by Yvonne Wang
Yvonne Wang
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©
Copyright 2012 Yvonne Wang.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.
isbn: 978-1-4669-1793-4 (sc)
isbn: 978-1-4669-1794-1 (hc)
isbn: 978-1-4669-1795-8 (e)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2012904013
Trafford rev. 07/11/2012
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Contents
Preface
Act One
Bridge Across the Land
Act Two
Bridge Across the Land
Act Three
Bridge Across the Land
Act Four
Bridge Across the Land
Act Five
Bridge Across the Land
Act Six
Bridge Across the Land
Act Seven
Bridge Across the Land
Act Seven And A Half
Bridge Across the Land
Endnotes
Preface
What would our world be like today if the Mongols never invaded Europe or conquered the entire Eurasia continent?
Then our world would look much different today.
This novel is not about historical details, but about our common nature and self-reflections as humans. It is a debate about the concepts of war, mission and love. Even in a modern society, the same globalization and awakenings happens every day.
1. A Significant War and a Significant Mystery
The Mongol invasion of Europe, or the Second Western Expansion of Mongolia, was a global event affecting dozens of countries and their cultures by establishing the foundation for future industrialization. Mongols introduced gunpowder, printing, and the compass to Europe. However, the invasion also threatened European civilization with about half of the population killed and many churches burned.
If the expansion continued, perhaps the world history would have been greatly altered. However, somehow Europe magically survived. In the chilly winter of 1241, the Great Khan Ögedei died in the Mongolian capital Karakorum, and all Mongolian princes who were fighting in the West retreated home to contend for power. The German Principalities, together with England and France, all braced themselves for a Mongol invasion, but they never saw the Mongols coming back.
There are countless studies on this short period of history, but few investigated the key trigger: the death of Ögedei. A popular statement is that he had drunk too much wine that night. To me this claim is not persuasive since no modern physician can examine his body and confirm the lethal factor. Deaths in royal families are usually not as simple. I am not a historian, but I would like to build my story upon this mysterious and significant death: maybe he was assassinated.
2. A Thoughtful Fiction and a Thoughtful Reality
The story begins in 1241 AD, when the Mongols invaded Europe and brought the first-time culture collision between the West and the Far East. A team of cavalry scouts, with different backgrounds and motives, decided to assassinate the Great Khan of Mongolia. To execute their plan, they capitalized on the opportunity of escorting the Mongolian Princess back to Mongolia, while the Princess grows up in Poland without knowing her identity before.
The story involves the assassins, the mix-blood Mongolian princess and the prince of Poland. As their paths merge, they discover each other’s underlining identities. They struggle, hesitate, and grow in the cruel battlefields full of neigh, sword and fire. After spilling blood and shedding tears, they start to reconsider their missions. Are nationalities important enough to make people sacrifice their God-given lives? What is the truth of altruistic patriotism? Does justice conflict with conscience? What is the most precious pursuit in life? They fight not only with the outer surroundings, but also with their own souls.
In the end after the assassination, Mongols retreat from Europe and never come back. Those few characters unconsciously change the flow of the world history. They show us how little details have the power to alter the final outcome; they demonstrate the thoughts of self-discovery and self-reflection. These thoughts are the roads leading to liberty, philanthropism, and equality. This is a story of love and responsibility, of the dialectic philosophy between individuals and the collective, which is a long-lasting struggle in all mankind.
In discussing of self-discovery, perhaps individualism is already an old concept in the West, but in China, where I grew up, the awakening had just begun. Although the novel has only two major Chinese characters, I wrote it as an allegory for current social movement in China. Under the influence of Internet, commercialization and Western thoughts, the current generation in contemporary China no longer trust collective instructions of patriotism, obedience and contribution. Instead, we want to be honest with our souls and develop a unique sense of self. Multidimensional value in young people’s heart heads and minds lead to doubts about traditions and the pursuit of freedom.
This is the conflict, or awakening, I was referring to, whereas the mainstream emphasizes the power of unity, and the anti-collectivism ideology emerges. The assassins in the novel face the same dilemma when they have to choose between their emotions and the mission. War is collective, but death and love are personal. Should they go with their beliefs, or should they listen to their hearts? The characters in this novel are representatives of this awakening of individualism. They are like shooting stars lighting the ancient continent.
3. An Inspired Journey and an Inspired Work
In 2007, I came to the U.S. to receive, in my opinion, the best education in Finance. The experience of living aboard alone was more difficult than I imaged. Like many others, I was challenged by the cultural differences. I could not understand friends’ jokes, struggled in the English writing class, and was not used to American food. The Chinese and American cultures collided in my heart violently. One day, in January 2008, I stood in the Boston University dining hall, and felt I wanted to write a story about this type cultural collision between multidimensional values.
This is how Throughout the Continent was born. The journey to the U.S. inspired me, and with the novel’s progression the story inspired me more. I did abundant research on the history of the Mongol invasion of Europe, but I never felt I had read enough. The characters gradually came to life, and they accompanied me throughout my first two years of college life. Whenever I was standing in the bus, sitting in the metro, or walking in the snow, I thought of the plot. I would say those are among my happiest memories.
I wrote the script in Chinese because I wanted to deliver my feelings preciously with literary descriptions and my versatile vocabulary. I also extensively depicted martial art movements in detail using my knowledge of Kung Fu to make the fighting scenes more vivid. When it comes to publishing, I was lucky to have Linda as my translator. With her educational background in both US and Taiwan, she is a master of both languages. For a whole year we sent scripts back and forth and made countless edits. Eventually the novel was fully translated and ready to be shown to the whole world. However, as for the preface, I chose to write in English m
yself as a channel to communicate with my readers directly.
The purpose of studying history is to enlighten our future. Unfortunately most of the time we only depend on the government or the media, both of whom cannot avoid having editorializing, to teach us history. My story is fictional, but I believe discovering the lessons from the past is a job in which everyone can participate. As I experienced the transition of thoughts in China and also the cultural collision in America, I wanted to explore how our ancestors faced the same problems. By looking into the past, each of us will have our own interpretation and association.
Thousands of years is a short period of time, and it is surprising how little mankind has changed. We are as greedy, as ruthless, as brave, as affectionate, and as lost as ever. However, knowing these traits is enough for us to make a grand awakening. By studying ourselves, we are eligible to study the world.
Thirteenth century A.D., the Mongol Empire led by Genghis Khan began to expand its hegemony. The Mongols occupied nearly 70 countries and conquered close to 600 million people, becoming a proud clan. Intrepid audacity was pervasive throughout East Asia, North Asia and the Middle East as a result of their sweeping victories. Eventually, they will attack Europe that is connected to Asia, striving to become the largest country on map in human history.
This is where history was altered . . .
Act One
Bridge Across the Land
Act One
1241 A.D., Krakow, the capital of Poland.
“Ivan, Ivan . . . God, ah—” Valerie caresses her son’s sweaty forehead as she anxiously crouch down next to the bed. She is nervous and impatient throughout this restless night. The candle is dim and the air is stuffy, the narrow room is packed with relatives and friends. They look to the unconscious six-year-old boy lying level to the mat. Fingers interlinked, they pray piously. Ivan’s face and arms are full of sores with pus, stings by venomous bees. The swelling is expanding willfully while he twitches uncontrollably. On his collar bones is a prescription written and left by a priest: “In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen!” A string of characters that become deformed with the rise and fall of his difficult breathing.
“Pardon me, let me try!” From outside the door, a teenage girl squeezed in. A tan brunette, young and pretty, with a frown and pursed lips. Dressed in an old shirt and a dirty skirt, she has a cloth bag slinging across one shoulder. The most horrifying thing though is her eyes—one is as blue as a celestial lake while the other is as dark as the night. Quite a few people are terrified enough to take half a step back and wonder if she is a witch.
“Angela, what do you want?” Valerie watches her approach and stands in front of Ivan to protect him.
“Get out of the way otherwise little Ivan will die!” Angela digs out a dagger with a refined sheath and an expensive handle engraved with symbols no one recognizes. She pulls out the shiny blade and swings it, roasting the tip of the machete over the candle.
“What are you talking about? Father came, God will bless Ivan!” Valerie argues, every syllable succinct and sonorous. Several people immediately rush forward, wanting to drag Angela away.
Unexpectedly, the young woman whips the knife toward the crowd, threatening them fiercely, “Don’t anyone come over!!”
She spins across the floor and reaches the bed. With lightning speed, she picks out the poisonous needles remaining in his skin with the tip of her scalpel one by one. She leans forward, sucks and spits out the venomous blood. With blood tainting her mouth and jaws, she looks incredibly scary. A little while later, Angela takes out some herbs, again from her satchel. She chews it until it becomes a paste with which she dabs Ivan’s wounds. . . .
Her eyes, blue on the right and black on the left, are focused, stubborn and serious.
The mild mist leaves dawn’s effulgence in a haze. The sleeping city is just starting to wake up. The tender and green shoots of grass along the streets nod and drip clear and cool dewdrops. The brick path is still as mice scurry about lightly while flaring their pink noses. Morning sparrows and domestic pigeons block half of the sun while they lie on the roof of the bell tower, observing languidly and whispering. Shadows from the stone wall and the sharp steeple melt into the first ray of sun. The tall church stands out among hundreds of houses; with light reflecting on the lattice windows, it seems secretive, holy and mysterious.
Inside the Bender Bakery, the enticing scent of baked bread and cheese lure and waft. The shop may be small but its reputation has spread far and wide. Morning guests flow in. Milk bread, onion bread, sesame donut and egg cake are always the best sellers. By afternoon, it will be graham roll, cheese cake and rye bread’s turn.
The production of baked goods that begin at faint sunrise finally comes to an end, Angela strips off her two sleeve protectors covered with flour and collapses due to fatigue; With a tired and aching back, she sits on the wooden barrel next to the reception. This 17-year-old is alone in a daze.
“Angela!” The boss hollered, “Do you have to sit here? Your eyes will scare the guests. Don’t you have a date today?”
Angela’s inherently two-colored, molten and delicate eyes look up at her, “Oh.” Her face is still somewhat solemn, but an undercurrent of delight surged forth. She tosses her dark brown waterfall-like hair and said, “Then I am going!” As she finished, she lifted up her skirt, clanging up the wooden steps, then she stops to turn around and ask, “Oh yeah, is your little Ivan better?”
The boss places a stick of French bread into a bag and said, “Better. He has never slept better.” There is no gratitude; in fact, only hostility. Angela does not let it bother her, “That’s good.” She slips upstairs when she finished talking.
The curved arch of the stone bridge creates a circle in the water’s reflection. The slightly cool breeze blows ripples set against the light of dawn. Images of surrounding architecture and people never seem to cease. From a long ways away, Angela saw the young man who has been waiting for an extended period of time on the bridge. She shouts, “Alexander—”
She rushes closer but he continues to have his back to her. He stiffens his spine and seems to feign deafness. Angela beams a gorgeously ethereal smile and taps him on the shoulder, “Alexander?”
The young blonde has a tall nose, fair skin and elongated eyelashes. The uniform of an imperial attendant on him is crisp and handsome. Suddenly he turns, smiles brightly and hollers, “Happy birthday! Angela!”
What is this? He is holding a bouquet of flowers! Angela goes mad dizzy, overcome with happiness that is at once intoxicating. She only has eyes for how each petal has a different color, gorgeous and celebratory; the aroma of which rushes forth.
Alexander’s hazel eyes reveal sincere admiration. Bowing softly, “Angela, I dyed the colors . . . they look just like your eyes . . . in different hues . . . .” He looked at her deeply, with a wide and innocent smile.
“Oh, thank you.” Angela holds the bouquet, cherishing it with a sweetness and utmost gratefulness. He is probably the only one in the world who feels that her pair of eyes are stunning.
“Uh—” Biting his lips, the young man tips his toes and with hands behind his back, he hesitatingly emboldens himself and tries to ask, “Angela . . . May I ask you for a dance?”
The young lady lifts her head and her brows, blinking her sparkly eyes so her face is like a blossom, immediately responds, “Okay, what dance steps?”
Alexander is overjoyed and chuckles in secret delight, said: “That . . . . that one you taught me last time, the basic steps.”
“Yes!” Angela tilts her head briskly, with the bouquet in her one hand, she takes his hand with the other, “Come on!
The young man reels around and quickly holds her tight. The two then pose and hum, stomping according to the movements and tapping to keep tempo. Sometimes together and sometimes apart, they gaze while movin
g in circles. The morning light warms their cheeks and the rhythm and the river carry their beautiful reflections. Sometimes they bump into the stone fence and sometimes they go around pedestrians; they twirl and twist. Arms wrapped around each other as they tap about, they forget all that is around them. Alexander dumbly gazes at Angela’s splendid face that is delicate and ivory, amber hair that is fall-like and shiny. They moves their feet and bend their knees intoxicatingly, twisting and turning. He only feels as if the street scene and waves on water behind her all become blurry; there is only that pink face in the golden light, that pair of two-colored translucent eyes.
The hummed tune concludes, he dips and has his arm around Angela’s waist. The young lady does not respond in time; she lifts her arm and that bouquet flies out of her hand and scatters across the river.
“Oh no!” Angela quickly clings to the fence of the bridge and looks over, she only sees the branches and the flowers separating and the dyed colors of the petals smudged. The clear ripples are smeared a bloody red, slowing drifting away with the waves.
The young woman is frightened and for some reason feels a chill up her spine. All of a sudden she feels something ominous is about to happen.
The young man is shocked, scratching his head and trying to make up for things by saying, “Never mind, Angela . . . I’ll . . .”
Suddenly he sees her stubbornness and determination. She lifts up her skirt and ties it to her waist, then steps onto the stone fence. She is about to jump off! “Don’t—” Alexander plunges forward, clutches her waist, pulls her down and implores, “Oh my God, aren’t they just some flowers? I’ll dye another bunch for you another day.”
Angela pants, looking at the surface of the river then glancing at him. She is silent and does not answer. To him, those are just flowers? But to her, that is the first birthday present she has received since her dad passed away.
