by Cindy Lin
“What’s left of it, you mean,” said Inu. He reached out and poked at the jade fragments. “No more Land.”
Usagi stared at the broken necklace. So that was what the Blue Dragon once wore. She still couldn’t understand why he destroyed the Treasure he’d pledged to carry. He ruled the island now, but was all the suffering and death worth it?
Tupa looked at the Tigress. “Surely it can be repaired?”
The old warrior swept up the pieces in her knobby hand and held them to her heart. “If not, I fear Midaga itself cannot be.” Her chin quivered ever so slightly. Then her mouth settled back into its usual pinched line and she poured the necklace fragments back into the silken bag.
Chapter 15
The Brush and the Breath
USAGI SLID OPEN THE DOORS to the shrine library and found the Heirs and the Tigress bent over open folios and unrolled scrolls. In the week since Tupa had returned from the capital with news of the Dragonlord’s plans, they’d spent hours there arguing over the best way to carry out a rescue. A large tray of sand sat on a low table, with small wooden blocks and stone cubes set in formation. The Ram Heir knelt beside it, moving some of the cubes around and drawing lines in the sand with a long stick. He looked up and smiled. “Rabbit Girl! Come to help us figure out this mess?”
“I’d love to,” Usagi said eagerly. But Horangi and the others barely glanced over from their animated discussion as she entered. The long room, smelling of old straw and dusty paper, was covered in thick reed matting with low tables and sturdy cushions. Lining the walls from floor to ceiling and crowding the latticed paper windows were shelves crammed with thousands of scrolls and bound books. Many were clearly even older than the Tigress, with yellowing edges and faded covers of silk, leather, and tortoiseshell. Usagi paused to look at some of the scrolls laid out across the floor.
There was a prewar map of Midaga, its settlements clustered along the main road that ringed the island. The capital, labeled as “Guardian City,” sat at the northernmost tip of the island, where the Ring Road both began and ended. Other scrolls showed detailed maps of various provinces and towns. Usagi found one of Goldentusk, tracing her finger over the spot where her house had been.
The last scroll was the longest, spanning the length of the room. It depicted the entire palace compound, covered in colorful scenes of people going about everyday business. The king listening to a dispute between two citizens, attended by a court of advisers. Cooks plucking chickens outside the cookery. A stableboy grooming horses. A priest offering up incense at a temple altar, while shaven monks chanted. The court doctor measuring herbs, and scribes inking calligraphy. Handmaidens preparing the queen’s elaborate dress as she primped in front of a gilded vanity.
“That painting’s from two hundred years ago,” said Tupa over her shoulder. He pointed to several figures wearing elaborate helmets shaped like animals. “See, there’s warriors from the Twelve of that time in the throne hall. Raja the Monkey Warrior, Rat Warrior Zumi the Fifth, Beya the Horse Warrior. Nowadays the grounds don’t look anything like that—they’re full of the Dragonlord’s men.”
“Where would the Dragon Academy be?” asked Usagi. To her disappointment, they were interrupted before he could answer.
“Young Rabbit,” said Horangi. The old warrior waved her over to an ebony table inlaid with mother-of-pearl and stacked with a pyramid of blank paper scrolls. Beside it was a thin slab of jade on which stood a brush stand filled with wooden-handled ink brushes, a pile of inksticks, a pot of water, and an inkstone.
“Painting!” Usagi hadn’t seen an inkstone since the war’s end days, when she traded her father’s tools and supplies for food and clothing. She’d thought she’d never handle such things again.
“Not quite,” replied Horangi. “Calligraphy. Are you familiar with your letters?”
“My mother taught them to me,” Usagi said proudly. “And my father showed me how to prepare ink.”
“Did they now,” said the old warrior, raising her eyebrows. “That makes for two less things to go over. Perhaps you would like to grind the ink.”
Usagi nodded, pleased but puzzled. Was she about to get a lesson—in calligraphy? She poured a little water onto the inkstone, then selected a slender new brick of pressed black ink. Clumsily, she rubbed one end against the wet stone. It had been so long since she’d done this, though helping her father prepare inks and paints was once a favorite task. Soon she was lost in the familiar scraping sound of the inkstick and the circular motions of grinding. The water thickened and grew dark. Look, Papa. The liquid in the inkstone’s well was black and glossy. “I think it’s ready,” said Usagi.
The old warrior selected a brush and dipped it in the ink. She watched the drops fall back into the inkstone. “That will do,” she grunted. Over a felt pad, she unrolled a blank scroll and smoothed it with her wrinkled hand, anchoring one side with a carved marble paperweight. She fixed her green eyes on Usagi.
“A good calligrapher channels movement through the body, and expresses that energy through the tip of the brush.” The Tigress held back the sleeve of her robe with her left hand as her right hand glided over the paper, the brush in her gnarled fingers. “How you hold the brush, your consistency, the speed of your hand—all affect the result.” Bold, even strokes of stark black appeared on the fresh white paper, blossoming into character upon character. The graceful swooping lines formed words that Horangi read aloud as she completed each one. “Honor. Duty. Courage. Truth. Respect. Loyalty. Love.” Her gaze was penetrating. “These are the things that make a true Warrior. No blade can equal them.” She handed Usagi a clean brush. “Make this your sword.”
Placing the scroll of newly inked words in front of Usagi, the old warrior pointed with a knobby finger. “Work on the characters for ‘honor.’” She sat back on her cushion. “Begin.”
At the other end of the library, the Heirs continued to debate over how to get the younglings out of the palace without notice. “The problem is not getting into the palace grounds,” Inu warned. “We’re used to operating by stealth. But once we have these younglings with us—we don’t even know how many are marked for sacrifice. What if there’s more than ten?”
“We could move them out in small groups,” mused Saru. “If I took them over rooftops . . .”
Nezu snorted. “You’re going to make a dozen trips? I say we dig a tunnel.”
Listening intently, Usagi dripped a big splotch of ink on her scroll. She longed to be sitting with them. What were they looking at over there? The Tigress rapped on the table. “Focus,” she croaked.
Usagi suppressed a sigh and returned to copying the old warrior’s work. This hardly seemed like something useful in battle. The Tigress watched, giving constant commentary:
“Attack each stroke without hesitation.”
“I see your state of mind on the paper.”
“Such poor flow and rhythm—ease your grip.”
By the time the inkstone was dry, Usagi’s hand ached. “Grind more ink and work on your strokes till evening meal,” said the Tigress. “Repetition will make them swift and sure.” The old warrior shuffled out of the library, leaving Usagi to practice with the brush.
With a groan, she put it down and rubbed her hand. Tupa came and sat down beside her, peering at her scroll. “Your first lesson with the Tigress?”
“Yes, but I never imagined it would be calligraphy,” said Usagi. She reached for the water, preparing to add it to the inkstone. “And I didn’t think calligraphy could hurt!”
Tupa chuckled. “Forget making more ink. Let me show you a shortcut.” He pulled the slab of unpolished jade out from under the brush stand. Demonstrating with a brush dipped in plain water, the Ram Heir quickly wrote on the jade, his brushstrokes shining against the gray-green stone before evaporating away. “This way you can practice your strokes, save time and save ink.”
“And save my hand!” exclaimed Usagi. She smiled gratefully at him, and he winked.
Over evening meal that night, it was decided that they would set out for the capital before the third moon of the new year, spiriting away the younglings just before the planned execution on the first day of spring. “There’ll be so many preparations for spring festivities around the city then. We’ll stand a better chance of getting to the palace unnoticed,” declared Tupa.
Saru nodded. “Good for the element of surprise.”
“Coming back to the shrine may be slow,” mused Inu. “We don’t know if the younglings have been trained in using their spirit speed, and we’ll have to keep in the wilderness like we did with Usagi.”
“We can bring them to Sun Moon Lake for a spell,” said Nezu with a grin. “I bet our hermit friend won’t mind.”
“But if all goes well,” said Tupa, “there will be many younglings with zodiac powers on Mount Jade again. We might even anoint new Heirs!”
Horangi took a sip of tea and scratched her cloud leopard’s ears. “Best not to count bowls of rice before the harvest.” She looked straight at Usagi. “We still have to see how this one handles training. Young Rabbit, meet me tomorrow at daybreak in the lake pavilion for your next lesson.”
In the pale dawn that marked the hour of the Rabbit, Usagi hurried through the trees to Crescent Lake, slippers crunching on the white gravel path from the shrine compound. An anxious flutter chased the pangs in her empty stomach. She’d woken multiple times during the night, scared that she’d miss the appointed time for her meeting with Horangi. Despite her nervousness, she couldn’t wait to start her lesson.
Would she learn to wield a sword? Be taught archery, or given a moon blade like Saru’s? She shivered in the autumn chill, grateful for the pants and tunic Saru had found for her in an old trunk, and pulled her borrowed moth-eaten surcoat closer.
The prayer pavilion perched at the curved edge of the water, and beneath its scrolled roof sat the hunched figure of the Tigress, the cloud leopard lying at her feet like an enormous spotted rug. Usagi bounded up the stairs leading to the platform of the pavilion, and stopped short. Kumo was asleep, curled in front of the old warrior, whose eyes were also closed. Her gnarled hands were folded in her lap, and she was still. Was she napping?
Usagi cleared her throat. “Good morning?”
The Tigress opened her green eyes and fixed them upon Usagi. “Yes.” She indicated a round black cushion next to her. “Sit.”
Settling onto the firm cushion, Usagi admired the twelve sculpted pillars that supported the pavilion’s roof. Each pillar was a different animal of the zodiac, painted in bright colors of vermilion, emerald green, yellow, deep purple, and lapis blue, and the inside of the pavilion’s roof was lacquered in gold. There were a few carved jadeite stools and tables, and the floor was a mosaic of enameled tiles. It was utterly unlike the austere simplicity of the Great Hall. “There’s so much color here.”
“It is a relatively new structure,” Horangi said. “Built about three hundred years ago to replace one that had been damaged in a storm. The head of the Twelve at the time had a taste for showy things. Picked it up from being at court half the time.” Her wrinkled lips pressed together disapprovingly.
“Oh,” said Usagi, uncertain of what else to say. “I didn’t bring my stick or anything,” she ventured. “Shall I go get it?”
“All you needed to bring is yourself.”
“Am I learning to use a new weapon?” asked Usagi hopefully.
Horangi tapped her head. “Your most important weapon is right here. And here.” She tapped her chest. “So before anything else, we prepare through mind-the-mind. Close your eyes, look upward and into yourself,” she instructed. “Breathe in deeply for six counts, out for six counts, and continue until your mind is where it should be. Begin.”
Wrinkling her brow, Usagi considered the old warrior’s instructions. Where was her mind supposed to be? How would breathing and counting get it there? “I don’t understand—why are we doing this?”
The old warrior’s mouth worked as if she were trying to spit out an errant seed. “It matters not whether you know ‘why.’ What matters is that you ‘do.’ That is how you will answer your own question.”
That made no sense to Usagi, but the Tigress stared at her until she meekly folded her hands in her lap and shut her eyes, trying to look upward as told. But all she could see was the red of her inner eyelids as the morning sun crept onto her face. She counted silently while breathing in and out, but it seemed like every living thing in the trees was welcoming the day with squawks and shrieks, and Kumo had begun to snore. With her rabbit hearing, Usagi caught Nezu humming back at the compound, chopping something in the kitchen. Her stomach growled. What was he making for the morning meal? Hopefully those crisp sesame flatbreads—they were so good with a hot milky tea.
The Tigress reached over and tapped Usagi’s spine. “Sit up straight.”
Frustrated, Usagi squeezed her eyes tighter and tried counting her breaths again. Her legs went numb, but every time she twitched or fidgeted on the stiff black cushion, the Tigress tapped the offending limb. “Block outside sensation.”
Finally, the Tigress told her to stop. The morning sun had barely moved, though it seemed as if she’d been sitting there forever. Usagi wobbled to her feet, legs stiff and sore.
“I will see you here tomorrow at daybreak.” The Tigress closed her eyes serenely.
Each morning, before breaking their fast, Usagi joined the Tigress at the lakeside pavilion and sat quietly with her eyes closed. “Clear your mind,” the old warrior would instruct. “Free it from thought.” Usagi tried, but without fail she would start thinking about her sister and Tora. Winter was coming—were they keeping warm? Were they even allowed blankets? What good was sitting here? Was she learning anything? The thoughts would follow Usagi all day and into the night, leaving her tossing and turning in her bedroll.
After a week of sleepless nights and mornings of fruitlessly worrying next to the Tigress, Usagi was sluggish and befuddled, and Tupa noticed. He took her aside after breakfast. “How goes the mind-the-mind lessons?”
Usagi shook her head, exasperated. “I’m not supposed to get tangled up in my thoughts, but they won’t stop.”
“Let them come,” the Ram Heir advised. “But try not to chase them. Practice letting them settle.”
She yawned and rubbed her nose. “How do I make them settle?”
“You can’t make them settle.” Tupa picked up an empty bowl from the breakfast table. “Put some water and a little sand in this and I’ll show you.”
Usagi went and scooped some water from the kitchen trough and added a handful of sand. She brought it back to Tupa, who sloshed the bowl about, swirling the sand and muddying the water.
“Take a look,” he said, setting the bowl down. “Imagine your thoughts as those grains of sand. Don’t look at any one for too long. Just watch them as they float by in the water.”
She stared at the flurries of sand in the bowl. After a bit, Usagi noticed that as the sand began to sink to the bottom, the water became clearer.
“The mind is like this bowl,” said the Ram Heir. “We’re not trying to make the sand stop swirling, but trying to keep still enough that the sand—or our thoughts—can settle. The next time you sit to mind-the-mind, think of this bowl.”
“All right,” said Usagi. But she felt more discouraged than ever. She’d been eager for the Tigress to teach her, but what sort of Warrior lessons were these? How any of it was useful remained as cloudy to her as the swirling sand.
The days grew shorter, autumn giving way to the icy cold fingers of winter. Inside the Great Hall, Usagi began working on her stickfighting techniques whenever the Tigress coached the Heirs. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that the Tigress was watching, and redoubled her efforts, grunting.
After nearly a week of this, the Tigress finally shuffled over, her pursed mouth a straight line. “You are holding your breath when you swing. Connect breathing to movement. I will give you breathing exer
cises to do in your morning mind-the-mind practice.”
“Yes, Teacher.” Usagi bowed.
The old warrior regarded her with narrowed eyes. “Add spirit-breath—a deep shout at the completion of a strike. You gain power that way. Let me hear you.” She swung her wooden staff at Usagi so quickly there was no time to duck.
“Yah!” Usagi batted the old warrior’s staff away.
The scars on Horangi’s cheeks puckered for a brief moment, as if she were suppressing a smile. She addressed the four Heirs, who were wrestling on the mats. “Practice with her,” she told them. “We are done for now—I have repair work to do.”
Tupa looked up from Saru’s headlock. “On the Jewels of Land and Sea?”
Horangi nodded and frowned. “It is a riddle of a challenge, I must say.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Tupa disentangled himself, straightening his collar.
The old warrior shook her head. “Thank you, Ram Heir, but no.” She shuffled out of the Great Hall, muttering.
With a wry smile, he shrugged and turned to Usagi. “The Tigress wants us to practice together! That’s a good sign—you’ll be wielding a sword in no time.”
Usagi grinned. “I’ve been waiting for her to show me how to fight with one. She’s taught you everything, hasn’t she?”
“Actually, I learned quite a lot from my master the Ram Warrior, as well as the other warriors,” said Tupa. “They all had different powers and skills, and taught us how to handle more than one weapon.”
“Like those?” She pointed to some of the more menacing weapons that hung on the wall by the sparring mats. The Ram Heir’s eyes gleamed. Tugging on his goatee, he surveyed the display.
“The flying firehammer is my favorite.” He hefted a curved metal rod with flame-blackened ends. “It can knock a man down and return to your hand. But these others have their uses too.” Tupa removed each weapon from its mount for her to examine. A mace covered in spikes. A boar spear, solid enough to withstand a charging animal. The winged dagger, with forked metal guards. He showed her the chain-link belt that he wore. It turned out to be a hidden weapon, with a heavy iron ball attached to one end. “It’s a power chain—very useful for a monk who’s not supposed to carry a sword. But if you don’t have any of these, you can just use your fingers.”