by Van Hoang
She took a sip. The liquid was slightly sweet and refreshing, and as the coolness flowed down her throat and hit her belly, relief spread over her hot skin.
“It’s good,” she said, smiling.
Shing-Rhe nodded, grasping his knees and rocking back and forth.
“How come you don’t share it with the world?” she asked. It seemed like a waste to hide the healing waters when others were sick and dying.
“We did, once,” he said sagely. “And the world drank the river dry. That’s how some demons were created.”
Thom clutched the gourd. “Wait, you mean this will turn me into a demon?” She started to hand it back to him.
“No, no, of course not. You are young and healthy, and despite choosing to be friends with Wukong, I can see your heart is good.” He chuckled. “No, no. The water heals, but there are some wounds that are not meant to be healed. Some lives aren’t meant to be lived forever. People should die, and when they don’t … it is against nature, and when you challenge nature, that is how a demon is born.”
Thom looked down at the stream, then at the gourd, tempted to dump the contents out. She wanted to believe Shing-Rhe, but her ears burned, like her fever was getting worse.
“It is fine.” He nudged the gourd, reading her hesitance. “Drink. Finish it. Or you will be sicker than sick, and regret it.”
She did feel a little better from the one sip she’d had. And if she was going to turn into a demon, it seemed too late now anyway. So she drank. Her fever and stuffy nose disappeared gradually, until she realized that her body no longer ached and her head felt lighter than before. A question sat on the tip of her tongue, but Thom hesitated, not wanting to insult anyone. Then again, Shing-Rhe seemed friendly, one of those grown-ups who couldn’t wait to teach you something. “Are you … a demon?”
“Yes, child.”
“But you’re not evil.”
Shing-Rhe smiled, nodding. “No. If we were, we wouldn’t be allowed in this sanctuary. It is a haven, protected from those who would steal from the healing waters and do us harm.”
“We? So…” She looked at the other monkeys. One rolled around in the moss, giggling happily as his friend sprinkled dandelions on his belly. “They’re demons, too? But I thought demons were all evil. In the movies, they are.”
“There are good demons and bad demons. Just like there are good people and bad people.”
“So, what happened?” she asked, resting the gourd on her knees. “If other demons, the evil demons, drank the river dry, how did you take it back?”
“It helps to have the Monkey King on your side.” He leaned close. “Sometimes,” he added with a nod. If he’d had a beard, he would probably have stroked it.
“The Monkey King helped you take back the river?” In Thom’s mind, a huge battle played out: thirsty, greedy demons against the Monkey King and his gentle, playful brothers. The monkeys weren’t fighters. She looked around at the ones dozing under the sun, swatting lazily when butterflies landed on their noses.
It was possible that the Monkey King alone went up against the bad demons. In the legends, he was stronger than a hundred oxen. She had no idea how strong oxen were, but she had fought the Monkey King herself and knew he probably could beat her in a real battle.
“My brother has done many things for us,” Shing-Rhe said. “He protects us. That is why we call him the Monkey King.”
“Not because he’s the Great Sage of Heaven?” She grinned.
“He is that also.”
“Oh.” Thom had thought the Monkey King was just exaggerating about his many assets. She didn’t expect the wise old monkey to confirm his bragging rights.
“Drink.”
“So you’re afraid of the other demons?” she said. “You’re not evil like them. Is that why you stay hidden behind the waterfall?”
“We are here to protect the healing waters. And Wukong protects us. Many centuries have passed since we won back control of the cave behind the waterfall. Many have forgotten about this place, but we are always fearful of an invasion,” he said. “For a long time, Wukong was gone, and we lived in uncertainty, always wondering when the other demons would return. They also live on this island, you know. Only the peaceful among us are allowed in this clearing, but the island is home to many demons who have been banished here, kept guarded from the rest of the world. Once you released Wukong from the temple, he came back. And we are safe again.” His smile crinkled his eyes.
Warmth filled Thom down to her toes, not the feverish warmth but the tingly kind you get when you drink hot chocolate on a cold day. “That’s right. I did release him. But why was he there in the first place?”
She had never completely gotten rid of that feeling that she’d made a terrible mistake by taking the Monkey King’s hair from the temple. Every day, she’d expected someone to show up, some magical creature seeking her out to punish her for setting the demon-god free.
But the more she got to know the Monkey King—Wukong—the more she realized he wasn’t as bad as the myths said he was. He wasn’t an evil guy. Yes, he’d made some trouble for her at school, but that was all a misunderstanding. He’d been curious, and after that, he’d saved her from Bethany and Sarah, and he was helping her learn the extent of her power. And now, he’d brought her here to heal her from her cold. His monkey brothers loved him, and Shing-Rhe talked about him like he was their savior. A protector. Someone who used his powers for good.
Which was better than what she was doing with her superstrength. Maybe she could be like him—learn how to use her power so she could protect others. She could be an actual superhero, like Superman or Wonder Woman.
“An enemy,” Shing-Rhe said, in answer to her question. “Someone meant him harm. He was wrongly imprisoned. The Monkey King is extremely talented and powerful, and he wanted to help others. He asked for a seat in the heavens among the gods, but instead of giving him an honorable position, the Jade Emperor made him Master of the Horses. The other immortals made a mockery of him.”
“Master of the Horses doesn’t sound bad,” Thom said. “I like horses.”
“You have never seen the horses of the Jade Army. They are magical creatures, ten times the size of a mortal horse, almost deities themselves. They refused to show the Monkey King the respect he deserved, and the other gods treated him like a servant.”
“Because he wasn’t one of them? Because he’s a demon, not a god?”
“He is both, child. He was created in the heavens but fell to this land as a crystal egg and hatched here, raised by us, his demon brothers. There is no one else like the Monkey King. He is the only one of his kind, and the immortals of the heavens have never accepted him.”
The Monkey King was an outcast, different, just like Thom. She knew what that felt like—to be shunned when all she’d wanted was to belong.
“So what happened?”
“He worked hard to prove that he was worthy of a higher position, but the Jade Emperor never saw his full potential. And the immortals were jealous of Wukong. They feared he would upstage them, so they complained to the Jade Emperor, spread rumors, made up stories about him. The Jade Emperor took the immortals’ side and banished Wukong from the heavens.”
“And imprisoned him?”
Shing-Rhe nodded slowly, his eyes glistening.
“But that’s … that’s so unfair!”
“‘Unfair’ is a word we demons are quite familiar with.”
His words stirred feelings of anger in Thom, on behalf of the Monkey King and his brothers, but also made her feel better about what she’d thought was a mistake. She hadn’t done anything wrong by setting the Monkey King free then. She had maybe even done the right thing.
By the time she’d finished the water in her gourd, her fever was completely gone, her nose cleared, and her head no longer felt like a balloon threatening to pop. Several of the monkey brothers bounded over to play, but Thom was too tired, and unable to suppress a loud yawn. She was tempted
to lie down in the warm oasis and close her eyes.
The Monkey King flew over, giggling as he poked her playfully in the stomach. “I told you I would make you feel better.”
“It’s nice here. But now I want to sleep,” Thom said.
“Come, I’ll take you home.”
She didn’t want to leave the comforting atmosphere of the sanctuary, but she could barely keep her eyes open, so she nodded.
The monkeys returned her hat and scarf, now dry from lying out in the sun, and they all patted her puffy jacket affectionately as she and the Monkey King prepared to leave.
It wasn’t until she was back in bed, the Monkey King tucking the blankets around her just right, that she wondered if Shing-Rhe could tell her more about her superstrength if she asked.
15
“WHY YOU ALL BETTER ALREADY?” Ma asked the next day, as if it were a bad thing and Thom’s fault that she wasn’t sick anymore. She touched Thom’s forehead, tsking, and then set a glass of orange juice on the kitchen counter. “Drink anyway, just in case.”
Thom rolled her eyes at Mochi, who wagged his tail and ran to her, but then cowered, as usual lately, when she reached for him. The microwave beeped, announcing their breakfast of warmed-up dinner trays.
Ma grabbed some plates from the cabinet as Thom reached for the oven handle. The door broke off, the hinges ripped clean from the rest of the unit.
“Thom,” Ma gasped. “Be careful!”
Thom looked at the door in her hand, then up at Ma. “I’m sorry! I don’t know how…” Only she did know how. She thought she’d gotten a little better at controlling her strength, and being sick had made her feel slightly weaker. But now that she was okay again, maybe she was even stronger than before. Was her superpower getting worse?
Or had it been the healing waters from last night?
The doorbell rang. Mochi launched into a frenzied furball of barking and tail wagging, unsure whether to be excited or angry.
“Mochi, stop,” Ma snapped. “Be quiet. Stop it! Bad dog!”
She threw Thom an exasperated look. “Here, give that to me.” Ma took the microwave door. “Go see who’s there.”
Thom rushed to the front of the house. She stood on the tips of her toes to look through the peephole, dropped back to the floor, and almost latched the dead bolt. But there was no way she could pretend they weren’t home. Kha’s grandparents might be old, but the whole county had probably heard Ma yelling at Mochi to stop barking.
Thom sighed and unlocked the door. It swung open. She crossed her arms and lowered into a bow.
“Chào bà. Chào ông,” she said. Hello, Grandma. Hello, Grandpa. Everyone was related when you were Vietnamese; she had to call them by the titles of whatever she assumed they were. Once she’d called an older girl cô, meaning aunt, and had gotten in huge trouble because the girl was offended that Thom thought she was older than she was. “Would you like to come in?”
“Oh, hello, little Thom,” Kha’s grandma replied in Vietnamese. Usually Thom got annoyed when strangers called her little, but it was hard to be angry when Kha’s grandma smiled with those deep, wrinkly dimples and especially when she held up a tin of cookies. “Yes, please,” she said. “Is Mother home?”
“Yes, we’re just eating breakfast,” Thom said. “Please join us.” She stepped aside, and it wasn’t until the older couple moved out of the way that she realized Kha was with them. “Oh. Hi.”
He wore a black-and-white-striped T-shirt over whale-print shorts, and somehow managed to look casual but dressed up at the same time. Thom tugged on her cutoff jean shorts and the soccer T-shirt from her old school, which she only wore around the house.
He held up a clear box full of markers and a trifold poster board. “I wasn’t sure what you have, so I brought my own stuff.”
“For what?” she asked.
“For our Culture Day art project, remember?”
How bad would it look if she just made a run for her bedroom and locked the door, escaping to the sweet relief of not having to deal with Kha, or be friendly or act polite to anyone? “No,” she said. “I’ve been sick.”
Ma rushed into the entrance, all smiles and bows, like she hadn’t just been snapping at their dog. “Oh, what a surprise!” she said, and the three older people started talking in rapid, sweet, and polite Vietnamese. Kha’s grandparents had brought over cakes—they said they’d realized they’d lived next door for weeks but hadn’t gotten the chance to say hi, and Ma apologized profusely: She was younger so it was her fault for not making time for them, blah blah blah.
Kha and Thom looked at each other with equally dazed, bored gazes. “Where’s your room?” he asked.
She eyed the box in his hands but didn’t see any way out of this, and didn’t exactly want to stick around to listen to the grown-ups.
“Upstairs.”
“Can I please see Thom’s room, Auntie?” Kha asked Ma sweetly, and of course Ma almost melted. “We’re partners for the school Culture Day project.”
At the sight of those dimples, hearts almost appeared in Ma’s eyes. “Culture Day project?” she asked Thom, widening her eyes as if to say Why haven’t I heard of this before?
“Yeah, remember, I have to do an art project?” Thom said. Ma had probably been fixated on the áo dài–wearing part of Culture Day, which was just extra credit anyway. “Kha and I are partners. We’re going to do a poster.”
“I really want to do a dance—” Kha started.
“No,” Thom said, cutting him off. “Just a poster.”
“And wear áo dài.”
“Is it okay if we work in my room?” Thom asked quickly before Ma caught that last part and really pushed the idea of dressing up. Thom would do anything if she could get out of looking like a dork in front of the whole school when no one else was going to dress up.
“Yes, but keep the door open,” Ma said to her with a serious look.
The grown-ups nodded and waved at them to go away. A little suspiciously happy, Ma grinned at Kha.
“Cute,” he said, inspecting Thom’s decor, which was nonexistent. She was suddenly aware of how plain her room was, the white walls bare, the desk spotless, books stacked neatly on the shelves. The beige sheets on her bed and white duvet made the space look like a hotel room. “You’re very … clean.”
“Yeah. Have you met my mom?”
“I can get on board with the asylum vibe.” He nodded, too vigorously. She wished she could blame the stark decorations on the fact that they’d just moved, but they’d been at the house for months, since before summer, and her old bedroom had been exactly the same.
“Um. Why are you really here?” she asked.
He looked a bit hurt, but she had never been good at faking it or hiding what she was thinking. She’d probably have more friends if she was.
“I mean,” she added, “it’s Saturday. Don’t you have, like, things to do?”
“My grandparents wanted to meet your mom. And I don’t have anything else to do, because I have no friends yet. That’s why I’m here. To make one?” A flash of perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth, a twinkle in his eye, the perfect hair flip, making his bangs cascade ever so casually over his eyelashes.
He was like a walking, talking, live anime character.
And the way he’d said “yet.” I have no friends yet. So confidently. Thom wondered once more why someone like him would want to be anywhere within breathing space of her. Then again, he was here, wasn’t he? And that meant something, after all. So what if he only wanted to be friends out of a sense of loyalty to his culture? It was probably the only chance she’d ever have.
“So what do you think we should do for the project?” Thom asked, taking the trifold poster board and propping it on her desk. Kha laid out the markers while Thom turned on her laptop so they could research ideas.
“What about something to do with our mythology?”
“Like monsters and stuff? Dragons and snakes?”
“Or gods,” he said.
“But there are so many.”
“We’ll focus on a group. Like the Four Immortals.” He watched her closely, as if gauging her reaction.
“Hmm.” She kind of wanted to go with the monsters and dragons.
“Come on, they’re cool, these mortals who did something amazing and ascended into the heavens to become higher gods. The Sage, the Mother Goddess”—he ticked them off on his fingers—“the Mountain God … and the Boy Giant.”
“Oh, I know him! Ma told me about how he ascended to the heavens after he defeated some invaders.”
“Awesome.” Kha uncapped a marker and leaned over the poster board.
“But … what if we do something different?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. I feel like the immortals always get the spotlight. People talk about them all the time. Even temples are always about gods or Buddha.”
“So … what are you thinking?”
She toyed with the bar-code sticker on her laptop. “What if we did our presentation on the other guys? Like the demons?”
Kha paused, the small muscles in his face twitching, like he was trying to find a way to turn her down gently. “Do you think we’re allowed to? Wouldn’t it be scary to do a presentation like that at school?”
“We can ask for special permission.” Thom opened a browser on her computer. “I was thinking something on…” She felt Kha’s scrutiny and hesitated. “On the Monkey King?”
He didn’t respond. She stared at the cursor in the URL bar, but couldn’t think of what to write, so she focused on what his reaction might be. Ma had brushed the Monkey King off as a mischievous troublemaker, but Thom knew he wasn’t as bad as everyone made him out to be. He deserved better than what people always said about him—he wasn’t evil, he was kind, he used his powers to protect his brothers, and he was even helping her find out more about her own. People should know about that side of him, the good side, not the stories about his mistakes. She could use Culture Day to show people how wonderful the Monkey King could be.