The Magnolia Sword

by Thomas, Sherry

  I like Tuxi. There is an air of gentleness to him—the only person in the company I can say that about. Captain Helou is, of course, fierce despite his amiability. Kedan, just as genial, gives off a sense of great mischief barely held back. Bai I’m not sure about: He acts convivial, yet I’m under the impression that he is in fact completely guarded. Yu is unfailingly solicitous of everyone in the party, but he does not bother with joining conversations or forming camaraderie. Instead he watches over the princeling with a perceptible anxiety.

  The princeling conducts himself as he always does in public, with great propriety and even more silence. I find myself thinking back to our dinner, the day we first met, during which he not only spoke a fair bit, but even cracked a joke.

  All the while knowing that my father is the reason he grew up motherless.

  Was it a strategic choice? In The Art of War, Sunzi says, If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. Was he getting to know me so he can better vanquish me?

  Or is it truly as he said—that under different circumstances, we could have been friends?

  He was speaking of Hua Muyang, of course. He and I could never have been friends. Confucian principles forbid fraternization between members of the opposite sex once past age seven.

  Yet of everyone under the sky, I might be the only person who understands, viscerally, the life he has led. My father compelled me with fear; his aunt drove him with her need for retribution. We have each spent countless hours perfecting a single move, because every single move is judged by a relentless standard. And we have lived in each other’s shadow since we were old enough to understand that we too might not leave this duel unscathed.

  But we can never truly be friends. Too much enmity lies between our families, too much blood spilled.

  After our simple dinner, I go for a walk. All of us have been put into one room, with a platform bed that is said to accommodate ten, but which will be a tight squeeze even for seven—and I don’t want to spend my evening cooped up with so many men in such a small space.

  The wind bites with fangs like a wolf’s. My behind is quite frozen when I’ve done what I needed to do. And I itch in places where I don’t want to be seen scratching.

  At the ducal residence, after my conversation with the princeling, twice his attendant sidled up to my door to inquire whether I needed anything. Wanting to be left alone, I sent him away each time. Stupidly: Nobody’s heartache has ever been eased by also being dirty. No matter how distressed I was, I could still have asked for some hot water!

  When I return it’s fully dark, but I can make out the princeling and Yu standing some distance from the inn, speaking too softly for me to hear. Inside our room, Kedan is holding court, telling Tuxi and Bai the history of his friendship with Captain Helou. Alas, they have been separated by a great deal of distance and time, and have met once a year at most, at weddings or other occasions that gather far-flung relatives under one roof.

  “This is the first time we’ll be doing something other than sitting at a table and drinking together,” declares Kedan, clearly relishing the prospect. Then he points a playfully accusatory finger at Captain Helou. “By the way, my brother, you did not recommend me when the royal duke wanted a tracker.”

  Captain Helou throws both hands up in a placating gesture. “He wanted one urgently and I thought you were a thousand li away, deep in the mountains, your location known to no one except yourself.”

  “Well, that happens often,” admits Kedan. “So it’s lucky for everyone that when I went to the ducal residence to visit you, Master Yu recognized what a prize I am. And by the way, you would know my location better if you replied more regularly to my letters!”

  “I’m away so much. If I come back and there are three letters from you, I can’t reply three times!” answers Captain Helou, laughing.

  He has been leaning against the wall. Now he straightens and brushes away brick dust from his sleeve. It’s a little odd for me to see him in civilian clothes—he seems made for uniforms. But we are trying to pass ourselves off as a party that has nothing to do with the imperial government. When the innkeeper asked, Master Yu told him that we are a band of hired swords, traveling to the border to escort a commander’s family to safer surroundings farther south.

  “It’s getting late,” says Captain Helou. “I’m going for a walk to stretch my legs. You lot had better get ready for bed. It will be another early start tomorrow.”

  Kedan, who is sitting on the platform bed, jumps off. “I’ll come with you.”

  “Didn’t you say you need a letter written? There’ll be less and less time for that in the future. Better get on with it. Tuxi xiong-di here can help you.”

  “I do carry the four treasures of the study with me,” says Tuxi as Captain Helou marches out.

  Kedan slumps back down at having been left behind, but he rallies himself and pats Tuxi on the arm. “We’ll do it tomorrow—I don’t have any letters that are that urgent. Why don’t you tell me something of your travels, Tuxi xiong, the things you’ve seen?”

  Yu comes into the room at that moment. “Ah, Master Hua, just the person I want to see. You will sleep against this wall.”

  The platform bed stretches from one end of the room to the other. I was hoping I might get a wall so I wouldn’t be wedged between two of my traveling companions. I waste no time taking the spot as Tuxi tells Kedan that he was a sickly child who never did much except read.

  Yu leaves the room then. Kedan lowers his voice and asks, “Tuxi xiong, I’m under the impression that His Highness is the one leading our crew. Why him and not Captain Helou, or even this Master Yu?”

  Tuxi raises a brow. “You doubt His Highness?”

  “No, no, of course not. But he’s awfully young, isn’t he? I think only Hua xiong-di is younger. Is it because he’s a royal duke’s son?”

  Tuxi chuckles a little. “I see you probably haven’t spent much time with His Highness.”

  “Met him for the first time before the banquet last night, after he and Captain Helou came back from their trip.”

  “Well, first, he’s the best martial artist I’ve ever seen. Second, and this may be more important, he is both the calmest and bravest man I’ve ever met.”

  “Are you saying he’s a greater and more courageous fighter than Captain Helou?” Kedan is clearly incredulous.

  “I don’t know Captain Helou that well,” answers Tuxi. “I’m only saying that, knowing His Highness, I have no problem serving under him.”

  I don’t care whether Kedan prefers a different leader or how the rapport between members of this crew might develop. Tomorrow we will reach the garrison, and that will mark the end of the road for me.

  My eyes close and oblivion comes. I have no idea when the spot next to me fills. But at some point I wake up slightly and know, just know, that it is the princeling beside me.

  When I fall back asleep, I dream of the terrace of my old home in the South, a thousand water lily blossoms floating on the lake beyond. Standing on the terrace are the princeling and I, facing each other, swords drawn, blood dripping from both Heart Sea and Sky Blade.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “Word is that nearer the border, there are Rouran spies along the imperial road, and we don’t want them to get wind of our party,” says Yu the next morning as we swing into our saddles. “It has been decided that we will take a less-traveled route. On this detour, we might encounter bandits. So be alert, be careful, and do not stray from the group.”

  We pass through one last guard post before veering onto a narrow but well-trod trail. I don’t need to ask why the trail is so well-trod when the imperial road is both fast and smooth: There are always those who do not want to travel in the open.

  We wend halfway up a rocky hill, descend to a small, clear brook, then climb up the next hill. From that point on, ­
neither the scenery nor our route seems to change. One hill after another, one valley after another, sometimes with a stream at the bottom, most often without. If it weren’t for the occasional glimpse of a tiny village, or a hermit’s hut, or a footbridge across a stream constructed from fallen trees, I’d be convinced that we are circling the same hills over and over again. Even with the minor variations, I have to tell myself that we—most probably—aren’t.

  We ride in single file and no one speaks. Even nature itself is mute. Birds barely sing. Squirrels do not leap from branch to branch. And not once does a hare dart across our path.

  I almost long for outlaws to charge down the slopes—they would make for a welcome distraction from the noise and disruption in my head. It is only the second day after her ladyship’s revelations invalidated everything I thought I knew about my life. My dismay has not lessened, but now there is also a sense of despair—that I will always live in the long shadow of Father’s choices.

  I almost bump into Tuxi, who has reined to a stop. In fact, the entire company has halted. The silence, which earlier was only tedious, has turned heavy. Oppressive.

  We are in a shallow valley, along the center of which lies a long streak of dried mud. A rivulet probably flows here in wetter months, but now there is only the empty streambed, dotted with small boulders. I glance behind me. Bai, Kedan, and Yu all look grim. In front, Tuxi’s broad back blocks the view to Captain Helou and the princeling. But Tuxi is flexing and unflexing his free hand. And when he clenches those fingers into a fist, his knuckles turn white.

  His horse, perhaps sensing his tension, steps to the side, and I finally see what made everyone stop: a three-tiered pyramid of heads.

  The bottom ones are grinning skulls, but the head on the very top is only partially rotted. Its eyes, cheeks, and much of its nose are gone, but its hair is still tied more or less neatly in a topknot. The blood that remains at the severed neck has turned black. The lips peel back, baring teeth like a snarling monkey.

  As I stare in revulsion, a centipede as long as my forearm crawls out of an eye socket, only to disappear into the mouth.

  My stupefaction is the only thing that prevents me from vomiting.

  “Hua xiong-di,” comes the princeling’s soft voice. “Do you hear anything?”

  Forcing my agitated breaths to calm, I listen. There is no rustling of leaves or snapping of branches to indicate anyone approaching. I shake my head, my stomach lurching with the motion.

  The princeling wheels his horse around. He confers briefly with Captain Helou, during which Captain Helou does most of the whispering. Then the princeling stops opposite me, in the exact middle of our single-file procession, and everyone else pulls in close.

  “Such warning signs are usually not meant for potential marks—no need to scare those away,” says the princeling. “We have likely stepped into a territorial dispute between rival gangs of bandits. But we have sixty more li of these hills and no choice but to press on.

  “Our current formation will do. Captain Helou has cavalry experience and will continue on in second place. Master Yu will bring up the rear. Be vigilant. A volley of arrows could be loosed upon us before we see or hear anyone.”

  We ride faster, not at a gallop—that would tire the horses after a few li—but at a sustained trot. On the imperial road, this would be fine. But here on paths that twist, turn, and change elevation—sometimes all three at once—our speed feels nerve-rackingly swift.

  I am a decent rider on flat surfaces, able to keep my seat securely. But this pace on this terrain tests my equestrian skills. I concentrate on breathing, on moving up and down in rhythm with my horse’s gait, so as not to allow fear a chance to take hold.

  The length of a meal passes. The scenery becomes more forbidding—we are making our way through a ravine hemmed in by cliffs to either side. The muscles of my back and abdomen ache from holding to the pace without bouncing in the saddle. I am both hungry and too tense to eat, my mind excruciatingly alert yet increasingly tired.

  My hands too are tired. I’ve been holding the reins in one hand and a trio of hidden weapons in the other. Iron lightning, they are called—a fancy name for metal spheres a bit smaller than walnuts, mostly hollow but still hefty enough for a multitude of purposes.

  The end of the ravine comes into sight. I exhale. The Art of War advises against being the second on the scene in narrow passes. The sooner we are out of this bottleneck, the better.

  The air hisses. The hidden weapons leave my hand and meet three arrows. A fourth arrow barely misses Captain Helou as he ducks low in the saddle.

  “Faster!” commands the princeling.

  We break into a gallop, another volley of arrows striking the ground in our wake.

  Bandits block the ravine’s exit. They brace themselves as we approach. My heart, already pounding, lurches when I see why they don’t fear being mowed down by a company of riders: They have strung a rope across the mouth of the ravine at ­withers height. If the princeling plows into it, his horse will instantly lose its footing and throw him.

  The princeling veers left. Through the space he vacates, Captain Helou hurls a short-handled axe. The axe embeds itself in the forehead of the first man beyond the rope. He collapses before a scream leaves my throat.

  We are on a downhill slope, our progress thunderous. But the princeling accelerates even further, his sword in hand.

  “Careful!” My cry echoes on bare cliffs.

  His horse leaps over the rope, an astonishingly beautiful feat. At the height of the horse’s trajectory, the princeling leans to the side, almost hanging off his saddle, and slices the rope in two.

  Our roars of approval meet a din of dismay from the bandits. As Captain Helou clears the canyon, he throws himself nearly out of his saddle and yanks his axe from the head of its victim. I’m too busy keeping up with my companions—and keeping my seat—to be nauseated by the sight.

  The princeling whistles sharply. All the horses immediately slow—I almost plow nose-first into my horse’s mane. What’s the matter? Why aren’t we making our escape as fast as possible?

  As I emerge from the ravine, I see why. Bandits stand three deep in a semicircle, each holding a long bamboo pole with a pointed end. Bamboo is light, flexible, but extremely hardy. Properly sharpened, a bamboo spear can easily pierce skin and sinew, equine as well as human.

  Fear grips me by the windpipe. My heart thuds, each beat a hammer strike against my rib cage. Kedan nudges me—we seven are to form a circle, facing out.

  “Leave your horses and you may go,” shouts a bandit, presumably the chief.

  I swallow. Even a three-year-old would not be taken in by that promise.

  “Lay down your weapons and we will suffer you to live,” replies the princeling, not raising his voice.

  The bandit chief guffaws and spits. “The brat is tired of living. Let’s give him what he wants.”

  The men with their knife-sharp bamboo spears step forward, shrinking the radius of the semicircle.

  The princeling sheathes his sword and dismounts. The rest of his men follow. After a moment of hesitation, I join them on the ground—and sway. I knew my midsection ached from the strain of riding; I didn’t realize the muscles of my thighs were also exhausted.

  “Everyone grab a bamboo spear,” commands the princeling, his voice still soft.

  Before he has uttered the final syllable, he has already yanked a spear from the bandit closest to him. The rest of the company needs no further urging—except me. I have never been trained to take another’s weapon with my bare hands.

  Kedan takes two spears and tosses one at me. I catch it gratefully. The bamboo spears are long, almost half again as tall as me, and Heart Sea’s reach would be too short to offer me much defense.

  The bandits rush in, shouting, their faces contorted with battle lust. All six men on my side swing th
eir bamboo spears wide, pushing the enemies back. But I only stare, not moving at all.

  I have never been in a situation where anyone actually wants to harm me, let alone scores and scores of hardened, ferocious men looking to kill me as fast as they can.

  Patience. Concentrat—

  I could die here! Pinned to the ground, writhing in agony, and bleeding to death, while everyone else fights on.

  My companions succeed in widening the semicircle, but that only leaves more room for bandits to rush in and surround each of us. Three bandits hurtle toward me, their bamboo spears pointed at my throat. I open my mouth to scream but all my muscles have seized, and only a weak bleat emerges.

  “Hua xiong-di!” Kedan cries. “Watch out!”

  Somehow I swing my bamboo spear and knock those of the three bandits away from me. But the bandits immediately attack again. This time, instead of three sharp points coming at my throat, I have one aimed at my belly, another at my chest, and yet another at my shoulder.

  My mind stutters. I have also never trained against multiple opponents. What do I do?

  Kedan leaps in front of me and, with one diagonal slash of his bamboo spear, followed by several quick jabs, forces my attackers back several steps.

  “Fight, Hua Mulan!” The princeling’s voice comes from twenty paces away. “Fight, and your training will take over.”

  But my mind is completely blank. My palms sweat. And my feet—my usually quick, agile feet—are stuck to the ground as if they have grown roots.

  Kedan returns to combatting his own share of bandits. Mine press in again. The desire not to be pierced through makes me raise my bamboo spear and counter two bandits’ strikes. The third jabs his spear toward my foot and I jump back—clumsily and off balance, but at least I’m moving.