by G R Matthews
“My army? No, you mistake me and the power of this army. The Wall will fall. It may happen this very night, or the next.”
Zhou stood still and stared at his questioner. The round belly, fur-lined robe, bald head and stubble on his chin, and those little eyes that stared right back, dark obsidian orbs that seemed unconcerned and unhurried.
“Who are you?” Zhou asked.
“I am a magician,” the short man answered before taking another cup of tea. “It really is the best they can do. It will be the last taste of civilisation you have for a long while. I suggest you try some.”
“A magician?”
The man nodded. “Tea?”
“Why do you want me to drink the tea so much?”
“Ah,” the man nodded again, “you think it is poisoned. Perhaps some form of potion to make you speak the truth? I promise you it is not, but why should you believe me. It is best, you think, to trust no one at all and answer no questions. I can understand that and I know that nothing I do will convince you otherwise. Your mind is set, is it not? I can see you are a stubborn man. One who sets his mind to a task and carries it through. You stand up for your beliefs do you not? But you were not always this way.” The voice paused and those dark reflective eyes turned in Zhou’s direction. “You’ve little to care for anymore. I have been there. It is not a nice place to be, is it? You are seeking meaning and purpose. Your eyes tell me that. No, you don’t have to speak for me to deduce many things about you.”
“Who are you?” Zhou forced the question between the constant chatter.
“You need a name? Would that make you feel better? Would it help you to trust me more?” The man put down his tea cup and rubbed his chin. “A name, a name... I’ve had so many. You can call me,” there was a pause as the man looked towards the roof of the tent, “Yángwū. It fits as well as any other I have worn over the years and brings back many memories. Yes, call me Yángwū.”
“I am not going to tell you anything, whether you have a name or not. The Wall will stand and I will,” Zhou stopped before he completed the sentence.
“You will what?” Yángwū leant forward in his seat. “See, already you begin to tell me things. What happened to you to make you so distrusting and stubborn. You were a teacher maybe? Your hands have done little manual labour, your nails are not cracked and broken. You stand tall and there are no discolourations on your hands, not an administrator then. Life was soft and easy. But something changed, there is coldness in your eyes. Your face is not used to smiling any more. The lines have deepened around your eyes. You frown a lot now. Ah, you lost someone close to you. An emotional trauma and the change it wrought you have still not overcome.”
Zhou turned his back and stomped away. The guesses were coming close to the mark and he could feel the anger burning in his stomach, acid roiling and rising up to his throat. He choked it down and took a deep, calming breath.
“You have been taught to control yourself. It does not always work, does it? You react instead of predicting and preventing. You still have much to learn about control. Maybe a year or two is all you have been trained for. A new Wu, and a wild one at that. Very interesting,” the soft voice said.
“What do you want with me?” Zhou turned back towards the voice.
“I told you, information. That is all I want and need. I want to understand you. You are a puzzle and I do not like puzzles. I like answers. I like to know.”
“You seem to know a lot about me already,” Zhou said and stepped forward. The man was short, he was fat and slow. Even without the spirit, Zhou was confident he could win a physical confrontation, but the man was a magician. He had powers and he was blocking Zhou’s access to the spirit. What else might he be capable of?
“I see you are thinking of overpowering me. It won’t work. Though if you want to try, please, be my guest. It is important you know your limitations. Strong as you are, without the spirit you are not a match for me. Even with it, I knocked you over the wall.”
Zhou stopped moving forward and took a step back, his hands curling into fists. “You were on the Wall?”
“Not me exactly, just my mind and my control of your Fang-shi. A strange magic, don’t you think? This draining of the nothing between and turning it to their own purposes. Where is the life in it? Where is the direction, the spirit, the control, the give and take? There is nothing, but the demand and the action. I could see it in his mind. Even after all these years, they still don’t understand what they do.”
Zhou stood still. The desire to throw himself upon Yángwū, to rip out the man’s throat and watch the blood splash across the floor, to bathe in it, was strong. Spirit or no spirit, a lunge across the room, just one exercise of the muscles in his legs to propel him forward. Arms would raise, hands would reach out towards his victim’s throat and with bunched shoulders he could strangle the life from the fat man’s body. Or, he could grab the smaller man’s head and drive it again and again into the central pole or even the floor. He could crush his skull and watch brain matter mix with blood and stain his robes. So many ways to kill, to take revenge for his wife, his child, his city and for the mountain.
But he did not move. He could not move. Time stopped. No movement, no flap of canvas, no shout or call, no voices or sounds of battle. Nothing. All that existed was the frozen scene in front of him. Zhou willed his body to move, for muscles to respond to his call. He wanted to cry out his frustration. He was unable to do anything, and then a voice sounded in his head.
“There is always a key,” it said.
It was not speech. More like the communication in the spirit realm, mind to mind, spirit to spirit. Zhou’s vision faded.
# # #
The hazy blur resolved into focus and he wished it had not.
Smoke rose in twisting snakes towards the dark clouds above. All around was ruin. Charred timbers still warm and glowing, a reptile’s scales in black, yellow and orange. The rubble of collapsed stone walls littered the ground, children’s blocks discarded and abandoned by the flight of attention drawn to something new. Ahead, the remains of a staircase climbed upwards to empty air. The floor it had once led to was gone. It had existed once, Zhou could remember the rooms above.
At his feet, the discoloured and scorched remains of his wife and child. Burnt flesh, torn and curled like paper scrolls, still clung to their bones. A memory of their life, dry and desiccating. The last of the moisture turning to steam and carrying their souls to the skies.
“Death is never pretty,” the voice said, and now it sounded from behind him.
“Where are we?” Zhou refused to turn. He knew where he was. He still lived here. He always would. Some part wanted to look away from the wreck of his former life, the destroyed home, ruined city and charred remains of his family. Another part, a stubborn aspect, would not let him.
“In your memory,” the voice said. “There is always a key. It took me a while to find yours. The Fang-shi was easier, but they never learned to shield their spirit the way the Wu do.”
“Why have you brought me here, Yángwū? I am not telling you anything.”
“You mistake me once more, little cub. I did not bring you here. You made that decision. This is where you exist. Your mind created this place, this memory.” Yángwū moved around to stand in front of Zhou and continued to talk. “I would have preferred a more welcoming environment, but it was not my choice.”
Zhou tore his gaze away from the corpses of his wife and child to look into Yángwū’s eyes.
“You will tell me what I need to know,” Yángwū said. “In that you have no choice. You have no access to the Spirit realm, nowhere to hide in your own mind. Now that I am in, I can travel to any of your memories. It would be easier, for both of us, if you complied, but I can force you. The process is not pleasant, I assure you.”
“I will not help you,” Zhou stated.
“So be it,” Yángwū said. “A shame, but you have made your choice and I respect that. You see us as en
emies. I understand, but you and I are fighting different wars.”
“You are going to kill me once you have what you want anyway. Don’t pretend,” Zhou said.
“You may not believe me when I tell you I have no wish to see you dead, nor even suffer. My war is not with you or even with your Empire, you are just in the way. Now,” Yángwū shrugged, “let us see to the information.”
Here he could act. Here Zhou could move, and he did. A step forward, shifting his weight into the leap, and he left the ground in graceful arc towards Yángwū. Abandoning the desire to strangle or tackle, Zhou snapped out his front leg in a kick aimed squarely at his enemy’s chest. All of his anger and rage he put behind that kick and it passed right through Yángwū’s body.
“Interesting,” Yángwū said. “I do believe I almost felt that. There really is nothing you can do. I am not really here. You may exist here, but are not really, physically here.”
Yángwū turned and picked his way across the rubble to the bottom of the stairs that rose to nowhere.
“How apt,” he said and placed his foot upon the bottom step.
Zhou’s vision shattered.
# # #
“Zhou,” his wife’s voice pierced the darkness and he opened his eyes.
It was dark. Night.
“The baby’s coming, Zhou. Get the midwife.” Her voice sounded panicked and he struggled to understand why. A baby coming, why? Nonsense, he decided and turned over to go back to sleep. His eyes closed again.
“Zhou,” she screamed, “it’s coming.”
His baby. His wife was giving birth to his baby. The plans, what where they? Get the midwife. Yes, that was the first thing. Hot towels and lots of water, that was next wasn’t it? It sounded right.
Zhou struggled with the sheet. It seemed to be caught round his legs. He flapped at it, kicked his feet and only entangled himself more. The fear fluttered in his chest.
“Too early,” Yángwū said.
Darkness.
# # #
Back in the ruins of his home. Smoke rising and the charnel scent of death. On the stairs, Yángwū took another step upwards.
Vision tumbled and spun.
# # #
“You have ruined our family,” Father-in-law said. A heavy frown creased his forehead and his fist slammed down upon the table.
“It is a trick,” Zhou said. His heart beat faster and he rushed to get the words out. “The cattle are not real, they are a trick. I saw one of them destroyed. It exploded in purple light and left behind the ruins of men. They killed all the crew, all the guards. I was there. You have to believe me.”
“Zhou, how can I? Hsin has spoken out against you twice now. First to deride your efforts in the Peace Treaty and now this. You are lucky not to be in prison and we are lucky to still have our homes. I have called in every favour, every debt due and owed, just to maintain our present status, but it is slipping.”
“Father-in-law, they will destroy us. We must do something. We must convince them. This treaty, this road, has put us in more danger than ever before. An army is coming to destroy us and we sent ours back to their farms.”
“Still too early,” Yángwū said. Zhou turned away from his argument with his Father-in-law just as the vision crumbled once more.
# # #
“It is all about control,” Boqin said. “You have to be aware of the spirit and it will be aware of you. How you use it, or it uses you, is something you can find out as you grow together.”
“What will be my spirit?” Zhou asked.
“That we will only find out when you make that first journey into the realm. It is the same for all us. In the far past it was different, a longer process, a lifetime to learn just the simple arts. We have made some progress over the years,” Boqin said with a smile.
“When can I make the journey?” Zhou said. The thought of power, and what he could with it strong in his thoughts.
“It is good to see the bear again,” Yángwū said. “It has been a long time.”
Zhou turned towards the voice, but Boqin did not react.
The memory began to fade.
“Almost there,” Yángwū said as the darkness rose.
# # #
“What are you looking for?” Zhou said and he staggered towards the stairs and the small, round-bellied man on them.
“Another key, another leap, another journey, another realm,” Yángwū said and he took another step up.
# # #
A light rose slowly. It was not the yellow of the sun or even the flicker of a candle. It was bright and verdant. It was the scent of a spring morning, the calm after a storm, the faint mist rising from the fields, the cold snap of winter, the earthy richness of autumn, the heat of summer. It was the light of all those things. Ancient and yet youthful. It was the light of life, death and rebirth.
It surrounded him, embraced him. The light drew him in and gave him succour, fed him energy and resolve. Hope was reborn in the light.
Outside of the light was a wail, a scream of rage.
“Stay alive, little cat, someone is coming.”
The light lifted him to safety and the scream was drowned by the music of the world.
Chapter 6
“We haven’t got the numbers to hold them back,” Gongliang shouted over the noise of battle.
Haung swept his Jian sword high, diverting the path of the axe away from his head. The soldier next to him stabbed his blade into the Mongol soldier’s stomach. Another took his place and with a sweep of his sword Haung knocked him off the wall.
“Push the ladder aside,” he called. “Every moment we keep them back is a little more time for our forces and the refugees to get away.”
“We still need to get off this wall,” Gongliang stepped up beside him as the ladder fell away. “Preferably with as many men as we can to protect our own retreat to the capital.”
Haung looked out over the wall and over the hordes of Mongol soldiers that swarmed before it. They were waving swords and shields above their heads, desperate to get into the fight. By now, they knew they were going to win. The Empire soldiers on the higher walls still peppered them with crossbow bolts, but this had little effect on overall numbers.
“Do you think we can hold them till nightfall?” Haung said.
“Not a chance,” Enlai said, stepping out of the crowd of soldiers on the Wall. The older Taiji held one sword in his hand and the other was still in its scabbard across his back. Blood spattered the front of his leather armour and Haung knew that it all belonged, had belonged, to the Mongol warriors who had faced him in battle. Enlai seemed untouchable and tireless in battle. Wherever the Mongols were about to break the resistance on the wall, in he swept. The soldiers cheered him each and every time, but he never acknowledged it. His face, in battle, was blank and his eyes saw everything at once. There were whispers in the camp that he was an immortal, a god of war, but Haung knew that was wrong. When his own training was complete, and after enough years of practice, he would be that strong, that good. It scared him.
“We are losing men too quickly,” Gongliang agreed. “Soon we will be stretched too thin. Haung, the time is close. We have to go, and in good order too. The traps and barriers in the town will hold them for a time, as long as our own troops don’t set them off during a rout.”
“And the gate?” Haung said.
“We’ve strengthened it as much as we can, and set our own series of traps there. Once it is down they’ll be able to get their horses through and chase us. We’ve piled rubble high behind it and dug pits in the road. It will buy us some time,” Gongliang said, shrugging his shoulders.
“I think that I may have a way of slowing them down,” Xióngmāo said.
Haung turned to face the small woman. She was dressed in her own leather armour and now carried a small repeating crossbow as her weapon. Throughout all the days of battle on the Wall he had never seen her carry the same weapon twice in a row, however she seemed to be proficient wit
h whatever she had chosen to carry on that particular day.
“You can slow them down? How?” Haung said.
The dark-eyed woman looked up at him, and he could see the years in those eyes. She seemed young still, maybe a year or two older than him, five at the most. However, he knew that she had lived for hundreds of years. Without her, and Zhou, the Wall would have been lost days ago. Her allies were nameless and Haung had yet to see them, but the effects were hard to deny.
“We have a new ally,” she said.
“We do, who?”
“Her name is not important, but she can help. I will need to speak to her and convince her of the need, but I think I have a way of making it worth her while.”
“Where is she?” Gongliang asked, looking around.
Enlai shook his head. “Do you need a guard?”
Xióngmāo shared a smile with him and shook her head. Haung noted again the closeness of these two very different people. How they knew each other was a secret he had not managed to prise out of either them. Respecting their privacy was right and proper, but secrets were not something he liked. At least, when those secrets were not his own.
“How long?” Haung asked.
“An hour at the most,” she said. “It will take me a little time to find her and convince her. We will also discuss the... nature of help she can give. I might be able to gather a few Wu to lend a hand.”
“Can we hold for an hour?” Haung asked his assembled command staff. They all nodded. “Then let’s get back into the battle. One hour and then we start to pull the troops out. Gongliang, get the recently wounded moving. Enlai, can you find Gang and Liu, tell them the plan?”
“Take care of yourself in the battle, Haung,” the Taiji said. “My lady, as ever, your servant. Call should you need me.”
The small woman smiled and walking to the edge of the Wall, the town side, she jumped to the ground. Haung took an involuntary step forward, raising a hand in shock. From the corner of his eye he saw Enlai shake his head at the reaction.
“Don’t cross her, you wouldn’t like her when she is angry.” The Taiji smiled as he turned and ploughed back into the battle.
