The beacon there is easier to find because the conservatory is made of enormous sheets of the pearl formed into scrolls, unfurling out of the sea. Below the rails, students sit at desks in neat rows, working on the scripts of operas in open air. They look up and begin to applaud as the first-years pass over them. It’s a joyful thing to be applauded by students of so legendary a school.
Ahead, Suki and Doi skate hard toward a curling sheet of the pearl. It sends them flying back toward the beacon. They execute a string of three backflips in the air, scissoring and snapping their legs closed at the end of each flip to sling themselves farther. I’ll have to try that.
The backflips send them whipping up toward the pedestal on which the beacon sits. They each reach out a hand and tag the beacon. They grab the pedestal below the beacon with one hand and use the remaining momentum to whip around the pole twice. They sling toward the rail leading past the Conservatory of Architecture. I’m not far behind them. I tag the beacon and follow them onto the rail.
Ahead of me, Doi skates just an arm’s length behind Suki. Suki turns around and takes an illegal swipe at her with one skate. What a vicious little snake.
Doi easily ducks Suki’s skate. She even adds the insult of flicking her finger against Suki’s blade as she dodges under it, as if she were testing the quality of a porcelain cup in a half-reputable shop. This has become personal.
I skate behind Doi and Suki on the rail that passes by the Conservatory of Architecture, where students design the strange and wild opera sets that the wu liu performers skate across. There’s only one straight, ominous rail that leads to this conservatory. It passes through a little door in a high wall of the pearl rising out of the water, encircling the whole islet and blocking the operations within entirely from view.
As our path swings past it, I see that the wall is covered in adornments. There are fins, horns, paws, claws, tails, levers, prows, and masts erupting from the surface. Flowers and vines are carved everywhere. What do they do behind that wall?
Ahead on the rail, it’s all-out war between the two leaders. Now Doi is in the lead, elbowing Suki aside. Now Suki does the seven-fingered somersault egret move and lands ahead of Doi. These girls are not without skill. Of course. They train here year-round. But I’ve trained harder.
As we skate down the rail to the islet of the Conservatory of Music, I hear humming and ringing. The halls of the conservatory are grafted with wind flutes. Trumpets that end in spread-mouthed blossoms streak up the sides of towers.
A troupe of drummers skates in single file along the perimeter of the islet, racing up and down the gentle hills that form the breakwaters, each drummer beating at the drum slung on the back of the person in front of her.
Singing breaks out. We look into the glassy pearl trees sprouting from the sides of the breakwaters. They’re filled with boy choristers. They turn to watch us midsong, smile and wave, and make their song into a serenade for us.
We speed over the principal orchestra platform where spoon-fiddle virtuosos turn up their faces at the combat that’s playing out above. Their conductress barks at them not to drop the tempo. The fiddlers saw harder at their instruments, and the frenzied melodies seem to give our skates wings.
I have to say, this is fun.
Doi and Suki each strike the last beacon with flawless roundhouse kicks. They jump onto parallel rails leading back to the finish line at the Principal Island, skating side by side. Each knows the other’s moves well enough to perfectly dodge or block them. It’s clear from the emotion in their wu liu that they’ve not only fought each other before, they’re continuing unfinished business.
I slap the beacon and bear down hard toward them. If I keep this up, I’ll finish third. I didn’t come here to finish third.
As we ride the rails from the Conservatory of Music down to the Principal Island of the academy, we cross a great expanse of open sea. Here, the Season of Spouts makes itself most felt. All around us, we’re misted with warm, gentle rain, but it’s not rain, since it’s falling upward.
The rails ahead of us end. The Principal Island lies before me, across a stretch of open sea too wide to jump across. How are we supposed to cross that? I slow so that I don’t go shooting off into the sea before I solve the puzzle.
Doi and Suki are still too busy with combat to notice. When they finally see the gap, they hop and skid sideways to make a sharp stop, right in front of me. The only thing I can do to keep from crashing into them is to plant a two-heeled sesame-seed pestle jump so that my skates pound down together on the rail below me and the dragon tails curled under my heels bounce me up and send me flipping over the girls’ heads.
The next moments seem to pass so slowly, as if it takes days. I hang suspended in the air, skates above me, my braids swinging an arc under my head, the surprised faces of the girls watching me. I land and look behind me to see them clutching each other’s collars, mouths melting open at the realization that they’re not the only two in this race. In the distance, I see the banners that mark the finish line on the Principal Island. There’s only a short stretch of rail ahead of me, and I know I won’t be able to stop in time.
Three waterspouts grind slowly in the water in front of me, spewing water and fish toward the sky. Dolphins leap into the columns of wind and water, rise up,
