Mulan and the Jade Emperor: an Adult Folktale Retelling (Once Upon a Spell: Legends Book 1) Read online

  “Yes. You’re right.”

  His mother had perished on one such cold, dark evening of the new moon, the one night of each cycle when their link to the goddess was severed and their draconic magic locked away. Likewise, a full moon truly gifted those born of draconic blood.

  When Cheng donned the heavy piece of throat protection, the two edges melded together and formed a seamless circle of metal. He blinked and probed it with his fingertips. “But how do I remove it?”

  “You don’t.”

  Then the magic struck him. A hot lance of energy pierced his chest and blew him back into a circle drawn on the floor. It hurt, pain seizing him and freezing his limbs. Points of magic raised all around him toward the ceiling in a cylinder of shimmering scarlet light as black particles hung suspended in the air.

  The agony brought Cheng to his knees. Sparks of electricity whizzed and zipped from each ebony fleck, creating an electrical field. Power danced over his body from head to toe in tingling ripples. “Uncle, what are—what is happening?”

  “It brings me no pleasure to do this, Cheng, but I must for the good of Liang. For the welfare of our empire, I must.”

  “Must do what?” Cheng cried.

  “I claim that which you have taken for granted, nephew.”

  “Taken what for granted? I’ve followed your lead. I—”

  “You could have never led this empire the way it deserves. These lands will need a firm hand in the days to come.” A sad smile curved the sorcerer’s mouth. “I will be that hand guiding Liang to victory over our enemies and all who stand in our way. Never again will we bow to those lesser than us. Never again will we suffer.”

  “You—won’t succeed.” The pain sizzled white hot through his veins, but still he struggled to remain conscious. “Our people will never accept this.”

  Da-Wio held out his hand. A vibrant stream of green energy flowed to his fist. “They will accept what they are told.”

  “My body! They’ll know that you’ve killed me when—”

  “Whoever said that I plan to kill you, Cheng?”

  Before his eyes, his uncle’s weathered features became rejuvenated and shed decades of age. Another charge of electrical power burst around him as the ceiling and world around Cheng expanded. Cheng couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. The floor came up to meet him as green rushed over his scaling skin.

  He realized only in those final seconds that his body was turning into jade.

  2

  Present Day

  Gentle rain misted over the village of Songshi, covering every surface in a light sheen that sparkled beneath the noonday sun. Mulan stood beneath the overhang of her family’s home while her thoughts roamed in a hundred different directions.

  At that very moment, the entire community prepared for the Crimson Tea Ceremony in two days’ time, when prospective husbands and wives from the surrounding villages would gather to meet with the matchmaker, hoping to find their soulmate among the attendees. Mulan’s mother had spent days sewing her dress for the affair.

  Their legends claimed each person had a destined love, a soulmate decided from birth to be their other half. She had her doubts about it all. While Mulan frequently witnessed deep, fathomless love between her parents, she’d never felt the tug herself. Unlike her sister who, even at the tender age of eleven, swore she was going to marry the alchemist’s son.

  “It will be a beautiful day.” Her father stepped over and took a place beside her. “An auspicious sign for the ceremony.”

  “I suppose it is.”

  “You don’t sound excited.”

  “I’ve met the men from our nearest villages, Father.” And the women, for that matter. “None of them are right. None of them are for me. What if…what if I am not bound to anyone?”

  Her father took her by both shoulders, his strong hands gentle as they squeezed. “Why would my wise and talented daughter be forgotten by the gods?”

  “Maybe I displeased them by valuing the sword over skills associated with the home.”

  A soft chuckle preceded a soft kiss to her brow. “And why would the gods do that? You have defended our village against raiders, fought bandits from the main roads, and led the other young ladies of Songshi with honor. That is a skill of the home, Mulan. Protecting those you love and the sanctity of your domicile is just as important as learning the loom. The gods are not displeased.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so. I think you worry too much. Besides, you have not met all the young men.”

  “Most of them,” she grumbled.

  “Perhaps you will be surprised. I never expected to meet your mother as I did, and look at us. We have everything we could ever wish for—two wise and beautiful daughters, a strong son, land and a home we call our own.” Sweeping an arm toward the house and expansive gardens altered his balance. The man’s knee buckled, threatening to pitch him down the short flight of stairs. Before Mulan reached for him, he grasped the dragon head statue mounted at the top of the porch steps and regained his balance. He chuckled ruefully. “And a bad leg.”

  “An injury earned in honorable combat,” she rushed to say. “Here, sit with me.”

  For once, her father didn’t wave aside her offer of help. She led him over to a bench he had carved as a wedding gift for her mother and waited for him to get comfortable before she took a seat beside him.

  “It seems a cruel twist of fate that the rain our village needs also brings an ache to these old bones.”

  “I’ll get your ointment.”

  “All gone.”

  “Then I’ll go to Lanfen for more.”

  “I…”

  “Please, Father. It isn’t far, and I have the time to spare.”

  His proud shoulders dipped. “Very well.”

  “I can help you inside—”

  “No need. I would like to enjoy the flowers for a time. In the mist they always look more magical. More beautiful somehow.”

  She smiled because she felt the same way. She had clear memories of sitting on the same bench as a child with her father, simply enjoying the view without the need for words. Sometimes her father would sketch while she played with her dolls. As she grew older, she set aside her dolls in favor of a bo staff, and then eventually a sword. Her old training dummy still resided on the distant end of the porch, its wood notched and weathered from countless hours of practice.

  “I’ll be back soon.”

  By the time she set out the rain had stopped, leaving a haze in the air that smelled of flowers, ferns, and moist soil. She followed a winding path down the mountain, passing several other homes along her way. Only two other houses were higher on the slope, both belonging to the family who governed their region. As a respected general in the Imperial Army, her father had been granted prestigious lands.

  Mulan did her best to honor that legacy by leading the village militia alongside her mother. Once, when a vicious group of raiders invaded from Northern Samahara, Mulan had led the ambush that decimated their supply camp and forced them to retreat before the army arrived.

  She had been thanked for her service and summarily dismissed while the army handled the rest. Women were allowed to fight at home, but they could not serve in the emperor’s army. It was, in her opinion, an unfair schism of their society.

  Her dark thoughts kept her company as she made her way into the village. Songshi had a central square surrounded by four shops, two dining establishments, and a teahouse. The village artisans and craftsmen built their workshops on the road leading west from the square, with the blacksmith’s forge located at the far end. To the east were the communal gardens and orchards for which Songshi was renowned. The most beautiful statue of Empress Li-Song to ever be carved in stone resided there.

  Following the cobbled path, she made her way to the alchemist on the northern edge of the square. Bells chimed when she drew aside the curtain and stepped inside a chamber redolent with resinous incense and freshly cut herbs.

&nb
sp; “I’ve been expecting you, dear,” a reedy voice called from the back. “Come, it’s almost ready.”

  Mulan had long ago abandoned any attempt to decipher how Lanfen knew things no one should. The village physician claimed to have no magic, and yet she worked miracles and wonders with her ointments and teas, offered sage advice, and always had a knack for knowing exactly what a person needed—sometimes before they did.

  “Good day to you, Lanfen,” she said in greeting once she reached the archway that led to the back room. She bowed deeply to the statue at her right—an altar to the scarlet dragon-god of medicine—before entering. “How did you know?”

  Despite her age, Lanfen stood with a straight spine, her silver hair drawn up in an intricate topknot secured by a ruby-studded gold comb. Her smooth skin made her appear younger than her years, only a few wrinkles seen at the corner of her brown eyes. Mulan hoped she would age as gracefully.

  “The rains this time of year, my dear, always bring back old memories. Our bodies often remember that which our minds choose to forget.”

  The elder’s words brought back a memory from Mulan’s childhood. It had been a spring day exactly like this when her father arrived home in a wagon. The army medics had splinted his ravaged leg instead of applying the necessary medicine, and they’d left his high fever untreated.

  Mulan would never forget the concern on her mother’s face as she sat long, silent vigils at her husband’s bedside. So many hours had been dedicated to changing bandages, boiling soiled linens, and spreading ointment over the infected wound. At the time, Mulan had been too young to understand the army surgeons hadn’t expected her father to live, sending the man home to spend his final days with his family.

  Both her mother and Lanfen had proven them wrong.

  “Thank you,” Mulan said in a soft voice. “I don’t know what we would do without you, Lanfen.”

  “Oh, you’d carry along fine, I’m certain. Here, grind these leaves down for me. The smoother the paste, the better they numb the pain, but in a tight spot you can always chew them and apply to a wound.”

  Mulan laughed and did as she was bid. Lanfen’s apothecary was a second home, in a way. She enjoyed watching the woman make her salves. An abundance of medicinal plants grew in the jungles around their village, and she had accompanied Lanfen many times on her harvest journeys.

  “You have more on your mind than picking up medicine, I think,” Lanfen said after a few silent minutes passed. “Are you not looking forward to my tea in two days?”

  “You’re preparing the tea?”

  “Who else would you trust to concoct the brew that will reveal the inner heart of your potential suitor?”

  Mulan scoffed. When Lanfen remained silent, her stare heavy on Mulan’s back, the younger woman relented.

  “Fine. I have doubts.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I know almost all of those…those boys! They’re still children. Who says my fate must be dictated by someone other than myself?” Even as she spoke the words, she felt like a child pushing against destiny and tradition.

  Am I any better? What am I, if not a child, for refusing that which has been set for me?

  A sly, knowing smile curved Lanfen’s lips. “You have always dreamed bigger than this village, Mulan. Perhaps it is your fate to venture away from home. Meet someone or don’t. There is no law requiring marriage. Live. Experience the world. Travel beyond Liang’s borders if you must and see distant lands.”

  “With what money?” Mulan stared at Lanfen, aghast. “Even if I could afford to travel, you know I can’t leave.”

  Lanfen made a tiny, disapproving sound in the back of her throat.

  “What?”

  “You can do whatever you like.” Lanfen pressed a small pot into Mulan’s hands. “Your family would agree.”

  “They want me to marry. Mother spent must have spent at least a hundred hours sewing that dress by hand. I can’t…I can’t disrespect her by refusing to wear it.”

  “They want to see you happy. Talk to them.”

  Mulan wished she felt as confident as Lanfen seemed to be, but rather than argue, she smiled and bowed. “Thank you for your counsel, and the medicine.”

  “You are welcome. Now hurry home. I feel a dark wind coming.”

  Outside the shop, several villagers had gathered in a small group talking in hushed voices. The sight was nothing too far out of the norm, except for their matching frowns. Another glance around the square revealed the presence of unfamiliar horses wearing the black and gold barding of the Imperial Army.

  A chill ran up her spine.

  With hasty steps, Mulan started up the mountain road. The first home she passed had imperial visitors, two guards with stern faces who spoke with Caori Shimpur, an artisan who painted the most beautiful landscapes. Mulan hurried past, and when she saw more soldiers at the next home, she broke into a run.

  “Mother! Father!” she cried as she raced into their front courtyard. Her father remained where she had left him, sitting on the porch, but he rose at her cry.

  “What is it, Mulan?” he asked, joined by his wife.

  “Soldiers in the village,” she said, barely out of breath even after her run. “And at the first three homes on the mountain. I heard them riding behind me.

  “For what reason would the army come to Songshi?” her mother asked.

  “I can think of few…” her father murmured as a rider approached their open gate.

  Her father hadn’t given voice to his thoughts, but she could easily guess. Only one thing ever brought the army to every house in a region.

  “Hua family, where is the head of this home?” the armored man demanded.

  Back straight and his chin held high, her father approached with measured, careful steps.

  “I am Hua Hu.”

  Without dismounting from his horse, the imperial messenger extended a scroll in one hand. “You are called to serve your emperor,” the man declared in lieu of the proper greeting. “Every household must offer a sword to service. Where are your sons, General?” His lip curled in a sneer that filled Mulan with rage.

  “I am blessed with two daughters, and a son barely walking,” her father replied, his voice even and strong. “I will do my duty and report as ordered.”

  No. He can’t go to war. He can’t!

  Mulan’s body tensed, and she clenched her fists at her sides. Contrasting her fury, a touch from her mother imparted the tranquility she needed to loosen both hands.

  “You are expected in camp before the next moon cycle.”

  When the messenger left, he did not continue up the path to the governor’s manor houses. The governor’s wife waited for him at the inlet to the road and passed a bulging purse to him. He bowed in the saddle then trotted down the mountain, proving money mattered more than honor.

  3

  Blasting powder ignited, and an alchemical light show exploded across the star-strewn sky in a series of powerful pops and cracks each time a barrel combusted midair. Flaming debris rained from the heavens toward the border dividing Cairn Ocland from Liang, and fire caught the tangle of thorns stretching between the two kingdoms. There, bundles of explosive chemicals mixed with the plant matter and became smaller fireballs streaming through the growth. This had been a beautiful example of Liangese ingenuity, developed by their best alchemists and finally put to the test.

  Too long had passed since the treacherous Oclander Witch-Queen raised the near-impregnable border and separated the Liangese from their own northern forests. Ever since, their hunters had been forced to creep in the shadows, to wiggle between thorny vines and crawl over poisonous leaves to harvest the rare herbs and alchemical reagents. By land, Cairn Ocland was inaccessible from the east, where the mountains stretched toward the clouds and formed seaside cliffs. No man could venture there with impunity from the griffins who nested in the steppes. If their powerful wings didn’t create gusts that blew the men from the mountains, they stirred the clouds i
nto lethal lightning storms.

  A western mountain range formed a natural barrier and divided Cairn Ocland from their former neighbors in Dalborough. That kingdom had long ago fallen into ruin, conquered and shamed, its land divided. Da-Wio had been pleased to accept a portion of their territory. Then the betrayal struck, and those ingrates from Cairn Ocland had dared to tell him what his people could no longer harvest from the forests of their ancestors.

  The Emperor of Liang would not bow to animals, whether they dared to walk as men or on four legs. Da-Wio watched the progress of the battle from a distance as thousands of his men clashed with the feral northmen.

  The beastmen. Prior to the outbreak of a true war, the two nations’ hatred of one another had been only a bloodless rivalry, a fiercely bitter stalemate that resulted in neither side taking action. Sometimes Liangese hunters vanished in their forests. Sometimes their men returned home with a werewolf pelt.

  Occasional squabbles between their citizens had been of no concern to Da-Wio, who viewed it as an equal loss of minor life in honorable combat. When the King and Queen of Cairn Ocland had dared to send missives forbidding them the collection of Liang’s most lucrative resources from the forest, he’d laughed. Then their witch had erected the wall.

  It was no longer a laughing matter then. Liang needed the medicinal plants for their alchemy as much as their hunters relied on profits from the pet trade to improve their farms. A pixie from the Forest of Melodies fetched a fair price on the open market overseas, each one bringing in thousands of gold coins.

  While Liang had the greater numbers, and Cairn Ocland was still reeling from their own internal war, the latter still proved to be a strong adversary. The thorn wall could not be cut, and when the vines were penetrated, they grew back fuller and stronger than ever.