Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 2 -1 2019 | Page 102

A trickle of magic seeped through my fingers as they grasped the stiff, leather book. Carrying the tome, I
walked over to a small round table a few feet away from the door. Opening the book to the first page, I was
surprised to discover that all that was written on it was 1. Next few pages also had only the numbers marked.
Suddenly, a thought struck me: I leafed through the book until 88.
There, in front of me was a sheet filled with characters. “ Wu dialect! ” I recognized with relief. Luckily,
Granny managed to put some knowledge of it into my head during our few lessons. Sweat was beading on
my forehead, while I was struggling through the text: the summoning spell… rain… healing... There it is,
my only chance! Grabbing the book, I raced up the stairs as fast as my legs could carry me.
My heart pounded like a blacksmith’s hammer in my chest. I took a deep breath, before commencing the
chant.
With the last of my words, a streak of silver split the sky and a torrent of water drained down on the sailors,
cascading like a waterfall from the heavens and mercifully washing away pain and terror from the faces of the
suffering crew. Sheltered from the rain by a main sail, I watched how life retuned into their exhausted
bodies.
The feeling of relief was so overwhelming that my legs wouldn’t hold me any longer and I sank to the
floor.
When I looked up, a tall bulky figure stumbled across the deck towards me- the Captain! I clambered to
my feet and watched as tears of happiness ran down his wrinkled, weather- beaten face.
“You saved not only our lives but the whole expedition and honour of the Chinese Empire. Thank you.”
These words of Zheng He filled my heart with pride.
At that very instant a sharp pain cut my stomach in two, and a wave of nausea washed over me. “Those few
drops of water in a cup I found on the stairs of the hold…” was my last coherent thought…