The Pirate Empress

by Deborah Cannon

  Li threw a desperate glance around at the lovely flowers and the soft wet grass. All she remembered was going to sleep inside the shelter that Zhu and Master Yun had built for her.

  “Chao,” Master Tong said when Li was tongue-tied for an answer. “There are others who need your advice more than this girl. Leave her with me.”

  The pig sighed, and walked to her with his four chubby legs and squinted into her eyes. She wanted to reach out and touch him to ascertain whether he was real, but he ducked, and stepped back. “Others await me,” he said. “Neither here nor there.” He vanished into a ripple of air, leaving Li gaping with her eyes wide and her mouth open.

  Li shook her head, blinked her eyes. Where did Chao go?

  But Master Tong thought nothing of the pig’s vanishing act, and he hugged his sleeves to his breast and forced her attention his way. “Chao speaks the truth,” he said, nodding his head and wagging a finger at her. “You still have the power to choose. Right now you stand in transcendent space, which is neither here nor there. I, on the other hand, have spun the Taijitu and have found it landed Black on top.”

  Silence tumbled over her ears as his meaning became clear. “Then, you’re dead? If that’s true, how can I see you, talk to you?” A horrible thought crashed down on her, and she gasped, cupped a hand to her mouth. “You mean I’m dead, too?”

  “As I said, you still have the ability to choose.”

  “Then I’m not dead.”

  Master Tong closed his eyes. Was he exasperated with her? He exhaled and raised his eyelids. “You are and you aren’t. Did Tao teach you nothing of transcendency?”

  He had and he hadn’t. He likely had given her some sort of lesson, but as was her habit, she was probably daydreaming at the time and the result was what it always was—in one ear and out the other.

  “That doesn’t answer my question,” Li said. “You make as much sense as that pig.”

  The expression on the monk’s face did not flinch. “Chao is and he isn’t.”

  Li grabbed the sides of her hair, thoroughly frustrated and confused. Her scalp hurt from yanking her hair so hard. “Am I in Heaven?”

  Master Tong gave her a straight answer for the first time since they had met. “No.”

  Li glanced around her at the beautiful garden, at the blue sky over her head and the standing stone engraved with the Taijitu. Well, this garden certainly wasn’t Hell. It was the Etherworld then, something in between Heaven and Hell, neither here nor there.

  “Are you dead?” she asked.

  The ancient monk glanced down at his pale black-trimmed robe and the frost-white, double-pigtailed beard that trailed past each shoulder. He massaged the scar at his throat. “I believe so.”

  If Master Tong was dead and she wasn’t, how could she cohabit the same space as he? It suddenly sank in that the old monk had mentioned Tao’s name earlier, which meant he knew Tao. Another thought descended. If she could see this dead monk, could she see Tao? Oh, if she could speak to him! “Is my tutor, Tao, here?” she asked, trying fruitlessly to keep the excitement out of her voice. She pointed to the standing stone. “Tao wore that symbol tattooed on his palm.”

  The old man’s eyes drooped. Then he did know him! Master Tong did not answer immediately, but breathed slowly as though he were controlling his Chi. A sadness that seemed deeper even than her own overwhelmed him, and a tear dribbled down his wrinkled cheek and stuck in a crevice. But then his face lifted with a radiant glow. Something had occurred to him, something good. “No,” he said, quite confidently. “Tao is not here.”

  %%%

  Had Li’s eyelid twitched? Was she lost in some dream? Madam Choi followed Quan’s gaze. “The antidote is working,” the pirate widow said. “But it will be another few days, at least, before she awakens.”

  He didn’t have another few days. In that short time, Altan could be at the gates of the capital. Quan rose from Li’s bedside and glanced at Zhu.

  “I’m coming with you,” he said.

  Quan nodded and requested his weapons from Po, who went below to retrieve their sabres and daggers. Quan glanced at his trusty friend as he sheathed his sword. He would rather He Zhu stayed behind to protect Li, but he had no right to hold him back. Twice now, He Zhu had saved Li’s life, and if he wished to go home to tie up loose ends, that was his right.

  “Madam Choi,” Quan said, placing his dagger into his boot. “If Lieutenant He Zhu’s gemstone speaks true, then I must bring His Majesty aid. Swear to me, on the Tiger’s Eye, that you will protect Li until I return.”

  The pirate widow’s expression darkened and she fixed steady eyes on Quan. Did she remember the night aboard the Red Dragon as he did? Zhu watched, too, and his brow shot up in astonishment when she grabbed his hand—the one adorned with the gemstone—and slapped it between her palms. “That night when my husband was taken from me, you set myself and my boy free. You could have killed us or taken us captive. Instead, you showed mercy. Your debt, Captain, is paid.” She shifted her unblinking eyes to Zhu and dropped his hand. “Yours, Lieutenant, is not.”

  He Zhu bowed deeply, splaying his fingers against his heart so that the Tiger’s Eye gleamed. “I will return to pay that debt, madam,” he promised.

  Quan went to Li and kissed her on the lips. Am I making a mistake leaving you behind? He got no response, but her skin felt warmer than it had in days. He rose and signalled to Zhu that they were leaving, gave Li one last glance, before dropping to the raft moored by the junk’s side. The water was more turbulent than it had been on his arrival. The boats in the bay were firmly anchored, and yet did a jig as nature had her way. The glassy sea looked more like green jelly as it waddled and waved landward, for a wind was picking up and a storm brewing. Clouds swirled across the grey sky and on shore, Quan’s stallion reared in greeting as he sighted his master preparing to return.

  Zhu cursed as Madam Choi’s face appeared over the starboard bulwark. It was as if a preternatural force sucked them against the junk’s hull. When the raft broke free, they almost went overboard as they shot forth to the raucous laughter of Madam Choi. The nine yellow faces of Xiang Gong mocked from the junk’s prow, and if not for the mist distorting his vision, Quan would have sworn one of the faces smirked.

  PART II: WHITE TIGER

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The Suspicions of Zheng Min

  In the rain-shadow of the pirate’s harbour, bamboo-masted boats lay anchored. So, they thought they had seen the last of Esen, did they? Nothing, not time, nor magic, nor sword would stop him from wreaking ruin on Lotus Lily’s rescuers. And when he found the girl herself... The warlord turned and looked about. Some sort of shelter used to stand here, but the signs were old. He followed a faint track through the jungle to the beach. At the cliff base was a shining jade–coloured lagoon, where fat shrubs grew clumped with white berries. Although the fruit might be poisonous, he was starving, and with a grumbling belly he plucked a handful and ate.

  A crane stood on a rock overlooking the pool. A wall of stones showed in the glassy water beneath its one-legged stance. Shadows moved as overhanging trees shifted in the breeze, and a mist hovered. The sun penetrated the mist, exploding in a rainbow, and the remaining berries in his hand dropped to the ground. A giant bird with the head of a golden pheasant, the tail of a peacock and the legs of a crane split the water, and the one-legged crane was gone.

  %%%

  The day broke red as a New Years Day banner. Captain Chi Quan and Lieutenant He Zhu rode up from a grove of mulberry trees, scattering a cloud of crows. Quan searched the landscape, slowing his horse to a trot, and the brown and white stallion reared to a foul smell.

  Quan shot Zhu a wary look as they approached the garrison just west of Datong. The lieutenant nodded, hand dropping to his sabre.

  “Move quietly,” Quan warned. “Something feels wrong.”

  As they drew closer, their hearts fell. What once was empty steppe below the walled garrison was now strewn with corpses.
All around, the trees and grasses were smeared with blood. And far away, Quan heard the mocking song of a Mongol flute.

  The fallen soldiers had been stripped of their armour, weapons, and anything the Mongols deemed valuable. Their trademark warning to the Emperor lined the road—decapitated heads of Chinese commanders projecting from pikes. Zhu uttered Esen’s name, harshly. The last time they had seen the warlord he was hell-bent on finding Lotus Lily and killing her.

  A short distance away they found the garrison in an uproar as men dragged away bodies to burn. No wonder they had not attended to the dead left on the steppe. By the time they did, there would be nothing but bones left to burn. The carnage sent shivers down Quan’s spine as he spied a palanquin by the roadside and soldiers in Imperial colours clustered in groups. Obviously, someone important waited inside one of the fortresses, and he reined in his horse to a trot. “Zheng Min’s men,” he said over his shoulder to the lieutenant.

  Zhu answered, “He knows how to make himself at home when he visits the wall builders. I’ll bet he’s inside the fortress making himself a cup of tea while the labourers burn the evidence of his botched campaign.”

  Quan wet his dry lips, nodded while his sweaty grip tightened on the horse’s reins; it wasn’t safe here. “You must return to Beijing, Zhu. Go to Master Yun’s temple and keep out of sight until I learn what is going on. You mustn’t be seen.”

  “I don’t think anyone will be looking for me. I think Lotus Lily’s escape has been forgotten for the moment.”

  “Nonetheless, I won’t take any chances of you being recognized. Go. I’ll find out what has happened since we left. Then follow you to the capital as soon as I can.”

  Zhu was about to object again, but the stern look on his captain’s face changed his mind. He wheeled his horse southeast in the direction of the Koi Gardens behind the Forbidden City.

  When Zhu was safely out of sight, Quan announced his arrival by spurring his horse to a gallop. He stopped in front of the fortress in a flurry of dust. Zheng Min, the military governor, came outside, a teacup in his hand, to investigate the commotion. “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded.

  “I have been fortifying the walls to the far west,” Quan lied.

  “Indeed? For a whole year? Do you have any idea what has happened in that time? Your traitorous lieutenant, He Zhu, and some unknown soldier escaped with the Emperor’s daughter Lotus Lily. While I, and half of the Imperial Army went searching for her, Altan, Esen’s baby brother attacked the capital. Fortunately, I had the sense to return and save His Majesty from that savage.”

  Quan knew the military governor was exaggerating his role in the Emperor’s rescue, but he stared in horror as he learned of the rise of Altan. It was Altan who had left that massacre outside the garrison walls, and it was he who had attacked and looted most of the border towns, though thankfully he did not yet occupy Chinese lands—always returning from his raids to camp on the north side of the frontier—but it was only a matter of time.

  “His Majesty has been asking for you. I sent scouts east and west along the earthworks to locate you. Why is it you could not be found?”

  Quan scowled at the military governor’s insinuations. “You didn’t look hard enough,” he said. “His Majesty wants his wall four thousand miles long. I travel from worksite to worksite. It’s a wonder we managed to meet at all.”

  “His Majesty wants you to return to the Forbidden City at once.” Zheng Min’s eyes narrowed. His thoughts were churning in a direction that Quan didn’t want them to go.

  %%%

  He Zhu’s reluctant acceptance of the Tiger’s Eye had transformed him from an impulsive, fearless fighter to a cautious, holy guardian of the Taoist gemstone. What was, was; What is, is; and What will be, will be. He had no pretensions of changing anything or becoming a seer. And if his captain was meant to know of the child, then Li must tell him herself. Else Master Yun must be the bearer of these joyous tidings. It was no business of his. His purpose was to find the truth concerning Jasmine.

  When he reached the Forbidden City he dared not show his face at court. He spent his days in the secret chamber behind the Jade Fountain of the Koi Temple, sneaking out only to search for Jasmine. One dark evening he dared once more gaze into the Tiger’s Eye, and it opened almost immediately to a vision of the beauteous fox faerie. She was alone in the concubine’s courtyard, staring into a moonlit lily pond, startled, when she realized she was watched. How she knew frightened him even more than knowing he could see her; and the gleam that fell over her black eyes sent ice like sharp pins into his heart.

  “So it’s true!” Her white teeth flashed beneath scarlet lips. “The one holy Tiger’s Eye exists. Who are you? What hides you from me? I know you are watching me, but I can’t see your face!”

  As she rolled her kohl-lined eyes upward to meet his in the vision, he immediately covered the ring with his hand. Even the sudden appearance of Chi Quan at the doorway didn’t jerk him out of the trance. Quan frowned from where he stood, blocking the moonlight, arriving in record time to catch his lieutenant, shaking, cross-legged on the floor in front of the Jade Fountain with a lit lantern by his side.

  “What are you doing at the shrine in the open where any passer-by can see you? You may as well draw a target on your back. You were supposed to stay hidden behind the rock wall of water.” Quan cut himself short when he saw the stark terror in Zhu’s eyes. “What is it Zhu? Are you ill? Do you need a physician?”

  “No. I need no physician. What ails me can’t be healed by any medicine known to man.”

  Quan glanced down at Zhu’s covered hand. “You’ve been looking into the gemstone again. What did you see? Is Li all right?”

  “I’ve had no vision of her since she awoke from the sleep of the black poppy.”

  More than a year had passed since he and Lieutenant He Zhu had left the pirate junk. “Then what has turned your face white like stone?”

  He had come to the Forbidden City to look for Jasmine. He had found her. “You were right all along,” Zhu said. “Huli Jing is Jasmine.”

  If Jasmine was back at court, she would inevitably find her way to Master Yun’s temple. If only Master Yun had left them the Scimitar of Yongfang: that blade would have kept Zhu’s face anonymous, but clearly he had some other reason for wanting the ancient sword himself.

  “Where will I go?” Zhu asked. “Jasmine must not find me. She will want the gemstone. And I don’t know if I can resist her.”

  “You’ll come with me. His Majesty never visits the work on the walls. If you stay masked, no one will recognize you. You can help to finish the wall-building. But you can’t stay here.” Quan’s eyes narrowed. “I only hope Military Governor Zheng Min has tired of visiting the worksites.”

  Despite the suspicions of Zheng Min there was no other alternative, and on solstice of that winter Zhu donned his helmet, faceguard down to avoid recognition, and joined Quan and his troops on the border wall.

  The next few months were uneventful, and Esen did not join his brother in a new wave of raids. Those who governed within the court of the Forbidden City sat safe in Beijing, trusting in Quan’s diligence and in the strength of their ever-growing walls. Vast regiments of labourers were recruited to fortify the frontier’s ancient earthworks with stone. For the most part, Altan was unable to smash his way though the several hundred-mile renovation covering the northwest approaches to the capital. Quan made sure every fortress was manned and every beacon lit at the first sign of the invaders, as his men continued to strengthen and lengthen the border walls. As a reward for his extraordinary efforts Quan was made Brigade General, much to Military Governor Zheng Min’s disdain.

  But the peace did not last long. Altan was more ambitious and ruthless than his brother. The eastern and westernmost points of their efforts were weak and needed further fortification, and until Quan’s armies were able to build a continuous stone perimeter around the full extent of the Emperor’s territories, and use every
man in the Middle Kingdom to guard it, the Mongols found a way in at either end.

  Altan knew all he had to do was to ride far enough until he found the weak spots. To the west, Datong and Xuanfu held because Quan’s new commander there bribed the nomads into submission. The Mongols were starving after a five-month drought, and in exchange for food, they lowered their weapons. But by late September, the fields of the Middle Kingdom were ripe for harvest, and the crops and field hands were vulnerable outside the city walls. They were unable to defend themselves against the Mongol raiders. Altan drove his horsemen as far as the suburbs of the capital, and camped in Tongzou, from where he and his bandits easily burned and looted the surrounding land.

  As a final insult, Altan led seven hundred men up to the northern face of the Forbidden City to bang on Anding Gate, the Gate of Safety and Security, ostensibly the triumphal entrance of His Majesty’s returns from military conquests.

  Panic and recrimination spread throughout the capital. As the city folk watched helplessly from the towers of the walled city, the suburbs steamed black smoke. In the countryside, the estates of the wealthy were laid waste, and as the months passed, every man, woman and child learned to fear the name of Altan.

  His Majesty ordered Quan to return to court to discuss further military strategy against this new warlord, and Zheng Min was there to greet him at the palace. He was wary around the military governor, for Zheng Min still asked questions concerning his yearlong absence, hoping to trip him up.

  “The people are complaining that we are restraining the army,” Quan said. “The wealthy worry over their country estates and accuse us of withholding our full strength to save them from the Mongol hordes. They say we allow the invaders to pillage at will.”

  “Nonsense,” Military Governor Zheng Min said. “We are giving them all the help we can.”

  Quan knew this was a lie. The new grand secretary had advised Zheng Min and His Majesty not to dispatch the capital’s army. A defeat in or near the steppe, hundreds of miles from the city’s watchers, could be translated at court as victory. A massacre below the city walls or in the nearby country estates was impossible to conceal from the crowds. The city folk must never know how near to annihilation they were, else they would rise in revolt. Quan thought a rebellion might be the best thing. But his fealty was true, and he knew that most of the ill-doings of His Majesty were really the will of the fox faerie.