Papery shavings fell away from under the carving knife and dusted the floor in a layer of aspen flakes. No given stroke against the wood was silent, nor did any serve to break Ravi’s dithering concentration. He might have enjoyed himself had his uncertainty not given way to stress and indecision. Taking a moment to ease the soreness of his hands and eyes, he leaned back onto his elbow and allowed the homely crackle of the sculptor’s burner to fill his mind. Perhaps flame will inspire where my imagination does not. Three or more hours had passed since they started at noon, yet he had made very little progress, no doubt in part due to the frequent twinges of his broken hand. For all of the time he had spent staring into the crude grooves of the wooden block, the sculpture reached no closer resemblance regardless of how intently he concentrated upon the image of his idol.
“My, are you giving up after investing so much of your precious time?” Ai asked from behind her own carving.
“There isn’t much to show for that purchase. What I might lose, I’ve already lost.”
“Oh, do cheer up. Your sculpture is fine, I think you’ve made a wonderful rendition of a baboon.”
Ravi slowly clasped his hands together. My deepest apologies, Great River Sage. She knows not what she says. “It’s a carving of my namesake. Have I ever told you where it comes from?” he asked, peering at her through one eye.
“No. Are you going to?”
“Only if you wish to hear it.”
She smirked fancifully, “Need you ask, Ravi Jie?”
Allowing his eyelids to drift shut once more, Ravi laid himself along an embroidered rug and wandered into a land of ice and endless festivity. The tales his mother spun had starred frozen behemoths that stalked Jinha’s snowy dunes and inhuman sages able to walk between the worlds where denizens of the abyssal shores cross paths with the abstract forms of the Distant Ones. It was a place where mammoths roamed and pitted the ice beneath their feet with craters more than five metres wide, ignorantly crushing anything foolish enough to linger in their path.
“Let me tell you about my mother,” he began.
The story of Yunri Shukla was not a brief one. Her family had migrated to the deep south of Jinha where summer’s sunlight was a scarce blessing and winter’s bleak skies would shine near endlessly without warmth. No crops could be grown with the brisk, bracing winds and the ever-present piling snow. It was a land hostile to any living being.
“Then why move to such a place?” Ai asked.
“My mother asked the same.”
They had lived in an industrial town until only a month before, one man and his two daughters eating shark fin soup from the high balcony of their home. Yunri’s father had told her of a once-living deity that bore the simple name of Ravi. According to his legend, the man had ventured into Jinha’s southern regions entirely unprepared for what he found, facing a season of long nights, piercing cold and overbearing hardship. Rather than accepting his fate of misfortune or giving in to instinctual desperation, Ravi chose to immerse himself into the very spirit of nature at the end of the world, integrating with the world without losing sight of his individuality.
Stalking alongside wolves, Ravi reaped the benefits of their fangs and claws, and shared in the meat of their prey. Familiarising himself with the sparse patches of greenery, mammoths shared with him their thick coats that warded off the freezing winds. Elk offered him transport across the frigid landscape in return for berries and fruits. Orcas ferried him across the icy waters after years of familiarity.
“Ravi never forgot himself. He knew his limits, he respected the strength of the wildlife that surrounded him, and he did not neglect his own needs. Without even realising it, he had begun on the Long Walk of Sudhaar like the First Sage before him.”
“Oh?” Ai’s knife bit carefully into the cylinder of light aspen, each stroke etching a rough detail.
“He was a changed man by the time he returned north, sharing his beliefs of mutual benefit and empathy throughout Jinha. The legends would have you believe he stood atop mountains and poured rivers from their peaks to provide water for the few cities that sprouted in the early days of urban civilization, though it’s more likely that he irrigated the lands through the use of a few clever techniques.”
“Never one for fantasy or wonderment, are you?”
“Being a bore must come naturally,” he smiled. “When Ravi died, it’s believed that he left behind a part of himself to guide others along the same path he had travelled. He died a bodhisattva, a man that delayed his own ascendance in order to teach the importance of compassion and build upon the First Sage’s writings, canonised in the Long Walk of Sudhaar. It was these writings that drove my grandfather’s obsession with Ravi, the Great River Sage. Perhaps he hoped to find the answer to something in those frozen wastes, but all he found was his end.”
“He put the lives of his family at risk chasing an answer?”
“An answer, or a dream. It seems that whatever was going on in his life, he was desperate and confused. Such a decision couldn’t be made so lightly. One of his daughters succumbed to the same illness as he had, the other spent a year trying to return to her home only to find it repossessed. She stowed away on a boat headed for Han, where Yunri Shukla became Yunri Chen and had a son with the most powerful man in the continent. For whatever reason, my mother gave me the name of a dream that nearly killed her.”
“I don’t think she meant it like that. Searching for the Sage might have ruined her life once, but it also brought her to the doorstep of the man she loved. It gave her you, Ravi.”
“Twice,” he replied. “The dream ruined her life twice.”
Ravi stared into the shallow eyes of the idol in his hand. Lifeless, emotionless, and lacking any semblance of a soul.
“This isn’t enough,” he muttered, and set the carving knife aside.
“What’s wrong?”
“The carving. I can’t finish it. Whatever I try will only make it worse.”
“Need you take this so seriously? It’s only a block of wood.”
“I might as well take it seriously now that I’ve decided upon it. This is a tribute to a great man,” Ravi reminded her.
“As is mine. Why not speak with the sculptor? She may be able to help.”
He glanced at the crude carving once again, then wearily climbed to his feet. The weeks they had spent with the sculptor in Shiowa were few, yet had offered more than enough comfort to halt their journey entirely, and taking in the sights of the lazy coastal village, it was easy to see why. Ravi stepped out onto the sculptor’s veranda to a view of perfectly smooth sand and foamy waves carrying with them clumps of seaweed that rolled and flared like starfish. His bare feet burned against the heat of the sun-baked floorboards, his airways were filled with the relaxing scent of ocean air that seemed almost too warm for the end of winter. The cold winds from Jinha had finally abated.
“Something the matter?” croaked one of the two elderly women sitting nearby under the shade of a tiled awning. Discarded fish bones lay on the dusty floor that grew in number as she dug through the carcass of a sea bream, offering scraps of the small fish to an eagerly attentive shiba dog that watched her handiwork with unbreaking focus. Above them, gulls bickered atop the surrounding roofs in a noisy exchange of squawks and screeches over which would have the honours of the first dive-bomb into the pile of bone and guts.
“My wood carving is a failure,” Ravi answered.
“Who says that it is a failure, boy? Did you stand before some imagined carving council or sculpting authority? Was it presented to the object of your attention and rejected outright?” challenged the other woman. Upon first glance she might have appeared rough or untidy with her worn-out clothes and damaged nails, though looking more closely it was clear that she dressed with efficiency. The tattered sleeves of her old roughspun shirt were fitted tightly around her wrists and flecked with small splinters that had embedded deeply into the light yarn. Her hair was bristly and unkempt, yet was trimmed well enough that her vision was never obscured by a single wandering strand. To her, being fashionable was simply unnecessary.
“I say it is.”
“If you believe your work is inadequate, why are you here rather than making the effort to improve it? Things abandoned will only fall further into decay.”
“I don’t have the time or patience for this work. I’ve already stayed here longer than I should have.”
“Still having second thoughts about your companion? The ferry you missed is nearly due, and the decision shall not make itself,” smiled the sculptor with rows of brilliantly white teeth. “No patience for a simple wood carving, yet you intend to place yourself among a coiled and twisted body of venomous charlatans in the high courts of Hanshi. Is it your intention to die early, my Ravi?”
“That’s none of your concern,” Ravi replied sharply, averting his eyes. “Nor is it Ai’s. She has no business sharing that information.”
“What is a girl to do but gossip when you’ve had her confined to this little village for days on end? I don’t expect you’ve told her your reasons for this prolonged stop, have you?” The sculptor’s friend gestured with damp and oily fingers as she chirped her interruptions. Ravi couldn’t muster the conviction for a retort. It was true that his reasoning for their stay had little to do with the comforting sights and warm weather, rather stemming from his inability to follow through on a single decision.
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Ai had proved herself a deadly enigma, and Hanshi was far too dangerous a place to take a woman of such curiosity. At every turn awaited an underhanded scheme or damning plot in the volatile hive of imperious officials, ready to end the lives of any fool unfortunate enough to find themselves wound up in their political snares. As far as Ravi knew, he was heading to the capital to face his death- a stayed execution finally coming to pass at the hands of a country that hated his very being. Where would Ai be left without him, a daughter of the supernatural stranded in a city of single-minded competition? On the slight chance of being spared a public execution, would she tear a bloody path through the city until finally being hunted down? Or would she instead take to living a street life, drenched in regret, the reek of sweat and a fleeting high of shared narcotics?
No. That isn’t going to happen.
“She won’t need to know why I’ve abandoned her, only that I have. She can live out her days in blissful comfort upon this jagged shoreline she so seems to adore. Being alive and able to hate me from the safety of Shiowa is a far greater alternative to being slowly sliced apart by the graceful law keepers of Hanshi while the crowds point and laugh. I trust you’ll uphold your promise.”
The sculptor pursed her lips. “The girl may stay with me so long as that is her wish. I have little need for an assistant even with so many years behind me, and I have none at all for young women with their minds further afield.”
“She’ll have plenty of time to consider after I’ve gone. It’s not as though there’s anywhere else for her to go. I took that away from her, whatever happens as a result is my responsibility. Staying here with you, she can carve and sculpt to her heart’s content without needing to fear the Traitor’s oncoming war,” Ravi replied.
“We have been spared the bloodshed of wars before, but the single advantage of being located in a secluded cove is no guarantee of future peace.”
Ravi locked eyes with the sculptor. “Then what would you have me do?”
“I would have you make up your mind, Jishun. Indecisiveness will bring you to ruin if you make no effort to change it. No result can be expected from idle hands. That goes for your carving, too. You keep bothering others in the hopes that they will solve your problems and handle your decisions because you’re afraid of what might happen when you finally act.”
“What do you think you know about me?” he asked, his tone becoming bitter.
“Only that which is on display for all to see. Tell me Ravi Jie, do you know the chances of crossing a river by simply drifting in its current?”
The Jishun remained silent.
“Inaction is action. Outcomes, endings, resolutions, conclusions, all are inevitable, and in hesitation, your will shall never be realised.”
“I know,” Ravi replied quietly. “Of course I know that.” His gaze wandered back to the open shōji of the sculptor’s home. “I’m just afraid that no matter what I do, I’m going to lose something important to me.”
The humid air had lost much of its warmth by the time Ravi was content with his wooden carving. Over the Lanyan Sea’s rocky protrusions and rolling waves, burnt shades of the early sunset bled into the cold violet of dusk’s approach. He examined the sculpture once again before resting against the culm of a leaning palm and finally looking upon the spectacle ahead of him.
“Even after seeing all of this, time and time again, the days don’t dull its beauty,” Ai called out, the wind tugging weakly on her loose white hair and amaranth-coloured formal dress. Water lapped around her ankles at the foamy shoreline. They never could, he thought to himself. It was a new sensation for such a sight to deny him his words.
She offered him a smile with a sideways glance. “Thank you.”
“For what am I being thanked?” Ravi asked.
“Keeping your promise. You’re the only person in my life that has never told me a lie,” she said, turning to face him. “I only wonder what you might say if I were to ask what you intend to do when you leave this place. Would you be able to keep that streak of unbroken truth?”
Ravi regarded her wordlessly as she continued to approach. White grains of sand collected on the soles of her damp feet.
“It isn’t that I don’t understand your point of view. I know that you want to protect me, to hide me away from any source of harm.”
Ai gently prised the sculpture from his hands and laid it aside.
“It just isn’t fair that you won’t consider mine. You are also something that I wish to protect. Your body is weak, Ravi, but your mind and spirit are both strong. More so than you know. I want to see your journey through, and I want to be at your side when you do, but that means you’ll have to make it there first.”
Ai took Ravi’s hands in her own, never breaking away from his eyes.
“You aren’t strong enough to walk alone. Your arms are frail, your skin thin and pale. The day’s energy is already spent by the time you’ve lifted yourself out of bed. You might have left your home as an outlawed fugitive of Han, but you’ll return an expired bygone. They’ll tear out your heart and throw it to the crowds.”
With careful grace, the woman’s fingers worked deftly to unravel the old bandages from the Jishun’s broken hand. He did not resist when she raised his arms above his head, nor when he felt the binding tighten around his wrists, fastening them against the thin bamboo.
“Did you think you could leave me behind? Have you forgotten what I told you on the side of that mountain? That if you wronged me a second time, I’d tear you from throat to navel?” she asked. “Perhaps I should see to it that you never try again.”
Ai’s hands went to the ivory buttons upon her shoulder. When they were undone, she allowed her dress to slide down over her arms, exposing the smooth skin of her sleek breasts.
“What’s the point of this, Ai?” Ravi finally spoke. The quickening of his heartbeat brought a red flushness to his face.
“You took something from me, and now I am going to take something from you. From today, we’ll never be whole when apart from one another.”
“Neither of us want this,” he replied, twisting his hands weakly against his bindings.
“I can feel your heart beating like a scared animal, the rush of blood beneath your skin. You cannot deny your own desires. Surrender yourself to me, Ravi Jie.”
A razorlike claw stroked the shaven skin of his cheek, then ran downward along his chest, leaving a long, shallow gash. Ravi’s jaw tightened like a taut rope. His feeble abdomen was exposed to the evening air as Ai pushed apart the tatters of his shirt.
She pulled at the waistline of his trousers, straddling his hips; she traced his throat with a talon and lowered herself onto him.
Ai stole something from him under that dying sunset, on a shore of sand and jagged stone. The experience was branded into his memory like a mark of humiliation. He could still feel the sensation of skin against skin, their bodies burning together, their breath hot and ragged. He remembered the softness of her chest and the harshness of her nails tearing at his shoulders and back. Most memorable, however, was his ultimate inability to resist her. He had done nothing to prevent the woman’s approaches, nor could he have done. His body was feeble and unable to protect even himself. She had made that outstandingly clear.
Ravi stood at the starboard rail of a ferry bound for the Kaishui Estuary, staring out over the black tides of a midnight sea. A strange calm had come over him ever since stepping foot onto the ship that would bring him home. Maybe it was the promise of a quiet month’s journey across the Lanyan Sea that eased his mind, or perhaps it was the finality they had faced from the moment they had boarded; there would be no further chances to turn back. Now more than ever, Ravi was resigned to his fate. He would return to Hanshi regardless of what awaited him.
“Is there something you see out there?” Ai asked, appearing at his side. Ravi jolted suddenly in surprise. As still as the night was, he hadn’t heard her approach.
“Lights in the sky. Lights in the water. Everything else is dark,” he replied, “And your steps are quiet as ever.”
“Did I scare you, Jie?” she smirked.
“A little. Doesn’t seem like I'll have to sleep anymore.”
Ai sidled up to him, “Such a shame. I was getting lonely in our room.”
“Do you usually get lonely while you’re sleeping?” Ravi asked.
Ai blinked. “No. Not really.” She was silent for a moment, but then resumed her pursuit. “You see, that’s just the problem. It’s so cold tonight that I couldn’t sleep well. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if there was a hot-blooded, dependable man waiting out here under the stark moonlight that could offer me his warmth?”
Ravi nodded, raising his eyes to the Thousand Faces of the moon. “It would. With the cold air blowing from Jinha again, I wouldn’t mind a heater myself. Winter’s really the worst time of year, isn’t it? I already miss those few weeks of warmth we had in Shiowa.”
A small rush of air escaped Ai’s nostrils. And then she began to laugh. It was a rare sound, rife with youthful energy that washed away any stresses from Ravi’s mind. He faced her with a puzzled expression.
“What exactly are you laughing at?” he asked.
“I’m laughing at you, and your mind is hiding away in its own world as usual. Do the seasons concern you so deeply?”
“Not particularly, but Fuu and I spent two winters in the wilds. Without a roof over your head it becomes much harder to survive.”
“That must have been awful for you,” she replied, edging ever closer to him. Her fingers, so perfectly smooth, began to stroke his rigid chest. “Yet, looking around, isn’t this much the same? No roof, just the star-speckled universe reaching away before us. All that is here to warm us is the heat of our own bodies. You, and I.”
“Except now I’m running toward Hanshi instead of away from it,” Ravi replied. Ai gave a sigh of disappointment and gently pushed her body away from his. He turned in place and rested his back against the wooden railings. “And instead of my sister, I’m in the company of a she-devil. Her beauty is stolen from the Heavens, and she’s got a will that could rival any Emperor or Daishun. I’d be jealous if she wasn’t already mine.”
A flush of red brought colour and warmth back into her face. “You really are a fool, Ravi Jie. Maybe that’s why I can never tell what you’re thinking. How can I read an empty mind?” Tentatively, she took his head in both hands. Her silver eyes locked with his own. “Spring is nearly upon us. The dead wilds will be blessed with life once more, and together we’ll see a new season of beautiful things. You fulfilled your promise to me. Now I'd like to make one for you.”
Ravi brushed aside a stray lock from Ai's face. “And what is that promise?”
“Just as I am yours, you, Jishun Jie, belong to me. Whatever you dream, I shall dream too. I know how much it means for you to meet your father, and that is why I must accompany you to Hanshi.”
“You don't need to promise that. Besides, we've already boarded the ferry. It'd be a long swim back to shore if you changed your mind now.”
“That wasn't my promise. There are things in this world that I want too. One of those things was stolen from me, but now I’ve been granted the chance to create it anew. If fate permits, in just a matter of months, in the regal halls of the imperial court, I will share that same gift with you. For you and I, that is my promise.”
“What are you saying?”
“What you took from me is that which I so deeply desire. My wish is for a family, Ravi Jie, and it is my promise that I shall give you one. The first of our blood…” she breathed, sliding a hand from his head to her abdomen, “Has already begun to grow within my womb.”
Ravi’s face hardened. “That’s not possible. It happened once. Days ago.”
“Once was enough.”
“No, Ai. We aren’t even-”
“The same? But that’s exactly it. I’m a living meigui, Ravi. My mother told me from the day I was born that we deceive and take advantage of human hearts, all for the sake of our brood. The hive you wandered into the night we met was stunted by the decay that oozed from every crevice of that accursed forest. The villagers of Yizhou were a rare sight; my mother had few opportunities to feed, and she gave birth to even fewer children. At its true potential, a hive could support hundreds of offspring and thousands more servants. A matriarch is fertile when she chooses, and can deliver a child within weeks of conception. Do you see, Ravi? Mine does not have the setbacks of the human body. Our child, a descendant of your beloved Wunei Jie, will be born within his court. That is my promise.”
Breaking from Ai’s embrace, Ravi looked out over the water once more. His sweat-dampened skin felt hot and irritated. “Our child?” he scoffed. “That’s our doom you’re carrying within you.” Ai might’ve said something back, but Ravi did not hear her. His gaze lay far ahead.