The Red Heart of Jade

by Marjorie M. Liu

  Behind, Miri saw moving light. There was no place to hide. Dean pulled her over to the side and held her tight against a rough rock wall. They watched, breathless, as the light entered the chamber—a light wrapped within a globe of shadow. It passed through the ring, floating, and the man chained to the ground began to shout, trying to stand, beating his fists on the ground. He scattered bone, and reached for one that was pointed, wicked. Not sharpened; it looked like a natural growth of some kind, though Miri could not imagine the animal it belonged to. Tears rolled down his anguished face. His chest began to glow.

  The light stopped in front of the woman, and it unwound itself like yarn, flowing down, filling up the air, taking shape—until Miri gazed upon a man. A man of skeletal gauntness, but with a shine and glow to his skin that was like pearls.

  His face contorted when he saw the woman. He fought—twisting, trying to turn away with a desperation that seemed to far exceed the threat. He acted as though his life was at stake, and yet, no matter how viciously he writhed, it seemed he was struggling against himself, or merely the air.

  But then—a flash, on his body—and Miri looked down and saw rings of dark light around his wrists, cutting close as a second skin. Likes cuffs. Restraints.

  He’s being held. Someone brought him here against his will.

  The other man, the human man, was still screaming, brandishing the long sharp bone. The woman called out to him, but her voice choked; Miri watched as darkness curled like smoke around her face, sinking into her nostrils, through her eyes and mouth.

  She stopped crying. She stopped speaking. The whites of her eyes bled away and were replaced by darkness. Miri thought of the dragon’s eyes, how the gold had become shadow, a pure black oil, and a terrible dread weighed heavy in her gut, an awful premonition, because she knew this, she knew it like it belonged to her, and if this was a memory, if this was not just a dream—

  The woman spoke. Miri still could not understand her—but the woman’s voice was chilling, deep and quiet and perfectly without emotion, and the man in front of her, the man of light, opened his eyes wide and gazed upon her naked chest, where the words between her breasts suddenly glowed.

  He began to read. Miri knew he was reading; his eyes traveled over the words in a descending pattern, and what he spoke was melodic, almost a song. Resistance had died, but his gaze was terrible to look upon, as though he knew something awful was coming, and simply had nothing left with which to fight it.

  And then he stopped speaking, and the light of his skin, the light that seemed to have been at the core of him, leeched away in threads and tendrils, rising up through his mouth, leaving a body shriveled, dying—

  —and the light entered the woman. She smiled. She laughed. And the man in chains began to howl. He lifted up the bone, raising it like a short spear, and Miri already knew what was going to happen, knew it because she remembered. She felt a pain in her heart, sharp, and listened as the woman—that possessed and black-eyed woman—said a word. The man said another. And he threw the bone.

  Miri never saw the impact. She felt it in her heart, and in that moment, the ring and sand, the bones and darkness and death—all disappeared, and Miri opened her eyes and found herself back in their tiny room in the village. No sign of Ren. She guessed waking up had bypassed him completely.

  Dean stirred against her. His skin was slick, his breathing rough.

  “Jesus Christ,” he said, hoarse. “What the fuck? There’s no way that’s a memory. We never saw that. We couldn’t have.”

  “Maybe we didn’t see it,” she murmured, rubbing her chest. “But I think we may have lived it.”

  “Miri.”

  “What if those aren’t memories from this life, Dean? What if they’re memories from another?”

  Another life, an impossible life, a life that had ended at the hands of another.

  He will kill you, whispered a voice inside her head. He will kill you again because he must. Unless you stop him. Unless you end it first.

  A horrible thought, beyond crazy. Dean would never hurt her. Never. And maybe after all these years apart it was too soon to trust, and maybe it was wrong to believe in him with all her heart—but she did. And she knew he felt the same about her.

  Dean propped himself up, but whatever he was going to say was cut off by a smell that wafted through the room.

  Ash. Smoke. Somewhere near a crow cawed, sharp.

  Miri and Dean rolled from the bed and ran.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The night was cool and the sky held not one cloud. The stars were so bright, so crowded in the sky, it was like having another kind of light to move by, and Dean finally understood how it was in the past, before industry and cities, when people had no choice but to travel at night. Moving by starlight. He had always thought it was bullshit, but here—all around him—a faint glow over the world.

  “We need to find the jade before he does,” Miri said. “If we put it together first …”

  “Then what? We still don’t know what this thing does, babe.”

  “It’s power,” she said. “And maybe I don’t know what to do with power, but I’d rather see us have it than Lysander and that thing in his head.”

  “Fine, but I still don’t know where it is. I can follow a hunch and say it’s in the water you showed me, but that doesn’t make a guarantee. It’s a big lake.”

  She hesitated. “Could you … jump out there? You know, with your gift? Just think really hard about the jade, and then will yourself to it?”

  A fair question. Dean had been thinking about it all day, trying to talk himself into trying it. Just trying. Now he wished he had. The pressure was on, and he had no room for mistakes. He did not know what would happen if Lysander got the last piece of jade, but presumably he needed both pieces, and that would mean more violence, more risk of harm or death, and he was tired of it. He was sick of running, of being chased.

  They made it to the water’s edge without seeing anyone, scrambling off the road and down the embankment. Dean crouched, feet sinking into mud. He laid his hand in the water and shifted sight.

  The world exploded with light. Everywhere, threads coursing; inside the water, on the shore, in the woman beside him. A hum filled his head, and he reached inside Miri’s purse for the jade, holding it tight in his hands. Vision surged, but he shut out the past, focusing instead on the missing link between the stones, the bond that existed where it should not. Inorganic material did not capture energy on its own, not unless the living had been in contact with it. And that always faded quickly. But the power was there, in the jade, and Dean drew on it, trying to follow the same instincts that had allowed him to build that inexplicable bridge to Miri.

  Don’t push. Just let it come to you. Let that energy flow.

  Flow in ways he had never known it could, like actual threads, rivers, waters to be diverted or stitched or bound, and he found himself doing it again, drawing in with his mind bits and pieces of the living world around him, until the light in his inner eye was so bright he felt blind with it.

  And then the light stretched, snapped, and he found another bridge and he placed himself upon it—an act of faith, a leap—and with all his focus centered on the jade, he jumped—

  —and promptly began to drown.

  The water was crushingly cold and dark, and Dean thrashed, unable to tell which way was up. But then, quite suddenly, he saw light moving beneath him, darting skeins of electric threads. Fish. Many of them—but above, not so much. He took a guess.

  It was the right choice. His head burst above water, and he coughed up a lung as he tried to suck air into his abused body. So much for experimentation. The shore was dark; he did not know what direction Miri was in, and he did not dare call out to her.

  You were brought to this spot for a reason, he told himself. The jade is here. You have to find it.

  If he didn’t freeze to death first. The water was cold—glacier fed—and he could already feel his limbs stiffen
ing up. He had minutes at best, and nothing more.

  Dean forced himself to take a deep breath—focused on his memory of the jade, of light—and shut his eyes, floating upward on his back. It was difficult to relax, but he tried, and after a moment felt a pull directly below him, like there was a string attached to the small of his back, tugging. Dean filled his lungs with air—trying not to cough—and went back under.

  This time, he did not need to open his eyes. He felt his way through the water with nothing but his mind, following the pull of the jade. Around him, a pulse—thunder through the water—energy—the living energy of the world, so beautiful he wanted to shout—and he found himself gathering it around him, pulling it into his body like food or drink, until it was suddenly not so difficult to swim or hold his breath.

  His hands connected with something soft and tangled—grass, dirt, all kinds of debris—but beneath there was a familiar heat, and he dug in, pouring himself into the effort until he touched something small and smooth and hard.

  Dean’s fingers closed around the jade. He placed his feet against the surface below and pushed hard. He had been underwater too long; he knew he should be dead—or at the very least feeling the effects of holding his breath—but his body felt strong. Unnatural.

  Don’t think about it. Just move. Move now and get the hell out of here.

  Fast. Dean kicked down his fear and swam, crawling up through the water. The jade felt warm in his hand, a warmth that traveled through his body and rested heavy in his chest. Light cut the darkness—a light emanating from the skin beneath his shirt—and the jade seemed to sing with it inside his head. He felt a pressure in his mouth; a fluttering sensation.

  But he knew something was wrong before his head broke the surface; his lungs pricked, a sharp heat entered his gut. He thought of Miri and reached out to her, and though he had no trail to follow, the bridge was still there. He saw fire in his head, a great inferno rising up and up, and inside the blaze a face with its mouth open in a silent scream. Burning down to ash.

  Miri.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Right up until the moment Dean disappeared, there was a part of Miri that did not believe it would happen. That even after everything she had witnessed, that this, at least, would stay the same, and that reality, once torn, would not tear again.

  But, of course, she was wrong.

  Dean disappeared—displaced air rushing cool over her skin—and the jade artifact hit the ground. Miri stared. And stared. She waved her hand through the spot and felt a chill.

  Out on the lake, she heard water splash. A harsh cough. She almost called out to Dean, but kept her mouth shut. Too much noise was dangerous. She picked up the jade and cradled it to her chest. The stone felt hot. She felt hot. Not feverish, exactly, but like there was a fire burning, pulsing, lapping at the insides of her ribs. Her heart picked up speed. She tried to calm it, but all she could think of was that woman chained to the altar, and how she knew that face because it was the same one she had seen in the mirror last night. A stranger with Miri’s eyes.

  Because I am her. That was me on the stone. That was me eating darkness. That was me, killing with nothing more than a mark upon my body.

  Miri closed her eyes, sinking to her knees. She clutched the jade so tight it cut her palms, but the pain felt good, something she could control—and it was nothing compared to what others had suffered, all because of this mystery, because of something wholly inexplicable that had taken place in the distant past.

  In her past.

  Wind rushed her body; the chill bit down, but the heat did not disappear. She smelled ash and smoke, and thought of blood. She heard the slow rub of scales. Lysander. Dragon. Here.

  Miri did not run. She did not see the point in trying to hide. If this was going to be the end of it, she did not want to the leave the world as a coward. And besides, even if she did try to hightail it in the dark, she would probably fall down and break her neck. Or at the very least, end up in the same bad situation as the one approaching her. Only disoriented, exhausted, and probably ready to puke.

  Great options. Die terrified, or die terrified and sweaty.

  But the choice was taken from her. She saw a large white figure detach from the darkness of the woods, and though her stomach twisted, heat spiking rough in her gut, she kept her cool, she stayed calm, and she pretended to have control. Pretended, when for a moment, she thought there was a mistake. The ghostly figure was no dragon, but instead a man. Two legs, two arms, a very large … naked … torso. All of him, naked.

  And then the man’s eyes began to glow—golden, twin points of light within the night—and that was almost as unmistakable a mark as his voice, which said her name, deep, and weighed her down—her entire body, heavy, anchored by the presence of her imminent death.

  A screech filled the night air; Miri shouted as a small black body rammed into Lysander’s face, twisting and clawing and pecking. Miri stumbled forward, intent on helping, but at the last moment one large white hand wrapped around the crow’s head and Lysander flung away the bird, throwing him down hard. Koni’s small body hit the rocky ground with a wet crack. Miri tried to go to him, but Lysander caught the back of her neck and lifted her off the ground. His thumb dug into her throat; she choked, legs kicking. The jade slipped from her fingers.

  Lysander caught it with his other hand. He tossed Miri away and she fell hard on her knees, coughing and gagging. Koni lay very still beside her. She wanted to touch him, drag him close, but Lysander suddenly crouched, body looming like a white boulder made of flesh, and she peered through watery eyes into his wide face, which stretched and stretched, losing all humanity as he shifted into something scaled and feathered and sharp. He held the jade, which looked ridiculously tiny in his claws, and Miri felt her mind reach out to it, felt her thoughts fill with light and words.

  “You know where the other half is hidden,” Lysander said, and Miri could not stop herself from thinking, Dean.

  “Dean,” whispered the dragon. “Ah, the water.”

  He stood and Miri scooted back, cutting her hands on rocks. She imagined she heard some distant cry on the wind, some shout in the air, and Lysander smiled. Golden light spilled from his eyes, gold cut with darkness, and he said, “Yes. I think we have played enough.”

  And Miri burst into flames.

  The fire started at her feet, which gave her just enough time—seconds—to think, This is totally unfair— and then the heat poured up her body, drenching her, incinerating clothing, scattering all to dust. She opened her mouth to scream, but the only sound was in her own head, and through the roar she heard a voice say, Do not be afraid, the fire is quick, and that was just what she was afraid of, because even though she felt no pain, she could feel her skin sloughing away, her body losing definition, and soon she would be a girl without a face, a girl with no mask, a girl made of ash—

  And then, quite suddenly, the fire changed. It became something else, something without heat, but bright nonetheless. Energy, maybe. Quivering, pulsing, like the heartbeat of the world was touching her face, and she felt an even greater heat between her breasts, something more terrible than fire.

  Miri could breathe again; she could think.

  And she could move. Only her arms, but that was difficult enough—like crawling through burning tar. She managed to raise her hands as far as her chest, but that was good enough and all that she wanted. She pressed her fingertips against her skin and imagined lines, words, symbols cut into her flesh, and she threw back her head and screamed.

  Only this time there was sound, and as the cry left her throat, another set of hands reached into the fire and she heard her name called—Dean—and in her mind she reached for him, pushing outward—

  —and the fire disappeared—everything gone—

  From light to dark, heat to cold; Miri thrashed, choking. Strong arms pulled her tight against a soaking wet body that was deliciously cool, and Dean said, “Miri, are you hurt? Miri, talk to me.”
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  “Lysander,” she said. “Where—”

  “I am here,” said the dragon. Miri tried to see, but the switch from shadows to fire had cut away her night vision, and she was almost blind. She shut her eyes and listened instead. She heard water lap the shore, the crunch of rocks, the rough rasp of harsh breathing. Human voices distant and shouting—and somewhere close, an odd rhythmic flapping sound, like wings beating the air.

  Dean began to stand; Miri moved with him, staggering. The air was cool on her skin, the rocks sharp beneath her feet. She was completely naked, her clothes burned away into ash.

  Miri opened her eyes. Her vision was better; she could see Lysander again, standing near the lake’s edge. All vestiges of his humanity were gone; the only skin he wore was dragon, and though she knew the threat, the sight of him towering in shadow and starlight, feathers cutting the night sky against his folded wings, was breathtaking.

  This is what legends are made of. Dragons and golden light, magic rocks and fires burning bright. Masks and demons and dances in the night.

  And more to come; she could feel it in her chest. Power. Power sleeping, power stirring, power waiting for its moment to rise. Butterflies bursting in her mouth, ready to fly.

  “Give me the other half of the jade,” Lysander said, and there was something in his voice that seemed off, wrong; a quiver, almost like weakness.

  “No,” Dean said, and Miri felt him push something smooth and flat into her hands. Its edges were rough. Ready to be made whole.

  Dean tapped her wrist. Run, he told her. Run fast.

  But Miri kept her feet planted firmly on the ground, stared past him at the dragon, at the tiny piece of stone cradled in his massive claws, and said, “Tell us why. Tell us what will happen when the jade is put together.”