Silver Phoenix (35 page)

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burning and a pile of spirit money—gold and silver-foiled coins. The flame from one white candle flickered in the wind. “I am unable to conjure food,” the Lady said. Was she a goddess as well?

Ai Ling carefully searched through her knapsack and pulled out a packet of nuts and dried mango, given to her by Master Tan so long ago. She also found the last two strips of dried beef, Li Rong’s favorite.

“I can offer these,” she said.

“And I have rice wine,” Chen Yong said. He placed a finely carved gourd on the altar.

The Lady began chanting the song of mourning in a singsong voice as Chen Yong bent down and started the fire. He looked up at Ai Ling. “Help me.”

She joined him and fed the spirit money into a bronze bowl. The embers fluttered around them. There was a chill in the air and the skies were overcast, the day darker and colder than before. She did not know how much time had passed, how long they had been on the mountain.

She felt again Li Rong’s reassuring touch when they had first descended on this mountain. No, he shouldn’t be dead. Not when someone like Zhong Ye lived. She would bring him back—even if she needed to use the dark arts to do it. Li Rong had died because of her. She would do anything.

The Lady’s chanting was soothing and hypnotic. She clapped her hands at certain points, swaying like a delicate 195

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orchid. “The body wears to sand,” she sang. “Yet the teach-ing of goodness will always linger. . . .”

The spirit money burned bright, and then dimmed to a few points of glowing red.

“Place his belongings at his feet. It is time,” the Lady said.

She gently laid a yellow cloth over Li Rong’s face and placed a sky blue one over his body. She touched the platform, and the black sticks beneath roared into bright fl ames.

They crackled, spread, and illuminated Li Rong’s face, making him appear lifelike again. Soon the flames engulfed him. Ai Ling and Chen Yong stepped back from the pyre as the wind blew across the barren mountaintop, feeding the fi re.

She caught glimpses of him still. He shimmered and wavered until he was lost, and she turned her face away.

Chen Yong stood beside her, their shoulders touching.

She looked toward the Lady, who faced them, standing close to the fire, unaffected by its heat. Their eyes locked, and her arms prickled despite the roaring flames. The Lady’s gaze pierced through her. Ai Ling looked back to the pyre, willing her face to betray nothing.

A low wail erupted from Chen Yong as he fell to his knees. He hugged himself and banged his brow against the ground, the keening never stopping. It flooded her with grief. She too collapsed to her knees, allowed her sorrow to voice itself in a piercing cry. She banged her brow against the black rock of the mountain, giving herself to 196

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physical pain until her vision swirled with orange fl ames.

They remained prostrate until the fire burned itself out, until darkness fell and a sickle moon shimmered down on them. The air was frigid. The stars were distant, indifferent—so unlike the sky that had comforted Ai Ling the evening before, when she had bathed in the Scarlet River.

“It was a proper funeral for a hero,” the Lady said.

Suspicion coiled within Ai Ling. Why hadn’t the Immortals prevented this?

“Are you a goddess, Lady?” Ai Ling asked, her voice quiet.

“It’s been so long that I’ve been held captive—I do not know anymore. Come, you can rest in my sanctuary tonight.”

Ai Ling recalled the Lady’s light touch on her shoulder, the warmth of her healing mingled with the scent of delicate honeysuckle. She knew the Lady was good, but a part of her did not know if she could ever fully trust her or the Immortals again. Not now.

The Lady in White led them down a path through jagged black rocks, a path that had not been there when they first alighted on the mountain. The ice tower was gone, and in its stead, a white circle hewn into the ground gleamed in the moonlight.

The Lady’s gown emanated a silver sheen that made it easy for Ai Ling and Chen Yong to follow her. She led them to a small, simple hut built into the side of the mountain.

A pine tree the same height as Chen Yong grew by the 197

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wooden door. Wild honeysuckle nestled beneath the window ledges. Their hostess pushed the door open, and they followed her inside.

The small room was rectangular in shape, cozy for one person and crowded for three. The wooden beams above were high, allowing for the Lady’s tall stature. A square lacquered table dominated the room, and a lantern sat on it, a bamboo pattern etched in the glass. Two other lanterns hung from the high beams, casting a warm glow.

“I regret I have no food to offer. But there is a well at the back of the house, and its water is refreshing. I do believe I have a jug of wine hidden somewhere, if you’d like,” the Lady said. She looked like she needed neither refreshment nor rest. Incredible, if she had been held captive as long as she claimed. Unease curled around the edges of Ai Ling’s grieving heart. Perhaps they had been used by the Immortals to rescue this woman.

“It would warm me up, I think,” Ai Ling said. She had never drunk wine.

The Lady glided to a small bamboo bureau in the corner.

She returned bearing a round tray with two wine cups and a jug. She filled both cups. “I wish I had more to offer for your act of bravery.”

She kneeled, handing a cup first to Chen Yong, then to Ai Ling, her back curved. Embarrassed, Ai Ling quickly took the cup and sipped without thinking. The liquid cut a hot path down her throat, easing the coldness 198

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within her belly and the bitter ache of her chest.

“Who held you captive, Lady?” Ai Ling tried to keep the tone of her voice respectful, rather than accusing.

Chen Yong raised his head from his wine cup and met her eyes with an inscrutable look. Ai Ling pursed her lips—she never knew how he felt or what he thought—and turned her full attention to the Lady.

“My twin brother,” she said in a quiet melodic voice that brought to mind lute strings plucked beneath a full moon.

Ai Ling gasped. She took another sip of the wine, welcoming the searing heat that fi lled her, slowly numbing her anger, her pain.

The Lady turned to gaze out the window, her face filled with sorrow. “I was well loved by my father, educated, encouraged to learn and travel, treated as if I were a son. My twin brother was intelligent and talented in his own right.

I know not why the jealousy burned so deep within him; it ate away at him, tainted his spirit. . . .”

Her porcelain face flushed with color. “We were never close while growing up, so I had no inkling of his resent-ment toward me. There were just the two of us. Mother died when we were but six years.

“It was only when Father died ten years later that I understood how deeply my brother despised me. He locked me within my quarters, refusing me the right to visitors, turning away friends as well as suitors.”

The Lady remained on her knees, her back straight, 199

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turning her face from Chen Yong to Ai Ling as she told the story.

“After two years of imprisonment in my own home, I escaped. I traveled as far away as I could, until I reached the summit of this mountain. And it was here I made my home.

For years I stayed here alone, the mist and stars as my companions, the birds and pine rodents as my friends.”

“But your brother found you?” Ai Ling asked.

“He appeared on this summit fi ve years later, unrecognizable. I looked into his face and saw nothing of my twin. He ranted and raved about how I was favored by my father—

but the truth was, I was treated as an equal to him, never more.

“And as he spoke and paced, my beautiful mountain darkened, the leaves blackened and shriveled, the life bled away.

He raised his arms, and a crystal tower thrust upward from the peak. He stripped me of flesh and body and imprisoned my spirit within those walls.”

The Lady finally bowed her head, her hair ornaments clinking like chimes. “That was more than a thousand years ago,” she said.

“A thousand?” Ai Ling breathed.

“He had given himself to the dark arts. He conjured the monster you slew to hold me captive in the tower and prevent rescue or escape. My home, this mountain, has been under an enchantment.” She surveyed the room. “It’s as if time stood still.”

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