The Pirate Empress

by Deborah Cannon

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  The Judgement of Yan Luo

  The winged dragon transformed from deep indigo to a translucent blue that matched the watery northeastern sky. It was as though Master Yun sat upon a throne of swiftly moving air, and he could only imagine what he looked like when he appeared out of the heavens over the peak of Feng Du Mountain.

  The chambers of Hell were carved into the hollows of the mountain, which rose out of pack ice. Nothing grew on its pale, grey slopes but jagged crystals the size of trees. The hellfires of the Underworld spewed from an opening at its pinnacle in brilliant fingers of blue flame. No man was known to enter Hell willingly, and so the fire was to keep men inside rather than out. The Ox and Horsehead Messenger was the only means by which men were taken to face the Hell Master to account for the actions of their lives. The ghostly apparition flashed quickly through the Hell Mouth in pursuit of his next victim. And Master Yun took this opportunity to have Fucanlong drop him as the flames ebbed.

  He entered the mountain feet first, robes aflame from the retreating fires, which he had the misfortune to graze, shouting to his friend to remain invisible. The hazy image of a dark blue dragon lanced his sight before melting into obscurity.

  Master Yun landed on his feet, brushing flames from his robes. They smouldered, sending curtains of smoke to befuddle his vision. Hell was a new experience for him. What now? He wondered. This must be the first tier. And he must leave quickly because the entire floor was glowing hot, and soon, the flames would flare up again and incinerate him.

  There were Ten Courts of Hell, each a chamber linked by labyrinths equipped for a specific torture. These tortures were assigned to the dead according to their sins. They were best classified as horrors for they included the burning by fire in the Court of Incendiaries, the chopping by knife in the Court of Butchery and Dismemberment, the tearing apart by beasts in the Court of Bestiality, the sawing in half and gouging out of organs in the Court of Vivisection, decapitation in the Court of Beheading, the throwing into pits of filth in the Court of Sewage and Waste, the forcing to climb trees adorned with sharp blades in the Court of Climbing Knives, the crossing of the bridge of helplessness while hanging upside down in the Court of Bridges, and the deep frying in a wok in the Court of Demonic Cookery. Yan Luo’s court was the only court that contained no tortures. His was the Supreme Court of Judgement where the fate of souls was pronounced.

  So, what was the Emperor’s crime? The answer to that was the abandonment of his kingdom and his people through suicide.

  To which court had Yan Luo sent His Majesty? No time to ponder the whims of the Hell Master. Master Yun’s feet were starting to smoke and he had no stomach for being sautéed. And although he could levitate himself above the sizzling floor, he had no idea where to go. There appeared to be no doors.

  Blue flame covered the entire floor. Master Yun floated above all, like a roasting duck. The heat was excruciating, below him the ground was a lake of scintillating fire. Each branch of flame shot higher, reaching for him like they had a vendetta of their own. Soon Master Yun’s head would be outside the Hell Mouth and what would be the use in that? He squeezed his eyes shut. If he could not find the pathway to the Hell Master, then he would bring Yan Luo to him.

  The strength was full within him now, and he called upon the powers of the Snowstorm to fracture the standing crystals on the slope. In one enormous breath, the crystals shattered at his will, churning into flakes of snow, spiralling like a typhoon, causing an avalanche to spill into the pit of the mountain. The floor sizzled, sputtered. Steam rose. The avalanche quenched the flames and, momentarily, the hellfires went out.

  He turned to face the consequences. They surrounded him. Ten demons, Yaoquai, with the heads of bulls and serpents and the bodies of men flanked a large figure with a scowling red face. His protruding white eyes pierced, and his long, silver beard moved up and down as a strange popping sound came from his thick lips. “Master Yun,” he said. “I have been waiting for you.”

  Arms crossed against his chest, his hands lay hidden in the folds of wide silk sleeves. The crown on his head bore the kanji, the Chinese characters for ‘king,’ and this told Master Yun that he was in the presence of the Hell Master himself.

  “Greetings, Unholy One,” Master Yun said. “Forgive the theatricality of my entrance.” He bowed low, before allowing his singed robes to swing aside to reveal his burden.

  The Hell Master glanced swiftly at the bundle of clothing that Master Yun hugged to his side, the blue silk tunic and red trousers of the Emperor, sandwiched between his arm and hip. He had carried the royal garments all this way and fully intended for the Hell Master to recognize them. “As I said,” Yan Luo smiled. “I have been expecting you.”

  “Then you know why I am here. You must return His Majesty to his throne. The course of things is not as it should be. A disturbance in the Cosmos has upset the Emblem of Balance.”

  The Hell Master spoke no further words, but turned. A doorway, where none previously stood, appeared in the eastern wall. Yaoquai trailed him, indicating that the warlock should do likewise. They entered a tunnel, and Master Yun was tempted to seek the Moonstone’s light but no light came. As soon as they left the ashes of the chamber, a loud whoosh sounded; and a blast of heat and an arm of blue flame shot through the closing door. Master Yun followed even though he felt no movement as he ordered his feet to obey. Disorientation addled his mind and his senses spun until he opened his eyes to see a large chamber with a high-topped desk. Yan Luo went behind this desk to where an ink brush rested next to a large book, which seemed to be made of very fine, light grey ash glued together with the transparent residue of glutinous rice. This was the Book of Souls and contained the records of all living men, and included the allotted death dates that were assigned at each person’s birth.

  “Tongtian is the Son of Heaven,” Master Yun said. “His name will not be inscribed in your book.”

  “Only if he holds the trust of the gods. Your emperor is no longer deified. He has taken his own life before his time. He has been refused Heaven.”

  With one hand Yan Luo angled the book at Master Yun, so that he could see with his own eyes the name inscribed there, and his time and date of death.

  “Where is he?” Master Yun demanded. “Where is His Majesty’s soul?”

  “Who are you to make demands!” the Hell Master roared.

  It would not do to enrage the ruler of the dead. Master Yun lowered his voice and his demeanor. “Things cannot remain as they are.” He did not know how to convince Yan Luo how terrible the outcome would be if the fox faeries were allowed to proceed with their plan. “Huli Jing,” he whispered, unable to think of a clearer way to express the urgency of his task.

  “Why does it matter so much to you, Master Yun? Who are these men to you? They are mere mortals, men and women who bungled their lives through greed, selfishness and desire. Where do you fit into this? You are a sorcerer, a warlock, whose time has past. Hasn’t the fox faerie simply restored your time for you?”

  “Her plan is much blacker than even the labyrinths of Feng Du.”

  “You don’t say. How do you know this? Is that moon rock still talking to you?”

  Master Yun glanced down at his moonstone. Its pearly surface remained clouded like the milky fruit of a newly peeled lychee nut. “It refuses to speak.” He could not remember the last time the Moonstone had provided direction.

  “And the Tiger’s Eye,” the Hell Master continued. “Does it still speak to the warrior-monk?” Yan Luo had ways of seeing and knowing that Master Yun did not understand. “Ah, your silence is enough to warn me that the Tiger’s Eye does indeed have a new master.” The ridges on the red face of the Hell Master creased even deeper as he added, “And its new master is a boy!”

  “Is that so?”

  “The Fire Opal, too, has escaped. Where is it now?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “The question is not whether I know, bu
t whether you do.”

  “The third Gemstone of Seeing is in the hands of a very bad man.”

  “Then why have you allowed this bad man to possess it?”

  “I did not know he had been vanquished to the Isle of Peng Lai. And, by some black sorcery was returned to the Middle Kingdom to use its magic to destroy a good soldier.”

  “That soldier is not dead or I would have him here for judgement.”

  “No, he is not.”

  “So…” Yan Luo said, releasing a long breath that smelled of garlic. “That leaves all of the Gemstones of Seeing accounted for—except the fourth.”

  Fourth? Master Yun could not bring himself to utter the number out loud. The number Four was an evil number. Its utterance was the same as the word death. And he who uttered the word for death would surely die.

  “And that is my domain,” Yan Luo said. “The Bloodstone, Number Four Gemstone, Sei Sek, is gone.”

  The legend was true? There was a fourth?

  “And if it is not found and returned to the hellfires of Feng Du to sit upon my finger, the loss of a Ming emperor will be the least of your problems. She bit it off—ring, gemstone and all.” Yan Luo withdrew his right hand from his sleeve, and displayed what used to be a forefinger and was now merely a stump. “She is a fox after all.”

  With razor-sharp teeth, Master Yun recalled. Jasmine in her fox form almost tore out his throat, once. But this is not the work of Jasmine, is it?

  “It is not,” Yan Luo said, reading his mind. “You know whose work this is for it was you who allowed her to escape. Hers was not a soul punishable by the Ten Courts. A fox demon has no soul and so a bout of slicing or frying would have no effect. I sentenced her to eternity on Peng Lai. And I think you’re aware that my jail was breached.”

  Together, the fox faeries were a formidable pair. No longer would they need the child Peng to hold the center of the Magic Circle. That was why Jasmine, the mother, had allowed her abduction. She had other plans, plans that included the springing of Dahlia and the theft of the Bloodstone of Hell. A feeling of horror overwhelmed Master Yun, for he was her enabler.

  “What can I do?” Master Yun implored.

  “Only one thing can restore the natural balance and allow things to run their true course. Return the Bloodstone to me. Bring me the teeth of those two wretched foxes. For my part, I cannot interfere. Once judged, a man is condemned to his punishment. But you can save your emperor from his torment—if you can find him.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  The Court of Climbing knives

  Yan Luo walked to the far end of his earthen chamber where a silver mirror stood as tall as a man and twice as wide. The frame was of stone, engraved with characters and pictures, scenes Master Yun recognized as depicting the tortures of Hell. “Before you go. Would you like to see your own fate, Master Yun?”

  So, this was the legendary and highly feared Mirror of Retribution. Every detail of a person’s life, every act of good or evil was reflected back at the viewer, and every thought, virtuous or nasty, was replayed for retrospection. Only the truly righteous were permitted access to the Golden Bridge which led straight to eternal paradise—a one-way trip that almost none were privileged to take. All others must repent in the Courts of Hell until their sins were fully redressed, whereupon they were born again into a new life to try again, whether that of a noble or a slug depended upon the extent of worldly crimes committed in past lives. For the truly heinous, the tortures could last an eternity.

  “If you don’t mind,” Master Yun said. “I would rather not.”

  “As you like. But remember, with the theft of the Bloodstone all that is—or should be—has changed.” Yan Luo returned to his seat at the high-topped desk and beast-faced Yaoquai, who served as his assistants surrounded him. When next Master Yun looked, the Hell Master and his entire chamber and entourage vanished in a cloud of steam.

  All around him had turned black. He had detected no doors while the chamber was lit. Strangely, even when he entered the Hell Master’s chamber, he recalled no doorway. I was in the Hell Mouth of the mountain battling its impending flames, and then in the Supreme Court of Judgement. And now? Now, I am…where? There was a reason only the mirror remained. Master Yun stared at the silver reflection, wondering how he could see a reflection at all, as there was no light, and yet the glass shivered and glowed with an inner illumination. The characters encircling the stone frame gleamed red. What was he supposed to do?

  The glyph depicting the Court of Incendiaries lit up like a yellow lantern at Master Yun’s touch. The mirror before his eyes wavered, seemed to turn to murky liquid, then cleared to reveal a naked man running in circles, screaming while fireballs chased him and flames poured in a river at his feet. No, this was not Tongtian, and Master Yun had no desire to test his powers against fire again. Nor did he have any wish to witness any tortures needlessly. Emperor Tongtian had died by hanging. But that certainly was not his worst crime. He had ordered Grand Secretary Ju Jong fried to death, had executed his wife, Empress Ling She, before ordering her remains burned to a crisp. He had also decreed the beheading of his own daughter Lotus Lily, Master Yun’s beloved granddaughter—who fortunately escaped. Still, Master Yun was not here to judge.

  A finger to the symbol depicting the Court of climbing Knives burst the glowing red glyph into brilliant yellow. The image in the mirror scintillated, then cleared to expose the Son of Heaven covered in knife wounds as he was propelled upward, by no will of his own, along the trunk and branches of a massive tree, spiked at intervals by razor-sharp, gleaming, steel daggers. Blood ran down his flabby white flesh, the slices made by the knives creating wounds that should have festered long ago. But no one in Hell was allowed respite once their torture commenced, and they must proceed until the torment ended according to the pre-set times.

  Now what? Master Yun thought. Do I just step through the mirror? The warlock shrugged. How else? He placed one booted foot forward, and to his utmost surprise saw that it entered a realm at the other side of the mirror. Master Yun ducked and walked through, and found himself at the base of the tree of knives. No one else climbed the tree, though behind an iron-barred door a queue of naked men and women waited their turn.

  It was a stark court. Blood dripped from the tree onto a pale sand-coloured floor. Around the lower section of the bole an unlikely tangle of purple ivy decorated the smooth white bark. By the thick roots, buckets collected the blood to keep the ground from becoming too messy. Master Yun studied the agony of the Emperor, pondered the dilemma. How to get him out of the tree without having to climb it himself, and without requiring that His Majesty climb down and slice himself further?

  A windblast would be too dangerous. A torrent of water to wash him down, perhaps? A tremor to cause an earthquake, a magma surge? No. That would risk incinerating him. He could draw on the forces of water and earth, and create a pool of quicksand at the base of the tree, causing it to sink to a level where he could reach out and rescue him.

  Master Yun summoned the powers of the Quicksand. Deep in the earth groundwater answered his call, flowed up through the rock and soil, seeping into the sand-coloured floor, churning, and upsetting the buckets of blood, mixing with sand into a pink lather.

  The tree of knives began to sink, and to Master Yun’s horror, it tipped, sending the bleeding emperor chest down onto a crown of knives. One flick of his wrist and the warlock engaged the powers of the Tanglevine, drawing on the ivy that laced the tree’s bole, strengthening and lengthening and thickening the tendrils as they circled the Emperor’s waist, hoisting him just before his flesh met knife again, and lowered him into Master Yun’s arms.

  Gore bloodied Master Yun’s robes, but at least His Majesty was freed. He seemed unconscious, although he was breathing and his eyes were open. Then he found his feet and headed for the tree again. The will of the Hell Master must be great indeed, when the condemned insisted on completing the punishment despite a valiant rescue.

  �
��Majesty,” Master Yun shouted. “Wake up. Your torment is over. You have been bestowed a second chance. Let go of the tree.” The tree was beginning to rise and the ground at its roots to harden. Master Yun’s magic was temporary. “We must leave this place. Let me see to your wounds.”

  Astonishingly, as soon as the Emperor left the tree, the wounds began to vanish. Although the torment was real, the effects of it weren’t permanent. Otherwise, how could a soul survive the repeated slicing and gouging, frying and burning? He knew, too, that somewhere in this labyrinth of courts, there was a machine that ground men to a pulp. Somehow they survived it to move on to the next torture. His Majesty’s eyes remained glazed. There came a howling and hooting from the iron door where the next victims awaited their punishment.

  “Come, we must leave this place.”

  His Majesty followed like a hopping corpse, and Master Yun walked, but had no idea how to exit. There were no doors. And the Mirror of Retribution had vanished.

  “Oh my. We are in a fix,” Master Yun mumbled. He was tired of looking at the Emperor’s sloppy, fishbellied form; and besides, it was undignified to be paraded about naked. He removed the royal garments from beneath his robe, and dressed His Majesty in the blue silk tunic and red trousers.

  %%%

  He Zhu slid from the gelding’s back and landed on the ground. Strange stone columns spiked the landscape like a dead forest. The sand beneath his steed’s hooves was as rust-coloured as the columns. The late afternoon sun scored his vision. This sun, a brilliant white, was so unlike the red ball of the south. Sweat dripped from his brow, stinging his eyes. He raised his helmet and smeared a hand to a row of engraved Mongol characters. Queer. He had never seen anything like these columns before, and had no time to study the writing further. The silence of the wind and the stillness of the dust sent a shiver along his spine. He remounted. His right hand went to his side to feel the hardness of bronze, but he felt only the light steel of his sabre. “Yah!” he shouted, and man and horse catapulted into the sun.