The sour wind was ever-present, carrying the stink of corpses and the stench of beasts. No one could say what kind of corpse—man or animal. Or what kind of creature they might see next. Rarely did they find human remains, and if they did, it was only bones, often gnawed down to fragments, crushed for marrow.

  The last time they saw any beasts was four days ago, or since no one could truly tell the time, twelve rests at three per Bao waking.

  A stone landscape could only change so much, but the mountain tried its best. Invisible cracks brought fresh winds and waters. Little shifts and light trickles formed the places they walked through. Stone pillars growing upwards in one chamber, downwards in another. Stranger yet, the room beyond those two had a wall battered by wind. The wind cut a pattern like scales pressed on each other, but the scales were shaped more like leaves or ears than anything else.

  Hao still found it unbelievable that something as simple in the mind as an animal could live in this place. Even the intelligent ones had to struggle when there was nothing but stone around. Dark as pitch except for that one light that never reaches the floor.

  They were just taking their first break for the day. The fifth day since Bao first opened her eyes. Before then, there was nothing to reference time.

  Hao didn’t let his steps stutter. He didn’t let any fault show; his shoulder had healed enough, and energy slowly filled him, doubling each breath. Hao felt like himself again. Myself?

  “Do you want me to teach you a bit of swordplay? I would be better off as a teacher for you than she. She only knows how to hack and slash, not how to keep the blade and the situation steady.”

  Hao turned, finding Lang behind him. The man was more relaxed now that his wife, Bao, had woken up a few times. The man didn’t like the idea that he was getting sword lessons from Yao at the first mention. He practically snapped at her, asking her to teach Hao just to hold her sword. Standing there in his clean robes, fitting him nicely, trying to smile, but the smile failed to hide the exhaustion in his eyes.

  “Senior Brother can only give me a small lesson—afterwards, we all need rest,” Hao said, smiling. He stepped around the man with a wide stride to his step, challenging a good lesson.

  Hao felt there was no longer a need to act meek, there was not a single injury on his body. His strut said so, but he didn’t fully trust anyone in the group—least of all, Yao, no matter what she asked or taught him.

  It was an interesting experience, learning from both of them. Lang was wrong and right. Yao only knew how to perform sudden heavy strikes, but each was astonishing. There was plenty that Hao could learn from her. A blade and a club weren’t much different in his hands. She could turn a sharp sword into a stone-crushing hammer. With that razor-edged sword, a Shamshir, as she called it, Hao bet she could cut clear through a tree.

  As for Lang himself, he was steady and sturdy as an ancient boulder. His movements were accurate and precise, with quiet footsteps followed by a sudden burst of violence. His specialty was making a cage and locking down an opponent for his wife, Bao, to finish. As she was injured, drifting in and out of consciousness, Hao didn’t get the chance to learn from her.

  Hao took the chance for the lesson. They had to wait for Bao to wake before moving forward again. Yao was occupied cooking a sheet of pangolin stomach at every fire they made—this one was no different. With how much she cooked, Hao thought she would start to force-feed him. A strange look took over her lips and eyes as the membranous flesh shrank until it was brittle. Occasionally, she looked at them as the sticks they used as practice swords clashed, whittling down and splintering.

  A few swings after the lesson started, the walls began shaking, and vibration filled their bodies from their feet. Their fire scattered apart. Burning sticks rolling in every direction.. It was the trembling of the mountain. Searching for the source of the quake was their new guide. In Yao’s spoken words, it was the place she was originally bringing them to, so it didn’t matter.

  All three moved to gather the fire again. Lang jumped to it first, batting away any fire that rolled close to Bao with hatred painting his face. The stick in his hand became a tool for destruction, not a small lesson. Yao hurried about, cleaning up her little cooking station, moving her cloak high on her shoulders as she stomped cinders and coal, rolling whole sticks back in the pile.

  “Here, push it all over here,” Hao called out, putting a set of stones into a semicircle pit.

  He began stacking the burning wood himself, finding the others moving quickly to organize. Lang likely regretted offering the lesson, wishing instead he had sat and rested a while near his wife. Yao was as discontent as Hao thought she would be. Rest only went so far when the only bed was a stone floor, and the only pillow a smooth rock.

  They gathered the fire, putting more fresh wood, including their practice swords, into the fire at the end of everything. Lang got Bao to the fire, resting her head on his leg as he tried to warm up. Hao and Yao sat down there, too. The four looked at each other across the flames. It was their only light. The only light on the ground. The only warmth in the cave. All the wind was as cold as the nights outside, and a frigid gust always sent someone shivering.

  Silence took the group until Bao woke.

  The quake was gone when the woman opened her eyes, her lips chapped and cracked, her body too stiff to move at command. She shouldn’t move anyway, not with that injury. After Hao told her not to move or move as little as possible, Lang echoed the words in a whimper, tending to everything his wife needed. The only thing he didn’t do was chew her food for her.

  “How many days has it been?” His voice came out high-pitched, but cracking like a frog’s croak. Her eyes struggle to open, lashes sealed shut from night tears and gathered dust. She looked at Hao when they opened, then moved to her husband, Lang.

  Lang looked down at her, then around the group, around the fire, the group looking around at each other. Then the two uninjured ones looked at Hao.

  Hao looked at the ceiling, thinking of a good joke. He was tempted to say it, but it was unbecoming to make a joke about or for Bao. She wouldn’t understand in her state, anyway. Hao often doubted she was ever actually awake. At least she never seemed lucid.

  Bao often spoke as if she were elsewhere, dreaming they were in battle, and at quieter times, while walking through the caves and tunnels, someone carrying her, she would think she was abed with Lang, her husband. Going into intimate detail about their affairs. It lightened the mood, but fed a darker tone as none of those things happened. No battle, no love-making, as far as Hao knew, not since their battle with the Pangolin beasts before they found the watering hole in the cave.

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  Hao pulled his head back down, looking at the fire, speaking like he was talking to her. “It’s been five days since you first woke up. A bit more time has passed, maybe a few days more than that, since you got your injury, Senior sister.”

  Hao got something and a pot out, as Bao began speaking intelligible words with a sentence so far from context that it seemed like a baby’s babble. He got the pot to a boil and lifted it from the fire.

  “Senior Brother, you can wash her wound before we start again…” Hao pushed the pot to him, turning away as the man nodded with a feigned smile. Lang was better at faking a smile a few days ago.

  Signalling Yao to come with him, Hao sat down with his back to the fire, too far away to get any of the warmth. Yao sat at his side, pulling her shawl in her hands back and forth in a sawing motion on her back. Her chest started swaying in a display he couldn’t tell was on purpose.

  A discontented look flooded her face, her bottom lip jutting forward, “I wish I could have another bath, too.”

  Hao sighed, not wanting to remember much of that day, but knowing he would never forget it. He looked up at her cross, marking his words with obvious sarcasm. “If you almost get split in half, I will tend to you like a fragile princess made of jade, and even wash you like a saucepan.”

  Yao leaned close, whispering in his ear, “Amusing, but the only fragile jade around is you. Little brother, don’t burn yourself while trying to clean…”

  Just as she pulled away, Hao felt a series of minor tremors. Wave after wave of subtle shaking came in an unsteady rhythm.

  “This…” he stood, knowing something big was coming. A massive quake followed, silencing his voice, killing his chance to say more words.

  The stone fire pit fell apart, stones rolling, cinders and flaming logs scattering. Dust fell from the ceiling as icy wind, like a winter scream, shuddered down the invisible cracks.

  Hao reached out and pulled Yao to her feet, clenching her hand. He pointed at the wall, a safer place if hanging spikes start to fall. He waited for the first wave to calm before calling out to Lang. The tall man stomped flames at his feet as he held Bao in his arms. Her robe was still up to her belly button, as Lang was still drying her. But no skin was exposed. The man stacked every bit of scrap clothing and fabric on her wound to dry her.

  When calm came, Hao shouted, “TO A WALL, WATCH YOUR HEADS!”

  Lang moved fast, Hao faster, pulling Yao with him as they all hugged the far wall, scared from countless years of wind.

  “We need to move to the next room,” Hao said, pointing to the next room where no dust was falling, a much bigger space. Closer to their destination, without stone formations on the ceiling.

  Lang bumped Hao’s shoulder with his own. “I haven’t finished! I need to get her robe on properly! I can’t! leave her here—It’s too risky!”

  Hao audibly clicked his tongue, “Just wrap her robe tight around her—It’s not important right now! Calm yourself, man!”

  Lang looked confused, but went silent. Hao could hear a shout, a blood-curdling scream. It sounded like a call for help. Looking at Lang, it seemed he heard it too. Another quake followed as the voice was silenced.

  More dust was scattered in the room, choking them, while small stones fell from the ceiling, crushing logs that were still burning. Cinders flying filled the air like dancing sparks.

  When calm came again, Hao spoke softly, “Go ahead, scout out, find out what is going on, get to the next room—I will keep her safe until the last shake passes.”

  Hao ignored Lang’s offended face. Hao slammed his palm into the strange leaf-patterned wall. Stone chipped, falling away as a small hole was made. Hao kept going until it could barely fit him and another, the next quake moving under his feet, stopped him from doing more.

  “Go! I will catch up,” Hao said, turning his back. He held his hands out, offering his back to Bao.

  “I…I…I… Thank you, Junior Brother—please keep her safe.”

  Hao was surprised that Lang complied. He felt the weight of the spindly woman on his back and watched the two speed off into the dark of the far chamber. Spirit stones lighting their way. The same light was shining on Yao’s face as she looked back.

  Hao sank back, sliding himself into the hole of his own making. He meditated while choking on thick sticky air, blocking the debris with his body. At his back, Bao mumbled in his ear, calling him names he had never heard before. She was oblivious to the situation, having gone into the world of her mind. When the debris finally stopped falling, and the longest time between waves touched his feet, he climbed out and ran, Bao finally calling him by his real name as he ran from the dusty room.

  *

  Hao caught up to them, his steps creeping forward once out of the collapsing room, seeing them crouching. He was careful not to move Bao around, feeling her spindly hip bones pressing into his back. The cushion of scrap cloth made it seem she had a belly held tightly to her by her cloth girdle. She was surprisingly fragrant. Her arms wrapped around his neck. He could ignore her for the most part until the tension rose, her groans on his neck from his hastened movements turning his ears red. She was in pain, but wide awake, her groans letting him know.

  “We are close to joining them now, they are just ahead,” Hao whispered, his voice barely leaving his throat.

  The injured, but experienced and intelligent Bao took the hint, stifling her breaths. Quick bursts in and out of her lungs pressed the cloth pad lightly on Hao’s back as she went silent.

  The two were really just up ahead. Lang and Yao just ducked behind cover, standing ten steps away from each other. They were as cautious with each other as they were of the noise in the room ahead. Fair enough, he felt the same, but tried not to be so blatant about it.

  “What is it?” Hao asked, his voice tickling their ears. But they didn’t get a chance to answer. They didn’t need to. A gust of crisp, hot wind carried the stench of sulfur and decay to his face.

  Hao saw the movement of light from the corner of his eye. An explosion of violence like scattered ink. As the light flickered and vanished, the quake shook his shoes. A scream of pain and sorrow, a battlefield of death and loss, filled his ears. His eyes grew wide, and pupils spun like flying daggers. He took in the scene the best he could. Only able to see a piece of the painted scene from the corner where the four of them watched, glinting a larger chamber of battle from their distant hollow.

  The glancing light he saw was a tail. A black steel rope of a tail with a formation of crystal spikes at its end, as white as a cloud grown blurry with the red of blood.

  Hao played the scene in his head again to find the source of the wail. He wished he hadn’t, now knowing what was dripping off that vile spiked tail was once a person. That horrified scream was that person’s last farewell to the world. Now, they were just a sickening liquid falling from the brutal tail.

  “What is that…” A pained groan came from Hao’s back. Bao must have seen a slice of the scene as well.

  Hao shook his head and ran forward, his steps a little faster, just as quiet. All that was heard until the chamber came into sight was a rumbling quake and one call for help. Now they had to listen to every noise of the battle. All the deaf had the blessing of not hearing death throes and the screaming of women, men insulting dying friends for not doing more before their blood ran dry. Perhaps only Hao could pick up the screamed words precisely, so perfectly.

  “Don’t worry about it, let’s get to them first,” Hao said quietly. Rushing up to Yao and Lang, gaining more understanding of their reluctance to stand from behind the stone formation they hide behind.

  He held Bao tightly to his back by her birdlike, thin thighs as she jostled around. Hao’s feet skipped across the stone. Silent and fast, he came upon Lang and Yao, and they both snarled at each other. A fox and a dog, nipping back and forth, ready to tear each other apart, while a dragon swung its tail just in the other room.

  “This is…” Hao asked, just to shut them up as a rumble, like a thunderclap, filled the air.

  Yao answered, her head tilting. “Exactly what I’ve been talking about. A shelled beast like I’ve said…”

  Hao handed Bao to her husband, turning his head to the beast. “Beyond that, we have to fight past that?”

  “And I think there is more than one. Guessing from what they have been shouting.”

  Yao’s words buzzed in Hao’s head.