The Magnolia Sword: A Ballad of Mulan

by Sherry Thomas

  “Or maybe Lord Sang found an actual imperial messenger willing to do his bidding,” I mutter.

  “So what do we do?” asks Tuxi, his voice shaking just a little. “This is too soon. Even the Rouran weren’t expecting to head out so quickly, were they? Your Highness, Hua xiong-di, you said they thought they’d have to hold out for some time.”

  And Captain Helou went so far as to counsel them to slaughter their horses, if they ran out of stores.

  Before Kai or I can say anything, cries erupt from the Rouran encampment. They have seen it too—the signal they were waiting for.

  “Don’t we need to go right now, so we can get ahead of the Rouran?” I ask. My voice doesn’t shake, but my fingers do. I grip the edge of my cape.

  Kai swears. “There is no way we can get ahead of the Rouran. Their vanguard will be riding out now. By the time we exit this valley—and remember, we’ll have to take a more circuitous route—we’ll be caught between their vanguard and their main column. Not a good place to be.”

  “Let’s not go in that direction, then,” says Kedan. “I didn’t just take a walk to clear my head. I also wanted to see whether we could leave to the south. From the bottom that ridge looks impossible for horses, but halfway up, I found a fissure that cuts across to the other side. And that side has a path leading south—I could see the Wall in the distance.”

  “But even if we get to the Wall, there won’t be a road that leads directly to Futian Pass,” points out Tuxi. “We will have to go in the opposite direction, probably, until we can join an imperial road.”

  I blink. “But there is a road that leads directly to Futian Pass. The Wall itself goes there. And last I saw, two can ride side by side on the top.”

  Silence.

  Then Tuxi grabs me and lifts me bodily. “Hua xiong-di, just for that, the court owes you a reward of five thousand mu of land.” He sets me down and looks around. “Well, what are we waiting for? Shall we go?”

  Our gazes are fixed on Kai.

  He exhales. “Yes, let’s go.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  We do not leave immediately: The princeling wants to make sure that the Rouran vanguard takes the route we assume they will—north out of the encampment, then along the edge of the plateau to the nearest pass—and not a southerly course that would lead them far too close to us.

  Yu busies himself seeing to the horses. Tuxi pulls Kedan aside, probably to inquire if the latter feels any better. Or who knows? Perhaps there is no time like now to share some court gossip.

  I sidle up to Kai, who is pulling daggers out of what seems like a dozen hidden places and checking them.

  “Give me one,” I say.

  He does. The dagger is small, from hilt to tip barely longer than my forearm. I test its weight and balance, then stow it in my boot. “Scared?”

  “When I saw the sky lanterns, I thought I had become a ghost then and there.”

  His honesty only makes him braver in my eyes.

  “You, Hua xiong-di?”

  “I’m so scared the backs of my knees are perspiring—in this weather.”

  It’s getting too dark to see his features, but I hear his smile. “You know what they say: That which is near vermilion becomes red; that which is near ink becomes black. You may blame your cowardliness on me.”

  “I do so unreservedly.”

  We both laugh a little.

  And then I admit my real fear. “I hope I won’t freeze again, when it’s time to fight.”

  “You won’t,” he says simply. “I don’t look forward to fighting, but I do look forward to fighting alongside you, Hua Mulan.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  We proceed on foot, leading our horses. Kedan has the vision of a cat. In the dark he advances without fear or hesitation, calling back from time to time for us to watch out for a sudden dip or a boulder in our way. The Rouran vanguard has already departed—to the north, easily verified by an ear to the ground—and their main column will soon follow.

  The entrance to the fissure Kedan mentioned is hidden behind an outcrop. I catch a glimpse of small, cold stars just before we enter the passage. It is so narrow that at one point I worry my horse won’t fit through. It does, thankfully, but I stop anyway: Behind me I do not hear Yu’s footsteps, only his agitated breathing.

  I lead my horse forward to where the passage widens a little, then squeeze past the horse to reach Yu, who is leaning with his back against one side of the fissure. To my ears, his breaths sound as loud as bellows.

  “Are you all right, Master Yu?”

  “I’m—I didn’t anticipate that this space would be so ­constricted—and so long.”

  His answer doesn’t make sense. But there is a well-trained princeling who has spent his life in terror of me, so anyone can be afraid of anything.

  “How about we get you on your horse and I’ll attach a rope to your horse’s bridle so I can lead both our horses along?”

  “All right,” he agrees, still breathing heavily.

  We catch up to our companions, who have stopped to wait for us, and soon find ourselves on the other side of the ridge. The sky lanterns are long gone. The starlight is only bright enough to make the terrain ahead seem treacherous and impenetrable.

  But Kedan, sure-footed and confident, starts down the hill.

  And we follow.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The moon rises, providing enough illumination for us to mount and ride. We are in a long valley not very different from the one we rode in after leaving the border garrison. The floor of the valley is even, almost smooth, and the grass is already noticeably thicker than on the plateau. Trampled underfoot, it releases a fragrance that makes me think of spring outings in the South, to take in the sight of peach and apricot trees in full blossom.

  The ease of our progress makes me nervous. I catch up to Kai. “If this route is as good as it appears to be, why isn’t it used more? In thousands of years, surely someone must have come upon it, even if the entrance is a little hard to spot.”

  “Eh, I hear that, Hua xiong-di,” answers Kedan from ahead. “Yes, our road will probably drop off a cliff—that’s why we are proceeding very carefully. But for a while yet we should be fine. A good long while, I hope.”

  “Well, Hua xiong-di, you heard him,” says Kai.

  I turn around in my saddle. “Tuxi xiong, did you hear that? How about another thousand mu of land for me if I have to go over cliffs?”

  “Let me petition the court the next time I’m in the capital,” says Tuxi, with exaggerated seriousness.

  We all laugh.

  But nobody laughs a little past midnight, when we stand at the edge of a seemingly bottomless chasm. Five hundred paces along its edge in either direction do not bring us any closer to a better route. Even Kedan, with his ability to see at night, cannot tell us where the canyon ends or at least tapers off.

  He swears volubly and with great wrath.

  After he falls silent, Kai asks, “Kedan xiong, you said you saw the Wall in the distance during your walk. How far do you think we are from the Wall now?”

  Kedan rubs his temples. “Twenty li or thereabouts.”

  Kai turns to me. “Hua xiong-di, what would you do now?”

  I swallow. “I would wait until morning—if we had time. But since we don’t, I would cross this chasm as soon as possible.”

  He nods. “So would I. And if anyone wishes to wait until morning, you may.”

  Kedan and Yu immediately declare that they will come with us. Sounding squeaky, Tuxi joins the chorus a second later.

  “All right, then, ropes out,” says the princeling. “This is where we leave our horses and everything that isn’t essential.”

  Kedan descends first, coming back up three times before he finds a viable way down.

  “It’s not as deep as I feared,�
�� he shouts from below. “Only about the height of ten men.”

  Plenty enough for a fall to break a leg—or a neck.

  Yu and I climb down next, the princeling and Tuxi last. The bottom of the chasm is pitted but dry. We scale the opposite rock face without too much trouble—if one doesn’t count Tuxi nearly falling off twice—and come up the other side.

  Kedan sets a strenuous pace, but nobody complains. We go down and up a series of gullies, big and small. Twenty li isn’t a negligible distance. On a flat stretch I can probably cover it in twice the time of a meal, but this is not a flat stretch. After I lose count of the number of gullies we cross through, I begin to wonder how much distance we have covered as the arrow flies. What if all we’ve done is five li? Or worse, three?

  The sky is turning pale when we trudge up the last hill to the Wall. Here at least the Wall is working as it ought to: A line of soldiers awaits us on top, bows drawn.

  “Who goes there?” shouts their lieutenant.

  Kai sighs and holds his hand out toward Tuxi. Kai’s own pass is enough to get the lieutenant and his men to stand aside, but we need a great deal more than that, and we need everything right away and without questions asked.

  Tuxi hesitates before handing over a pass. Kai brandishes it. “This is His Royal Highness, Prince Anzhong of Luoyang. His Royal Highness is here on official business. You are to ­immediately welcome us and provide our company with everything we will requisition.”

  The lieutenant’s mouth opens and closes a few times. “May I—may this humble lackey request to see the imperial pass a little more closely?” he asks in a trembling voice.

  Kai walks several paces forward.

  The lieutenant kneels. Despite my fatigue, I almost laugh aloud, because he disappears behind the crenellations of the Wall.

  Realizing his mistake, the lieutenant rises hurriedly. “My most abject apologies to His Royal Highness. We weren’t expecting his august presence.”

  “Forgiven,” says Kai. “Now catch these ropes and help us up.”

  Atop the Wall, we learn that only the lieutenant arrived at this spot by riding. The princeling sends him off to fetch more horses without delay. We five sit down with our backs against the parapet. Kedan seems stunned by the revelation of Tuxi’s true identity, but too exhausted to say anything. Yu appears no less flabbergasted.

  Tuxi just looks spectacularly embarrassed to be the center of so much attention. The soldiers gape at him and his lackeys, sitting on the paving stones like a gaggle of peasants. After a while, the lieutenant brings horses, food, and water. He also brings his garrison commander, who apologizes profusely for not having been there to welcome us in person, as if commanders typically patrol the Wall first thing in the morning.

  Kai, speaking for Tuxi, thanks the commander and apologizes that we cannot stay to enjoy his hospitality. He does, however, take the time to ask about possible breaks in the Wall. “I hear that sometimes walls do not extend over ravines and such. Are there any such ruptures between here and Futian Pass?”

  The commander assures him that the Wall runs as smoothly as an imperial road all the way to the pass. Kai then asks about the distance remaining, the number of garrisons in between, and the best place to leave the Wall to reach the capital in haste.

  The commander answers all the questions. Kai relays a series of instructions and thanks him again. The commander pays his obeisance once more to His Royal Highness.

  We mount and rush off.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  We ride as fast as we can but not as fast as we’d like.

  The top of the Wall is in good repair. But as the Wall takes the contour of the landscape, winding along sharp crests and precipitous drops, we keep coming across stairs in the steepest stretches. The garrison’s horses are trained to handle stairs, but for the sake of our own necks, Kai requires us to dismount each time and walk our steeds.

  At one point, guiding my horse down yet another set of steps, I happen to look up toward the south. For days we’ve been stuck with a limited sight line, deep inside valleys and ravines, but now I feel as if I’m standing on top of the world. Under a bright sun the mountains stretch endlessly into the distance, green spurs and ridges gradually fading into lilac-blue shadows against the edge of the sky.

  I sigh softly at this vast, beautiful panorama before returning my attention to the road under my feet.

  At the next garrison we requisition fresh horses. At the ­garrison after that, the same thing, except this is where Tuxi leaves us for the imperial road—and the capital—to present our case against Lord Sang to his father.

  He forestalls Yu, Kedan, and me when we are about to sink to our knees. “No, no, please, my brothers. Please let us not have that.”

  Instead, he salutes us and one by one takes us by the arms, his hands remaining on Kedan perhaps a fraction of a moment longer. Then he enfolds the princeling in an embrace. “Look after yourself, Kai di. Be safe.”

  The princeling hugs him hard. “Same for you, Xi xiong. Be careful going into the center of the web.”

  And then it’s just the four of us.

  “Let’s go,” says the princeling. “We have no time to lose.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Late in the morning we arrive at Futian Pass. Our request for a private audience with the commander is promptly granted. Commander Wu and Kai have met once, when the commander was in the capital the year before. He obviously thinks well of Kai. Still, as our conversation progresses, he becomes increasingly incredulous.

  “Captain Helou has betrayed us? Captain Helou?”

  “He and a number of Rouran riders will come through here? And take control of this pass so tens of thousands of Rouran fighters can advance toward the capital?”

  “And you want us to—Your Highness, please forgive this mediocre old soldier. Did I hear Your Highness correctly?”

  To which His Highness smiles slightly and answers, “Yes, Commander Wu, you heard me perfectly well. I intend to kill all of you.”

  Kai and I stand on the ramparts, watching the rising dust cloud in the distance. The Rouran’s Dayuan horses must have traveled a great distance, possibly without much rest since the morning before. Still they run briskly and tirelessly. At this pace they will be here in the time of a cup of tea.

  My hand grips the hilt of my sword, now worn on my hip. My heart beats so hard it hurts. And I very nearly see double when I stare too long at those who are fast arriving.

  “I told you that I saw your father when I was in the South,” says Kai.

  I blink repeatedly before his words penetrate the thick dread in my head. Yes, he told me. His hired pleasure craft went past our house on Lake Tai. And that was the first time he learned that Father had been paralyzed in the duel.

  I turn toward him. “Yes?”

  “When I decided not to call on your father in person, I had the pleasure craft steer toward open water. In the distance a small boat shot shoreward. As chaotic and preoccupied as my mind was at that moment, I couldn’t help noticing its swiftness.

  “The boat was punted by a young woman in a peach­-colored overrobe. At first I paid attention solely to her technique, wondering how she achieved such spectacular speed. It was only as the boat drew near that I saw she was as lovely as Lake Tai itself.”

  I hold my breath. Is he speaking of . . . of . . . ?

  “Just then the boat slowed to a drift. It was the type with a covered middle. The young woman ducked under the covered portion and drew the curtains. A short while later, a young man emerged.”

  “So you knew from the very beginning!”

  He turns toward me at last. His gaze, stark yet fierce, reminds me of how he looked the day we first met at the encampment. I know him better now. This is him keeping his fear in check. This is his strength and fortitude fighting through.

  “Later I learned
from the referees that your father lost a child not long after the duel, one of a pair of twins. They thought it was the daughter who perished. But I knew that it was the daughter I would meet someday, in the guise of her brother.

  “I feared you no less, but I —” He takes a deep breath. “But I kept thinking of the young woman on the boat. I wanted to see her again. And I wished with a futile intensity that we weren’t headed for a fateful clash. That we could have met under other circumstances.”

  Pain and sweetness both pierce my heart. “So you arranged our three meetings.”

  And how I hoarded those memories.

  “But when news of the Rouran attacks came, I thought I’d seen the last of you. Imagine my shock and . . .” He smiles slightly. “Imagine my shock—and elation—when you marched onto that training ground to challenge Captain Helou.”

  My lips quiver when I smile back. We’ve had so little time together—and very possibly none left. “Only because I thought I’d be safe if I stuck to you.”

  “That’s the reason I didn’t ask you to come with us beyond the Wall. But I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you did.”

  I have wondered why, quiet and reticent as he can be, he has told me so much about himself. Now I know: He does not believe we will survive our mission. And what he confessed just now is further confirmation that while we are exceptionally fortunate to have made it this far, we are still hurtling headlong toward our final fight in this world.

  I let go of the hilt of my sword and take his hand. “At this moment, I don’t wish to be anywhere else.”

  Our eyes meet.

  His gaze turns ever starker, ever fiercer. “And here comes Captain Helou.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Perhaps it is because my head is full of us, of secret yearnings that are no longer so secret. Perhaps it’s because, despite my brave words, I do wish we were anywhere else but here—­gliding across Lake Tai on a painted boat, playing go while a spring breeze ruffles our hair, or walking down a busy street in the capital, stopping to buy a freshly made sesame bing.