Fox and Phoenix (Lóng City 1) - Page 68

WITH TWILIGHT DRIFTING OVER THE COUNTRYSIDE, we followed the stream until we came to a wooden footbridge and a dirt road heading north. “Open roads are dangerous,” Quan said, “but we’ll make better time.”

“Where are we going?” Yún asked.

“A village,” he answered. “Don’t worry. It’s safe.”

Hü, I thought. I found that hard to believe, but with the emperor sure to send trackers and soldiers after Lian, we had no time to argue. So I jogged onward, stumbling now and then, because the road had turned into a treacherous blank. Yún jogged ahead of me, the griffin clinging to her shoulder. At first I could see them outlined in faint light, then in shadows. Now they were invisible. I could only tell their presence by Yún’s labored breathing, a rustling from the griffin’s wings, and the faint movement of dark against dark.

An hour. Two hours. Rain spattered us, stopped, and spattered again. A stitch caught in my side, and I staggered.

Lian caught my arm. “Quan,” she called out softly, “we can’t go on. It’s too dark.”

“Half a li farther,” came his answer. “We can’t stop here.”

Thunder grumbled overhead. The clouds spit more rain all over us. Quan moved cautiously, sending back whispered warnings about the footing. Soon we turned off the road onto a side track, which led between tumbled-down walls, into an empty square. I stared around at the circle of looming shapes. Then my foot kicked against something. I bent down and found a broken rake, half buried in weeds and dirt. We had reached a deserted village.

“We can rest until moonrise,” Quan said.

“No fire?” Lian asked. “A cup of tea would be welcome right about now.”

Quan hesitated. “Too risky. Unless . . .”

“. . . we make our camp inside a house,” Yún said. “That would hide our fire, and the smoke won’t be visible at night.”

“Unless the soldiers get close enough to smell it,” I added.

Lian shuddered. “Then we make fire just for cooking and douse it right away.”

After some searching, we found a house that was nearly whole. We slipped inside one by one, all of us with our knives ready, just in case. Inside, broken furniture and bird nests littered the floor. A mouse skittered away at our approach and, from the smell, more were about. Still, we had four walls and most of a roof.

“Why doesn’t anyone live here?” Yún asked. “There’s fresh water and the land looks right for good farming—”

“No young people,” Quan said shortly. “They all migrated into the city. After a while, the older ones died, or joined their children.” He smiled bitterly. “It’s the same-old same-old, only it happened faster because of all that magical flux. After all, who wants to stay in a dirty country village when you can choose the emperor’s own city a few li away?”

I would, I thought.

But then, I was just a mountain boy.

We cleared the rubbish from the kitchen and swept the floor with a broom Lian discovered. Quan unpacked several blankets and laid them over the floor. He also shared out warmer clothing—knitted hats and gloves, a thicker cloak for Lian. It was quiet here. The rain had died off. Far away, a fox yipped. For the first time in days, I found myself breathing easily.

Yún gathered deadwood. Lian came back with a bucket of water from the village well. Together we built a small fire and set water to boil for tea, while Quan dug out two woven containers from his pack. One held packets of loose tea, the other a quantity of cold rice and dried fish. He had even brought strips of dried beef for Yao-guài, who tore into them with a happy cry. We bolted down our meal, hardly better than the griffin. The tea had a bitter flavor from the tin mugs, but I didn’t care. It sucked away the chill in my bones and helped me pretend I was dry and warm.

After we brewed a second pot of tea, we doused the fire. Quan stood and drew a knife from his belt. “I’ll take first watch.”

No one even pretended to argue. Yún rolled up in her blanket close to the fire. Yao-guài curled next to her. Lian poured herself another cup of tea and stared out the window, sipping from time to time. A handful of stars speckled the night sky, shedding a faint light through a single round window set high in the dirt wall. Her face was invisible to me, but I could make out the tense lift of her chin. I wondered what she was thinking now.

After a few moments, she sighed and set the cup aside. “You should sleep, Kai.”

“So should you.”

She gave a breathy laugh. “I will soon enough.”

In other words, stop snooping.

I yawned and lay down under my own blanket. Closed my eyes and waited.

Ten, twenty, fifty. I’d reached nearly a hundred before Lian stirred. Her clothes whispered as she stood and glided out the doorway. Moments later, the leather hinges of the front door creaked loudly.

Nothing else happened for a while. Just as I decided it really was time for me to sleep, I heard a rustling in the long dried grass outside the window. Quan or Lian? A stranger? That side of the house looked over the fields. Cautiously, I rolled over and rose into a crouch. My knife slid into my hand and I listened hard. The best gift I had for my enemy was surprise.

Tags: Beth Bernobich Lóng City Fantasy
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