Vows of Gold and Laughter (The Immortal Beings Book 1)

by Edith Pawlicki

  Jin squeezed his hand gently. She took a deep breath.

  “I'd like your opinion. Neela tried to teleport me, but I overpowered her.”

  Bai nodded slowly. “That must have been upsetting.”

  “It wasn’t just what she did. She said–” Jin choked on the words.

  “I think I know what she said,” he admitted. “She told you that Gang is your father. I asked her myself, earlier.”

  Jin jerked her hand away from him, as if that pleasant warmth might scald her. “How did you...?

  “I’m sorry. I let you believe that your grandfather might have been a son of Noran and Cheng, but I knew no such person existed because Cheng is my friend.” His hand remained stretched toward her, but he had the wisdom not to touch her. “You must be very shocked. I’m sorry.”

  “But then... do you think Neela is right? That Pa – that Aka plotted my mother’s murder?”

  Bai shook his head. “I know nothing, and don’t want to speculate. The only way to truly know is to ask Aka.”

  Jin thought of Gang, on that surreal night when he told her that she was powerful, that she might be able to save the emperor when he could not. I do not mourn this as purely as you do, Gang had told her.

  Jin suddenly threw herself at Bai’s chest. His arms wrapped around her immediately. She was crying. She couldn’t seem to stop. Xiao was right. The world had always been different than the one she knew. How could she trust anyone?

  Finally, when her head ached and no more tears came, Jin told Bai, “I still want to travel to the Underworld, to find the black peony. I shall confront Aka after I save him.”

  “And if he’s guilty?” Bai asked softly.

  “Then I will turn him over to the Goddess of Justice.”

  EVEN as Jin was filled with inner turmoil, she was surrounded by peace. On the lower Kuanbai, the land rolled in low hills away from the river, and its banks were lush. Willows wept into the water, their branches thick with leaves. The air was warm and humid enough that Jin was glad of her coarse linen pilgrim robes, which were cool and light compared to the many layers of court dress. She and Bai quickly fell into a routine. During the cloudy mornings, Jin practiced magic. Under Bai's tutelage, she learned to shape anything red, orange, yellow, and blue to her will. He tried to teach her to change herself into a bird or a fish, but the trick of it eluded Jin.

  After lessons came Jin’s favorite time of day, when the inevitable drizzle began at noon, and they sat under the canopy, eating steamed fish as a thick white mist obscured the outside world, and Jin found her worries obscured as well. They told stories – or, more accurately, Jin cajoled stories from Bai. He told her of his youth, when the world was just stone and water. One day, shaping the thick mist with his will, he showed her how he rode the Sea Serpent, an enormous monster that made coastlines treacherous before it was banished to the Underworld. Jin even convinced him to describe his early forays into art, how the other immortals had laughed at his strange, colorful paintings until one day they became recognizable and people held their breath in awe.

  “You’ve done so much. Don’t I seem very boring to you?” she had asked him in a burst of insecurity.

  A smile had played on his lips. “I’ve always thought boredom was a choice.”

  She had laughed and scolded him for his unchivalrous answer.

  When the sun burned away the mist and drizzle in the early afternoon, Bai taught her the unfamiliar exercise that she had seen him practicing that first day in his garden – it was about control and strength and was far more challenging than even her tessen practice. It amazed Jin how being still could be harder than moving.

  They did not speak again of their feelings for each other, even when the stars came out and the frogs began their love songs, but they did not need to. Jin could feel how Bai felt about her, and it seemed he could read her expression almost as easily. They rarely touched and slept at opposite ends of the boat – an unspoken agreement to respect Xiao. They had a year to settle what was between them. There was no rush.

  When the Kuanbai widened dramatically, Bai declared they had better hire a mortal ship to carry them over the sea, as he did not have the same affinity with it as with the Kuanbai. So they sold their boat to mortal rivermen when they docked in Liushi, the City of the Willow, that great port where the Kuanbai met the Double Bay.

  “Will its magic fade?” Jin asked as they walked away from the boat’s new owners, who were eagerly exclaiming over the quality of its craftsmanship.

  “It will last far longer than any boat made of wood and it will always find safe passage on the Kuanbai,” he told her absently. “It will probably be famous in a few years.”

  ALTHOUGH it had been six hundred mortal generations since Bai was last here, he was shocked by the changes. Instead of a thick wilderness with a few isolated communities, the mouth of the Kuanbai was now the largest single collection of mortals that Bai had ever seen. Buildings, some many stories high, stretched as far as Bai could see. They were built in a higgledy-piggledy manner, so that the streets frequently bent out of sight.

  “This is amazing,” he said.

  Jin looked about her for a few moments before turning back to him with a knit brow. “What is?”

  “I – this city. It is larger than the Sun Palace, I should think.”

  “Well, yes,” Jin agreed. “After all, there are far more mortals than immortals.”

  Bai almost gaped at her. Instead, he said carefully, “There are?”

  Jin looked at him for a moment, then grinned. “I forget sometimes that you haven’t left your mountain for longer than I’ve been alive. You must have thought that little market town was large! Perhaps three thousand years ago, mortals began to live in larger and larger groups. In Jeevanti, in the city of Shahar, there are one million mortals.”

  Bai studied her carefully. Was she teasing him? “I can’t tell if you are telling the truth,” he finally admitted, embarrassed to have his power fail him.

  Jin’s eyes widened, and she laughed merrily. Several mortals turned toward the almost musical sound. “I’m telling you the truth!” she protested. “Liushi itself has nearly a hundred thousand.”

  “But – how do they get food? There’s no room to hunt, not enough land to farm...”

  Jin shook her head. “We can’t go straight to the docks. I must show you some of the triumphs of mortals.”

  She took his arm, her hand in the crook of his elbow, and gave him a general history of mortals as she dragged him through Liushi. Bai felt like the pilgrim he was impersonating – a country yokel who could barely keep track of his feet, his eyes were so glued to the sights. They climbed a thousand steps to the Sun God’s temple, an edifice remarkably similar to the reception hall in the Sun Palace. But this one was built by mortals. It impressed Bai even more than money had.

  It was in the entertainment district (yes, these mortals had enough buildings dedicated to music, theatre, and gambling that it warranted an entire district) that Bai finally recognized a landmark. The Great Willow, with its white bark and silvery leaves.

  “It’s still here then,” he smiled at the tree, which was nearly as old as himself. He stopped at a metal fence that was clearly intended to keep admirers at bay. Physically, it was just as Bai remembered, but magically, there was something quite different about it. He cocked his head, trying to understand the new power that gathered in it.

  “The Great Willow? Oh, yes, it’s practically worshipped as a god in Liushi. See that temple?” She pointed to a white stone building, and Bai realized that the willow’s power had been amplified through the belief of mortals, just as Zi and Hei’s had. “There they sell a tea made from its leaves that is believed to grant insight. My fa-father really doesn’t like that temple.” Bai glanced at Jin, but her face was carefully blank, and he decided she didn’t wish to discuss her angst over her parentage at present.

  “I imagine it would. I planted the willow –
made it, perhaps is a more accurate term. It’s not quite a normal tree.” Its roots ran deep into the earth, just as its white branches stretched high into the sky, and he created it to magnify his fundamental ability so that he might know the entire world as he sat in it.

  He lost his smile as he remembered the first time that he sent his powers coursing through the tree and out into the world. He had found an unknowable pocket, an essence that he could not distill or understand. Curious, he had gone to investigate it and met Cheng.

  Perhaps because Cheng had also been alone when he formed, magma that refused to cool into stone and so had become an immortal, he was far more like Bai than Aka had been. They had explored the world together, eager to teach and to learn. Cheng had been a friend – to think that he had disappeared, was presumed dead... He thought that perhaps he should use the tree to search for Cheng, but the idea that he might find nothing kept him from moving.

  A light laugh shook him as surely as an earthquake. Jin had her index finger pressed to her lower lip. Her eyes were full of awe as she stared at the tree. “So when you say the boat we sold would be famous...” She looked back at the tree. “There must be hundreds – no, thousands – of miraculous artifacts scattered over Earth from your casual creation of them.”

  Bai shifted uncomfortably. “Well, now there is at least one because of you.”

  She snorted. “I think I must punish you, for being so cavalier about it all. We shall go watch The Death of the Great Warrior, and you shall tell me how much is true and how much is fiction.”

  Her hand slipped into his, and she pulled him away from the willow.

  Bai’s eyes locked on their hands. Hers was almost totally enveloped in his. It felt warm and surprisingly strong – just like her.

  “The Death of the Great Warrior?” he forced himself to ask.

  Jin indicated a young man dressed in bright strips of cloth containing all the colors of the rainbow. He was juggling equally brilliantly colored balls and shouting. “Come one, come all! Watch The Death of the Great Warrior, as done by the world-famous Rainbow Troupe!”

  He shouted praises for the show, then began his announcement at the beginning again. Bai had seen a few other youths like him throughout Liushi, but he hadn’t paid them very much attention.

  “It’s a very famous play,” Jin told him, “where you defend a tiny pass from a thousand soldiers.”

  “Well, the death part is fiction then.”

  “Mmm, so I recently learned,” she said with a smile.

  Bai smiled himself. He wasn’t particularly interested in seeing a play about himself, greatly exaggerated or not, but he did want to make Jin happy.

  Soon they had exchanged a small amount of the coins from their sale of the boat to buy two seats at the rear of a large indoor theatre. The seats were cleverly contrived so that each subsequent row was slightly higher than the one in front of it.

  The stage was low in front of them with a large painting of mountains as a backdrop. It was perhaps crude, but it charmed Bai anyway. The first scene was of a monstrous golden creature attacking many peasants. There were no words, but a small band of musicians narrated the tale with their instruments.

  “What on Earth is that?” Bai asked Jin in a whisper.

  “The Phoenix,” was her soft reply.

  Bai looked back at the stage in disbelief. It was golden and feathered, yes, but all resemblance to the Golden Phoenix of Bando ended there. The Phoenix had been a beautiful bird; awe-inspiring, yes, terrifying, no. This horned creation with its bulging eyes and absurd fangs was hideous. A man in red arrived to fight the monster. Bai didn’t need Jin to tell him this was Aka. Suddenly soldiers arrived – at least Bai thought they were soldiers. They looked like two-legged versions of the monster. They harried the red man, but then “the Great Warrior” (wearing all white) and the God of War (a bearded fellow with red armor) arrived, riding on a large cloud. They forced the soldiers back so that Aka could continue his fight. The God of War directed the warrior somewhere off-stage, and the scene changed.

  This is Cheolmun Pass, I suppose. The actor playing the Warrior was surely a magnificent dancer. He leapt and twirled with boundless energy. A silver silk scarf served as the Starlight Sword, but the man manipulated it so cleverly that it truly seemed to be a steel blade as it lashed his enemies. As they were injured, their wounds were simulated by red silk that burst everywhere as if with a mind of its own. Finally, the great battle ended, and a translucent red screen came down in front. The Warrior stumbled around on stage for a bit before summoning a cloud and the scene changed.

  Aka, through the musicians at the side, praised the Warrior and handed him a large literal key. The warrior once again took his cloud mount to a land of flowers – as represented by lady dancers. There was a slow dance where the dancers pulled a copious number of red scarves from the Warrior and the actor made it clear he was dying (“What, are the flowers killing him?” muttered Bai. Jin did not respond).

  Finally, the flowers abandoned the fallen warrior alone on stage, with the oversized key. There was a hush, and then the audience began a polite, synchronized clap, which Jin joined. Bai did not.

  “Very little of that was true.”

  He expected her to laugh, but when Jin looked at him, her expression was guarded, her mouth pinched. “Yes, but... I always thought it was simply fantasy, but on the river – you shaped the mist with your hands. So I have to ask – can you really travel by cloud?”

  Bai almost answered yes without thinking, but he suddenly realized why she looked so troubled. If he could travel by cloud, why weren’t they doing so?

  “Travelling by cloud would certainly be convenient, wouldn’t it?” he managed a laugh. He thought he had struck the right balance of wistful and amused, but if anything, Jin looked more upset.

  “You are very good at making me think that you’ve answered my question without lying and yet, leading me to believe something false – just like you did with Cheng and Noran.”

  Bai cleared his throat. “Yes, I can travel by cloud–”

  “Then let us go to the gate now. Surely we could reach it in a matter of days.”

  Bai hesitated.

  “Well?”

  “No – I think we should–”

  “Why? Don’t you trust me?”

  When he didn’t answer right away, Jin whirled away from him. Bai caught her arm. “I do trust you, Jin, I trust you to be fair and generous. But I’m not sure you know what is fair. Your view of the immortal creatures is wrong – like that supposed Phoenix–”

  “Then why wouldn’t you just tell me that? Why would you hide things from me?”

  “I don’t – I’ve only known you a month–”

  “If you don’t trust me, why should I trust you?” she looked down at her arm. “Let go of me. I need to think. Alone."

  He released her instantly. As she walked away, he felt a brief panic. “I’ll be at the willow,” he called, just before she disappeared into the crowd. He was fairly certain that she heard him.

  But he waited at the Great Willow until it grew dark and light again, and still she did not come.

  Chapter 10: How Nanami Walked the Shadows

  INDIGNATION and outrage were writ on Luye and Yeppeun’s pretty faces, their arms crossed and their feet in a fighting stance on the wide portico of Jin’s house. The rice paper doors were closed at Xiao’s back, but he still feared they’d disturb Nanami, who he had set inside on Jin’s bed. Fate had already cursed her enough today, so Xiao raised his hands in supplication.

  “You cannot bring your lovers here!” insisted Yeppeun.

  “Shh – she’s not my lover, you know her.”

  “Yes, you brought her here on the day of your betrothal,” said Luye over crossed arms.

  “Yeah, and she’s Jin’s friend.”

  Both women gave him equally disbelieving looks, and Xiao rubbed his temples in frustration. “She stole and destr
oyed the Infinite Jug.”

  The disciples looked at each other. Luye’s brows raised and Yeppeun’s knitted.

  “So why is she here?”

  Xiao hesitated. “She tried to spy on Salaana for Jin. But she was exposed as a thief, and Salaana took her hand.” He swallowed. “You may have heard of her – she’s the Sea Dragon’s seventh child.”

  Both women simultaneously craned their necks, as if they could see through the rice paper to the woman within.

  “I’ll get her some food,” said Luye.

  “And I’ll visit the Wood Pavilions for burn ointment.”

  Luye scurried out the gate, and Yeppeun disappeared into between.

  Xiao frowned. Why should being the Sea Dragon’s daughter matter? They thought she wouldn’t condescend to take him as a lover? Well, she pursued me, he thought waspishly. Then he admitted that wasn’t entirely true – but she did notice him first.

  Xiao re-entered the hall.

  Nanami was curled around her arm on Jin’s bed. She in no way acknowledged his appearance. He wasn’t sure if she was aware of him. He crossed to her and knelt, placing a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes opened and flashed to his. They were dull with pain and reddened from tears. As she looked at Xiao, a few more tears leaked free.

  “Come to say, ‘I told you so’?” she asked.

  Xiao shook his head. “I came to check on my friend. Nanami – I am so sorry. I wish I hadn’t let you come to the palace.”

  Nanami smiled weakly. “And just who do you think you are to have stopped me? No, it was my decision. And you had tried to warn me – that’s been echoing in my mind the past few minutes. ‘Salaana takes the hands of thieves,’ you told me. I was too arrogant.” She closed her eyes, and Xiao rubbed her back gently, unable to think of any other comfort to give. He looked at the stump of her arm, a painful looking burn where her hand should be.

  Nanami said, “I’m sorry, I can’t enter her service.”

  It took Xiao a moment to understand her, he was so surprised. After her hand had been cut off, she had considered moving forward with the plan.