duty. The wood spirit blackens. Smoke pours between its green teeth.
It takes more effort to stopper the power than it took to release it, and when some of the flame's gone she feels an easing in her muscles, as of a swollen lymph node going down. "You may have been commanded to silence."
The spirit looks at her with square eyes.
"But few saw the moment of my death. Few watched it so closely, so well, as to pass the vision on for reenactment. I would say perhaps two." Her wife and the god who plotted her downfall with such determination he sacrificed his ten sons. "Will you burn for your master, then?"
A sandpaper tongue flicks out. "No," the voice a croak before the spirit ignites.
Houyi is on her feet before the combustion can reach her. She's certain she could not have done that; there is only ashes where the wood spirit was, mingling with the mist in clumps and eddies. The sun-father, by all accounts, chides his servants harshly.
She leaves banbuduo behind. This would have to be settled elsewhere.
* * *
Under a tree all knife-edges Houyi stands. The soil was earth once, but it is now blades, fallen fruits and roots of the Fusang. She does not flinch when a leaf falls; it cuts the air and would have left a long red line between her eyes. Perhaps it would have blinded her.
She is a god. Vision would have returned in a day or two; so it has been when she takes the chariot. There were times when her sight burned out and her hands melded to the reins, her skin crisping until she lost the membrane of eyelids, the webbing between fingers, the lining of lips. They took days to regrow, diaphragm and lungs twisting in her chest. She considers it just for the crime of killing nine sun-crows.
It is the tenth and last that Houyi now wait for as chariot, crow and goddess descend.
The crow gives her a three-legged bow before taking his leave. He knows when to be absent.
The goddess Xihe is not cut by Fusang when she strokes its trunk. Winter simmers around her, the mother of suns. "In my presence you ought to be on your knees," Xihe says.
Houyi can feel her eyes begin to dry, her mouth begin to parch. "Were it to satisfy you truly, I'd kneel and put my head to your feet. It is the least I can do."
"It must sting, to let your pride be subsumed by your sense of justice. Even to His Majesty you can barely make yourself bend." The goddess' hand lifts, slow grace; touches.
Cooking flesh always smells sweet.
Houyi does not flinch as the skin of her cheek gives way to blisters. Her voice does not catch as the bridge of her nose peels and reddens.
"What does your wife have to say about this?"
She has to swallow before she can speak, her throat like sand. "Nothing in particular."
"You don't tell her, then, that you allow yourself to be subjected to this. Finally a thing that violates that sacred wifely trust—your gluttony for penance." The goddess steps away. "I often ponder how far you'd go to serve this little perversion, what you'd do on my demand."
"I have a sense of proportion. I will not accept more reproach from you, or anyone else, than is just."
"And your offense was grave. I had ten children once; now I have memory of nine arrows, nine scorch marks, and this one final son. It's unbearable that you are as useful as you are or I'd see you roast always. Out with it, then."
Houyi does not touch the places where she's been seared. They will, with luck, heal and fade before Chang'e can see them. "Dijun's servant sought to test me but turned to ashes before I could question him. As for the monk Fahai, another of your husband's creatures guided him into banbuduo to hunt demon flesh."
"That hardly suffices."
"Associating with a mortal who consumes demon meat to prolong his life is hardly appropriate for any god, let alone one of your husband's rank. It'll add weight to your case when you petition the emperor."
Xihe glances seaward, where her son is a blot in the waters, his wings black as a storm's arrival. "I'll
It takes more effort to stopper the power than it took to release it, and when some of the flame's gone she feels an easing in her muscles, as of a swollen lymph node going down. "You may have been commanded to silence."
The spirit looks at her with square eyes.
"But few saw the moment of my death. Few watched it so closely, so well, as to pass the vision on for reenactment. I would say perhaps two." Her wife and the god who plotted her downfall with such determination he sacrificed his ten sons. "Will you burn for your master, then?"
A sandpaper tongue flicks out. "No," the voice a croak before the spirit ignites.
Houyi is on her feet before the combustion can reach her. She's certain she could not have done that; there is only ashes where the wood spirit was, mingling with the mist in clumps and eddies. The sun-father, by all accounts, chides his servants harshly.
She leaves banbuduo behind. This would have to be settled elsewhere.
* * *
Under a tree all knife-edges Houyi stands. The soil was earth once, but it is now blades, fallen fruits and roots of the Fusang. She does not flinch when a leaf falls; it cuts the air and would have left a long red line between her eyes. Perhaps it would have blinded her.
She is a god. Vision would have returned in a day or two; so it has been when she takes the chariot. There were times when her sight burned out and her hands melded to the reins, her skin crisping until she lost the membrane of eyelids, the webbing between fingers, the lining of lips. They took days to regrow, diaphragm and lungs twisting in her chest. She considers it just for the crime of killing nine sun-crows.
It is the tenth and last that Houyi now wait for as chariot, crow and goddess descend.
The crow gives her a three-legged bow before taking his leave. He knows when to be absent.
The goddess Xihe is not cut by Fusang when she strokes its trunk. Winter simmers around her, the mother of suns. "In my presence you ought to be on your knees," Xihe says.
Houyi can feel her eyes begin to dry, her mouth begin to parch. "Were it to satisfy you truly, I'd kneel and put my head to your feet. It is the least I can do."
"It must sting, to let your pride be subsumed by your sense of justice. Even to His Majesty you can barely make yourself bend." The goddess' hand lifts, slow grace; touches.
Cooking flesh always smells sweet.
Houyi does not flinch as the skin of her cheek gives way to blisters. Her voice does not catch as the bridge of her nose peels and reddens.
"What does your wife have to say about this?"
She has to swallow before she can speak, her throat like sand. "Nothing in particular."
"You don't tell her, then, that you allow yourself to be subjected to this. Finally a thing that violates that sacred wifely trust—your gluttony for penance." The goddess steps away. "I often ponder how far you'd go to serve this little perversion, what you'd do on my demand."
"I have a sense of proportion. I will not accept more reproach from you, or anyone else, than is just."
"And your offense was grave. I had ten children once; now I have memory of nine arrows, nine scorch marks, and this one final son. It's unbearable that you are as useful as you are or I'd see you roast always. Out with it, then."
Houyi does not touch the places where she's been seared. They will, with luck, heal and fade before Chang'e can see them. "Dijun's servant sought to test me but turned to ashes before I could question him. As for the monk Fahai, another of your husband's creatures guided him into banbuduo to hunt demon flesh."
"That hardly suffices."
"Associating with a mortal who consumes demon meat to prolong his life is hardly appropriate for any god, let alone one of your husband's rank. It'll add weight to your case when you petition the emperor."
Xihe glances seaward, where her son is a blot in the waters, his wings black as a storm's arrival. "I'll
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