The Firebird's Vengeance (12 page)

“What happened?” she whispered, but her words rang as loud as the song had. “Where is my guardian?”

She sounded lost, like a small child. But there was no comfort to offer her, no words, no learning. They stared around them, looking for answers on stones meant only for protection and prayer. Yet, there was still that something, that final spark of power, growing stronger, calling without words.

“Do you feel it?” asked Xuan. “Do you feel that?”

But none of the others heard him, they were too busy babbling out their own questions.

“Where are they?”

“Why do they not speak to us?”

“What have we done?”

There was light now, more felt than seen, a warmth in his veins. En Lai was on her feet, shedding the robe that should have become her skin. She stared at her human hands with their unaltered markings as if she did not know what to do with them. Tears streamed down her face.

She did not feel this thing. It was not for her.

Like a man in a dream, and yet at the same time utterly sure of what he must do, Xuan broke the circle. He walked to the altar. En Lai stumbled past him, moving in the other direction, seeking the comfort of the others, but he barely saw her. Thirty years ago he had walked this path. He had crossed these stones, lifted his foot, taken these last steps to the center of the altar of sacrifice, had stood with his brothers and sisters in art all around him. Thirty years ago, two hundred years ago, a thousand years ago. But they had been singing then, weaving the great spells with their voices. They had not stood mute and staring. He had been the one who stood still then, waiting for the transformation, waiting with open heart for what must be. He had not stood with his hands and eyes lifted toward Heaven. His had not been the voice to cry out.

“Come home to me! Be welcome and speak to us of your freedom! Tell us how we are to redress the wrong that was done!”

His had not been the eyes to see the golden streaks of fire across the night sky, shining more brightly than any comet’s tail.

I kneel before you
, he said with all the power of his mind reaching out toward his guardian, to this other part of himself and the element to which he was bound.
I offer myself for my failure
.

In his mind, he heard the voice of his guardian give answer.
Too late. Too long. I possess you already. I will have my retribution
.

Too late, the damage already done. As Tsan Nu had said.

He knew what was going to happen, knew it with his whole being, as he knew how to breathe or his heart knew how to beat.
There are innocents here
.

You knew what had been done to me. You knew and you did nothing. You feared and you schemed, but you did nothing
.

Tears ran from Xuan’s eyes. He reached up to the fiery form. He would have embraced it gladly and let himself burn, to be whole again. To be as he should have been.
Let us help you find the path to Heaven
.

Anger poured over him.
That is why you think I do this? You burn in my heart and you think I could not find my way?

And Xuan saw. With heart’s eye and mind’s eye, he saw. He felt his wings and the rage of his own fire. He rose into darkness, the only light in the Heavens.

Free. Free. Finally free.

He stretched his wings out their whole, great length. His fire, his life, his heart and song rose for the first time in all the long, slow years. His captor was dead, dead, ash and dust behind him and the cage was gone, was gone, was
gone
.

The veil between worlds was as nothing. To enter the Silent Lands was only to return home, filling its unchanging skies and shifting illusions with his song and his fire. The powers lifted their heads and took note of his passing. Let them see. His captor was dead, his cage was ashes, and he was free. He would fly, and he would go to his true home and there would be peace and rest, and no more pain.

He spiraled higher. The sky became black and filled with fabulous stars that shone like diamonds with fire that lit up nothing but endless darkness. Those stars watched the Phoenix spiral higher. They watched comets fly beneath its wings and their own dust coat its feathers, only enhancing its brightness. Higher, and higher yet, singing out into that world where there was only darkness and fire, singing of what had been done, singing of coming home.

At last, overhead the sky paled from black to blue and all the stars fell back in reverence as the light of Heaven shone down upon them. Tears spilled from Xuan as the Phoenix cried in gladness and stretched its wings to be enfolded into the pure sapphire light that was heart and home. Soon all of Heaven would know its suffering, and its curse would fall upon its captors and those who abandoned it.

But even as he approached Heaven’s light, it receded, leaving him in blackness. The Phoenix, Xuan, the Phoenix, cried out in confusion and beat its wings harder, climbing yet higher. But still the blue sky fell back, as if it were only illusion.

Frantically, the Phoenix called out. All the true names of the kings of Heaven were in that cry, Xuan knew that even though he could understand none of them. The Phoenix called out to its creators like a lost child calling for his parents. But they just turned away, pulling in the boundaries of Heaven like the hems of a silken robe, and for all that the Phoenix cried tears like small stars and for all that it called out and beat its wings, rising higher and rising faster, still Heaven retreated before it and would not pause so that it might enter.

Exhaustion can come even to a child of the gods and at last the Phoenix’s wings began to falter. The ethereal realm would no longer support it and it began to fall, back into the darkness, back among the lesser stars who watched it with pity and contempt, back into the green of that space fit only to wrap up the mortal worlds and hold them in their courses.

All that long, weary fall, the Phoenix cried. It cried because it knew why it fell and it drove that understanding deep into Xuan’s heart. It fell because it was corrupted. It was no longer pure in its being and its purpose. This the Nine Elders had done in their neglect. This they had left it to. Exile, loneliness, pain, and Heaven’s denial because it could not rid its heart of anger.

Would you show me the path to Heaven? How? It was you who tore Heaven from me!

Xuan collapsed to his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks. He still wept as the first flames blossomed from the wooden roof beams and the Phoenix screamed out its anger over the Heart of the World.

Chapter Four

Mae Shan woke to the scent of burning.

Her eyes flew open and she was on her feet before she was fully awake, one hand on the knife in her belt. Night still darkened the nursery, but red and gold light flickered through the screens that blocked the way to the garden, casting dancing shadows on the floor.

Fire
.

Now that the word penetrated her mind, Mae Shan smelled the acrid smoke and heard the crackling, tumultuous noise of a mounting blaze. She ran to the window, shoving the heavy shutter up.

Outside, she saw the familiar shadows of the Moon Garden and its heavy walls, but all was illuminated by the vicious, dancing light, turning the willows the colors of blood and brass. A talon of flame jutted over the western wall, releasing sparks to touch the topmost leaves of the garden’s trees.

The great bronze alarm bells began to toll to the north. Black silhouettes raced past on top of the walls, some carrying spears and axes, some hugging clothes or bedcovers to themselves. Screams and weeping joined the clamor of the bells.

Mae Shan automatically looked eastward to the Heart of the World, with its golden tower standing sentinel over all. Flames stretched up the sides, halfway to the roof. Clouds of grey smoke billowed into the air like dragon’s breath.

Mae Shan’s heart froze, but reflex remembered training and duty. She had to get her charge away from here. Now.

Mae Shan ran to the inner chamber.

“Wake up!” she shouted to the two maids snoring in their beds as she raced past. “Fire! Fire! Wake up!”

As the sounds of slow waking rumbled and rustled behind her, Mae Shan laid her hands on the rosewood door. Hot, too hot, and she could hear the rush of flames beyond it. The fire was already in the corridors. Confusion rushed through her. How had this happened so fast? Such a fire should have taken hours to start. Where was the Heart’s Guard?

She had been trained to wake at the sound of an unfamiliar footfall. How could she have slept through the rising of such a blaze?

Wei Lin?
Unbidden, her heart called out to her sister who slept in the companions’ quarters with silken sheets and maidservants all around her.

How much of the palace burned? What if Wei Lin were still asleep?

Behind Mae Shan, one maid proved she was finally awake by shrieking like a startled kettle. Then came the clatter of a screen falling, and wordless, horrified cries. The other maid was beside Mae Shan in an instant, yanking at the door’s handle with terrified urgency.

“Let me out! Let me out!”

“No, you fool!” Mae Shan shoved her aside. “The door’s hot. The corridor must already be burning. Get your mistress. We’ll go through the garden.”

The maid stared at her, the light of the blaze reflecting in her frightened eyes. She gathered up the hems of her heavy sleeping robes and bolted again, vaulting over the screen her fellow servant had knocked down, and was out in the garden without pause for anything but her own escape.

Mae Shan gaped for a second, not believing such abandonment of duty. But then, she heard another sleepy, small voice.

“Min Lao? Mae Shan?”

Mae Shan raced back to the inner chamber. She crossed the room in three strides to stand beside the carved bed that was much too large for its tiny occupant. Tsan Nu sat up. The child pushed her waving hair out of her round, pale eyes and blinked up at her bodyguard.

“There’s a fire, mistress. Come to me.” She held out her arms.

Tsan Nu stared at her for a moment, but instead of running to her guard, she dove under the bed. Mae Shan gawped for a moment and then heaved the bed to one side, exposing the startled child clutching a pair of black slippers.

Mae Shan did not give the child a chance to speak another word. She snatched a coverlet up with one hand and Tsan Nu with the other, wrapped the one over the other, and threw the squirming bundle over her shoulder. She sprinted past the toppled screens out into the Moon Garden.

The flames were not here yet, but the heat was. It played across Mae Shan’s skin like the flickering lights. Smoke wisps drifted through the air like the morning fog, rasping against her throat and lungs and drawing tears from her blinking eyes. The willows swayed in the unnatural wind, as if trying to pull away from the heat.

Tsan Nu’s faithless maids had reached the inner southern wall, the only wall not crowned in flame. They beat upon the wooden door, struggling futilely with the bar and lock. The younger of the two cried up at the silhouettes that raced or struggled past on the stone road formed by the tops of the doubled outer walls. No one paused. No one shouted down, although they called out to each other, their voices making no more sense than the constant roar of the flames.

Disgust joined fear and anger inside Mae Shan. More voices screamed overhead, urging her to look up. She ignored them. She could not afford to look back now. She could not be frozen in her tracks. Her whole duty was to see the wriggling child in her arms safely out of this disaster. All else came later.

She strode to the edge of the nearest round pond. A soft and heavy thing hit the ground behind her, and another. The maids wailed to all the gods in Heaven. Unseen women shrieked and screamed. One might be Wei Lin, Mae Shan’s beautiful, laughing, loyal sister. She closed her ears even as her heart cracked open.

“Hold your breath!” she shouted, and she dropped Tsan Nu into the water. The girl screeched, coughed, and sputtered, but Mae Shan paid no attention. She dragged the dripping child and sodden coverlet back into her arms and ran for the southern wall.

“What’s happening?” screeched Tsan Nu, beating at the cover with her free hand. The other hand still clutched her shoes. “Mae Shan, what’s happening?”

“Hold still!” snapped Mae Shan in reply, not caring at the moment what her young charge thought, as long as she obeyed. If she struggled too hard, she’d slow down their escape, and any delay could mean a blocked exit, or a lost chance.

Get through the Sun Garden. Make for the Heart’s courtyard. All stone. Nothing to burn. No way to spread the fire
.

The two maids still beat upon the wall’s locked door. Mae Shan thrust a hand into her shirt to bring out the bundle of keys she wore next to her private purse. She found the right key by touch and thrust it into the hands of the older maid.

“Open that door!”

Startled, the woman shoved the key into the door’s black iron lock and turned it.

Where are the Nine Elders? Where is the rain they can bring?

“Put me down!” cried Tsan Nu, fighting her way free of the soggy coverlet. “Mae Shan, what’s happening?” Then, her pale eyes saw the fire leaping over the top of the walls, and her mouth hung wide open and silent.

“Hurry!” screamed the younger maid, beating her soft fists against her older compatriot’s back. “Hurry!”

Mae Shan did not slap the foolish maid, although she wanted to with all her heart. Instead, as the lock snapped open, Mae Shan shoved the bar aside with her free hand, throwing open the door to the causeway between the walls.

Each palace in the Heart of the World was surrounded by three walls. There was an inner wall, then a stone causeway for carts and foot traffic, and then a doubled outer wall, which held the garrisons and basements within it and the soldier’s way above. At a glance, Mae Shan saw a dozen shadows, fleeing down the causeway, outlined in flame. Behind the shadows, a section of inner wall had crumbled, allowing the fire to claw its way out. To the left, the way she had hoped to run, she saw a tree blazing above the inner wall, already teetering and ready to fall.