"There we are…."
"Slowly," she said. "Slowly please."
Tai Lung glanced up from his hands. One was on her upper back, the other on her rump.
"Slowly," he repeated, lifting her. He'd already done an admirable job of shaking out her blankets and building some brightly colored cushions up to make a support for her back. It was her first time sitting up since she'd awoken three days ago, and Tai Lung seemed determined to make an event of it.
She'd been dreaming the same dream, over and over: she had fallen down an ice ravine and had to slowly climb her way back up. Sometimes she had an ice axe and sometimes she didn't, sometimes her feet and hands gripped perfectly but other times it was as though she couldn't feel them at all and she remained at the bottom, dejected.
This time was different in that a bit of sun peeked through the top of the crevice and hit her face, warming her. As she rose to the top - finally, the top, after all this time – there was a persistent metallic tick-tick-tick that grew louder. And then soft voices, and – oh! - the heady smell of a rich broth. She climbed faster, growing eager for her reward of food, and company, and whatever was ticking.
Her eyes opened heavy. Her surrounds were fuzzy but slowly resolved themselves. She was in a yurt. There was a cooking pot boiling away over a small kiln. On the other side of that sat Tai Lung. He was propped up on a stack of cushions, his face tired and his breathing shallow. A stinking herbal poultice was bandaged to his chest. He watched the hands of the old panda matron sitting next to him as she knit with thick purple wool, her metal needles ticking.
"How are you doing that?" he muttered. He tilted his head. "How does that even...work?" He lifted his hand, index finger extended, tracing the motion of the string between the needles.
Tigress smiled.
The matron stood and shook out her project, then held it to Tai Lung's chest.
"Purple!" she exclaimed proudly, with a rich Mongolian accent that indicated this may be the only Chinese word she knew.
"Yes, purple. Thank you. Thank you, grandma," he replied, coughing into his fist.
She patted his shoulder.
"Purple," she sympathized.
"Tigress," Tai Lung said, his eyes going wide. It was as though his limp face and weakened body were hit with a jolt of life. He rose and came towards her, coughing. "Tigress, you're awake!"
And she'd fallen right back asleep. She's spent the majority of her time this way, bobbing in and out of consciousness like a child's toy in a choppy ocean. But this morning she'd awoken and stayed awake. The panda matron brought broth, of which she drank an entire mug of in one go, after which she felt she should sit up.
Tai Lung set her against the cushions. "Good?"
"Good," she said.
"No bandages loose?"
She checked her shoulder and chest. "They are secure."
"Good." He gently set her ankle on a small stack of pillows then readjusted her blankets, pulling them up about her waist and a softer one over her shoulders. He reached for the kettle simmering away over a small kiln and poured her a cup of tea, which he placed on a bamboo tray at her side. Next to it was a small bottle of yanhusou, which he uncorked and added liberally.
"And there we are," he said, handing it to her. "Do you need anything else?"
"That will do," she said, taking a sip of the vinegary tea. Normally the mix would have tasted awful, but the tart bitterness of the medicine had grown on her – which was good, because these days both she and Tai Lung consumed a lot of it.
He was, to her surprise, a quite capable nurse despite being injured himself. He was always by her side. She might wake briefly in the middle of the night to see his golden eyes glowing like the moon, his chin in hand, watching her, brows furrowed.
"Tigress?" he whispered into the dark.
She swallowed but she couldn't speak. Could barely keep her eyes open. She summoned all the strength she could and reached for him, her fingers landing on his forearm. He took her hand in both of his, leaning towards her.
"What is it?" he whispered. "What do you need?"
"Mmh," she said, all she could manage. As sleep curled up to claim her he pressed her hand urgently to his lips. She lifted her finger to affectionately brush across his chin. He sighed. She fell asleep.
Had he slept at all, she wondered? Though attentive to her every need, ensuring she was warm and comfortable at all times, he did so looking haunted. On a few instances she heard him embroiled in tense conversation with the one-eyed panda, whom she learned was named Bataan. She hoped Tai Lung was not giving Bataan trouble. He and his village had been so kind.
Though she had not left the yurt – a warm and brightly colored space piled with sweet smelling cushions, faded children's drawings scrawled on the canvas walls, with a tea kettle permanently on the boil – she could tell that the village was happy and homey in a way no other place in Mongolia had yet been. She heard singing and laughter and music from outside. There was no shortage of curious and concerned villagers bringing with them food and drink – and one time, as Tai Lung related to her, a newborn infant panda.
"I'm not sure what gave her the idea to bring her baby to you," Tai Lung said, chuckling. "She said babies are good for women and laid it down right next to your head."
"And what happened?"
"Nothing. You stayed asleep. Nice thought, but this one only loves battle, I told her. Bring a freshly blooded dagger next time."
Tigress laughed. "Are you trying to make them terrified of me?"
"I doubt she understood. She wasn't frightened of you in the least, or me. Gave me the baby to hold, in fact."
"You held it?"
He nodded. The edge of his mouth curled in a reluctant smile. "Very small. Made funny little sounds. Held my finger tight."
She smiled and tilted her head. "I would have liked to see that."
"The panda cub?"
"No, you holding a panda cub."
Tai Lung grinned. "I'll hold one all day if it pleases you," he said. "Speaking of which is there anything else you need? Anything at all? Name it and it's yours."
"Thank you," she said. "I'm all set for the moment."
Tai Lung nodded, rose to his feet, and pushed aside the flap of the yurt to peer out. A lovely cold breeze swept in, along with the smells of cooking food and the laughter of children. It was a sunny day. A series of bright red kites danced in the sky.
"Looking for something?" she asked.
"Waiting for Bataan to get back. We're … working on something." He shook his head. "It can't be safe, the children flying those kites. Can be seen for miles. There's bloodthirsty Mongolian gangs roaming about but the villagers don't seem concerned in the least."
A memory bubbled up within her.
"Only those that have been kissed by a god can see this place," Tigress recalled.
Tai Lung turned. "What? Who told you that?"
"The dragon god."
"You spoke to him?" he asked urgently, eyes wide. "When?"
"He was there when I … when I died."
Tai Lung flinched. He let the flap of the yurt fall shut, blocking out the sun.
"You mean when I killed you," he said.
"Tai Lung," Tigress began. "Don't – you can't - "
"I do," Tai Lung said. "Tigress, I failed you. I will not - "
The tent flap flew open. Bataan deposited hismelf into the yurt, bringing with him the scent of spice and smoke and flowers.
"Ah, she's awake!" he said brightly.
"Yes!" Tai Lung said. "Looking bright and happy and ... and alive. Your village magic worked."
"Of course it worked," Bataan huffed.
Tigress suddenly recalled briefly fluttering awake to find herself surrounded by pandas, their palms facing her, and everything glowing with golden light.
"That's what that was," she said. "I thought it was a dream."
Bataan nodded. "We've done as much as we can with your chi. You'll heal naturally now, but it will be quick. Far quicker than it would be otherwise."
"You know how to manipulate chi?" she asked.
"He specializes in it," Tai Lung said. "Bataan here is very powerful. A skilled master sorcerer." A mixture of admiration and envy crossed Tai Lung's face, two emotions she'd never before seen spelled so plainly across it. "What a man might do for power such as his."
Bataan gave him a look out of the corner of his eye, a skeptiscm of Tai lung's lust for power she understood too well. She found herself warming to the panda. He gave a great sigh and sat down on a cushion.
"Powers such as mine," he muttered, and took out a pipe. "You say that as though I earned them."
Tai Lung blinked. "You didn't earn them?"
"No," the panda said, filling his pipe with something fragrant. "They were bestowed upon me by Fazhan-Long. The same god who brought you here to Mongolia." He held a stick into the fire and used it to light his pipe – the exact kind of pipe the dragon god smoked. Bataan looked at Tigress. "The same god who watched you suffer and die in the snow."
Tai Lung nodded. "I'd like a word with him," he grumbled. "A fierce word."
"As would I? I can't guarantee we'll get it," Bataan said. "Fazhan-Long does exactly as he wishes."
"He spoke to Tigress," Tai Lung said, jerking his chin towards her. "Before you revived her in the spring."
"Did he?" Bataan asked. He turned to her. "What did he say?"
"What are you trying to do?" Tigress asked.
"Communicate," Tai Lung replied. "Summon him."
"What? Why?"
"For a word," Tai Lung said.
"He's not the manager of a restaurant. You can't just send your food back and ask to see him."
"Yes you can," Bataan said. "You can ask all day and night. And I have been. With candles. And bells. And smoke. But that does not mean he will answer."
"You're his high priest, he must answer you," Tai Lung stated.
Bataan laughed. "I am in service to him, not the other way around."
"If he won't answer you why make you his priest at all?" Tai Lung snapped.
Bataan shrugged and took a drag off his pipe, then offered it to Tai Lung, who shook his head. "Not good for the lungs," he said, patting his chest.
"Oh, plenty good for the lungs," Bataan scolded. He took another drag. "The lungs," he muttered.
"And what will you do when you have this word? What will you say?" Tigress asked Tai Lung. "You can't bully a god." She turned to Bataan, who studiously blew smoke rings up into the rafters. "Surely you must know this."
"I do," Bataan said with a wry smile. "But I want to see him try."
ooo