by Resa Nelson
Mindful of her painful head, Frayka took her time to stand up.
I have to get out of here.
The early morning light now outlined the shape of a closed door behind her. Frayka tried to open it but discovered it was locked or blocked from the outside. Next, she raised her hands only to find that her reach fell far short of the ceiling high above her.
That open window is my only way out of this room. Once I crawl out onto the roof, I could manage the drop to the ground.
Now all I have to do is figure out how to get up there.
With all her might, Frayka jumped straight up but her fingertips came nowhere near the open window. She landed with a heavy thud on the wooden floor.
A man’s angry voice shouted in Far Eastern on the other side of the door.
He heard me. I can’t waste any time.
Frayka turned slowly in place, looking for anything she could use to boost herself up only to find the room completely empty. Next, she examined the walls and looked for handholds and footholds, hoping to scale one of them.
The door scraped open, and a bevy of middle-aged women shuffled into the room and pulled Frayka away from the wall. Surrounding her, a swarm of hands reached at her clothing.
“Stop!” Frayka said. “What are you doing?”
Ignoring her, the women tugged at Frayka’s shirt.
My dagger!
In a flash, Frayka remembered how TeaTree had given her a long shirt to hang over her belt and hide her dagger. When the women pulled off Frayka’s shirt, she reached for her dagger only to find it missing.
They stole my dagger!
Despite Frayka’s increasing worry about her people and anger about the theft of her only weapon, she remembered the mysterious woman in the portent and how she’d cautioned Frayka to keep her promises and commitments. GranGran had warned Frayka that she must learn to respect her elders.
If GranGran, Njall, and TeaTree were still alive, losing her temper wouldn’t help. Frayka reminded herself that she was alone in a strange country where she had only just begun to learn about its people, laws, and customs.
Chattering loudly, the women now pulled at Frayka’s pants.
The smartest thing I can do now is find out where I am and who these women are. Maybe they can help me.
Frayka strained to remember the words and phrases of the Far Eastern language that TeaTree had taught her so far. Most of them slipped her mind, so she said the only thing she could recall with clarity. “Where do I go to relieve myself?”
One woman laughed and pointed at Frayka. She then raised her voice above those of the chattering women and shushed them. When the room fell silent, the woman giggled and pointed at Frayka with a sweeping gesture.
Frayka assumed she was being invited to repeat her question. Focusing on the pronunciation TeaTree had emphasized, Frayka once more said in Far Eastern, “Where do I go to relieve myself?”
This time, all of the women laughed.
She assumed they laughed out of surprise. Maybe they thought that one question was the only thing Frayka knew how to say in Far Eastern, which wasn’t far from the truth. Frayka remembered the question easily because she considered it the most useful thing TeaTree had taught so far. During her travels, Frayka had learned to take advantage of any chance to relieve herself because she never knew when a good opportunity to do so would rise again.
A woman with white hair opened a chest-high hidden door in the wall and removed a clay bowl from a shelf inside the wall.
Chagrined, Frayka wished she’d noticed that hidden door. If she had opened it herself, stepping on top of it would have given her the boost she needed to escape through the window in the ceiling.
Although she’d assumed the women would lead her outside to an appropriate place to relieve herself—and possibly an easy way to escape—Frayka abided by her own rule. She accepted the bowl, took it to a corner, pulled down her pants, and squatted over it to pee. When finished, the women cornered her and fussed until she handed her pants to them.
From the early light of the new day until the mid-day sun hung high in the sky, the women attended Frayka. They fed very small meals to her a few times and bathed her after every meal, each time dressing her in fresh clothing. The women brushed Frayka’s long black hair and took great care in forming it into a knot at the base of her neck. Finally, they dressed her in pale purple silks: a long narrow dress covered by a flowing robe.
When the women led Frayka outside, she squinted at the brightness of the day. However, Frayka soon noticed she stood between the opposite side of the fingerling mountain that she’d first seen and the low-lying mountains beyond it. Walking in its shadow, Frayka looked up to see the base of the fingerling mountain crowded with simple houses like the ones in GranGran’s neighborhood in Zangcheen. Simple pathways led above those houses to terraces of vegetable gardens carved into the mountain.
The land leading to this place is parched and dry, but they grow food on this mountainside?
Gentle rain fell on Frayka’s head and hands. She looked up to see clouds gathered around the peak above although the rest of the sky remained bright and clear. Still gazing at the clouded peak, she noticed that while no paths led up to it, a series of jutting rocks would provide good footholds and handholds.
These women are too old to climb. If I can get high enough, they’ll never catch me. And once I get to the top, I can find the Gate of Air. I’ll find the dragon gods and ask for their help. If my people are still alive, the dragon gods can help me find them.
Frayka watched the women surrounding her as they led her away from the base of the fingerling mountain toward the Mountains of Dawn behind it. The moment the women paid more attention to chatting with each other than Frayka, she jerked out of their grasp and bolted back toward the base of the fingerling mountain. But before she could set foot on the path leading up through the terraced gardens, angry hands latched onto her arms and shoulders to yank Frayka back. She gaped at them in surprise.
Maybe these women aren’t as old as they look. Or are all Far Eastern women as strong as GranGran?
Now dragging her toward the mountain range, the women scolded her. Although disappointed in her failed attempt to escape, Frayka now felt thankful that she’d learned so little of the Far Eastern language from TeaTree that she had no idea what these women said. She ignored them until a woman with white hair pointed and aimed a wicked laugh at Frayka.
The laugh chilled Frayka. Although surrounded by people who looked like her, Frayka felt alone and alienated. She missed the Land of Ice and the smell of the sea surrounding it. She missed fetching fresh water from the waterfall near the Blackstone settlement. She missed the days when her father would come home with a bucketful of fish after a day on the ocean and the task of drying cod in order to stockpile it for winter. Despite an occasional barb from a neighbor who either envied Frayka’s portents or failed to understand them, the Northlanders of Blackstone had always treated her well.
No one had ever laughed at Frayka with such wickedness before.
Forgetting GranGran’s warning to learn to respect her elders, Frayka lashed out because she knew no one could understand her. First, she pointed at the laughing woman with white hair. “I hope my next portent is about you. And I hope it shows me something terrible will happen to you!”
Frayka’s outburst silenced the white-haired woman. Frayka stood in place but turned slowly to look at every woman surrounding her while she spoke. “What kind of country is this? Who do you think you are to take someone prisoner and kill her friends?” Breathing harder, Frayka let rage overwhelm her. “What did you do with my great-grandmother? What did you do with my husband? What did you do with TeaTree?”
“TeaTree?” one of the women said. She turned to her colleagues and chattered while pointing at her own clothes.
“Yes!” Frayka said, forgetting her rage and feeling encouraged that these women knew TeaTree. Hadn’t he said he was well known as a merchant throughout th
e Far East? “Yes, TeaTree! Where is he?”
But the women ignored her and escorted Frayka around a slope until a small green valley spread before them, sheltered by the mountains surrounding it. A waist-high stone wall blocked the only open space to the valley that they now faced. A narrow brook ran down the face of one mountainside and into the valley. Even from this short distance, Frayka saw the brook trickle into what appeared to be a pond, surrounded by swampy ground. Blade-like green stalks grew around the edge of the pond.
One woman handed long strips of white silk to the others, while the white-haired woman pushed Frayka toward steps leading to the top of the low wall. When nudged, Frayka stepped on top of it.
From the opposite side of the wall, a man walked toward her across the spongy ground while other men remained behind. Frayka recognized him immediately from a bruise left on his face by GranGran’s cane.
This is the man who confronted us. He’s their leader, Ming Mo.
Frayka assessed the scene unfolding around her. Based on the number of houses she had seen, Frayka guessed everyone in this small village now gathered outside the low wall by the valley containing the pond and crops. She neither saw nor heard any children, and all of the women looked to be beyond their child-bearing years. A quick count told her this village consisted of roughly 20 people.
My only option is to run. They took away my weapon, and I see no way to fight so many people at once. But where do I run? They caught me when I tried to run back to Zangcheen. And the mountains are probably nothing but wilderness—how would I survive?
Frayka resisted the urge to look back at the fingerling mountain because she wanted none of them to know her thoughts.
What makes the most sense is to try climbing up again and look for the Gate of Air and the dragon gods.
Ming Mo walked along the top of the wall, drawing closer to Frayka with every step. Although she wanted to yell at him, Frayka kept her peace with the intent of looking for the best opportunity to break free of these people. At an arm’s length away, Ming Mo stopped and spoke to Frayka. The men behind now caught up and stood among the women, and they snickered at Ming Mo’s words.
When Ming Mo nodded at the women, they rushed toward Frayka and wrapped the white strips of silk around her, binding her legs until she toppled off the wall and into the waiting arms of the women. As if she were a caterpillar, the women bound Frayka’s entire torso with the silk. Taken by surprise, Frayka began to resist and scream too late. Their task complete, the women stepped away and turned their backs to Frayka.
Ming Mo hauled the bound Frayka over his shoulder and returned toward the houses jammed at the base of the fingerling mountain. She screamed in earnest when he entered one house, bolted the door behind him, and tossed Frayka onto his bed.
Terror overwhelmed Frayka until her anger replaced it.
For a moment, she remembered her portent and the mysterious woman’s warning for Frayka to stay true to her promise to respect elders.
This man may be my elder, but no man who treats me this way deserves any respect.
I don’t care what GranGran said. I don’t care what the woman in the portent said. When I’m in danger, I must do whatever is necessary to protect myself.
She stopped screaming. Instead of flailing, she let her rage bubble inside like lava preparing to explode. The silk ties still bound her arms and legs, but Frayka could feel the looseness in those ties. She focused her thoughts as if aiming a weapon at a target.
No one tied the ends together. They’re just wrapped around me.
When Ming Mo approached Frayka, his eyes glazed over. He didn’t look into her eyes or at her face. He simply stared at her body.
Patience. Wait for the best moment to strike.
A commotion erupted outside the house. Male voices shouted as if arguing.
Plopping next to her, Ming Mo plucked at the ties wrapping her legs together as if he were tearing the feathers from a dead chicken. He ignored the fighting outside.
Frayka kept her focus on the way the tightness of the ties loosened, grateful the Far Eastern man didn’t see the fury in her eyes.
The moment Frayka realized the ties had slackened enough for her to gain full use of her legs, she spun her feet toward Ming Mo and kicked him in the face with both feet.
Stunned, Ming Mo hesitated, seeming not to realize what had just happened.
Letting her anger give her strength, Frayka drew her knees to her chest and kicked his face so hard that the blow knocked him onto the floor.
He groaned in pain.
The arguing voices outside sounded closer and louder.
Frayka pulled herself to her feet and then shook until the silk ties fell to the floor. Now free, she checked to make sure Ming Mo posed no threat.
Curled up on the floor, he groaned again and clutched his face.
If I’m quick enough, I’ll get away. If the people here are arguing with each other, maybe they’ll be distracted enough that I can get a head start.
Frayka shed the billowing robe she’d been given so that she only wore the long sheath dress beneath it. But the dress was tight enough to limit her movements.
Taking another look at the injured Far Eastern man on the floor, Frayka saw her own dagger tucked under his belt. She took it from him and used it to cut long slits on each side of the dress so she could run. Dagger in hand, she opened the door.
A dozen men wearing black uniforms marched toward the door, hesitating in surprise when Frayka opened it.
Frayka bolted toward the nearest path leading up through the terraced gardens on the fingerling mountain.
Within moments one of the uniformed men caught her by the shoulders and spun her around to face him.
He looks familiar.
With a start, Frayka realized the man was one of the royal guards who had captured her and Njall when they first entered the Far East.
The royal guard glanced up at the fingerling mountain and then back at Frayka. He then spoke two words of the Far Eastern language that Frayka recognized. “No,” the royal guard said, gesturing at the fingerling mountain. He then pointed beyond it, toward the cracked earth that Frayka had crossed yesterday. “Zangcheen.”
CHAPTER 20
Tired from a long day listening to petty grievances of commoners in court, Emperor Po refrained from heaving an exasperated sigh. He tried not to think how he would much rather be playing games with his children or relaxing with his wife.
At the same time, he welcomed the boring nature of today’s cases. After condemning a widow to be boiled alive yesterday, hearing simple complaints had a soothing although dull quality.
And then there was the nightmare. Emperor Po had assumed he had stood behind himself in the dream, but it turned out to be his beloved daughter Ti, who wore the emperor’s robes. He also assumed the nightmare happened because he worried about which man Ti should marry. Yesterday came as a cruel reminder that it would be wise for her to go against the tradition of marrying a much older man, who would likely die long before Ti.
The strong-willed widow reminded Emperor Po of Ti. He never wanted Ti to end up in a situation where she would have to be boiled alive as punishment for her nature of announcing her wishes and desires. No emperor could protect her from the law.
Unless Ti became the emperor. Then she could protect herself.
The strange thought startled Emperor Po. He knew the only reason such a thought would ever occur to him was because of the nightmare.
Pushing his daydreams aside, Emperor Po returned his attention to the last complaint of the day and made his ruling, happy to see the last few people in the courtroom prepare to leave. The moment they walked toward the building’s exit, Ti ran past them and toward her father.
“We’re playing another family tournament today!” Ti said, beaming. “You’re just in time to join the final round.”
A louder commotion commanded Emperor Po’s attention. He looked up to see a crowd of people enter the court. “What
is this?”
Before the emperor realized what was happening, Ti walked to the wall behind him, which displayed the royal staff of every emperor in the Po dynasty. Although legends said that every Po emperor for the past 1000 years ruled the Hall of Justice with staff in hand, Emperor Yuan Po opted against it because he believed holding the staff might create a division between him and his people.
But when Ti seized his staff down from its hook on the wall, brought it to his side, and then slammed it so loudly against the floor that it sounded like a clap of thunder, Emperor Po reconsidered.
The loud sound caused the people crowding toward the front of the court to fall silent and stare at the emperor.
Ti leaned slightly toward her father so that he could wrap his hand around the staff she kept vertical to the floor.
Taking his rightful staff in hand, Emperor Po said, “Display respect to the royal house or I will cast all of you out of this court!”
The crowd maintained their silence.
Per the rule of the court, Emperor Po said, “What wronged man will speak for himself?”
A man stepped forward. Bruises covered his face. Unlike the men who resided in Zangcheen, his black hair looked wild and unkempt. Instead of black or white clothing, his appeared to be made of cotton stained brown, possibly from years of farming. “My name is Ming Mo. I captured a bride today. According to law, she is mine. Until your guards showed up at my door and claimed you need to see her in court!”
Of course. Now I understand.
Ti leaned closer to her father and whispered. “What does a captured bride have to do with you?”
Emperor Po kept his voice low when he answered his daughter. “Stay. This case is one you should witness for yourself.”
To the wronged man, Emperor Po said, “What happened to your face?”
Ming Mo looked down in shame. “She kicked me.”
Emperor Po considered the situation carefully before speaking. “She must have a very high kick.”