Sha didn’t move from her nest for two days. She shuddered and groaned, and soiled herself. Tao needed food. His wounds needed attention. The blood oozing from them had turned black. He knew that was a bad sign. But all he could do was sit and watch day turn to night and back again. There was a shower of rain during the second night. Water dripped from the roof of the cave and Tao was able to cup some in his hands to quench his thirst.
On the third day, Sha woke and struggled to get into a sitting position. She had stopped shivering. She made her way to the cave mouth. That small movement seemed to sap her strength. She sat for several minutes and then fell forwards off the ledge. Tao cried out, thinking she had fallen to her death, but when he crawled to the edge, he saw her gliding unsteadily to the ground.
Even though he was weak with hunger, he managed to get to his feet. The sun was low in the sky and its rays reached the back of the cave. Tao made his way painfully to the depths of the cave to see if the light revealed a way out that he had missed before. Hidden in a recess he could see something shiny. There was a golden incense burner, a bronze bowl decorated with gems, some greenish river stones, a piece of wood shaped like a bird. It was a hoard, a dragon’s hoard. Sha must have lived in the cave before Jilong captured her.
Tao’s eyes were drawn to another item in the hoard, something else man-made. It was a bamboo cylinder, each end plugged with beeswax. His hands were already trembling from exertion. They shook even more as he picked up the bamboo cylinder. It didn’t seem possible, but the sutras had found their way back into his hands once more. He was about to open the cylinder when a shadow fell over him. Sha had returned.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
HEALING
Tao stood with the bamboo cylinder in his hands, like a guilty child caught with a finger dipped in a jar of honey. But Sha no longer seemed to be angry with him. In one of her forepaws she grasped a dead rabbit. In the other was a branch that had three pears attached to it. She gave the branch to Tao and he pulled off one of the pears and bit into it. The sweet juice filled his mouth. It was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. Sha picked up the bronze bowl and flew off again. She was not gone long. In a few minutes she returned with it full of river water. She pushed it in front of Tao and he drank every drop. Sha settled down and ate the rabbit in two bites, crunching its bones. Tao ate another pear. It wasn’t until after he’d finished that he realised he’d eaten after noon.
Sha’s eyes were brighter, though still yellowish. She hadn’t fully recovered, but Tao was certain that the tigers’ blood had been expelled from her body and she had lost all her aggression. Once again he had to deal with the frustration of trying to communicate with a dragon without words. Sha was very different to Kai – shy, reluctant to meet his eye and definitely feminine, even when she was crunching rabbit bones.
The yellow dragon leaned forwards and sniffed Tao’s arrow wound, making an anxious sound. She slowly lifted a paw and inserted two talons into one of her reverse scales just as Kai had done. She pulled out a tight wad of dried dark-red leaves that Tao recognised as red cloud herb. She stuffed the whole lot into her mouth, chewing slowly for some minutes before spitting out the masticated leaves onto a stone. Sha looked at Tao and made an encouraging sound. He scooped up some of the chewed leaves, but he didn’t put it on his own wounds. He moved to attend to Sha’s arrow wound first, which was a lot worse than his. She stopped him with the pads of a paw. Sha stuck out her long tongue and twisted round to lick the wound and the festering sores that surrounded it. She looked at Tao. This time she didn’t stop him and he smeared the red cloud herb on her wound. She made a sound like wind chimes, even though it must have hurt.
Tao scooped up more of the herbal mixture and gestured toward his own wound. Sha lowered her head in what Tao interpreted as approval. He was about to smear a dollop onto the arrow wound, but a dragon paw stopped him again. She licked his wound as well, cleaning off the dirt and the encrusted black blood. The dragon’s tongue was rough, as if sharp pieces of broken pot were imbedded in it. Tao gritted his teeth and managed to stop himself from crying out. When she had finished, he applied the red cloud herb. He smeared some on his other cuts. Sha reached behind another of her reverse scales. This time she pulled out some dried berries, one at a time. She placed six of them in Tao’s upturned hand, the rest she ate. Tao didn’t hesitate. He put them into his mouth. They were bitter to taste, but he ate them all, convinced that Sha meant him no harm. She could have easily killed him before then, if that had been her intention.
The ulcerated sores caused by the shackles would eventually kill Sha if left untreated. To ensure she was in his debt, he reached for one of her front paws. She drew it away with a snarl. He pointed to the shackles and made a gesture that he hoped showed her what he wanted to do.
“Let me see if I can remove them.”
This time she didn’t pull her paw away, though she continued to make a low reverberating growl. Tao had no experience at picking locks, but as he looked closer, he realised the iron shackles were not secured with locks. Each shackle encircling Sha’s ankles was just held closed with a clasp, the sort of thing that fastened a necklace, only larger. The clasps were too fiddly for dragon talons to manipulate, but Tao was easily able to unhook them with his fingers. One by one he removed them. Sha sighed with relief. Tao wondered if she was aware that he had just saved her life.
He inspected the iron tips on her horns, but they were bonded to her horns. He couldn’t remove them.
These activities had exhausted them both. The dragon lay down to sleep again, and Tao did the same.
Tao woke to find his arrow wound and three of the worst of his cuts covered with green leaves, stuck to his skin with what he thought might be dragon saliva. Sha had gone hunting.
Since Sha didn’t seem to object to him having the bamboo cylinder, he picked it up again. It was the second time that the cylinder had come into his hands. His fumbling fingers pulled out the beeswax plug. He tilted the cylinder and the delicate pieces of curled bark slid out. He gently opened one and looked at the faint Sanskrit words in a shaft of sunlight. He recognised a few words. It was not a sutra he was familiar with, but just seeing the holy words gave him strength. One of the curls of birch bark was smaller than the others. Tao opened it out. These words were simpler. It was a note from the transcriber, a monk from Tianzhu, who had written down the Buddha’s words long ago. The monk had signed his name at the bottom.
Tao had been so busy trying to stay alive, he hadn’t thought like a monk for days. He wasn’t convinced his own life was worth saving, but he was certain the sutras were. If he didn’t save them, then they would be lost. He had to do his part, just as this monk had long ago. The preservation of the Buddha’s words had been entrusted to him. He put the scrolls back in the bamboo cylinder. He had to get them to Yinmi where they could be protected, and where they could be translated and transcribed. He couldn’t fail at this task.
Tao was willing to rest, eat the food that Sha brought for him and let her tend his wounds. He had lost a great deal of blood and he needed to regain his strength. Sha brought fresh straw to make beds for herself and for Tao. She gave him more of the bitter berries, which he thought helped cure his fever. He slept a lot and spent his waking hours studying the birch-bark sutras. He reattached the strap to the bamboo cylinder by braiding and knotting together the original bamboo stems with Pema’s ribbon, adding strands of straw from his bed. Sha watched him for some time before bending her great head over his work and spitting on the knots that tied the strap to the cylinder. After a few minutes, it had set hard and the strap was firmly attached.
Tao meditated and recited the familiar sutras he had learned by heart. Sha watched and listened with her head cocked to one side. She was an intelligent dragon, and Tao knew that she wanted to understand the words that he spoke.
During the night, Tao was woken by a strange musical sound. It was melodic, but deep, not a sound made by a human voice. If a w
ater buffalo could hum, this was the sound it would make. The melody slid up and down, slowly, sadly. It was Sha singing a lament that brought tears to Tao’s eyes.
After three more days, the sweating had passed and Tao felt strong again. His cuts were healing, the swelling around the arrow wound had gone down, and the hectic colour had faded. Sha seemed healthy too.
Tao thought about what he had heard Kai say to Sha when they were fighting. I am the true leader of our cluster. What had he meant by that? Tao knew that Kai had lied to him in the past. When they had been reunited in the arena, there had been no time to ask him what was true and what was not. Why was Sha so angry with Kai?
The next time Sha was preparing to fly off for food, Tao touched her scaly shoulder.
“I am healed now, thanks to you. I would like to return to my monastery.”
He picked up the bamboo cylinder, hooked the strap over his shoulder and pointed into the distance.
Sha moved her great head from side to side. She pushed his hand from her shoulder with her snout and flew off.
Now that she wasn’t constantly in blood lust, Tao had hoped that the dragon had been caring for him until he was strong enough to go his own way again. He stood on the edge of the cave looking at the river below. Now he knew that wasn’t true. Though there was no one to hear, he spoke the words aloud. “I am her prisoner.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
AIR AND WATER
Tao had thought he was about to die several times since he’d left Yinmi Monastery. On those occasions, he had been ready to accept that Buddha had decided his current life should end, and he had been calm and prepared to enter a new body and begin his next life. But he couldn’t bear the thought of a life of imprisonment. He had helped the yellow dragon, understood her pain and anger. If it weren’t for him, Sha would still have been captive, still craving the tigers’ blood. He had hoped she might be grateful enough to take him all the way to Yinmi, but instead she meant to keep him captive to spite Kai.
Tao made another futile search of the cave, checking the walls, the floor, the roof. There was no way out. He searched through Sha’s hoard, looking for anything that he could use to help him climb down the cliff. There was nothing. He went back to the edge of the cave. He peered over, looking for signs of footholds carved into the cliff. There were none.
When Sha returned, Tao took the food she had brought for him. He drank from the jewelled bowl, then sat cross-legged and recited sutras. He wanted the dragon to think that he had resigned himself to his imprisonment. She had brought him a blanket to cover himself with. He tidied his straw bed and as soon as it got dark, he settled himself down to sleep. He didn’t sleep though. He had decided this was going to be his last night in the dragon’s nest. He would escape, or die trying. He had a plan. He was getting good at scheming.
The next morning, Tao spent the first hour of daylight in meditation to prepare himself. Sha slept till midmorning most days. When she woke, Tao was busily sweeping the cave with a hand broom he had made from his bedstraw. He ate the fruit and nuts Sha had brought for him, while she chewed on the bones of a deer she had killed three days earlier. Then he offered to inspect the arrow wound on her leg and apply fresh red cloud herb. When he’d finished, he tended to his own wounds, which were healing well. Tao spent the rest of the day poring over the birch-bark sutras and reciting the Four Vows:
Sentient beings are numberless; I vow to save them all.
Delusions are endless; I vow to cut through them all.
The teachings are infinite; I vow to learn them all.
Buddha knowledge is inconceivable; I vow to attain it.
Sha had a nap in the afternoon, as she always did. Tao prepared himself. He quietly slipped the strap of the bamboo cylinder over his head and settled it on his back like a quiver of arrows. He pulled on the nomad boy’s boots and slid the purple shard deep into one. When Sha woke, she stretched and Tao knew that she was about to fly off in search of food again.
She stood at the cave mouth, the talons of her forepaws gripping the ledge. Tao crept closer as she snuffed the breeze and unfurled her wings ready for flight. The dragon bent her knees, pulled back her wings and leaped into the air. Tao leaped at the same moment. He sprang onto her back, grabbing her mane with both hands. Sha let out a surprised yelp. She twisted and turned in the air, trying to dislodge him. The dragon’s weapons – horns, teeth, talons and tail – were useless to her as long as he was on her back. All he had to do was hang on. The horizon tilted and turned; the river was above, below and then tipped on its side. The cliffs rose up before him with startling speed. Tao didn’t want to watch this sickening view, but he had to keep his eyes open.
Sha had been docile and friendly while they had been sharing the nest. Now she was angry – and she didn’t need tigers’ blood to maintain her fury. She tried to bash him against the cliff face, hurting herself more than she hurt him. Tao realised that his plan, as always, had one serious failing. He hadn’t thought what to do past this point. He had vaguely imagined that if he could cling on for long enough, Sha would eventually land, and he would be able to escape. The dragon had a different plan. She looped back and was returning to her nest. If she got him back into the cave, he would be at her mercy. He looked down at the river. He didn’t know how far down it was – ten, perhaps fifteen chang. He had a choice between being dismembered by an enraged dragon or breaking his neck, possibly drowning. He didn’t have time to ponder. If he was going to fall into the river and not on the rocks at its edge, he had to do it immediately. He let go of the dragon’s mane.
Tao had imagined he would slowly float to earth like an autumn leaf. Instead he fell like a stone. The rush of air threatened to rip the sutras from him, but the strap held firm. He barely had time to take a breath before the river came up to meet him. He had thought a watery landing would be gentle, but it was like smacking into rock. He plunged through the water, his arms waving uselessly, his boots filling and dragging him down until he hit the riverbed.
The river pulled him downstream. He had to fight the urge to breathe. He opened his eyes, and through the murky water he could make out the rocky edge of the riverbank above him. He swam up towards it, his lungs bursting. Scrabbling on the slippery rocks, he couldn’t grip them, but finally managed to break the surface and breathe in the precious air.
The river, black with algae, slid along flat and fast. Tao went with it. He glimpsed rapids ahead and braced himself to be flung about by the cascading water. Instead, his vest became hooked on a tree branch caught in the rocks that disturbed the river’s smooth passage. The current tried to tug him away again, but he stayed where he was. He ripped his vest as he unhooked himself and climbed up onto the slippery rock. There were other rocks that jutted out of the water. He was able to scramble across them, slipping and falling several times before he reached the reeds growing at the river’s edge. He crawled among them and lay in the shallows while he celebrated being alive, gently lifting his limbs one at a time to see if they still worked. He clutched at his shoulder, and sighed with relief. This time, he hadn’t lost the sutras. He pulled the bamboo cylinder around and held it to his chest, hoping the scrolls hadn’t got wet. He was relieved that there was no sign of Sha, but her eyesight was as good as Kai’s. The sun was low on the horizon. He couldn’t risk moving until nightfall. He breathed in the sweet osmanthus air, felt the breeze on his skin and lay as still as a stone. He wasn’t in a hurry to go anywhere. Not yet.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
HOUSE OF THE DEAD
By the time it grew dark, Tao was freezing. The moon hadn’t risen, and the night was as black as ink. His legs were stiff from cold and inactivity. He managed to get moving, though his progress was slow. The arrow wound was healing well, but it was painful when he put weight on his injured leg. He limped along the riverbank, guided by the soft sound of the river slipping by to his right. He hoped that Sha had given up looking for him, but he knew the cliffs were looming unseen on the o
ther side of the river, and she would be up there in her nest. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Sha’s dragon eyes were on him, penetrating the darkness, tracking him until he was too tired to run, so that she could swoop down and snatch him up like her other prey. It was a strange sensation, stumbling along in the pitch dark, unable to see a handbreadth in front of him, and yet feeling as exposed as a newly opened flower at midday. Even if he did find his way back to the monastery, he imagined that he would spend the rest of his life with one eye on the sky, waiting to be snatched up in the claws of an angry dragon.
He was on his own now. He’d made friends, but he’d lost them along the way. What had happened to Kai? Had Pema survived? He might never know. For the first time in his life, Tao had also made enemies. Those he hadn’t lost. Instead, they had multiplied – Shi Le, Jilong, the entire Zhao army, and now Sha.
Tao felt the bamboo cylinder against his chest. He tried to picture in his mind how he would make his way back to Yinmi without going anywhere near Luoyang. He would travel south of the Luo River, mostly at night. He hoped he would not lose his way in that unknown land, without the sun to guide his steps, without the sight of the Song Shan Mountains to lead him home.
When he’d decided to follow the river through the night, he’d considered the dangers from attacking nomads and dragons, he’d worried about wild nocturnal animals, and been anxious that he might lose his way. The one thing that hadn’t concerned him was the weather.
The wind had begun to blow almost as soon as he started walking. He had hardly noticed it. His mind had been on other things – mainly if he was going to live or die. Now the wind was strengthening and he could hear the change in the river as it was stirred into waves. Leaves whipped into his face. Sudden gusts were so strong they almost lifted him off his feet. He quickened his pace, but that was a mistake, as he lost the path and found himself in waist-high grass. The sound of the wind was so loud he could no longer hear the river, and he lost his sense of direction. After a dozen tentative steps, his foot hung in midair, searching for solid ground but not finding it. He felt himself falling. He braced himself, ready to plunge back into the river, which he knew was waiting to drown him. He clasped the bamboo cylinder with both hands and fell face first, not into water, into thick, smelly mud. His hands were under him, stuck in the grasping mud, which also stopped up his mouth and nose. He wasn’t going to drown. He was going to suffocate.