by Resa Nelson
“An emperor can do as he wishes,” Emperor Po said.
He understood Ti’s grief. Her mother died 10 years ago, and Emperor Po wasted no time in marrying his favorite concubine. All of Ti’s siblings were the children of his former concubine.
She resents them, her step-mother and step-sisters alike. But if I were her, I would likely feel the same way.
“I worry about Asu’s weaknesses,” Emperor Po said. “He has no strength of mind. Whoever marries you becomes the next in line to become emperor.”
“And that’s why every man of weak character is trying to get on your good side,” Ti said. “Everyone wants to be emperor. Including me.”
The image of Ti wearing the emperor’s robes in his dream came rushing back to Emperor Po’s mind.
Maybe it wasn’t a simple dream after all. Maybe it was prophetic.
Emperor Po nodded to acknowledge he heard his daughter’s words, but they walked in silence toward the Temple of Dark and Light. He considered that when Ti was around others, she knew when to speak and when to hold her tongue. Such wisdom would serve her well if she were emperor.
But for that to happen, Emperor Po would have to change the law.
When they reached the temple entrance, the emperor faced his daughter and held her face in his hands. “Go back to your step-sister’s room and keep an eye on the doctors tending to her. If you see anything you don’t like, let me know at once. If her condition worsens, let me know at once.” He kissed her forehead. “Give me time to think about what we discussed today.”
Ti gave her father a satisfied smile and then reversed her direction.
Removing his sandals, Emperor Po stepped inside the temple, which stood in profound darkness save for the flicker of a single flame inside a lantern resting on top of the altar. The gentle illumination cast a circular glow that made it possible for the emperor to navigate his way without stumbling. Walking toward the altar, the marble floor felt smooth and cool beneath his feet. The heavy scent of incense hung in the air.
Good. The magician has performed his duties well.
Emperor Po knelt before the altar and closed his eyes. In his mind he saw the Mighty Emperor standing inside a temple just like this one in his own realm, standing and waiting for Emperor Po to speak.
“Mighty Emperor, I come to ask for your help. My youngest child has fallen ill. I ask you to save her life.” Emperor Po opened his eyes.
The magician had placed the offerings to be made at the base of the altar.
First, Emperor Po took the silk red sash from the floor and draped it over his shoulder. He then picked up a cup filled with rice and a cup filled with jade pieces carved to look like coins.
Standing, Emperor Po faced the flat surface of the altar and arranged each offering next to the lantern. “I beg that you accept these gifts.”
A deep sigh sounded, and a fierce wind blew through the temple. Protected by the lantern’s glass walls, the single flame providing light remained steady.
Emperor Po knelt and sprawled across the floor before the altar. He closed his eyes and envisioned the Mighty Emperor in the realm that overlapped the mortal realm. “Please, Mighty Emperor,” Emperor Po said. “Let my daughter live, and I will do anything you ask.”
With his eyes still shut, Emperor Po imagined the Mighty Emperor striding up to the altar and accepting the offerings. Emperor Po hoped he had offered enough.
He pushed himself back into a kneeling position and looked at the altar.
Instead of having vanished as expected, the offerings remained exactly the way he had placed them on the altar.
The flame inside the lantern flickered wildly. Its height stretched to triple its size, and the flame rocked violently from side to side.
Without a sound, the flame extinguished itself, leaving the temple in darkness.
Emperor Po shuddered in fear. He had seen such a thing many years ago when he first became emperor. Only the immediate presence of the Mighty Emperor could cause that flame to go out.
That meant the Mighty Emperor found it necessary to cross from his realm into the mortal one. That happened only under the direst of circumstances.
Have I incurred his wrath somehow?
“Emperor Po.” The wispy voice of the Mighty Emperor descended into the temple like a hawk pouncing on an unsuspecting hare. “You ask to receive a great gift.”
A great gift. My youngest daughter’s life.
“Yes, Mighty Emperor,” Emperor Po said. He knew he must remain strong and sure to win the spirit emperor’s respect. “My youngest child has lived but a few years. Her life has barely begun. She deserves good health and a long life.”
“Deserves?”
Emperor Po detected a hint in the spirit emperor’s voice that he took offense. “No offense intended,” Emperor Po rushed to say. “All I mean is that she is an innocent. She knows so little of the world and the people in it.”
Silence fell inside the darkened temple for so long that Emperor Po wondered if the Mighty Emperor had returned to his spirit realm.
Finally, the spirit emperor spoke again. “You say you will do anything I ask.”
“Yes! Anything at all!”
A steady hum vibrated through the temple like the reverberation of a gong. It shook Emperor Po to his bones.
“Very well,” the Mighty Emperor said. “One thing can restore your child’s health. You must acquire three sips of water from the Fountain of Immortality. The water will restore her good health.”
The spirit emperor’s command startled Emperor Po.
I thought the Fountain of Immortality was a myth. But if the Mighty Emperor says it exists, then it must be real.
“The Fountain of Immortality,” Emperor Po said. He strained to remember the folklore he had studied in childhood. “I know little about it.”
“Your father had a greater knowledge of the mystical realms. And his father before him. Why is yours so weak?”
I must answer well or the Mighty Emperor could take offense and go back to the spirit realm before telling me where I can find the Fountain of Immortality.
“I spend more time listening to the people of Zangcheen and the Wulong Province than any emperor before me.” Although Emperor Po prided himself on this fact, he now put all his effort into sounding contrite about the way he chose to rule. “But now I see that I cannot sacrifice my duties to the spirits outside of our puny mortal world, and for that I have many regrets.”
“Are there no elders who should have taught you such ways?”
Emperor Po considered every comment and question with grave thought. One wrong response would cost his daughter’s life, and he didn’t know how he would live with himself if he failed her.
Although he ruled over the Wulong Province, Emperor Po took his duty of protecting his children as his deepest concern. “Sadly, they are gone. And I was unwise to not tap into their wisdom when I had the chance.” Emperor Po paused for effect but then allowed his heart to speak for itself. “You are my last and greatest hope of learning such wisdom.”
A deep hum filled the dark temple again. Emperor Po wondered if it might be the sound of the Mighty Emperor in contemplation.
“The Fountain of Immortality resides beyond the Gate of Air.”
The Gate of Air?
Unlike some of his past studies, Emperor Po had no problem recalling information about the dragon gods. “The Gate of Air rests atop a singular mountain that stands at the entrance to the Mountains of Dawn,” Emperor Po said. “That gate—it can only be entered with the permission of a dragon god.”
Emperor Po’s mind raced.
No emperor has ever attempted to enter the Gate of Air, much less speak with a dragon god. But if the Fountain of Immortality is beyond the gate, then I must go there.
Emperor Po made a habit of imagining the worst that could happen in any situation so that he might prepare for it. That way, if the worst happened, he was ready. If anything better happened, it pleased him great
ly.
Now he considered the worst that could happen at the Gate of Air. “What if the dragon god doesn’t allow me to pass through the gate?”
“In that case,” the Mighty Emperor said, “I imagine you will have to kill the dragon god.”
CHAPTER 16
The light of the rising sun filtered through the windows of the simple house where Frayka had slept alongside her husband on the floor of the main living area. Already awake, she and Njall practiced the words and phrases of the Far Eastern language taught to them by TeaTree yesterday afternoon.
TeaTree swept into the room with his arms full of clothing. While he spread them across the low table, TeaTree said, “Madam believes it will be in your best interest to dress like the locals. Furthermore, you would be wise to hide your marriage. No Far Easterner has married a foreigner and lived to tell about it. Except for those who left the country before anyone could find out.”
Frayka and Njall knelt by the table and examined the clothing.
TeaTree smoothed the black cotton fabric of the shirt and pants near Frayka. “These are well suited for a lady when she travels. They should fit slim enough to flatter your figure and yet loose enough to allow ease of movement.” He pointed at the white shirt and pants set aside for Njall. “And these are appropriate for a servant to wear.”
“Servant?” Njall said, offended by the idea.
TeaTree sat on the floor across the table from Njall. “It is not a judgment. Think of it as a disguise. Despite Frayka’s unusual height, she will blend in easily among all Far Easterners. You will not. As you are now, your appearance will draw much unwelcome attention. But when you wear the clothing of a servant, people will assume you were captured and have been tamed into submission.”
Njall snorted in disgust. “Tamed. No Northlander can ever be tamed.”
Frayka understood TeaTree’s intent. “He’s right,” she said to her husband. “If we don’t blend in, we’ll be stopped. We’ll be questioned. If that happens, the royal guards will take us again—and then we risk becoming servants in real life. Isn’t pretending to be a servant better than being turned into one?”
Njall reached out and took her hand. “Of course,” he said. “I hate to act like something I’m not, but I’ll think of it as a way of fooling them.” He grinned at his own solution.
TeaTree smiled. “And you will make fools of them indeed.”
“Wait,” Frayka said, concerned as she examined the new clothes. “We don’t go anywhere without our weapons. How are we supposed to carry our weapons?”
TeaTree nodded his understanding. “Like you, Midlanders also wear belts and keep a dagger tucked under it.” Today TeaTree wore the simple and drab linen pants of a typical Midlander combined with an indigo shirt that hung down to his hips. TeaTree lifted the shirt to reveal his belt underneath and a dagger held in place by it. “Displaying your ability to defend yourself is unwise in these lands,” TeaTree said. “Best to keep your dagger hidden beneath your shirt instead of wearing a belt around it.”
Frayka looked from the beautiful bright colors of her Northlander clothing to the stark clothing spread on the table before her. “Do all Far Easterners wear such drab outfits? Is everything they wear either black or white?”
“Only the poorest of commoners,” TeaTree said. “They tend to view the world in a very strict way: either light or dark. Positive or negative. White or black. Their clothing reflects who they are.”
“You don’t dress like them,” Njall said.
“I don’t,” TeaTree said. “But I’ve been known through the nation for decades as a merchant. Everyone recognizes me as one, and my clothing is never a cause for concern.” TeaTree stood. “I will leave you to get dressed and return with Madam shortly.”
While Frayka peeled off her Northlander clothing, she folded each piece neatly and gazed at it with fondness. First, she removed her jewelry: two large silver brooches pinning her layers of dresses together at each shoulder and the string of amber and silver beads that connected the brooches, all new and given to her by her father before she married Njall. A bright green coat embroidered with silvery thread. A yellow over-dress and pale cream under-dress, both made of linen.
When Frayka looked at her clothes, she saw the Northlander life she cherished.
She saw her freedom as a woman.
A moment of panic seized Frayka.
My family made these clothes for me. They’re meant to help me start a new life. I’m a Northlander through and through. But will I still feel that way when I leave these clothes behind? How will I feel when I dress like a Far Eastern woman?
“What’s wrong?” Njall said.
Frayka looked up to see his eyebrows knit with concern.
We could run away right now. Go back to the Land of Ice. Leave this strange place behind.
But Frayka couldn’t forget her agreement with the All-Father, the god of all Northlander gods. She’d agreed to seek out the Far Eastern gods and convince them to make amends for their slights against the Northlander gods.
Failure to keep that agreement would result in Frayka’s death as well as those of all Northlanders.
That’s a terrible choice. I’m better off trusting GranGran and TeaTree.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Frayka said. She hurried to pull on the clothing TeaTree had brought for her, bristling at the strange feel of the cloth against her skin.
After Frayka and Njall were dressed in their new clothes, GranGran teetered into the room, leaning heavily on her cane.
Njall jumped to his feet and held out a hand toward her. “Can I help?”
TeaTree hurried into the room with his arms full of wide cotton strips and supplies. “No,” he said to Njall. “She has a morning routine to perform.” He gestured for Njall to sit, and the Northlander complied.
Frayka watched as GranGran took mincing steps, groaning all the while.
The old woman let her cane fall to the ground and leaned down to grip the edge of the low table with her gnarled fingers. With a pained grunt, she lifted it up to her chest, causing the table to tilt.
“It’s heavy wood!” Njall said, distressed. “Why is she lifting it?”
“Get strong,” GranGran said. “Stay strong.” She lowered the end of the table back down to the floor and then lifted it several more times.
“This is her routine,” TeaTree said. “Do not interfere with it.”
For the next several minutes, Frayka and Njall watched in awe while GranGran used various things at hand to stretch and lift. Her back and joints often made loud cracking sounds, which made her sigh with relief. Finally, she performed the same slow dance-like movements the Northlanders had witnessed her doing alongside TeaTree and dozens of Far Easterners when their paths had first crossed. When finished, GranGran strolled smoothly to the spot when she had let her cane fall and bent down with ease to pick it up.
Mesmerized, Njall followed her every step and said, “Is it magic?”
GranGran laughed heartily. “No!”
“The Far Easterners may have some peculiar notions about life,” TeaTree said. “But they are quite brilliant when it comes to staying healthy. Madam may wake up feeling stiff and old, but after her morning routine, she’s always good as new.”
True to TeaTree’s words, Frayka noticed that her great-grandmother stood straighter and more stable.
Morning seems to be the only time GranGran needs that cane to steady herself. The rest of the time it seems to be her favorite weapon!
TeaTree hastened to wrap up their supplies with the cotton strips into bundles and then showed Frayka and Njall how to tie those bundles to their backs. They exited the house with GranGran leading the way.
They walked in single file down the hilly and narrow street with houses so crowded that they seemed to be piled on top of each other. Following TeaTree’s advice, Njall followed Frayka and kept his head bowed.
One neighbor stood in the small square patch of grass that served as her front lawn an
d tossed cracked corn to chickens. A toddler sat at her feet and clapped. The distant sound of crowds gathering in the city for a new day of trading drifted on the wind.
GranGran stopped, and the others gathered by her side. She pointed across the street at a house where black cotton covered the windows and door.
“Ah, yes,” TeaTree said. “I remember. We encountered a funeral procession on our way home yesterday. It must have been one of the Liu families.”
A man pulling weeds a few feet away stood and turned toward them. He joined GranGran’s side and spoke so quickly that Frayka couldn’t make out a single word he said, even though she’d learned many common words of the Far East language from TeaTree yesterday. While the man talked, Frayka looked around the neighborhood, taking note of how everyone’s skin, eyes, and hair looked like hers.
On one hand, Frayka noticed the ease with which she blended in among the citizens of Zangcheen. At the same time, without her normal Northlander garb, Frayka felt as if she were turning into someone she didn’t know. She missed the layers of dresses worn by all Northlander women. She missed wearing the jewelry that held pieces of clothing together. She missed the way linen felt fresh against her skin and allowed the air to flow around it.
After GranGran seemed to spend an eternity chatting with the man, he returned to weeding while she led the others down the hill.
TeaTree fell back a few steps and spoke in a quiet voice. “He said yesterday’s funeral was for the head of the Liu family. But his widow failed to fulfill her mourning obligations and was called to the royal court.”
“The same day as the funeral?” Frayka said. “And what are mourning obligations?”
“A woman must be obedient to her husband even after he dies,” TeaTree said. “I tell you this because you should understand the severity of this province’s laws. You should be aware of where you are.”
Frayka noticed that Njall remained silent and kept his head bowed down. “You didn’t answer my questions.”
“The people waste no time in making accusations against anyone they think has done wrong,” TeaTree said. “The woman’s mistake was speaking. She couldn’t wait to tell her children that she planned to marry another man. Apparently, her husband failed to treat her well, and she rejoiced at his death when she would have been wise to feign grief. It cost the woman her life.”
