Once underway, it did not take long for the questions to start. But then, there was not much to do when one was a severed head in a sling being carried through a forest.
“A spherical world?” Yagjie asked, partway between curious and disbelieving. “How did you keep the cold ones from running amok without a border?”
“The what?” Irene asked. In the hours they had been walking, the faintest hints of what might be a path had appeared, and she followed it now. Above the forest canopy, the sunlight still shone down like it was mid-morning
“The demons, the devils, the savage creatures that shy from the light,” Yangjie said, voice floating up from behind her back. “They cannot cross over the shoulder to the Inner Ring easily, but a spherical world would have no such barrier.”
Irene frowned. The shoulder must be the space between the inside and outside of the ringworld. “We don’t have those. Our planet rotates as it orbits the sun. Do you have a day and night cycle here?”
“The Heart of the First Cultivator turns ever onwards,” Yangjie said.
“Do you mean…the sun?” Irene said, glancing upwards.
“No, I mean the Hea- you truly do not know anything, do you?” Yangjie said. He seemed more disturbed than mocking, and for that reason alone Irene let it slide. “The Heart turns, giving us light while it faces us, and darkness as it shows its back.”
“Why do you call it that?” Irene asked.
“It is said that the Heart is all that remains of the First Cultivator, set ablaze after he lost his beloved. That it still blazes is a testament to his love for her, and the pain of her passing,” Yangjie said.
“Was he a historical figure?” Irene asked. “A real person, I mean.”
“There is enough evidence that few care to deny it outright,” Yangjie said, delicately. “It is not a contested topic.”
“That’s surprising,” Irene said.
“What evidence there is suggests that the very Ring we live on was created by Him,” Yangjie said. “There are few who are inclined to pick a fight with such a being.”
“How long ago did he live? Where did he come from?” Irene asked. She couldn’t tell if this First Cultivator was a god figure or a heroic myth, or both.
“He was said to walk the Ring thousands of generations ago,” Yangjie said. “And it is held that he lives still.”
Irene glanced up. “The Heart. Right.”
“You should perhaps avoid asking about the First, if you wish to avoid attention,” Yangjie said. “It is not a topic spoken of commonly.”
She nodded, before remembering he couldn’t see her. “Right. What about his beloved? Was she the Second Cultivator?”
“Nobody knows,” Yangjie said, voice implying a shrug. “There is no record of her beyond her relation to the First.”
“Ugh, of course,” Irene said, making a face.
Croak, Charles said, commiserating. He had become very comfortable on her shoulder, even with his injury, and seemed to enjoy surveying the world from his throne/perch.
“Is it different, in your own world?” Yangjie asked.
“Is what different?” Irene asked.
“The accepted truth of the First Cultivator.”
“Oh. We don’t have those either,” Irene said.
“You don’t have an exemplar to aspire to?” Yangjie said, almost scandalised.
“We don’t have cultivators at all,” Irene corrected him.
Yangjie spluttered, taken more off guard than when his head had been severed from his neck. “No cultivators??”
“None,” Irene said, relishing in his bewilderment.
“How do your people achieve anything?” he demanded. “Without sects to cull the cold ones-” he broke off, remembering her words. “A land without cold ones. It sounds…idyllic.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” she said, frowning, kicking a pebble along the path, and it was definitely a path now, even if hers were the only tracks along it.
“What threats are there, without the Outer Beasts?” Yangjie asked.
“Other people, mostly,” Irene said. “We kill each other an awful lot.” If an entire side of the ring was overrun by beasts like that hellhound, the people living here must have more pressing concerns than who owned what resources.
“Ah,” Yangjie said. “Your world must harken back to the Troubled Times, where sect warred against sect, and House against House, without the threat of the cold ones to unite us.”
“It’s better than it was,” Irene said, trying to be philosophical about it.
“At least you need not fear the clash of Old Masters,” Yangjie said. “It must be comforting to know a conflict can only intensify so much.”
Irene laughed without humour. “You would think so, wouldn’t you.”
Charles’ tongue snapped out, snagging some kind of flying spider three feet away, and she rubbed him on the back of the head, just behind his eyes. Croak, he said, appreciative.
“I see,” Yangjie said, sounding pensieve. “Perhaps struggle truly is universal.”
“What do you mean by ‘Old Masters’?” Irene asked.
“Those who have ascended beyond the ken of most mortal men,” Yangjie said. He began to warm to his subject. “Cultivators of peerless skill and masters of magnificent techniques, they can dispense more wisdom in a few words than some come to know in entire lifetimes.”
Someone was a fanboy. “Do they lead these Houses you were talking about?” she asked.
“If one who is not a Master becomes Head, they ascend shortly, or they are not Head for long,” Yangjie said. “But not every Old Master is Head of a House. There are wandering sages, hermits, shamans…there is an old saying: ‘Show kindness to poor strangers, for you never know.’”
“Never know what?”
“Never know if they might be an Old Master in disguise,” Yangjie said. “The sects lost more than a few arrogant young masters before the wisdom spread.”
Maybe those arrogant young masters should show a little common decency regardless of potential murderous old people, but that was none of Irene’s business.
“Although, sometimes it does seem that many of the great problems we face stem from an Old Master not heeding the lessons of their youth,” Yangjie mused, before pausing. “Do not repeat that,” he said hurriedly.
“What kind of problems?” Irene asked slowly. That sounded a bit more serious than some dictator not having the good manners to die of old age.
“It is impolitic to discuss such things openly,” Yangjie said. His voice sounded pained.
“Oh come on!” Irene said, gesturing around at the same lovely trees and the same rustic forest floor they had been passing by what felt like days now. “We’ve been walking through this forest for hours. The only things around capable of rational thought are you, me, and Charles, so spill that tea.”
“I, what?” Yangjie asked, taken aback.
“The gossip,” Irene said impatiently. “What have the Old Masters done?”
There was a long pause. More brochure-worthy scenery passed them by. A songbird warbled in the trees. Charles gave an impatient croak.
“...well. There are tales…” Yangjie started slowly. “Tales of a disagreement between two Masters. Some say they were the Heads of feuding Houses, others a wandering sage and shaman who each refused to give way when their paths crossed, but their names were purged from history, so no one truly knows. All we know is the consequence of their actions.”
“What’d they do?” Irene asked.
“They caused the Breach,” Yangjie said.
Irene made a questioning noise.
“I will have to provide you a list of topics not to ask about before we reach the city,” Yangjie said, fretting. “The Breach is - everyone knows of it - a path between the Inner Ring and the Outer. Were it not for the Twelvefold Fortress, the cold ones would spill through and overrun us all.”
“Is this breach nearby??” Irene asked.
“No, it is far away - we are in the lands of the House of the Monkey. The Breach is in the lands of the House of the Tiger, near their border with Rabbit,” Yangjie assured her. “Even if we were close, the Twelvefold Fortress is invincible, manned by cultivators from each House. Except Cat, of course.”
“Oh, of course,” Irene said.
“Must get started on that list,” Yangjie muttered, more to himself.
Croak, Charles said, mocking him.
The trees began to thin, the path taking on a faint decline, and Irene peered ahead, unsure if she had seen what she thought she had. She brightened, seeing it again. “There’s a lake ahead,” she said, picking up the pace.
“Does that mean something to you?” Yangjie asked.
“If there’s water, there might be civilisation,” Irene said.
“Civilisation, pah,” Yangjie scoffed. “We are still many thousands of li from true civilisation.”
“I hope they have food,” Irene said, ignoring him. “I’m starting to get hungry.” She was - the unreasonably filling sip of streamwater that had led to her first deathmatch of the day was a long time ago now, and her stomach was rumbling. A sudden realisation hit her. “Wait. What am I going to do about food?” Yangjie would be fine, she was sure - if he could survive decapitation, he wasn’t going to starve to death on account of an absent digestive system.
“Eat it, perhaps.”
“I mean how am I going to get it,” Irene said.
Yangjie made a dismissive sound. “Just call for a serv- oh,” he said, realisation colouring his tone.
“Yeah,” Irene said. “‘Oh’.”
There was a pause as Yangjie thought. “If there is a lake ahead, we are bound to pass by some miserly gathering of dwellings eventually,” he said. “You can acquire sustenance there.”
“With what money?” Irene asked, unimpressed. Yangjie had seemed impressive at first sight, but get him talking for a while…
Yangjie laughed, as if she was joking. “They will give it to you, as is your right as a cultivator on an important task.”
“Or I could not be the kind of person who steals from the poor,” Irene said, sarcastic. “What if they’re an Old Master in disguise?”
Yangjie huffed, but said no more. The trees did not thin further, but stopped all at once, leading to a picturesque lakeside shoreline. The turquoise waters shimmered prettily under the sun, and Irene couldn’t help but take in a deep breath, enjoying the cool air. There was a ghost of a sensation, a pleasant burn that reminded her of when she had sipped of the stream, but only for a moment.
Croak, Charles said, pointing out over the lake with his left stump.
Irene squinted as she followed his gaze, and after a moment, she saw what had caught his attention. There was a faint smoke column rising on the far shore, and within the trees, she could make out a number of small huts and dwellings. There were people going about their business, but they were too far away for her to make out details.
Looking down the shoreline both ways, Irene saw that the lake appeared to be peanut shaped, and that she had arrived close to the middle of it. It would be a long walk to approach the village on the other side. Unless…
She eyed the water speculatively, tapping the lightsaber hilt at her hip. It was hardly mirror smooth, but nor was it choppy, stirred only by the wind and whatever faint current ran through it. “What do you think, Charles? Can I go full Jesus here?”
Croak, Charles said, doubtful.
“I have a big invisible arm, a sparkly golden shield, healing mist, and I can Apparate,” Irene said. “Why not walk on water too?”
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Charles only peered at her from the corner of his large eyes, bristly eyebrows conveying his lack of faith.
Irene ignored her frog, stepping up to the lakeside. The water lapped at the rocky shore, and she raised one foot over it, concentrating inwards, trying to direct what she held within down her limb, twisting it to her task. She could feel it building, warming, and she stepped forward, only to promptly slip on a wet stone.
A ribbitting laugh came from her left shoulder, Charles not hiding his amusement.
“Ugh,” Irene said. “I’d like to see you do better, mister.”
Croak, Charles said, scorning her lack of common sense. He leapt from his perch, out into the water, and landed with a splash. Turning, he settled comfortably into the water, submerged from the nose down. Only his eyes and bristly eyebrows were above it.
Again, Irene tried to summon forth the strange new power from within, but again she failed. Whenever she tried to create a platform, or to firm the water’s surface, the power - her Qi, Yangjie had called it? - only sputtered out, failing to take form. Once, she thought she had succeeded, only to find that she had accidentally manifested the golden shield that sometimes protected her. Through it all, she had only Charles’ amusement and Yangjie’s increasingly pointed sighs to encourage her, and eventually she stepped back with a huff, slippers thoroughly soaked.
Naruto made this look so much easier.
“Fine,” Irene said, defeated. She looked each way down the shore, lips pressed together, trying to judge which way would involve less walking. Neither looked particularly appealing, both long treks after what was already a day filled with walking. At least she was used to long shifts on the wards, rarely getting a chance to sit down.
Croak, Charles said, sympathetic. He leapt up from the water, landing adroitly on his favoured perch that was her left shoulder, and made himself comfortable. Despite sitting in the lake, he was not dripping - it seemed that he had absorbed any excess water that might otherwise have sullied her nice new duds.
In the end, it was not quite as bad as she had feared. The breeze blowing in over the lake kept things pleasantly cool, even out from under the shade of the forest, and Charles was happy to snap up any insects that buzzed by. Her slippers were a lost cause though, first squelching unpleasantly with every step, and then threatening to come apart at the seams. It seemed that her loungewear wasn’t made for hikes through alien forests, and she shucked them entirely, stowing them in a pocket of her hanfu to avoid littering.
Perhaps because her goal seemed so close now, it seemed to take forever to make her way around the lake. She saw what was almost a large antlered deer, if not for the small three jointed arms protruding from its chest that dug for bulbs and roots. Something about it unsettled her deeply, so she hurried on her way, Charles twisting to eyeball it in warning. There were a few small watercraft out on the lake too, though the pairs using them didn’t seem to notice her, absorbed in their tasks.
Finally, she rounded the last bend of the lake, now on the same side as the village, and her trudging gained new purpose. She was almost there.
In her single minded blankness, Irene’s first warning that she had been spotted was a gasp ahead and to her left. Sitting by the waterline, next to the waterlogged remains of a large tree stump, there was a young man in simple clothes, not likely long out of his teens, if at all. He was patching a net, and he drank in the sight of her, his messy dark hair falling to just above light brown eyes.
“Hello,” Irene said. She hadn’t noticed him at all, his profile broken up by the stump to his right. She smiled at the thought of having another actual person to talk to, and one that probably wouldn’t try to kill her at that.
“Are you some manner of forest nymph, here to steal the lifeforce of young men?” the young man asked, not as subtle in his ogling as he thought he was. “If I win your pelt in a game of riddles, will you wed me?”
“No,” Irene said, voice flat. What the hell kind of mishmash of myth was that? She was suddenly less happy to see another human being. “But if you don’t give me some food I’ll punt you into the lake.”
Croak, Charles said, bristling eyebrows conveying the depth of his disapproval towards the young man.
Fright took hold of the young man’s features. “I don’t have anything,” he said, twisting from his comfortable slouch to kneel on the stones. “Please don’t punt me.” He leaned forward, kowtowing.
“Just…take me to your village. I’m not going to punt you,” she said, making a face.
“We have more than enough food to satisfy you, great one,” the young man - the boy - said, raising his head. When she didn’t immediately command him to avert his gaze, he rose further, only kneeling.
“Great, thanks,” Irene said, already incredibly done with it all. She should have stayed in the forest. “Lead the way.”
The boy sprang to his feet, net abandoned where it lay, and began to lead the way down the path that traced the shoreline. He looked back only to ensure she was following, gaze flicking to Charles. He swallowed, and hurried on.
Yangjie broke his silence behind her. “I seem to recall a recent conversation on the topic of food…”
“Oh shut up.”
There was no reply, but she could just imagine the look on his face. At least Charles wasn’t sassing her.
The village proper was only a short ways on, built right on the lakeside of primitive but well made huts. A crude pier extended over the water, though nothing was docked to it, and the shade of the forest covered much of the village away from the waterside. Most of the residents were busy with the work of the day, wherever that took them, but there were some still in the village, and they were quick to notice the arrival of a stranger. Their expressions were not friendly, though there was a pall of wariness - even fear - that stifled any overt adverse welcome. Instead they watched her from the doors of their huts, or the stumps they sat on, as Irene was led to the centre of the village. It could be called the village square, but that was too grandiose a term for the open patch of dirt. A tree dominated its centre, boughs stretching out to provide shade.
At the edge of the square, there was a table and chairs, with three old people sitting by it, dressed in roughspun clothes. They were wizened to say the least, two men and a woman, and they were playing some kind of game with small tiles, sipping at drinks with bamboo straws. The young man rushed towards them, like a child sprinting for the safe zone in a game of tag.
“Han, Fan, Yan!” he cried. “We have a distinguished guest!”
The three elders were in the middle of a staredown, but they broke off at the interruption. Three sets of sharp eyes shot to Irene, before suddenly blinking in rheumy confusion.
“Grandaughter?” one man asked querulously. A long wispy white beard grew from the point of his chin, and only his chin. “Is that you?”
“No, Elder Han,” the young man said. “This is-”
“My great niece!” the second old man said. The only hair on his head grew atop his lip, and fell to brush his collarbones.
“No, Elder Fan,” the young man said. “I think you’re-”
“Fools!” the old woman said. Her hair, still with faint traces of black through it, was coiled at the back of her head, a bamboo straw pinning it in place. “You don’t recognise my grandson’s new wife?”
“Elder Yan!” the young man said, nearly at the end of his rope.
“No need to shout, Hao,” Han said, stroking his beard. “Who is our guest then?”
“She is a great one, Elders,” Hao said, glancing over his shoulder at Irene. “She desires food.”
The three elders inspected Irene closely, eyes judging. She felt like she had been called up before the hospital board.
“Hello,” Irene said, fighting the urge to wave. “My name is Irene.”
As one, the elders took up their drinks and sipped noisily, before putting them down.
“Is that a cave toad?” Yan asked, glancing at Charles.
Croak, Charles said, greatly offended. His throat swelled out, taking on an even more vibrant shade of blue.
“No,” Irene said, offended in turn, though she didn’t know why.
“If it’s food you want, well we have a little to spare,” Fan said, moustache twitching. “Suppose you’re owed it as a great one.”
Irene held back a grimace. “I’m not-”
“No fancy cultivator food here though,” Yan warned her. “We’re just a poor village, far from the cities.”
“I don’t need-”
“Hope we have enough to satisfy you, great one,” Han said, bowing his head. “But we’ve known hunger before, and we will again.”
“Could you just-”
“Just accept their offer!” Yangjie said, unable to hold his tongue any longer.
“Who was that?” Hao asked, almost jumping out of his skin.
The three elders were all looking at Irene’s midsection.
“Is there a face on your stomach?” Fan asked.
“Because that would be a serious detriment to your health,” Han said.
Irene took a deep, fortifying breath. “No. I do not have a face on my stomach.”
“I am no meridian parasite!” Yangjie shouted, offended.
There was a pause.
“Are you sure?” Yan asked. It wasn’t clear which of them she was speaking to.
Reaching behind her back, Irene retrieved Yangjie from his sling.
“Not the hair-!”
“Sorry,” Irene muttered, shifting her grip on him, avoiding holding him by the hair or by the stump. “This is Yangjie,” she said to the elders. “He is not a face on my stomach.”
“Yangjie the Serene Peacock,” Yangjie corrected.
“Yangjie the Serene Peacock,” Irene said, voice flat.
There was another pause.
“Is he going to want food too?” Han asked.
“I guess we’ll have to dig into our stores after all,” Fan said.
“Not that we have food fine enough for the Serene Peacock,” Yan said, shaking her head.
“Look,” Irene said, almost rushing to get the words out. “I’d just like some food and somewhere to sleep for the night. In return I can -” she paused, as she tried to think of what she could offer them, before the obvious occurred to her. “-I can see about healing any injuries in the village.” She tired of holding Yangjie out, and settled him against her hip.
The three elders exchanged a look.
“My joints have been aching,” Han said.
Fan nodded. “Twisted my back the other day.”
There was a pause, and the two men turned to look at Yan.
“What?” she asked. “I’m the picture of health.”
The pair grumbled.
“Better than the Serene Peacock there, anyway,” Yan said, leaning back in her chair. “What happened to him?”
“Is he a rogue cultivator?” Hao burst out, unable to keep silent. “Were you sent out to bring him to justice?”
Yangjie was not pleased by the accusation. “A rogu-”
“The Serene Peacock suffered an unfortunate accident,” Irene said quickly. “I’m escorting him back to the city.”
“Which city?” Han asked.
“Uh. The Sector capital,” Irene said. Yangjie hadn’t actually told her its name.
“Hóuchéng City,” Hao said admiringly. “Elder Yan has such stories!”
“You’ve been there?” Irene asked, leaning forwards. “How far away is it from here? Are there roads?”
“Oh, once or twice, long ago,” Yan said, looking into her cup.
“The roads are usually decent enough,” Han said.
“Usually,” Irene said, already feeling a sense of foreboding.
“Usually,” Fan confirmed. “Some no good youngsters with too much time on their hands have taken to haunting the crossroads, charging tolls.”
That didn’t sound too bad. “That doesn’t sound too bad,” Irene said. They couldn’t be worse than the hellhound.
“They’ve killed three people since they arrived,” Hao said, looking down.
“That’s a bit more than no good youngsters,” Irene said, thoroughly alarmed.
“Bah,” Han said.
“Pshaw,” Fan said.
“Feh,” Yan said. “We would show them what for ourselves, if not for their leader.”
“They’ve killed people,” Irene said, compelled to point it out.
Yangjie coughed delicately, and Irene was suddenly reminded of her own kill count.
“For like, bad reasons,” she added.
Croak, Charles said. He patted her on the head in support.
The elders sipped noisily at their drinks once more.
“Wouldn’t be right to turn away someone in need of shelter,” Han said, stirring his drink with its straw.
“Spose we have the room for you,” Fan said, shrugging.
“We’ll find those in need of healing and ready them,” Yan said. Her eyes didn’t leave Irene, watching her.
“Thank you,” Irene said, bowing her head a little. “I appreciate it.”
Croak, Charles said, adding his thanks.
“Hao!” Han said suddenly, startling the young man. “Guide our guest to one of the empty homes, and help her settle in.”
“Try not to ask her to marry you,” Fan added.
Yan snorted, her thoughts on the odds of his success - either way - clear.
Hao flushed, ducking his head. “Yes, Elders.”
“And tell your sister to stop bothering my son before she’s finished her work!” Yan said, tongue sharp.
“Yes Elder,” Hao said, though this time it was more long suffering.
“Back in my day, we ran away to the city if we wanted to learn that sort of thing…” Yan said, before breaking off into indecipherable grumbles.
“Back in your day, the Breach hadn’t been caused yet,” Han said.
“Back in your day, the House of Cat still had open borders,” Fan said.
“Back in my day, people respected their elders,” Yan said tartly.
“Two weeks!” both men said, and the conversation only devolved from there.
Hao glanced at Irene and caught her eye, indicating with his head a nearby lane that led deeper into the village. He began to back away slowly from the elders, like sudden movement would draw their eye, and she followed. They left the square and the squabbling behind, walking down the shady dirt lane. A mutt watched them go by, not raising his head from its paws.
“I’m not going to ask you to wed me,” Hao said suddenly. He was staring forward, avoiding meeting her eyes.
“Didn’t you already do that?” Irene asked. She resettled Yangjie against her hip.
Hao’s slender shoulders hunched in on themselves. “I only really asked if you were a forest nymph.”
“Who would wed you if you beat in a game of riddles,” Irene reminded him helpfully.
The young man’s shoulders hunched in further, and Irene fought the urge to aggressively ruffle his hair. “But I didn’t actually ask-”
Croak, Charles said dismissively.
Hao cut himself off, eyes darting to the frog on her shoulder. He swallowed, and stepped away from her slightly.
“Why are you afraid of Charles?” Irene asked. Her frog wouldn’t hurt- well, he would hurt a fly, as well as any passing insect or hellhound, but he was still a gorgeous boy.
“That’s a blue river poison frog,” Hao said. “Juvenile, but still.”
“You hear that Charles?” Irene said to her frog. “You’re a blue river poison frog, yes you are.” She rubbed him on the back of the head, and he closed his eyes as he enjoyed it, eyebrows drooping.
“You touch him and live,” Hao said, jaw slack.
“He’s sitting on my shoulder,” Irene said, raising her brows at him.
“With your bare hand…” Hao said, staring in awe now, but apparently not hearing her words. Something caught his eye, and he blinked, distracted. “Ah, we’re here.”
‘Here’ was a hut on the edge of the village. The forest proper lay behind it, and it seemed that the dwelling hadn’t been used in some time, the thatch roof showing signs of neglect and the door sagging slightly. Hao opened the door to reveal a dark room, before stepping out of the way, to the side that would put him furthest from Charles.
Irene stepped up and through, inspecting things. The room was circular, like every other hut, and there was a window to the left, currently closed with a woven reed cover. The floor was dirt, and there was a skeletal bed frame at the back. All told it was about the size of her bedroom at her apartment. Not exactly what she was accustomed to.
“Thank you,” Irene said, ignoring the disdainful sniff Yangjie gave.
“I know it’s not much, great one,” Hao said. “I’ll fetch you a few things.” He hurried off, disappearing around a corner.
“Not much indeed,” Yangjie said, peering around as best he could. “Soft grass under the moonlight would be more dignified.”
“They’re being kind so the least we can do is be polite,” Irene said.
Yangjie grumbled, but didn’t argue further, and Irene inspected the room of the hut more closely. It really was barren - beyond the bedframe, there was no furniture of any kind. Below the window the dirt was slightly blackened, perhaps the remnants of a cooking fire. Whether this was how they all lived or if things had been removed she wasn’t sure; she had never spoken to a poor person before.
It did not take too long for Hao to return, slightly out of breath and carrying a large thin roll of some kind of fabric. He dragged the bed into the centre of the room to give himself space and set about preparing it. As Irene watched, he weaved the thin fabric diagonally from corner to corner and back, quickly creating a supportive layer to sleep on, finishing by pulling it tight and knotting it off.
“Elder Yan says cultivators can keep themselves warm, but do you want a blanket?” Hao asked.
“Yes please,” Irene said. “And a mat, for Yangjie?”
“The Ser-”
“The Serene Peacock would also like a mat,” Irene said, cutting the head off mid-word. So to speak.
Hao bowed and rushed off again.
“Appropriately enthusiastic, at least,” Yangjie said.
“Did you want anything, Charles?” Irene asked.
Croak, Charles said, unhappy with the dryness of the room.
“I’ll ask him,” Irene said.
When Hao returned, carrying a blanket, a lumpy pillow, and a woven reed mat, Irene took them in one arm and smiled apologetically.
“Could you get a bucket of water too please?” she asked. She dumped it all on the bed and placed Yangjie atop it.
Again Hao rushed off. Yangjie was right about the enthusiasm, but Irene’s thoughts were diverted at the sudden noticeable darkening of the world outside. She stuck her head cautiously out the door.
“What is - an eclipse?” she asked. The sunlight was fading rapidly, far more rapidly than any natural sunset.
“What are you talking about?” Yangjie asked.
“The sunlight- daylight, I mean - is disappearing,” Irene said, squinting up through the canopy.
“Nightturn has come,” Yangjie said. “The Heart turns its back on us for another night. No need to get excited.”
“Is there a physical barrier up there?” Irene asked, squinting harder. Darkness seemed to be falling across the sun - the Heart - in a rapidly accelerated sunset. It was like an eclipse, but much more total.
“Most believe that the Heart chooses when to shine its light,” Yangjie said. “Some believe in a barrier, but none have been able to prove it.”
They were diverted by Hao’s return, but this time he was not alone. A young girl was with him, no more than fifteen, and she carried a covered plate.
“Great one,” Hao said, carrying a shallow but broad tub. It sloshed as he walked. “This is my sister, Huan.”
Irene waved, but the girl was almost glaring at her, grey eyes suspicious. Her black hair was cut short to just below her ears, and she was as slender as her brother. There was dried mud on the hems of her clothing at the wrists and ankles.
“Are you here to marry my brother?” Huan asked.
“Definitely not,” Irene said.
Hao sagged, and Huan’s glare lessened a degree.
“Do you know how to use a sword?” she asked.
“Nope,” Irene said, conscious of the lightsaber at her hip.
Huan’s estimation of her visibly fell in real time. “We brought you dinner, great one,” she said, holding out the plate.
“Thank you,” Irene said, taking it and stepping back to allow Hao to enter the hut with his burden.
Hao kept his eye on Charles as he entered, and set the tub down by the window. Charles leapt from his perch and Hao flinched and jumped back, knocking into the bed in his haste to avoid the apparently fearsome frog, but it was unnecessary, a splash of water announcing his destination.
Croak, Charles said, settling in happily.
“He says thank you,” Irene told Hao.
“Ah, yes,” Hao said, stepping back towards the doorway, away from the tub. “You’re most welcome.”
“Tell her what the elders said,” Huan said, nudging her brother.
“Right,” Hao said. “The elders said that those who wished for healing would gather in the square tomorrow morning, just after dayturn. If that is convenient for you,” he finished in a rush.
“Oh, sure,” Irene said, peeking under the reed cover on her plate. A grilled fish and rice awaited her, and the scent set her mouth to watering. It had been a long day. She put the cover aside and took up the chopsticks in a hurry to eat.
“If you need any aid, we are four huts that way, great one,” Hao said, backing away and pulling his sister with him. “Goodnight.
“G’night,” Irene said around a mouthful of rice.
They closed the door, and their footsteps faded quickly from earshot, but not before she heard Huan start to quiz Hao about her.
“That was an ordeal,” Yangjie said, sounding very much like he wished he could massage his temples.
“They gave ush a plash to stay fuh nuthin’,” Irene said, sitting with her back against the wall so she could look out the window.
Croak, Charles said, agreeing with her.
Darkness continued to fall, only a small sliver of the Heart still shining down. Irene wolfed down her meal, the simple fare delicious after the long day of walking. And fighting for her life. Twice. It had been a full day since she had disappeared from her home, and who knew what was going on back there. She had been expecting a call from her-
“Did you want to have a look around the village?” Irene asked her companions, pushing the despondent thoughts away. She was not stuck here. She was not.
“I have zero interest in investigating a village such as this,” Yangjie said flatly.
Croak, Charles said, wet and happy and uninterested in changing that.
“Right,” Irene said, finishing the last of her meal. She set the plate aside, and busied herself with preparing her bed and setting Yangjie up on his mat next to it, doing her best to push intrusive thoughts away. As soon as she finished, a wave of tiredness swept over her, and she carefully pulled off the hanfu she wore and folded it up at the foot of the bed, before crawling into it. She was so tired.
“Goodnight, Yangjie, Charles,” Irene said.
“Goodnight,” Yangjie said.
Croak, Charles said.
Irene felt herself drifting off swiftly, and she did not fight it. She would find a way home, some magic or technique that would return her without any time having passed. She would….