On twelve Kalends, Sun Huáng took us on a small jaunt out of the city of Jiang to witness an event that is still hard to describe. We rose early, at the insistence of Delia, and found ourselves bundled into palanquins and hustled out into the morning air, through the city. As we entered the great thoroughfare, Monkey-boys watched us yet did nothing, though I noted one running off as if our appearance was exciting to him. We passed down to the Jiang Bund where a pleasure barge awaited us on the quayside. It had a canvas awning streaked with white marks of lóng dung, as all flat surfaces in the Bund are, but other than that, it was quite opulent and daemon-driven. Before the sun could rise too high we were steaming upriver, watching the Bund fall away and passing out of Jiang itself and breakfasting on soft-boiled eggs and sweet rice wine and green tea for me.
We entered a flat landscape where the river widened so much that the farthest shore was hard to discern. We hugged the north-western bank, close to the many fields and thick, congested clumps of brush and tangled vegetation. By mid-day, we came to a village that looked quite prosperous with stone buildings, a large scalloped pagoda of some sort, and a heavy stone wall with a kind of ballista set at intervals along the top, manned by Kithai men in armour. Its wharf teemed with commercial boats and river-vessels – barges, fishermen, water-taxis and what appeared to be a paddle-driven ferry carrying a clutch of the small, woolly Tchinee ponies I’d seen in the market and the by the wharf at our arrival (though I have witnessed some draught horses in Jiang itself). We disembarked – this Bund was suspiciously lacking in any little dragons, so umbrellas to protect us from raining excrement were not necessary – and followed a stone road toward the centre of the village. Sun Huáng informed us the village was called Uxi, which felt strange on my tongue when spoken, as do most of the names in Kithai. On foot we entered the market square, led by Sun Huáng and some of his advisors and two other August Ones who remained unnamed and watched us though they pretended not to.
In the square, a group of women were alarmed, and there was a clangour of high-pitched voices and shrieks. It was quite a ruckus, so loud and frantic that Sun Huáng placed himself between us, the August Ones in our company, and the bevy of outraged women. And outraged they were. Some ripped their hair, some beat on their chests, eyes streaming.
‘What is the matter here, sifu?’ Tenebrae asked, using Huáng’s honorific.
‘A child is ill unto death, I believe,’ he shook his head and barked out an order to one of his attendants. The man scurried forward and began yelling.
‘What’s he doing now?’ I asked to Carnelia. She had worn her jian this morning and looked rather fierce, I should say.
She shrugged. ‘I imagine he’s announcing the presence of Sun Huáng, the Sword of Jiang.’
‘You can understand their language well enough to translate?’ I asked, a little awed.
‘Ia help me, no. But I heard his name and the rest of it … it is what I would do.’
I looked to Huáng. The old gentleman held his jian – looking very much like a plain bamboo stick – in his hand like a badge of office, a fascis held by lictors. The crowd quieted and parted.
We passed through the women and village folk. Some of the braver ones called out plaintively to Sun Huáng as he passed and his face clouded but he took no further action.
‘What was that all about, sifu?’ Secundus asked.
Huáng shook his head. ‘There’s some trouble with the children and the mothers are upset.’
On the steps of the great pavilion, a clutch of magistrates, prosperous farmers, and local businessmen greeted us. They stared openly at us Rumans, some of the men tittering behind their hands, some of the women examining the boys brazenly, with appraising stares. In a long and formal ceremony we all exchanged small gifts (Huáng had provided us with them – paper toys, pinwheels, kites, candles) and everyone had a short glass of rice wine save me. As our party drank, one of the farmers brought forth a kid goat, bleating constantly. Huáng and the local people of import rose, and we rose with them and walked out of the village into the terraced rice fields that bordered the white-stone road.
We came to a pillar of stone on the side of the road, embossed with a curling and sinuous scaled design that brought to mind some of the representations I’d seen of lóng at Huáng’s manse. I looked upon our destination. The rice field in this paddy was different than the others we had passed on our walk here. It had a wilder look, and tufts of red grains grew in wild patches and weeds were thick on the edges where the other fields had a manicured aspect to them.
‘We have come to witness and give offering to shé, the great Nāga,’ Huáng said, smiling. ‘Carnelia, Secundus, Mister Shadow,’ Huáng said, a quirk to his mouth. It was the first time I heard him refer to Tenebrae as such, but the nickname did fit him. ‘Observe the movements. Take them inside yourself.’
‘What is shé, sifu?’ Carnelia asked.
Huáng nodded toward the unkempt and flooded rice field. ‘You will see.’
The man leading the goat rolled his loose pants legs up to his knees and waded out into the water. The ripening grains, turning from green to golden, parted as he made his ungainly way out into the muck. It soon became apparent that the sodden earth of the paddy sucked at his bare feet, his movements became a great labour. The goat bleated furiously, tugged along behind.
Some of the villagers – the more prosperous-looking ones – said some words in unison as the man who had led the goat into the field began his hustle back to where we stood by the white stone marker. One of the well-fed women clad in silks dashed a ceramic container of rice wine onto the stones of the road, shattering the container.
One of the larger tussocks of red grain – some sort of milo or blademeal – shivered and thrashed. An expectant hush fell upon the gathered, and something black came into the rice field. It moved with a muscular, sinuous grace. A serpent of tremendous size, easily thirty or forty feet long and as big around as a barrel. Black as midnight, its scales gleamed in the sunlight as it cut through the field toward the goat. Behind its massive triangular head, it had a ruffle of scales around its neck that bristled like feathers.
The goat thrashed and cried out in human-like screams, seeing the black serpent approach. Thank Ia, the shé was direct and precise. It came within ten feet of the goat, coiling around itself like a spring, then lashed out striking, its maw open. The movement ripped the goat from its tether. The bleating ceased. The shé lifted its head to the sky, working its mouth open to get the goat down its gullet, then made some undulating movements in its throat to allow the carcass to pass.
When the goat had disappeared, the shé raised its gleaming head, turned toward where we stood on the stone road, and stared at us balefully, a long red forked tongue probing the air.
The village folk bowed in a genuflection to the creature. Huáng watched it steadily, his sheathed sword in hand.
Then the shé lowered its head and moved away, back toward the tussock it came from.
A palpable sigh moved through the gathered Tchinee, and they drank more rice wine and chattered in their language.
‘Why do they feed the creature, Sun Huáng?’ I asked. ‘It seems as though it would be a great danger, this near the village.’
‘Possibly you have answered your own question,’ Huáng said slowly. He thought for a moment. ‘The shé terrorized this region, all the way to Jiang, until the Autumn Lords came many thousands of years ago. The shé is a pure creature of Qi and so the Autumn Lords hunted them for this. Nāga is the last. She has no mates, she has no …’ He cast about. I was forcibly reminded that Min was no longer with us and wondered where she was and what she was doing. ‘Paramour? Is that the Ruman word?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘She has no paramour. And so, we bring her food until the Autumn Lords decide to take her, too.’
‘That’s very sad,’ I said, looking toward the tussock. ‘I can’t imagine what it must be to be absolutely alone in the world.’
Huáng grew still. ‘It is death, Madame Livia. Death before its time.’
‘Why did you ask us to watch how it moved, sifu?’ Carnelia said.
‘Because when you release Qi … when you strike … it is good to think like the shé. To move like her. This is why I brought you here.’
Understanding crossed Carnelia’s face and Tenebrae – Mister Shadow – gave a little ‘ahhh’ of realization.
‘We study creatures of the earth,’ Huáng said. ‘Training is repetition and following these …’ He turned to look out at the tussock that hid the great serpent Nāga one last time. ‘… outpourings of animal Qi allows us to see, like opening a door. A way of being. Always new. Does this make sense?’
‘Yes, sifu.’ And it did. Sometimes, when the common speech failed him, you had to see between the words.
We Rumans walked back in silence. The village leaders were gregarious and chatty, seemingly buoyed by the rice wine and the success of their offering. When the road entered Uxi, most of our Tchinee companions peeled away from the group, waving goodbyes and calling out indecipherable farewells. In the square, there was considerable confusion. The women who had been in distress before were now possessed by a terrible and violent outrage. A great pushing and pulling mob had formed, blocking the way back to the Uxi Bund where our pleasure barge awaited. We passed through, warily, and when we approached the Bund a great hue and cry sounded from behind us and the figure of a boy raced down the street. The lad was in that awkward phase of development when his body had suddenly stretched on entering puberty, and all his limbs were long, his joints knobby, yet very thin. As Father might say, ‘the lad’s balls had dropped’ but not by very much. He had a curly head of hair – exceedingly rare among the Kithai I’d seen – and he was smooth of skin and clean of face.
Except for the blood. A brilliant gash traced its way from his temple down his jawline. Blood discoloured his tunic, which appeared to be silk and fine, though now ruined. His mouth, smeared with blood, was open in a black hole of terror or alarm, his eyes wild.
Behind him came the mob, tossing rocks, flagstones, ceramic vessels, all clattering to the cobblestones or shattering on the walls of the buildings surrounding us. They chanted a phrase over and over again. ‘Chiang-shih! Chiang-shih!’
A metal brace or lead pipe whanged off the back of his head and he went stumbling, pitching forward onto his face and falling in a jumble of gawky limbs.
I reacted without thinking, that is clear. Holding my belly, I ran as swiftly as I could to interpose myself between the boy and the mad crowd of women. Carnelia cried out, behind me. I felt some thrown thing smash into my shoulder. A rock caught me on my brow, rocking my head back. But I was incensed and furious and felt no pain. This invulnerable fervour had overtaken me though my sister tells me my hands never stopped cradling of my stomach. I stood over the boy.
The women – pressed together in a clutch – stopped in the street, surprised to find a foreign devil between them and their prey. They chattered and screamed in fierce voices and I watched as the short-lived expression of surprise on the lead woman’s face was soon replaced with rage and she raised the rock she held in her hand and chucked the damned thing at me.
Then Huáng was there, a naked blade in one hand, its sheath in the other, his white hair in a wild clot around his head. He yelled, giving one tremendous bellow that echoed off the walls. The mob stepped backward. Huáng, looking relaxed, stepped forward.
Grabbing the boy’s arms, I helped him to his feet. Lupina was there, then, scowling, and helping me, with Carnelia not far behind. We retreated, toward the Bund and our awaiting barge.
Looking back, I saw the mob had recovered from Huáng’s magical bellow. One woman shied a rock at Huáng, who neatly side-stepped it. A large woman with a cleaver advanced, urging her companions to accompany her.
In a quick movement that seemed so simple it barely registered on my eye, Sun Huáng severed the cleaver and the hand that held it. The woman’s mouth opened and closed, soundlessly, like a fish’s plucked from a stream. The crowd became quiet.
Huáng said something in a low voice, the now bloodied sword held loosely before him.
Another rock was tossed, and it clattered onto the stones to the left of Huáng, but the mob had lost the fervour or madness that gave it cohesion. The burly woman whose hand had been chopped off emitted a high-pitched keening, gripping her stump, which gouted blood. With dark looks the women of Uxi village began to retreat and disperse.
‘Come,’ Huáng said, backing away, sword still in hand. ‘To the Bund. Now.’
With Lupina at my side and both of us taking one of the boy’s arms, we made our way back to the barge and in moments were steaming down the muddy river back to Jiang.
‘What in the blazing Hells were you doing, sissy?’ Carnelia asked once we were back on the barge. ‘You’re pregnant! There’s more to think about than yourself!’
Carnelia was furious, face flushed, waving her hands madly about.
‘I wasn’t thinking,’ I said. ‘Sometimes that happens.’
‘I can’t believe you!’ she said. Secundus and Tenebrae watched on, content, seemingly, to allow my sister to harangue me. Lupina, who tended to the gash on the boy’s forehead, frowned at me and nodded as Carnelia spoke. Huáng, on boarding the barge, went to confer with his secretaries, who had remained behind. ‘You’re acting Ia-damned selfish!’
I tried to hide the smile but could not contain it. Carnelia forced me to sit and began daubing with a wetted handkerchief at the cut on my forehead where the rock had broken skin. There was some blood and a painful, swelling knot there – and my shoulder was sore – but for all that I felt remarkably well.
‘It’s not funny!’ Carnelia screeched. She extended an accusing finger and waved it right under my nose. ‘You are responsible for a baby! A Cornelian! Father would be so … so …’
‘Angry?’
‘Fucking livid, that’s what. Stop grinning!’
‘It’s just I’ve never seen you like this, ’Nelia.’
‘Well,’ Carnelia bit her lip. ‘Get used to it. Especially when you act like a lunatic. Who here is supposed to take care of you when you do stupid things?’
‘Huáng didn’t seem to have any trouble,’ Secundus said, placing a hand on Carnelia’s shoulder. ‘No harm came of the incident, sister. And Livia has always gone her own way—’
‘She’s got a passenger now, brother,’ Carnelia said, putting all the scorn she could in her voice. ‘She can’t be foolish and think it will only affect her.’
‘You’re right, sissy. I will be more careful.’
‘Bloody right you will,’ she said, huffing and blowing back the hair from her eyes. But her next words were softer. ‘You could’ve been seriously injured, not to mention the baby.’
‘I say,’ Tenebrae said. ‘I’m not sure she was ever in any real danger. Did you see Huáng? Ia’s balls! How he moved! I was a fool ever to challenge him.’
‘Yes, you were,’ Carnelia said. ‘But we knew that beforehand.’
Tenebrae and Secundus laughed, in the easy camaraderie reserved for those who share a common pursuit. For a while they discussed Huáng, the profound brilliance of his swordplay and martial prowess, until the man himself returned.
‘Let us speak with this outcast,’ he said, looking toward the boy who lay quietly on one of the barge’s padded benches as Lupina tended to his wounds.
Huáng stood over the boy – young man, really, but he had an unblemished innocence about him. Looking at him critically, Huáng let loose an explosion of words that I could not understand. Secundus and Tenebrae looked at each other with incomprehension. Carnelia, hawkish and intense, only regarded the boy.
The boy said and did nothing, except blink. His large eyes were shuttered by eyelids ending in long lashes, giving him an almost Hellene sweetboy appearance. He remained mute, and looked upon us with wide eyes.
‘The boy seems simple,’ Tenebra
e said. ‘Perhaps the stoning the women gave him knocked what little native intelligence he had out of his head.’
‘The question I want answered,’ said I, ‘is why were they stoning him in the first place?’
Carnelia cocked her head. ‘They were chanting something.’
‘Chiang-shih,’ Huáng said.
‘What is ‘chiang-shih’?’
Huáng took a deep breath and held it for a moment. He looked older now. He’d always seemed youthful, if wizened, but now he simply looked old, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes dashing away from what those eyes had seen over the course of his years.
‘A drinker of blood.’
‘What?’ Carnelia said, hands clutched before her. ‘A vorduluk?’
‘I do not know this word. A chiang-shih is a thing that consumes Qi – mostly in blood. But it will eat flesh if it must.’ He reached forward and touched the boy’s forehead, looking at the gash. ‘Other chiang-shih take the jing.’ He waved his hand negligently at his crotch. ‘The pearly essence. It is all Qi.’
‘These vorduluk take the lifeforce?’ I asked.
‘Yes. They take jing, which is of the body Qi. Does that make sense?’
‘Seems to,’ Secundus said, helping himself to the wine. Like our father, when the conversation became difficult, he would turn to wine for truth, or succour.
‘They are monsters of myth. Whenever something happens to a child in the villages, women cry chiang-shih,’ Huáng said. He looked at the boy closely. Reaching out, with one hand he took the boy’s chin, not roughly, and turned his head back and forth, and observing the lad’s face. The boy kept his mouth closed, and tight. ‘The women of Uxi were upset, but I fear the boy is the … focus? Yes, the focus of their discontent. I am doubtful that he is the cause.’
Foreign Devils Page 31