“I could see the glint of your eyes.” He climbed out of his makeshift bed with fluid ease.
“There’s no light.” She pursed her lips. Why did he have to be so observant? She stuck out her tongue.
“I saw that, too.” Chen Yong grinned at her as he folded his travel blanket, his own eyes hidden.
Ai Ling snorted, quiet enough so she would not wake Li Rong, but loudly enough for Chen Yong to hear. She emerged from her cocoon in reluctant stages, first freeing her shoulders, then rolling the soft cotton down to her hips, finally wiggling her legs out. She rinsed her mouth and wiped her face with her damp cotton rag and also folded her blanket, tucking it back in the knapsack. Her fingers touched a bundle. The letters she had not wanted to share until they were alone. A twinge of guilt wormed its way through her—she had been so selfish to keep them.
Ai Ling withdrew the stack of letters bound in blue ribbon and walked over to Chen Yong, who was preparing to restart their campfire. She handed him the thick bundle. “I should have given these to you sooner. Master Tan asked me to deliver them. He didn’t think he would see you again.”
“My father’s letters?” He was down on one bended knee by the remnants of the fire, his face tilted toward hers.
“Yes.”
He clutched the letters for a brief moment before slipping them into his knapsack. “Thank you,” he said in a thick voice.
She helped to gather more firewood, sat down, and watched him strike a small flint against the carved oval striker, creating sparks like tiny exploding stars. A pinpoint flame finally emerged, fed, and grew brighter.
Chen Yong retrieved the bundle and sat down next to the fire, removing a thin folded parchment with careful hands. The page was yellowed, the black calligraphy visible from the underside as he held it to the light.
Ai Ling watched as he folded each letter after reading it and opened another with gentle fingers. Li Rong sat up, scratching his head. He opened his mouth to speak, saw the expression on Chen Yong’s face, and lay back down again.
So it went until the mist dissipated and sunlight shone through the bamboo leaves above them. Chen Yong sat hunched near the flames, his broad shoulders folded forward, in a posture of reverent prayer. He was oblivious to everything but the words written by a father he never knew. Ai Ling’s gaze did not stray from his face. Faint lines creased between his dark brows at certain moments, crinkled around his eyes when he narrowed them as he read.
Finally he folded the last letter and tied the blue ribbon around the bundle once more. Having stayed silent longer than she would have believed was possible, Li Rong spoke. “What did the letters tell, old brother?”
But Chen Yong didn’t reply and wiped the tears from his face.
12
The jagged peak towered over them, obscuring half the sky. Ai Ling’s shoulders dropped in exhaustion when they finally arrived at its base. At least a path had been worn for them by the many travelers who made this trek before. They huddled in the shade of the rocks to take a midday meal. She sank to the ground and wished she could do anything else but climb this hill.
They rested for only a short while. Ai Ling rose to her feet with reluctance and drank another swallow of cool water from her flask.
They hiked in silence. Even Li Rong was quiet, the sweat trickling down his face. It was early afternoon when they reached the summit and saw what lay beyond—a vast sea rose, expanding within a heartbeat to surround them, until the endless water merged with the skyline. Ai Ling gasped. She turned to look back at the path from which they had come, but there was no path, no mountain. Only the piece of jutting rock they stood on and the sea that engulfed them. In the distance was the vague shape of land, an island perhaps, shrouded in mist.
“The heavens have mercy,” Li Rong said under his breath.
“We’re trapped,” she said.
“We’re hundreds of leagues from the sea.” Chen Yong drew his sword from its sheath. “This must be sorcery of some kind.”
“Even that island is too far away to swim to, if it is an island,” Li Rong said.
The image of the island before them shimmered as the mist swirled around it. Ai Ling squinted, and thought she saw the reflection of something gold. It wavered and was gone.
“I would think I was hallucinating if you weren’t both standing beside me,” she said.
“What’s that?” Chen Yong pointed. A shape seemed to be moving over the water toward them.
Ai Ling shaded her eyes with one hand. Whatever it was moved fast, almost in a blur. “It glints in the sun,” she said.
The thing suddenly veered up into the sky, and she saw the length of it in its entirety, the underbelly gleaming in shades of blue, turquoise, and green, just like the changing seawater itself. Its length was incalculable by sight, but seemed to stretch over half the distance between the island and where they stood.
No one spoke. They craned their necks to the sky and knew what they saw. A dragon flew toward them, wingless and ushered by clouds. It sliced through the air more gracefully than any bird. When it was above their heads, it began to circle, almost spiraling on its own length as if dancing. Ai Ling could see four feet and gold talons. It drifted downward, escorted by cloud wisps that clung around its tail and underbelly, until it was face-to-face with them. Ai Ling held her breath. She could sense, rather than see, Chen Yong standing frozen, his sword still raised.
The dragon snorted as if in greeting, bobbing lightly, riding the sea zephyrs beneath its belly. Its head was magnificent, the length of one man. Its eyes were luminous pearls; the eyebrows and whiskers flowed like kelp on its face, which was the color of a deep sea green. It grinned, revealing teeth as long as her dagger’s blade.
Ai Ling shivered, fear and amazement ricocheted through her. She stood entranced by the beauty of the beast, not knowing if this would be the last thing she saw.
The creature tossed its head, and she felt its spirit tug at her own. Its touch on her was pure, good. It brought to mind the dragon lore she had read in The Book of Lands Beyond. Dragons were companions to the Immortals and helped men in distress. But how much of the myth could she believe? Awed and hesitant, she extended her spirit into the beast—and the world took on an opalescent sheen. She looked at herself and the others. They were blurred, with bright halos surrounding their forms. An ancient strength coursed through the dragon, and it felt light to be within its body, despite its massive size. The dragon held a sense of protection and duty toward the three humans, who looked so diminutive and frail.
“Come. Ride.” It spoke an ancient tongue Ai Ling could barely grasp. She saw an image of herself, Chen Yong, and Li Rong soaring with the wind. Her heart sang, felt utterly free.
She glided back within her own self, the experience a soft whisper, smooth compared to the jarring snap of previous times.
“It wants us to ride on its back,” she said.
“What?” Li Rong asked. “How do you know?”
They looked at the magnificent dragon, and then turned their gazes to her as if she had morphed into a dragon herself.
“It told me,” she said.
“You never cease to surprise me.” Chen Yong sheathed his sword. “It seems as if higher powers intervene with our journey. We’ll fly with the dragon.”
“Wait! How do we know it’s safe? We haven’t been welcomed by gentle creatures during our travels,” Li Rong said. He stood with his hand on the hilt of his sword, his mouth pressed into a firm line.
The dragon undulated to its side, allowing Ai Ling to clamber on its back. Its scales were smooth and warm to the touch. She could feel the power of the beast beneath her palms as she steadied herself.
“I entered its spirit and know it is good. The dragon feels protective toward us.” She graced Li Rong with—she hoped—a charming smile. “Please trust me.”