Page 55 of The Dragon Wakes with Thunder (The Dragon Spirit Duology #2)

Thirty-Seven

It is said that the Reed Flute Caves were once home to mythical creatures of ancient legend.

One day, the dragon spirit, jealous of their earthly home, flooded the cavern with a magical torrent, turning the creatures into pillars of stone.

Although most of these stone formations have been eroded with time, an astute explorer may still make out the shapes of the creatures that once were.

Sky and Winter left us to muster their troops, setting out for the Anlai base camp just outside First Crossing. Winter wanted more time to prepare, but Kuro was adamant we act before the spirits could wreak greater havoc. I, worried about my diminishing days, agreed to make haste.

We would move the very next day, striking at dawn—when the nocturnal spirits would be resting. That left us less than twenty-four hours to prepare.

Sky and Winter departed promptly, without even saying goodbye.

Lei was next, leaving to liaise with the Ruan monks.

Despite the distance he had to traverse, he promised to return by sundown.

We would reconvene at the noodle shop, and if the noodle shop was no longer standing, then at the entrance to the bunkers.

“You’ll be safe on your own?” I asked Lei, thinking of the many people who wanted him dead.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, his mouth curving in an insolent smirk.

Come to think of it, I’d seen Lei perform, seen him feign weakness, but I’d never truly seen him do battle, as if his life depended upon it. I did not know the full extent of his abilities.

So quickly I didn’t have time to react, Lei cupped the back of my neck and drew me to him, kissing me on the crown of my head. He released me before I could argue or turn away. Taken aback, I was quiet.

“Worried for me?” he asked. “I’m flattered.”

“Don’t get yourself killed,” I said roughly.

He arched a brow at me. “Sweetheart, I may not be a spirit summoner, but I can wield a sword.”

As Kuro approached, Lei shot me a look. “ Be careful around that one ,” he said into my mind.

I bristled, defensive of anyone questioning a spirit summoner’s sanity. “ His intentions are in the right place. ”

“ And I don’t doubt that ,” he told me. “ But there’s something off about him. ” He narrowed his eyes, thinking. “ There’s a certain air a man has. ”

“What do you mean?”

His eyes cut to the rebel leader’s back. “ The air of a man ready to die. ”

Although it had only been home for a single night, I felt a tad forlorn leaving behind the safety of the noodle shop.

Kuro and I departed last for the rebel base, where he needed to attend to the leadership duties he’d been neglecting for some time.

With Jinya’s absence, his neglect had become all the more evident within the Black Scarves.

Kuro and I agreed to reconvene at high noon to head to the Reed Flute Caves together.

To pass the time, I ate, practiced qi gong, and pored over a few lixia scrolls the rebels had stolen from Leyuan.

At noon I sharpened my blades and went out to meet Kuro at our appointed rendezvous point. He was not there.

I waited for a minute, then several more, growing increasingly impatient as the sun reached its highest point in the sky.

We had one day to prepare; did Kuro not understand the urgency of the matter?

Outside, spirits were running amok, people were dying, and the balance of the world had been thrown off kilter. And still Kuro was late.

I forced myself to exhale. Perhaps he was simply tied up in meetings.

I thought of my time in the war, when Sky had certainly had his fair share of council meetings—most of which he hadn’t been able to escape.

Kuro was the military leader of the largest rebel group across the Three Kingdoms—and we were reliant on him to mobilize his troops for our cause.

Somewhat mollified, I returned to the catacombs to search for him. But when I reached his rooms, the response from his guards left me more than a little uneasy.

“He’s not…himself right now,” said his personal guard. “I’d recommend staying away for a day.”

“A day?” I balked. “We don’t have a day!” I shoved him out of the way. “Let me see him.”

“Suit yourself,” said the guard, who looked as though he were throwing me to the wolves.

I marched inside to find the room smoky and airless, and Kuro himself lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling as if it were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. His eyes were as wide as saucers, but his irises were so constricted his eyes looked almost white.

“Kuro!” I cried out, rushing to him. “What’s wrong?”

I touched his skin—cool and clammy. I was about to ask if he’d been poisoned when I saw the opium pipe in his left hand. It was poison—but he’d done it to himself.

“You’re smoking now ?” I demanded.

With great effort he focused his gaze on me. “Phoenix-Slayer,” he said slowly, his lips curving into a vacuous smile.

I stifled the urge for violence. “Kuro,” I said. “Get up. We have to go now. Do you remember the plan?”

“I can’t,” he replied, his voice slurring. “I’m tired. I’ll stay here.”

“You’ll stay here?” I repeated. Now I couldn’t restrain myself; I grabbed him by his shoulders and shook him, hard.

He let himself sway like an overgrown rag doll, limp and defenseless.

“As if that’s an option—” In my indignation, I knocked over a liquor bottle on the floor.

It fell on its side, but nothing came out.

“I can’t do this without her,” he told me, his voice threadbare.

He closed his eyes, and seconds later, fell asleep in front of me.

I swore. There was nothing I despised more than this—this waste and indulgence.

Others told me my father had once been a clearheaded man, but I had never known him as such—because the opium had changed him.

And now Kuro, smart, charismatic Kuro, had fallen prey to the pipe.

I got to my feet, assessing the damage. It was already afternoon, and we needed to get back before dusk—when the spirits came out to play.

Sky and Lei were both occupied with their own equally important tasks.

I could ask a few rebels to accompany me to the caves, but they could sooner become liabilities if possessed by a wayward spirit.

No, better to go alone and leave less of a trail.

I scratched out a note and gave it to Kuro’s personal guard.

I considered requesting a horse, then decided it was better to ask for forgiveness.

Stealing a mare, I left the rebel base and galloped out of the city.

The woods lay deceptively empty, though the air was far from calm.

There was a tense stillness like the hush before a storm: no birdsong, no animals rustling in the grasses, not even the buzz of mosquitoes to disturb the uncanny quiet.

In some places, the lixia was so thick in the air it felt like breathing in a drug.

The aftermath of this violence would surely leave its mark for years to come.

But would there ever be a day when the horrors of this war dissipated like dandelion fluff on the wind, scattering into fragments too small to see?

The future was always so hard for me to imagine.

It brought me no comfort, as it did to others.

If I were to die, I did not wish to think of it.

But if I were to live, that too seemed impossible in its complexity.

Others would move on. Others like Rouha and Plum would grow up and go to school and get married and perhaps even have children of their own.

But I would not move on. I could feel it in my bones—that I lacked the normalcy that brought others happiness.

It was why I ran away from home. Why I accepted the dragon’s seal. Why I desired .

Without the usual foot traffic, I was able to make it out of the city roads in a quarter of the time. Dismounting before the Reed Flute Caves, I tied my mare to a nearby tree and left her to graze, listening for the sound of whispering spirits.

The lixia did feel thinner here; I did not know why. Perhaps they despised the dark, having spent too long in the spirit realm. Or perhaps the caves, devoid of people, were simply of little interest to them.

“Hello?” I whispered into the cavern, without quite knowing why I was whispering.

Although we had passed the caves on our way into First Crossing, we had not stopped to venture inside.

Beneath the low rays of golden sunlight, the stalagmites within seemed to sparkle like jewels.

Like the Leyuan legend said, they did appear like mythical creatures, their sharp crags reminiscent of faces and bodies.

The rock below was as smooth as polished marble and bore the rippling discoloration of a long-ago ocean floor.

How peculiar, then, that these caverns now stood on a mountain peak far from the sea.

How the world changed—and how it stayed the same.

My disquiet growing, I entered hesitantly, the sun’s rays at my back.

I reached for a thin stalagmite and felt my vital energy pulse in response.

As I gripped the stalagmite, my qi began to expand, spreading beyond the caves to the rivers and the mountains.

I heard voices, laughter; I felt the beating hearts of people near and far.

Gasping, I released the stalagmite and withdrew my knife, sawing at the fossil.

The dull thud of a boot startled me. I turned instinctively, just as a blur of movement flickered before me. That was when I realized—I’d made a mistake.

If I hadn’t shielded Qinglong from my mind, perhaps he would’ve warned me. Or perhaps he merely would have laughed. But by the time I turned, it was too late.