Jamie Reign the Hidden Dragon

by P J Tierney

  Jamie! The piercing cry reverberated through his head. He gasped and flinched.

  He opened his eyes to find Master Wu looking as surprised as Jamie was.

  ‘You heard that?’ Jamie spluttered.

  Master Wu’s eyes were wide. He gave a single slow nod.

  Jamie’s breaths were coming in short, sharp bursts. A red tinge misted his vision. It was happening again.

  Master Wu brought his hands together in a loud clap. ‘Class dismissed,’ he said. ‘Everyone out.’

  The students scurried. When the room was clear, Master Wu sat Jamie at a desk and crouched so their faces were level. ‘Jamie, who is calling you?’

  Jamie shrugged. ‘My spirit guide?’ he offered.

  ‘You know that’s not your guide. Has it happened before?’

  Jamie paused for a fraction too long to get away with a lie. ‘Once or twice,’ he admitted.

  ‘Those newspaper articles,’ Master Wu said, shaking his head. ‘They are after you, Jamie, luring you and sadly they know where to find you.’

  Jamie bit his bottom lip. ‘Who is luring me, Master?’

  ‘Zheng, through his men.’

  ‘But he can’t have re-formed — his spirit was scattered.’

  Master Wu looked at Jamie sadly, then said, ‘In the absence of a leader, another will take his place.’ He made Jamie repeat his promise to do everything Jade asked of him.

  ‘Are you sure about her?’ Jamie asked nervously. ‘I don’t think she wants me to learn kung fu.’

  ‘She is teaching you what you need to know.’

  ‘But Master Wu, I think she might be trying to kill me.’

  Master Wu patted Jamie’s knee. ‘You know better than most the burden she has to bear. Your mother ran from that burden, Jamie. Jade is facing up to it.’

  Jamie felt like he’d been slapped. He backed away from Master Wu, feeling more alone than ever.

  Jamie blinked as he exited the dimness of the Grand Pagoda into the bright sunlight. Wing was leaning against a column on the verandah, waiting for him. They watched the others assemble on the terraced training ground.

  ‘Everything okay?’ Wing asked.

  Jamie tilted his head and shrugged in a noncommittal way.

  ‘It won’t be for long,’ Wing said, jutting his chin towards the training ground. ‘It’s kung fu next.’

  Jamie sighed and dragged his feet down the few stairs to the training ground. He took a place at the back, next to Edwin. Only the Chinese students were permitted at the front; a distinction that suited Jamie just fine. Jade and Cheng were whispering together, and Jade giggled. That probably should have been a warning for Jamie — Jade wasn’t the sort of girl who giggled. She glanced towards the back line of students, said something else to Cheng and they both looked at Jamie.

  Jamie swallowed.

  Cheng led them in warm-up exercises, starting them off with push-ups. They had to put their toes on the terrace stairs and their hands on the lower ground. Jamie’s arms hadn’t recovered from Jade’s training and he barely kept pace with Cheng’s count. If the push-ups weren’t bad enough, Cheng made them do a handstand against the wall of the Grand Pagoda so the push-ups were now inverted.

  Jamie’s chin hovered close to the ground, his arms and shoulders too tired to force his body up. Cheng stood in front of him, grabbed Jamie’s ankles and lifted him up till his arms were straight. Then he let go. Jamie buckled and hit the ground chin first, smashing his teeth together.

  He jumped to his feet, ready to square up to Cheng, who dragged him to the front of the class for sparring. It was all blocks and punches and Jamie could barely lift his arms to defend himself. Cheng moved quickly, hitting Jamie with his fists, his forearms, the back of his hand. Jamie felt as if he was a wooden training dummy, except the dummies didn’t feel pain nor humiliation nor fear either.

  Cheng went into a complicated sequence of kicks that had Jamie jumping and dodging. He had nothing to counter with. His few kicks were basic and Cheng blocked before he got anywhere near landing one. Cheng swept his leg beneath Jamie, who jumped so he wouldn’t fall. While he was airborne, Cheng flicked around and swung his other leg directly at Jamie’s head. Jamie saw it coming but couldn’t get out of the way. The crack of bone on his skull echoed in his ears. It felt as if his head was exploding. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t see. He was flying through the air, then landed heavily on the ground.

  Everything turned red.

  Jamie was vaguely aware of being upright again. His wrist flicked and positioned itself like a cobra about to strike. He felt his arms and legs lash out and connect with flesh and bone, but he was disconnected somehow, his consciousness lagging behind his body, drowning in the thick red fog.

  Then he heard a brittle, high-pitched laugh that chilled him. It sounded like Zheng’s laugh when he’d told Jamie that his mother was a coward, right before he’d nearly killed Jamie’s best friends. But the laugh wasn’t coming from somewhere nearby. It was coming from deep within Jamie himself.

  Jamie faltered. He felt a foot connect with his face and he tumbled backwards through the red mist, landing on the sharp edges of the terrace stairs. He blinked his way up from the depths of the red blur, like a diver struggling towards the surface of the ocean. He saw the sky above him and felt the ground below. He was lying awkwardly, his right leg caught beneath him on the stairs.

  The glare from the sun momentarily blinded him, until an airborne form cast a shadow. In the moment he took to focus, Jamie realised the shadow was Cheng, heading for him in full flight, his legs raised and poised for attack. His eyes locked onto Jamie’s overextended knee: it was the perfect target — the slightest blow would shatter it.

  Jamie tried to move, but knew it was too late. He clamped his eyes shut and braced himself for the excruciating bolt of pain. He felt Cheng’s feet brush his training pants and the slight shudder of the ground as he landed. But there was no pain.

  He opened his eyes. Cheng was crouched over him, a foot either side of his extended knee. He leaned in close and ground his finger into Jamie’s chest.

  ‘You’ll never beat me,’ he said. ‘No matter how much training you do with her.’

  Jamie knew he was right. He’d never beat Cheng because Jade didn’t want him to. She was training him to fail.

  Wing ran over. ‘Are you okay?’

  Jamie brushed him aside, got to his feet and went after Jade. He grabbed her shoulder and forced her to turn around and face him.

  ‘What did you say to him?’

  She looked him in the eye, her face expressionless. ‘I told him to make you do push-ups. That’s all I said.’

  Jamie didn’t believe her, but he did believe she could be mean enough to set Cheng onto him. He grabbed the tail end of her belt and held up the chop mark, determined to find out who she really was and why she’d want him dead. But there was no symbol there. He looked at her and she glared back at him. ‘That’s none of your business,’ she said as she yanked at the belt.

  Jamie held it tightly, holding the tail end up to the light. There was the faint pattern of tiny holes where the stitching had been removed. He looked from the belt to Jade. Her eyes flared and her cheeks burned, then she smirked at him.

  Jamie let go of her belt and backed away. She was hiding who she really was.

  Jamie went straight to his dormitory room and dug around in the bottom of his sandalwood chest. He pulled out his dive knife and a net bag and shoved them into his satchel. His muscles ached from Cheng’s beating and his mind raced. He needed to know who Jade was and what better way than by going to the one place she seemed attached to.

  As he strode from the room he crashed straight into Wing. ‘Where are you going?’ Wing asked.

  ‘Fishing,’ Jamie said.

  ‘Fishing? Why fishing?’

  ‘Because your mum’s about to run out of chickens.’ Jamie felt Wing staring after him. He stopped and took a deep breath. ‘We could do with some more food, that
’s all,’ he said, turning to face his friend.

  Wing nodded and Jamie left.

  He headed south, along the route they took for Cheng’s mountain run. At the base of Shaowu Mountain, he veered off the path and cut behind the Grand Pagoda. He kicked at the rocks below his feet and yanked at the leaves of branches as he passed.

  Jamie was so absorbed he didn’t see Mr Fan in the shadow of the Grand Pagoda and was startled when the old man called his name.

  ‘Where’s our young Spirit Warrior off to in such a hurry?’ he asked.

  Mr Fan held a blossom balanced on his palm as he moved slowly and purposefully through a series of kung fu poses. His movements were graceful, almost like a dance, the twists and turns performed so gently that the flower didn’t budge. His serenity had a calming effect and Jamie stayed to watch. Mr Fan finished in a low pose with the blossom extended towards Jamie as an offering. It was a lotus flower.

  ‘It comes out of the mire but is itself not sullied,’ Mr Fan said.

  ‘Okay,’ Jamie said, not thinking too much about the words.

  He went to take the blossom, but Mr Fan moved it from his reach. ‘It comes out of the mire but is itself not sullied,’ he repeated. Mr Fan placed the blossom in Jamie’s hand. ‘It’s just something worth remembering,’ he said.

  Jamie bowed his thanks. He continued southward, appreciating the flower’s beauty as he went. He opened his satchel to place it inside for safekeeping and a little furry hand reached out and snatched it. Jamie shrieked and pulled his hand back. It took three or four deep breaths to get his heart rate back to normal.

  From inside the bag there came a loud crunching sound followed by chewing noises. Jamie peered in and Jet smiled up at him. He took another huge bite from the lotus flower.

  Jamie shrugged. ‘Well, they’re much better than peonies. So much for the sentiment though.’

  The path became steeper and more slippery the closer he got to the southern wall. In places the jungle had almost swallowed it entirely. The undergrowth was alive with slithering, rustling and clicking sounds. Jamie slapped at his tingling ankles and itchy arms as he imagined what could be making those noises.

  Finally, he reached the place where the wall had collapsed. He climbed up and over the inner wall’s foundations, stumbling on the uneven dirt that had been rammed in between the two walls. He was extra careful when he came to the few layers of stones that he had so painstakingly but amateurishly replaced the other day. By now, he was caked in filth and his fingernails were black with mud. It was clear that the night he’d come here in his sleep, he hadn’t walked. He must have Ridden the Way.

  He looked down at the rocky headland that speared out into the sea, dividing the calm water on the left from the wild, raging waves on the right. The surf roared as it crashed into the headland, sending plumes of spray some twenty metres into the air. At high tide, most of the headland would be deceptively submerged. No wonder any boats coming to Chia Wu chose to ride the rapids of the Penglai Straits rather than risk navigating this side of the island.

  Jamie clambered over the glistening rocks and found a spot that was protected from the wind and the spray. He unpacked his knife and strapped it to his thigh over his training pants. He removed his shirt but kept on his shoes. The sharp edges of the broken oyster shells were painful even through their canvas soles.

  Jet was sound asleep and didn’t wake even when Jamie took him out of the satchel. His little belly poked up as Jamie placed him carefully on a rock. He went to the edge of the rock platform and looked out over the calmer waters of the cove, then closed his eyes. He slowed his breathing and felt the familiar swinging sensation as he prepared to View Remotely. He scanned the waterline, then let his View drop through the surface. His vision undulated with the current, swishing him this way and that and making him a little queasy.

  Through the whitewash that churned against the rocks Jamie could make out the rounded shells of abalone. He Viewed in close and saw them everywhere, then brought his View back to his body and got into the water for real. He took a deep breath and dived under.

  The current was wild, swirling up against the rock shelf, then pulling him down. He grazed his elbows against the jagged rocks and saw fine tendril-like ribbons of red blood entering the current. He came up for air, gulped and went down again. He wedged his arm into a ridge so the current wouldn’t drag him away and was slammed up against the rock with the next wave instead. He locked his feet onto whatever he could, then stuck his knife between one of the hard abalone shells and the rock and prised it off. He put the abalone in his net bag, then went up for air.

  He collected a full net of abalone, one agonising breath at a time. When he had enough to spare them chicken broth for at least a couple of nights, he rammed his knife into a rock seam just below the waterline and tied the net bag to it so the abalone wouldn’t die — well, not for a while anyway.

  The afternoon was turning cold and clouds swept in from the south. Jamie climbed over the rocks to the other side of the headland. He found the spot where Jade was sitting when he’d seen her crying, and he huddled there against the wind and the sea spray. He bit his bottom lip nervously.

  He set his gaze to where he thought she’d been looking and he let the sweeping sensation come. His View went into the swirling water and descended through the churning foam. It got darker the deeper he went and instinctively he felt colder. Seaweed waved lazily from the rock face, lying flat against its surface as the current went one way, then flipping back over when the current turned. Out of habit, Jamie kept his distance, even though he didn’t have a physical body to get caught in the weed.

  His View reached the ocean floor. It was barren and hard; the swirling currents had stripped it of any sand. He ventured into the greenish, cloudy gloom, passing seaweed growing in great clumps from the pockmarked floor and lone stalagmite-type rocks. Ahead, a white cruiser lay decaying on its side. Jamie approached tentatively. Barnacles covered the hull and weed grew up through the broken windows. A school of silver fish darted through the hatches and out through the portholes. As Jamie got closer he saw a huge gash in the hull that ran all the way from the bow to the stern.

  He Viewed along the side of the cruiser and around to the back of it. It was darker here and the weed grew thickly, covering the vessel’s name. He reached out to move the weed aside, forgetting that his body was up on the surface, huddled against the wind and sea spray. He Viewed as close as he could and saw something that looked like the wing of a black bird.

  Jamie snapped his View back to his body so quickly that he reeled. His mind raced; he needed to know for sure. He scrambled to the side of the headland, took a great big breath and dived in.

  He pulled himself down through the water, past the foam and the waving seaweed, right down to the hull. He pulled himself along its damaged side, using the portholes and the lip of the great gash itself for leverage. He edged around the back and kicked and clawed at the weed covering the ship’s name. He cleared enough to see that where the name should have been painted, there was instead a circular symbol showing a raven in flight.

  He gasped and huge bubbles streamed upwards. His lungs burned and his throat seized. He took a final look at the raven symbol, memorising its every detail, then pushed up towards the surface. He wasn’t even half a body length from the hull when his foot snagged on the weed and he was pulled up short.

  He kicked and pushed at his trapped foot with his other foot, but the weed held fast. His head pounded and his heart raced as he tried to break free. He thought his chest might explode, he needed air so desperately. He reached for his knife, but it wasn’t there. It was holding the bag of abalone in place.

  He looked up to the surface and the sparkling light taunted him. In a final concentrated effort, he ripped at the weed with both hands. It held fast. He looked around for something sharp and saw instead the bleached white bones of two human skeletons pinned beneath the broken hull.

  Jamie screamed. The last
of his air bubbled up, then a swirling vortex of cold water wrapped around his foot. He screamed again and sucked in salt water. He yanked so hard he thought he might rip his foot from his leg. He didn’t care, he just needed to be as far from those bodies as he could.

  The icy water swirled around him again and this time when he kicked, he felt the weed’s hold break. He rocketed to the surface, propelled both by the desperate urge to breathe and the freezing spiral of water. His head broke through the surface and he spluttered and sucked in great gulps of air. He thrashed his way to the rock platform and hauled himself up, all the while expecting a white, bony hand to clamp around his ankle and drag him back down again.

  Jamie grabbed his monkey and the bag of abalone, then ran. He didn’t feel safe until the great big granite wall stood between him and the cove. Even then, he didn’t stop. He ran and clambered and stumbled, glancing over his shoulder every few steps and heading straight to the Celestial Hall.

  Inside, he strode to the section where he’d seen the silk with the raven symbol. He flicked through until he found the right banner. The raven was in flight and poised to strike, its claws pointing straight out, its wings fanned around its head, the feathers meeting to form the top of the circle.

  Exactly like the symbol on the boat. Jade’s boat, or her parents’ at least.

  Jamie flicked through silk after silk, looking for the symbol again. He was almost three-quarters of the way around when he found a raven symbol that made him stop dead. The raven was as wide as the silk itself and stitched with layer upon layer of thread, making it look as if it was about to lunge out of the fabric. Jamie stumbled back. Where there should have been two little black dots for eyes, this raven had one disproportionally large human eye.

  He edged nearer and peered at it from side-on, so it couldn’t stare back. He noticed there was a reflection stitched into the iris. He squinted to make it out, then clapped his hand over his mouth in horror. It was an image of a man with a cold, pointed face and dressed in black leather. Jamie glanced to the end wall where the Spirit Warrior’s battles with Zheng were played out again and again in the carved stone. He looked back at the man in the iris: it was Zheng.