by Yvonne Wang
The Mongolian army separates, uniformly and quickly searches for and ransacks wealth and food; they check on the situation and imprison slaves. In the pathways and at the foot of walls are the imprints of riding boots everywhere. Overflowing the city and circulating throughout space is a strange language.
European towers look down at the circular plaza. Baidar has on his armor. All of a sudden, he notices some hidden traces of a large pool of bloodstain on the ground. The stain seems to be from a long time ago and has been washed but cannot be cleaned. This is definitely not the result of this invasion. He lowers his head and walks along to see that these stains are like a carpet that covers the plaza. A path of escape dotted with blood heads eastward. There must have been some vicious battle here before the Mongolian army arrived: Is it a civil massacre by the Poles or are there other enemies?
Could it be that this was left behind when Tianyin and others took away the princess? A wild guess suddenly occurs to Baidar as he looks at the city. He shuts his eyes and thinks. After a while, he calls over a soldier and orders, “Lacson, go check and see if there is a young woman with one dark brown eye and one blue eye who looks like the princess among the enslaved. And check to see if there is a knife engraved with Great Khan’s name in the city.”
“Yes!” The subordinate responds and withdraw.
“General—” Swiftly, Kaidu comes over in giant strides. His eyes as bright as a tiger’s. He says, “General, would you believe it, there is actually a tombstone with Chinese text in the graveyard at the edge of the city!”
This seems odd. Baidar immediately follows Kaidu to the graveyard and sees the square characters carved vertically on the outstanding tombstone indeed. It stands out among the graves. The calligraphy strokes are upright and neat, indeed the language of the Song11.
“How come there is a tombstone with Chinese words in Poland?” Baidar keeps trying to figure it out but does not have an answer. Standing akimbo, he examines carefully and asks Kaidu, “What does it mean?
“Um—” Kaidu bents over and looks closed. One leg over the mound, he shakes his head, “I don’t know either.”
As the two talk, Lacson rushes over to report, “General! I searched the entire town and no one looks like the princess and there is no Mongolian knife that you described.”
“Um, I see.” Baidar nods his head and places his hands on his back, seemingly worried.
Kaidu’s eyes light up and waves his hand, “Lacson, come and see what these Chinese words mean?”
“Yes!” Lacson bents over and touches the tablet, tapering his narrow eyes into slits as he reads and interprets, “It reads . . . The tomb of Adopted Father Hanyuan Wang—by Daughter Angela.”
“Strange.” Kaidu furrows his brows and ponders, saying, “It looks like this adopted father is a Song Chinese while the daughter is a Pole who knows Chinese.”
“Song Chinese. There is no way that he came on his own . . . who sent him to Poland?” Baidar rubs his chin and wonders. Suddenly alarmed at this insight, “If he were to give birth to a daughter in Krakow, would she also have one eye blue and one eye dark brown?”
“Would she be confused with the princess?” Kaidu glares in a panic and yet immediately cups his jaw and considers earnestly, “But—in that case, take one away and there should be another one in the city. Maybe . . . Tianyin took both away?” Kaidu leaves the tombstone and approaches Baidar, uttering as if just waking up, “But why has he not brought anybody back to us?”
Baidar’s thick brows knit together, doubting and thinking. He asks, “Do you remember which individuals Tianyin took with him?”
“Um. He took Hesig, Wonbayer and Kyrigu. Why?”
The General lightly inhaled, considering and pacing back and forth with the Chinese tombstone behind him. “Now that I think about it, this team of people is very odd. Although Hesig uses a Mongolian name, he was Southern Song general who surrendered. Kyrigu is a pure-blooded Mongolia child but his father had been wrongly accused and tortured to death by Great Khan. That Wonbayer seems to be an orphan too, origin unknown . . . .”
“Weren’t you very trusting of Tianyin?” Kaidu looks at him in a relaxed manner, encouraging him not to worry, “They have been living with the Mongols for more than a decade, if they had wanted a mutiny, they would have made the move back when. I think it is probably because they have the princess with them and encountered some obstruction halfway that they are delayed.”
Baidar looks at Kaidu carefully with his eyes rolling and lips pursed tight, calculating repeatedly.
“Take a step back. Even if they want to rebel,” Kaidu analyzes again, “What can they do with the princess captive? Do they want the princess to help them kill off her own father when she sees Great Khan? That’s impossible. You think too much.”
“Um. That makes sense.” Baidar nods slowly and releases his worried brows. The two ogle the tombstone, browsing repeatedly; they forget the earlier matter for the time being.
The high noon sun shines brightly overhead. The sky is clear with only a few wisps of clouds. The expanse southeast of Poland is on the eastern shore of the River San, an elongated and endless body of water originating from the north. The soil absorbs the melting snow and the earth is scented, soft and comforting. A breeze soughs through the forest and translucent waves make wrinkles. Grass along the shore is fertile from being nourished by the luster of dew. Reflections of four horses are cast in the cool splashing stream and five people pause to rest by the babbling brook that washes over them with a rhythmic calm.
Its mane swaying with the wind, the Mongolian stallion stands by the riverside sweetly, its large eyes reflect peace. Tianyin positions himself on the side, unloading things on the horse to the ground. Hesig walks along the riverside, handing him a water pouch in each hand and just filled. Seeing his apathetic look, Hesig chuckles and says, “Go and rest first. After noon we can be certain of the direction from the sun, then we can leave.”
“Yeah.” Tianyin is reticent. He fishes out two more empty and deflated water pouches from a pack. He straightens his back and sees Wonbayer who is washing his face by the river. He stops what he is doing, knits his brows and studies the back of the man—serious, thoughtful and melancholy. Hesig does not get a water pouch; he also gazes at Wonbayer and sighs in Chinese, “He has not spoken for an entire morning?”
“Perhaps I should not have added him at the outset.” Tianyin throws empty pouches at the old man, turning and leaving angrily.
On the other side, Angela sits far away beneath the tree and looks around at the fine scenery. She peers wearily, as silent as a well. On a small fire five steps away, a gray goose is being roasted and licked mature by the slow flame. The fine smoke is hard to detect. Excited, Kyrigu hunkers down and squeezes for milk beneath the horse12, the drops fill an old bowl. The young man is in an excellent mood, singing and working. His carefree song drifts into the clouds.
“Waking up in the morning, smelling the scent of that milk, I see and I see—golden rays sprinkle across the prairie. Clouds in the horizon float by in flocks, much like Mom’s cattle and sheep. A warm yurt and vast fields of green, a horse rushes into the distance with me. The flowers are fragrant, the eagles soar free, my beautiful homeland makes my heart sing—”
In a loud and clear inflection, melodic Mongolian flows forth smoothly from Kyrigu’s true heart and pure voice; the green fields and the jade sky seem to manifest like gems. Vast sweetness surface boundlessly. Angela doesn’t understand the meaning of the words but her blue and dark brown eyes blink and she listens quietly as if a moron. The blood in her body seems to respond like tides, finding it intimately familiar. Although she has a tough personality, she is nevertheless weak as an ordinary citizen. For a series of days she has been frightened and tired; her life has changed unexpectedly. She is already extremely fatigued; how can she compare with those four Mongolian r
econnaissance cavalry members who have been rolling about since young; trained and tested to possess amazing forbearance, they move more than they pause. Right now, heavenly singing relieves her. She closes her eyes and tosses aside her sadness. For a brief moment, she relaxes, calms and stretches her mind.
Shortly Kyrigu brings warm milk before her with a smile, Angela opens her eyes to receive it. She tests it carefully, sips cautiously and swallows in small gulps; she is not used to it. The young man squatting next to her is delighted, talking to himself, “How does it taste? Right, I haven’t introduced myself. I am Kyrigu. I am 16 years old. I don’t know what your name is, are you older or younger than me?”
Angela looks intently at the bowl and concentrates on drinking it, locks dabbled with milk lilted behind her ears.
“Hee hee.” Kyrigu’s laughter rings like a dazzling sunrise, uninhibited and bright-eyed, “Not a problem if you don’t understand, let me introduce the others to you.” He pats her on the shoulder and points at the riverside, glancing that way he says, “That’s Wonbayer, a straightforward and stubborn fellow. I met him only this year. That old man is Grandpa Hesig. He is Chinese. He has so many martial arts books written in Chinese at home. I don’t understand any of them. But Big Brother Tianyin learned many moves from his books. Yeah, Big Brother Tianyin is that—”
Angela follows his finger and looks, unexpectedly getting a peek of Tianyin half-kneeling along the river. His upper torso is bare, exposing old scabs on his back. One old whip wound goes from the neck to the hips, the extended vertical line is evident. Tianyin slowly removes his bandages. He wants to dab some water to wash the wound on his left shoulder that ripped during the battle. His straightened torso slightly shaking as bloodstains splatter into the ripples. She cannot help but become more anxious the more she looks. She props herself up and stretches out her neck, looking on with worry.
Kyrigu continues to chatter on, “You may see him looking vicious all day like an iceberg, but his heart is most kind. Otherwise you would have never had the opportunity to stab him.” The young man’s feet are sore and back tired; he lets out one deep breath and figures that he might as well sit on the ground and keep talking, “Hey, I feel that everyone is very happy together.” His pleasant countenance atrophies as he lowers his lashes and purses his lips together. He pours his heart out to someone next to him who never understands, “What is the use of living for 50 years doing things you don’t enjoy? Might as well live heartily for 16 years . . . wouldn’t you say?”
He turns around to peer at Angela and suddenly discovers that she is already completely inattentive. She is looking at the shore, restless. Without warning, she puts down her bowl of milk and shoots up and runs toward Tianyin, her skirt is blowing in the wind.
“Hello?” Kyrigu wonders out loud, looking feebleminded from behind.
Tianyin snags a wet towel. He is just about to wipe his shoulder when he hears a plopping sound behind him. Angela rushes to half-kneel before him as she pants. She viciously throws aside the arm grabbing the towel; those red marks she imprinted are slightly painful. He looks at the young woman stunned. Still that pair of clear dark and blue eyes, rebellious and heroic, she is looking at him angrily, guilt mixed with complaint.
“You . . .” He swallows half of his words upon seeing Angela’s insistent eyes and fast hands. She grabs the wet towel and Tianyin immediately defends by receding as a habit, avoiding her. And yet the young woman is firm and natural; with one hand pressing on his muscle and one finger wrapped in cloth, her focuses her eyes to cautiously wipe in detail, cleverly cleaning and changing the lesion. She removes blood without touching his wound; he dries the injury without inflaming it. Her estimate is precise; her fingers efficient, deft and adroit. The pretty face is absorbed, restrained and steady, her expert medical skills cannot be refused or evaded.
Tianyin’s face is drab and his body stiff. Tianyin holds back the self-defense mechanisms trained in many years of martial arts practice, unhappily leaving his arms on his sides. He twists his head to one side and kneels halfway down. He listens to Angela wash the cloth, clean his wound, wash the cloth and clean his wound again. The dried stains on the skin of his chest and ribs gradually become cleansed and new.
The ripples reflect light and the birds sing in hiding and in the distance. Tianyin’s iron face is stern, displeased with her unexpected actions. His feels her gentleness and softness, however, like long-lost concerns from family members. He cannot help but grow in tenderness and in attraction as he gently eyes this beauty and feels a mix of emotions.
Wiping dry the stain, she throws away the used medicine. The herbs in her bag are already depleted though; Angela searches for a while and cannot find anything. She stares forlornly elsewhere and with her gem-like eyes, she suddenly pulls out a bottle of animal bone powder. The girl smears it on his shoulder; she knows that it stings so looks inquiringly at Tianyin. The other person is looking at the river view; thin lipped and straight-nosed, he is indifferent like a block of wood. Angela rolls up the removed bandages and winds it tight around him again. She accidentally causes this injury so she must see to the end that it heals.
The two kneel facing each other intimately, arms laid bare for treating the injury; they appear to be very close. In the distance, Kyrigu has his mouth agape and a look of shock. He calls Hexigu to observe too, both eyes pop and tongues tied, thinking it a dubious sight. In a while, Hesig pokes the young man and says, “Hey, your goose!”
Kyrigu slaps his forehead and came to; he rushes off to take down the almost burnt goose. The old man chuckles as he looks. Seeing that the treatment is completed, he walks over to the right of Tianyin. Angela silently squats to wash her hands a couple of paces away. Tianyin is still in the half-kneeling position. His shoulder wound is attended to and blood is removed; the white bandage remains intact. Hesig crouches next to him and teases, “She sure takes good care of you.”
Tianyin is as unaffected as usual. Gazing at the body of water with his frosty eyes, he gets up all of a sudden and says coldly, “She is a doctor.”
These two lines of Chinese, like thunderbolts indeed! Angela goes numb instantaneously as if struck by lightning. She half opens her mouth next to the clear waves as she is deadened and suffocating. She stares straight ahead and shock rattles her heart. So not only do they speak Mongolian, they also speak Adoptive Father’s language! She squats and not daring to move, tries to hide the surprising realization. Her two hands half soaked in the cool river, she calms herself and peeks at Tianyin’s tower-like reflection. She pretends to wash slowly but secretly eavesdropping.
“Yes, she is more like a doctor than a princess.” Hesig looks up at Tianyin, “Sigh, her knife has been filed so we cannot tell if it is Great Khan’s name. Maybe she really is not the princess, what do you think?”
“Eyes with two different colors and a Mongolian knife. Do you think there could be another person in Poland?” Tianyin’s dark eyes are bleak and deep. He stands tall and says, “Mandalt also said that she looks like Great Khan. That is enough. When we get close to Karakorum, we will let Ahling imitate and disguise as her. Then she will not have much to do.”
The old man nods and understands. He then asks, “And then? Let her go . . . we might be worried?”
Tianyin remains hushed for a protracted period time. His cold eyes shadowy and mysterious like bottomless pits. With an icy air about him, he glances eerily at Angela through the reflection on the water. When the young woman’s eyes meet his, she is nervous and stands up anxiously. She wipes her hands on her skirt, turning around, swallowing and wishing to walk away; a deep and horrifying voice sounds behind her head, “Kill her.”
The words are uttered with cruelty, venom and heartlessness; a hastened and decisive judgment. Angela becomes frigid all of a sudden as fear laps up continually. Her face is pale and all at once she breaks out in a cold sweat as if having fallen into hell,
completely at a loss. She only feels that the sheen of the clouds swirl to a close and a miserable darkness tumbles forth like waterfall, burying her and drowning her completely. She has a hard time breathing as she floats down the rugged mountainside. Her delicate body shakes as she clutches onto her bag, trying to take one step at a time on the soft grass and to inch away. The sneers of ghosts in underworlds ring in her head and spirits welcome her tears; her fate is most unfortunate and her life is about to end soon and tragically.
Angela sees that on the green lawn afar, despite the rays of intense sunshine that beam into the eyes, Kyrigu is cutting the goose happily. She sways and feels unconscious; her face drops and she extremely sorrowful. She would not have guessed, that he, wants to kill her.
Three steps behind her, Tianyin stands solidly on the shore of the river frowning and looking abhorrent and harsh as usual. He looks down at the whirling eddy and the slight sway of his broken reflection. His features cannot be seen clearly as they struggle in the swirls. The image in the water is estranged and lost as it bobbles and twists.; Given the situation at hand, it is a must that she be killed. But why is it that when he makes the cruel decision, a trace of . . . pain that has long been lost ekes from his heart?
He stands by the water for a prolonged period, as silent as snow. His black eyelashes lower and his dusky eyes are toughened.
The breeze wafts and the clouds float by.
Angela drags and walks stunned, turning slowly toward a tree with no one is around. Her head is buzzing with noise and she does not want to get too close to Kyrigu. Frightened, startled, cheerless and doleful, she gradually goes off the main road. Do I want to escape? Can I escape? How do I escape?
