The Dragon Republic (The Poppy War #2) - R. F. Kuang Page 0,57

was not quite going dark, but shifting. Everything suddenly seemed too bright, everything was the wrong color and the wrong shape and she couldn’t tell the grass from the sky, or her hands from her own feet . . .

Daji’s voice seemed to come from everywhere. “Look into my eyes.”

Rin didn’t remember opening her eyes. She didn’t remember having the chance to even resist. All she knew was that one instant her eyes were closed and the next she was staring into two yellow orbs. At first they were golden all the way through, and then little black dots appeared that grew larger and larger until they encompassed Rin’s field of vision.

The world had turned entirely dark. She was so cold. She heard howls and screams from far away, guttural noises that almost sounded like words but none she could comprehend.

This was the spirit plane. This was where she faced Daji’s goddess.

But she was not alone.

Help me, Rin thought. Help me, please.

And the god answered. A wave of bright, warm heat flooded the plane. Flames surrounded her like protective wings.

“Nüwa, you old bitch,” said the Phoenix.

A woman’s voice, much deeper than Daji’s, reverberated through the plane. “And you, snippy as always.”

What was this creature? Rin strained to see the goddess’s form, but the Phoenix’s flames illuminated only a small corner of the psychospiritual space.

“You could never challenge me,” said Nüwa. “I was there when the universe tore itself out of darkness. I mended the heavens when they split apart. I gave life to man.”

Something stirred in the darkness.

The Phoenix shrieked as a snake’s head sprang out and sank its fangs into its shoulder. The Phoenix reared its head, flames spinning out at nothing. Rin felt the god’s pain just as acutely as if the snake had bitten her, like two red-hot blades had been jammed between her shoulder blades.

“What do you dream of?” Daji’s voice now, overwhelming Rin’s mind with every word. “Is this it?”

The world shifted again.

Bright colors. Rin was running across an island in a dress she’d never worn before, with a crescent moon necklace she’d seen only in her dreams, toward a village that didn’t exist now except as a place of ash and bone. She ran across the sands of Speer as it was fifty years ago—full of life, full of people with dark skin like hers, who stood up and waved and smiled when they saw her.

“You could have that,” Daji said. “You could have everything you wanted.”

Rin believed, too, that Daji would be that kind, would let her remain in that illusion until she died.

“Or is this what you want?”

Speer disappeared. The world turned dark again. Rin couldn’t see anything but a shadowy figure. But she knew that silhouette, that tall, lean build. She could never forget it. The memory of it was scorched in her mind from the last time she had seen him, walking down that pier. But this time he walked toward her. She was watching the moment of Altan’s death in reverse. Time was unraveling. She could take it all back, she could have him back.

This couldn’t possibly be just a dream. He was too solid—she could sense the mortal weight of him filling up the space around her; and when she touched his face it was solid and warm and bloody and alive . . .

“Just relax,” he whispered. “Stop resisting.”

“But it hurts . . .”

“It only hurts if you fight.”

He kissed her and it felt like a punch. This wasn’t what she wanted—this felt wrong, this was all wrong—his grip was too tight around her arms, he was clutching her against his chest like he wanted to crush her. He tasted like blood.

“That’s not him.”

Chaghan’s voice. A split second later Rin felt him in her mind—a cold, harsh presence in blinding white, a shard of ice piercing the spiritual plane. She had never been so relieved to see him.

“It’s an illusion.” Chaghan’s voice cleared her mind like a shower of cold water. “Get a grip on yourself.”

The illusions dissipated. Altan faded into nothing. Then there were only the three of them, souls tethered to gods, hanging suspended in primordial darkness.

“What’s this?” Nüwa’s voice blended together with Daji’s. “A Naimad?” Laughter rang across the plane. “Your people should know not to defy me. Did the Sorqan Sira teach you nothing?”

“I don’t fear you,” Chaghan said.

In the physical world he was a skeletal waif, so frail he seemed only a shadow of a person. But here he emanated raw power.