Paper Dragons #3

Chapter 1

Gold threads billowed over Zhi Ging as she stepped into Fei Chui’s roaming pagoda. In front of her, six heavy paper banners draped down from the central ceiling beams.

“Jack, are you seeing this?” She spun back toward her friend, but instead of his excited grin Zhi Ging now faced a solid wall. The floating door had vanished, taking her final glimpse of Omophilli and the entire paper province with it. She thumped against its heavy surface, but there was no response.

In her rush to discover whether her mother was waiting on the other side, Zhi Ging had forgotten that Fei Chui’s pagoda was famous for its ability to roam. By passing through the door, she could have immediately been transported anywhere across Wengyuen’s six provinces.

In the silence, an uncomfortable thought slithered across Zhi Ging’s mind, wrapping tight down her spine. Is this a trap? Was Ami about to leap out at her?

If she really was in Fei Chui’s roaming pagoda, where was Aapau? Her old guardian should be here. Why hadn’t she appeared?

Her worries were interrupted by Malo’s sudden loud chirping. He flapped his wings defiantly, tugging at the banners with his beak.

“We have to be quiet,” Zhi Ging said, bundling him into her arms. “If this isn’t the right pagoda, we can’t let anyone know we’re he—­” Her whispered warning was cut off as the banners began to whip back and forth, caught in an invisible gale.

The sound of tearing parchment sliced through the air and six figures leaped from the banners. They thudded down in a tight ring around Zhi Ging and unfurled into towering warriors, each at least twelve feet high. Thick armor, made from overlapping layers of paper, rustled as they closed around her.

She gulped, tilting up to stare at the tallest warrior. Balanced above his featureless face was a jagged three-­pronged helmet. Although made from paper, its serrated edges looked more than strong enough to pierce metal.

Warning flames roared across Malo’s wings as the warriors slashed their blades up, six paper swords meeting above Zhi Ging’s head.

Before she could do anything, the tallest warrior flicked his wrist, turning the tip of his sword toward his face. Zhi Ging watched in open-­mouthed shock as he expertly traced it over the smooth paper, slivers curling between his boots as he first cut out eyes, then a nose, and finally a mouth. She spun in a dazed circle, watching the others mirror his bizarre behavior. Once they were finished, all six warriors replaced their swords and folded into low bows.

Malo chirped in confusion as he landed on Zhi Ging’s shoulder, the flames that had crackled across his body fading to a cautious glimmer. They stared at the warriors; each one had bent so low that their newly cut-­out noses brushed against their knees. It was only now, with her panic fading, that Zhi Ging realized each warrior was a different color; the banners they had leaped from were dyed to represent Wengyuen’s six provinces. Red for carved lacquer, yellow for gold, green for glass, blue for porcelain, purple for paper, and white for silk.

“Um, hello?” she croaked, her braid swinging toward her own knees as she tilted sideways, trying to make out the closest warrior’s face. All six sprang up, each pressing an open palm against a closed fist.

“Oh yes, nice to meet you too,” Zhi Ging agreed in a fluster, hands shaking slightly as she imitated their formal greeting. Malo nodded, attempting to curl his right wing into what could pass as a fist. The warriors stilled again, but this time Zhi Ging had the distinct feeling they were waiting for instructions.

“Does anyone else live here?” she asked, waving her arms around the dark room. “I was hoping to find someone. Two people, actually,” Zhi Ging corrected herself, balancing the twin hopes of being reunited with Aapau and finally meeting her mother.

The purple warrior patted his face, checking his newly created features. Two willow-­leaf eyes hung beneath long eyebrows while a curling goatee circled his thin mouth, and for one bewildering second Zhi Ging was reminded of the Binlim performer’s masks at her Recall challenge.

The far wall flickered into view as the warrior stretched his mouth wide, testing its ability to move. His face raced through a series of expressions, twitching between snarl, pout, wince, gasp, and scream before settling on a welcoming smile. He nodded silently and pointed behind her.

Zhi Ging spun around, squeezing Malo’s wing in excitement as the blue warrior pulled what remained of his banner aside to reveal a door. The white warrior slid it open and Zhi Ging blinked hard, forcing her eyes to adjust while a burnished glow danced across her face. Bright dawn blazed through the door, luminous colors spilling through a stained-­glass wall. A squat figure rose from the chair facing the glass, rainbow light haloed around their face.

“Zhi Ging?” The familiar voice wrapped around her like a lost comfort blanket.

“Aapau!” She raced forward, shoes slipping against worn floor tiles as she barreled into her old guardian.

“What are you doing here?” Aapau asked as she hugged Zhi Ging tight, gently tucking in strands that had come loose from her braid.

“I came through the Omophilli pagoda. Jack and I—­” Zhi Ging shook her head, forcing herself to start from the beginning. So much had happened since Aapau was sent away. “I got into Hok Woh!” she cried with a proud smile. “I convinced Reishi to let me be a Silhouette, and Hok Woh’s amazing. They have these things called homei spoons and—­” Zhi Ging took a deep breath, the words unable to keep up with her excitement. “Iridill’s there too, but even she can’t ruin it. There’s dragon boat racing and—­ Oh, I’ve not even introduced you to Malo!”

Aapau chuckled and reached a wizened hand toward the phoenix’s outstretched wing. Zhi Ging winced as the movement caused the woman’s wrist to click loudly. She twisted her Pan Chang between both hands, sneaking a second, more careful glance at Aapau. Has she always been this old?

Her stomach twisted tight as she realized she couldn’t actually remember the last time she’d paid proper attention to her guardian’s appearance.

Aapau had always just been there. A solid, comforting presence that bustled around their home, humming along to starling song while smelling of white flower oil.

Zhi Ging breathed in slowly, eyes tracing the laughter lines that draped along either side of Aapau’s flat nose and the dark sunspots that clustered like constellations over her broad cheeks, determined to remember everything.

“Let’s get some tea before you lose your voice.” Aapau gestured at the paper warriors floating around them, unaware of Zhi Ging now anxiously tracking her every creaking move.

The yellow and green warriors swept toward a small kitchen at the side of the pagoda, their feet hovering inches above the ground. After some mild clattering, the yellow warrior returned, a heavy porcelain teapot hanging from the tip of his sword. The green warrior flitted behind him and placed matching cups down before shyly opening his left hand, offering Zhi Ging a slightly squashed egg tart.

She smiled up at the glass province warrior, noticing that his features had been cut out a little less neatly than the others’, with one eye noticeably larger and higher up. Despite this, there was something immediately likable about his lopsided grin. It made him look no older than her, despite his towering height.

“Thank you,” she said, and smiled before breaking off a piece of tart for Malo. It was still warm, buttery pastry crumbling between her fingers. She bit into its creamy center, sighing appreciatively at the taste of the silky vanilla custard.

The other warriors glanced at one another then shot back toward the kitchen. They reappeared seconds later, each jostling to be the next to hand Zhi Ging a freshly baked treat.

“I see the Bannermen have taken to you,” Aapau noted as she filled both their cups with chilled jasmine tea.

“The what?” Zhi Ging asked, now struggling to keep a selection of fruit-­filled mochi, pandan cake, and pine­apple buns out of an extremely excited Malo’s reach.

“The Bannermen,” Aapau repeated, nodding toward the six warriors now eagerly watching Zhi Ging. “They’re the guardians of Fei Chui’s roaming pagoda. Officially, they’re supposed to remain in their paper banners, watching out for intruders, but it seemed a shame to keep them in that dingy little entry room.” The old woman chuckled as Malo managed to sneak a mango mochi from between Zhi Ging’s fingers, the chewy rice cake temporarily gluing his beak shut.

“They’ve turned out to be exceptional bakers, just as skilled at pastries as protection. I never ate this well over my entire time in Fei Chui!” She saw Zhi Ging’s expression drop.

“Don’t be upset; I’m enjoying my Final Year. It’s a full twelve months without the Lead Glassmith’s constant complaining. What more could anyone ask for?”

“But afterward—­” Zhi Ging broke off, staring dejectedly at her amber reflection in the tea. She didn’t want to think about a Wengyuen without Aapau. The old woman sighed, placing her hands over Zhi Ging’s.

“My little lek neoi, you know we all only have a number of years in Wengyuen. Not everyone can become an immortal Cyo B’Ahon. Healers are already lucky that we can see our Final Year approaching; most don’t even get that.”