Honour, She Obeys

by L. S. Slayford

  Ignoring the flow of words and the laughter that echoed through the building, Mulan reached for her bag on the floor and headed outside. Cool air smacked into her face, and she greedily sucked it in.

  Why did I have to go and make a scene when I’m trying to keep a low profile?

  Berating herself for the mess – although not for standing up for the server – Mulan opted to take a short walk. She’d clear her head before going back to the inn. Maybe go straight to bed and have a real meal in the morning instead?

  Overhead, dusk had given way to night, but the clouds creeping in earlier finally consumed the night sky. Lanterns hanging from buildings provided all the light anyone walking past could need, but the wind gathering sent the candles within flickering wildly. Only a few people were out, hurrying from one building to another, some disappearing behind doors, others within the depths of shadows with a hushed giggle. The young boy who’d tended to her horse was nowhere to be seen.

  Feet moving, Mulan headed west. A large gate loomed in the distance, but no one stood guard. A few minutes’ walk to clear her head should be enough.

  Behind her, shouting pierced the air but her head told her to ignore it. Her jian slapped against her thigh as she slowly made her way down the street.

  Countless hours training with her friends had made the jian a familiar companion; the light steel and the metal hilt covered in aged leather seemed as if it were made for her. But in all those years, she’d hardly worn it. For someone used to carrying it in hand instead of wearing it at her side, it was a rather unusual sensation.

  Father may have been fine with teaching me how to fight at home but showing it in public was out of the question. After all, there were some things respectable daughters just did not do.

  Sighing, Mulan stopped in her tracks and gazed around. The inn sat sixty meters or so away, the glow of the lanterns failing to reach the inky darkness surrounding her. She’d walked further than what she’d intended in her reverie.

  A noise to her right whipped her head in its direction. Frowning, she peered into the gaping black hole of an unlit alley, unable to see anything but shadows. Shaking her head, Mulan turned to go.

  All at once, a figure shot out of the pitch-black depths and a fist pummelled into her jaw. Pain rippled across one side of her face, knocking her off her feet. Tumbling to the ground, a groan leaked out of her mouth as her cheek slammed into the stone floor.

  Dazed, Mulan found herself being dragged to her feet. It took her a moment to realise that a fist hoisting her up by the top of her tunic was the reason why. A second later, that same fist slammed into her stomach, once, twice, causing her to bend over with pain.

  Drawing much needed air into her lungs, Mulan glanced up. Shadows covered most of his face, but Mulan recognised it instantly. “It’s time to teach you a lesson,” the drunken slob from the inn growled.

  “If it’s how to keep breath smelling nice, don’t bother. You haven’t learnt that yet,” Mulan gritted through clenched teeth.

  A snarl pulled at the lines of his face for a split second before his fist ploughed its way into her gut again, forcing her to double over.

  “Tonight’s lesson is not to mess with your betters,” he said, the stench of alcohol still exuding from him. “Because you don’t seem to find me the greatest teacher, perhaps my boys here will help you understand.”

  Breathing heavily, Mulan glanced upwards. Two figures emerged behind him, both wearing dark robes and expressions of eagerness stretched over their faces. She vaguely recognised them as his companions. Fear stole her words and Mulan braced herself.

  Fists shot at her, striking her in the face and upper body, knocking the little air from her lungs, and sending her crashing to the ground once more. The ringing of her jian hitting the floor echoed in her mind. A foot lodged itself in the small of her back, sending her face sliding against the stone beneath her. Laughter reverberated through her ears, but it sounded distant. Forcing herself to her knees, another foot kicked her onto her back. All she could do was lay there.

  “Grab the sword, the armour, and the purse. We’ll get a nice profit for them,” someone said.

  Before Mulan could speak, fingers worked on the straps of her armour whilst others felt for the bag of coins. Panic tightened her throat as those stumbling fingers discovered something that shouldn’t be there.

  “Err, Panu,” one man said, surprise colouring his words. “You may want to check this out.”

  “What is it?” the drunken man replied.

  “This soldier. He’s not really a soldier.”

  “What is he, then? A duck?”

  “He’s a girl.”

  Silence fell like an executioner’s sword. “Get out of my way.”

  The leather straps fell from Mulan’s torso, revealing the tunic beneath. Clenching her teeth and attempting to move out of his grasp, Panu’s little helpers pinned her arms to the ground, forcing her still as the drunken slob hunched down and caressed her chest. “Fuck, you’re right. No wonder the little bitch acted up back there. Well, boys, it’s time to reconsider the methods used to teach her a lesson.”

  Fear slid down Mulan’s spine and gripped her heart in its icy grip. “Let me go,” she growled, trying to twist out of his friends’ iron grasp but failing.

  His hand moved lower, sliding their way under her tunic and beneath the top of her trousers. “Only after we’re done with you,” he whispered. “Boys, hold the bitch down until I’m done. You can have her afterwards.”

  Panic surged Mulan’s brain as Panu rose to his feet. Eyes accustoming to the darkness, she could just make out the edge of his silhouette. The tell-tell sounds of rustling clothes flooded her brain with a new sense of dread.

  Fear can kill a man before he’s even dead. Her father’s words rang within her mind.

  “Not me,” Mulan spat, determination flushing the fear out of every nerve in her body. With lightning speed, she brought up both legs to chest level and lashed out with all the strength she possessed. She struck Panu in both knees and sent him crashing to the floor with a pain-coated grunt, his trousers around his ankles.

  Shock caused his helper’s hands to relax their grip on Mulan’s wrists. Gritting her teeth, she yanked herself out of their grasp and rushed to her feet. In a fluid motion, before either could climb to their feet, Mulan lifted her leg and spun, knocking one straight in the head, sending him crashing into the other.

  A hand grabbed the back of her neck and shoved her face-first into a wooden building. Long fingers dug into her skin so hard she knew, if she lived through this, she’d be bruised by morning. Alcohol-laced breath reeked in her ear and the hard lines of a body pressed her flush against the wood, something thick and ready poking into her back. Her fingers found the edge of the jian. “Stupid bitch. I was going to let you go afterwards but now I’m going to kill you.”

  “The only one dying here is you.”

  Swift fingers gripped the hilt of her jian and with a twirl of motion, Mulan pulled it from its sheath and thrust it behind, using all the strength she had, shoving all the way until it grated on bone. A warm sticky substance dripped over her hand and Panu’s body stilled behind.

  Heart pounding and the sound of gurgling reverberating in her ears, Mulan sidestepped away, yanking the jian out of his side, producing a sickening sound as it finally came free.

  Panu dropped to his knees, the shadows blanketing the alley giving way just enough for her to watch the life drain from his face. With a thud, he fell face down.

  Gasps rang through the air, knocking Mulan out of her reverie. Both Panu’s friends glanced down at his body then up at her, shock and fear blazing over every line.

  Rage slammed through Mulan’s veins at what they had planned to do to her. How many women have they raped? How many have they killed? A red film covered her eyes. Lifting her jian, her mouth pressed in an angry line, she rushed at them, slicing their throats within seconds and sending their bodies in a bloody heap with Panu�
��s.

  Glancing down at the corpses, Mulan struggled to get her breathing under control as realisation dawned upon her.

  I’ve just killed three men.

  Fine, they were intending to steal her belongings, to rape and kill her, but still. Years of training had taught her how to kill, but not how to cope with the realisation of having killed.

  Footsteps and muffled laughter snapped her attention back. Quickly, she sheathed her jian, finding her leather armour tossed on the floor beside Panu’s body. With swift fingers, she pulled it back on, the straps tightened just enough that it wouldn’t fall off. Reaching for her bag containing her supplies, she drew in a ragged breath and stepped out of the shadows, leaving behind the corpses for the scavengers.

  A drunken pair of men stumbled across the street, paying no attention to her. Mulan raced forward, keeping her head down, until she reached where her horse stood. Fixing the bag to the saddle with trembling fingers, she quickly untied him and climbed on, clutching the leather reins with a death-like grip. “Sorry, my friend,” she whispered on a croak. “It’s time to go.”

  Seven

  Mulan pressed along the pathway recently cut through the grass. Signs of countless carts carving through the earth and endless pairs of feet, both human and equine, flattening wildflowers marred what would have not long been pristine meadows. A sense of dejection coursed through her at the sight – it was a shame that when war came knocking on your door, it tended to trample on your garden as well.

  Another long day of hard riding left Mulan’s limbs heavy and aching. Tuoba women had long been known for their riding skills, but never in her life had she been on a horse for as long as this. Dusk loomed on the horizon, the sky filled with cloud edged in vibrant shades of burnt gold and copper.

  How long has it been since I was off this horse?

  At least since early morning. Fleeing Bronze Horse Town and riding for who knew how many miles at night might not have been the wisest decision, but Mulan needed as much distance as she possibly could. After what had transpired ...

  No, don’t think about it, she ordered, forcing herself to concentrate on the road ahead.

  Beneath her thighs, the strong muscles of the horse quivered. Understanding she’d not given the poor creature much of a rest, Mulan had set a gentler pace since midday. Yet the stallion needed more. “It won’t be long, now,” she told him, getting a snort in response. “Look, there it is!”

  Black Gate Garrison loomed on the horizon. Even from at a considerable distance, it seemed impressive. As they rode further, Mulan made out banners fluttering in the breeze, and wooden walls that seemed to stretch out to infinity in either direction.

  Within her chest, Mulan’s heart thumped wildly. “You can do this,” she told herself, swallowing a lungful of air to calm the nerves that threatened to consume her with each step the horse took. “They thought you were a man in town, they’ll do the same here. Just don’t think about it.”

  Shouts and the ringing of metal upon metal rang out as she rode up to the gate. The wooden gates were easily several inches thick and towered high above her head. Watchtowers stood evenly paced along the length of the walls, the tops manned with archers, ready for anyone foolish to attack. From a distance, it exuded a sense of power – a visualization of the strength of the Northern Wei kingdom. With each step, it grew larger and more imposing.

  Rank odours of dung and smoke assaulted her nose. Tents spread in all directions outside the walls, along with piles of chests and unmoving carts, while horses nibbled at the grass. They must belong to the merchants bringing supplies to the fort. In the background, the sounds of orders floated on the air.

  Two guards dressed in leather armour and helmets flanked either side of the open gates, allowing Mulan to see beyond. She caught fleeting glimpses of men training with swords and staffs, their weapons flying through the air, knocking their opponents to the ground with heavy thuds as spectators jeered and cried out.

  “Name?”

  “What?” Mulan brought her back to the guards now looking at her with a distasteful expression on their faces.

  “What’s your name, soldier?”

  “Zhou Mu -” She stopped, catching herself in time. “Zhou Mohuai. Son of Chief Zhou of Shenzhou.” Using her baby brother’s name felt wrong but using her own would be suicide. If I wanted to die, I’d marry Luwei.

  The guard on the left cocked his thumb behind him. “Head inside and see Administrator Yufuluo. He’ll tell you where to go.”

  Nodding her thanks, Mulan urged the horse forward until the other guard stepped in her way. “From here it’s on foot only. And cheer up. This is the army; the best years of your life.”

  “Until you die on the battlefield.”

  Laughter erupted from both as Mulan swung her leg over and jumped to the ground. With a deep breath and ignoring them, she grabbed the reins with one hand and led the horse within the confines of the walls.

  The shouting turned into a din, the inciting and animated taunting echoing off the walls around her. A line of spears rested against a table; behind that, a pile of swords, the metal gleaming in the dying sun. An endless line of tents stretched as far as her eye could see, evenly paced apart from each other, the dull tan material providing much needed protection from the elements.

  Men of all ages flowed past her, some with thick lines carving their faces, others barely appearing old enough to leave their mother’s sides. Mulan waded into the sea of people, reminding herself why she was doing this.

  For Father. For yourself.

  Spying a man dressed in off-white coloured robes edged in black at the hems and holding a thick scroll, Mulan made her way over to him. “Excuse me, I’m looking for Administrator Yufuluo. Can you tell me where I might find him?”

  Turning around, he raked his gaze over Mulan, from top to bottom, the scowl set on his face suggesting she didn’t meet with approval. “Congratulations, you just did. What do you want? Can’t you see I’m busy here?”

  “Sorry, sir, but the guards at the gate told me to see you straight away.”

  “Of course, those idiots would. What’s your name, boy, and where are you from?”

  Mulan took a deep breath. It was now or never. “Zhou Mohaui, son of Chief Zhou of Shenzhou.”

  Frowning, Administrator Yufuluo glanced at his scroll, his elongated eyes reminding her of a cat. He seemed in his late forties, with only a hint of grey staining his temples and his upper lip coated in thick black hair. A quick glance over the top showed a long list of names, none of whom she recognised. “I thought your father was joining us. Where is he?”

  “He’s too sick to come so I came in his stead.”

  Administrator Yufuluo lifted his gaze, his brows knitting together. “You look too young to be here, boy. How old are you?”

  “Eighteen, sir.”

  A sigh escaped his mouth and his shoulders slumped. “Fine, fine. Where’s the rest of your father’s men? I assume they’re not too sick to fight the damn worms.”

  “Most of my father’s men died in the last campaigns against the Rouran,” Mulan explained, trying to keep her voice solid, even if the ground beneath her feet didn’t. “Their sons are due to arrive soon. I came on ahead to explain why my father couldn’t make it.”

  Those feline eyes dropped to her chest and the creases along his brow deepened. “Is that blood on your armour?”

  Mulan bit her lip as she glanced down. Swallowing, she rose her head and met his eyes. “Three men attacked me last night. There was nowhere for me to clean up.”

  “Don’t let Prince Kang see you like that,” Administrator Yufuluo said, raising his eyebrows. “An undisciplined soldier is an undisciplined army; and an undisciplined army is a dead one. Get clean immediately.”

  Mulan glanced in all directions; weapons of various kinds stood around them, and men carried boxes of provisions to and from tents. But she failed to see where she could wash. “Where do I go for that?”

 
Administrator Yufuluo took another glance of his scroll and pointed north. “Head straight on past the brown tents until you see the blue ones. Yours is the one right at the very back, last on the right. When the rest of your men arrive, they’ll be sharing with you. Report for training in the morning.”

  Mouth dropping, Mulan turned back to him, but he was already walking away barking orders at some unfortunate soul. “Sharing -”

  “You don’t look like you could kill one man, let alone three.”

  A snide voice to her left turned her head. “What?”

  “I said, you’re too weak to kill anyone.” Standing three inches taller and twice the width of her own, with black hair hanging in matted, sweaty clumps at his sides, Mulan’s heart galloped in her chest at the sight of him. For a moment, she thought it was Luwei, until she realised this man was double his size. He wore the simple tunic and trousers in shades of mottled brown that she noticed most of the men were clothed in. “I’ve killed bigger rats than you.”

  “Congratulations. You’ve got such great skills,” Mulan replied, arching her brows. “Perhaps your parents can now get rid of the cat since they have you.”

  A dark shadow cascaded over his face and the sides of his mouth turned down slightly. “You’ve got a big mouth for a little boy.”

  Raising her chin, Mulan looked him dead in the eye. Tolerating bullies was something she couldn’t do, no matter where she was. “And an even bigger brain, but my patience right now is nowhere near its size. Go away before I show you what this little boy can do.” Still holding onto her horse, Mulan turned to leave when suddenly a fist locked around her shoulder, yanking her back around.

  Up close, the rank smell of an unclean mouth bubbled in front of her nose. Dark eyes blazed with infuriation, and his chubby cheeks bloomed with the first tint of rage. Guessing him to be a few years older than her, Mulan wondered how many times he’d broken his nose – at least twice by the odd way it rose then fell. “In this camp, little boys do what big men tell them.”