Now that the maiden had proper boots, our pace quickened considerably. The thick, woolen overcoat the soldiers had given her was cinched at the waist, but the vibrant green silk of her old robes still peeked out from underneath, fluttering in the mountain breeze. I tried to make small talk as we walked, but my attempts were met with the conversational warmth of a frozen river stone.

  “You know,” I remarked after one particularly long silence, “this journey would be far more pleasant if you weren’t so determined to treat it like a funeral procession.”

  She just gave me a look that could have chipped stone.

  "I'm not ready to small talk with you yet. But I appreciate the stories."

  Alas, a stone is a stone. So, I took it upon myself to fill the silence. I told her stories of growing up on the northern frontier, painting pictures with my words of the endless grasslands that turned to gold in the autumn and the deserts of stone where the wind howled like a hungry wolf.

  I told her of the Khitan warriors who could ride for days on end and the Sogdian merchants who brought spices that smelled of places I couldn’t even imagine. Military details I glossed over, she’d be familiar enough of that already.

  I might have embellished a little, making my youthful escapades seem a bit more heroic than they actually were, but to my delight, she listened. She never offered a story of her own, yet, but occasionally, to my delight, she would ask a clarifying question.

  Despite the distance she kept, it was a start.

  The rolling plains eventually gave way to the mountains of Shanxi. The path became a winding ribbon of packed earth that clung to the cliffsides, a sheer drop on one side and a wall of rock on the other. Pine trees grew in defiant clusters, their roots gripping the stone, their needles a deep green against the grey rock. The frozen bodies that had littered the roads closer to Luoyang were fewer here, though we still passed the occasional lonely shape, a grim reminder of the chaos we were fleeing.

  Disturbingly some bodies were clearly mutilated, missing limbs or chunks of flesh to man or beast.

  We reached a fork in the path and stopped. A fresh set of footprints emerged from the other trail, merging with the one we were on. We weren’t alone. I knelt to study the tracks in the damp earth. Two sets of prints, both on the smaller side. Likely women. The prints were deeper than ours, suggesting they were carrying heavy packs. But they were also lenghy between each stride suggesting a brisk pace not unlike an infantry soldiers march.

  A pair of women traveling alone through the mountains in the middle of a rebellion was highly unusual. The spacing of their steps was still shorter than mine, which meant we were moving faster. Sooner or later, we would be catching up to them.

  As the afternoon sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the gorge, my thoughts turned to making camp. The supply convoy had been generous, but their generosity had awkwardly only extended to a single portable tent. We had two bedrolls, at least. “Well,” I said, in what I hoped was a tone of good cheer, “looks like we’ll need a good fire tonight. Wouldn’t want me to freeze, after all.” I figured it was best to make it clear from the start that the tent was hers and I’d be taking my chances with the elements. A spot shielded from the wind would be a nice bonus.

  “Smoke,” she said, her voice quiet but clear, pointing ahead. A thin, grey tendril was rising from around the next bend, curling lazily into the evening sky. “We’ve caught up to them. We should see who they are before we make our own camp. They will see our fire regardless. Better to approach openly than to be surprised in the night.”

  She was right, of course. We walked on, our steps now more cautious. Rounding the bend, we saw them. In a small alcove carved into the cliffside, two women sat by a small, crackling fire. They were dressed in the simple grey robes of traveling nuns. I gave a wide, friendly wave and called out a greeting so as not to startle them. Their reaction was reasonable enough; both of their hands went to the hilts of the jiàn resting beside them on the ground.

  To my surprise, my companion showed no such tension. Her hand never even moved toward the hilt of her own sword.

  I walked toward the fire, leaving the maiden a good ten paces behind me. I brought my right fist to my left palm at my chest and gave the two women a polite, formal martial greeting.

  It was a pair of daoist nuns.

  "Greetings Shītài," I said, my voice friendly. "I am Cui. And this is the lady I am escorting. It is good to see friendly travelers in these dire times."

  They looked us over, their eyes flicking from me to the maiden, who stood hesitantly in the gathering twilight. Noting the broken spear at my side and the jiàn hanging from her scabbard, they both rose to their feet and returned the salute.

  The taller of the two, introducing herself as Jìngxī, had a thin, white scar cutting across her right cheek, but it did little to detract from the gentle roundness of her face. The other, Língzhú, was the shortest of the four of us, with large, intelligent eyes and perfectly defined eyebrows that gave her a look of perpetual curiosity. Both wore their long, dark hair tied up in buns, secured by the formal headwear of Daoist nuns, a nüguan. Their thick, grey winter robes and sturdy traveling boots spoke of a long time on the road. Two heavy travel packs, laden with supplies, lay beside the smooth stones they had been using as seats. The alcove was surprisingly spacious and warm, a natural shelter where the smoke from their fire flowed neatly up and out along the cliff face.

  There might have been around my age, perhaps slightly older, but honestly it was hard to tell after a certain point. With recruits they seemed to get younger every year, and everyone else stayed about the same until their hair started to gray.

  "Why travel north?" Jìngxī asked, her voice direct and without reservation. I had heard Daoist nuns were not known for being shy.

  "We are traveling to meet family near Youzhou," the maiden replied from behind me, her voice cool and even. "We have no others to rely on in the south, and we find our path there cut off." It was a believable lie, all things considered.

  "And you are both practitioners?" Língzhú asked. Her voice was softer than her companion's, but it held a quiet confidence.

  "The young miss here is," I said honestly, letting a grin spread across my face. "I am a humble deserter."

  The nuns exchanged a look. "You are... awful polite for a deserter," Jìngxī remarked, her head tilted slightly. I allowed myself a pained smile. They didn't reach for their swords, which I took to be a good sign.

  "Alas, I find myself unable to put up with the conduct of my peers," I said ruefully. It was, after all, the truth. Their expressions softened, and they smiled back with a hint of approval. "May we join you both in this alcove for the night? It's getting dark and the mountain path is dangerous." I pulled a packet of dried chicken and dried prunes from my own pack. "And hopefully we can have a little more variety in our meal."

  "Certainly," Língzhú said with a warm smile as she motioned toward the unoccupied stones. I noticed the dried apricots and pork jerky they’d produced. "We'd welcome the company."

  I helped set up my tent a respectful distance from the nuns’ own sleeping area. Língzhú brought some water to a rolling boil in a bronze cauldron that hung from a clever tripod over the fire, while I added snow to our own copper pot to start a pot of rice congee. The maiden made herself useful by walking a little further up the road, returning with an armful of fallen branches and dry logs to feed our shared fire. Such fuel was plentiful here; travelers on this path were clearly few and far between. Our meal was a simple but welcome feast, the congee rounded out by a brace of salted eggs from the nuns and some of our dried fruit.

  I made idle conversation throughout the meal, telling the nuns a few sanitized stories of life on the frontier. The maiden, however, remained a silent island in our small sea of chatter. Her shoulders were tense, and she kept her gaze fixed mostly on the fire, her discomfort a palpable thing. To their credit, the nuns seemed to pick up on her unease and did their best not to pressure her, happy to chat casually with me instead.

  After we had finished eating, I used the now-empty copper pot to boil some pine needles I’d gathered. "An old soldier's trick," I explained as the fragrant steam rose. "Said to keep you healthy on long journeys." Whether it worked or was just an excuse to drink something warm, I couldn't say. But old habits die hard.

  Jìngxī watched us for a moment, a knowing, almost mischievous glint in her eyes. "So how did a deserter and an aristocrat's daughter find one another?" she asked, her directness so sharp I almost choked in the middle of a sip of tea. "Are you running off together?"

  "No, no," I said in haste, wiping my mouth. "Nothing so scandalous. The young miss saved my life, and as such, it is my duty to see that she makes it to her destination in one piece."

  "We met on the road from Luoyang to here," the maiden said, her voice surprisingly steady. "Mister Cui... fell into the Luo River and I had to fish him out." I cooperated by rolling up my sleeve and showing the nuns one of the many cuts and bruises on my shoulder. "I'm not much of a swimmer, myself" I added with a sheepish grin. It was true, I had no swimming ability whatsoever, best I could do was drown.

  The two nuns exchanged another look, one that clearly said they weren't buying a word of our flimsy tale. Língzhú pulled a heavy gourd from her pack. As soon as she uncorked it, the rich, fragrant smell of fine wine drifted through the alcove. She grinned. "We know there's more to these stories. A tale as dramatic as that deserves a better telling, don't you think? How about a sip to loosen those lips?"

  My mouth watered instantly. I caught the drool before it left my mouth. I lifted an arm to reach for the gourd, but before my hand touched the vessel, the maiden's hand shot out and clamped down on my arm with strength you'd only find surprising if you'd never seen her fight.

  "Why do you find yourselves outside the Spirit Stone Temple?" she blurted out.

  The warmth of the campfire seemed to recede instantly. The nuns’ friendly expressions froze over. "Spirit Stone Temple? Why do you ask?" Jìngxī asked, her eyes narrowing slightly as she shifted her gaze towards the maiden. "That is a very specific name to pull from the air."

  I, for one, had no idea what the Spirit Stone Temple was.

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