Zhazi pushed Xiatong ahead of him, down under the wagon, back against the wall where the wooden building met the stone foundation. His hand slid across her mouth, effectively blocking any noises that might escape. Pale fingers curled around his wrist seeking comfort.

“I saw them running this way,” one of the men said.

His tone was harsh, and his footsteps stomped heavily through the mud. Oh no, Zhazhi thought with dismay. Their footprints! In his haste, he’d completely forgotten the muddy road. Looking down he saw both his and his sister’s mud clogged boots. He could only hope they were too dumb to notice.

Footsteps stomped back and forth—up and down the alley past the wagon. In the darkness, Zhazi’s heart thundered in his ears. Xiaotong’s lips trembled under his palm, but she held back any sounds.

The stench of the wagon wafted down filling their noses with its sickening, stomach souring scents. Refuge, he thought, or rotting food. It burned into his nose, almost gagging him. It was only the fear of being found that kept his gorge down. He gulped, swallowing the thick spit that had risen in his throat. As carefully as she could, Xiaotong’s hand moved to his nose.

A gentle, floral scent wafted to his nose. They shared a look in the darkness and tears welled between them. Quickly they blinked them away. He closed his eyes and breathed in that soothing, familiar scent of peony and osmanthus with a touch of dragon’s blood.

Zhazi’s father always grinned with delight to see his wife, Huali. The Emperor would give an impish grin, lean over to Zhazi and say: “There’s a lifetime’s supply of flowers in the world yet I managed to find the prettiest, rarest one.” Then, he’d sweep up their mother in a crushing hug, and she would laugh her lilting laugh that invited all to join her.

I want to remember her like that, he thought. And yet, his mind drifted back to that night. Her eyes glassy, staring frozen into the void of death. His father, laying on his belly, hand outstretched, face a mask of anguish. Xiaotong’s hand curled tighter around his wrist, as if she too recalled that horrible night.

Time passed and the pair dozed off, waking in terror at any sudden noise that stumbled forth from the dark. The dark sky bled from black to purple, and the orange rays of sun painted an ominous morning light. With the morning came the scent of smoke as the villagers rose to make their tea and start their day. Curious village dogs with wet noses and bushy tails that curled upward came sniffing them out. Xiaotong smiled as one of the dogs licked her cheek, tail wagging happily.

Zhazi pushed her shoulder, pointing to the far side of the wagon. She crawled out, carefully looking every way, just in case. He followed behind, body wincing in stiffness. The fall nights were just beginning to be teased with winter winds.

“Let’s go,” he whispered, pointing down the road. She nodded and held out her hand. He rolled his eyes, but dutifully took up her palm. Her hand was warm and reassuring. As long as we’re together it’ll all be okay, he thought. Turning their faces to the sun the siblings set off, hoping to avoid anymore unwanted attention.

The little wooden homes of the village were simple yet well taken care of. Ducks and chickens lived in bamboo fences outside many of the homes. They squawked as the two passed, remembering those small, sleight hands that had snagged their eggs. Xiaotong stuck out her tongue at one particularly cranky duck who quacked loudly at her.

“Stop that,” Zhazhi scolded quietly, tugging her hand. “We’ve got to get out of here before we’re spotted.”

Unclaimed children were fair game for traffickers, lechers, and slavers. Luck and quick wits had served them so far, but there was never a time to abandon caution.

Xiaotong’s finger curled through the air, drawing letters that only he could see. Her spiritual power was a gift that almost made him thank the heavens. Almost. It was one silver pearl in their murky waters. They’re just ducks. They always jabber on.

“You were instigating them,” he said, lips twisting in fond exasperation. He never could be upset with his sister.

Purple colored letters, rich with spiritual power, flickered before his eyes. Each one came slow and deliberate. Despite having to learn to use her spiritual core on her own, she’d grown adept in using it in her own style. So bossy.

The sound of creaking wood, a tired gate that had seen more life than it’d ever been meant to, filled the village. His ears perked up. The entrance was open! Now, they just had to get out before anyone noticed two bedraggled young teens wandering alone.

As they passed a house, Zhazhi paused, seeing two rope buckets sitting outside one of the home’s bamboo fences. The smell hit them seconds later. Xiaotong grimaced, pinching her nose. But, Zhazhi had an idea.

“Grab one,” he whispered, reaching quickly for the first.

That’s disgusting!

“Just do it!” he hissed, and the slightly louder tone set the chickens to chattering. With a silent huff, Xiaotong grabbed the other waste bucket, holding it well away from her body. It was disgusting, he agreed. But, who was going to question two children dumping their families’ nightly buckets?

Sure enough, the two tired-eyed elders who watched the gate chuckled to see them.

“What great children you are,” the one praised.

The other elder was quick to chime in, as well.

“The gods will surely bless such filial children!”

“Thank you, elders,” Zhazhi said respectfully. “Please excuse our haste, we’re eager to unburden ourselves of these.”

The two men laughed and waved them through the gate. Zhazhi felt a moment of regret for his deception. Kind men were not always common, and these simple villagers would be well within their reason to be wary and suspicious of even their own kin. He sighed, feeling once more, like he was a hundred and sixteen, not just sixteen.

They followed the footpath until it curved out of sight and then they dropped the buckets on the side of the path and trotted off up the mountain path. Western Cenwu had been famous for its abundant forests and farmlands. Now, much of the greenery was gone, leaving only the hardiest of scrub brush, stubborn weeds, and stout trees behind. Every day they travelled Southwest, Zhazi was grateful for the many boulders and rocks, inclines and peaks of the mountains that slid along the southwest plane.

They were heading south to the new state of Nanji, a place where the last two living Cen children wouldn’t be suspected of being. Afterall, their father’s father’s father had fought the Nanji tribe for many years. While a fragile peace had been achieved in his grandfather’s reign as Emperor, Zhazhi had doubted it still existed in this chaotic time. In his mind, no one would suspect that Cen survivors would flee to an enemy state. It’s not like they know we’re alive, anyway, he thought. It hadn’t stopped the suspicious from searching though. If it hadn’t been for Nanny Lin… He stopped those thoughts instantly. There was no time for regrets.

He paused, seeing his sister heaving herself, unsuccessfully, over the large rock he’d just climbed.

“Come on, lazy feet,” he teased Xiaotong, helping pull her up.

Who is really the lazy one, Little Fatty?

The grin they shared was bittersweet. It’d been eight years since he’d been called that. Plump as he was as an eight-year-old pampered prince. He remembered Xiaotong’s equally full cheeks and round belly, but he refrained from mentioning it.

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“You always ate all the dumplings and blamed it on me,” he complained.

The wise one wins; the stupid one gets blamed.

Zhazhi enjoyed their banter though he dearly missed the sound of her voice. It was a thought he wouldn’t entertain, and he banished it as soon as it formed.

They picked their way across the mountain paths, running parallel to the main road as best as they could. Wagons and riders trickled by from time to time. One passed by at a fast clip. They squatted down and watched the red carriage fly by. It was decked in red velvet fabric and a black and gold banner flapped from above. The black sword enclosed in a circle wasn’t one they recognized.

“Maybe it’s a general’s flag?”

Too fancy.

“Maybe he’s getting married?”

Oh, that’s a possibility.

Neither of them thought about their ages or their past betrothals. It would only be another sharp pain best left to a dull ache. Prodding it wouldn’t help them.

They watched the road until the dust settled and then quickly made their way down onto the main road. He looked left, Xiaotong looked right, then they crossed. There were many sections of the road where they had to chance the open road to continue following the mountain peaks. It never failed to make him uneasy. Especially when the other side offered very little shelter from eyes. The next part of their trail would be down a steep incline, mostly full of overgrown, brown weeds and large boulders. It offered very little cover.

As they reached the edge of the road, Zhazhi’s ear wiggled. Were those hoofbeats!?

Without waiting to see, he grabbed Xiaotong’s arm and leapt over the side, dragging her down with him. He stifled a grunt as they slid down the side and his ribs slammed into a hard rock. Seeing a large slab boulder sticking from the ground he scuttled for it, pulling her along with him. At the back of the slab, he pushed her down and covered her body with his.

Hoofbeats pounded overhead. Please let this be enough cover, he thought. Their hearts quickened as the sound intensified, drowning out even the wind in their ears.

“That’s a lot of riders,” he whispered very quietly in her ear.

Her finger brushed against the dirt as she responded. It’s ten across and twenty long.

“You’re sure?”

Hmm… she counted again. Ten across, twenty-five long. Two ride in front of a wagon. I think four are in the wagon. Two riders ride at the rear.

Zhazhi squeezed her shoulder, grateful once more for her keen insight.

“Maybe that really was a general’s wife?” he whispered in her ear. She nodded in agreement.

They listened intently as the riders and wagon passed by. Neither moved a muscle, not even when a large Squatbug sauntered over. It’s fat, shiny, black body and its red horned nose stared directly at Xiaotong. Zhazhi winced. His sister despised bugs. Yet, she didn’t move, even as it crept up, sidling close to her face. He dared not flick it away. Squatbugs were harmless, but if aggravated they tended to let out little shrieking calls, calling other Squatbugs to their defense.

After a very long staring session it wandered off, seeming almost smug that it’d won against a human.

I hear nothing.

“Me too.”

Peeking to either side of the rock revealed no movement on the road. To be safe, they took a minute, stretching their legs, and pounding their fists against their muscles, loosening up before attempting a dash.

“It’s about six li to the tree line,” he estimated, eyeing the length of the ground, the height of the sun, and length of the road. “Maybe seven.”

Purple letters rose before his eyes.

Maybe five.

She grinned at him, showing both dimples in her cheeks. Sometimes his breath was punched out of him, staring at her face, so like their mother’s it hurt. He wondered, seeing his reflection in her eyes, if she felt the same about him and their father. It’d often been remarked that they looked like their respective parents. Of course, they’d been children then. Now…

Stop daydreaming, let’s go!

Xiaotong stood and began to dash down the slope. Zhazhi gave her a head start, observing their surroundings, making sure no threat appeared. When none came, he dashed after her.

In the next batch of woods, the tension slipped away. Sturdy pine trees offered much better coverage on the slope. Many parts that had been washed away now sprouted soft ferns that batted at their legs.

It only took a few more li for them to find a freshwater stream. The further south they went the easier it was to traverse the mountain line. Northern Chenwu had rugged, green-blue and snow-capped peaks that towered above the land. Southern Chenwu smoothed out, blending land and mountain into a passable portion of land.

Xiaotong found the stream first. She paused and her head tilted, listening.

Water. She pointed off to their right.

“Lead the way,” he said, grateful to take a rest.

The mountains and lands the pair had covered had been harder than this, but the steady downhill trek had his legs and back burning. Xiaotong also seemed eager for the chance at a break. They followed a small deer trail through a dense copse of pines. It was almost impassable and there was much cursing and grumbling from Zhazhi as he cleared a way for his sister.

She patted his stinging arm as she ducked under the thick bough, he held open for her.

What a good little brother.

Cheeks red with exertion and sweat beading his brow, Zhazhi’s mood was not the best.

“I’m older and you know it,” he said between panting breaths. His arms were littered with slim slices that stung from the stringent pine sap.

As long as you think so. She sent behind her with a little wave.

But, his words died in his throat as the babbling stream came into view. The water was crystal clear, falling from a small waterfall overhead, and sliding singsong down the mountain. It was frigid cold, making them both hiss as the coldness penetrated deep into their bones. But, it was refreshing as it slid down their throats.

Peering into the dimness, Zhazhi frowned. Looking around he found a long branch. He picked it up and poked at the pool under the waterfall.

“I think there might be a cave back here,” he said, seeing her inquisitive glance.

Xiaotong picked up a rock and chucked it hard. It flew through the waterfall and landed with a echoing thud. She nodded.

Biting his lip, Zhazhi looked around. It was only a little after midday and they could put more li behind them if they continued. Yet, it would also make a good place to light a fire. The waterfall would block most of the smell and smoke. Fresh water to bathe in and warm fire to eat would be a nice break.

“What if we use this spot for a few days?” he asked, shifting to look at her.

Her bright eyes stared at him, expression blank. There was an unasked question in her gaze. One that he avoided thinking about. Staying here offered some protection from people. But, what about demons? Or worse, gods?

“I know,” he said, dropping his stick. “It’s a risk either way. We could pass on this and hope for another safe place to sleep. Or we could chance it and take advantage of what we’ve found.”

Let’s look in the cave first. She suggested.

His shoulders sagged, either with relief or the acceptance of a new burden to carry. She wanted to stay the night.

“Look along the edges to see the best place to cross. I’ll gather wood.”

Look for mushrooms and berries. She reminded him.

I hate splitting up for anything, he thought as he wandered the land around the stream. It wasn’t the first time the pair had to split their tasks, but it never got any easier. His ears, already sensitive to every sound, seemed to catch the creaking of leaves, the marching of ants, and the fluttering sighs of birds.

I’m paranoid, that’s what I am, he decided as he carried yet another armload of wood to the water’s edge. Xiaotong hadn’t been idle. She’d found the best spot to cross, then found a few long-stemmed logs, lashing them together with climber weeds. It made passing his finds across much easier. And more importantly, they kept their shoes and clothes dry.

Xiaotong foraged a better selection of wild mushrooms, plants, berries, and wild onions but Zhazhi managed to catch two plump squirrels. Every time he got lucky, he sent his thankful thoughts to his father’s brother, Uncle Chunli. Thank you, you’ve saved us another day. As a child, he’d often lamented his uncle’s ‘hunting’ trips, where he’d spend most of the day on foot, wandering behind his Uncle as he set snares and traps for small game.

“Pay attention, Zhazhi,” he’d say gently. “Every man must know these skills. Someday this knowledge could save your life.”

At seven and eight, the most dangerous part of his day was light-fingering sweet rolls from the palace kitchens. But he’d loved his Uncle, so he paid close attention, and learned it well, hoping for the praise that easily fell from his Uncle’s mouth. Now, at sixteen, Zhazhi realized how precious that time had been.

He gathered a robe of dried pine needles, pinecones, bits of bark, dried grass, and twigs and made his way back to the cave. Carefully holding his robe, he tugged the logs back across the water, hiding evidence of their stay. Ducking inside the cave, he deposited his last haul. They’d gotten a good amount in. Plenty of firewood was stacked against the wall. Xiaotong had taken the time while he was gone to bathe herself, scrub her outer robes, and start building a fire ring.

“You good to get the fire going?” he asked.

She nodded, eyes on the fire ring as she continued arranging rocks into a circle. Zhazhi grabbed the two squirrels and headed out to take his turn cleaning. By the time he skinned and cleaned the squirrels, then himself and his outer robes, and returned, a hearty fire was crackling in the cave.

“Thanks,” he said, finding the two skewers she’d prepared for the squirrels. The smell of cooking mushrooms, onions, and plants filled the cave with a savory scent. Her trusty small pot was one of the few items she carried everywhere she went. Soon, the squirrels filled the cave with their own mouthwatering smell. At one time, neither brother nor sister would’ve considered eating squirrel meat. Now, the chance to cook any meat was so rare that they drooled at the sight.

The sun faded and the crickets sang as the siblings enjoyed their simple yet satisfying meal. The cool fall winds made them shiver and they stacked the fire high, enjoying the warmth it gave off. Their robes fluttered as the wind that curled through the cave wrung the water from the fabric with each pass.

Like puppies, they curled up close together, and slept, warmed by the fire, reassured by each other.