Dragonkeeper

by Carole Wilkinson

  “Danzi, there’s a—”

  There was no sign of the dragon. Instead, on the path behind her, there was an old, old man shuffling along with the aid of a stick.

  “Oh, good afternoon, sir,” said Ping politely. “I was looking for my friend.”

  The old man ignored her and continued to shuffle along. Ping thought he might not hear well. He had a long white beard that grew down to his waist and a moustache that was almost as long and hung on either side of his mouth like strings.

  “Keep walking,” said the now-familiar dragon voice in her mind. Ping scanned the bushes on either side of the path. She thought the dragon must have hidden himself when he saw the old man approaching.

  The farmer in the field straightened up slowly as if it were very painful. “Good afternoon to you. We don’t often see travellers in these parts.”

  A young boy appeared from behind a low stone wall where he had been trying to turn over the half-frozen soil with a spade.

  “Where are you heading?”

  ”To visit relatives,” Ping replied. It was the first thing that came into her head. “In the next province.” She hoped they didn’t ask her the name of the province.

  The boy came over to them.

  “What news is there from the west?” he asked. “Imperial guards passed this way a few days ago.”

  “We have no news I’m afraid,” Ping said. “You’re the first people we’ve seen since we left home.”

  “Perhaps you and your grandfather would like to eat with us,” said the farmer.

  Ping was about to explain that the old man wasn’t her grandfather and politely decline the offer, when the dragon voice in her mind said, “Yes.”

  “Thank you,” she said to the farmer.

  “No need to thank us. The gods favour those who are kind to travellers.”

  Ping looked at the old man behind her. There was a strange green tinge to his skin as if he were recovering from a recent illness. He put his hand on Ping’s arm for support. Just for a second, the stiff, wrinkled hand appeared to be a taloned paw. The peasant and his son didn’t see this transformation. They picked up their tools and joined them on the path.

  The peasant family’s fields weren’t rectangles, but irregular shapes. The fields lay anywhere there was a pocket of fertile soil among the rocky foothills. Low walls, made from stones that had been cleared from the fields, surrounded them. The path curved around the edges of the fields like a child’s drawing in the sand. Behind a row of pine trees was a small house built from the same stones. The one-room house looked ancient. Its thatched roof needed repairing. Rain had washed away most of the mud cementing the stones together and one wall looked in danger of collapsing. Even the goat stall at Huangling was in better repair.

  “You can spend the night with us if you wish,” the farmer said. “If you don’t mind sleeping in the barn.”

  “Yes,” the dragon voice said again.

  The farmer and his sons continued to walk towards their house. Ping realised that only she could hear the dragon’s voice.

  “We would like that,” Ping said quickly.

  Danzi leaned more heavily on her arm. As soon as they entered the barn the air around the old man shimmered and twisted. The old man himself swirled and contorted. His skin turned green, his mouth and teeth grew larger. A long tail appeared behind him. Ping watched in amazement. The transformation made her stomach heave and she felt sick.

  “Best not to watch shape changing,” Danzi advised when he was back in his dragon shape.

  It took a minute or two for Ping’s nausea to pass.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you could change your shape?” Ping asked.

  ”Did. Ping wasn’t listening,” replied the dragon as he collapsed wearily. He looked exhausted. Ping suspected that the few minutes of shape changing had used up more energy than days of walking.

  Inside, the house was full of warm air and the smell of goat stew. A woman was standing over a stove. She turned and bowed to Ping, refusing her offer of help. Ping sat and warmed her feet by the fire. It was the first time she had been in a family home. She liked the way they quietly went about their evening chores—the farmer mending a harness, the son carving a bowl from a lump of pine wood, the mother feeding the stove with wood chips.

  The woman smiled at Ping. “Isn’t your grandfather coming to join us?” she asked.

  “He’s very tired,” Ping replied. “If you don’t mind, he would prefer to eat in the barn.”

  “It’s a long journey for such an old man,” the farmer said.

  “He’s stronger than he looks.”

  Ping took a bowl of stew to the dragon. She picked out some morsels for Hua.

  The dragon lapped the stew with his long tongue. “More turnip than meat,” he said, “but tastes good.”

  Ping went back to the house and ate with the family. Afterwards she helped the mother wash the bowls and spoons. She lingered by the stove.

  ”My parents would like to make you a gift,” said the son. “They hope you will not take offence.”

  He was holding a gown and a pair of shoes. “These belonged to my sister. You are welcome to have them, unless you feel uneasy about wearing a dead girl’s clothing.”

  “You have already given us food,” said Ping. “And I have nothing to offer in return for your kindness.”

  “It would be a favour,” replied the boy. “The sight of the clothes upsets my mother. She refuses to throw them away, but she’s willing to give them to you. She made the gown. She thinks you need warmer clothing.”

  It was a simple gown made of hemp, but it looked thick and warm. The shoes were made of leather. Ping looked at her own thin jacket and ragged trousers, which were mended and patched all over and far too small for her. She stared at her worn straw shoes and was ashamed of her appearance.

  “I would be grateful for the clothes,” she said.

  Ping said goodnight to the family and returned to the barn.

  The meal had been the best they’d had since they left Huangling. Even Hua seemed satisfied. Most evenings he went off in search of more food. This evening he was content with the peasants’ stew. He was lying against the dragon stone. Ping was sure there was a smile on his furry face.

  The dragon looked content as well. He was curled up like a huge cat with his tail coiled around him.

  “How do you change shape?” Ping asked.

  “Do not really change. Is illusion. Make people think I am old man or snake, but am still myself. Requires much concentration of qi.”

  Ping looked puzzled. “What’s qi?”

  “Spiritual energy,” Danzi replied. Though the explanation didn’t make it any clearer to Ping.

  Ping lay down. It was good to have a roof over her head. A high-pitched squeak and the deep rumbling of a very angry dragon stopped her gentle slide into sleep. Ping opened her eyes to see Hua hanging by his tail from the dragon’s talons. Danzi was about to hurl the rat against the barn wall.

  “Danzi!” Ping shouted. “What are you doing? You’ll hurt him.”

  The dragon stopped mid-throw. “Ping is right. Do not want to hurt rat.” Danzi put the stunned rodent on the ground. “Want to kill!”

  He raised his foot ready to squash Hua.

  “No!” shouted Ping snatching up Hua just before Danzi brought his foot down. “What’s wrong with you?”

  The dragon’s eyes glowed red with rage. “Rat urinated on stone!”

  Ping laughed out loud. She looked at Hua, who blinked up at her innocently.

  ”That was very naughty, Hua.” She turned to the dragon. “But I don’t think he deserves to die for it.”

  The dragon continued to rumble. “Rat must go.”

  “If Hua goes, so do I,” replied Ping. “If we’re going to Ocean together, you two had better learn how to get along.”

  Ping settled down in the straw again, Hua in the crook of her elbow.

  The next morning they had an early breakfast and said
goodbye to the peasant family.

  “Thank you for your kindness,” Ping said. She was wearing the first pair of leather shoes she’d ever owned, though she still had on her patched old jacket and trousers. “I hope the gods repay you with plentiful crops.”

  Ping watched the farmer and his son return to their work. Their stony soil gave them little reward for their labour, but they had each other. Ping envied them.

  Danzi returned to his dragon shape as soon as the peasants were out of sight, but he remained sulkily silent. Ping kept Hua hidden. After an hour, the dragon finally spoke.

  “Why not wear new gown?” he asked.

  “It’s too good,” said Ping, who had never had a choice of what to wear before. “I’ll wear it on special occasions.”

  The dragon was silent again.

  Ping thought about the poor family who had given her, a complete stranger, more kindness in one night than the mean-spirited Dragonkeeper had in her whole life. She fingered the bamboo square around her neck.

  “Master Lan must have known my name all along,” she said.

  The dragon nodded his head.

  For the first time, Ping felt no regret about leaving Huangling. She turned to face the east and started to walk towards the rising sun, towards the distant Ocean. She heard a sound like tinkling wind chimes behind her. The dragon was happy.

  “The journey of a thousand li begins with a single step,” he said.

  • chapter seven •

  COMBING AND COUNTING

  “How could they tell which son was

  the true Dragonkeeper?”

  “There are signs.”

  Ping finally summoned the courage to ask the dragon a question she’d been wondering about ever since they left Huangling.

  “Danzi, why did the other dragon die?”

  The dragon stopped walking, but didn’t answer her.

  Ping could feel his aching grief, but this was something she had to know.

  “Was it because I didn’t feed her properly?”

  “No, Ping,” Danzi said sadly. “Lu Yu died of misery like others.”

  Ping had never known the other dragon’s name.

  “What others?” she whispered.

  “Once there were two dozen imperial dragons. We lived in pleasure gardens outside city of Chang’an. Several died on journey to Huangling. Lan’s father sold two to dragon hunters. Rest died of misery. Lan and his father not real Dragonkeepers.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Dragonkeepers of old belonged to only two families, the Huan and the Yu. And then only one son each generation born to be true Dragonkeeper.”

  “How could they tell which son was the true Dragonkeeper?”

  “There are signs.”

  “And Master Lan didn’t have the signs?”

  “Not one.”

  The memory of Lu Yu hung over them. They walked on for two or three hours in silence. Ping thought of her own family. She wondered if they were dead or alive and, if they were alive, if they ever thought of her. She had few memories of them—a smile, a baby’s cry, the smell of wood shavings. She didn’t know what these memories meant.

  Breaks appeared in the clouds and sunlight poured through. When they stopped for food at midday, Ping put down the dragon stone and sat in the sun. Danzi inspected the stone. Once he was satisfied it was okay, he also sought out a warm spot to rest in. Usually he sat on his haunches with his head up when he rested, ready to spring at any disturbance. Today he lay in the sun and closed his eyes. Ping felt Hua wriggle out of the folds of her jacket. He jumped down and found a rat-sized patch of sun that he could lie in out of the dragon’s reach.

  Ping closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth on her face. A bird was singing in the branches above her. Danzi had been teaching her to recognise bird calls. She listened, trying to remember which sort of bird it was. A sudden roar drowned out the birdsong. It was the same disturbing sound that she had heard back at Huangling when the other dragon had died, the terrible sound of copper bowls clashing together. She leapt to her feet.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Centipede!” the dragon screamed.

  “Is that all,” said Ping, taking off her shoe ready to squash the offending insect. “Where is it?”

  “Crawled in ear!”

  Through all their adventures, Danzi had always been calm. He’d never shown any sign of fear. Now he sounded petrified.

  Hua sniffed the air and ran up Danzi’s leg with amazing speed. He scurried up the dragon’s neck using his scales like rungs on a ladder. Then he plunged into the dragon’s pointed ear until only his tail was visible. The dragon continued to roar.

  ”Hua!” Ping shouted. “What are you doing? Get out of there.”

  Ping grabbed hold of Hua’s tail and pulled him out. He had the centipede in his mouth. Ping squealed and dropped the rat. He landed neatly on his feet and started chewing the squirming insect. Its many legs wriggled. Hua’s sharp teeth pierced the centipede’s casing. Yellow pus oozed out. The legs stopped wriggling. Hua crunched the insect and swallowed it.

  “That was disgusting, Hua.” Ping felt the food she’d just eaten shift in her stomach.

  She could hear the bird’s song again. Danzi had stopped roaring.

  “Thank you, honourable Hua,” Danzi said, though Ping didn’t think the rat could understand the dragon’s wind chime sounds.

  The dragon bowed his head to the ground in front of the rat. Hua belched.

  They walked on through a bamboo grove for an hour or more. Ping liked the tall swaying stems and the crisscross patterns their shadows made on the ground. Danzi suddenly broke the silence.

  “Ping must cleanse,” he announced.

  Ping stopped while she tried to make sense of the dragon’s words still echoing inside her mind.

  “You mean confess my sins to Heaven?”

  “No. Bathe.”

  ”But I bathed three months ago!”

  “Ping smells.”

  It was a ridiculous idea. Ping had no intention of bathing. Even Master Lan didn’t bathe until spring was well established. Danzi turned off the track.

  “Where are you going?” Ping asked.

  The dragon didn’t answer her question, instead he started to tell her how dragons and people came to rely on each other. Ping followed the dragon into the trees.

  “Long ago chiefs of tribes knew about dragons’ love of jewels and precious metals,” he explained, “so captured wild dragons to guard wealth.”

  It was discovered that some young men, when they were in the presence of dragons, developed a second sight. They were able to locate lost items and, when their skills developed, to read men’s hearts. Those who developed a strong bond with a dragon could even glimpse the future. The tribal chiefs used these young men to help them make decisions. The dragons were revered and treated well. They liked being cared for and developed a taste for the food of humans. The dragons became dependent on their keepers. The first Emperor had several dragons and they were kept in their own palace with beautiful gardens for them to roam in. The Emperor valued his dragons and ruled well, basing his decisions on the Dragonkeeper’s ability to read the future. The sighting of a wild dragon was considered a sign of good luck. If a wild dragon were seen in the palace grounds it was the best of omens for the ruling Emperor. But as the ages passed, the Emperors stopped listening to the Dragonkeepers’ advice. They forgot why they kept the dragons. A few dragons escaped, but most of them died, as they had forgotten how to look after themselves.

  “Were you a wild dragon?” Ping asked.

  “Yes,” replied the dragon proudly. “Danzi was only imperial dragon not born in captivity.”

  Ping tried to imagine the old dragon as a young beast, roaming the countryside with the wild deer and bears.

  “Are you sure we’re heading in the right direction?” Ping asked. The path was taking them uphill again. A few flakes of snow drifted down.

  The dragon made impatient gong
ing noises and kept walking. Ping continued to worry about her companion. Perhaps the dragon didn’t know where he was going at all.

  The light snow continued to fall. At least Danzi had stopped talking about bathing. She laughed to herself at the idea of washing at that time of year. Who had ever heard of such a thing when there was snow on the ground? She noticed smoke rising above the trees ahead of them. She couldn’t smell it though. Danzi made tinkling sounds. Perhaps he knew there were peasants ahead who would give them food and shelter.

  They came to a clearing and a small pond.

  “Ping bathe,” said the dragon.

  Ping looked at the dusting of snow on the rocks around the pond. She was about to remind the dragon that no one in their right mind bathed until summer approached, when she felt his talons grasp the back of her jacket. Then she was lifted off the ground and dumped unceremoniously into the pond. Ping gasped. She was up to her neck in water. She’d been expecting the pond to be icy. Instead it was warm as soup. The smoke that she had seen wasn’t smoke at all but steam. Bubbles rose in front of her and Hua surfaced with a splutter. The rat clambered up her hair and sat on her head. Drops of water rained down as he shook himself.

  “Hot spring,” Danzi said and walked sedately into the pond himself.

  Master Lan had made Ping bathe whenever he thought she had lice. She had only ever used cold water, just a basin or two to splash over her. Then she had had to rub on an awful-smelling ointment that made her skin sting. The water of the pond was deliciously warm.

  Danzi sat on his haunches and opened his left wing so that it trailed in the water.

  “Waters not only cleanse but also heal.” He sighed deeply as the warm water soothed his damaged wing.

  The warm water did feel soothing on the cuts and grazes that Ping had on her arms and legs.