Paper Mage

by Leah R. Cutter

  “It isn’t just the wind or the movement or stillness. I only studied with my master for three years—not because I was a poor student, but because that’s all that was needed. My magic isn’t about ritual, or knowledge, or discipline. I don’t have to study and practice every day like you do. My magic is powered by my life. Every spell I cast drains years from me.”

  Xiao Yen understood now why Tuo Nu’s magic was so elemental. Why it seemed so powerful. He didn’t work with artifacts, like she did. And he paid a heavy price for it.

  “That’s why I’m so exhausted after I cast a spell. I need to get a good, profitable job now, while I’m young, so that when I’m older, I won’t have to cast spells.” Tuo Nu paused for a moment, then added, “You’re lucky. Your magic doesn’t steal your life.”

  Xiao Yen turned away. Her magic “stole” her life, just as much as Tuo Nu’s. Her magic took away her ability to have a normal existence, to have children and a husband, to stay close to her family. There could be substitutes, like protecting horses or a town, but it wasn’t the same.

  “To make the dragon go back to the sea would cost me a big spell. Maybe take ten years from my life. The town doesn’t have enough money to pay me for that,” he said.

  “Then I do it, I chase dragon away,” Xiao Yen said in Udo’s language, so that both men understood her.

  “How?” Udo asked. “I thought your magic was gone.”

  Xiao Yen ignored his question and asked Udo one of her own. “Why you tell the judge I defeat dragon?” she asked.

  “So you could escape,” he said. “You did the same thing for me. You put yourself into jeopardy, at risk, for me. I will do the same for you. Particularly after I helped you lose your magic, hurt your soul.”

  Xiao Yen looked down, her cheeks burning hot with embarrassment over his offer. No one had ever sacrificed themselves for her. No one had even tried to understand her magic. The memory of what happened in that cold courtyard, with those men, brought familiar feelings of fear and revulsion, but the feelings weren’t as strong as before. She’d lived through the actual act. Now she could live with the memory.

  Tuo Nu, too, was curious. “Do you still hear the Wind of God?” he asked.

  “I do,” Xiao Yen replied, still using Udo’s language. “But more quiet. My quiet back too. Mixed.”

  Tuo Nu would have asked more questions, but Xiao Yen held up her hand and spoke again in her own language.

  “I need to practice. Please, may I stay here for the afternoon and work?” she asked.

  Tuo Nu said, “Of course. I may have something for you to work with.”

  He went into the second room, then returned a moment later with a large, flat, unpainted wooden box. Ceremoniously he carried it over his head, so his breath wouldn’t spoil the contents. He laid it on one of the pillows and opened it with a great flourish.

  Inside lay brilliant white sheets of paper. Xiao Yen picked one up in amazement. She’d never seen paper so white or pure. Both sides were smooth. It was thicker than the paper she was used to working with. It would be more difficult to create fine or delicate creatures with this paper. For easier animals, or for designs she was familiar with, it was perfect.

  “Why—” she started to ask Tuo Nu, but he interrupted.

  “Every guild has their secrets,” he said.

  Xiao Yen didn’t ask any more. She wasn’t surprised he used paper in his rituals. Many people made paper effigies to burn during worship.

  Tuo Nu insisted that she take all of the paper, transferring the sheets from his box to her bag himself. Then he ushered Udo out the door, taking one of the soldiers with him, calling over his shoulder, “We’ll meet you for dinner.”

  Xiao Yen forced herself to forget the guard standing at the door. She turned and positioned herself so she looked out the window. The wind in her head abated, though it still gusted through her silence now and again.

  When Xiao Yen felt her peace settle into her bones, she lowered her forehead to the ground three times. Then she reached for the first piece of paper, and started folding.

  * * *

  Xiao Yen stood in line and tugged on her amulet. She stifled a yawn. She hadn’t slept soundly the night before. If she were truthful, Xiao Yen hadn’t slept much since she’d spat in the well the week before. She couldn’t remember her dreams, but she’d woken every night sweating, her teeth clenched, and her hands tightened into fists, as if she’d been fighting demons.

  Though the sun shone down brightly on the freshly scrubbed square, and the day was warmer than usual for spring, she still felt cold every time the soft breeze played with her long black braids. She’d spat into Jing Long’s well. Now, on his birthday, would he enact his retribution? She couldn’t avoid going to pay her respects. Everyone in Bao Fang was expected to take part in the ritual.

  Fu Be Be stood in line before her, dressed in her best silver jacket with golden pine boughs embroidered on it. She chatted with Gan Ou and played with Little Bear, the baby. Gan Ou’s jacket was made of shiny verdant silk and covered with patterns of dark green pine boughs and red berries. Even Xiao Yen could tell the material wasn’t good quality.

  Xiao Yen couldn’t see over the heads of those standing in line in front of her, so she moved to one side. A large, wooden, brightly painted façade covered the well. Though she couldn’t see them, Xiao Yen beard the musicians standing next to the entrance, banging their drums and cymbals. She rubbed her amulet harder, wishing she didn’t have to go. The pit of her stomach rumbled warnings. She shifted the flowers she carried from one hand to the other.

  Bing Yu emerged from the doorway to the well. She looked as happy as ever. Maybe she’d escaped. Maybe Jing Long wouldn’t do anything to either of them. A nauseating dread still stalked Xiao Yen.

  When they arrived at the false portico, Fu Be Be indicated with her hands that Xiao Yen should accompany her. It was too loud to speak with the musicians so close.

  Xiao Yen stepped back, signifying her wish to face the dragon alone. Master Wei had performed her graduation ceremony the previous night. She was no longer a student, no longer a child. She was an adult. Fu Be Be sniffed her disapproval, but didn’t say anything as she turned and went through the low entrance.

  “Life is choice,” Master Wei had told the students. Choose your weapon, choose your fighting space, choose your life.

  Xiao Yen wanted to believe his words, but she was filled with doubt. She wasn’t a man, able to choose a destiny or fight against fate. Either Fu Be Be would find her a husband, or Wang Tie-Tie would find her a position. Or maybe the dragon would choose. She could only wait, and see whose will was strongest. She’d given up fighting.

  She’d given up her right to choose.

  When Fu Be Be came out, she didn’t look at either of her daughters. Gan Ou went into the temple next, holding her son close to her breast. Xiao Yen couldn’t stand still. She clutched her luck with one hand, then the other. She closed her eyes for a moment, searching for any magic that might be around. She felt nothing. Maybe Bing Yu was right.

  After Gan Ou finished, Xiao Yen entered. Though she was shorter than three-month-old bamboo, she still had to bow her head to step under the false doorway. Everyone was made to bow this way to render them more humble, possibly so they wouldn’t ask Jing Long for impossible things on his birthday.

  Behind the wall it was quieter. Xiao Yen put her flowers on the table heaped with offerings, then knelt on the red cushions in front of the well. She bowed three times, and asked blessings for Wang Tie-Tie, for Fu Be Be, for Gan Ou and her two sons. She also asked blessings for Master Wei, and her classmates, Fat Fang and Long Yen.

  She sat back on her heels. Arrows of sunlight pierced the roof, brightening the false temple. Dust swirled in lazy circles, rising up the lines of light. Tiers and tiers of candles stood on the narrow shelves covering every wall. Still, Xiao Yen saw shadows curling around the foot of the well out of the corner of her eye. They disappeared when she looked at them dir
ectly.

  Xiao Yen felt the same now as she had when she’d tested her luck, so long ago, on the riverbank. Maybe the dragon wouldn’t choose for her. Maybe she’d have to wait for Wang Tie-Tie or Fu Be Be to make the important decisions, to choose her life for her.

  Xiao Yen rose up on her knees to look over the lip of the well. The light from the candles wasn’t strong enough to pierce the darkness there. She had to do something, say something, even if there was no dragon living at the bottom of the well. A musky, mossy scent overpowered the perfumed flowers as she took a deep breath. She held it for a moment, then let it out in a rush with her words: “Honorable dragon, protector of this town, please forgive me. I . . .”

  Something gold flashed. Xiao Yen’s words froze on her lips. A dark hole ripped through the warm, still air, swallowing her last chance for happiness. Xiao Yen couldn’t hear the clink of the metal on stone as it tumbled down, nor the splash at the bottom, if there was any.

  The dragon had chosen for her, but not in a way she’d imagined. He’d taken her amulet, the manifestation of her luck. Reaching up to her now naked neck, she finished her apology, her tears chasing the words down the well.

  “I’m sorry I ever doubted you. Please forgive this worthless person.”

  Her words tumbled into the empty space. She knew the dragon hadn’t accepted her apology, because her luck was gone.

  * * *

  Four court guards, the court sergeant, Udo, and a group of onlookers accompanied Xiao Yen up the coastal road to where it forked. The festive mood amused Xiao Yen. It felt as if she were leading them to a celebration at the dragon temple. The guards wore blue-and-red shirts under their leather and iron vests. The court sergeant wore a fine mail shirt, obviously foreign, because it was too big for him. The silver flaps hanging over his ears made his face seem even longer.

  Though none of the guards spoke Xiao Yen’s language, they managed to communicate. They pointed out the local landmarks as they walked up the trail: a large rock jutting out of the sea that looked like a chicken’s head; a series of tall rocks, one on top of the other, that looked like a temple tower; and Crane Bay, a shallow calm inlet with its accompanying marsh that cranes and other birds migrated to in the winter.

  Xiao Yen smiled and thanked them, not paying much attention. She focused instead on the sound of the ocean wind that whistled as it blew through her elegant coiffure. She also concentrated on the immutable heat from the sun pounding down on her. Her calm surrounded her. Each step immersed her more in her stillness. Tuo Nu had loaned her a good robe, made of brilliant yellow silk with red dragons lazing on clouds embroidered on it. It was too long and flowed almost to her ankles. It fit her just right through the shoulders.

  At the fork in the road, the court sergeant divided the party. He and two of the guards would accompany Xiao Yen to the dragon temple. The other two took Udo into custody.

  Xiao Yen watched Udo while the sergeant gave his commands to the guards and to the crowd. The wind played with his golden curls, which shone almost white in the sunlight. He had deep, worried lines around his eyes. He almost looked elegant in Tuo Nu’s light blue robe. It had a pattern of stylized tiger faces in black and crimson embroidered on it. The sleeves hung short on his arms, and though it was Tuo Nu’s longest robe, it still only came to mid-thigh on Udo. He stood a head above the crowd, looking more foreign than ever. He didn’t fit. He didn’t belong in the Middle Kingdom. Xiao Yen would do everything she could to see he got back home.

  The sergeant indicated with his hand that they should continue up the hill. He would lead, and the two guards would walk behind Xiao Yen. She forced them to walk slowly. She didn’t want to be out of breath when she reached the top of the hill. The dragon had settled next to the dragon temple, making occasional forays into the nearby fields to steal an ox or burn another building. The people from Khuangho had brought it sacrifices, but it had either ignored them, or set flame on the would-be penitents. Everyone had their own theory on why the dragon was so angry, what had caused it to attack the town.

  As they walked, the mood changed. The two guards behind Xiao Yen stopped speaking. The sergeant looked more grim. She studied the rocks they passed, observing how solidly they held themselves against the constant wind. She paused on the leeward side at the same rock she’d stopped at on her first time trip up the hill, next to the yellow star-shaped flowers. The wind in her head gusted—a familiar sound now, not a distracting force. She focused on the flowers, on the warm sun, and the almost familiar-looking boulders scattered over the hillside. If she allowed herself to think about what she was going to do, her knees would turn to soft bean curd and she’d crumple into a ball and weep for ten thousand years. She forced herself to continue.

  Just under the lip of the hill the sergeant made them all halt. He indicated for Xiao Yen and the two guards to crouch down. Then he turned and went up toward the top of the path, going from one boulder to the next, hiding. After a moment, he returned. Though Xiao Yen didn’t speak his language, she understood his words. The dragon still lay curled on one side of the temple.

  Xiao Yen bowed to him over her hands, then she turned and faced east. She took out a folded piece from her sleeve. It filled the palm of her hand. She walked a few steps away from the guards, placed it on the ground, then placed rocks around it, at the first four compass points.

  The two guards whispered to each other until the sergeant grunted at them for silence.

  Xiao Yen knelt on the ground, then lowered her forehead to the earth. It smelled of dried grass warmed by the constant sunshine. The wind rushed by, making the grass rustle. Xiao Yen stayed in her center, hearing the ocean waves above everything else.

  She grew her creation to full size, imbibing it with the constancy of the mountain underneath her.

  The guards gasped.

  Xiao Yen smiled. She picked up the umbrella as she stood. Though it was still the same brilliant white color of the paper she’d folded it from, it was as solid as the boulders around them. The umbrella was about as large as the bamboo umbrella Wang Tie-Tie had in the Garden of Sweet Scents. Xiao Yen mimed instructions to the sergeant, that neither he nor his men were to go near the ashy paper umbrella still on the ground behind her. The sergeant ordered the two guards to bank the paper remains. Xiao Yen bowed and thanked them. Not only would he and his men not touch it, they woud make certain no one else did.

  Xiao Yen, now prepared, walked up to the top of the hill. The expanse from the edge to the temple looked as wide as the entire city of Bao Fang, but Xiao Yen would have to cross it too quickly. The sun shone down on her from straight overhead. Rivers of whitish grass covered the flat plain. The corners of the temple jutted out beyond the dark gray dragon curled up on the side. The ocean sparkled as it marched out to the horizon.

  The wind blew into Xiao Yen’s face, forcing tears from the corners of her eyes. The dragon raised its head and sniffed when she stepped onto the plain. Though the wind was blowing from the sea, it still seemed to smell Xiao Yen, and looked at her.

  Spiny hairs stood upright around the dragon’s face like a mane. Its eyes were a washed-out gray, like snow-bearing clouds. Golden whiskers hung down past its chest. The bright red streaks running down either side of its snout pulsed with living flame. Its segmented belly looked hard and armored in the bright sunlight.

  Xiao Yen froze in place for a moment. The wind inside her head died down to the faintest whisper. Her heart thudded in her chest, as if it wanted to escape. The dragon had seen her. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t run away. She had to go through with her plan. She kept her mind on the rocks as she walked across the flat expanse, appearing as unconcerned as a young maid on a picnic.

  The dragon, just as casually, twisted its neck farther in her direction, and belched fire at her.

  The flames rolled off Xiao Yen’s umbrella and dripped down its sides like heavy rain, then fell to the ground and burned the dry grass on either side of her. Xiao Yen stayed in her calm place.
She didn’t see the dragon, or feel the heat. Cool water poured around her, as if she were standing under a waterfall, the water surrounding, but not drowning, her.

  After a second blast of fire, the dragon stopped. It nodded its head at her, as if saying, “Your turn.”

  Xiao Yen reached her right hand into her left sleeve and pulled out two paper cranes. She’d used Tuo Nu’s red ink, the one for signing official documents, to color their vermilion crowns. She placed them on the ground next to her feet, so they would be protected by the umbrella. Then she closed her eyes and grew them. Their necks elongated and stretched toward Heaven. Their legs, thin but sleek, grew like delicate tree branches. Feathers filled in and fluffed up, covering the hard edges of the paper with softness. Their beaks grew sharp as knives below their red crowns, while their eyes shone like amber.

  Xiao Yen filled them with the grace of willow trees bending in the wind, the fluidity of a cool mountain stream, the charm of a courtesan’s smile. She placed in them all her hope and longing, making them as beautiful and as desirable as possible. She imagined them as a mated pair, bonded for life, two halves of a whole.

  When Xiao Yen opened her eyes, her two cranes had already reached shoulder height. A moment later, they were taller than she was, and walked out from under the protection of her umbrella into the bright sunlight, like two ladies from court taking a stroll. Their white feathers reflected the light, while the black feathers along their curved necks, and bunched at their tails, gleamed.

  One crane stopped for a moment to groom itself. It tucked its beak under its wing, smoothing the feathers there. Then it flicked its head toward the sky. The other crane waited for its partner, indulgent and proud.

  The two cranes looked at each other for a long moment. Then they sprang into the air, wings outstretched, toes pointed. They bobbed their heads and wove them together, moving as gracefully as silk flags blowing in the wind. Even Bei Xi couldn’t move with such beauty. The cranes circled each other, their wings moving in complicated, complementary patterns. They were involved with each other, but they still moved toward the dragon.