Dragonkeeper 2: Garden of the Purple Dragon (25 page)

As she walked, Ping thought about what her mother had said. She was only a girl. Of course her mother would put the welfare of a son before hers. And she was right. Even if she had stayed with them, in a year or two Master Chang would have found her a husband and she would have been sent off to live among strangers. It was better this way. Her mother believed that Ping was happier than she would have been if she had stayed with her.

Even so, Ping had lost something. Through all her hardship at Huangling, she had always had a tiny hope in her heart. She had dreamed that one day she would find her mother and be able to stay in the warmth and
comfort of a family. That small hope had disappeared. Whatever her future held, that wasn’t it. But that hope had been replaced by certain knowledge of where her path lay.

It hadn’t been the family reunion she was expecting, but Ping didn’t feel sad. She knew her mother was safe and well. She had a half-brother. A stepsister. She didn’t have to worry about them. Master Chang would take care of them.

It felt strange to have no one to look after but herself. Ping could think about things without dragon words interrupting her train of thought. There had been so many times since Kai had hatched that she had longed to have a break from dragon rearing. To have a few days without the baby dragon’s nonsense in her head, without being jumped on and scratched. Now she had that freedom, she felt like an arm or a leg were missing. She missed Kai’s voice in her head, his happy sounds as he ran around the garden discovering new things, his spines sticking in her side as she slept. She was looking forward to being with him once more.

Ping was back on the imperial road by the end of the first day. She was sorry she’d left her coat in the carriage. Dark clouds hung low and heavy. An icy wind promised snow.

There were a few people on the imperial road, but they all bowed their heads against the wind. That suited Ping. She didn’t want to waste time in conversation.
Whenever she could, she begged a ride from farmers driving carts.

Two days after she had left her family, Ping arrived in a town they’d passed through before. The smell of roasting meat diverted her from her straight path to a market stall. It was where Dong Fang Suo had bought a midday meal on their journey to Lu-lin. Kai had been delighted because the man sold roasted swallow. Ping bought herself two baked quail with her few copper coins.

“I didn’t expect to see you again,” the meat seller said.

Ping was surprised that he even remembered her.

“The gentleman stopped at my stall again on his return journey,” the man said. “I asked after you. He said that you’d stayed in Lu-lin with your family. That was the purpose of the journey, so he said.”

“How long ago?”

“Must have been three or four days ago. He was in a great hurry,” the meat seller said. “It was almost dark when they arrived. They bought food to take with them. There was music coming from the carriage. It sounded like someone playing a flute. The saddest tune I’ve ever heard.”

Ping left the town immediately, eating as she walked. She had to get back to the Garden of the Purple Dragon as soon as possible.

Dong Fang Suo had lied to the meat seller. The last time she’d seen the Imperial Magician she hadn’t even met her family. She felt a stab of hatred for the old man. He had betrayed her. He was a feeble old man and, even though he called himself a magician, he had no magical powers.

“He wanted me dead, and he got the necromancer to do the job for him.”

She spoke the words aloud to see how they sounded. They didn’t sound as absurd as she thought they would. Dong Fang Suo wanted Jun to take Ping’s place. Liu Che wouldn’t have agreed. He would want Ping to be Dragonkeeper. If she were dead, though, there would be no debate.

Each day, Ping walked from before dawn till well after dark. She no longer accepted rides on wagons. She was stronger now and could walk faster than an ox. The closer she got to the Garden of the Purple Dragon, the more anxious she became. She still couldn’t feel Kai. She slept less and less until finally she didn’t stop to sleep at all, but walked through the night. Hua kept pace with her. At night he ran beside her. During the day he scurried through the fields or the bushes where no one could see him. When he grew weary, he climbed up to rest in the folds her gown.

Ping came to a crossroad. She turned off the main imperial road and onto the smaller, quieter road that
led to the Garden of the Purple Dragon. It had been six days since the rock fall. She’d planned to announce that she was the Imperial Dragonkeeper and demand an escort through the Tiger Forest, but when she reached the wall surrounding the forest, the gate was open and unguarded. Perhaps the Emperor had decided that the forest with its dangerous inhabitants was deterrent enough to his enemies. She would have to walk through unprotected.

Through the trees the clouds were turning orange. It would soon be dark. In the distance she could hear the high call of monkeys and the roar of other animals, she couldn’t identify. Bears perhaps? She wanted to get back to Ming Yang Lodge as soon as she could, but she couldn’t risk the forest at night. Ping climbed the steps up into the empty gate tower. She found food and a mattress. She stroked Hua’s warm fur for comfort. She didn’t realise how exhausted she was until she lay down. She slept like a squirrel in winter.

Before dawn, Ping was walking again. The forest track was peaceful after the bustle of the imperial road. There were no shouted greetings as travellers passed by. No clop of galloping horses or creak of wheels. No panting of imperial messengers. The only sounds were the calls of birds and animals as the dawn roused them.

Most of the trees in the forest were ancient junipers. Their foliage had a bluish tinge and their bark hung in peeling strips. Ping chewed on juniper berries. They
had a bitter taste, but they kept her alert. Apart from the birds and the unseen animals that rustled through the undergrowth, the silent trees were the only witnesses to her journey.

Late in the afternoon, Ping heard the sound of rushing water. She left the path to look for the stream. Three deer were drinking on the opposite bank. They didn’t notice Ping at first. Then suddenly they all looked up together. Ping thought she must have made a noise to disturb them, but the startled creatures weren’t looking in her direction. They were looking behind them. The trees were dense, their branches crisscrossed each other like latticework. Some of the dark branches moved. The deer darted away. Ping peered into the forest. Something was moving.

An animal stepped out of the trees. It padded toward the edge of the stream on large paws. It stopped to sniff the air. It was huge. Its fur wasn’t yellow as she had been told, but honey-brown, striped with black bands. It crouched down and lapped at the water with a large, pink tongue. The markings on the animal’s lowered head were beautiful. They looked as if an artist had painted them on with a brush dipped in black ink. The tiger looked up. Though she hadn’t moved, hadn’t so much as taken a breath, Ping knew that it had heard her. It looked straight into her eyes. Its lips curled back, wrinkling the fur around its nose, making its white whiskers stand on end, baring its huge teeth. The tiger’s
deep roar reverberated through the trees.

The birds stopped singing. No small creatures rustled through the bushes. Everything was silent out of respect for the tiger’s terrible strength. She imagined its claws raking deep into her skin, those huge teeth tearing her flesh. The creature was designed to kill. The tiger took a step towards her. Ping looked into its eyes and felt her own power, her own strength. It wasn’t her destiny to be killed by a tiger. The creature roared again, then turned and stalked back into the forest.

Ping drank from the stream. She should have felt the thread joining her to Kai by now. She hurried back to the path. The sun was low. She had to get to Ming Yang Lodge before dark. Ping had started her journey counting the days until she would be with Kai again, then she had counted the hours. At last she was able to estimate the time in minutes. She started to run.

She was looking for the lights of Ming Yang Lodge, but there were none. She had expected the gates to be closed, guards to call out their customary challenge “Who presumes to disturb the peace of the Son of Heaven?” But the gates were wide open, and the watchtowers empty.

Ping walked through the gates.

Ping entered the darkened Garden of the Purple Dragon. Even in the half-light, it looked like a different place to the one she had left a little more than two weeks ago. Where there had been garden beds of winter lilies and irises just beginning to open, now there was a huge, dark mound of earth. On top of the mound were the smouldering ashes of five fires and a large bronze cauldron lying on its side. The surrounding earth was trampled as if a crowd of people had been stamping and dancing on it, but there was no one around. Animal
bones and fruit peel littered the ground. Cups and wine jars lay abandoned under shrubs. The smell of cold animal fat and ashes didn’t quite overwhelm the pungent traces of incense. Plants had been flattened, tree branches broken. A single duck quacking miserably beside a rubbish-filled pond, was the only sign of life.

Ping had wondered what sort of reception she would receive when she returned to Ming Yang Lodge, but she hadn’t expected this. She couldn’t understand it. The Emperor’s festival to appease Heaven wasn’t due to start till the following day. Had she lost track of the days? Or had the Emperor been too impatient to wait for the auspicious day that the seers had set?

Ping’s heart was pounding, panic rising in her throat. She still couldn’t feel the thread joining her to Kai.

She went inside Ming Yang Lodge. It was dark and eerily quiet. She found a lamp and Hua lit it with one of his spitballs. She ran to the Dragon Quarters. Kai’s bed had been stripped of its blankets. His goatskin ball was lying on the floor.

She ran to the dining hall. Hua scurried after her. It was empty. So were the kitchens. There were no servants. The pots and kettles were all packed away. The Chamber of Spreading Clouds was just as empty. The furniture was draped with cloths. There were no imperial guards anywhere. She went to the Princess’s chambers. They were completely bare. The chests and baskets of gowns, the boxes of jewellery and cosmetics
were all gone. The wall hangings had been taken down, the mats and cushions removed. She ran along corridors, not knowing where she was going.

She became aware of a faint sound. It was like the highest notes of a flute played on a far mountain. Each note was so full of sadness and pain it made her heart ache. It was Kai. He was calling to her. Something or someone was hurting him. Ping tried to work out where the flute notes were coming from, but the more she listened, the fainter they seemed.

She felt a sense of foreboding spread over her like a cold sweat. Something bad was going to happen. She reached into her pouch to touch Danzi’s scale to calm herself. Instead her hand closed around the dragon stone shard. Her mind suddenly focused. It homed in on the faint sound like a well-aimed arrow seeking its target. She could feel the thread at last, tugging her, leading her towards Kai. She put down the lamp and strode forward, eyes closed. What she saw was just a distraction. She didn’t stop until a door barred her way.

Ping opened her eyes. She knew exactly where she was. Behind the door was the Hall of Peaceful Retreat where the Longevity Council did their mysterious work—where she had seen the necromancer. She could hear the dragon’s voice in her mind, but there were no words, just low miserable moans.

Ping pushed the door open. The room was lit by
several lamps. She could see details that had been hidden in the dark on her previous visit. Symbols were painted on the walls—strangely shaped mushrooms, a woman carrying a tray of seven enormous peaches, the characters for
never
and
decay
. Ping recognised the sharp, sour smell from her previous visit. She remembered why it was familiar—she had smelt it in Wucheng.

Bowls and jars were spread out on a bench. There was a mortar and pestle where someone had left off grinding tortoise shell to a powder, an open bamboo book and some dried plants. The unpleasant smell was coming from bowls containing dark, sinister mixtures. One bowl held a thick dark liquid in which Ping recognised birds’ feet, pine needles and pieces of dog flesh with fur still attached. Maggots squirmed in it. In another there was a rancid mixture of pig lard, teasel and black beetles. Alongside the bowl was a needle threaded with brown silk. This familiar tool seemed out of place. Hua sniffed a third bowl. It contained just one thing—a large, bloody liver. This wasn’t rotting. It was bathed in fresh blood. A piece had been hacked from it.

Ping thought they must have been the elixirs and spells that the Longevity Council was experimenting with. Ping had always been uneasy about Liu Che’s obsession with longevity, she had worried about his health—now she was concerned more about his souls. But she didn’t have time to worry about the Emperor. Kai was all that mattered. The invisible thread pulled her
towards the curtained doorway where the necromancer had been hidden on the night that the tower fell. Ping drew the curtain aside.

The necromancer wasn’t there—but Kai was. There was just enough light from the other room to see him. He was strapped down on a bench. He slowly turned his head towards her. She ran to him. His green eyes were as dull as stagnant water. His lips were the colour of old meat. Blood was oozing from a gash in the little dragon’s tail. Ping gasped. The edges of the wound had been pinned back to stop it from healing. Drops of purple blood dripped into a flask beneath the bench.

“Ping.” The dragon’s voice was faint.

Ping pulled the pins out of his tail and ripped the hem from her gown to bandage the wound. She picked Kai up, cradling him in her arms. He was barely conscious.