Immortal

27

Water, cold and dark, closed over my head. I flailed, sucking in a mouthful that seared as it clogged my throat. Panic flooded me, fragmenting my thoughts and stiffening my limbs—a death sentence to any swimmer. A frail disc of light shone above, the setting sun, the sight calming me . . . though soon it would be night, and the waters a hundred times more terrifying.

Lotus pads blotted the surface like spilled ink, their roots trailing into the murky depths. One coiled around my ankle, but I tore it away. As I glanced below, my insides twisted. There were just darkening shadows and those slender, vinelike roots tangling together like a net. As I imagined the fate of those unfortunate enough to be snared by them, I kicked a little harder.

I resisted the urge to surface till I was farther from the pavilion, grateful that I could swim without tiring as before. Once I relinquished the Divine Pearl Lotus, I might lose this strength. But I would regret nothing; the trade was more than fair. My mind wandered to Zhangwei—was he safe? He’d used so much of his strength already: battling the Wuxin, shielding my people, trying to unseal the skies. I halted mid-stroke, wanting to return for him—but it was safer for Zhangwei that I’d escaped. The greatest danger to him was if I ended up a captive, the lotus in the hands of the Wuxin. This way, they would be forced to split up in pursuit of us. And I assured myself that those soldiers were no match for the God of War now that they’d squandered the element of surprise.

My arms were beginning to ache, my lungs burning. My drenched clothes were heavy, though the sword strapped to my side seemed unnaturally weightless. I didn’t know how long I swam, my body leaden, almost numbed. The waters of the lake stretched without end, and I surfaced only sparingly for air, afraid of discovery. Fortunately, the lotuses with their treacherous roots were left far behind.

Something floated in the water ahead—a small body. A round-faced boy in a white robe, his eyes closed, his arms curled around a log. I hesitated, keeping my distance. What had happened to him? How did he get here? Was he a victim of the Wuxin? They would be vile to prey on a child. His face was ashen, his body limp. As I watched, his fingers began slipping from the log—I couldn’t let him drown. I swam toward him at once, then tucked my arms beneath his shoulders, pulling him to the surface.

The boy was startlingly light. A large bruise swelled on his forehead, split open with a trace of blood. His eyes were still shut though his throat convulsed, a welcome sign of life. My gaze searched the lake desperately, seeking land. Night had fallen, moonlight glazing the waters with an oily sheen. My body was growing heavier, weighted with fatigue and the child in my arms. Each movement was a struggle. At last, a pale curve of land rose in the distance. Spurred by a burst of strength, I swam toward it. As my feet sank into the claylike earth, I stumbled upright, gulping in the air greedily, tears of relief mingling with the water sliding down my face.

I dragged myself and the boy to the shoreline, both of us falling to the ground. The boy’s eyes were open now, hair plastered around his pale face.

“Where am I? What happened?” he asked.

“I pulled you from the lake. We’re somewhere in Kunlun Mountain,”

I replied.

“Kunlun?”

He shivered, clasping his arms around his knees. “I was told we weren’t allowed to come here, that we’d die.”

“You’re still alive,”

I assured him gently. “How did you get here?”

“I was traveling with my father. We were attacked, close to the mountain.”

His lips quivered. “They struck my head. I fainted. And when I woke up, I was in the water.”

I wanted to ask more questions, but the boy gripped my arm. “Where is Father? Did you find him too?”

As I shook my head, the boy slumped, pressing his fists to his eyes. His grief wrenched me, a sharp pain burrowing into my chest. “When I get back, I’ll send the soldiers in search of your father,”

I vowed. “They will find out what happened to him.”

“Do you have many soldiers?”

His voice was muffled like he was choking back tears.

“An army.”

The boy nodded, his breathing steadying. Once he calmed, I helped him to his feet, but then he cried out, folding over. A deep gash split his calf, his blood trickling down in rivulets. I ripped a strip from the hem of my robe, then wrapped it around the wound, knotting it tight. I didn’t know what else to do, except I had to stop the bleeding.

A snarl ruptured the stillness, ominous and low. I looked up to find a pair of round, yellow eyes gleaming from between the trees. As the boy gasped, scrambling away, the eyes went dark, a twig snapping—

I hoisted the boy on my back and ran. My feet pounded the ground, winding between the trees. All the while, the beast bounded closer. Cold sweat broke out as I sprinted as fast as I could, desperately seeking a place to hide. As my legs were about to give way, I spied a large cluster of rocks. Racing to it, I lowered the boy behind them, then unsheathed my sword.

“Hide here,”

I told him.

Terror beat through me. Was this how Zhangwei felt whenever he’d cautioned me from danger? It wasn’t that he thought himself better, but he was afraid I’d be hurt—he wanted to protect me, as I did the boy.

The beast prowled closer, the size of a tiger, its yellow eyes slitted with menace. Its fur was a startling white, fangs curled from its jaws, a chain of blue stones encircling its neck. Was this a collar? Was it hounding us for prey, or upon another’s command? A low growl—my instincts screaming as I flung my blade up—but the creature leapt past me, over the rocks and lunged at the boy, who threw his arms over his head.

I rushed forward, slashing at the beast, only managing to shear its fur. It ignored me, its attention fixed upon the boy. His wound had reopened, leaking blood across the earth. The thick, metallic scent was entwined with a frail sweetness, like that of cloves. Raising my sword, I swung it at the creature again. As a terrified scream erupted from the boy’s throat, the beast spun around to bare its fangs at me—then bounded abruptly into the forest.

“Are you all right?”

I asked the boy. I was breathing heavily, my hair in my eyes, still clutching my sword.

“Are you?”

The boy sounded surprisingly calm.

I glanced at the blood that had soaked into the ground. “Come, we must keep moving. The creature can smell blood—”

“Why are you here?”

the boy interjected, his eyes wide. Something glinted in his pupils like flecks of gold.

“I’m hiding from someone. Like you, I was attacked.”

I didn’t want to lie to him though it might have been easier to.

Shadows played across his face as he shook his head. “I mean, why did you come to Kunlun?”

He sounded different, older somehow. But for some reason, I felt no fear . . . though the boy was not who he seemed. “I came here to find the Ancient Grandmaster.”

“As you have.”

The boy’s voice was resonant now, like the peal of a gong. The gravity of his manner jarred with the youthfulness of his appearance—yet in his eyes shone the wisdom of the ages. A faint glow emanated from his skin, the unmistakable aura of an immortal. As he smiled, a warm breeze darted through the air, winding around me, my clothes drying at once. My aches faded, along with the swelling on my face where the Wuxin captain had struck me. At once, I clasped my hands and bowed to greet him.

“You have shown me kindness, and I welcome you to my home,”

the Ancient Grandmaster said.

Lanterns flickered to life from the trees above, their light spilling through the branches. A red tiled pathway appeared, flanked by trees. Clusters of jewels glittered between the leaves, the wealth of kings upon a single branch. The path ended in front of a mansion built from bricks of jasper and agate. The wooden entrance was carved with a tree that spread across both panels. As the Ancient Grandmaster approached, the doors slid apart, opening into a wide courtyard. There were no guards or attendants, yet the grounds were immaculately tended. I followed the Ancient Grandmaster into a large pavilion, where we sat down by the marble table. A tall brace of candles flickered to life as a tray of food appeared, gliding toward us at a steady rhythm.

“Who brought this here?”

My insides knotted with unease. If I were not in the presence of the Ancient Grandmaster, I would have thought this place haunted.

“House spirits. They keep hidden from my guests. They are remarkably resourceful and obedient, as long as they are rewarded for their services.”

As the Ancient Grandmaster gestured to the tray, the dishes flew to our table: chicken stewed in wild herbs, beans fried with prawns, a whole fish, plump scallops.

I took a little of each dish, suddenly hungry. “What payment do they require?”

“Some spirits are caught between the realms—lost, unable to find their way. They no longer feel, their senses gone. Existing in eternity without aim, their earthly ties severed, their memories extinguished. It can be hollow, despite the peace. It is lonely.”

He opened his palm, a flame leaping within. “Here I give them the illusion of the living, a breath of mortality—whether to taste food, to hear music, or sense the warmth of another.”

“They want to be mortal?”

I asked, my tone lifting in surprise.

The Ancient Grandmaster closed his hand, the flame dying out. “There is no greater gift. The happiness of a mortal is incandescent. A shame it is so fleeting—though maybe that is why it’s so precious, so perfect, in the moment it exists.”

“Our lives are far from perfect. What of loss, heartache, and grief?” I asked.

His gaze was clear and unwavering. “It means you were loved.”

A sudden wetness surged into my eyes. I blinked, setting down my chopsticks, the emptiness inside me no longer for food.

“I have made you sad,”

the Ancient Grandmaster said. “It was not my intent.”

He gestured toward the porcelain cups, now filled with a clear liquid. “Drink this. It will improve your mood.”

I took a sip, startled by the sharp tang. A warmth swept across my tongue and glided down my throat like freshly brewed tea. The weight in my chest dispersed, my appetite returning in force.

“Now, eat,”

he said. “You’ll have need of it.”

I fell upon the food, resisting the urge to grab a chicken leg with my hands, to cram the rice into my mouth. Somehow, I managed to retain my manners, though part of me feared the food might vanish before I ate my fill.

When I was finally sated, I set down my chopsticks. The Ancient Grandmaster picked up the plate of half-eaten fish and placed it on the floor. Yellow eyes gleamed from a dark corner of the garden—just like those of the beast in the forest, but smaller. A creature padded out: a large white cat with a collar of blue stones. It swished its tail as it approached, ignoring us as it headed toward the fish with single-minded purpose. Was this cat, the beast?

“It was all an illusion,”

I said numbly. A trick. A trial. Another immortal game. But it had been real to me, the sweat and blood—the fear that choked me then. I should be angry, yet I could not wholly resent the Ancient Grandmaster. It was his choice how to bestow his favor when so many wanted something from him.

“An illusion implies everything is false.”

The gold in his eyes was startlingly bright. “But what matters is how you acted when you believed it was real.”

The Ancient Grandmaster inclined his head. “I have a gift for you, Lady of Tianxia.”

He knew who I was; I hadn’t told him. Part of me wanted to refuse. As the Ancient Grandmaster’s guest, courtesy dictated that I should bring him a gift. But I would be stupid to refuse anything he wanted to give me. With the Wuxin a breath from Tianxia—we needed all the help we could get.

My chest tightened at the thought of Zhangwei. “The God of War was meant to accompany me to find you, but we were attacked and separated. Do you know where he is?”

Light glinted off the Ancient Grandmaster’s hair. “He will come.”

He spoke with such assurance, my fears faded. “Thank you.”

“Do you wish to ask anything else?” he asked.

“I came here because we needed help, Honored Immortal,”

I began haltingly. I’d imagined it would be Zhangwei asking this, but the task had fallen to me. “The Wuxin sealed the skies and attacked my home. Without the immortals’ protection, countless lives in Tianxia are at risk. I would be grateful if you could send word to Queen Caihong, informing her of this danger, and requesting her aid on our behalf.”

He nodded. “I will ask the spirits to help. They have ways of traveling that are closed to the rest of us.”

I hesitated, ashamed to ask for more, but I plunged onward. “Honored Immortal, could you undo this spell on the skies? The Wuxin are a grave threat—”

He raised his hand to stop me. “I do not interfere with such matters. My strength is reserved for the care of the Tree of Everlasting Life. There is nothing more important to me in the world.”

Not even our lives? Anger flickered, but I doused it. It was as Zhangwei had warned, but I’d wanted to try. I was not entitled to his aid. I had no right to say one thing was more precious than another, my judgment colored by my own bias.

Before I could reply, the Ancient Grandmaster rose, motioning for me to follow. “Come. This gift I offer you is for you alone.”

The trees around us rustled, the air sweet with the scent of shorn grass and a trace of cloves. A narrow stone path appeared between the trees, leading to a cave. It was dark within, yet as we entered, candles flickered to life. The earthen walls were coarse, the rough ground covered with a carpet that was worn and threadbare yet still gleaming with luster. The path curved until it seemed like we were walking in circles.

Scroll paintings hung from the walls, the earliest ones depicting a plant, from a seedling to the unfurling of its first leaves. As it grew to a young tree in its bloom, a round-faced boy tended to it now. When clusters of white flowers bloomed on the tree, it threw its shade over the boy—now a youth. In one painting, leaves fell in bunches as a man raked them into piles. In another, silver gleamed at the man’s temples as he pruned the twigs—until at last, in the final scroll, the tree bore nothing but silver flowers on its branches. The boy had gone, I noted with a pang, how quickly I’d grown accustomed to seeing him with the tree.

The boy in the painting . . . was he the Ancient Grandmaster? The shape of his face was the same, yet devoid of the marks of his age. Had he lived and died by the tree, and if so, what was he now? A tremor ran through me, not of fear but uncertainty.

The sweetness in the air intensified, the scent of flowers giving way to the richness of cloves. The corridor ended in a clearing—grass creeping over the ground, the ceiling opening to the skies. A tree flowered in the center, crowned with silver-white blossoms. The same tree as in the paintings, except here . . . it was luminous, aglow with an unearthly radiance.

“The Tree of Everlasting Life,”

the Ancient Grandmaster said solemnly. “It sprouted with the first breath of life in the realms and will remain until the last.”

As I stared at it, unsure whether to bow, the flowers of the tree quivered, startlingly bright, like the stars themselves had gathered in its branches.

Come closer, mortal. Step into my shade.

I started looking around. Where had that voice come from?

Mortal, do not doubt the truth before you. The voice sounded amused. A tree is a living thing. Why shouldn’t we speak?

I stepped forward until the shadow of the branches wove across my face like a spider web. Its aura felt familiar, an echo of the Ancient Grandmaster’s. Had the spirits of the boy and tree entwined into one?

Press your hand to my bark.

I followed its command without hesitation this time. The wood was smooth to my touch, a current surging into my fingers, the smell of cloves thickening. Something clinked above. I glanced up to find a single dewdrop glistening like ice—falling from the branch to land upon my brow. A current jolted me, searing deep, rippling across my body like a warm embrace. Peace stole over me, of the priceless kind.

“A blessing from the Tree of Everlasting Life,”

the Ancient Grandmaster said gravely. “One of protection, to seal your spirit from harm.”

What did this mean? There was so much I wanted to ask, but my mind was growing sluggish. My eyes closed, a deep exhaustion stealing over me as I fell to the ground, wrapped in the unrelenting embrace of slumber.