by Lori Saltis
Tony stops and turns to face me. His chest rises and falls before he whispers, “My father.”
I suck in air so I don’t speak, since talking about his father, my Uncle George, is forbidden.
Something brushes my mind, another consciousness. It feels like a push, not physical, but mental, sort of like the beginning of a headache. I drop my guard, allowing Tony to communicate with me using the Silent Speech.
My father has asked to be reinstated in the clan.
My eyes widen. No way. That won’t happen.
He’s spoken to Head Elder and he might be allowed into the compound for the Summoning Ceremony.
I hesitate. Do you want to see him?
No. Pain glints off the steel in his eyes as he looks away. Uncle George is Tony’s weak spot. You punch it and he flinches. Something I’ll never do, though I can’t show sympathy, either. That would hurt even more.
If Head Elder says something, I’ll let you know.
Emotion drains from Tony’s face as he gives that single nod.
We start walking again, heading across the main courtyard. Where had Tony heard that rumor? Does it matter? I don’t believe it. Uncle George has zero chance of rejoining the clan. Head Elder doesn’t forgive anybody for anything.
We stop in front of the round moon gate built into the stone wall surrounding the Ancestral Courtyard. Two sentries, one male and one female stand on either side of the gate. Both, like Tony and me, wear the loose black pants and white T-shirts that are standard issue around the compound. I spread my arms and legs wide so the male sentry can pat me down. This time last year, there weren’t any guards. Now, everyone gets searched before entering, from the cleaning crew to the Dragon Son, all because of Uncle George. I glance back at my cousin.
Tony’s face is a wall of stone. “When Head Elder is done with you, come find me in the west exercise yard.”
I stifle a groan. I hate sparring with the sun in my eyes, though I’d rather spend two hours doing that than two minutes with Head Elder. “Change places with me?”
The stone doesn’t crack.
“I know what to get you for your next birthday.”
An eyebrow lifts. “What?”
“A sense of humor.”
Tony’s lips twitch before pressing into a line. Sometimes, I can get him to grin, but not today. He juts his chin toward the moon gate.
On the other side, I stop in front of the spirit wall and tuck my shirt into my pants. Head Elder won’t notice if I look neat, but he’ll sure as shit notice if I look like a slob. The giant dragon carved into the greenish-gray stone surface glowers down at me. When I was a kid, it sorta spooked me. Spirit walls are meant to block the evil dead, who for some reason can’t figure out how to move around corners. The kids who lived on the compound had told me this particular wall stays frozen cold, even on the hottest days and touching it means four years’ bad luck. Kids tell each other crap like that all the time. I don’t believe it anymore, but I still walk a wide path around it. Just in case.
I head across the courtyard toward the first clan compound, carved into the caverns of Chisel Knife Mountain. Vegetation creeps down the side of the mountain and hangs in tendrils over archways carved into the rock. Colorful, ceramic tile dragons coil up the pillars on either side of the main entrance, symbolically guarding the Ancestral Hall of the Two Dragon Clan. Another, smaller entryway leads to clan headquarters and the offices of the Elders.
There’s no place on Earth like this. At least, no place I know of. My fingers practically itch to draw it, but if I do, I’ll be toast. Clan rules forbid anyone, even the Dragon Son, from documenting its existence. As our clan grew, the compound spread out into the walled fortress it became. Bribes to government officials have kept our compound off paper and out of the Hong Kong tour books. The remote location in the northwest border of the New Territories also helps.
If outsiders find out about the caverns, it will ruin everything. We’ll get tourists and archaeologists clamoring at our gate. That can’t be allowed. The secrets of the Two Dragon Clan must never be compromised. Uncle George learned that the hard way.
Inside clan headquarters, I stop and let the cold air chill my damp skin. The caverns maintain a year-round temperature of about sixty degrees. The overhead lights flicker off the whitewashed walls as the corridor darkens before brightening again. Electricity and plumbing were installed years ago in this cavern, but has been difficult to maintain. The Elders could have moved their offices into the main compound, but tradition keeps them in place.
As I head down the corridor, I start sweating again. What the hell does Head Elder want with me now? I stop in front of the Dragon Son’s office. Maybe I should see Dad first.
“You will obey me.”
That sounds like Dad. His loud, muffled voice comes from the office across the hall. Head Elder’s office.
Another angry voice speaks. It sounds like Head Elder, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. Are he and Dad arguing about Uncle George? I lean closer to the door, but their words remain muffled. I step back. Snooping on clan elders is not the action of a Xia, a righteous warrior.
“I am the Dragon Son.” Dad’s shout penetrates the thick wood. “I lead this clan, not you.”
I can be righteous some other time. I breathe deep, channeling my internal energy. Chi spreads like warm fire through my body. I focus on the voices, listening as they become clearer despite the barrier.
“I will not allow your sin, your dishonor to ruin us,” says Head Elder. “I don’t care what arrangements you have made with your brother. You will stay silent. Starting tomorrow, you will train Wai Kit to produce the Dragon Shout.”
My mouth drops open. What the hell? The Dragon Shout? No way. That training isn’t supposed to start until next year.
“No,” Dad states. “He’s too young.”
“He is not too young and you will train him. He must be capable of producing the Dragon Shout by the time of the Summoning Ceremony.”
“That’s not enough time.”
“A week is plenty of time. More than enough.”
“Wai Kit is still recovering from his tattoo. The Dragon Shout requires absolute control over one’s chi. He won’t have that by tomorrow.”
“No more excuses.” There’s a pounding sound, like a fist on a table. “You will train Wai Kit to be the next Dragon Son.”
“My brother–” Dad starts.
“Your brother will keep silent or pay the price.” Head Elder’s voice lowers. “I want my grandson fully capable of taking over as Dragon Son by the time of the Summoning Ceremony. During the ceremony, you will present Wai Kit to Jade Dragon as his heir. After that, you can say whatever you want, but I warn you, your sin will condemn the innocent and the guilty. You will be ousted as Dragon Son and replaced by Wai Kit.”
My mouth goes bone dry. Replace Dad as the Dragon Son? What is going on? What sin could he have committed? It must be Uncle George. He’s done something, committed some new crime, and once again, Dad is trying to save him.
The doorknob twists. Shit! I scurry back as far as I can before the door swings open.
Dad strides into the hall. His face is red and his eyes dark with rage.
I freeze. Do I look as guilty as I feel?
He stares at me for a moment. “Son, what are you doing here?”
I blink a few times before finding my voice. “Um, Head Elder wants to see me.”
The anger drains from his face, though his expression remains grim. “Old Fong is finished with you?”
I nod.
“Let’s show Head Elder.”
I follow Dad into the office. Our feet make no noise on the plush, dark carpet. Head Elder sits behind a large wood desk. There’s no clutter on the surface or anything personal, like a framed family photo. No computer, either. I don’t think he knows how to use one. He’s wearing a suit and tie, like always, even on the hottest days.
My face goes blank. All personality drains out of
me so I look like the obedient sprout he expects. Back home in San Francisco, my friends had talked about their grandfathers being great guys or old grumps. I never say anything about Head Elder. “Great guy” doesn’t work and “old grump” doesn’t begin to cover it. It must have been rough on Mom, growing up with a father like him.
Head Elder stands. Behind his thick-lens glasses, his eyes narrow in on me like a specimen under a microscope. “Grandson, you are fifteen years old, a man now. Show me the proof.”
As I raise my shirt, a chill prickles my skin. Head Elder’s lair is probably the coldest room in the whole of the caverns.
He walks around the desk and leans over so I can see the age spots dotting his scalp through his sparse gray hair. I know he’s examining the pearl. One of the fringe benefits of being the Dragon Son and his heir is having a different tattoo than the rest of the clan. Our dragon has a pearl inked at its throat. All dragons have pearls containing the essence of their power, which grows in size and strength according to their wisdom and experience. Since Dad and I are Jade Dragon’s direct descendants through his first born son, we have access to that pearl. Or so I’m told.
A dry smile cracks Head Elder’s lips. “You lack one skill before you can become Jade Dragon’s heir.”
Jade Dragon. Not my father’s heir. Does he think I don’t notice? Since I’m that stupid, I’m not going to say shit.
His eyes narrow with annoyance. “The Dragon Shout. You will begin training tomorrow.”
I turn to Dad, my mouth gaping open like, what? Personally, I think I’m a terrible actor, but they’re too busy being pissed off at each other to notice.
Dad’s hand moves to my shoulder. “Let’s go, Son.”
Head Elder frowns, but doesn’t try stopping us as we ditch his office. I breathe a little easier once we’re outside. I chew my lip to keep from blurting out everything I’d heard.
Dad is silent until we’re crossing the courtyard toward the spirit wall. “Tomorrow is a big day. You need to rest.”
“I can’t. Tony’s waiting for me in the west exercise yard.”
Dad’s face seems to freeze for a moment. “The west?” He gives a strained chuckle. “Your Big Brother isn’t easy on you.”
I shrug. “No one’s easy on me.”
“A Xia’s life is never easy. And the Glory Road is a difficult path to follow. I wish I could spare you.”
“Spare me from what?”
Dad glances back at the entrance to the Ancestral Hall and whispers what sounds like, “Everything.”
“What?”
He shakes his head. “No exercise for you today. You’ll need all your energy for tomorrow.”
“Um, okay. I’ll go tell Tony.”
“I’ll come with you.” His shoulder brushes the spirit wall.
My stomach lurches. Dad continues on through the moon gate as if nothing has happened. Doesn’t he realize? Four years bad luck. But you only believe that if you’re a boy, not a man. After all, how can you get bad luck from touching something? Sucking in my breath, I walk past the wall, brushing my hand against the rough surface. Rather than icy, the stone is on the cool side of warm. I exhale. If there’s any bad luck, I’ll share it with Dad. Then maybe it won’t be so bad.
As we stroll across the main courtyard, everyone we pass, men, women and even little kids, bow their heads in respect. They look at Dad with veiled curiosity, probably because he’s in a business suit instead of the standard issue workout pants and T-shirt he wears around the compound. He nods back, a lot like Tony’s single, manly nod, though not as stiff. His gaze seems calm, but I can tell he’s tense by the pinch between his eyes. Maybe I should say something. What? If I admit to snooping, will he tell me what’s going on? Hell no. My back will have a date with a bamboo cane. I need to find another way to bring things up.
“Dad?”
“Yes, Son?”
“How come I have to learn the Dragon Shout now instead of next year?”
“Head Elder and I decided to complete your training early.”
“But, why?”
The pinch between Dad’s eyes deepens. “You don’t question our decisions. You obey.”
“Yes, sir.” I take a hesitant breath. “Can I ask you one more question?”
Dad nods.
“So, Jade Dragon and the first Head Elder, they were cousins, just like me and Tony. Um, so does that mean Head Elder has authority over the Dragon Son, the same way Tony gets to tell me what to do?”
The pinch becomes a ravine. His voice rises, “No. Absolutely not.” He takes a breath and speaks in a quieter tone, “Jade Dragon founded the Two Dragon Clan and devised our martial skills. He honored his older cousin by making him Head Elder and allowing the position to be hereditary, but Head Elder does not rule over the Dragon Son.”
We continue on in silence, my unspoken question like a wedge between us: why does Head Elder tell you what to do?
Sunlight fills the west exercise yard, reflecting off the brick surface, making me squint. Tony stands in the center. He shifts into a cat stance, bending his knees, sliding his right foot in front of him and lifting the heel. Raising his broadsword above his head, he twists his wrist. A beam of light sparks off the blade. He runs to the east wall, slicing his sword through the air in rapid succession.
Using the Climbing Skill, he bounds up the wall until he reaches the top. He spins around and, sword thrust before him, launches off the edge and flies across the courtyard to the west wall. He lands, balancing on the thick, uneven ledge and jabs his sword at potential enemies on either side of him. Then he leaps off the ledge and spins midair, landing in the center of the courtyard in a drop stance, his left knee bent and his right leg slid to the side, the sword held above his head.
Damn. I’ve been practicing the Flying Dragon form for months, but I don’t have Tony’s finesse. No one expects me to, not yet. Not until today. Why does Head Elder want me to be fully trained? Maybe it would be worth being punished to ask. I turn my head.
The tension in Dad’s face has disappeared. Pride fills his eyes. He whispers, “Perfect.”
I swallow hard. Whenever Dad looks at me, there’s always this hint of worry in his eyes, like he’s not sure I’ll make the grade. Will he ever look at me like he does at Tony, like I’m the pride of clan instead of a potential loser?
With a big smile, Dad walks across the courtyard. “Well done, Son.”
Tony stands and swipes a forearm across his sweaty brow. “Thank you, Uncle.”
Gratitude shines in Tony’s eyes as Dad pats his shoulder. I dig my toe into a crevice between the stones. If I was nineteen, I’d be that good. Maybe even better.
Standing side-by-side, Dad and Tony look almost identical, like twins born twenty years apart. Which is funny because Dad and Uncle George actually are twins, but fraternal, so they don’t look a whole lot alike.
Is that Uncle George’s problem? Being the younger brother by two years would be one thing, but by two minutes? Do those minutes torment him, keep him awake at night, thinking about how close he came to being the Dragon Son? I barely know my uncle. The Two Dragon Clan is divided between warriors and scholars, and Uncle George went the scholar route. As such, he traveled a lot, gathering information, sort of like a noncombatant spy. Whenever he and Dad were together, they’d act all friendly and back-pounding, as if they were best buds. Then Dad would turn away and Uncle George’s face would lock into this narrow, hateful glare. Only for a moment. Not long enough for me to say anything, but enough to send a chill through me, even now.
Dad turns to me. I run to join them. His other hand settles on my shoulder. “I couldn’t be prouder of the two of you. I know there have been difficulties.” His voice trails off for a moment. I hold my breath. Will he say something about Uncle George? “But we have remained a family, united together. I need the two of you to be loyal to each other, always.”
Tony replies immediately, using my Chinese name, “Yes, Uncle. I’ll always be lo
yal to Wai Kit.”
“I’ll always be loyal to Wai Yi,” I reply.
Dad’s eyes remain troubled. His hands drop from our shoulders. “Let’s go home.”
Home, at least for the summer, is the large building on the east side of the compound. Like the west and central buildings, it has an interior courtyard. The ground floor had once been used for storage and livestock. It’s been renovated so it’s now sort of like a hostel, reserved for visiting clan members. Only families have private rooms and everyone has to share the bathrooms and kitchens. With the Summoning Ceremony only a week away, space is filling up fast. Several families are having their evening meal in the courtyard instead of the gloomy interior. I feel their eyes on us as we head upstairs.
It seems unfair that the entire third level is the living quarters of the Dragon Son and his family, but that’s how it’s always been. Of course, back in the day, the Dragon Son could have more than one wife. I smirk. Then I think about Dad having another wife and another family. That would suck.
Inside, I slip off my sneakers and head down the hall toward the frantic sound of trolls being massacred in the living room. My cousin, Aaron, sits cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV, his thumbs jabbing at the controller buttons as he slaughters his way through a dungeon. Little Brother – that’s what I call him. I don’t want that to change; don’t want him and Tony to get in trouble because their father is causing trouble again. They would have shared in Uncle George’s disgrace if Dad hadn’t intervened.
Mom sits on the couch with a magazine on her lap. It’s kind of funny. She always dresses casual and almost never wears make-up, but she loves reading fashion magazines. I guess they’re her guilty pleasure. Maybe she learns stuff from them because on the rare occasions she does dress up, she looks amazing. Better than all the models in those magazines combined.
Her name is Michelle and Dad’s name is Michael. I think it’s kinda cute. Everyone close to them calls them Chelle and Mike. Well, everyone in San Francisco. They have Chinese names, like we all do, but here in the compound, they’re mainly referred to as Dragon Son and Dragon Son’s Wife. And, yeah, I’m called Dragon Son’s Son. It sounds better in Cantonese.
