Eternal

by Grant, Alasdair

  “You doing okay, Jenna?”

  I stop rubbing my eyes and look up. Mr. Carlson is standing beside my desk, concern etched across his face. He probably got an email about my “seizure” in Mr. Webb’s class and is afraid I’ll go epileptic in his classroom, too.

  “I’m just tired,” I say and force a smile. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  How many times have I said this now? I sound like a broken record.

  “I’ll bet you didn’t!”

  A girl two desks away says it. Sarah Reese. She’s nodding vigorously.

  “Lily West told me a homeless guy tried to break into your house last night.”

  “Is that true?” Mr. Carlson asks, his mouth hanging open in shocked sympathy.

  “He wasn’t actually trying to break in,” I say. “He was just…peeking through my bedroom window. Lily and I screamed, and it scared him away.”

  The girls around me whisper to each other, eyes wide. Several male students smirk.

  “If that Peeping Tom shows up at your house again,” a burly boy wearing a San Francisco 49ers jersey says, “give me a call. I’ll stop by and pound his face!”

  Derek Choy, who’s sitting one desk behind the 49ers fan, looks at the boy and frowns. I don’t know why, but his displeasure nearly draws a smile out of me.

  “Did you contact the police?” Mr. Carlson asks.

  “Lily got a picture of the guy with her cell phone and we showed it to an officer.”

  “Good!” Sarah exclaims. “I hope they lock that pervert up forever!”

  The other girls murmur their agreement, and even the boys nod.

  “I’m glad everything turned out all right,” Mr. Carlson says, “and, since we’re already on the topic of criminal behavior, this is an optimal time to discuss today’s topic: Crime and Punishment in the Middle Ages. Please take notes.”

  A few students groan. Notebooks rustle, and I open my overstuffed binder to retrieve lined paper. Mr. Carlson switches the ceiling projector on, and an image of a guillotine appears on his interactive whiteboard.

  “Awesome!” one of the boys exclaims.

  I don’t know if my next disturbing thought comes from Jade or from me, but I see an image of my own neck beneath the guillotine’s razor-sharp blade. A maniacally laughing Eternal Emperor stands over me. Will my head roll like a cabbage when the blade comes down, or—being immortal—will it remain painfully attached?

  I shudder. I can’t watch a presentation on medieval torture devices. Not after what Master Ning told Jade at the infirmary. Even the nurse’s office has to be better than this.

  I hesitantly raise my hand.

  “Yes, Jenna?”

  “I…I’m not feeling well, Mr. Carlson.”

  “Do you need me to send someone with you to the nurse’s office?”

  “I’ll go with her!” several students volunteer at once.

  I look at them and shake my head. “I…I can make it there myself.”

  “Are you sure?” Mr. Carlson asks. “You’re looking kind of pale?”

  “I’m fine. Really. Just feeling a little sick to my stomach.”

  He nods. “Have the nurse call my room when you get there.”

  I start to bow then quickly stop myself, realizing where I am.

  “Okay.”

  It takes a moment to gather my things, and, as I’m doing this, I feel someone’s eyes following me. Derek Choy. He wears the same concerned expression I saw on Mr. Carlson’s face. I brush my hair with my fingers so it falls like a screen between him and me, hoping it will hide the warmth coloring my cheeks.

  Is this Jade’s attraction or my own foolish feelings? I refuse to look back as I exit the room, but I feel Derek’s eyes all the way out the door. When I’m alone in the empty hall, I breathe more easily.

  I’m getting hit by too many things at once. First the news about being immortal, and now these unexpectedly strong feelings for Derek. I’m not keen on arriving too soon at the nurse’s office, so I make a slow detour to an isolated girls’ restroom. Its door creaks noisily, and my footsteps echo off its tiled floor. The corners along the walls are wet with soapy water, and a strong antiseptic odor hangs in the air.

  I don’t know he’s in here until he pins my arms to my sides and clamps a hand over my mouth. I try to scream, but his sweaty palm muffles the noise. When I attempt to kick and bite, he lifts me off the floor and thrusts me forcefully into a corner. Somehow I get one arm free, twist around, and rake my fingernails across his face.

  The bloody wounds left by my fingers heal themselves almost as quickly as they’re inflicted. This shocks me into immobility, and he takes advantage of my bewilderment to wedge me farther into the corner with his shoulder.

  Harold Chin is taller than I remember. Stronger than I expected.

  “Don’t struggle,” he whispers, pressing his hand over my mouth again. “He wants me to hurt you. Don’t give him the chance to force me into it.”

  My nose is exposed to his foul breath, and his unwashed body adds to the stench. I try not to gag as an involuntary spasm ripples up my throat. I’m not ready to die. Especially not this way.

  “I…I can’t keep him out of my head,” Harold whispers, grimacing as if in pain. “He came back, and he’s trying to take over. But I won’t let him. Not yet.”

  His pupils are dilating and contracting. Bigger…smaller…bigger…smaller… In their black depths, I recognize something I’ve seen elsewhere.

  The Assembly Field. The portrait of the Eternal Emperor. I make the connection, and my body goes icy all over.

  “He made me kill them,” Harold whispers.

  His pupils have contracted to two pin points.

  “I didn’t want to, but his will has always been stronger than mine.”

  He releases my mouth, grabs my upper arms, and squeezes so hard I yelp in pain.

  “I’ll tell you a secret,” he whispers, leaning in so close his lips brush against my ear. “Insanity drives them away. They don’t like living in crazy heads. They find ways to shut you out. But he saw you at the airport and sensed your amplitudes, and after that…”

  He releases me, grabs both sides of his head with dirt-encrusted fingernails, and rolls his eyes back so I see only bloodshot whites.

  “The Seventh Prophecy!” he roars. “You’re part of the pair! The linked pair who will attempt to kill me!”

  He staggers back, and his eyes focus on my face again.

  “Unless I kill you first.”

  I raise my hands defensively.

  “You look like her,” he says. “You move your hands the same way. You have the same beautiful eyes. I remember her.”

  He stops speaking and grabs his own throat.

  “I won’t let you do it!” he gurgles. “Not again!”

  I stare at him in horror. And then he does something I’m not expecting. He turns and darts for the exit.

  Just like that, it’s over. The door swings shut. I slump to the floor. My heart is hammering, my pulse is racing, and my skin is slick with clammy sweat.

  That’s when I see her under the bathroom sink. Blood seeps from her head, staining her white-blonde hair crimson. Her cornflower blue eyes are open, but they don’t see anything.

  I scream, and once I start I can’t make myself stop. I scream and scream until they run in and find us.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  三十五

  JENNA

  It’s on all the local news stations—has even caught the attention of several national networks. Two deputies dead. A girl in the hospital in critical condition. The FBI is now involved and a manhunt is underway. Mug shots of Harold Chin—age unknown, approximately six feet tall, 190 pounds—flash across television screens all over SoCal.

  Mom sits next to me on the sofa. The remote is clenched in one hand, and her other hand presses me against her.

  “How could an unarmed homeless man escape a heavily guarded jail?” she whispers. “How could he get into your school
without some kind of lockdown to stop him?”

  The Channel 7 news reporter helpfully gives her opinion, but I’m not really listening. I’m still too traumatized by what Harold Chin did to Lily and too numb from hours and hours of police interrogation.

  She’s not dead, she’s in a coma, but she’ll probably die from her injuries. The doctors say her chances of recovery are slim.

  Why was she in that bathroom in the first place? Why did he choose to hurt her and not me?

  You’re part of the pair! The linked pair who will attempt to kill me!

  I don’t want to kill anyone. I just want him to leave me and the people I love alone.

  “We can go back to the hospital,” Mom says. “Maybe they’ll let you see her now.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head.

  “I… I can’t, Mom. Not tonight.”

  I don’t deal well with death. I can’t watch Lily die.

  Beneath Mom’s protective arm, my shoulders start to shake. Tears burn through my tightly closed eyelids, and Mom hands me a tissue, allowing me to sob.

  He hurt her. He hurt the sweetest, most innocent person I know. Maybe I do want to kill someone. Maybe I want to kill him.

  The phone rings, and our caller ID announces the hospital’s number.

  “It’s probably Lily’s mother,” Mom says. “She said she’d let us know if Lily’s condition changes. Do you want me to answer or let the voice mail get it?”

  “Answer,” I whisper, angrily wiping my nose with the tissue.

  Mom goes to the kitchen and picks up the phone. I hear her ask a few questions in a low voice and say “thank you” before hanging up.

  I look at her hopefully.

  “She went into cardiac arrest,” she says.

  I choke on a sob.

  “But they got her heart beating again. And her mother says there’s still hope as long as she has brain activity.”

  I grab another tissue and dab at my swollen eyes.

  “I’m so sorry, Jenna. I know how close you girls are. I wish there was some way I could help Lily. Something I could do.”

  That’s the problem. There’s nothing she can do. Nothing anyone can do. We can’t reverse what Harold Chin did. We can’t stop him from hurting or killing again. We’re helpless. We’re at his mercy.

  I clench my fists. There’s supposed to be an answer to everything, but I have no answer for this. If there is a solution, it’s hidden somewhere in Jade’s world.

  “Find it!” I whisper to her.

  Mom looks at me, but I stare intently at another mug shot of Harold Chin on the television screen.

  Am I willing to kill him? I think I am. But is Jade ready to do her part?

  THIRTY-SIX

  三十六

  JADE

  I feel sick inside. I selfishly disregarded Imperial law, and now Jenna’s Lily is dying. Jenna hasn’t blamed me for this, but I blame myself. Too many innocent people are reaping the consequences of my bad decision. Mother used to tell me small choices lead to big things. I wish I’d listened better.

  I haven’t spoken with anyone about what has happened in Jenna’s world. I haven’t even shared it with Lily. Especially not with her! I’ll bear the burden by myself because I deserve to suffer it alone.

  I don’t think I’m capable of killing another person. I know Jenna wants me to help her destroy the Emperor, but even if I could get near him—which is impossible—I highly doubt I could bring myself to assassinate him. There’s one thing, however, that I am ready to do. I need to convince Master Ning to tell me about the Seventh Prophecy. If I visit the High Master now, it will draw too much attention, but perhaps I can risk a trip to his pagoda after the evening class Mistress Jiu-Li is requiring me to attend.

  I approach Mistress Jiu-Li’s Pagoda of Tranquility, not particularly excited about spending an entire evening with her. She’s my least favorite teacher next to Master Yao.

  “Wanshang hao, Jade.”

  I look up and immediately lower my eyes again.

  “Wanshang hao, Student Flint,” I say.

  My heart is beating faster. Why is it when Flint comes near me I never know what to say?

  “I heard you haven’t been feeling well lately. I hope your health has improved.”

  “I’m feeling much better,” I answer. “Thank you.”

  Flint smiles, making my insides flutter.

  “Makeup assignments with Mistress Jiu-Li?”

  I nod.

  “Better not keep her waiting. Yihou jian, Jade.”

  “Yihou jian,” I repeat back.

  I glance furtively over my shoulder as he takes the curving path toward the Pagodas of Ages and Amplitudes. Fortunately, he doesn’t look back and see me staring. Unfortunately, someone else does.

  “Student Jade. Do you intend to gawk at Student Flint all evening, or are we going to get your assignment finished?”

  I spin around.

  “N-no. I-I…”

  “Come in. Now.”

  Blushing, I shuffle meekly past her into the classroom.

  “Kneel.”

  Her stern face already looks twice as pinched as usual. Maybe it’s because she’s annoyed about teaching me yesterday’s lesson, but that’s her fault. She’s the one who summoned me here.

  While I kneel, she marches around, closing bamboo shutters and locking them. That’s odd. The evening is far too warm and humid to close the pagoda up this way.

  “Master Ning has asked me to teach you a special dance tonight,” she says.

  She doesn’t look at me. She finishes with the last window, moves to the doors and bars them. I’m starting to perspire, and it’s not because of the room’s stuffiness.

  “You will be meeting with me every other evening,” Mistress Jiu-Li says, “for special lessons. Master Ning has been called away from the school, but he left explicit instructions about what he wishes me to teach you during the months he’s away.”

  Left the school? Months?

  “On the evening’s you aren’t with me,” she goes on, “you’ll continue your amplitude training with Mistress Song.”

  I stare at her, speechless.

  “Stand.”

  I quickly do as told.

  “Please perform Feng Zhi Wu.”

  Feng Zhi Wu. The Wind Dance. She impatiently taps her foot against the floor, and I cross my ankles in the ready position.

  “Begin.”

  I perform a shallow bow and move mechanically through the dance.

  The Wind Dance is characterized by its graceful spinning movements. To perform it correctly I have to maintain perfect hip and shoulder balance. For a dance like this, with its many rising and falling movements, it helps to be blessed with strong ankles and knees. Naturally, I’m blessed with neither.

  Mistress Jiu-Li purses her lips in displeasure.

  “You’ve practiced this dance at least three hundred times,” she says. “I’ve required you and your classmates to review it over and over since your first year at the academy.”

  “Yes, Mistress Jiu-Li.”

  “One would think you’d have mastered basic principles of form and balance by now. Master Ning doesn’t realize what kind of impossible task he’s charged me with.”

  She doesn’t bother explaining what that impossible task might be. Instead, she marches to a small shelf in the corner. The shelf is partially obscured by an arrangement of bamboo stems and dried flowers rising from a tall ceramic vase. I don’t see what the shelf holds until she returns with two silver objects in her hand.

  “Here.”

  A folded fan. Its mirrored handle is etched with a single character: 风. Feng. It means wind.

  “Open it,” Mistress Jiu-Li commands. “Carefully. Touch nothing but its handle.”

  The fan is delicate yet surprisingly heavy. Unfurled, it reveals a whiskered dragon that chases two white butterflies over a blossom-laden apple bough. A silvery ribbon runs across the top edge, linking the fan’s metal ribs.


  “It’s beautiful,” I say.

  “And meant to appear so. But appearances can be deceiving.”

  Mistress Jiu-Li unfolds her own fan.

  “Long ago,” she says, “before the Eternal Emperor conquered Japan and slaughtered its inhabitants, the women of my clan lived in Japan’s mountains where we trained to be assassins.”

  She hides her lower face behind the fan so I see only her dark eyes. I never realized how lovely they were. Possibly because I was always distracted by her otherwise severe features.

  “We were much like these fans,” she murmurs. “Beautiful but deadly.”

  Without warning, she spins on her heels, dipping gracefully in the Wind Dance’s first movement. Just as quickly she stops, flicks her fan into a vertical position, and a hollow thunk, thunk, thunk echoes through the room as three slender metal spikes bury themselves in the teak frame surrounding the Eternal Emperor’s ever-present portrait.

  I can’t stop the surprised squeak that escapes my throat. Mistress Jiu-Li hears it and allows a thin smile to curve her lips.

  “Poison spikes,” she whispers. “A poison so toxic even the Eternal Emperor can be temporarily incapacitated by it.”

  She flicks the fan a second time, this time releasing it so it spins across the room. It slices the tops off the flowers in the decorative vase before clattering to the floor.

  “As I already explained, things aren’t always what they appear to be. Like the Wind Dance, you must hide a fierce nature beneath a graceful façade.”

  My throat is so constricted it hurts when I swallow. She watches me, and I nod because that’s what she expects me to do.

  “You will learn to use the tessen. It will become as familiar to you as your own fingers on your hands. From now on, you will carry a pair of these battle fans at all times. Hide them beneath your sash. Never show them to anyone unless you intend to kill him.”

  I nod again. Then I gulp and ask a question.

  “Did Master Ning… Does he… Does he intend for me to become an assassin?”

  Mistress Jiu-Li laughs, her eyes gleaming coldly.