by Chu, Wesley
Elena threw her arms around him and held him tightly. “We’re almost done. Just hang in there a little longer. Once the army gets here, everything will be all right. There is light at the end of the tunnel.”
Zhu wondered if that were really so. He had grown so accustomed to this new, hellish world. Could they ever hope to go back? If they did, what would it mean for Elena, who yearned for her family and homeland?
“Come on, we’re ready to get out of here. The sooner we get home, the better.” She pulled him to his feet and led him back to the main body of the raid.
The wind teams, their wagons laden with supplies and prisoners, were about to depart for the Beacon of Light when a contingent of guards appeared. To their surprise, Defensemaster Wangfa was leading them.
“This wind team has new orders,” he said, surveying the convoy. “You’re being sent on another raid. My guards will take over this detail and escort our newly repatriated citizens of the Living Revolution back to the Beacon. We’re also commandeering the silo for Beacon use.”
“But, Defensemaster,” Zhu protested. “This is a large convoy. There are several dangerous areas that require windrunner skills.”
“It’s only a two-hour journey. My guards can manage.” Wangfa gestured to the men around him. Ever since he became defensemaster, Wangfa had slowly turned the guards into something more in his own image. Whereas windrunners depended on finesse, stealth, and skill to accomplish their tasks, these new guards under the defensemaster’s leadership wielded intimidation and brute force to keep the people in line.
Many of his guards were drawn from the ranks of the local toughs and bullies. They tended to be louder, more abrasive, and quick to resort to their batons and clubs. Zhu also considered them cowards, or they would have tried to become windrunners as opposed to pushing around the people behind the safety of the settlement’s walls. A tinge of fear and tension now constantly hung in the air back at the settlement. While the secretary claimed to disapprove of the guards’ new harsher tactics, he also commended Wangfa for keeping order and keeping the crime rates low.
“In times of war, some freedoms must be sacrificed for the greater good,” the secretary had declared when the harsher rules and early curfews were enacted.
“You’re far out of your jurisdiction, aren’t you, Defensemaster?” asked Zhu.
Wangfa eyed him dismissively. “You are hereby ordered to make your way to the horse ranch sanctuary. The Heaven Monks lived too long on the periphery. Secretary Guo charges your wind team with rounding that Daoist rabble up.”
Elena sucked in her breath. Zhu didn’t move, save for his hands curling into fists.
“Defensemaster Wangfa, our peace with the Heaven Monks has existed since the founding of the Beacon. They are a valuable ally that would be lost if we forced them into the Beacon.”
Wangfa looked at him pointedly, and lazily placed a hand on the ax head hanging off his waist. “Then find another way to… convince the Heaven Monks to rejoin society. But one way or another, your duty is to bring them in. Do you have a problem with that, comrade?”
A tense moment followed. Zhu masked his sigh and bowed his head. “Of course not. I serve the Living Revolution.”
* * *
Elena studied Zhu out of the corner of her eye as they walked up the winding road to the horse ranch. She worried about him. He hadn’t been the same since Fongyuan. Something must have happened in the time they were separated, and he clammed up and became pensive every time she asked. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought he was hiding something from her.
The situation with the windrunners and the vultures only exacerbated his mood. Since the first raid on the vulture settlements over a week ago, his temperament had steadily deteriorated, becoming waspish and unpredictable. He wore a near-constant scowl, and she often caught him staring off into the middle distance.
Elena could sympathize: the act of rounding people up and putting them to work at the Beacon was certainly distasteful. That said, she also thought the vultures needed to be held accountable. It wasn’t a coincidence that there were several vulture settlements within a day’s journey of the Beacon. From a steady supply of purified water, to the Beacon guards constantly clearing the streams of jiāngshī, to the build-out and upkeep of the flag paths, the vultures had enjoyed the benefits of the Living Revolution without working for them. It was always Beacon labor and Beacon lives at risk. Elena, and many others, had long grown tired of this unfair arrangement.
Back in Texas, Elena had been raised in a tight-knit community. Her family’s homestead was surrounded on all sides by cattle ranches. Whenever a neighbor lost one of their cattle, everyone would pitch in to help find the lost animal. It was always a neighborhood effort, one freely offered and accepted because everyone knew they could be the ones sending out a call the next day.
It was only right that these freeloaders started contributing to the Living Revolution, especially with fighting off this oncoming typhoon. Besides, if the typhoon destroyed the Beacon of Light, then everyone in Hunan province was doomed.
Zhu didn’t see things that way, and people were starting to notice. If he didn’t get it together soon, Windmaster Hengyen would have to do something. If Zhu wasn’t careful, he could end up laboring next to the people they had been capturing.
They reached the horse ranch by late afternoon. Elena had hoped to find it abandoned. Regardless of how she felt about vultures in general, she didn’t relish the idea of capturing a religious group, especially one she had fought alongside less than two weeks ago. It all hit a little too close to home.
Unfortunately, luck wasn’t with her. Smoke rose from the chimney of the main house. Several carts, including a wagon with a cage on top, were parked neatly off to the side. A monk was on guard at the second floor of the barn where she and Bo had stayed. More disconcerting were the fifty or so jiāngshī corralled in the pens off to the side. It appeared the Heaven Monks had not been deterred by the recent problems, and were still performing cleansing rituals.
Master Jiang Ping and a small group of Heaven Monks were waiting for them at the front steps to the main house, all wearing their red-and-gold robes. Standing by Jiang Ping was the old woman she admired so much, still looking like a badass with her huge pŭdāo, staked to the ground next to her. Elena recognized several others whom she had either fought next to or helped tend to after the previous battle here with those escaped jiāngshī.
Elena initially shrank back and hid behind Bo as the elderly monk approached to greet them. It was the wind-team leader’s job to inform them of the terms for their surrender, but Zhu looked like he was in another world. Bo was about to nudge him when Elena decided to take matters into her own hands.
Elena stepped up and took charge. She bowed. “Master priest.”
Recognition lit his face and he offered her a friendly smile. “Hello, Elena Anderson. What can we do for you today? If your people require rest, we will happily share our space and food with you. Be warned, however, we have nearly a hundred jiāngshī in the pens. A cleansing ritual is scheduled for tonight. Your wind teams are more than welcome…” His voice trailed off when he finally sensed the tension in the air. The monks behind him must have noticed as well, because their hands drifted toward their weapons.
“What is the meaning of this?” he asked softly.
Elena respectfully informed Jiang Ping of Secretary Guo’s directive, trying to make it sound like she was delivering an official statement. She was honest, telling him about the typhoon and the consequences of not complying with the will of the Living Revolution. She emphasized that the Heaven Monks would be well rewarded for their loyalty, and that there was a good possibility that they could operate autonomously after the immediate threat was over. By the time she finished, she was nearly begging the monk to comply. “The living should be working together. We all want the same thing. Please, consider our offer.”
Jiang Ping did not hesitate. “What you propose is
not an offer, Elena Anderson. It is an ultimatum. Your Beacon would take us from our holy duties shepherding the jiāngshī to heaven so that we can work like oxen.” He ran his fingers down his ample beard. “I am sorry. This is not acceptable. Please send my regards to the secretary, but the Heaven Monks will not be joining you. I wish you luck in your battle ahead.” Jiang Ping bowed slightly, then turned his back to her.
He retreated back to the porch before Elena found her voice. Her tone hardened. “It is I who is sorry, Master, but your refusal to serve your country and the Living Revolution is not an option either. This is your last chance.” She undid the strap and let the shaft of her short spear slide down her palm. She took a big step forward.
Master Jiang raised an eyebrow and flared the front slit of his coat dramatically, assuming a defensive posture. The kindly old face now held a look of steel. For the first time, Elena noticed the straight sword in its scabbard dangling off his waist beneath his outer robe. She realized by the way he was standing that she was dealing with someone who knew how to use it.
The monks behind the master adopted similar poses, their weapons flashing out. On Elena’s side, the windrunners did the same, all except for Zhu, who still had his hands in his pockets. Bo, who had recently traded up for an even bigger sledgehammer than the one he had wielded before, stepped next to her, bouncing the monstrosity in his hand. For a second, Elena had a flashback of one of those old Samurai Sunday movies, except with the old Western standoff music layered over it.
“Don’t do this,” she pleaded. “Today does not have to end in violence.”
“The choice is yours to leave.”
Elena bit her lip. The master had called her bluff, and she had folded rather easily. Truth was, she had never cared that much for the Living Revolution to begin with. Serving it was just a way to survive and a means to possibly get home.
“What do we do?” one of the windrunners asked as confusion ran among their ranks. Everyone looked to Zhu for leadership, but he wasn’t giving any, looking indecisive and miserable.
Elena threw an elbow into his ribs, snapping him out of his stupor. “Say something,” she hissed. “Fix this.”
She appeared to have been successful. He grimaced and made a show of snapping his machete into his sheath. “I signed up to kill jiāngshī, not shed the living’s blood. Come on—”
It was too late, however. Zhu’s leadership had already eroded with this group. Taijian, eager to prove his worth, stepped forward and brandished his broadsword. “No, I’m not paying penance because of your cowardice. We have our orders. Listen, you crazy freaks.” He marched forward and leveled his blade at the master. “We have made it clear—”
The young man managed three steps forward before an arrow sank into his chest. The poor sap stared at it, puzzled and confused. He grasped the shaft, as if he didn’t believe he had actually been shot, and summarily collapsed in a heap.
Another of the windrunners drew a rifle and began unloading in the direction of the archer in the barn. The shots rattled the air, blasting a dozen holes in the side of the structure. A moment later, the man with the rifle fell to a dagger thrown by someone standing on the porch.
Pandemonium broke out. The windrunners—most didn’t have guns—drew their weapons and charged, only to be met in melee by the monks. Elena caught Zhu standing in the middle of the chaos out of the corner of her eye. He still hadn’t drawn his weapon and was waving his arms wildly, trying to get everyone to put down theirs. Neither side was listening, and the Heaven Monks especially didn’t care that he was unarmed.
One of them, wielding a giant spiked mace, charged him from behind. He would have crushed Zhu’s head in if Elena hadn’t gotten there first. She pierced the monk in the ribs below the armpit just as he was about to reach her boyfriend and drove him sideways into the ground. She twisted the spear in her hand and violently yanked it from the monk’s body. She turned toward Zhu, who was still oblivious that she had saved his life. She was about to yell at him to wake up when several more monks attacked.
Swords clashed against spears, clubs against staffs, and, in Bo’s case, his giant sledgehammer against the little old lady’s pŭdāo. Elena had learned from Bo that the pŭdāo was known as a horse sword, used primarily to cut the legs out from under cavalry. The large weapons clashed and clanged. On the surface, the two looked completely mismatched. Bo was a hulking man, and the head of the sledgehammer arced in wide loops around his body. There was nothing graceful about swinging the sledgehammer with such force that it didn’t matter if someone blocked his attack. Realizing this, the woman didn’t try blocking the big man’s attacks, but managed to dodge and deflect, moving in tightly controlled arcs like a dancer. Every time the sledgehammer whistled at her, the blade of her sword swung up to gently guide it out of her way.
Elena was right that it was a mismatch, but not in the way she had expected. After the first six or seven swings, Bo’s exhaustion became evident. Meanwhile, the old woman looked as if she hadn’t even broken a sweat. Then, as Bo’s hammer missed once more and sank into the soft earth, he hesitated just slightly before yanking it back up. That was when she struck, chopping downward with the pŭdāo and slicing him on the forearm. He howled a surprisingly high-pitched squeal as blood sprayed from the gash. Bo dropped his sledgehammer and clutched his arm.
Elena rushed to his aid. She was too far away and too late, however. The old woman leaped, and the blade of her pŭdāo flashed through the air, threatening to sever Bo’s head from his body. The tip of her blade missed him by a hairsbreadth, but then she jabbed with the butt end. Bo gasped as it punched into his generous midsection, doubling him over. The old lady whacked him once across the side of the head and then stepped in front of his fallen body, ready to make the killing blow.
That was when Elena reached them. One moment the old lady had the pŭdāo raised high over her head, the next Elena’s spear pierced her back and came out through the front of her chest. The old woman shuddered, and her large weapon slipped from her fingers. She staggered and gripped the shaft, and then she turned to Elena.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Elena cried. “I wasn’t thinking and, and…”
“Deliver me to heaven, please,” the old woman gasped as she fell over.
“Lăopó!” Master Jiang Ping screamed, rushing to the woman’s side.
Elena froze, forgetting to breathe for a few seconds. She hadn’t realized the woman was the master’s wife. How could she have? Bile crept up her throat. She hadn’t meant to kill anybody. She wasn’t even thinking. Her friend was in trouble. She had tunnel vision and just acted. “I…” Words failed her.
The usually kindly master’s face hardened. He drew his straight sword and leveled it directly at her. Elena stood there, frozen, as the blade flicked the air like a snake’s tongue. The sword was beautiful, shiny, and intricate, with patterns of flowers and dragons wrapped around the guard and hilt. More pressingly, it moved in the monk’s hand as if it were an extension of his body.
Within the first clash of their fight, Elena knew she was in big trouble. Jiang Ping was faster and stronger, and his movements were more fluid. She was armed with only a short spear, the plain shaft uneven and bumpy, hewn from oak with a rusty spearhead sharpened on a wet wheel. When she fought with it, her only thought was to stick things with the pointy end.
The fight between them could hardly be called that. Jiang Ping advanced with the sword. Elena tried to poke him with her spear, but he moved too fast. His sword whirled in front of her and suddenly her thigh, shoulder, and hand all exploded with pain. The spear flew from her grasp, flipping into the air and sinking point-first into the soft ground well out of reach.
Elena collapsed onto her backside and watched as the grim-faced monk advanced. Tears rolled down his face as the tip of his sword pressed into the skin over her heart. “You do not belong in heaven.”
Just as the blade was about to pierce her chest, someone came barreling toward them, tacklin
g the monk to the ground. It was Zhu! The two men landed hard on the stone ground and rolled several times as they struggled for control of the straight sword, with Zhu finally ending up on top. The blade hovered between them for several seconds as Zhu, both hands on the blade, pressed downward. He was larger and stronger than Jiang Ping, and the blade inched lower and lower. Finally, with an anguished scream, the point cut down into the monk’s neck, slicing through skin and flesh.
Jiang Ping couldn’t even muster a cry as he choked on his own blood, his arms and legs thrashing. Finally, after several seconds, he went limp. Zhu stayed straddled on top of him, his body shaking, his fingers bleeding from holding on to the blade.
Elena grimaced as she scrambled to her feet. The battle had ended as quickly as it had begun. Most of the monks were not fighters, and they quickly surrendered once their leaders fell. She made sure the other windrunners were getting things under control, and then she went to check on Zhu.
She winced as she limped to where he still knelt. His face was blank as he stared intently at Jiang Ping’s lifeless eyes, his head half severed from his body. When she touched his shoulder, he shrugged her off. She hesitated, and then clutched his hand. When he tried to shake her off again, she squeezed his hand even tighter.
“You had no choice,” she exclaimed. “He was going to kill me. You saved my life.”
A sob wracked his body. “Did you know what Jiang Ping and his wife did before they became monks?”
“No.”
“They were opera singers. They put on makeup and masks. They danced and acted in plays. They performed theater for people in the villages. These were their costumes. They stopped by my village once when I was a child. I spent the entire summer pretending to be Sun Wukong, the monkey king. They spent most of their lives bringing people joy, and then they spent the rest of it trying to send them to heaven. And for that, we killed them.” He held up his bloodied hands. “What are we doing anymore?”
