Immortal

43

Ahead, the river forked, one side continuing into the Wangchuan—the other flowing into a narrow inlet that our barge turned into. The landscape shifted, towering cliffs flanking us, their jagged peaks clawing at the skies. The other boats did not follow us, instead heading toward a wide stretch of land on the far side of the river.

Dalian strode out to the prow, joining Aunt Shou and me. He was smiling, and in that moment he almost looked like my friend again.

“Where are the other boats going?” I asked.

“Only one vessel can enter this passage at a time. The rest of our soldiers will make their way through the mountains,”

he replied, gesturing at the steep cliffs.

This must be the same path Zhangwei was taking. The slope appeared treacherous, and what if he encountered the other soldiers? As Dalian’s gaze shifted to me, I turned to conceal my anxiety.

“Don’t worry.”

His lips curved wider. “There are more than enough soldiers on board, my finest warriors to ensure everything goes to plan.”

Another threat. Maybe he knew only one way to make people obey him.

The deeper into the inlet we sailed, the narrower it grew, pressing us between the dark mountains until their shadows engulfed us, until it felt like we were being squeezed between two giants. Here the waters gleamed with an oily opacity, the green lights of the Wangchuan fading away.

The air sharpened abruptly, frost creeping over the wooden floorboards, the cold seeping through my shoes and my robe. As I shivered, mist shrouded the barge like a gossamer sheet. Just ahead, land gleamed, my pulse thudding as we neared it.

The barge glided onward, finally halting by a slender stretch of earth at the foot of a mountain ringed by cliffs. My throat tightened at the sight of the shimmering gateway ahead, just as I’d seen in the Mirror of Destiny.

That was not my fate, I reminded myself. It was not the future but a possibility—one I had denied, one I would not let come to pass.

Upon Dalian’s order, we left the barge together. Aunt Shou walked beside him as Lin, Mei, and I trailed after them. The soldiers followed us closely, more than fifty of them, including Captain Rao. My steps dragged, my gaze darting around for a sign of Zhangwei, but there was none.

A silent scream was building inside me. My choices were rapidly narrowing. Lies would no longer suffice; the only chance of survival lay in doing what Dalian wanted. I wouldn’t—but I also wasn’t ready to die. It wasn’t about being a coward . . . but wanting to live, holding on to each frail moment. Maybe I had become more mortal than immortal.

“Walk faster, or I’ll help you along,”

Captain Rao snapped from behind me.

At once, I feigned a stumble, kicking a lump of dirt over his feet. “My apologies, Captain,”

I said without a flicker of sincerity. “I’m clumsy by nature. When I hurry, I tend to trip.”

As his mouth twisted, I resisted the urge to laugh. My triumph was short-lived as the captain barked a furious command to two soldiers, who grabbed my arms to yank me along. Their fingers dug so hard into my flesh, bruises were already forming.

“Release her,”

Lin called out. “Don’t manhandle Lord Dalian’s honored guest.”

“We’ll see how long she remains a guest,”

Captain Rao flung back, an ominous prediction of my future.

I wrenched free of the soldiers’ hold, striding out of reach. As the gateway loomed before me, my heart plunged. The mountain gleamed like obsidian, a white marble arch set into the stone. Just as in Kunlun, ropes of vines were twined around the archway, thorns dusting their stalks. Thick clusters of wisteria hung down in rich shades of violet. A shimmering pane of liquid cascaded within, its ceaseless rush muffling the cry of the void birds above. It flowed seamlessly, without pause, obscuring what lay on the other side—jagged lines streaking across the water as lightning illuminates the skies. Closer to the ground, a small part of the pane thinned—just as I’d seen on the other side.

The air rippled with powerful magic, infused in each drop, petal, and thorn. Something about this place called to me, anticipation coursing in my veins, an inexplicable urge to draw closer that battled with my terror. Was it the imprint of my mother’s magic? If I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine she was here, the familiar thrum of her aura winding around me. But she was not; I was alone.

Wings fluttered as a bird swooped down to snare a dragonfly in its beak. As the tip of its wing brushed the liquid in the gateway, a crackling tore through the calm. The marble arch blazed, the lights from the gateway surging along the bird’s wing, spreading across its body like a web of fine cracks. It flapped its wings desperately yet could not take flight, caught in the throes of this merciless spell. As it shivered, the creature folded in on itself, bones crunching, feathers scattering—like it was being crushed alive. Piteous cries rang out, then faded abruptly as its struggles weakened, until all that remained of the bird was its mangled form.

I shuddered, many of the soldiers turning pale. A gruesome death for any who touched the gateway—our fate should we fail to cross it safely.

Dalian grinned like he sensed my fear. “You’re wise to be afraid. Don’t make any foolish mistakes; just do as you’re told.”

I wrestled with my anger, to keep my tone soft. “I don’t know what to do,”

I said, to draw this out.

Dalian offered me a scythe with an amber hilt, nodding toward the stairway that was cut into the wall, wide enough for one. It led to the top of the arch, close enough to touch it—though who would dare after seeing the bird’s end?

“Cut the vines away. Once they are cleared, channel your power to break the archway.”

When I didn’t move, he seized my hand, thrusting the scythe into it. My skin was as cold as his.

“Don’t fail me,”

he growled before releasing me.

I gripped the scythe, wishing I could thrust it into his chest. Not yet. I turned, wrenching my mind from the terror that tangled my thoughts. With the weight of all eyes upon me, I made myself climb the stairway. My foot slipped once as I fell, intentionally, the scythe clattering to the ground.

As a soldier rushed to hand it back to me, Dalian’s face creased with rage. “Another ‘accident,’ and I’ll have Captain Rao accompany you.”

My stomach churned at the thought. Not daring to falter again, I ascended the stairs steadily this time. At the top, I looked down, my head swimming. Soldiers swarmed this pale wedge of soil, the boats that had landed away from the inlet, dotting the river behind like beads of foam. I was surrounded, trapped—despair sinking its fangs into my heart.

“I’m afraid,”

I whispered to myself.

Saying it aloud was a release . . . an admission, a forgiveness of myself, my flaws and shortcomings. Fear need not be a burden when it could be harnessed into a desire to live. Hope possessed a magic of its own—rare to manifest, yet wresting miracles within one’s reach.

Calm spread over me, my mind clearing. The sweetness of the wisteria was stronger here, almost intoxicating. Each petal was veined with silver as though traced in stardust. Thick vines looped and curled in front of me, each culminating in a cluster of flowers. My hand shook as I brushed the vine closest to me, ignoring the thorns that pricked me, their tips stained with my blood. I lifted the scythe gently to the vine, a tentative touch to appease Dalian. Yet the moment the blade grazed it, light rippled from my fingers—the scythe drawing my magic against my will, flowing into the plant. A clump of wisteria fragmented, petals drifting away like dandelion seeds. A segment of the vine fell into my hand, heavy and limp, like uncoiled rope.

The gateway shuddered, the darting lights in the water stilling as a metallic scent thickened the air. With a wrench, I halted the surge of my power, numbed with horror at what I’d done—inadvertently weakening the gateway I was trying to protect.

A cheer rose from the Wuxin—the sound bringing me back to the Temple of the Crimson Moon, the moment my despicable manifestation destroyed the gateway. I swallowed hard, fighting down a burst of queasiness. This had to end; I’d drawn it out for as long as I could. But suddenly my skin warmed with a new awareness, my heart lifting though I didn’t know why. As I glanced up, something on the far side of the mountain caught my eye: a flutter of black brocade.

It was Zhangwei, standing on a ledge across from me. Relief swept through me that he was safe; he was here. Yet there were too many soldiers to fight—even more making their way through the mountains. I needed to create a diversion, something to give us a chance.

The curtain of liquid flowed like molten crystal through the gateway, light dancing over its surface. A sliver of an idea unraveled, barely enough to be woven into any coherent plan, but I would grasp at the thinnest thread.

Magic flowed from my fingers toward the gateway, this time upon my command. Yet the waters did not shift, nor did the lights flicker. If they were impervious to magic, what about something of its own? My fingers tightened around the vine, almost welcoming the sting of the thorns, jolting me from my numbing fear. I grasped my magic, my gaze sliding to Zhangwei’s, then to Lin and Mei—praying they would catch my meaning—while Aunt Shou and Dalian remained a distance behind. Drawing a deep breath, I hurled the vine down, right through the shimmering gateway. It sank through the liquid, splashing the surface, delicate sprays of water arcing wide. Dalian and Aunt Shou scrambled further to safety, while Lin and Mei shielded themselves. And Zhangwei had vanished.

Screams of anguish erupted, punctured by a ferocious crackling. The soldiers closest to the gateway collapsed, clawing at their faces, tearing at their armor. The lights of the gateway swarmed mercilessly across them—as they had over the bird—blazing with vicious brightness, devouring the soldiers whole. As they twisted and writhed in the throes of death, I looked away, sickened by their torment, at what I’d done. Most were simply following orders, but they would have killed me without hesitation if commanded to. I would not trade my life for theirs.

Captain Rao sprinted forward, unfortunately unscathed, his sword drawn as he headed toward me. Lin and Mei raced to block him, but more soldiers closed around them. As Dalian and Aunt Shou hurried to the shoreline, I rushed down the narrow stairway—but Captain Rao blocked my path.

I backed away, trapped—my only weapon, the scythe. Swiftly, I channeled a shield over myself as Captain Rao reached the ledge, advancing toward me menacingly. “I knew you were lying about the transformation. I told Lord Dalian as much, but he was blinded by his desire to open the gateway.”

“And I knew you were a vile snake, the day you tore out my soldier’s heart,” I spat.

His eyes slitted with rage. “Let’s see what color your heart is once I’ve ripped it from your chest.”

Fury roiled, eclipsing my terror. “You’ll never get that far.”

As he slung his sword at me, I ducked, slashing out with the scythe. It was too short, Captain Rao evading with ease as he thrust his blade at me again. I threw my scythe up to catch his blow, straining beneath the force. He was stronger, more skilled, with the better weapon—but I couldn’t give up.

I dropped my arm without warning, darting to the side. As he staggered forward, thrown off balance, I raced for the stairs. He lunged at me, grabbing at my ankle—but someone sprang between us, flinging the captain aside with brutal force. Zhangwei stood there, his eyes blazing with wrath. Such relief swept through me, such joy. Without looking away from the captain, Zhangwei tossed me my sword, my fingers closing gratefully around the black jade hilt.

“The God of War,”

Captain Rao snarled, pushing himself to his feet.

“Touch her again and you’ll die.”

Zhangwei’s voice was dangerously taut as he lifted his blade, pointing it at the captain. “But for what you did, I’ll kill you anyway.”

I straightened, unsheathing my sword. “I’ll kill him myself.”

Captain Rao’s eyes fixed on Zhangwei’s weapon, shining with power, the color draining from his face. When the captain charged at him, Zhangwei didn’t evade, instead slamming a fist into his face. The captain went sprawling to the ground, blood oozing from a cut on his cheek. He blinked wildly as though stunned—the ferocity of Zhangwei’s blow shocking me too.

As Captain Rao fled down the stairs, Zhangwei leapt from the ledge to land gracefully on the ground. His sword arced to slash at the captain again and again, Captain Rao swinging his weapon in defense—his movements growing clumsy and frantic. As the captain turned and ran away, Zhangwei stalked after him—but other Wuxin soldiers surrounded him now. As they closed in on him, he kicked one, then punched the next, the shove of his elbow sending a third flying. He brawled as well as any mortal, like he’d been born to it.

I rushed toward him, my pulse racing. A soldier leapt into my path but I didn’t halt, swinging my sword wide as light crackled along the blade. It slammed into the soldier who fell to the ground. This weapon had always felt like it fit my hand, and now it was almost a part of me, seamlessly melding with my power. It seemed like a lifetime ago when I’d fled from the Winged Devils, their helpless prey—and in way, it had been. At last I reached Zhangwei, Lin and Mei close by his side as they fought Wuxin soldiers together. The distant shore beyond the inlet was crowded with boats, most having landed. Soon, Dalian’s reinforcements would arrive through the mountains. We were running out of time.

Zhangwei flung aside the soldier battling him, to come to my side. His eyes raked me, as though searching for injuries—then flicked toward Dalian in the distance. “You know what has to be done.”

I nodded even as my insides recoiled. “Be careful with him.”

“As I would with myself,”

he promised.

The remaining Wuxin soldiers surrounded Dalian and Aunt Shou protectively, their swords pointed our way. Lin and Mei advanced to attack them, with Zhangwei joining the fray. He edged closer to Dalian with deadly purpose, forging a path with his merciless blows. As Dalian turned toward the barge, fear struck me. If he left, Chengyin would remain trapped—Dalian would kill him after what I’d done. I couldn’t let him escape, not while he had Chengyin’s body.

“Lord Dalian, I was surprised you were so easily tricked by a simple disguise,”

I called out mockingly as I discarded the illusion over my eyes, letting the copper fade

His face was white with fury. “What are you?”

he taunted me. “Not one of us; not one of them. You’re nothing.”

“Fortunately, I don’t care what you think.”

I unclasped the bell at my waist and tossed it toward him, the gold glinting as it landed by his feet. How liberating to no longer hold my tongue.

“What did you do? How did you halt the transformation?”

he demanded.

“Try asking nicely.”

I repeated what he’d said to me in the cell. He’d hate that. I made myself look at him, not at the others—especially not Zhangwei who was drawing closer to Dalian.

“Don’t you dare condescend to me,”

he seethed.

“Enough, Dalian.”

Aunt Shou tried to pull him away. “We must go. It’s too dangerous here with the God of War.”

He swung to face her. “Did you know about her, Mother? That she was lying?”

A denial sprang to my lips, the instinctive urge to defend her—but I smothered it. If Dalian thought he’d been betrayed, he might be incited to rashness. Aunt Shou had shown Grandfather no mercy either, sending him to the immortals to confess. Shame flooded me; this was ruthless—cruel, even. And for the first time, I thought Mother and I might not be so different after all.

As Aunt Shou nodded jerkily, Dalian went pale. “You betrayed me.”

“I was trying to convince her—”

As she reached for him, he shoved her back. “You lied. You told me her transformation was complete.”

A sharp laugh. “Why did you protect her? Did you care for her more than me, your own flesh and blood?”

“No.”

Her voice broke, her expression haunted. “Let them go, my son. Enough suffering has been caused.”

She gestured at the river behind us. “We don’t need the realms beyond; we can build a great kingdom here. I can’t lose you as I lost Damei—”

Dalian’s eyes slitted with rage as he drew back and struck her across her face. Aunt Shou pressed a hand to her reddened cheek, the hurt in her gaze piercing my heart.

“Never compare me to my sister. Never question my decisions. Nothing is over until I command it,”

he snarled.

He stiffened abruptly, his hands clenched. The mask of Chengyin’s face quivered, his body shuddering as though he was struggling with himself.

I stared at him, holding my breath, willing my friend to appear. “Fight him, Chengyin!”

I called out, on the fragile hope he could hear me. “You are stronger than him.”

Dalian laughed, a breathless rasping sound. “This weakling will never escape. Once I’m done with him, I’ll flay the skin from hi—”

His words died. His teeth bared, the veins pulsing along his neck and arms. His body jerked wildly—as he pulled a dagger from his waist and thrust it into his own gut.

Aunt Shou’s scream rent the silence, my own ringing in my mind. Chengyin . . . it was Chengyin. It was his eyes that flicked to mine, warm and bright, devoid of the malevolence that had stamped Dalian’s domination over him. Somehow Chengyin had wrested back control over his body, though the price had been too high. How had he done it? In a flash I understood: It was Dalian’s cruelty to his mother that broke the hold. His mother—theirs.

The Wuxin stilled, staring at their leader—but all I saw was my friend, fear gripping me as blood spilled from the gaping wound in Chengyin’s abdomen. A peaceful smile stole across his face; he looked like himself again. I pushed my way through the others, to drop down beside him.

Chengyin’s hand grasped mine, his skin icy. “I don’t want to die.”

How frail his voice was.

“You won’t. Not until you’re old and gray and can barely walk—”

His laugh cut off as he gasped for breath. I clasped his hand, trying not to look at the deep gash in his body. The eyes he turned to me were gentle and knowing. “You were always a terrible liar.”

I bent my head, fighting back tears. “Only because you knew me so well.”

Aunt Shou rushed toward us. Her hands glided over Chengyin’s injury as she tried to stanch the blood flow, magic gleaming between her fingers as she muttered feverishly. Still, his wound did not close—healing was a rare skill among the Wuxin, much less for an injury this severe.

I grasped my magic, but Zhangwei shook his head in warning. Where was Dalian? He hadn’t emerged. Tears of fury pricked my eyes; I couldn’t help Chengyin yet.

“Heal him!”

Aunt Shou cried to me, almost pleading. “Why are you hesitating? There is nothing Chengyin wouldn’t do for you.”

My nails dug into my palm as I forced myself to play this despicable part, to not waste the one chance Chengyin had seized for us. If we didn’t force Dalian out, it would all be for nothing.

“Chengyin would not have wanted this, Aunt Shou. He would never want us to sacrifice the kingdom for his life, to be used as a puppet for evil.”

The words left a bitter taste, but I couldn’t relent.

Aunt Shou clutched my arm, weeping now. “You can’t let him die.”

I steeled myself, though inside grief racked me, terror clawing that it might be too late. “You know, deep down, that Dalian won’t release Chengyin—and if he does, it will only be to kill him. Dalian is cruel, vicious, and envious—especially of those better than him.”

I hurled each insult, hoping they’d strike to pry him loose.

I bent to touch Chengyin’s cheek, loathing myself in this moment. “I love you . . . but I won’t save you.”

My heart twisted until it was on the cusp of breaking. I wanted to take back these vile words, but Aunt Shou’s gasp rooted me to the spot. My eyes darted to Chengyin, his form wavering as I’d seen it do once before. A mask seemed to split from his face like a shadow separating from a body—the features settling to form Dalian’s, solidifying to flesh.

He loomed over Chengyin, who was curled on the ground, the earth dark with his blood. “Why do you weep for the mortal, Mother?”

Dalian spat, his white hair falling over his face.

“I weep for your brother and for you.”

She wasn’t hiding her feelings anymore, like something inside her had snapped. Had she realized that no matter how she loved him, Dalian would only see the ill in the world?

As Dalian lunged toward me, Zhangwei blocked his path, his sword thrust out. The Wuxin soldiers rushed to protect their leader—just less than twenty remained, but their reinforcements would arrive at any moment.

I swooped down to Chengyin, freed at last from the cruel captivity. Gathering my magic, I laid my hand on his wound. He was cold, his skin ashen. Each breath came shallow and weak. He was fading fast. Our magic could not heal injuries formed by age, or from natural causes. But this tear of flesh, I could heal, if it wasn’t too late.

My magic flowed in a ceaseless stream. But although Chengyin’s wound was closing, it wasn’t fast enough. I held him tighter, channeling as much of my power as I could into him—until at last he stirred, the bleeding stemmed. Yet he was still weak, gravely so. I had to get him back to Tianxia, away from the danger. But I couldn’t do it alone, almost exhausted from the strain.

I caught Aunt Shou’s eye. “Help me get him home.”

She nodded without hesitation. Her eyes shone as she bent to kiss Chengyin’s pale cheek. As his eyes fluttered apart, his face twisted with the awakenings of pain.

“Mother,”

he whispered. “Are you well?”

“I am now, my son. Remember that I love you—always.”

She touched his face tenderly. “The soothsayers called you unlucky when I brought you into my family. How wrong they were. I was lucky to have you in my life.”

A gentle smile stole across his face, tears shining in his eyes before he closed them once more. I was crying too, pierced by their sorrow, their love. Aunt Shou’s power encircled Chengyin, melding with mine to form a powerful barrier around him. Her magic summoned a wind that rose up to bear him away—through the slit in the gateway, back to the safety of Kunlun.

A howl of rage erupted from Dalian. His gut was still bleeding, a mirror to the wound Chengyin had inflicted on himself. Captain Rao and his soldiers were fighting Zhangwei, yet he held his ground against them with ease, closing in on Dalian with each foe he brought down. If we could kill Dalian now, this would end. An eagerness seized me, an impatience for this to be over—for us to be free.

My resolve hardened as I advanced toward Dalian, my sword raised. He didn’t seem to notice as he threw his head up, gripping the bell at his waist—not of gold as I’d originally thought, but streaked with bronze too. As light flowed from his hands, the bells of the soldiers surrounding him chimed once—then shattered with a startling crack. Captain Rao’s eyes went wide as he groped for his bell, but it was too late; the metal breaking apart like the others.

Glittering streams of copper and gold glided from the shards, flowing into Dalian’s bell like rivers merging into the sea. It blazed like living flame, the light seeping into Dalian—the color returning to his face as his wound healed, his hair gleaming like polished silver.

Lin and Mei backed away, exchanging wary looks. Their bells were intact, a shield cast over them. After all, they’d never trusted their ruler. Aunt Shou’s remained untouched; even Dalian wasn’t as heartless as to hurt his own mother.

A groan rose from the Wuxin soldiers, collapsing to the ground. “Lord Dalian,”

Captain Rao rasped through clenched teeth. “Why are you doing this to us? We are loyal to you. It’s forbidden to harvest our strength; you are killing us.”

“Your sacrifice will be honored.”

Dalian’s voice rang with a new resonance, a cruel indifference.

“Just as you honored the Winged Devils?”

the captain raged. “You promised to help them if they attacked the immortals, that they would rule the Golden Desert. You sent them to their deaths—a sacrifice that you did nothing to honor. You lied to win their service, just as you lied to everyone about the Wangchuan River—”

“Enough!”

Dalian flung his hand out, a flash of green light striking the captain right between his eyes. They went white at once, then closed, his body going limp.

The other soldiers shuddered, their expressions marked with fury and sorrow. “We are your own people,”

one gasped. “We don’t want this.”

Already they were fading to watery reflections of themselves. Hollows caved in their cheeks, their hair turned translucent, their skin papery and thin. Their cries melded into the whistling of the wind, their bodies disintegrating, leaving just the shells of their armor.

“Dalian!”

Aunt Shou cried, her body shaking. “This is forbidden; a heinous deed. What will the people think?”

He sneered as he glanced at me. “We will tell them the ‘truth,’ Mother. That they killed them.”

I was shaking my head as Zhangwei took my hand. “We must go. Now.”

Together.

A small part of me didn’t want to go yet, but he was right. We turned to race to the gateway—but then bolts of green light hurtled down, fencing us in. As we sprinted the other way, Dalian appeared, blocking our path, the copper in his eyes spread all the way through, his power rippling like a cloak of shadow.

We were out of time.