Master Shen held the ocarina to her lips and blew.
Nothing.
The grandmaster of the School of Guarded Fists tipped his head in bemusement.“An ocarina that plays no music,”he said.
Shen Ài wrapped it carefully in the red silk handkerchief and placed it back in the box. From within, she drew out a note made on rice paper and read:
The map lies within.
When the time is right,
This ocarina will sing for the Ruin of Gods.
There was utter silence on both sides of the veil long after the echo of Shen Ài’s words faded.
“The note is from Méi’ér,”the woman finished.“She must have hidden the maps inside and sent it to us for safekeeping as a last resort.”
Blood roared in Lan’s ears. Méi: plum blossoms. The flowers that bloomed against all odds in the cold of winter. The ones Mama had been named for.
“In that case,”the grandmaster said quietly,“we must hide the box and adhere to Méi’ér’s final will: that none will find it until it sings. We must stake our lives on protecting it, if necessary. This is the legacy of the Order. Whomever this ocarina chooses will hold the keys to the Last Kingdom…to the world.”
Shen Ài’s expression steeled.“Yes, shi’fù.”
Footsteps sounded hollowly; a third figure burst into the room, noticeably younger, face open with panic.“Shi’zu,”she gasped,“the invaders have breached the gates of the village! Our disciples have fallen.”
The grandmaster’s face was shadowed, sober as he brushed a hand to the hilt of his sword.“Gather the remaining disciples and begin the incantation for the Boundary Seal. I am right behind you. Go.”When the disciple disappeared again, he turned to Shen Ài.“I can buy you one bell at most. Will you complete this last task?”
In the face of death, his expression was one of serenity.
“Shi’zu. Grandmaster.”Shen Ài sank to her knees. From somewhere beyond the circle of her spirit light, the explosionswere growing louder. Distant screams rent the air. A single teardrop trickled down her cheek, yet her voice was steady as she said,“For this, my life I vow.”
“Kingdom before life, honor into death.”The grandmaster drew his sword.“Peace be upon your soul, and may you find the Path home.”
Shen Ài stood, cradling the box to her chest. The silence was heavy as she crossed to the back of the chamber, each breath and footstep stirring the unquiet souls resting in the room.
The master lifted a hand, touched a finger to the wall as one might hover a brush over paper, and began to trace. Within the first few characters of the Seal, Lan was lost. By her side, Zen watched with intense concentration, gaze tracking each stroke as though carving it into his mind.
At last, when Shen Ài’s hand arced in a slow, smooth circle, Zen made a sound in his throat. “The Final Art,” he muttered.
The strangest thing was happening. The wall was morphing before Lan’s very eyes, ridges appearing where there had been smooth stone, doorknockers sprouting. Within moments, a second set of doors appeared. Overhead, a sign read:Chamber of Forbidden Dreams.
Zen stepped forward. Curiosity burned in his eyes. “It is tradition for every school to have a chamber holding its most sacred art of practitioning. If the grandmasters and masters elect a disciple to enter that chamber, it is considered the highest honor.”
“The Chamber of Forgotten Practices at our school,” Lan supplied, thinking of the brief conversation she’d had with Chue on her first day of class.
In the memory unfurling, the doors swung open. Inside the chamber was a table with a single scroll. Master Shen stepped forward and placed the box with the ocarina by its side. Shegave the box and the note—the note from Lan’s mother—one last, lingering look before shutting the latch. The click echoed.
Then she stepped back and waved a hand—and the wall began to close again.
“No!” Lan darted forward, but Zen caught her arm, pulling her back. “The chamber’s going to seal itself—”
“It is but a memory,” Zen replied. “And I sense it is nearing its end. Let us not disturb the message Master Shen has painstakingly left for us.”
The scene before them flickered like a candle rippling in the wind. When Lan blinked again, it had shifted, the graylight sweeping across the room in a tumultuous tide.
The doors were open, the orange light of fire catching across the chamber. Disciples lay dead across the entrance. From beyond came screams of pure, unadulterated terror, wails and sobs of pain that dug into Lan’s heart.
Master Shen stood in the center of the chamber. She seemed to have just finished a Seal; it shivered in the air, glowing pale blue for moments before disintegrating. The entire room had changed. Gone were the bamboo mats, inkpots, brushes, and rice paper. Gone were the bookcases, the centuries of tomes that had quietly held the words, poems, and stories of an entire people. The chamber had been swept bare except for the rosewood table and chair in the center.
