Jade Fire Gold
June C. Tan
Before
The boy clung tightly to his sister’s hand when they fled the palace, afraid that if he let go he might lose her forever. Their home was no longer safe—not with their father dead and the stench of betrayal in the air.
Into the night, they followed their mother through the streets of Beishou and toward the western border, hoping to find refuge in the last place anyone would think to look for them.
The desert.
It was no place for a royal family, but Empress Odgerel prayed to her gods that the shifting labyrinth of sand might keep them hidden.
They followed the nomadic trails and slept in a different place each night. Sometimes in tents, sometimes under a blanket of stars. They changed their names, their appearances, the way they spoke.
But eventually, the soldiers came.
And with them, a man clad in a shroud of black smoke and red fury. The man who would not rest until the royal family was dead.
Against all odds, the boy survived.
A passing caravan of nomads found him a few days after a massive sandstorm. Motherless. Sisterless. Dehydrated and feverish, he teetered on the edge of death. Nails torn off completely, dried blood crusted over his fingers.
The nomads asked no questions of this strange boy.
The boy who hated the desert with every fiber of his body yet was forced to remain in its protection. The boy so broken inside that they thought he might never smile again, that his eyes would never see the light. The boy who could not or would not speak. And when he finally did with a voice full of gravel, he uttered only one word. Again and again.
A name he would repeat in his sleep. Sometimes murmuring, often screaming.
Sarangerel.
The name of his beloved twin sister. The sister he had failed to protect.
He scared the nomads in the early days, but they kept him alive. They healed his wounds, fed him, and taught him their language and ways. Despite their kindness, the boy thought it would be his fate to wander the sands forever, lost in nightmares.
But the crafty gods had other plans.
One day, someone came for him. A man loyal to the dead emperor. He shepherded the boy from the desert and across the waters, bringing him to distant lands in the warmer colonies of the south. Slowly, that broken boy began to stitch himself whole again, though the tears would never align perfectly. A cavernous hunger grew in him. Deep and bitter, it would only be sated when wrongs were made right.
It is said that the gods test a man for a purpose; that they would never place on him a burden he could not bear. But the boy held a different view. The gods were cruel, and men were merely puppets in a grand play staged for the amusement of bored immortals.
He vowed to snatch his fate from their hands.
So, he bided his time, waiting for a sign.
One dawn, an unusual call was heard in the misty mountains of Wudin, and some villagers claimed they had seen the elusive fènghuáng circling its rugged peaks. It was a rebirth—the Phoenix had not been seen for over a century.
Something was reawakening, and the boy was ready.
The Eternal Desert
1
Ahn
One silver coin.
The difference between life and death.
Between having a grandmother and being alone in the world.
My heart races and my mouth turns desert-dry when the healer barely glances at my stack of coins. Copper, not silver. He doesn’t have to count them. We both know the stack is the wrong height and color. Too short and lacking the most important thing—more precious metal.
Funny how something pulled from the earth can be so deadly. Mined and forged into swords. Fought over in war. The reason some of us can’t fill our bellies.
With a dismissive snort, the healer’s attention snaps back to the wooden drawers lining a wall of the apothecary. Pulling one open, he extracts a few strands of cordyceps with a thin pair of tweezers. Carefully, he places the brown worm-like fungus on a round metal saucer tied to a slim wooden rod. Beady eyes squinting at the numbers carved onto it, he shifts the counterweight at the other end accordingly to measure the amount. Not once does he look at me.
It’s as if I don’t exist.
“Please,” I implore despite the fire rising in my chest. “I’ll pay you the rest of the money in a week—it’s just one silver coin. My grandmother’s fever hasn’t subsided in days. Let me have the medicine first.”
He pretends not to hear me. Putting his scale down, he moves to a large glass jar of macerated liquid, russet-colored and filled with crooked floating roots.
My nails bite crescents into my palms as I force down the cauldron of curse words bubbling in my throat. Maybe a few tears would soften this man’s shriveled heart.
“Please.” My voice wobbles and I blink rapidly as I heave a few breaths. “My grandmother delivered your son, didn’t she? It was a difficult birth and she saved your wife’s life—”
“And Grandma Jia was paid well for her services! I’m sorry she’s still sick, but I have my own family to feed. You think your life is hard? Shout it out in the streets and see if anyone cares. The desert’s no place for sentiment.”
“But—”
“I’ve shown you enough kindness, Ahn. Don’t forget you owe me for last week’s medicine. Why don’t you ask the innkeeper for an advance? That bastard’s the only one making some money in this wretched town.”