The mirror idea had potential. I went over all I’d once researched about Hecate and her temple, since the temple corresponded to the Faerie version of Chattanooga, and how the symbolism worked with our city. There had been too many similarities to consider it coincidence. Chattanooga had been the crossroads city when railroads were king, and in the present day, more than a third of the country travels through our city on the way to their vacation destination.
Now, to transfer this knowledge to my dilemma. A mountain exists in another realm, exactly like this mountain. A ‘foothill of Jade Mountain’ — this mountain has a temple at the base, the other mountain has a temple at the top. Many locations in China have a temple at the base and top of the mountain. Some are a place of learning at the bottom, and a more intense monastery at the top — but not always.
My mind went to the similarities between a monk, monastery, monster, and monstrosity. Monere was to warn, monos implied living alone or being alone. Completely different roots, and yet… so similar.
It’s true some monsters have hidden within the church to practice their horrors. It’s also true some religions were/are more about controlling people than helping them.
I was getting off track. I imagined a broom sweeping through my mind, and I meditated. No thoughts. Anytime an idea came to me, I swept it away. Silence. Nothingness. The wind. My breath.
Everything. Nothing. Same thing.
I sensed the mountain breathing, and I slowed to meet it. I needed more oxygen, so I timed it in rhythm. Thirteen slow breaths along with the mountain’s inhale, and then thirteen more while the mountain exhaled. Dark came, and I breathed. Morning came, and I breathed. The sun rose, my skin burned. I breathed. I was aware the air around me was cold at night, warmer during the day, but it didn’t matter. I felt it, but it wasn’t important. I breathed. I didn’t think.
Gradually, I needed fewer breaths. Eleven breaths, and the mountain went from an exhale to an inhale. Later, nine breaths. My needs grew less. My heart slowed. My brain found another frequency. When I hit seven breaths per inhale, seven per exhale, it didn’t change again.
I no longer felt the air on my skin, only in my sinuses, my throat, my lungs, my mouth. Steady in. Steady out.
I inhaled. I exhaled. Seven times. Then seven more times. Another seven. Again. And again. My focus was on matching the mountain, counting, breathing. These three things were my world. My heart. My rhythm. Everything. Nothing.
And then I was in the garden. At the temple. I looked around in amazement, suddenly so thirsty I thought I might pass out.
Shīfù was waiting for me, with tea. I didn’t care it scalded my throat, I drank it down.
I was leaned against the ornate stone censor in the garden. I’d been leaned against an odd-shaped boulder when I sat down to meditate.
“You need food, but first, you must anchor the gateway.” He looked around. “Find the other side. Do it fast, while the energy is upon you.”
I remembered the topography where I’d been, and walked to the guardian lion at the base of the stairs. Going against every rule I knew, I climbed on it as if it were a horse and leaned my body forward, so all seven of my chakras were in contact with the statue.
And I breathed.
Once again, I felt the mountain breathing, and I timed my breaths. Seven while the mountain inhaled. Seven while it exhaled.
I don’t know how long it took this time. I feel certain it was less than a day. Perhaps.
When I came out of my meditation to look around, I found myself back on the temple-less mountain, straddling a boulder in a similar shape to the lion.
It was night, and the moon was high in the sky. I retrieved water from my backpack, and drank. And drank, and drank some more. I ate a protein bar and some rice cookies. I drank some more.
Finally, I put my backpack on, meditated, and walked through the center of the gateway.
Nothing.
I considered how I’d made it, and I went about a mile down the mountain, turned, and counted my steps. Seven steps while I breathed in. Seven steps while I breathed out.
This time, when I walked through the gateway, I found myself back in the Temple garden.
14
Shīfù was once again waiting for me, as was The Monkey King. Shīfù was in his traditional robes; Monkey was in a bright yellow silk jumpsuit with a red sash, and he held his staff.
I bowed to them both. They returned the bow.
“Can I see Lìlíng?” I’d tried so hard not to worry about Lauren, but now that I was here, I needed to see her and hug her.
“She’s sleeping,” said Shīfù. “Food is prepared and waiting for you. Come. Eat.”
“Could I have done that before my journey? If I’d known what to do?”
“The journey is more important than the destination,” said Monkey.
Silently, I thought the proverb only applied if your child wasn’t at the destination, but I didn’t argue the point.
“I spent time getting to know other mountains, inside and out. It made it easier to get to know this mountain… intimately.” I was certain that wasn’t the right word, but it would have to do. “I needed to stop thinking, and just do.”
“Exactly right.” I stopped walking, stopped breathing, when I stepped into the dining room and saw Mordecai. He wasn’t huge and imposing. I didn’t have to fight my instincts to keep from wanting to kneel.
He sat at a table and ate noodle soup. Dumplings were on a plate, with chopsticks beside it.
“Did you know who trained me from the beginning?” I asked.
He was here as a guest. It was as if he’d toned his energy down. “I did not. I suspected, eventually, but couldn’t be sure and didn’t investigate. However, when you went missing, I needed to understand. I’d had a probability list of three people, and it was, thankfully, one of them.”
I crossed my arms. “Please tell me you didn’t tell Aaron where I am.”
“I’ve let him know you’re okay, but not where you are. Your lion was beside himself, before I started giving updates.”
“He isn’t my lion.”
“Are you trying to convince me, or you?”
“Both, probably. It’s good to see you.”
“You’ve lost too much weight. Sit. Eat.”
I didn’t argue.
There was more than soup and dumplings. There was rice, of course, but also some of the most delectable vegetable dishes.
I looked in on Lauren to satisfy myself she was safe, and then went to the room Shīfù pointed me to.
And crashed.
I awakened in a simple room. A bed and a stool. Dirt floor. Ancient handmade brick walls. Glassless window. The air was cold, but I was under ten pounds of blankets.
My backpack was propped in the corner. I didn’t want to get up. I was warm and toasty.
I took stock of my body. My soul. Sleep had rested me, but I felt as if I’d ran a marathon. In a way, I suppose I had.
The sun was just coming up, and I wondered if there was Tai Chi in the courtyard. I put two pairs of leggings on, two tight shirts. A pair of fleece joggers, a hoodie. Perfect for a morning workout in the chilled air. I went to the front courtyard, facing the east.
Sure enough, perfect lines of humans were in perfect harmony, following Shīfù through a well-known Tai Chi routine. Lauren was near the center. Moving. Stretching. Breathing.
I breathed easier, seeing my daughter up and moving, perfectly in sync with the others. My heart was happy. My soul at peace.
I stepped to the back of them and joined in.
The sun rose, and we moved together, as one. Separate but one. A unit made up of many parts, with Shīfù directing us. Leading us.
Even Mordecai followed him.
I didn’t see Monkey.
Shīfù lead us in time to the mountain’s rhythm. Could he feel it? Or was it instinct?
I watched Lauren when the morning session ended. She talked to two men close by, her smile genuine. Sh
e seemed relaxed. Happy.
I approached her, and Shīfù stepped beside me. “You slept the rest of the night, all day, and all last night. How do you feel?”
“Rested, but as if I need time to recover. How should I feel?”
He chuckled. “Everyone is different. I’ll step away so you and your daughter can have your reunion.”
When Lauren saw me, she ran to me, threw her arms around me, and held tight.
“I’m okay. I know I was gone a long time, but everything’s going to be okay.”
“I’ve missed you, and I’ve worried, but I’ve learned so much. I don’t think I’m supposed to adore Shīfù, but I do. I mean, he’s kind of a jerk sometimes, the way he teaches, but it works.” She squeezed me harder. “And it’s like, when he’s being a jerk, he does it with purpose. I can still see the kindness in his soul.” She looked at me. “Mordecai promised me you were okay, but I’ve missed you so much, Mom.”
“I’ve missed you too, my sweet girl. I can’t wait to see everything you’ve learned. Do you have duties before breakfast? Or can we eat?”
“I have to sweep, but you should eat now. You’ve lost weight.”
Breakfast was congee, and egg pancakes. Congee is rice cooked until it resembles oatmeal, and the egg pancakes are hard to explain, but are mostly made of eggs. Street vendors often wrap them around a Chinese pastry, but these were plain. When I finished, Shīfù brought me three boiled eggs and more congee.
“You will eat more while Lìlíng sees to the temple floors. I will sit with you.”
“Why is Mordecai here? Are you upset with me for bringing you to his attention?”
“Mordecai is an old friend. It’s good to know you’re under his care when you’re away from me.”
“But you’ve been in hiding.”
“I have, but those who can’t change, stagnate.”
“Monkey showed up and left at random times. If I was supposed to get close to him, I failed.”
“No one gets close to Monkey. Part of his value as guide is his ability to remain detached.”
“I hope Lìlíng has been a good student.”
“She has, but it’s good she’s going to American University. She needs to be a normal kid. This life may be for her someday, and it’s good you brought her, but she has trouble playing when she hasn’t been told what to do.”
I nodded. “She grew up in an orphanage. There was never play. She minded the children younger than her, always. The three-year-olds watch out for the two-year-olds. The five-year-olds watch out for the three-year-olds. The seven-year-olds supervise them all. I’ve tried to teach her to let go and just enjoy, but it isn’t in her nature.” I smiled. “She can finally appreciate structured leisure, though. Swim time, or putting jigsaw puzzles together, movie night, running in the park. It took a while.”
“She tells me her best friend in the orphanage is now a sex worker.”
My heart turned to stone in my chest. How had I not known this? She’d told me LìMéi worked at a hotel.
With a sigh, I realized she probably worked for a massage parlor at the hotel, or perhaps the hotel was merely a front for a brothel.
I shook my head. “I didn’t know. I’ll talk to Lìlíng about seeing her friend on our way back through Hunan province. We fly out of Changsha, so we won’t be far. I’ll do what I can to help LìMéi.
Watching Lauren from a distance told me how much she’d grown during her months at the temple. She stood with her arms relaxed, her body perfectly balanced. She reminded me of the dragons I’ve met — Aaron, Myrddin, and even little Emmie — as if Lauren had unlimited energy coiled and held steady, in balance, but totally at her disposal. She stood like Shīfù.
While Lauren had classes, I went through the gateway to the base of the mountain, packed up my small little camp, and returned to the temple.
15
In the coming days, I was awestruck by the things Lauren had learned. She could levitate a little, she could run across the rooftops as if they were nothing, and her skills with the púdāo were far beyond mine. A púdāo is a graceful, angled sword. It’s part of the Tiger form of Kung Fu. Everyone finds their talents.
Mine is the nángùn, and Lauren had taken to the púdāo.
However, she was also exceptionally comfortable with húdié shuāngdāo, or butterfly swords. They’re much shorter, about the length of a human forearm, and she was using a pair sized for her. The purpose is so they can be hidden within the sleeve. Unlike American butterfly knives, these don’t fold. They’re a short sword, though one could probably get away with calling them a long knife.
I’d need to look up the regulations on knives at Harvard. I was certain both lengths would be illegal, but we’d get her the biggest blade she could legally carry, and I’d make sure she was properly trained. Nathan and Aaron are both skilled with knives and swords. I knew without even asking them, they’d teach her.
Meanwhile, Shīfù still had things to teach me, and I learned more about how to levitate off the side of a mountain. He showed me how to find the valley floor before I stepped off, and it was so much easier. He also showed me more tricks and skills with the nángùn — moves I hadn’t been capable of learning when he’d last taught me.
And at long last, I learned how to reincorporate the energy of a light-weapon back into me without it hurting. While polarity was important, the process of hardening the item was most important — the mindset of turning my energy into something physical, so it was still a part of me. When I made it something else, it hurt to draw back into me. We recreate our reality every microsecond. Reality follows the mind.
After a few days, Shīfù had me go into the village to bring Jūn Yí. I taught him how to focus on seven on the way up, and we walked through the gateway together, the first time. He spent the day with us before returning home with two men who’d been stuck in the temple. When Jūn Yí returned the next afternoon, he brought three men from the school, and took three men back with him.
Shīfù had new students again, and I could see his joy.
Our final evening, Shīfù called for an extra workout session, and everyone residing in the temple performed katas in the western facing courtyard. We watched the sun set, and then had what passes for sweets in China but aren’t at all sweet to the American palate.
While we ate, Shīfù told me, “I expected the coin to return to me, but it hasn’t. Whether you’re the new owner, or whether you still need to borrow it for a time, I do not know.”
I touched it, around my neck. It seemed a part of me now.
“Can you explain it to me?”
“Cybele owned a…” He stopped, considered, and started again. “As you’ve figured out, each culture sees those of my race through the lens of their experience. You would know the metal used to make the coin as Brisingamen — Freyja's necklace.”
“Since it seems to want to stay with you for the time being,” said Mordecai, “I’ll have a necklace made for it. The leather will draw unnecessary attention once you’re home.” He met my gaze. “My brother is in possession of the gem, you’re in possession of the metal. I do not know what might happen if the two should find each other again. I also have to consider it’s choosing to ride you in the hopes of being reunited.”
I didn’t know anything at all about the necklace, but I put it at the top of my list of things to research — along with Cybele and Freyja.
I looked at Shīfù, “If you think it will stay with you, I’ll gladly return it.”
He shook his head. “I do not own it. I don’t believe anyone does, anymore. It has protective properties, amongst others. I’m happy it is choosing to stay with you, my daughter.”
Mordecai gave my Shīfù a sharp look, but didn’t say anything. Was it because he’d called me daughter?
The next morning, Lauren and I arose and departed with hugs and well-wishes in both directions. I left my tent, hammock, sleeping bag, and other items I wouldn’t need. Shīfù would make sure the equipme
nt went to someone who could put it to good use.
Lauren and I took the bus to the nearest large city, and I checked us into a five-star hotel. We had mani-pedis, and splurged to have our hair washed, deep-conditioned, trimmed, and fixed. We went shopping for better clothes and dressier shoes, since we’d be in cities from that point forward. We gave the clothes we’d no longer need to a group of homeless people in a nearby park. When they got aggressive with us, wanting more, Lauren was the one who stood tall and commanded them to back off.
And they did.
My little girl had found her power.
“We get on the train in two days, for Changsha,” I told her. “We’ll start using our passports again, once we arrive. Why didn’t you tell me about LìMéi?”
“I was embarrassed for her, but also…” She shrugged. “LìMéi hated it, at first. She cried. I didn’t know how to talk about it. It hurt my heart.”
“And now?”
“She seems resigned.” I could feel Lauren’s pain and guilt. She’d moved on, had a mom, a seat waiting for her at college, but her friend didn’t have many options.
“What can we do?” I asked.
“I don’t know. She’s of age and on her own, so we could probably figure out how to bring her to us.” She sighed. “A student visa won’t work for her. We’d have to get creative, but she’d hate America. China is her home.”
“Wait until we’re in Changsha to text her. You can text people back home, too, once we’re officially using our real names and passports again.” I sighed. “We’ll see what LìMéi wants to do.” Her education wasn’t enough to go to college, and her English was terrible, so Lauren was probably right about LìMéi hating life in America. She knew how to take care of children, though. I wondered what it might take to get her a job as a nanny for a rich Chinese couple, so she could stay here and support herself.
The sad truth is that so many children who grow up in orphanages end up as sex workers. A few, like Lauren, excel in early primary grades, and the orphanage workers find a way to get scholarships so a child with promise can continue school. However, most children in orphanages have what amounts to a third or fourth grade education, and then they work in the orphanage — washing bottles, making congee, feeding babies, cleaning out the potties. Whatever grunt work needs doing. Some work in nearby businesses to bring money into the orphanage — washing dishes, bussing tables, or even simple manufacturing jobs.
Edge of Humanity (Only Human Book 5) Page 11