Eternal

by Grant, Alasdair

  “Good. I feel the change in your amplitudes. Now I want both of you to visualize something.”

  She walks quietly around Lily and me.

  “Picture a flame,” she says. “A flame dancing on a candle. Stare into it, and hold the image for as long as you can.”

  I visualize a tall thin flame rising off a blackened wick. It burns blue at the bottom, yellow-white in the middle, orange at the top.

  “The power of huo,” Mistress Song says, “is the power to reach into minds and manipulate perceptions. It can be dangerous to anyone who can’t shield herself against it. Like mandrake root and dragon weed it insidiously warps sensory stimuli. For this reason, the first objective of amplitude training is to learn how to sense and deflect huo.”

  “So you believe the Second Amplitude is more powerful than the First?” Lily asks.

  Her voice erases my candle vision.

  “No. There’s no such thing as stronger or weaker amplitudes. All are equal. Strength is determined by willpower, effort, and talent. Don’t allow others’ narrow-minded views to infect your mind.”

  She pauses a moment then says, “Please open your eyes.”

  We do as instructed, and I stiffen and gasp.

  A lemon-yellow snake, fangs exposed, sways menacingly before me. Lily sees it, too, inhales sharply, and slowly eases backward.

  It doesn’t follow her movements. It has eyes only for me. Speckled mocha eyes. With devilishly slit pupils. It flicks a yellow tongue between its scaly lips, tasting my scent.

  “When an enemy seizes your mind,” Mistress Song says, “he can force you to see what he wants you to see. If he’s skilled enough, he can make his false images seem so real you won’t be able to distinguish illusion from reality.”

  An illusion. Is this what happened to Jenna last night?

  I rock back on my heels which makes the viper hiss and strike at my knees. I leap to my feet and let out a startled cry. Even though my fear-numbed mind now knows this isn’t real, my eyes and body still accept it.

  “Beginning today,” Mistress Song says, “you must learn to recognize the signs of amplitude attacks. Illusions are the most likely form they will take.”

  The viper vanishes. I search the floor, but the snake has evaporated into thin air. Lily’s brow is moist with perspiration, and her limbs are shaking. She looks frustrated. Angry.

  “What did you see?” Mistress Song demands.

  “Grapefruit-sized spiders,” Lily says through clenched teeth.

  Spiders?

  “What did they look like?”

  “Black and hairy with huge fangs.”

  “And you, Jade?”

  “A snake.”

  “Describe it.”

  “It…it was yellow. Like a huang-chibang.”

  “Have you ever seen a yellow snake before?”

  “Only in an illustration from a scroll in Master Chang’s class.”

  “First lesson,” Mistress Song says. “Amplitude attacks play on your innermost fears. Almost invariably, however, they are accompanied by something that can alert you to the deception.”

  I consider her words.

  “Like a yellow viper in a place where none have ever been seen?” I ask.

  “Exactly. The improbability of such an encounter was your first clue your perceptions were under attack.”

  “But…” Lily shakes her head, searching for what she wants to say. “But improbable isn’t the same thing as impossible. There could have been a yellow snake or giant spiders. You could have brought them here.”

  “True but still unlikely. Which brings me to Lesson Number Two. How did you feel when you witnessed these illusions?”

  “Confused?” I offer.

  “Confused,” Mistress Song repeats, pointing at me. “More than anything else, your own feelings will warn you when your mind is being tampered with. Be alert to uneasiness, confusion, and inexplicable feelings that something isn’t right.”

  “Is there a way to stop a mind attack?” Lily asks. “A way to prevent the illusions from even happening?”

  “Yes,” Mistress Song answers. “But that’s a lesson for another day. Neither of you are ready for such advanced techniques.”

  She folds her slender hands in her lap and makes sure both of us are paying careful attention.

  “It takes time to build the necessary barriers to block unwanted mind access,” she says. “Time and strict self-discipline. Fortunately there are external means of protection that can help you until your amplitudes are fully developed.”

  She points at me again.

  “Your necklace… Certain materials—especially leather and jade—are known to dampen amplitude projections. Unless your attacker is very powerful, he must be in close proximity—within ten or fifteen unobstructed feet—to effectively enter your mind. The drawback to this is such materials also limit your own projection capabilities.”

  “If some materials ‘dampen’ amplitudes,” Lily asks, “does that mean others enhance them?”

  “Some metals—silver, copper, gold, platinum—can increase amplitudinal range. There are a few who feel confident and strong enough to use this to their advantage. For novice learners, however, these metals merely provide an easy conduit into their brains. I suggest avoiding them.”

  “How long have you known how to manipulate amplitudes?” Lily asks.

  “I received the training a very long time ago.”

  “It can’t be that long. You’re still young and beautiful.”

  Mistress Song smiles at the unintended compliment.

  “It seems long ago to me,” she says. “I wasn’t much older than you when I began my initial training. And I’ve lived through much since that time. Much sorrow. Much danger.”

  A far-away look enters her eyes as if she’s seeing through the mists of time. Whatever she sees, she quickly pushes the vision aside.

  “Please close your eyes again. We’re going to work on detecting incoming attacks.”

  I wonder what kinds of danger and sorrow Mistress Song has seen. I don’t want either of those things. I’ve already had enough of both in my short life. And I definitely don’t want to bring perils to Jenna.

  But it might already be too late for that. I’ve unleashed the Monkey King. Opened Pandora’s box. For me, at least, there appears to be no turning back.

  TWENTY-ONE

  二十一

  JENNA

  “Your daughter had a seizure during her second period class. It happened about forty-five minutes ago.”

  “It wasn’t a seizure!” I exclaim. “I…I blacked out. I haven’t been sleeping well, and it’s finally caught up with me.”

  The school nurse gives me an annoyed look.

  “I recommend giving your family doctor a call,” she says, ignoring me and speaking directly to my mother. “In the meantime, keep a close eye on Jenna. Don’t leave her unsupervised until she’s received a thorough medical examination.”

  “I fell asleep at my seat,” I grumble. “That’s all. It wasn’t a seizure.”

  The nurse scowls again. There’s something about her pinched features that strongly reminds me of Mistress Jiu-Li. The main difference is her blonde hair which she wears pulled back in a tight bun.

  “Mr. Webb, observed what I would classify as an absence seizure,” she continues. “Jenna appeared to be in a trance, her breathing was irregular and rapid, and, for at least half a minute, Mr. Webb couldn’t get her to respond to her name or his hand gestures. Unless it’s common for your daughter to sleep upright with her eyes wide open, I don’t believe she was asleep.”

  Mom pats my shoulder.

  “We’ll figure this out,” she says. “I’ll take her straight home and call Doctor Braithwaite’s office. We’ll get his first available appointment.”

  She smiles at the surly nurse.

  “Thank you, Ms. Phillips. We appreciate your help.”

  Mom puts an arm around me, guides me out of the nurse’s office, and w
e walk to the front office where she checks me out for the rest of the day.

  “I’m sorry,” she says as we pass a ‘Go, Dons!’ sign on our way to the exit.

  “Sorry for what?”

  “That I haven’t paid enough attention to you lately. I knew something was wrong. The way you haven’t been sleeping… That nightmare last night…”

  I feel my face grow warm.

  “I could tell you weren’t your normal self,” Mom continues, “but I never expected…”

  She stops speaking and shakes her head.

  “I’m sorry, Jenna. I’m going to work hard at being a better mother.”

  “You’re already a good enough mother. I didn’t have a seizure, Mom. That dumb nurse doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

  “How about if we let the doctor have a look at you anyway? We’ll get you home, let you rest for a little while—”

  “I can’t rest, Mom! That’s the problem. Every time I close my eyes, I have strange, exhausting dreams.”

  I don’t know why I’m so angry. I definitely shouldn’t be taking it out on my mother. I’m just so tired. And confused. And afraid a doctor will confirm my growing fear that I’m actually going crazy.

  “Maybe you have a sleep disorder.”

  Sleep disorder… That wouldn’t normally be a comforting thought, but I’ll take any possibility over insanity.

  “Do they have medications for sleep disorders?”

  “Falling asleep at inappropriate times? Disturbed sleep at night?” Mom nods. “You might have narcolepsy. There are prescription treatments to deal with it.”

  Narcolepsy. I’ll have to look it up online.

  “How about if we stop some place on the way home to get you something to eat,” Mom says. “You’ve missed school lunch.”

  “Yeah. That’s a real tragedy.”

  Mom laughs, and—for the first time in days—I laugh, too. Maybe today will be a turning point. Maybe there’s hope for a normal life after all.

  TWENTY-TWO

  二十二

  JADE

  He makes us stand on the raised platform in the middle of the Assembly Field. Like a giant wagon wheel’s spokes, straight lines of students stand in rows behind their teachers. They watch us with morbid anticipation.

  Usually Master Yao struts across the platform’s redwood planks alone, but today he wants Lily and me front and center to grovel in humiliation. As the morning sun steals its ritual glance over the mountaintops, he reaches the last class, Mistress Song’s, for morning roll call.

  “Traditional Dance,” Mistress Song announces, hands folded, head bowed. “Twenty-two students. All female. All but two in their assigned places.”

  “And those two?” Master Yao demands. “Where are they?”

  Mistress Song nods toward the platform. Master Yao turns to look at us, and his face goes red.

  “Yes… Of course,” he splutters. “And we’ll get to them in a moment. But first, all teachers and students will join me in Morning Recitation.”

  We turn toward the Eternal Emperor’s massive portrait—unfurled on a hanging banner as it is each morning—and we reverently clasp our hands beneath our robes’ hanging sleeves.

  “We pledge our lives and loyalty,” we say in unison. “To the Eternal Emperor, Qin Shi Huang. May his enemies perish. May his reign endure. We offer him our hearts, minds, bodies, and souls.”

  Master Yao beams. We stand at stiff attention while two of his favorite students reverently wrap the banner around its poles. They remove it from the field, and he turns his attention to Lily and me.

  “This morning,” he announces, “it is my unpleasant duty to proclaim punishment for behavior that disgraces our academy’s name.”

  He pauses, waits to make sure all eyes are upon him.

  “Tradition,” he says, “is the cornerstone of our glorious society. It brings culture and stability. Those who break tradition—those who are unable to follow simple rules of propriety—must be punished to set an example for any who might think to follow in their footsteps.”

  Lily was right. He does like to hear himself talk. And now he glances at Lily and me in the way someone might look at a small dog if he wanted to kick it.

  “Students Jade Hua and Lily West,” he says, addressing the assembly again, “exhibited grossly improper behavior at last night’s evening meal. Young women are to be meek and polite. Young women are to keep their emotions under control and properly hidden at all times.”

  As he speaks, a bright red ladybug crawls across the podium behind his foot. He shifts backward, his heel looms over the unsuspecting beetle, and, at the last possible moment, Lily snatches it to safety.

  Her hand moves so fast, I see only a blur, but Master Yao senses the movement and looks down.

  Silence. Heavy enough to smother us. Master Yao glowers at Lily until she returns the little beetle to the place she found it. With deliberate movements, he grinds it into the redwood planks.

  I hear the innocent bug’s shell pop. I watch Lily’s eyes send icy daggers at Master Yao’s feet. Whatever our punishment was going to be, I think it just got worse.

  Master Yao smiles maliciously before continuing with his speech.

  “To show their penitence, Students Jade and Lily will kneel in a public place for an entire day. They will bow their faces to the earth each time a student or teacher passes in front of them. They will remain absolutely silent and contemplate their mistakes. Two Sixth-Year students will remain with them to help them comply. Any variation from this will be immediately reported to me. Lack of compliance will result in further punishment.”

  I don’t dare look up, but I feel him grinning, savoring the power he has over us. I risk a downward glance at Mistress Song’s line and see Opal, Sage, and Willow leaning out to get a better view of our public disgrace.

  “All teachers will now lead their classes to the pagodas,” Master Yao says.

  The teachers—their faces emotionless—bow, and I get the impression they hate him as much as I do. Soon the field, except for Master Yao’s class, is empty, and he turns his implacable attention upon Lily and me.

  “I have a special spot picked out for you. Go to the back of the row and follow my students.”

  We meekly leave the podium. He waits until we’ve shuffled into position behind his all-male class before we head toward the pagodas.

  The Sixth-Year boys are tall and broad-shouldered, and they walk with long strides. Lily and I are forced to jog to match their pace.

  In my mind, I again see Master Yao grinding the tiny beetle into a smear. That’s how he views Lily and me, as small things to be crushed, and I wonder what possessed Lily to risk his wrath.

  “The ladybug…,” I say, risking a covert whisper.

  She doesn’t need to hear the entire question to know what I’m asking.

  “Because all life is precious,” she answers.

  From his place at the front of the line, Master Yao turns and scowls. How did he detect our barely audible exchange? We immediately return to our passive head-bowed, face-forward postures. If we’re not careful, we’ll be kicked out of the academy. That would be fatal for me. I have nowhere else to go.

  Master Yao doesn’t head toward his pagoda. Instead, he leads his class to the “Lion,” a hulking bronze statue near the Pagoda of Tranquility. To me the statue looks more like a smiling bulldog than a fearsome, crouching lion. Its nose is too wide, its yawning mouth and curling tongue too canine. Even its ears are floppy like a dog’s. I can’t imagine a real lion wearing a bell-adorned collar around its neck, but at least the heavy mane with its tight bronze curls is accurate.

  I see why Master Yao picked this spot. The Lion guards the east to west path that intersects the campus. This particular path is heavily traveled, the quickest route between all five pagodas. Lily and I will be doing a lot of bowing.

  “You.” He points at Lily. “Kneel here.”

  “And you.”

  I cring
e.

  “I want you here.”

  I gather my robes and try to form a cushion under my knees, but Master Yao angrily shakes his head.

  “Bare knees against bare earth. And when you bow, I want your foreheads touching the path.”

  A few of his students snicker. He puffs out his chest and sneers.

  “Students Bauer and Steel, you’ll take the first watch.”

  Two boys step out of line to stand beside the statue.

  “You will be excused from any missed class work,” he tells them. “Those selected for the next shift will be similarly excused.”

  He walks closer so Lily and I are staring at his sandals.

  “If I’m not mistaken, twenty of my best students are now preparing to walk past you.”

  I press my forehead against the path’s stone-paved edge and keep it there until the last slapping footstep has moved well beyond me.

  We don’t dare to talk. We hardly dare to move even though small pebbles grind into our knees. Early morning classes end, and I’m certain every student at the academy travels this particular path just to see our humiliation. Our Sixth-Year guards make crude jokes to pass the time, and when that grows uninteresting, they make a game of throwing small twigs to see how many they can catch in our hair.

  I practice meditation, and I’m surprised at how well I ignore my guards. I even forget to feel self-conscious and shamed by the next class-change crowd. At least I manage it until he comes down the path.

  I feel my cheeks burn. I can’t help myself. I don’t want Flint seeing me this way.

  “What are you waiting for,” one of our guards says as I glance furtively at Flint and his friends. “You’re supposed to bow.”

  “No she isn’t.”

  Both the guard and I stare at Flint in surprise.

  “Master Yao said they have to bow for anyone who passes ‘in front of’ them. We’re not going to pass in front.”

  Flint motions to his companions. They step off the path and go around us through the grass. Luckily our guards’ eyes are trained on Flint like mine are, otherwise they would be reporting me to Master Yao.