The Great Wall

by Mark Morris

  Ballard glared at the man, as if hoping the sheer force of his fury could stop his hand. He wanted to rage at him and his companions, ridicule them for their ignorance, punish them for their presumption, their effrontery, their willful destruction of his precious property. But he was helpless to do anything. All he could do was watch as Wang’s black powder formulas, his painstaking research notes, his diagrams of potential weapons, were scattered to the wind, or burned, or crumpled. He felt like weeping in frustration. There was even a part of him that wished Pero would magically appear and dispatch these three filthy primitives, lopping their heads off where they sat.

  When Brigand 3 tossed the first saddlebag aside with a snort of disgust and opened the second, Ballard really began to sweat. He saw the man delve inside and rummage about. Then he saw his hand emerge clutching one of Wang’s black powder grenades.

  In many ways, Ballard knew the worst thing he could do was react, but he couldn’t help it. He managed to remain silent as Brigand 3 examined the grenade with a puzzled expression, but when he casually tossed the grenade to Brigand 2, and when Brigand 2 fumbled it, causing it to drop in the sand close to the fire, Ballard screamed. Or at least, he made a shrill, panicked sound behind his gag, which drew his captors’ attention. They looked at him at first curiously, and then with amusement, as he attempted to squirm back from the fire, his eyes bulging. They said something to one another, and burst into uproarious laughter. Even when Ballard shook his head frantically from side to side, trying to communicate to them the terrible danger they were in, they only laughed and mocked him.

  Brigand 2 picked up the grenade, looked at it, then handed it to Brigand 1, who was grasping for it with greasy fingers. Brigand 1 sniffed the grenade, as if hoping it was something to eat, and then leaned forward with a groan, holding it close to the fire for a better look.

  In his mind, as he frantically wriggled backwards until he was squashed up against a sheltering outcrop of rock and could wriggle no further, Ballard was screaming at them. In truth, though, he could only make shrill and muffled noises beneath his gag—noises which they either ignored or laughed at.

  When Brigand 3 pulled one of the small leather bags of black powder out of the saddlebag, opened it and tipped a quantity of the powder into his cupped hand, Ballard felt as if the panic trapped inside him would make his heart explode. Then Brigand 1 barked something at Brigand 3, causing Brigand 3 to swing round so quickly that some of the black powder blew out of his hand and drifted towards the fire.

  Next instant there was a sound like the world splitting apart and a burst of blinding light. Ballard experienced a brief, agonizing blast of pain and heat, and then he felt no more.

  * * *

  Pero was marching in the moonlight, following the direction Ballard had taken. The scowl and dead-eyed stare on his face had been in place for the past eight hours. He marched steadily and with great determination, energized by a survival instinct that was second to none and a seething desire for revenge. Horses or no horses, he would track Ballard down. And when he did he would take the black powder from him—but not before he had ripped the man’s head off with his bare hands.

  Aside from the soft chirruping of desert insects and the occasional faraway howl of a wolf, the night was silent. Suddenly, though, the peace was shattered by a muffled explosion that echoed flatly from the mountains and seemed to cause the very air to ripple.

  Immediately Pero’s head snapped up. His lips curved in a scimitar-like grin. And then, feeling very like a desert wolf himself—one with the smell of his prey’s blood in his nostrils—he broke into a smooth and tireless run.

  * * *

  William and Wang stood side by side, watching as the final balloon was inflated. In a few moments it would be time to climb aboard, and then there would be no turning back.

  William knew, of course, that what this also meant was that in a few minutes he could be dead, his burning body hurtling towards the earth. He tried not to look at the charred corpses and still smoldering debris littering the top of the Wall and the desert plain beyond, tried to blot out his memories from earlier that day of the explosions and the screams he had heard from his cell, the flashes of light that had sizzled like rods of fire through the slit of his window.

  At least if he died, it would be while pursuing a noble cause. Which was infinitely better than dying pointlessly for a crime he had not committed. He wondered where Lin Mae was now. Was she somewhere out there, still drifting towards Bianliang? He wondered where Pero was too, and how he and Ballard were shaping up as partners. He wondered which of them would kill the other first, and whether either of them would end up profiting from their misdemeanors.

  Once, such questions would have invigorated him. Now, pursuing such an existence seemed pointless, devoid of both honor and worth.

  Behind him, someone spoke his name, or something like it. He turned, as did Wang, to see Commander Wu standing there, resplendent in his shimmering yellow armour and flowing cape. In his arms he was carrying a full set of red Eagle Corps armour, a brace of red-feathered arrows in an Eagle Corps quiver clutched in his right hand. Almost shyly he offered them to William.

  William was taken aback. “For me?”

  Behind him the black powder was being pumped into the brazier, the flames roaring as the hot air rising from them filled the balloon. Wu gave a single decisive nod and Wang echoed the motion. A little overcome, William stepped forward and took the armour from Wu. Wu clasped his hands together in the traditional gesture of comradeship and respect.

  “Xie, xie,” said William, trying to get the pronunciation right.

  Wu smiled and nodded, and then at the sound of raised voices all three men turned towards the Northern Tower. Through the haze of smoke they saw two men standing there, apparently engaged in an argument. Both wore the black armour of a Bear Corps soldier. The smaller and younger of the two, William recognized as the kitchen orderly, who, by speaking up, had apparently saved his life. The smaller man had something in his hand, which the Bear Corps warrior was trying to take from him. William couldn’t see what it was at first, and then the smoke cleared a little and suddenly he recognized it.

  It was his bow.

  “What’s that man’s name?” William asked, pointing at the kitchen orderly.

  Wang all but rolled his eyes. “That is Peng Yong.”

  “He’s got my bow,” William said. “What’s going on?”

  As if Peng Yong had heard, he shouted something across to the three men.

  Wang said, “He says that if you wish to thank him, you must tell us to let him join us.”

  Peng Yong was still shouting. Wang winced, but added, “He is begging you. He says that you owe him this honor.”

  William looked at Peng Yong, who was still tussling fiercely with the Bear Corps warrior. He felt a sudden wave of almost brotherly affection towards him. Shrugging, he said, “Well, if he wants to come… why not?”

  “Look at him,” replied Wang, as if that explained everything.

  “The less to carry,” William said persuasively.

  Wang almost smiled.

  * * *

  Although it was warm close to the brazier, it soon became cold when you moved away from it. They had been travelling now for several hours, and so far things were going well. They had got into a rhythm, Lin Mae and Xiao Yu taking turns to manipulate the ropes and keep them on course, Li Qing working the brazier. Although it was Li Qing who was closest to the source of heat, however, it was she, ironically, who was sitting with a blanket draped across her shoulders. This was because hers was a mainly sedentary role, whereas working the ropes took effort and strength. Having just completed her latest stint, Lin Mae was now taking a break, and hoping that the aches in her arms and back would have lessened by the time her turn came around again.

  She stood at the prow of the gondola, looking out across the sky. In the darkness she had done her best to count the balloons spread out around them, and therefore knew th
at seventy-five (or thereabouts) of her fleet were still airborne. The balloons furthest away were visible only by the constant glow, and occasional flare, of their braziers. Indeed, the occasional hushed roar of the braziers was all she could hear this high above the ground.

  If it hadn’t been such a risky way to travel, and if there hadn’t been such urgency to reach Bianliang before the Tao Tei laid waste to the city, the journey would have been almost enjoyable. Certainly the passing view was one that prompted a feeling of serenity, despite the fact that the balloons were travelling deceptively quickly—more quickly than a horse could gallop, for instance, or, most importantly, a Tao Tei could run.

  All at once a flash of light from behind them lit up the sky, which was followed a split-second later by a distant boom. Lin Mae turned to see another balloon become a plummeting fireball, and felt yet another wrench in her stomach at the knowledge that more lives had been lost, that even now friends and colleagues, perhaps people she had known all her life, were hurtling in pain and terror towards the earth.

  Then she felt an extra jolt as she remembered that Wang had been planning to oversee the entire launch, before boarding the very last balloon to lift off from the Wall. Had that been the last balloon she had just seen suffer a fiery demise? She scanned the horizon behind her. If not the very last, it had certainly been one of them.

  * * *

  The balloon that had gone down had been close enough to the one occupied by William, Wang and Peng Yong for the hot, buffeting wind of the explosion to rock their gondola. With William working the brazier (under instructions from Wang), and Wang himself at the ropes, they had managed to keep the craft on an even keel. Now, as they pulled smoothly away, William and Peng Yong silently watched the stricken balloon flailing towards the earth in flames. It was too dark to see what had become of the crew, but William knew there was no way they could have survived.

  Glancing at Peng Yong, he saw that the boy was pale and very scared. William reached across and patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. Peng Yong looked startled for a moment. Then he smiled.

  * * *

  The ceiling of the Main Hall in the Imperial Palace was composed of panels of rare glass, which made it the perfect laboratory. Dominating the center of the opulently appointed room was the huge iron cage containing the captured Tao Tei. Despite the presence of dozens of scribes and assistants who were making notes, Imperial Councilors, courtiers and various other onlookers, all of whom were surrounding the cage in a wide circle, chattering or simply gawping, the Tao Tei was sitting placidly, its head down, its eyes glazed, its huge taloned paws resting between its knees.

  The creature remained inert as Shen edged towards the cage holding a lacquered pole with a hook on the end. He was clearly nervous, but trying to fight it. This was his moment, after all. His moment to prove his worth, to make an impression on the Emperor’s court, and to be subsequently elevated into a position of influence and importance.

  When, having walked up to the cage, he realized that the Tao Tei was still not paying him—or anything else—the slightest attention, his confidence grew a little. He drew himself up, standing straighter and squaring his shoulders. Extending the pole slowly through the bars of the cage, he tried to keep his hands steady as he hooked the noose around the creature’s neck, to which the magnet was attached, and started to lift it slowly and carefully up and over the creature’s head. He sucked in a sharp breath as the dangling black stone bumped against the Tao Tei’s snout, but it didn’t react.

  Stepping backwards, pulling the magnet away from the Tao Tei, he looked around at his audience and indicated the white, carefully measured lines beneath his feet.

  “The markings on the floor,” he said importantly, “will measure the distance from the beast at which it begins to demonstr—”

  He was still looking at his audience when the Tao Tei’s eyes blazed, its head snapped up and it launched itself with a bellowing roar at Shen. It slammed into the bars of the cage with such force that the entire construction toppled over. Shen turned in utter terror and let loose a shrill scream—and then the heavy cage smashed down on top of him! The pole with its attached magnet flew out of his hand and went slithering away across the polished floor, out of reach.

  Although the Tao Tei had not actually broken out of its cage, people began to scream, to panic, to run in all directions. Inside the cage the Tao Tei opened its vast mouth and expelled shriek after bellowing shriek. Shen, on his back, the lower half of his body crushed, found himself looking up at the glass ceiling. But he was already so delirious with pain that when the ceiling began to shatter, when the glass began to rain down in glittering shards, he wondered if it was real.

  * * *

  Through the valleys, across the desert plains, up and down the peaks and troughs of the mountain ranges, came the Tao Tei horde. There were thousands of them, massed together, moving as one. They formed a seething green ocean of teeth and talons, which flowed ever forward at incredible speed, flooding the land, stopping for nothing. Anything that got in their way—any animal, any roaming tribes, any bands of brigands or groups of merchants—were instantly overwhelmed and devoured. Nothing was left.

  At the center of this raging sea, this teeming crush of Tao Tei soldiers, was the Queen, surrounded and protected by her Paladins. Her skin rippled with the thousands of eggs she carried. Yet her young didn’t slow her down. If anything, they made her more frantic to feed, to procreate, to flood the world with more of her kind.

  Suddenly, however, she stopped. And as she did so, as though at an unspoken command, so did the green wave of creatures. She raised her vast head, opened her mouth wide and from it extended a surprisingly fragile and flexible receptor. She could hear something, taste something. It was one of her own. And it was calling to her. Informing her of the feeding ground it had discovered, inviting her to the feast. She felt excitement flooding her, felt her salivary juices flowing in anticipation. A scream erupted from her, high-pitched, ululating, causing fat veins to pulse and bulge all over her bloated body.

  Then—a moment of silence as the horde took on new information.

  They turned, as one, and began to flow in a new direction.

  Towards Bianliang. Towards the feast.

  21

  The rain of glass had stopped falling. Some of it had landed on Shen—a shard of it had sliced through his cheek—but he barely noticed. He barely noticed the screaming, running crowd either, the crush of people at the door of the Main Hall, trying to get out. All he was really aware of was the overwhelming agony coursing in waves through his body, and the Tao Tei above him, in its toppled cage, still shrieking and hurling itself again and again at the bars.

  The bars were buckling now, bending. Soon the creature would be free. Soon the wild beast he had foolishly brought here would break out and rampage through the Imperial Palace, and then the city, ripping people apart with its hooked black talons, crunching them in its vast jaws. It might even kill and eat the Emperor. Shen might become known not as the man who had tamed the Tao Tei, but as one who had brought a scourge of death and destruction to the Kingdom. He would be dishonored, reviled. Before he died, therefore—for he would die, he knew that, and very soon—he must do all he could to redeem himself.

  Ignoring the black talons of the creature, which were slashing through the bars of the cage, inches above his body, in an attempt to rip him apart, he craned his neck, trying to look around and above him. The movement sent jagged bolts of new agony through his shattered legs, but he ignored them, blinking away the fug of unconsciousness that threatened to overwhelm him.

  There on the floor, just above his right shoulder, he saw the base of the lacquered pole. He stretched his hand up towards it, screaming at the pain it caused him in his stomach and pelvis—so much pain that for a second he thought the black talons of the Tao Tei had reached him and torn him open. He kept screaming as his rapidly numbing fingers gripped the base of the pole and began to drag it, inch by inch, t
owards him.

  Vaguely he was aware of a wrenching sound, and then a heavy metallic clatter. He knew instinctively what it was: one of the bars of the cage had given away—the Tao Tei was breaking loose! But there was nothing he could do except keep on with what he was doing. His fingers continued to climb the pole, dragging it down, bit by bit. With pain coursing through him, and the fingers of his hand moving sluggishly, like the legs of a dying spider, the task seemed impossible, insurmountable. He felt darkness closing in on him now, seeping from all sides. But he kept on. Inch by inch. Bit by bit.

  And finally, impossibly, his fingers were clutching the top of the pole, finding the hook, the thread of the noose to which the magnet was attached. And here was the magnet! He could feel its cold, hard surface, even though the feeling was going from his hands. He gripped it, dragged it down towards the cage…

  And the Tao Tei fell silent. Its eyes glazed, it stopped throwing itself about the mangled cage, it slumped as though drugged against the bars. It became utterly docile once more.

  And Shen, feeling exonerated, smiled.

  He closed his eyes and allowed the blackness to flood in and take him.

  * * *

  There were maybe only fifty balloons now left in the flotilla. But the survivors, spread out over several miles, powered on, a stiff wind pushing them quickly south.

  There had been great excitement an hour ago, just as a pale pink dawn began to break on the horizon, when the green wave of Tao Tei, barreling towards Bianliang, was spotted in the distance. Slowly but surely the flotilla had been gaining on the creatures ever since, and were now almost directly above them.

  More alarming, though, was the fact that as the dawn sun rose, awakening the land, it had also begun to glint on the glittering spires of Bianliang. It now seemed to be a race to see who could reach the city first—the Nameless Order or the Tao Tei. With a favorable wind the Nameless Order—or those that were left, at any rate—might just do it. But it was going to be close.