The Last Dragon of the East

Chapter 21

21

T he winding tunnels are labyrinthine. Were it not for the wisps and their simpleminded nature, Jyn and I would have ended up going in circles. Every time we come to another fork, the wisps eagerly try to tempt us down a certain path.

We never follow them.

The walls are tight and the tunnel roof is low. I have to duck down more than once to avoid hitting my head on dangling stalactites. The air is thick and stale. More than once, intrusive thoughts of the walls caving in and crushing us to death skitters like a nest of spiders through my mind. This would be such a terrible place to die. Our very own tomb. The only reason I don’t give in to full-fledged hysteria is because of the soft press of Jyn’s body against my own, keeping me anchored to reality.

She limps along beside me, quietly gritting her teeth as we venture farther underground, judging by the downward slope beneath our feet and the growing chill in the air. It’s alarming, to be sure, when we’re so desperate to make it back to the surface, but what other choice do we have? I doubt Jyn and I will be able to climb out of the sand pit we fell through. I figure that whatever made these tunnels must have also made an exit for itself.

Jyn has not uttered a single complaint, but I can feel the agony she’s masking. My own ankle throbs empathetically with every step we take. It makes me wonder if she can sense my bruised throat and splitting headache.

We wander for hours, the endless maze appearing to warp and shift. The first pangs of hunger cause my stomach to clench. When was it that I last ate? How I would love a meal of rice and steamed vegetables. I think of the roasted pork A-Ba used to make for us to welcome each new year. Everyone knew that his spice blend was the best, but he’d never divulge his recipe.

I swallow dryly, shoving the thought aside. None of that, now.

Eventually, those tricky wisps bring us to a sudden drop. They resorted to following us like insistent children tugging at their mother’s hands for some attention. The soft breeze I detect whispering against my cheeks gives rise to a spark of hope. Fresh air. It can only mean we’re getting close to the exit.

“Let me go ahead first,” I say, using the light of the wisps to get a sense of the drop. I see ground. Not a leg-breaking plummet, but still a significant fall all the same.

I take a deep breath before sliding carefully over the edge, hanging on tight before letting go entirely. It is a long fall, but I manage to roll and disperse my harsh downward momentum to ease the landing. I groan as I pull myself to my feet. Everything is heavy—my body, my soul, my mind.

I turn, looking up. “This way, my lady.”

“Are you sure?”

I extend my hands. “Trust me.”

Jyn sits upon the ledge, takes a deep breath, and then allows herself to fall.

I catch her, my hands at the dip of her waist as she circles my neck with her arms. She is by no means light and crashes into me with the full force of a… well, a dragon. Jyn knocks me off my feet and I land hard on my backside, but I’m more than happy to take the brunt of the fall.

It feels like heaven. She feels like heaven. Jyn fits comfortably in my hold, the scent of her jasmine-scented hair filling my nose. For but a moment, I lose myself in the brilliance of her eyes and the softness of her skin. My gaze flits down to her lips, lingering there far longer than it should.

Perhaps I do hunger.

And apparently, I’m not the only one.

Jyn stares at me with just as much intensity, the tips of her fingers lightly grazing the line of my jaw. Her lashes flutter as she studies my face, her walls momentarily crumbling. Finally, I can sense her contentment. What I wouldn’t give to stay with her like this, just for a while longer. What a shame our surroundings are far from idyllic.

“Jyn.” Her name is a soft murmur on my tongue.

A mistake, for this breaks the spell we’re under.

Her cheeks flush, suddenly a light dusting of pink. Jyn clears her throat, her brows knitting into their usual frown. “Let me go.”

I do so, releasing my arms from around her. I struggle onto my feet first and offer my hand, biting back relief—and even a little glee—when she takes it without a fuss. Between us, our thread glows a soft crimson. Still not quite mended, nor as bright as I have seen in others, but certainly a welcome change from its usual dreary shade.

I take a single step forward on what I now realize is not the cave floor, but tile , and the sole of my shoe clacks against its cool surface. I look about, amazed to find that we have somehow ventured into what I can only describe as a forgotten library.

The walls are high and the ceiling domed. Rows upon rows of bookshelves fill the structure, stuffed full of old bamboo scrolls and books of leather binding. We’re at the very top, at least a hundred levels descending below us. I can’t see the bottom. A thick layer of dust covers every available surface, and our feet leave prints on the grimy floors.

“What is this place?” I ask. My voice carries across the bottomless athenaeum, echoing back at me. It sounds like an entire army of me, whispering in mirrored fascination.

Jyn limps toward the railing carved of granite and peeks over the edge. “The Lost Library of the Albeion Monks.”

I stare at her, perplexed. “The old legend? But what’s it doing all the way out here?”

“The Western Wastelands were not always empty. The last time I was here…”

She pauses, noticing me hanging on her every word.

“Please, go on.”

She takes a deep breath. “They used to be everywhere, the monks. They built monasteries all across the lands. They were dedicated scholars as well as devout practitioners, determined to share their knowledge with the world. This is said to be their largest archive. Or at least, it was, once.”

“Lost to time, it seems.” I run my hand over the nearest wall, wiping away dust. My palm comes away black. “But how did it end up down here?”

“You tell me. What does the legend say?”

I search my memory, thinking back to a time when A-Ma was in the kitchen, busy cooking as she treated me to a story. She always liked to talk while she worked, unable to bear long stretches of silence. It’s a good thing she happened to have such a chatty son.

“Many centuries ago,” I recount aloud, “the lands were ravaged by war. It swept across the Five Kingdoms, bringing with it total destruction. The Albeion monks supposedly fled across the sea for their safety, but, unwilling to let their knowledge fall into the wrong hands, they cast a spell to make their library vanish.” I glance toward her. “How much of that is truth?”

Jyn gives me a weak smile. “All of it.”

I wonder about all the things she must have seen in her life. All the civilizations she’s witnessed rise and fall. The hundreds of battles fought between kingdoms that no longer exist on the map…

All the people she’s loved and lost.

We start down toward the winding staircase leading to the lower floors. It’s a great and arduous task to descend, for her twisted ankle makes for clumsy steps. Jyn and I manage a single flight before I turn to her and ask, “Will you allow me to carry you?”

She hesitates. “You’re injured, too, Sai. I can handle myself.”

“I’m feeling better,” I insist, and genuinely mean it. I don’t understand why, but my rapid healing has me feeling like a new man. My finger is fully regrown, my throat is no longer sore, and my muscles are mostly refreshed. Apart from my overwhelming thirst, I’m right as rain. I suspect that the blood Jyn had me drink days ago is at the root of my miraculous recovery.

She licks her lips and sighs. “Very well.”

She drapes an arm over my shoulder while I brace her around her back and beneath her thighs, carrying her close across my chest. I know there will never be a moment when I’m not thrilled by our proximity. I used to dream of holding my Fated One in my arms, though I never could have predicted it would be several li underground with the threat of death hanging over us. Not exactly romantic, but alas.

We continue down the steps, making it as far as ten floors before I am thoroughly winded.

“If I’m so heavy, just put me down,” Jyn says with a huff.

I shake my head. I want to hold her forever. “You’re as light as a feather, sunshine. That’s not the problem. How many floors have we to go?”

“The legends say that the Lost Library of the Albeion Monks boasted a thousand levels filled with a millennia’s worth of knowledge. If I had to guess, nine hundred and ninety remain.”

I groan. “For the love of the nine suns—”

“Let’s stop here for the night,” she says. “We could both use the rest, and my ankle should be healed by morning.”

I arch a curious brow. “So quickly?”

“I heal faster than most.”

“Because of your magic?”

Jyn nods. “Set me down. We can sleep a few hours and continue our trek.”

As luck would have it, there’s a seating area in the very center of the library floor, complete with a few low tables, cushions—now rock-hard with centuries of dust buildup—and a few wooden chairs. I help Jyn take a seat before making my way through the bookshelves.

Wisps float around me, still very much attempting to lead me astray. I ignore them, figuring that we can at least use them for a bit of illumination. I peruse the stacks, intrigued by what I discover. Forgotten histories of kingdoms long since vanquished. Detailed accounts of scientific experiments in the fields of medicine, astronomy, and agriculture. There’s a treasure trove of stories, too, myths and legends from times gone by and lands well beyond our own.

“Perhaps we can use those over there for blankets?” Jyn suggests, pointing toward the far wall. It’s covered with several large, intricately woven tapestries.

I make my way over. They’re beautifully crafted, the colored threads woven to form stories with their shapes. Some of the threads are dyed in colors I have never seen before, the methods behind their creation likely lost to time. I run my hand over the surface, brushing away a thinner layer of dust, intrigued to find the image of ten suns and an archer pointing his arrow toward them in the sky.

“The legend of Houyi,” I tell Jyn over my shoulder. “They say there were once ten suns in the sky. It was too hot for humanity to bear. Crops shriveled and died, the rivers and oceans dried. So Houyi expertly shot nine out of the sky and was forever hailed a hero. The Gods rewarded him with an elixir of immortality, but his wife… Well, we all know how that one goes.”

“Yes, I know,” Jyn mumbles quietly. “Poor woman.”

I pull the tapestry down, gathering the heavy fabric in my arms, before I move on to the next one. I’m fascinated by all the glorious, painstaking details. It’s clearly the work of a master weaver. “And this one…” I say, looking over the thread-woven story. “It’s the legend of the nine-tailed fox. This was another one of my father’s favorites.”

“Why would that be?” Jyn asks.

“He liked the moral of the tale, I think. That even the most unexpected of us can be heroes.” I smile at her. “Have you ever seen a nine-tailed fox?”

Jyn takes a moment to think. “Once. Nearly five thousand years ago, but we gave each other a wide berth.”

“Why?”

“Out of respect. Kings may clash over territory, but queens know better. Besides, I remember her having her family close by. Her Fated One and a handful of humans under her care. I didn’t feel like intruding, so I kept on my way.”

The third tapestry is far more abstract than the others, the patterns simplistic and difficult to decipher. I gently dust it off as well and stare at the images long and hard, doing my best to discern the story it is trying to convey. There are delicate flowers woven into the border, billowing clouds of blue and white at the very top, and what appears to be the figure of a man in the middle, staring longingly not at the skies above, but at the vibrant world below.

“One of the Albeion monks’ most famous teachings,” I realize. “It’s said that at the Steps of Heaven, the soul is given a choice. They may either ascend as they are or choose to return to the mortal realm—reborn—in the hopes of reaching greater achievements for a higher seat in Heaven.”

The final tapestry on the wall intrigues me most. Stitched into the fabric in winding patterns are three dragons; one red, one green, and one blue. For some reason, it calls to me, tugging at something deep within my soul. My gaze lingers on the little blue dragon, a terrible familiarity stewing in the pit of my stomach. The little prince from my dreams…

An inexplicable grief consumes me.

Who is he? Why does he haunt me so?

Behind me, I hear Jyn shifting. “Sai. Come and rest.” There’s an edge to her tone.

I’m too entranced by the arras to heed her. My attention turns next to the green dragon, her form looping and winding throughout the entire piece. The more I study the tapestry, the more I begin to realize that it’s her story. At the very top, she is linked to her Fated One with a bright red thread.

“Sai.”

When I get to the scenes in the middle of the tapestry, I notice that the blue dragon is nowhere to be found. Gone. Erased from the story. The red dragon lies in a broken heap, speared through with dozens of arrows. Thereafter, the green dragon is in isolation, her red thread nothing more than a black loop around her claw. The colors here are darker, foreboding. She remains there, weathering the seasons and the passage of time alone.

Until, at the very bottom, a new red thread is attached to her claw and sweeps off to the side of the tapestry. The story is not yet concluded, the bottom threads not yet tied off. It appears that the master weaver never got around to finishing his project.

Jyn hobbles over to join me, and she gazes up at the tapestry for all of two seconds before reaching up and ripping it off the wall. She grips it tight in one hand, running her fingertips over the blue dragon’s design. Her eyes become glassy with the threat of tears, but none fall, instead balancing on angry red rims.

Our connection screams in agony and sorrow, filling my nose with the scent of ash and coating my tongue with bile. My skin is suddenly alight, a searing heat shredding its way through me.

“Jyn…”

She lets go. The fabric pools onto the cold floor, a plume of thick dust billowing into the air.

“I said rest ,” she commands, turning away.

I glance down at the forgotten tapestry, my thoughts a quiet storm as I attempt to puzzle together what it means. I hate to see Jyn upset, and it’s only made worse now that our connection reinforces my empathy.

She doesn’t speak another word to me the rest of the night.