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It had been Chi-fu's recommendation to have her dragged behind Shang's horse.
As Shan Yu's heir, Zhu was a trophy. A trophy who was fated to die. Whose end would usher in a new era of peace for China.
Never mind the fact that she had not only fought against her uncle, but aided in training the Chinese troops in archery…
Shang had only agreed to the display in order to shut Chi-Fu up. But he refused to drag her. Because she had fought for China, he allowed her to maintain some dignity by walking behind him, though he still had her bound with ropes to prevent escape.
Not that she would try. She had accepted her fate and would face it without struggle.
Chi-Fu glanced down at her, his brow lifting when he found her alongside his gelding. He chuckled, the sound as annoyingly haughty as ever. “I wonder…will the crowd that congregates for your execution be just as large as the one gathered here tonight?” he pondered aloud, his voice just loud enough for her to hear. “Given you are the last of the Shan line, it would be at least half this size. More than a few people will want to see your line finally ended, after all.”
Narrowing her eyes, she lifted her head to glare at him.
“I wonder if it’ll be strangulation?” He tapped his chin thoughtfully before smirking. “No, no…I’m certain the Emperor will have you beheaded." When he looked down at her, he wore a mocking smile. "We wouldn’t want you to get reincarnated, after all.” As he spoke, he twirled part of his thin mustache around his finger.
She pulled her upper lip back in a snarl. Though it was partly obscured by the gag, it was visible enough to make the imperial advisor nervously steer his horse away from her. ‘I've heard Chien-Po mention reincarnation before,’ she thought, 'but what do beheading and strangulation have to do with it…?'
Letting out a heavy sigh, she glanced over her shoulder. A few soldiers stood between her and the trio of her once-friends. Ling had a downcast gaze as he carried the Imperial banner and Yao trudged along behind him. Chien-Po took up the rear, his eyes slowly looking out over the crowd.
She hated how unlike themselves they looked. Even more, she hated that she was partially—no, mostly—responsible for their misery. Shang, at least, had spared Mulan from death. But while she had spared Qi from a long, agonizing death, she had still killed him. And now Ling would never see his twin again…
Zhu pulled her gaze away from them.
Instead, she began taking in her surroundings. The Imperial City was impossibly large—far larger than any city she had visited in the past. And so different looking. She had always found herself impressed by the architecture of China. It was so different from anywhere else she had been.
There were enormous wooden columns holding up curving clay roofs and strings of colorful lanterns strung between the buildings. Houses with white walls and multiple stories stood on either side of the wide, stone street and there were curved gates leading to different sections of the city. At the far end of the road, she could see a massive staircase leading up to the imperial palace, though it was a bit hard to make out the palace itself through the amount of kites and lanterns scattered about.
‘So this is the capital of the empire Shan Yu wanted to so badly conquer,’ she told herself. 'It seems pleasant enough…but not worth the bloodshed.'
Sighing, she glanced up at the kite-filled sky. Had she been there under different circumstances, she would have thought them beautiful. They were all brightly colored and, while most were plainly decorated, some had the faces of dragons or cherry blossoms painted on them. Many also had tails made of multicolored ribbons fluttering behind them.
Despite their beauty, something else managed to catch her attention. She narrowed her eyes, attempting to scan the skies through the kites and lanterns. But then, a dragon-headed kite drifted aside and she was granted an unobscured view. Her eyes shot open and she gasped.
Barely visible against the night sky, she could see a falcon circling the city.
At first, she thought she was just seeing things—that it was just a bird or a bat startled by the celebration. But normal creatures of the sky would actively avoid the area. This one was on the hunt. And it was circling the inner city.
‘Hayabusa?!' she thought, her heart beginning to race. 'But how? The army was swept away by the avalanche!’ She swallowed hard, feeling a bit of color draining from her face. 'If Hayabusa is alive, then Shan Yu is alive. And if he's alive, then surely some of the Elite are, too. Oh, spirits help us…’
Pulling her eyes from the sky, she sprinted forward and, despite the gag, called out to Shang. At first, he ignored her, but as her tone became more desperate, he glanced down at her.
“It’s too late to beg for mercy, Zhu,” he told her.
She shook her head before jabbing her hands in an upwards motion, hoping he would look. But with her arms bound to her sides, the motion looked more like a crude gesture than anything. Rolling his eyes, Shang looked away from her.
Mentally cursing, Zhu began attempting to cut through the cloth gag by grinding it between her teeth. It was to no avail and only managed to earn a laugh from Chi-Fu. She ignored him, however, and instead twisted her wrists somewhat as she judged the strength of the ropes wrapped around her hand. She then flexed against the ropes around her torso.
‘I can still break through these,’ she thought. ‘But…should I? Even if I were able to tell them about Hayabusa, they wouldn't believe me. And why should they? They don’t know of Shan Yu and Hayabusa’s pact, nor are they likely to believe me if I told them…’
She let out a defeated sigh; for now, her best course of action was to stay quiet and look for further proof of the Hun leader's survival. Knowing Shan Yu, the twins, and Edeco were far too big to blend in, she started scanning the crowd for Bleda and Mundzuc. They had to be somewhere nearby…
The army was three-quarters of the way through the city when they heard approaching hoofbeats. Zhu turned, her eyes first narrowing in wariness, but then widening when she saw Mulan riding through the crowd.
“Shang!” she called as Khan burst from the crowd and into the street.
Shang turned, his eyes widening; behind them, Chi-Fu let out a small cry of protest that went ignored. "Mulan?!"
“Shang! The Huns are alive!” she breathlessly told him. Khan, too, was breathing heavily, his coat glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. “They’re here, in the city!”
Zhu quickly nodded, making a noise of agreement. She, however, went unnoticed by the riders.
Shang scowled and turned his head away from Mulan; there was pain and hurt in his eyes. But there was also confusion. Zhu knew he wanted to believe her, but his pride prevented him from doing such. “You don’t belong here, Mulan. You should return home.”
She growled and brought Khan alongside Shang’s stallion. “I saw them in the mountains!" she argued. "You have to believe me!”
He was forced to halt his horse when Khan moved of his own accord and stepped in front of them. “Why should I?”
“Why else would I come back?” She met his gaze and held it, unblinking. “You said you’d trust Ping. Why is Mulan any different?”
Shang said nothing. Instead, he turned his head from her and steered the stallion around Khan.
Zhu looked up at Mulan as she walked past, hoping her former friend could tell that she, at least, believed her. When Mulan gave her a small, acknowledging nod, she felt a bit of relief.
‘Good. Someone else knows,’ Zhu thought, swallowing hard. Glancing over her shoulder, she could see Mulan now speaking to the trio as they walked past. ‘Spirits, please let those three believe her…’
Soon enough, the procession reached the base of the enormous staircase. Here, Shang dismounted and, from beneath his saddlebag, he drew out a sword. Its blade was serpentine in shape and its pommel was hollow, making it all too recognizable to Zhu. But even if she hadn't been raised by its owner, she would have known it belonged to her uncle.
How it came to be in Shang's possession, however, was a mystery to her.
‘How did he get Shan Yu’s sword? It was buried with him in the avalanche...’ Her brows furrowed in confusion.
Shang came over to her and began to untie the lead from around her neck. Beside them, the lion dancers came to a halt; Zhu glanced over at them, though the costume hid most of the dancers' bodies from view. In truth, she didn’t think the lion looked very much like a lion at all—to her, it more resembled a dragon.
But then, stealing a look at the dancers’ feet, she frowned: The foremost dancers wore heavy riding boots, the toes of which curved upwards. One of the 'dancers', she saw, also seemed to have somewhat deformed legs that bowed outwards.
Bleda.
Her eyes narrowed. The Elite were right beside them, hiding in plain sight.
‘Found you.'
As Shang finished untying the lead, she gestured with her head at the lion and used her eyes to motion at their feet. To her great relief, he finally understood her charades and, turning his head somewhat, he looked down. His eyes flitted back to hers and she nodded ever so slightly.
"Are you sure?" he whispered.
She nodded again.
He swallowed hard. "Do you swear to me that you are on our side?"
Another nod.
"Then play along."
Grabbing the ropes on her back with one hand and holding Shan Yu's sword in the other, he began to guide her towards the stairs. As they climbed the steps, she could feel the ropes loosening a bit; Shang had undone the knot.
Behind them, the Elite followed, each step making the bells of their costume jingle and drown out most sounds around them. But, for the moment Shang's attention was fixed on something ahead of them: An elderly man clad in a robe of yellow, red, and black.
The Emperor.
He was addressing the crowd, but what he was saying, Zhu couldn't quite hear thanks to the jingling behind her. He looked wiser and more kind than Zhu imagined—and smaller. Much smaller. Whenever Shan Yu had spoken of the old man, she had pictured him as someone at least as large as her uncle and just as intimidating. Instead, he was a good foot shorter than her and was of a slim build. Not quite as lean as Ling, though.
Their timing couldn't have been more perfect. As the Emperor finished speaking, she and Shang came to a halt just a few yards from him.
“Your Majesty,” Shang said, giving Zhu a slight push forward. She feigned a stumble before dropping to her knees. “I present to you the daughter of Shan Da and last of the Shan line, Shan Zhu.” As he spoke, he kept his voice respectful, but also loud enough that it echoed around the area.
The crowd gasped, but with there being so many people present, the sound was more akin to a storm gale than a small breath.
For a few, fleeting seconds, Zhu could see horror and recognition in the Emperor's eyes. But there was something else—was that intrigue?
Shang bowed before the old man, holding aloft Shan Yu's sword as he spoke. "I also give to you the sword of Shan Yu," he said.
The Emperor's expression softened and he gazed down at Shang with fondness and sorrow. "I know what this means to you, Captain Li. Your father would be very proud of you,” he said, the words soft and grandfatherly.
Shang swallowed hard and lifted his head to look up at the Emperor. But just as he opened his mouth to reply, the piercing cry of a falcon shattered the silence. Zhu lifted her head in time to see Hayabusa fly between the two men, snatching the sword in his talons before climbing back into the sky. He banked to his right and, flying over the roof, dropped the blade.
Though a lifetime seemed to pass as the sword fell through the air, it had only been a few seconds when a hand shot out from the shadows and snatched the hilt. Narrowing her eyes, Zhu watched as Shan Yu stood, no longer hidden by the shadows and wearing a triumphant smirk. Cries of horror and panic came from the crowd.
If it hadn’t been for the costume’s plentiful amount of bells, Zhu wouldn’t have heard the rustle behind them.
She sprung to her feet and thrust her arms outwards; though the ropes had been loosened, the abrupt outward movement of her arms made them snap as if they were nothing more than delicate ribbons.
At the same time, the five Elite burst out of the lion’s head.
She spun around and, ignoring the pain that flared into life from her injures, grabbed hold of Edeco's shoulders as he tried to charge past her. Grunting, she started to push him back down the stairs. But Edeco had been the one who taught her this move and knew how to counter her.
Their fight was only a few seconds long: As she continued to push him, he suddenly ducked and, knowing she’d try to grab him in a headlock, punched her in the gut. She doubled over with a grunt. Shoving an arm between her legs, he lifted her up and tossed her onto his shoulder like a sack of grain before rushing forward.
“Kill the falcon!” Zhu cried, struggling against Edeco’s hold. “Shan Yu’s life is tied to it!”
“You really have betrayed us,” she heard Edeco say, hurt in his voice.
As they passed through two, massive quickly-closing doors, she winced; the way he carried her meant he was gripping the arrow wound on her back. “The Chinese aren’t what Shan Yu says they are,” she grunted. “They’re kind!”
“They’re thieves!” Edeco snapped, shrugging his shoulder. She slid off him and started falling towards the floor, but he caught her, having snatched a handful of her shirt and the bandages below. She hissed in pain as the dressings dug into her injuries, but he didn't care. “They’re thieves, Shan Zhu! They chased our ancestors’ off their lands and stole them from us! They forced our people to become wandering nomads! They treat us like criminals, even if we’ve never committed a crime!”
“That was centuries ago!” she argued, gripping his wrist. It was getting a bit difficult to breathe. “They’re nothing like their ancestors—just like we’re nothing like our ancestors!” If she could just get her feet on the floor…
“Bah! Listen to your words, Shan Zhu!" he scoffed. "They’ve poisoned you against us with their lies. What other things did they tell you? Did they promise to return our lands and show you with gold?”
Gritting her teeth in pain, she dug her nails into his wrist; she could feel her shirt beginning to rip due to her weight. An idea came to her. “The only one who spoke lies was me and I regret every one of them!” Using his arm as a fulcrum, she shoved herself downwards, tearing a large hole in her shirt.
Spinning around, Zhu jabbed her elbow into his gut. He doubled over, the wind knocked from his lungs. Grabbing his still-outstretched arm, she threw him over her shoulder. Where he landed, she told herself she didn’t care.
She started running, trying to catch up with Roua and Ruga. Her lungs still burned, but she fought through the pain as she had done so many times over the years. This was nothing compared to marching double-time uphill…
Rounding a corner, she found the twins—and the Emperor—just a few yards ahead of her. Before she could reach them, however, something slammed into her side. She tumbled sideways, grunting as she hit her head on the stone floor. Lights danced before her eyes, obscuring her vision as she started to push herself upright.
Someone kicked her in the gut, the force knocking her onto her back. Her assailant put their knee on her chest and leaned their weight on it, pinning her. “You’re lucky Shan Yu wants you alive.” Mundzuc.
“Oh? That's ironic,” she sneered, “because I want him dead.” She hissed as he grabbed a fistful of her hair and lifted her up. Another grunt left her mouth as the palm of his free hand slammed into the side of her face.
Once more, she saw nothing but dancing lights. Her lip stung and she could taste blood.
Mundzuc shifted before standing. Grabbing the front of her shirt, he hoisted her to her feet. “You would be lucky if he kills you himself,” he hissed. “After what you’ve done, he may leave you to me.”
“Can’t wait, old man.”
She felt him tense and his knuckles turned white. “You know not to call me that,” he hissed.
“What? I thought you enjoyed it when I taunted you?” she continued. She thought she could hear thudding in the distance and wondered if it was her own heartbeat. There was also an annoying tickling sensation traveling from beneath her nose down the side of her cheek—more blood. “Oh, right…Don’t want to get you excited during Shan Yu’s big moment.” Cracking open an eye, she bared her teeth at him in a mocking grin.
Snarling, he shoved her against a column, his face inches from hers. “If one more word comes out of your mouth—”
“Mundzuc.”
Both Mundzuc and Zhu looked up, seeing Roua coming towards them. Though he did his best to wear an intimidating scowl, there was obvious hurt in his eyes as he looked at Zhu. She felt her stomach abruptly drop and she looked away, using the back of her hand to try to wipe the blood from her face. She only succeeded in smearing it, though.
“Shan Yu wants to see her before he finishes off the Emperor,” Roua said.
Mundzuc huffed and, letting go of her, turned away. “So be it. Gives me time to think of all the ways I can torture her.”
As he skulked off, Roua glared at him. Then, with a shake of his head, he gently grabbed Zhu by the shoulder and started guiding her towards the staircase. She wished he would have been rougher with her.
“Of all the people who would betray us, I never thought it’d be you, Zhu,” he told her, voice quiet. “Mundzuc? Yes. Edeco? Maybe. But you…?” He shook his head again. “Never.”
She swallowed hard. “I—I’m not sorry,” she told him, her voice suddenly a bit shaky. “Shan Yu told me so many lies—told us so many lies. Now that I know the truth, I—I can’t do this anymore.”
As they passed by Ruga and the Emperor, she could feel Ruga’s disappointed gaze on her. The Emperor merely watched in dignified silence, his eyes somewhat narrowed.
“He told you what he had to in order to keep you focused on your training,” he said, his voice remaining quiet and calm. He had always been the quieter and less violent of the twins. Something she badly wished he wasn't in that moment. “You are—were—his heir and he needed you to become a great warrior to ensure the Shan line lives on. And now you are a great warrior…" He turned his head, looking down at her. "You’re just fighting for the wrong side.”
“He told me the Chinese were monsters,” she argued, feeling a tear run down her cheek. “He told me they were horrible, abusive, war-mongering monsters. They’re not—they’re kind and they’re funny! They don’t even want to fight!”
“Neither do our people, but we must fight. It’s the only way we can survive. If we don’t fight, you know as well as I that our people would get wiped out.”
Zhu wished he had been Bleda or Edeco or even Mundzuc. Anyone but himself or Ruga. The twins had always been her favorite of the Elite. Though they could be just as harsh as the others, they were also the ones who had taken care of her when she was sick or injured. Had shown her kindness when the other Huns wouldn’t. Had become her family as Uncle Yu lost himself to the pact.
Seeing how much she had hurt them almost made her regret betraying her uncle.
When they reached the top of the stairs, she grew tense once more. They were on a covered balcony overlooking the city. At the railing with his back to them stood Shan Yu.
“You’ll know when to bring the Emperor,” he said, just barely turning his head.
Nodding, Roua gave Zhu a last, sorrowful look before going back down the stairs.
Shan Yu kept his back to her, but she could see that his knuckles were white as he gripped the banister; there were crack in the wood where he gripped. “I raised you to be better than this, Shan Zhu.”
“I was raised to be a cold-hearted killer,” she replied, glancing around. The only weapon in sight was her uncle’s sword and she found herself cursing the fact she had told Shang about the knives she had hidden in her socks. ‘I didn’t know Shan Yu was alive then,’ she reminded herself.
“I raised you to be my heir.” He turned, his face emotionless as he stared at her. “Not a traitor.”
She glared back at him, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she unconsciously straightened her posture. “You didn’t raise me. You are not even my uncle. Uncle Yu died the day Hayabusa convinced him to conquer China. That’s the day you handed me over to the Elite and watched from afar as they trained me to become one of your mercenaries. No. You don’t deserve credit for making me the warrior I am today.”
His lips drew back in a snarl. “How dare you—”
“You promised to keep me safe!” she suddenly shouted, taking a challenging step forward. “You said you would keep me out of harm’s way! But you lied! Just like you lied about the Chinese. There were times I nearly died because of you and the missions you sent me on. And what did you do? Told me to do better. You didn't care. I had become just another expendable soldier to you."
Shan Yu walked towards her, saying nothing. Zhu held his gaze, not moving from her spot even when he reached out for her. She fully expected him to hit her or to grab her, but he took her by surprise when he rested his ungloved hand on her cheek.
“You have no idea how much you look like your father right now,” he told her, his voice eerily gentle. “But you most definitely sound like your mother. She did her best to convince Da and me that we would be better off with the Chinese as our allies, not our enemies." A soft, scornful laugh passed his lips. "Da fell for her words. He believed that the Chinese could be truly good people. But do you know what happened next, Shan Zhu?”
She continued to glare at him. “Fa Zhou attacked,” she quietly replied.
“Fa Zhou attacked,” he repeated, his voice losing its softness. “He attacked and killed your father. His men killed tens of our people that night. And they nearly killed you when they ‘rescued’ the wicked Chinese woman that was your mother!”
Quicker than she could blink, Shan Yu's hand left her and instead gripped her throat. A strangled yelp left her mouth as she gripped at his wrist.
“You were raised to be a Hun!” he snarled, spittle flying from his mouth. “A Hun, Shan Zhu! But now I see what you truly are: A traitorous wretch just like your mother!” With a growl, he threw her, watching as she slammed into a column across the balcony. As she slid down, he could see that the impact had left deep cracks in the paint and wood.
Zhu grunted, her eyes shut in pain. She fought past it and started to push herself to her knees, finding it a bit hard to swallow, let alone move. “The only traitor here is you,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “By starting this needless war, you’ve betrayed our people. Thousands lost their lives yesterday because of you and your lust for power.”
She forced herself to rise to her feet, a snarl on her face. Keep moving, she told herself. Push through the pain. “You were the chief of the largest clan of Huns since Attila the Great! And now you’re chief to what? A hundred or so women and children we left, safe, in the grazing fields and five men.” A sarcastic laugh left her mouth as Shan Yu ran towards her, but she jumped to the side. “The only thing keeping the Elite from turning on you right now is that thrice-damned demon!”
Shan Yu tried to grab at her, but she ducked beneath his arm. Throwing herself forward, she tackled him to the ground, momentarily stunning him. His shocked state allowed her to get a few hits in, her fist hurling into his face.
But when she drew back for a fourth punch, he was faster. A strangled curse flew from her mouth as the heel of his hand slammed into the bottom of her jaw, the force enough to knock her off him and onto the floor. She laid there for a moment, dazed and—oddly—wondering how none of her teeth had broken from the impact.
Before she could get her wits about her, Shan Yu was atop her, both his hands around her throat. “You may be of my blood, Shan Zhu,” he sneered, watching her face beginning to turn a mottled red, “but you have proven that you are no Hun.”
“Good!” she wheezed. In an attempt to loosen his grip, she punched him in the crook of his elbow.
It worked.
His arm gave out and, as he was thrown off balance, she shoved herself rearwards. Bringing her legs up into her chest, she thrust them forward into him, sending him flying backwards. She managed to stand, ignoring the world as it swirled around her, and stormed over to her uncle. Grabbing his tunic, she yanked him towards her, making to slam her head against his.
He may have fallen for that yesterday, but not today.
As her head came rushing towards his, he leaned to the side. Her momentum sent her tumbling forward. Snatching the back of her shirt, he started to drag her towards the stairs.
“You don’t deserve to die by my blade,” he snarled. “No. That would be far too quick. For your treachery, you deserve the kind of death only Mundzuc could deliver.” He lifted her, his gaze meeting hers. What he assumed was fear filled her eyes, and he scoffed at the sight. “What’s this I see? Does the thought of dying frighten you?”
But it wasn’t fear—it was sorrow. “I am one of your elite, sir,” she told him, voice quiet, but unafraid as she repeated the words he had ingrained into her memory. She stared, unblinking, into his black-and-yellow eyes. “To be an elite is to be the most fearless and the most powerful. I am nothing less.”
His brows furrowed and, for a few, brief seconds, Zhu thought she could see guilt in those cursed depths. But then, with a shake of his head, Shan Yu let out a roar and threw her down the staircase. His fists clenched at his sides, he watched as she rolled and bounced down the steps until she disappeared into the hall below.
Zhu stopped rolling some feet from the door. As she laid there, trying to judge whether or not she was still alive—alive, certainly. There was too much pain for her to be dead—she could hear the shuffling of feet. Someone grabbed her underarms and began dragging her, but she made no effort to resist.
She couldn’t.
Everything hurt. Spirits, she had never been in this much pain before.
‘Ignore the pain and fight on,’ she ordered herself. ‘If you can still breathe, you can still fight. Ignore the pain.’
Halfway opening her eyes, she found that it was Edeco dragging her. Before she could question where he was taking her, he stopped. Unceremoniously, he propped her against the wall in a sitting position before just walking away.
‘Probably thinks I’m too hurt to keep fighting. Gives me time to recover a bit,’ she thought, watching him cross the hall and resume his position guarding the double doors. ‘I need some sort of plan and a weapon. I can defeat Bleda and Mundzuc in hand-to-hand, but the others would be more of a challenge…’
She hissed in pain as she shifted her position. Her brows furrowing, she did her best to force the thought of pain to the back of her mind, but the throbbing in her side and head made it more than a little difficult. ‘Bleda has only his bow, but just a couple of arrows. A punch to the gut and one to the leg would take him out easily enough. I’d take his bow, but it’s useless in such close quarters.’
With a grunt, she spat a mixture of blood and saliva onto the ground next to her. Her lack of coughing reassured her that her lungs hadn’t been injured—probably.
‘The others have their swords. Roua and Ruga will be hesitant to attack me—and I’ll be just as hesitant to attack them. I need to focus on Mundzuc. Take him down first and then get his sword. Maybe use him as a human shield.' Her brows furrowed slightly. 'On second thought, no. Throw him at the twins as a distraction and handle Edeco in the meantime. Edeco can beat me in wrestling, but if I move evasively, I stand a chance at getting behind him…But will that give the others enough time to make it here?’
Almost as if on cue, she began hearing whispers. Making it look as if she were squirming in pain, she rolled her head to one side in an attempt to better hear.
“Does this dress make me look fat?” That was most definitely Yao’s voice and the slap that shortly followed had to have come from Ling. It sounded too light for Chien-Po and too heavy for Mulan.
‘Dress? What in the Earth Mother’s name are they doing?’ she thought, frowning when she began hearing giggling.
She looked up in time to see Mulan, Ling, Yao, and Chien-Po come around the corner. “What the hell…?” she mumbled.
All of them were dressed as concubines—including makeup.
‘They…actually look like women,’ she thought, her mouth slightly agape as she watched them sashay their way up to the Elite. ‘And…they're even kind of pretty.’
Evidently, Roua also thought the group was attractive; his cheeks had flushed a deep shade of red. There was a shy smile on his lips as he flirtatiously waved at group. Zhu found it almost adorable, but Ruga was clearly annoyed. Rolling his eyes, he jabbed his twin in the ribs with his elbow.
So distracted by the group of ‘concubines’, the Elite didn’t even glance in Zhu’s direction, giving her the chance to slowly force herself to her feet. Once upright, she wobbled somewhat, but was able to keep her footing. She swallowed the pain filling her entire being and started to carefully make her way towards the group.
Before she could get halfway there, however, everything went silent.
Freezing in place, Zhu watched as Roua bent down to pick up a partially-eaten apple; where it had come from, she didn’t want to know. With a wide, innocent smile, he offered it back to Ling, who didn’t take it. Instead, he, Yao, and Chien-Po reached inside their dresses and pulled out various pieces of fruit that they had used as false breasts.
Zhu stared at Yao in utter confusion. Somehow, he had managed to make a banana look like a convincing breast. Not that she had long to contemplate the how of it, as all hell suddenly broke loose.
Chien-Po slammed a pair of watermelons over the twins’ heads. Then, grabbing their shoulders, he smashed them into each other, shattering the watermelons crashing their skulls together. They crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
Mundzuc drew his sword and rushed forward, but Ling stopped him by shoving the uneaten apple into his mouth. Before Munzduc could spit out the fruit, Ling kneed him in the gut, making him double over.
Zhu couldn’t see what Ling did next thanks to Yao, who had grabbed Edeco’s arm and easily flipped him over his head. A grunt left Edeco’s mouth as he crashed into the stone floor, head-first. He crumpled into a heap; Zhu wondered if such a blow had possibly killed him and her stomach twisted at the thought.
She looked at Mulan in time to see her easily knocking the bow from Bleda’s hands and pinning him to the floor. Snatching the fallen bow, she used it as a sort of garrote to further deter him from moving.
“Shang, go!” she cried.
From around the corner, Shang came running. Zhu sprinted to the doorway and shoved the drawbar out of place before pushing the doors open.
“The Emperor should still be alive,” she quickly informed him, watching as Shang hopped over Edeco. “He hasn’t been up there more than five minutes.”
Shang gave her a quick nod of thanks and sprinted up the stairs.
A quiet hiss of pain left Zhu’s mouth and she leaned against the doorframe, her hands pressing against her hip. Feeling dampness, she glanced down only to find her wound from the previous day had reopened; her shirt was soaked with blood.
Something shifted in the corner of her vision and she looked over in time to see Mulan coming towards her. Bleda was now unconscious, a red hand print forming on his cheek.
“Are you alright?” Mulan asked, worry on her face.
Zhu nodded, surprised that she was still concerned about her. “I hope I bought you enough time.” She stole a look over at the others, swallowing hard when she saw them staring at her with uncertainty. “You four need to get up there,” she quietly ordered, turning her head away from them in shame. “Shang is no match for Shan Yu.”
Mulan glanced between her and the balcony above. Biting her lower lip, she nodded and looked over her shoulder. “C’mon, guys!”
Zhu couldn’t bring herself to watch as they ran by. Instead, with her hand still pressed to her hip, she went over to the elegant curtains and started undoing their sashes.
Returning to the unconscious Elite, she began to tie them up. Bleda was first, then Edeco, who was somehow still breathing, albeit shallowly.
‘I may not be able to kill them, but I can at least get them tied up for the guards,’ she thought, rolling Ruga over onto his stomach.
She had just pulled his hands behind his back and was starting to tie him up when she was struck upside the head. Though the blow wasn’t terribly hard, she tumbled to the floor, cursing. Before she could get up, the person grabbed the collar of her shirt and, lifting her, slammed her against the wall.
Mundzuc glared at her, his teeth barred. “How does it feel, knowing all your friends are about to die?” he sneered.
From the corner of her eye, she could see that he gripped a small knife in his free hand. “Stop talking and just do it,” she snapped. “Kill me.”
Confusion started to intermingle with the anger on his face. “That’s…it?” he asked, leaning away ever so slightly. “No smartass comebacks? No taunting? You’re just…giving up?” He looked almost disturbed.
“Why shouldn’t I?” she demanded. “I’m Shan Yu’s one and only heir. When he is dead and things have calmed down, I’m going to be executed in front of the whole of China. Death is my fate. Mundzuc. What difference does it make if it’s dealt by an executioner or you?” Grabbing his wrist, she pulled his hand up to her throat, pressing the blade against her flesh. “You’ve wanted to slit my throat for years—I know you have. Well, this is your chance. Take it.”
Mundzuc didn’t move. Instead, he glanced between her face and the knife. Then, taking her by surprise, he pulled himself away from her. “You don’t know a damn thing, Shan Zhu,” he hissed, slowly backing away. He looked down at the unstirring bodies of the other Elite, his jaw clenching.
Then, looking back up at Zhu, he narrowed his eyes. Turning away, he ran.
Her brows slowly rose in utter bewilderment. Raising her hand to her throat, she felt the skin for any cuts, but found none. Mundzuc had actually left her skin unmarred. After years of abuse and threats to her life, he had refused to kill her.
But…why?
She didn’t have time to think it over very long. A familiar screech came from outside the palace, making her snarl in anger.
“Hayabusa,” she hissed, sprinting to a window. Narrowing her eyes, she scanned the sky for the falcon. He was flying lower now, staying just above the palace as soared in predatory circles.
Glancing over at Bleda, she smirked. “Time for revenge.”
Taking the bow and quiver from Bleda, she fastened the quiver around her waist as she ran down the hall. ‘I need to find some way onto the roof and I need to stick to the shadows. But it’s not looking like there are any staircases leading further up…’
A small sigh left her mouth; she knew what she had to do. Skidding to a halt in front of a window, she punched through the latticework that shielded it and began tearing it apart. Once there was a large enough opening, she climbed onto the windowsill; she winced. Her body didn't like that, but her hip protested the loudest.
‘You’re still breathing,’ she told herself. ‘Keep fighting.’
Carefully standing up, she held onto the wall and leaned over. About six feet above her was the roof overhang. Between it and her, however, was not only a precarious climb, but she would have to jump in order to reach the only grabbable bit of support structure.
“So be it,” she murmured, slinging the bow over her shoulder.
Zhu started to climb. It was difficult; the edges of the wooden supports and decorations that jutted out from the wall were only an inch or two wide at most. Having to pull herself up by her fingertips was not only exhausting, but painful as well. More than once, one of her feet slipped off an edge and she felt a rush of panic.
But years of Hunnic training kept her calm, allowing her to regain her footing.
Finally, she was able to grab hold of a beam that ran parallel to the wall. Hauling herself up, she perched on the beam and squinted, trying to think of how to get to roof’s edge.
‘There is nothing between here and there for me to hold onto,’ she thought, hearing faint sounds of commotion inside the palace. Tilting her head back, she found that, if she were to stand, she’d be forced to stoop thanks to the roof’s height. She smirked, her brow rising.
She sprang upwards.
Shards of wood and pieces of tile went flying as she burst through the roof. Landing in a crouched position, she quietly hissed and rubbed the top of her head; the roof had been made of harder wood than she was expecting. Zhu knew well enough that, if she didn’t have Hun blood in her veins, she wouldn't have survived the impact.
Standing, she hurried to the very top of the roof. She unshouldered the bow and drew an arrow from the quiver, her eyes scanning the skies for any sign of Hayabusa.
‘I know you’re up here,’ she thought, nocking the arrow. ‘But wh-’
She cried out as talons raked across the back of her head, knocking her down. Tiles shattered and fractured under her weight as she landed, hard, on her shoulder. Hearing a sound like rain, she swore and rolled over; the precious few arrows she had had been flung out of the quiver and were rolling away.
“No, no, no!”
Zhu tried to scramble after them, but they had rolled too far ahead of her. As the last one fell from the roof, she desperately tried to grab at it. She missed it by just a hairsbreadth.
“Spirits, damn you,” she growled, brows furrowing. She looked down at the arrow she still had pinched between her forefinger and the bow. “At least I still have one…”
Climbing to the apex of the roof once more, she froze when she found herself almost face-to-face with Mulan. “Mulan!? What are you doing up here?”
“I have a plan,” she said, voice breathless. Her face was red and sweaty from exertion. “It’s—it’s risky.” She glanced past Zhu at one of the palace towers. Zhu looked as well only to feel her stomach drop.
The tower was where the fireworks were being shot from.
“It’s the only way, Zhu,” Mulan said, her voice pleading. “I know he’s your uncle, but—”
“It won’t work if I don’t kill that damned bird,” Zhu interjected. She looked back at Mulan, determination and understanding on her face. “Do whatever it takes, Mulan. I mean it.”
Their gazes met and, with a small nod, Mulan took off up the center beam. Zhu crouched down where she was, once more searching for Hayabusa. She finally spotted him over the southern tower. Slowly, she nocked the arrow and raised the bow.
But before she could draw back the string, the roof exploded a few feet from Mulan. Shan Yu landed in a crouch, breathing heavily as he glared at the woman. As he stood, bits and pieces of wood fell from his shoulders. A victorious smirk slowly spread across his face as he watched Mulan search her person for some sort of weapon only to produce a simple fan.
“Looks like you’re out of ideas,” he taunted.
He lunged at Mulan, thrusting his sword at her. She dodged, catching his sword in the monture of the fan. Closing it, she twisted it around, the action forcing the blade from Shan Yu’s grip. She jumped back and, with a twirl, brought the hilt into her hand.
“Not yet,” she said, a smirk on her lips as she took on a defensive position.
Something suddenly fell between them and the pair, momentarily forgetting their duel, looking down. Splayed out none-too elegantly on the beam between them, was Hayabusa, his head skewered by an arrow.
Before he could react, Mulan kicked Shan Yu backwards. He grunted as he fell against the beam, landing hard on his side. She used the sword to pin the end of his tunic to the wooden beam but, as he glared over his shoulder at her, he easily pulled it free again. Confusion and anger were on his face as he stood up, facing her once more. When he narrowed his eyes, Mulan frowned somewhat in confusion.
Not two minutes ago, his eyes were black and gold. But now, they looked normal.
There wasn’t time to ponder his eyes. She started to back away from him, her heart racing. Mushu should have had the rocket ready by then—where was he? Did he run into trouble? And where was Zhu? Had she run away, not wanting to see her uncle die?
Shan Yu stalked towards her, a snarl intermingled with his confusion. He abruptly stopped, his eyes clenched shut. Raising a hand to his head, he winced as if he were in pain. Then, shaking his head, he lifted his sword while staring directly at Mulan. It almost seemed like he was fighting himself.
She swallowed hard, trying to find something—anything—that could help her.
“Uncle Yu!”
Shan Yu spun around. Zhu was half running, half limping towards them, her face filled with pain as she clutched her side. The confusion that had been on his face left, replaced by realization and horror.
“Little One?” Shan Yu whispered. “My Little One, what’s going—” He grunted and stumbled back a few feet as Zhu threw herself at him. Dropped the sword, he clutched her to his chest. “My Little One…you were right. I betrayed our people. I led them to ruin. I hurt you.” Falling to his knees, he clenched his eyes shut and hugged onto her tighter. “I’m sorry, my Little One. I’m so sorry…”
“No, Uncle Yu,” Zhu choked out, knuckles white as she gripped the back of his tunic. She could feel his body shaking as he cried. “Hayabusa led them to ruin. Hayabusa hurt me. Not you. You were a wonderful uncle.”
“I should have never made that deal.”
“It’s over now, Uncle Yu. Hayabusa’s dead. I killed him. You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”
“I’m so sorry, Little One. I’m sorry for everything.”
Something moved beyond them. Leaning to the side, Mulan could see Mushu standing on the opposite end of the roof, a rocket strapped to his back.
“Zhu, you need to—” she started.
“No." She looked up, tears leaving streaks down her bruised and bloodied cheeks. “No. I deserve this, Mulan. I deserve this for all the pain I put you and the others through.”
Mulan gawked at her in horror, tears beginning to sting her eyes. “Zhu, you don’t deserve this! You've more than made up for any wrongs you've done,” she pleaded. From the corner of her eye, she could see Mushu lighting a stick. “Please, Zhu! There’s not much—”
“I either die here or I die on the execution block.” She swallowed hard and looked at Mulan. “Please. As—as my best friend, Mulan, please. Let me die in a way of my choosing.”
She swallowed a sob, knowing she wouldn't be able to change Zhu's mind. “I’ll miss you," she choked out.
Somehow, Zhu managed to smile—one that was equal parts sorrow and joy. “I’ll miss you, too. Now go. Get off the roof.”
Her order couldn’t have been better timed. Mulan dove out of the way as the rocket came hurtling towards them. A sharp, intense pain filled Zhu’s back as she and Shan Yu were sent flying. Seconds before impact, she opened her eyes for one last look at the world.
All went white.
And then all was black.
Complete, impenetrable blackness.
Was…was this death?
If it was, it felt…strange. As if she was floating. And it smelled odd—like ginseng and honeysuckle. There was another scent; an earthier, almost sweet scent she couldn't place. Was death supposed to have a smell?
She tried to stretch her arms out, but after moving just a few inches, they were stopped by some sort of wall. Her brows furrowed and she flicked her hand back and forth, hearing the sound of water splashing. Lifting her hands out of the water, her knuckles quickly brushed against another barrier above her.
Death…was floating for eternity in a water-filled tomb?
Over the years, she had learned about many different afterlives. Valhalla or Fólkvangr for warriors from Denmark. The Isles of the Blessed for those Romans who had lived good lives. Barzakh, Judgement Day, and then Heaven or Hell for Muslims. Reincarnation seemed to be popular among the Chinese…
But not a single one had any mention of water-filled tombs.
Hesitantly, she reached up and, pressing her palms against the lid, gave it a testing push. To her surprise, it had a bit of give to it.
'This…doesn't seem right,' she thought. 'The afterlife is supposed to be special—this just…this just feels wrong.'
Swallowing hard—a painful feat, given how dry her throat was. Was there supposed to be pain in the afterlife?—she slowly started to push on the lid again. Hinges creaked as they were rotated, the sound impossibly loud in the silence. She nearly dropped the lid as she clenched her eyes shut in pain; light as bright as the sun had flooded into the tomb, blinding her.
After a moment, she slowly opened her eyes, letting them adjust to the light only to discover it wasn't the sun that had filled the tomb, but rather, warm, flickering lamplight. Lifting the lid higher, she began to sit up. Her body protested the act of becoming vertical—not due to pain, but due to stiffness.
Giving the lid a small push, it fell the rest of the way open onto to hit the floor with a loud, wooden clatter. The sound made her wince.
She looked around only to find herself sitting in a stone tomb in some sort of small cave whose only inlet was a large door at the far end of the room. A half-dozen braziers kept the chamber both warm and lit, letting her see the mausoleums on either side of her. Including hers, there were three in total, but the others were empty. On the walls, Chinese characters had been painted—or maybe they were carved? It was hard to tell in this lighting—but she wasn't nearly literate enough in the language to know what they said.
'What is this place?' she thought, brows furrowing.
Exhaling a shaky breath, she began to slowly push herself to her feet. The stiffness of her limbs made it an unsteady feat and, when she stood fully upright, she was left somewhat wobbling in place. She looked down, finding herself clad in a simple white gown—one that, in its soaked state, left little to the imagination.
Her upper lip pulled back slightly in disgust. Just her luck. If this was, indeed, the afterlife, then whatever deity presiding over hers seemed to have been a bit of a pervert…But she was beginning to suspect that this wasn't death and that she was, somehow, very much alive.
Zhu carefully stepped out of the tomb, a shudder running through her body when her feet touched the cold, stone floor. Glancing around the room once more, she began to make her way towards the door. Save for the flames gaily dancing about in the braziers and her shadow on the floor below her, nothing moved.
She had just reached the door and was stretching out her arm to grab the handle when it started to open from the other side. Instinct made her dart to her left and press herself against the wall. She also crouched down, hoping to put herself below the eye level of whoever was about to enter.
The door was opened fully, but it let in no light, telling her that whatever passageway led to this place was poorly lit or unlit entirely. An armored soldier stepped into the room; with his back to her, she couldn't see what he looked like. She could, however, see he had a sword strapped to his waist and had a pair of knives tucked into his boots.
"Why have you stopped?" There was another person—maybe more—still in the hall.
The person didn't reply. Instead, they simple held their arm up, signaling for the others to be silent.
She slowly started to lift herself out of the crouch, eyes fixed on the soldier who was now glancing around the room in search of her. With so few places for her to hide, it didn't surprise her when he suddenly spun around, sword drawn and pointed at her throat.
From the corner of her vision, Zhu could see a figure in shades of yellow and black enter the room. "Stand down," he said, his voice quiet, but bearing the full weight of his authority.
"Y-Your majesty?" The soldier glanced over at him in confusion.
"She's not like the other one. She'll cooperate."
The soldier glanced between the two of them before, almost reluctantly, he stepped back and sheathed his sword.
No longer pinned against the wall, Zhu turned her head to look at the Emperor. His face was a cold, unfeeling mask; she couldn't make out even the slightest bit of warmth in his features. It was a stark contrast to the man she had seen speaking with Shang.
For a long moment, the three of them simply stood in silence. The Emperor's gaze—commanding, expecting, and curious all at the same time—bored into her and, before she even realized what she was doing, Zhu knelt down before him, her head bowed.
"Shan Zhu," the Emperor finally said, breaking the silence. "You must have a lot of questions. The most pressing of which is, no doubt, the question of how you are alive."
She didn't dare lift her head, nor did she speak.
"To put it simply, you were resurrected by my fangshi. And it took them quite the effort, given the state your body had been in."
Her brows furrowed and, lifting her head, she stared at him in confusion and shock. She didn't know what fangshi were, but something told her it they had some sort of magical knowledge. "W-What? Why would you have them resurrect me?"
"I have heard of your skills, Shan Zhu. You are not only a formidable warrior, but also a master of stealth." His eyes met hers and, somehow, they seemed even colder than Shan Yu's. "You were Shan Yu's chosen assassin…and now you will be my chosen assassin."
Her eyes shot open and she shook her head. "No," she said. "No." She stood, standing to her full height, towering over the old man. "I refuse. I will not be anyone's puppet again."
Unlike most people, he was wholly unfazed by her size. "You have no choice," he replied simply.
"Why? Because you had me resurrected?" She let out a hoarse and joyless laugh. "Then kill me again—It's what I deserve for the life I led."
Finally, the Emperor moved—but only just. His head tilted and his white brow rose. Was it in amusement? Or annoyance? It was impossible to tell. "You have no choice, Shan Zhu," he said, his voice still even and unfeeling, "because if you refuse to cooperate or if you allow yourself to be killed, I will see to it that Ling, Yao, and Chien-Po are the ones who pay for your misconduct."
The color drained from her face, horror overcoming her features. "What…?" she whispered.
He remained unmoved by her fear—if anything, he seemed pleased by it. "You are to be my Shadow of Death. You will do as I command and you will do it without question. If you so much as mutter a word of insolence, you will be chained in the dungeon, forced to watch as one of those three are tortured," he said, voice becoming firmer now.
Zhu stared at him, her jaw clenched tight enough she was surprised her teeth didn't break.
The Emperor turned his head towards the door, giving a small nod to whoever awaited him.
Two soldiers in full armor—but, curiously, no weapons—rushed in, flanking her. Being a good six inches shorter than her, rather than grab her under the arms, they merely took hold of her arms and held them behind her.
"Take her to her quarters," he ordered.
Zhu let out a soft growl, tensing her arms as the men tried to move her. "You are a cruel man," she said to the Emperor.
He ignored her. "There is no need to worry about this one escaping. Unlike the other one, I have her properly leashed."
Five Years later
Zhu quietly panted, the sound becoming a soft, pained hiss as she probed at the wound on her thigh. The knife was still lodged, deep, in the muscle, but as painful as it was, she left it in place. Removing it meant possibly bleeding out. With the addition of her sprained left arm and at least two broken ribs, she knew she was at a severe disadvantage.
'Fight past it,' she told herself. 'Fight past the pain. Deal with it once he's dead.'
A twig snapped nearby—an attempt to lure her out. Her target, though just as injured as her, was too good to let himself make a mistake. He had spent years threatening to give her a slow, painful death, but she knew, at the moment, all he cared about was finally bringing this animosity of theirs to an end.
Closing her mouth, she forced herself to slowly inhale through her nose in an effort to silence herself. Ever so slowly, she leaned to her left, ignoring the pain shooting through her arm. Though the sun was beginning to set, there was still enough light to see by, but there was nothing for her to see. Her brows furrowed.
'Where is he?' she thought.
Her answer came just a few seconds later, when she sat upright once more. Cold metal pressed against her throat and a familiar face appeared in front of her.
"Caught you," Mundzuc purred.
Before she could react, sharp, stinging pain filled her throat. Though she tried to gasp, the air wouldn't—no, couldn't—reach her lungs. Her mouth filled with the bitter, metallic tang of blood and she knew this was it.
She had finally met her end.
Mundzuc reached out, grabbing her chin between his index finger and thumb before forcing her to look up at him. "A shame I had to kill you, Shan Zhu," he said, eyes fixed on hers. They were different now—his eyes. What had once been white was now black and the brown of his irises had been replaced by cold, unfeeling blue. But it was no pact with a demon that had changed them. Like her, he had been resurrected by the Emperor's fangshi, but unlike her, he had nothing that could be used to keep him from running away.
"If you had just taken my offer," he continued, running his thumb over her lower lip, "we could have been with my people by now. We could have been happy together."
She tried to speak, but he had cut deep enough to sever her vocal cords. As such, she glared at him instead…and slowly began pulling the knife from her thigh. If she could drag Mundzuc into death with her, then she knew she had done at least one good thing with her life.
"You could have been free, you know," he murmured, his gaze trailing down to rest on her lips. "You were given a second chance at life and chose to spend it as the Emperor's pet snake when you could have lived out your days as my wife—my queen."
Her limbs were growing heavy and her vision was darkening. Her brain pounded against her skull from the lack of air. Just an inch more and she'd have the dagger at the ready. She just had to keep fighting.
Mundzuc leaned in, intending to make the final sensation she felt in life a kiss. But just as his lips brushed against hers, he stiffened. He tried to curse, but it came out as nothing more than garbled choking. Releasing her chin, he grasped at the side of his neck, trying in vain to pull the knife that had been lodged there.
Zhu's hand dropped to the ground and her eyes tracked Mundzuc as he collapsed sideways. Unable to sigh in relief at his death, she merely let her head limply loll to the side. When the weightless feeling of unconsciousness began to take hold of her, she was all too ready to give in to its sweet embrace.
But just as she tried to give in, a strange warmth flooded through her and she was filled with a renewed burst of energy. Both her throat and thigh became unbearably itchy. Her vision returned and she let out an involuntarily gasp, air filling her lungs only to come back out as a wet, choking cough. She kept coughing until, finally, something came up; she spat it onto the ground. A wad of semi-coagulated blood.
Her brows furrowed and she felt along her throat; aside from drying blood, there was nothing there. Not the tiniest of cuts remained. She reached down, prodding her thigh for the stab wound. But like her throat, there was nothing to be found. Only drying blood and torn fabric.
"Wh-What's going on?" Her voice was a bit hoarse and full of panic.
This wasn't right. Mundzuc had slit her throat. She had felt death overcoming her—why was she still alive? And where did her injuries go?
Something moved beside her.
Swallowing hard, she looked over in time to watch, in horror, as Mundzuc stirred. He reached up and pulled the knife from his neck with a sickening squelch and a groan of pain.
"How intriguing," he grunted, pushing himself upright. He ran his fingers over the wound, his brow rising when he felt the last traces of it fusing back together.
"This isn't right." Zhu swallowed hard as she looked down at her hands. She was doing her best to suppress her panic but, for once, was doing a poor job of it. "We killed each other. I felt death trying to t—"
Mundzuc abruptly silenced her by way of slamming the knife into her temple. Her body went limp and sagged sideways, falling to the ground. Her eyes, unfixed and seemingly lifeless, stared straight ahead.
A second flood of warmth. Another burst of energy.
And instantly, she was hit by the worst headache she had ever felt. Hissing, she clutched at her temple only to feel the knife protruding from the spot. With a curse, she yanked it out of her skull only to stare at it in fear; blood and a bit of hair clung to the blade. As she gaped at the knife, her headache faded, replaced by the unbearable itching as the wound healed itself.
Across from her, Mundzuc started to laugh.
"Why are you laughing?" she demanded, voice quaking. She started to push herself upright only to curse again—whatever had healed her fatal wounds hadn't healed her sprained arm or broken ribs. "This isn't funny! Something is wrong with us!"
"Wrong? Wrong?! Don't you see, Zhu? We've been given the ultimate blessing a mortal can receive!" he cackled, his eyes wild with mirth. His next words filled her entire being with distress and despair. "When the Emperor had us resurrected, he not only granted us a second chance at life—he granted us eternal life!"
Eight centuries later
Tobacco smoke hung heavy in the air. It mingled with another, lighter scent—one that was distinctly floral in nature, though she couldn't place the plant. It was an odd combination, and one she was not particularly fond of. She ignored it, however, and chose to inhale through her mouth rather than her nose. Not that she needed to breathe, but she continued to do such out of habit…and to make the man she was meeting with feel a little more at ease.
She glanced over at the man, head tilted ever so slightly as she watched him fill a glass—fuller than was custom—with some sort of alcohol. Brandy, most likely. Though his clothing was English in style, the layers had been crafted out of fine cotton and pot-than brocades native to India. Light, breathable materials to try and combat the unforgiving Indian climate.
But despite the sweltering night, he still wore his powdered wig. Englishmen, much like wealthy men elsewhere in the world, would much rather forsake their comfort in favor of showing off their wealth and status. Even when it potentially put them in harm's warm by way of overheating.
When he finished filling the glass, he turned to face her, drink in hand. "Are you certain I can't offer you a drink, Senka?" he questioned, using the false name she had given herself for such meetings. As he lifted the glass to his lips, his hand shook slightly; whether from nerves or from the heat, she couldn't quite tell.
"I don't drink," she replied, her voice soft, yet somehow still loud enough to make him jump.
His nerves, then.
Nodding, he came over to his desk and sat down. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket before patting his sweat-dampened face with it. "Right. Down to business, then." He swallowed a bit harder than necessary as he opened one of the many drawers in the desk. "My superiors have a job for you."
"I was under the assumption this was a pleasure visit."
The dryness of her voice earned a nervous chuckle from the Englishman. "I see you have a sense of humor," he said, his voice now betraying the anxiety he felt. Clearing his throat, he pulled a few sheets of paper from the drawer, using the back of his wrist to close it again. "It's a retrieval job," he said. "Two targets, both alive. Uninjured, too, if possible." Standing, he bent himself over the desk and held the papers out to her. "Though, with how wily they are, no doubt, you may be forced to disable them in some fashion."
Leaning forward, she took the papers only to lift her brow. She had been handed a pair of wanted posters. Both bore drawings of young men in their mid-to-late twenties; one had facial hair while the other was clean-shaven. The one with facial hair had a bounty of five thousand guineas while the other was four thousand. Their crimes? Piracy, as well as many other acts of mischief.
"…You want me to retrieve a pair of pirates?" she questioned, glancing up at the man.
Thanks to the black hood covering her head, the Englishman couldn't see that she was looking at him. "They've proven to be quite the thorns in our side, I'm afraid."
"I have heard the policy of you company is to have its men eradicate any pirate they may come across." She reclined back, setting the posers on the arm of chair as she stretched her legs out. "Why, then, would you want me to bring these two back alive?"
He dabbed at his face with the handkerchief again. "One of them is wanted by the director the West African branch of the company," he explained. "No doubt, wishing to deliver justice to the scallywag himself."
"And the other?"
"The other…" He cleared his throat. "The other is a known practitioner of witchcraft." Setting the cloth down in favor of his glass, he took a long sip of the alcohol, a small sigh leaving his lips when they finally parted from the crystal. "They can bend the seas to their will, whether it's by making currents to aid them in their escapes or by creating rogue waves that have, on more than one occasion, sunk our ships."
"Impossible." She found his use of 'them' for once person peculiar. But then again, while she was conversationally fluent in English, there were still many intricacies to the language she had yet to learn.
"I thought so, too…Until they attacked the ship I was brought here on. Once they took half our cargo, they used their devil-given powers to send our ship away from theirs. We were going at a clip of five knots against the wind in a current that hadn’t existed five minutes prior." He shuddered at the memory, genuinely unnerved by the experience. "It was by God's divine grace alone that we were spared from drowning…" He shook his head.
"Where can I find them?"
"Our most recent reports say the pair were spotted going east—to China."
"Both of them?"
"They're an inseparable pair." He chuckled, the sound less nervous now. "That should make it somewhat easy for you to find them."
She said nothing, staying silent for a long moment as she picked up the posters and studied them again.
"Your payment would be six thousand guineas," he said, breaking the silence.
Three thousand less than both bounties combined. Either they thought her incapable of doing simple math or hoped six thousand would be enough to tempt someone of her profession regardless. Normally, she would be insulted. But tonight…
"I take half up front," she stated after a moment longer.
"You accept, then?"
"I haven't left yet, have I?" The words were said with a coolness that made the man visibly shiver, regardless of the stifling temperature.
"Of course. My apologies, Senka." Draining the last of his alcohol, he rose to his feet yet again. "If you'll pardon me for just a moment, I'll go fetch your coin."
Three nights later found Zhu crouched in the shadows of a rooftop, her purse heavy in its hiding spot inside her vest, but not nearly as heavy as it had been when she had been paid. Of the three-thousand guineas she had been given, five hundred remained. Five hundred had been used to buy a gaggle of street urchins food and then divvied out among their parents. Another five hundred had been given to the innkeeper where she had been staying. A thousand had been spent on a mixture of vendors and bribes to ready herself for this mission.
Little did her employers know, she had no intention of retrieving the pirates for them.
The moment she heard one of the pirates could bend the seas to their will, she knew it wasn't mere witchcraft they practiced. Witchcraft was casting spells, healing wounds, brewing potions, cursing people…It was not controlling the elements.
Many had made claims to control the elements, but it had always been some form of trickery: Sleight of hand, alchemical machinations, or just plain, old good timing.
But actually controlling the elements? That was the work of the supernatural—of the gods.
And if this pirate had the powers of a god, maybe they could be the one to finally break this wretched curse of hers.
She looked down at the wanted poster, studying the drawing carefully. No doubt, it barely resembled the pirate she would soon be tracking down, but it at least gave her a bit of an idea of who to look for. Something told her, though, that their name would be distinctive enough to render the image unnecessary. She exhaled a quiet sigh.
"Emil Drystan," she whispered, her head tilting back to look up at the night sky. "Will you be the one who finally kills me?"