by Brandon Mull
“I don’t want a husband! I want a brother!” Yin screamed. She had wanted to scream all day. Yin and her brother were the future of the family. Didn’t that mean that the sword belonged to them?
“When you’re older, you’ll understand,” Yin’s mother said. She placed her hand on Yu’s back, rubbing it gently.
“I understand now,” Yin said, tears filling her eyes. “I want Yu to get better.” Yin’s mother pulled her close and surprised Yin by beginning to cry herself, in deep sobs. They sounded as painful as Yu’s coughing.
Climbing up the mountain road was much harder than traveling down, even in the daylight. By the time their family got home, it was almost evening again, and they were all exhausted. Yin had hoped that during the long journey her mother and father would realize their mistake and consider buying the cure from healer Kuan.
But when they were finally home, Yin’s father sent her to bed early with a tone that left no room for argument. It was clear that he had made up his mind.
They were letting her brother die.
That night, Yin listened with Luan for her parents to go to sleep. They waited until T’ien was on the other side of the house, rooting out mice. Then, when they were sure everything was quiet, Yin rose from her bed and crept out of her room, with Luan balanced on her shoulder.
She snuck into her parents’ room, matching her steps to the sounds of her father snoring. She moved slowly to the far side of their bed. There, in the center of a small table, was a long parcel wrapped reverently in layers of fine silk.
With only a single glance at her parents’ bed, Yin swept the parcel into her hands and moved as quickly as she dared back across the room. Her every step seemed to creak in the tiny, echoing chamber. Right as she was about to reach the door, Yin’s father stirred, letting out a loud, surprised grunt. Yin froze.
I’ve been caught!
But a moment later, he mumbled something quiet and incomprehensible. Yin heard the bed creak behind her as her father rolled over in his sleep.
She moved swiftly from the room, the Sword of Tang clutched in her hands.
“Do you think we’re doing the right thing?” Yin asked Luan once they were out in the farmyard, under the moon. It felt like she was asking herself. The little bird flapped his white-and-black wings in the grass, and then flew up to perch on the sword’s ancient handle.
Even without being polished, the blade shone in the moonlight.
“Do you remember the way?” Yin asked her spirit animal. Luan flew ahead of the girl, down the mountain road. It was too dark to see clearly, and Yin hadn’t thought to bring a torch. The sword already felt heavy in her arms. She labored under its weight, careful not to trip on the stones in the road.
Yin lost track of time as she walked. She had no sense of how much farther she had to carry the sword in secret. She refused to rest until she absolutely could not take another step. Finally that moment came, and Yin collapsed onto the ground. She sat there in the dark with Luan, listening to the forest.
“Do you ever wish you were without me?” she asked the starling. “Do you wish you’d been bonded to some other girl, with a better life?” She didn’t expect him to answer her, but the bird opened his beak and let out a sweet song. Yin had only heard his screams, his whines, the terrible sounds Luan made to get her attention. She had never heard him sing so splendidly. It filled her heart with hope. She knew she was doing the right thing.
Yin got up and started walking again. She was ready to be brave, even if her parents weren’t.
When Yin arrived at the healer’s village, it was still late. There were many hours left before daybreak. Yin knew it wasn’t safe traveling alone this late at night. She had the sword to protect her, but she was too weak and untrained to wield it properly. If anyone found the girl alone in the dark, they could easily steal it. Then Yin would have nothing. She had to be careful.
Luan flew ahead of Yin, her brave scout. And yet with every step, Yin felt like she might be walking into a trap. She imagined that she was hearing voices, men and women in the shadows plotting to charge her. She looked behind her, into the dark. No one was there. And yet it sounded like people were running toward her.
When she faced forward, Luan flew back to her. It was starting to rain. First gently, and then all at once. Rainwater filled the streets with mountain mud. Her dress was getting muddier with every step.
It would be obvious to Yin’s parents that she’d betrayed them, but it was too late to turn back. She had come too far, and all on her own.
Yin knocked at Kuan’s door, and Luan let out an impatient squawk. As they waited, Yin asked Luan to sleep again on her arm. The bird bristled with indignation. He flew to her outstretched arm, but instead of doing as Yin asked, Luan pecked at her skin defiantly.
“Ouch!” Yin cried, startled. “That pinches!”
Luan cried out too, but did as Yin asked, disappearing in a blur of motion.
Kuan opened the door wide, as if she had been expecting the girl all along. In her hand was a large lit candle.
“You’re very brave indeed,” the healer told Yin.
“I’ve come to buy Yu’s cure,” she told the woman, revealing the Sword of Tang. Kuan leaned in with the candle, and the wet sword glimmered like the hungry flame.
“My child,” Kuan said, “this sword is much too valuable to trade. I could never accept such a prize as payment.”
“But you must,” Yin begged her. “It’s all I have.”
“Your father could not have allowed it,” Kuan said.
“It’s my sword to give, not his,” the girl protested.
Kuan stared at her a long while with steady eyes. Yin had heard about the healer’s gaze, that the woman was a master at intuiting what was inside a person. But Yin was telling the truth, so she stared right back.
“I will sell you my strongest cure,” the woman told Yin, “and will take your sword as payment for it. I will keep it safe for you. Perhaps one day you’ll come back for it. I’ll return it to you then, for a fair price.”
“You are an honorable woman,” Yin said to Kuan. Tzu, the healer’s red panda, climbed up the woman’s arm and perched like a monkey on her shoulder, his striped tail curling behind her neck.
“Not nearly as honorable as you are courageous,” Kuan said, handing Yin a small vial of dark liquid. It coated the glass, thick as blood.
“Thank you!” Yin said, hugging the old woman. “A million times, thank you.”
Kuan frowned at the girl’s delighted face. “What’s in that bottle is a chance, not a miracle,” she warned. “His fever will break by morning, or not at all.”
But it felt like a miracle to Yin. She turned from the door, ready to run home to her brother before morning.
“Be sure to tell your parents what I said,” the healer called behind her. “As long as I am alive, the Sword of Tang will be waiting here for you.”
Yin gripped the vial hard in her fist and ran through the rain, out of the village and up the mountain road. She was no longer scared of robbers, or of tripping on stones. She felt like she herself could fly, spry as her spirit animal, dodging the raindrops. She would have sung, if she weren’t using every breath in her body to get her home.
Yin was soaked to the bone when she arrived home, the vial hot in her hand. She rushed into her brother’s room and woke him, her hair still dripping down her face.
“Drink this,” she said, uncorking the potion and holding it to the boy’s dry lips. “You should be better by breakfast,” she told him.
“It smells,” Yu said, but he drank Kuan’s cure in one gulp. He coughed and then put his hand to his chest, like he felt something working inside. Yin smiled, hoping it was the medicine.
“Sleep now,” Yin said to her brother. Yu kissed his sister on her cold cheek. He lay back down and closed his eyes, sniffling but smiling
.
Yin watched him for a long time before she changed out of her wet clothes and crept into her warm, dry bed. She considered waking Luan, just to say good night, and to thank him for being such a brave companion. But she fell asleep as soon as the thought crossed her mind.
The next morning, Yin woke to the sound of T’ien snarling. It was a high-pitched sound the binturong usually made when he was hungry. But she soon realized what had really upset T’ien.
Her father was tearing through the house, looking for the Sword of Tang. Yin heard the commotion as teacups fell from the cupboard shelves, breaking on the floor.
“Where is it?!” Yin’s father yelled.
Yin jumped out of bed to check on her brother. Kuan had told her that if the cure worked, Yu’s fever would break by morning. Now the sun was up, and Yu hadn’t coughed for hours.
“How do you feel?” Yin asked, looking down at her brother. He gazed up at her through bleary eyes.
Yu shook his head and frowned, then put his hand up to his throat. He opened his mouth and moved his lips, like he was trying to speak, only no sound came out.
“Your voice is gone?” Yin asked. Her brother nodded. She put her hand to his forehead.
He was burning hot! Yu’s fever was worse than she’d thought possible.
“This can’t be. It has to work!” Yin said. But even as she spoke the words, she knew that she was wrong. Kuan had warned her of this. There were no guarantees.
Yin covered her face and cried quietly, not wanting her parents to hear. She wanted to hide, to run away. It was bad enough that her brother was dying; now Yin had gambled her family’s title away. She’d made things worse. She didn’t know how she could face her father or mother, having disobeyed their wishes. She’d lost the Sword of Tang. She might as well die right there with her brother.
Yu was looking at Yin like he wanted to say something.
“What is it?” Yin asked, hoping he could somehow answer her.
Yu put his hands together, like he was praying. Then he opened them, as if opening a book.
“You want me to tell you a story?” Yin asked, and her brother nodded.
“I walked all night through the rain,” she told Yu. “I don’t want to tell that story. I’m sorry.” But her brother looked so sad. She wondered what it must feel like, not getting to leave his bed, knowing that he might die without taking another step. She pictured Yu walking in the rain with a smile on his face, enjoying every sensation.
“There is a new story I heard,” she told him, and his face lit up. “About a healer they call the Healthbringer. Her name is Jhi. She’s a giant panda, and she lives in a maze made entirely of bamboo.” Yu smiled for the first time in weeks.
Yin heard her father calling for her from outside. She didn’t feel ready to face him. Maybe she wouldn’t ever be. Not until Yu was cured.
Suddenly an idea struck her.
“Do you want to come with me to the Maze?” she asked her brother. “We will go to meet Jhi and ask her to heal you.”
Yu nodded and tried to sit up, but he was too weak. Yin would have to carry him. She tied her dress in a knot and hung it over her shoulder like a sling. She pulled her brother up to her chest and into the sling. She crept from her brother’s room into the main chamber of the house, grateful that her father was now searching for her outside. It didn’t take long for her to find the old family map of the Great Bamboo Maze.
Soon she was running out the door, her father calling after her in the fields.
Yu’s skin felt hot to the touch. He gulped in the fresh air and then immediately started to cough.
“Jhi is going to be so happy to meet you,” Yin told her brother. She hoped that she was right.
The Maze was an incredible thing to behold from the inside. Ancient bamboo stalks stood twice as tall as Yin’s house, filling the path in front of the girl with rustling shadows. Almost as soon as Yin had entered, all sound seemed muted against the gentle swaying of the thick stalks and their high, distant leaves.
As they walked, Yin told her brother everything she had heard about Jhi the healer, little as it was, as well as every story she’d been told about the Great Bamboo Maze — which turned out to be quite a few.
Yin had been carrying Yu for a long time, and her legs were already sore. She stopped at a crossroads in the bamboo to check her map. She summoned Luan, who sprang from the girl’s skin as if from a cage, only to find himself surrounded by bamboo. He hopped along the dirt path, making his terrible noise.
“We should be here,” Yin said, ignoring him and pointing to a pin in the fabric of the map. The bamboo walls were marked with crossed green threads. She’d been careful to keep track of where they were in the Maze.
The starling flew up and surveyed their surroundings from the air. When he landed again, he seemed even more agitated. Luan hopped along the map’s edges angrily. He pecked at the fabric, tearing at the edges in tiny bites. Then he pulled some of the green threads until they broke away.
“You’re ruining it!” Yin shouted, frantically shooing the bird away with her hands. “Is this because I took too long to summon you?”
Luan had pulled out a whole line of green Xs.
“This is where we are. I’m certain,” Yin said, and the bird nodded.
“You’re so annoying!” she said.
Yin’s back was to a wall of bamboo, but according to the map the wall was very thin. Yin had planned to take the long way around, walking with Yu half a mile or more, simply to turn and walk half a mile back on the other side.
“Do you think I’m small enough to pass through the bamboo?” she said to Luan. If she could manage it, she would save them a mile of walking. When Luan didn’t answer her, she stood up and decided to try.
Yin looked deep into the copse of bamboo. Each stem was thicker than the girl’s arm, but they bent when she shoved them. She pushed until there was a gap between the stems, and then stepped onto one of the reeds. She weighed just enough so that the plants didn’t break, and instead held her there off the ground. She took a step with the other foot. Again, the bamboo supported her.
Suddenly there was a crashing sound, as if the bamboo around her was breaking all at once. Yin leaped back just in time, as the stalks cracked apart. She covered her brother as a few of the poles toppled toward them.
Once it was quiet again, Yin looked into the hole she’d made. Down on the ground, at root level, something was sticking out of the soil. It looked like an animal trap, with jagged metal teeth. Yin’s weight must have triggered the jaws to close. If she hadn’t leaped back, she would have fallen right into the trap.
“I won’t try that again,” she said to Luan.
Yin looked at her brother sleeping soundly despite the crashing of the bamboo. For a second, it looked like he had some color in his cheeks. But Yin realized it was only the sunset, turning everything pink before the evening set in.
Yin wanted to get as deep into the Maze as she could before nightfall. She pressed on, carrying her brother half a mile, to where there was an opening in the wall. Yin took out her map.
“Luan!” she said, finally understanding what the bird had been doing. “You fixed it! The map was wrong, and you fixed it!” She looked to where the Xs had been removed, and there in the dirt were the roots of bamboo shoots that had been torn away.
“Is anything else wrong?” she asked. Luan flew up into the purple sky to survey the bamboo again. When he landed, he looked hard at the stitches. After long consideration, he started to peck at another line of marks. Once those were gone, he pecked at others. Yin started to question the starling’s work again. Either the bird was wrong, or the map was uselessly out of date.
The last of the daylight was disappearing. Soon, Yin couldn’t read the map at all. In her hurry to leave, she hadn’t thought to bring a torch or candle. She sat in the darkness, f
eeling sorry for herself.
Though Yin couldn’t see the map clearly in the dark, she could still feel the stitches, and where some Xs had been removed.
The Maze is changing, she thought. Why else would the map be wrong?
She pictured a team of workers digging up the Maze, moving whole walls of bamboo out, pole by pole. It seemed like an impossible task. Each gap of bamboo removed was as large as a house. It would take a lot of workers to dig all that up.
Yin looked into the night sky. She couldn’t see the moon, but a great many stars twinkled like silver pebbles in a dark lake. She heard a rustling in the high leaves and remembered what she’d heard about the Maze being haunted. Yin closed her eyes tightly and listened, unaided by her spirit animal. The wind made it sound like there were people all around her in the bamboo, on every side. At least, she hoped it was the wind.
Suddenly something moved next to the girl. It wasn’t Luan or her brother, but something else that darted beside her in the shadows. The hair on Yin’s neck stood up as she held her breath to listen. This time Luan lent her some of his skill, and together they heard everything.
Tiny feet scampered in the dirt. Mouths gnawed the young shoots across the path. There were rats all around her, nesting in the bamboo. The rodents roved together through the night-dark paths, eating anything they could.
Yu let out an unpleasant moan, and Yin realized one of the filthy animals had nosed its way into the sling with her brother. Luan screeched loudly, and the rat scampered away. Yin pulled her brother tight to her chest and let out a worried gasp. His skin felt like it was on fire.
Every night for many nights, Yu’s illness had only gotten worse. Why would Yin think a night in the Great Bamboo Maze would be any different? She stared at the stars, asking them quietly to guide her. Yin had often wished on stars, but not like she did that night. She gazed at them as Luan nestled into her, until it didn’t feel like she was talking to stars anymore. The two brightest shone like silver eyes in a dark face, listening to Yin’s prayer.
