As Cheng touched the cool metal, power throbbed beneath his fingertips. Magic hummed in a mystical song, an unfamiliar and haunting melody that tugged at the edges of his memories. “It’s splendid—truly beautiful, but is it decorative or armor?”
“Armor. Consider it a protection against the vile children of the night. I know, you may think your scales are sufficient, but there will come many times when you are unable to rely upon your gift from the gods, young Cheng. An emperor must always be prepared, even during the times of the new moon.”
“Yes. You’re right.”
His mother had perished on one such cold, dark evening of the new moon, the one night of each cycle when their link to the goddess was severed and their draconic magic locked away. Likewise, a full moon truly gifted those born of draconic blood.
When Cheng donned the heavy piece of throat protection, the two edges melded together and formed a seamless circle of metal. He blinked and probed it with his fingertips. “But how do I remove it?”
“You don’t.”
Then the magic struck him. A hot lance of energy pierced his chest and blew him back into a circle drawn on the floor. It hurt, pain seizing him and freezing his limbs. Points of magic raised all around him toward the ceiling in a cylinder of shimmering scarlet light as black particles hung suspended in the air.
The agony brought Cheng to his knees. Sparks of electricity whizzed and zipped from each ebony fleck, creating an electrical field. Power danced over his body from head to toe in tingling ripples. “Uncle, what are—what is happening?”
“It brings me no pleasure to do this, Cheng, but I must for the good of Liang. For the welfare of our empire, I must.”
“Must do what?” Cheng cried.
“I claim that which you have taken for granted, nephew.”
“Taken what for granted? I’ve followed your lead. I—”
“You could have never led this empire the way it deserves. These lands will need a firm hand in the days to come.” A sad smile curved the sorcerer’s mouth. “I will be that hand guiding Liang to victory over our enemies and all who stand in our way. Never again will we bow to those lesser than us. Never again will we suffer.”
“You—won’t succeed.” The pain sizzled white hot through his veins, but still he struggled to remain conscious. “Our people will never accept this.”
Da-Wio held out his hand. A vibrant stream of green energy flowed to his fist. “They will accept what they are told.”
“My body! They’ll know that you’ve killed me when—”
“Whoever said that I plan to kill you, Cheng?”
Before his eyes, his uncle’s weathered features became rejuvenated and shed decades of age. Another charge of electrical power burst around him as the ceiling and world around Cheng expanded. Cheng couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. The floor came up to meet him as green rushed over his scaling skin.
He realized only in those final seconds that his body was turning into jade.
2
Present Day
Gentle rain misted over the village of Songshi, covering every surface in a light sheen that sparkled beneath the noonday sun. Mulan stood beneath the overhang of her family’s home while her thoughts roamed in a hundred different directions.
At that very moment, the entire community prepared for the Crimson Tea Ceremony in two days’ time, when prospective husbands and wives from the surrounding villages would gather to meet with the matchmaker, hoping to find their soulmate among the attendees. Mulan’s mother had spent days sewing her dress for the affair.
Their legends claimed each person had a destined love, a soulmate decided from birth to be their other half. She had her doubts about it all. While Mulan frequently witnessed deep, fathomless love between her parents, she’d never felt the tug herself. Unlike her sister who, even at the tender age of eleven, swore she was going to marry the alchemist’s son.
“It will be a beautiful day.” Her father stepped over and took a place beside her. “An auspicious sign for the ceremony.”
“I suppose it is.”
“You don’t sound excited.”
“I’ve met the men from our nearest villages, Father.” And the women, for that matter. “None of them are right. None of them are for me. What if…what if I am not bound to anyone?”
Her father took her by both shoulders, his strong hands gentle as they squeezed. “Why would my wise and talented daughter be forgotten by the gods?”
“Maybe I displeased them by valuing the sword over skills associated with the home.”
A soft chuckle preceded a soft kiss to her brow. “And why would the gods do that? You have defended our village against raiders, fought bandits from the main roads, and led the other young ladies of Songshi with honor. That is a skill of the home, Mulan. Protecting those you love and the sanctity of your domicile is just as important as learning the loom. The gods are not displeased.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. I think you worry too much. Besides, you have not met all the young men.”
“Most of them,” she grumbled.
“Perhaps you will be surprised. I never expected to meet your mother as I did, and look at us. We have everything we could ever wish for—two wise and beautiful daughters, a strong son, land and a home we call our own.” Sweeping an arm toward the house and expansive gardens altered his balance. The man’s knee buckled, threatening to pitch him down the short flight of stairs. Before Mulan reached for him, he grasped the dragon head statue mounted at the top of the porch steps and regained his balance. He chuckled ruefully. “And a bad leg.”
“An injury earned in honorable combat,” she rushed to say. “Here, sit with me.”
For once, her father didn’t wave aside her offer of help. She led him over to a bench he had carved as a wedding gift for her mother and waited for him to get comfortable before she took a seat beside him.
“It seems a cruel twist of fate that the rain our village needs also brings an ache to these old bones.”
“I’ll get your ointment.”
“All gone.”
“Then I’ll go to Lanfen for more.”
“I…”
“Please, Father. It isn’t far, and I have the time to spare.”
His proud shoulders dipped. “Very well.”
“I can help you inside—”
“No need. I would like to enjoy the flowers for a time. In the mist they always look more magical. More beautiful somehow.”
She smiled because she felt the same way. She had clear memories of sitting on the same bench as a child with her father, simply enjoying the view without the need for words. Sometimes her father would sketch while she played with her dolls. As she grew older, she set aside her dolls in favor of a bo staff, and then eventually a sword. Her old training dummy still resided on the distant end of the porch, its wood notched and weathered from countless hours of practice.
“I’ll be back soon.”
By the time she set out the rain had stopped, leaving a haze in the air that smelled of flowers, ferns, and moist soil. She followed a winding path down the mountain, passing several other homes along her way. Only two other houses were higher on the slope, both belonging to the family who governed their region. As a respected general in the Imperial Army, her father had been granted prestigious lands.