by Jasmine Walt
“History says your people were a wandering tribe who lasted only a few hundred years—not a dynasty.”
“History is often wrong as told by the victors, who spoil the story,” Mr. Xu said. “For example, do you know the story of the River Queen? She is the one who saved my people from the flooding of the Yellow River every year. There are many who worship her still.”
Tresor Mohandis arched an eyebrow at the old man. Even though that eyebrow arched up, I knew the weight of it would crush Mr. Xu, who was simply trying to protect his heritage. And I was right.
“You believe some great ancestor will stop the flooding that will happen in a matter of weeks? Where was this queen last year when there were twenty casualties in the Gongyi? How many deaths have there been in the last five years due to flooding? My company is building a dam, which will save lives and provide jobs.”
“Many of the people practice the old ways. They believe the queen is destined to return to save us from the flooding. But I will admit that I’ve grown more practical in my old age. I believe the dam is an acceptable idea, a welcome idea, in the meantime.” Mr. Xu chuckled again before the cough raked his frail body. “But building on ancient burial grounds that have remained untouched for centuries is just wrong.”
“The dead don’t need the space as much as the living do,” Tres said.
“So you’ll stop your building plans at the dam, then?” I said.
Tres’s eyes turned to me, and I realized my mistake. Under his fierce gaze, I felt trapped, like a mole with its limbs entwined. His eyes sliced my skin. I felt the healed wound on my chest protest. But for some reason, I pushed on.
“Because you won’t just stop at the dam, will you?” I said. “You’ll build on the land. You’ll pour concrete over any site of historical significance, any stone that has a story to tell. You’ll cover the story with steel buildings that scrape the sky and block out the past.”
“Tired of playing in the dirt, Ms. Rivers?”
“It’s Dr. Rivers.”
His lip curled. “I know.”
My stomach unclenched and my fist balled. I made a step to advance, but Mr. Xu beat me to it.
“We understand that progress must happen, Mr. Mohandis,” Mr. Xu said. “But these are our ancestral lands. There’s so much that was lost, so much we don’t know. Did you know that our people were the original ninjas? The Lin Kuie, they were called.”
Ice ran down my back at the words.
“These great warriors of the Xia came from the forest,” Mr. Xu went on, trying to sway Tres with cultural stories. Unfortunately, I knew firsthand that the man did not prefer stories. He preferred contracts.
“Forest ghosts, they were called,” Mr. Xu continued in vain. “Legend says they protected a major source of power. And you want to tear down those untouched forests without even allowing anyone to go in and preserve any history that may be buried there.”
“I’ve invested millions of dollars in your little province,” Tres said. “The hotels and resorts I plan to build will open the area up to the world and make your pockets heavy. But you want me to stop the progress because there may or may not be turtle shells in the forest with some ancient scratchings about ghosts and queens?”
Loren reached into her bag. Mr. Xu gripped his walking cane. I stepped forward until I was in front of them. It was a protective stance—for them, not him. He could annihilate these two humans with a flick of his forefinger. Even with his immortal strength, he’d have more to contend with if he went after me. Tres’s eyes narrowed on my stance and his lip quirked up.
“There is no written proof the Xia were a dynasty,” Tres said, turning his attention back to Mr. Xu. “Your people are a collection of small tribes. Despite what Dr. Rivers may have told you, the government can’t go about protecting every collection of people who piled two rocks on each other and called it a home from progress. I’m offering you a chance to prosper and move into the future.”
“In the meantime, you’ll bulldoze their culture?” I said, a little surprised to find my voice was still there. “Take a wrecking ball to their homes? Mow down their way of life?”
He turned those obsidian eyes back on me. The smirk on his lips answered the question. “I think you missed your calling, Dr. Rivers. You should be off gallivanting with artists instead of digging around in other people’s business.”
I clenched my teeth. Dislike burned in my gut. But before I could voice any fire, he kept going.
“Sooner or later, progress puts us all in the ground. You should know that in your profession, Dr. Rivers.”
What I knew was I’d come to this battle too late. I might not be able to stop Mohandis Enterprises’s brand of progress, but there might be something else I could do to save the ancient relics of the Gongyi and get the answers I needed.
“The least you could do is give us time to excavate and save the treasures of the past from the machines of your progress,” I said. “We repeat the mistakes of the past if we don’t remember them or allow them to be forgotten.”
“Mistakes?” His voice was as hard as granite.
I took a step back even though he didn’t advance. No man had ever intimidated me, but Tresor Mohandis was old. That baby face didn’t fool me. Power radiated off him, along with menace. I knew he had the power to hurt me.
It was just a flicker, but I saw it. His eyes softened at my retreat—just a fraction. Instead of advancing, he put down his heel. It was a small retreat, but it felt large.
There was recognition in his eyes. He knew me. I realized this conversation was the continuation of an old argument I couldn’t remember. I’d probably been happy to forget any interaction I’d had with this man in the past. I couldn’t let him see that I’d forgotten. If he knew I didn’t remember, it would give him an upper hand on me.
I kept my eyes on Tres, struggling to find something familiar about him, but every instinct told me to stay away, that danger lay ahead.
“I’m not against building toward a future,” I said. “But I am against erasing the past.”
Something sparked in his eyes. “Some people prefer to leave the past buried,” he said.
We stared off for another minute. I saw the glimmer of a memory dancing in his eyes. It wasn’t a struggle to keep my look blank. I had no recollections whatsoever of him.
“The festivities are about to begin,” Mr. Xu announced into our stalemate. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to see to my part in the events.” His hunched body executed a bow, and he took off into the crowd on slow, unsteady feet.
“Enjoy the festivities, Dr. Rivers.” Tres executed a bow to befit a noble of ancient times, then he walked off, too.
Loren came up behind me and let out a long exhale. I didn’t jump or reach for my blade at her presence this time. I’d forgotten she was there. It was the longest I’d ever heard her be quiet. But she quickly made up for her silence.
“Holy hotness on a stick,” she said.
“He has a stick, all right. Right up his tight ass.”
“His very, very tight ass,” Loren purred, cocking her head to the side as she watched his gait.
“He’s not my type,” I said as I narrowed my eyes at the confident swagger in his step.
“Oh, you would so jump those bones.”
I didn’t respond. Instead, we both watched him, and his tight ass, until he disappeared into the crowd.
12
The moment Tresor Mohandis walked away from me, he was engulfed. Women shoved up against him. Men thrust their hands at him. He took it all in stride. To the women, he gave bland, noncommittal smiles. He kept his arms crossed and an openly bored expression on his face as he looked down at the men. His closed-off posture didn’t deter a single soul. They kept coming at him from every angle. I was the only person who actively stayed on the opposite end of the garden from him.
Stupid people. They didn’t realize he was the snake in this garden. The shiny apple he offered them would turn this paradise in
to a veritable hell of concrete and steel within a year.
Mr. Xu was right to fight for his lands. Though, admittedly, he didn’t go about it in the most sane, logical, or realistic way possible. No mythical river queen could match the reality of the corporation that was Mohandis Enterprises. If the papers were signed, the Gongyi would soon be washed over by a tidal wave stronger than the Yellow River could ever manage. Mohandis would wipe out any trace of the culture that had existed and make it look as bland as the expression on his face.
That was three doors shut in my face tonight. SACHs wouldn’t give us a pass. Xu couldn’t let us in. And now Tres had definitively locked us out.
Still, I had to find a way to get down to that land. The River Queen might be a fairy tale, but the ninjas of the Lin Kuie were very real. I knew they’d keep coming after me. I needed to figure out what had happened two millennia ago.
I looked away from where Tres was cornered and out into the middle of the garden. The festivities had begun in earnest. The performances were working their way through the Chinese dynasties from the most recent on back through time.
Currently on dynastic display was the Zhou. The Zhou Dynasty had taken power around 1045 BCE. It was one of the longest running dynasties and birthed Daoism and Confucianism. These thought systems of austerity and morality, and an indifference to the mysteries of life, came about during the political and social upheaval caused by the infighting in the Zhou dynasty. The man behind both thought systems, which happened hundreds of years apart, taught his followers to reject the idea that some men were born superior to others. He preached that governments should rule by virtue rather than by punishment or force.
With those seeds sown, a thousand years later that same man befriended a young Mongolian chief who dreamed of ruling the world. With the patient philosopher by his side, the young Khan would come to amass an empire across Asia before his death. Bet, the philosopher, great military mind, and Immortal, always played the long game. He was currently an adviser to the President of the United States of America.
In the center of the garden, the Zhou dancers were dressed in reams of white. They moved lithely about the space, extending their willowy arms and legs as a woman crooned in a high soprano. The dancers’ movements were balletic, arms forming round circles in homage to the moon. The Zhou were well known for their moon festivals, and the dancers tilted their heads up to the crescent as part of their dance.
I looked off to the far end of the party. Loren was busy being hit on by a small crowd of men. She spoke animatedly, throwing her head back in laughter. The men’s eyes were glued to her shoulder straps as though willing one to snap.
No one hit on me. I took care to exhibit all the signs of non-approach. My arms were crossed over my chest. My head was down and my eyes were hooded, not offering anyone a welcoming glance. I focused on the feel of the blade at my bare thigh beneath my skirt, using its sharp point to keep me alert to any possible danger. The ninjas had never attacked me out in the open, but this was new territory for me. I didn’t quite know what to expect.
The drums started again. The pounding rhythm pushed through my skin. The pulsing beat allowed my arms to fall by my sides. I rolled my head along with the resonance of the bass, looking up to see an ornate, six-person dragon leap into the center of the garden. The dragon’s shaggy red beard swayed as the dancers within it moved in time to the music.
The Chinese had been some of the earliest archaeologists. They’d unearthed dinosaur bones and called them dragons. But throughout history, the very real creature evolved into one of mythology. Over the years, the rulers used the image of the great fire-breathing reptile to symbolize their own power. But, as always, the dirt didn’t lie and the truth returned to the surface. One just needed to be patient, which, at the moment, I wasn’t. I wanted to get down to that land and see that dragon bone for myself. I needed to know what I was warning others against.
I plopped some dim sum on my plate. Even after sniffing it, I couldn’t tell the contents. I chewed at one tentatively. It scratched the back of my throat, and I coughed. When I swallowed and the tingling was still there, I knew it wasn’t because of the spicy dish.
“Let’s get this over with,” came Tres’s deep voice from behind me. It tried to shake something loose in my mind, but self-preservation wouldn’t let the memory budge. “Tell me what you want, Theta.”
Theta? The name tickled the corners of my mind. Grecian columns rose in my memory. The wind from the top of Mount Olympus brushed my shoulders as someone came up behind me on the mountaintop. But I refused to turn around. I knew if I did, it would give him the upper hand. So, I continued putting dim sum on my plate, trying to keep my hands from shaking.
“I don’t have time to play one of your little games,” he continued. “Flooding season is coming soon, and I need to get that dam built to protect—”
“The people?”
“My investment.” The two words were clipped. I knew he’d said them through gritted teeth.
I turned and looked at him then. He looked down at me with disdain. It was how I’d seen older siblings look down at a younger brother or sister who wanted to tagalong with the big kids. But there was no brotherly love in his dark eyes.
“I’ve stayed out of your way for the last millennium,” he said. “This is my territory.”
“Your territory?”
“You’ve never shown interest in China. I gave you America.”
“You gave me America?”
His lips pressed together in a flat line as he regarded me. “Have you become a parrot in the last few hundred years?”
I sat the plate of dim sum down and crossed my arms over my chest. I wasn’t sure if it was out of protection for myself or to keep from lashing out at him. It was evident we had this conversation in the past. But like all things Asian, I didn’t remember the particulars.
“What’s down there in the Gongyi that you want?” He moved closer, and a chill went over my shoulders. “A bronze pot? A jade blade? A damned ancient scroll filled with chicken scratch?”
I refused to take a step back. Larger men than him had tried intimidating me. They’d failed. My right heel lifted from the pavement. I ground it back down. “The Xia culture is over two thousand years old. They didn’t have parchment yet.”
Tres’s smile was hard. It somehow made his face beautiful, even though his words were ugly. “We can barely hold a few millennia in our minds, but you want me to care about an insignificant group of humans who may or may not have thrived for a few hundred years at most?”
“No culture is insignificant,” I said. “Everyone deserves a voice.”
He looked like he wanted to say more, but a noise burst up into the night. It was more drumming. I’d missed the end of the Zhou performance. It appeared I’d missed the Shang Dynasty’s performance entirely. Currently on display was the oldest known organized group of Chinese tribes—the Xia.
Men dressed in dark costumes tied with sashes raced across the garden from every direction. Their swords glinted under the artificial outdoor lights. Their faces were covered in hoods with only their eyes visible.
Ninjas.
In a matter of a minute, I was surrounded by twenty men with weapons aimed at me. I lifted my skirt and withdrew the blade from the holster at my thigh. Tres looked down at me as though I’d lost my mind. He grabbed my wrist and held on. I yanked, but he was stronger than me.
“Have you gone mad?” he hissed.
I opened my mouth to explain and choked. Exactly what was I going to say? That ninjas had been hunting me for over a millennium? That I didn’t know exactly why, but I thought it might have something to do with a dragon bone found on the Gongyi land?
Well, yeah. That would about cover it. But there was no time to say all that. The ninjas were advancing … in the opposite direction.
I lowered my blade at their retreat. They were nowhere near me. They were fighting against one another in what looked like a choreographed d
ance. None of their strikes connected. Their swords flopped about as though they weren’t real steel, but flimsy aluminum. And they weren’t men.
Looking more closely, I saw that they were too small to be adults. They were children, boys as well as girls. I saw ponytails emerge as they removed their hoods and continued with their performance. A banner at the side proudly proclaimed the Xia Dynasty. Mr. Xu came over to us, beaming proudly.
“These are my grandchildren,” he said.
“All of them?” I asked.
Xu nodded. The children favored each other like they were a dozen sets of twins. It was a little eerie and unsettling. Their movements brought them closer to me again, and a wave of nausea overwhelmed me. I took a deep breath, and the crushing wave receded. But I was still unsettled.
At the center of the group was an older girl dressed in blues. She had a crown on her head. The ninja children ran by her with streams of blue fabric.
“She represents the River Queen,” interpreted Xu. “For hundreds of years, she saved the Xia from the floods.”
“Hundreds?” I said.
“It is believed that she was immortal,” Xu said. “The Lin Kuie were her guard. It is said that in return for their devotion, she gave them strength and long lives. They protected her until she transitioned on to her next life. But when I was a boy, my parents told me she would rise again and return to us one day.”
The children surrounded the girl in blue. They punched and kicked in time to the drumming. The audience smiled and applauded, but my blood turned cold.
The girl in blue turned her back and began to walk away from the ninjas in black. The fighters came together for another sequence of movements. When they pulled away, there were red ribbons being pulled out of chest pockets, as though the group that had been defeated were truly dead.
“This represents the sorrow of the people after her death,” said Mr. Xu. “And the eradication of the ancient ways of the Xia culture.”