Paper Mage

by Leah R. Cutter

  At the far end of the hall, a boy shifted his weight and sighed. It was the only sound in the room. Xiao Yen felt, rather than saw, Master Wei’s disapproval. She heard him rise and walk the length of the hall, moving stiffly, like a heron who’d just spotted a fish for lunch.

  With his intense stare gone, Xiao Yen’s shoulders relaxed a little. She did another inside reverse-fold through half the hidden back flap on the first leg, then did the same fold twice more, bending the leg up, then twisting it down, so the crane’s leg bent backward. With her sharp nails, she split the bottom of the leg into three pieces, rolled each piece between her thumb and forefinger, then splayed them like a three-toed foot.

  She did the same for the other leg, willing herself to see the webbing between the toes. She bent the ankles forward a little, then moved her fingers up the legs. She re-pressed the leg joints to make the folds more firm, then glanced up. Luckily, Master Wei was still at the other end of the hall and not looking in her direction. She took another deep breath. Master Wei didn’t like to see wasted motion when folding, or for students to press a fold. He wanted the fold to be right the first time.

  Xiao Yen brought her fingers up to the bird’s body. Twisting her hands to echo a flying motion, she made the final fold and extended the wings. She brought her arms down and set the bird on the table, praying it would stand. It did. She opened her arms as she moved them back, completing the presentation. Then she brought them into her lap and relaxed.

  “It’s perfect.” The whispered words, barely audible, floated to Xiao Yen’s ears. Bing Yu, the only other female student in the paper mage school, took Xiao Yen’s hot hand in her cool one. Xiao Yen smiled at her friend, who smiled back, wanly.

  Under normal circumstances, Xiao Yen and Bing Yu would never have met, or been allowed to associate with each other. Bing Yu was the daughter of the governor, and Xiao Yen’s family didn’t have a high-enough social standing to associate with the ruling family in Bao Fang. As she was the only other girl in the school, the girls had ignored their different statuses, and had enjoyed each other’s company.

  The toad Bing Yu had folded had been far from perfect. Its front legs were stunted, and its hind legs were uneven, as if the toad were crawling. Master Wei wanted a strong, vital toad, one capable of leaping to the moon like the mythical three-legged toad.

  Xiao Yen patted her friend’s hand and looked again at her own creation. Its neck smoothly joined its head to its body, and the wings held a preflight energy, as if it were about to fly. At the same time, the folds in its legs were harsh. She’d been tired. Her crane wasn’t worthy of being given jing, or life force, of its own. Only a perfectly crafted artifact was worthy of receiving magic, whether it was a cloak or a ring or a paper bird.

  She hadn’t yet learned how to give life to a creature. Master Wei would teach that skill only to the students who passed the six-month exam, and only if they studied hard and developed their understanding of the essence of the creatures they folded and the material they used. He’d send the rest of the students back to their families. They’d be able to retake the test after another year.

  Xiao Yen looked up. Master Wei had bent over the table and put his face close to her crane. He blew gently on her bird. Its left leg was a fraction shorter than its right leg, so it rocked from one leg to the other in the slight wind. Xiao Yen was lucky as always though, and the crane stayed standing.

  Master Wei straightened up. Not looking up from the table covered with paper animals, he said, “Please stand.”

  The students rose as one. Though Xiao Yen had only used her arms folding, her thighs ached. Her abdomen hurt as much as it had the first week of school, when she’d spent hours keeping it tucked in so she could sit straight without leaning on anything. Small tremors shook her forearms. She willed them to be still. Her apprehension intensified now that the strain of folding was gone. Despair hollowed the pit of her stomach. She was certain she hadn’t passed, that she’d be sent back to Wang Tie-Tie in disgrace. Her cousin hadn’t passed his civil exams the first time he’d taken them, and though that was normal, he’d had to live like a hermit, studying day and night, until he’d passed.

  “Please stand over there.” Master Wei pointed a long, skinny finger at the far end of the hall.

  Xiao Yen stayed standing where she was, puzzled. Two of the boys exchanged looks.

  “Now.”

  Master Wei’s impatience and sharp tone made Xiao Yen wonder if any of the students had passed the exam. As one, the students turned and walked, single file toward the far wall. They bunched up in the corner. Bing Yu touched Xiao Yen’s back. Xiao Yen reached behind her so Bing Yu could take her hand. Even if she were sent away from the paper mage school, at least she’d had a friend, for a while. Wang Tie-Tie’s lessons about being alone had all gone to waste.

  Master Wei picked up a tall screen lying against the wall and set it up. It had a village with golden buildings painted on it. A matching screen leaned against the opposite wall. Master Wei pointed to the two tallest boys in the class, then to the screen. Hastily, they picked it up and unfolded it across the space between that wall and the table.

  Master Wei picked up a smaller screen and set it up on the table. Now the far end of the hall was completely blocked by the three screens. The students could no longer see their creations.

  Master Wei peered around the first screen and said, “When I call your name, come into the other part of the hall.”

  He paused, then looked at each student. Xiao Yen tried unsuccessfully to read his gaze. Was he trying to tell her she’d failed? She didn’t know. She kept her own face still, willing herself to be as calm as a mountain waiting for a storm, though at the same time she squeezed Bing Yu’s hand.

  Master Wei finally said, “An Jon.”

  The boy moved a screen to one side so he could pass, then put it back into place.

  Bing Yu and Xiao Yen exchanged glances, but neither of them spoke. Though Xiao Yen listened hard and the students were quiet, she couldn’t hear what Master Wei said to An Jon. She didn’t think he’d passed. He’d torn a leg off the dove he’d been folding as he’d been pressing it straight.

  Master Wei asked for Xiao Li next. He’d folded a hummingbird. Its neck had been extended, as if reaching for a flower, full of energy and life. Xiao Yen had been certain he’d passed. She shot a puzzled look at Bing Yu, who shrugged her shoulders.

  The small space where the students stood grew hotter. This end of the hall didn’t have any open windows or doors. Bing Yu and Xiao Yen let go of each other’s hands. Xiao Yen swayed on her feet. She wished she could sit, but none of the other students did, so she wouldn’t either. She jumped every time Master Wei called another name.

  There were seven students left when Master Wei called Bing Yu’s name. She looked over her shoulder at Xiao Yen, biting her lower lip as she put the screen back into place. Xiao Yen touched her lucky amulet, wishing its luck for Bing Yu, knowing it wouldn’t help. Master Wei hadn’t asked for Bing Yu like he’d asked for Xiao Yen. He’d been forced to take her as a student because she was the youngest daughter of the governor.

  At first, Xiao Yen had thought Master Wei picked on Bing Yu unfairly, but toward the end of the six months of study, Xiao Yen had learned to see the differences between Master Wei’s creations and Bing Yu’s. Bing Yu moved her arms gracefully when she folded, but she couldn’t concentrate. Her creatures never had any life. Still, Xiao Yen stuck by her friend, and helped her when she could.

  Finally, only Xiao Yen, Fat Fang, and Long Yen were left.

  Fat Fang was one of the governor’s sons: a minor son, from his third wife, but still a son. He loved sweets, and his round arms and belly showed it. His lips were thick and heavy, like those of the Buddha at the White Temple, and often held a similar smile. Xiao Yen didn’t like him. His dark eyes sucked at everything they saw, like greedy whirlpools. He also made fun of her, and his sister, for trying to learn “man’s work.” Fat Fang had bragged often
about how he would defend Bao Fang from bandits, foreigners, or barbarians, even though the Middle Kingdom was at peace. He’d taken his studies seriously. The snake he’d folded for the exam had curves in its back that made it seem more like cloth than like paper.

  Long Yen was the youngest son of the head of the Weavers’ Guild. He’d always been nice to Xiao Yen. He was a medium-sized boy, with creamy skin and long curling eyelashes. Bing Yu had lamented that a boy had been born with such skin and eyes, and not a girl. He had a lazy smile and napped whenever he could. When he concentrated, his fingers flew like a shuttlecock. The bear he’d folded had a stocky body, like a late-summer bear. Xiao Yen could see the solid muscles running under its fur, but its front paws were weak. Like Xiao Yen, Long Yen had grown tired.

  Master Wei didn’t call any of their names. Maybe he’d forgotten about them. Xiao Yen tried to relax, but she kept leaning forward, a knotted rope tying itself tighter in her chest.

  Xiao Yen didn’t see Master Wei take down the screen standing on the table. The breeze on her cheek as the space opened up alerted her. Fat Fang and Long Yen folded up the other screens. Master Wei indicated for the children to resume their places behind the long table. Just their paper animals stood there. All the others were gone.

  Xiao Yen sat, keeping her back straight. How embarrassing to be told her future in front of two other students! She knew she’d done badly. She hadn’t thought she’d done that poorly. She held herself rigid, determined not to cry. She didn’t want to imagine what Wang Tie-Tie would say to her. A cold knot formed in her throat, making it hard to swallow.

  Master Wei paced on his side of the table for a while more, as if deciding what to say. Xiao Yen didn’t think telling them they’d failed would take that much effort.

  Finally, Master Wei stopped and stood in front of them. “For the next year you two”—Master Wei pointed at the boys—“will stay in the large rooms, next to the storage rooms, on the east side of the back courtyard.” Master Wei paused again. “Xiao Yen, you will move into the room next to the library, on the west side. All of you have my permission to go home for the next two days to collect your things.”

  Xiao Yen kept herself rigid. Had she really heard what she’d thought she’d heard? She glanced to her left. The boys sat slack mouthed, staring. She was the first to find her voice. “Excuse me, honorable teacher, does that mean we passed?”

  Master Wei looked surprised. “Of course, you did.”

  Xiao Yen smiled, a warm happiness melting the lump in her throat. The boys grinned and bobbed their heads. Wang Tie-Tie would be so pleased! Maybe she’d order fireworks, like she had for Xiao Yen’s going-away party, when she’d started school. Gan Ou and Xiao Yen would stay up all night talking, snuggling together in their big bed. It would be so lovely to see her family again.

  Then she thought of Fu Be Be, and ice water drowned her happiness. Her mother wouldn’t like Xiao Yen living at the school. It wouldn’t matter to her that Xiao Yen had passed her exam the first time, unlike her cousin. She’d sniff and not speak to Xiao Yen, as if she were one of the servant’s children.

  Master Wei spoke again. “You didn’t pass because the creatures you folded were perfect. You’re lucky, Xiao Yen, that bird of yours doesn’t fall over. Fang, the belly on your snake isn’t smooth. If you gave that poor creature life, it couldn’t glide. Its stomach would always be catching on something. And the bear you did,” Master Wei continued, turning to Long Yen, “the front paws are uneven. And the snout isn’t turned down enough. It wouldn’t be able to get food down its throat without spilling all over its chest.”

  The boys still grinned. Xiao Yen bit her lip. They weren’t paper mages yet. Much more hard work was involved, including many hours of working with paper, studying paintings, and trying to capture the essence of a creature. All she and her fellow classmates knew how to do was to fold a few animals, and not very well.

  Again she was the one who found her voice first. “Excuse me, sir, I know the piece I folded was a poor example of your lessons; not because you’re a bad teacher, but because I’m such a slow student. But why did I pass? Why are you allowing me to continue to study with you?”

  Master Wei said, “That’s a good question, but not easy to answer, as are all good questions.” He paused for a moment, stroking his long skinny beard. “Before this test, you all demonstrated excellent imagination, which is an essential part of paper magic. Those who folded well, but without heart or vision, were dismissed.”

  Ah, thought Xiao Yen. That explained Xiao Li. He could fold beautifully, but he’d had less imagination than Bing Yu’s paper toad.

  Master Wei continued. “Then, while you folded, each of you showed true concentration. A mage’s mind must be focused. You all show glimmers of that. Also, you paid attention, not just to the folds, but to movements you made while folding. You must have grace, even under pressure, or your creation will be ungraceful, unnatural, and a danger to all.” He paused for another moment.

  “Look at Xiao Yen’s crane. The head and neck flow smoothly into the body, the wings and legs flow out, making it all one creature. It echoes the grace you showed while folding. Toward the end, your arms grew tired, didn’t they?”

  Xiao Yen, her face burning with the unexpected attention, agreed.

  “I thought so. That’s why it barely stands.”

  Xiao Yen didn’t respond.

  “So I have a task for you, that you will perform every evening. After a while, you’ll be able to fold at the end of your piece with as much grace as when you started.” Master Wei looked at the boys and said, “I have tasks for you two as well.”

  Xiao Yen tried to pay attention to Master Wei’s instructions for the boys. She knew she could learn much from everything he said. A voice in her head kept interrupting, singing over and over again, “I’ve passed! I’m going to be a real paper mage.”

  Two months later, Xiao Yen stood outside doing her nightly task. She tightened her sweating fingers around the rocks she held in her hands. She checked her elbows, making sure they bent like a gull’s wings, then lifted her arms. Her shoulders ached. Sweat ran down her sides. She kept her arms at shoulder height and held them motionless in the air while she took a deep breath. Out, pause, in. She counted two more breaths, then she lowered her arms again.

  The rocks in her hands felt cool against her thighs. Her forearms trembled. She’d be sore in the morning, but her arms would be stronger. She needed to have strong arms to fold difficult creatures, or so Master Wei had said. Wang Tie-Tie told her to do what Master Wei said.

  At the thought of Wang Tie-Tie, Xiao Yen felt a pang in her stomach, as if it were empty, though she’d eaten a big bowl of seasoned grain for dinner. During the first six months of school, before the exam, the students had been allowed to go home every ten days or so. Now, going home was a privilege she had to earn. Suddenly the rocks in her hands felt as heavy as the stone the servants used to grind the grain. She sat on the steps leading to her room. When she put the rocks down, they made a solid thunk on the wood. She grinned. These rocks were a little heavier than the ones she’d started with. She was getting stronger.

  From her seat, Xiao Yen looked across the courtyard. No lights burned through the window of the boys’ room. She wondered if they were still awake. She remembered lying in the dark, talking with Gan Ou for hours, when she’d lived at home. She sighed. She’d loved those times, even though she and Gan Ou had often fought. At least she hadn’t been alone. No one even lived in the building Xiao Yen lived in now. Next to her room was the Hall of Study, full of scholars’ scrolls and painted silks. To her left, along the outer courtyard wall, were the servants’ quarters and the kitchen. Just beyond them, in the corner, was the well.

  Master Wei stayed in the front courtyard. The Hall of Reception was actually split in two, lengthwise. Master Wei lived in the long skinny room at the back of the hall. He said he needed the quiet. Xiao Yen didn’t understand. Wasn’t the whole compound quiet enough
? She missed the sounds of her younger cousins yelling as they chased after a ball, or listening to Wang Tie-Tie and her tea friends tell stories and laugh in the Garden of Sweet Scents, and the noises of the crowded streets, the vendors hawking their wares. Xiao Yen felt as if she were the white snake Bei Si, imprisoned in her seven-story pagoda, only able to watch the life going on below.

  The moon broke through the clouds, like a friendly beacon. It wasn’t strong enough to fill the courtyard with light. The back corner where the well stood had thick shadows. Xiao Yen wondered if a dragon lived at the bottom of that well, too, like Jing Long, the one who lived at the bottom of the city well.

  And if a dragon did live there, what did it bring? The dragon in the river Quang brought floods and fresh water every spring to the farmers. Jing Long brought the autumn rains. Maybe a dragon in the well of a paper mage school would bring luck? To the student who studied hardest?

  Xiao Yen imagined the dragon rising out of the well, like the painting of Jing Long above the altar at the White Temple. The dragon she imagined was black, built out of shadows, not colors. It curled like smoke as it rose, undulating across the courtyard, outlined in silver by the moon. It held a special piece of dragon gold in its claws, in the shape of a pearl. It circled the courtyard, twisting and turning, playing with its ball.

  A sudden gust of wind shook the trees, and a piece of fruit from the cork tree fell at Xiao Yen’s feet. She blinked, startled. The dragon she’d imagined disappeared. Xiao Yen sighed, more sad than impatient with herself for letting her concentration be disrupted. It was too late in the day for her to imagine a fully grown dragon for long. She should go to bed. She sighed again. She felt too tired to move.

  Maybe she could pick up the gold ball the well dragon had left behind. She held it in her mind’s eye. It weighed less than one of the cork fruits, and was crunched together, like a wadded-up piece of paper. She had to hold it tightly or the wind would blow it away.