by T. A. Miles
It was over in an instant.
The fire died upon impact, or pulled itself entirely into the mystic’s body. The chamber darkened, and a terrible silence settled.
Unable to breathe, Tristus raised himself slowly, peaking over the banister at the altar below, expecting to see ashes where Xu Liang once had been, to find that the healing ceremony had actually been a glorified cremation. He watched the priestess lower Firestorm slowly, her golden eyes fixed on the motionless form still lying on the altar.
Tristus wondered now if the ceremony had been a genuine attempt to heal, but failed.
And then, slowly, the mystic’s pale hands moved. They only just lifted and fell back down upon his chest, but it seemed enough for the priestess. She spoke a single word and stepped back from the altar, then turned and left. The others fell into motion after she’d gone, including Shirisae, who presided over the careful handling of Xu Liang as he was placed back on the litter and borne away.
“What’s happening?” Tristus asked, when he finally gained the voice and courage to speak.
Shirisae looked up at him, her golden eyes seeming to smile again. She said proudly, “Ahjenta has restored him. He must sleep now, while the sacred flame runs its course.”
Tristus wasn’t aware of the tears in his eyes, until they spilled onto his cheeks. “Thank you, Shirisae.”
The Phoenix Elf smiled with her lips this time and said, “You must go to your companions and relay this news. I am sure they are eager to hear it.” Then, before he could ask it, she answered his question. “I will bring you to him after the sun has risen and you have rested some yourself. Go for now, Knight of Andaria, and know that Ahjenta has bestowed upon your friend her most sacred gift.”
FU RAN STOOD on a balcony overlooking a busy section of Vilciel’s indoor city. Behind him, the rest of the group wandered about a posh suite of rooms, finding various places to sit for only a moment at a time while they waited for Tristus. Food and drink had been brought to them, but no one could eat. The knight had been gone for hours. The sun must have been almost up outside, but the district they’d been brought too was too far in to tell. Great braziers hung from decorous outcroppings, illuminating a dragon-sized palace that was beginning to feel more like a cave, or a crypt.
A sudden stir of voice and movement rose suddenly from within the room, and Fu Ran wheeled away from the balcony, striding just into the suite before coming to an uncertain halt as he looked upon Tristus’ tired and tear-streaked features.
The knight stood with his back to the door, his moist eyes taking in everyone, breaking everyone’s heart, just before he said, “He’s...alive.”
For an instant everyone was too stunned by this news to react. And then, as if suddenly realizing what he’d just said, the knight brought one hand to his face and began to weep with relief.
Taya went to him and Fu Ran filled with such elation he couldn’t contain himself. Grinning and laughing, he scooped up the nearest body to him in a great bear hug meant for Xu Liang. Tarfan protested at once, kicking his feet and grumbling oaths through his own tears of joy.
The guards, who didn’t understand what Tristus had said before breaking into tears, but feared the worst, understood now. Smiles shattered their stone countenances, expressions that were also softened by relief.
THE SLIGHT FORM beneath the black silk shroud of the canopied bed writhed and twisted, trapped in nightmare. The mystic’s hair clung to his pale, sweating face and neck while he tossed his head upon the pillow, grasping it with slender, trembling fingers, twisting the sham as his other hand twisted the sheets that were quickly tangling about his body. He gasped and moaned as if afraid or in pain, desperate to escape what could not be escaped. It was the price of resurrection, one that humans often paid with interest accumulated through their ignorance of the Flame.
“We should have left him as he was,” Ahjenta said, standing in stern silence beside her daughter. Though the two elves were separated in years—more than two hundred—they were not separated in grace.
They were both as otherworldly in their grace as the rare fire rose, whose petals flushed a burning red-orange upon a vine with sleek black thorns. The younger of them only seemed a less mature flower. Unquestionably, it was her lack of maturity that possessed her to bringing this frail human specimen to their city.
“He may die a worse death now, if he rejects the Flame,” Ahjenta told her daughter.
“I know,” Shirisae said softly, but still with the confidence that had persuaded her mother to perform the dangerous ritual in the first place.
Ahjenta had felt that confidence days before her daughter’s return, and knew hours before the peculiar humans arrived that there would be little time for debate.
Timing between death and resurrection was always sensitive. Action had to be taken while the spirit remained trapped in its vessel. This one’s spirit was so faded, Ahjenta almost believed her daughter had brought a lifeless husk before her, expecting a miracle that even the Phoenix could not grant. And why? Because Firestorm had spoken to her? The blade had spoken before, yes, but perhaps never so brightly. It was what Shirisae believed the sacred weapon was saying that unsettled Ahjenta.
“He is human, my daughter,” Ahjenta finally said, unable to take her child’s confident silence any longer. It was not curiosity, or mere concern, that anchored the younger elf to this room, to this bed of unearthly suffering. It was something far deeper and, to Ahjenta, something far more disconcerting.
“I know, Mother,” Shirisae said again. She added, “But he will live. Though his body is weak, his mind is very strong.”
“It is not of this frail mortal whom I speak,” Ahjenta snapped, drawing her daughter’s gaze. “Do not think that I am unaware of your motives, child. I know why you want this one to survive...and it shames me.”
Shirisae frowned and looked away from the man suffering before them. “How can you be ashamed of what the Phoenix itself has decreed?”
“How can you be so sure anything was decreed at all? Recall that our minds are joined, Shirisae. As my heiress, and heiress to the power I hold, it can be no other way between you and I. And I know, daughter, that there were others present.”
“One other,” Shirisae replied, frowning. “A northern elf, which to me is far more detestable to consider than a human.”
“Except that you do not find this detestable at all!”
Shirisae started closer to the bed.
Ahjenta grabbed her arm only to have her daughter tear away from her grasp. They faced each other in cold, burning silence. At length, and in as dignified a tone as she could muster, Ahjenta said, “You’re in love with him.”
Shirisae lifted her face proudly, defiantly. “I am. But it doesn’t matter. The Phoenix has chosen. It is out of our hands. Tristus Edainien will sire the child who will become my heiress after I am Priestess of the Flame!”
Ahjenta’s golden eyes glared at her child, struggling to contain herself. She said coldly, “Know that if I believed that was the only reason for this one’s resurrection, I would kill him now, with the very fire that may yet save him. However, you are not the only one with a seeing sense, daughter. I know that there is more to this frail creature than even you have considered, and for that reason I will pray that the Phoenix carries him through this night.” And now Ahjenta lifted her chin with disdain. “Certainly our god would not answer your prayers alone; the Phoenix is not motivated by foolishness and selfishness.”
“It is your selfishness that would label my faith foolishness,” Shirisae countered. “Firestorm is more mine now than it is yours, and I believe what it says to me.”
“Your beliefs are too often the fragile whims of youth. Be thankful, my daughter, that you shared my womb with a brother rather than a sister.” On those words, Ahjenta left, and left her daughter to look upon the tortured mystic and to consider just what it was she had done and intended to do.
XU LIANG FELT like a child; lost and afraid. Fo
r a timeless span he had been cringing in the darkness, seeing nothing, hearing only disembodied voices. He didn’t know what to do, if there was anything at all to be done, and that was bad enough in itself. The situation only worsened as he gradually began to feel more blinded, more detached from everything and anything, until he became certain that he would simply cease to exist. He wasn’t prepared for the fire. Having light cast suddenly into his dark world was more frightening than being lost. He had options now, and none of them were welcoming.
The fire had been a wall at first, spreading like a serpent uncoiling over dark water. It didn’t burn, it simply was. The jade flames danced for an eternity, and then they were gone, having collapsed into the floor. The remnant smoke rose like a vaporous green mist toward the ceiling. Between the glowing planes of floor and ceiling, the darkness remained, but it was changed. He could not describe how, not even as it swelled to envelop him.
He lurched away from it, out of the shadows as they suddenly came to life, reaching out for him with slender, clawed hands. He found himself suddenly standing in the light, a green light that reminded him too much of the Jade Hall in the Temple of Divine Tranquility, where he’d first felt the Dragon stirring out of slumber. He felt nothing now, and the stillness disturbed him far worse than if the floor had been violently quaking.
The passage formed by the fire was featureless and without dimension, a band of pale green floor and ceiling spanning infinitely between walls of living shadow. Xu Liang stayed away from the walls, walking forward until he saw a shape ahead of him. It was the robust figure of a man, running.
Xu Liang recognized the mounted axe at once and began chanting a spell to defend himself. However, his call to the winds went unanswered.
Xiadao Lu struck him across the face with the shaft of his weapon, knocking him flat.
Xu Liang sat up slowly, surprised to still be alive, touching his fingers to his remarkably undamaged cheek.
“Do you think I did not hear what you said?” Xiadao Lu bellowed.
Only it wasn’t Xiadao Lu. It was Xu Hong.
Xu Liang stared at the man’s transformed features, wondering if they’d really transformed at all, or if there was actually some resemblance between the fierce warrior and his adoptive father.
Regardless, the man’s deep, angry tone sounded like Xu Hong. “Disrespectful whelp! Who is it that trained you, sponsored you in your studies...sheltered you when I should have delivered your strangled infant corpse to Xiang Wu? I should have had your mother executed! And you, her worthless, weakling spawn...”
“Father,” Xu Liang said at once, with the reflexive respect he’d learned early during his childhood beneath Xu Hong’s roof. He maneuvered quickly onto his knees, bowing before his recognized father. “Please, forgive me. I spoke in haste. I am indebted to you.”
Xu Hong said nothing more.
A gentle hand slid beneath Xu Liang’s chin, and lifted his face. “Don’t be ridiculous. It is I who am indebted to you.”
Xu Liang looked up at a handsome young man, who smiled in a proud careless manner. It was the same smile that had graced the noble youth just before his final departure from the Imperial City. “Song Lu?”
“You act as if you don’t recognize me.” Song Bao’s son spoke in light, but bold tones, enunciating his confidence in himself, his father, and the Empire. He had always lived without fear, without hesitation.
Xu Liang had always admired him for that, and he’d feared him for the same reason. It was not a mortal fear. It was something deeper than life, and Xu Liang felt it again now. He began to tremble and was unable to hold his Prince’s gaze.
“Forgive me,” Xu Liang begged, looking at the green floor.
“Where is it?” Song Lu suddenly asked. “The amulet I gave you. Why aren’t you wearing it?”
Xu Liang’s hand went instinctively to his chest, reaching for a beaded necklace that was not there. It hadn’t been there for years. “I... I left it in your…”
In your tomb, he almost said, but narrowly stopped himself, seeing that his prince was living.
Xu Liang struggled with this image. “I…wanted to protect you.”
“Xu Liang,” Song Lu said, assisting him to his feet. “I meant for it to protect you.” The Prince wrapped his arms around him in a gesture of brotherhood. “Oh well, my friend. It doesn’t matter now. It is good to see you again.”
Xu Liang stood tense and fearful in Song Lu’s embrace, recalling too much too quickly. Song Lu was dead. The ease of serving two strong, confident leaders had ended long ago. The Empress… She was alone!
Song Lu lowered his head onto Xu Liang’s shoulder, holding him closer. The tuft of his small beard tickled against Xu Liang’s neck. And then the Prince stroked his hand through Xu Liang’s hair, and pressed his lips lightly upon his skin.
Xu Liang’s pulse flared, though he felt cold. His hands trembled, carefully touching the body pressed against his own. He couldn’t decide whether to push him away or draw him closer, and wound up simply clutching the Prince’s silken tunic as Song Lu began kissing him.
He tasted the Prince’s affection on his lips only briefly, before he found the sense to pull away. “We cannot do this.”
Song Lu kept his hands on Xu Liang’s shoulders, his smile replaced with a frown. “We cannot love each other?”
Xu Liang steeled himself, and said calmly, “You have the honor of your family to consider and—”
Song Lu’s strong hands squeezed silence from him. “There are times when I hate your wisdom! This isn’t about politics, or the Empire! This is about my feelings for you. I love you, Xu Liang!” His hold slackened and his hands finally slipped away. “I suppose this is where you’ll tell me that I must love the Empire first. You know that I do. I revere my father and plan to succeed him with equal strength and passion toward the protection of Sheng Fan. I will marry a woman I don’t love, and can never love, and acquire heirs. I am devoted to the Empire!”
Xu Liang winced internally at the nature of the passion his Prince was exhibiting, not toward the Empire’s interests, but in defense of his own.
Song Lu lifted his hand to gently, briefly touch Xu Liang’s face. “But my heart will never change toward you. And I know that you love me, though you dare not admit it, even while we’re alone.”
Xu Liang said nothing, stiffened and speechless in his struggle to maintain his resolve.
Song Lu’s features suddenly hardened. “I look at your silence as a betrayal! It is the same as lying to me—you, who are supposed to be my most trusted counsel and friend!”
Xu Liang looked at the prince without seeing him. “Please, Song Lu...you cannot understand.”
“What is there to understand?” someone new asked.
Focusing, Xu Liang saw that Song Lu was no longer there, that he’d been replaced by a hauntingly familiar man dressed in the violet and gold robes of a lord of Ying.
“You are beautiful,” the newcomer continued. “He cannot help himself.”
Xu Liang stared at the older reflection of himself, noticing the traces of silver at the man’s temples and in his thin mustache. Xiang Wu’s hair extended past his shoulders, but it was nowhere near as long as Xu Liang’s. The angles of his face were sharper, his eyes slightly narrower, giving him a stern aspect.
Reverence filled Xu Liang, but he held back, knowing that the dignity of two houses rested upon his discretion.
“Fools!” Xiang Wu said suddenly. “Is it a wonder Sheng Fan has fallen to the state it is in? Can they honestly be so blind as to not recognize a son of Ying? Or is it that they fear that pompous bag of wind who has the gall to claim you as his son?”
Xu Liang frowned. “You know?”
“Look at yourself,” Xiang Wu replied, walking toward Xu Liang, his hands folded behind his back. “How could I not know? For me it is as looking into a mirror that displays my youth. Although, you do strongly resemble your mother as well. Perhaps Xu Mi is what everyone sees when they look
at you. That might explain their ignorance a little better. However, that does not explain yours.”
“What do you mean?” Xu Liang asked quietly while the elder turned partly away from him.
Xiang Wu scolded him fiercely with a simple sideways glance. Then he looked away again. “Where shall I begin? For a man who is reputed to be of fantastic intelligence, you have certainly made some foolish decisions. How can you have weakened yourself so terribly, knowing your importance to the Empress and to the Empire? You would argue that you did it for those things, and that you greatly strengthened your spirit in the process, but now you see how unreliable the spirit is. It tires quickly, more quickly than the body, as it is taxed by far worse strains than any physical hardships that may arise.”
“Emotions,” Xu Liang realized, speaking quietly still.
“Yes, emotions,” Xiang Wu answered firmly. “The emotions you feel for these allies of yours. In your condition they are also your enemies—worse than your enemies, because they are closer and they attack you while you are defenseless, trusting. You should have put more consideration into the bearers of these Swords, instead of only the Swords themselves.”
“How can you know about them? I did not tell you.”
“You told me!”
Yet another voice.
Xu Liang looked away from his father, and at Jiao Ren. The young general stopped several feet away. He dropped a sword onto the green floor and kicked it toward Xu Liang. “Take it. I don’t want to be guilty of attacking you while you are defenseless.”
“Why would you want to attack me at all?” Xu Liang wondered, refusing to claim the weapon as it spun to a halt at his feet.
“You killed her,” Jiao Ren snarled. “And now I will kill you, armed or not. Make your choice, Xu Liang!”
Xu Liang’s confusion troubled him worse than Jiao Ren’s anger.
“I loved her!” the young general shouted. “Not only as the Empress, but as a woman! She saw only you, Xu Liang.” His voice lowered, sounding of a man possessed. “And you killed her!”
