The Red Plains (The Forbidden List Book 3)

by G R Matthews

  Zhou pressed one ear to the material, put a hand over the other, closed his eyes and focused on the sounds filtering through. There was clink of metal, the muffled sound of feet and voices, nothing distinct.

  The tap on his shoulder was utterly unexpected and he jumped, heart hammering in his chest.

  “You heard the explosion I take it,” Yángwū said in that soft, almost pleading voice of his.

  “I did. What was it?” Zhou moved away from the other man, gaining space and time to slow his heart, to think.

  “The last, desperate attempt of the Empire to drive back the Mongols. It will not work. Once the air clears of their poisonous fog, the army will ride back in and attack. The Wall will fall today.” Yángwū wore a slight sad frown upon his face.

  “That is what you wanted. The Wall to fall and your entrance into the Empire to be complete. You want to destroy it, steal everything, kill everyone, or put yourself in charge. You and the Mongols, you don’t want to build, you just want to conquer.”

  The shorter man looked up at Zhou. “Again, you mistake me. I have no intention of entering the Empire, I have somewhere else to be.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Zhou said. “No one gathers an army and attacks a city or country without the motive of invading and taking over.”

  “And I tell you honestly, I will not cross into the Empire. It holds nothing I want or need at the moment. I lived a lifetime there, I have seen all that it has to offer and it holds no appeal for me.” Yángwū found a spot on the floor and sat down, crossing his legs in the manner that Zhou had short time ago. “Sit, we have some time. Let me tell you what I know. I can see that trying to force you to comply was a mistake. I accept that and apologise. We will talk, as equals. If you listen you might come to understand.”

  “Give me back my access to the Spirit and I will consider us equals. At present, I am your prisoner and have no reason to believe and trust you.” Zhou stood tall and looked down upon his seated captor.

  “I understand, and I sympathise, Zhou,” Yángwū said. “However, I cannot grant you access to the Spirit. It was not I that took it away. I can suppress your access, make it more difficult for you to attain entrance, but if you are determined I cannot stop you. The spirit is as much a part of you as the blood pumping through your veins. “

  “I don’t believe you,” Zhou said.

  “I understand, but I have no reason to lie. Let me try honesty, if you will permit?” Yángwū said and again indicated that Zhou should sit. “Neither of us is going anywhere for a while, it will not hurt to listen.”

  Zhou took a pace backward, unwilling to sit. The short man offered no physical threat, magical yes, but he had made no actions, spoken no words that hinted he might do anything. He offered information, the first time that Zhou had heard anything but implied threats and cajoling imprecations. They were at an impasse. Yángwū could not break him and Zhou could not escape. Indecision drove a million tiny thorns into his brain, twisting his thoughts left and right, yes and no, maybe and perhaps, expectation and outcome, knowledge versus ignorance. All the while the seated man did nothing but sit, waiting.

  In the end, Zhou decided, it was better to have some information than have none. Anything that could be turned to his advantage or become a weapon later on could be useful. Someone was coming for him, he had been told that and he took comfort from that hope. Zhou sat down opposite Yángwū. “What do you have to say?”

  Yángwū smiled. “I am glad you decided to listen. It cannot have been an easy decision. Let me first tell you what I want of you, then I will tell you a story, my story.”

  “What is it you want of me?” Zhou said.

  “I want access to the Spirit plane,” came the answer. “Listen to my story.”

  # # #

  “I was a doctor, a travelling herbalist. I moved from village to village, town to town, plying my trade. Those who needed healing I would treat and be paid. On my journeys I collected the herbs I needed. I wasn’t rich, but I had enough to get by and to live a life I found fulfilling. Helping people, curing them, made me happy. I was satisfied.

  I was moving through the mountain villages when the bandits took me. At first, I thought they wanted my money, but they would have been sorely disappointed. A few meagre coins is all I ever carried. The villagers were not rich and a hot meal, a bed and some breakfast was all I needed. Coins were welcome and useful in the towns to buy supplies, but I never had many.

  They dragged me to their cave where one of their number lay injured. An arrow had pierced his body and driven itself deep into his chest. They wanted me to cure him, to save him, but the wound was bad. It had been left a day or two, the bandits being unwilling to pull the arrow out and seemingly not knowing enough to cleanse the wound. My examination showed that the area around the wound was already discoloured and turning poisonous.

  The arrow had not gone all the way through, that would have made the job a lot easier. Snap off the fletching, and draw the arrow out the other side. The damage would have already been done, nothing I did there would make it worse. I told them this, and it did not make them happy. The man was their chief, he had been hurt by the farmer they were robbing at the time. The man had been a soldier once and still had his sword and bow. A lucky shot had caught the chief and, in revenge, they had made sure the farmer and his family could never resist again. The way they said this, with a sick grin upon their faces, rotten and blackened teeth peeking through their lips, made me shudder. I guessed they had killed the family and, unless I saved their chief, I was next,” Yángwū said.

  “When was this?” Zhou said.

  “A long time ago, when I was a young man. Let me continue. I brewed some herbs to draw the poison out of the wound though it was clear the skin around it had already died. Packing the herbs around the arrow shaft, I hoped and prayed they would work. I did not want to die.

  Whilst the herbs were given a chance to work, I built up the fire and laid out my instruments. Sharp knives, pincers and pliers, small spoon shaped tools, hooks and clips, I had everything I needed for almost any injury or illness. A herbalist does not perform surgery, the real reason I was a travelling herbalist. My order had not agreed with my learning. A herbalist does not cut, everything can be cured with the right herbs. A nonsense and I told them so. They asked me to leave.

  I had a word with the bandit in charge, explaining what I needed to do. I must tell you, Zhou, he was not happy, but I could see no other way. The arrow had been barbed, the bandits had stolen the farmer’s bow and arrows. They showed me one. Pulling the arrow out meant doing more damage to the chief’s insides and judging by the entrance wound the arrow head was close to his lung. In one regard the chief had been lucky, the arrow had passed between his ribs without breaking them. On the other hand, to draw the arrow out now, after it had twisted in the man’s innards would probably mean twisting it further to bring it out through the unbroken ribs. More twisting meant more chance of death.

  The arrow had to pass through him and out the other side. On my side, and the chief’s, was the location of the arrow. Just to the right of his breastbone and between the first and second of his ribs. It had gone through his lung but missed his heart and the major blood vessels. It also meant there was no need to manipulate the chief’s arm to get the shoulder blade out of the way.

  The chief was out, unconscious and so there was no point trying to make him sleep. Any herbs I could use for that would put strain on his heart and might kill him. The trick was to make it quick and then do something about the wound. I had one of the bandits, the one with the sharpest knife, cut the fletching and shaft from the arrow as far down as he could. The chief barely stirred, which was not a good sign.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Zhou said. “It has no bearing on what you want with me or what is going on outside.”

  “Bear with me, it will become clear soon,” Yángwū replied. “As soon as I had my instruments ready, cleaned with water and heated over the
fire, I told the bandits to hold the chief still and explained what I was about to do. At that point, the one in charge almost gutted me with his own knife. I had to calm him down and explain it was the only way, also that every moment he argued brought his chief closer to death. He gave me the ultimatum again, the chief dies and I die. The chief lives and I live. A simple bargain.

  Holding the chief secure, I raised a large flat stone over my head and sighted on the cut shaft of the arrow. There was no point pushing the arrow through slowly, it would just delay the treatment, so I struck fast and true. The shaft disappeared into the man’s chest and new scream burst from his mouth, accompanied by a spray of blood. The bandits, to give them credit, did as I asked and rolled the chief over so I could pull the arrow free from the wound. The sucking and bubbling blood welled up from the wound and started spreading across the chief’s back.

  I had them hold him still whilst I went to work. A metal tube packed with shredded herbs went into the wound and I blew for all I was worth. The herbs chosen were to constrict the flow of blood, close of the veins and arteries. There were panicked faces all around as the blood flew out from the chief’s chest, but in a few moments the blood flow lessened.

  The new wound, the cleaner one, on his back was cleansed with hot water and I packed the herbs tight into the wound. They would need to work for a time before I could consider sewing up this wound, and that is what I would do. The chief had been lucky, the barb had twisted to the horizontal and had passed between the ribs without more damage. The bandits followed my instructions and pressed the cleanest cloths they had, boiled in the water I had prepared, against their chief’s chest.

  I pushed more herbs into his chest wound when they changed the compress and I worried.”

  “He wasn’t dead?” Zhou said.

  “No, though it was close. I had half-expected his heart to give out when I pushed the arrow through, or when I blew the herbs in. Either one could have killed him, but I didn’t tell the bandits that. The major problem I faced was my inability to access the damage inside the body, without doing more on the outside. The bandits would not let me cut him open to seal the damage inside.

  Surgery is the strangest of all medical disciplines. First you must do more damage, cut more flesh away, before you can repair the damage the arrow had done. Then you worked your way back up through the damage you had done, sealing and stitching as you went. A cave with poor lighting was not the ideal place to perform such a delicate task. All I had was herbs and time, I hoped they were enough.”

  “You are here, so he must have survived. Why are you telling me this? Is it some sort of allegory that I am missing?” Zhou asked.

  “Empire education has its purpose, I suppose. No, it is not an allegory, it really happened. Let me finish and you’ll see.” Yángwū continued, “For three days I changed the dressings, added more herbs, clearing the old ones out of the way, but it was a losing battle. The poison in his blood from the days before they kidnapped me had done more damage than the arrow. It was clear that he was dying. I was just slowing the process down. I didn’t want him to die because I wanted to live. In the end though there was nothing I could do. One moment he was breathing, the next he wasn’t. I tried to bring him back, but it was a vain attempt.

  Once the shock had worn off, the bandits didn’t look very happy. I made a dive for the cave entrance, but as you can see I was never a good runner. They were going to make good on their promise. I tried to tell them I had done everything, I pleaded with them, explained it to them. Nothing changed their minds.

  They staked me out on the floor and cut all my clothes away. Then they started cutting me. You know what it is like to be hurt, don’t you?” Zhou nodded. “Multiply it by a thousand times, a thousand cuts. They started on my arms and legs, slicing and cutting, letting the blood flow out. When they tired of that, they cut my chest, my stomach and my face. Nothing deep, just painful, excruciatingly so. I was painted in my own blood and I could see what they were doing, every step of the way.

  They left me for a bit. It seemed like days, trapped inside my agony.” Yángwū shuddered, a little tremor running through the man’s body. “But the sun didn’t go down and they came back. My toenails first, then my fingernails. They ripped them out and I screamed until I had nothing left. There was sharp, short snap. I thought at first from the fire then a new river of pain ran up my arm and pierced my brain. My fingers, they were breaking my fingers. The very things I made my living from. All that learning and practice was being taken away from me.

  I snapped. The anger, I can still feel it now, rose through me like a wave and I drowned in it. I was reborn in it. You know what it is like, Zhou. The world lost its colour, everything turned to black and white. There were shades of grey, but no colour. Even time seemed to slow down, the pain was there and I drew on it. I made it part of me and I threw it at them. The bandits around me fell back, writhing on the ground. It was exultant, exciting, terrifying, but I was beyond thought.

  The bonds holding me down snapped and I stood up. I wanted to feel them die. I wanted them to share my pain. You know how that is don’t you, Zhou? That first rush of power that possesses no direction except to strike out against those who hurt you. Well, I hurt them. I hurt them a lot. I can look back now and feel no pride in what I did. They needed to die, I needed revenge, but using all my training in surgery to hurt and not heal was not a good deed. There is shame still in my heart for that.

  You know what happened to me, don’t you, Zhou? It happened to you too, didn’t it.” Yángwū finished.

  “You’re a Wu?”

  “A wild one, at least I was. I was trained on the mountain, just you have been. I lived there for a long time.”

  “Then how could you destroy it?” As Zhou asked the question another rumble came through the ground, followed by a much bigger roll of thunder than before.

  Zhou and Yángwū were silent throughout.

  Chapter 8

  The early afternoon retreat, the forced march south through the evening and the wheeling of the stars above had done little for Haung’s mood. Leaving the soldiers behind sat heavy in his heart and stomach. He had condemned them to death as surely as agreeing to the poison. There was, in the centre of conscience, the inescapable question, which choice would have been better for the men. He was not sure he had made the right one, but there was no turning back now. Another hour and they could rest. When they did, he would carry on thinking.

  There was no time, no need, to set a camp that first night. The troops would not be given long to rest. Just enough to let the weariness seep from their legs, maybe an hour or two of sleep, a cold breakfast before they would be off again. Marching for the capital, sticking to the road. Xióngmāo had told him the Emperor knew they were coming and the road was the most direct, the quickest, route. It would also be the one the Mongols would use when they mounted a pursuit.

  “Two days, Haung,” Xióngmāo had said to him. “That is what they can give. If the Mongol magicians start to interfere it might be less.”

  “It is not long,” he had replied.

  “It is all you have, make the most of it.” She had softened the words by patting him on the shoulder.

  Guilt pressed down on one shoulder and responsibility on the other. When they rested, he needed to talk to his command staff, such as they were. Two famous warriors more used to duels and combating bandits than leading an army, an engineer with no powder left, the puzzle of the other Taiji and whomever of the troop leaders had survived the last battle. There had been little time for a head count. The army moved in good order and that was enough evidence that some leaders had made it through, or just promoted themselves into that role by the sheer expediency of being alive and the fact that someone needed to take charge.

  For now, for the next hour, he needed to march and to think.

  # # #

  “How far do you think we have come?” Haung said to the assembled staff.

  “Not far enough,�
� Enlai answered.

  For once the Taiji was not sat in the shadow of a fire. Even the command staff had to make do with a cold camp. The clouds were not thick, moon and starlight provided enough illumination pick out individuals. There had been some grumbling amongst the troops about the lack of fire and warmth, but troops grumble, it is what they do and it was something of a relief. It meant they were not succumbing to the fear of being chased. Once the troops went silent, when each man would look nervously at the one next to him, when weapons trembled in their hands or they refused to march, that was the time to worry.

  “You’ve a tired army, Haung,” said Liu in his soft voice. “They’ve battled on the Wall and now you’re dragging them south.”

  “I don’t see that there was much choice, Honoured Liu,” Gongliang said. “Once the Mongols breach the gate they have open access to the whole of the Empire. You can be sure that some will be chasing us, if not the whole army, and just because we are between them and the capital.”

  “They catch us in the open and we are going to die,” Gang said, his deep voice rumbling out of the darkness. “They may stink of horse, but they can ride them. And those bows they use? If they play it right they won’t ever have to get into range of our crossbows, let alone my hammer. They can just pick us off at their leisure.”

  “We have to get back to the capital. The Emperor will be putting the army into the field and we should be able to meet up with it on the road.” Haung looked around at his staff, his friends.

  “We won’t reach them, or them us,” Enlai said into the silence that had followed Haung’s comment.

  “I hate to say it,” Liu said, “but he’s right. If the army was rested, if we had horses, even pack horses, we might make a forced march, but every day they are going to go slower and slower. There is only so much the men can give and do, Haung.”