Page 46 of The Dragon Wakes with Thunder (The Dragon Spirit Duology #2)

Thirty-One

If a man dies in the realm of light, his spirit can pass on. But if he dies in the realm of dark, his spirit is destined to wander forever.

We left at dusk, under cover of growing night. Our enemies were myriad: the Ximing warlord, the Anlai warlord, and everyone who hated the Black Scarves.

When we neared the spirit gate, I refused to let Lily venture any farther.

She claimed to have resisted the lure before, but I was not taking chances.

I allowed only Lei to accompany us, and even Kuro’s eyes went wide at the casual and effortless way the Ximing prince approached the gate, undaunted by the whisperings of the spirit realm or the teasing wind scented with lixia.

The gate lay directly within a small pond, which was so clear it looked like a mirror, reflecting the darkening sky.

The surface of the water shimmered, seeming to wink at us.

Come in , the waters murmured. We’ve been waiting for you.

I shivered with want, with need.

Lei helped me unfasten my manacles, his hand lingering on my wrist a moment too long before letting go. I gave him a questioning look, but he only responded with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“This isn’t goodbye,” I said sternly.

“I know,” he said, though I couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze strayed to the many bodies lining the lake, some writhing, others still.

All unable to enter the spirit realm, yet lost to our world.

That this had become commonplace was the most disturbing fact of our new reality.

No one had come to clean up the bodies. No one had dared.

Kuro and I locked eyes. His guilt was unequivocal, scarred into the drooping lines of his face. “We’ll find her,” I told him.

We stepped through together.

The immediate calm of the spirit realm washed over me, the tension of the past few weeks melting from my limbs. For the first time in what felt like ages, I took a deep, unburdened breath.

The glittering lights seemed to welcome me home. I looked wonderingly from the stirring bamboo groves to the glimmering mirror lake, which reflected the golden stars in the sky. It was a world so beautiful I wanted to weep.

It was a world so beautiful I could not bear to give it up.

“I’ve already searched all the bamboo forests,” said Kuro. “I heard that spirits like to congregate there.”

I tensed as an aimless wind drifted through the bamboo grove, so that the leaves murmured around us. Was the dragon nearing? No, I could not sense him anywhere. We were safe, for now.

“Come with me,” I said, taking Kuro’s hand.

I pulled him with me as I began to listen and search, sifting through the medley of noise to find the voice I was looking for.

Time and space moved differently here, and within seconds or days we journeyed through alpine forests, rolling grasslands and salt lakes, hot springs and humid marshes and cold, high plateaus.

We heard the cries of lost children, the ramblings of madmen, the screams of terrified prey, and occasionally, the gleeful exultations of spirit summoners, reveling in their newfound power. Still Jinya was nowhere to be found.

It was in a thicket of cherry blossoms on a high mountaintop that I heard a familiar voice, but not one I had been searching for.

She was sobbing profusely, clawing at the trunk of a cherry blossom tree and leaving red streaks in the wood.

Her once perfect nails were now cracked and bleeding, and her pale skin marred with spidery black veins.

I went still. “Princess Ruihua.”

The composure I once admired in her had vanished. Now she reminded me of a thinly frozen pond, fragile and on the precipice of shattering.

When she turned to me, I saw that her irises had gone white.

“My children!” she screamed. “Where are my children?”

With sinking dread, I recalled how young her children had been. “How did you end up here?”

Her unseeing eyes finally landed on me. “ You —” she said. “ You brought me here. You stole everything from me.”

She rushed at me, but her limbs moved like those of a puppet, jerky and awkward, as if she lacked full control of her body. I sidestepped her, a knot of unease tightening in my throat.

“Ruihua,” I began.

“Who?” she giggled, her eyes slowly turning from white to yellow. “I don’t recognize that name—” Her mouth opened and closed, and I could feel the woman she’d once been, fighting it. Fighting her new master.

“You know what?” she announced, still giggling. “I will go back. Her children can be next. Her qi is delightfully strong. I have no doubt her children will—”

She struck her head so violently against the tree, a cascade of petals broke from their branches. “No!” Her mouth contorted in a soundless scream.

I stood frozen, not knowing what to do. I watched as Ruihua grabbed a fistful of petals, then, implausibly, stuffed them into her mouth.

She choked, gagging, struggling to speak.

Then she ran at me, so fast I could hardly defend myself, but I was not her target.

Rushing past me, she ran straight for the edge of the mountain, and then, without hesitation, dove off the cliff.

I stared in shock at the empty cliffside where she had stood just moments ago. The wind stirred, sending more cherry blossoms fluttering from the trees, gathering in soft pink mounds along the forest floor. From where I stood, they resembled the shape of a corpse.

“Meilin,” said Kuro, startling me. “Let’s keep going. There’s nothing you can do for her.”

“But…”

“She’s gone,” he said.

I knew he was right, but the choky feeling in my throat wouldn’t subside.

I was responsible for her demotion, for her madness, and now for her death.

Her children would grow up never knowing their mother, who’d become another casualty of war.

Once, I’d believed Prince Yuchen had no reason to hate me. But now I understood that he did.

“Meilin?”

I nodded, swallowing the ache in my chest. “Let’s keep looking.”

“She’s near,” said Kuro unexpectedly. “I can sense her.”

This time, I let him guide our path. He led us across the Red Mountains, into Leyuan. From there we went north, toward the Runong Desert, where even spirits slept under the hot sun.

“Jinya?” called Kuro softly, the hope in his voice almost too painful to bear. “Jinya, it’s me. I’m here. I said I’d find you.” He ventured farther into the sand. “I said I’d always find you.”

But there was nothing alive here. I couldn’t sense any spark of qi, of human vitality. “ But don’t you know? ” a line from a lixia text came to mind. “ Mortality is what makes the taste of life so sweet. That is why all spirits crave the taste of human blood. ”

Blood. Sinister foreboding slid down my spine as a speck of red drew my eye. I followed the trail of crimson, scattered like freckles against the sand.

“Kuro,” I said, as he continued to circle the same place. I crouched and pressed my finger against the red sand, which was wet, then sniffed my finger. Blood.

His gaze followed mine, before his expression contorted with terror.

He began to dig, sheer desperation lending him an inhuman strength.

The ground slid out from under us as we tunneled deeper and deeper into the earth.

Only once the sky was blotted out, and the air stale and unmoving, did we hear a sound.

A soft whimper, like a hungry dog. Kuro went still. “Jinya?” he whispered.

The sound ceased.

“Jinya?” he shouted, and his voice echoed through the earth. Jinya, Jinya, Jinya.

But I could sense her too now—a thin, dimming light.

Kuro stumbled through the half dark, his hands outstretched. I followed behind him, my heart pounding in my throat. You did this , the voice in my head whispered. You started this.

I watched the rebel leader fall to his knees, a sound of devastation tearing from his throat. Beside him, a small creature lay prone, convulsing on the ground.

“Jinya,” he tried to say, but his voice cracked. “I-I’m going to save you. I’m going to bring you home. I promised we’d go back, once the rebellion is over. I promised we’d go home.”

Jinya’s spirit was unrecognizable. Like a dying fire, embers emitting a faint hiss. She twitched once, twice, and then—her eyes flew open.

Her irises were white and unseeing. “The spirits wanted me,” she whispered, her voice as dry as sand. “I buried myself here to hide, like we used to do, but…they found me in the end.”

“N-no,” said Kuro, shaking his head. “I’m going to save you. I’m going to bring you home.”

She exhaled slowly. Despite our proximity, I couldn’t sense her qi. The spirit energy was too strong in this place, ever hungry and pressing closer.

Kuro shook her by her shoulders. “Jinya, stay with me. You can’t go yet. Wait for me.” Clenching his jaw with sudden resolve, he took out a knife and slit his palm. Fresh blood gushed forth, and the spirits above and below seemed to pause in their whispering, before drawing nearer: eager, curious.

Without any regard for his own pain, Kuro pressed his wound to Jinya’s cracked lips. “Drink,” he ordered.

But here in the spirit realm, it was not Jinya who drank, only a shadow of who she’d once been. She drank, and drank, and drank, until the light revived in her eyes. But those were not her eyes.

“Kuro,” I said uneasily. “You’re only luring spirits with—”

Jinya began to convulse, before letting out an earsplitting shriek. We both jumped. Her skin was turning deathly pale, as white as parchment.

My panic rose. “She doesn’t have enough spirit affinity—”

Her body spasmed, and then she screamed again, a sound of pure agony. It was so wretched I could not stand it. I, who did not even call her a friend. No one deserved to suffer like this.

“I’m sorry,” I said, swallowing hard as I drew my sword. “You know what I must do.”

Black tears were streaming down her cheeks. Her body contorted at an unnatural angle as she screamed again, seizing.