by T. A. Miles
The ride to the temple beneath the morning sky brought the eyes of curious citizens belonging to a city that was much vaster than Alere had anticipated, even having the significance of Xu Liang’s station impressed upon him for some time now. The fortresses of the Verressi lords were vast, but hidden within mountains that had become tombs. Their passages stretched for miles through rock, cropping out in places that most would never see outside of the elves who dwelled there. The Imperial City of Sheng Fan was laid out in the open in its entirety, seemingly built to impress with the sheer size of it—with architecture meant to catch the sun’s light, that those at the far reaches of the Empire might see its glow, and be reminded of its strength. It was a style Alere had seen demonstrated by humans in the past, but never on quite so grand a scale as this. A population so accustomed to security must have felt very shaken indeed, to be faced with the intangible threat of an enemy they could not see. He understood that in this environment, something new or changed earned a wary eye, as it represented a form of instability. Change was a storm, of uncertain strength and duration. The benefits of its passing were not always as easily perceived as its path of destruction.
Alere empathized with these people. He would do what he was able to assist them, but he would not hesitate to defend himself and those he loved from the paranoid violence that fear could manifest under such new and strange conditions.
They were met at the temple garden by the man who had interrupted them the night before. His manner was not disruptive this time, while he and Xu Liang exchanged words, and he soon performed the customary bow that expressed either obedience or agreement. Afterward, all of them proceeded onto the covered walkways and to the temple at the center of the water garden.
Once inside, Xu Liang’s guards were left at the entrance while Alere, the mystic, and the man who was identified as Jiao Ren proceeded toward the inner sanctum. At the point where they could begin to feel tremors in the floor, they stopped. Alere drew Aerkiren and lowered the tip toward the stone beneath their feet. The blade’s violet light traced an ephemeral streamer through air that was warm with the color of the nearby braziers. Ahead of them lay the blackness of the path to the inner sanctum, stretched like the throat of a sleeping dragon.
Aerkiren tapped gently against the floor, and it was with that sound that Alere presumed the sword’s ability to negate enchantment had prevailed. He looked to Xu Liang, who seemed to be contemplating the sound’s merit against the passageway’s current stillness.
“You don’t believe that it worked,” Alere said without knowing. He was merely guessing based upon the mystic’s silence.
Xu Liang shook his head. “If it has worked, then it supports the possible guilt of someone I’ve trusted.”
Alere looked toward the faint green tracings that lined the corridor. In the corner of his vision, he noticed Jiao Ren start forward, and Xu Liang extend his arm to stop the man. The mystic lifted his other arm afterward and tossed a pebble into the passage.
The three of them stood witness to the small stone’s brief flight, which ended in several audible jumps across the floor before it slid to an unseen stopping place. The sound of the pebble against the floor suggested that there was no longer an enchantment interfering with the temple’s natural properties. Also, the stone was not enough to set off the fire, which seemed to indicate that the source was a being able to discern the difference between a stone and a living body. Or it was a spell, as Xu Liang deduced, but one which could not be triggered by small sounds or movements.
Jiao Ren said something to Xu Liang, which received an answer. Immediately following their exchange, the mystic said to Alere, “Let us proceed carefully. Thus far, the fire has provided ample warning before it enters.”
Alere nodded.
Xu Liang drew the Moon Blade and they moved forward slowly. Their movement was not to be hindered by fire this time.
Alere wondered if the trap was in some way sensitive to the hour, if an enchantment of this nature might be cast to such specifications. He felt it unlikely. Perhaps whomever had set the enchantment was aware of their investigation and had somehow called the magic back in order to confuse them.
Xu Liang and Jiao Ren were engaged in discussion, so Alere did not vocalize his considerations. Instead, he paid specific attention to the carved stone partition, peering past its aesthetic curves and a pattern that suggested movement. The previous night, he had been focusing on the same attributes of the wall and had envisioned movement then as well. It could seem as if the wall itself were moving, but it would be likelier that someone or something on the other side had passed through the shadows instead. It may have been the enchantment’s owner, forming an illusion with his shadow or his magic, or it may have been a dragon. Though, Alere suspected that if a creature of such size were nesting in the inner sanctum, it would be easier noticed.
He recalled Xu Liang’s claim to have heard the heartbeat. The mystic may have dreamed it, but it was evident that he put significance onto dreams. To him, they may have been visions of reality, since he’d likely been sleeping with the gods—or at least one of them—since his resurrection. Alere had seen the manifestation of the Phoenix when last they were in the temple. He had seen it appearing to unite with the magic of Pearl Moon, as it may have once done with the magic of Firestorm. Alere would not presume to know what that meant, but he suspected it was nothing Xu Liang had any forewarning of. It was nothing that had been presented to Tristus, or to any of them, at the time Shirisae offered the magic of her people. It may have been that the Phoenix Elves had deceived Xu Liang—and all of them—through omission of the truth of resurrection by their god. That possibility could not endear Shirisae or the elves of Vilciel to him. And now it may have been that two of their company had been infused with the essence—or the outright presence—of a god, and, under the circumstances, the Phoenix may have been far deadlier than Ilnon.
At the center of the Temple of Divine Tranquility was a dais mounted at each of its four corners by a statue of a lion holding a sphere. The lions faced the auspicious directions, glaring outside of the dais. The raised floor they guarded was home to an enormous circular pedestal wrapped by the carved form of the Blue Dragon of Ji. Its scales shimmered in the light of the braziers, as did the statue of Song Dai and the spear that the first Song Emperor held.
Xu Liang stopped at the base of the dais and looked upon the impressive visage of Song Da-Xiao’s grandfather gripping the Blade he had recovered for the Empire, which cast a light of its own. The fiery yellow of the sun competed with the contained fires surrounding it, an illusion of growing flames licking the air, reaching toward the two Blades currently in its presence.
“The fire could not have been coming from that,” Alere said, his tone questioning.
“The Swords cannot be brought against one another,” Xu Liang reminded, which appeared to be all the confirmation the elf wanted; Alere nodded before the words had even finished forming. Looking to Jiao Ren, Xu Liang asked, “When was this brought back here?”
Jiao Ren did not seem surprised by the discovery. “The Chancellor and I returned it on the Empress’ orders.” The young general looked at him. “After the spell between both of you was broken.”
“It will be returned to the Hall of Heavenly Peace,” Xu Liang decided.
“The Empress…”
“I intend to bring it before the Empress, Jiao Ren,” Xu Liang told him. “Along with the other Swords. I intend to do so at once.”
“My lord,” Jiao Ren complied. He stepped toward the statue of Song Dai.
And that was when the mouth of the dragon on the pedestal began to glow. Xu Liang reached for the younger man’s arm, and with his free hand raised the Moon Blade in the very moment the dragon statue released a powerful breath of flame. It impacted the dome and flared around and over it as if the statue were a living beast.
“It’s as if the dragon is pro
tecting the spear,” Jiao Ren noted, his words drawing Alere’s attention, though the elf could not have understood them.
“It is,” Xu Liang said, averting his eyes from the intensity of the fire, ignoring the twinges of strain that attacked him internally. With his gaze on the young general, he said, “It is precisely like that, but it is not that.”
“A spell,” Jiao Ren understood.
Xu Liang closed his eyes, turning his face toward the fire while raising his free hand in front of him. He recited prayers to his ancestors in his mind, weaving in prayers to both the Moon Goddess and the spirits of the winds. Gradually, the power of the air increased within the hall. At first it put pressure onto the dome of protection, simultaneously curling back the streams of fire sourcing from the pedestal.
He continued in prayer for several moments, moving past the obstacles that threatened to disturb his concentration, such as the tinting green of the flames in his mind’s eye. The jade fires brushed over him, like hands in a crowd, all of them reaching out to halt or redirect him. The spirits of the wind flew through the passages of his mind, carrying him swiftly. He came upon the billowing train of Mei Qiao’s robes and the wind rushed against it, flattening the layers of moonlight against the orange fires that were the spell’s destination.
He opened his eyes to a wall of blue fire spanning floor to ceiling before himself and the two in his presence. His arms were outstretched, and when he slowly closed them, the combined forces of the wind and the Moon Blade embraced the fire. The flames fell still. He had transferred the spell to himself, and for the moment it was recalibrating. The nature of it would have it assail the hall again once the transition completed. They would have to act quickly.
“Please, remove the Spear of Heaven from the statue,” Xu Liang requested of Jiao Ren.
The general obeyed.
While the golden shaft of Cheng Yu’s great weapon was gliding into the grasp of one who was perhaps meant to wield it, Xu Liang said to Alere, “You must dispel the fire, before the dragon lets out another breath.”
Alere needed no further encouragement. He stepped forward and held the end of the Twilight Blade to the mouth of the dragon statue.
They stood still and silent for several moments following. The weight of the fire spell dissipated from Xu Liang’s spirit, reminding him how taxing such a deed as laying an enchantment could be. He had forgotten since the spell he had cast upon the inner chambers of the Palace of Imperial Peace. One tended not to notice, until the spell had been transferred or broken. That meant that whomever had been maintaining the fire trap, as well as the earth spell had surely felt the loss of both burdens.
Xu Liang looked to Jiao Ren. “Say nothing of this—or of the spear—to anyone.”
“But, the Empress…”
“We will take this matter to the Empress ourselves, but first we must relocate the spear.”
Jiao Ren naturally hesitated at the idea of anything that seemed like deception of the Empress, but he nodded, solidifying his friendship and his loyalty.
It was in the Imperial Garden where Song Da-Xiao insisted on receiving Xu Liang for the audience he requested. She had at first decided that she would receive no visitors until that evening and when her servant informed her of his arrival, she refused him. It had taken only an hour of wondering how that might have affected him, and feeling how it had affected her before she sent for him. Where current affairs were concerned, she understood that it was irresponsible of her to take time to herself while every other inhabitant of her court and of her city was forced to labor over solutions and to otherwise fear that there was none. Before Song Bin Ce could say anything—which Song Da-Xiao knew well that she would—she commanded to be dressed for an afternoon outside, where she would engage in private conversation with her tutor.
Song Bin Ce seemed to only approve of the decision in the way her role as sister-in-law had once—and still—inspired her. She looked more relieved that Xu Liang would not be turned away than encouraging toward Song Da-Xiao. She admitted to herself that it did bring her to consider the words of Han Quan, concerning the matter of Xu Liang’s unmarried status. It may have been that he would never marry, unless pressed by his superior. The idea that Song Bin Ce might have harbored some hope for herself was present, even though Song Da-Xiao couldn’t convince herself that her brother’s widow held any true interest in marriage. She had seemed comfortable in her station as a matron, and it had kept them close to one another. It made Han Quan’s claims feel ludicrous, but Xu Liang was famed, accomplished, and beautiful.
Thinking about the subject made her feel selfish at times, and unfortunately, Xiang Wu’s advice had set the subject squarely at the front of her mind. The governor of the northern kingdom made an art of reason, falling short of only Xu Liang, to whom it was a blessing. Even considering the possibility that she might lose title—the amount of fame and support Xu Liang had would surely put a claim well within reach—she could almost be convinced. Xu Liang would not be a poor emperor—far from it—and he already labored so much for the Empire…
Seeing the graceful form of her tutor approaching, she put the thought from her mind for the moment. The delicate structure of a small and simple pavilion painted the design of its lattice work upon the pavement. She studied the pattern from her chair, layered in cuts of yellow and pink silk, adorned with images of clouds and flowers. Her hair was arranged partly up with a headdress of flowers and suns that was less weighty than most of her ceremonial pieces. The rest of her hair was braided down, resting on the pavement behind her, along with her robes’ excess. Thoughts of marriage crept back into her mind, as well as ideas on becoming the one to support Xu Liang in his decisions. She would trust him with the future of the people.
But the Heavens had entrusted her…
“My Empress,” Xu Liang greeted.
She looked up to see him bowing beneath the aesthetically portioned light beneath the pavilion’s lattice. She recalled reaching out to him when she was younger…when she was a child.
“You have resolved the matter within the temple?” she asked him, displacing professions of love.
“I have,” he answered, rising to a full stand once again. “If the matter I resolved was the sole source of our troubles.”
“Yuo Shang and others are pressing for your presentation,” she mentioned. She did still want the mysteries resolved. Xu Liang had created a stir in the court, one which created tension that reminded her of when she was very young and had lost both her father and brother.
“I am not surprised,” Xu Liang said of his demanding peers.
“Are you ready?” Song Da-Xiao asked him next.
“Yes,” he said, and she realized then that he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were cast downward.
A sadness struck her, inspiring her to fold her hands over the fabric of her robes. She relaxed them when she realized they might be in his line of sight. No matter what her decision on her role, or his in the future of the Empire, strength would be her best method for convincing him that he no longer had to carry the burden of her youth, of her fear, or of her depression. She said of his pending presentation, “Then the event will commence within the Temple of Divine Tranquility.”
“I believe that yet to be unsafe, my Empress.”
“Why?” she asked him. She had lately had more than one of his peers express that it would be the most relevant location, and if he had resolved the threat….
“It is a feeling that I have,” Xu Liang answered. He drew a pause afterward, and the soft skin above his brow tucked lightly while a frown formed. At length, he said, “My Empress, I have also relocated the Spear of Heaven. It should not have been removed from the premises of the middle court.”
“I deemed it be removed,” she told him, “and returned to the hand that brought it to us. It was suggested to me that the ancestors were displeased with the removal.”
She watched with specific interest as his frown grew deeper. Once again, what she had been told by others and what he was telling her was conflicting. That alone wasn’t cause for concern, except that this subject seemed to have set into motion a race between the Chancellor of the Court and the Imperial Tutor. Each of them took turns directing her toward an end result that clearly was not aligned between them. In the last few days, she had watched a game unfolding, and she resented it.
“It was removed and placed within your palaces of residence to protect you,” Xu Liang stated.
Strength, she reminded herself. “And yet, I remain threatened, as do the people of Sheng Fan. Disgruntled outbursts are escalating to declarations of rebellion. The people of the city have become malcontent.”
“Within the temple, there were two spells set as traps to deter entrance into the temple,” Xu Liang said, and she had his eyes now. They were a lit shade beneath the afternoon light that filtered through the pavilion entrance. His expression was growing passionate with concern. “General Jiao Ren had reported occurrences before your command to move the spear, as have others. Yet, he and Han Quan were able to enter in order to replace the weapon. Afterward, the temple has been active again and nearly impossible to enter.”
“There have been pauses in the past,” Song Da-Xiao reminded. Unbeknownst to him, she was presenting him with argument that had been made by Han Quan, mere hours previously. It was after his visit that she had determined to sequester herself, this time in the relative privacy of her residence chambers. After hearing his complaint about the outsiders and, after her last visit with Xu Liang, she felt that another rebuke was going to be demanded—even if not in so many words—and she found being put at odds against Xu Liang to be entirely too painful to carry on with such frequency. For that reason, and for the reason of Xiang Wu’s letter, she denied him audience. She was glad to have reneged, and happy to watch him defend his actions and to state his reasoning.
