On the first day Pei Jing tried to push his qi into the mountain. Loose shale slid over the western ledge. He stopped when he heard it go. There were still people on the road below.
He took the map from Alpha out of its wrapper. The old anchor lay deep under a seam that ran up through the rock. A command coming down from the sky would have to cross that seam. If he could keep a second note in it, the first might lose its force before it reached the pins.
He laid a palm on the granite and tried a note as soft as the knock of a finger on a door. It got as far as the ledge and faded. More force only moved the shale again. He spent the rest of the morning finding a place for his heel where the sound could go down instead of out.
At dusk the runner brought back the slate. There was a mark by the house with the loom. The cart had made it.
