The Magnolia Sword: A Ballad of Mulan

by Sherry Thomas

  Lord Sang’s men cluster near the door to prevent us from leaving, but we were never headed for the door. Kai leaps onto a table, kicks open a window, and jumps out. I somersault out after him, not even bothering with the table.

  The men left behind in the courtyard and those clustered at the door scramble toward us. But we have the advantage of speed and a clear idea of where we are headed.

  “The gong!” cries Lord Sang. “Don’t let them get to the gong!”

  This has the effect of slowing down his men, many of whom have no idea what he is talking about. The courtyard is dark, and I noticed the gong earlier only because it was where one fake guard stationed himself.

  Kai and I run and slash, slash and run. The fake guards are catching up to us.

  Kai stops. “You go. I’ll hold them off.”

  But I take no more than three strides before a mountain of a man steps into my way. My mind goes blank—is it Anake, somehow recovered from the injury to his leg? No, it’s a ­different man altogether, even taller, even broader. He assumes a wide stance and shakes his battle-axe at me.

  Without thinking, I take a running start and dive between his wide-spread legs. As soon as I get to my feet, before he realizes where I’ve gone, I leap, spin, and kick him on the side of the head.

  Something whooshes in the air. I catch the spear and throw it back.

  Send me another, you pigs. I can do this blindfolded.

  I cover the remaining distance, yank the wooden hammer from its slot, and strike the gong.

  The deep yet piercing metallic reverberations nearly deafen me. The sound should carry across the city and halfway to the mountains.

  I steel myself and strike again. And again. And again.

  The emperor and Tuxi are in the courtyard too. Lord Sang limps out of the reception room. He leans against the doorjamb and reaches down toward his boot. Before he can pull out a hidden weapon, Kai throws a dagger, pinning Lord Sang’s hand to his boot. Lord Sang screams.

  “Kill them. Kill them all!”

  A spear flies toward Kai’s back. I hurl the gong’s hammer. The wooden hammer knocks the spear off its trajectory and falls near Kai’s feet. He pushes off three attackers, hooks his boot under the hammer’s handle, and sends it flying back to me. I catch it and strike the gong three more times.

  Now all the able-bodied enemies are in the courtyard, pressing in on us. How many are there? Still too many. And why has no one come to our aid yet?

  I groan with effort. Sweat rolls down my temples. My sword becomes heavier with every sweep of my arm.

  Still we fight.

  My ears ring with the clashing of metal. My eyes are blind to everything except the flash of deadly weapons. My legs grow tired and unwieldy, as if I stand not on flat ground but on the deck of a ship caught in a storm.

  Still we fight.

  Tuxi grunts in pain—he’s taken a slash to the shoulder. The emperor’s footwork is lagging—he is no longer a young man, and it has probably been years since he last had to exert himself so. Kai is still fighting well, but I know his reaction time has slowed. I myself barely duck the fall of a broadsword, which I should have heard from half a li away.

  How long can our enemies last?

  How long can we last?

  “If I don’t make it,” shouts Kai, “tell my aunt—tell her that I wish I had the good sense to call her ‘Mother.’”

  My eyes sting with tears. “And if I don’t make it, tell my father that I’m grateful for everything!”

  There is no time left for anything except gratitude.

  And then, footsteps. Scores upon scores of men running in our direction.

  The real guards, at least eighty strong, have come to the Son of Heaven’s defense.

  My exhaustion evaporates in an instant. I kick one counterfeit guard in the throat and knock the broadsword of another clean out of his hand.

  “Protect the emperor!” shouts Tuxi. “Arrest the traitor Lord Sang!”

  “And let none escape!” cries the emperor.

  But Lord Sang is already near the gate of the courtyard, the inrush of guards almost obscuring him from sight.

  I half turn to Kai. “Give me another dagger!”

  The men attacking us earlier are now busy defending themselves from the real guards, giving Kai room to pull a dagger from his left vambrace. I grab it and throw it halfway across the courtyard toward Lord Sang’s sidling form.

  He screams.

  But only in fright.

  The dagger has pierced through his topknot and the handsome toque around it, and embedded itself in the wooden courtyard gate, pinning him in place.

  The real guards apprehend him. His men, now leaderless, quickly give up. Suddenly I’m exhausted again. I drag myself to the gong, slump down onto the ground, and lean my back against its framework.

  Vaguely I hear several voices asking the emperor whether he is unhurt. He calls for a physician to see to Tuxi’s shoulder and speaks to Kai. I pant, wipe the sweat from my face, and pant some more.

  “Hua xiong-di,” calls Kai.

  Weakly I flick a hand in the air, trying to tell him that I don’t want or need anything.

  “Hua Mulan,” Kai calls again. “Present yourself before His Imperial Majesty.”

  My head snaps up—this isn’t a request I can ignore. Kai is peering out from the crown prince’s house, beckoning me. I leap to my tired feet and hurriedly cross the courtyard.

  At the door he stops me, his hand on my arm. “Are you all right?”

  “Just spent. You?”

  He smiles a little, as dirty and bedraggled as I’ve ever seen him. “Same. Now come.”

  The emperor sits at the same table where I first saw him, but now the table is notched from the fight and the wine bowl he used earlier in fragments. Two steps into the room, I kneel. “This humble conscript presents his greetings to His Imperial Majesty.”

  “Your Imperial Majesty, this is Hua xiong-di, Hua Mulan, who has proved himself a hero for the ages,” says Kai. Then, to me, “Hua Mulan, express your gratitude to His Imperial ­Majesty, who has bestowed upon you the great honor and charge of seeing to his personal safety.”

  In my astonishment, I almost forget to kowtow.

  For our night is only beginning. The Rouran could be here by sunrise, the capital is without an army, the city guards have been compromised, and Captain Chekun, from whom Lord Sang stole that all-important palace pass, is badly wounded from fighting Lord Sang’s men, once he realized what was going on.

  Tuxi, despite his injuries, takes charge of the palace guards, as he is familiar with the inner workings of the palace. Kai is tasked with commanding those city guards who have not conspired with Lord Sang. And I follow a few paces behind the emperor as he oversees the organization of a civil defense.

  The residents of the capital are roused from sleep. The armory empties. Barricades go up. By the middle of the night, I can map the capital from memory, with all its streets and landmarks.

  From time to time during the frantic preparations, my mind strays to the men I pierced through, wondering whether they are dead or still drawing breaths. My skin crawls, recalling the stomach-churning, indescribable sensation of Heart Sea meeting flesh and bone. Once, I run to a corner to empty the contents of my stomach.

  Not long before dawn, we return to the palace. While the emperor meets with group after group of officials in his personal study, I fall ravenously upon my breakfast. I haven’t had anything to eat since Futian Pass, and any nausea pales before the hunger of a woman who has ridden, fought, and worked all night.

  A nobody like me eating in front of—or, in my case, behind—the emperor must be a breach of etiquette severe enough to make entire rows of courtiers faint. But the sovereign himself told the servants to give me a portion of everything. And I did not need more pe
rmission than that to begin.

  The officials leave. I expect another group to come in. But when no one enters, I realize that the emperor has now met with everyone. We have done all we can. It only remains to be seen whether what we have done will be of any use.

  The emperor turns around. I am caught with one sweet fried honey bing in each hand.

  He smiles. “Ah, the appetite of the young. Eat as you wish, Hua xiong-di.”

  Not with him looking at me. I set the goodies down, even as I bow and say, “Yes, Your Imperial Majesty.”

  He shakes his head a little. “Are you married, young brother? Will your wife thrill to the prospect of welcoming home a hero?”

  “I’m not married, sire.”

  “But a match has been arranged for you?”

  “No, not yet, sire.”

  The emperor raises a brow. “How old are you, my boy?”

  “Nineteen, sire.”

  “Nineteen and not betrothed? I was three years married by that age. Should everything go well today, I will see to it that you will have a beautiful and loving wife.”

  And wouldn’t she have a surprise coming. I sink to one knee. “Thank you, sire. Your Imperial Majesty’s kindness is that of springtime sun.”

  He smiles again. “Eat more.”

  And very considerately turns his back to me. I gobble down the honey buns and swill another cup of tea—ah, what nectar!—just in time for him to turn around again.

  “Where did Kai-er find a martial artist of your caliber?”

  Er is often attached to a character of one’s name by one’s elders, to make a “little name” to use at home and among intimates. Mother always called me Lan-er. As for Father—I can’t remember him ever calling me by my name.

  “His Highness knows me because of a family connection. We are to fight a duel against each other.” It’s been a long night and I can’t manage any prettier answers.

  The emperor’s eyes widen. “He spoke to me about the duel after he returned from the South. He said that the young man he thought he would be fighting did not live past infancy. And that his opponent would be a girl.”

  It becomes my turn to be taken aback. “Oh, he did?”

  The emperor scrutinizes me more closely. Then he smiles widely. “I was wondering how he managed to locate a martial artist who is both fiercer and prettier than he is. I have my answer. Shall I seek a beautiful and loving husband for you, then?”

  I can’t help smiling a little myself. “Thank you, sire. But I shall need to consult my father first.”

  “Of course.” The emperor nods with approval. “Were you a man, I would have offered you an excellent position. But I don’t suppose that is what you seek.”

  Do I want an excellent position? I’ve never thought about it. Such choices are not given to women. “I . . . I seek nothing, sire. There are no able-bodied men in my household, but I am more than able-bodied, so I answered the conscription.”

  “Kai-er chose a dangerous course. You needed not have ­traveled this path with him. From his account, you are barely a Northerner.”

  “But the North has sheltered my family and me, and for that I am grateful. And one does not abandon friends in their hour of need. So one might say, sire, that I traveled this path for duty and friendship.”

  “That is the answer a man would have given,” says the emperor.

  “I beg a thousand pardons, sire, but that is the answer any right-thinking person should give.”

  The emperor gazes at me a moment. “Well said.”

  He turns his back to me again. My heart thumps and my fingertips shake. I’ve just held a conversation with the emperor. Well, the emperor of only the North, but still.

  “And since you are a right-thinking person, my child,” says the emperor, still with his back to me, “what do you think of what Lord Sang said, that every founder of a dynasty is a usurper? That would make me but the descendant of a usurper. Do I really have more right to sit on this throne than Yucheng Khan, who will at least have won it for himself?”

  My mind stutters. The emperor, asking me, whether the throne he occupies is rightfully his? Obviously I believe so—I’ve just risked my life to keep him from being usurped, and will risk my life again when the Rouran cavalry arrives before the gates of the city, any moment now.

  Except I didn’t do it for him. For duty and friendship, for the peace and security of the North, but not for this man, who was only an idea to me.

  Yet now I have fought alongside him and been given a glimpse into his private doubts. I remember talking with Tuxi and Kai about the proposed Xianbei ban and saying to Tuxi, I would be happy if the emperor gave half so much thought to these questions as you do.

  I know now that he does. That like his son, he thinks on and struggles with the weighty issues before him.

  I sink to one knee. “Sire, that you ask yourself these questions, that you believe you should prove yourself worthy of the throne—I would rather have you as emperor than anyone who believes the throne should be his simply because he wants it.”

  The emperor is silent for what seems an eternity. Then he turns around and smiles at me once again. “Dawn comes, my child. It is time we face our next test—for duty and friendship.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  We stand atop the city gate, the guard towers rearing up behind us, the emperor at the center, Kai to his side, and me on Kai’s other side.

  But when an army materializes, it isn’t the Rouran cavalry, but the central commandery forces led by Kai’s father, the royal duke.

  I have never heard such a roar of joy, nor cheered so much myself. Kai and I throw our arms around each other, tears streaming down our faces.

  We have done everything we have set out to do, for the peace and security of the North, for duty and friendship.

  And we have lived to see another sunrise.

  Kai rushes down to greet his father—and his aunt, who rides into the capital beside her husband, a sword at her side. She is not dressed as a man, but in a scarlet brocade cape lined with fur, beautiful and proud.

  I do not leave the emperor’s side—that is my post until he dismisses me. But also, I wasn’t entirely jesting when I told Kai that I was deathly afraid of his aunt. On any other day, I would hide behind others when she and her husband come before the emperor to pay their obeisance. But today I’m so eager to find out what happened that I actually press forward a little to hear the royal duke’s account.

  The letter Kai sent via Captain Helou, of course, never reached its intended recipient. But Kai dispatched another letter via the border garrison’s messenger. In case that letter fell into the wrong hands, he was much more circumspect in both his description of events and his warning about a ruse to empty the military presence around the capital. And for that reason he never mentioned this second message to us, because he himself was convinced that it was too cryptic to be of any use.

  But his father, reading between the lines, did understand his hints and decided to play a ruse of his own. Ostensibly, he allowed himself to be persuaded by the more anxious voices at court to lead his men to the eastern end of the Wall, where the commanders were in need of soldiers. Except he decided to hedge his bets and keep half of his units within two days’ march of the capital.

  At his first bivouac, he saw the sky lanterns—the batch numbering in the thousands that alerted us to the fact that the central commandery forces had left the capital. He felt it was too much of a coincidence to ignore. The next day he kept his troops in place, pending further news. And when the beacons on the Wall were lit again—this time in truth, to signal Yucheng Khan’s attack at Futian Pass—he immediately headed back.

  And so when the imperial messengers met him, he was only hours outside the capital, and had already sent two of his most capable lieutenants and half his soldiers to Futian Pass to aid the units g
uarding the Wall.

  The emperor walks forward and places his hands on the royal duke’s arms. “My dear cousin, on any other occasion, yours would have been the greatest contribution to the defeat of our enemies. But today that credit must go to your remarkable son and his equally remarkable companions—including, I am happy to say, Prince Anzhong of Luoyang, who is currently in charge of the defense of the palace. Hua Mulan?”

  Startled, I say tentatively, “Yes, Your Imperial Majesty?”

  “Come here, young man,” says the emperor with a twinkle in his eye.

  I am set next to Kai. The emperor gives a quick account of the previous night before all the important courtiers and ministers gathered atop the city wall. The royal duke beams. His wife looks upon her nephew with so much pride and fierce joy that she doesn’t even bother to glare in my direction.

  “Great rewards will follow in the wake of great deeds,” says the emperor. “But our peril has not passed yet. Let all go to their stations and be vigilant.”

  Around noon, however, more good news comes in the form of a messenger from Futian Pass. By the time Yucheng Khan reached the Wall, enough soldiers from nearby garrisons had converged on the Pass that they managed to hold it. And when the royal duke’s men arrived with news that Lord Sang’s scheme had failed, Yucheng Khan decided to cut his losses and retreat. Commander Wu especially asked the messenger to convey that Yu and Kedan are safe and sound, and will be headed for the capital once they’ve recovered from the rigors of battle.

  With joy and relief comes the exhaustion that need alone has been holding at bay. The emperor orders double sets of guards and patrols, and everyone else is given leave to rest.

  I almost fall asleep on my horse, riding beside Kai. Not until I see the front door of the royal duke’s residence do I remember that his aunt probably won’t want to see more of me. I’m too drained to care. Kai still has to speak with his father, but I’m conducted directly to the same suite of rooms I occupied earlier.