he said. “Rumor said we wouldn’t be seeing you anytime soon, but we barely had a chance to register your absence before you came back!”
Vows of Gold and Laughter (The Immortal Beings Book 1) Page 17
