Eternal

by Grant, Alasdair

  “I hardly think you’re the assassin type, Student Jade. Master Ning merely wishes for you to know how to defend yourself when that need arises.”

  When that need arises. Why when and not if? Do Master Ning and Mistress Jiu-Li know something I don’t know? I don’t have time to think about it, because my assassin dance instructor motions me to a new position on the floor.

  “Now,” Mistress Jiu-Li says, “I want you to imitate me as I lead you through the first seven movements. Pay particularly close attention to the way my fingers and wrist manipulate the tessen.”

  I glance nervously at my own fan then at the three spikes still protruding from the Eternal Emperor’s portrait. Mistress Jiu-Li follows my gaze and gives the Emperor a hard, angry look.

  “Your tessen contains no projectiles,” she says. “First you must learn the fan’s other secrets. We’ll concentrate on the most basic ones tonight.”

  Secrets. This academy appears to be filled with them, and I have the uncomfortable feeling I’ve barely scratched the surface. I badly want to know the answer to the school’s most recent secret. Where has Master Ning gone? And why will he be away for so long? I’ll have to wait to ask it—wait until I train with Mistress Song again. Unlike my gentle art teacher, Mistress Jiu-Li is unapproachable. She frightens me in ways I don’t understand.

  Over the next hour, she teaches me how to slash, maim, and kill. The Wind Dance, with only slight changes of wrist and hand position, hides innumerable blocking and striking moves. We repeat its first seven movements at least a hundred times. When Mistress Jiu-Li decides I’m ready to perform the movements alone, I do them a hundred more times under her watchful eyes. She corrects my shoulder position, repeatedly warns me to relax, stops me to readjust my hips, arms, and feet. Subtle things that seem to make little difference elicit scowls. If I’m lucky, I earn an occasional approving nod. After she’s succeeded in making every muscle in my body ache like it’s never ached before, she moves her potted flower arrangement toward me and gestures at a bamboo stem.

  “Perform the bow and first two movements,” she says. “Make this stem your target.”

  I look at the thick piece of bamboo and skeptically examine the metal band running along my fan’s rippled edge.

  “Do not hold back,” Mistress Jiu-Li says. “The fan’s blade is stronger and sharper than it looks. Never attack hesitantly.”

  I take a deep breath and move into the ready position. If the fan crumples or tears, will she be angry? Probably.

  “Attack.”

  I whirl and slice, but at the last moment I flex my elbow, leaving only a small nick on the bamboo stem.

  “No hesitance,” Mistress Jiu-Li repeats. “No holding back. The Emperor and his agents won’t hold back if they find you.”

  She motions me aside, and I happily oblige.

  In an unexpected blur, she spins like a slashing, snarling dragon. Her teeth are clenched, her eyes blaze like two points of fire. I momentarily glimpse some of the fierce beauty that must have been hers when she was young like me. She finishes her attack, and the stem’s top half, in slow motion, topples to the floor.

  “No hesitance,” she repeats. “Try it again. The right way this time.”

  I position myself where she began her movements, two steps away from the vase. I visualize her exquisitely flawless execution. As clumsy as I am, I’ll never match her smooth gracefulness, but something about this training makes me feel capable and powerful. It’s a refreshing sensation after feeling powerless for so long.

  When Mistress Jiu-Li moves, she doesn’t step—she flows through space like liquid wrath. I loosen my shoulders, lower my hips, and prepare to do the same.

  Emotion. She also attacks with emotion. I don’t have her anger, but I do possess frustration and fear. I channel these emotions—try to turn them into something powerful—before allowing my body to move.

  Snick! A section of stem slides down the diagonal cut I’ve made. It hits the floor an inch behind my pivoting heel and slowly rolls away.

  Mistress Jiu-Li nods, cups her left hand over her clenched right fist, and rewards me with a bow. It takes me a stunned moment to recognize my small triumph and return her gesture.

  “Perhaps I was wrong,” she says, her voice quiet. “Maybe you do have an assassin’s inner fire.”

  I don’t want assassin fire, but I bask in the compliment nonetheless.

  “Return two days from now at the same hour,” she tells me. “Don’t let anyone see you coming.”

  “Yes, Mistress Jiu-Li.”

  She lightly touches my shoulder.

  “You are strong like your mother,” she says. “You will survive this ordeal.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  三十七

  JENNA

  Lily’s mother sits next to her, holding her limp hand and gently stroking it. Mrs. West’s eyes are bloodshot and puffy. She stayed at the hospital all night.

  I listen to the slow beep, beep, beep of Lily’s heart monitor and hear the soft hiss of her oxygen tubes. She has an IV in her left hand and looks as pale as a corpse. An unpleasant image pops into my head—a vision of her lying like this in a coffin at a viewing.

  “It’s so nice of you to come to visit Lily,” Mrs. West whispers to me.

  I blink away the unwanted “death vision” and nod, hoping Lily’s mom doesn’t see guilt written all over my face.

  “Why don’t you come in? I’m sure it would make Lily so happy if she were awake to see you.”

  Mom came with me, and she gently prods me until I step into the room. From Lily’s hairline to her crown, a three inch strip of her once long, beautiful hair has been shaved entirely away. Black stitches show through a nasty mess of swollen purplish-red skin. A hard lump sits like a rock in my throat.

  He slammed her head into a sink. He wanted me to see her like this—wanted me to feel the guilt I now feel. It’s an emotional prelude to the physical torture he has planned for me.

  “Has she shown any signs of improvement?” Mom asks.

  Mrs. West shakes her head.

  My eyes are burning. My chest feels like it’s going to explode. I’m glad Mom’s here to do all the talking because if I had to speak, I’d break down.

  The Eternal Emperor is a sadist. He deserves to die. I can’t stand seeing what he’s done to my best friend. I’d trade places with her in a heartbeat if I could, but I’m helpless. If someone wrote a book about me, that would be its title: Helpless.

  “They’ve done tests,” Mrs. West says. “An EEG and a PET scan. Things are scary right now, but there’s always a chance she’ll get better.”

  A chance. A slight chance. I feel my throat constrict again, try to swallow, but can’t get past the rock-hard lump. When the Eternal Emperor tries for his encore, who will he hurt next? There’s only one other person who means as much to me as Lily does. Mom. He knows this. He knows I know it.

  I clench my teeth. I have to stop him. I have to think of something now. But how do you stop an immortal megalomaniac who the FBI and the entire LA Sheriff’s Department are unable to catch?

  Mom offers to bring dinner to the West’s house as soon as they’re home again, and Lily’s mom warmly thanks her. It’s a relief when the nurse steps in and tells us we have to go. The ICU only allows five minute “non-family” visits. I feel guilty about that, too—about being relieved to leave—but I can’t stand seeing how he’s stolen the life and consciousness from my once vivacious friend.

  Mom puts her arm around me, and we head for an elevator.

  “That was brave of you,” she says. “I could see how hard it was.”

  Brave? I’m anything but brave, but I give her a nod.

  “She’ll be all right,” Mom says. “She’ll come back to us. I have a good feeling about it.”

  I wish I had that good feeling, but I only feel sick and empty inside. I’m tired of being defenseless, tired of having no means of protecting myself or the people I love. The next time I have a run-in w
ith Jade’s Emperor, I want to come into it with some way of hurting him. I don’t think he’s used to being hurt. It’s an experience I’ll be happy to give him.

  We walk past the nurses’ station, and the nurse on duty, looking up from a steamy romance novel, smiles at us. I glance at her paperback’s cover. A bronze-skinned, bare-chested man with a cutlass in one hand holds a swooning blonde close against him with the other.

  “Mom?” I say, my eyes still on the sword. “Do we have time to stop by the library on the way home?”

  “Big homework assignment for tomorrow?” she asks.

  “Yeah. Something like that.”

  “I think we can spare a few minutes for your education.”

  Good thing she doesn’t know what kind of education I’m after. She’ll sleep far better not knowing.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  三十八

  JENNA

  I have to be careful about the web sites I pick. I’m pretty sure there are government organizations to track you if you search out ways to build homemade bombs or set lethal booby traps. The next thing you know, a government drone will be buzzing overhead, following you to school.

  I wish I had a Mistress Song or Mistress Jiu-Li to equip me with defensive training. If I had them, I wouldn’t be forced to research this on my own. Online I’ve already viewed several martial arts tutorials, and at the library I picked up books on karate weapons, jujitsu, and kung fu. Mom will have a stress attack if she sees them, so I keep the fighting books sandwiched between benign books about art history and origami.

  What I’d really like is a weapon. The next time I’m accosted by the Eternal Emperor’s deranged “link,” I want to slip a sharpened blade through his ribs. The only problem with karate moves and sharpened implements is that they’re only a temporary protection at best. The Eternal Emperor is called “eternal” for a reason. I’m sure he’s practically impossible to kill, but that doesn’t mean I won’t give it my best try.

  Even as I think these violent thoughts, I feel sick inside. I’m not a killer. I don’t want to hurt anyone. But how else am I supposed to survive?

  I’ve thought about this many times over the past twelve hours and keep coming to the same conclusion. I need to know more about that Seventh Prophecy. If Jade and I plan on living until our next birthday, we need that information.

  I still don’t understand why Harold Chin is so eager for us to read it. When he’s in charge of his own mind, it seems like he’s actually trying to help us. It could be a twisted trick— something the Emperor is doing to toy with us—but I don’t think so. I think Harold’s good intentions are genuine.

  I think again about those terrible moments in the girls’ restroom. Next to Lily, what I remember most is Harold Chin’s dark eyes. I remember that other personality—the sinister, powerful one—slowly clawing its way to the surface. So far Harold has kept the Emperor from harming me, but how long can that last?

  I pick up one of the library books and dejectedly examine a set of illustrations about how to land a “dragon stamp” kick on an attacker’s groin. I could probably do that. I could probably hurt him that way if it’s what I need to do to escape. But now I think about the power I felt in my enemy’s clenching hands. Even with the healing provided by my eternal link, I felt the throbbing of bruised tissue long after he released me. Will I crack under torture if he gets me in his power? Will I reveal Jade’s location? I don’t know exactly where she is, but I sense it’s somewhere in an alternate version of North America.

  Xindalu.

  The name comes without Jade willing it to.

  New Continent.

  Definitely North America.

  There’s also a nearby village called Weishan, and I possess the name of every teacher at her academy. How hard will it be for the Emperor to track down Jade if he gets this information out of me?

  It’s getting late. My eyes are blurring, and my head is pounding. I stuff the kung fu book in my school bag and hide the other books under my mattress. Mom’s watching the evening news, her nightly routine, and will be glued to it until she’s seen tomorrow’s weather forecast. I have one more thing to accomplish before I go to bed, and now is probably the best time to do it.

  I slip past Mom, unnoticed, but pause outside the kitchen to glance back at the television screen. The news station’s crime reporter, quoting an anonymous source, says Harold Chin’s guards turned their guns on each other before he escaped. A spokesperson from the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department vehemently denies these claims.

  Mind manipulation. Apparently it works as well in this world as it does in Jade’s. Does that mean I can learn it, too? If I could, it might give us a fighting chance.

  In the kitchen, I open the silverware drawer and take out Mom’s biggest knife. I don’t have a spike-shooting, bamboo-slicing fan, but this should be almost as effective.

  “That’s a pretty big knife.”

  I jump and nearly drop the weapon.

  “I…I’m hungry,” I say. “I wanted…a grapefruit.”

  “At ten o’clock at night?”

  “I had a craving for citrus.”

  “Are you intending to eat the grapefruit,” Mom asks, “or kill it?”

  I try to laugh but only manage an unconvincing half-smile.

  “We’ll be all right, Jenna.”

  She crosses the kitchen, takes the knife from me, and returns it to its drawer.

  “The sheriff’s department promised to step up patrols in our neighborhood.” She picks a piece of lint off my blouse. “That evil man won’t be coming near you again.”

  She’s wrong. Local law enforcement officials won’t catch him any easier than the high school’s camera system did. The FBI checked the security footage. Mysteriously, the entire system stopped working ten minutes before I left the classroom. It didn’t start again until Harold Chin staggered out of the girl’s restroom and ran from the building.

  “Get some sleep, Jenna. Things will seem better in the morning. I promise they will.”

  I want to believe her, but it’s hard to dismiss my own terror when fear glitters like glazed frost in her eyes.

  I won’t let him hurt her. I won’t. I’ll sacrifice myself before I let him lay a finger on Mom. I’ll keep her safe even if it means I must die.

  THIRTY-NINE

  三十九

  JADE

  Guilt gnaws my stomach like a hungry rat. If I’d reported myself as soon as I started dreaming, imperial officials would have helped me retrain my mind. Jenna’s Lily is teetering on the brink of death. The Eternal Emperor knows where Jenna lives and will probably come for Mother…I-I mean…Jenna’s mother next. I’ve made a terrible mess of things.

  “Control your breathing,” Mistress Song says. “You’re not concentrating hard enough. If you wish to master the amplitudes, you must learn to focus.”

  Master Yao has chastised me about my wandering mind almost from the moment I came to the academy. Now Mistress Song is troubled by it, too. Maybe I never belonged here in the first place. So much would be different if that imperial scribe hadn’t come to my village and read my name off his scroll.

  I do my best to refocus on the task at hand—try to visualize a tiny flickering flame in a vast sea of darkness. But it’s no use. The image fades quickly, replaced by visions of Jenna cringing in a tiled “restroom.” I see Harold Chin’s crazed face. See Lily beneath the wash basins in a pool of her own blood. I did this. I brought this hopeless situation upon us. I squeeze my eyelids tight to hold back tears.

  “Let’s take a short break,” Mistress Song says, lightly resting a hand on my shoulder.

  Lily—my Lily—exhales loudly and sits back on her heels.

  Mistress Song removes her hand from my shoulder and brushes a loose strand of her long black hair behind one ear. She’s wearing a large flower in her silky tresses.

  Teachers are usually very austere, avoiding frivolous adornment, so the chijin—the vibrant red hibiscus—draws my gaze.
She must have placed it there while we were meditating.

  “You’re wondering about the flower,” she says.

  Lily and I nod.

  “There’s a purpose for it, and we’ll get to that later. First, I want to ask how the two of you are feeling about your training.”

  “Frustrated,” Lily says.

  “Frustrated? Why?”

  “We’ve meditated for two entire lessons. When do we actually get to use our amplitudes?”

  “You are using your amplitudes,” Mistress Song replies. “You’re doing exercises to strengthen them. You’ll better understand the purpose for meditation when your tu lessons begin.”

  “What is its purpose?” I ask. “The meditation?”

  “Meditation develops the mental focus necessary for controlling the brain. It might help if I ask you a question. Does it take conscious effort to breathe or make your heart keep beating?”

  “No,” I say. “My body does that on its own.”

  “And how about blinking your eyes?”

  “Not usually. But…I can control it if I want to.”

  Mistress Song nods. “Exactly. You can control certain unconscious reflexes at will. The object of these meditation lessons is to gain that kind of conscious control over all your physical processes.”

  I ponder this a moment. Goose bumps prickle my arms.

  “Are you saying I can make my heart beat faster or slower just by telling it to?”

  “Not only that. Your amplitudes reach beyond your physical shell. Properly focused they can influence the very elements around you. Which brings me to my demonstration…”

  She shifts her attention to Lily.

  “Lily, what can you tell me about huo waves and how they function?”

  “They’re the Second Amplitude,” she answers. “They’re generated when we daydream. A change in their wavelength can alter what the eye sees.”

  Basic information. We’ve gone over this again and again in Master Yao’s class. What I’d really like to know is how a person projects her own amplitudes to alter someone else’s. I briefly remember crossing the campus with that Dikang blade strapped to my arm and shudder at the memory.