The Dragon's Gate

by Barry Wolverton

  Sean piloted the ship through the edge of the fog, where they trimmed their two sails until they could see land, and then dropped anchor to hold their position perhaps a hundred yards away. The ship had a six-oar rowboat, and three of the crew lowered it to go scout for a landing. The report was that there wasn’t enough depth for even a ship of the Fortune’s size to land, so Sean, Barrett, Mouse, Bren, and Yaozu squeezed in with another Netherlander, who dropped them on the island and then rowed back to the ship. The Netherlanders had already agreed to take the Fortune back straightaway; they had enough supplies for the weeklong journey back to Bantam.

  “It’s not too late to change your mind, Mr. Graham,” said Barrett, while the rowboat was still within view. “You’re a natural leader. You’d make a fine captain for that ship.”

  “Why, Lady Barrett, one might think you don’t want me to come with you! I’m still young. I’ll captain some other ship.” He looked at Bren and Mouse. “After we discover the lost tomb of Qin and find the Eight Immortals, they’ll probably give me a good one, don’t you think?”

  He winked at them, and Mouse smiled. Bren did too, but it was forced. He knew Sean didn’t want to do this, that he was coming along because he felt some duty to protect these two willful children who had intruded upon his life.

  “Is this the island where you were born?” Mouse asked Yaozu.

  “No,” he said. “A much smaller island, not too far away. This is the island with the Temple of the Five Lords. Our first very important destination.”

  “Which way to this temple?” said Sean.

  “Straight up, I’m afraid.”

  And so they began their march inland, along a river whose source was the peak of one of the Pearl Cliffs’ two mountains, and it didn’t take long for them to work up a sweat as the sun rose over the tropical island. Bren took note of all the different animals—ratlike things, rabbits, something that looked like a miniature leopard, and in the trees, small apes, as well as a catlike creature that reminded him of his old friend, Mr. Grey: the same color and size, but with a much longer tail and a stripe down his face like a badger. There were swarming insects, which Bren could only imagine would multiply in peskiness come summer, and everywhere, birds. Hundreds of them. Thousands. The noise of them made the whole island sound like a nervous wreck. Along the river were egrets and herons and pheasants and partridges (at least, that’s what they looked like to Bren), cormorants and hens. When they reached the forest, though, it was a pandemonium of perching birds, from parrots to cuckoos to songbirds of all kinds.

  Bren was furiously taking notes in his journal, which he would flesh out from memory later.

  “Are you secretly a botanist? Or a veterinarian?” Sean teased, noting Bren’s enthusiasm.

  “Mr. Leiden taught me the importance of studying new flora and fauna,” said Bren, somewhat defensively. “That leaf may hold the secret to a new medicine. Or that bird over there may one day teach humans to fly.”

  Just then the bird in question released a blob of white excrement from its backside.

  “Well, for now at least I know how to crap from a tree branch,” said Sean, causing everyone to laugh.

  It was some much-needed levity. They had all made tough choices about what to do and who to trust. Tension among them had never been less than a low thrum since they came together. For once, it was as if they were all old friends enjoying a day of shore leave.

  And as young as Bren was, he wasn’t innocent enough to believe it would last.

  Halfway up the mountain they made camp for the night in a shallow cave and used what little daylight was left to find food. They had left most of their provisions with the Netherlanders taking the ship back to Bantam. “We’ll have to get used to foraging anyway,” said Barrett.

  Sean tried his hand at trapping birds with little success, and Bren, who usually left the foraging to Mouse, went off on his own and found a shrub heavy with bright yellow fruit that reminded him of a miniature pumpkin. When he bit into a piece, though, it was as if he had released a sorcerer’s curse—his mouth filled with fire, and his eyes turned to puddles, and his lips began to peel away from his face. . . .

  They were still near the river, so Bren ran to the edge and plunged his face beneath the surface, but the rushing water just seemed to spread the fire rather than extinguish it.

  He collapsed in tears next to the river, which is when he heard someone laughing at him. It was Yaozu, holding what was left of the demonic fruit Bren had bitten into.

  “Did you eat this pepper?” he said, more bemused than concerned.

  Bren nodded. He tried to defend himself, but his mouth didn’t work: “I ’ought it ’as ’uit.”

  “It is a fruit,” said Yaozu. “Notice the seeds. They’re what makes it hot. I’ve never tried this one, but judging by your face I assume it is extraordinarily hot.”

  “Am I ’oing to die?” said Bren.

  Yaozu laughed again. “You will live. Perhaps try eating a piece of sweet fruit. That may help.”

  Mouse had managed to pry open one of the giant seeds of a palm tree, and the waxy, sweet-sour meat inside was like a salve to Bren’s inflamed tongue and lips. He was still in pain for some time, but eventually more embarrassed than anything, as every other person in the party seemed to find humor in his misadventure.

  “Should we build a fire, or just gather ’round Bren’s face?” said Sean, to much laughter. “Or maybe the lad can start one with his breath!”

  “Bren the Dragon!” shouted Barrett, raising her sword in the air, and everyone joined in. “Bren the Dragon! Bren the Dragon!”

  They spent half the next day completing their trek to the top of the mountain, and when they reached the top, there stood an unimpressive red building in a clearing. It was small, two stories, the roof a pyramid of painted tile in need of repair. A stone courtyard was landscaped with palm trees and other species unfamiliar to Bren.

  “The Temple of the Five Lords,” said Yaozu.

  He led them to the front door, a latticed wood frame that slid to the side.

  “After you,” he said, with a gallant half bow to the others.

  The five lords were there waiting for them—life-size statues standing before a red curtain like a theater troupe. They appeared to be carved from wood, each wearing a full-length red silk gown embroidered with green dragons, but with their hands in slightly different positions. All had a black garment on their heads, although there was one different from the rest, and all had black beards and mustaches that grew to the sash around their gowns. Before them was set a copper kettle, a clay plate, and a porcelain sake cup, for offerings.

  Bren noticed that each of the statues stood on a short pedestal of painted wood with a brass plate engraved with Chinese symbols.

  “Those are the names of the lords,” said Yaozu. “In reality, exiled officials who lost power struggles with their imperial government, now martyrs to those of us who long for the ancient ways.”

  “What now?” said Sean. “Do we make an offering?”

  “Of a sort,” said Yaozu, and he pulled a necklace from inside his tunic. It was a medallion, similar in size to the paiza that had launched Bren’s adventure. But this one had no inscriptions or engravings whatsoever. Just a blank bronze disk.

  “Is that a magic mirror?” said Bren.

  “You are a curious boy,” said Yaozu, with a wry smile. He nodded to Barrett, who went to a small window and folded back the red shutters, letting sunlight stream into the room. Yaozu caught the light with the face of his medallion, directing the reflection toward the face of the one lord who had the different head garment. Bren could barely see the image of a circle reflected on the face of the statue—half light and half dark, each side appearing to overlap the other.

  To everyone’s astonishment, the statue began to move.

  With a jarring scrape of wood against stone, the pedestal upon which the statue stood started to slide backwards. It took perhaps thirty seconds in all, b
ut when it finally stopped, Yaozu led them all to the mouth of a hidden staircase.

  Down they went. The stone stairs went straight to a landing, then bent to the left at a ninety-degree angle. The staircase switched back, and as they made the turn, they heard the statue of the lord sliding back into place. They were soon in complete darkness.

  “This way,” said Yaozu. “Everyone hold the garment of the person in front of you, until we reach the bottom.”

  Bren blindly felt for Lady Barrett’s shirt, terrified he would touch something he wasn’t supposed to. He felt Mouse tugging at his trouser waist from behind.

  They soon saw a light in the distance, lit torches hanging from the walls of a stone room, hewn right out of the rock.

  “Is someone expecting us?” said Sean.

  “This temple is maintained by others who study the Ancients,” said Yaozu somewhat cryptically as he led them into a large room that reminded Bren of the catacombs his father had shown him under Britannia. Except the recesses carved into these walls were filled with books and artifacts, not bones.

  “It’s like a secret library!” said Bren, almost unable to control himself. He and Mouse both darted from one nook to another, not daring to touch anything, but looking with all their might. There were tables and storage chests, too, and two other archways leading off into other darkened tunnels. Suddenly Bren stopped cold in front of an arched recess in the middle of the far wall. He’d thought there were no bones here, but he was wrong—he was staring at one now, shaped like the head of an axe.

  “The collarbone of Di Xin,” said Yaozu. “Technically, his scapula. Mouse, would you like to take a look?”

  She came over and peered into the nook. “May I touch it?”

  “Of course,” said Yaozu, gently taking the scapula and handing it to her.

  “What’s so special about this bone?” said Barrett.

  “The Shang were the last dynasty to read oracle bones,” said Yaozu. “Qin officially vanquished the Ancients by destroying all evidence he could find of those who came before him. But the country was already in disarray—the Warring States period, they called it—which set the stage for his conquest.”

  He led Mouse to a small wooden table and sat her down there with the bone, then fetched a pot of dark red ink and a fine brush.

  “I believe the connection between the bone of an Ancient and the gifts of an heir will be strong,” said Yaozu. “Oracle bones were once etched with a sharp tool. Later, ink made from cinnabar and brushes were used.”

  “What question do I ask?” said Mouse. “Where was Qin buried?”

  Yaozu considered this. “Perhaps, ‘Where is Qin’s tomb?’”

  Mouse nodded and dipped the brush in the ink. “I’ve never done this before,” she said. “I don’t even know how I read the girl’s bones.”

  “It’s okay,” Yaozu assured her. “Close your eyes and picture yourself writing the question on the bone. Then, do.”

  She obeyed him, and after a few minutes she began to paint. It was like a spirit was working through her, and Bren quickly recognized the script, more pictogram-like than modern Chinese writing. It was a short question, but it took her a while, and when she was done, most of the scapula was covered.

  “Now, for our answer,” said Yaozu, taking one of the torches from the wall. “Set the bone on the floor,” he said, and when Mouse had done so, he brought the flame to it.

  The fire quickly dried the paint, then charred it.

  “Grab another torch,” said Yaozu, and Barrett held a second one to the bone, until finally one crack appeared, then another. It didn’t fracture all at once like the skeleton of Sun had, but the surface soon spiderwebbed, and after several more minutes, Mouse said, “That’s enough.”

  “You can read?” said Yaozu.

  “Yes,” said Mouse. “I can show you where the tomb is.”

  CHAPTER

  16

  INTO THE VAST LAND

  Bren opened his journal to a blank page, prepared to draw the pattern on the bone, but Mouse stopped him.

  “It’s not a map this time. It’s a word.” She looked to Yaozu. “Does the name Fenghou mean anything to you?”

  His eyes widened. “Fenghou! That was the name of Xi’an, before the time of Qin! Bren, show us our map again.”

  Bren opened his journal and Yaozu pointed to an area in the central part of the country.

  “Xi’an was the eastern terminus of the old Silk Road,” he said. “In the middle of the Guanzhong Plain. Cradled by mountains south and east, nurtured by the Wei River to the north.”

  “I’ll add it to our map!” said Bren.

  “What about getting there?” said Barrett.

  Yaozu pulled at his straggly beard. “For that I will need help. First, though, we must get to the mainland. Gather your things.”

  He left the bone and two extinguished torches on the floor, along with a note that Bren assumed explained to the librarians why their sacred bone was broken. Then they all exited through one of the other tunnels, going down farther into the mountain, until they came to another lit room. This one was bare except for a wooden door on one wall. Yaozu slid the door to the side to reveal a large open carriage, almost exactly like the one in Rand McNally’s Map Emporium.

  “It’s a lift!” said Bren.

  Yaozu smiled. “In this case, it is a drop.”

  When they were all inside, Yaozu operated a pulley that sent them suddenly jerking downward. Everyone jumped, afraid they were about to plunge into the darkness. But the carriage stabilized, and they were soon gliding slowly downward.

  “Apologies,” said Yaozu. “The mechanism must adjust to the added weight. Smooth sailing now.”

  It was a long, dark, slow descent, but when the carriage finally stopped, Yaozu let them off in a room similar to the one above, bare but for one door that opened onto a pitch-black tunnel.

  “No torches this time?” said Bren, already feeling short of breath.

  “Afraid not,” said Yaozu. “But trust me.”

  The tunnel was so dark Bren couldn’t see his own hands. And it was narrow, so that they had to walk single file, and everyone except Mouse had to stoop.

  “Yaozu, how long is this walk?” Bren managed to say.

  “Quite long,” he replied. “Here, come up front with me. Hold my arm and breathe slowly. All will be fine.”

  Bren did as he suggested, even closing his eyes for periods of time, letting Yaozu guide him. It worked. He lost track of time and let go of the fear that the tunnel walls were closing in. By the end he wasn’t sure if they had walked for one hour or ten, but he was relieved when they came out of the tunnel into a room made of mud, and walked up a flight of earthen stairs to a sort of pier along a flooded delta. The pier led to a house in the distance.

  “Where are we?” said Sean, looking around, bewildered.

  Barrett was smiling ear to ear. “We’re in China, Mr. Graham. What do you think of that?”

  Bren spun around in all directions, as if he hoped to take in the entire country at once. They all did, staring at their surroundings with awe. Judging by the sun, it was midmorning, which meant they had walked all night through the tunnel.

  “That tunnel went from the island to mainland China?” said Sean.

  “Yes,” said Yaozu. “An island turned into a place of exile can also become a place of refuge. The Pearl Cliffs had once been mined for jade. Over many decades abandoned shafts were connected to a tunnel dug under the narrow band of sea there.” He pointed to the strait of water between them and the fog-shrouded island in the distance.

  “You just walked underwater, Mr. Graham,” said Barrett.

  Sean smiled, despite himself. “So where to now?”

  “There,” said Yaozu, pointing toward the house. “If it is the same man I remember, we can get more information for our journey, and a few supplies.”

  They walked along the pier to the house, where they waited for its owner to return. It was the sam
e man Yaozu remembered, and they spoke for a while in Chinese, Yaozu showing him their oracle bone map and occasionally pointing in the direction of Mouse.

  “What are they saying?” Bren whispered.

  “What you would expect,” said Mouse. “Talking about the map, mostly.”

  It was the “mostly” part that worried Bren. Was Mouse not telling him something?

  When the two men finished talking, Yaozu sat down with them at the owner’s table and spread out their map. He put his finger to the mouth of a river that emptied into the South China Sea.

  “We are at the southern reaches of the delta, here, where this finger of land dips into the sea,” he began. “The Pearl Cliffs would be here. We will pick up one of the smaller rivers going north toward the Yangtze, through what is known as the Vast Land. A great distance to cover, over the Nan Mountains, across Big Rattan Gorge. This is Lake Dongting,” he said, circling a small area near the center of the map. “South of the lake, we must pass through the jagged peaks of the Forest Above the Clouds. We will have to cross two natural bridges—the Bridge of the Immortals and the Bridge Across the Sky.”

  Bren felt his stomach clench as he imagined just how high a bridge must be to be called the Bridge Across the Sky.

  “We should try to reach the lake before the rainy season begins,” Yaozu added. “When the rains come, the lake grows in size almost tenfold.”

  Moving his finger farther north, he said, “If the tomb is indeed here, the most difficult passage from the lake to the tomb will be the Three Gorges. After that, a sandy plain where wind quickly erodes the landscape. There are stories of how Silk Road merchants once carved shelters there against weather and bandits. How extraordinary to think they might have uncovered the tomb of Qin if they’d perhaps dug a few feet more, or in a slightly different location.”

  “Assuming the tomb is there,” said Sean.

  “And if it’s not, we cross one location off our list and look elsewhere,” said Barrett.

  “After you’ve fulfilled your duty to return Bren to his father, of course,” said Sean, his voice heavy with rebuke.