The stranger asks the red dragon, king of all that is above, if he might teach him how to control the rains to help the withering crops back home.
The red dragon shakes its mighty head. “The wind and rain and sun and snow cannot be tamed by any one man. No mortal shall possess the power to control the Heavens, lest he anger the Gods.”
The stranger next implores the green dragon, queen of all living things, if she might instruct him on how to tame the violent beasts lurking in the shadows.
The green dragon denies him as well. “Beasts shall do what beasts always have. No mortal shall possess the power to impede their free will.”
The stranger falls to his hands and knees before the blue dragon, prince of every refreshing river, mountain spring, and pond. The stranger beseeches the mighty beast for a way to ease the suffering of his dying people.
Believing his intentions to be noble and true, the young prince is moved by the stranger’s words. The blue dragon shifts, his form shrinking down to resemble that of a man. He has a striking face and even more mesmerizing blue eyes.
“I will teach you how to heal and bring ease to your people,” he says to the stranger.
For reasons he cannot explain, the young prince feels an unquestionable connection to the traveler before him. When he looks down at his hand, he understands why. He, just like all descendants of the ancient bloodline, can see the magic running between them.
They are connected by a red thread of fate.
9
I’m convinced that Feng hasthe worst bedside manner this side of the mountain border, but I’m nonetheless grateful for the salve of crushed roots and mixed herbs she’s applied to my wound. It’s nothing more than a dull ache and throb now, the poultice upon my forearm sealed beneath tightly wound strips of linen. There’s no denying she’s an excellent healer, her rough handling aside.
She’s a striking woman, fierce and untamed, possibly a few years older than myself. Her clothes are stitched together from the pelts of different animals—a boar, a tiger, and what I assume was once a snake. Her complexion is darker than mine from her hours spent outdoors, her black hair cropped just above the shoulders, the wild strands framing her face curtaining over her dark brown eyes.
“How much farther?” I ask.
“If ye ask meonemore time—” Feng groans. “I already told ye, we’ll arrive by midnight.”
Feng has me on horseback while she leads on foot by the reins, navigating through the twists and turns of the jungle with impressive ease. Though I was hopelessly lost in this maze of never-ending green, I quickly learn the markings Feng uses to find herway. I hadn’t noticed them before: different symbols carved into the bark of the trees, some highlighted in heavily pigmented paints.
A column of three horizontal slashes accompanies the sound of rushing water up ahead. A large red cross warns of the dark thicket just around the bend, angry beasts growling louder as we pass their territory. There are triangles, too, pointing us in the direction of smoke—a campfire some distance away. It’s not long, however, before the etchings give way to more permanent path markers.
Small statues carved of stone sit atop fallen stumps or deliberately placed rock piles. It’s clear that they’re well looked after, for though the statues are easily decades old and visibly worn from wind, rain, and time, none of them are covered in moss or leafy debris. In fact, many trinkets have been left at their feet, ranging from melted candles to small bits of jewelry and pieces of fresh fruit.
Every single statue is in the shape of a dragon, its mouth open in mid-snarl, its long tail curling behind it, with a front paw raised to brandish a fearsome claw. They’re not unlike the dragons we carve upon our doors back home in Jiaoshan. It seems some superstitions transcend borders. Perhaps we’re not so unlike our Southern brothers.
“How long have you been tracking it?” I ask Feng, shifting slightly in my saddle. My inner thighs are chafed and throbbing. “How did you know where to find the dragon?”
“Didn’t,” she confesses stiffly. “A happy coincidence, but I was trackin’ the fei.”
“Bless you.”
“No, ye moron. A fei beast. That’s what attacked ye.”
My palms grow clammy at the memory of the creature’s vile form. The echo of its voice—not quite human, but not entirely animal—clatters inside my skull. I’ve heard of fei beasts, just as I’ve heard of evil spirits, forlorn ghosts, demons… and dragons. All ofwhich, until recently, stood in my mind as nothing more than the imaginings of ancient myth and superstition.
“Do you hunt them often?” I ask.
“Only when they cause problems for my village.”
“What sort of problems?”
“Fei beasts’re harbingers of rot. They kill every plant they step on and poison the waters they wade in.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, half tempted to tell her thatanyplant is likely to die when stepped upon, but I decide against it. The knife at her hip looks dangerously sharp.
“Haven’t seen one in years, though,” she continues. “It’s bad luck. Somethin’s changing in the air, I fear. And now there’s a dragon.”
Holding my breath, I lean forward slightly in my saddle. “You didn’t seem as surprised as I was to see it. Have you encountered one before?”
