Fury of the Phoenix

by Cindy Pon

  “Ah Na, could you tell Yen to come? To bring my incense box and the book beside it?”

  Looking pale and shaken, Ah Na swept out of the room.

  The moment the door shut, Peng turned to Ai Ling. “What happened yesterday?”

  It was hard for her to think. To speak. Why was he so still? Why had he fallen ill? “We argued. Over—over whether he would stay in Jiang.”

  She sat down heavily by Chen Yong’s side and dropped her head into her hands.

  “And you didn’t speak of anything else?” Peng asked. “Didn’t do anything else?”

  The last question was like a jolt through her hazy mind. She raised her eyes. “I touched his spirit. I latched on, so I could know what he was thinking.”

  Peng slammed his fist against the bedpost. “I should have come to see you sooner.”

  She didn’t understand what he was saying, and panic smothered her. “What?”

  “You and Zhong Ye’s spirits have been inextricably tied. From all that I’ve read and could deduce, you’re part of each other.”

  She gasped. She hadn’t told Peng what had happened in the woods. Her vision of Zhong Ye, of herself, and the other tortured souls. How Zhong Ye’s life seemed to mix with her own, how it was getting worse. She hadn’t told anyone. “But what does it mean?”

  “It means that you are his link to this living realm. I don’t think any other spirit in the underworld would be capable of it, but Zhong Ye wasn’t a mere mortal. I think he may have possessed Chen Yong…through you.”

  It was as if he had struck her. She doubled over, choking back the bile in her throat. “I did this?”

  Yen entered the bedchamber without knocking. He gave Peng a carved camphor wood box and a leather-bound book. Ah Na hovered in the doorway.

  “Yen, if you could tell Master Deen that Chen Yong has taken ill, but we are treating him and he’ll soon recover…” His eyes locked with Yen’s, and something seemed to pass between the two men. “Ah Na, would you please take Yen to your uncle?”

  Yen shut the door, and Peng turned the brass lock. He lit incense and set it beside the bed. “It helps to cleanse,” he said.

  “What can you do?” she whispered.

  “I’m not certain. I’ve studied various cases of demon possession in The Book of the Dead. But this situation is unique. Zhong Ye isn’t a demon.”

  He was far worse.

  “I think Chen Yong is fighting him.” Peng had been pacing but now stopped to consider her. “Zhong Ye isn’t as strong as he was when he lived in this mortal realm. He couldn’t have sent his entire being into Chen Yong; part of him, probably most of him, still resides within the underworld.”

  “How can you be certain? Perhaps he’s just sick…perhaps someone poisoned him,” said Ai Ling. She couldn’t believe she was responsible for this, that she had put Chen Yong in danger because she had been unable to bear his rejection.

  Peng nodded toward the incense. “Look.”

  She watched the slow curl of the smoke, smelled the scent of sandalwood spreading through the chamber. At first, she didn’t understand what Peng meant. Then she followed the trail of the smoke and realized with horrified understanding that it was making its way directly to Chen Yong’s pillow.

  “It goes to where there is spiritual corruption,” Peng said.

  “No!” She reached to touch Chen Yong’s cold face. “Come back. I’m so sorry.” She whipped around toward Peng, anguished. Furious. “What can we do? How can we save him?”

  Peng opened the heavy book. “I can try some of the mantras used to exorcise demons, but I have little hope they’ll work.”

  “Do it.” She turned back to Chen Yong, biting her lip so violently her vision blurred. “We’ll do whatever it takes.”

  Sometime later, when it was dark and the lanterns were lit, Master Deen came to see Chen Yong himself, accompanied by a physician. The physician examined him as Ai Ling hovered on the other side of the bed. Then Peng, Master Deen, and the physician clustered in the corner of the bedchamber, whispering in serious tones. Ai Ling pressed her palm against Chen Yong’s chest. His heartbeat felt far away. Faint.

  She stroked his cold hands, trying to bring warmth, murmured to him in coaxing tones. Come back to me. Ah Na and Nik visited in the morning, when light poured through the jeweled windows. They stood solemnly over Chen Yong, and Ai Ling could feel their concern and worry. She wanted to shove them out of the room. The only presence she could tolerate was Peng’s. He hung small mirrors around the bedchamber, burned more incense, and struck a bronze bowl filled with water, the pure tone carrying her back home to Xia. And constantly he chanted the mantras in his strong voice.

  Peng implored her to eat, to sleep. She refused but would sometimes doze off unintentionally on the cushioned bench by the window. It was dark again when Peng drew her away from Chen Yong’s bedside and sat her down in an ornate chair in the corner. She didn’t know how much time had passed. Peng’s clothes were rumpled; his face was dark with stubble.

  “Nothing is working.” Peng spoke quietly. He lifted his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

  Her hands trembled in her lap. “What will happen to him?”

  Peng rubbed his face, his own hand shaking. “I cannot say for certain. I believe Chen Yong is fighting Zhong Ye’s spirit. I think…I believe—”

  “What?” Ai Ling dug her nails into her thighs.

  “If he cannot conquer Zhong Ye, he may die.”

  “No!” Ai Ling leaped to her feet, but Peng caught her by the wrist.

  “Or he may wake and be possessed by Zhong Ye.”

  She buckled to the ground. “No,” she whispered. She gripped Peng’s arm. “Chen Yong is strong.”

  “He is. He’s still alive, fighting. But he is only mortal. And Zhong Ye is…”

  “Is there nothing more we can do?”

  Peng’s silence was answer enough.

  “I could enter Chen Yong’s spirit. I can fight Zhong Ye!”

  “But that was how Chen Yong was possessed in the first place. You are a conduit for Zhong Ye. Would you risk making it worse?”

  She pushed herself up. “No, I can help him. I’ve done it before.”

  “Don’t.” He clasped her shoulder. “It’s too dangerous.”

  Ai Ling flung her spirit into Chen Yong. She instantly felt his soul. It was crushed to a wisp, but still shone brilliantly. She enveloped him with her own spirit, drawn to him as if he were the sun. The cord at her navel suddenly tightened, dragging her away. She would have cried out if she’d had a voice. She felt for one more heartbeat his familiar warmth and the power of her love for him before plunging into a black abyss.

  Zhong Ye’s eyes snapped open, and life surged through him. He heard small gasps, as if someone were having difficulty breathing. Surely the old man was dead. He had consumed his soul. A sudden sense of horror slammed into his gut, and he jumped up. Silver Phoenix stood in the doorway, one hand covering her mouth, the other clutching a parchment. She was trembling, and when she met his eyes, they were filled with terror. Before he could speak, she turned and fled.

  “Silver Phoenix! No!” He tripped over the corpse as he ran after her. She was no match for him, and he caught her before she was halfway across the courtyard. She whirled like a wildcat and slapped his face. His ears rang.

  “Let me go!” she screamed.

  He would not. He tried to embrace her. She slammed his chest with her fists. “How could you, Zhong? What have you done?”

  “Nothing, love. It’s nothing,” he murmured against her neck. She pushed him away so violently she almost fell backward. He grabbed her wrist to steady her.

  “You took his life.” It came out in a whisper. Her face was blotchy, wet with sweat and tears. Wisps of raven hair stuck to her cheeks. She was so young. One look into her beautiful eyes, and his heart broke.

  “He was a criminal. He would have died anyway.” She was silent, and he captured her other hand. “If you would just try it once
. For me…for us.”

  “Why can’t you be content with what we already have? All that we’ve been given?” Tears continued to streak down her face.

  He would never have escaped the family farm if he had been content with his lot. Never have come to the palace, never have met her. “But we could have so much more,” he said.

  She stared hard at the ground, and when she lifted her head, something in her face had changed. “Isn’t our love enough?”

  “It’s everything to me.” He pressed a palm over his heart. She seemed a world away.

  “You lied to me.”

  He hesitated only a moment. “How can I change your mind?”

  “You can’t.” She leaned over to retrieve the parchment she had dropped, their banquet menu.

  “I love you.” He opened his hands to the heavens to beseech her. “I won’t lose you.”

  “I love you, too.” She touched his cheek. “I won’t lose you either. You’ll stop working with that wretched alchemist. This won’t go on if I’m to be your wife.”

  Her black eyes were fierce when they met his. And it was as if they were seeing each other for the first time.

  Their wedding day arrived at last, and all the preparations were in order. Zhong Ye and Silver Phoenix had spent the previous evening apart, and he had missed her. Manservants helped him dress, hooking the front of his black groom’s tunic. Dusk neared. The wedding sedan would soon be making its way to Silver Phoenix’s bridal quarters.

  He heard the shrill scream of his name before the panicked footsteps. A handmaid tripped into his chamber without knocking and threw herself at his feet. “Master Zhong, it’s the mistress we only left for a brief moment she asked for some time alone—”

  Dread settled like stone in his stomach. “What is it?” He restrained himself from shaking the teeth from her head. “Is Silver Phoenix ill?”

  The girl hid her face in her hands.

  Zhong Ye ran.

  He ran the entire way to Silver Phoenix’s bridal quarters and crashed into her bedchamber. Silver Phoenix lay on the sumptuous wedding bed, her hands resting on her stomach. Inexplicably, a crimson breast binder was wrapped like a scarf around her neck.

  Two other handmaids hovered near her, sobbing.

  “What happened?” He pushed them aside. “Did she faint?”

  “She-she h-hanged herself. I-I think she’s d-dead.”

  Zhong Ye, enraged, turned on the girl, as she continued to hiccup incoherently. His mind couldn’t understand the words that she spoke. Wouldn’t accept them. “Get the royal physician!” he roared. “Get out!”

  They scrambled from the chamber.

  “Silver Phoenix?” He touched her forehead. She was warm, certainly asleep. The excitement had exhausted her.

  He took her hand, and it felt heavy, unresponsive. She hanged herself. He choked back a sob and wrenched her robe open, pressing a palm over her heart.

  Nothing.

  He kissed her mouth. Cool. Listened for her breath.

  Silence.

  “No.” He stroked her arms.

  “No.” Her cheeks.

  “No. Nonononono.” Zhong Ye threw his head back and howled, in fury and in pain. In disbelief. He gathered her in his arms and clutched her to him, her head against his shoulder, perfect, like so many times before. The scent of jasmine filled him.

  He rocked her, caressing the hair that had fallen across her soft shoulders, sobbing until her locks were wet with his tears.

  When the royal physician arrived, it took him an hour to convince Zhong Ye to let her go.

  Royal Physician Chu had replaced Physician Kang while the Emperor was away on progress. He confirmed that Silver Phoenix was dead, most likely from asphyxia when she hanged herself from the bedpost with the breast binder. The details were given haltingly by the handmaids, and Zhong Ye had to clench his fists so he wouldn’t strike them. Or smash the physician in the face for pronouncing the cause of death so plainly, as if he were discussing the weather. Zhong Ye, his breath coming in rasps, forced everyone out of the chamber.

  “I could give you a sedative,” the physician said, turning as he left.

  Zhong Ye slammed the door in his face.

  He sat beside Silver Phoenix as the evening cooled and the darkness deepened. He ignored the gentle knock on the door. It slid open. Yokan entered, holding a lantern. Zhong Ye turned, wincing at the light.

  “I’ve sent all the wedding guests away.” Yokan walked to the bedside. “I’m so sorry.”

  Zhong Ye couldn’t speak for long moments. “Why? Why would she do this?” His throat was hoarse, closed, and sore. He was empty, as if someone had slit his wrists and bled him dry of everything that mattered to him in life.

  “Such a tragedy,” Yokan murmured. “She was lovely.” He reached out to touch her hair.

  Zhong Ye caught Yokan’s open palm and squeezed so hard the foreigner’s knuckles cracked. For the briefest moment, an angry bruise bloomed on Yokan’s cheekbone. Zhong Ye blinked, and it was gone. He narrowed his eyes and shoved the man’s hand away.

  Yokan met his gaze, his features composed. “Did you argue? Was she upset over something?”

  Zhong Ye felt as if he’d been struck in the chest, remembering Silver Phoenix’s anger, her disappointment in him. Had he caused this? He drew in a shaking sob; there were no tears left. “The Calling Ritual,” he said, and his heart swelled with hope.

  Yokan set the lantern on a table beside the bed. “You would do that?” he asked in a quiet voice.

  Zhong Ye couldn’t understand the question.

  “You would have to remove her heart.” The alchemist’s head was bowed as he studied Silver Phoenix in the lantern light.

  She looked alive still in its soft glow. “I’ll do it,” Zhong Ye whispered.

  “And a full bronze bowl of your own blood.” Yokan slanted his head to look at him, the shadows obscuring his pale eyes.

  “I have enough to give her.”

  Yokan pursed his lips. “You would need an entire empress root. We have none.”

  “What?”

  “You used the last of it.”

  “But the harvest! They are growing now.” Zhong Ye felt his spirit lift. It was meant to be. He could bring her back. But how could he bear to leave her?

  As if sensing his thoughts, Yokan nodded. “I’ll do it. I’ll go harvest the roots in your stead. The trip shouldn’t take me more than six days. I will make haste.”

  “You would do this for me?”

  Yokan gripped his shoulder. “I have all the notes from your last journey. I’ll leave before dawn tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  It was as if she had been thrown from the skies. Ai Ling clutched her head and doubled over to protect herself from the cacophony of noise and color. She stayed on the hard ground, her eyes squeezed shut, until a searing hotness pierced her chest.

  “This one isn’t whole,” a voice like gravel grumbled.

  Her eyes snapped open, and she saw a man with the head of an ox, his horns magnificent and curved, his skin a dusty blue. “Did you feel that?” He jabbed a sharp spear at her torso. She cried out, feeling again the stabbing pain.

  “She can make noises, too!” Ox head’s mouth stretched into a grotesque sneer. “Have you seen the like, Horse?”

  Ai Ling jumped to her feet. She was surrounded by normal people, most looking terrified, confused, or sorrowful. But the ox man towered over her, his powerful body twice her size. A man with a horse’s head, wielding a gleaming scythe, approached. His skin was a sick green, and he was not as bulky as Ox; but he looked just as dangerous.

  “I can see through her,” Horse said. He raised his scythe as if to test it, and Ai Ling stumbled back. Suddenly a voice boomed over them. Many in the crowd dropped to their knees, knocking their heads to the dirt. She fought the impulse to do the same and turned toward the speaker.

  A magistrate sat at an ebony table decorated with jade, his backdrop the sheer cli
ff of a mountain. He had a long black beard that reached past his rotund stomach. His robe was a rusted red, like dried blood. He stood and was twice the height of any mortal man. He towered over the hundreds of people cowering in front of him.

  “Stop your stupid squawking, Horse and Ox. Get back to sorting!” His words rattled her teeth, and her hands did nothing to protect her ears. It was as if he had spoken from within her.

  “We’ve got a see-through one here, hell lord,” the demons cried in unison.

  A deep rumbling from the back of the magistrate’s throat shook the ground they stood on. “Let me see.”

  Horse raised his scythe, and Ai Ling ran. She tripped through the crowd toward the magistrate, feeling shivers of cold when she brushed against the others. These men and women seemed to be real, solid. She was like a ghost.

  The magistrate’s thick brows drew together when she finally stood before the massive table. She tipped her head back so she could see his face; he looked like a man in every way, except for his immense size. “You don’t belong here.” His voice reverberated, and she heard those around her whimper. “What is your name?”

  “I am called Wen Ai Ling,” she said, as forcefully as she could manage. Wisps of clouds drifted past the jagged cliffs that surrounded them.

  The magistrate leaned forward and squinted down at her. His breath whipped through her. His black eyes narrowed. “Silver Phoenix’s incarnation,” he said.

  Ai Ling let out a small gasp that was obliterated by the mewling and terrified clamor from the others.

  “You aren’t welcome here.” He curled a thick finger, and an old man stepped forward to stand in front of a giant oval mirror beside the table. The Mirror of Retribution, she realized.

  “I have to see Zhong Ye!” Her words were almost inaudible. She repeated herself, shouting this time.

  “That wretch? He’s not taking visitors.” The magistrate’s laugh boomed, knocking her off her feet. “Be gone now!”

  She turned her head, the dirt beneath her cheek like ash. The old man in front of the mirror, like a withered leaf clinging to a tree, trembled at whatever images he saw. She knew that he was being judged and that all his life’s sins were displayed in the mirror’s reflection. He tilted toward the shining glass and vanished, his fate determined.