Dragonkeeper

by Carole Wilkinson

  Making the decision to stop was one thing. Actually stopping the boat was far more difficult. The anchor was still buried in the riverbed back where she’d had her confrontation with the necromancer. Summoning her last shu of strength, Ping steered the boat towards the southern bank of the river. The current there was slower. Tall stands of bamboo arched over the river’s edge, dipping and swaying in the breeze like bowing officials. Her hands were shaking from holding on to the rudder. Sharp pains were shooting up her arms. She forced herself to keep going. She steered with one hand. With the other she was just able to reach a length of hempen rope, neatly coiled on the deck. Holding the rudder under her arm, she made a loop in one end of the rope and tied the other to the stern. She tried to throw the loop around the smaller stalks of bamboo, but the rope just slipped off the bending stems. She tried again and again with the same result. She waited for something more substantial to appear that she could throw the rope around—an overhanging tree, an abandoned boat, a protruding rock.

  The sun disappeared, the light faded. Finally a broken jetty loomed out of the twilight. The planks at the end had rotted away and the uprights were sticking out of the water. Ping threw her looped rope and missed the first one. She knew that this would be the last chance she had to tie up the boat before nightfall. She let go of the rudder. The current started to tug the boat away from the bank and towards the faster flowing centre. Ping stood at the stern with the loop of rope in her hand. As they passed the second upright, she threw it out. The loop of rope hung in the air for a second and then fell around the wooden stake. The boat continued on its way and then was pulled up abruptly. The wooden post leaned as the tugging boat threatened to pull it over. Ping quickly tied another rope to the prow and jumping out onto the broken jetty, secured the boat.

  Once she was sure the boat was firmly tied up, she hurried to Danzi. He didn’t move. She untied the ropes that held the dragon’s legs spread out. She pulled water from the river in a bucket and threw it over the unconscious dragon’s head. Her own arms were shaking from the strain of holding on to the rudder all day. She forced open Danzi’s huge mouth and trickled water into it. His long tongue was as dry as a strip of leather. She drank some of the water herself.

  Ping continued to dribble water into his mouth and gently scratched the dragon under his chin. Slowly he revived. Ping heard the familiar voice in her mind for the first time in what seemed like an age.

  “Is stone well?”

  Ping felt her way to the coil of rope where she’d left the dragon stone. She picked it up. The sky was black. The crescent moon was slender.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s too dark to see.”

  Ping made a small fire. It seemed to take forever to produce a flame. Then she lit a lamp. She held the stone in the circle of lamplight. Its surface was dark purple. The creamy swirls in its depths could have been made from the missing piece of the moon. The red veins winding through it had turned a deep maroon. They only made it more beautiful. The dragon struggled painfully to sit up on his haunches. He held his great head close to the stone, peering at it as if he was trying to see through the stone into its centre.

  “It is alright,” was all Danzi said.

  They both sat staring into the stone’s purple depths for some minutes. Then Ping turned her mind to food. There were stores of food on board—grain, dried fish, onions. She began to make a fish stew. She was just about to sprinkle in some of the dried leaves that the boatwoman had been fond of adding to her cooking. Danzi reached out a taloned paw and stopped her.

  “What is this?”

  “It’s some sort of herb.”

  Danzi picked up the jar of leaves and sniffed. He then threw the jar and its contents into the river.

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Chinaberry leaves,” the dragon said. “Poisonous to dragons. Slows heart, makes weak and melancholy.”

  Ping groaned. This was more of the boatwoman’s treachery. Ping had been fooled completely by Jiang Bing’s false friendship.

  “She put these leaves in all our food,” Ping said. “There were some in the meal we had in Wucheng as well. The necromancer must have paid the innkeeper to do it.”

  Ping remembered how slow and vague the dragon had been. How easily he had given up the search for the dragon stone in Wucheng. How he had made little attempt to resist the necromancer on the boat.

  ”Why didn’t the leaves have the same effect on me?” she asked.

  “Small amounts give humans nothing more than upset stomach.”

  Ping recalled the queasy feeling and the stomach-ache she’d had that night at Wucheng.

  Ping and Danzi ate their meal in silence. Hua ate some of the stew, even though he wasn’t fond of fish. The dragon curled up and went to sleep immediately. Hua made his bed in the coil of Danzi’s tail. Ping wished sleep would be as eager to visit her. She could have slept in the cabin, but chose to lie on the deck instead. Though the day had been sunny, once the sun disappeared it had grown cold again. She wrapped herself in the boatwoman’s blanket and stared up at the clear night sky. The moon was making its way towards the fire star, which was the celestial dragon’s heart. Ping remembered how happy she’d felt to be on the boat before they’d reached Wucheng just a few days ago. Before she’d learned that the boatwoman’s friendship had been false.

  Though she tried to keep them on other things, Ping’s thoughts kept returning to Jiang Bing and how willing she’d been to trust the boatwoman. She would be much more cautious in the future. She would still be courteous to people she met, but she would guard her trust very closely.

  • chapter eighteen •

  CHANCE MEETING

  It was as if a secret place inside her,

  that had always been closed, had opened.

  The dragon regained his strength more quickly than Ping expected. He wouldn’t eat until the chinaberry was out of his system, but the next day he was strong enough to spend an hour or two in his old man shape at the rudder. This gave Ping time to explore the boat. She found her reed basket containing the remains of the red cloud herb ointment and rubbed it into the dragon stone. Danzi wanted her to put some on the livid wounds on her arm where the crow had pecked her, but she refused to waste any on herself. She found a spare anchor and fishing equipment in a chest. Among the boatwoman’s things were spare clothes and a bamboo sunhat. The necromancer had left more interesting things behind—a bamboo book, a bundle of yarrow sticks and a gourd full of blood.

  As they continued to travel east, Ping and Danzi took it in turns to steer the boat. Ping had many questions that she wanted to ask the dragon.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that necromancers could change shape as well as dragons?”

  “Didn’t ask.”

  Ping smiled. It was good to have the dragon back to his infuriating self again. Hua was stretched out on the deck in the sun. Without the ginger cat on board, he seemed to be comfortable with sailing.

  “Why did the necromancer want the dragon stone?” Ping had the stone in her lap.

  “Can use for magic spells,” replied the dragon.

  “What sort of spells?”

  “Nothing of interest to Ping.”

  Ping didn’t believe him. The stone was changing. Not only had its colours altered, it was also bigger. It would only just fit in the basket now. There were also the sounds that she could hear in her mind along with the dragon’s voice. Not the terrible, painful sounds she’d heard at Wucheng, but soft sounds like a cat purring. Whatever magical powers the stone had, Ping was sure it had some connection to her.

  ”Back in Wucheng. I had this…strength,” Ping said, still hardly able to believe what had happened. “I’m not sure where it came from.”

  Danzi nodded. “Ping concentrated qi. Used its power.”

  “But I don’t know how that happened.”

  “Anger.”

  “So can I only concentrate my qi when I’m angry?”

  “No. Ping must
learn to harness qi whenever needed, angry or not.”

  “How will I do that?”

  The tinkling sound of a happy dragon drifted towards Ping. “Must learn to control breath, focus mind and train body to strengthen qi. Danzi will teach.”

  They were on a quiet stretch of the river. Danzi could stay in his dragon shape for most of the time. He demonstrated breathing exercises that Ping had to learn and practise every morning.

  “Best to do exercises at sunrise,” he explained. “Air has most qi then. Turn to face east and take deep breaths. Fill body with golden qi from rising sun.”

  Over the following days, Danzi taught her slow movements of the hands which would enable her to concentrate the qi. There were other exercises involving slowly twisting her body and arching her arms.

  “Must learn to focus mind,” he told her as they sailed along the river. “Shut out all other thoughts.”

  No matter how hard she tried to concentrate on focusing her qi, she couldn’t stop other thoughts creeping into her mind—what they were going to have for their midday meal, how many silkworms it took to make a silk gown, why boats didn’t sink.

  “Ping must be hesitant as if crossing thin ice, yielding as melting ice, blank as uncarved wood.”

  Danzi’s instructions made no sense.

  “I can’t,” Ping said.

  “Must do exercises for mind as well as for body,” Danzi said.

  He told her to imagine a garden full of peonies and then count them. Ping remembered seeing peonies in the imperial garden at Huangling. They had died when the gardener forgot to water them one hot summer.

  “What colour should the peonies be?” asked Ping. She frowned as she tried to dispel the picture she had in her mind of the few wilting peonies at Huangling and imagine a garden full of flourishing flowers.

  There were other exercises that she had to practise including counting backwards from five hundreds and imagining following the path of a beetle on a distant hill.

  “Should feel tingling all through body,” the dragon said.

  Ping remembered experiencing that feeling when she had attacked the necromancer. The tingling feeling had rushed into her without her having to do any exercises.

  ”Can’t you just do something to make me angry?” she asked.

  The dragon shook his head. “Qi concentrated by anger is dangerous and difficult to control.”

  As they continued down the river, Ping practised the breathing exercises and the body movements for hours each day. She concentrated on imaginary fields of peonies, distant beetles and backwards numbers, but she could summon nothing more than a faint prickling in her left thumb.

  “Takes much practice,” Danzi said. He was sitting quietly in the sun while Hua checked the dragon’s ears for centipedes. After their recent adventures, the rat no longer slept in Ping’s gown. He preferred to rest behind one of the dragon’s reversed scales.

  Ping had stopped worrying about the necromancer following them. She anchored the boat each evening well away from villages and harbours. She cut tender bamboo shoots from the soft muddy ground to add to their meal. Danzi searched for ginseng root, mustard leaves and yellow pea flowers. These plants, he said, would help strengthen her qi. He also caught birds to roast.

  “Will the birds strengthen my qi?” Ping asked as she picked the meat from the bones.

  “No,” Danzi replied. “But taste good.”

  After a week, Ping was able to focus enough qi to produce the tingling sensation in her hands. She could then concentrate the power and use it to move a chopstick a foot across the deck of the boat. Danzi seemed impressed, but Ping thought it was going to be a very long time before she could harness enough qi to do anything useful.

  The pace of the Yellow River was slowing. Steering the boat required less effort. The yellow waters were less turbulent, but were still carrying the little boat ever closer to Ocean.

  “Why doesn’t everyone learn to focus their qi?” Ping asked.

  “Not everyone can do this.”

  Ping thought about that for a moment. She stared out at the bamboo plants which were crowded on the river bank like eager spectators jostling to watch a boat race.

  “But I can do it,” she said feeling proud of her meagre skill. “Just a bit.”

  The dragon nodded. “With practice will have control.”

  “Why can I do this and other people can’t?”

  Danzi’s red lips softened as he made the tinkling wind chime sound.

  “Ping is very special,” he said. “Special, but slow to understand.”

  “Understand what?”

  “Why Danzi chose Ping as companion.”

  ”You didn’t choose me. There was no one else…Lao Ma was too old and you certainly wouldn’t have picked Master Lan to travel with.”

  “Chose Ping because she is Dragonkeeper.”

  “Me? A Dragonkeeper? Don’t be silly.”

  “Remember Danzi said Dragonkeepers have attributes?”

  “I remember.”

  “Dragonkeepers are left-handed. Hear dragon speech, can harness qi and have second sight.”

  “What’s second sight?”

  “Ability to sense presence of certain people, friends and enemies, to read people’s hearts, sometimes to foretell coming events.”

  Ping remembered how she’d known when Diao was nearby and how she had known that something bad would happen in Chang’an.

  “But I couldn’t read Jiang Bing’s heart. I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow.”

  “These are skills which take lifetime to master.”

  “Anyway, you said Dragonkeepers were all from the Huan family or the Yu family.”

  Danzi nodded.

  “But my name…”

  “Ping doesn’t know family name.”

  “Do you, Danzi? Did you know that I belonged to one of the Dragonkeeper families?”

  The dragon shook his head. “Did not know. Chance brought Ping and Danzi together.”

  “But you saw the signs in me.”

  The dragon shook his head again. “Danzi also slow to understand. Couldn’t believe Dragonkeeper was a girl.”

  Ping tried to take in what Danzi had just told her. It didn’t make sense. How could she be such a special person, someone with skills that other people didn’t have? They were passing a village and Danzi was in his old man shape. People certainly weren’t always what they seemed. But surely if she was such an exceptional person she would have known.

  “I’m a slave,” she said. “I can’t be a Dragonkeeper.”

  “Attainment comes as a surprise to the humble.”

  “But you said they were always boys.”

  “True. Has never been female Dragonkeeper before.”

  Ping shook her head. “You must have made a mistake.”

  “Ping has all signs. Didn’t trust signs at first, but Ping has proved herself. Saved Danzi from necromancer.”

  The dragon reached into one of his reversed scales with the talons of his right forepaw. He pulled something out. It was a bronze disc about the same diameter as a peach half. On one side there was a design etched into it. The other side was undecorated but so highly polished that Ping could see Danzi’s reflection in it.

  ”All Dragonkeepers caring for Danzi have carried this mirror.”

  “How many keepers have you had?”

  “Many. Men’s lives short compared to dragon’s.”

  “Master Lan didn’t have it,” Ping said.

  “Lan false Dragonkeeper. Even Wang Cao not true Dragonkeeper.”

  “But he was left-handed and he could understand you.”

  “But no second sight.”

  He held the mirror out. The design on the back was a dragon coiled around a central knob. The dragon had one paw out to grasp the knob as if it was a precious pearl. Ping reached for the mirror. The dragon pulled it back.

  “If Ping accepts this token from Danzi, she will be bound to him…and his heirs.”
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  “Of course I’ll—”

  “Decision should not be taken in haste,” the dragon said. “Is binding for life.”

  Danzi tilted the mirror and the sun’s rays deflected off it and into Ping’s eyes. It was too bright to look at.

  “Mirror can be used as signal. Dragons are hard of hearing, but if Dragonkeeper flashes mirror, dragon can see it from many li away.”

  Danzi held out the mirror to Ping again, the shiny side facing up. Ping could see her own reflection. There was nothing unusual about her face. Nothing that made her look any different from any other girl in the empire. But in her heart she knew the dragon was right. It was as if a secret place inside her, that had always been closed, had opened. She felt pride swell her chest. A few months ago she had been a nameless slave, now she had discovered she was a special person. She would accept the token. It was her destiny.

  She was just about to say so to the dragon, when there was a terrible sound of splintering wood and Ping was thrown forward. She skidded along the deck until she slammed into the cabin. Danzi was thrown overboard. Ping was winded. She got to her feet holding her bruised ribs. A huge boat towered above her. The biggest boat Ping had ever seen. They had crashed into it.

  Ping almost fell over again, because the deck was sloping sharply. The boat was sinking. She looked up at the other boat. It was ten times longer than their own small craft and as high as two houses. It was freshly painted shiny black and decorated with colourful flags and silk banners. It seemed to be undamaged. Ping didn’t have time to admire the magnificent boat though. The slope of the deck was getting steeper. The prow had disappeared below the water.

  Ping quickly picked up the basket containing the stone and whatever else she could carry—the good cooking pot, her sunhat, a bag of lentils. The water was lapping over her feet. Danzi was back in his dragon shape, splashing towards the river bank. Ping jumped over the side. The water was deeper than she’d thought. Her gown billowed up around her. Her feet couldn’t find the bottom. The heavy cooking pot dragged her down. But she didn’t want to let go and lose it. The water rose over her head. Then she felt hands under her arms and she was lifted up out of the water and deposited on the river bank. She coughed up river water.