Chapter 1
Kai
Chapter One
When Kai came around, spluttering, he was led to the center of a circle of people. They were not just ordinary people—they were warriors.
The battle was over. His village was in ruin.
The warriors were battered and sweating, but their weapons were sheathed. They bore the crest of the Thirteenth Emperor, the thirteenth of his dynasty—a silver moon. Kai had never seen so many of them in one place before; they had not been so deep in the wilderness since the peasant revolts when Kai was a child.
He was thirteen now.
The air was thick with smoke. He could see the sun breaking through the gray and purple clouds, casting light over the ruined fields that had once been rich and bountiful.
They were in a small village on the western front.
Their fighters had mostly been made up of villagers wielding their own weapons—swords and knives and axes of their own making. They had not gone down quietly. Kai remembered inhuman wailing, battle cries, and the rearing of horses.
His fellow villagers, now prisoners, were being led away by warriors.
Kai felt panic. He wanted to help, but he was shaking too much to move. He was desperately trying to draw breath. He had thought he was dead. He remembered fire—lots of fire. Climbing the walls and encasing him. His mother and sister had been inside. They had been crushed and then burned.
He could still hear them screaming.
He shuddered.
Beside him was a boy, who turned to him, perhaps older, but not by much. Not a child but not yet a man, with large eyes and a soft face. His hair, black and wavy, was pinned back in a bun. Kai recognized the eyes. Someone had pulled him out of the flames.
It was the boy who had rescued him from the rubble. He was a warrior for the Emperor’s army? Yes, he was young, but carrying a sword. It was not drawn.
“Who are you?” Kai croaked, too tired to move or struggle.
His limbs felt heavy and unresponsive.
“It’s ok,” said the boy, and it seemed earnest. His voice was low, too quiet for the audience. “I’m Rayan.”
“What happened?” called another.
It was a broad man, standing in front of the other soldiers who were whispering behind their hands. He was gray-haired, with a sharp scar on his chin, almost disguised by his facial hair. Kai knew he must be in charge; he certainly looked important. His purple robes were covered with silver armor and glittering with honors. Even his belt hook was exquisitely patterned and enameled.
Kai had never seen so much wealth and could barely believe it existed. A single silver honor, hung upon the man’s breast to showcase his military achievements, could feed his whole village until the next winter festival. He guessed they did not need it anymore. Most of the village was gone, and his family dead.
At the reminder, he felt like he could not breathe again. The other boy—Rayan, he had said—clasped his forearm as he wheezed. Rather than recoil, the touch felt reassuring, grounding, and Kai needed it.
“General, I found him, in the remains,” exclaimed Rayan. “His family were in there. They were ash…”
He drifted off, his voice breaking.
Kai resisted the urge to gag. He could not—not in front of these soldiers.
The General looked at Kai with assessing eyes. He jutted out a defiant chin. He did not care who this person was. He had destroyed his village and his family.
“He survived?” asked the General. “He’s not got a scratch on him.”
“I don’t know,” said Rayan. “Everything else was destroyed.”
The eyes of all the soldiers were upon him. Rather than mocking, they looked wary now. Kai did know. He could feel it in the air, sparking off his skin.
It always answered when he needed it. His mother had said he had a gift.
Chi.
***
Kai, unlike the other prisoners, was taken back to the warrior’s training camp, with the General and the boy called Rayan.
The kingdom was a diamond that stretched North, East, South, and West. The training camp stretched against the flatlands in the East—far from Kai’s village in the West—and was a labyrinth of tents by the side of an expansive lake that was beginning to dry up in the ongoing heat. The air was crisp and the insects vigorous.
The camp was made up of hundreds of soldiers from across the four corners of the kingdom—the most amount of people Kai had ever seen it one place. It had been overwhelming at first, so different from his village. Everything was regimented and organized. He was fed and clothed, so he considered himself lucky; but in exchange, they told him they were trying to train him.
Not as a warrior, but as a priest.
He liked being outdoors, with the sun shining upon his hair, playing with his sister, and feeding the animals. Since the Thirteenth Emperor’s men had captured him, he had spent more time indoors, studying in tents, snoozing over scrolls and scrolls of words and symbols, with his teacher watching him judgmentally.
Apparently, he would learn the spiritual arts.
Mastery of the four elements, which only those with Chi could summon. Priests were those with Chi who had mastered all elements.
Water. Earth. Fire. Air.
Kai was unconvinced. Since his arrival a few weeks before, he had performed not a single puff of smoke out of the ordinary.
He was going to be a farmer. His family had been farmers. So, too, had his ancestors.
When he had been helping his mother, he had longed for more. He would have done anything to be a soldier, or a courtier, or an emperor. He had wanted to sit on a throne or bow in a temple—anything to escape the drudgery and back-breaking work of the farm.
Now, he wanted it back. He wanted to see his mother and sister again. He wanted his mother to scold him for singing to the chickens. He wanted his sister to steal his prized collection of rocks and stones, handpicked from the best soil and sand in the farmlands. The thought of it hurt, and so he focused back on his tutoring.
He was sitting on the floor, looking up at an old man reading painfully slowly from a tome; his hands were papery white, as though they had never seen a single ray of sunlight in years.
Kai gazed instead at an incense urn, which was puffing lavender scented air into his eyeballs. Every moment felt like a lifetime. He felt as though he was going to sleep, something that was difficult for him since he had moved to camp. Every night he saw his village, and it would jolt him awake, choking back tears.
When the tome finally slammed shut, and Kai roused from his daze, he scrambled to his feet, sighing in relief. It was over. He could finally go and see his new friend!
With a hurried bow, he stumbled out of the doorway and toward the training grounds, where a group of boys were doing drills in the sweltering sunlight.
Kai drew a lot of attention as he passed. Reports of his escape from the fire had spread quickly through the camp—growing more exaggerated with every telling. Chi was relatively rare, but not unheard of. Unknown Chi, from untrained priests and perhaps dangerous in the wrong hands, was held in some suspicion.
It was strange to be the center of the whisperings.
“Rayan!” called Kai. Loudly. “Rayan!”
Rayan turned at the worst moment. His practice partner seized the opportunity and struck Rayan’s sword from his hand.
“You lost!” exclaimed Kai, helpfully. He screeched to a halt in front of him, out of breath. “You’ll do better next time!”
Rayan picked his sword out of the dust and when he looked up, Kai noticed his face was glowing in embarrassment.
“Yes?” grumbled Rayan.
Kai smiled his widest and brightest smile. Rayan had saved him in the village. He had spoken on his behalf to the glowering General.
Kai was in his debt.
“What are you doing here?” said Rayan, politely. He was not much of a talker, but that was ok. Kai was a talker, so he could fill any silence.
He continued smiling, undeterred.
The other boys had almost stopped, watching the scene unfold with interest.
“I saw you training, and I wanted to speak with you,” Kai continued.
That was not strictly true. Kai could not see the training grounds from where he was studying. He had come all the way to see him. His first impressions were that Rayan was the youngest and quietest of the group, and he didn’t want to scare him off with his enthusiasm.
Before Rayan could respond—or run away from him—a voice rang out over the training grounds.
“Today,” announced the trainer, a short and slender man. He had a wispy mustache that he twirled while thinking. He looked up at the clear sky in fascination and looked none of the trainees in the eye. Kai followed his gaze in confusion. “Today, we fight in pairs.”
There was an inaudible groan from the other boys.
“Why is that bad?” whispered Kai.
“These are the hardest drills,” explained Rayan, quietly. “It’s one thing practicing forms by yourself, but people hit you back.”
Kai nodded, as though he understood, but he didn’t really. He had never been in a fight, certainly not with swords.
“I normally get paired with Doon,” said Rayan, with a grim expression. “He’s the best in the group.”
He jerked his head in Doon’s direction and Kai followed his gaze to who must have been the eldest, at least a couple of years older than Rayan, and the undisputed leader. He looked friendly enough, with two prominent front teeth, but he was tall and broad.
Perhaps he was smiling because he knew victory was at hand.
“I’m sure you’ll beat him!” exclaimed Kai because it seemed like the right thing to say. Rayan visibly cringed.
“I normally end up on the floor, winded, and spitting out mud,” Rayan admitted, with clear reluctance. He was an unusual boy; clearly well trained, Kai could see in his mannerisms, but hesitant, too, uncertain in himself.
Kai winced in sympathy.
They were paired up—just as Rayan had predicted, and he grimaced as Doon made his way over to them. “Morning!” breezed Doon, in a booming voice.
“Morning,” replied Kai because it seemed polite.
Rayan only nodded, coolly.
“Doon and Rayan will go first,” announced the trainer, with a sharp clap of his hands.
The other boys, several dozen in total, gathered around in interest—pushing and jostling to win a favorable view. Kai hovered at the back, peering through the gaps. Luckily, he was so slender, and he elbowed himself into the small spaces.
“You’re getting taller,” called Doon to Rayan, above the din. “Stronger too.”
Kai watched as Rayan drew his sword. It was beautiful, surely an heirloom, the single-edged dragon blade. Its ruby eyes glittered on its hilt. It looked heavy, too heavy for Kai, but Rayan’s sword arm was long and thick.
When he wielded it, Rayan looked like another person—like a real warrior. Bold and confident, sure in every step. Doon flashed his own blade.
The trainer whistled and they began. Kai was already breathless with anticipation, drinking in every movement. Doon was stronger, even Kai could tell, but Rayan was faster, more agile. He struck forward, suddenly, a test of Doon’s defense. The other boy blocked, and the clash of their swords rang out over the training ground.
Doon grinned, but Rayan looked focused—concentrating hard. Kai could see the sweat breaking out on his forehead. His arms were shaking with strain.
Doon really was strong.
Sweating under the pressure, Rayan flipped to the side, and swept Doon’s sword away from him. Kai gasped. He stepped forward to help, instinctively, before catching himself. It was not his place. What could he do? He was only a farmer.
Rayan looked winded by the effort of diverted Doon’s sword, but still parried Doon’s returning shot to his side. He stepped back swiftly, outside of Doom’s reach and regained his grip.
The audience was jeering. Kai knew that Rayan was not very popular with the others. He was too young perhaps, or too strong, and the other boys resented his skill.
Rayan’s hair, which was coming clear of his tie, was curling into his eyes and about his face. He moved with such power, such precision, that Kai was in awe.
Doon stepped after him.
The slashes looked unrelenting. Rayan glanced them away, although barely, using the deftness of his feet to dance away from him. Doon followed again, offensive, and Rayan vibrated with the force of a blow that would have shattered his armor. He staggered back with the force of repelling it and could not recover for the next blow.
Kai cried out in warning, but it was lost amid the crowd.
Doon sensed an opening and struck again. The clash of metal vibrated across the training grounds—the force sending Rayan reeling.
He was finally brought to the floor. His sword spun away from him.
Kai cursed.
Doon brought his foot to Rayan’s chest and pressed him into the dusty floor. Rayan spat out clumps over his own hair. Doon’s double-edged sword, held aloft, quite steady, came to rest against Rayan’s pounding neck.
Rayan was glaring, his skin glowing red with effort and embarrassment, Kai could see it clearly even in the crowd.
The trainer was watching out the corner of his eye, disappointment clear. The other boys were still laughing, and Kai felt a prickle of anger, of distaste.
Rayan deserved better.
When Kai thought it was over, and he unclenched his hands, Rayan moved.
He lurched upward, catching Doon off guard and off-balance. Weaponless, Rayan pushed himself into Doon’s space, outside the reach of his sword, clenched his fist, and punched him in the face. There was a crack and an explosion of blood.
Doon staggered backward, the smile wiped from his face, clutching his broken nose. Rayan used the momentary distraction to grab his own sword and flip back to his feet.
Before Doon could blink through the blood, he was staring at the end of Rayan’s blade. An astonished hush settled over the spectators. Rayan beamed, his chest heaving in victory.
“You did not fight with honor,” said Doon, sourly.
Kai cheered.
***
Kai didn’t understand why Rayan was so surprised that breaking Doon’s nose had not endeared him to the other boys – but he did not say so aloud. After all, Rayan was his only companion, and he did not wish to offend him.
“I don’t know why everyone is so angry,” said Rayan, shortly, as they as they dipped into the icy water of the lake to bathe. “They wanted me to defeat the enemy and I did.”
Kai nodded dutifully. He had followed Rayan into the water after the battle because he looked as though he could use the company and Rayan had not protested.
They were floating as far away from the others as possible. Rayan did not seem keen to being in their vicinity after the fight and Kai could hardly blame him. They had been incensed by Rayan’s victory—a few had even spat at his feet as they cleared the training grounds—the highest disrespect.
The water was clear and deliciously cool. Kai could see his own feet beneath its surface. Clear, but cold, sending shivers up his spine. It felt good, a distraction from the dark thoughts of his family. He tried hard not to think of it—to remember—but it hit him unexpectedly every day. From moment to moment.
Rayan dipped his head quickly and retied his hair. Without putting it in a bun, it was chin length, black, and curly.
“Your hair is long for a warrior,” Kai mused, hoping to change the subject.
“My mother said it was unbecoming of a warrior. We’re supposed to shear it short when we join the Emperor’s elite forces,” Rayan conceded, fiddling with it. “But I like it.”
“You were conscripted?”
Rayan glanced at him, out of the corner of his eye, before looking away. “Yes,” he replied, hesitantly. “I am the second son.”
Rayan did not say much to start with, but the more questions asked, the more he would answer. It was like luring a startled animal out of hiding.
“Where are you from?” Kai continued, innocently.
“The North—The Heart of the Valley,” Rayan said. “My father was Clan Leader.”
Kai goggled. He knew little of the imperial hierarchy, but even he knew that was significant. Suspecting more to the story, from the way Rayan broke from his gaze, Kai pressed again. “Why did they send you here?” he asked.
“When I was born, my mother took me to the valley priests to read my future,” said Rayan, which Kai knew was a common tradition for those who could afford it. Kai’s mother had read his chart herself.
“They told her I had too much water in my charts,” Rayan admitted. “That I was too soft and malleable. It’s one of the reasons she had sent me away. To learn how to become a warrior and grow strong.”
Kai could not imagine his own mother sending him away. For all Rayan’s riches, he seemed sad. “I’m sure she would be proud,” he replied, confidently. “You’re very strong.”
Rayan laughed sourly. “I’m not strong enough.”
“You beat Doon,” Kai argued. He had seen it with his own eyes. It had been magnificent. He wished he could be so powerful.
“I cheated, and now they hate me even more,” said Rayan, shivering with the cold. There was a bruise on his collarbone, where Doon’s boot had connected with his chest.
“Why do you hate Doon so much?”
“I don’t hate him,” Rayan argued, and it seemed truthful. “Doon is from a powerful family in the East. My father used to say it was a frivolous place, full of riches, where those would go to seek their fortunes. I thought Doon to be frivolous, too, but there’s a steel in him, behind his sunny smile. I admire it.”
Kai believed him. Rayan had been honest so far—painfully so. There was not much calculation in his words or actions. He was earnest.
Kai could not say anything more; there was a splash, and three more joined them in the lake. It was just who Rayan wanted to avoid—Doon and his followers. Kai suppressed a laugh as Rayan sunk deeper into the water; he could only see the top of his head and his big dark eyes. They were like whirlpools. He was full of water indeed.
“I thought you said you didn’t hate him,” Kai whispered.
Rayan rolled his eyes and splashed him. Kai bulked and tried to resist the urge to turn it into a fight. He didn’t want to draw attention to them.
“I miss girls,” Doon announced, his words echoing over the water.
Kai strained himself to hear him. His two friends, who must have been twin brothers, were nodding in agreement. There was nothing remarkable about them. Yet Rayan was glaring quite clearly. Bemused by the reaction, Kai asked, “Who are they?”
“Shin and Jin. They are twins,” whispered Rayan. “And equally aggravating.”
Kai resisted the urge to laugh. Rayan sounded so serious.
“It’s a shame there were no younger captives from the village,” said Shin, either unaware or uncaring that Kai and Rayan were listening, bobbing in the water nearby.
“There was a captive,” Doon reminded them. “But it wasn’t a girl.”
Kai shivered at the reminder. He was the captive. He was lucky he was being trained as a priest. There were much worse fates.
Jin snorted, and snapped, “As though it matters. It’s not like Shin would have his pick of wives.”
“I will! I’ll have several,” Shin insisted.
“I’ll have more than you,” replied Jin.
“I will marry a girl of great station,” Doon told them, with a note of certainty. He was puffing out his chest, his voice echoing across the lake.
Shin and Jin laughed. “A princess, perhaps.”
Doon only smiled. Kai did not doubt his ability to marry a princess. He conducted himself with such ease.
“My mother sent me a great package,” Doon continued, to his avid audience. “Some tasters they’ve been making for the summer festivals and a new set of gloves for the winter.”
There were four festivals throughout the year—ordained by the Emperor—to celebrate each season and each element.
North, East, South, and West.
Water, Air, Fire, and Earth.
Those with Chi—and trained as priests—could wield them all.
“Are you going to write to your mother about what happened?” Shin asked Doon, looking pointedly over in Kai and Rayan’s direction. Rayan sunk deeper, as far as he could go without drowning. “About what that snake did to you?”
Kai gasped.
Snake? Were they talking about Rayan?
“No,” Doon replied. Kai could still see the bruising on his nose, which looked even bluer against the reflection of the water. “The only revenge is the one on the battlefield.”
Doon might be above such matters, but Jin and Shin were not.
The group left soon after. Kai and Rayan did not follow for a long time; Rayan’s skin, already pale, was almost luminous in the cold. He looked upset, but Kai did not know what to say to him, for once lost for words.
When they thought it safe, they padded from the lake to the rock where they had laid out their robes. Droplets felt like they were freezing on Kai’s eyelashes.
Instead of his itchy robe he had grown out of several months ago, it had been replaced—by two leather gloves.
He gulped.
Suddenly, his nose was running. His skin was getting splotchy unrelated to the cold. His felt like it was pounding out his chest. Were they going to make him run through camp without robing?
He clenched his fists, trying hard to stop the shaking.
