The Red Heart of Jade

by Marjorie M. Liu

  The vision faded abruptly, and then cut off for good. Miri staggered, and felt hands upon her, Dean whispering her name. She could not see, her eyes refused to focus. Her chest throbbed.

  “Miri,” Dean said. “Miri, what happened?”

  Something impossible. She was not psychic. She did not have visions.

  Miri swallowed hard, trying to stand on her own. She ended up braced against Dean’s body, his arm tight around her waist. She almost told him the truth, but remembered Robert.

  “Nothing,” she said. “Just … light-headed, that’s all. The body.”

  Which would sound ridiculous to anyone who really knew her. Dean managed to smooth out his expression, but she saw the question in his eyes. Even Robert stood back, watching her. He looked … thoughtful. Miri was not sure it was a good look on him. It bothered her. Thoughtful and Robert probably meant a great deal of trouble.

  Miri and Dean jumped off the platform, leaving behind a body that was nothing more than a loose pile of desiccated parts and dust. It made Miri sick, but she pushed away her guilt, her shame. All of them stared at each other.

  “So,” Robert said.

  “No artifact,” Miri said. “The jade isn’t here.”

  “I still say it’s impossible,” Dean argued. “I felt it. It’s been … pulling me.”

  “And if it was just the body you felt the connection to?”

  “If so, we’re shit out luck. I don’t know where to go next.”

  Miri’s hair stirred; she felt a cool breeze against her face. “Where is that draft coming from? Do you think there’s a way out from here?”

  “A way out that isn’t a death trap?”

  “A way out that does not require retracing our steps?” Robert smiled. “I would be very much in favor of that.”

  But it was difficult for Miri to leave. She turned and stared at the dusty remains, the face of the man she had destroyed lingering in her memory. How things had changed, that she would so willingly desecrate the ancient dead, and for nothing but a trinket, some treasure.

  Grave robber, she called herself. It didn’t matter that she had a good reason, that she was doing it to save her life, and maybe others. Money could save lives, too. Stealing for cold hard cash, just like any other thief of the grave, was no different.

  “Miri,” Dean said. She shivered when he said her name, visions dancing in her mind; that voice, that whispered, He will kill you otherwise. She remembered Dean’s confession.

  He told me I needed to kill you.

  The skin between her breasts burned. Miri did not touch herself. She grabbed Dean’s hand instead and squeezed. Squeezed so hard he looked at her, frowning, but he said nothing, and Miri eased up after a moment.

  They followed the flow of water, which meandered through the chamber in an artificial creek that, had there been more light, might very well have painted a lovely picture. The cavern they found themselves in was very large and Miri again wondered, this time out loud, how such a place could exist directly beneath one of the most urban cities in the world.

  “Power,” Robert said, as though it was the simplest thing in the world. “Power and money.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that someone—perhaps those whom Kevin and Miss Ku-Ku work for—once stored the jade in this cavern. I will assume that, because they are so very familiar with this locale … and because of certain facts I obtained from the young gentleman who was so helpful. They are caretakers of this artifact. Protectors, if you will. The jade has been moved, but I doubt for long. Otherwise, the builders of this place would not have gone to such great lengths to watch over it. But to protect something that is stationary, that must remain stationary, for whatever reason, requires great amounts of power and wealth. Enough power, anyway, that it would be possible to divert builders and planners and other government officials from particular areas, either through misdirection or bribes.”

  “You’re saying this is yet another conspiracy?”

  “The entire world is run by conspiracy, Dr. Lee. It is what drives and shapes history.”

  “And rewrites it.”

  “Of course. There is no such thing as historical truth. The only truth is what we live and experience for ourselves: the moment. Once that is past, it is reshaped by our hearts and our minds. It is not raw. It is not honest. It is memory. And memory is changeable. Memory is not trustworthy.”

  “But we need to rely on something,” Miri protested. “History teaches us, history—”

  “Is nothing but fairy tales that are treated as truth. You have seen so much in the past twenty-four hours, Dr. Lee. And yet, none of it—none of this— will ever be relied upon as a means of understanding the world. Perhaps for you it will, but not anyone else. Learn from history, Dr. Lee? Better, I think, to learn from yourself. That is all the history you need.”

  Miri wanted to say more—she could tell that Dean had a pithy comment on his tongue—but Robert had the last word.

  “Did I just hear a scream?” he asked.

  Chapter Fifteen

  They ran. The water led them, and they did their best to watch for traps, danger, but the screams were loud, too terrible for caution. It was the sound of men dying. Men being ripped apart. Dean had never heard anything like it in his life.

  They moved through the cavern, which narrowed around the water, leaving little room. The ceiling was low, the walls rough and dark. Only the floor was flat, but farther from the center, the altar, its surface became uneven and Miri stumbled. Dean caught her elbow. She was small against his side, warm. Warm like his chest, like the brand above his heart, which cast its own glow, like fire.

  Dean shifted his sight, looking for signs of recent passage, and saw nothing, dead air, a world far removed from the living. Only, on the edges, inside his head, he felt a buzz—even a sucking sensation—pulling him in all directions.

  Not here, he thought. It’s not originating here.

  But it was close. Almost … on top of him.

  The city. I’m feeling the city. All the people above me.

  The living world, humming—all those people, so many memories and voices and lives, running together until the music was too much, more static than song. That buzz inside his head.

  You never used to be able to do this before.

  Yeah, and he hadn’t been able to teleport, either. All of which should have been very cool, but the only thing he could think about was how and why. Why now? Why such extremes in his abilities? Was it really all him, or was someone else responsible?

  Ahead, light. It was very faint, barely there, but the others saw it and they all pushed hard. Dean heard grinding, the dry hiss of a large body moving over stone. He stumbled, dragging them all to a fast stop.

  “It’s him,” Miri said.

  “Him?” Robert murmured.

  “A killer, a shape-shifter, the key guy in all this mess. A mind-reader, too.” Dean looked at him. “He’ll know we’re coming, if he doesn’t already.”

  Far ahead, the tunnel ended. Dean saw light. The water flowing past them spilled over a break in the rock. He heard it splash, burble: clean sounds, gentle. No more screams, but the hissing continued, and the light suddenly flared, flickering its reflection against the walls directly in front of them.

  He smelled incense.

  “We’re right back where we started,” Miri muttered. “Kevin and Ku-Ku did that on purpose, misdirected us, hoping we would get killed. We went all that way, and all we had to do was—”

  Dean held up his hand. Miri’s eyes were profoundly grim. Robert’s face showed nothing at all.

  “We cannot go back,” the man said. “The exit is the same. Nor do I wish to … wait him out.”

  “Ditto,” Dean said. “The only way to get away is to move fast and stay out of his direct line of sight. I think that affects his pyrokinesis.”

  “He’s a telepath,” Miri said. “It shouldn’t affect anything.”

  “I do not plan on runn
ing,” Robert said.

  “Well, good luck with that. I hope you can grow back your body from ash.”

  “Burning at the stake is a similar experience, I expect.” Robert smiled, grim, and pulled out his gun.

  Dean reached for his own weapon. He glanced at Miri, and thought about her last encounter with Lysander, the near miss that had been. He thought about bodies, ash, burning and burning and burning, and himself trapped in flame. While he had survived, and maybe things had changed within him, those were flukes that could be taken away as quickly as they were given, and he could not risk Miri.

  Her warm hand curled around his arm. She felt like an extension of his body. He had forgotten what that was like. He had forgotten so much. Robert was right. Memory could not be trusted.

  But Miri had that stubborn determined look in her eye, and in his head he could see her twenty-odd years younger, with her hair in braids, giving him that same resolute expression. Ready to fight, ready to watch his back. It killed him. It scared the living shit out of him.

  “I wish you weren’t here,” he said. “I wish it so bad, Miri.”

  She touched his face. “We take care of each other. And we’ve come this far, haven’t we?”

  She made it sound so easy. Dean wished it could be that way. He closed his eyes and said, “Miri. When we get down there, you run. None of this heroic bullshit. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “But only if you’re behind me,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

  Robert moved close. His green eyes were especially bright; a muscle ticked in his cheek. His red hair suddenly made him look wild, even a little crazy.

  “We should do this now,” he said.

  They crept to the edge of the rock face. Water spilled over into the pool below. The ceiling to the chamber rested several feet lower than the ledge they stood upon, blocking out most of the room. Dean could see the edge of the hole, the water streaming into it.

  He also saw a white tail, covered in scales. Blood. He smelled, beneath the incense, ash.

  Robert waved at him and pointed down. Beneath them there were indents in the rock face; a narrow decorative jutting, just enough to form a step in the middle of the wall. A hop, skip, and a jump down. Perfect, if they could do it fast, although Lysander could burn things at the speed of thought. That was hard to outrun, and the shape-shifter had to know they were there, what they were planning. Dean just hoped he was in a talkative mood.

  He heard smacking sounds, flesh tearing. Miri looked very pale. He tapped her arm, mouthed, Ready? She nodded. He thumped his fingers three times against her arm, and she nodded again. She set her jaw, pressed her lips together.

  Robert went down first, lean and graceful, swinging and hopping quietly off the ledge’s decorative rim like a monkey from a tree. Miri was next; she was not as coordinated, but Dean breathlessly held her and Robert waited with his arms raised. He did not look at the dragon, and Dean gave him credit for that; his entire focus was on Miri. Once she was on the ground, Robert pushed her back against the wall. Dean slid over the edge, grappling for a hold. His feet found the ledge and he jumped, landing light.

  He turned, pushing Miri toward the exit behind the waterfall. She moved, but her head turned in the other direction, eyes so wide and horrified that Dean could not help himself. He looked, and there … there, more terrible things to fill his dreams, more awful visions. The dragon laughed, rolling on his back like a dog on a dead animal, squirming fat and large over Kevin’s dismembered body. The archaeologist was little more than a smear in the stone, his torso broken and flattened by Lysander’s writhing massive weight. The dragon’s silver back rippled red. Ku-Ku sat in a corner, huddled in a ball. She was covered in blood, but did not seem injured.

  Miri grabbed Dean’s hand. She tugged on it, hard, and Lysander stilled, looking at them upside down like a cat caught in the middle of play.

  “Mirabelle Lee,” he said. “How soon we meet again. I believe you have something for me. Or … not. My mate’s servants lied to you, didn’t they? Told you the jade was here, when in fact it has been taken far away. So the hunt continues. I think I am glad for that.”

  Robert stepped forward. He held his gun loose in his hand. He aimed it at the dragon and fired.

  The bullet exploded in midair. Dean ducked, covering Miri. Robert flinched. Blood rolled down his arm. He tried to fire the gun again but it jammed. Lysander’s eyes began to glow.

  Robert whirled and looked at Dean.

  “Run,” he said.

  Dean shoved Miri under the waterfall just as Robert’s body burst into flame. The man threw back his head, screaming. Dean raised his gun, took aim, and pulled the trigger. His gun worked. The bullet entered Robert’s head and he went down fast, limp, still burning.

  Lysander began to laugh.

  Dean ran.

  Night. Downtown in Hong Kong with the flavor of fire in the air and the neon blazing bright over a concrete jungle filled with people and cars. Dean and Miri ran through the light, through the golden ambiance of the city, which glowed and glowed, bathing them in warmth, sinking beneath their skin and holding them tight like they held each other, hand to hand, and they did not stop, no matter the stares, no matter how their lungs and bodies hurt. They did not stop until they reached the sea.

  Ren stood on the boat. Koni was with him. They gathered up Dean and Miri, shoving them belowdecks. Ren said, “I’m pushing off now,” and then he ran back up and slammed the door behind him. Miri, standing in the hall, leaned hard against the wall and slid to the floor. She covered her face.

  “What happened?” Koni asked. “Did you find the jade?”

  Miri shook her head. Dean knelt and wrapped his arm over her shoulder. Tugging her against him, he pulled Miri down until she lay in his lap, curled in a ball. Koni quietly backed out of the hall.

  “I’m going to move you,” Dean murmured after a moment. “Are you ready, Miri?”

  She nodded, and Dean slid gently out from under her. Trying not to groan as his back rebelled, he bent and scooped her from the floor. Miri sighed, pressing her face against his neck. Her cheeks were wet.

  Dean took her to the room she had slept in earlier that day. He set her on the bed and lay beside her, curling tight, holding her with his legs and arms. He kissed the top of her head and said, “Go to sleep, bao bei. Rest your eyes.”

  “When I close my eyes I see fire. I see dragons and blood. I hear screaming,” she said.

  “It’ll fade.”

  “No,” she replied. “I don’t think it will.”

  But after a time she fell asleep. A little later, so did Dean.

  The next time he opened his eyes he was alone in the bed. He sat up, but Miri was not in the room. Panic filled him, even though he knew it was irrational. She was safe, she was surrounded and among friends—

  He left the room at a fast walk, his mind reaching out ahead of him, searching for her trail, her thread. He saw nothing and hit the stairs at a run, slamming his way to the top deck, bursting through the door with a shout on his lips.

  But he stopped fast, teetering on his toes, swallowing down his voice. Miri sat in a lawn chair with her legs propped up on an ice cooler. She wore a loose silk robe. Her hair was up in a bun. Red paper lanterns hung above her head, casting a warm glow. Her eyes were dark, hollow, but she had a smile on her face and a cup of tea in her hands. Ren and Koni sat around her, easy and relaxed. Dean knew it was an act. Guns might not be visible, but he knew they were there and within easy reach. Koni, no doubt, had his knives.

  “Sorry I didn’t wake you,” Miri said. “But I needed air and you were still out.”

  “I cooked dumplings,” Ren said, with an easy smile and sharp eyes that were anything but relaxed. “You want?”

  “Sure.” Dean touched Miri’s shoulders and sat beside her on the deck. His pants and shirt were still damp from the waterfall; dampness he had left on Miri’s bed where he’d fallen asleep. He did not care. Water didn�
��t kill.

  He looked, and in front of Miri on a small table was the jade artifact.

  “I would really love to smash that thing,” he said. Ren handed him a bowl and chopsticks; on the side was a small mix of soy sauce, vinegar, and sesame oil.

  “I almost did,” Miri said. “Threw it overboard, at any rate.”

  Koni cleared his throat. “Miri told us what happened.”

  Dean stuffed a dumpling into his mouth. “I should have seen it coming. Everything else has gone wrong. I feel like I’ve got a big sign on my back that says ‘shoot me now, asshole.’”

  “How do you think I feel?” Miri leaned back in her chair.

  “Either way,” Dean added, “we need to figure out our next move. Fast.”

  “Fast?” Ren said. “Koni and I will brainstorm, but the two of you are ready to collapse. You need more rest.”

  “I don’t know if I can sleep,” Miri said, and it hurt Dean to hear her voice so ragged. He set down his bowl and took her hand, holding it carefully as Ren and Koni looked politely away. Dean pressed his lips to her palm and then turned, trying to get his bearings. Behind him, the glittering city rose like a band of gems against the darkness. Breathtaking. He heard static in his head, felt the push against his body, this time like hunger. He felt the same from his friends, though in a lesser amount. Energy, power. Miri, he could see … but he could not feel. Like Long Nu or Lysander, she was self-contained, which was new. She had never been like that as a child. Before the accident. He wondered what that meant. There had to be a connection. Everything, he was discovering, had a connection.

  “Look,” he said, turning Miri so she could see the city. “Look at that shine, sweetheart. It’s still a beautiful world.”

  “Doesn’t make it any less frightening.”