Bridge Across the Land

by Yvonne Wang

  Forthwith a major change! A horse races up behind her and with a whoosh, she gets picked up by the waist and hoisted onto a spot in front of the saddle.

  “Ah—” Angela screams helplessly. With her torso half-stuck in midair, she struggles to twist her body and sees Wonbayer! He grits his teeth viciously and speaks a few lines of Mongolian to her. The stallion flees like lightening northward, stomping along the riverside and stepping over mud. Angela is in a lot pain being pressed brutally; bumping along in shock and attempting to beat back, she is trying to pull the muscular man.

  Tianyin is dressing himself by the water and fastening his collar with a shirt string when he becomes alert and hears imminent danger. With a twist and a whoosh over the ground, he glances to see Kyrigu running towards him in a hurry, exploding in a loud voice, “Oh no—Wonbayer chased all the horses away as he took the horses to imbibe!”

  Tianyin and Hesig peer at the shore of the river. No one Mongolian stallion is left and Wonbayer takes Angela away on a fast horse, the shadows of their backs gradually moving into the distance.

  “Hum.” Tianyin leaves the river in long strides. He ties his belt tight and decisively commands, “Hesig, go chase after our horses. Kyrigu, bring your bow and arrows and come with me!”

  He and the young man run quickly, seeing the steep incline of the hill, they get to the top to view. Wonbayer presses Angela into his embrace. His body leaning forward while his shirt flapping. The horsetail is flying as they attempt to escape in a mad rush. Tianyin’s face is green and enraged, as chilly as bitter winter. He orders Kyrigu, “Shoot him dead.”

  The young man frowns as he sets the arrow to bow. Having pulled the string of the bow halfway and turned his head hesitatingly, his translucent eyes looking up, “Shoot him . . . . dead?”

  Tianyin glares at him rigorously and exclaims, “What is the matter? Do you want him to survive and report to Baidar? Hurry!”

  “Oh . . .” Kyrigu struggles to breath, swallows his words and licks his lips. He looks longingly at Wonbayer who used to do battle alongside him. He hesitatingly pulls the bow but could not and delays. His shoulders are sore and his arms are tender. It is as if there are two deers in battle in his chest; they are butting antlers and fighting as they hop about; he aims his arrow at the spleen, heart, neck . . . . No, all are critical areas, if on target he will . . . .

  The other party is riding farther and farther away. Kyrigu had to decide promptly. He forces himself and calculates beforehand the distance of the horse moves sideways; he squints and ferociously assumes spite for the time being. His sharp eyes aim with precision and with a pop, he lets go of his fingers on the bow all of a sudden, the arrow flies.

  On horseback, Angela is prostrated diagonally while screaming and crying, constantly beating and kicking too. Her grayish hair comes loose. She unanticipatedly grabs the back of Wonbayer, twisting and hitting vigorously. In his trying to steer the rein and this little spat, he loses some of his balance and leans. The young woman wheels her fists haphazardly so that Wonbayer is at time sitting crooked. With a muffled plop in an instant, the fast arrow arrives violently, ripping his skin and piercing his flesh; it only reaches the posterior side of the rib, though a red flow and pain seize him.

  Wonbayer grins and groans. Angela takes advantage of his defenselessness during intense pain and keeps bashing the back of his head with her elbow. He immediately faints and cowers over the horse. Before she can breathe evenly, she looks back in a panic. She sees Kyrigu and Tianyin rushing toward her. She thinks of his wish to kill and rushes to snatch the whip, lashing the horse rump continuously. The horse is startled and out of control, charging madly, it carries her forward on a harried escape.

  Once the strong-willed horse selects a direction freely, it heads into a dense forest with branches that criss-cross and onto a narrow, crooked and winding path. The horse soon disappears. The buds are shooting at the start of spring and the bald branches are just growing tender leaves; verdant layers stretch while trunks stand close. Tianyin and Kyrigu chase after them. Though they are already perspiring and panting, they see no horse. They have to hang on as they walk on crooked paths, it is difficult to speed up. As they search and run for a long time, they go in deeper. By the time they realize it, it is already sunset. And in the afternoon the air is cool.

  “Big Brother Tianyin, we cannot seem to find them . . . .” Kyrigu holds his bow; utterly exhausted from the run, he vents. Tianyin studies carefully and reads everything in detail. His eyes like blades, he says at once, “Over there!”

  The young man is dazed. About a hundred steps away he could roughly see a horsetail with a reflecting silver light. He immediately becomes invigorated and follows up.

  The two rush closer like monkeys and see the horse is relaxing and trotting ahead. It is carrying the collapsed Wonbayer on its back, whereas—she is not on horseback!

  “Where is the princess?” Kyrigu hollered as he bathes in sweat, stopping all of a sudden.

  “She must not be far.” Tianyin looks about the forest. His iron face is steady and calm; he cautiously considers then says determinedly, “I will go find her. You have the arrows, keep chasing after Wonbayer. Remember, you must shoot him dead.”

  “Oh.” The young man squeezes his bow and nod, going after the horse.

  Where the roots are knotted and the path is difficult, space in the forest becomes narrow and hushed. No one controls the horse that leisurely and slowly amble with its lazy hooves. It lifts its head to see the sun and lowers its head to search for grass. It begins to saunter with a clickety-clack around the woods. Wonbayer, with face-down, wakes up in a blur and sees the sparse bushes and dingy soil. He feels scorched and thirsty. An arrow in his rib paralyzes him as his breathing rises and falls. Suddenly he hears heaving approach rapidly—someone is walking through the trees and rushing forth. He does not dare to move, so he pretends to be faint.

  Kyrigu is on guard with his arrows ready to be discharged. He tiptoes over carefully, pacing back and forth and examines. He sees that Wonbayer’s shirt is hardened by the blood stain, the feather of the unleashed arrow points to the sky like a stone tablet. Circumambulating and inspecting, he is confused over the cause of death. Nervously examining for a sustained amount of time, he could not help but unshackle the bow negligently. Kyrigu sticks his face close to check on Wonbayer’s green complexion and mumbles, “Strange, could he be dead already?”

  As soon as he speaks, Wonbayer flaps up like a sparrow hawk and assaults him sneakily. His feet hooking him and his hands clawing him, Wonbayer encircles Kyrigu’s head and violently gives it a twist—the young man is shocked. Fortunately he has an agile reflex; he bounces off the ground by the force of his assailant and twirls. That’s how he survived. However, the opponent unanticipatedly hops like an avalanche beating down on him heavily. Kyrigu only feels ringing in his ears; his head seems to be splitting and his bones seem to be cracking. In a quick few moment, he loses consciousness.

  Wonbayer still has his lengthened arrows on his back. He bears the pain and stands up ferociously. He pulls out a sharp arrow in the other man’s quiver and raises his arm and is about to lacerate Kyrigu’s neck—when he stops halfway abruptly, panting heavily. He knows that the young man’s archery skills are extremely precise, had he not been mindful of their relationship and relaxed his aim, Wonbayer would have been a carcass long ago.

  “A life in return.” Wonbayer throws the arrow down next to the young man and steps onto the horse, saying, “If you want to live, hurry up and leave that Tianyin.” He grabs the rein, clicks his heels and urges the horse to dart far away. They disappear into the forest in the west, leaving only Kyrigu lying in the bushes passed out.

  The thick dusk grows old slowly, the shadows of the trees criss-cross, and the white hot light at the edge of the clouds is like molten gold.

  Shaken and helter-skelter, Angela falls
and crashes; crawling and running, her breathing is short and her heart beats like mad. Frightened, her dry mouth keeps swallowing. Looking back and forth, she is afraid that her plan of leaving the horse to attract the enemy has already failed. She feels as if a leopard or a scorpion is behind her. She has already run so that her throat is bitter and her blood boils; she has to hang on to a tree and recover.

  Just as she is drenched in sweat and utterly exhausted, she suddenly feels something strange and shoots a look behind. Forthwith, her hair stand on end—Tianyin is posed behind her like a fierce spirit of death! She howls in horror and tries to run for her life again. But she is continually staggering and tripped by the roots of the trees; twisting her ankle, an acute pain spreads.

  Tianyin steps forward and clamps down on her forearm in a deadlock. Angela struggles madly sitting on the ground, dragging and wanting to go. She is kicking and defending, squashing mud and pulling grass, evading every step of the way; but the other person is as strong as a rock. His large palm holds her tight so that no matter how she exerts herself frantically she cannot pull out her arm.

  Recaptured, she will die for sure. Angela grieves helplessly, gradually her frightful shrieks turn into a sob. Eyes red and tears brimming over, she twists and grasps disconcertedly, choking on compunction. Unawares, like someone insane, she pulls out her Mongolian knife from her skirt, the silver tip shines as she raises it high. She is about to chop her silky and snowy wrist! Tianyin had to swivel his arm and sneak in from the right. With his other hand diving into the air, he knocks aside the knife to prevent the savage act. Tianyin lifts his arm to drag her up and sees that she is already dripping tears. Angela’s foot injury makes her unsteady. She is desperate and overwrought. They are very close so she keeps hammering his chest and abdomen with her other hand. Seeing that he is unresponsive, she violently smashes into his shoulder wound. She only stops languidly when she hears Tianyin grunting in pain.

  She wants to return to Krakow and live the life of an average woman. She does not want to be a witch. She does not want to be a princess. She definitely does not want to be a captive! After her adoptive father left, she has been alone and on her own. She thinks that she is fearless but today . . . she really cannot handle it. Really, Father, do you hear me . . .

  Angela has been strong for such a long time, but she finally collapses. Her fist is still on Tianyin’s shoulder when she bursts into tears. She cries and gasps nonstop in heartbroken shrills and in the midst of one wave of wretchedness after another. Tianyin is startled and gradually releases the clench over her hand. He does not know what to do.

  In a fit of sadness, her limbs go limp and she progressively paralyzes into a kneeling position. Tianyin also lowers himself, holding on to her arms. Seeing drops of tears roll down her face, he cannot help but feel a tug at his heart. Her sobs sound tragic and her melancholy cuts like a knife, filling the earth with her every teardrop. The young woman’s shoulders shake and her hair is blowing in the wind; she is drained of her energy as she weeps.

  Tianyin gazes at her and quietly raises his hand. Little by little, he pulls her into his embrace, lightly stroking her and comforting her.

  It is really stupid of me to do this. Who else brings her misery? And yet who else at this moment can comfort her?

  Angela does not resist but sobs continuously. Leaning on his chest and clinging, she weeps sorrowfully. She protests about her disasters to someone who brought her the disasters. She keeps pouring forth her despondency so that tears stain his white shirt. She cannot stop for an extended period of time.

  In an orange twilight cast into the forest and rays of light sprinkled across the sky, there are reflections of a pair facing each other and kneeling. Gold seeps through the cracks of the woods and warmth comes late. The valley sun is weary, gentle and round, sitting overhead in a blaze. The clouds burn and heat up earth as colorful floating effulgence pervade.

  The light dims and the scarlet sky leaves that final rosy halo in the back of the mountain as the circular disc of the sun plummets completely. Angela had just sprained her foot, so she has to let Tianyin carry her back. The path through the forest is under a diffuse glow; the trees look like they are wearing yarns of twilight; the whole scene seems entirely magical.

  Without a word, he clutches the back of her knees with his two hands and advances in big steps. Angela’s tears remain. Lying on his back, she sees his thick neck and black hair and feels the rising and falling of his steady breaths. She circles his neck and shoulder with her hands and inadvertently touches the bandage, feeling the moisture infiltrating his clothes, the sticky liquid seems to be dry just now. She knows that she had beaten Tianyin so that his old wound split open again; she feels uneasy.

  She suddenly peeps at his front side but cannot see his face, so she tilts her head and leans her ear over to listen to his powerful heartbeat. Her cheek next to the warmth of his body, she actually feels calm over time with an indescribable sweetness. A strange emotion is unfolding.

  What kind of feeling is this? It is hate and it is love.

  Really, so much hate and so much love.

  For a long time, Angela beholds the horizon, the apricot dusk growing dimmer. She raises her eyelashes to look at Tianyin. Breathing evenly and in a flat tone, she whispers into his ear these Chinese words, “You . . . . Why must you kill me . . . ?”

  Tianyin is shocked all of a sudden. He is on his feet and at a standstill, tense and not breathing; the air seems to freeze between the awkwardness of these two individuals. Once his surprise flashes by, it occurs to him that he has no alternative. He laments mournfully. The young woman sees Tianyin has his eyes downcast. He has been standing rigidly continuously; mute, his eyes suppresses the flow of his emotions.

  Thereafter, he keeps walking in stride.

  Earlier there were no words; now there is nothing to say.

  The two walk out of the dense forest. The night has fallen and they hear the whining of horses ahead. Hesig is riding one and pulling two. He is running and searching hard. When he sees Tianyin, he lets out a breath, hollering and rushing close, he says in Mongolian, “Found you! I brought back all the horses, losing only a few minor things. But,” he points at the weak Kyrigu on the saddle who tries to force himself up but is feeble, limp in the neck and blurry-eyed, nearly unconscious. Hesig says, “The little guy was ambushed by Wonbayer. He says that Wonbayer has run away!”

  “Ran away?” Tianyin’s arctic eyes turn barbarous in short order. Exasperated, he stares at Kyrigu then sweeps with his eyes all around. He thinks and calculates, saying bitterly, “He must be heading to Krakow to find Baidar, snitching about us so that he may live.”

  “Then he went toward the southwest. Should we go after him?” Hesig controls the stallions by pulling back the harnesses and asked.

  Tianyin pushes Angela onto the horse and turns around. He says, “Too late, we cannot get too close to Baidar over this.” He frowns and grits his teeth, reasoning a while and says, “We will have to go quickly. Before the soldiers come after us, find Ahling and give her the Mongolian knife; switch the two girls. That way even if we die, Ahling can be taken back as the princess.”

  “Alright. Hopefully Wonbayer is serious hurt halfway along and cannot find Baidar.” Hesig prays, “If we are fast enough, perhaps we can all escape.”

  Tianyin nods and is about to get on the horse. He turns to examine Kyrigu; he see him collapsed on the horse, face pale and bones like cotton, half lying with eyes weary. He walks over to the head of the horse and asks the boy sharply, “Can you ride on your own?”

  The team leader’s unexpected inquiry flatters Kyrigu. He stammers, “Um, I am fine . . .” He thinks how his shortsighted kindness invited upon everyone the threat of murder; he cannot help but be extremely guilty. He buries his head and swallows his tears. Sniffling, he turns his head and dares not look directly at Tianyin. Apologetic, h
e shivers and says, “I am sorry . . .”

  Tianyin does not respond but just shuts his thin lips tight. His eyes contemplate afar while he thinks like a well. He silently stares at Kyrigu for a while then immediately ambles back and mounts the horse. He then warns the old man coldly in Mongolian, “Hesig, this girl knows Chinese. Be careful in the future.” Before the other person responds, he already commands in an icy voice, “Let’s go.”

  The three horses begin their journey one after another. In the nightfall, shadows of the mustangs hasten; they seem to be clacking along broken mirrors as the frigid wind blows.

  Fuzzy rain pours, whirling and spraying so that the earth is permeated in a fog, leaving one wondering where is home. The Polish royalty’s train of carriages has escaped west that night. The wheels churn as dawn ascends in the valley while white mist evaporates. The fibers of moisture are blurry, dews stay on the tips of grass and the hairs on horses are cool and wet.

  Fine droplets of water are on Alexander’s face as he looks out the window. He sees how forsaken the war-torn fields are on the sides of the roads, weeds growing on their own. Each scene flies backwards. The sprouts of harvests die an early death and the smolder in a distance village is extinguished. Citizens dispersed and soldiers lifeless, voluminous rain drops far-off fall while his eyes are like dry wells. He sadly leans against the window; his childlike face dumb as condensation of mist rushes toward him. The carriage shakes and bumps but he seems not to notice.

  Inside the carriage is decorated with red velvet, warm, narrow and comfortable. Anthony sees how sad he is, he opens up the snack wrapped in cloth, presenting it and encouraging him, “Your Highness, eat something.”

  Alexander is still as morose as ash and drained, he reclines against the wall of the carriage cheerlessly and views the deserted country sorrowfully. His deep green eyes seem dreary and colorless.