These three men had that feeling about them…able to consume anything that stood in their way and then return to their natural, calm state.
Bruce Lee had once taught a lesson about that. No matter how hard you punched the water, it would instantly reform the second your fist was retracted. That it was impossible to hurt water with force. That the power of water lay in its depth and undercurrent, but that even the surface was impervious to harm. Air could move it for a time, fire could turn it into steam, and earthly elements were simply swallowed by it. In the end, water always returned to its natural state, relatively unaffected by any brief war with its fellow elements.
I paused before the three men and dipped my head in a respectful gesture, not entirely sure how to introduce myself. Apparently, introductions weren’t necessary. As one, the guards stepped forward, their left hands drifting to their waists as if to hold scabbards, and they bowed respectfully, never entirely averting their eyes away from my shoulders.
Not only respect, but a warrior’s respect. A worthy opponent.
A fourth man in bright orange robes stepped out from behind them where he had been standing so quietly that I hadn’t even noticed him. He was a short, grinning, round man—seemingly forged in the fires of happiness. Having said that, he had hellacious scars on his knuckles, wrists, and forearms, and his nose had been broken several times over his life. Mr. Happy had spent his youth making others unhappy, possibly even beating them senseless during school lunch to steal their happy money. Cain studied him more intensely than the three guards, which was saying something.
Without a word, he held out a hand, indicating for us to follow him to the front double doors. His compatriots stepped to the side, clearing the way for us, and promptly returned their gazes to the streets, ever vigilant for inbound threats.
Cain arched a brow at me but said nothing. He looked surprised that the three of us were granted passage behind only a single monk—someone we could easily overwhelm if we meant harm. Not that we had sinister intentions, but it was startling to step into a world where silent respect was the nation’s currency over words and reassurances. That it was expected without fanfare, a default starting point. Trust could be taken away, but it was always offered up front. Claire simply followed my lead, keeping her eyes on my shoulders when she wasn’t scanning our surroundings for danger.
We approached the great wooden doors, and I realized that a weathered painted motif was carved into the wood. Three squares in a vertical column and one additional square on either side of the center square—so that it was a horizontal row. Like a compass on a map depicting the Cardinal Directions, or an addition symbol. And within each square was an animal carved into the wood. Sticking with the compass analogy, the topmost square represented North and was depicted by a large, ancient, black turtle standing amidst crashing waves.
The Southern square was occupied by a red bird that made me think of a phoenix, but that could have been all the carved flames surrounding the creature.
The left—Western—square showed a white tiger surrounded by spikes that may have been long blades of grass but looked more jagged and rough than foliage should.
The right—Eastern—square was a blue dragon standing in what looked like an enchanted forest.
The center square showed a faded yellow dragon standing on solid ground. Our happy host was facing us with a permanent, endearing smile, but he made no attempt to open the door. I realized he was giving us time to admire the carving—like a priest would in a church when approaching the altar.
“It’s very pretty,” Claire said hesitantly, as if made uneasy by the continued silence and the man’s rapt attention on our reactions. He smiled wider in gratitude before turning to Cain.
Cain nodded, narrowing his eyes at it thoughtfully. “It’s…very old but well-preserved.”
The man, still smiling, dipped his head slightly, turning to me, his smile seeming to fade slightly into an expectant, demanding grin—like he had higher expectations from me. While the others had been commenting on the door, I had been watching our guard’s face, trying to get a read on the man behind the smile while trying to recall anything from my martial arts training—or meditation training—that may or may not apply to my current situation. I had spent many years training in various martial arts with Roland and, as a result, had dipped my toes into Buddhist philosophy more than most Americans—which wasn’t necessarily high praise on my part.
It just meant that I wasn’t entirely ignorant. I had a better understanding of their culture, what they valued, and what they did not value.
So.
Against the instinctive screaming of my body’s fight or flight mechanisms, I took a slow, thoughtful breath, squared my shoulders into a relaxed pose, and closed my eyes, forcing myself to ignore the intense observance of the secretly dangerous, outwardly ridiculously happy man before me.
I imagined my totem—that hot mess of symbols that I had chosen to portray the Tao of Callie.
My…Crest. My coat of arms. I hadn’t ever considered it in such a way, but it was accurate. The feather, rose, and wings shimmered into existence within the black void of my mind, centering my thoughts. I fed all fears, concerns, and anxieties about Roland, Kansas City, Phix’s injury, Solomon, and even Nate Temple into my totem, unburdening myself from the weights of the world. I would pick them back up later.
My senses spiked, picking up on the breathing of the bodies around me, the faint scent of juniper and sandalwood. I heard the slight breeze kissing the flowers before the guards nearest the garden behind us. And…
I felt an immense blanket of raw, unrelenting power humming all around me. The undeniable calm a mile below the crest of a tidal wave. I gasped, rocking back on my heels as I embraced it, feeling like it was about to bowl me over. Then my body relaxed, submitting to it, and the pressure ceased. You couldn’t force water—not for any extended period of time.
You just sat back and enjoyed the gentle, rolling waves.
The entire property was deeply immersed in this tranquil power, and I distantly remembered we were dealing with a god somewhere beyond this door. How I hadn’t managed to sense this power earlier, I couldn’t explain. But it didn’t need an explanation.
It. Just. Was.
Eyes still closed, I lifted my hand and slowly approached the door. I sensed a brittle, shocked silence from my friends but I didn’t pick up on any danger or anger from the guard. In fact, I felt the warm skin of his forearm suddenly brush under the pads of my fingertips—as light as a feather—and I realized that he was offering to guide me closer to the object before me. I accepted with a faint nod and an even fainter smile. I felt him stop and gently lower his arm before stepping aside.
I didn’t open my eyes as I trailed my fingertips across the wood, focusing entirely on my sense of touch. My fingers brushed against wood that had weathered the infinite sands of time. Wood that had cherished thousands of years of romantic embraces with the sweet kisses of decay without ever relinquishing its grip on life, to this world.
The unconditional love the wood felt for the source of its agony and ecstasy—both its executioner and greatest desire—time.
It was one with its enemy and loved that enemy as much as it hated it.
My fingers stopped moving of their own accord and I felt a sudden surge of warmth, like I had just touched a fresh cup of tea. But the heat was a living thing, not merely warmed wood.
No.
This was fire, pure and simple. The fire of life screaming forth into the world with the immortal laughter of one who hadn’t yet learned the concept of pain or death—young enough to think it was invincible and impervious to harm—like every teenager everywhere, soaring out into the world on wings of endless ambitions.
“Bird…” I murmured confidently. “Fire. Summer.”
The air grew noticeably tense, no one daring to speak, but I was only concerned with one opinion on my comment. “Yes,” the guard finally said, sounding surprised.
I lifted my hand upward and to the right and felt myself instantly smiling as my fingers trailed over the next depiction—the blue dragon I had seen. Because it almost felt as if the wood was vibrating beneath my fingertips, struggling to shove out new life from an empty void of nothingness. Creating something from nothing. I gasped as I even felt what seemed to be fresh buds and leaves tickling the pads of my fingers.
“Blue dragon. Wood. Spring,” I murmured.
“Yes,” the guard said excitedly, this time sounding as if he was on the verge of laughter.
I licked my lips, already lifting my hand to touch the left square. My fingers suddenly tingled—not a mellow vibration in the wood like a moment ago but a physical jolt within my own fingertips. And I felt my Silver claws burst forth without consciously choosing to do so. They struck the wood with faint clicks and I realized I was panting—both in fear and relief. The speed at which they had erupted had made me fear they would tear through the ancient door but at the last moment, they had halted, resulting only in faint clicks on the door.
I shuddered in relief, tasting campfires and falling leaves on my tongue—an entirely mental sensation. “White tiger. Metal. Autumn,” I said in a whisper, suddenly realizing why my claws had leapt out like that. The Tiger symbolized metal, not spiky grass like I had initially thought. I just knew it.
The guard also seemed to be breathing faster. “Yes.”
I took a breath and drifted my hand back to the center towards the yellow dragon. I paused, focusing intently. Suddenly, it felt as if my fingertips had sunk into the surface a few centimeters, the wood crumbling beneath my touch. It took me a heartbeat to realize this was just a sensation and not that I had pulverized their door. The fresh scent of earth filled my nose, and I realized the sensation beneath my fingertips was of freshly turned soil.
“Earth,” I said, unable to place a particular season to the yellow dragon.
The guard didn’t bother answering and I didn’t bother waiting. My fingers trailed the wooden surface to the Northern square—the black turtle. But…something was strange about it. This one felt more vibrant and complicated, although I couldn’t place why.
The wood was icy cold, my fingers seeming to scrape through a thin layer of frost, and I could imagine frigid mist kissing my cheeks. “Black…not just a turtle, but something more…” I trailed off, unable to place the contradiction in my mind. The image I had seen with my eyes had definitely been a turtle, but it didn’t sound right on my tongue. “Water and Winter,” I finally said, opening my eyes.
The guard was studying me acutely, likely wondering if this was all some show—that I had actually done some research beforehand in an attempt to impress him. “It is the Black Tortoise,” he finally said, attempting to conceal an amused grin. “Not a turtle. No matter what Starlight may or may not have told you. Some terms are meant only for close family and friends, not to be used by others…” he suggested in a careful yet amused tone. More like a subtle yet insistent recommendation than any kind of threat.
I dipped my chin, allowing my smile to fade as I studied the door. “It is as it should be, with nothing out of place. It is at peace with itself and perfectly balanced.” I glanced back at my two friends to give them an appeasing grin. Then I turned back to the guard. “It is also ancient and beautiful.”
A slow, approving smile crept over his face and he dipped his chin lower this time—even averting his eyes briefly to show me further respect and trust. Or that he simply had less fear of me now—which could be either good or bad.
“I will pass on your thoughts. My name is Yín. Please, follow me, White Rose. He’s been expecting you for quite some time, now.”
I almost gasped to see he recognized me rather than seeing a demon on his steps.
And then Yín pulled open both doors with handles I hadn’t noticed carved into the wood, splitting the image down the center. He entered the house ahead of us, pausing after the threshold and holding out a hand in welcome. I glanced back at Cain and Claire, caught off guard by the last comment. Their eyes were wide, and they shook their heads, not having an answer or opinion.
I also noticed the other guards no longer watching the street but staring at me very, very thoughtfully. Not in any threatening manner but…judging by their previous lack of conversational ability, they were practically screaming incoherently and waving their hands in the air.
I wasn’t sure if that was a good development or a very bad one.
A boo and a hiss or a hug and a kiss.
Chapter 15
The house was exquisite yet sparse in every way. Each room featured only a handful of decorations or items to focus on rather than the typical walls covered in art, bookshelves stuffed full of tomes and artifacts, or tables laden with ivory, weapons, and a dozen other knick-knacks.
Instead, each room simply had a…well, a soothing, tranquil vibe to it. The first room was warm and inviting. All three walls were made of sliding rice paper partitions, and the room featured a single Bonsai tree held up on a pedestal and warmly illuminated from below like it was the featured piece in a museum. That was it. Nothing else in the room, not even chairs or a side table.
I instinctively began taking off my shoes, even though I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to leave them behind. They were magic, and they were mine…and magic…and they were mine.
But when in Rome.
Yín cleared his throat. “That will not be necessary, but I appreciate the courtesy.”
Inwardly, I let out a sigh of relief and followed Yín towards the opposite wall as he slid it open to reveal a dim, narrow chamber. A hallway of sorts. He backed into it first, holding out his hand for us to follow. I sucked in a shallow breath when I realized that the floor in this room was a bubbling pond and that stepping stones led across it to the far wall where there was another door. An old clay vase was propped up against a rock formation in the water, the top rising a few inches above the surface of the tranquil pool but angled slightly away from the stepping stone path. A dozen or so Koi fish swam lazily around the pond, even between the stepping stones, proving a misstep wouldn’t just get your toes wet, but your entire leg. I let out a relaxed breath, the vibe in this room seeming more peaceful than even the entryway.
Yín led us across the stepping stones and slid the door open before backing through it first, again, to reveal a manicured lawn behind the home. Several robed figures sat in a row before a large gong hanging beneath ancient, red-painted timbers. The figures were chanting in a soothing, steady hum like a basso rumble of thunder on the distant horizon. I felt the hair on the back of my neck rising as I rolled my shoulders subconsciously.
My eyes scanned the lush green grass, the rock gardens, and the stone-tiled path leading through the center. I sucked in a surprised breath to see six cloaked men kneeling on either side of the path, hoods drawn up over their heads to conceal their features. They wore all black and I saw they were each armed with sheathed katanas and other matte black blades—throwing stars and daggers. As I stared at them, they seemed to waver back and forth like smoke, but I sensed no magic about them. Just that they seemed to be openly staring at us, observing us, assessing us for threat—even though they weren’t even looking at us.
Ninjas. The unseen eyes.
Cain and Claire were also watching the ninjas suspiciously, wondering if this was an ambush. But the ninjas didn’t move, and the harder I tried to focus on them, the more their forms seemed to shift and writhe—like snakes struggling to escape the grasp of my vision.
Despite not openly looking at us, they seemed to not only be aware of our every physical feature, but of our very existence—down to our scent, our breathing…perhaps even our thoughts.
Power radiated from them and I felt my pulse quicken in reaction.
These were very dangerous men. And I sensed absolutely zero magic from them…just an inner power I couldn’t quantify or define in any tangible way. They were peacefully violent. Lethally gentle. They were de
ath with an altruistic smile. Mercy with a cool breeze of nothingness.
Yín waited patiently beside us, granting us time to process the scene. “This silence is resting before returning to their patrol.” Sensing our confusion at his choice of words, he waved his hand in a lecturing gesture. “A group of ninjas is called a silence. They are only a danger to those who torment this city.” He smiled suddenly. “And those who step on the grass,” he teased. He extended his feet to hover over the grass and every single ninja—like a hive mind—looked up at him from within their hoods with the intensity of a cocked gun.
I didn’t see any motion, though. One minute they’d been staring straight ahead, the next, staring straight at him.
Yín chuckled good-naturedly, withdrawing his foot as he glanced back at us. “I advise against stepping on the grass. They work very hard on maintaining its beauty when they aren’t patrolling.” I nodded numbly, realizing the…silence of ninjas was no longer looking at Yín or any of us. I hadn’t noticed them avert their attention away, either.
With that, Yín continued on down the path, carefully placing a foot on each stone, taking great care not to step on the grass. The three of us wisely followed his advice, my shoulders tensing as we passed directly between the assassins. They didn’t look up at us, but I suddenly recognized the sensation of their attention as the same one I had felt when running through the alleys with Cain earlier tonight. Danger in the shadows. Eyes watching me.
We had been running past ninjas and we hadn’t even known! If they had wanted to kill us, they easily could have done so while we were distracted by the pursuing vampires. I let out a measured breath and continued on, eager to get past them.
We reached a set of wooden steps leading up a small hill. I was surprised to suddenly notice that I saw no other houses around us—none of the neighbors I should have been able to see, and the red haze to the sky was absent. Instead, I saw only mountains and apple blossom trees decorating a field of gently swaying, tall grass. I shot Claire and Cain a meaningful look—silently encouraging them not to freak the hell out when they noticed we apparently weren’t in Kansas City anymore.
Feathers and Fire Series Box Set 2 Page 61
