The Serpent's Coil

by Christy Raedeke

  Ramón pulls up just as we walk outside. Professor Clath is already in the car, and when she gets out to greet us we get an eyeful of another absurd outfit: the same diabetic-style shoes and elastic-waist jeans from yesterday, but this time the tucked-in T-shirt has a long math equation with a bunch of Greek symbols on it as if it’s some kind of inside joke for dorks.

  The minute we slide into the car, she hands us each a large folder. “Your dossiers,” she says.

  “Dossiers?” I ask, taking the envelope from her and then letting Mr. Papers out of his carrier. Clath recoils and looks at Mr. Papers and then back at me as if I’ve just let a cobra out of my handbag.

  “Oh, I have a monkey,” I tell her. “It’s okay, Didier knows about it. And he has travelling documents so he’s cool.”

  “I wasn’t told we’d be travelling with—” Clath stops speaking and freezes when Mr. Papers leans over to read her shirt and then starts laughing.

  “Looks like he got your math joke,” I say.

  “He can’t possibly … ” She stops talking when Mr. P grabs a piece of paper from the carrier and starts doing his origami. After a couple of minutes of quick fingerwork he produces a tiny origami pie, which he presents to Clath.

  “No,” she says, shaking her head. “No way.”

  “What? What does it mean?” Justine asks.

  Clath takes the origami from Papers. “If you read the equation right,” she says as she points to her shirt, “the punch line of the joke is pi.”

  “Wow, maybe we can get him to do our trig for us,” I say to Justine.

  Clath is still shaking her head as if she’s just seen psychic surgery or something.

  “Here we are,” Ramón announces from the front seat.

  “Where?” Justine and I ask, confused because we’ve only gone a few miles.

  “We’re using the school plane today,” Clath says. “It’s actually more economical than commercial flights when we have to make more than four connections.”

  “Sweet!” Justine says, gazing at the plane in the hanger Ramón is pulling up to.

  “We can never mention this to my parents,” I tell her.

  The plane’s tail has La Escuela Bohemia’s golden star icon and the school’s motto, Siga la Chispa.

  “Follow the Spark, my friend,” I say as we get out of the car.

  “Follow indeed,” Justine replies.

  Clath doesn’t seem the least bit impressed by the posh plane interior or by the gorgeous male flight attendant named Marco who looks more like a Latin pop star than a guy who serves ginger ale.

  We each buckle into a pale yellow leather seat, Justine next to me and Mr. Papers and Clath facing us. There’s a table between us.

  We barely level out before Clath makes us look at our dossiers. Each envelope has some travel documents, a workbook, and a spiral-bound book about the Dunhuang Caves, complete with history, artifacts, and symbols found there.

  “You put this together overnight?” Justine asks, obviously wondering if Clath expects the same level of output from us.

  “The Curriculum Team did,” she replies. “That’s what your parents are paying for—researchers spent the night compiling information about the Dunhuang area and creating a curriculum from which I can teach math, history, philosophy, and art.”

  “No P.E.?” I ask. “I’m totally missing dodge ball.”

  “You’ll get enough physical exercise, believe me,” she replies, adjusting her elastic-waist pants. “There are miles of caves in the areas.”

  “I was sort of kidding,” I say, making a note that sarcasm is lost on Clath.

  “Are we seriously going to walk through the entire cave system?” Justine asks.

  Clath shakes her head. “That would probably take years.”

  We start reading about the caves in our workbooks while Marco brings us drinks and snacks. When Mr. Papers comes to sit on my lap and starts eating my pretzels, Marco makes a plate just for him with fresh banana, pretzels, and grapes.

  I watch Clath’s eyes close and her head bob. Every time it falls to her chest it wakes her up.

  “I’ve been up since four going over all the lessons with the Curriculum Team,” she says. “You girls mind if I step back into the bedroom for a snooze?”

  “Please,” Justine and I both say at the same time.

  Once she’s gone Marco folds down the table and puts our drinks and snacks on our side tables. He gives us a menu of movies to choose from and then he dims the cabin and shows us how to recline our seats.

  This is truly the best school in the universe.

  ––––––

  Dunhuang is a dusty, dry moonscape. From the air, there is nothing that would clue you in to the fact that this place is special in any way. But we find out how special it is when, not five minutes after we land, we’re met by a local guide named Wen. He looks close to one hundred years old, with skin that just drapes over his bones with no muscle or fat in between, and a thin white beard that just sort of gave up after a few inches of growth. Despite his frail appearance, he keeps us going all day long.

  The caves are amazing. I was a little worried about having some kind of post-traumatic stress thing happen after the horrors of the lava tube caves on Easter Island, but these could not be more different. Those were craggy and wet and tubular and these are more like carved rock rooms. There’s almost no moisture in them, which is what helped preserve all the treasures here.

  Turns out the oldest printed book in the world was found here, a book called the Diamond Sutra. There are 492 caves that archaeologists know of, almost 500,000 square miles of painted frescos, and 2,415 painted statues. The stuff that has been stashed here is incredible—paintings, sculptures, more than 50,000 Buddhist scriptures, fabrics, and other priceless ancient relics. And, of course, tons of paintings of the Three Hares.

  Wen is excited to talk about the hares, and can recite the number of every cave that has one. But when he tells us that his favorite is in cave number 407, the only one where the hares are running counterclockwise, I just know that’s where I’ll find a clue about Uncle Li.

  FOURTEEN

  We part ways with Clath after our tour, saying we’ll get dinner in our rooms and meet up with her in the morning. We study maps and memorize the quickest path back to cave 407. Mr. Papers paces nervously while making a series of origami caves and tunnels.

  Once night falls, we creep out into the dark. There’s a dewiness in the air that wasn’t there during the day; a fine, fine mist that falls to the dust, giving off that faint smell of summer rain.

  Mr. Papers is getting more jittery by the minute, fidgeting with my hair and moving from shoulder to shoulder. He’s as nervous as I am.

  We’re so afraid of being seen that we don’t dare turn on our headlamps until we’re in the cave—the cave with the Three Hares going counterclockwise.

  I still don’t know what I will do if and when I see Uncle Li. It’s hard enough to think he’d steal something from me, and even harder to think about him hurting me. But that hasn’t stopped me from picking up a large flat rock and slipping it into the pocket of my hoodie, just in case.

  Honestly, I really don’t know what to expect.

  ––––––

  The cave has a metal door, which we quietly open and slip through. Only once the door is closed do we turn on our lights.

  And there, directly under the painting of the Three Hares, sits Uncle Li—in full lotus pose.

  I’m so surprised to see him sitting there in meditation that the years of loving him take over and I run toward him, until the memory of what he did stops me.

  He doesn’t say anything, just smiles at me in the warm and loving way he has since I was a baby.

  “Why?” I ask, looking him in the eyes for an answer.

  But he doesn’t answer. Instead he stands up and says, “You are right on time.”

  Mr. Papers hops off my shoulder and onto Uncle Li’s. I can feel rage rising from the cent
er of my chest; Justine takes my hand to steady me.

  “What are you talking about, right on time? Why won’t you answer me?”

  “I had to get you here. I had to get you to take the next step,” he says.

  “You could have asked me to come here—you could have told me to come here and you’d have saved me so much time and anger and—”

  “Bolon told me you were done. He said you felt you had accomplished what you had to, but that it would be difficult to get you to the next level.”

  “Well, yeah, but you have no idea what happened to me out on Easter Island because you were gone when I got back! I was hunted like a fox! Through caves and tunnels and—”

  “But you are here. You are fine,” he says.

  “So stealing the Sanskrit books was all a big plot to lure me here?”

  “The short answer to that is yes. You see, this next part of the unfolding is critical. We needed you to be passionate enough about this to arrange a way to get here, on your own. And I must say,” he adds, “you have executed your plan flawlessly.”

  I don’t even know what to say. I just stare at him, hoping this will all make sense.

  “If it’s any consolation, those books were decoys. Fake replicas. The originals are still safely hidden.”

  I shake my head. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you led me to believe that you’d betrayed me.”

  “Caity, I would never betray you. I am your protector, and always have been.”

  “What do you mean always have been?”

  “The Council assigned me to you when your mother found out she was pregnant. I hired her to open an old Chinese safe, and befriended your parents so that I could always be close to you.”

  I’m not sure this makes me feel any better. “You tricked my mom into being friends with you?”

  “Caity, if you look in your heart you will agree that I am, and have always been, completely sincere.”

  I don’t say anything, because he’s right.

  “Remember all the times I’d take you to Chinatown to visit my friends, the herbalists and acupuncturists and Taoist masters?”

  I nod.

  “You may not know it, but all those visits were lessons by some of the most powerful people in Chinese medicine and metaphysics. Just by osmosis you have probably picked up more information about traditional Chinese feng shui, yin yang theory, and five element theory than many people who study for years.”

  “But why?”

  “Because this knowledge will be essential as you move forward, rebalancing what was put off-kilter for centuries by the Fraternitas. Some of the information you won’t remember until you need it. For instance, you probably have no memory of studying yin yang theory, yet you could, I’m quite sure, explain most anything in terms of yin and yang.”

  “Uh, actually, I don’t think so,” I say. “I don’t really remember any real lessons.”

  “That’s because you learned it in context. By listening to our conversations. By asking questions. Let me ask you something. How did you know to look for me here, in cave 407?”

  “It had the only image of the Three Hares running counterclockwise—the yin direction. Yin indicates something hidden. I don’t know; it was a long shot.”

  “A long shot, yet absolutely correct. Now tell me this: you are in the woods and see a vine. What would be a good, quick indication of whether or not the vine is poisonous?”

  “If it’s winding around something clockwise it’s most likely not poisonous, if it’s winding counterclockwise it’s most likely poisonous,” I reply.

  Justine drops my hand and looks at me.

  “And how can you make that assumption?” Uncle Li asks.

  “Because clockwise is a yang direction and counterclockwise is a yin direction. ‘Yin’ means hidden or dangerous energy.”

  “Exactly. And speaking of direction, why is it that in sports like track and field, car races, horse races, and baseball, the athletes always move counterclockwise?”

  “Because counterclockwise is the yin direction and yin is competitive, while yang is cooperative.”

  “Right again. Now, picture a police car in your head. Which side has the red light and which side has the blue light?”

  “Red will almost always be on the left, yang side, blue will always be on the right, yin side,” I answer automatically, even though I have never thought about this consciously.

  “And knowing that, if you had to bet on two teams who were equal in every way but one team was wearing red jerseys and the other was wearing blue, which team would you wager on to win?”

  “All other things being equal, I’d wager on red. The yang team.”

  “How do you know all this?” Justine asks. “I never knew you studied this kind of stuff!”

  “I didn’t either!” I say, laughing.

  “I have been exposing you to all kinds of metaphysical information for years so that when necessary, you can draw from it. Your parents have raised you with the best of Western thinking, very rational and scientific, and I have raised you with the best of Eastern thinking, very subtle and esoteric. A perfect balance of yin and yang.”

  “Lucky Luckerson,” Justine says, elbowing me in the side.

  “Since your birth, I have been your protector and your teacher and your friend. And this has been my great pleasure,” Uncle Li says, holding his hands together and bowing.

  “Now I feel kind of weird,” I admit. I can’t believe how much I’ve taken for granted. How much I’ve been groomed for what is happening now.

  “No need to feel uncomfortable. Just know that I always have and always will have your best interest at heart. Now, shall I show you to The Council headquarters?”

  Justine and I look at each other and nod.

  “Prepare to be astonished,” he adds with a wink.

  FIFTEEN

  With Mr. Papers tucked safely into my backpack, his head out just enough to see, Justine and I follow Uncle Li as he walks quickly and quietly through the night. He takes us to one of the lesser-known caves, what was said in the guidebook to be just a small storeroom for grain. It’s said to be sealed on its own with no connection to the larger cave system, so that the grain would stay cool and dry with no drafts.

  The cave has been carved out to be square. It’s about the size of a small bedroom, but the ceiling is just barely taller than my head. There’s nothing in the room anymore, but it still has the bones of a store room; each wall has a carved-out niche with wooden shelves, like bookshelves that are dug into the wall. The ceiling is painted a beautiful dark blue with gold stars, and it features the constellations Scorpio and Sagittarius. Once Uncle Li closes the door to the cave and shines his flashlight on it, it really comes to life, making the gold paint look almost three-dimensional.

  “Do you know where the center of our galaxy is?” Uncle Li asks, looking up at the painting.

  “Not exactly, no,” I say, embarrassed that I don’t know this.

  “The ancients made sure we could always find it, by having two constellations pointing right at it. Both the stinger on Scorpio the scorpion and the arrow that Sagittarius shoots point right at the Galactic Center,” he says, using the flashlight to show us.

  “How could they have known that?” I ask.

  “That’s the eternal question, Caity. How far back does this knowledge go?”

  “Seriously, though, how did people with no technology know this stuff?” Justine asks.

  “Technology is relative. You may think that a powerful computer is the ultimate in technology, but that is external technology. The ancients had very developed internal technologies, which we have lost touch with; the ability to tap into the collective consciousness, to tap into the information of the universe. Remember: it’s all out there. We just need to tune to the correct frequency.”

  “I remember Bolon telling me that, too,” I say.

  Uncle Li bolts the door from the inside and then walks over to the inset shelf at the
back of the cave and starts taking off the wooden shelves. Each one has a few wooden pegs sticking out of its back, which fit into holes carved behind them. This system looks like it would be designed to help keep the boards from sagging under the weight of grain bags, but when I see Uncle Li pull out a chain from beneath his shirt with a three-inch-long piece of metal on it, I realize they are more than just holes for support.

  Uncle Li starts from the upper left and counts the holes. He stops at 13 and slips his key in. Then he continues to count, stopping at 20 and slipping the key in again. That’s when I hear the familiar sound of rock scraping rock and the back of the shelf gives way.

  Justine, who has not yet seen my panel that moves nor the door of the tower at Breidablik, gasps. “That is so cool!” she says.

  Uncle Li makes the “after you” gesture with his arm, but I shake my head. This is no time for ladies first.

  He smiles and sucks in his stomach so he can slide through the skinny opening. Once in, he shines the light back so we can see our way through. When we’re on the other side, Uncle Li closes the wall up.

  I can feel air moving, unlike in the small room where we came from, but I can’t see anything until Uncle Li sweeps the flashlight around.

  Then I realize that we’re on the edge of what looks to be a very steep cliff.

  Unable to see how far I am from the edge in front of me, I suck in my breath and press my back to the wall,

  “It’s okay, really. You’re safe here. We just have to get over to the Maglev,” he says as he motions to what looks like a small car to the right of us.

  Uncle Li walks normally and Mr. Papers skips along as if he’s in no danger at all while Justine and I take shuffled baby steps, not wanting our feet to leave what sliver of ground we can see. Uncle Li opens the back door to this car-like capsule and we get in. He doesn’t have to ask us to buckle up; just seeing the intricate race-car-style seat belts tips us off. Motioning for Mr. Papers to come up front, he buckles him in as well.