The Wind-and-Water

Paul was pried into consciousness by the bloodied hand of a woman in stripped overalls. She was shouting something at him, but Paul was not inspired to listen. She had woken him from a fantastic dream. One of those dreams where you’re the coolest kid in school and you cruise down the hallway throwing up finger guns at everyone as they applaud your gait.

Paul observed her as if in an out-of-body experience. The world around was white and hazy, but the woman was clear. Her funny hat, her white shirt, the dark blood stains pooling along her stomach. She moved in slow motion, her voice an unintelligible mumble despite her obvious yelling. Each word merged with a muffled thunder that came from everywhere. Paul felt like his ears were stuffed with thick marshmallows.

“…Are you listening to me?” She said, the phrase the first to break through.

What? Thought Paul, his face awash with lethargy and confusion.

Smack.

The backhand jolted Paul upright and must have knocked out those marshmallows, because the world became suddenly very loud. The white of his surroundings became soaked in color, revealing the innards of a train car. Red velvet carpet stretch across the interior, running perpendicular to the blue-suede seats neighbored by large chestnut curtained windows. When the revelation was apparent on Paul’s face, the train lady continued.

“Wind-and-water. Warrior chosen. I am Abhaya, captain of the Railblade and Disciple of Master Xi. You must pay heed to my message,” she reached into her satchel that definitely wasn’t there before and pulled from it an absurdly beautiful vase, “This is the Vase of Shui. Touch it and you will be granted the omniscient powers of Feng Shui. I prayed to the SanXing for a warrior worthy of this power after I was attacked and wounded,” She motioned with her eyes to the blood staining her overalls and the wound now visible through the denim. Paul mistakenly followed the direction of her gaze too far and wound up focused on a bit of gum stuck to the pole next to them. Abhaya thrust the Vase closer to Paul’s face.

“This power cannot fall into the hands of evil, Wind-and-Water, and evil’s hands have been hard at work in the shadows. Plotting. Scheming. Making moves. On this train ride alone I have been attacked three times! Two were unsuccessful, but the third?” She motioned again to her wounds with her eyes, this time leading Paul’s gaze to a crumpled receipt next to a seat leg.

Abhaya thrust the Vase even closer to Paul’s face,”You must take it, Wind-and-Water. Take it swiftly to Master Xi’s ancient temple. You will know the way once you touch it.”

She moved the opposite handle closer to Paul’s hand causing him to recoil into the seat cushion.

“What is the matter Wind-and-Water? You must take this, there is no time!”

Paul shook his head, “Nope. No thanks.”

“No? How can you deny this? You have been chosen!”

“Right… umm… Who are you?”

“I am Abhaya, captain of the Railblade and-“

“Yea-yea-yea, okay, I got it. I remember. Sorry, there was a whole lot to digest in all that yelling you were doing.”

“Yelling? I was simply-“

“You’re the captain right?”

“Yes.”

“And where are we exactly?”

“On my train. the Railblade.”

“Like… in the front?“

“No.This is the caboose. The final train car.”

“So, if you’re the captain and you’re in the caboose… whose driving the train?”

“Soon you will be.”

“Me?!”

“Yes, you! Listen: I prayed to the SanXing and They provided me you. The Wind-and-Water. The Warrior in the caboose. You have been chosen, and for a reason. The SanXing never make a mistake. Everything, always in its right place.”

Paul stared at her blankly for far too long, “What’s the SanXing?”

“They are the 3 Stars. The almighty God of Fortune and Prosperity.”

“God?”

“Yes, God. Please you must hurry.”

“But you said they were the 3 Stars. So there’s 3 of them?”

“Yes, they are 3 and each governs a Constellation. These details do not matter. What matters is that I prayed and the SanXing answered.”

“So there’s 3 of them?”

Defeat washed over Abhaya’s face, followed swiftly by annoyance.

“3, indeed. Cai, Zi, and Shou.”

Paul remained oblivious to her facial and vocal cues, “So they each have names? But they are also just the SanXing.”

“Yes. They are the 3 Stars and the 1 SanXing.”

“How can they be 3 separate dudes but also 1 single dude?”

Annoyance gave way to anger, “Does this really matter?!”

“Well… yea! I gotta know who I’m working with here. If I got some sorta mission, I wanna know whose hired me. It’s only fair!”

Abhaya’s grip tightened as she pulled Paul closer, lifting him slightly out of his seat, “You must get the Vase back to Master Xi. Please. They are coming, and I am wounded. I don’t have much time left. You must drive the train and get to Master Xi’s temple. I-“

The Vase fell to the floor as Abhaya clinched her stomach and groaned with distress. She fell prone next to Paul’s seat. Paul slowly peaked over the seat railing, only slightly worried that the train lady might be transforming into some sort of monster or something.

“I’m sorry… Please… Get to…” A final breath. A fading light. Abhaya’s spirit left her body. Blue and purple scintilla’s floated from her skin as her body evaporated into ethereal dust and disappeared, leaving Paul alone in the train car with nothing but a tattered uniform, a very fancy mystical vase, and a mission.

“Nah, I’m good,” Paul said to no one in particular as he swiftly made his way to the back door. Without hesitation he opened it and stepped out onto the platform, only to let out a shrill screech at the scene he was now faced with. The Railblade was speeding down a cliffside track at breakneck speed. The rails bent around the mountain, merging with the rocks as they disappeared behind the bend. The cliff beneath was a 90 degree drop meeting a violent dark blue tide. The water stretched on to the horizon, unbroken by land or boat. Paul’s body took over and he found himself back inside the train car clutching desperately to a support pole.

The train groaned as it made a turn and plunged into the darkness of a mountain tunnel. Small lamps littered the ceiling and caused the seats and poles to cast long shadows across the train car. One of them joggled in Paul’s peripheral vision. He stiffly rotated his entire body to face it. It stretched from the floor, filling the empty air, and morphed into the shape of a man.

A 3 piece suit emerged: A dark grey jacket etched with fine lines. An even darker grey under coat and shirt. A pitch black tie, shoes made of darkness, near invisible jet black gloves. Then, a face manifested: Light grey fur adorned with black dancing patterns. Whiskers jutting in all directions. Massive satellite ears, huge emerald eyes somehow illuminated by the darkness. It appeared to be a cat-man.

“Who are you?”

The sight of the cat-man speaking nullified Paul’s ability to speak.

The cat-man took a silent step closer, “Do you not have ears small boy child? Who are you? Where is Abh-“

A crash interrupted him as the train barreled out of the tunnel and into a sharp left turn. The caboose whipped, nearly missing the tracks on its way down. The cat-man flipped through the air and landed gracefully in a shadow left by a drawn curtain.

“Good gracious! We are moving much too fast for these turns. Whose driving this train?”

Paul, now flat on his back, pointed languidly at the bloodied conductor outfit strew about the floor.

A look of surprise bristled the cat-man’s eyebrows. He glided across the carpet and hovered over the clothes. From his inner coat pocket, he produced a pair of long chopsticks and used them to lift the garments to his visage. His nose twitched with silent sniffs; his pupils ballooned with sedulous scrutiny. Then, his face stretched long with understanding as the clothing dropped from his chop stick’s grasp.

“Abhaya. She’s dead. But how?” the cat-man’s chop sticks pinched Paul’s shirt collar and lifted him effortlessly to meet his eyes, “How small boy child? Who could possibly have done this?”

The words spewed from Paul like a fire hose, “I don’t know! She woke me up and then she said some stuff and then she died and became of bunch of magic dust specks and-“

The cat-man pulled Paul closer, “You were with her when she died?!”

“Ummm, yes?”

“Did she have a vase with her? Did she try to pass it on you?”

“The Vase of Sway?”

“The Vase of Shui!”

“Is it green with fancy patterns all over it?”

“Precisely!” Paul was launched into the air as the cat-man spun with glee, “That’s the one!”

Chopsticks snatched Paul and drew him close, “Did she give it to you?”

“Uhhhh… No? Well… yes. Yes, but no.”

Anger fumed across the cat-man’s face, “You said she had it with her when you saw her die.”

“Well, yea! I did see it. She tried to give it to me, said something about how she prayed to a three-in-one guy and that I’m the windy water.”

“You are the Wind-and-Water?” The feline gently placed Paul back on the ground and produced a handkerchief from his coat pocket, “Please forgive me. I beg your most generous pardons and provide my most humble apologies.”

The cat-man adjusted Paul’s clothes and brushed away any dirt and grim that had found it’s way onto him. Within a short time, Paul was spotless.

“Why are you apologizing? I said no thanks anyways. I’m not down for all the crazy stuff she was yappin’ about.”

A catty laugh filled the car, “You cannot deny your destiny, Wind-and-Water. You have been chosen and your fate is sealed. The SanXing never make a mistake. Everything, always in its right place. It will be an honor to kill you.”

“Look, I’m not exactly down with this whole SanXing thing. The whole concept is really confu- wait what? Kill me?!”

The cat-man’s right hand swung at Paul, claws splitting through the glove tips, but Paul’s body recoiled backward, dodging the blow. The Railblade had hit another turn and bounced, flinging Paul through the doorway into the next car. He rolled across the rectangular room and smashed back first against a table leg. This train car was totally different from the caboose. The caboose’s seats were here replaced by tables sets, the carpet swapped for black-and-white diamond shaped tiles. Even the windows were dissimilarly shaped and curtained.

The train needled through a line of trees, blanketing the car in darkness. The cat-man appeared in a corner shadow.

“My name is Mr. Mojo, an assassin of the Magi of the Moon.”

The trees split and sunlight filled the train car; the cat-man was nowhere to be seen. More trees restored the dark and there he was in a different shadow, closer.

Paul jumped back, “Can’t I like just give it to you? You don’t have to kill me!”

“I didn’t train for five thousand years to have the Vase handed to me. I have waited, and waited, and waited still more for Abhaya to fail. To fall.” The feline dipped into a shadow and emerged from another, closer again, “For the Wind-and-Water to be chosen.” Again he dipped and again he emerged, still closer, “This day is my destiny.”

Each time Mr. Mojo came closer saw Paul shrink further into a cringe, “Well then why don’t you just get it over with?!”

A block of sunlight peeked through the trees, turning the cat-man into a floating set of emerald eyes, “Have you ever heard of a game called cat and mouse?”

The train broke through the trees again and the eyes vanished.

You haven’t touched it have you?

Paul spun. The voice was everywhere and nowhere. On the table behind him sat the Vase, Its jade and bronze colors twisting in a frozen dance across a smooth exterior. The sigils etched into the surface formed a border around a single line of text. Paul couldn’t read it at first, but after gazing for a moment longer, the letters transformed themselves into a language he could read:

Everything, always in its right place.

All that was cool and everything, but when exactly had the Vase gotten there? Paul was sure that it had shattered a crash or two back.

Touch it.

Paul could see a translucent, catty visage in a sliver of shadow beneath the table.

With slow, deliberate hesitation, Paul reached out and grabbed the handle. The Vase melted around his hands, forming skin tight gauntlets. The environment flooded into him. It was the mighty river and he the ocean. Every inch of every minuscule crevice of the train car became as familiar to him as his own finger nails; Each piece of furniture, each decoration adorning the walls and ceiling, each drooping fabric, each stitch of carpet, became to his eye an equal but separate piece of one whole. And with this sudden knowledge, one truth was laid bare: This train car was terribly decorated.

A final column of trees absorbed the train, leaving the train car in near total darkness. It mattered none. Paul didn’t need to see, to see. He knew what needed doing and he went straight to work.

First, the tables. They were just awful. The table clothes, the strange purple-tinted glass tableware, the subtly mismatching chairs. It all had to go. Paul drifted about the train car, brushing his bronze fingers across the felonious items. Each touch transformed cosmetic atrocities into decorative marvels.

Mr. Mojo leapt from the darkness, claws now jutting from both gloves. Each swipe he took met air as Paul continued his bedecking ballet. I’ll be getting to you, Paul thought as he moved to the curtains.

They were just drab. The fabric was a coarse beige material, and the tassels must have been from Ancient Rome they were so old. Mr. Mojo became the cat in the bag as Paul ripped the curtains down from their headers. The feline fumbled within the fabric, seeking an escape, but finding only more textile.

Paul spiraled his gauntlets in the air and out sprang legions of matching purple Jabots. He floated to the ceiling and attached them to each window like garnish on a fine dinner plate. Landing noiselessly on the ground, he fell to his knees and gently placed his fingers on the floor tiles.

A claw burst from the squirming curtains and ran diagonally. Mr. Mojo sprang from the opening toward the crouching boy. Suddenly, Paul produced a burgundy carpet from the ether and gave it a whip. The energy slammed the feline back into a chair.

Soon, Paul thought at Mr. Mojo and the chair.

The carpet shattered the floor into a rain of quadrilateral tiles that landed in neat, organized stacks. In their place, the grand carpet laid flat across the train car forming an empyreal bond with the purple Jabots above. It was all becoming clear to Paul. Before, he had been redecorating on instinct alone, Instinct amplified by the Vase gauntlets, but now everything was revealed and laid bare. The energy of the room as he brought it to harmony was invisible to his eyes, but unmistakable to his heart.

Mr. Mojo crooked into a squat and prepared to leap at Paul. Ready and waiting, Paul slide forward and touched the chair and its neighbor with his gauntlets. As promised, Paul thought as the chairs spun around the room, banging into every other chair like bumper cars. Each crash created a flash of energy that transformed the ill-matched pack of chairs into a coordinated set. Dreary, liquid stained wood was polished clean. The boring spindles and cross rails became ornate with patterns, and the flat board top rail chiseled into a lancet arch. The feline held on hopelessly against the spinning until the last chair was converted and each seat landed into position.

With that, it was complete. The room was in perfect balance and the energy of that balance held Mr. Mojo in suspended animation upon his throne. The centerpiece of exquisite completeness. The Focal Point.

“I told you,” the feline said, straining against the pulsations, “The SanXing are never wrong.”

The Railblade erupted from the tree tunnel. A smile split across Mr. Mojo’s face as the sunlight burst into the train, erasing him.

The sight of the mountain wizzing past reminded Paul that he should probably get to the front of the train and figure out how to stop it. There was something else he needed to do. What was it again? Master Xi.

An immense temple swept into his vision. A tower whose finial touched the sky. The building was somehow familiar to Paul, though he couldn’t recall why.

When the vision dissolved, Paul’s feet moved him swift and delicate. As he opened the next train car door, the faded color saturated and the scraps and scratches healed. The monochrome railings glittered with a complimentary pigment and intricate lace cafe curtains sprouted from the window trim. The next train car door matched the others, and behaved much the same upon Paul’s touch, but the inside shook him.

Gold. Gold everywhere. Terrible, frightful gold.

There were golden chairs upholstered with golden fleece. Golden candelabra’s rested atop golden tables. Golden Corinthian columns stood as sentinels to the golden chiffoniers which themselves watched over golden pyxides and golden planters, out from which sprang golden vegetation. From the ceiling, a golden chandelier stretched out it’s myriad limbs to drown the world in gold; and above it, arched rectangular panels were home to 4 great golden murals, each a unique scene of golden figures busy with their golden lives. Life sized golden statues faced the rear of the car, lined in perfect rows between the sea of golden chattel.

The tackiness brought Paul to his knees. To his surprise, the life sized statues suddenly turned in unison to face him. They were each of similar size and build, but every face was unique. Humanoid, oxen, dog, cat, insect, strange species of sweeping diversity. They dressed in identical golden jumpsuits, but whatever was not covered by the suits was painted a matching gold. Even their eyes were gold.

A human-faced one stepped forward and handed Paul a white gold index card embossed with a message:

Wind-and-Water. We are the Brotherhood of the Golden Sisters. News of you has spread across the land. We seek the Vase of Shui to honor our great master lord Theogold Goldenson. We thank you for the opportunity to face you in combat.

Paul lowered the card, “You guys don’t talk? What’s with the card?”

An insectoid Sister quickly approached him with another card:

No. We took a vow of silence upon joining the Brotherhood.

“How did you know I would ask that?”

A crocodile-esque comrade slipped out from behind a donkey-esque Brother, another card in hand:

We’ll have 2 #9’s with extra fries and a large diet soda.

“What?”

A golden bearded Brother with hard lines for a face snatched the card from his hand and replaced it with another:

Whoops, sorry. Wrong card.

Two eagle-headed Sisters met in front of Paul and handed him each half of a card. Placing the two halves together, Paul read:

We came prepared. Just as you should be prepared… to die!

After Paul read the final word, the Brotherhood leapt into action. In the air, they formed an arching phalanx; a tightening noose of golden death. Golden weapons were interlocked in their golden fingers. Blades and whips and chains and spears.

Paul closed his eyes and leaned back until his shoulders were flush with the flooring. His arms unfolded, his fingertips readied themselves. Just before the edge of a golden dog-man’s dagger could shear a lock of Paul’s hair, gauntlet fingers met the golden linoleum.

The flooring exploded from the ground and whipped itself into a taught roll, propelling the Brotherhood to the other side of the car. They reacted with masterful anticipation, whirling into upright positions and landing as a solid unit, weapons at the ready. Paul paid no mind, he was on a mission: this gaudy space would be getting the makeover of the century.

The Brotherhood broke formation and launched at him as rapid fire solo attackers. Paul danced around them, his fingers tracing the bare floor, revealing charcoal herringbone floorboards. When he reached the wall, one hand graced a loveseat while the other brushed the wall itself. The Golden Fleece melted from the face of the tete-a-tete and jet black velvet took its place. The gold plating of the seat’s arms, legs, and apron shifted to a black agreeable shade of gold, while the intricate archaic patterns etched upon each simplified into a modern arrangement. The wallpaper twisted into hairs of gold that gilded the forming black wainscot panels.

More weapons drifted past an untouched Paul as he brushed his fingers across every tawdry golden piece, morphing all into his black-and-gold master aesthetic. A two headed rabbit Sister came at him from beneath, glittering yellow spear in hand. Soon, Paul thought as he somersaulted around the trail of the blade, his finger tip grazing the surface of a cabriole leg. The gold of it split and black tendrils shot from the cracks, encasing it.

Three matching bear-faced Brothers formed a trident of axe blades and came hurtling from the far side of the train car. A rotation to the left moved Paul safely out of their path. Soon, soon. Wait your turn.

A parade formed to one side of Paul. Multiple coordinated strikes initiated as he was busy with a tasteless golden planter. The stout chytra pot wheeled in Paul’s hands as he formed it into a slender hydria. Each complete rotation saw the gold of the pot bleed into black. The leaves of the golden plant protruding from it fell and flattened against the outer side of the planter, forming a golden botanical array atop a field of black.

Paul dodged as the party reached him. Whips slithered past. Spears met air. Blades clattered against one another. Not a one fulfilled its intent.

You’re all next. Just one more thing. I promise.

Paul launched off the wall, dodging all manner of new attacks in an elegant spiral. When he reached his target, he grabbed two great protuberant tentacles and gave a yank. The massive chandelier crashed atop a cluster of golden victims and shattered into a million specks of glittering light. From the hole in the ceiling that remained, a great black wave rushed out in all directions, coating the hideous murals and cathedral ceiling tiles in a shadow sea. The particles rose into the air and planted themselves into the black, created a micro universe of golden stars.

Paul landed delicately in the center of the room. Surrounding him on all sides, and from all angles, the Brotherhood gathered for a final deadly attack. They launched in a unison charge. Paul took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Time was still to him. Nothing but the energy of the room existed. Not the train, the battle, not the past nor the future. Not even himself. Death tinted each approaching weapon, but none would take him. They were needed for a different purpose, here at the Focal Point of the room.

Paul dropped to his knees and raised a single finger where his heart once had been. Every tip of shining golden steel met the point of his finger and a wave of white erupted, bathing everything in radiant light.

When it settled, Paul was sitting in lotus position before his masterwork: A gilded black statue of ten thousand faces. Their eyes pointed in all directions across the cylindrical face of it, so that no inch of the train car would be unseen. Unfortunately, this moment of admiration would not last. A suspicious thud ripped Paul from the moment. Then, without any further warnings, the train propelled down a steep descent.

Paul was thrown, smashing through the train car door and into the next, and the next and the next. Each door broke away, no match for the force of his projectile mass. For Paul, the fall was a hallway of dimensional gates. Every train car was a new world to explore, for 0.25 seconds. There was one that had a group of horses playing crochet. Another looked like the innards of a 17th century log cabin. Paul held his breath through an aquarium car filled with exotic fish and jellies. There was a ballroom, a torture chamber, a library, a science lab, hampsters engaged in a rave, a sushi restaurant run by some shady looking octopus’s. Dismay absorbed Paul’s mind as he realized that he would never be able to remodel any of them, then…

Smack!

The dismay was replaced with discomfort as his body met a door that finally would not give. Paul peeled himself from the glass. The train car looked as all the others had looked, save for a large white sign with thick red letters painted upon it. The sign was in a language foreign to Paul. Now, a more astute person with a higher passive perception might have taken the sign to indicate “danger” or “do not open” or something to that effect due to the large, jaggedness of the letters and the great many exclamation marks and large interdictory circles. They might also have noticed the many, many locks and chains. Unfortunately, Paul was no such person. A single touch was all it took, and the sign, the locks, and the chains fell away, forming themselves into a steel window box planter. Flowers bloomed from the pots within, reds, purples, blues, companions to the steel roses embellishing the floral pattern etched into the planters surface. A ding rang from somewhere, and the flowers split as the door swung open.

This train car was a gateway to any grandma’s house. Long ornamental rugs sat atop thick carpet. Display cases with pictures and hand painted ceramics lined the walls. Trumpet shaped lamps hung from the ceiling above a hardwood kitchen table, and mismatched green and ruby chairs circled around an old upright piano. At the farthest end of the train car was a red brick fireplace with hungry flames crackling inside its belly. A mantle ran across its head, decked with vases of all shapes and sizes. They were evenly spaced and all set to face the same direction. There was a curious void at the end of the line up, as if a vase was missing. Below, an antique Persian Serapi rug lay straddled between a dark cherry tufted chaise, and an old woman rocking in a cushioned chair.

“Oh, deary. It’s been so long since I’ve had a visitor. Do come in and sit a while won’t you?” She said in a thin quavery voice.

Paul stepped in and started to close the door.

“You can leave that open child, it gets a tad stuffy in Ol’ Granny Gran’s car. Heh heh. Let some of that fresh air in.”

Paul obliged and stepped cautiously inside. Despite the homely appearance of the room, its energy was in good order. There were only a few improvements to be made and Paul noted each in his mind. As he came closer to the woman, his senses went haywire. Something is off.

“I’m so excited to have a guest again! I can’t decide what to share with you. How about a story? Or a poem?”

Paul reached the chaise and sat opposite the woman. She wore a purple pastel nightgown with matching slippers. An unbuttoned rose pink cardigan played curtains to a string of pearls draped around her neck and her white hair was pulled taught in a bun pierced by two rhinestone floral hair sticks.

“If that doesn’t interest you lad, how about a song? Or Granny could share one of her award winning recipes? Or would you like a knitting lesson?”

The wrinkles of her face moved in a syncopated dance with each word. Her closed eyes hid behind large thick-rimmed glasses and her lips grinned a permanent toothless smile. In appearance, she was as non-threatening as a wingless butterfly. But what darkness lay underneath?

“What are you doing on this train Granny?” He said, his tone halfway between pleasant and threatening.

The woman's jovial mannerisms ceased as she froze in place.

“Oh, so you want to hear a secret young lad. Granny has a great many of those.”

She broke into a cackle so coarse it scratched the very walls, then she leaned toward Paul and said, “I’ll tell you a little secret: It was I who ended Abhaya. She trapped me in this train car to keep me from getting the Vase, but now…” the crone rose to her feet, bones cracking with every movement, a hideous smile curling up her face, “You have brought it right to me.”

With unbelievable speed she hurled herself at him. It was all he could do just to try and dodge her, but it was not enough. Her hands clasped around Paul’s arms and a searing pain splintered through his entire body. Paul let out a scream. The shockwaves slammed into everything around them, pushing the rooms antiquated paraphernalia away. It was still not enough. Granny Gran struggled against the billows and succeeded, maintaining her grip on him.

“Scream all you like Wind-and-Water. You have failed! Only a fool would have come so close to me.”

She cackled again creating her own sound waves that canceled out Paul’s. The heat of her grip increased to an unbearable scorch. The gauntlets began to squirm and crawl, melting from Paul’s hands. He tried to move, but Granny Gran’s hold was too strong. Is this how it ends?

Then the train hit another turn. The crash of the car against the rails disoriented Granny Gran, loosening her grip just enough. Paul took the opening. He snatched a fistful of her gown in each hand and the crone howled in horror. Her nightgown began to eat itself, turning the pastel supima cotton into a glossy red-scaled dress. Spiraled tassels budded from the selvage circling her legs and forearms. Pearls exploded from her necklace, becoming bubble-stacked earrings and a network of rings and wristlets. Her hair sticks melted into decorative lace braids as her bun fell into a bloomed shag haircut.

“No!” She shouted, squeezing Paul tighter, “Stop this now Wind-and-Water!”

Her compressing grip caused a surge that unified with Paul’s beautifying energy field. The purest white effloresced from the gauntlets and shook Paul, then Granny Gran, then the floorboards, then the furniture, until everything was shaking and covered in light.

“Let go you blunderbuss! You cow-handed cad. You rattlecap ninnyhammer! You’ll destroy us bo-”

The world went blank. Paul awoke in a daze to find himself strewn atop the control panel of the front train car. The scene before him caused his wits to quickly return.

The train was moving faster than it had ever been. It was currently careening across a bridge that seemed to be an infinite amount of feet above the water. At its end, the tracks were damaged and bent upward. Attached to one of the broken rails was a sliver of red-scaled fabric flapping in the wind. In the distance Paul could see a blurry structure, with a central tower so tall it touched the clouds.

Master Xi’s Temple!

Paul stared at the miscellany of knobs, buttons, and levers before him. Each one’s purpose was a mystery to him, so he made the only move he could: redecoration. Switch. Click. Pull. Bang. Pow. Beep, beep, beep. Paul arranged the control panel into a work of art. He shifted the captain’s chair forward, making room for a mural of Earth with a train car surrounding it to blossom on the floor. When the command car was in elegant form, it’s energy in near perfect harmony, Paul realized it was missing something. Something special. A centerpiece. The most important part of any locomotive: The human element. The captain. The Focal Point.

Paul didn’t know the first thing about driving a train, but he was all that he had. He took his seat as the new captain and buckled in.

Out the front window, inevitability waited. The split was only meters away. The train was about to make the jump of a lifetime. Paul closed his eyes and merged his focus with the present. The train screamed as it launched off the broken railing. Paul sat motionless, maintaining his position as the Focal Point of the room. It was all he could do to keep his cool. An eternity passed in an instant, then…

Crash!

Paul was flung from the train. He landed hard, blasting his inertia into the ground as he rolled across it. He eventually found himself staring up at a ceiling of such decadence that a single tear fell from his eye.

Master Xi emerged from a still intact doorway. He wore nothing but a rainbow silken kilt and air thin sandals. His muscles formed warm marble slabs across his entire body. Jade green eyes scanned the scene, stopping briskly upon the sight of Paul’s prone body. Master Xi marched over the rubble to hover above him. Somehow Paul knew the Master, from those eyes alone. The look of seriousness on Master Xi’s face cracked into a huge smile.

“It’s perfect!” He shouted.

Um, what?

Suddenly Paul was on his feet, smacks of warm congratulations rippling through his back.

Temple students sprouted from the rubble and dusted off their matching rainbow kilts. They spun in wide-eyed circles with marvel and awe on their faces. Master Xi cupped an arm around Paul, “Eons ago I built this temple and for eons still I have sought to complete the prophecy of Feng Shui: to redecorate a room and bring it to Absolute Harmony. Many iterations have I tried and of those many iterations, all have failed. But you, Wind-and-Water, you have succeeded!”

Master Xi held out a tree truck arm and motioned across the room. Sunlight glittered in blades through the train shaped hole left in the ceiling. The rubble had fallen in chaotic, yet perfect patterns across the floor. The train itself had coiled around the entire space, smashing every item in the room to pieces that formed even more flawless patterns. Paul’s eyes followed the arrangement to the center of the room. There sat the Vase, the centerpiece, the Focal Point. Paul looked to his arms. The gauntlets were gone. He was normal again but for a smidge of power left over that let him feel the energy of the room. The Master was right. The room was in Absolute Harmony. Not a thing could be improved. It brought more tears to his eyes.

A group of students began to chant in celebration. The rest joined in, including Master Xi. They lifted Paul onto their shoulders. Songs and shouts filled the great hall in languages Paul could not understand, but he joined in all the same. The student holding him up began to spin. Soon, he was dizzy and they both fell to the ground. Paul laid there breathing heavily and closed his eyes, a jumbo smile across his face. Laughter erupted as everyone spun and fell to match them. Then, the sound faded. Paul opened his eyes to meet a wide, empty blue sky.

He sat up rapidly. There was no sign of the temple, the students, the mountains, the sea. None of it. There was only a trail leading to a train station with a sign that read:

Departing in 15 minutes. Destination: Home.