by Daniel Fox
Mei Feng heard more than that, I told her to eat him or I saw the chance or something on that order, his decision almost, his incitement, something. His the guilt, at least, except that he didn’t feel guilty.
Nor would Mei Feng, on his behalf or her own. Ping Wen had been a traitor, and undoubtedly deserved a slow death in a dragon’s belly. She hoped it had been slow. She cradled her own belly and said, “Well, then. Who rules in Santung now?”
Expecting the obvious answer, Tunghai Wang and themselves no better off, she was startled when he said, “She does, the dragon does, if anyone.”
“How …?”
“She was angry, after Ping Wen tried to chain her. After he did chain me. She took me away, to the Forge. She liked the Forge, we both did; I thought that was the home she wanted. I do still think it was. Only, she was angry, and she doesn’t trust people. You, Taishu, she trusted you, your grandfather made a pact with her; she thought she could do the same the other side, and they betrayed her. So now she won’t let anyone have Santung, she wants it for herself. It’s going to be … complicated. The Forge was easy,” a sudden protest, all boy, “but that’s not good enough anymore. The palace in Santung is hers now, that’s where you should come if you want to speak to her. I think she’ll let people cross the strait, some people. Your grandfather, Li Ton. The emperor, perhaps, if he wanted to come. You, but I don’t suppose …”
He blushed, unexpectedly. All boy again, all human. She was delighted to see that.
“No,” she said, “I don’t suppose either.” She didn’t know what to suppose, this was all too much, too sudden, too new; but she didn’t think anyone would let her cross the strait to visit a dragon, either pregnant or with a babe in arms. “What about your friend, the doctor, Tien? I liked her, and she helped me. I wanted to bring her back here, but she wouldn’t come.”
“No,” he agreed. “She wouldn’t do that. She … does what she thinks is right. She tried to help Ping Wen, she chained me again, tried to chain the dragon.”
“Oh. Han, I’m sorry, but I’m sure …”
She wasn’t sure what she might be sure of, when it came to putting words together.
He was more sure, apparently; he was smiling, somewhat, as he said, “It’s all right. I know why she did it. And she knows more about the dragon than anybody. She stays with us. We belong, she and I.”
Which wasn’t quite we belong together, but it was perhaps the next best thing. Even if it meant we belong to the dragon, for now.
Mei Feng shook her head; their story wasn’t important, except to them. She gazed out at the night, felt the weight of the dragon at her back, thought she ought to be sending for men with chisels and hammers, against the beast’s impatience; realized she still didn’t understand.
Said, “Han. What does she want,” she the dragon, to be understood, “with ambassadors, with a voice? With a city? Why deal with us at all? She doesn’t need to.”
“Oh,” he said, “yes. I think she does. I think she’s like you,” and he was blushing again, staring at her belly and twisting his head suddenly away, “I think she’s nesting.”
six
oiceless, senseless, the old woman drowses, lost in her lost body, adrift on tides of salt, slow salt.
VOICELESS, PATIENT, the goddess waits.
SOMEONE WILL come, again. Someone always comes.
DANIEL FOX is a British writer who first went to Taiwan at the millennium and became obsessed, to the point of learning Mandarin and writing about the country in three different genres. Before this he had published a couple of dozen books and many hundreds of short stories, under a clutch of other names. He has also written poetry and plays. Some of this work has won awards.
