by Yvonne Wang
Angela looks down at the brew and up at Tianyin, her still eyes lock on him as if unconscious.
Tianyin immediately frowns and becomes serious, he says briefly, “There is no poison.” Words out, he is about to taste the medication first.
“I . . . .” Angela grips the bowl tight so the tips of her fingers are pale, “I did not mean that . . . .” She places the medicine on her lower abdomen and looks expectantly. She cautiously inquires, “You . . . . also know medicine?”
He remains still there, as if tied down like a metal statue. He looks deeply at her with hidden concerns. A gray fog casts over his pupils while an icy frigidness pulses beneath his face.
“No.” He throws down a word, gets up and has his back to her.
Inundated with worries; she drops her head to take gulps. Cheeks pink and lips rosy, she drink in the herb all at once. She looks up and sees that Tianyin . . . . is undressing before her eyes!
With his clothes at hand, he turns around and his shirt is open; he quickly pulls the herb bowl over and presses up close. He jolts his outer robe and along with the thin blanket, wraps Angela up to the neck inside them. He sits leaning against the wall, has her inclined in his embrace and holds her sick body tight. Angela is terrified, struggling to make out sound.
“Don’t move!” The voice above her head is acrid, “It is not enough to drink dandelions, you must perspire . . . . don’t move!”
Angela calms down temporarily and her iced body gradually warms. She feels hot in the cheeks and squints to see that her head is leaning against bare skin. The two are only separated by thin inner clothes. Their body temperature blend and fuse. She cannot help but panic, embarrassed and fearful. She defends and wants to push him away.
Tianyin just holds her in his embrace ever tighter and speaks softly into her ear, “Brother and sister. It is okay.”
Brother and sister! Angela is grieved to hear these words; suddenly dam broke and yet she cannot express her pain. She starts to sob until tears made his chest wet, each drop bitter. He finally believes her, believing her huge lie . . . . does he know that he is holding the real Mongolian princess? Angela is seized by waves of woe and despair, shaking with all kinds of emotions. Choking and sobbing, her face appears to warp. His tender and calm steadiness at this time make her so wish that they really are siblings and that she could remain in his embrace forever . . . .
Tianyin observes that she is suppressing her weeping and feels such tenderness for her that he cannot help but hold her a bit tighter.
Hesig relaxes and smiles. He extinguishes the bonfire and sleeps leaning against the wall too.
“Well . . . Duke Silesia wants to seize the throne and wants to kill Your Royal Highness too?”
The night is painted black and a hundred yurts sit like trees in the forest. Stored inside the tents are horse brushes, buckets and other miscellaneous things. People with fair skin and light colored hair sit on the ground while the fire flickers outside and guards patrol.
“Um. I don’t know where Granduncle heard about a dream St. Mary had for me, but he sent cavalry to chase after me and kill me.” Alexander nods repeatedly. Worried and serious, his eyes are like green lakes that flash melancholy.
One muscular man with a powerful back and a beard stands up and kneels down halfway. He has red hair and copper colored eyes. He says righteously, “Your Highness, we will definitely help you escape and support you in returning to Poland to become the enthroned king. You will lead us and drive the Mongols out of Poland, out of Europe!”
“Thank you Koneke, thank you everybody . . . .” Alexander is filled with emotion. He stands up with his chest high, in his royal bone and elite blood he says, “Good, we cannot let Mongols stomp on our homeland. We will be able to eat crisp wheat bread and drink cream soup freely on this land. We must evict them in God’s name!”
“In God’s name!” The more than a dozen people present are enthusiastic and full of hope.
Just then, from among piles of buckets comes the hunchbacked Anthony. He rushes toward Alexander and calls out, “Your Highness, the underground hole is dug!”
“Um.” Alexander nods and tells everybody, “I plan to hide in this underground hole with Anthony. You tell them that you saw us escape outside. When the Mongols cannot find us and moves the camp tomorrow, we will come out. That way we will have escaped—wait until I find the savior on the east side that the Holy Mother mentioned, we will send soldiers from Poland to rescue you.”
Koneke and others look at each other and inquire, “But Valentin said . . . . the night after tomorrow . . . .”
“That Valentin . . . . I cannot believe him.” The young man crosses his legs, exhausted he says, “I question that he had presented military misinformation that led to the occupation of Krakow . . . . Furthermore, why would Batu recognize Polish royalty’s badge. I doubt that he told the Mongols that I am a prince. He told me to act the night after tomorrow to reassure us until the last moment . . . .”
“That . . . . makes sense.” One young man with apricot-colored hair interrupts, “Your Highness, Valentin had taught me some Mongolian, I had heard the conversation between him and Batu, it really seems like he revealed your identity.”
“Marean, that doesn’t make sense.” Koneke argues huskily, “We were captured as military slaves, who does not have the skills of a blacksmith or carpenter? All the men useless to them have been killed by the Mongols, if Valentin does not say His Royal Highness is a prince, Batu would have probably killed him eons ago.”
Suddenly everyone is abuzz and everyone has an opinion. Marean is about to debate and hears some muttering in Mongolian at the door, boots stomp closer.
Alexander instantly breaks out in a cold sweat, haunted that the Mongols will execute him beforehand. He rushes about like a scared rabbit and crawls into the underground hole. He turns around and says, “I am going to hide inside. You just tell them that I escaped to the west!” Done, he pulls Anthony into the ground.
Who would have known that before he even picked up his feet, the tent curtain opens and the breeze pours in. The skinny and tall man with a large nose and reed-like eyes. It was Valentin. He takes one look and sees a corner of a shirt twirl and disappear behind the water buckets; he knows that the prince is acting on his own. He cannot help but snort in anger. Batu’s magnificent physique arrives following him like the Devil. With leopard skin around his overcoat collar and gold lining on his leather boots, everyone is frightened.
“Where is Alexander?” Valentin asks on behalf of Batu, fierce and harsh.
“He . . . .” Koneke is about to speak when Marean immediately covers his mouth. The young man presses him and panicked, tells Valentin, “Just now . . . . we saw him and Anthony ran away westward!”
Batu and his interpreter exchange words. Valentin stands akimbo and yells, “Our prince says to stop lying! It is impossible that anybody escapes and yet his soldiers do not know.”
“Valentin, you scum! Have you forgotten who is our real prince?” Marean’s suppressed rage burst forth and he cannot help but curse.
“Everything was agreed upon, why did you take action on your own?!” Valentin criticizes quickly while the Mongols do not understand. Then he again turns to Batu and mutters a large string of words, his arm pointing to the water bucket while he nods continuously.
Batu’s order comes down and the Mongols move fast. With knives at hand, two units enter to kick the buckets and brush off the dirt, easily dragging out Alexander!
The enemy is ruthless. They pull him off the ground and tie his wrists behind his back. While the prince struggled, he is punched viciously a few times, yelling and screaming so that his abdomen turns green, his cheeks bruised and his blond hair is tainted with blood. He glares again at Valentin and screams hatefully, “Valentin—you are the shame of Poland! I curse you—” Hot tears fall, he
does not know what else he can do.
The Mongolian soldiers clamp the young man and go by, Valentin does not say a word but watches coldly, his clear eyes unfathomable.
Without warning, a light flashes and Batu brandishes his knife. The carriage wheel next to Alexander’s shoulder immediately displays markings. The prince is tied to the Mongolian battle carriage. With his back against the carriage wheel, he shrinks his neck in fear.
The night is thick and starless. Torches sizzle a green smoke that reflects people so they appear wicked. Valentin speaks on behalf of Batu, “Mongols do not kill a man shorter than the carriage wheel, but Alexander, you are already taller than the battle carriage wheel. Mongols will not let you die an unreasonable death. I will tell you now, at this time the day after tomorrow, we will offer the fresh blood of you, the Polish prince, to Eternal Heaven.”
His sharp knife back in his sheath carved intricately with flower patterns. Batu retracts the knife so it is by his waist. He orders, “Toli, Yedygai, you two watch this young fellow, do not let him run away again.”
“Yes!” The two answer in unison. They guard to the left and right like the spikes of a wolverine.
“Commander,” Valentin calls Batu; slouched and humble, he politely adds, “Commander, I am afraid that he will commit suicide and I am also afraid that the slaves will rebel—reducing our combat power. Let me talk to him and comfort them until the night after tomorrow, is that okay?
“Um. You can see.” Batu emits his words and immediately turns around. His imposing body goes off into the distance gradually.
Valentin coughs lightly a couple of times. His body slim like a stick, as if it would be blown apart by the evening wind at any moment. He looks at the prince and is suddenly spit upon.
“Pew!” Alexander appears elegant and innocent but he is rebellious and obstinate. With hatred in his eyes, he pants heavily.
Valentin closes his eyes and wipes off the stains. His lips droop and his throat quivers; a sincerity permeates as he speaks slowly, “Your Highness, you must, must believe me . . . .”
“Why should I believe you!!?” Alexander grits his teeth and snarls.
Valentin lifts his head with his brows furrowed. In utmost earnestness, he says, “The Mongols are extremely clever. You can never escape the way you did today; you will hurt other people too.” He swallows his saliva and continues, “I already planned this long ago. The day after tomorrow, the horses will all have diarrhea and at that time someone will cause a fire to break out. At the offering ceremony, all the Mongols will be together, there are numerous blind spots . . . . believe me! Not only do I want to save you, but those military slaves too. Everyone has to run away together!”
“Keep making things up.” Alexander says coldly, “You keep saying that you are waiting for an opportunity next to Batu, but the awful things you have done far exceed your good deeds. You have wronged entire Europe!”
“. . . .” Valentin is stunned and silent, truly saddened. He lowers his head and says, “That is because you did not see . . . . the last time I patrolled with Batu, I threw a note down where there are people to warn the Hungarian King Béla and told him to attack when ice shells initially melting on the surface of the water. This is one of the Mongols’ weaknesses . . . . the day after when you run away, this military camp will not have one horse capable of running. We will have burned most of the feed, that way their plan to invade Hungary will be greatly obstructed.”
Alexander has a bloody wound on the top of his head. Being extremely stubborn, Alexander turns his head and ignore Valentin. Eyes welling with tears, he accepts not a word.
“I cannot stay. Please try your best tomorrow . . . . to cooperate with me, huh?” Valentin urges. He lowers his head and sighs, whispering, “Then I . . . . will leave for now.”
The next day, radiance smears the east and a mist nourishes the forests. The morning clouds are like silk, lightly swathes colorful clouds. Countless rays of light filters through, gentle and sentimental, glorious and at leisure.
Angela’s high fever recedes and she is largely recovered. She feels her head relieved and muscles comfortable. She fixes her Mongolian outfit and comes out of the dirt cave. Blocking the sunlight with one hand, she squints to behold afar—Tianyin had transported last night’s piles of branches covering the cave opening and had thrown them into the river. They float southward along with the currents. He then takes large steps lack, collecting branches and tossing nonstop.
Angela watches in amazement. After one night’s embrace, his body has become so familiar. She seems to be able to anticipate his every move and every breath. After last night, a part of him already belongs to her and a part of her belongs to him . . . .
Hesig is about to load packs onto the horse. With a toss of his arm, he suddenly cries in pain and his arm goes feeble; the objects in his hand plop onto the ground. He grins in agony, stroking his arm and gasping for air.
Angela steps forward to hold him and is extremely worried. She says, “Uncle He! Are you okay?”
“Yeah, ha ha,” the old man lifts his head and says loudly; his wrinkles appear in layers when he smiles. He keeps waving his hand, “No problem, just forgot that I have a wound and overexerted myself . . . . it is not a problem if I just use my left hand. No problem!” He kindly speaks as he nudges toward the river with his mouth, “It is enough that I am here. You go and help Tianyin throw the branches into the river.”
“. . . . Um.” Angela warmly and compliantly nods, looking to the riverside and seeing white cotton permeate the sky. An endless field of dandelions carried by the wind are floating high, vastly filling all of space. An immensity flying softly and as white as snow, they dance into the clouds. Tianyin stops moving and is at a standstill by the riverside. His back is tall and upright, standing in a daze in this realm of silver fiber like a painting.
Angela grabs a bundle of twigs and walks up to throw it into the river. She notices his sable eyes in pain as he watches the logs drift off to the water’s edge. She does not know what he is thinking. She only stands in the middle of the dandelion snow with him, bathed in the bright flying sand, her hair is blown by the wind and white velvet lands on her shoulders.
“I remember . . . .” Tianyin looks up at the swaying frost and hoarsely speaks to the person next to him, “Because of that line of mine, Kyrigu then . . . . it is that line I said . . . . that made him go back to do something so stupid.”
“What . . . . words?” Angela turns her cheek, her blue and dark brown eyes are like crystal beads.
Tianyin regards the spreading clear ripples and he is full of regret and grief. He does not answer directly, but keeps chasing after memories, “Perhaps initially, when he wanted to smash his leg to evade the Mongolian military draft, I should not have stopped him . . . . I gave him a dream but . . . .” He is quietly concerned for a little while. His dark eye like empty wells, “I should not have brought him out to endure all this suffering . . . .”
Angela’s heart breaks upon hearing these words. She gazes up at the white fluff that blossom in the sky; as each puff emerges placidly, she bites her lips in mourning. Watching Tianyin blame himself in silence, she is moved and pierced. She pours forth words of comfort, “You know, Poles . . . . all believe in God. They say, everyone who comes to this world has sinned. We live to do penitence . . . . every trace of pain we experience is for redeeming our sin . . . . I think, once redeemed, one can enter Heaven.”
Tianyin is speechless. His clutching fist loosened and his features like cool steel, he watches his memories while the water swirls. With slowly blinking eyes of calm, he breathes long and deep.
Angela looks at him with a mix of emotions. She also sinks deep into thought.
With the cease of the billowing fake snow, dandelions embrace soil like plain seeds. The flowers stick to every part of these two’s clothes.
; “Thank you.” Tianyin at once utters.
Angela is startled, then a ray of warmth melts and spreads about her. She says lightly, “You’re welcome.”
Tianyin pulls out Hanyuan’s Medical Cases and delivers it to Angela, saying evenly, “Dad did not have me study medicine, so he probably would not be happy if I hang on to it . . . . it is best that you keep it.”
Dad did not let him? No wonder he refuses to admit it yesterday . . . . But, why? He really trusts her so much now? The young woman is shocked, in the face of his dark and firm eyes so clear and endearing, he makes her melt. Her heart struggles sadly and dumbly to receive the book, but it feels as heavy as lead.
“Keep it well . . . . this is Dad’s lifetime of hard work, it depends on you to pass it on.” Tianyin’s voice is smooth and fine, sincere, warm and meaningful. Finished, he turns and walks toward the dirt cave. Angela rubs the Medical Cases and savors his words. Suddenly she understands: he has decided not to kill her! This time it is true. At once she starts to sniffle and well with tears in the eyes, unable to speak.
Moscow18 before noon, sunshine pervades this busy city. Streets intersect and housing is dense, plumes of smoke float along. Jityecz Castle,19 exquisite and stable, sits like a crane in the center with a dome and a steeple. The Castle overlooks on high and alone. Along it, the Mongolian army units shuttle back and forth in the city.
Wonbayer sat on his horse to observe. Everyone around has fair skin and a straight nose, light-colored pupils like lakes: blacksmithing, transporting grain, building battle carts . . . . some Mongolian military wardens with yellow faces and black beards pace back and forth among them. As they catch a glimpse of the mighty army, the wardens have their right hands on their hearts, bending at the waist to greet. Lacson walks over with his knife and armor, smiling obscenely and followed by two soldiers. Wonbayer indicates for his soldiers to stop while he hops off and removes his cap.
