by Cutter, Leah
Neither Xiao Yen or Long Yen could stop from giggling. Fat Fang held himself like a puffed-up priest, hands to his sides, while rocking his hips like a prostitute. He waved his hand at them without turning around, well aware of the picture he presented.
Xiao Yen smiled again. Fat Fang was pompous, but he hadn't meant to hurt her with his question. The play-walking was all the apology she'd get.
“Do you want to work with a caravan?” Long Yen asked. “I didn't know girls could do that. I thought . . .” His voice trailed away.
“You thought I'd get married?” Xiao Yen asked.
Long Yen replied, “Breathe deeply and let nature guide your fingers.” He bowed as he said it.
Xiao Yen laughed out loud. Long Yen was so sweet, trying to cheer her up with impressions of Master Wei.
“Well, I have to go,” Long Yen said.
Xiao Yen started walking toward her room at the back of the courtyard.
“You know, you are the best student here,” Xiao Yen heard from behind her. She turned to look, but Long Yen was still walking toward Master Wei's study. Had Long Yen said that? How could he think such a thing? She was a girl, as Fat Fang had pointed out many times. A girl, who shouldn't be practicing magic, or fighting, but who should be looking after her husband, and having babies.
Chapter Twenty-One
On the Trail
Udo pointed to Khuangho and asked Xiao Yen, “Isn't it pretty?”
Xiao Yen gave him a sad smile. The town did look pretty from where they sat, high on the merchant road above the town. It wasn't a walled city like Tan Yuan or Bao Fang—shops and compounds sprouted in random clumps in a sheltered cove. Most of the buildings were made of wood or yellowish rock. Bisecting the curve of the cove was a long dock, sticking like a child's finger into the water, with brown lumps on either side; ships, Xiao Yen assumed. The sea sparkled brilliantly blue beyond the town. Xiao Yen had never seen such a large stretch of water before. It went out as far as she could see, until it touched the edge of Heaven.
Now that she'd seen it, she could leave. She'd done her duty. She'd seen the brothers and their goods to the coast. She had to get back to Bao Fang.
Sea wind, tinged with salt, blew the strands of hair that had escaped her braids into her face. She cocked her head to one side. This wind had a lighter tone compared to the wind she constantly heard in her head.
“I'm sorry,” Udo said, for the ten thousandth time in the week that had passed since she'd drunk the Wind of God tea.
Xiao Yen replied without thinking, “My bad luck.”
Udo asked, “What do you mean?”
Xiao Yen said, “I . . . I . . . I lost my luck. Before I travel.” She didn't add that she wouldn't have had to go on this journey if she'd still had her luck.
Udo asked, “How can you lose your luck? You make your luck, good or bad.”
Xiao Yen didn't know what to say. Udo had said that before. How could she make her own luck?
Ehran piped up from behind. “Udo's right. Luck isn't given to you. A man makes his luck, his opportunities.”
Xiao Yen turned around, surprised. It was the first time Ehran had said anything directly to her since she'd returned. He looked sheepishly at his brother and said, “Udo told me how you killed that foreign lord and the rat dragon. You don't have bad luck. How could you have done all that with bad luck?”
Xiao Yen had to admit Ehran had a point. It was just that the cost of her deeds had been so high. Her guilt over Vakhtang's death had shrunk some, now that she'd realized he was on the natural path of death, rebirth, and life, but she'd never be able to justify her killing. Then there was the memory of those men, in the courtyard, who . . . She refused to think about it. It was getting easier. The Wind of God hadn't helped her forget, but time and distance had.
She was curious though. “Udo not tell you before?” she asked.
Ehran chuckled. “He told me. I didn't listen.” He turned and faced Xiao Yen. In the bright sunlight she noticed a slight bruise under his left eye. The brothers had come to blows? She'd never understand foreigners.
* * *
The coastal road narrowed to a dirt trail north of Khuangho. Xiao Yen took her time as she walked along it, enjoying the afternoon sunshine, the crashing waves, the fresh sea scent, the pale grass clinging to the cliff on her left. Black-tailed gulls swooped from their nests and dipped into the sea. The wind grew stronger as Xiao Yen headed up the coast. The sound almost drowned out the constant blowing she heard inside her head.
Tuo Nu said he knew of no way to stop the Wind of God. He'd promised to search his books for a cure, when he had time. Xiao Yen didn't blame him for not wanting to have much to do with them. He was home; he lived in Kuangho in rented rooms, and his family lived another half-day's ride south, down the coast. He no longer had any responsibility toward his fellow travelers.
Xiao Yen tried to not think badly of Tuo Nu, giving her the Wind of God—their forms of magic were more different than even he could have known. Sometimes, though, she suspected he wasn't sorry she couldn't practice magic anymore. Stopping her had removed his competition. Master Wei had said that all other mages would be enemies. Maybe Tuo Nu's teacher had said the same thing, and he'd taken the lesson more to heart.
While Tuo Nu did research, and Udo and Ehran sought passage on a ship, Xiao Yen decided to go to the local dragon temple, north of town, to pray. Maybe a dragon or a god would hear her, and lead her back to her center. Every time she'd tried to find her center there had been no center to find, just a whirling cacophony of images, scents and memories.
The trail split at the crest of the next bluff. One path went down the bluff, along the water's edge, while the other curved to the left, around the back of the next hill, then up to the dragon temple. Xiao Yen caught a glimpse of its curving roof before the trail dipped.
Rocks seemed to have overgrown the path. She paused halfway up the hill to catch her breath. The path had curled around. She was no longer next to the sea and assaulted by the wind. Bushes clung to the hill. A few stunted pines forced their roots into the rock. The gray boulders were smoother here, almost round, scattered over the landscape like the toy balls of the giant Liu-Hua. Anchored under the rocks grew bunches of yellow star-shaped flowers.
Xiao Yen knelt down to smell them. They had a light, springlike scent. She stayed as she was for a moment, eyes closed, remembering the Garden of Sweet Scents, the glorious array of flowers always blooming there. She saw herself sitting on the platform at the end of the garden, as she had when she'd been a child, waiting for Wang Tie-Tie. The heads of the flowers in the garden bobbed in time to the wind she heard in her head then slowed.
The wind in her head abated.
Xiao Yen froze and held her breath. She brought the picture of her river to her mind's eye. It formed piece by piece, the sun glistening off the water, the cool green banks, when bam! A mini-tornado spun through the glade, scattering water everything.
She still couldn't find her center.
With a sigh, Xiao Yen stood up and continued walking.
Coming over the crest of the hill she saw the dragon temple again. The sun, now at her back, shone brightly on the whitish grass. The painted temple looked dull in comparison. Beyond the temple the sea reflected the sunlight like a dark mirror. The temple's shadow flowed midnight black behind it, as solid as the structure itself. Xiao Yen tried to see with her mind's eye the mage light Tuo Nu had been teaching her to perceive. She got the impression of a foggy cloud wrapped around the base of the temple, but the image was quickly dispersed by the wind in her head.
The slate-gray roof of the temple curved up on all four corners of the building. When Xiao Yen drew nearer she saw murals painted just under the roof, telling the story of the village of Khuangho and the sea dragon. Xiao Yen walked around the whole building, reading it.
At first, men fought the dragon. Their battles were fierce and terrible, and many people died. At the same time, every time the townspeople
drove the dragon away from his home in the sea, they suffered. There was drought and a plague that made everyone's face turn green. Finally they had a brilliant leader—shown as enlightened with the round flame of Buddha springing from his forehead—who understood that the ways of the dragon were the ways of nature. He negotiated a peace between the town and the dragon, and now the town was prosperous.
Xiao Yen paused at the threshold to remove her boots before she walked into the temple. A tree of candles stood to the left of the altar, all lit. On the back wall hung a huge scroll painting of a dragon, made up of three bolts of silk sewn together. A thick red quilt covered the altar table. In the center gleamed an ornate silver bowl full of pure water.
Xiao Yen knelt in front of the altar and prayed. She praised the dragon for its wisdom, long life and intelligence, for its working in harmony with the people in the town. Then she prayed to Yen Lo, the ruler of the dead, to judge Vakhtang lightly, praying his reincarnation wouldn't take too many ages. She also asked for Udo and Ehran to return safely to their land, for peace between the horsemen and her people, for Wang Tie-Tie to live a long time, for Fu Be Be and Gan Ou to be happy, for some quiet, and for her luck. The cold stone of the temple floor numbed her knees. A trace of incense remained in the air. Xiao Yen tried to drift with it, to float above her troubles.
An angry voice interrupted her, and a hand shook her shoulder. Xiao Yen turned, startled.
A fat priest in ochre robes with wide sleeves, and a swath of white silk cloth tied around his paunch, stood behind her, his eyes full of menace. The top of his head held a few wisps of silver hair. Behind thick gummy lips stood a bright row of perfectly polished teeth, like a carnivore's. He spoke in Tuo Nu's dialect, a language Xiao Yen didn't understand.
“Excuse me,” she replied. “I was praying.”
The priest grunted. “What were you praying for?” he asked. He spoke with such a heavy accent that it took Xiao Yen a moment to grasp that he'd spoken in her language.
The first thought that came into her head popped out of her mouth. “Luck,” she said.
“Luck!” the priest exclaimed. “You're a long way from your home. Did you come crawling here on your luck?” he asked, sticking his hands inside his sleeves over his round belly.
“No, I didn't,” Xiao Yen replied. “But my magic—” she started.
“I can see you have magic. But your magic doesn't have a solid home. Do you wish to keep it?” the priest asked.
Xiao Yen sighed. She didn't know.
“What do you want, child?” the priest asked, in tones that reminded her of Master Wei.
Again, her words blurted out without thought. “My quiet.”
“Everything comes with a price,” the priest intoned. Now he sounded like Fu Be Be.
Did she want to pay that price? To live like a foreigner in her own land? Did she have any choice? The wind in her ears blew louder, and she shivered. That cold stream running through her was part of her core. Its depths reflected her being. The green mossy banks gave a spring to her step, kept her young. Without access to her quiet place, she'd die, like a flower without rain.
“Then go find it,” the priest said, smiling at her like Udo did, showing all his perfect teeth.
Another shiver ran down her back. She got to her feet and bowed deeply to the priest.
“And don't come cluttering my temple asking for frivolities again!” he called out as she crossed the threshold into the brilliant sunlit morning.
Halfway across the clearing Xiao Yen looked back. The temple still seemed wrapped in its own blanket of shadow. Afraid that it'd disappear before her eyes, she scampered down the side of the hill.
On her way back to town, Xiao Yen stopped at the split in the road. The sea had a lighter sheen to it than earlier. The wind blew straight into her face, lifting the hair around her temples.
Had that really been a priest at the temple? Or maybe, it had been the sea dragon. His teeth had been perfect. Xiao Yen giggled out loud at the thought.
Xiao Yen closed her eyes. She tried to imagine what type of dragon the old priest would manifest as. His stoutness transformed into length. His ocher robes dulled and darkened, and became the back of the dragon, while his white silk cloth belt elongated and brightened into a pearl-white belly. Wings like flames attached to his front legs and a sharply pointed ridge of yellow spikes ran down his back. Swirling patterns of gray and black ran along his snout, curls of smoke rose around his ears, and row upon row of sharp white teeth filled his mouth. His eyes were the color of the autumn moon and glowed with their own light. Golden whiskers flowed from his chin, draping across his body and over his shoulders.
Xiao Yen reached out one hand to greet the dragon and welcome it then folded her hand back toward herself while she reached out her other arm. From that, she flowed into the exercises Master Wei had taught her, folding and unfolding her body like paper.
Without thinking about it, she sought her center. Abruptly, she was there. The river ran faster than she'd ever seen it. The wind still blew through the trees, bending the grass down, sending ripples across the water. It didn't blow all the water away this time, or push her back.
Xiao Yen let the vision fill her sight. She understood now.
Everything had its price.
Had the priest said that? Or Master Wei? It didn't matter. She was willing to pay it.
The quiet splashed over her, like a fine rain. She let it soak through her clothes, into her skin, down into her very bones, along with her acceptance.
Her peace came with a high price. It included her willingness to be both alone and lonely, as well as take responsibility for what she did. She had to step beyond duty, into choice.
In her mind's eye, Xiao Yen walked forward, thrust both hands into the cold stream, and drank.
Xiao Yen came back to herself, standing, head bowed, still at the crossroads. She gurgled inside, the sort of noises her nephew, Little Bear, made when he was happy. The sound of the wind in her head had faded a little. Maybe sometimes it would gust and scatter her thoughts, but she was connected to her calm again. It was her choice.
Xiao Yen turned, and then stopped. The old priest wouldn't approve of her going back up the hill to the dragon temple. So she gave thanks where she was, starting in a small ball, then unfolding her limbs, one by one. She followed the steps Master Wei had taught her, enjoying the ritual precision. She let the wind and the stream inside her add touches by bending more in this pose, flowing more in the next.
Xiao Yen saw a dragon again, rising from the sea. It looked different this time. She didn't understand how she could conjure two such different-looking dragons in her mind's eye. This dragon's body was the color of the sea, but its belly, instead of being pearly white, had a gray sheen to it, like polished metal. The spikes along its back were a dull orange, like an iron bell that had been left in the rain. Its wings were larger, and ran along its body like miniature hands. The snout had red streaks running on its sides. Its whiskers hung almost to its shoulders, looking more like gold wires than flowing gold fur. Its eyes were the color of the ocean just before a storm. Yet Xiao Yen still believed it was just a creature of her imagination.
Xiao Yen greeted the dragon and danced for it, recalling the dances for Jing Long she'd been taught as a child. She welcomed the dragon, told it that she was glad that it was rising, that the rains would come. She heard shouts from above her, telling her to stop. She ignored them. She knew who she was. She'd made her choice. She was determined not to care if people whispered and pointed at her, or even if they shouted.
She danced as the dragon took to the air, a mini-rainstorm of water dripping off its body as it left the sea. She waved farewell to it, and continued to dance for herself.
An angry fisherman ran up to her and shook his pole in her face, yelling at her. He held himself so stiffly the cords in his neck stood out like sticks of bamboo. When he realized Xiao Yen didn't understand his language, he grabbed her arm and pulled her down
the path back toward the town. She went with him reluctantly; he smelled of fish, and of being at sea for many days.
She didn't hear the screams until they crested the next bluff.
The second dragon hadn't been in her mind's eye. It had risen from the sea, and now attacked the town. Its gray body shimmered in the sunlight as it blew great gouts of fire. People ran screaming from its path. It made a large lazy loop over the water and came back toward the town, flying lower so it could smash a building with its tail.
Xiao Yen turned to the fisherman in horror. “But I didn't! It didn't come because of me.”
The man twisted her arm up behind her back then marched her into town.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Bao Fang
Xiao Yen looked in dismay at the piece she'd just folded. The center line curved, making the horse look like an old nag with a bent back and low hanging belly. At least she'd failed alone, in the quiet of her room. Xiao Yen wanted to destroy the piece. Instead, she forced herself to study it, to see which folds had gone wrong. Just refolding wouldn't help her. She needed to see her mistakes and learn from them, to see how one wrong fold could warp the whole.
The youngest class of students played a loud game with hoops and sticks in the courtyard. She watched them from her window, wishing she could join them. Even if she went outside to watch, they'd notice an older student, and their enthusiasm would dim. She was stuck by herself.
She tried to study her horse. She held it in front of her and looked at it from every angle. Her mind kept skipping away. She found herself thinking about the Weavers' Guild caravan Long Yen would be protecting. Or about Fat Fang, and how pompous he could be. Or about Wang Tie-Tie, and the contract she was negotiating. With foreigners.
A chill ran down Xiao Yen's back, like ghost fingers walking down her spine. She looked around her room. She'd leave it in less than a week's time. There was very little that marked it as hers. A few scrolls in the corner. Two of her better pieces, a crane and a grasshopper, sat on the shelf near her bed. Her three jackets hung in the cupboard. Candles held upright by their own wax stood on every flat surface; the shelf, the table, the top of the cupboard. Master Wei called her lazy because sometimes she needed three calls in the morning before she'd get up. Xiao Yen knew the truth. She worked best at night, in candlelight, letting shadows suggest meat and muscle before her creatures grew to full size.