Mulan and the Jade Emperor: an Adult Folktale Retelling (Once Upon a Spell: Legends Book 1)

by Vivienne Savage

  At that very moment, Queen Anastasia flew overhead upon the back of her weredragon husband. Her powerful voice echoed across the sky and whipped the heavens into a furious storm. The beautiful starlit horizons became dark and murky as cloud cover rolled in. Lightning flashed, divided into multiple streaks of light, and hurtled toward the ground.

  Their sorcerers fought her magic with spellcraft of their own, but dozens of them weren’t powerful enough to combat the ferocity of a storm powered by a creature with fae blood. Their fireballs scorched through the air in a desperate bid to take her down, but the dragon evaded them in a series of barrel rolls. He roared, and thunder cracked in response. More lightning flashed, illuminating the silhouettes of griffins in the cloud banks.

  This was not the first battle in which the king and queen themselves had taken to the field.

  But it had certainly been the first time the tide of battle had been in Liang’s favor. That ended with the next flash of light.

  The skies tore open and the flood released from the clouds. Water came down in a pounding flood, then lightning sizzled with the next thunderous boom from a dozen points in the sky, each one a griffin participating in the storm event.

  No matter how many times the Liangese soldiers armed their catapults, they were not fast enough to take down their opponents. The rain quenched the flames scorching the thorn wall, and their armored soldiers slogged through water.

  Da-Wio ground his teeth. Until King Alistair and his fae queen were slain, Liang would remain on the losing side of every battle. Fuming, he left the fort’s balcony to escape the rain and the site of yet another dishonorable defeat. Water dripped from his saturated silk robes until he tossed them back from his shoulders for a servant to retrieve.

  Rage grew inside him with every step. He breezed past a pair of heavily armored personal guards standing outside his private chamber. Da-Wio paused just beyond the threshold and bit out, “Fetch General Fei Bin. He and I must talk.”

  Watching the aerial combat between Liang and Cairn Ocland had brought a revelation to Da-Wio. If they were to conquer their northern enemy, he could not rely upon his army alone. He would need to complete the transition and fully assume the mantle of the Jade Emperor.

  “It is time, my nephew,” he spoke to the jade statuette that traveled with him across the Liangese Empire from fortress to fortress, palace to palace. The small figurine representing the soul of his living relative rested atop a small pedestal. Once, it had been solid green, but age had sent veins and swirls of lavender streaking through it.

  This thing held the soul of a nephew he’d loved immensely. He’d seen tremendous promise in the young man he’d trained for some of the greatest years of his life.

  But his refusal to lead Liang into a position of supremacy in the gulf had quickly shown him the young man could not be trusted with the welfare of their empire. Too idealistic. Too young.

  “I should have done this years ago, yet…” Da-Wio stroked the side of the dragon’s face with his thumb. In it, despite the draconic features and artfully chiseled scales, he saw his late brother’s child.

  He’d loved this child.

  He still loved this child. Cheng may have been a man at the age of early adulthood, but that would never change the years, time, and affection that Da-Wio had devoted to him.

  “What I do now, I do for our empire. You have always been my blood, but we are far too close to our goals. How I wish there were another way.”

  Da-Wio returned the figurine to the pedestal then removed a handful of tokens from the nearby rune-covered box. These, he set down in a circular array and connected with ink glittering from a combination of crushed sapphire and onyx for power.

  “You called for me, Emperor?”

  Da-Wio rose from the magical circle and faced the door where Fei Bin stood, soaked through. Rainwater glistened on his blue and silver battle armor, and his hair was plastered to his face.

  He bowed deeply then moved forward into the room. “I came without delay.”

  “Yes. You certainly did. If only your efforts in the war delivered such prompt results.”

  The young general licked his lips and failed to maintain eye contact. A coward. A true man would meet his ruler’s gaze without flinching in fear. “Your Majesty, we cannot breach the thorn wall. It’s too powerful. For every branch we slash and vine we burn, she raises dozens more. No fire can raze this as long as the griffins are in the sky alongside her.”

  “She is their general and leadership. Why have your men not taken her down yet? Without her, they would be left without guidance.”

  “She flies on a dragon, Your Majesty. No lance will pierce his hide. No arrow is sharp enough. They have successfully repelled each of our attempts to burn the borders. This is—”

  Green energy and magic gathered around the emperor’s fist. Immediately, it solidified into a sharp blade, glinted by the torch light. He stepped forward, a blur of motion, and drove the materializing jade into Fei Bin’s gut. It sliced through his armor effortlessly.

  “Why?” came the choked cry as Fei Bin slumped against him.

  “I take no pleasure in this, child, but your life is needed to fuel this magic.”

  Da-Wio placed Fei Bin in the middle of the circle then completed the magical ritual’s final brush strokes.

  Blood seeped from Fei Bin’s mangled abdomen onto the marble floor. It was critical that Fei Bin survive until the end. His lashes fluttered, and his chest moved in labored breaths as Da-Wio recited the incantation learned from a dark king and formidable, unexpected ally.

  This ritual must not fail.

  Fei Bin’s pitiful moan escaped as a wet gurgle. Then his right arm shifted and flopped against the floor. His hand knocked into one of the tokens and broke the circle, sending it skittering away three inches and smearing the fresh ink.

  “No, don’t move!” Da-Wio jumped to his feet to correct the error, but it was too late in the ritual. The gathered energy warped and expanded in a shockwave that knocked the emperor from his feet.

  When the room came into focus again, his head spun and flashes of light remained in his vision. He blinked rapidly and finally sat up, desperation tightening his chest when he realized he felt no differently than before.

  The statuette was gone, his sacrifice had expired in the dark ceremony, and the power had not been transferred. But where in the nine hells had Cheng gone?

  4

  No one spoke of the matter that night or the following day. Mulan watched her father unwrap his old armor from the trunk where it had been stored for years. He tended to every piece with care and each time his hands shook or faltered from the nerve damage that afflicted his fingers, she felt her heart break.

  War had almost destroyed him once. To go again would mean certain death. Hua Hu had been a great warrior—an esteemed general—but his days of war belonged in the distant past. A foreboding feeling settled heavily in her heart each time she thought of him riding out the next morning.

  Mulan waited until her younger siblings had been put to bed before she approached her parents, finding both sitting in the gardens. Whatever they had been saying, they both fell silent at her approach.

  “You cannot go,” she said firmly. “Father, you served your time. You gave everything to the emperor’s service. If you leave this time, we’ll never see you again.”

  “I must.” Her father’s proud shoulders slumped, as if he carried a heavy weight upon them. “There will be repercussions if our family sends no one.”

  “Then send me.”

  Both of them stared at her, wearing matching expressions of surprise and disbelief.

  “Mulan, you are a great warrior, but you know the law. Women may not serve in the Imperial Army,” her father said in a quiet voice.

  Her mother scoffed. “A foolish law, if you ask me. She handles a sword better than most men in the village.”

  “This I know, but the law is clear on the matter. They expect a male from the Hua f
amily to report to Shenyang.”

  “Then I will disguise myself and go. No one will discover me.”

  “You truly believe you can pass as a man?”

  “I…I don’t know that I can, but I do know that I can try,” she argued. Compared to her sister, Mulan had inherited more of her father’s masculine facial traits, his stronger jawline, cheekbones, and his thick brows. Those features, in addition to her broad shoulders and straight hips, had led to several villagers mistaking her for a young man the first time she pulled back her hair and donned the leathers she wore on patrol. Without her long hair framing her face, she had appeared quite boyish. Sometimes, she’d wished she could be the son her father deserved.

  Perhaps now, she could be.

  It could be done.

  “I—”

  Silencing her husband with a mere touch, her mother laid a hand on his shoulder. They looked at one another, seeming to read one another’s hearts and souls. Mulan had always respected the bond between them and yearned for a similar connection.

  Soon enough, her father turned to her, a deep line creasing his brow. “You will need my armor and my sword. You shall be my nephew, raised in my home.”

  “I will make you proud, Father.”

  “You have always made me proud, Mulan. All we ask is that you use caution. Whatever war the emperor wishes to wage will not be kind. It is different from defending the village against raiders. You will have little privacy. You will always be under scrutiny. If you are discovered, they may execute you…and…”

  Her father need not complete his thought. He would be next.

  Mulan fought back the urge to tremble. “I understand. I will not fail you, Father.”

  Her mother was the first to rise and embrace her. Mulan hugged her tightly and breathed in deeply, committing her almond blossom perfume to memory. Who knew if she would ever smell it again?

  “Be safe, my flower,” her mother whispered. “Earn honor not for us, but for yourself. Find your own path, but always remember that we love you.”

  “I will.”

  In the twilit hours before dawn, Mulan knelt before her parents dressed in her father’s armor with his sword strapped to her side. That he wasn’t a large man was to her advantage. In Hua Hu’s youth, he had been quite slim, and she doubted the equipment would have fit him now at all without alteration by the village smith.

  Another good omen that the gods were sending her on her true path—her only path.

  Lanwen, you were right. I was meant for more than life in the village. I understand now.

  Her father’s ancestral blade was larger and heavier than Mulan’s personal sword but not unfamiliar in her grasp. Many nights, she had taken the gleaming ebony blade down from its mount and performed the katas passed down through her family for generations. Sometimes she suspected her father knew, but he had never chastised her. Now, she was grateful for those nights.

  Moments ago, Mulan’s hair had been past her back and resting in a sleek sheet of black against her waist. She couldn’t remember the last time it had only skimmed her shoulders. Wordlessly, her father removed the pin from his own hair.

  “This has been passed down from generation to generation through our family to the eldest warrior. Empress Li-Song herself gifted it to our ancestor. I now pass it to you, Mulan.” The star metal gleamed in the firelight, appearing black or purplish-silver depending on how the light struck it. One end had been carved to resemble a dragon.

  With her mother’s help, her father twisted her hair into a topknot. Once secured with the dragon pin, he finished it off with a length of indigo silk. Then he helped her rise.

  “Fusan is saddled for you. Don’t veer from the road and do not lose your conscription papers.”

  “I won’t.” She had the document secured in a thin scroll case tied to her belt.

  They walked with her as far as the gate. She drew in a deep breath then mounted Fusan, guiding the bay gelding down the mountain. With six days left to reach the training camp, she’d have to make good time.

  No stranger to camping in the jungle, Mulan had no trouble with the first two nights alone on the road. The third morning took her down the mountain and into the lowlands, riding through a thick mist that shrouded the valley.

  Fusan’s ears twitched and turned. He danced beneath her, sensing something she could not.

  “Settle now, boy.” She rubbed his neck and searched her surroundings, but the fog was too thick. “Come on, let’s keep moving.”

  It didn’t take long to discover the source of Fusan’s nervousness. As the mist thinned, Mulan made out shadowy figures in the field to her left.

  She ignored them and continued down the rough road. More figures emerged and she laughed at herself, finally recognizing that the people she passed were farmers. An older woman waved at her.

  The remainder of the day passed without incident. Locals she passed either greeted her kindly or ignored her. She traded medicinal herbs for steamed buns in a small fishing village on the river, then continued onward. An hour before sunset, she began to look for a suitable place to set up camp for the night, wishing she’d lingered behind to take up lodgings with one of the kind residents in the last settlement.

  Luck was often funny and unkind. She came across a perfect spot for a camp, one with fresh water and shelter among large, rocky outcrops, but others had already claimed it as their own. Three men sat around a fire, roasting fish over the flames. Fusan snorted and turned his head, tugging the reins in her hands. Not that she blamed him. She could smell the trio from a distance.

  “How’s the road, boy?” one man called over, a large brute with a tangled beard.

  “Long,” she said, pitching her voice low. “Busy.”

  Maybe if they thought there were other travelers nearby, they’d let her pass in peace. As the men laughed, it seemed like such would be the case. Then one rose and took a few steps in her direction, bringing the stench of his unwashed body with him.

  “Where ya goin’ with that fancy sword, boy?”

  Mulan ignored him and continued down her path at a sedate pace. If she urged Fusan any faster, they’d sense weakness and pursue her.

  Not that the speed of her departure would deter bandits from following on her heels. A chill crept over her as pins and needles tingled in her hands. Mulan licked her lips and faced forward, aware that the other two men were rising.

  Could she outrace three men?

  “I asked a question, boy. Did your father not teach you manners?”

  “Looks like a rich kid. Must be too good to speak to the likes of us,” the larger bearded man said.

  A fourth man she hadn’t noticed stepped out from the trees and snatched the reins from her hands. Fusan reared up, nearly sending her tumbling from his back. Instead, she leapt backward and hit the ground on her feet.

  “You should rethink this,” she warned.

  “I think we’ll be taking that fancy sword. Armor and horse, too. They’ll fetch a fine price.”

  They all moved together. For bandits, they were a coordinated lot. Whistling a gorgeous song, her sword drew smoother than silk from the scabbard and shimmered in the air with her first stroke. All this time, Mulan had never realized it was enchanted. She whirled and parried a strike aimed to slash her back, then planted her foot in the man’s knee and shoved him off balance. He stumbled and went down. Before he climbed to his feet again, she slid her weapon into his throat.

  His life ended in satisfying gurgles and bloody spittle bubbling from his mouth. Shouts of outrage from his companions echoed across the sky.

  One down, three to go. They were terrible odds, but Mulan turned them in her favor. Blinded by collective rage, the group came at her without expertise, nearly striking one another each time they swung. She bowed beneath one strike, spun, and kicked one man in his hip. He stumbled to the side and fell into his companion. As she nimbly evaded another strike, she took a punch to the face that rocked her head back, her teeth cutting t
he inside of her cheek. Pain exploded in her face and salty blood swam over her tongue.

  A strike glanced off her armor. She stumbled forward then turned to face her assailant, fury pouring out of her in a series of swift blows. His leather armor split beneath her assault, blood welled from the wound, and he cried out before crumpling to the ground.

  No matter where they stood or the angle from which they attacked, she sensed them with keen awareness.

  Battle frenzy took over in a way it never had when defending the village. Mulan had to make it through this. If she didn’t report to Shenyang, the empire would brand her father a deserter.

  Catching her second wind, Mulan sprang up and thrust with the weapon, spearing another bandit through his chest. The exhaustion in her arms melted away, and the blade, which had been so heavy moments before, became as light as a feather. Each subsequent blow landed heavier than a boulder.

  For her family. For her honor.

  Nothing else mattered but reaching that camp and guaranteeing the safety of her loved ones.

  “Demon!” one of the men shouted, falling back. Within seconds of the outcry leaving his lips, her blade pierced his chest, plunging through his heart.

  Chest heaving, Mulan stood over her defeated foes, realizing that man had been the last of her assailants. The others lay on the ground bleeding from mortal wounds or already claimed by the goddess of death. There they would remain, as their dishonorable behavior had made them unworthy of even a shallow grave. Instead, they would complete the circle of life as food for the predators roaming the edges of the jungle.

  Thankfully, Fusan hadn’t gone far. She soothed him with a few strokes to his face then gazed toward the road ahead of her. It would be hours longer before she reached civilization again, if she found another homestead at all. Liang was a large empire with vast stretches of open ground and farmland between their humid jungles.

  Then the wind shifted and brought a tantalizing aroma to her nose.