by Cindy Pon
Ai Ling’s mouth tilted upward, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. Then her nose stung with the onrush of tears. She reached out to grasp Chen Yong’s arm, reacting to the gleam of sorrow in his eyes, even as the smile lingered on the corners of his mouth.
He nodded, whether in acknowledgment of her comfort or to say he was fine, she didn’t know, and she dropped her hand.
The two women in the pond began singing.
“Perhaps they can help guide us back to our world,” she whispered.
“I can’t understand a word they’re saying. And I have the feeling they’ll be frightened by the sight of me,” Chen Yong said.
“Maybe if I approached them first.”
“We won’t be able to follow that path past them without being seen, besides,” he said.
She stepped from their hiding place. The women did not notice her, so she proceeded with deliberate steps toward the small pond, taking care along its muddy banks. The pregnant woman saw her first, and gasped. Her friend stopped singing at the same time.
Neither woman attempted to cover her nakedness, but instead they stared at Ai Ling with their mouths agape.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt. My friend and I are lost. We need help.” Ai Ling spoke too loudly and wrung her hands.
The two women looked at each other, then back toward Ai Ling. They murmured between themselves, but Ai Ling caught at least one word: outsider. The pale woman pointed a slender hand toward the path. Go. Follow. Ai Ling could gather that much.
She felt a little doubtful. “Is that the way back to the Kingdom of Xia?” Both women furrowed their brows. Finally the pregnant one pointed again with emphasis to the path. Ai Ling pursed her lips, unsure if they knew the way or just wanted to be rid of her.
“My friend is behind that pine tree.” Ai Ling pointed to the large tree with the wide, gnarled trunk. “He’s a man, so—” She did not get a chance to finish the sentence. Both women let out loud shrieks.
They scrambled up the far bank of the pond, speaking rapidly to each other. She caught the words man, hide, and far. They vanished into a thicket of trees before she could utter a reply.
She understood modesty, but had not expected them to run screaming into the trees.
“I guess you can come out now,” she called.
She turned and found Chen Yong standing on the path.
“They must have understood the word ‘man.’” He chuckled, surprising her. “You understood their speech?”
Ai Ling lifted her shoulders. “Some words—but I seemed to get the gist of their conversation anyway.”
“They spoke in women’s tongue,” Chen Yong said.
She joined him on the path. “What do you mean, women’s tongue?”
“When I saw them in the pond, it brought to mind a place I had read about in The Book of Lands Beyond.”
Ai Ling nodded.
“There’s a passage about the Land of Women in the book.”
“You think we are in the Land of Women? But the darker-skinned one was with child,” she said.
“Yes, but—”
Chen Yong did not get a chance to continue before Ai Ling slapped her hands together. “But they become pregnant by bathing in the golden pond.”
He laughed. “Now you know why they ran off in such terror at the mention of a man.”
“If I had known…I don’t know what I would’ve done if I had realized.” She paused. “Other than not get into that pond.”
There was a breath before Chen Yong roared with laughter.
She laughed with him, her cheeks feeling hot, but she didn’t mind.
“And any male child never survived past three years. I remember that passage,” Chen Yong said.
“I cannot imagine a world without men. I envy the men in our society for their freedom at times. I often think that the rules favor your gender, yet it wouldn’t be the same without…” She trailed off, feeling foolish.
“The book also mentioned a Land of Men. Like you, I can’t imagine such a place.”
“No one would serve you tea or prepare your clothes each morning,” she teased.
“I know I’m very traditional in thought. But you have to believe that I value women for more than their roles within the inner quarters.” He struck the dirt path below them with his walking stick, then stopped and turned to her. “You’ve helped to open my eyes in many ways.”
She lifted her chin and smiled at him, somehow willing her face not to flush scarlet.
They stopped at a stream to refill their flasks. They washed their hands and faces and sliced up the fruits the Lady in White had given them. Ai Ling nearly choked on the last bite of apple when she heard the trot of an animal approach. Chen Yong jumped to his feet, his sword drawn.
A man emerged, riding a white horse with red stripes like licks of flame on its flanks. Its mane was red as well, the color of the skies at dusk. Its wide eyes glinted gold in the sunlight.
The man had only one arm. As he drew closer, what she thought was a mark in his wide brow emerged as a third vertical eye.
A two-headed bird, vermilion and gold, perched on his shoulder. The heads sang to each other in crisp, sweet tones. The man pulled in the reins and stopped a short distance from them. She saw there was a bow strung across his back, and a scabbard rested against his hip. But he did not look anxious, and his hand did not move toward the sword hilt. She wondered how he used a bow with just one arm.
“You are lost,” the man said. It was a statement, not a question. His accent was strong, but the words came through clearly.
Chen Yong stepped forward, not lowering his weapon. “We’re from the Kingdom of Xia, trying to make our way back there,” he said.
“Xia.” The man pronounced their kingdom’s name differently, but it seemed he had heard of it. “You are Xian?” The voice was higher than what she was used to, his skin smooth like a young boy’s, the eyebrows thin and delicate.
“Can you guide us back?” she asked.
Chen Yong turned to her with a hard stare, a barely audible hiss escaping from his lips.
The man tilted his head. “To go back by foot is impossible,” he replied. “I have never encountered people of Xia. I have only heard tales from elders. We may find answers in my city. If you follow?”
Ai Ling nodded even as Chen Yong drew her aside, his gaze never leaving the strange man. “How do we know he speaks the truth?” he asked in a low voice.
“He appears willing to help…is civil. It’s a risk we have to take,” she said. “We could wander for years and never reach home.”
Chen Yong’s jaws were set in a rigid line, his reluctance to follow this stranger obvious. “Can you read his thoughts?”
Her eyes widened. “You jest.”
His silence was answer enough. She sighed, turned a fraction so her back was to the strange man on the horse, and flung her spirit toward him. She connected, sensed the anticipation from him. The chief will be much pleased.
“It’s fine. Just as I said.” Ai Ling strode over to the man. Stubbornness prevented her from glancing back to see if Chen Yong followed. Then he was by her side, his stare so intense she thought she felt the heat on her face. She dared not look at him.
The man doubled back onto the path they had already traveled. He kept his horse at a slow canter, so she and Chen Yong could keep the pace. No one spoke. The dense foliage they had passed earlier had changed to tall birch trees, their trunks glowing silver, the limbs and leaves towering above them.
Confused, Ai Ling glanced back. The pebbled path they had walked less than an hour earlier had turned to a narrow one covered in moss.
“I noticed it, too,” Chen Yong said. “The landscape is changing around us, in a way that shouldn’t be possible. I don’t think we could find the pond where the women bathed if we tried.”
How would they ever return from this strange world?
The quiet was soon broken by the triumphant trills of the two-headed bird as it took flight
, leaving the perch that was its master’s shoulder.
“Where does your bird fly to?” Chen Yong asked, one hand shading his face as he gazed upward.
The one-armed man did not respond but pulled the bow from his back and rested it against his thigh. Ebony in color, the bow curved in a smooth elegant arc. He drew an arrow from his leather quiver—also black, with bright crimson feathers on the end. He notched the arrow with his one hand, drawing the bowstring taut with his mouth.
Ai Ling gaped. The arrow flew among the trees. Chen Yong stepped forward with his sword raised. The one-armed man jumped from his horse and into the woods, returning with something that resembled a hare, only its short fur was a pale lavender. His arrow jutted from the creature’s midsection.
“My bird hunts, as do I,” he said. He removed the arrow and slung the carcass into his saddlebag.
Ai Ling shivered.
Chen Yong rolled his shoulders before sheathing the sword. The stranger remounted his horse, and they continued on their journey.
The moss-covered path started to slope downward. Ai Ling’s legs ached. They had been walking for hours. She wondered what the one-armed man’s city was like. Did they take baths? What did they eat? The sun cast its heat on their backs. Ai Ling drank from her flask, grateful she had filled it at the stream earlier. The path continued steeply downward until it rounded a bend to a plateau and a lush valley opened up below them.
She drew in a breath of disbelief. A wide river wound its way through the center of the valley like a silk ribbon. Seven arched bridges spanned the river. Both pedestrians and riders on horses with flame red manes crossed the bridges, intent on the tasks of the day. All had but one arm, some protruding from the left, others from the right. Her arms prickled at the sight of so many of them.
The valley was surrounded by mountains, their round, blunted peaks forming shapes to incite the imagination. Ai Ling saw a tortoise, the side view of a hare, and a farmer’s woven hat. The pinnacles stretched endlessly into the horizon, making it seem there was no other city beyond the one nestled in the valley below—no other kingdom.
“Are there other cities near yours?” she asked.
Their guide glanced over his shoulder and stared at her with three unblinking eyes. “We fly our chariots, and the journey is long. This is the reason I believe you are far from Xia.”
Ai Ling’s stomach fluttered with unease. No matter how gentle his manner, she was not comfortable beneath his scrutiny.
They reached the edge of the plateau. Water from tiered rock pools cascaded down the valley wall, iridescent, catching hues of turquoise, gold, and green.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Ai Ling said.
Their guide’s smooth face betrayed just a hint of pride. “There is none like our stair lakes anywhere. The waters in these pools formed from melting snow. The limestone was smooth-shaped by eons of water flowing.”
He guided his horse to wide steps carved between the stair lakes. They were also hewn from pale limestone, but the steps were wide and not steep, allowing the horse to step down with an easy gait. It appeared the horse had navigated them many times before. Ai Ling and Chen Yong followed.
The city was well laid out, with paths paved in white quartz. Ai Ling was used to dirt and, at best, cobbled streets. They walked past a tower with a domed top, bejeweled and sparkling in the afternoon sun. Another building was constructed of hexagonal tiers, in a material that appeared silver and also reflected the sunlight. She counted thirteen floors.
Another structure was built right on the river, with five rotating arms dipping into the water, spinning endlessly.
“It’s a different world,” Chen Yong said.
The strangeness of the place overwhelmed her, the unfamiliar shapes of the buildings, the glint of unknown materials. The city was stunning, but completely foreign. As were these people. She ached for home.
“I know not what yours is like,” their guide said from atop his horse.
“We never asked your name,” Ai Ling said, feeling foolish for having forgotten the simplest etiquette.
“We do not give our names so readily. But you may give yours to the Chief if this is usual to you. My people call me Archer.”
They continued to follow Archer, passing others on horse and foot. Although no one betrayed surprise, Ai Ling felt their stares. The paths were lined with trees and plants, many bearing fruit. She saw an apple tree and a diamond-shaped fruit the color of bitter melon, as well as dark orange berries that resembled cherries.
Their guide led them to the six-sided tiered building. It reminded her of the pagoda paintings she had seen in books at home. This one appeared much sleeker in its design, the sides so shiny they reflected her image. The door was hexagonal as well, made of a dark green stone.
Archer dismounted, petted the horse’s fiery mane, and whispered in its ear. The beast flicked its head as if in response to its master, who stepped up to the green door. It split open in the middle like a gaping mouth, receding into the shiny walls. Ai Ling could see her own reflection, her mouth round as a circle. She looked at Chen Yong’s image and felt better—he seemed just as astounded.
“Come. The Chief expects us. Crimson Tail brought news after her hunt.”
Utterly confused for a moment, Ai Ling finally realized he was referring to his bird. She ignored the hollow feeling in her stomach, blaming it on hunger, even as her throat clenched with doubt. Chen Yong followed her down a narrow hallway, his hand tight around his sword hilt.
The chamber Archer led them to was bright, although windowless. A giant shaft at the center flooded the room with natural light.
Another one-armed man, dressed in a dark blue tunic and leggings, walked toward them. His hair flowed from a thick topknot, unlike their guide, whose hair was shaved close to the head. Ai Ling could not stop looking at the man’s hair; she had no words to properly describe the red color, had nothing to compare it to. The man’s eyebrows were so light she initially thought he had none.
Archer bowed his head low.
“Your pet sent news.” Ai Ling stared at his lips. His voice sounded like a woman’s, yet he looked like a man, nearly as tall as Chen Yong, broad shouldered and muscular. The bird was perched on his shoulder. He raised his hand in a graceful gesture, each finger bejeweled with large rings, and it flew back to Archer, both heads twittering in excitement.
The Chief took a seat and indicated for his visitors to sit before him, on the floor. The smooth white stone was cold, but Ai Ling was glad to rest. A small sigh escaped her lips. It did not seem very welcoming, to have them huddle on the floor. She had to arch her neck to see the Chief’s face.
“Crimson Tail said you come from the Land of Xia?” The Chief looked down at them with three curious eyes. They were not the same color. The middle vertical one was a dark green, and the other eyes a clear, light blue.
“Yes. I’m called Chen Yong, and this is Ai Ling. We’re trying to make our way back home.”
The Chief nodded. “I have heard tales of your people, but did not know them to be true or false. It astounds me to see someone so different from ourselves.”
He nodded to Archer in approval. “You have done well bringing this species to us. Take them to the third floor and strip them. The Anatomist will examine them.”
The words had barely sunk in when Chen Yong jumped to his feet, his sword already sweeping an arc in the air. But the sharp blade Archer pressed to the back of Ai Ling’s neck halted him.
“Do not be a hero, Xian male. You are outnumbered.” The Chief’s lips curved into a smile, revealing sharp white teeth.
Armed guards marched into the room until they lined the six walls shoulder to shoulder. Garbed in red, they carried tall staffs with hooked blades at the tip. Each one had hair shorn short, like Archer.
“We will not harm you. We want to examine and learn.” The Chief rubbed the fingers of his hand in obvious pleasure; anticipation. “Take them away.” He flicked his hand in
dismissal.
“Relinquish your weapon, Xian male. Fight, and the Xian female dies first,” Archer said. Ai Ling bit her lip at her own rashness and stupidity. They would not be in this predicament if she had listened to Chen Yong—but she had been too stubborn, sure she was right. Chen Yong handed over his sword, the cords of his neck taut. Archer cocked his head to the door and escorted by guards, they started down the long hallway.
“The stairs in the back. Go.”
Ai Ling followed Chen Yong, with Archer behind her. Her mind raced. They were surrounded by guards—how could they possibly escape? She wanted to beg for Chen Yong’s forgiveness, stomp her feet in anger and frustration at her own gullibility.
Chen Yong walked with his back straight and stiff, his hands doubled in fists by his sides. She wondered if she could enter Archer’s spirit to search for knowledge. But could she keep herself walking at the same time?
They climbed past the second floor and onto the third. Ai Ling sensed the sharp tip of the Archer’s sword behind her, its threat heavy, solid, even though it did not touch her once.
“Down this hall,” Archer said. The passageway looked the same as the first, only now all six walls were made of glass, allowing a view into a room that was bare except for two single beds on raised stilts, reminding her of Li Rong’s funeral pyre. Her throat tightened, the grief quickly replaced by fear. Would they seize her knapsack, rifle through the contents? She clutched the sack closer to her.
Chen Yong stepped into the chamber under Archer’s direction. Ai Ling wrinkled her nose at the scent of bitter medicinal herbs. Again, sunlight flooded the room from an open shaft in the middle, glancing off the six opaque walls of silver. Ai Ling realized that the glass only allowed one-way viewing, from the outside in, and the hairs on her arms stood on end. What did the Chief have planned for them, with the Anatomist’s help?
“Take off the clothes.” Archer waved his weapon nonchalantly at them.
Ai Ling didn’t move.
Archer extended his sword until the tip touched the hollow of her throat, his smooth face never changing expression.
