雪泥鴻爪
Xuění hóngzhǎo
Goose claws in the snow.
Traces of past events. The fleeting nature of human life.
*~*~*~*~*~*

(Warning: first part of the chapter contains references suicide some may find upsetting.)

Sanli knew he was dreaming, but still he could not wake up.

The prince was in the valley, wandering the well worn paths among ferns and trees. Beneath his bare feet he could feel the cool damp of fallen leaves, with the occasional sharp poke of a twig.

His feet led him through the green maze of the forest, till a courtyard was before him.

It was a courtyard only intended for servants. Humble, and filled with small, single story buildings of stone and crumbling brick. Ferns had taken root in the roof tiles and no one much cared to clean them away. For the servants, as long as the tiles stretched over their heads and kept off the rain, it did not matter what grew above them.

Sanli paused in the entrance to the courtyard, surveying the familiar place. This courtyard was for lower level servants, devoted to cleaning the worn items of the royal family and the superior house servants. There was the large low stone trough where they washed the many linens and clothes of the royal family, there the bamboo poles where they hung them out to dry. On the far side ran the long tables for folding and beside them the many baskets for carrying the items back to where they had first come from.

Usually the courtyard would be bustling, filled with loud voices and servants carrying baskets of clothes and bedding. But this was a dream, and it was empty.

Sanli willed his feet to turn and leave the courtyard before he could enter. He begged his feet to take him away from this place. But they did not listen.

Instead they carried him across the familiar courtyard. Past the washing trough. Past the cracked tile where grass grew through. Past the pillar that the older boys had tied him to with old strips of linen when his mother had been gone one day. At first he had mistakenly thought it some sort of game. Then the boys had begun tickling him. They tickled him till he cried, till shameful wet-warmth ran down his legs, soaking his trousers. Till he begged them to stop. But the bigger boys had continued, laughing at his sobs, till one of the gardeners had cut Sanli free and chased them away.

Sanli's feet carried him away from the hateful memory, along the covered walkway, passing the low peeling red doors that led to the servants rooms. A single room could house families of ten or more.

By comparison Sanli and his mother were lucky. It was just the two of them in their empty room. But Sanli hated it there. No matter how his mother decorated their room and tried to tell him it was their home, he hated it.

I don't want to go there.

Sanli willed himself to wake up. Willed his dream self to stop walking. Neither happened.

It can't be that day. It was raining, and it's not now.

As if in reply, rain started pattering across the courtyard, on the tiles of the walkway overhead. Dripping, pouring off the eaves as though it had been raining for hours.

No, no, no—

Sanli's feet stopped outside the last door of peeling red paint. Characters had been scratched in the wood, the names of past inhabitants. Sanli remembered them all, every last name, every jerkily etched character.

His mother had carved their own names there, when they had first arrived, in her native language. Sanli looked up from the height of his nine year old self, searching for the jovial circular letters of Samhan.

He found them, standing on tiptoes to trace the circles and lines. Not long after they had arrived, someone had scratched a long gouge through his mother's name and his own, and written vulgar words beneath. But Sanli's eyes had grown accustomed to blocking out the unwanted words.

His hand, a child's hand, pushed open the door.

No, no, please, please let me wake up—

Inside was dark. It was near evening. He had come to ask his mother about dinner after all, driven back at last by his hunger. He had stayed away from the courtyard all day, guilty at the words he had said, but not wanting to apologize for them, because then that would mean he had done wrong.

His mother was there, waiting for him. But then, she wasn't.

Sanli did not understand at first. Her feet were not touching the floor. Why was she like that? And why was her belt around her neck, and not her middle? It was the pretty grass belt she had woven for herself, using berries to dye the pink and purple strands—

She's not here. She's gone.

Sanli blinked, stepping into the room, staring up at what had once been his mother. If she was gone then did that mean the boys and girls and everyone in the Valley would stop treating him like an unwanted thing? Like a stray dog they needed to drive away? Would they leave him in peace?

She's gone.

And suddenly Sanli realized what that meant.

He choked, he sobbed. His sobs turned to howls, his howls to inhuman screams. In his dream, he fell to the floor, clawing at his hair as though that would wake him from this nightmare.

Please let me wake up—

The pain and shame and grief of his nine year old self washed over him, undulled by time. He screamed and screamed and screamed, as if that could expel the agony he felt from his chest. As if his screams could cut his mother down from that beam and set her on her feet, alive again.

Please, please, I just want to wake up—

And then suddenly it was not his own hair but the smooth pelt of an animal's fur beneath his hands. The waking world. Sanli took it and held on to it, refusing to let go.

Dragging himself from his dream was like pulling himself from deep water, but he at last emerged, gasping, hands clutching at the animal furs thrown around and over him.

Sanli pulled air into his lungs and looked around, vision still blurred from waking. He was in a cabin. There was a fire burning just beside him, and in its dim light he could see Zakhar sat before it. The big man's hand was gripping his mouth as though trying to keep something inside it.

Zakhar was crying. Wet streamed down his face, reflected in the firelight.

"Zakhar, what's—"

Sanli then realized the screaming had not stopped with his waking. It carried on, and on, endlessly, echoing through the night, coming from somewhere outside the cabin. It was a woman's voice, not the screams of his nine-year old self.

"Zakhar?" asked Sanli, dazedly. "Who—"

That is Ao's voice.

"Zakhar! What's happening? Where's Ao?!" Sanli tried to sit up, but his head spun, and Zakhar was able to push him back with a minimum of effort.

Zakhar lay a thick arm across Sanli's chest, holding him down.

"Zakhar, stop! Where's Ao? Why is she screaming?" Sanli thrashed, trying to free himself. His shoulder throbbed, and he remembered the arrows, remembered the cave.

Zakhar just shook his head, then with his free hand grabbed a cup off the mantle and held it to Sanli's lips.

"Zakhar—ssstop" Sanli spluttered, but allowed the liquid to slip down his throat. It tasted like some kind of tea, bitter and herby.

"What is—" Sanli's world swum, and he felt his eyes closing against his will. Too late he realized the tea was a sleeping draught.

No! I have to help Ao— I don't want to— I can't sleep!

As Sanli sunk back down into the forest of his dreams, he heard Zakhar say in a broken voice:

"—me. It should be me."

*~*~*~*~*~*

The next thing Sanli knew it was dawn, and day was breaking outside.

He looked up at the glass panes of the window beside his bed. The glass was thick, and marbled and uneven, and frost had formed on the inside of the windows, further blocking the view of outside.

All Sanli could see was the shape of dark treetops, jutting into a dull grey sky.

The sound of boots thudding up the steps outside reached Sanli's ears, and the door burst open with a gust of cold air.

Kageyama stood in the doorway, a bundle of furs in his arms.

Not furs. That was Ao. Sanli made out the shape of her feet, in the sheepskin boots he had gifted her.

"Is she..."

The words came from Zakhar, who had been slumped over the table, but raised his head at Kageyama's entrance.

"She's had every bone broken twice over, but she's alive, and the Black Lord's curse is gone," said Kageyama, stepping into the cabin and pulling the door shut behind him with one boot.

"Will she- will she live?" Zakhar's voice shook.

"I believe so," said Kageyama. "But... she was not herself, at the end. I worry..."

Sanli struggled to sit up. "Sho Sensei?"

Kageyama started. "Sanli... you're awake."

"Bring Ao here," Sanli commanded.

For a moment it looked like Kageyama would argue, then he carried Ao across the cabin and lay her in the open space beside Sanli on the kang.

Sanli reached out a shaking hand and peeled back the furs.

Ao's face was deceptively peaceful. She appeared uninjured, save for two lines of blood that ran from the corners of her mouth.

But then Sanli noticed the dark splotches all across her clothing. Black and brown they bloomed across the material.

She's had every bone broken twice over.

Sanli's vision, which had been blurry since he woke, swirled. He felt bile rise in his throat.

"What happened?" the prince asked, voice shaky.

"An eh'lang. The same one we met back at the village. It attacked her while she was returning to the cave."

Returning to the cave. She was trying to get to me.

"The eh'lang—?"

"Dead," said Kageyama with finality.

"Will- will she be alright?" Sanli asked, hating how young his voice sounded.

Kageyama did not speak for a moment. He lay a hand on Sanli's arm.

"Sanli, the curse is gone, and the seals will heal her, but Ao... she was in a great deal of pain," Kageyama's face was hesitant. "Pain like that drives most men mad. I worry her mind may not be... whole, even if she wakes."

This happened because of me. I couldn't kill it. I couldn't help her. Because of me—

"Sanli," said Kageyama. His voice was soft, but his hand on Sanli's arm was firm, and his eyes hard. "This is not your fault."

Yes it is.

"Leave her here. I will take care of her. She took care of me, in the cave."

Kageyama looked like he wanted to object, but then sighed. "Fine. But there is not much to do for her. The Golden Emperor's seals will heal her better and faster than anything we can do."

"Can you get me a cloth, so I can at least wash her face?" Sanli asked. Zakhar fetched a cloth and a bowl of warm water. Together they cleaned Ao's face and hands.

Sanli's heart lurched when he turned over Ao's palm and saw red crescents pressed into it. Her fingernails. She must have been in such pain. Because of me. Because of me.

When they were finished Zakhar took the bowl away. The men all stared down at Ao's pale face.

Kageyama moved away first, to prepare their morning meal. "Now we wait," he said.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Sanli waited by Ao's side. The sky outside grew lighter, but still grey. Kageyama had forbidden Sanli from leaving the kang. With nothing to do, and no movement from Ao, he watched the activity in the cabin to distract himself.

It had been only a few days since Kageyama and Zakhar had found the cabin, yet the two men had already fallen into a routine. Kageyama made a porridge for their morning meal, then cleaned the bowls in the snow outside after they had eaten. Zakhar left soon after to go hunting, returning with a fat pigeon not long after, plucked pink.

Kageyama took the pigeon and cooked it, making soup using a scoop of oats from a barrel that stood with many other barrels and boxes and sacks of items all lined up along the wall of the cabin opposite the kang. Then he took a few of the dried vegetables that hung from twine strung from the cabin's ceiling, cut them, and added them as well.

"Who does this cabin belong to?" Sanli asked.

"We assume it belonged to a hunter, from the deserted village. It appears to have been abandoned," said Zakhar from where he sat by the fire. His hands kept restlessly folding and unfolding, eyes glancing toward Ao every minute or so to see if any change had occurred.

A hunter... that would explain all the furs thrown everywhere. Over the backs of chairs, hung from the rafters along with the herbs and dried vegetables, and piled high on the small kang Sanli sat on.

"At first," Kageyama began, from where he was drying and stacking the cups he had just washed in the snow. "We worried that it might be one of Erli's hunting cabins, it was so well stocked. But then we agreed there was no world in which your sister would stay in something so... rustic."

Sanli agreed. "This room would not hold a tenth of her entourage. And there would be more mounted animals. We all know the kind of decor she enjoys." Then the prince grew sober. "Do you think it was Erli who—"

"We will wait till spring, and then take less used roads back to the valley," said Kageyama firmly. His voice was calm, but there was a murderous glint in the kitsune's eyes that made Sanli's skin prick with danger.

He almost pitied his older sister.

It seemed that aside from hunting and cooking, there was not much else to do around the cabin. Kageyama fussed over his soup. Zakhar spent the afternoon sitting at the small table, whittling away at a piece of wood. More than once the big man's knife slipped, causing him to curse and stick a cut finger in his mouth.

Sanli suspected it was because Zakhar's eyes spent more time on Ao than on the piece of wood he was carving.

The prince also looked to Ao more often than he should, pulling the furs tighter about her, moving a strand of hair from her wan face. He thought to remove her boots, then remembered Ao saying how warm they were, and that she preferred to sleep in them.

Her legs were also bent strangely, and it terrified Sanli, the thought of hurting her further trying to remove her boots.

Sanli's eyes lingered on Ao, then turned once more to tracing the spirals of frost creeping up the window.

"Open up."

Kageyama stood beside the kang with a bowl and spoonful of steaming soup in his hands. Before Sanli could object the spoon found its way into his mouth.

The soup was delicious. Sanli hurriedly swallowed it and took the spoon from his teacher.

"I can feed myself."

Kageyama nodded. "Good. Eat all of it. Not a drop left."

Sanli began to spoon the mixture into his mouth. He looked to Ao's pale face, her parted lips. "What about Ao?"

Kageyama shook his head. "We risk her choking. If she has still not woken by tomorrow, we will need to find a way to give her water."

Kageyama pulled the collar of Sanli's shirt back, to look at the freshly bandaged arrow wounds once more.

"She did a good job. You owe her your life, you know."

"I know," said Sanli, spooning more soup into his mouth. His throat tightened, making it hard to swallow.

Around mid afternoon, Zakhar lifted a hatch in the cabin floor and disappeared through it.

"Where is he going?" Sanli asked.

"To feed the horses," Kageyama said. Then, seeing Sanli's confused look, explained further. "The stable is below. That is one of the reasons the cabin is so warm. That and the kang."

As he spoke, Kageyama came to check the bucket of hot coals he had pushed under the brick platform Sanli now rested on, Ao beside him. The kitsune carefully used a padded glove to slide the bucket out onto the tile beside the fire. Kageyama then took a small iron shovel to scoop glowing orange coals that had fallen through the fire grate into the bucket.

Filled with new sizzling coals, Kageyama pushed the bucket back into the opening beneath the brick kang. Sanli lay a hand to bricks beneath him, feeling them warm.

It was midwinter, when the days are shortest, and all too soon the grey sky outside the window grew dark. Kageyama prepared some flat bread using flour from one of the sacks stacked along the wall. They ate that with the remainder of the pigeon soup.

And then it was time to sleep.

Kageyama flipped himself into a hammock he had strung between two roof beams, over the barrels of oat and sacks of grain. Zakhar spread his bed roll beneath the table, the only space of floor wide enough in the small cabin to accommodate the big man that wasn't just beside the fire or before the door.

Sanli settled down on the kang, the unconscious woman beside him. Ao had not moved all day. Save for the soft rising and fall of her chest, there was no way to tell if she was alive.

Please wake up Ao. Please. I will not ask anything from you again. Just wake up.

Sanli reached out, under the many furs and woven wool blankets piled all over the kang, to find Ao's hand. It was cold, and didn't respond to his touch.

Please wake up.

Sanli thought there was no way he could sleep, with all the thoughts tumbling around in his mind, and the fear that Ao might not return lingering over him.

But he must of, because when he next woke, the fire had burned low, and he could tell from the darkness of the sky outside it was mid night.

He realized what had woken him. Ao's hand, still clasped in his own, twitched.

Sanli sat bolt upright. "Ao?"

Beneath the table, Zakhar did the same, accidentally slamming his forehead onto the wood of the table. The big man cursed, tripping over the blankets tangled around his legs in his rush to get to the kang. Kageyama slid from his hammock and came to stand beside the kang as well.

The men stood staring down at Ao's face, a pale blur in the darkened cabin.

"Someone stir the fire," said Sanli. Kageyama hurriedly did so.

The light from the flames danced higher. Ao's eyes, black in the dark, reflected the burning light. They were open.

"Ao?" Sanli questioned.

Ao did not move, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

"Pain like that drives most men mad. I worry she may not be whole, even if she wakes."

"Ao, please say something. Talk to us," Sanli begged, Ao's hand held carefully in his own.

The fire-lit eyes flicked to Sanli's face. They blinked, long lashes slowly closing and opening again.

And then-

"What should I say to you, little prince? I am so hungry, and everything hurts."

Thank the gods. Sanli laughed, eyes warm. Zakhar made a strangled sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Kageyama's sigh was one of relief.

"Well? Are you all just going to stand like trees, or are you going to get me something to eat?"

*~*~*~*~*~*