Emperor's Shadow (Elite Book 1) Read online

  I dedicate this novel to my grandfather, who lives a fulfilling, active life despite his battle against Alzheimer's. Even through the decades of unimaginable hardship he was forced to endure, somehow he never stopped being everything I aspire to be: A kind, honest man.

  And though he cannot understand the English words printed on this page, I hope the first copy of this novel reaches him safely, and brings a smile to his face.

  "爷爷,我爱您." -朱懿

  Copyright © 2015 by Yi Zhu

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Cover art by Joshua Carrenca

  Back Cover art by Eoghan Cowan

  First Printing, 2015

  ISBN 978-0-9965311-0-8

  ThatYiGuy Productions

  #ThatYiGuy

  [email protected]

  www.ThatYiGuy.com

  Foreword

  "How does your background as an Asian-American factor into your storytelling?"

  "Emperor? Like the Chinese Dynasties?"

  "Have you considered adopting a more American pen name?"

  Those were some of the first words spoken to me by various players in the publishing industry.

  When I shook my head in response, there were often moments of awkward silence. Each time, I gave a version of this answer: "I was born without much means in mainland China, and after an interesting, harrowing journey, I now sit before you. All I really want to do now is write good fantasy."

  What followed, were empty discussions born only out of politeness.

  A year ago, I returned from the meetings, sat down with a soda in my small apartment in North Carolina, thought about deleting my draft, and dusting off my Economics resume.

  But...

  Something about the characters resonated with me, and the story continued to grow in my head. A few months later, I received funding from two independent sources who heard about me through my friends, and they asked for only one thing while helping me cover part of the publishing expenses: "Prove them wrong."

  And here we are today...

  This book is the culmination of a thousand hours of writing (and rewriting), dozens of very personal interviews, and my life story which at times seemed stranger than fiction.

  I want to thank the many friends who took time out of their busy schedules, to share with me their personal stories. Though it was difficult to write from the perspective of female characters, the experiences they shared helped me tremendously throughout the process.

  One friend in particular, Daniel Chen, spent so many hours tirelessly editing my rough draft (looking back at it, oh my goodness... I don't know how he managed to not quit out of annoyance at my many mistakes!)

  My fantastic editors, who worked very hard to turn what began as a 452 page manuscript, into the novel before you:

  Charity Wysong- Editor, first draft

  Daniel Chen- Editor, second draft

  Jeni Chapelle- Manuscript assessment (http://www.jenichappelle.com/)

  Melissa Gray- Copyediting (http://www.melissagrayediting.com/)

  Chapter 1: Forgotten

  I would kill for a loaf of bread.

  Vince rubbed his belly sadly. Once again, the morning meal at the Wolf Orphanage left much to be desired. Though the boy had lived for just shy of a decade, he could almost swear that his sister, after becoming the matriarch of the gang, deliberately gave him smaller portions out of some misguided reverse favoritism.

  “She’s out to get me,” he muttered, and his stomach echoed the sentiment.

  Would you kill for a SLICE of bread? the voice in his head asked.

  Of course not! Vince was outraged by such outlandish accusations. He was an orphan, after all, not a savage. Theft wasn’t out of the question, but to take another life? For just one slice? It would have to be a rather large slice.

  My earlier thought was just a figure of speech, he countered. Not that it really mattered in the Glorious Empire, since almost all crimes committed by the Lowborn were punishable by death, whether it be theft or murder.

  The alley behind the Highlord’s manor appeared vacant on this chilly morning. Several large crates of freshly discarded garbage were stacked neatly against the wall, each container big enough for at least two children to sit in comfortably.

  Time to scavenge! Vince thought with excitement, and slipped on his gloves. There was usually nothing especially valuable to be found. But if one of the Elites accidentally dropped an earring into some half-finished dish it might get tossed out with the other trash.

  Granted, it was an extremely unlikely scenario, but Vince contemplated the possibility seriously. The boy reveled in the fantasy as he cheerfully sifted through some workshop debris. He made sure to make minimal mess as he sorted through the junk. Copper, tin … and some iron! Vince whistled as the metal bits slowly filled up his pocket.

  Part of him wanted to sort through the waste from the kitchen first, to search for leftovers, but the scrap metals were more valuable. Besides, if he could make a side trip to hide the metal before the other gangs arrived, Vince would have more to take back to the Wolf Gang.

  Staggering footsteps came up from behind him, and he cursed softly. “You from the Beetles?” he asked, without turning around.

  Vince pocketed another tiny chunk of iron, albeit with less enthusiasm, as he would now have to share the loot. After no reply came from behind, Vince turned, annoyed, to meet the confused stare of a girl.

  “What gang are you from?” he asked impatiently. There was something odd about her looks and demeanor. Though she appeared malnourished, her physique lacked the distinct features of a hardened street urchin. The girl’s dress was dirty and partly torn; from the stains on her face, it was clear she had been crying for a long time.

  She appeared twelve, at most, barely older than he was, Vince noted.

  “I’m not … no gang,” she stuttered, shaken with fear.

  Vince’s first reaction was that of delight. If this girl was one of the Homeless, then the pact between gangs wouldn’t apply. He would be free to stash away the metal bits jingling in his pocket. Then, another feeling surfaced, much to his annoyance. Empathy was not something an orphan could afford, not for someone outside his or her gang.

  Vince looked down both ends of the alley, and saw no other newcomers. It was unlikely the girl could eat all that much, Vince decided, and pointed to the other container to his left. “That one is from the kitchen; there are usually some leftovers,” he said, and with that, returned to the task at hand.

  Soon enough, he reached the bottom of the workshop container, and patted his pocket proudly. Vince was smart enough to leave most of the less valuable metals in the crate, for when the Beetle gang eventually showed up.

  He then turned around to check in on the girl.

  “Hey!” Vince cried out, and slapped a piece of what looked like old fish out of the girl’s ungloved hand. Blood trickled down her arms from several fresh cuts, which had undoubtedly occurred while she was searching bare-handed.

  She looked at him, not understanding.

  Her expression was so pitiful that Vince felt a stab of guilt. Although such a response made little sense, as he had done it for her own good.

  “You can’t eat that fish without putting it in a stew first; it looks several days old. It will make you sick,” Vince explained, with a sigh. He sifted through the small pile of leftovers the girl had gathered, and picked out a stale piece of pastry. �
�Here,” he said, while handing it to her, fighting the urge to pop the morsel into his own mouth.

  She accepted the barely edible piece gratefully, her eyes lingering as if the act of kindness was unfamiliar to her.

  “Eat it slowly!” he warned, as she was about to scarf down the whole bit. Whoever this girl was, someone was definitely looking after her … or had been. Every orphan knew to pace the consumption of food so that the memories of eating could help provide motivation to scavenge.

  This was not the time to worry about the girl, however, as there were more pressing matters at hand. Carefully, Vince made sure all of his prizes were safely tucked away in his pouch. He knew the perfect location for stashing the loot.

  “Stay quiet,” Vince warned, and headed down the alley. He just needed to go two blocks away, to the hiding spot he had used many times before.

  Nothing happened as Vince turned the first corner, and he patted the bulging pocket proudly.

  The scraps he had found so far were enough to feed the orphanage for at least two days, provided that his sister, Lucia, could manage to haggle a good price for them. Though he really did resent her position of power, there was no doubt that she was extremely capable, and would probably give the merchants quite a challenge.

  A small part of the boy was overjoyed that the prizes he would soon take home might make Lucia proud, while the rest of him resented that he craved her affirmation.

  All of a sudden, something heavy struck Vince from behind, causing him to cry out in pain. With his balance disrupted, the boy fell forward, landing on his face. The pocket burst open, and chunks of metal scattered all around him, some poking painfully against Vince’s stomach.

  “Trying to sneak away?” an unfamiliar young voice mused.

  “So typical, the Wolf Gang, a bunch of greedy idiots,” a second person joined in.

  The Beetles, Vince thought, amidst the ringing in his head. Luckily, no additional blows came along with the gloating. Though he was ready to push himself off the ground, Vince continued to lie prone, waiting for the right moment to react.

  “Did you honestly think we would miss out on the scavenge? We were waiting for you to make the wrong move, stupid. Letting a girl without a gang take our precious food?” the first boy said in disgust, while circling around Vince.

  “A Homeless eating our food,” the second boy agreed, and Vince felt spit hitting his back.

  Vince pretended to groan, and shifted his head slightly, to catch a glimpse of where the boys were standing.

  As both of his opponents lingered in front of him, Vince realized that now was his chance. Without warning, he reached out and grabbed at the vulnerable legs. Within seconds, all three orphans were down on the ground, and a brief tussle ensued. Taking advantage of the surprise, Vince launched himself on top of the first Beetle. With several swift punches, Vince knocked the boy out. A fist struck the side of Vince’s head, and he turned to face the second threat.

  The scuffle intensified as both traded punches. In the heat of the moment, Vince completely lost himself, but when the adrenaline finally faded, he fell backward on the ground, exhausted.

  Soft sounds of breathing told Vince that both the Beetles were still alive, fortunately. He wanted to stand up, but knew that his body needed a few minutes to recover. So Vince allowed himself precious moments of respite.

  As his heartbeat slowed, Vince breathed a sigh of relief that no one had died. Regardless of his own feelings toward rival gangs, the orphans did not aim to kill during disputes. Bruises heal, but death is final. The last time a clash had resulted in fatalities, the following three-month feud claimed four more lives.

  If it comes to that, I sure hope Beetles get to me first, because as terrible as they are, Lucia’s much worse.

  Footsteps approached, but Vince was too tired to care. Three men in elegant black combat fatigues walked past, their boots clomping against the dirt road. Small Ivy Sigils pinned to their chests marked them as Elites, and they paid no attention to the children groaning on the ground.

  What are they doing? Vince wondered, and avoided making eye contact. One of the best ways to get killed was to get in the way of Highborns and Elites.

  Luckily, the men walked past without pause, toward the Highlord’s manor. As the trio turned around the corner, Vince picked himself back up, and trailed behind slowly.

  “There’s the one who ran away,” Vince heard a deep voice say, as he approached the alley with garbage containers. Quickly, the boy ducked behind the corner, and almost cried out in pain. Bruises lined his body from the fight, but only now did he feel the full extent of the injuries as he squatted down to conceal his presence.

  The girl! Vince remembered, and risked poking his head out to catch a glimpse of her. The three Elites had cornered the unlucky child, one of them pinning her against the crate with a powerful grip around the throat. Fortunately for Vince, he was obscured from the view of the men from their side, and he managed to remain undiscovered.

  “All this effort, for her? She seems so … plain,” one Elite said with disgust.

  “You should see her with makeup on. Besides, she’s a spirited one,” said the oldest one, his fine gray hair shaking as he choked the girl harder. As her body struggled for air, she clawed at the old man’s arm, but her nails failed to dig through the thick fabric.

  “Doesn’t look it,” the third man said with a snicker, prompting the others to chuckle in agreement.

  Suddenly, Vince realized the girl must have escaped from his harem. But, she’s not my responsibility. I don’t have the power to save her, he tried desperately to convince himself.

  As the girl twisted and moaned pitifully, she glanced over. For a brief instant, she looked directly at him. Vince froze in horror as he thought himself compromised. Then, just as quickly, the dying girl turned away.

  As the horrific scene played out before his eyes, Vince found tears trailing down both cheeks, and a chill filled his body. It wasn’t the first time the boy had witnessed Elites abusing their power over the Lowborn, but Vince couldn’t even remember the last time he had shed tears for anyone outside of his gang.

  Even now, she’s trying to protect me, a stranger, he admitted as shame kept him from looking away.

  “Have you learned your lesson?” the gray-haired man asked, finally relaxing his grip. Like a corpse, the girl collapsed onto the ground. Yet, after a few seconds, she slowly pushed herself up.

  “Have you?” the Elite repeated, his voice demanding obedience.

  Just say it! Vince’s mind cried out. Please, just say it!

  The girl looked up, yet remained silent.

  Why? Vince thought as he watched the old man reach out and caress the girl’s cheek.

  A gut-wrenching scream pierced the air, and Vince ducked back behind the corner out of sheer reflex.

  “She bit me!” screamed the gray-haired Elite. A second later came a sickening crunch as something impacted against metal. Fear took hold of the boy’s heart, and panic drowned out his ability to listen. Frantically, he made himself as small as possible, and huddled against the wall.

  An angry conversation broke out, yet Vince’s mind barely registered it. Instead, he remained in a fetal position. Why? What was the point? he asked himself over and over again.

  WHY? he demanded, and expected the voice in his head to answer. But for the first time, no replies came. Lost, his mind in turmoil, the boy waited in silence.

  By the time he finally gave up, the light had begun to fade over the horizon. Slowly, Vince left the safety of the cover, and walked down the alley.

  The crates were gone, undoubtedly taken away by servants, to be emptied at a landfill all the way down in the Southern Kingdom. Footprints carpeted the ground, as people passed by on the way home from work.

  Yet the small body remained, untouched … forgotten.

  Vince looked down, into the girl’s unmoving eyes. Even near her end, she had suppressed the urge to plea for help, all in order to k
eep him safe. He didn’t even get to learn her name. However insignificant her defiance might have been, the boy felt a change within him.

  All I wanted was a loaf of bread.

  Chapter 2: Forbidden

  Very far down south…

  Zed looked around, eyes scanning the vast field before him. Nature asserted its dominion over this area, as wild vegetation and plants colonized every inch of ground. The air all around was pure, completely untainted by the cursed chemical that had doomed the Southern Kingdom to centuries of oppression. Sometimes Zed fantasized about building a small hut here and growing up far away from his predetermined life path.

  A farmer, he snickered to himself. They expect me to grow up to work the fields, out of all things. Those Northern enforcers clearly didn’t realize my potential. Just because they won the war didn't mean they were smart, Zed concluded. Gingerly, he tested the soil before him, and let out a sigh of relief.

  It had been days since the last rainstorm, and the ground had dried up enough to walk on it with bare feet. Zed patted his pockets and smiled as he affirmed the solid presence of his shoes. With winter coming soon, it would have been inadvisable to go without footwear. He was especially proud of this pair—not only did they fit him perfectly, but they had also been discarded by the Imperials. As was all Imperial-quality footwear, they were made with a solid yet flexible bottom, comprised of a material no one in his zone could identify.

  It hadn’t been easy acquiring such a prize, of course, and showing it off never earned him any friends. But who needed friends? Everyone always made fun of his blond hair, as if he had chosen it for himself. Luckily, the insults didn’t bother him much, as he was faster, smarter, and stronger than all the bullies. In fact, there was no better proof of this than these very shoes in question, as the process of acquiring them had involved an intense melee among half a dozen orphans older than himself.

  Such wonderful footwear. Northerners have all the fancy tools, he thought while his hands subconsciously fondled the shoes.