Kai stayed in his monk shape, making anxious noises.
“It’s all right. He must know.” Tao looked around to make sure there were no servants nearby. “Close your eyes for a moment, Wei. Not because I want you to get a surprise, though you will, because Kai is not a monk. He is going to show himself as he really is and it can make you feel a little sick if you watch.”
Wei slowly closed his eyes. Pema and Tao turned away.
Tao looked back at the dragon standing at the foot of the couch, his green scales bright in the morning sunlight.
“You can open your eyes now, Wei.”
Wei opened his eyes, focused on the dragon and smiled. The muscles that enabled his mouth to smile seemed to be one of the few parts of his body that worked.
“I knew he wouldn’t be afraid,” Tao said.
Wei’s eyes turned to study Pema.
“He is clever, like you said,” she whispered. “I can see it in his eyes.”
Tao told his brother about the night he first met Kai.
“He makes strange noises,” Tao said, “like tinkling wind chimes when he’s happy, like a cracked bell when he’s sad. He looks at me as if he thinks I should understand him, but I can’t. I’m sure it’s you who’ll be able to understand him.”
Tao turned to the dragon. “Speak to him, Kai.”
Wei moved his head to get a clear view of the dragon. Kai made his dragonish sounds.
“Can you understand him, Wei?”
The brother made a sideways motion with his head. He could have just been making himself more comfortable, but Tao’s shoulders sagged.
“Say something else, Kai.”
The dragon made sounds like metal scraping on metal. Tao looked at his brother hopefully, but the result was the same. There was no understanding.
“Listen carefully, Wei. Are you certain you can’t understand him? Perhaps you won’t hear words. Perhaps understanding will be more of a feeling.”
“It’s nearly noon, Tao,” Pema whispered. “You must eat something.”
Since Tao had first suspected that it was Wei whom the dragon was seeking, the idea had grown in his mind until it was an indisputable fact. Kai had come into his life to help Wei. It was the only thing that made sense. Why else would a dragon have sought him out? Tao had allowed himself to hope. His hopes had been crushed. He had never been so disappointed in his life.
Mrs Huan grumbled about having to eat earlier than usual, as she did every time Tao came to visit. Two servants, whose only job was to look after Wei, carried him into the room where the family ate their meals and sat him on a chair that had been specially built for him. There was a lot of fuss, but the family did eat together just in time for Tao to swallow a few hasty mouthfuls of grain and lotus root before noon. The rest of the family and Pema ate goat stew and boiled chicken eggs. Kai could only eat in his true shape, so Pema made up a story about him taking a vow to only eat alone, and he ate in another room.
Pema helped herself to food without waiting to be asked. She picked up eggs with her fingers, stuffed them in her mouth whole and talked with her mouth full. Tao hardly spoke throughout the meal. Pema made up for his silence by asking questions about everything from Tao’s mother’s age to the value of their bowls. Mrs Huan spent most of the meal feeding Wei with a spoon, hardly eating anything herself.
“Why can’t Wei feed himself?” Pema asked through a mouthful of chewed chicken.
A silence fell over the room.
“He can’t use his hands,” Tao whispered.
That satisfied Pema’s curiosity. She resumed eating everything that was put in front of her, and then asked if there was more. In between mouthfuls, she told them how her family had been killed at the Fall of Luoyang.
Meiling was about the same age as Pema. “I don’t know how you have survived,” Meiling said when Pema had finished her tale. “I could not have fended for myself at such a young age.”
Pema was staring enviously at Meiling’s lovely clothes and jewellery. She reached over to feel the cloth of her gown.
“I hid in the cellar. My father was away from home at the time. Many of the survivors fled to Chang’an, but I wanted to be at home when my father returned. We didn’t have any friends in the city. The Huaxia and the Xiong Nu all hate Di people.” She looked into the eyes of everyone in the room. “I didn’t know anyone else who was Di like us. I waited. And waited. But my father never came back.”
She pushed away her bowl. She’d finally had enough to eat.
“It is too dangerous in Luoyang,” Meiling said. “Pema should stay here with us, shouldn’t she, Mother?”
Mrs Huan didn’t reply.
“I think that’s a good idea,” Tao said.
“I don’t want to stay,” Pema said.
“We take in people who have lost their homes all the time,” Meiling persisted. “We can fit in one more.”
“I have a home in Luoyang. It’s the one thing I haven’t lost. That’s where I belong and that’s where I’m going to stay!”
She glared at everyone in turn. No one argued with her.
After the mdday meal, it was time for Wei’s walk. His servants lifted him into a wheelbarrow that had been fitted with a chair and cushions so that he could sit up and be wheeled around.
“I was the one who thought of it,” Tao said proudly as he strapped his brother into the wheelbarrow and adjusted the cushions.
Tao insisted on wheeling his brother himself, shooing away the servants.
The peony pavilion, the garden bed around it and the fish pond were all that survived of the lovely gardens that had once surrounded the Huan house. Most of it had been cleared to accommodate the other families who had sought protection. Animal stalls and vegetable gardens had eaten up every other available inch.
“There’s not much to see here,” Pema said. “Why don’t we take Wei to the stream and the willows we saw outside the walls?”
“Mother doesn’t like Wei going outside,” Tao said.
Pema looked at him. She didn’t say anything, but Tao knew she was challenging him to defy his mother.
At the gates, the guards were nervous about letting Master Wei leave the compound.
“It will be safe,” he said. “The Zhao are camped on the other side of the city. My mother has given permission.”
As a child, before the Huans’ country house became a fortress, Tao spent many hours exploring the surrounding countryside, collecting fallen persimmons or the season’s first cherries which he took back to share with his brother. He never returned without a brilliant dragonfly or some tadpoles in a jar to show Wei, or a story he had heard from the workers in the fields. Back then, there had been only a handful of people who worked in the fields. Now, with two hundred or more people to feed, the fields had been extended. Each day, under the watchful eyes of the guards, a small army of workers ventured outside the walls to tend the fields. Guards also patrolled the walls during the night, looking out for thieves who might steal the compound’s valuable grain or their fruit and vegetables.
It was a sunny day. Tao cheered up as he bumped his brother along the uneven path, pointing out birds and butterflies, clouds and clusters of berries. Wei made a gurgling sound in his throat that Tao told everyone was laughter.
Tao led them to a stream swollen with rain. They walked along its banks until they came to a willow tree whose trailing branches were being tugged by the fast-flowing water. They ate berries and Tao told his brother everything that had happened to him since his last visit home. No detail was too small to recount. He told him about the pranks of the other novices, the quirks of the monks, the wise words of the abbot. He described the plants that were in flower on the mountain, the crops in the monastery garden and the birds nesting under the eves of the novices’ hut. He talked about his transcriptions and his Sanskrit lessons with Lao Chen. Then he explained how Kai had come into his life, and how he’d ended up in Luoyang. Finally, he told him how he’d met the famous monk Fo Tu
Deng.
When they were out of sight of the compound, Kai returned to his true shape. Some of his scorched scales had fallen out and new ones were growing. When they reached the stream, he leaped in and splashed around.
Kai gave Pema lessons on how to fish like a dragon. She got very wet, but was delighted when she caught her first fish with her bare hands. Tao tried not to think about the dead fish and instead just enjoy watching Wei smile and Pema laugh. He took his straining cloth and bowl from his bag and strained some water. As he raised the bowl to his mouth to drink, he saw his cloth float downstream. He dropped the bowl and chased after it, but the stream was flowing too fast. His cloth was gone.
Kai picked up three round stones, all about the same size. Tao was expecting the dragon to show off his throwing skills again. Instead he sat on his haunches and threw them in the air one at a time, keeping all three stones aloft with the skill of a juggler. Pema applauded him. Kai offered Tao the stones so that he could try. Tao shook his head. He knew he wouldn’t be able to do it.
They all fell silent. Tao wished there was something he could do to show Pema that he wasn’t entirely useless.
A desperate cheeping broke the silence. Tao got up to see where it came from. A tiny bird lay under the willow tree, featherless, all open beak and gaping throat. The nest from which it had fallen was high above his head. Aware that Pema was watching him, he picked up the baby bird and holding it in one hand, he tried to climb the tree with the other. He had only climbed a few feet when his foot slipped. He had to let go of the bird as he tried to grab hold of a branch, but only succeeded in skinning his palms on the rough bark. He fell onto the branch below, and then onto the ground. He lay winded. The little bird fluttered down and landed on his chest unharmed. Pema laughed. Kai made a sound like a string of jingling bells. Wei smiled.
“Some rescuer you are,” Pema said, gently picking up the bird. “You’re more likely to injure something than save it.”
She put the little bird inside her jacket and without hesitation climbed the tree, finding footholds where there seemed to be none. Tao held his breath as she climbed two, then three chang above their heads until she reached the nest. She put the baby bird back among its brothers and sisters.
Up until that moment, Tao had thought Pema seemed selfish, hard-hearted. He was surprised to see her display such care and tenderness. For a moment, he let himself imagine that it was his influence on her, that his monkish ways had taught her compassion, but he immediately realised that was just pride. It was understandable that Pema had no tender feelings for humans, but there was no reason why she should not be kind to baby birds.
“You could have fallen and broken your neck,” Tao said, when she climbed down again.
“But I didn’t.”
Kai was staring to the north and making anxious sounds.
“What can you see, Kai?” Tao asked.
Belatedly the clash of a gong sounded out from the compound. The guards were signalling danger to the workers in the fields. Pema followed Kai’s gaze. A dark shape was moving through overgrown fields to the north.
Kai made the sound like scraping blades. As the dark shape drew closer, Tao could see that it was several hundred horses heading straight towards them.
“It’s an army! We have to get back to the compound.”
“There isn’t time,” Pema said. “They’re moving too fast. We must hide.”
Kai turned into a rock.
“Easy for you, dragon,” she said as she helped wheel Wei behind the rock. She and Tao lay flat in the long grass, hoping that would conceal them.
The horses were at full gallop, their riders spurring them on. The first horsemen reached the stream in moments.
Tao peered through the grass wishing he hadn’t agreed to bring Wei out of the compound.
“Is it another force invading the city?” Tao whispered.
“No.” Pema pointed at the fluttering sign of the rearing horse. “It’s the Zhao.”
“But they’ve already taken the city.”
Tao watched, hoping the grass didn’t make anyone sneeze, as the riders reached the stream and paused on the opposite bank to allow their horses to drink. The Zhao leader took off his helmet and wiped the sweat from his brow. Pema made a noise like a frightened animal. The leader had an unattractive face dominated by a large nose. His small and squinty eyes were out of proportion with the rest of his face. He didn’t even glance in the direction of Tao and his companions. The nomad spurred his horse and the other soldiers did the same. They splashed across the stream and were soon riding hard towards Luoyang, leaving behind muddy water, trampled grass and the smell of horse sweat.
Kai turned back into his true shape. Pema was still staring after them, her face drained of colour.
Tao instinctively touched her shoulder, then pulled his hand away as if he’d been burned. How could he forget that he wasn’t supposed to touch a female?
“It’s okay, Pema,” he said. “They’ve gone now. They won’t bother us.”
“I’ve seen that man before,” she said, her voice faint. “He is the barbarian who murdered my family.”
Chapter Twelve
THE PEONY PAVILION
Tao’s mother was waiting anxiously at the gate.
“How dare you take Wei out without my permission!” she said as she rushed to embrace Wei. “He could have been killed.”
“The nomads didn’t even see us,” Tao said.
“You are a thoughtless, selfish boy, as always, Tao. It is too dangerous outside the gate. Wei must never go out.”
She called for the servants who tended Wei. “Take Master Wei to his room,” she said. “It is time for him to have his massage and medicines.”
Tao’s father was sitting in the sun near the gate carving a spoon from a piece of wood. He was fashioning an intricate design of birds and flowers on the handle. Pema sat next to him, watching him work.
“That is the most beautiful carving I ever saw,” she said. “You are very skilled, sir.”
“It’s a useless pastime,” Tao’s mother complained. “He should be organising the workers in the fields. If he’s so keen to use his hands, he could mend the broken plough instead of wasting his time decorating spoons. Even fishing would be more useful, if he just wants to sit.”
“I caught a fish!” Pema said, beaming as she held up her catch.
Meiling was sitting in the peony pavilion. A maidservant was arranging her hair. Tao and the others joined her. The peony bushes that the pavilion was named after were not in flower at that time of year, but there were yellow and rusty orange chrysanthemums. Pema admired Meiling’s collection of hair combs which were made of lacquered wood, delicately carved bone and jade. She examined each one, turning them over in her hand, pointing out the gems and the painted swirls, like an envious child with toys she couldn’t have. There was one that particularly entranced her, it was made of green jade and was in the shape of a butterfly.
Meiling noticed her brother’s grazed and bleeding hands. “You need some soothing lotion,” she said, and sent her maid in search of some.
Pema dipped a corner of her skirt in the pond and went to clean his scratches. Tao snatched his hand away.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said.
Tao hadn’t been concerned about her hurting him. He just didn’t want her to touch him. Pema didn’t notice his discomfort and grabbed his wrist firmly. Tao stopped resisting. She dabbed at the graze, getting spots of his blood on her gown. Kai in his monk shape was sitting in the shade, watching.
“You have a splinter,” Pema said.
Tao could feel her breath on his fingers as she leaned closer. She unpinned the clasp from her jacket and very gently lifted out the splinter with the pin. The maid came back with some healing lotion and Pema rubbed it into Tao’s palms.
“Ow!” Tao cried out. “It stings.”
“What a baby you are,” Pema said.
She looked up at him and smiled
, her face close to his. Tao couldn’t look away.
“What is in that bag that you have with you?” Meiling asked. “You never let it go.”
Pema took the things from her bag and arranged them on the low wall around the pond. There was a necklace, a knife, a wooden toy horse, an eighteen-sided die and a round red lacquerware box.
“These are my precious things,” she said.
She fingered the necklace that was a pretty string of gemstones with silver discs between them. “This belonged to my mother,” she said.
She picked up the knife. It was the one with which she had slashed the nomad soldier back in Luoyang. It was an elegant bronze weapon with a curved blade and a bone handle incised with spiral patterns. “This was my father’s.”
The eighteen-sided die had been her elder brother’s, the lacquerware box her sister’s. She picked up the wooden horse. “And this belonged to my baby brother.”
They all watched Pema handling her precious things.
The silence was broken by the sound of Mrs Huan’s raised voice. Wei’s treatment had finished. On the other side of the pond, she was chiding the servants for banging Wei’s carrying chair against a wall. Meiling called out to her mother.
“Have the servants bring Wei over here to sit with us,” she said. “It is lovely in the sunshine.”
“But it’s time for his nap.”
“He can doze here if he wants to.”
Mrs Huan relented and the servants brought Wei into the pavilion and arranged him on his couch. While his mother tucked a blanket over him and his sister held a cup of water to his mouth, Tao saw Pema slip the jade hair comb inside her jacket. He was about to lecture her about the precept that forbade theft, but the words didn’t come out. Pema was alone in the world. With no one to guide her, she had learned how to look after herself. Even though she had lost everyone who was close to her, she still had a kind heart. If it gave her pleasure, let her have the hair comb. His sister had plenty; she wouldn’t miss one.
Dragonkeeper 4: Blood Brothers Page 8