The Ghost Dragon's Daughter

by Beth Bernobich

  “Ready?” Mei says.

  “Ready,” I answer.

  Mei plugs in the scope. Once again we wait until the input lines show a steady state. Once again, Mei flips the switch to initiate the startup sequence. We hold our breath as the monstrosity hums and the lights flicker. We squeak when it passes the point where our previous trial ended in disaster.

  “Ready,” it says.

  Its voice has a tinny quality, and the phrase should be “Ready for input” but these are minor errors. Our device has passed its first important milestone. Now for the true test—a single spoken word, which the monstrosity must translate into the three languages we’ve selected. This will verify its language and vocabulary matching algorithms.

  “Test sequence one,” Mei says, as she flips the corresponding switches. “Hello.”

  The monstrosity’s lights begin to flash, and I can almost measure the rise and ebb of the magic flux.

  “Saaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnn...”

  The monstrosity produces a long agonizing groan, but it’s clearly a word, and clearly the right word. Voice input, check. Word recognition, check. That means the translated phrase has been loaded into the voice output module. I am bouncing with excitement, and so is Lili. Mei is still and quiet but her eyes are bright with hope. I clench my hands into fists, willing the machine to utter the next word of the phrase.

  “Sssssssaaaaaaiiiiii—-”

  With an awful grinding noise, the monstrosity shuts down.

  We all stare at the machine in dismay. All the indicator lights are dark, but I hear a popping and crackling, and there’s the smell of overheated components in the air.

  “What happened?” Lili whispers.

  Mei shakes her head. I want to hug her close, tell her that we can try again. I know that’s a terrible idea.

  Instead I bend over the scope to check its output. Sure enough, the readout history shows a steady line throughout the startup sequence, then a blip marking the garbled “Ready” phrase. The signal quieted down until Mei spoke the “Hello” phrase. The flux spiked, once, twice, each time higher than the last. I could almost pinpoint the moment when our device failed.

  The innards of our machine tell the rest of the story. My new components are fine, but the old ones in the translation unit are cracked and the wires have melted. Better quality wires might help, but we also need higher grade capacitors to withstand the flux and counter-flux of magic’s unpredictable tides.

  “The capacitors blew again,” I say. “We need to replace the whole set.”

  Mei frowns. “Is the problem with the linguistics mapping module?”

  Lili growls deep in her throat. “How can that be the problem?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps we need to check the input parameters.”

  “I checked them. Six times.”

  “But maybe...”

  The argument goes on and on for I don’t know how long. Their angry voices remind me too much about the fights my mother and step-father have from time to time. I press my hands against my ears, trying to shut them out. Maybe I should give up. Cooking isn’t so bad. Boss is fair. I could earn good money.

  A hand gently touches my arm. It’s Lili. “Hēi,” she says. “We’ve stopped fighting.”

  I shake my head, but Lili seems to understand. She squeezes my shoulder.

  “We’ve done enough tonight,” Mei says. “At least we can tell Honored Hsi we’ve made progress.”

  Lili’s mouth twists into a sardonic smile. “I’m so glad to hear that. I was afraid you would have another attack of honesty. Why don’t you write the report. Jun and I can clean up.”

  “No, you should both go home,” Mei says, wearily. “Get some sleep. I don’t mind.”

  “You never do.” Lili’s voice is uncharacteristically gentle.

  Mei shakes her head. Lili hesitates a moment, then stows her data reader and linguistics books into her backpack. When I start to follow her out, she stops me with a gesture. “You stay here,” she murmurs. “Talk to Mei and clean up your own mess.”

  Then she flips out her medallion, the one that keeps her safe from the watch demons, and vanishes up the stairs.

  Mei and I stare at each other. She looks exasperated, and faintly amused, either with Lili or the situation, and for a moment, it’s as though the past week has disappeared. As though I never said the unspeakable and we are still friends.

  Then she says, “You should go too—”

  And I say, “If that’s what you want—”

  We both stare at each other again, but this time like strangers.

  “I don’t mind the help,” Mei says at last.

  I can see the glimmer of friendship behind that stiff, unhappy face. I want to say something—to clean up my own mess, as Lili calls it—but I don’t know how to begin. In the end I say nothing. We tidy up the basement and stow our traitorous monstrosity in its corner. I make a few notes about which subsystems took the worst hit. Maybe tomorrow I could visit the second hand shops again.

  The city clocks are striking the quarter hour as we finish. Right away Mei settles into her writing desk, paper and pen at hand. I hesitate a moment. I ought to volunteer to write the report myself, but Mei hunches closer over her desk, making it clear she doesn’t want my help. I mutter good-bye and hurry up the stairs.

  Outside, the streets are pitchy dark, and the moon is shadowed by clouds. I duck my head into my quilted jacket and flip out my medallion. The squiggles around the portrait of our queen gleam like silver in the moonlight. Next to them is the spell date that says I have one more night of protection before I need to renew. Luckily payday is tomorrow.

  The one lucky thing about tonight.

  No use whining about that now. I set off at a steady march up the hill. In spite of the mid-summer season, the night is cool, and the air damp with the promise of rain. I shiver, thinking that every ripple of mist feels like a watch demon’s breath. Maybe I could skip the medallion for another week. That would let me replace the components for the voice output module. It’s a risk, of course. No one knows exactly when and where the demons patrol. Some people say it’s entirely random. Others say the demons patrol neighborhoods based on a complicated formula of visitors and medallions and any crimes reported later. Whatever the reason, it’s enough to send me jogging up the hill.

  I’m halfway to the train station, when I hear a grating noise. I stop. My breath freezes inside me.

  Watch demons.

  That same moment, I feel the unmistakable fizzle of magic from my medallion. Sharp. Electric. Oh so reassuring. All at once, the streets go silent, and I release the breath I’ve been holding. Whatever algorithm the royal mages used didn’t matter. I was safe, thank the gods.

  Before I take the next step, however, the quarter bells chime—once, twice, three times—followed by the deep tolling of the hour bell. Eight. Ten. Eleven... Twelve.

  Oh. My breath freezes in my chest. Midnight. Later than I thought. Much later.

  The magic surrounding me vanishes. The medallion turns into a dead dull weight. Before I can even contemplate what that means, I hear that same unmistakable grating noise, closer now.

  My body launches into a gallop up the hill. Two more li. Three at the most. When I catch sight of the intersection, I nearly sob is relief. The entrance is just around the corner and half a li beyond. I can make it, I tell myself. But oh, oh, I’ve heard stories about what happens to the fools and criminals who dare to walk the streets unprotected.

  I round the corner—much too fast. I trip over a loose brick and land flat on my stomach. That’s when I hear the scrape of flesh over stones behind me. I jump to my feet and spin around...

  And stare wide-eyed at the eerie blankness that fills the street.

  The watch demons, our textbooks say, are creatures bred by the old mages to serve their kings. They have no eyes or mouth, no grasping claws. They devour their prey absorbing them through their flesh.

  I am not a criminal. I am only stup
id. I do not deserve to die.

  Gschu! I cry.

  Gschu bursts into view. She is huge, as big as a horse, and her spines march down her back like knives held ready. She roars.

  The watch demon pauses, but only for a moment, before it surges forward. I am convinced we will both die, when another shape drops between Gschu and the demon.

  It’s a ghost dragon. A young one, long and thin, like a ribbon of darkness in the night. It lifts its head and keens in challenge. The watch demon halts. In that moment, the ghost dragon darts close and sinks its teeth into the demon’s other-worldly essence.

  The demon roars. Now Gschu pounces and bites, then whips her head from side to side. The demon tries to grapple with her, but Gshu vanishes and reappears a few feet away. You, she hisses at the ghost dragon. Get Jun away. I’ll take care of this one.

  The ghost dragon nods. “Climb on my back,” she tells me. Oh, yes, she is most certainly a she. “But you must hold tight.”

  Before I can say anything, she slithers between my legs and launches into the sky.

  Yā, yā, yā.

  I clutch at the dragon’s neck. Just in time, her ghostly body coalesces a bundle of spines and scales and whiskers. I grab those spines and squeeze my eyes shut. The dragon is keening—whether in rage or victory, I cannot tell. In spite of my terror, I force my eyes open.

  We are streaking up and upward, like an arrow of moonlight, then sideways over the mountain. The cold bites my skin. The wind blurs my eyes with tears. This is like the fastest wind-and-magic train, only we are hundreds of feet in the air. I want to scream, but my throat has squeezed shut.

  Without warning, the ghost dragon takes another zig and zag, then drops to the ground. We land—thump, thump—onto a hard surface and her body dissolves into mist.

  I fall the last two feet onto my hands and knees. My chest hurts. My breath is trapped inside me. I’m dimly aware of the sharp twinge from my palms, the dimmer ache traveling throughout my arms and legs.

  Jun? That’s Gschu. Are you all right?

  I shake my head. She ought to know exactly how I feel, my spirit companion, but Gschu persists. Jun, talk to me. You are safe now.

  Safe? Safe? Is that supposed to be how I feel?

  “I was not goddamned safe!” I shout.

  I grab a handful of gravel and hurl it skyward. I’m angry. Terrified. I curse Gschu. I curse the watch demons. I curse myself for wrecking my friendship with Mei and nearly wrecking my life, all for a stupid monstrosity that we can’t fix in time for that even stupider golden insignia, and what does that even matter. I’m yelling and howling as I never have before. I grab another handful of gravel and fling it into the darkness while I continue to shout about how much I have screwed up my life and everyone else’s. I am like a mad creature.

  Jun, stop, Gschu says, sounding anxious. You might hurt yourself.

  Stop, says another voice, like that of a mountain snowfall. Be kind to your friends. If you must curse, curse me.

  A silk-soft breath grazes my cheek. My rage pops like a water balloon, and I gulp down a sob. It’s no use. The tears start to spill out like a spring flood, and I fall down weeping.

  “Jun, Jun, talk to me,” the ghost dragon says out loud. “What is wrong?”

  I choke back my sobs and resist the urge to pummel her. “I almost died, lady dragon. Or hadn’t you noticed?”

  “I noticed.” The ghost dragon curls around me, her gaze fixed on mine. There is no laughter, only kindness in those luminous eyes. “I am sorry,” she says. “It’s my fault, this watch demon. I...I came to watch you and your friends. Never mind why. I was only curious. But the watch demons...they come to whatever is different or strange. I am truly sorry.”

  I snuffle and snort into my sleeve. “Forget it. Apology accepted.”

  But still the dragon remains curled about me. “That is not everything, or am I wrong? What is this monstrosity you cursed so loudly?”

  “Nothing. A thing. It wouldn’t matter to you.”

  “It might. I have a heart too, even if I am a dragon. Besides, I owe you something for the danger and fright I’ve caused.”

  I shake my head. Why bother?

  The dragon lays her cheek alongside mine. A small tight fire burns inside me, treacherous and alluring. Then she is gone. In front of me, like a star dropped from the sky, lies a ghostly dragon scale, a drop of silvery blood at its tip.

  #

  I cannot sleep that night. I lie flat on my back, staring at the ceiling of the tiny bedroom I share with my sisters. It’s mid-summer—two months after the last snow, one month until the next. Down in the Phoenix Empire, the lands sweat and swelter, according to what I’ve heard from the merchant caravans, but here in the mountains, in the far north of the Seventy Kingdoms, the days and nights are more like their spring season, with the occasional burst of snow or frost.

  Would I hate the endless summer of the Phoenix Empire, with its seasons so out of sync with ours? Maybe I would be happier here in Shēn Xiù City, working at Pêng’s or a magic shop, making a future that was unexceptionable but oh, so more predictable. But how to answer what I do not know?

  Eventually, the sunlight insists I start my day. Eventually I choke down a bowl of cold noodles and head off to school. My eyes are sticky, my stomach hovering in a most unsettling manner. I am not hopeful about anything.

  Mei has arrived well before me. She sits on the stone wall, her backpack at her feet, her heels kicking the wall in an erratic rhythm. I plop myself next to her with a grunt and a sigh. Mei doesn’t object, which I take as a good sign. We both look like panda bears with our eyes sunk into dark circles.

  What’s not so good is that Lili had not yet appeared.

  Did you hear from her? I want to ask.

  But I don’t. If Lili is keeping secrets from me, I cannot ask Mei to break that trust. And, o yes, I suspect that Lili has all kinds of secrets.

  Eventually Feng Hsi appears and unlocks the school. Those of us who are early file inside. Over the next half hour, the rest of the class takes their seats.

  I settle back into my seat and pretend to arrange my books and pens on my desk. Still no Lili. We don’t need to have her present, but it’s still strange.

  There’s no time for more speculation. Old Hsi surveys the room, as she always does. Her gaze pauses at Lili’s empty chair, but she says nothing. The rest of the class present and accounted for, she launches into the first lecture of the day.

  For the next three hours I apply myself to taking notes and keeping awake. Fourth hour is our weekly discussion about magical ethics. This week Hsi has us debate the guild’s monopoly over the magic shops within Shēn Xiù City. I listen but don’t talk. Now and then I touch the front of my shirt, where the ghost dragon scale lies, tied into a handkerchief. The scale is a gift. I wish I knew what it meant.

  The debate ends. Hsi offers up a few observations before she motions for Mei to take her place at the lectern.

  Time to deliver our promise, o ya.

  Mei gathers her papers together, just as she did the week before. I swallow down a lump of terror and offer her a smile. She smiles back, but it’s an unconvincing smile. Old Hsi is watching both of us with that same enigmatic expression that says she expects the worst.

  Mei takes in that expression and her back stiffens. She marches to the front of the room and arranges her papers on the lectern. “Progress report,” she raps out. “Short version: our theory is good, our device has promise. Here is the data from our latest trial run.”

  She gives a precise description of our trial run, including my own analysis of the component failure and how that compares to our previous attempt. The algorithms for input and language matching function as intended, she says. The same goes for the spells connected with the input and output modules. The difficulty lies in the materials we chose, which we can readily correct with a higher grade of components.

  Her delivery is so confident, I might never have seen her look of weariness
and despair the night before.

  Hsi watches her too, but her expression is harder to reader. She could ask any number of difficult questions. How much will these new components cost? Are we certain the problem lay with the magic flux and not our algorithms? What if we encounter more difficulties?

  She asks none of these, however. She stares at Mei, her pen tapping against her other palm.

  “You have the resources?” she says at last.

  Mei blinks and nods. “We do.”

  Liar, I think. But I am breathless with admiration at her brazen declaration.

  Hsi is less overwhelmed. Still, she tilts her head and her gaze wanders up toward the ceiling, where no doubt the truth has collected over the years. “Two weeks,” she says at last. “I want a complete report and a working model. No more excuses.”

  And with that she dismisses us.

  I cannot move at first. Oh, sure, this is only a reprieve, not a victory, but we only need a reprieve for these next few steps. Lili has the necessary linguistics mappings. Mei can rework the spells to reduce the magic flux. We still need to replace all the components, but that’s not impossible. I have my weekly pay. Mei earns some coins from tutoring. And there’s Lili’s parents, who might be persuaded to invest in our device and their daughter’s future.

  Oh ai, Lili. Our beloved and absent friend. As soon as we get outside, I hurry Mei away from the other students. “What’s up? What happened with Lili?”

  “I don’t know. She said nothing to me. What about you?”

  I shake my head. Neither of us suggest going to Lili’s house. It’s possible she spent the morning with her new girlfriend, and we don’t want to get her in trouble with her family.

  “I’ll call her again, once I get home,” Mei murmurs.

  I don’t argue. I have six hours at Pêng’s get through, plus a payday that lets me renew my monthly street medallion.