The forest sang. Well, it was more of a hum—a low, pulsing drone that never wavered or faded. The music traveled both through the air and through the soul, until one couldn’t quite tell if it was natural. This close to the Mhong grove, the forest of Hongshu had been awash in the song of the trees since the beginning. At least, that’s what the elders taught.

  Yipachai plucked a final tiger’s blood flower from its stem and placed it in his reed basket. The deep crimson petals matched his simple initiate’s robe.

  That should be enough to satisfy Elder Satsanan, he thought. The kindly matron of the monastery had tasked him with filling a basket with the flowers as well as other herbs that would give off a pleasant scent when burned. This evening’s offering would be a special one to Yipachai, if only because he had been able to play a small part in it.

  Careful not to swing his basket too carelessly, Yipachai turned around and started back for the monastery, his bare feet making hardly a sound on the damp forest floor. As he went, he did his best to empty his mind of everything but the song of the Mhong trees.

  As usual, he failed.

  He wanted to be better at meditation, to advance in the monastery’s order, but his mind simply refused to clear. He had to pay attention to where he was walking, or he’d have a dead branch jab him in the foot. He had to stop and inspect the moss on the tree trunks to see if it was truly the same stuff that made up a Banqilun’s beard. He had to—

  The Mhong song growing louder in both his ears and his mind snapped Yipachai back to attention. He was nearing the Mhong grove itself. There, he’d have no choice but to meditate. It was the holiest ground in the whole of Hongshu.

  Before long, the massive Mhong trees towered above him, like a ring of reddish pillars exploding into a fountain of deep green, impossibly large leaves. Woodland beasts were especially active here, birds and tree rats, monkeys and lizards. And the mhonglun. Nowhere else in the forest ever had so many. Their small, Sentient-shaped forms glided to and fro, their songs weaving soft harmonies around the greater song of the Mhong trees. Most were river mhonglun, the lesser kind, but they were worthy of reverence all the same. Just as the elders taught.

  Even Yipachai’s mind couldn’t summon thoughts of anything else. The majesty of the trees, the beasts, the mhonglun, and the perfection of their collective song was worthy of his complete attention. He stopped for a moment and offered a simple bow to the nearest Mhong tree. A greeting. True worship would come after he entered the grassy meadow in between the trees.

  Yipachai stepped carefully into the grove, making his way to the ring of ancient, crumbling stone pillars at the center. He would keep his mind clear. He would pray the appropriate prayers. He would make Elder Satsanan proud. It was the least he could do to repay her. She had taken him in as a child, raised him as if he were her own son. The other elders saw his failures. Elder Satsanan saw his potential. Her kindness had a way of making Yipachai believe she saw accurately.

  Yes, that one is close, I do believe, a winsome voice said in Yipachai’s mind.

  Yipachai jumped, sending a few tiger’s blood flowers floating out of his basket and down to the grove’s grassy floor.

  Don’t startle me like that, Tianfu, Yipachai said. I’m supposed to be meditating here.

  He didn’t have to speak out loud. That wasn’t the way Lan Kuanghi bonds worked. Earlier that morning, Yipachai had bonded with Tianfu, a great tan and cream feathered owl, at Elder Satsanan’s request. Yipachai didn’t need to draw any strength from the bird to complete his quest, and he certainly didn’t need to fly, but Elder Satsanan had been insistent. A good conversation partner, she had called Tianfu.

  But Tianfu was simply odd. Not odd like Yipachai. No, the bird had a remarkably keen mind, and even spoke more like a Sentient than any of the other beasts Yipachai had bonded. Which was odd.

  Furthermore, Tianfu wasn’t the type of owl one typically found in the Hongshu forest. Yipachai hadn’t even seen one like him in his few visits to Hanaburi. And Hanaburi had everything. Elder Satsanan had told him that Tianfu was from the south, where it got cold during the dry season. She said the rain even froze and came down in fluffy white flakes called snow.

  My apologies, young master Yipachai, Tianfu said. I simply sensed you thinking of Elder Satsanan, and decided to posit my own thoughts of her character to add to your own.

  Yipachai sensed Tianfu perched in the high boughs of one of the Mhong trees, hidden from sight by the dense foliage. He didn’t need to see the owl to be able to converse with him. The Lan Kuanghi bond connected their souls in such a way that they understood one another’s thoughts and emotions, even without the use of words. A truly great gift, Elder Satsanan always said, and one of the Three Arts.

  Yipachai tried to empty his mind again, but his focus had been shattered. He approached the ring of ancient pillar stones, their surfaces weathered by time, but somehow free of moss and lichen. He should have sensed the sanctity of the place, the holy ruins awash in the song of the holy trees. But all he felt was curiosity.

  What do you mean, “she’s close?” he asked Tianfu. Close to what?

  Close to hearing the true Song, of course, Tianfu said, a sense of amusement wafting through the bond. As you would be, young Yipachai, if you paid more attention to how she lives rather than simply what she teaches.

  Yipachai sighed, bowing to a river mhonglun as it danced by him, its watery form incredibly bound together in a Sentient shape suspended in the air. I’m trying, Tianfu, he said. It’s just that—

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  Fire, Tianfu said abruptly. Yipachai sensed him taking off and rising above the forest canopy, his alarm stark through bond.

  What?

  One of the other birds just told me. In the direction of the monastery. Hurry!

  Yipachai took off at a run to the west, his basket swinging wildly as he pumped his arms. He prayed the Mhong trees would forgive him for his haste. He had to make sure Elder Satsanan—and the rest of the monastery—was safe.

  He sprinted across the bridge over the Shi River, not stopping to bow to the river mhonglun as he went. Surely they would understand, wouldn’t they? This was an emergency.

  Soon, Yipachai smelled smoke. It burned his throat, which was already raw from running so far. Not long after, he saw the first of the flame mhonglun, their Sentient-shaped flames dancing rapidly through the air. Their songs seemed too peaceful in light of the panic Yipachai felt.

  Hurry, boy! Tianfu’s own fear fed Yipachai’s through the bond.

  Hurrying on, legs and lungs feeling weak, he began to hear shouts. Some sounded fearful, as he expected. Others were angry. Unfamiliar. It couldn’t have been the other monks who shouted like that.

  At last, Yipachai burst into the monastery’s clearing and beheld a scene from one of his nightmares. The chapel was ablaze, like one of Hanaburi’s lighthouse beacons, as were the living quarters. Red-robed monks scuttled about, some trying to douse the flames, others carrying the youngest acolytes to safety. Several of those wandered aimlessly, crying, their cheeks stained with soot and tears.

  His legs suddenly rooted to the forest floor, Yipachai gaped at the burning monastery, his eyes stinging from both the smoke and the terror that gripped him.

  A harsh yell snapped Yipachai from his stupor. Several men in rough leather armor burst out of the storehouse. Hetanzou, like Yipachai and the rest, but most of them were armed with swords and clubs. A few wielded lan’ti staffs, and were sending the occasional bout of green fire into the nearby buildings. In the center of the group, a few men pushed a cart laden with what looked like the monastery’s food stores. Yipachai watched in horror as one of the men clubbed a monk who stumbled too close. The monk crumpled like a sack of rice and didn’t stir.

  Move! Tianfu said. Find Satsanan. Don’t let them see you.

  The owl’s words moved Yipachai to action. Of course he had to find Elder Satsanan. She was the closest thing he had to a mother in all of Lun. The closest thing he had to a friend.

  Still gripping his mostly empty basket of flowers, he crouched into a low run around the monastery’s wall. Thankfully, it hadn’t caught fire yet and he could circle around to the back entrance of the monastery grounds without being seen. The bandits seemed to be headed for the front entrance, and the overall chaos made Yipachai just another acolyte stumbling his way through the smoke.

  Covering his mouth and nose with his forearm, he dashed through the monastery gate and made his way toward the elders’ living quarters and Elder Satsanan’s cell. Those didn’t look like they had caught yet.

  He still kept himself low to avoid the attention of the ruffians, who had spread out some. A few of their number broke off from the main column and started kicking down doors, rummaging through buildings, and swinging weapons at any monks who tried to stop them. Were they after the relics? Those would have all been in the chapel, which was already—

  With a great, creaking lurch, the roof of the chapel caved in, sending a gout of flames and sparks high into the air. Flame mhonglun danced around the carnage, singing and dancing with an eerie glee.

  Yipachai choked down his sorrow and continued on to Elder Satsanan’s quarters. She shared the simple, triangular wooden structure with two of the other female elders. Bless the Sea, it hadn’t caught fire yet, but the door was open, and hanging loosely by a single hinge.

  “Elder Satsanan,” Yipachai cried, barrelling through the doorway.

  Inside the sparsely furnished room, slumped next to her cot, was Elder Satsanan, lying in a pool of blood the same color as her robe.

  A low moan rose in the back of Yipachai’s throat. He sprinted to the elder’s side and went down to his knees, dropping his basket in his haste.

  “Elder Satsanan,” he choked, his voice sounding far away, even to his own ears. He pulled on her shoulder, not wanting to hurt her.

  Elder Satsanan didn’t respond.

  “Please,” Yipachai said. “Please be alright.” He shook his mentor again, harder this time, but she remained silent.

  With a final, desperate effort, Yipachai yanked on Elder Satsanan’s shoulder and flipped her onto her back. Her eyes were dull and lifeless. Blood still oozed from a wound in the woman’s abdomen. He tried to grab a fold from her robe to staunch the bleeding.

  “Someone help! It’s the Elder! She’s hurt! Someone help me!”

  Yipachai looked around, panicked, trying to find something that would stop the bleeding, that would make Elder Satsanan say something. But of course, this was the room of three elder monks. There were no possessions, no changes of clothes, no bandages. There was nothing.

  And Yipachai was alone. In all the chaos, he had lost his bond with Tianfu, and now he couldn’t summon the focus to seek the owl with his mind. He needed to be calm for that, but that was impossible.

  “I thought I heard someone yelling in here,” a voice said from behind him.

  “Yes, hurry, it’s the Elder, she needs help,” Yipachai said quickly, not looking back, still fumbling with Elder Satsanan’s robe.

  “Tch, I don’t think that one’s going to wake up for a long, long while, boy.”

  Yipachai whipped his head around. There, in the doorway was one of the bandits. Tall, with greasy black hair down to his shoulders, he had a long scar running from under his ear to his chin, along which the rest of his unkempt beard refused to grow. He held a curved sword in one hand.

  “Wh-what do you mean?”

  “I mean she’s dead, boy. Saw to it myself. But don’t bother searching her. I already got this off her skinny old neck.” The bandit fished in his pocket and held up a bronze pendant on a leather cord. The pendant itself was a small plate engraved with the figure of a sea mhonglun. A wicked grin spread across the man’s face.

  Elder Satsanan’s only real possession.

  Suddenly, Yipachai couldn’t breathe. No, he could breathe, and he was screaming. The pained howl of a wounded beast. He refused to accept that Elder Satsanan was dead. She couldn’t be.

  Before he could think, Yipachai sprung to his feet and sprinted at the grinning man in the doorway, his own scream still echoing in his ears. He threw himself at the bandit, his hands balled into fists, swinging with all his might. Left, right, anything to make the evil man go away.

  In the span of a heartbeat, the man latched on to Yipachai’s wrist with his free hand, twisted, and sent Yipachai rolling along the ground outside the elders’ living quarters.

  Pain and shame flared in equal measures as Yipachai tried to pick himself up. He managed to prop himself up on his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps through his sobs. He stretched out a weak hand.

  “Please…” he choked, barely able to get the words out.

  The scarred bandit sauntered closer, unhurried. “Well, since you asked so sweetly, I might be able to find a use for you. If you put some meat on those bones, you might be able to work. At the very least, I ought to be able to get some good coin for a healthy young lad like you.”

  He leaned closer, his face a handbreadth from Yipachai’s. His breath stank, like some kind of liquor mixed with fish. “But don’t you ever take a swing at me again.”

  In a flash, the man swung his fist, bringing the handle of his sword down on Yipachai’s temple with a crack.

  Everything turned to darkness.