Wind slammed against the stable. Ice water spattered the stall, and more leaked through the cracks between the bowed wooden planks. I opened my mouth, ready to say we should wait until the storm passed, but then Yún laid a gentle hand over the griffin. The beast lifted its head. It opened its beak wide, like a small chick begging to its mother.
Our little monster.
“Tomorrow,” I said. “As soon as it’s light.”
“Thank you,” Yún whispered.
We packed our gear and paid the innkeeper for an early breakfast. At dawn, we set off through the sleet and freezing rain. The innkeeper himself had cooked us a breakfast and gave us directions on the fastest route into the valley. If we took the next fork heading downward, he told us, we could reach Golden Starflower Waterfall before nightfall. From there, he confirmed what Yún’s map told us—that we would have an easy trek along the river road to Lang-zhou City and the border hills, where we could take the magic-powered freight lifts into the Phoenix Empire.
If Lang-zhou City still had its magic. If we didn’t freeze to death in the mountains. If and if and if. I shoved those thoughts aside. Our whole journey was a chain of ifs. Like the old philosophers said, we had to forget the limits of our selves, even as we understood them.
By late morning, we reached the fork. The road split in three different directions. The main segment continued along the mountainside, a fat pale worm of stone that wriggled in and around with the hillside. A second, smaller track climbed up toward the snow caps. A few villages perched on the heights above—the inhabitants mostly goatherds, but there were wilder folk who lived in those cold heights—demon hunters, ghost trappers, and the like.
Our path was the third track, which looped down to the valley below. The sleet died off, to my everlasting gratitude. Eventually the skies cleared enough that our world changed into a glittering jewel of silver and white. We had to pick our way carefully to avoid slipping over the side into the depths below.
Hours later, we had reached a truly scary point along the path, which had narrowed as it curved around a bulge in the mountain. The wind had kicked up again, blowing a thin gruel of snow powder down from the snowfield and glaciers above. We stopped beneath a rocky overhang to rest the pony. Yún pulled out her map and checked it again. “We can reach the next way station by dark.”
“An inn?” I asked.
“No. A shelter. But at least we’ll be dry and out of the wind. And I can try another spell with Xiao Yao-guài.”
Xiao Yao-guài? “Little Monster?”
Then I realized she meant the griffin.
Name a thing and you promise it your heart, went the old sayings. Well, I had promised a lot of things these past few weeks.
We both lurched to our feet. The pony grumbled as I looped the reins around my arm and tugged. Yún had ventured forward a few steps. She stopped, edged back and beckoned for me to lean close.
“Did you hear something?” she whispered.
I listened.
There was a thin whistling noise—the wind singing over the knife-sharp edges of boulders cut by ice and snow. My own heartbeat thumping inside my chest. The tick-tick-tick of gravel sliding over the mountain face.
I hear something, Chen said. Another spirit. No, lots of others.
Pêng! A ghostly spider materialized in front of us. Chen popped into sight and the two plunged over the side in battle, just as a squad of six armed men surged around the bend. I glimpsed swords in their hands. The next second, Yún and I had our belt knives out.
Yún caught the first sword near the hilt and shoved it aside. Her second knife slid from her wrist sheath. She struck. The first man fell. Yún ducked down to finish him while I fended off the next who surged forward. Inside my mind, I heard Chen’s furious roars, Qi’s bone-shivering cries, the rasping howl and cough of wild cats and dogs from the spirit world.
Block and slash, duck, thrust. Yún and I worked together, moving as quick as thought to keep those bright blades away. The narrow path kept them from overwhelming us, but still they had swords and we had nothing but daggers and terror. In spite of the cold, sweat rolled down my back and dripped into my eyes. I had to blink it away—I didn’t dare pause to swipe my face with my hand.
“Not right,” Yún panted. “They aren’t—”
“Don’t talk. Save your breath.”
But she’s right, came the next thought. These men didn’t fight like bandits. Their blades were expensive blue-tempered steel. Each attack and counterattack was like a dance of murder, precise and deadly.
They fight like soldiers.
The pony squealed and lashed out behind. I heard a meaty thump and a groan. Someone cursed in a thick southern dialect. I glanced back to see six more men scrambling down from a ledge above the trail. My stomach went cold. We could never win against so many.
No time to think about that. Yún darted forward and jabbed the nearest man. He doubled over, making a horrible gagging noise. Yún tugged at her knife, trying to work it free. Another attacker slashed at her eyes. She flung up her arm and deflected the blade. With another hard yank, she had her blade free and staggered back. At first, I thought she’d escaped unhurt, but then I saw the blood streaming from her scalp.
“We’ll give you our money!” I shouted. “All of it! Just let us—”
Their leader answered with a quick thrust with his sword. I blocked his blade—barely. Yún tried an undercut, but I could see how awkwardly she moved. I edged past her, even though it meant facing all those bandits or soldiers or whatever they were alone. At least I could die fighting, I thought fiercely.