Relics

by K. T. Tomb

  Chapter Five

  “This ineptitude is astounding!” General Yung shouted. “How could he disappear?”

  “Someone is helping him.”

  “The entire battalion of Beijing cannot track down and capture one prisoner and one person helping him?” he snarled.

  “They are very quiet and they seem to be invisible.”

  “Invisible!” he shouted. “Don’t tell me ghost stories. Find them and catch them.”

  “Without the cover of darkness, it will be easier.”

  “A blind kitten could capture them, but my army is worthless!” The general screamed. “Why are you still standing here?”

  “There is more.”

  “What more?”

  “We have lost more than a dozen men.”

  “How the hell did we lose more than a dozen men?”

  “The one who is helping him is very good with a sword.”

  “A sword?” he bellowed. “We are armed with the best weapons in the world. Automatic rifles, grenades, laser sighted anti-armor weapons, pistols, helicopters and MIG fighters and you are afraid of one man with a sword?”

  “Actually, some think it is a woman, sir.”

  “Get the fuck out my office!”

  Chapter Six

  How had he gotten himself into the fix that he was in? He had spent the past fifteen years in various locations all over the world and he’d had some close scrapes at times, but Max had never been in any situation where his life was in imminent danger. Yes, he’d been holding the pistol, but there was more than enough evidence in his camera and the family that he had been photographing would certainly have backed up his story. He had been set up, but why?

  Tucked away in the false bottom of a truck, he could hear the hooves of the pigs on the floor above him. A fleeting thought went through his mind in which he fervently hoped the floor of the truck was waterproof when he heard the sound of one of them urinating above him. That wasn’t exactly the side of China that he had hoped to get to know.

  As the truck moved along the road, he had plenty of time to think, just as he had in those quiet hours that he spent locked up in prison. His life hadn’t necessarily always been easy, but most everything that had come his way before had been handled without a great deal of extraordinary effort.

  Football, track and photography at Burlington High School in Iowa had taken up a great deal of his youth. He’d passed plenty of lazy hours with Lucky in a canoe on the river or in a duck blind, mostly taking pictures and fishing. He had missed his dad who was killed in the line of duty when he had taken a bullet during a standoff with a maniac who had barricaded himself inside of a barn just outside of town.

  His brother and his mother had become a very tight support group for each other and he had taken over as the man of the house as a teen. Though he and his brother had fought plenty when they were younger, all memories of those disputes had been put aside and they began to work together to take care of their mother and each other.

  Though he would have liked to continue his education, he had gone to work right out of high school in order to help keep the family rolling while Earl was finishing up his last couple of years of school. They had done okay on the pension that had been provided by the passing of his father, but it had been necessary to be frugal. His mother had worked at the bakery, but Max had always hoped that by working, she could stay home and not have to roll out of bed so early in the morning. What he came to understand was that she loved the peace of the early morning as much as he did and going to work at the bakery was as much to help her cope with the death of her husband as it was to provide for the family.

  Max had continued to take photos and had begun to sell a few here and there, mostly to people around town and the occasional summer tourist. Once Earl graduated, the two of them applied more and more pressure on him to do more with his photography. He began to take photos for the local paper and even started to sell a few photo montages to smaller circulation magazines. His first big break was an autumn spread along the Mississippi River outside of Burlington which made its way into Country Magazine. After that, he began to get more and more work for larger circulation publications and started to travel on their dime.

  National Geographic had picked him up six years before and made him a permanent part of their photography team. They not only loved his skill with a camera, but the honest way that he stuck to his word and met his deadlines. They could trust him to be frugal with every cent that he spent on travel expenses and he was always where he said he would be and doing what he was supposed to be doing.

  Though he had gone through a phase of smoking a pipe, mostly because he’d seen pictures of old time photographers doing so, he wasn’t given to the vices of drugs, tobacco or alcohol. He wasn’t a teetotaler, nor was he one who was found to be searching for the next party. He’d kept his nose clean and was serious about doing his work to the best of his ability.

  What had endeared him not only to National Geographic, but to people all over the world, was his easy smile, his gentle nature and quiet confidence, not to mention that he would quickly lend a hand to help with whatever task the locals he was photographing happened to be undertaking. He’d helped to pick coffee beans in Colombia, coconuts in New Guinea, harvest cassava in Gambia and wool in New Zealand. It made his pictures come to life more when he understood more deeply what thoughts, actions and skills were necessary to do what his subjects did in order to live.

  He had never really felt that he was above or below anyone, even in the most poverty ridden areas of the world where he had discovered that, despite their lack of resources, people still found joy and happiness in everyday living.

  Max had spent his life doing good rather than harm and therefore, the shock of his life being in danger and being on the run had his mind spinning. Hadn’t he built up enough good karma to keep him out of such a horrible circumstance? Maybe he had and that was why Min had so magically appeared in his life. His thoughts turned to her.

  He was a decent enough looking young man and he had been with some attractive women from all over the world through the years, but he had never laid eyes on anyone who took his breath away the way that Min did. Every feature of her face and body seemed to be sculpted as though she had been cast in bronze and then brought to life by some ancient Chinese magic.

  Though he had never been particularly attracted to Chinese women before, there was something about her that went beyond his tastes; overwhelmed him, actually. The radiance that seemed to emanate out of her and surround him was also tempered by danger. She had so easily and gracefully eliminated every guard or soldier in their path without a sound. As he thought about it, he began to believe that she cast a spell over each of them that froze them in time while she took their lives.

  He was drawn to her in every way, yet confused by how easily and quickly she took the lives of others. It didn’t seem to fit. She was…

  As the truck slowed and then stopped, he held his breath and shifted his thoughts toward the voices that he could hear. They were at a roadblock and the truck was being searched. He was certain that they could hear the drumming of his heart and would soon be drawn straight to where he was hidden. He placed his hand on the sword that had been laid into hiding along with him. Would he have to use it?

  He heard the tailgate on the truck being opened and the heavy boots of a guard walking searching through the pigs. He heard the boots pause directly above him and he was certain that his hiding place had been found. He bit his upper lip and tried to calm his breathing and his thundering heartbeat. He’d been found.

  In the same instant that the thought came to mind, he heard the heavy boots retreating and the sound of the tailgate on the truck being closed once more.

  The rapid fire chatter of the guards and the driver of the truck reassured him that he had escaped discovery. As the truck began to pull away from the roadblock, his breathing began to return to normal and his heart once again slowed. He was still free.


  Chapter Seven

  Min was still on edge.

  They had made it out of Beijing and the greatest danger of being discovered was behind them, but she was well aware that there were plenty of opportunities for them to be discovered in the 1,400 miles that they still had to cover before they were in the mountains of Tibet. Even in Tibet, which was being occupied by Chinese troops, they would have to be careful. Every ounce of her gift would come to bear before she had Max in a safe place and the opportunity to explain his destiny to him.

  Would he believe the legend? Would he accept the destiny that was before him? Her own future and the future of her people depended upon whether Max believed, understood and chose to follow the course that was set before them.

  She could sense something very good, strong and stable within him. In spite of his fear and confusion, he seemed to possess an inner strength. More than once, his penetrating blue eyes had weakened her for a moment, as did the touch of his hand whenever she took hold of it.

  He had a square jaw and rugged features to his face. He was slender in his hips and legs, but carried well-toned, though not heavily, muscled flesh over his chest and shoulders. It hadn’t been easy to find clothing to fit him and those that she did find fit him pretty snugly. Was he indeed the man of destiny?

  She wondered how he was doing cooped inside the small box under the floor of the truck. He barely fit in the space and he had to be extremely uncomfortable. She wished that there had been some other way, but because of the overwhelming presence of the Chinese Army looking for the man, she could take no chances with providing him comfort. Comfort would have to come later.

  Looking over at the driver of the truck, she wondered if he could be trusted completely. He had certainly played his part at the roadblock and she had been assured by her cousin that the man was trustworthy, but she was also aware of how brutal being tortured by the Chinese Army could be as well as the fact that a man of his limited means might easily succumb to a more generous bribe if it were offered.

  At all costs, she had to protect Max and get him to the mountains. He might still choose not to follow their destiny, but at least he would be free to choose. The prophesy was certain. A foreigner who had been wrongly accused and was to be put to death would come and he would help save their people. It was an ancient prophecy, and it had been such a long wait that it was sometimes hard to believe that it would ever come to pass. Was Max the foreigner? It all lined up, her visions had directed her to him and they had at least gotten out of Beijing, but it was still very far to the mountains and any number of things could happen in that time.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when the driver turned into the farm and backed into the dock where the pigs would be unloaded. She looked around to see if anyone was keeping watch or waiting. It was only a short distance from the farm to the home of Master Chin. They would eat, rest and prepare for the next phase of their journey.

  Certain that they were safe, she waited until the pigs were all unloaded from the truck and then gave word to the driver to lift the hidden door in the floor of the truck. When she saw Max stiffly rise up out of the hidden box, stretching his cramped limbs, her heart skipped a beat. There was something about him in the light of the early morning sun. Something in the way he moved and the way he smiled spoke of confidence and innocence blended together. At that moment all doubt disappeared; he was the man.

  “Hurry,” she said, once again taking his hand and feeling the tingle that went along with it. “We must not be seen.”

  Max followed stiffly for a few moments and then picked up his pace as the walking loosened him up. In less than 10 minutes, she lightly rapped on the door of Master Chin. She could hear the old man shuffling to the door. He opened it a crack and peered out at them, smiled a toothless smile and then pulled it all the way open, bowing to both of them as they passed into the room.

  Chapter Eight

  Max was grateful to finally be able to stretch his legs and to fill his stomach. He noticed a change had come over Min as they sat down with the ancient man to eat. She had become a quiet, demure woman, nothing like the one who had dispatched prison guards and soldiers so expertly with her sword in the hours before.

  The ancient man who was seated with them sipping tea watched him carefully. The man could have been a thousand years old or a hundred in Max’s reckoning. The white hair on his head was only filling the space in a ring above his ears and hung well down past his hips. His beard was long and had the appearance of glistening snow. He reminded him of Santa Claus, though the narrow eyes were barely open more than a slit and he was slender and frail.

  Max was okay with the silence while they ate, but to be truthful, he was the only one who was making much of an attempt at eating. Min and Master Chin were nibbling at the delicious feast which the old man had put in front of them and Max was eating like he hadn’t been fed in weeks. In truth, he had been fed minimum fare for a prisoner and he was quite happy to finally be able to relax and eat a meal without the stress of a prison cell.

  Once Max was finished eating and was enjoying his tea, the old man gazed deeply into his eyes. It was a bit unsettling. Max was certain what deep scrutiny was taking place. Perhaps the old man was simply getting a good look at him so that he could give a better description to the Chinese Army later on. It didn’t make sense for Min to rescue him and bring him to the home of someone who would later betray him; however, not much of what he had seen and experienced in the past several hours had made any sense to him. After some moments the old man spoke.

  “Laowaibin,” he began. It was rather strange, even to Max, to hear himself be addressed that way. “There is a legend among the people of the mountains. It is because of this legend that Min rescued you from the prison.”

  “A legend, laoshi?” Max used the word that was used to express great respect for an elderly teacher. “What have I to do with a legend?”

  “The legend says that a foreigner will be wrongly accused of a crime and be sentenced to death for that crime. But he will be delivered from death and will be led into the mountains where he will battle the Dark Lord and save the people.”

  Max considered what had been said for a moment. It was something that came out of an old Bruce Lee movie with badly coordinated subtitles, rather than a chapter from his own simple life. He fought back a laugh which registered as an uncomfortable smile on his face.

  “I’m sorry to tell you that I am not the man that you seek. I am very grateful to Min for helping me to escape the prison and the execution that would have already been carried out this morning, but I’m not exactly Bruce Lee or Chuck Norris. I’m afraid that I will be of little help.”

  He saw the frown form on Min’s face and realized that he had mocked something that she took very seriously.

  “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate. Min, thank you for rescuing me. Master Chin, thank you for feeding me. I will never forget your kindness, but I’m afraid that I will be of little help to your people. If I can rest for a while, I will try to make my way out of the country and no longer be a burden to anyone.”

  “It won’t be quite so easy, Mister Harper.” Min’s tone was icy and the sharpness of her features communicated her displeasure, though she remained demure and unassuming as she spoke. “The Chinese Army will capture you inside of a week or less without my help.”

  “Young man,” the elderly gentleman spoke, “you will be wise to go with Min into the mountains if you expect to survive.”

  The difference between the word used to address him earlier and the one that was being used at that moment were worlds apart. The earlier reference was connected to Max being a welcome old guest, like an old friend who is invited into the home. The second had the connotation that he was a foolish teenager. Even though he was a novice in speaking Mandarin, he did not miss what was being said.

  “I’m sorry. I am grateful for everything.” He bowed slightly, showing his gratitude and remorse. He turned toward Min. “Please forgive
me. I am very tired and very confused.”

  “It is understandable,” she whispered, turning her eyes away.

  “Come,” the old man said, rising from his place and motioning for Max to follow him. “You must rest. Min, you must rest as well. I have made arrangements for another truck, but you must wait until it is dark.”

  Though the tiny bed was not nearly long enough for Max’s frame, he stretched out upon the bed and lost little time in relaxing. As he was falling asleep, Min came in and knelt at his bedside.

  “Max,” she asked quietly, “do you know the story of goddess mother, Xi Wang Mu?”

  “Not much, I must confess.”

  “I must tell you.”

  As he lay there looking at her beautiful face in the dim light of the simple room, Min began to weave a tale of her culture and traditions and Max drifted off to sleep to sound of her soothing voice.

  Chapter Nine

  One of the oldest deities of China is Xi Wang Mu. She lives in the Kunlun mountains in the far west, at the margin of heaven and earth. In a garden hidden by high clouds, her peaches of immortality grow on a colossal tree, only ripening once every 3,000 years. The Tree is a cosmic axis that connects heaven and earth, a ladder traveled by spirits and shamans.

  Xi Wang Mu controls the cosmic forces: time and space and the pivotal Great Dipper constellation. With her powers of creation and destruction, she ordains life and death, disease and healing, and determines the life spans of all living beings. The energies of new growth surround her like a cloud. She is attended by hosts of spirits and transcendentals. She presides over the dead and the afterlife, and confers divine realization and immortality on spiritual seekers.

  The oldest reference to Xi Wang Mu is an oracle bone inscription from the Shang dynasty, thirty-three centuries ago: “If we make offering to the Eastern Mother and Western Mother there will be approval.” The inscription pairs her with another female, and this pairing with a goddess of the East persists in folk religion.