“No,” she said. “You will learn, or you will not. I do not think it is my place to teach you.”

“I think…” He paused and turned to her. “I think I would like to sit with you and talk. Someday, I would like that.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “But not today. Today, I will stay here. I am still weary. I will stay here until I am not.”

Jun paused and watched her, then he rose and gave her a small bow.

“If this is what you want, I will hold your treasure until you join me.”

“Treasure?” She had grown to like beautiful things as the humans surrounded her with them.

“You are my child, and a warrior of legend now.” His chin lifted with pride. “I am honored to give you half of everything I have gained, daughter. Until you come for it, I will hold it in your name.”

“I have no name.”

“Yes, you do,” he said, turning to leave. “Those who worship you call you Tenzin. They believe you show them the wisdom of their god, for to them, you exist in perfect harmony.”

She thought back to the humans who cared for her. They offered their dreams and secrets to her. If she offered them anything, then she was grateful.

“Tenzin?”

“Yes,” he said. “Tenzin. It is your name if you want it.”

Tenzin?

She tried out the name in her mind, and the wind whispered that it was good.

The girl looked at her father, who waited on the edge of the cave.

“You may call me Tenzin if you like.”

Penglai Island

Present day

Tenzin stretched out next to Nima, whose breathing was the only sound in the room. Her heartbeat was slow. Her breath shallow.

“I told you, my Nima.” Tenzin stroked her silver hair. “It is not a happy story.”

Nima said nothing. At some point, her eyes had closed. Her frail body had gone still. The mortal’s life was slipping away.

“There will be no nightmares for you,” Tenzin whispered, placing a soft kiss on the old woman’s wrinkled cheek. “Not anymore.”

Nima had shown her love. For years, even when Tenzin had been ungrateful. Even when she’d been angry or petulant. Nima asked for nothing and gave everything. Like the humans who had made her a god, Nima had been faithful.

So Tenzin would do the same.

She held the woman as she took her last breaths on the earth. She washed her body and sang the song she had sung to the father of her child—the song she had sung over her own mate’s body. Tenzin held Nima until her sire came and took the mortal’s body to be burned as Nima had wished.

Nima’s body was put to flames by the Immortal Woman. It was a great honor for a valued member of her father’s household. Then her ashes were scattered in the gardens of Penglai, and her friend became everything and nothing on the earth.

After eight days of mourning, Tenzin lay down in her room at her father’s house as servants and immortals hurried around her. Nima had occupied an important position in her father’s house. None of the humans were immune to her loss, but each one honored Nima in his or her own way. Mostly, by quietly continuing the tasks she had given them.

But Tenzin was tired. And though she no longer slept—not even during the day—the immortal lay in her bed, reached under her pillow, and felt for it.

It was there, as it always was. Aday’s blade was heavy and smooth to the touch. Shaped by time and battle, it lay like a lodestone in her hand.

She clutched the bronze blade and closed her eyes.

Tenzin held the old sword in her hand, and she rested.

THE END