The rustle of leaves, the snap of a branch, the scuff of a sole against stone. Zen’s eyes flew open just as the doors to the Chamber of Clarity shut with an insidious creak and the lamps extinguished. He could sense the other presence in the room, her qì cutting hard and sharp with the tang of steel swords.
Ulara.
She stepped in front of him, parting the darkness like a blade. The edge of her dao pressed cold against his neck. “Ihave always thought the school too bureaucratic and fond of rules.” Her voice was low, clinical. “My clan delivered justice with as much swiftness as we did death.”
Zen held very still. Despite the cold, a trickle of sweat wound down his temple. His binds, secured by Ulara herself, held tight.
“I know you and that little fox spirit are planning something,” Ulara continued. “ ‘Hear the song of the ocarina and follow its power?’ One cannot change the nature of one’s soul, nor the history written into one’s blood. You may be able to fool Dé’zi, but I have always seen you for what you are,Temurezen.”
It had been a long time since he’d heard his truename. The sound of it had always inflicted a combination of guilt, grief, and fury inside him, which was why he’d taken a moniker.
But now Zen found that he no longer cared.
“History has always clouded your judgment, Ulara,” he replied. The blade bit into his skin; one breath drawn too deep, one slip of Ulara’s finger, and his neck would be sliced open. “But in this case, perhaps you have struck wrong yet hit right about me. I care not for the state of my soul, nor do I care any longer to follow the Way. My father and my family attempted that—yet they ended up dead anyway. If I can sacrifice my soul to serve the greater good, is that not a worthwhile trade? The mistake the Nightslayer made was that he gave his soul yet never attempted to command his Demon God. Had he mastered its powers and been able to control it instead of letting it overpower him, our history would have become a different tale.”
“You—” Ulara’s eyes widened as the realization hit. Her hand gave a sudden tremor and Zen felt her blade split skin, felt a warm trickle down his neck. “You cannot possibly be planning to find the Demon Gods.” She searched his face,and whatever she found lent horror to hers. “No. Has history taught you nothing? After all these cycles, havewetaught you nothing?”
“You all punished me for something I did in an attempt to avenge my family; you all cared more for your petty rules and superstitious fears than for what our true focus should be: to defeat the Elantians and to reclaim our kingdom.” Finally, anger that had long cooled in his heart flowed out like molten lava. “You and I are meant to be on the same side, Ulara. The enemy of my enemy is my friend—yet you have never treated me as such. All I have ever wanted was to fight with you and the other masters against our common enemy.”
He could no longer see Ulara’s face, but her blade caught the dredges of a lowlight as she angled it slightly. “We were never on the same side,” she replied quietly. “Perhaps we could have worked to drive the Elantians out and save the Last Kingdom, but whatever world comes after that cannot hold us both. I should have done this long ago. Forgive me that I could not take a child’s life all those cycles back. Now that we stand as equals, I will have no qualms about taking yours.”
Cold gripped him. He tested his hands, but they were tightly bound, his fú papers out of reach. “Ulara—”
“I am sorry, Zen,” she said, and she might have truly meant it. “Understand that I do this for the safety of what remains of our people. One life for the greater good—may the gods look kindly upon you. Peace be upon your soul, and may you find the Path home.”
A cold wind gusted as the moon spilled out from between the clouds, Falcon’s Claw glinting in the light. Sometime during their conversation, the doors behind them had slid open, shrouding the room in a dusting of white—broken by a small black shadow.
Music rang out, only it wasn’t simply music. Zen felt thenotes cleave the air like a Seal, the qì gathering and sharpening around the sound in a vortex. He had seen this, just the night before, through a haze of pain.
Ulara never even had time to react. As the notes hit her, her back arched and her lips parted in a silent cry of surprise.
Without another sound, she fell, Falcon’s Claw clattering to her side.
“That’s an acupunctural point, but hit it hard enough and you’ll cut out your opponent’s qì,” Lan said shakily. “Seems I did learn a few things here.”
Zen exhaled. “Lan.”
She was by his side in an instant. Her left arm was wrapped in gauze, but she raised the ocarina to her lips with her right hand and blew.
As two notes sounded, quick and staccato, the qì around them shifted. Something sheared through the air past both of Zen’s ears, and then he felt jerks of impact on his chains. With faintclinks,they dropped to the ground, cut clean through at the cuffs on his wrists.
Zen fell forward, his arms searing with pain. He felt Lan’s fingers on his face, cool against his feverish skin. He hadn’t realized just how weak his body was until this moment. One thought pierced through the haze in his mind, and he felt the corners of his lips curl. “You came for me.”
“Don’t be a stupid egg,” she replied. “Of course I did. I’m not hunting down those Demon Gods by myself.”
His smile stretched; he couldn’t help himself. Perhaps it was the pain that had made him slightly delirious. “With your current fighting abilities, you might be of some use as demon fodder.”
“I changed my mind. Perhaps I’ll leave you here after all.”
“No.” In a single motion, he wrapped an arm around Lan’swaist. Her familiar scent of lilies enveloped him as she turned to him. “I need you.”
Gently, she took his other arm and slung it over her shoulders, then drew them both to their feet. He straightened, wincing as the wounds on his back burned. His páo hung over his shoulders in tatters. In the olden days, a student punished by the ferule was not issued a new outfit for several days; walking around a school or town with ragged clothing marked one as having committed a severe violation against the morals of one’s school.
“You are certain,” he said, his breath ragged at the exertion, “about this? Once we go…there is no turning back.” He needed to know—he could not live with the guilt of destroying the small piece of shelter she had found. “Where we go, there will be no safety. No guarantees.”
“There was never any safety or guarantee,” she replied. “Not in a world like this. So long as the Elantians exist, there never will be. The masters have been in Skies’ End so long, they have forgotten what life looks like for those of us on the outside.” She shook her head. “Skies’ End feels like a world of the past. And that’s what it will become unless we can stop the Elantians. I fully intend to fight for what’s left of our people and our kingdom.”
The night was starless as they fled the Chamber of Clarity, their footfalls hidden by the murmur of wind through pines that had risen on the mountaintop. At this hour, disciples would have long been in bed, and Zen knew that the masters were congregated in the Chamber of Waterfall Thoughts.
