Bridge Across the Land

by Yvonne Wang

  He hates his cowardice and fear to resist. This is why he has fallen to such a low status now, becoming a slave for the Mongolian military. With shame he will be watching Batu command his soldiers in invading the west and reign supreme over Europe. He, as a stupid and useless prince of Poland, has to brush horses and wash clothes for him. Right, Batu . . . . is also a prince. A Mongolian prince . . . at this moment Alexander realizes how brutal life is, ruthless and difficult to bear. Fate teases and life ridicules. His past eighteen years as royalty consisted only of opulence and arrogance that fooled the eyes; he merely committed more sin.

  He is distressed and upset; lifting water back bitterly, he gawks at the slim and chiseled Valentin walk over from afar, talking to the Mongol on the side of the horse.

  The two chuckle in a few exchanges and the giant departs, leaving Valentin standing and guarding the horse alone. That pair of light tea-colored bright eyes are calm and friendly, looking directly at Alexander and waiting.

  Alexander hobbles up close, crouched down and silent. He sets the bucket aside and cups the water with his hand. He dabs the brush and shakes off the water, avoiding Valentin by lowering his eyelashes.

  “Prince Your Highness . . . .” Valentin in his fair skin and brown hair inquires from the other side of the horse. His Polish flows forth. Alexander’s ears warm up while he silently supports the horse and brushes the neck of the horse along the direction of the hair growth. He is indifferent and serious, acting unfamiliar and impersonal. When moisture wells up in his eyes and bitterness extends into his nose, he covers it by pretending to wipe off dirt and sweat with his elbow.

  “His Royal Highness, actually . . . .”

  “Who are you really?” Alexander forthwith stops his hand and glares, his lips tight and he shivers with rage.

  Valentin sighs, his clean face is sincere and he bends over earnestly to say, “Just as I told your father, my father is Russian and my mother Polish. Batu is not my prince, you are.”

  Alexander’s throat trembles and he sneers. He buries his head and continues to brush. His words icy like needles, “I will not believe you. Father so valued the movement of the Mongol army that you spoke of, but failed greatly. Mongols maimed the city and you remain unharmed, even turning into Batu’s attendant. You are actually a spy who betrayed Poland. No need to say more.”

  “Yes, because I had traveled with my father for business, I know many languages, so I am valued by Batu. But Mongols invaded Russia and indirectly killed my parents, why would I serve them?”

  Valentin picks up another horse brush and saturated it with clean water, both face the same horse. He starts to help the prince with the scrubbing, “It is true that Batu sent me to mislead your father initially, but the military secrets I said were all true. Only because Boruc did not believe me and arrogantly decided on his own that the victory was lost. I had to go back and find Batu, to wait for the next opportunity.”

  The prince’s green eyes suddenly light up and their eyes meet for a moment; at the same time, they immediately melt and return to dullness and doubt. His heart is empty like a bottomless pit; he has no idea what is right or wrong. He has a flurry of prohibitions and concerns; he can only fall silent and stare sternly and defensively. He keeps caressing the horse mane, brushing and washing it, avoiding Valentin passively.

  Valentin lowers his voice and speaks out of guilt and concern, “Your Highness, I am sorry to have let you endured such hardship, but you must trust me. Actually, Batu only brought you back because he saw through your identity from the badge on your clothes the other day. Four days later Mongols will invade Hungary. He wants to offer your head to the gods to raise morale . . . .”

  Alexander straightens his back slowly, the brush slips and his hands freeze. Shocked and dumbfounded, a buzz ring inside his head.

  “We have a lot of Polish, Russian and Prussian military slaves here. When they heard that the prince is here, they all swore to save you.” Valentin beholds earnestly, spits words out at the speed of rolling marbles and is filled to the brim with sincerity. “Three days later, the grand sacrificial ceremony will be in the morning. Although you will be tied, other guards will slack more. At that time we will work from inside and out, steal a few horses and help you by paving a road with blood.”

  Alexander does not know whether he should believe this or question it. His pupils flee and a knot sits in his chest. He twists his brows and remains hushed. He lowers his eyes to brush the horse. Only his blond locks block his eyes. He refuses to answer.

  Valentin’s boiling enthusiasm cools as he looks profoundly at the prince. He has not become hopeless, but what can he do about loyalty being considered betrayal. He stood facing the prince for a long time then bids farewell.

  Act Four

  Bridge Across the Land

  Act Four

  A faint sky in the early morning; ashy clouds have not yet become light. The western galaxy imprinted and soaked, smearing and accompanying the hazy moon. On the east side is the rays of the still hidden dawn; the color of jade reflects in pieces. The chilly breeze pushes the leaves and rimy dews drop from grass. The silhouette of things are half-clear while it is quiet for miles on end.

  The three horses stand and rest. Hesig and Kyrigu lie down in opposite directions, sleeping soundly. Tianyin’s cold eyes slide and scan as he gets up inaudibly to do a surveillance. He props himself against the earth and quietly crouches, he is as quick and as cautious as a wolf. Silently he pulls out a mare’s milk bowl from his pack and pours a mouthful of water into it. He shakes a paper pouch and melts the poison into the water. He lifts the bowl like a ghost and raises his energy to walk a few steps then squats next to the fast asleep Angela.

  He looks serious and inhibited with one knee touching the ground; he and Angela are only inches apart. He watches her clutching to and covered by the black cloak; her pretty face leaning on its side and strands of hair circle her ear. Her brows are slightly furrowed and her breathing is slow and deep, must be absorbed in a dream. It’s time. Not too far away is Volga River, there are numerous Mongolian soldiers stationed there, he cannot let success slip away at the last moment. At least make her mute so that she will keep the plan of assassinating Ögedei a secret. Tianyin stares for a long time and eyes the distance between Angela and his hand, considering how to quickly pour this down her throat. His charcoal eyes ferocious and practiced; his countenance mysterious and horrifying. With his right hand he grasps the bowl and with his left hand he reaches—suddenly Angela turns over and Tianyin evades posthaste; he is deft enough that there is no contact.

  Poof, out of her cloth bag half a roll of a book slips out. The book is bounded by thread and its title is written in Chinese. Tianyin is surprised. He only knows that her satchel never leaves her side as there are medical instruments and medicine in there, but he never knew there is a Chinese text inside. Borrowing the dim light of the sun and moon, he inspects the vertical title of the book: Hanyuan’s Medical Cases.

  It’s Dad’s signature! Tianyin gazes again at Angela’s dimples while in a slumber; a tug pulls at his heart for reasons unknown, frustrating and tart. He stills himself for a little while and ignores it. He clamps his hand and extends it again toward her snowy cheeks. However, the Medical Cases is in his view and keeps pressing him by the inch, causing his wrist and fingers to freeze and his malevolence to thin. Go on like this and she will only wake up and the poison will spill. Tianyin hunkers down to even his breathing then looks at the Chinese book again. He ponders with hesitation and family ties force him to wish to read it out of curiosity. Finally he sets aside the bowl of poison temporarily, pulls the book out of the bag lightly and opens up the title page. All of a sudden, he sees familiar writing appear before his eyes page after page, like the uproar of crashing waves, each line could not be more familiar to him:

  “Ten Essentials to Medical Ethics”:

 
Where there are hardships in the universe, transmigration repairs;

  Where people and animals contract diseases, a physician assists.

  Where there are high and low mountains, distinction told by the source of the grass;

  Where physicians are neither noble nor base, the capable ones are respected.

  Where the nature of medicine may be warm or hot, decipher with care;

  Where people are neither good nor bad, humaneness and discernment cure.

  Where a physician is fundamentally a mundane vessel, one is bestowed with birth and death;

  Where wealth and fame are secondary, kindness and justness heal.

  Where it is wisdom of old or rudimentary skills, its breadth or shallowness is disclosed;

  Where truth makes for sincere prescriptions, deception and exaggeration ought to be dismissed.

  Where the sick experience suffering and pain, a physician feels them personally;

  Where proprietary conduct and virtues are foremost, treat with kindness.

  Where there are mentally disturbing things and matters, stay clear and refuse;

  Where medicine is practiced with awareness and caution, take measures with care and precision.

  Where patients tell of their conditions in confidence, guard them well and shoulder the responsibility;

  Where words are weighty and promises are like gold, protect the secrets of patients.

  Where there are countless rivers and streams, living water cleanse;

  Where one strictly cultivates a personal practice, renew it daily.

  Where the conditions for life are precious, gods nourish them;

  Where saving lives is foremost, forget the world’s situations.

  Eighteen years ago, he had these one hundred and sixty Chinese characters memorized fluently. For the last eighteen years, these one hundred and sixty characters torture his heart at night. And 18 years later, he is again holding these one hundred and sixty characters in his hands! Tianyin feels as if he is punched in the stomach, incredibly hurt and moved. His palm is sweaty while the book seems as heavy as lead; his hold became increasingly unsteady. He flips through the entire book. Medical cases on the land of the Song and antidotes for illnesses are all recorded—this Hanyuan’s Medical Cases is indeed Dad’s writing. Dad wrote every word of every page!

  The biting wind brushes against his temples and Tianyin is shocked and tremble. He crouches next to the sound asleep Angela. Sad and at a loss, his gloomy face has melancholy written all over it.

  He thinks of how when he was a child, Dad often said that he wanted to compile the rare diseases he has cured in his life into medical cases and pass them on. Dad taught him to memorize the “Ten Essentials of Medical Ethics” but did not want his son to be a doctor. Actually he frequently moved to find the best martial arts master and teachers for him. He is the kindest father in town. Dad never yelled at him once, sometimes even apologizing when he is late preparing a meal. Dad treats patients voluntarily and offers food. He helps the dead and supports the wounded; he did all the good deeds. The largest part of his childhood memory consists of his kind words and gentle smile for patients, also the sweet aroma of herbs on him.

  Laughable, a father like this has an icy and vicious son whose hands are stained with blood today. That Tianyin who sneaked into Dad’s blanket out of fear of thunder . . . . has died a long time ago. Fortunately, Dad finally left a book in the world . . . . but this book is in her hands.

  Tianyin’s chilling brows lock and his wretched eyes cast down. Angela’s beautiful eyes are closed; her face as innocent as the moon.

  Are you . . . . really my little sister?

  She doesn’t look like father in appearance and her personality is intense and bold, but she has inherited the medical skills and humane ethics, which are exactly like Dad. She clearly knows that he wants to kill her, but she still change the medicine on his shoulder wound everyday and acupressure Kyrigu . . . . Where the sick experience suffering and pain, a physician feels them personally . . . . Where saving lives is foremost, forget the world’s situations. So incredibly foolish.

  Tianyin sneers in silence but feels himself pathetic. He peers over at the glistening bowl of poison and his heart twinges with pain. He feels suffocated and blood crashes in waves; his despair takes numerous turns. Dad must want to tell me something, hence letting this Hanyuan’s Medicial Cases fall out so coincidentally. It shocks him into ripping his old wound and bitter blood rolls in his stomach. Eighteen years, he thought people change and circumstances end; who would have known that as soon as the book come tumbling out, bloody past would tear at him and raw pain would shoot through his entire being.

  His breathing quivers and he looks dolorously at the clouds. The morning rays are stewing overhead and the eastern sunrise is about to light up. Uncle He is right, she must be a dear person to Dad. What reason is there to believe that she is the Mongolian princess? What reason is there to feed her this poison and make her mute?

  In a daze, Angela soundlessly wakes up and slowly opens up her watery eyes. Like a dream she sees Tianyin nearby like a rock, his male body up close. His sable eyes full of worry and melancholy peer at the sky. Is that really him? He is no longer frigid but his eyes brims over with sorrow and tenderness. He seems so helpless and pitiful that one wants to take care of him.

  Suddenly, she catches a glimpse of the Medical Cases in Tianyin’s hands. Shocked, she reaches for it.

  Tianyin looks back and is surprised too but he refuses to let go of the book. Like a lost soul he stares at Angela; he tastes a mix of numerous emotions as seen in his deep and ebony eyes.

  Gradually, sounds of horse trots in the distant valley closing-in can be heard. A legion of a hundred riders.

  Tianyin wakes up all of sudden and twists to check back. He secretly tells himself it is bad news. Meanwhile he watches a wave of black dots move in neatly; under the hazy illumination, the broncos are short and people light, they are the Mongolian light riders!

  Kyrigu and Hesig’s sleepy ears are affixed to the ground, they also hear the sounds and wake up alarmed. The young man screams, “The cavalry is after us! Run!” The two wrap their clothes and jump onto their saddles immediately, moving swiftly and agilely.

  Tianyin stuffs the Medical Cases into his bosom with one hand and drags Angela savagely, hopping onto the horse.

  The young woman’s arm hurt, throbbing with terror and staggering; the black cloak slips out of her hands. While sprinting along with him and stepping onto the stirrup, she at once sees that pair of dark eyes become as determined and cool as scalpels, serious and icy. Was . . . . that just a sweet dream?

  Tianyin’s whip sounds and boots click, the fast horse lets loose its steps and speeds away. Angela prostrates down out of alarm as he presses down like a mountain. The two are stacked together, laying low and flat. She only feels the bumpy horse ride and the whizzing of the wind. Carpets of grass flow past her while the body on her back becomes increasingly heavy. She feels the hair on her forehead moving with his breath.

  Wonbayer leads the division from afar, his eyes are lit up as he roars loudly, “Shoot!”

  Hesig whips and runs rapidly. He turns back for a good clear look and speaks irately in the middle of the heavy breathing, “It’s that jerk leading those soldiers!” His words fall, an arrow slices his shoulder like a thunderbolt and blood splatters. The old man curses, leaning against his saddle and pressing on his wound, but the speed of his horse never slows down.

  The Mongolians change teams and the marksmen move ahead. They set up their bows while riding, rains of arrows blast crisply. The three horses all escape and run in an angled direction along the north side, and then suddenly race toward the criss-crossing southern steps so that it is difficult for the arrows to aim.

  The three horses on the prairie ahead and a hundred ho
rses crowd behind, dust flies and noise roars. Kyrigu at that spur of the moment has a bold idea. He grabs a bow to catapult four arrows while he flips over with face down, head on the rear of the horse and feet clutching the harness and the neck of the horse. His eagle-like eyes are precise while he flings his fingers and with a buzz, four arrows bombard simultaneously. Extremely accurate, the fierce shooting hits four people’s throats at once, causing them to spill blood and fall off their horses.

  The young man is about to pull out his arrow to shoot again. He peers over and sees Tianyin riding alongside him. With a wintry expression and stern words, Tianyin prevents him, “The number of arrows do not match the number of people. Don’t fight, run!”

  “But . . . .”

  Arrows ignite behind them. Tianyin grabs Angela and escapes by lying on the side. He says angrily and viciously, “If you want to shoot, kill Wonbayer!” Words finished, he urges the horse to rush ahead.

  Those words are like a slap in his face. Kyrigu trembles; guilt, hate and regret all eat away at his heart. Had he listened to Big Brother Tianyin the other day, they would not have to face this situation today. If anyone is hurt today, it will be too late to regret it. Sadness fills his chest while he turns over to sit on the saddle, pulling on the rein and leaning like Hesig and Tianyin, avoiding the arrows and running like mad.

  In a short while, the land ahead becomes a wrinkled incline, the grassy slope on the path ahead becomes a road block to their vision. The two horses stretch their necks and move rigorously, heading straight for the top of the hill. All of a sudden they see the landscape open up before them, a wide river that is unrestrained and over-pours obstruct, flooding and brimming over!