The Pirate Empress
Page 70
“You have interfered—more than once. Help me. Please!”
“The balance is broken as long as the Bloodstone remains in the keeping of the Fox Queen. The power of the demons is much greater than that of the gods. Even the Transcendent Pig drifts between the realms, neither here nor there.”
“Hasn’t he always?”
“Not like this.”
“You must help me. You cannot allow the world of legend to return to ascendency.”
“There was a time when the world of legend was the world of reality. The gods thrived.”
“Please,” Li implored. “These are not those times. It’s all wrong. It was caused by the will of some very bad foxes.”
“And who is to say what times these should be?”
“Then why oh why did that prophesy ever exist? Please give him a chance to right things. Give us the chance to give him the chance.”
If the sea god could sigh, it seemed that that was what he was doing. His nine, yellow, human heads nodded in unison. “All right then. I will enable the rescue of Wu, but henceforth, you will lose all memory of him. You will have the boy, but you will not recognize him as your son. Do you understand? All you have gone through for the boy will be forgotten. What is your answer?”
Li pinched the tears from escaping her lids. She had not lived her entire life protecting and trying to save him only to let him be killed by the fox faeries. “Do it,” she said.
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While Master Yun rode north to search the mountainous watchtowers of the Dragon Wall, Chi Quan took an army of men to block the approach of the strange Mongols who wore the ancient raiment of First Emperor Qin’s adversaries. At sunrise the next day, after a night spent riding at top speed to the easternmost point of the wall, sleeping in their armour, Quan’s soldiers arrived at the gates of Shanhaiguan. Unpractised as they were, he placed them against the frontline of the Xiongnu army, and led their first charge against the strange steppe warriors. The fierce horselords fought them to their knees, driving them up the western flank of the fort while new enemy forces suddenly appeared from the north. Quan was too preoccupied to note who they were. He only noticed that they held back, letting both sides exhaust themselves before attacking with fresh forces.
Arrows flew like clouds. So huge was the army of the Xiongnu that Quan could hardly believe the sight was real. Where had these warriors come from? They were wilder and fiercer than any of the steppe folk he had ever encountered; they were savage in their attacks and obeyed no rules. Blood sprayed and limbs flew as arrow and dagger struck. Horses fell and men screamed and the Xiongnu kept coming. Just as the enemy were ready to declare victory, the weather turned. This gave Quan’s troops a chance to regroup, but before they could attack anew, the gleam of hairless scalps and clean-shaven foreheads appeared through the driving sandstorm. Liao Dong and his pigtailed Manchu warriors had joined the fray. Fresh battle screams were hurled against the Ming’s pathetic offense, and Quan’s army began to crack under the assault. They retreated, and then collapsed into a scattered, ragtag mess of weary, terrified men, who straggled, some horseless back to Beijing.
Quan had only one more maneuver: the legion of Yeren that had followed him to the Emperor’s side from the Red Desert. He had hesitated to deploy them. What if he couldn’t control them? But when Captain Huang returned, a hunted look on his face, Quan knew he must try. The Manchu were hooting in victory; the Xiongnu circled their newfound allies in admiration and exaltation. So certain were they of their triumph that they paid no heed to the Ming leaders who now strategized amidst the groundswell of blood. He had an army five thousand strong. That was how many Yeren lived, invisible, in the vast barren lands of the rust-coloured columns.
Ren Xiong was his general, the leader of the host. It was Peng who gave him his name— literally, Man-bear. He was the tallest, palest, most frightening example of them all, but he was also the brightest. When Quan signalled with a red flag for the Yeren to make themselves visible, the formidable legion appeared, their bones rattling to life before flesh covered them in pelts of brilliant white. Fear motivated the Yeren and when they saw the victory dance of the barbarian hordes, their fur transformed to black—a signal that death was imminent. At the sight of the charging Man-bears, the Xiongnu and their Manchu allies turned tail and ran.
Quan motioned to Ren Xiong to pull back by waving the banner of Imperial yellow, and the hides of all five thousand Yeren winked from black to yellow, before vanishing. The only evidence remaining of their existence were three-toed tracks, and the thunderous crunch, crunch, crunch of footfalls on the field of sand.
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The wind rose, and the mountains opened up toward the sun. The red-brown coat of Master Yun’s horse blended in with the landscape. He and Peng were near invisible in drab grey. They passed Mongol camps as though invisible, the men in braids busy with their mutton stew. Fists clad in falconer’s gloves, they raised cups of putrid water, mocking the Son of Heaven as they waited on his doorstep.
The desolate autumn wind gusted as Xingbar and his riders skirted another of Dahlia’s armies. Lucky for them, Xingbar was as silent as a goat, and as surefooted. They had travelled far and still had so far to go. Master Yun stopped to allow the foxling to stretch her legs and feed on dried jerky, before giving her a drink of fresh water from a goatskin.
Peng stretched her eyelids wide and stared at the closest tower. She snapped her eyes shut. “My mother. She is watching me.”
“We must be nearby then.”
Master Yun studied the winding wall ahead. They had ridden low, following the outside wall, not daring to ride upon the brick paths and ramps, for fear the sound of hooves would echo along its entire length. His Majesty had not relied on his own design to fortify this barricade, but had followed the map originated by his forebears. Building the Dragon Wall was a strategy that should have benefited generations, bringing peace to millions, but oh, how it had failed.
“Master Yun!” Peng squeaked. “There, look in the sky!”
Master Yun squinted and saw only a vacuous swirl, heat and cold clashing among the clouds.
“I think it is your blue dragon friend. The one who rescued you from the tomb.”
“Peng, you must close your eyes. If what you say is true, your mother must not see what you have divined in the heavens. She and Dahlia have the Bloodstone, the Hell Master’s all-seeing eye, and through this green, red-veined gemstone, she can see all that you see.”
Master Yun lifted his grey-bearded chin to the clouds. Fucanlong sailed over the serpentine wall toward a far watchtower with someone on his back. He hoisted Peng onto Xingbar and raced along the side of the wall, chasing the watery image of the blue dragon. At long last he caught up at the base of a very tall watchtower and saw the dragon set his passenger onto the ground.
“What have you done, Li?” Master Yun demanded, dismounting with breath steaming.
“The bargain is made,” she said. “Wu is in that tower, and Xiang Gong has made certain that he is alone.”
“And when he is rescued?”
“When he is rescued, I will lose all memory of my son.”
“That is your wish?”
“It is not my wish, Master Yun. But it is my will. It is the bargain I made. We must hurry for Xiang Gong will only hold the Foxes attention for so long.”
“I think you should take Xingbar and Peng back to the palace. I will retrieve Wu and return on the back of Fucanlong. You will not know your son. He will be just a boy.”
Li shook her head. “I know I made that bargain with the god. I know that is what he intends as payment for allowing me to rescue him. But he is my son. I will not forget him. No one can make me forget, not even a god. I must see my boy!”
Master Yun felt the emotion tug at his breast. He would not deny her this last time to recognize her beloved boy. “We go then,” he said, and signalled the dragon to permit them to mount, instructing Peng to hide in the underbrush. Fucanlong lifted them into
the air to the top windows of the watchtower, a vantage point from where they could look down inside the fort.
Rolled onto one side, Wu slept, but when Master Yun and Li’s shadows fell over the cold, sunlit floor, he stirred, and then shot to his feet.
Li rappelled down the curvature of the wall on a rope held in the dragon’s teeth. She stood before him excited and terrified. It had been almost six long years since she had seen her boy. She lifted him in her arms; he was only a foot shorter than she. “You see, Master Yun!” she shouted. “I have not forgotten my boy. How could I ever forget him?” She kissed his face fervently, swept his hair back from his forehead. He had grown even since the last time the warlock had seen him. “You are quite a young man,” she said. “And soon you will be emperor. Yes, Wu. Your great grandfather is dead and you must take his place. You will stand on the Crosshairs of the Four Winds and guide your armies to ultimate victory!” She hugged him and could not stop hugging him, until his breath became only gasps.
There was a commotion outside the door. Li swept her son into her arms. He was much bigger and heavier now, and it took some effort for her to swing him up the rope. Master Yun aided them with a mild wind force, lifting them into the air, just as the tower door slammed opened, and a quad of Mongol guards stormed in.
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The cloudy air fell still over the heavenly mountains, and the Dragon Wall snaked into the mist. Li looked below from her perch on the dragon’s back, and saw the beacons lit, but the warning was not for the Chinese. The fox faeries had taken possession of the wall. Those fires were signals to her armies to move down the valleys across the rivers and into the plain. They were high enough that they could see all of Dahlia’s maneuvers. Her regiments were deployed along the Yellow River. For a thousand miles Li sighted the black and silver of the Fox Queen’s banner. Mountains and rivers flowed into the horizon, while the plains rolled endlessly away. Gongs sounded and in the descending night came the mournful sound of a flute, hundreds of thousands of cavalry moving into position, watering their mutant mounts in the dead lakes—Jian, the evil seven-headed, one-eyed birds; Quilin, the dragon-horses; and Nian, the New Years Day beast.
Master Yun turned his head to look back over his shoulder to where Li was sitting with Wu sandwiched between her legs. “Look to the west,” he said. “Tell me what you see.”
Twilight threatened, but still there was light in which to discern the machinations of their enemy. Li was still looking to the wall, watching its serpentine twists as they approached the curved eaves of the Forbidden City. Suddenly, Master Yun urged the dragon upward and they sailed over the river. Below and slightly to their right they spied activity on the plain; it was clear that Dahlia had begun to maneuver her forces into position. But it was an utterly strange stratagem. Dahlia stood in the center. Troops assembled around her in a double ring.
“You see how each regiment represents a number? Each ring consists of 8 regiments and each regiment from 1 to 8 consists of troops 10,000 strong. The outer ring adds up to 360,000 warriors, the inner ring comprises half that number. Together they represent a force half a million strong. The magic comes from the juxtaposition of the troops. No matter how you add them up, diagonally or circularly, they all add up to nine. The nine tailed fox holds the center.”
“It has begun,” Master Yun said. “The Fox Queen has formed her Magic Circle.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
The Azure Dragon
That night he watched the pale disc of the sun set over the red sand. How he regretted journeying over these ten thousand miles. On the western shore of Hot Lake the water boiled. Fame, success, honour, pride: What was any of this to him when he had failed so miserably in his quest? The last of the thunder rolled away, leaving the sand wet. An image like a dream impressed in his mind: the glorious muscle-bound creature clad in loincloth, who menaced all with razor-sharp claws, serrated bat wings and scowling blue face, beaked like a bird.
Rise, the god commanded to the beating of his mallet. Your time is not yet come.
Along the flank of the wall he walked horseless, the sound of song bleating in the distance. The barbarian pipe was the saddest of all played by the red-eyed savages who would commit any crime to seize the heart of China—even join forces with the baneful creatures of legend and the demons of nightmare. It was freezing autumn and he was way out west. Would he find the road back in time? The Pole winds blew cold on his tattered garments, the yellow grasses snapped with their force. The moon above seemed poised to fall. And the pipes played on in mournful solicitude. He passed each of the border towns in shadow, his companion as ghostly as he. The silence of the garrisons rang deadly in his ears, when only the sneering chatter of Mongol voices replied to the haunting song. Did they not know what was about to happen? Did they not know how the demons would enslave them? He looked longingly eastward to his homeland, and turned. South now. South he must go, along the endless road.
The colour of the sands had changed. No longer red, they were yellow and flat and bleak. Their yellowness seemed to reach to the skies and no matter how he stretched out his arms he could not touch their endpoint. At night the wind howled. Flocks of birds dared not fly over them. As they followed the river they saw that the carp were ripe, and on that raw and slithering flesh, they feasted in the moonlight. By the bank, the brown grass turned silver and in the sky the clouds loomed black.
How he finally came to the encampment of Brigade General Chi Quan was not a question he could ever answer. From the ring of tents the smoke and dust of activity arose, illumined by the night fires of a puny army. Was this great general to lead his pathetic troops against the Circle of Dahlia tomorrow? From the shadows, he saw the silhouette of the brigade general in his tent, and he knew he wore his faded armour. From whence had he arrived? The horses outside foamed; they wore a light coating of snow, and their bodies and muzzles steamed. The wind cut like a knife. He ducked his head for shelter, and peered inside the great general’s tent and saw him at a table surrounded by his lieutenants and captains, a brush in his hand, a sheet of parchment to map out his plan, the water on his inkstone frozen.
“Warm this over the fire,” he instructed one of the men.
Captain Huang took the inkstone and moved to the exit. Quan glanced up as the man gasped, and then he, too, choked on a breath—and stared. He Zhu bowed. He was weary. He ushered his companion forward, a lovely young woman, bold and robust. Not Chinese. “This is Alai,” he said as Quan rose from his seat. “She is a bowmaid of Xiongnu descent. She is my love, my life, and she has chosen to fight with us.”
Some of Quan’s men recoiled at the word, Xiongnu. Master Yun had warned them of these devils of the past, and they had fought them on the sands of Shanhaiguan. They were savage and fierce and had battered the Ming army almost to defeat.
“Let her be,” Quan said as two of his captains went to seize her. “Let the warrior monk speak.”
“The world has changed, the Emblem of Balance is broken, and nothing is as it was—not even death. Lei Shen returned me to my time and my place. He watches over me.”
“And Alai,” Quan said. “Does he watch over her, too?”
Zhu shrugged. “I do not know the mind of the god. But I do know this. She is not of our time, although I love her. And so it seems to me that she cannot die in our time.”
Quan moved to touch him, felt his shoulders and arms, searched for the scar that Madam Choi had inflicted upon him. “It is indeed you.” He tore open Zhu’s tunic at the throat and searched, but the teeth of the fox faerie left no mark. “The thunder god did his job well.”
“The enemy is moving into position,” Zhu said. “I have seen the gathering of the hordes along the eastern wall. They descend to join their queen on the plains of Xian. Your armies are small, Brigade General. What is your plan?”
“I await word from Master Yun.”
“There is no time for that. Already, the Circle is complete. What magic have you to counter that?”
“I am sure they do not,” Zhu said.
“Then what hope have we?” a voice said from the tent’s darkest corner.
An impressive figure stepped into the lantern’s light. He was tall and rugged of face and build, and had hair striped like a tiger.
“Admiral Fong,” Quan said. “This is He Zhu, a warrior monk, and one of my bravest and most skilled and steadfast fighters.”
“I no longer fight with crossbow and sword,” Zhu said. “But the Tiger’s Eye has betrayed me, and so, I will pick up my blade once more.”
“It is not the gemstone that has betrayed you,” Quan said. “The world has been transformed, turned upside down and inside out. You are not responsible for what that gemstone can or cannot do.”
“Enough of this esoteric talk,” Fong said. “Talk of magic gemstones will not save us. Look outside. You can hear the clanking of the enemy’s armour and the sharpening of their blades. That is what should be concerning us, not this bunk.”
Their camp was situated at the base of First Emperor’s tomb. Now, Quan led them uphill to the top where a flat plateau offered stable footing. The vegetation on the mound was dying from the bite of the autumn frost, and wind whipped dry soil into a fog of yellow dust. In the strangeness of the night, enemy torches blinked.
Admiral Fong gasped at the sight of the newly forming Magic Circle that marked the plain. Black troops in rigid formation, their armour gleaming in the torchlight—like so many gaming pieces—took up position. Would they stay like that all night? Standing beside He Zhu, Alai shivered. Her own people were part of the configuration. In the dark it was impossible to see their banners, but come morning every contingent would be marked with the silver-tipped, nine-tailed insignia of the Fox Queen. Only Quan stood untouched by the sight.