Honour, She Obeys

by L. S. Slayford

  Honour,

  She Obeys

  L S SLAYFORD

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  One

  Two

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Epilogue

  One

  Energy swept through the air like a song, calling to those who heard its sweet tune to venture forth. Beneath it lay the scent of mutton, herbs, the familiar stench of horse dung, and stale urine – someone obviously hadn’t been able to hold their bladder.

  Mulan scrunched her nose and tried not to breathe; she hated coming to market this late in the day, but if she didn’t bring home the vegetables, her mother would scold her once more. Better to deal with the stench of some drunken idiot who couldn’t find somewhere to urinate away from the main road than to deal with the back of my mother’s hand, she thought. Not again, at least.

  “Come on!”

  “I’m running as fast as I can.”

  “Run faster. We’re going to miss the show because of you.”

  “Sister, wait up!”

  A whirlwind of dark red cloth and white ribbons shot past her. Mulan caught a glimpse of dark braided hair streaming behind in the breeze. Seconds later, a smaller figure ran past, breathing heavily, her legs pumping to keep up but determination blazing over her red cheeks.

  Mulan’s face stretched into a grin at the sight of the two sisters snaking through the crowds up ahead, disappearing from sight in a flash. Not that she could blame them. If it wasn’t for her older sister, then she could have brought their younger sister to watch the performers. Nanyang would love it, she thought.

  It was rare to have real magic performed in Shenzhou.

  Just three days hard travel from Luoyang, Shenzhou offered little to weary guests on their way to or from the major city. Except for a few inns, a flock of sheep that outnumbered people by a million, and several men with attitudes bigger than the Yellow River, that was. According to those who had no choice but to rest overnight, Shenzhou was a dreary place only to be tolerated when there was nowhere else.

  Today, however, they had magic.

  Mulan hurried through the marketplace, one of four in the town, meandering past women clutching the hands of small children and men who stank worse than the pigs her best friend’s family raised. Bleats of goats and the dings of bells blistered the air. Mulan hurried, the excitement of those around her seeping into her pores.

  Crowds gathered at the far edge of the eastern marketplace. A raised platform stood in front, giving everyone at the back just enough room to see the upper part of his body, a scraggly beard hanging halfway past his neck. Sparks of green light shot up into the sky, a glimmer of steel half a second behind it. Roughly half the length of Mulan’s body, the magical spear twirled in intricate circles a few meters ahead everyone’s heads before it exploded into a cascade of shimmering light, illuminating the green tiles of the buildings around them. Appreciative sounds rang out as a drum started to beat a steady rhythm from out of nowhere.

  A gasp shot out of Mulan’s mouth as an unnatural breeze snaked through the crowd, lifting the hems of clothing as it went. The folds of Mulan’s long tunic and loose-fitting trousers fluttered, and the matching ribbon in her hair attempted to follow the breeze. Automatically, her hand reached up, relief flowing through her as she realised it was still tightly wound around her own braid.

  Thank goodness, she thought. It was the last ribbon her grandmother had given her before her death a few years ago. A twinge of sadness curled in her chest at the thought of her, but the thunderous clapping around her saved her from heading down that melancholy path.

  Shimmering coloured lights weaved through the air, bouncing off the nearby wooden buildings with little sizzling pops. The two sisters who’d ran past her only a few minutes ago followed them with their fingers. “So pretty,” the smaller girl sighed, her face etched with rapture.

  The sweet sounds of an invisible flute rose high, and the iridescent lights danced in time with it. On the low notes, they rebounded off the top of a bald man’s head; on the high notes, they swirled high, coiling like lovers in a frenzy. Finally, the lights exploded, fading into the sunlight and the music fell silent. Strings of coins jangled from belts, ringing with deafening thuds as thudded on the floor in appreciation.

  As the man bowed and the crowds thinned, Mulan stepped back to avoid bumping into them. Waves of conversations flowed around her and she couldn’t help but wonder if the magic performer would still be there tomorrow. I could bring Daocheng and the others. They’d enjoy this as much as those sweet girls.

  And, knowing Daocheng as well as she did, even more so.

  A smile stretched over her face as she thought of her best friend. Theirs may have been an unusual relationship – a Tuoba girl and a Han boy, but there was nothing she would trade it for.

  Although, at eighteen, neither of them could be classed as children anymore.

  “Good afternoon, Mulan.”

  A familiar voice jostled her out of her reverie, and Mulan spun around. Grandmother Huang’s weathered face suddenly appeared before her, the thick lines around her eyes and mouth deepening to chasms as her grin widened. “You’re looking much better than last time,” Mulan said, taking in the rosy complexion of the older woman’s cheeks and twinkle in her eye. It was a stark comparison to the ashen tone of her face and the haggard breathing only a few weeks ago when she’d collapsed in the midday heat.

  “Yes, your mother’s teas were excellent for my health. Although not so great for the tongue,” Grandmother Huang winked.

  Bubbles of laughter escaped the confines of Mulan’s mouth before she could stop it. “Mother’s teas may not taste nice, but they do help. I’m glad you’re feeling well again. I’ve missed seeing you at your stall.”

  Pride swelled in the old woman’s eyes and she reached for a catty of onions. Cucumbers, cabbages, and peaches sat in measured bunches, fresh and gleaming in the sunlight. “My grandson would be better studying for the imperial examinations instead of running around me like a headless chicken.”

  Mulan reached out and patted Grandmother Huang on the arm. “He only wants to look after you.”

  The old woman sniffed and shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t expect him to fail now just because I became sick. What a waste of all those years of hard work I put into this market stall and becoming the best supplier of vegetables.” Dark eyes narrowed and she pointed a finger in Mulan’s direction. “And don’t you go believing old Mother Ji. She does not have the best vegetables in Shenzhou, no matter how much she likes to claim otherwise.”

  Laughing, Mulan raised her hands in mock surrender. “I believe you. Why else would I come here? Mother would scold me if I came home with anything less than perfect.”

  Finger dropping, Grandmother Huang’s face lost some of its friendliness. “Your mother can be hard at times. What can I tempt you with today?”

  After
haggling for several catties of onions, cabbages, and mushrooms and placing them inside her cotton bag, Mulan said her goodbyes and headed back the way she came. A pang of annoyance pricked her chest at the thought of returning home, but her mother would need to start dinner soon and she had her weaving to finish. The rare occasions her mother cooked were well worth being home for.

  As she made her way past Old Man Li, his bald head lowered and fingers deftly carving designs into a small piece of wood no larger than his hand, the clip-clopping sound of horses ahead caught her attention.

  “Make way! Make way for the soldiers!”

  Neighs burst through the air as four horses rode into the marketplace. On top of each horse sat a soldier, the sunlight glinting off their cord and plaque armour, their swords strapped to their sides. Slowly, two soldiers rode forward, and it was only then that Mulan noticed the scrolls clutched in one man’s hand.

  Everyone stepped back, giving the soldiers enough room to move. Hushed whispers floated around. What are they here for? Mulan wondered, hitching the straps of her bag upwards before her vegetables fell to the floor as her forehead creased into a frown.

  Climbing off his horse, the soldier headed towards the nearest building. Crowds gathered around and the top of his head became lost in the sea of people clambering to find out what he was doing. The sounds of hammering rose above the gossip and suddenly, the soldier was back on his horse where everyone could see him. “People of Shenzhou,” he bellowed. “Our illustrious emperor has decreed that one man from each family will report to the nearest garrison within three days. Failure to comply will result in execution.”

  Horror slammed a fist into Mulan’s gut and her mouth dropped. No, they can’t do that.

  Before she knew it, she rushed forward, weaving through the ever-thickening crowds. She held out a hand as the soldier turned his horse. “Sir,” she cried, her tone thick with worry. “What about those families without men? Sons who are too young for war, or fathers too sick or crippled?” Several families she knew personally sprang to mind.

  Including her own.

  Surprise etched across the soldier’s face. Only then she realised how young he was. He must only be a few years older than I am, she realised. The shock disappeared and a weariness replaced it. “Do not worry, miss. Recruiters will be coming to each house to record those who are drafted. Those who can’t, won’t; those who can, will fight for the emperor’s glory. But I would take this time to say goodbye to your man, while you still can.”

  Without saying another word, the soldier rode off, leaving Mulan standing in the middle of the marketplace. A shoulder knocked into her arm. Seconds later, a foot stepped onto her own. Everyone around her jolted forward, eager to see the decree hanging on the wall for themselves.

  Mulan knew she shouldn’t be surprised at this news. Few years had gone by since she was a child that hadn’t required the sacrifice of ordinary families to fight some war against the Rouran or the Lui Song. North or south, Emperor Taiwu always found someone to battle.

  And men like her father paid the price.

  Fear gripped Mulan’s heart in its icy grip, and she fled the marketplace, ignoring the startled cries of those around her. The wide streets and its buildings rushed past her in a haze of anxiety, her hand tightening on her bag lest she lose the vegetables. She had to get home and inform her parents of this.

  A thin film of sweat covered her arms beneath her clothing and her chest heaved with the need for rest. Yet Mulan couldn’t stop, not even when town faded into the distance and there nothing surrounded her but endless fields.

  Can’t stop until I get home, she vowed, jumping over the small stream that marked the western edge of her family’s property. White dots blanketed the fields to her left; their family possessed the largest number of sheep in the county, and the smell supported that. Grimacing through the urge to stop and rest for a moment, Mulan carried on running until her house finally came into view.

  Low stone walls stretched around all sides of the house, reaching up to her waist. Behind it, the family home dominated the landscape. The glazed green tiled roof and imposing dark wooden walls were far from what her grandmother had lived in.

  “As Tuoba,” she would often say. “We should be moving with the herds and the weather. Not staying in one place like mountains.” Even after moving south with her family during the emperor’s grandfather’s reign, her grandmother had never gotten used to living a sedentary lifestyle. A nomadic lifestyle was what made them Tuoba, not Han.

  Mulan raced through the gateway, rushing towards the building that everyone arrived at. Behind it lay a cluster of others, each one designed for a specific purpose. The clucking of chickens and the soft whinnying of horses floated on the gentle breeze. Pushing the door of the front building, relief flooded her entire body as she finally came to a halt and bent over, resting her hands on her knees and sucking in as much breath as she could.

  Red and gold silk shoes filled her vision before her mother could even speak. “Mulan,” she sighed, exasperation lacing her tone. “Whatever is the matter?”

  “Soldiers. Marketplace. Emperor. Recruiting. Army,” she managed to get out as her lungs mentally cursed her for not stopping when they demanded her to.

  What was a three-mile run anyway? She could beat Daocheng in a race any day.

  Fingers clasped around Mulan’s arm, digging into her flesh. “What are you talking about?”

  Flooding her lungs with another burst of oxygen, Mulan rose her head. Tendrils of dark hair snaked in front of her eyes. “Soldiers came to the marketplace. They’re recruiting again. Every family must send someone to the closest garrison within three days.”

  Shock washed over her mother’s face, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. The pressure released from her arm and Mulan straightened herself as she watched as her mother try to compose herself. From the open doorway at the back of the building, wafts of roasted pork sailed on the breeze and Mulan spied her little brother giggling in the courtyard. Taking a deep breath, her mother turned back to her, resignation within her dark eyes. She pushed back an imaginary strand of hair away from her face and brushed invisible wrinkles from her tunic. “I thought we would have another year free of any more campaigns. We need to tell your father.”

  “Mother, he can’t go. He’s too sick.”

  “Hush,” her mother hissed, grabbing her arm once more and leading her to the corner where Mulan’s loom sat. Although it should have been placed in one of the eastern buildings, she’d always preferred the view from here, and her father had indulged the request. But only if she actually sat down and got on with her work. “He has spent the day overseeing the men. If you sit down and wipe the sweat from your brow, you could pretend you have been here all this time.”

  “But, Mother -”

  “Not another word, Mulan, or there will be trouble. Did you get the vegetables?”

  A sigh fluttered from her mouth as she sat down and reached for the thread. The white silk glimmered in the beams of light streaming through the window. The bag dropped beside the loom. “Yes. They’re in there.”

  “Well, don’t just sit there looking like a sad fish. Get on with your work.”

  “Who’s a sad fish?”

  A gruff voice emanating from the courtyard boomed through the room. Standing over six foot, Chief Zhou was a giant of a man, towering over anyone who came near. A thick beard streaked with silver flowed down his chest, now slim with ill health and age. Before the last campaign four years ago, her father had been the strongest man in the area, his body thick with muscles earned with swinging a sword and defeating the emperor’s enemies for decades. But a sword to the gut and a severe infection had left him physically a shadow of the man he’d once been.

  A month of coughing and battling fevers had only worsened his condition, but the stubborn old man refused to help himself by resting.

  “No one, dear,” Mulan’s mother said with a smile stretched over her f
ace, rushing forward and placing a hand on his arm to steady him. Dressed in fine red silk threaded with gold flowers to match the golden hairpin adorning her braid, Chou Bosi had long been regarded as the finest beauty of her day. Even now, she could still turn heads in town. Her long black hair remained free from silver, her dark eyes wide and sparkling, and her body stayed slim despite bearing four children. A striking couple still very much in love, their marriage was what every girl dreamed of achieving.

  Apart from Mulan.

  If her parents had their way, she’d be a wife and mother by now.

  “Daughter,” came her father’s voice, with the bite of command. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  Ignoring her mother’s worried expression, Mulan inhaled deeply and rose to her feet. Within her chest, something tightened. “Soldiers came to the marketplace today. The emperor has ordered that one male from each family must go to war.”

  A flurry of emotions passed through the chief’s eyes and silence descended within the room. Outside, her little brother’s giggles turned to cries. Mulan’s mother hurried outside, and the cries settled down. Mulan stared at her father, watching his jawline harden. Resignation burned in his eyes. “So be it.”

  Anguish clasped Mulan’s gut. She stepped forward. “Father, you cannot go. You’re sick. You’ll die even before arrive at camp.”

  “Silence,” the chief said, his tone was stern, making it clear she was about to cross the line. “I will not tarnish my honour with failing my duty to serve the emperor.”

  “How can you serve the emperor when you can barely walk from one room to the other?”

  “If my body paves the road for others to reach the Rouran and destroy those wiggling worms, then that’s what I must do. Do not anger me further with your dishonourable talk.”

  Mulan’s heart sank in her chest at her father’s words. As one of two chiefs of Shenzhou, even a minor one, he demanded nothing but complete obedience in all things. Over the years, she’d tested the limits of that obedience, along with his patience, but even she knew when to yield. Brown eyes stared back at her, his jaw firm despite the slight tremor to his legs. Even if he fell to the ground, he wouldn’t allow anyone to help him up. Stubborn old goat. At her sides, her fingers rolled into fists.