The naga vanished. Tao looked as if he were suspended in midair.
“You are still visible,” Kai said.
“As you explained to me, he hasn’t really disappeared. He has taken on the same colour as the sky. Once Sunila is in the air, no one will see me from below.”
The naga made his ungainly vertical take-off. Tao held the reins tight and felt the narrow leather straps strain as they took his full weight. He gripped the naga’s flanks with his knees.
Below, Kai was making anxious scraping sounds. Tao called down to him, wishing he didn’t have to leave the dragon behind.
“Try not to injure worms and beetles as you dig the grave.” He could hear the tremor in his voice as Sunila flew up to the height of the top of the wall.
The naga changed the angle of his wings, levelled his body and flapped off into the darkness. Tao hunched down as they passed over the guards on the wall. Despite the moonlight, they didn’t see the dragon.
Tao settled his weight into the saddle. He felt secure now that they were flying horizontally. This was his first, and probably his last, dragon flight. He wished it was daylight so he could see the land stretch out below him. All he could see were the black shapes of treetops. Above him were the stars. The moon was getting low. They didn’t have much time.
The flight was not the exhilarating experience Tao had imagined. The night air was freezing as it rushed by him. He could tell the naga enjoyed flying, but he wasn’t as fast as expected. Just as Tao was thinking that he might freeze to death before they reached the cairn, the naga started to circle, descending as he did. Like all dragons, Sunila’s eyesight was excellent, even in moonlight. He was looking for their destination, and when the naga’s hind paws touched the earth, they were right next to the small pile of rocks that was the resting place of Baoyu’s earthly remains. Tao remembered the exhausting journey to the compound, clambering up and down mountains that had taken almost a full day. Although the naga didn’t have great speed, this journey had taken less than an hour.
Tao warmed his hands in his armpits before he could get his fingers to undo the straps. He climbed down from the naga’s back, his legs stiff with cold.
“Well done, Sunila.” He patted the naga. “You did a good job. You fly well.”
The naga made a chirruping sound.
Tao carefully removed the stones from the cairn that he had rebuilt, and uncovered the remains of the little girl. It didn’t take long. He was expecting to see a whole skeleton laid out, recognisably human. Instead there was a jumble of bone fragments mixed with damp ashes. Tao had been present at two cremations, his brother’s and that of an old monk who had died at the monastery, but he had only concerned himself with the souls of the dead, not their remains. The bone fragments were shades of pale grey. The heat from the fire had made them brittle and they had cracked. He picked some up and they broke in his fingers. He rinsed the bones with water from a nearby stream to clean off the wood ash, carefully scooped them up with a piece of bark and put them in the sack. There were slivers of bone from an arm or a leg, and larger curved pieces that must have been parts of Baoyu’s skull. He saw one little tooth, white and neat, not sharp like her ghost teeth. Tao had been expecting the sack of bones to be almost as heavy as the child would have been when she was alive, but Baoyu’s bones only filled one corner of the sack and weighed no more than two handfuls of rice.
Sunila was sniffing the breeze and shifting impatiently from one foot to the other. Then he suddenly unfurled his wings and took off.
“Wait!” Tao shouted. “Don’t go.”
The naga disappeared into the darkness above.
“Don’t leave me!”
Tao let the sack fall from his hands. The fragile bones made a clinking sound as they fragmented even more. The cold was penetrating his own bones. He thought of the long walk back to the compound – if he could even find his way without Kai to lead him. He felt the panic rise in his throat, and Kai wasn’t there to reassure him, to guide him, to protect him. He thought of Pema. If Jilong’s nomads captured her he hoped she would die swiftly.
But after a few minutes, Tao heard a flapping sound. The naga was descending again. He landed next to Tao, who was about to hug the naga with relief until he saw that he had a large tree frog in his mouth and one in each forepaw. They were all squirming, struggling to escape.
“I’m glad to see you, Sunila.” He ruffled the naga’s golden mane instead. “I should never have doubted you.”
Before his wings had grown, Sunila had passed the same way and nearly starved. Now that he had wings, he could fly up into the trees and find frogs. Tao looked away. He didn’t want to watch the creatures’ death throes as the naga ate them alive.
Tao picked up the sack of bones, muttering a sutra for the souls of the frogs.
“Now we must go,” he said.
Tao tied the neck of the sack with two lengths of vine and secured it to the harness. Then he climbed onto the naga’s back and strapped himself on. Sunila flapped his wings. Tao clung on.
The journey back to the Huan compound seemed much longer. The naga’s small wings weren’t meant for long flights. They flapped slowly. Tao could hear rasping breath and feel Sunila’s great heart beating fast. The naga was tiring, and Tao hoped he had the strength to make it back to the compound. Tao was so cold, he could no longer grip the reins. He was glad he’d secured the sack of bones well. He wouldn’t have been able to hold onto them with his frozen fingers. The moon was almost at the horizon.
At last, the glow from the fire that the guards had built on the compound walls came into view. Sunila made himself invisible. Kai and Baoyu were waiting, their faces upturned. Sunila landed in the courtyard. Tao’s hands were too cold to unbuckle the straps, but Kai managed to undo them with his talons. Tao climbed down from the naga’s back and Kai supported him as his frozen legs gave way.
“Well done, Sunila,” Tao said.
Baoyu was hovering anxiously.
Tao had thought that Kai would dig the grave in the furthest corner of the compound, but instead he’d dug it in the garden, right next to the rock whose shadow had caused Tao so much night-time fear.
“This is the busiest place,” Tao said. “You’ve put her grave at the heart of the compound.”
“I know, but this is her favourite place. She will be happy to be buried here, and no one will dig up this little patch of garden.”
Tao smiled. “You’re right. It’s a good choice.”
Baoyu watched as Tao climbed down into the grave and emptied the sack. Kai made a sad sound like a cracked bell ringing when he saw the small pile of bones.
Something was still troubling the ghost girl.
“You have forgotten this,” Kai said.
He held the tiny finger bone clasped between two of his talons. He placed it in the grave. It was black from the naga’s venom and was the only bone that was whole. Baoyu drifted into the grave to examine her bones. She shed a few moonlight tears and then left the grave. She was content.
The two dragons scraped earth into the grave to cover the bones. Sunila made low musical sounds as he did his work. Tao remembered the way Sha had made a similar deep, humming lament. There wasn’t a suitable Buddhist sutra for such an occasion, since hungry ghosts were from the old beliefs. Instead Tao made up some words of his own.
“May Baoyu’s bones rest here undisturbed forever. And may she eventually attain a state of peace so she can begin a new life and live long and happily.”
The dragons tamped down the earth with their paws. Tao couldn’t risk making a commemoration. He didn’t want anyone to know where the grave was. He replanted the crocuses and the chrysanthemums that Kai had dug up. The dragon pushed the rocks back into place with his tail.
Baoyu circled around the grave. The sky to the east was tinged with pink. The ghost girl’s mouth turned up at the edges in the slightest smile, before her shadow body dissipated in the first rays of sunlight.
“Tomorrow ni
ght she will be stronger again, now that she is near her remains,” Kai said. “I hope that is something we will not regret.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
AWAKENING
The naga had gone to sleep in the stables. Tao lay down on Wei’s bed, exhausted. He didn’t bother to take off his clothes, he just pulled the quilt over himself. Kai curled up on the floor at the end of the bed.
Tao was woken by Fo Tu Deng shaking his arm.
“Jilong is furious. They still haven’t found the Black Camel Bandits’ hide-out. You must seek another vision. He will kill us all – you, me and the dragons. And it won’t be a slow death. You know what he’s capable of.”
Tao sat up. The sky was still tinged with pink, so he knew that what his body was telling him was right – he’d only been asleep for a few minutes. He felt more tired than when he’d fallen into bed. But the monk’s words gave him a gleam of hope. If the nomads hadn’t found the bandits hide-out, then Pema was still safe.
Out in the courtyard, Jilong was pacing back and forth. He was exhausted too, and angry, which Tao was sure was a bad combination. The warlord marched over and poked Fo Tu Deng in his scrawny chest.
“I need something else from you, seer.” He snarled the word like an insult. “If I don’t find the Black Camel Bandits tonight, by this time tomorrow you will be dead. They are close. They kill my men, and yet I have not seen a single one of them. Where do they hide? It is a simple request. That is all I need to know from you. I can do the rest. Prove to me that you really are a seer and not a fraud.”
Jilong took a few steps towards his quarters and then turned back.
“And my mother has decided she likes this place and wants to make it her home. If you survive the night, you and your assistant will be moved to Luoyang.”
Tao certainly didn’t want to die, and he didn’t want to go back to Luoyang either, but it was the thought of Lady Wang taking over his family home that finally strengthened his resolve.
He spoke to Kai with his mind. “It’s time to reclaim our freedom.”
Fo Tu Deng hopped about, insisting that Tao have a vision immediately.
Kai came into the courtyard. “You may as well,” he said. “If we are going to escape the clutches of the Zhao, we could use some advice.”
Tao was so tired, this time he really did need to prepare himself to find the mental energy to concentrate and seek a vision. He sat cross-legged and recited a sutra. Then he smeared the oil on his hands and stared at them. He could see nothing. Lady Wang was shouting at her servants somewhere in the house. The men were arguing over whose fault it was that they hadn’t found a single bandit. Someone building temporary stables was hammering. Tao needed peace and quiet. He tried to picture a tranquil scene – a view from a mountain, a lake, a garden in summer – but his mind wouldn’t focus. He concentrated on the birdsong and the buzzing of insects, but that made him drowsier still.
A slap across the face woke him. He’d fallen asleep and Fo Tu Deng was standing over him.
“A messenger from Shi Le has arrived. Whatever was in the message has put Jilong in a worse mood. He’s gone to rest. I must have something to tell him when he wakes.”
“It’s no good,” Tao said. “I can’t do it.”
“You have to or we’ll both die,” Fo Tu Deng said.
“I want to summon a vision as much as you do,” Tao said. “But I can’t. I haven’t got the energy or the concentration. I must sleep. Just for an hour or two.”
Fo Tu Deng reluctantly agreed. Tao went back to Wei’s room, only to find some men carrying the bed out through the door.
“Where are you going with my bed?”
“Lady Wang wants it out of the room,” one of them replied.
Inside he could see Lady Wang sitting on his mother’s favourite chair. Her servants were fussing around her, applying cosmetics to her jowly cheeks and sagging eyes, and trying to comb the knots out of her coarse hair.
“Go away, boy,” she said. “This is my dressing room now.”
Tao grabbed the quilt from the bed as the men passed him.
Kai found an empty farmer’s hut and Tao didn’t object as the dragon made him a bed of straw on the earthen floor. Tao collapsed into it and felt Kai spread the quilt over him. He breathed in the familiar and much-loved smell and sank into the open embrace of sleep, like a baby in its mother’s arms. He didn’t really care if he never awoke.
Tao did wake, about an hour before midday. It was a pleasant sunny day and there was no noise from the compound to disturb the peace. The nomads were all sleeping, and fortunately so was Jilong. The few hours sleep had refreshed Tao. Kai was curled up next to him, breathing evenly, his snout buried under his tail. Tao got up and crept out of the hut so as not to wake him.
He was surprised that Fo Tu Deng hadn’t woken him earlier, but one of the guards told him that Lady Wang had wanted to be carried out in a palanquin to admire the autumn leaves in the orchard, and she had insisted that Fo Tu Deng escort her.
Tao made himself some rice porridge and took it out to the peony pavilion. He had the garden to himself. He could see where the earth had been disturbed to dig Baoyu’s grave and that some of the plants were in different positions, but the Zhao had no interest in gardening and he was sure they wouldn’t notice.
Tao needed to seek another vision. He had some time before the men woke and started preparing food. But Lady Wang would return soon and Jilong could wake at any moment. Once that happened this peaceful state of mind would desert him. The guards on the wall had their heads together, leaning over a game of liubo, so Tao was able to wriggle out through the tunnel and run into the fields without anyone noticing. Once outside, he heard a flapping sound and felt a current of air. Sunila materialised. He had flown over the walls while invisible.
“You can come with me,” Tao said, “but you must behave.”
He knew exactly where he wanted to go. He gave the orchard a wide berth and walked to the stream. He sat on the grass. It was the spot where he had come with Wei and Kai and Pema. The sun warmed his back. The willow tree had lost all its leaves, but its naked branches trailed in the river. He sat with his back against the trunk and stared up into the branches. He could make out the bird’s nest where Pema had restored a baby bird to its family. The nest was abandoned. The birds would have flown to somewhere warmer.
The naga waded into the water and splashed around. Tao’s duties were pulling him in different directions. He had to be useful to Kai, to keep an eye on Sunila, to ensure that Baoyu was content, and there was a vaguer sense of duty to his family and the memory of Wei. Then there was Pema. If only he’d been able to convince her to live a simple life somewhere out of danger. And while he was trying to achieve all these impossible things, he had to live like a good Buddhist.
Near where he was sitting, the river was disturbed by a scatter of rocks in its path and it changed from quiet and serious to cheerfully foamy as it rushed around the rocks, before settling down to continue more sedately on its way. He poured a few drops of oil on his hands and carefully rubbed them together to distribute the oil evenly. He felt so peaceful it wasn’t necessary to recite any sutras. He remembered the last time he had sat on that riverbank. It seemed like such a long time ago. The image of Wei, still alive and smiling, and of Pema splashing in the shallows as Kai taught her to fish, made him realise that day had been one of the happiest of his life. His eyes filled with tears, not from sadness or regret, but from gratitude that he had been fortunate enough to have those precious minutes, before the chaos of the world intruded. He put his hands together. The tears blurred his sight as required.
Solitude and inner peace were the perfect conditions for receiving a vision, and yet no vision came. Tao couldn’t understand it. He had been drawn to this place and his mind was completely focused on the task. He had brought the shard of dragon stone with him in case it could enhance his visions somehow. His finger felt the new chip, but it was the cool smoothness of the rounded e
dges that he loved to touch. He had always been drawn to the shard, ever since his great-grandfather gave it to him – long before he met Kai. He placed it in his lap and tried again for a vision. Nothing happened.
Tao felt the knot of qi inside him, solid and unmoving. When he’d tried to explain the sensation to Kai, the dragon said it sounded like indigestion. But it wasn’t painful or uncomfortable. It was part of his beloved brother. It was beyond words. He began to understand the connection between the qi and the shard. The characteristics of a dragonkeeper had been passed down from the Huan ancestors in equal measure to Tao and Wei. The brothers were the same in every way, or at least they had been until the moment of Wei’s birth. Alone, neither of them could have been a dragonkeeper, but together they could. It wasn’t until Wei had poured his qi into Tao that the skills of a dragonkeeper had woken inside him.
The qi began to stir. The shard was awakening it. It was a wonderful feeling, like warmth from a fire, the touch of a loved one, and a smile all merged together. He felt the qi power within him, but still didn’t know how it would manifest.
Dragonflies that hovered over the river flew towards him. Beetles and slaters gathered around his feet. Spiders dangled from trees. Worms appeared. All the wuji, were drawn to him as if to witness the awakening of his qi power. It was his connection to these small creatures. He couldn’t deny it, but how this ability could serve any useful purpose, he didn’t know.
There was something else. Tao could feel another power stir within him. The knot of qi seemed to unravel. It didn’t snake along his arms and try to burst out of him. It spread from his heart and found its way into his mind. He heard a sound, nothing more than a whisper. He held the shard with both hands; the voice became clearer. It was coming from inside himself, but it was not his own voice, not that inner voice that berated him if he didn’t try hard enough, or if he was forgetful or clumsy. It was another voice – gentle, reassuring – one he had never heard before, and yet was so familiar to him. The voice didn’t use any language spoken by mouth. It was wordless, not heard but experienced. It spoke in emotions, sadness and joy together. It was Wei. His brother was speaking to him. Not from his next life. Tao had no connection to that new version of his brother, whoever and wherever he was. This was something that remained of the old Wei, his unique and silent empathy. Tao had been able to understand it when Wei was alive and he could understand it now. He could translate this inner language, as he could translate Sanskrit into Huaxia or Kai’s sounds into words.
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