Once We Were Kings (Young Adult Fantasy) (The Sojourner Saga)

by Alexander, Ian

  In the Eastern Empire of Tian Kuo, during the rule of the Lohng Dynasty, the greater part of the population lived in rural villages outside the capital walls, without the amenities of the Emperor's city. This had not been the intention of the Emperor, but rather that of his widow, the Empress Dowager, soon after his demise.

  Though they were afforded marginal protection by imperial troops during wars, for the most part these villagers were left to their own devices. This is not to say that they were what one might consider provincial, uneducated or uncultured. On the contrary, much of Tian Kuo's fading cultural, scientific and spiritual wisdom found its roots in the written and oral traditions of outcast cultures such as that of Xingjia.

  Towards the Western border of Tian Kuo, between the Myng River and the Lohngdi desert, lay a peaceful hamlet set within tall palms and flowing silvery brooks. The inhabitants of Xingjia were an uncomplicated people. But many of them had once been scholars or government officials, and possessed an ancient wisdom, from which many a great storyteller and seer had emerged.

  And then put to death.

  For their beliefs were considered the dangerous superstition of the wealthy land owners, the so called "oppressors of the masses." But that was over two centuries ago. Ancient history.

  Now, to the Tianese Empress, the people of Xingjia were nothing more than a backwards people that had best keep to themselves.

  "Ahndien," Mother called, cutting vegetables at the stone table in their wooden house. "Father will return soon. Go out and fetch those Kai roots."

  Barely hearing, Ahndien carefully turned a withering page from the Book of Didactic Songs in Praise of Falun Darah and attempted to recite Song Number One Hundred and Six, The Fall of Mah LhaKor, in the ancient tongue.

  "Ahndien!" Mother called again.

  "Yes, Ma! I'm coming." Still holding her book, her face buried in its pages, she began walking back towards her house. Before she could complete the final line, the book was yanked from her hands. Her mother's annoyed eyes took its place.

  "Ai! You are just like your father! Nose in book, head in clouds! Don't you know that we need to have dinner prepared for his return?"

  "But Ah-Ma," Ahndien said, grabbing at the old leather-bound book which she had taken without permission from Ah-Bah's library.

  "Go get the roots now," she said, and shook her head. "Always talking superstition like your father."

  "But Ah-Bah says that everyone has a spirit, a potential to—"

  "Ai! Enough! You are nearly a grown woman. How will you ever find a husband if you keep going on with these childish fairy tales?" She handed Ahndien a satchel packed with nuts, dried pork, a steamed bun, and a flask of water for the journey to the Huangtoa hills, where the Kai roots grew. "Where is the spirit potential to put rice on the table? Hmm?"

  "I'm hungry," said Shao-Bao, her little brother.

  "Yes Ah-Ma." Ahndien lowered her head, tied the pack around her waist and shouldered the empty buckets. "May I at least take Ah-Bah's book with me?"

  "When would you have time to read?"

  "Please, Mother?"

  Her stone carved countenance softened. A smile emerged from Ah-Ma's features and she lowered her arched shoulders. "I tell you. You'll end up an eccentric word-eater like your father." She handed her the book and huffed. "If you are lucky, you'll end up with a husband who will put up with all this..." she waved her fingers dismissively. "This nonsense!"

  Ahndien bounced on her toes and clapped her hands. "I won't waste any time. I promise."

  "You can read while you take your lunch."

  "Yes." Ahndien rummaged through the closet making an extraordinary amount of noise. There she found father's antique sword and made sure Ah-Ma wasn't looking when she strapped it to her waist. She winked at Shao-Bao and went to the door.

  "Be home before dusk," said Ah-Ma.

  She was already out the door and on her way.

  The midday sun began its indolent ascent into the sky and warmed Ahndien's shoulders. She took a sip from her flask and wiped her brow. With a red ribbon she tied up her long, ink-black hair and gazed out at her surroundings.

  How lovely the mountains were this time of the year. Green with life, intoxicating jasmine blossoms, new life emerging all around. Taking it all in with a deep breath, Ahndien felt a profound connection to the very land on which she stood.

  Directly above her in a tree branch, nested eagle chicks cheeped for their mother. Perhaps it was the great bird's shadow among several that had flown over Ahndien several times since she reached the hill. A shrill cry told her that this was the case. The eagle returned with a small rodent in its beak and alighted in the nest to feed her young.

  Ahndien reached into her satchel and pulled out a small wooden flute which she only played when she left the village, for the old songs grandfather had taught her vexed mother so.

  Five notes. In improvised sequences, she created a song which originated from her heart in reaction to the inspiring landscape. At the first piercing note which split the air and echoed down to Xingjia below, she expected the birds to fly off in surprise.

  Indeed, the birds flew.

  But instead of flying away, they all gathered around her, some on the branches, some at her feet, and some on her shoulders—a secret pleasure Ahndien had enjoyed since her eighth birthday when Ah-Yeh (grandfather) gave her his flute.

  Her otherworldly pentatonic song filled the mountain and she began to march around a fallen tree trunk. A procession of sparrows, rainbow finches and even a wild goose followed.

  When she stopped, the birds cocked their heads to the side. Down below the people in her village went about their business. She felt a twinge of guilt. They are all working so hard at their chores, and here I am enjoying myself. But her heart took flight when she looked down into the village and saw a broad shouldered man entering the village gates.

  "Ah-Bah!"

  Mother and Shao-Bao, ran up to greet him. He had returned from the symposium earlier than expected.

  "Little brothers and sisters," Ahndien announced to her winged friends. "Thank you for gracing me with your company. But now I must make haste."

  The birds, now encircling her, stood perfectly still. As she unpacked her food, preparing to give her entire meal to her avian friends, a rustling in the bush caught her attention.

  Chittering into the sky, every bird flew off.

  Ahndien called into the thicket. "Hello?" There was no wind, so someone or something must have been there. "Please, show yourself." She reached for her waist and unsheathed the sword that mother did not know she'd taken. Her mouth grew dry. The rustling drew closer.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Ah-Ba!" Shao-Bao cried out, ran and leapt into his father's open arms. For all his shortcomings as a husband, Myanwu conceded that he always redeemed himself many times over as a father.

  "Shao-Bao, be careful. You'll hurt your father's back."

  "Beloved," her husband said wrapping his free arm around her shoulder. He kissed her forehead. "Forgive me for arriving early without sending word."

  "Nonsense, Bai Juang," Myanwu said, her ears warming and not from the midday sun. "How was the symposium?"

  Bai Juang set his son down and pulled a toy bird made of bright colored feathers and handed it to him. Shao-Bao squealed in delight when his father pulled a string and the bird began flapping its wings.

  He turned to Myanwu, and though his smile remained, the light in his eyes was dimming. "I have been away from my family for two weeks. I don't want to bore you with matters which do not concern you."

  "Husband," Myanwu said, slightly hurt. "I only meant to—"

  He stood and regarded her sharply, then moved his eyes to Shao-Bao. For a moment, Myanwu could not understand his reticence. Apprehension hollowed her stomach. He only acted that way when—

  "But where is my little Empress?" said Bai Juang, a warm smile washing away the tension. Myanwu let out the breath she'd been inadvertently holding.

&nb
sp; "Ahndien has gone to gather Kia roots. Did you not hear her flute?"

  "Ah, I thought that might be her," he said and put his pack of books down. "Perhaps I should go join her."

  "Ah-Ba?" Shao-Bao said, now whimpering. He was facing down into his cupped hands, sniffling in little hiccups. When he looked up at his father, two large tear drops rolled down his plump cheeks.

  "What is it, little warrior?" he said and knelt down to open his hands.

  "It's broken," he sobbed. "Won't fly anymore."

  "Ai!" Myanwu scowled. "You always break every new toy your father—"

  Bai Juang held up a hand, took his son into his arms and let him bury his face into his shirt. "Do not fret. Nothing that has been damaged is beyond repair."

  Would he spoil his son as he had Ahndien?

  "Run along, son. I will repair this for you later." From his bag, he produced a small picture book and handed it to Shao-Bao. "I believe I made you a promise before I left?"

  His wet eyes opened wide and his frown inverted. "The Dragon Adventures of Kronis the Great!" The boy hugged his father's neck and ran into the house. "Thank you, father!"

  Bai Juang straightened up and smoothed the wrinkles in his cloak. He turned to Myanwu and shrugged with repentant eyes. "I know what you are going to—"

  "Bai Juang," she said, sharply curbing her indignance. "Would you simply fix everything for your son, rather than teach him to take care of his property?"

  "He will learn."

  "Not at this rate."

  "He needed comfort."

  "You always chose the heart over the head."

  Bai Juang put his elbow in his hand, rubbed his dark beard and pondered this. His eyes deepened and his lips pulled thin. Then he stepped over to his wife and put a strong arm around her waist. "I choose the heart over the head because it was the only way I could win your hand." From behind his back he pulled out a Golden Fire Orchid.

  And the walls fell.

  She wanted to remain angry at him for leaving her with the children for weeks at a time, for being more devoted to his cause—a dying one at that—than to his own wife. But what stopped her were these two things:

  First, deep down, she too believed in his cause; because she believed in him. Never had she met a man of such integrity and conviction. If Bai Juang believed something, it must be true. And second, he always knew the paths of diplomatic warfare when it came to their conflicts.

  "Where did you...?" She took hold of the flower and wanted to cry.

  "My bride. How soon you have forgotten. "Twenty years ago today," he pointed to the hills, "at the foot of that very mountain where our daughter gathers Kai roots, you and I met for the first time and—"

  "Bai." Myanwu took the flower and sank into her husband's embrace. "I will never forget."

  She remained there, holding him tight, glad that he was home. Even if it was only until his next three week trip to and back from the symposium. He was a good man. And she treasured these moments.

  Then, at the sound of something she hadn't heard since she was a child, Bai's body went stiff.

  "No."

  From the outskirts of Xingjia, atop the sentry towers, a clarion call resounded. "Shao-Bao," Bai Juang's eyes darted to the village gates. Myanwu dropped the Orchid and ran to the house not realizing that she had trampled and torn the delicate petals on the ground.

  Frantic, she vaguely heard her husband shouting to the men running back into the gates, calling all men to arms, "How far off? How far off!"

  The only reply she heard was, "How can this be! Where are the imperial guards?"

  Already inside the house, Myanwu found her son, rushed him down into the hidden room beneath the house, and held him close.

  Out in the courtyard, someone cried out, "Torians!"

  She winced. Above them, someone was overturning chairs, ransacking the cabinets and dropping dishes and utensils to the ground.

  Shao-Bao let out a gasp.

  She covered his mouth. Held up a finger.

  The crashing of furniture and items being kicked aside onto the floor grew closer. Louder.

  Then, the worst thing that could have happened, did.

  The door hinges above them squealed. Where was Bai Juang?

  The door to the hidden room flung open.

  Myanwu and her son screamed, their eyes squeezed shut.

  "Where is it?" Bai Juang said, his eyes round with panic."

  "What?

  "Where is my sword!"

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Come out." Affecting all the courage she could, Ahndien grasped the hilt of her father's sword tighter still. "Show yourself...and...and I won't hurt you."

  The rustling in the bush stopped. Curiosity overtook caution and Ahndien stepped forward, ready to strike, though Father's sword felt a bit too heavy to swing with any effect. When she reached the place from which the rustling sounds came, she took a deep breath, held it, and with her foot, pushed away some of the branches.

  "Please," she whispered. "Answer me." Father had warned her not to wander off to the top of the hill. There are vicious mountain lions that devour little children, he had always said. Her heart beat like the festival drums of the New Year, yet fear had not seized her. Not entirely.

  She pulled the branches aside. "Aha!"

  Just then, a small man, slightly hunched in the back and wearing the white garb of a monk, turned around and gasped. "Ai!" He lifted his walking stick as if to strike. But when he saw Ahndien's face, he lowered it. "What do you mean, startling an old man like that? Why, I might have..." he coughed, sputtered, pounded his chest. "I might have mistook you for... for a bandit!"

  "I'm sorry," she said and rushed to his side. "You didn't answer."

  "Eh?"

  "You didn't answer me when—"

  "Eh?" he turned his head. "Speak into this ear, my child. The hearing's not what it once was."

  "Never mind." She helped the old man out into the clearing where she had set her things down. "Have you eaten yet?"

  "My food is knowledge, wisdom...and truth!" From behind the white beard that stretched down to his chest, a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. The monk bore a striking resemblance to Ah-Yeh, her grandfather who lived with her family until he passed away last winter.

  Ahndien thought his bones would surely creak as he sat on the tree trunk and rested both hands on his cane. "Was that you, playing the song of the Fenghuang?"

  "Feng...what?" This had always been her secret, not so much the music, but her way with the birds. "I don't know what you are talking about."

  "Of course you don't." His round belly rolled like grass jelly when he laughed. "And yet, you do."

  She should have felt apprehensive speaking to a stranger, alone on the mountain like this, but for some reason she did not. He was too frail to be any sort of threat. Perhaps it was the way he spoke, the way he laughed. Just like Ah-Yeh.

  "My name is Lao-Ying." He leaned forward on his cane.

  "I am honored to make your acquaintance, sir," she replied. "I am—"

  "Ahndien, daughter of Xing Bai Juang," he said. His hazel-green eyes sparkled. They seemed unusually sharp for a man of his age. "I have waited long to meet you."

  "But how do you know me?"

  Before he could answer, a strange sound rang out into the mountains from below—the sound of horns, rapid and urgent. Lao-Ying arose and bounded to the edge of the hill. With a hand he shielded his eyes. "And so it begins."

  "What is it?"

  "Something that should not have happened for another ten years."

  Ahndien came to his side and looked down at her village. Her heart sank at the sight of the trebuchets, large monstrosities on wheels, pushed by soldiers in red vested chainmail and armor. Flying high with the army's advance, a flag with the image of a crimson, winged creature stood tall on a pole.

  "What are they doing?"

  Lao-Ying took her elbow and tried to lead her away. "Come along, child. Come."

&n
bsp; "Wait." Just then, the three trebuchets stopped a good distance from the village walls. She looked harder at the flag, the soldiers and realized. "Are those...?"

  Lao-Ying lowered his gaze and shut his eyes. "Soldiers of Valdshire Tor."

  "Western Demons!"

  The Torian soldiers lit the cauldrons in the center of the slings and flames burst upwards. In swift succession the trebuchet's massive arms swung forward, hurling the flaming projectiles at the village.

  "No!" Ahndien tried to run. But something restrained her with alarming force. She looked down at her arm. Lao-Ying had taken hold of it.

  In a low and regretful voice, he said, "It is too late."

  A thunderous explosion erupted from the center of the village. Cries of terror arose with plumes of fire and billowing black smoke. Like a swarm of red fire ants, Torian soldiers with swords, crossbows and all manner of weaponry charged into the village.

  Ahndien broke free and ran down the path. Even at her best speed, the village was at least half an hour away.

  "Please," shouted Lao-Ying, "You mustn't!"

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The sharp sound of curtain rings ripping across a rod, followed by a blinding light jarred Render from his sleep.

  "Arise!" boomed a husky voice.

  Render rubbed his eyes. Had Bobbington fallen ill of the throat? Had he dreamt the entire thing last night? But when he saw Kaine waking up in the bed across the chamber, and Folen and Stewan as well, Render knew it was not a dream.

  "Up now, you den of sloths. All of you!" A rather large and rotund man with flaxen hair stood at the door. Dressed in a brown cloak, he very much resembled one of those Malkoran scholars, illustrations of which he'd seen in the moldering books of Bobbington's library.

  Folen yawned and nudged Stewan who, lying next to him, was still asleep. "Come on, sleepy head, wake up."

  "Who are you?" Kaine said to the scholar. "And where are we?"

  "You will address me as Sir Edwyn," he said gazing down the side of his considerable nose. "And you have three minutes to clean up and change into those." He pointed to the neatly folded bundles at the foot of each of their beds and then gestured to the basins and pitchers at the end tables. Sir Edwyn clapped his hands, making Render wince. The sound of it resounded throughout the cavernous stone walls of their chamber, which, when compared to his room in Bobbington's cottage, seemed more like a cathedral. "Quickly now. When I return you had best be ready."