Page 38 of The Dragon Wakes with Thunder (The Dragon Spirit Duology #2)

Twenty-Six

Many civilizations have sought to tame the Zoigen Marsh—some with stone, others with fire, and still others with oxen. But whether in the span of ten days or ten decades, all were undone by the slow breath of the marsh. To this day, the wetlands remain untouched, where nature bows to none.

I felt my consciousness slide, but I did not think much of it, not until I realized I was watching myself from a bird’s-eye view, and that I was no longer in my own body.

Below me, Kuro placed my body on a cot and handed me off to his healer.

Was I dead? Had I somehow drained my life force, and now lacked a tether to return my spirit to my body?

I began to float, drifting out of the tent and into the sky. I struggled to return, to wake up, but instead, I found myself wandering into the spirit realm.

It was alive, bustling with tremendous activity and a chaotic, frenetic sort of energy.

I didn’t recognize any of the faces wandering the glowing trees, speaking with spirits, enacting bargains, testing their newfound lixia.

As for the unlucky ones on the ground, writhing, foaming at the mouth—their spirit affinity not strong enough to withstand the onslaught of lixia—I turned away from their faces. I did not wish to recognize them.

I was seeking a pool, a pool from a memory or a dream. It had been many months ago, and many li away, and yet distance did not matter in the spirit realm. After some time, I found that golden pool of water, so brightly lit it was hard to see past the sparkling surface.

But there was a flicker of movement—a long tendril of hair, a confident swimmer’s strokes. That girl—the one who I’d once believed to be me. She was still here, and while I had aged, she had not.

“Meilin,” she said, and I recalled that her voice had always been different—sweeter, younger . “You’re back.”

“Who are you?” I asked, my lower lip quivering. Hope bloomed like a tiny seed in my heart, struggling to put down roots in a barren land. “You’re not…you’re not my mother?”

She tensed, her eyes widening in a gesture both achingly familiar and eerily strange. Then she did something that made the world go still. She nodded.

She nodded and I began to weep, my tears flowing into the pool of water and making the pond grow and grow, until nearby spirits grumbled and drifted away from us. Fireflies buzzed irritably in my ear, chastising me for disturbing the peace. Still, I wept.

“Why?” I asked her. “Why are you here?”

“Qinaide,” she said. Beloved. But she kept her distance. She didn’t comfort me as Xiuying would have, nor did she offer the simple touch of a friend.

“There comes a point for every spirit summoner when a choice must be made,” she said.

“You can let your spirit master subsume you entirely, as the Great Warrior Guan Yang once did. Or you can take your own life, denying both your spirit master and yourself.” She paused, her gaze piercing mine.

“Then there is a third path, though few are strong enough to take it—you can seek Zhuque’s spring and relinquish your power.

” Her sad eyes were like mirrors, reflecting my wretchedness.

“You must understand how difficult the path you’ve chosen will be.

The dragon will do everything in his power to stop you. ”

“Ma,” I whispered. “I-I’m so scared. I don’t want to die.”

“Remember, Meilin,” she said softly, “the dragon is only as strong as you are. You both walk a fine line, because although you are his enemy, he depends upon you, as you do him.”

“He was using me,” I admitted aloud for the first time. “He was using me to create the rifts in the veil.”

The melancholy in her gaze belied the youthfulness of her face.

“He needs you, Meilin. The minor spirits may accelerate the process, and expand the existing rifts, but they cannot create a gate out of nothing, not like you can. The greater the rift, the more unstable the veil. Already it has been stretched thin. There is too much qi in this world, and too much lixia in yours.”

I rubbed my temples, hard. This wasn’t my problem. I needed to focus on finding Zhuque’s eternal spring. I didn’t have time to concern myself with Qinglong’s plans or the fate of Anlai.

But it wasn’t just the fate of Anlai, said the nagging voice in my head. It was the fate of the Three Kingdoms. Of the human world itself.

My mother nodded as if I’d spoken these thoughts aloud. “Once the veil collapses, it will be like the times of old—and spirits will once again roam freely among men.”

All along, this had been Qinglong’s plan.

Lei had tried to warn me: “ I believe that you and I share the same concerns, do we not? ” He had read my mother’s diary and understood.

Understood the gravity of our predicament and its far-reaching consequences.

Meanwhile, I had covered my eyes like a child in a game of hide-and-seek, my focus narrowly fixed on securing the throne—a mere distraction that Qinglong had used to keep me preoccupied while he orchestrated greater schemes.

Even now, I wished to return to ignorance, to ignore my mother’s caution, to run. I had never asked for any of this, I wanted to say.

But I had. I had lusted for power, skipped my stone across the water. Before me were the ripples of that throw, spreading wider than I’d ever anticipated.

“Be careful who you trust, Meilin,” said my mother. “For the dragon does not act alone.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, frowning. “Surely he doesn’t have another vessel?”

“Not another vessel,” my mother agreed. “But you are not the only summoner in disagreement with their spirit…”

She fell silent, and now I noticed the sudden absence of sound. All activity died; humans went quiet, spirits drifted away, and even the fireflies paused in their incessant buzzing.

“You must go,” said my mother, sensing the change in the air. “Now.”

“I-I don’t know how.” I knew I needed to use my qi gong, but as of late, I had not been able to find the calm required for it.

“Remember yourself,” she said. “Remember your humanness, and you will be able to return.”

“What about you?” I asked. “How will you be able to escape him?”

“I have my ways,” she said, returning to the pond.

The tides lapped at my feet, restless and stirring. Birds shrieked as they took flight into the darkening sky. The air carried the heavy scent of an approaching monsoon, the wind hot and flecked with hints of rain.

“Hai Meilin.” I had forgotten the blistering icelike quality of Qinglong’s voice. I shivered compulsively, a trained response. “Long have you eluded me.”

I could hear the triumph in his voice, the satisfaction he would take in my inevitable surrender. The currents rose, bringing me with them. I struggled to keep my head above the surface. He was going to drown me.

“Why do you run from me?”

“You deceived me,” I hissed, paddling frantically to keep myself afloat. “How can I trust you anymore?”

“Meilin, do not forget—you and I share the same ambitions. What I seek is no different from what you seek for yourself. To no longer be confined to the darkness, to claim true freedom without chains.”

Taken aback, I understood he was speaking of the spirit seals. Just as iron bound me, was the jade a manacle to him?

“I am going to restore the world to its former glory,” he continued, his excitement causing the waves to churn. “You cannot fathom the wonder of those days, when spirits roamed free. We were not considered demons then. We were revered as gods.”

“Revered?” I asked. “Or feared?”

But he did not hear me. “Just as you were not content in your father’s house, the darkness of the spirit realm cannot satisfy me.”

“Do you expect us to go quietly?” I asked. “The people will fight back.”

He scoffed. “Humans are weak-blooded creatures. Their only real strength lies in their numbers. Fortunately, they rarely agree on anything, so even that advantage is inaccessible to them. Once the veil falls, humans will simply turn on one another.”

“Millions will die,” I snarled, “all for the sake of your greed. The world may have been wondrous to you then, but our history remembers it as a time of chaos and suffering. We’ve just come out of one war—must you thrust us into another? Does human life mean so little to you?”

The tides rose even higher. The sea beneath me was black, as was the sky above.

“I am a dragon,” he said. Was it my imagination, or did Qinglong sound sad? “I must desire more. It is simply the way of things.”

Before I could protest, a wave tossed me under. I choked, gasping for breath. But I was in the spirit realm, I reminded myself, and breathing was but a construct here. Even though my lungs screamed for air, it was all in my mind. Qinglong could not kill me.

But why did I feel like I was dying?

Remember your humanness, Meilin. Remember what you have to live for.

“ I love you. ” I recalled Sky’s face in that moment, the certainty of his gaze. “ I love who I am with you. You vex me. You frighten me. You challenge me. And I would have it no other way. With you by my side, I’m confident we can rebuild Anlai for the better. ”

“ The future is always a source of comfort. ” Lei’s voice was bitter. “ It’s the past I despise. ”

The suffocating darkness pressed against me.

And yet I cling to hope, that obstinate creature , my mother had written. I must hold out until the end of winter, when I can make my last journey to the Red Mountains—and save myself—

“ You never understood me. ” I’d tried to cut Sky where it would hurt the most. “ Sometimes I think it was a mistake for us to be together. ”

“ Do you want to die? ” Lei had asked. “ If you die, they win. Remember that. ”

I imagined diving into the frigid Ximing sea to escape imprisonment, training under the stars every night to prove myself, dressing as a concubine and crossing inside my enemy’s bedchamber, not knowing if I would survive the night.

My addiction had begun to define me, but so did my persistent will to live.