Bridge Across the Land

by Yvonne Wang

  His eyes, like murky wells, are complex, and he does not look away for a long time. Ambivalent emotions fight and countless thoughts swim. After a continuously period of time, he touches the strap on his right rib and undresses quietly. His finger pulls loose the hooks and he opens his shirt. He pulls his arm out of the left sleeve. His white shirt drapes diagonally from his right shoulder. He surveys elsewhere and does not glance directly at her again.

  Angela half kneels. Sharp and focused as usual, she unwrap the bandages to apply medicine, concentrating on measuring.

  Jade wheels go through thin clouds and blasting winds sweep myriad stars. The bleak night and somber wind hold a long awkward silence.

  All her fingers gradually cool as she applies and presses new animal bone powder on the wound. Pierced with pain, Tianyin tries to bear it silently by turning his face aside. Appearing serious and harsh as he thinks cautiously, his dark eyes scan and he abruptly opens his mouth to ask, “How old are you?”

  Angela is busy treating and does not bother to consider a defense, so she simply says, “Seventeen.”

  “Hum. Impossible.” Tianyin is stern and resentful; his glances cut like knives that pierce directly with a violent chill. “My father and I separated eighteen years ago. At the quickest, he could not have reached Poland until a year later, plus ten months’ of pregnancy . . . You should not be more than sixteen.”

  Angela is startled and slightly guilty, but immediately braces herself and says easily, “Dad says . . . the people of Song all use their lunar age.”

  Tianyin’s dark brown eyes are like torches. He further cross-examines her, “Where is your mother?”

  “She died when she was giving birth to me.” The young woman responds steadily and quickly.

  Tianyin deliberately and suspiciously asks again, “That is impossible. If your mother had the early signs of a difficult birth, Dad should administer acupuncture, moxa and herbs. She should have been treated since inception and nurtured by the month, I don’t believe she would die from labor.”

  Angela becomes tight-lipped momentarily and buries her head, fishing for bandages and thinking of a reason.

  Tianyin’s iron face is green; he seems entirely villainous, “Unless—she met Dad when she was about to have you.”

  “No.” Angela has a quick flash and argues back with composure, “Some herbs will not grow in Poland. When Mother gave birth to me, Dad was sequestered by the Church for interrogation under the suspicion of privately practicing medicine. A neighbor helped her with delivery.” Her words are smooth but Tianyin can feel that the hands on his shoulder are dull and frigid, even starting to perspire slightly. Her skills become slower and stiffer. Of course he could not let this pass, he asks again, “You say the Mongolian knife is someone’s payment. Why did you file off the symbols? You knew that it is a token?”

  His series of quick questions leaves no room to think. Angela bites her lips and when push comes to shove, she finally says, “I did not file that, it is that sister from those days—”

  “You think I cannot tell the difference between old and new knife cuts.” Tianyin interrupts and suddenly appears cruel.

  Angela’s heart skips a beat out of shock and is afraid that he will change his mind and her life will end. She secretly bears her guilty sweat, “No . . . . Alright.” Her blue and ebony eyes look up and she pretends to be sincere and open, “I filed it because that sister told me back then her story and I was afraid that when the Mongols attack, they will make the mistake of arresting me, so I defiled the knife.”

  Tianyin’s imperturbable and wise eyes flash and ponder her words. He makes no commitments but he does shut his mouth. The only thing remaining is his frown. He examines her up and down and cannot make up his mind. Every trace of her disquietude cannot escape his eyes, however her responses are reasonable. Tamerlane and Mandalt all said she resembles Great Khan. There is not one sign of Dad’s reflection on her face. But she knows acupressure points and medicine, familiar with the verbal instructions . . . he doesn’t know and still does not know who she is ultimately. Perhaps she is the Mongolian princess destined to die by his sword or she is the . . . little sister that Dad sent him.

  The wind rustles the trees and the night is uncaring and dark. Those who are asleep are resting and those who are awake face each other awkwardly.

  His pool-like eyes are dismal and thick, sometimes doubtful and sometimes tender. Angela regards them with guilt.

  Tianyin stops interrogating her and scans sideways at the grass nearby. The mighty chill pauses briefly and he is more placid and peaceful. Dropping his voice like a boulder, “Dad . . . How did he die?”

  Angela makes a ring with the bandage and ties it into a knot. She sadly averts her watery eyes, finally getting to tell the truth she honestly describes, “He was elderly. Poland is cold. He keeps saying that there is discomfort in his heart but he still insisted on staying up at night and recorded his past medical cases. He said he wants to leave them with me. In Poland, we cannot practice medicine openly and he does not know how to speak Polish very well, survival depended on my bakery job. I know, that for many years he was never happy . . . .”

  Leaning over the desk in the deep of the night, whenever Father thought of things that occurred on the east side of the continent and her long lost brother, he would be melancholy and at a loss. Angela finds the wistfulness and lifelessness in those ebony eyes unforgettable. She was astounded for a little while then wakes up all of a sudden. She puts Tianyin’s shirt back on his other shoulder and says softly, “Last year, he didn’t sleep in night after night, rushing to write his medical cases. The more he thought of things in the past, the more his health deteriorated. Herbs could not re-condition him . . . One day I came home from the bakery and found him sleeping, finally, on the desk, never to wake up.”

  Angela becomes depressed in mood and words. She peers at Tianyin. He is still looking somberly to the right like a statue, speechless and immobile. He only says, “Why did he go to Poland?” Angela lifts up his arm and put it through the many layers around his armpit and says slowly, “He said, in the battle between the united front of Mongolia and Song against the country of Jin17, you two separated. Later he heard that the Mongols took you. He went to Mongolia to make a living as a military physician; unfortunately before he found you, he was forced to follow the army on the westward expedition and came straight to Kievan Rus’ . . . Later because he had secretly treated enemy soldiers many times, he was framed . . . as a spy for the enemy. He was to be executed. Fortunately he escaped and kept heading west until he reached Poland. How things concluded on the part of Mongols, who knows.”

  “I know.” Tianyin’s face is frosty. He pauses for a little bit and continues, “Now I know . . . people who tried to capture him cannot report back, so they said that he escaped to the southeast and found a corpse that bears resemblance to his physique on the road where the army retreated from Russia; the face of that corpses was completely decimated.” The truth is finally out with the earlier and later parts connected. Tianyin’s sable eyes thicken with hurt, remorseful and empty. He says gently, “I tried to find him.”

  Actually Dad died in a foreign land because he was searching for me. Now that I have come to Poland, I am one step too late, just one step . . . Did Dad in heaven arrange for the encounter with Angela? What kind of fate is this? A choice in every step, harsh and thorny.

  The undulating bright moon is still overhead, so round.

  Little Sister’s fingers seem to be still on my shoulders, so cool.

  Constellations spanned across the sky glow like fire flies in the depth of the lonely and desolate night. The moon drops at this late stage of the day; still and vast forests and grass are in the faint light. The distant mountain ranges in the universe are all tainted with a deathly blue hue. Angela lies on her side wrapped in Tianyin’s overcoat to keep out the chi
lly wind, feeling warm and at peace. She breathes in his scent on the black overcoat, big watery eyes open then close, close then open. Waves of thought rise and fall, she cannot fall asleep.

  She lied and said her adoptive father was her real father, deceiving Tianyin into such unspoken concern. She considers herself evil for it. Actually, she still has in her bag hand-written scripts that Dad rushed to do when he was sick. She could fool him easily . . . but when his always stern and cold dusky eyes reveal hopelessness and sorrow, they cut into Angela’s conscience. She really cannot bear to hurt him, but can she open herself up? Become a real Mongolian princess? He would probably kill her and—kill immediately . . . .

  The mirror-like moon is hanging, the silver platter is coated with patterns of green and the shadows of clouds are misty, meandering through the horizon.

  Wonder if the Mongols have broken through Krakow and how is Alexander now? Overnight, one becomes a princess and the other a prince; And then . . . they cannot be together forever. Strangely enough, the person on her mind at the moment, does not seem to be him.

  Unanticipatedly, someone taps Angela’s shoulder. She rolls over and squints; looking up she sees Hesig sealing his lips with his finger and requesting her to stand up silently. He then lifts his energy and leads her sliding across soundlessly to a place a hundred paces away.

  Trees are sparse on this night prairie. They hide behind three tall firs. Only then did Hesig dares to relax and inhale. He peeks at the camp and whispers, “That is better. But be careful still, Tianyin’s ears are sharp.”

  “What?” Angela opens her eyes in drowsiness.

  “Ah, it is just that I . . . . want to talk to you.” Hesig scrutinizes with his back straight and two hands on his hips. His aging eyes are thick with sincerity and concern, “Um—at the time of Emperor Ningzong, Brother Hanyuan and I served the Court together . . . later he resigned from the post of the Imperial Physician and left with Tianyin. We had no contact since then. Ha, little would I have imagined that he later would have such a beautiful daughter like you.” He smiles and relaxes his brows as he admires Angela. He scratches his nose and views the tip of his boots, he gasps and grits his teeth, changing the topic he says, “Now here you have also seen how . . . . dejected Tianyin is.”

  The elder with a wrinkled forehead under the moon is weather-beaten; his sharp eyes filled with meaningfulness and his every word weighty like lead. Angela is taken by Hesig’s steadiness and cordiality. She listens carefully and considers cautiously. “Originally he intended to seek revenge but suddenly he discovers that Brother Hanyuan was not directly killed by the Mongols and you, are his younger sister . . . but this child still wishes to continue for Kyrigu and me, and for the country of Song that you speak of . . . . This is a road to death for certain and cannot revert back once on it.” Hesig’s eyes are true and expression serious, he distressingly and empathetically continues, “I can be considered an old friend of your dad. I cannot watch you two siblings . . . . sigh.”

  The old man is immediately speechless out of grief, sorrowfully banging against a tree, he shakes his head at the inquiring moon.

  Seeing how powerless, worried and guilty he is, Angela is moved and feels even more conscience-stricken.

  “Now the only thing I can do is to save you alone. Listen.” Hesig presses down on Angela’s shoulder so that she lifts her head in fright, then he says in all seriousness, “West of Karakorum is the city of Chenghai. A woman who is proficient with disguises came from Xijing. She is willing to do anything to resist Mongolia. Originally we intended for her to disguise as you, then kill you off. Next send her to assassinate Great Khan Ögedei—regardless of success or not, the several of us will never come out alive . . . .” The old man applies more pressure with his hand and full of expectations, looking at her and says, “Child, but you are different. Just be sure you make Tianyin believe that you will not be an informant and will not let anyone see your face before the assassination occurs . . . . we can let you go at the city of Chenghai.”

  Endearing words, unfeigned eyes and a billowing white beard. Hesig’s warm and large hands seem to pour forth one wave of hope after another for Angela to live. Hope continuous like melting sunrise, she is suddenly speechless at this surprising ray of light.

  All at once, a black shadow heartlessly cuts off the warm flow. Angela cannot help but shake and retreat, gasping for a mouthful of polar air—Tianyin arrives with his sword and vibrates with violence like a ghost in white. He glares viciously with his eyes, back and forth between Hesig and Angela.

  “What did you tell her!?” Tianyin questions him in Mongolian.

  Hesig blocks before Angela and stubbornly speaks in Chinese. “What I should say.”

  Tianyin’s eyes are incisive like a tiger’s; pointing at Angela, he is enraged and speaks in Mongolian, “Do you realize that if she were lying and she is really Ögedei’s daughter, what consequence exists for your complete revelation!?” His face green and his words harsh, he howls, “Originally she did not know what Ahling will do after she changes into disguise; it might have been to just find someone to watch her—but now . . . I tell you, she must die!!” His rage overwhelms like waves slapping against a cliff. His eyes shot forth determination.

  Angela does not understand anything. She only knows that it is most dangerous and scary. She hides behind Hesig.

  “Tianyin!” The old man took another step to guard and lowered his voice to exhort him, “Stop lying to yourself! Angela is your little sister, I will absolutely not let you do something that you will regret for the rest of your life!”

  “Get out of the way.” Tianyin pulls out his sword. The silver dragon is terrifying as it licks the sheath with an ear-piercing sound, supporting wishes to kill.

  “It is enough to have Ahling and that Mongolian knife; since she is already trouble, might as well kill her early and make a clean break . . . . get out of the way!” His venomous eyes are ablaze, inspecting the young woman hatefully.

  “Then get pass me first!” The old man opens his arms to stop him. He resolves not to move and frowns to advise with care, “Tianyin, your hands cannot be tainted with Angela’s blood!”

  “Ha,” Tianyin smirks in his white shirt, a sad lone man who frightens with his wickedness, “My life . . . . how much longer will it be? I am not afraid of regrets at all!”

  With fierce eyes, he suddenly leaps and the sword is out. Panic-stricken, Angela screams. She sees the old man bends from his waist all of a sudden, meeting Tianyin’s moves barehanded, stomping on his knees and trying to catch him at his elbow. Tianyin draws floral patterns from his wrist with his saber. He twirls and evades with the sword in one hand and brawls with the other. The two lock arms and attack each other. Every step is followed with another immediately; a series of moves causes a chain reaction. Hesig stabs with his elbow and smashes with his fist. Instantly too he kicks Tianyin’s sword aside. Tianyin swiftly turns his body sideways so that Hesig’s foot lands on nothing but cloth. Tianyin then quickly stomps Hesig’s knee. The old man adroitly switches into a straddle position. While he kneels one knee to evade, with both hands he entwines Tianyin’s one arm and tries to buckle down his wrist. Tianyin holds his sword close to his body while with a single whack of his hand chops mightily. With a crackle and a twist, he then goes on a counter offense like a web of vine. Up and down, the two strike at each other’s sleeves with moves the speed of tempests. Hesig plows into the earth with one movement of his leg and Tianyin raises his knee to guard by chopping down with his hand. Suddenly in a bow stance, he restrains Hesig by the throat as Tianyin’s finger point directly at his critical spot.

  Both shadows stop. Tianyin presses the foil against his arm with one hand while with his other hand pokes at Hesig’s throat. Angela’s heart cannot help but go cold when she sees this scene.

  After the battle finishes, a bizarre coolness seems to blind the e
yes. The touch on his fingers feel endearing and familiar. Tianyin is shocked at that spur of the moment. Bloodthirsty violence receded and a biting wind blows. How, how can I fight Uncle Hesig?

  Hesig pauses to catch up with his breath for a while and notices a trace of regret and guilt in Tianyin’s eyes. In a frenzy, he pushes aside the cruel hand, goes up and quickly gives him a slap in the face. Tianyin’s head turns to the side and he stands dumbfounded. The old man is trembling with anger and he scolds fiercely, “This . . . . is on behalf of your father!”

  Tianyin’s cheek burns. Shocked, his limbs are nailed to one spot. He holds the handle of his sword loosely and stares at Hesig, mute. A breath is stuck in his throat and he cannot let out a sound. The pause is difficult to survive.

  The old man becomes excited and points with his hand shaking, “I cannot beat you or stop you . . . . you are not afraid of the regret of killing her—but don’t you forget,” he reproaches him with heartfelt words, “Your dad is in heaven—watching you!!!”

  Tianyin is shocked and fear flickers in his eyes. His body frigid and his eyes tense; his thin lips quiver slightly. He locks his eyes on Hesig without knowing to move his pupils; his bones go numb.

  “Must you . . . have him watch you two siblings murder each other? Are you . . . . really outstanding that way!?” The old man screams with fury and utmost regret. His entire body shivers, “Yeah?”