Page 72 of The Girl with a Thousand Faces
Carvings are etched into the stone walls, beautifully done but—like the statue—suffering from the erosion of centuries. Most are barely discernible, now, which is why you did not see them straightaway in the half-darkness. The closest one looks more like someone has attacked the stone with an axe.
Hesitant, reverent, uncertain, you edge a little farther into the temple, trying in vain to get a glimpse of the stories depicted within.
Against the far wall is a shrine, on which a collection of pearls and shiny ocean rocks have been piled by unknown hands in ages past. A curious and unconventional offering, but you suppose incense wouldn’t work well in so damp a place.
The carvings are easier to see from here. Most are ruinous beyond deciphering, but three of them stand out. The biggest mural shows a scene you don’t recognize: of Kwun Yam descending to an underwater world, while strange beings surround her with offerings. They have fins and scales and fish-like faces with lidded eyes, their appearance closer to aquatic than human. Tails instead of legs, too.
Jiaoren.Flood dragon people.You touch the carvings thoughtfully, entranced by the depictions. Again, this is a story you’d associate more with Ma Zu, and the bleed-over with Kwun Yam is as weird as it is confusing. You take another step forward, and something crunches beneath one foot.
Glance down.
And almost retch, despite yourself. For here on the temple floor are the long-rotted remains of a girl’s corpse.
Mami’s story flashes through your head, mixing with the strange ghost dream you had some weeks ago. A little girl, thought to be unlucky. Chased to the headland where she fell into this cave, and then left to die.
It should be impossible. A body in this damp, ocean-washed place would have disintegrated long ago. Yet somehow, you sense innately that this is indeed the sister that Mami spoke of, and whom you dreamed of. Preserved by some supernatural influence.
A hideous suspicion is beginning to creep over you.
Hesitant and slow, you walk back out into the echoing cavern. For the first time in months, your brain is alert and sharp as the rocks underfoot, your senses unfogged by the island’s strange, dreamy atmosphere. The temple has that effect, its divinity cutting through like a knife.
There in the dim light of Kwun Yam’s sacred temple, Sea Sister stands revealed.
Gone is the heady aura that made her seem alluring. You perceive her as she truly is: the starved ruination of her body, bones sketched beneath graying skin. The ragged claws and serrated teeth. Her eyes are not divinely white, but dead and filmed over. Like that of a corpse.
“You… are not a jiaoren,” you say, swallowing. “This temple to Kwun Yam depicts her as Ma Zu going beneath the sea. She extends her compassion to all creatures, above and below the waves. But you are not like the jiaoren she met.”
No fins, no gills, no scales. No fish tail.
No magic, only horror.
Please, Sea Sister says, except she really isn’t speaking in the physical sense. Her words are a whisper inside your head, watery and echoing.Please, Siu Yin. Don’t run.
“Sea Sister,” you say, shakily, “tell me who you are.”
You need her to say it. The truth matters.
She inches closer, holding your face with her long, clammy hands.Let me show you, she says, and presses her forehead to yours.See for yourself.
23WATER GHOST
? years ago…
Water laps you to wakefulness, cold and fishy-smelling. Cough and splutter; you are lying on an uneven, rocky surface, covered in several inches of seawater that swirls gently back and forth. If you had landed face-down, you might have drowned, but you have landed on your back.
Above, the cavern roof gapes larger than it did before. The edges of it have crumbled in, widening the crevice. The temple itself—a mere handful of steps away, you have landed within clear sight of its arched doorway—is the same as always: quiet, peaceful, beautiful, ancient. Nothing changed there.
Head spinning, you try to sit up. It is hard work. Your legs do not move, nor do your hips. You cannot feel any pain, only heaviness, and that worries you. Dazed and anxious, you look around.
And start screaming.
You’ve landed atop your grandmother, whose body has cushioned the fall. Ahpo’s head and belly are smashed open, entrails and brain matter and bones everywhere. She is very dead. Like the victims in Shanghai and other bombed cities, you think, then feel confused because that thought makes no sense.
A shadow drifts across the patch of light. Look up; it is Daiyu, face full of terror and horror. She cries at you with confused, warbling words that are choked through her tears.
“Are you okay, little sister? Where is… oh, no! Ahpo!”
“Help me,” you plead, because everything feels real and not any longer like it is a dream. A real and visceral terror is spreading through your veins. “Please, big sister!”
