Eternal

by Grant, Alasdair

  The last time I was ushered into the Pagoda of Reason it seemed warm and inviting. Tonight every shadowy piece of furniture glares at me and the walls bore into me with invisible eyes.

  I quickly and quietly make my way to the library. Its heavy doors have a lock on them, and I hate the thought of vandalizing their beautiful surface with my razor-edged fan. Not expecting it to be unlocked, I try a handle.

  It turns. I breathe a relieved sigh. The doors open and the lamp’s glow spreads across the library ceiling. Shadows stretch and yawn across the walls. I try to ignore the prickly sensation crawling up and down my spine and focus on finding the codex instead.

  Over there. On the lectern. That’s the last place I saw it.

  I take three steps forward and freeze. It’s gone. And that’s not the only thing out of place. The library looks like a hurricane passed through it. Precious scrolls have been dragged from their cubby holes. Irreplaceable manuscripts lie ripped, torn, and crumpled on the floor. The table and chairs have been turned on their sides. Someone was looking for something, and I’m almost certain that something was the codex.

  A queasy feeling churns my stomach. My knees wobble, and I stagger quickly out of the library. The pagoda’s walls close in on me. My lungs can’t draw air. I never should have come in here.

  The darkness seems to chase me as I trip and stumble to the kitchen door. Outside, I push the door shut and lean against it. It takes a full minute for my pounding pulse and ragged breathing to return to a semi-normal state. As they do, the Pagoda of Sublime Enlightenment’s door opens, and Lily steps out. I hurry to the path before she can turn and see where I was standing.

  “There you are,” she says.

  I smile. “I needed some fresh air.”

  “Worrying about Jenna’s Lily?”

  I nod.

  “Me, too.”

  We head toward the dormitory.

  “I’m going to save her,” Lily says. “Focused dreams. That’s the secret. I’m sure of it.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I am.”

  I don’t know how she can be so sure. But without the codex I can’t know anything.

  What now? Jenna’s Lily is running out of time.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  四十八

  JENNA

  I wake to a pounding heart. It shakes my body, and adrenaline courses through my veins. The codex is gone. Someone took it, and there’s no hope of saving Lily unless I find the other book in Yeye’s apartment.

  I don’t even know if his book holds the information I need. It was written in my world, not Jade’s. But Xu Fu must have been linked. How else could his writings about amplitudes end up in two worlds? Maybe the Xu Fu from my world wrote what he learned from the Xu Fu in Jade’s.

  Something about my last experience in Jade’s world nags at me. It’s the layout of Jade’s academy. It itches inside my cranium, and I need something visual to scratch it out. At my computer desk, I snatch a blank paper from the printer tray and grab a green pencil from the pencil holder. I begin at the Pagoda of Reason, marking its location with a dime-sized circle. As an afterthought, I put a square around the circle to represent the pagoda’s pillared porch. Next I add five more circles—one for each of the surrounding pagodas. Jade was right. They form a pentagon. A star’s five extended points.

  Is that all it is? A geometric shape? No, there’s something more. I study my diagram more closely and visualize the academy’s walking paths.

  The outer path wheels from one pagoda to the next, forming a perfect circle. I add this to the drawing. There’s also the straight east to west path that cuts across the circle. I put this line below the High Master’s pagoda approximately where the lion statue stands.

  Why is my heart beating so fast? Why are my palms sweating? I dry them on my jeans and grip the pencil again, recalling two more lines—not paths this time but ornamental streams. Jade walks past them so often, she barely even notices them.

  Both streams begin at a stone fountain where the Eternal Emperor’s marble likeness stands. A stone fish with a gaping mouth vomits the fountain’s water into a pebble-lined stream bed. From here the stream quickly forks, sending one stream to the southeast and another southwest. Both disappear beneath metal grates at the east-west path’s ends.

  I now have a triangle around the Pagoda of Reason’s circled square. As I stare at my sketch, something in my brain finally clicks.

  The Emperor fountain… Shui! The Qin Pagoda has a cedar statue—wood. The Pagoda of Amplitudes boasts an ever-flickering torch called the Eternal Flame. And the Pagoda of Ages? It hosts the terra cotta statue—a type of earthenware—depicting the Emperor standing over his enemies. Finally, the Pagoda of Tranquility. The bronze Lion—metal—stands guard a few paces away.

  Water, wood, fire, earth, and metal. I write the Chinese symbols where each pagoda stands.

  The diagram in Yeye’s book. It was a map of the academy’s central campus! Something tells me it possesses meaning even beyond that, but my cell phone rings before I can ponder it out.

  I set the diagram on my desk and answer the call.

  “Hey, Jenna.”

  “Derek?”

  “I’m not bothering you, am I?”

  “No, not at all.”

  I forgot I gave him my number.

  “I was thinking. If your return flight isn’t too late, maybe we could meet at the city library Sunday afternoon.”

  “For the report? Yeah, I think that will work. I could send you a text as soon as our plane lands.”

  “Super! See you Sunday?”

  “Yeah, see you then.”

  He hangs up. My heart is beating fast again. It’s not like me to get so interested in a guy so quickly.

  It makes me feel guilty again. Lily’s in a coma, her brain bleeding, and here I am anticipating a Sunday afternoon with a good-looking guy. What right do I have to be excited? What right do I have to feel happy?

  “I’ll get that book, Lil,” I promise. “I’ll get that book and figure out how to save you.”

  It’s the only way for Jade and me to redeem ourselves. This is one promise I can’t afford not to keep.

  FORTY-NINE

  四十九

  JADE

  The room is filled with whispers. News spreads fast—especially when it involves a crime. Everyone wants to give an opinion or hear what others have deduced. Lily and I are the only ones who sit quietly as we wait for class to begin. If Mistress Jiu-Li is annoyed by our classmates’ noise, she doesn’t give any indication. She kneels, as if in meditation, with her back to the class.

  Opal Deng points our direction. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but she has a malicious look on her face. I feel a thin sheen of perspiration form along my hairline. Opal knows Lily and I are always away from the dormitory at night. I should have thought things through a little better. If she suspects one or both of us, who else might think the same?

  Mistress Jiu-Li, finally rising, turns to face the class. The students’ whispers fade and die.

  “You girls have obviously heard,” she says, “that the High Master’s pagoda was broken into and vandalized last night. I know for a fact no student at this academy would be stupid enough to commit such a crime.”

  She stares directly at Lily and me, and I attempt to make myself smaller. I would sink into the floor if I could.

  “That being said,” she continues, “Master Yao has begun an investigation. Anyone who saw or heard anything strange last night should report it to a teacher at the first available opportunity.”

  Opal rises to her feet.

  “Yes, Student Opal?”

  “Mistress Jiu-Li,” Opal replies, “should it be reported to Master Yao if certain students were missing from the dormitory after-hours?”

  “If you’re referring to Students Jade and Lily,” Mistress Jiu-Li says, “their whereabouts have already been accounted for. I thank you, however, for your concern. You may kneel again,
Student Opal.”

  Opal returns to the floor, a sour look on her face, and Mistress Jiu-Li bores holes through me with her piercing brown eyes. She knows. She knows it was me. She of all people would recognize a tessen’s slash marks.

  “Student Jade,” she says. “Student Lily. Please come forward and help me.”

  I rise stiffly, shuffle to the front of the room.

  “Each of you please take a basket,” Mistress Jiu-Li says, “and make sure every girl in this class receives an instrument.”

  As I bow, I’m grateful for the formal etiquette requiring me to lower my eyes. Even without direct eye contact, I feel my teacher’s disapproving stare.

  Foolish. That’s what she thinks I am. And she’s probably right. I should have found a less noticeable way to get into the High Master’s pavilion.

  My wicker basket is filled with several dozen bamboo flutes. I’m familiar with the traditional flute, having played it many times before, but unlike the side-blown dizi, which has a translucent membrane and ten finger holes, these flutes are end-blown with only four holes. It looks more like a toy for a small child than a serious instrument. I wonder what brings this change to our curriculum.

  The basket is surprisingly heavy. I prop it against my hip and empty it as quickly as I can. When each of our fellow students has a flute, Lily and I return the baskets to Mistress Jiu-Li. We each take a flute and return to our places.

  Now that I have the chance to get a better look at the approximately two foot long instrument, I see it has a fifth finger hole on the bottom. I also notice how the wood progressively darkens as it tapers to a vaguely bell-shaped end. There’s something ruggedly beautiful about it.

  “The shakuhachi,” Mistress Jiu-Li says, “is an instrument once favored by vanquished Japan’s komuso priests. It was also a favorite possession of ronin samurai. Made from bamboo root, it is stout like a club and could be used both as an instrument and a weapon.

  “The komuso believed certain brain amplitudes could more easily be unlocked through a musical technique called sui zen…”

  Before I can look away, she briefly locks gazes with me again.

  “This, of course, is nonsense,” she continues, looking at the other girls. “Music is feminine and therefore has no significant connection to amplitude training. The shakuhachi, however, produces beautiful music, and we will learn to play some today.”

  She takes a bamboo flute from the nearest basket and plays a tuning note for the rest of us to match. The shakuhachi has two segments joined three finger-widths past its middle. A slight twist and pull allow me to adjust it until I’ve reached the proper pitch.

  When Mistress Jiu-Li is satisfied that we’re all adequately tuned, she waves a hand to silence us.

  “This instrument plays in a minor pentatonic scale,” she says, “which will make it the perfect instrument for playing a tune we already know well. The Autumn Rain Song. Please repeat each note after me as I demonstrate the proper fingering.”

  The Autumn Rain Song. It’s a very old, very simple tune.

  Autumn Rain. Rain. Water. Shui. Does it have something to do with what Mistress Song demonstrated last night?

  I follow Mistress Jiu-Li’s fingerings and learn the tune. She leads us through it numerous times before setting her own flute aside and commanding the class to perform it in unison. I concentrate on the song’s sometimes smooth, sometimes staccato rhythm, imagining raindrops trickling through the pagoda’s roof then dripping slowly from its ceiling. Through the music, I not only see the raindrops, I feel them as extensions of myself. Could this be what the komuso meant by sui zen?

  We play the piece again, this time as a round, students at the back beginning one stanza followed a moment later by those in the middle. My row at the front starts last. We’ve been instructed to play the song five times through without interruption. As I finger each note and feel its rhythm, I become one with the water. The sun beating down on the pagoda’s third-tier roof tries to pull some of its essence away, but it escapes beneath a loose shingle and follows wooden beams through darkness. Working its way inexorably downward, it eventually reaches a sloping beam. It follows the beam to a point where it connects with another and proceeds to moisten the ceiling plaster. Now it seeps through, and, as the last note of the final round is played, it again becomes a droplet. It detaches itself from the ceiling and falls.

  Something blurs past my eyes. It strikes the wooden floor and splatters into a million crystalline pieces. A few droplets touch my hand. They feel cold. I blink in surprise.

  Mistress Jiu-Li is staring my direction. Our eyes meet long enough for her to give a slight approving nod. The ghost of a smile lingers on her lips even after she’s looked away.

  “That was beautiful, girls. I’ve never heard this piece played better. Students Lily and Jade will now gather your instruments.”

  My heart beats a rapid rhythm, a tune more beautiful than the haunting Autumn Rain Song courses through me. Did I just accomplish what I think I accomplished? Did I create a Second Amplitude illusion?

  “Student Jade,” Mistress Jiu-Li says. “Student Lily.”

  We turn toward her, heads lowered, as we set the filled flute baskets on the floor.

  “You will please remain behind as the other students exit. Kneel on the floor behind me while you wait.”

  My heart still beats rapidly but this time with nervousness. Is she keeping us behind to discuss my success in class? Or is this about the destruction of Master Ning’s kitchen door and library?

  Guilt coats my insides like sticky black tar. What made me think I was skillful enough to accomplish such a risky trick? Mistress Jiu-Li closes the door behind the last girl, and for several moments stands in silence.

  “Whatever you took,” she finally says, “I hope you’ve hidden it well.”

  “What makes you think one of us took something?” Lily asks.

  “Because I broke into the High Master’s pagoda,” I say.

  Lily gawks at me.

  “But I didn’t take anything. Someone was there before me. I needed to read a certain book. It was gone, and the library was torn to pieces.”

  Mistress Jiu-Li shakes her head.

  “Next time you need to read one of the Master’s books,” she says, “try a more subtle means of entry. A window was left open on the second storey. Any time you enter a building you don’t belong in, make sure you come and go without leaving a trace.”

  No further chastisement. No questions about why I needed to read the book. She simply opens the door and motions for us to leave.

  “Zaijian, Mistress Jiu-Li,” we whisper, bowing to her, as we shuffle outside.

  We hurry toward our next class, mathematics and sciences with Master Chang.

  “That’s where you were?” Lily asks. “You got in and out of the pagoda that fast?”

  “Yes.”

  Lily grins. Not the reaction I expected.

  “Sometimes you surprise me, Jade.”

  Suddenly I don’t feel so stupid anymore.

  FIFTY

  五十

  JADE

  I read the first equation off Master Chang’s dusty chalkboard and move my suanpan’s beads across its rails. Most of my classmates manipulate their counting trays much faster than I do. I’ve never been good at mathematics.

  This weakness will limit my options come graduation day. The best government positions go to girls who are skilled mathematicians. Beauty is also helpful because important officials favor attractive girls.

  Thump…thump…thump.

  Master Chang moves with a shuffle that could make a turtle impatient. He relies on a thick oak staff to keep his ancient legs from buckling.

  Thump.

  The final thump stops behind me. Master Change has come to check on my progress. I quickly write the equation’s sum across my miniature chalkboard. My teacher reminds me of an old willow that has seen too many strong winds. Especially when he slowly leans over me.

&nbs
p; “Almost,” he says in his wheezy voice, “you’ve only missed the correct sum by a little. I think your mistake was made right here…”

  He lifts his cane—a dangerous proposition—and uses its tip to shakily slide a few of my suanpan’s beads.

  “A simple mistake in the decimal place,” he says. “I’ve often made similar mistakes.”

  I give a slight head bow and write the correct calculations on my chalkboard.

  “Thank you, Master Chang,” I mumble.

  “Not at all…not at all…”

  He nods and smiles before moving on to my neighbor’s chalkboard. I hate the topic he teaches but I like Master Chang. Of all the academy’s male teachers, Master Chang is the best. He has a kindly disposition and doesn’t favor boys over girls. In fact, he might even maintain the heretical belief that women are as capable and intelligent as men.

  I’m wasting too much time with my wandering thoughts. I erase my board, read another equation, and start sliding beads again. This problem is harder than the last, and even the contemplation of solving it makes my head start to ache. I don’t accomplish much before a hollow ringing noise distracts me from my work.

  At first I think the ringing is only in my ears. Then I see everyone else has stopped what they’re doing, too.

  “Oh, bother,” Master Chang grumbles. “An emergency drill. They always seem to come at the most inopportune times.”

  He lifts his gnarled staff, teeters, and points toward the door.

  “Leave everything here and assemble outside. Girls to the left. Boys to the right.”

  “My ancestors must be smiling on me,” Lily whispers, moving next to me as we exit. “If I had to take one more minute of that class, my head was going to explode.”

  I start to smile but my expression freezes as we step off the pagoda’s broad-roofed porch. Around me I hear gasps and frightened whispers. We forget Master Chang’s instructions about where to stand and, as a body, back up against the pagoda’s redwood railing.