Zen frowned. “You had a dream?”
“Sort of. I think it was a vision. My mother was in it, andshe told me—” The girl sucked in a breath, giving him a frightened look—a look of one who had said something she wasn’t meant to. “I think I’ll find out what’s in this scar—this Seal.”
He was silent for several moments, taking her in: torn páo and mussed hair, hands callused and swollen from a life’s work at the Teahouse, speech tinted with the accent of the working class. She’d told him nothing of her background, of where she’d come from and who she was.
A question surfaced again—one he had pondered since he’d picked up on that trail of qì in the old man’s broken shop. What was a girl with a practitioner’s Seal and a powerful latent connection to qì doing as a songgirl in a lowly teahouse?
Zen straightened slightly and inclined his head. “I do know a Guarded Mountain. It was once home to the prestigious School of Guarded Fists.”And one of the last strongholds of the Ninety-Nine Clans,he thought, but he did not say it. “Fortunately, it happens to be about two days’ travel from our destination. I can take you.”
He tried to ignore the look of gratitude she gave him. Hearing mysterious songs in the night, being chased by an Elantian Alloy, and now a vision directing her to one of the schools that had been run by members of the clans of old…If taking her there would bring him one step closer to understanding it all, Zen would do it.
—
The winters down south were different from those in his homeland up north, yet as they made their way northwest, the facade of summer fell into a semblance of autumn as bamboo yielded to the crisp scent of golden larches and frost pines. One morning, Zen woke to mist threading around them, a hint of frost fading as sunlight filtered through the canopy in watery drips.
They had taken care to avoid roads, but here, where the trees grew thick and the shadows stretched long, there were no large human settlements. Whereas Haak’gong, at the southern tip of the Last Kingdom, was a sprawl of rolling hills and soft beaches, the central and northern regions were underdeveloped and sparsely populated compared to the east coast, in part due to the mountainous landscapes, which yielded little land for farming. Aside from the Jade Trail, few roads had been excavated in this area. The landscape was rugged, and the trees grew together too closely, making progress difficult. The Elantians, too, had been stalled by the indomitable terrain. The central region of the Last Kingdom—known to the Hin as the Central Plains—was one of the areas they had not managed to conquer. Conspicuously missing were the strongholds and flat cement roads that marked the sprawl of Elantian trade routes throughout the land.
Zen loved it out here. There was a grand, untamed beauty to this kingdom that no poem or epic could do justice. Mountains plunged into the silver skies above, mists coiled around them like sleeping dragons. Rivers grew wide and plentiful, spilling into lakes that might have been oceans. One morning, he woke to a flock of white herons taking flight, their majestic wingbeats echoing long after they were barely stitches against a silken blue sky. Here was a land unsullied by Elantian rule. A land he could still fight for.
The girl kept up a pliant demeanor, following in his steps without complaint, duly carrying out the meditation exercises he assigned her. Much as Zen watched for them, he caught no more traces of yin energies from her. She was pleasing; laughter came to her quickly, sparking across her face like wind brushing against chimes. Where he had always found conversation a chore, it seemed to delight her—a talent he attributed to her cycles of working at the Teahouse. Once or twice, hethought he caught a glimpse of the stubborn girl who’d unflinchingly smashed a teacup into his head, but otherwise she seemed determined to get along with him, or at least try.
She took care not to mention the incident with the yao or anything related to demonic practitioning. She listened carefully as he lectured her on principles of the Way. Each night, she sat by his side and held out her arm as he examined it, testing his Seal to ensure that it remained strong enough to hold the metal at bay. The magician’s metalwork—silver—was sinking deeper and deeper into her flesh and bone. The longer they left it, the more difficult it would be to root out without damaging her ability to channel qì. Most worrisome was that the parts of her arm impacted by the spell were beginning to turn purple.
“You’re certain Guarded Mountain is a destination you wish to visit?” Zen asked her a week into their travels. They had found a burbling stream where they could wash and made camp for the night there. He’d built a fire to keep them warm as they dried. Her left arm rested on his knees as his fingers paused to prod acupuncture points with small bursts of qì. He supposed it shouldn’t, but the fact that she had stopped flinching or shying away when he touched her arm inexplicably pleased him.
She looked up, chin in hand, eyes bleary with sleep. “You said it was on the way, didn’t you?”
“I did.” He pressed another nerve. “But if it is indeed protected by a Boundary Seal, as you mentioned, it may take us time to find it.”
She smiled drowsily at him. “I’m sure you can do it.”
Zen focused on her arm. It was these moments when she regarded him with complete trust that he found most difficult to guard against.
“You use your practitioning so sparingly.” She’d shut hereyes, her voice drifting quietly to him. “If I were as powerful as you, I’d use my practitioningallthe time.”
He pressed his lips together. “ ‘Power must be used sparingly, at the discretion of the user. It must never be abused.’ Classic of Virtues, Chapter One, Verse Five.”
One of her eyes popped open, peeking at him. “Youdohave the entire book memorized.”
“Yes.”
She shifted slightly. Her next words came in a murmur. “My mother told me that it is the duty of those with power to protect those without.”
He had no idea what to say to that—it wasn’t in any of the classics he’d memorized, or in any of the supplementary texts he’d come across.
Instead, he prodded a nerve point. “Does this hurt?”
A shake of her head.
“Hmm.” He frowned.
“Should it hurt?” She perked up slightly at his tone, eyes opening. “Is something wrong?”
“I am afraid that the longer we leave your arm like this, the worse the repercussions.”
Lan sat up, fully alert now. “Didn’t you say your Seal would protect it temporarily?”
“Right, but…” He thought for a moment on how to best explain it to her. “How long it will last is only an approximation. And the condition will continue to worsen at an unpredictable pace depending on the strength of the magician’s spell—and the power of my own Seal.”
