Reflection: A Twisted Tale Page 4

  She didn’t know how long she slept—minutes or hours—before a burst of wind brushed her cheek and woke her.

  Moonlight seeped into her eyes. Had the tent’s flap come loose? Mulan jerked upright with worry and started to get up to close the flap against the chill breeze.

  But then she froze.

  It wasn’t moonlight at all, or a loose tent flap.

  It was a man, leaning over next to Shang. He was dressed in a military uniform, but he wasn’t one of Shang’s soldiers, and they had to be days from the closest village. That was odd.

  But even odder—he glowed. Was she dreaming? Mulan rubbed her eyes. He still glowed.

  From his hair to his boots, he radiated a soft greenish blue, as if someone had put a lantern in the deepest part of the ocean. His ghostly face shone so brightly Mulan couldn’t make out his features. His voice was low and soft. “Please don’t die,” he said to Shang. “It is not yet your time.”

  Careful to stay shrouded in the shadows, Mulan rose. She didn’t recognize the stranger, and his uniform was blue like the rest of him, so she couldn’t identify his rank. But she could tell his armor’s quality was better than Shang’s. A clue that he was an officer of high rank.

  A general!

  “My son,” the general said, “can you hear me?”

  Mulan held her breath. My son? If the man was Shang’s father, then he was…General Li.

  No, that’s impossible. General Li is dead. I must be dreaming. I must be so tired I even know I’m dreaming. She shrank back in her corner. General Li’s body shimmered with watery blue light—and his boots, Mulan saw, barely touched the ground.

  Definitely can’t be real. I should go back to sleep.

  But she couldn’t. Not while General Li wept over his son’s body. She watched his shoulders shake as he exhaled. It was a ragged, sorrow-ridden breath, one that touched Mulan to the core. If this ghost, this spirit truly was Shang’s father, she had to do whatever she could to ease both their suffering.

  She took a step toward him. If General Li saw her, he didn’t acknowledge it. His attention was on his son.

  “Do you remember, Shang, when you were a child?” he said. “Even then you were already my best student. Do you remember how your ma would scold you for studying military history instead of the classics, and how you turned her zither into a target for your shooting practice? I had to reprimand you, but inside, I was so proud. You weren’t afraid of anything, except disappointing me. And when it finally came time for you to lead your own regiment into battle, I…I had such high hopes for you. But I should not have underestimated Shan-Yu’s army. I failed you, my son.”

  Mulan pursed her lips, unsure how to address a ghost. “General Li?”

  Shang’s father turned to her, and a quiet gasp escaped Mulan’s lips. The general’s resemblance to his son was striking; they had the same probing, dark eyes, the same square jaw and earnest brow. But unlike Shang, gray streaked the general’s hair along his temples, and a carefully groomed beard dressed the lower contours of his face.

  Mulan composed herself. “I’m Ping. I’m your son’s…” She stumbled over what to say. Recruit? Soldier? “I’m your son’s friend.”

  At that, General Li’s expression softened, and he bowed his head. “Ah, I see. Thank you for watching over him, Ping. You will be released from your duty shortly.”

  Mulan frowned at his words. What did he mean, she’d be released shortly? Was Shang going to die?

  She started to ask him, but the question clung to her throat. So she said instead, “General Li, pardon me for asking, but—but how are you here?”

  “Shang will not make it through the night,” General Li informed her sadly, without answering her question. “He will join me in the Underworld.”

  “Sir,” Mulan croaked, her voice crawling out of her lips, “what are you saying? You can’t mean that Captain Li is going to d—”

  “Yes,” General Li cut her off. “I thank you for all you have done. But there is nothing that could have saved my son. Shang’s spirit is already on its way to Diyu. In the morning, he will pass on.”

  Diyu. Her grandmother had told her stories about the Underworld when she was a girl. About how every person, good or bad, descended into Diyu upon death for judgment. There, King Yama, the ruler of Diyu, would judge one’s time on Earth and determine how long one must stay in the Underworld as a ghost. Some would have to wait a year, others centuries. Some would never leave. They became demons.

  Be a good girl, Grandmother Fa used to say, or King Yama will turn you into a demon! Respect your ancestors—or none of their ghosts will greet you when you descend to Diyu and guide you through the Underworld.

  Mulan blinked. All those tales…they were just folklore. Legends. Weren’t they?

  “No,” she whispered, shaking her head at General Li. “No. There has to be a way to save him.”

  “I’m afraid there is not.”

  “You’re a spirit,” she reasoned. “And yet, you’ve managed to break the boundaries between here and Diyu. You must know of a way I can save Shang.”

  General Li hesitated. His face was sorrowful. “I shouldn’t be here. My family owes you its gratitude, Ping, for watching Shang over these last few hours—”

  “No,” Mulan said. “You don’t.” She curled her fists, sucked in a deep breath. “I owe Shang my gratitude. It’s because of me he’s dying. Your son saved me from Shan-Yu. If not for him, I would be dead. It is I who owe him a debt. And I will do whatever it takes to save his life.”

  General Li studied her. “Anything?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Tell me if there’s a way to save him. I heard what you said—that it isn’t his time to die yet. He is a good man, your son. Please help me save him.”

  General Li stroked the sides of his beard, considering. “There is a way,” he said at last. “But it is impossible.”

  “Tell me.”

  “The only way is to change King Yama’s mind,” the general replied. “But Shang’s name has already appeared in King Yama’s book of judgment. He cannot be erased from it.”

  “It is only impossible if I don’t try,” Mulan said fiercely. “And I will.”

  “You are a man of unusual fortitude, Ping.” A trace of hope lifted the general’s voice, but only slightly. He nodded. “You will need it, if you are to save my son. Though I suggest you wake up first.”

  Mulan tilted her head. “What?”

  Her vision blurred, and the sound of a large gong boomed. She jerked awake, hitting her head on the tent pole behind her as her ears buzzed and rang. She clutched her temples.

  Hadn’t she just been standing next to Shang? Now here she was back in the corner, her armor in a pile beside her.

  She kicked the ground in frustration. Was it really only a dream?

  She sat up, glanced at Shang. He lay motionless as before, but he was still breathing.

  That was a relief. Then she remembered what General Li had said—that Shang would die in the morning.

  Mulan peeked out of the tent, glimpsing the black, black night. Not one star in sight. Sunrise was perhaps several hours away.

  She sat back down, clasped her arms together, and shivered. Mushu and Cri-Kee were asleep, and there was no sign of a gong.

  Maybe I’m going crazy, she thought. First, that dream about General Li. And now this.

  Then—

  “PINGGGGG,” a beast roared. The gong sounded again. BOOOMMMMMM! Another roar. “PINGGGGG!”

  Mulan hastily put on her armor and grabbed her sword, then swept aside the tent’s flap and went outside to confront whoever—or whatever—was yelling for her.

  But there was no one. Nothing.

  The camp was still as before. Even the embers in the fire had died out by now. All was dark, and only the rhythmic wheeze of sleeping soldiers accompanied her.

  Mulan frowned. She could have sworn she’d heard something, but she must have been wrong. Still, as she turned back to her
tent, something rustled in the distance.

  “There you are,” a deep voice rumbled.

  Mulan immediately whirled and held up her sword. She half expected to see the Huns surrounding the camp, but she was still alone.

  Or so it seemed.

  “Stop dawdling.” The intruder spoke so loudly he ought to have woken the entire camp, but no one stirred. Did they not hear his thunderous voice?

  “Are you a soldier or a tombstone? Didn’t anyone tell you we’re in a hurry?”

  Mulan ventured out into the camp, following the direction of the voice. She carefully stepped over her sleeping friends, then headed toward a thick tree trunk in a dark corner. “Who’s there? Show yourself.”

  The intruder growled. “Show myself? I’m standing right in front of you. Look up.”

  Mulan raised her eyes, then jumped back, startled.

  Not a tree trunk at all, but an immense stone lion! He was as tall as Khan and as wide as her tent. His round eyes were orange as persimmons, and an enormous, elegant jade pendant adorned his neck. He flexed his front paws into the snow, revealing dagger-sharp claws.

  Mulan brandished her sword and opened her mouth to yell for her fellow soldiers, but the stone lion moved, stepping into the moonlight with one massive paw.

  She gasped. “What…what are you?”

  “I am ShiShi,” the stone lion announced, proudly and regally. He peered at her, as if waiting for her to look impressed. Mulan remained silent.

  “I am the guardian of the Li family, responsible for aiding every Li hero for over twenty generat—”

  “So you’re here to help Shang?” Mulan interrupted. She glanced back at her tent, where Mushu, her own guardian, was still fast asleep.

  ShiShi frowned. “You didn’t expect to do it alone, did you?” He squinted at her, then sniffed with disdain. “No wonder the general sent for me. You’re punier than I expected. Small and unpunctual, two worrisome traits in a soldier.”

  Mulan overlooked the insults. Her eyes widened at ShiShi’s words, and hope flared in her heart. “Shang’s father sent you?”

  “You promised him you would save his son, did you not? I’m here to help you fulfill that promise…although now I’m beginning to think it’s a fruitless quest. You’re no match for the Underworld.”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” said Mulan. “Will you take me there?”

  “Climb on my back,” ShiShi huffed. “Be careful when you take the braids, and don’t pull on my mane.”

  His mane was thick and curly, despite being made of stone. She reached for one of the elaborate braids, then hesitated, wondering whether she should wake Mushu to bring him with her.

  No, he’d just try to talk me out of going. He’d say it’s too dangerous.

  Dangerous or not, she’d made up her mind. She wouldn’t let Shang die, not if there was a chance to save him.

  “Hurry, little soldier,” barked ShiShi. “We don’t have much time.”

  Mulan grabbed ShiShi’s braids and settled on his back. Before she could ask another question, ShiShi let out a terrible roar.

  Suddenly the earth gave a terrible quake, and the ground beneath them split. As Mulan jolted back from the tremor, her sword fell out of her grasp and clattered onto the ground.

  “My sword!” Mulan shouted, trying to jump off ShiShi to retrieve it. “Wait, it’s my father’s!” But the lion couldn’t hear her, not as the earth trembled and his roar echoed across the camp.

  “I hope you have a strong stomach, little soldier!” shouted ShiShi. Then, without any further warning, ShiShi leapt through the hole.

  And down, down they fell into the depths of Diyu, the Underworld.

  Mulan clutched ShiShi’s mane with both hands, holding on so tightly she was sure her knuckles turned white. Not that she could see anything. She might as well have closed her eyes—the fall into Diyu was so dark she couldn’t tell whether they were actually falling, or whether ShiShi was bounding down an invisible tunnel.

  It was probably a good thing she hadn’t had much to eat. Even with an empty stomach, Mulan felt her insides twist and roil as they fell.

  Be strong, she told herself. Be strong for Shang.

  She didn’t know how long she pressed her face against ShiShi’s stone head, for time squeezed and stretched. It was all she could do to gasp for breath as they careened down and down.

  ShiShi landed on his paws with a thump. “Still there, little soldier?”

  Mulan caught her breath and waited a beat for her stomach to stop churning. “Still here.”

  The stone lion grunted, a sound that somehow indicated he was half impressed that she was still in one piece and half disappointed that the fall hadn’t terrified her. “Most men get sick on the way down here.”

  I’m not most men, Mulan thought, but she kept quiet and climbed off ShiShi’s back. It was still dark, so it took her a long moment before she realized the change in ShiShi.

  “You’re…”

  Gone was his carved stone, replaced by a rippling coat of fur and a thick, coarse mane.

  “Yes, yes,” ShiShi interrupted. “This is how I would appear if I were normally your guardian. I know, I’m magnificent. You can thank the magic in this place for letting you see me this way. Otherwise, not being a member of the Li family, you wouldn’t have the honor.”

  Mulan rolled her eyes in the shadows. Even Mushu wasn’t this arrogant.

  She dusted her pants and inhaled. The air was musty and dank, but it was warmer down here. After being in the snow for so many days, she had forgotten what it was like not to be cold.

  Slowly, her vision adjusted to the darkness. Sharp, pointed stalactites hung from the ceiling. In the dim light, they glinted like iron knives, but when she reached out to touch one—

  “Limestone,” she murmured. They were in a cave of some sort. “Is this Diyu?”

  “Not quite,” ShiShi replied, in a hushed but harsh tone. Ahead, deeper into the cave, was a vermilion gate, its color somehow bright against the cave’s worn stones. ShiShi tilted his head toward it. “Move quickly now. It’s best not to be—”

  “Seen,” Mulan whispered, finishing the warning for him. Shadows flickered from the near distance, and footsteps—that weren’t their own—shuffled in the dark. Her jaw slackened as she realized she and ShiShi were most definitely not alone.

  A horde of monstrous-looking creatures surrounded them. Their eyes bulged like yellow moons studded with blood-red pupils. Some had horns, others scales or fur thick as a bear’s. Not one looked like another. Yet despite their beastly features, they stood on two feet and had two—or four—arms, almost like humans.

  Demons.

  “No trespassers,” they hissed, pointing their spears and swords at Mulan’s and ShiShi’s throats. “No trespassers allowed.”

  ShiShi snarled at the demons. “I’m here on business.”

  “No trespassers. All trespassers must die.”

  “Well, I cannot,” ShiShi said with a sniff. “I’m actually made of stone.”

  The demons were guards, realized Mulan. She flicked a glance at the gate’s two vermilion-painted doors. That had to be the way into Diyu.

  “This one’s still living,” one of the demons said, staring at Mulan. White hair protruded from his inky blue scalp, and unlike the others, he carried two weapons. He sniffed her, and Mulan wished she still had her sword. “Still fresh.”

  The rest of the demon guards turned to her now.

  Great.

  Surrounded, Mulan backed against the cave wall. Before the demons got too close, she leapt up and quickly twisted off a stalactite. She held the makeshift weapon above her head, ready to strike any demon that dared attack her. But there were so many of them!

  They’re probably stronger than men, she thought, taking in their swelling muscles, their curved nails, their rotten yet sharp teeth.

  “We’re here to see King Yama,” she shouted. “Let us pass.”

  “No trespassers,�
�� the demons repeated. “And especially no human trespassers.”

  “Don’t you know who I am?” ShiShi thundered, whipping his tail back and forth to keep the demons at a distance. He bared his teeth at them. “I am the legendary guardian of General Li’s esteemed family. Now open the gates and let me pass with this boy—or King Yama will be furious.”

  A few of the guards hesitated.

  “He will punish you all,” Mulan agreed. “He’ll…he’ll—”

  “He’ll throw you into the Mountain of Flames,” ShiShi said diabolically. “Or better yet—the river.”

  Mulan had no idea what ShiShi was talking about, but his threats clearly impressed the demons. Their yellow eyes wobbled with fear and uncertainty. Their hesitation grew, and they lowered their weapons.

  “What about the living one?” the blue demon said, cocking his head at Mulan.

  “This is my little soldier,” ShiShi replied. “He’s not…entirely human. There’s a bit of fairy blood in him.”

  “But he’s so small.”

  “I’m stronger than I look,” Mulan spoke for herself. She kicked at the closest demon, smashing his wooden spear in two.

  The blue demon didn’t look convinced, but he withdrew his weapons. “Very well. We’ll let King Yama decide. Open the gate and take them across the bridge.”

  Bridge?

  The blue demon snatched the stalactite from Mulan’s hand and crushed it in his fist. Someone tied a rope over her wrists, then pushed her toward the vermilion gates. The other demons followed, trampling behind and swiping their swords and spears at the stalactites as if it were a game.

  Even in their dark surroundings, the paint on the gates was crisp and bright—a sharp contrast from everything around them. Neither door of the portal had bars or handles—no way of pushing or sliding them open—and round bronze casts of demon faces decorated the wooden panels. The eyes on the bronze medallions flickered with fire. Mulan could have sworn they were all watching her. Some faces smiled, a few frowned, and more than a few snarled.