The Prisoners of Fate: Sequel to The Emperor's Prey

by Jeremy Han

  The pavilion overlooking the lake was situated on a hill, with marbled steps that led from a moon gate up to the pavilion. It was designed this way so that accompanying guards or servants could wait at the foot of the hill without their lowly presence intruding the space of the rich as they admired the full moon, recited poetry and savoured gourmet tea. Likewise tonight it was where the governor had posted his bodyguards, away from earshot, and the two men expected the lean figure of the grand commandant Liu Ning to appear anytime.

  HSSSSST!

  It sounded like someone trying very hard to clear his nose, and the guard standing closer to the trees turned with alarm. He peered into the darkness, but saw no one. Unease cloaked him, moving slowly up his spine as he shivered. As he heard it again he turned to his partner – the uncertain asking the unsure. They were both hardened men, and as the leader nodded the other drew his sabre, taking a step forward. He came to the edge of the forest and…

  A long, dark shape flew on to him. The shiny scales of the fanchantou flashed bright under the moon as the serpent lifted its lean, powerful body off the ground, hood opening to signal deadly intent as it bit the guard’s leg hard.

  “AAAHHHHHHGGGG!” the man screamed with both fear and agony as the venom sped through his blood stream. He tried to hack at the snake, but he lost his balance in the process, tripping over his own feet in his panic as he fell.

  “Shit!” the leader of the bodyguard shouted. He tried to drive the snake away, but stopped in his tracks at the sudden appearance of a pale-faced person with long hair covering their face. The apparition stood in front of him motionless. Slowly, ‘she’ bent and picked up the snake and with a flick of the hand pushed the hair away from ‘her’ face.

  The bodyguard froze in fear, his lips trembling as he tried to form the word yao ‘demoness’. The cobra hissed at the man from Yin’s hand as the surviving guard retreated with unsteady steps, already forgetting about his comrade thrashing in pain on the ground. Slowly, deliberately, Yin kissed the cobra, turning to give the man a chilling smile.

  The assassin launched an attack that was so fast that the guard’s hand was only halfway to the sabre when Yin’s fingers struck his solar plexus. The man buckled over and Yin struck him on the neck, causing him to fall limp to the ground. He had spared him only because there must be a witness to the unearthly killings he performed tonight.

  The scream of terror jolted the governor from his thoughts of how to deal with the upstart eunuch. The cry faded into the night just as quickly as it came, and a sudden silence blanketed the night again. The governor wondered if he was losing his mind as fear crept like a spider into the his heart. He concentrated and heard soft footsteps on the marble steps.

  So slow? Why aren’t my guards running to inform me what has happened?

  A figure in white holding something odd slowly appeared. It was not the burly, familiar shape of his men, and under the moonlight he could see the apparition holding a snake. The wind lifted the long black hair off the apparation’s pale oval shaped face to reveal gentle features, smiling evilly back at him. The governor could not tell if it was a man or a woman, but his gut froze anyway. He turned to run but he tripped over the thick fur coat that had fallen off his fleshy shoulders, crashing awkwardly onto the stone table. He tried to get up, but he could not untangle himself from the bear skin. Panicking, he started to hyperventilate as the killer approached, scrambling backwards like a crab, futilely trying to escape. His mind could not make sense of it, but his heart told him that he was about to die violently.

  Why Liu Ning? Why do you want to kill me?

  Yin stared into the wide, opened eyes of his prey and smiled coldly.

  26

  Liu Ning’s carriage arrived at the park. The slender eunuch stepped out of the vehicle and took a deep breath under the bright, round autumn moon as he steeled himself for whatever might happen later. He felt the hidden blade under his tunic, no longer cold having been warmed by the proximity of his body. A gentle breeze blew lazily as a servant and a guard escorted him to the gate. The lean man stood erect, face stern as he thought once more about what the crazy request to meet in the dead of the night could mean.

  Let’s get on with it, he chided himself. No use wondering.

  He turned to his attendants and said crisply, “Wait here”, before he started up the marble steps. The night was deathly silent and he thought he smelled something odd when the wind blew again. He took a deep breath, trying to detect the odour. It was strangely familiar, but not strong enough to unlock an answer from his brain. He continued up, albeit a bit more slowly, his senses trying to tune into the darkness. What his senses could not tell him, his instinct could – something was not quite right, and he hurried up the final steps with his short sword in hand.

  Blood!

  The sharp iron tang lit his senses like a lamp in the dark. The air at the top of the hill was saturated with the salty, metalic odour of spilled blood. He dashed over to the pavilion and saw the sprawled body of the governor on the ground. His throat had been violently slashed open, and the blood had sprayed onto the marbled walls and table. The victim’s eyes were wide open with fear, silently accusing him.

  You asked me to come.

  Blood had pooled around the body and as Liu touched the corpse he felt that it was already starting to cool. His soldier’s instinct kicked in and he quickly surveyed the scene for any unseen threats. The night was as still as stone around him, and his sharp mind raced through the sequence of events that led to him squatting here by the cooling, stiff body of the bureaucrat. The strange letter, the odd hour, the isolated place, it all became clear to him.

  Damn it! Why didn’t I see it coming? I’ve been set up! Someone wants to frame me!

  He ran back the way he had come from and called for reinforcements, and when the most powerful man in the region called for help, his army responded in double time. Soon they arrived back at the grisly scene, and as they searched the area they found another two more men. One of the men was already deceased, intact except for a tear on his pants which revealed a blackened spot on his calf with two bleeding holes. The other man was alive, but badly injured and hardly coherent. Liu’s battle experienced eyes took in the damage of the unconscious man. He was breathing with difficulty, chest wound, his eyes were unfocused and he could not concentrate, head wound. Liu did not care about his injuries though, and he went over to him, demanding answers.

  “Speak! What happened to your Master?”

  The man’s eyelids fluttered erratically like a butterfly's wings.

  “Speak!” the grand commandant screamed. The guard seemed to have lost his mind, and started to babble something about a snake.

  “Answer me!” he yelled. Spittle from the eunuch landed on the man’s face, which he did not notice or care about. “What did you see? Speak you fool! Tell us what you saw!” Liu demanded, gripping the man’s shoulders with both hands and shaking him.

  Slowly, the man forced himself to calm down, regaining his sense to speak in something other than his panicked babbling, and with great control mouthed one word weakly.

  “De…de…demoness.”

  27

  In another part of the empire a cold wind rustled the leaves of the dark, still forest, throwing them into a frantic dance. Slowly, the swirling darkness seemed to shimmer, and two orange orbs of light started to take shape form within in the darkness. They moved in a regular bobbing motion, mirroring the steps of the men holding them.

  It was a party of four. Two men held lanterns while another carried a sack of tools. The fourth man was clearly different from the rest. He was too well-dressed to be a labourer, and instead of carrying tools he held a sabre with rings. With every step he took the rings rattled metallically, the only sound that accompanied the group movements. In the dead of the night the rattling of the man’s sabre provided some degree of comfort to the three unwilling labourers who were press-ganged for this unpleasant duty, giving them comfort that at l
east someone among them was armed. An owl called from somewhere in the darkness then flew off, its flapping wings breaking the silence. The men looked around and realised that the flatness of the ground was broken by odd shapes, protruding from the ground at regular intervals.

  They were in a graveyard.

  The fourth man sensed the discomfort of the superstitious lot and snapped harshly at them, “Keep moving!” He pointed his blade at an area where it was too dark to see.

  The men had been supplied by the Yamen at his insistence. After his investigation of the yinshu hua he had decided that he must conduct one final test before reporting to Ji Gang. The commander wanted all angles covered, and it would be to his detriment if he could not answer his boss. He needed to find the answer here, tonight, and for that he needed the help of this bunch of chicken-hearted peasants who believed that what they were going to do would curse them.

  Would it?

  A sense of dread filled him at the questoin, and the inky darkness seemed to be enveloping him. His gut registered a strange reaction. The last time he had felt like that was the time he was ambushed. He personally knew several soldiers who lived to this day because they had heeded their instinct when it told them things that their eyes could not see. When he had entered the forest he had rested the heavy blade on his shoulder, but now he lowered the weapon to his side. Instinctively his hand tightened over the weapon.

  Is there someone else in the shadows? Enough!

  He forced himself to shrug off the feeling. This rumour of a murdering fiend was starting to spook him. Meng Da scanned the murky, silent graveyard to locate the tombstone of General Wang, a hard task to do in the dark. He continued on, frequently stopping to check his map before pointing the way ahead for the reluctant men. The orange lanterns continued to bob with their steps and illuminate the uneven, eerie way ahead. They crested a knoll and Meng was sure that the recently interred general’s tomb was just over it. He could hear the strained breathing of the men as they climbed, yet despite all their protests they had not seen any ghosts.

  So far.

  The hair on the back of his neck suddenly stood. Someone’s watching us, he thought as he scanned the surroundings, but there was nothing. The workmen did not seem to notice his discomfort, and they continued walking with the gait of disgruntled workers. He gripped the weapon even more tightly, and the heavy sabre's carved, tiger’s head pommel gleamed with menace. It was a beautiful weapon to behold, and a one deadly to use.

  “There it is,” Meng said as he pointed. The men wanted to get the task over with and return to the land of the living as soon as possible but first, to assuage their superstitious leanings, they kneeled and bowed to the spirit of the dead general, beseeching him not to blame them for disturbing his rest. If his Excellency wanted to settle scores then find the bastard with the big sabre who had forced them into this disrespectful task at such an unearthly hour. They picked up their tools, and the quiet night started to be filled with the sounds of labour.

  Time to test the corpse!

  Ming medical practitioners believed that silver would turn black when it encountered poison and he took out a set of silver needles. Needles such as these were inserted into food and drink served to emperors and studied for discolouration before the dishes were served at the imperial table.

  “Poison?” one of the workers asked, noticing the set of needles in Meng's hand.

  “Yes,” Meng replied tersely.

  They spent a long time digging and by the time they finished the sky had begun to turn purplish with the rising sun. They looped a rope over both ends of the coffin and inserted a wooden staff under the rope, and with a great heave they lifted the coffin out of the soil. The wood used to build the curved coffin was extremely sturdy, and it took longer than expected to break it open. They swept off the iron fillings, old decomposing clumps of garlic, and bits of red peas, the traditional items used to prevent the corpse from turning into a vampire. All burials had such things scattered over a coffin to keep a loved one from turning into the undead, especially if the deceased had died violently or by suicide. A foul smell defiled the cool, sweet morning air, but it did not deter the agent from doing his job.

  He stood overlooking the greying, rotting corpse. All that remained of the general was the stench of decomposition and a dishonourable reputation, but it did not frighten him anymore. His cool, detached agent’s persona kicked in, and he studied the body intently.

  Wrist broken at an angle, blackened streaks of blood lining the face from ruined eyes. Two dark holes stared at him where the eyes should have been.

  The throat’s gash had turned purplish grey, and a blackish substance had congealed below it. Even death could not erase the look of shock etched, and all of it was consistent with what he heard. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to reconstruct the fight that took the general’s life in his mind. Next, he took out his needles and stuck them into the stiff, cold flesh. Slowly, he pulled them out and....

  There must be a mistake!

  He tried again, and again, and again, but all three needles did not turn black, and instead they shone in the dim morning light. He had been sure that the general had been poisoned, and all he had needed was proof before he reported to the commander, but the needles couldn't lie. There were no traces of poison.

  Damn! How can I be wrong?

  “What’s wrong?” Someone asked, and some of the workers came over as they sensed his unease.

  He held up the needles for them to see. The weak morning sun reflected off the clear, white silver.

  “Something’s not right,” he said as a frown etched his features.

  “What do you mean?”

  “If he had been poisoned, the needles would have turned black.”

  “Then it means he was not poisoned,” the foreman stated plainly, his voice betraying the irritation he felt for coming all the way here for nothing.

  “There is no way he would have died so terribly!" Meng argued. "He was not murdered, he was slaughtered. He was a battlefield general, a hero. No simple courtesan could have done this unless... unless the killer is not human.”

  28

  The weak morning light did not bring any warmth, but Yin did not care. He stripped off the blood soaked clothes and slowly stepped into the cold water, ignoring the prick of sharp stones under his bare feet as fish scattered in his wake. The stained apparel was stacked in a pile near the weathered leather sack next to a moss-covered rock. The clothes stank of blood and urine. The blood from was from the victims, and the urine from his own incontinence.

  Yin felt a thousand needles prick his lean, pale, and hairless body as he lowered himself into the cold, rushing stream. He looked around one more time to make sure there was nobody around, finally resting his eyes on the sack. He had to make sure his only ‘friend’ was fine, and as if in answer the leather sack moved as the cobra adjusted itself. The fanchantou should be going to sleep after eating a couple of field rats thrown in by its appreciative master as reward for a job well-done.

  Satisfied all was well, the assassin started to clean himself. Starting with his hands he scrubbed the dried blood off, then he proceeded to rub his body. Red scars and healed tissue lined his body like a road map from the journey of his life. He scrubbed and scrubbed, even after the blood was gone. He scrubed until his skin turned red, staring into the distance as his hands moved mechanically.

  Who did I kill last night?

  Yin could not recall. He never remembered, and every one of his victims looked the same. Each time he killed someone he thought he was murdering his stepfather. Each death blow he dealt he saw his stepfather screaming in fear and pain, begging him in vain. Suddenly a sharp pain lanced through his head, and the soft morning glow seemed too bright, too hot, like white hot metal being shafted through his eyes. He gripped his head until his knuckles turned white and he cried out, the agonised sound an anomaly among the cheerful song of birds. He closed his eyes and turned from the orangey sun. He
could not stand the rays from heaven shining on him, highlighting his sins.

  What have I done again?

  Yin started to cry, a hidden part of him screamed in disgust.

  Worthless piece of shit! What kind of person are you?

  He clutched his head as he grappled with a part of him that still existed, a part that abhorred the monster he had become. It had been a long time since Yin had felt anything, and now he could not understand why such thoughts filled his mind.

  No! I killed him because he wanted to sell me away. Because he raped me. Because he hurt me.

  You monster. You freak!

  They made me! They made me like this! I will kill them! I will kill him!

  His stepfather’s face formed again in his mind. He could see the ugly features of the man. The cruel small eyes, the bulbous nose, the stink of rotting teeth, and the wicked leer of perversion.

  I will kill him! Every time you appear, I will kill you!

  He slowly made his way to the waterfall, his rage boiling as he stood under the crashing water. The roar of the falling water slowly drowned the screaming in his head and calmed him down. He controlled his breathing the way his masters had taught him.

  Control. Focus. Breathe. Let your internal strength rise.

  In his mind he saw the cobra dance. The slender, taut body curved upward in its own rhythmic, mesmerizing way. Its black tongue flicked, the small black eyes shining like cold ebony marbles. Its hood spread open and revealed two distinctive black circles over hard, cold, white scales. When it did that the cobra announced its identity as the king of the serpents. He visualised himself moving as one with it, his muscles coiling and uncoiling, unhurried movements latent with violence and death. Its everymovement was watched and feared, and he was no longer a helpless victim, but the killer of predators.