Tale of the Drunken Sword Read online

  He closed his eyes and touched his tongue to the roof of his mouth to connect the meridians. His breathed in a circular pattern, pushing the qi through his dantian and through each meridian. Down into the earth and back again.

  A sword form came to mind. No thought. No how or why, just a pattern. It was easy for him to concentrate when wielding a sword. His body knew what to do after long hours of practice. The memories lived not only in his mind but in his muscles.

  Sword practice was meant to train balance and moderation. Jian wasn’t in hand, but she was here. Maybe he could use that.

  The energy centers within him aligned and opened. Opening his eyes, he took hold of the brush, dipped the tip into the ink, and began writing a series of symbols down the first strip with bold strokes. With the first talisman completed, he set it aside and started another. Then another.

  “Is he possessed by ghosts?” Liang asked, horrified and fascinated at once.

  “Seal the windows and doors,” Lu Yan instructed, still writing. He was both there and somewhere else. In his trance, he could sense the demons and freaks outside, prowling closer.

  The strange thing about demon-kind, sometimes they cared nothing for human life. They were unnatural creatures that slipped in and out of the mortal world, sometimes bringing mischief, sometimes destruction, sometimes nothing but minor misfortune. These creatures coming toward them were not so benign. But why?

  No asking how or why, he reminded himself. It was as it was. They were coming.

  “Upstairs as well.” He could hear Jian’s clear voice ringing through the inn as the others scurried about, barring doors and windows before pasting the paper talismans across them.

  “It’s just nonsense,” Liang mumbled as he slapped a yellow strip across a set of shutters in the common room.

  “Shut up, boy,” his merchant uncle commanded gruffly.

  The talismans and the symbols were for spirit eyes, not human ones. Gui-guai could sense intention and will, if focused properly. Lu Yan hoped that he had put enough of himself into it.

  “It’s done,” he said, completing the last talisman and setting down his brush. He felt momentarily drained, as if he’d run a hundred li. If there were any reserves of strength left within him, he’d need to discover them quick.

  “Is there enough?” the salt inspector asked, looking nervously at the papers. At the beginning of the ordeal, the bureaucrat had expressed disbelief at such Taoist mysticism. Apparently, he believed just fine now as the storm outside swept upon them, rattling the walls.

  A sudden burst of wind threw the front doors open. Lu Yan just managed to clamp his hand down over the papers before they flew away. Morning had come, but all they could see through the open doors was gray and more gray, punctuated by angry flashes of lightning. The shadows in the clouds formed what looked like a black mouth gaping at them.

  Jian came to stand beside him. The silk of her robe whipped around her as she took in the coming storm.

  “Greetings, demons,” Lu Yan said beneath his breath.

  He prayed the storm wasn’t too hungry.

  3

  The merchant and his nephew helped set the table with the talismans in front of the entrance to the inn before scurrying back inside. The black stone had once again been placed over the stack of papers to keep them from blowing away. Lu Yan pulled one from the top and prepared to seal the door.

  Innkeeper Wen’s balding head appeared through the opening of the entrance. “Would it help to pray?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Lu Yan replied. How would he know? He wasn’t a monk. And the demons he’d known didn’t seem particularly religious.

  “Should we hide?” the innkeeper suggested instead.

  Lu Yan considered it. “Yes,” he decided. “But put a fire on the stove first. So I can have some warmed wine when this is over.”

  The innkeeper nodded before disappearing back inside. It was Spring Moon who appeared next, batting her long lashes.

  “Is this what you wanted?” she asked, handing him a large bundle wrapped in canvas.

  He pulled away the canvas to expose the hilt. It was his old sword, the unremarkable, yet serviceable one he’d used before Jian had come into his life.

  “Thank you, Spring Moon.”

  “You’re so very brave. And heroic,” she said.

  “Not at all.”

  “Thank you for protecting us.” She smiled gratefully at him, her red lips like a cherry.

  “Thank me later.”

  She lowered her lashes coquettishly before ducking away. The doors finally closed and he pasted two talismans over the crack, criss-crossing them to form a barrier. He caught Jian’s scowl when he turned around.

  “It’s just because I’m so young and handsome,” he explained as the faint wisp of Spring Moon’s perfume faded.

  “Are you handsome?” Jian asked in all seriousness.

  He shrugged, then drew his weapon. It was straight and double-edged, same as Jian had been. The sword of scholars. That was when he realized where her narrowed gaze had been fixed this entire time. It wasn’t Spring Moon that had Jian looking at him with daggers in her eyes.

  “This?” he asked incredulously, lifting the sword. “It’s not like I’m being unfaithful.”

  She sniffed and looked away, her spine stiff. For the next moment, they both stared at the looming cloud in silence.

  “I need a drink,” he muttered.

  “You consume a lot of spirits for someone searching for purity,” she remarked.

  “Wine is nothing but water, millet, and the wisdom of time,” he insisted. “Nothing impure at all.”

  Her chin tilted sharply upward. He could see nothing but the hard cut of her profile.

  “I’m really, really sorry about that trick with the wine cup,” he conceded. Then, when she remained silent, “I tried the path of the ascetics once. Went to the mountains, meditated. Tried to rid myself of impurities. It didn’t enlighten me in the least. I was just hungry.” A rumble of thunder broke his admission. “And thirsty,” he added.

  “And how long was this for?” Jian asked pointedly.

  “A day.”

  He turned to her, grinning. Jian graced him with the faintest of smiles in return. He didn’t know if it was merely a reflection of his expression, but his heart skipped. It was the first time he’d seen any sign of anything on her face but cold, hard purpose. He had a weakness for women who smiled at him in the normal course of things. In the case of Jian, she had been there with him in the mountains, albeit in a different form. She’d been there beside him for the last few years as he’d wandered about, searching for his way.

  She’d been his only constant companion during this time, now that he thought of it.

  “I don’t know if these talismans are going to work,” he admitted. The stack before him fluttered in the wind, held down by the weight of the stone. “One is supposed to clear one’s mind and meditate while writing. At first, I was focused, but then I got distracted. By you. I mean, it’s not really lust if you’re a sword, right?”

  Jian blinked at him once, her expression flat. Either she didn’t understand his dilemma or didn’t care to grace him with an answer.

  He couldn’t help himself. He was curious by nature. A swordsman and his sword were inexplicably connected. Of course, he’d never thought of his sword in such an intimate manner — it would be physically dangerous for one — but it was impossible for him not to think of Jian in that way now that she was here and in the shape of a woman. An undeniably beautiful one. And she had appeared to him for the first time beside his bed.

  The symbolism was so obvious it wasn’t even symbolism.

  “Is this sufficiently taking your mind off the demons who are about to attack?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Yes. It is.”

  He looked down at the talismans, the edges of the paper flapping in the wind. Yellow paper and smudges of red ink. With a deep breath, he skewered the top one with th
e tip of his sword and slid it out from under the stone. The talisman remained affixed as he raised his sword.

  “I did come to you,” Jian admitted suddenly. “I sought you out and I came to you.”

  She spoke so softly the words were almost lost in the wind, but he heard them in his heart. She was an enchanted thing. A sword that had seen battle and death, victory and tragedy. Over the years, the sharpened blade had drunk in enough blood to manifest a semblance of life. That had to be the why and the how of it.

  The fact that such a powerful object would choose him had to mean something.

  He opened his energy centers, feeling his qi circulate, and stepped forward. Beside him, Jian did the same, her pale sleeves lifting in the wind like the wings of a bird.

  The storm clouds poured over the inn, surrounding it with a thick, turbulent fog. Two hulking forms manifested as the smoke condensed into form and substance. A pair of ox-headed demons with blood-red skin emerged and stalked toward them, standing on two legs like men.

  The demons towered above them. Lu Yan angled the tip of his sword upward with the paper talisman attached. Taking aim, he thrust it into the bull-demon’s chest. The creature disappeared in a swirl of black smoke accompanied by a sucking sound like a sharp intake of breath. The yellow talisman flared briefly as it touched the demon before burning to ash.

  Beside him, Jian dispatched her ox-head with a palm-strike to the throat.

  There was no time to rest. A looming freak that was all eyes and gaping mouth floated toward him. At the same time, two winged creatures landed on the roof of the inn and began tearing at the slate tiles. Jian leapt onto the talisman table and sprang lightly off the edge onto the roof. He heard two shrieks from above as she defeated them both.

  Lu Yan had his own freak to deal with. The monstrous head had opened its mouth as if to devour him. With a flick of his wrist, Lu Yan stabbed his sword downward into the stack of papers to retrieve another talisman which he skewered through the unblinking eye. The paper flared and then both the talisman and head were gone.

  All was quiet. Jian leapt from the roof to land lightly beside him.

  “That wasn’t so bad,” he said.

  The sun hadn’t fully risen yet. He might even be able to get in some sleep before noon.

  Jian shook her head slowly. It took a moment for him to realize she wasn’t looking at him but over his shoulder. He turned just as a gust of wind cleared away the hazy air to reveal a full infantry of demons.

  There was only time to catch Jian’s eye briefly. Her lips pressed into a tight line, her jaw set with determination. Lu Yan managed a nod in her direction and they both leapt into action. Lu Yan speared another talisman and targeted the closest gui while Jian rushed into the fray, spinning and striking.

  Jian was easy to track through the fog. Her silver robe shone like a beacon. She sliced through the monsters with her bare hands, leaving wisps of smoke in their wake. What need did a sword have for another weapon?

  He balanced the flow of qi within, using it to fuel his endurance, to keep him from wavering. The sword technique he employed had been honed for efficiency: sharp movements, quick rotations in the wrist to change the direction of attack. His blade circled and thrust, finding its way through the void to seek out the demons and dispatch them one by one.

  But they kept on coming.

  The surrounding air grew thick with smoke and heat. Lu Yan was trapped in a furnace. The next thing that came at him was snake-like with the face of a woman, and not a pretty one. He severed its neck and banished it with a talisman. The stack of papers was dwindling.

  “Why so many?” he demanded to no one but the sky, frustrated.

  Nothing to do but fight. Lu Yan collected another talisman and charged. One creature and then another dissolved with a pass of his sword. Suddenly a blast of wind tore through the field of battle, upending the table. Strips of yellow paper scattered into the dirt, the foul wind whipping them about.

  Jian had been separated from him. She was surrounded, and for every gui or guai she cut down, it seemed like two would take its place. If they could regroup and focus their attack, they might stand a better chance. He called to her, but his voice was swallowed by the storm.

  A true master didn’t need marked papers or rituals to banish demons. A master wouldn’t even need a sword to focus his qi and use it as a weapon, but Lu Yan was far from a master. Without the talismans, his strength flagging, he was reduced to fighting with muscle and bone. Gripping his sword in both hands, he started hacking away at the wall of monsters, but it was useless. They forced him back toward the doors of the inn.

  Inside were the defenseless souls of his drinking companions. Unfortunate strangers caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  There was no way Lu Yan could defeat all the demons. Jian may be tireless, made of steel and sorcery, but he was breathing hard, his lungs burning. And the demons would keep coming. There was no end to the mismatch of heads and bodies and twisted forms that came at them. Each creature was a broken puzzle.

  A mouth full of teeth loomed close and Lu Yan faltered. His shoulder blades pushed against the wooden doors. Black claws swiped at him, slicing into the front of his robe. It wasn’t physical pain that shot through him, but the crushing weight of despair. Through the fog, he caught a flash of the jagged stripes of a tiger.

  Maybe the reason he was losing — was that he was trying to fight the wrong battle.

  Years ago, he’d had a vision of his true path by being shown in a dream what wasn’t his path. He was not destined to live the life of a bureaucrat, to become a venerated civil official with a wife and family. Upon seeing the bleakness of that end, Lu Yan had abandoned his aspirations of passing the imperial exams. He’d been wandering without a map ever since.

  This army of demons. They weren’t here for the hapless souls inside the inn. He was the one who had lured them here. His own fears, his indecision. His vulnerability. It was as if they could scent his weakness.

  But the demons wouldn’t have come unless they could also sense a promise of power.

  Lu Yan hadn’t understood what he had acquired with his wandering and his many missteps was power. Knowledge. He hadn’t realized it until that moment.

  To the left of him, one of the wayward talismans flew through the air, lifted by the wind. As he focused on it, a slender hand reached out to snatch the paper.

  Jian. His blade. The enchanted weapon that had come to him for reasons neither of them might ever comprehend.

  She whirled toward him, affixing the talisman onto his sword right before he used it to pierce a creature that was more smoke than flesh. It disappeared with a shriek.

  Without a word, Jian took position opposite him.

  One could walk the path without perfect clarity. One could walk the path in imperfect lines.

  Defeating these monsters wasn’t a matter of muscle and sword-skill. His body and the weapon he wielded were inconsequential. The only way to wield either properly was to recognize that.

  It was not a fight, so much as a dance. Lu Yan just needed to find the rhythm of it and see it through to the end.

  Jian caught another yellow strip and cast it toward him. Lu Yan intercepted the paper with the tip of his blade and drove it into a bone demon with a beating heart and nothing else. She dispatched another walking skeleton with a spinning kick, landing gracefully back onto the earth.

  She stayed close to him now. They formed a circle, their movements complementary. He couldn’t say that he was consciously directing her, but Jian became an extension of himself. Almost like when he wielded her sword form, but beyond that. He could sense the beginning of each attack before freeing her to complete the arc, the inevitable resolution.

  No further demons descended upon them. The horde they fought fell back one by one. The storm cloud was dissipating.

  Soon the field was clear. Above, the golden light of the dawn broke through the clouds and Lu Yan stared up at it, feeling the warm
th of daylight. Jian did the same, tilting her face upwards as if she’d never seen the sun before. Maybe this was the first time she’d transformed in this way. Maybe it was the hundredth, with each one a new rebirth.

  It lifted his spirits to see her expression of awe. She looked almost happy.

  She looked almost human.

  4

  With the storm gone, they were left with the red and gold of the autumn leaves around them. Lu Yan turned to Jian and their eyes met. He nodded once and started toward her when the ground shifted. He stumbled as a low rumble came from the earth. A crack appeared beneath his feet.

  Jian leapt forward just as a demon with iron skin and a mouth of molten fire sprang from the broken earth. She stretched out her arm protectively as the demon slashed at Lu Yan.

  Iron hands raked over her arm, tearing through flesh. Jian gasped as blood poured from the wound.

  Lifting his sword, Lu Yan sprang forward and stabbed his blade into the creature’s chest. He dug his heels into the ground, shoving the demon backwards with all his strength. The demon howled, making a sound that rang through his skull. Every last talisman was gone.

  Jian came forward with her hand outstretched. Two fingers touched against the demon’s chest and it melted into a wisp of smoke. Then there truly was quiet.

  The howl of the wind was replaced with a cool breeze, rifling through the fallen leaves. Lu Yan stared at the wound that cut across Jian’s arm. Carefully, he reached to take hold of her, gently catching her wrist as she tried to pull away.

  She regarded him with a question in her eyes that he didn’t have the answer for. He pulled closer, extending his other hand to her elbow. He was perhaps the only person who could touch her in this way. She’d permitted his touch before, at least when she was in sword form.

  Beneath his fingertips, Jian was undeniably flesh and blood. Her skin was warm. He swore he could feel the faint skip of a pulse beneath it.