Paper Mage

by Leah R. Cutter

  Han Wanju sat on Gan Ou’s right side, her scarlet jacket blazoned with large black peonies. She’d never lost her round, childlike cheeks, even though she was also a mother. Her eyes still coveted everything they saw greedily, like a pig.

  Ling-Ling also sat on that side, down a step, leaning back on one hand. Her sharp teeth were always present in her conversation. She wore a purple jacket with circular patterns of yellow-orange peaches dotting her front and sides. Her hair was pulled back from her face and piled high on her head with an elaborate set of jeweled hairpins. She’d always been the one most concerned with appearances.

  Xiao Yen glanced down at her own plain school jacket. It was well made, but dark blue, with tiny flowers in lighter blue sewn only around the cuffs. She always felt fancy at school in this jacket. The boys wore dull colors, and never took care of their clothes. Yet, compared with her sister and her cousins, she looked like a servant. Xiao Yen knew she shouldn’t feel ashamed, but a small part of her did.

  Xiao Yen sat down at her sister’s left. Gan Ou handed her a well-balanced cup, coated in a cracked white glaze, full of slightly bitter gen mai cha, a green tea made with toasted rice. Xiao Yen wrapped her hands around it and drew the smoky scent of the tea deep into her chest, letting it relax her.

  The women slyly bragged about their sons. The older boys ran with abandon across the courtyard, absorbed in their game. The girls were more circumspect, listening to stories or taking care of their own pretend children.

  Ling-Ling called attention to her newest jade bracelet as she asked for more tea. Xiao Yen, of course, didn’t have any bracelets. They got in the way of folding. Gan Ou wore a plain silver one. Xiao Yen looked at her sister. Though the silk of her jacket was fine, the seams weren’t straight. Gaps showed between the stitches along the back of her left sleeve. Plus, the cup she held was chipped along the rim. Xiao Yen wondered if Gan Ou’s husband ever let her use the beautiful writing set he’d given her as a wedding gift, or if he was too miserly.

  Just then crying erupted on the far step. Gan Ou’s youngest son batted at his nurse’s hands and pulled out of her arms, reaching for his mother sitting so far away. Gan Ou smiled and called, “Bring him here.”

  The nurse shuffled to where the women sat and handed over the boy. With a practiced movement, Gan Ou undid two side buttons and pulled out her breast. The boy began suckling with a happy sigh. Ling-Ling and Han Wanju talked with each other. Xiao Yen drank her tea and watched her sister out of the corner of her eye. A contented smile, one that Xiao Yen had never seen before, played on Gan Ou’s lips. Xiao Yen, in her mind’s eye, could see the magic bond between mother and son. Xiao Yen had never seen her sister look so happy. Could being a mother have changed her?

  The women sat quietly for a moment, each thinking her own thoughts after the nurse took the baby away.

  “Xiao Yen, do you remember Chieh-yeh Be Be? My matchmaker?” Gan Ou asked, calling Xiao Yen from her fog.

  “I think so,” Xiao Yen replied. “Wasn’t she at Wang Tie-Tie’s birthday party?”

  “She was,” Gan Ou replied, taking another sip of tea, and pausing.

  Xiao Yen remembered Chieh-yeh Be Be’s nose. It was flat, like a peasant’s, and good for smelling gossip. She meddled in other people’s affairs with her meaty hands, leaving sticky fingerprints behind. She’d been Fu Be Be’s choice for a matchmaker, not Wang Tie-Tie’s.

  Gan Ou looked around the courtyard, making sure none of the servants was near. Ling-Ling and Han Wanju both leaned forward so they wouldn’t miss a word.

  “Fu Be Be and I talked with Chieh-yeh Be Be, and she’s agreed to look for a husband for you,” Gan Ou announced, her smile triumphant, but possessive and sharp around the edges.

  Xiao Yen opened her mouth. No words came out. A husband? So she might have her own son? Have a piece of happiness as big as Gan Ou’s? She grinned at her sister, unable to say anything.

  Gan Ou clapped her hands and said, “I knew you weren’t Wang Tie-Tie’s pawn! I’ve already checked with my husband. You don’t have to go back to school. You can stay here until we get you married!”

  Ling-Ling said, “Don’t you worry. We’ll hide you. No one will know where you are.” Ling-Ling put a thin, clutching hand out toward Xiao Yen.

  Han Wanju, ever the follower, said, “We’ll protect you.” Her small eyes looked over Xiao Yen as if she were eyeing a new delicacy.

  Gan Ou said, “It’ll be so good to have you here, with your family, where you belong.”

  Xiao Yen pulled herself back from the three women. Of course, if she got married, she’d have to stop practicing magic. She’d have to leave her quiet room, the whispering trees, how good it felt to bring a creature to life.

  “What do you mean, no, you won’t?” Gan Ou asked, her voice holding the sharpness her smile always hid.

  Xiao Yen wasn’t aware that she’d spoken, but she must have. “I have to go back to school. I graduate later this spring. Then, we can talk about . . .” She let her voice trail off. Talk about her giving up her magic? Everything that she’d worked so hard to do? What about her promise to Wang Tie-Tie, to do a deed worthy of an immortal peach?

  But to have a baby . . .

  “I have to go,” Xiao Yen said, standing. Though the air in the courtyard was still, Xiao Yen felt a great wind blowing, tearing her apart. To continue with her magic? And always do what Wang Tie-Tie wanted her to do? Possibly to go to live with foreigners? Or to have a child? And maybe get a miserly husband like Ko Fu? Her luck couldn’t protect her from something like that.

  Xiao Yen leaned over and kissed her sister’s cheek. Gan Ou wouldn’t meet Xiao Yen’s eye, her smile hiding her hurt. Xiao Yen bowed to Ling-Ling and Han Wanju, then left without another word. She knew they’d gossip after she left, gnaw over her words and suck at the marrow of her life. She hurried back to her own family compound to gather her things. There’d be no peace for her there either. Maybe the quiet at her school could help her decide where she wanted to go, who she wanted to be.

  Fat Fang and Long Yen stood talking in the entrance to the student courtyard when Xiao Yen returned to school that afternoon. Long Yen was more animated than she’d ever seen him. Even his sleepy eyes were wide open.

  “So my father placed a vote before the members, and they agreed. I’m to defend the big caravan, for the whole Weavers’ Guild, the one with all the goods. And all four horses! From here to the capital,” Long Yen finished in a rush, using his hands to indicate going from one place to the other.

  “Congratulations,” Xiao Yen told Long Yen, awed. The horses were worth as much, if not more, than the cloth they carried. “I wish you the greatest success,” she added, bowing low.

  Long Yen bowed back, still grinning.

  Fat Fang added, “It isn’t as important as defending a big city like Bao Fang, but it’s a good start.”

  Xiao Yen rolled her eyes at Long Yen. He winked, then ducked his head to hide his laughter. Fat Fang had bragged about his position since he’d arrived at school.

  “Just think of all the things you’ll see!” Xiao Yen told Long Yen. “The fancy puppet shows, the imported paper shops. Even foreigners perform in the markets there, or so I’ve heard.”

  “And if the caravan is successful, who knows? Maybe we’ll go back every year. Maybe the Emperor will see our cloth and ask us to come back!” Long Yen said, building bigger dreams with his hands.

  “Anything could happen,” Xiao Yen replied, sharing in and trying to add to his happiness.

  “What position will you take after graduation?” Fat Fang asked, turning to Xiao Yen.

  Xiao Yen felt the question like a cold rain beating on her head. She prevented herself from jerking back, but just barely. “My aunt has many contacts with many caravans,” she said, hugging the book Wang Tie-Tie had given her to her chest. It was a dictionary of the language of the foreigners, the ones that lived on the other end of the Great Merchant trail. It had been expensive, but Wang Tie-Tie said i
t was worth it. Xiao Yen needed to learn a foreigner’s tongue for her work. If she spoke some of a foreigner’s language, maybe they’d overlook that she was a girl, and hire her.

  Fat Fang said, “I see.”

  Long Yen turned to Fat Fang and said, “Why don’t you go practice or something? You’re going to need it, with such an important position.”

  Instead of replying to the sarcasm in Long Yen’s voice, Fat Fang bowed his head to them and said, “I think I will.” He turned and walked away, toward the student rooms.

  Neither Xiao Yen or Long Yen could stop from giggling. Fat Fang held himself like a puffed-up priest, hands to his sides, while rocking his hips like a prostitute. He waved his hand at them without turning around, well aware of the picture he presented.

  Xiao Yen smiled again. Fat Fang was pompous, but he hadn’t meant to hurt her with his question. The play-walking was all the apology she’d get.

  “Do you want to work with a caravan?” Long Yen asked. “I didn’t know girls could do that. I thought . . .” His voice trailed away.

  “You thought I’d get married?” Xiao Yen asked.

  Long Yen replied, “Breathe deeply and let nature guide your fingers.” He bowed as he said it.

  Xiao Yen laughed out loud. Long Yen was so sweet, trying to cheer her up with impressions of Master Wei.

  “Well, I have to go,” Long Yen said.

  Xiao Yen started walking toward her room at the back of the courtyard.

  “You know, you are the best student here,” Xiao Yen heard from behind her. She turned to look, but Long Yen was still walking toward Master Wei’s study. Had Long Yen said that? How could he think such a thing? She was a girl, as Fat Fang had pointed out many times. A girl, who shouldn’t be practicing magic, or fighting, but who should be looking after her husband, and having babies.

  * * *

  Udo pointed to Khuangho and asked Xiao Yen, “Isn’t it pretty?”

  Xiao Yen gave him a sad smile. The town did look pretty from where they sat, high on the merchant road above the town. It wasn’t a walled city like Tan Yuan or Bao Fang—shops and compounds sprouted in random clumps in a sheltered cove. Most of the buildings were made of wood or yellowish rock. Bisecting the curve of the cove was a long dock, sticking like a child’s finger into the water, with brown lumps on either side; ships, Xiao Yen assumed. The sea sparkled brilliantly blue beyond the town. Xiao Yen had never seen such a large stretch of water before. It went out as far as she could see, until it touched the edge of Heaven.

  Now that she’d seen it, she could leave. She’d done her duty. She’d seen the brothers and their goods to the coast. She had to get back to Bao Fang.

  Sea wind, tinged with salt, blew the strands of hair that had escaped her braids into her face. She cocked her head to one side. This wind had a lighter tone compared to the wind she constantly heard in her head.

  “I’m sorry,” Udo said, for the ten thousandth time in the week that had passed since she’d drunk the Wind of God tea.

  Xiao Yen replied without thinking, “My bad luck.”

  Udo asked, “What do you mean?”

  Xiao Yen said, “I . . . I . . . I lost my luck. Before I travel.” She didn’t add that she wouldn’t have had to go on this journey if she’d still had her luck.

  Udo asked, “How can you lose your luck? You make your luck, good or bad.”

  Xiao Yen didn’t know what to say. Udo had said that before. How could she make her own luck?

  Ehran piped up from behind. “Udo’s right. Luck isn’t given to you. A man makes his luck, his opportunities.”

  Xiao Yen turned around, surprised. It was the first time Ehran had said anything directly to her since she’d returned. He looked sheepishly at his brother and said, “Udo told me how you killed that foreign lord and the rat dragon. You don’t have bad luck. How could you have done all that with bad luck?”

  Xiao Yen had to admit Ehran had a point. It was just that the cost of her deeds had been so high. Her guilt over Vakhtang’s death had shrunk some, now that she’d realized he was on the natural path of death, rebirth, and life, but she’d never be able to justify her killing. Then there was the memory of those men, in the courtyard, who . . . She refused to think about it. It was getting easier. The Wind of God hadn’t helped her forget, but time and distance had.

  She was curious though. “Udo not tell you before?” she asked.

  Ehran chuckled. “He told me. I didn’t listen.” He turned and faced Xiao Yen. In the bright sunlight she noticed a slight bruise under his left eye. The brothers had come to blows? She’d never understand foreigners.

  The coastal road narrowed to a dirt trail north of Khuangho. Xiao Yen took her time as she walked along it, enjoying the afternoon sunshine, the crashing waves, the fresh sea scent, the pale grass clinging to the cliff on her left. Black-tailed gulls swooped from their nests and dipped into the sea. The wind grew stronger as Xiao Yen headed up the coast. The sound almost drowned out the constant blowing she heard inside her head.

  Tuo Nu said he knew of no way to stop the Wind of God. He’d promised to search his books for a cure, when he had time. Xiao Yen didn’t blame him for not wanting to have much to do with them. He was home; he lived in Khuangho in rented rooms, and his family lived another half-day’s ride south, down the coast. He no longer had any responsibility toward his fellow travelers.

  Xiao Yen tried to not think badly of Tuo Nu, giving her the Wind of God—their forms of magic were more different than even he could have known. Sometimes, though, she suspected he wasn’t sorry she couldn’t practice magic anymore. Stopping her had removed his competition. Master Wei had said that all other mages would be enemies. Maybe Tuo Nu’s teacher had said the same thing, and he’d taken the lesson more to heart.

  While Tuo Nu did research, and Udo and Ehran sought passage on a ship, Xiao Yen decided to go to the local dragon temple, north of town, to pray. Maybe a dragon or a god would hear her, and lead her back to her center. Every time she’d tried to find her center, there had been no center to find, just a whirling cacophony of images, scents, and memories.

  The trail split at the crest of the next bluff. One path went down the bluff, along the water’s edge, while the other curved to the left, around the back of the next hill, then up to the dragon temple. Xiao Yen caught a glimpse of its curving roof before the trail dipped.

  Rocks seemed to have overgrown the path. She paused halfway up the hill to catch her breath. The path had curled around. She was no longer next to the sea and assaulted by the wind. Bushes clung to the hill. A few stunted pines forced their roots into the rock. The gray boulders were smoother here, almost round, scattered over the landscape like the toy balls of the giant Liu-Hua. Anchored under the rocks grew bunches of yellow star-shaped flowers.

  Xiao Yen knelt down to smell them. They had a light, springlike scent. She stayed as she was for a moment, eyes closed, remembering the Garden of Sweet Scents, the glorious array of flowers always blooming there. She saw herself sitting on the platform at the end of the garden, as she had when she’d been a child, waiting for Wang Tie-Tie. The heads of the flowers in the garden bobbed in time to the wind she heard in her head, then slowed.

  The wind in her head abated.

  Xiao Yen froze and held her breath. She brought the picture of her river to her mind’s eye. It formed piece by piece, the sun glistening off the water, the cool green banks, when bam! A mini-tornado spun through the glade, scattering water everywhere.

  She still couldn’t find her center.

  With a sigh, Xiao Yen stood up and continued walking.

  Coming over the crest of the hill, she saw the dragon temple again. The sun, now at her back, shone brightly on the whitish grass. The painted temple looked dull in comparison. Beyond the temple the sea reflected the sunlight like a dark mirror. The temple’s shadow flowed midnight black behind it, as solid as the structure itself. Xiao Yen tried to see with her mind’s eye the mage light Tuo Nu had been teachin
g her to perceive. She got the impression of a foggy cloud wrapped around the base of the temple, but the image was quickly dispersed by the wind in her head.

  The slate-gray roof of the temple curved up on all four corners of the building. When Xiao Yen drew nearer, she saw murals painted just under the roof, telling the story of the village of Khuangho and the sea dragon. Xiao Yen walked around the whole building, reading it.

  At first, men fought the dragon. Their battles were fierce and terrible, and many people died. At the same time, every time the townspeople drove the dragon away from his home in the sea, they suffered. There was drought and a plague that made everyone’s face turn green. Finally, they had a brilliant leader—shown as enlightened with the round flame of Buddha springing from his forehead—who understood that the ways of the dragon were the ways of nature. He negotiated a peace between the town and the dragon, and now the town was prosperous.

  Xiao Yen paused at the threshold to remove her boots before she walked into the temple. A tree of candles stood to the left of the altar, all lit. On the back wall hung a huge scroll painting of a dragon, made up of three bolts of silk sewn together. A thick red quilt covered the altar table. In the center gleamed an ornate silver bowl full of pure water.

  Xiao Yen knelt in front of the altar and prayed. She praised the dragon for its wisdom, long life, and intelligence, for its working in harmony with the people in the town. Then she prayed to Yen Lo, the ruler of the dead, to judge Vakhtang lightly, praying his reincarnation wouldn’t take top many ages. She also asked for Udo and Ehran to return safely to their land, for peace between the horsemen and her people, for Wang Tie-Tie to live a long time, for Fu Be Be and Gan Ou to be happy, for some quiet, and for her luck. The cold stone of the temple floor numbed her knees. A trace of incense remained in the air. Xiao Yen tried to drift with it, to float above her troubles.