Dragon Dance

by John Christopher

  Brad was silent.

  Simon said: “What bothers me is whether Bei Pen has some sort of power over me, and if so, how much.”

  “Does it matter? He hasn’t tried to get you to do anything you don’t want to, has he?”

  “It matters,” Simon said. “Something happened that first night. I don’t know what, but I know it matters. You must see that.”

  He was trying to provoke Brad into an argument. It was extraordinary that any trying should be required: Brad was normally ready and willing to argue about anything under the sun. But not now. He said nothing; merely stared down the slope towards the mist which clung to the hillside as it had done the afternoon they had come through it and seen the bonzery.

  Simon said sharply: “It was some sort of telepathic contact, and it didn’t stop at that. In my case with Bei Pen, and in yours with Li Mei.”

  Brad turned towards him.

  “What sort of power does she have over you?”

  “Don’t be stupid!”

  “I’m not being stupid. I admit I don’t know what’s happening. Why won’t you?”

  “Because it’s entirely different.”

  “Tell me how.”

  “It’s obvious how. Bei Pen’s the head priest here. It’s reasonable you might feel worried about being influenced in some way. Li Mei’s not much older than we are—if she is older.”

  “But all the same . . .”

  “All the same nothing!”

  Brad’s tetchiness was close to explosion, and provoking that wouldn’t be any help.

  Simon let a pause go by, and said: “I wonder how Cho-tsing’s getting on?”

  “All right, I should think.”

  “I was wondering about possibly going back to Li Nan. I still don’t know why we were brought here, but we aren’t doing anything, are we? There’s no reason why we shouldn’t go back.”

  “The Lady Lu T’Sa might not be keen on it.”

  “But the Lord Chancellor might. She said we had to go to the Bonzery of Grace—well, we’ve done that. I’d like to see Cho-tsing’s monkeys again. And Cho-tsing.”

  Brad said abruptly: “I’m going back to the bonzery.”

  He turned and went, plainly neither expecting nor wanting Simon to follow. A few yards away, a goat stood, bland and yellow-eyed, chewing and staring.

  Simon said: “You don’t give a lot, either, do you?”

  • • •

  After supper, Simon played chess with Bei W’ih. He started well, but after about twenty moves the big bearded man lured him into a trap which cost him his queen, and the result subsequently was never in doubt. Checkmating him, Bei W’ih said: “Another game, Si Mun?”

  “Not right now. I’m not up to your standard. You ought to take on B’lad.”

  “He is skilled at chess?”

  “Much more than I am.”

  “But he is not here.”

  “No.”

  “He plays, perhaps, with Li Mei.”

  His tone was part questioning, part amused. Simon did not reply; he liked Bei W’ih, but did not want to discuss Brad with him.

  Gathering up the chess pieces, Bei W’ih said: “I told you there might be a chance to see our dragons fly. Word has come from the commander of the army of the north. There will be action soon, against the barbarians. In a few days, I shall be leaving the bonzery to go to him. If you wish, you may come with me. Your friend, B’lad, also.”

  He dropped the pieces in their box and shut the lid.

  “Think about it, Si Mun. This may be good, for both of you.”

  • • •

  He thought about it a lot, and the next morning spoke to Bei Pen. He felt a prickle of apprehension as he broached the subject and found himself stumbling over his words. Would Bei Pen be willing to let them go? And if he weren’t, just how would the prohibition be expressed? As he had said to Brad, there seemed to be no constraints on them—they could wander about the bonzery or out of it as they pleased—but it suddenly occurred to him that constraints did not have to be visible or take the form of guards. He had a fearful thought of the voice in his head, not just forbidding but paralysing his will—even changing it, making him not want to go.

  But Bei Pen, after listening without comment, said: “You ask this on behalf of B’lad, also?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you spoken of it with him?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Then do so. It was courteous of you to ask, but unnecessary. You are free to do as you wish.”

  “I was wondering. . . .” Simon hesitated.

  “What?”

  “If perhaps it could be—well, could come as an order from you.”

  “You know it could not. That would be deceit. And would serve no purpose. Speak to your friend. You are both free.”

  • • •

  That day was a holiday, with the minimum of work done and various forms of recreation. Some of the men engaged in wrestling bouts and contests with wooden staves; and both men and women took part in dances and flew kites, which soared like angular birds above the chasm bordering the plateau.

  Watching them with Brad, Simon said: “There’s a powerful updraft, of course.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you do any kite flying when you were a kid?”

  “Some.”

  “Mine either refused to take off or went straight into a tree. The original Charlie Brown.”

  Brad smiled but did not answer.

  There was no point, Simon decided, in hanging back. He said: “I spoke to Bei Pen earlier on.” It came out more forcefully than he intended.

  Brad looked at him, but incuriously.

  Simon went on to tell of Bei W’ih’s offer. “I still don’t know what these dragons are he’s talking about, but the whole thing should be interesting. I’d like to see how the Chinese army rates. Anyway, Bei Pen has no objection.”

  He realized Brad was not paying even a minimum of attention and at the same time became aware of Li Mei approaching. She smiled, at Brad exclusively, and put out her small white hands to grasp his. Yes, she was beautiful, he thought; but beautiful like a picture or a piece of sculpture.

  Holding hands with Brad, she led the way along a path that turned and dipped behind a rocky bluff. Despite a strong sense of being unwanted, Simon followed them. There was a pool with the inevitable willow and a large smooth boulder by the edge which provided a seat for two. Simon had to stand. He decided attack was the best policy and said: “Brad and I were talking about leaving the bonzery.”

  To his surprise, Li Mei smiled, this time at him. In her little lilting voice, she said: “I think you are right. We should leave the bonzery.”

  He was disconcerted. “But . . . you can’t.”

  The smile remained, but lost any hint of humour. She said in a quiet cold voice: “I do as I wish, Si Mun.”

  He turned from her to Brad. “It’s crazy. We’re talking about joining up with the army. There’ll probably be fighting—certainly we’ll be living rough. No way a life for a girl. Tell her she has to stay here.”

  Brad did not reply.

  Li Mei said: “No one tells me what to do or not to do. No one.”

  A voice came from behind them: Bei Pen’s. “Even though others may not command one, right thinking must.”

  • • •

  He came towards them. “These young people have been our guests,” he said, “but they do not belong here. It is proper that they should go their ways now.”

  “They are free to choose,” Li Mei said. She looked at Simon. “Is it your wish to leave the bonzery?”

  Simon nodded. “I think it’s time we left.”

  “And you, B’lad?”

  “Yes.” He paused. “If you come with us.”

  Li Mei turned to Bei Pen. “They have made their choices, each of them.”

  Bei Pen shook his head. “This is wrong, and you know it.”

  “I don’t see what’s wrong,” Brad said. “We don’
t have to go with Bei W’ih. We can go anywhere, and I don’t see why Li Mei shouldn’t come with us.”

  Bei Pen kept his eyes on Li Mei. “As you know, I have no power to command you. But I ask you to remember what is proper. You know the laws. You know that wrong thinking must be rejected.”

  “Your wrong may be my right. I am free to choose.”

  “You may be.” He pointed to Brad. “But what of him?”

  “You have heard him speak.”

  “In illusion there is no freedom. Release him.”

  It was just a girl, defying the so-called wisdom of the older generation, Simon thought—nothing unusual in that. But even so, and on this day of sunlit calm with not even a breeze to ruffle the willow leaves, he had a feeling of darkness and coldness and storm.

  Li Mei said: “Illusion is a mighty emperor. As you know. Let us be, Bei Pen.”

  “I cannot command you.” He looked old and tired against the freshness of her youth. “But I can set him free, if you will not.”

  Her smile was scornful. “You can do nothing.”

  Bei Pen took a step towards her, and their gazes locked. There was nothing remarkable about that, either, Simon told himself: just two people staring into one another’s eyes. But as moments passed, he started to feel uncomfortable. Something was happening behind the clash of gazes—something silent and invisible, but deep and momentous. There was strain in both their faces, and in Li Mei’s a savagery which astonished and unnerved him. The feeling of discomfort became stronger; oppressive, almost painful. He wanted to say something to break the dreadful stillness, yet could not.

  But Brad did. In a strangled voice, he cried: “Stop it! Let her alone.”

  Simon saw Bei Pen’s gaze waver. In Li Mei’s face, the savagery turned into a hideous look of triumph. It frightened him. She was winning, and he knew her victory meant appalling disaster, not just for Brad but for all of them.

  Then Bei Pen’s gaze fixed again and held, in a concentration that seemed to turn his face to stone. And Li Mei’s grimace of triumph started to change, too. It grew uglier and harsher, and there was pain in it and a dawning recognition of defeat. Not just her expression but her actual face was altering, as though Bei Pen’s eyes were a brush, with power to erase her features and redraw them. She turned from girl into woman, and the woman was not young but old, and then older.

  Brad cried out again, but Bei Pen showed no sign of hearing him. His whole body was rigid as a statue.

  It was as though Li Mei was emerging from a chrysalis, but what emerged was nothing like a butterfly. Her skin turned to wrinkled parchment as her body shrank and humped into that of an incredibly ancient woman. How ancient, Simon wondered in horror? Older, certainly, than any human being he had seen or could imagine seeing.

  And she knew what was happening to her. She gave a cry, a croak rather, of rage and anguish from a palsied throat, and took a step forward, clawlike hands outstretched. It was that tottering step which drew Simon’s eyes down to her feet—tiny and misshapen: bound.

  He thought she was going to throw herself at Bei Pen; but instead she veered away and ran, in the graceless teetering lily walk, along the path and out of sight.

  • • •

  There was no colour in Brad’s face.

  Simon asked: “Who is she?”

  Bei Pen looked drawn and spent. He spoke slowly, as though telling a tale that had once been familiar, but very long ago.

  “Legend has it that Bei-Kun came to the Celestial Kingdom from a distant land. After long years of meditation, he proclaimed the Laws. He had many disciples, but two of these—a brother and sister—were especially close. When in the fulness of time he bade farewell to his other disciples, and went up into the mountains, he took those two with him.

  “When they did not return, it was thought they had died in the mountains. But they did not die. In very ancient days, long before Bei-Kun, the followers of Tao held that thought and meditation could yield extraordinary powers, including the power of keeping death at bay. But although such things were taught, no one before Bei-Kun achieved them. And he kept the knowledge to himself and his two disciples.”

  “Why?” Simon asked.

  “Because such powers can have evil consequences as well as good.”

  “But Bei-Kun and his two disciples had them?”

  “They learned other things, too. They discovered how to create illusions in the minds of others by far thinking. Even though they kept death at bay, their bodies aged; but they could put on the appearance of youth. When at last they came down from the mountains, they were not recognized and could take up a new life in a new generation.

  “There were many times of going away and coming back. But a long life does not always bring wisdom, or contentment. It can lead to emptiness of spirit and despair. At the last going away, one of the disciples preferred death. That, too, is not difficult to accomplish.”

  “And the other disciple,” Simon said, “was Li Mei?”

  “Yes. They were close in spirit, and one despair leads to another. And despair can take strange forms.”

  “But your power is greater than hers, isn’t it?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “Because you are the one who discovered the Laws and proclaimed them. You are Bei-Kun.”

  Bei Pen did not answer. He turned and walked away. His appearance was still that of a man in late middle age, but it could not disguise an aching weariness. Simon felt pity and affection, an urge to go after him. But Brad was his first concern.

  “That was a terrible thing to have to see,” he said. “But how could anyone live like it—putting a mask on over a face scarcely better than a skull?”

  “Suggestion rules.” Brad’s voice was tight and dry. “Isn’t that one of the laws of Bei-Kun? And there’s no real difference between suggestion and illusion, when you come down to it.”

  “But when you’ve seen the reality . . .”

  “What is reality? What we saw just now or the way I remember her? If I close my eyes, I can see her again. As she was. Which is the real Li Mei?”

  “You saw what the reality was. That hideous old woman. And then when she ran off, on those terrible little twisted feet . . .”

  “Forget it!”

  “But once you know it, you can’t forget it. That’s the whole point.”

  Brad walked away. Simon did not try to follow him. The shock had been shattering, but shocks wore off. He would see things more clearly in the morning.

  • • •

  Brad was silent that evening and ate nothing at supper. Neither Bei Pen nor Li Mei put in an appearance. The rest seemed unaware of anything wrong; Bei W’ih jested about Brad’s lack of appetite.

  During the night, Simon was aware of Brad tossing and turning. He thought he would be unable to get to sleep himself; then dropped into an oblivion interrupted by nightmares in which people wearing masks stripped them off to show hideous faces; and the faces, too, were masks, to be stripped again, revealing greater horror still . . . and so on and on, endlessly.

  The sky was quite light when he awoke and looked across to Brad. The other mat was empty.

  8

  SIMON ASKED BEI PEN: “WILL you send someone after them?”

  “It would serve no purpose.”

  “You could have him brought back.”

  “Supposing they could be found, in the first place. The bounds of the Middle Kingdom are wide. And would he thank me for it? Or thank you?”

  “He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He needs protection from the illusion she puts into his mind. Protection against himself, if you like.”

  “In sleep, first mind is defenceless against the dreams that invade it. But B’lad was not sleeping when he went away with Li Mei.”

  “But he doesn’t have the powers she has!”

  “True. And that is why I broke the illusion for him. It was not easy, and the consequences are immeasurable.”

  “You may have broken it, but obv
iously it’s come back.”

  “There is a difference. Now he knows it to be an illusion, even though he embraces it.”

  “But can’t you do something about that?” Simon tried, hopelessly, to think of a Chinese word for deprogramming. “Through the law of suggestion?”

  “A puppet pulled by different strings is still a puppet. It may be that in the end he will reject illusion. But only he can do it.”

  “If you won’t do anything,” Simon said, “I shall. At least I can go and look for him.” He stared at Bei Pen. “You won’t try to stop me?”

  Bei Pen inclined his head. “No one will.”

  • • •

  Bei W’ih said: “I leave in the morning. Are you coming with me, Si Mun?”

  “No.”

  The big man looked speculatively at him. “I looked to have two companions. First, one is lost and now, it seems, the other. Your friend follows a will-o’-the-wisp. What is it you have decided you would rather do than watch my dragons fly?”

  “I’m going after him.”

  “And which road will you travel?”

  Simon did not answer.

  “If you go south and they have gone north, it will be a long journey. And every crossroads can lead you further astray.”

  He came to Simon and put an arm around his shoulders.

  “It is understandable that you should wish to find your friend, and proper. But let us apply second mind to the situation and think rationally. You could wander for years and find yourself further off at the end. It is better to be in one place and listen to what travels on the wind. The army has scouts and spies by the thousand. If their eyes and ears do not bring news of him, nothing can. And meanwhile”—he grinned—“you will see the dragons.”

  • • •

  They travelled very light, taking no rations. Everywhere, at the sight of the blue priestly robes, the villagers brought out the best of their food and drink. On the third night, at a large village in the rich farming land of the plain, a banquet was provided by the local mandarin.

  As the long succession of exotic dishes wound towards an end, Simon became aware of an atmosphere of expectancy. When the lamps were being extinguished, he guessed what it was about: a magic show like the one Bei Tsu had failed to perform at the palace. His guess was confirmed when the last lamps were put out and Bei W’ih brought out two rods from his pouch and started to twirl them.