Spirit Hunter (12 page)

Together, the wolf and I leap.

I look down and I see Autumn Moon on the floor beneath me, breathless. My hands press down on her skinny shoulders, but only one of my knees is pinning her leg. With the other, she kicks so fast I’ve not time to even blink, and rolling sideways, she snatches herself away from my grip. Now I’m face-down on the hard floor, one arm twisted behind my back.

She barks out a short, dry laugh and lets me go, calling out to Eighth Daughter. I sit up, rubbing my arm, half-dazed.

“Autumn Moon is pleased with you,” Eighth Daughter tells me. “She says you will soon know how to leap like a wildcat and fly like a swallow.”

Autumn Moon grins. “Good,” she says. “Good. We are the wolf. You know. Now this.” And she points at the flying swallow. But just as she stands up, Autumn Moon and Eighth Daughter both turn their heads to the courtyard. Autumn Moon frowns.

“Someone’s coming,” Eighth Daughter says. “One of us, running very fast. I hear the beating of his heart.” She means one of the Shaolin. My senses are sharp enough to have brought me through the Blind Trial, but will I ever be able to hear so keenly as the rest of the Shaolin?

Swiftarrow flies into the hall. His spirit-horse rears on her hindlegs, mane tossing: a much stronger creature than when I first saw him.
Murderer, filthy murderer
. He stumbles to a halt before us and I look away; Eighth Daughter stares open-mouthed at his lack of grace, and he unleashes a torrent of angry words at Autumn Moon. Autumn Moon watches calmly, saying nothing. He shouts at her again, the first time I have heard a raised voice in this temple. Eighth Daughter’s cheeks are flushed deep red. Is she ashamed on Swiftarrow’s behalf? For a moment I wish I knew what he was saying, but why should I care about him?

At last, Autumn Moon raises one hand, palm outwards, as if pushing away Swiftarrow’s anger. He falls silent, standing so still the life seems drained from his body. Autumn Moon speaks to him as if no one else is here, and his spirit-horse lies on her side, fading again. Swiftarrow turns and walks out of the hall, back into the courtyard.

Autumn Moon does not watch him leave, just bows at me, speaking quietly to Eighth Daughter, who is still red in the face. She jumps up, pulling at the sleeve of my black silk tunic, so cool and still unfamiliar against my skin.

“Come, Asena!” Eighth Daughter grins at me. “Autumn Moon says it is time to eat. Hano has brewed a good broth for us.”

The Shaolin may use their skills to fight anger and selfishness, but I intend to use these same tricks for another purpose.
You will save us from the T’ang,
Shaman Tulan told me. I have failed my people once, but that does not mean I will do so a second time. Swiftarrow was nothing but a tool in the Empress’s hands. Killing him would be a waste of time. But if the Empress herself were to die, the T ’ang would have bigger fish to trap than the Horse Tribes. The Emperor is weak. They say he is too sick to leave his bed. Without the Empress, the Imperial throne will be as good as empty, the Tribes safe. I will have paid all I can give for those who died at the Gathering: my own life. I will not kill the Empress and survive.

I shall learn everything Autumn Moon has to teach me, and I will do it well. I will sneak into the Empress’s chamber more silently than a cat, and I will leap at her throat like a wolf bringing down a deer.

M
oon-silvered clouds hung above Chang’an, pale against the black sky. In the Forbidden Garden, the temple was quiet. In one chamber, a lamp and a brazier had been lit, casting a puddle of yellow light out of the window. Long shadows stretched across the courtyard. Red Falcon stepped out of the chamber, closing the door behind him, and crossed the courtyard into the hall.

From beyond the darkness and peace of the Way, Swiftarrow felt a hand on his shoulder. He returned to his senses with a jerk, aching all over. Night had fallen and the temple hall was dark. Silk drapes fluttered, pale and moonlit. Red Falcon’s painted beasts were all in shadow now. Swiftarrow’s throat ached with thirst. Not a drop to drink nor a mouthful of food had passed his lips since dawn, when he’d left for the palace. The air smelled of incense and freshly fallen rain. He sat back on his heels and turned to find Red Falcon kneeling at his side, scarred face twisted into a smile.

“Come. Autumn Moon has a wish to speak with you.”

Swiftarrow sighed, longing for lost peace, trying to shut out the echoes of Lord Fang’s mocking voice. Yet it was not only Swiftarrow’s father who haunted him, but she – Asena. Even in the hall today she had stared past him as if he were not there, then simply looked away. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw her face.

“Brother,” he said, “it took me long hours to find peace. Am I now to be chastised?”

Red Falcon helped Swiftarrow to his feet. “Do not drag me into your battles. Hano heard you blow up like a handful of dragon-powder all the way from the cook-room. The poor man nearly sliced off one of his own fingers.” He stopped smiling. “No, it’s to my mind that she wishes to speak with you of some other matter.”

“What, then?”

“Let Autumn Moon tell you herself.” Red Falcon laughed. “Ah, but we have been trying to teach you patience for ten years. Come.”

“You might at least try harder, then,” Swiftarrow said, but Red Falcon only smiled, and together they crossed the courtyard, arms about each other’s shoulders.

Swiftarrow followed Red Falcon into the painting chamber. The air was heavy with the musty smell of ink and damp silk. Autumn Moon sat alone near the brazier, holding out her hands to the warmth. A tray of cups lay before her beside a porcelain jug. Swiftarrow caught the scent of stewed flowers as he sat down: jasmine tea. He bowed, meeting his mistress’s calm gaze.

“I bid you both goodnight.” Red Falcon bowed and went out, shutting the door.

“Pour, Swiftarrow, I beg you.”

“Forgive me, O temple-sister.” Swiftarrow lifted the jug and poured a share into each cup. “I am sorry.”

Autumn Moon’s hand shook very slightly as she picked up her cup, and Swiftarrow stared in alarm. “You came rather too close to speaking publicly of your task for the Empress: you know it is forbidden to do so.” She sighed. “Yet what concerns me more is your uncontrollable passion. Such anger never leads to good,” she said. “But in truth it is I who must apologize to you, Swiftarrow. I was wrong to choose duty to the Palace over the Path of Peace: we should not be laying information before the Empress, knowing men die as a result.” Autumn Moon shook her head. “Red Falcon, Snake-eye and I have all whispered secrets to the Empress that led to bloodletting. We as good as killed those men ourselves. But I should have refused when she asked for you, Swiftarrow. You have not yet fifteen summers—” She broke off, closing her eyes, steadying herself. “Have you spoken to Hano or Red Falcon about where Snake-eye has gone?”

Swiftarrow shook his head.

Autumn Moon took a sip of her tea. “While you were gone, I sent him to Mount Shaoshi.”

He drew in a sharp breath. “All the way to the Great Temple?”

“Yes. It was necessary. I believe we should return there. Twenty winters ago, the Shaolin came to Chang’an with the Abbot’s permission. I could not go back to Shaoshi without it. We cannot escape the Empress altogether, but if we get beyond her immediate reach, I hope she will turn her interest elsewhere once the anger has passed, as a child forgets a lost toy.”

Swiftarrow stared at her a moment, turning over the news in his mind. If the Shaolin left Chang’an, he would not have to infiltrate Lord Ishbal’s camp outside the city walls and betray the Horse Tribes again. And perhaps, in time, there would be a day when Asena did not look straight through him. He closed his eyes and saw her long dark eyes, the slope of her shoulder, the curve of her waist.

What am I thinking?
He longed to hold the girl he had captured.
Thrice-cursed fool,
he told himself, furiously.
What good will this serve? It will lead to nothing but trouble.
But he could not escape it: he would have given anything for Asena not to hate him.

“Well?” said Autumn Moon, giving him a searching look. “Does the news not please you? Swiftarrow, since you came back from the west, you have been either snapping like a wounded dog or more dazed than a toad in a barrel of ale. What else troubles you, besides the Empress’s demands?”

He said nothing, staring at the steam rising from his jasmine tea.

Autumn Moon sighed, taking a sip from her own cup. “Again, the fault is mine,” she said. “When the Empress demanded you bring me a barbarian to train, I should have told you not to take a girl. Swiftarrow, I ask you to remember what is forbidden in the temple. Seven years shall pass before you must choose whether to take final vows but, even if you leave us, do not forget that heedless desire only causes pain. And Asena is alone, without her family and grieving for those she has lost as a result of our actions – consider her peace of mind.”

“You need not worry! She despises me.” He looked away. Why did Autumn Moon see so much? Could he hide nothing from her?

She sighed, shaking her head. “Poor girl. I am glad to have her among us, but the sooner we are all free of the Empress’s whims, the better. Tread carefully, Swiftarrow. Do not be ruled by your heart.”

“What about my sister?” Swiftarrow said, quickly. “Autumn Moon, I cannot leave her in the House of Golden Butterflies for ever. They talk of her beauty from tavern to palace but what kind of man would take her to wife?”

Autumn Moon took a sip of tea. “White Swan knows what we intend. Red Falcon went to the monastery in the Entertainment Ward last ten-night, when your sister was listening to the sutra in the meadow with the rest of her kind. If White Swan chooses to come with us, we will be honoured to escort her. But we shall go nowhere till Snake-eye safely returns with word from the Great Temple. The Abbot shall choose our path. My dearest hope is that he will allow us to leave Chang’an.”

“But what if the Empress hears of this before Snake-eye returns?” Swiftarrow pushed away the thought of Snake-eye caught travelling without Imperial permission, questioned. Tortured, even. It was unlikely that Snake-eye would be snared by the Empress’s troops, and yet still possible.

Autumn Moon nodded, slowly. “Then let us hope that she does not hear of it.”

In the same instant, Swiftarrow and Autumn Moon froze at the sound of distant hoofbeats.

She took another sip from her cup, unruffled. “An eager visitor, indeed.”

“I shall wake Red Falcon and Hano.”

Autumn Moon smiled. “You have your faults, Swiftarrow, as have we all, but sluggish wits is not usually one of them. Consider it: who would be foolish enough to attempt harm to the Shaolin in our own temple? And I hear only one horseman. No match for us.”

He shrugged and followed her to the window. She pushed open the carved cedarwood shutter, and moonlight flooded into the chamber. The courtyard was silent, but Swiftarrow could hear the horseman coming closer and closer. The drumming hoofbeats grew muffled as the rider took his mount across the grass by the Pool to Release the Living, then sharper as they crossed the beaten-earth outer courtyard.

Swiftarrow’s heart thudded; he drew a long breath, calming himself. Autumn Moon stood steady as a mountain. The inner gate flew open and a horseman rode into the courtyard, the long sleeves of his robe billowing, hair flying free: Lord Fang.

“He is drunk.” Swiftarrow felt a chill slide down the back of his neck. Not once in the last ten years had Lord Fang come to the Forbidden Garden.

“Never mind that,” Autumn Moon said. “Come with me and we shall see what he wants.”

“I do not care what he wants,” Swiftarrow replied. It was a lie.

E
ighth Daughter and I sit on her bed wearing only our night-tunics, linen coverlets tangled about our legs. By the moon’s light, I am weaving her hair into fresh plaits, combing out the tangles, just as Mama used to do for me every night, and I for her.

We each draw in a sharp breath, rushing to the window as a rider on horseback thunders into the courtyard, the long sleeves of his court robe flying out behind like flags. The gelding’s fear sickens me; I reach out for his mind, which is a-whirl with swirling clouds of crimson and black.
Be calm, brother. Be calm.

“It is Lord Fang,” whispers Eighth Daughter. “Great heavens! What can he want? He is one of the Empress’s closest advisors, you know. He writes poetry for her.”

Down in the courtyard, Autumn Moon and Swiftarrow step from the shadows. The horseman, this Lord Fang, jumps a little at the sight of them. Eighth Daughter grins. Just as I’m about to ask her what this night-time meeting is all about, the horseman dismounts in a flurry of silk robes. Even from this distance, it is clear he has taken too much wine.

Swiftarrow’s spirit-horse is strong and bright with misery; I taste the bitterness of his sorrow from here. Why does he care so deeply? What hold does this Lord Fang have over him?

“So what is he here for?” I whisper.

Eighth Daughter opens her mouth to answer but then stays silent to hear what is being said.

“He’s talking in a lot of flowery palace speech, but he says that Swiftarrow behaved very badly at court—” Eighth Daughter whispers, hurriedly; she lets out a gasp— “and that he went off without begging the Empress’s leave – he says it’s lucky she chose to be amused. But
he
was not.”

“What is it to do with him, anyway?” I begin, swept up in the mystery of it all even though I don’t care three mares’ teeth what happens to Swiftarrow. “What is Lord Fang—”

“She is not one of your slaves,” Swiftarrow snaps, down in the yard, “so do not speak to my mistress as if she were.”

Lord Fang strikes him across the face with the back of his hand.

Eighth Daughter and I both gasp. Why did he not dodge the blow? Even I could have done so. Autumn Moon lays one hand on Swiftarrow’s shoulder.

Lord Fang speaks, again so quickly that I cannot make out the words.