The Red Plains (The Forbidden List Book 3)

by G R Matthews

  “Cover your mouth and nose.” Zhou shouted the order, lifting the red scarf from around his neck and following his own instructions.

  For an eternity, they huddled close to the cliff wall. The thunder of the rock fall echoed down the passageway and with no escape, Zhou was forced to cover his ears with his hands. As dark as it was outside, it became darker still in their rock shelter. Zhou coughed despite the protection of his scarf.

  Eventually, the crashing echoes silenced and the dust began to settle. The pathway behind was blocked by fallen rocks. Ahead, the rocks rose halfway and there was just room to climb over and out.

  “We’re on our own,” Haung said.

  “No,” Zhou corrected. “Biyu will clear that without much effort. We should move on whilst the rest of the Mongols on the path are finding their feet.”

  The other two nodded and they scrambled up the small slope, clouds of dust rising on each step and angular stones skittering down. On the other side, they stopped and stared down into the valley.

  The two armies clashed and, even from the cliff-side path it was possible, just, to make out individual soldiers if not their identities. War wagons formed the front ranks of the Empire forces. The great carts had been pulled into place by teams of horses. Each wagon was armoured with a steel carapace from which, through small slits, crossbow men peppered the charging Mongols with bolts. In return, Mongol arrows danced off the hulls and floated to the ground like a thousand feathers.

  Between the wagons, lines of spearmen had planted their overlong weapons into the ground creating a forest of sharp points to deter any charging horses. In front of the spears, men crouched with large shields to protect the spearmen behind, creating yet another wall for any courageous warrior who could convince his horse to jump.

  Behind this line, the Empire archers and crossbowmen rained an unceasing curtain of arrows upon the Mongols. Horses screamed and fell, thrashing on the ground, crushing their riders and hindering the charge behind. Amongst the Empire soldiers, men fell to the Mongol’s arrows. If this state of affairs was allowed to continue it would be a stalemate, a battle of attrition from which there would be no clear victor.

  However, towards the rear of the Mongol lines were groups of men not on horseback. These were not coursing forwards into the fray, but standing around great conflagrations whose flames reached high into the dark evening sky. From these, columns and pillars of flame were gathered by some large unseen hands and thrown towards the Empire lines. They arced like obscene rainbows over the horsemen and landed amongst the Empire troops, sending men tumbling to the ground. The aroma of charred flesh floated up to Zhou along with the smoke.

  Not every pillar of fire reached its target, many were swept from the air by great gusts of wind which churned the smoke, twisting it into new patterns. Other fiery bolts were simply snuffed out as they flew, but there were too many to stop altogether.

  In return, stone giants, in the shape of men but three times the size, pulled themselves free of the earth ahead of the Empire troops and stormed into the Mongol horses. Where they stomped, the bloody red remains of men and horse mixed with the churned earth.

  Zhou watched in horror as, amongst the fallen, new creatures rose to combat the stone giants. The flesh of the slain formed hideous composites of life. Human and horse flesh melted together into beings to rival the size of the giants and, uncaring who they crushed, threw themselves at the stone creatures.

  The three of them stood on the edge of the path, hands upon the damaged stone work of the low wall.

  “There is nothing we can do to help,” Zhou said in a hushed tone

  “No,” Haung replied.

  “Then we should move on,” Xióngmāo spoke and coughed.

  “All those soldiers.” Zhou pointed towards the battle below and realised it was a unnecessary gesture.

  “You fought on the Wall, Zhou,” Haung pointed out.

  “I know, but,” Zhou stopped, his mouth forming the shape of words and discarding them before they were uttered.

  “Amongst it, you fight to survive and don’t think about much else,” Xióngmāo said. “Watching men kill each other from a distance, seeing the totality of the battle can be worse. Here you can recognise the scale of what they do. On the Wall, you saw only those in front of you.”

  Zhou nodded.

  “It’s time to go,” Haung said, standing up and moving back from the sight of the battle. “Remember the battle is a distraction, a means to occupy the Mongol troops and keep them from the final entrance.”

  Zhou took a last look down into the hell below him. The fire flew, the arrows rained down, horses screamed and the dead walked. There was nothing he could do to except ensure that the immortals made it to the meeting.

  Chapter 40

  Haung wiped the blood from the blade of his sword, the cloth he kept for this purpose had long ago lost all trace of any colour but red. Beside him, Zhou flicked the staff he carried, droplets of blood flew from it and splattered on the stone path. Xióngmāo had already sheathed her daggers.

  They had been walking and fighting for, it seemed, an age. The gradient of the stone path had steepened a short time ago and Haung’s legs were beginning to ache from the climb. It was becoming harder to breathe after every fight, and taking longer for him to recover.

  “I think we should rest,” he said. “Each time there are more of them. Very soon we will run into more that we can defeat.”

  “It’s the altitude,” Xióngmāo said. “The higher we go, the thinner the air becomes. Each breath does less and you tire quicker.”

  “We should rest,” Zhou said, sinking down against the rock wall. “I am sure the others will be along soon. There is no point pushing on too far and rushing into something we cannot handle.”

  Haung looked ahead. The path continued to rise and the slope became steps as it entered a crevice. In there, there would be less room to manoeuvre, to dodge the arrows that were the Mongols favoured weapon. And he was tired, just avoiding the arrows was becoming harder. He patted the pockets on his armour, checking the little scrolls and balls of paper were still in place.

  Peering down, the battle below was now just a smudge in a grey sea. The waves of the Mongols breaking upon the lines of the Empire. Fire flew, but the bolts were fewer in number and looked, to Haung, feeble. All made it through and into the Empire lines. Magic still rippled from the Empire lines and Haung could feel the chill of the Fang-shi spells waft across his skin.

  “A little while only,” Haung said, twisting away from the sight below and folding himself down to sit, cross-legged on the path.

  # # #

  “Haung,” the voice said.

  It took him a moment to place it, to remember where he was. The memory of Jiao’s face staring up at him from the mattress, the look of sadness in her eyes, the warmth of her smile and the scent of her in the early morning, was swept away by the cold reality of night. He sighed and the smell of crushed rock replaced the recollection of roses and petals.

  “They’re here,” Xióngmāo said.

  Back along the stone path a small group of figures were becoming visible. They circumnavigated the boulders and fallen rocks, moving out of sight.

  “The rockfall will slow them down,” Haung said.

  Zhou snorted. “Then you don’t know Biyu. The rocks will be a minor annoyance, which she will take out on us.”

  “A formidable lady,” Haung said.

  “Grumpy, impatient and prone to snapping at people for no good reason,” Zhou countered.

  “She’s old,” Xióngmāo said.

  “That is no excuse for how she treated you last night,” Zhou said.

  “She brought something up that I had been dancing around for a long time. I don’t think I could have said it without her there,” she said.

  “There is no shame in having a child,” Zhou said.

  Haung heard the pain in Zhou’s voice, the sense of loss and longing. It was impossible to imagine the lo
ss of his own boy. Just considering the possibility brought a lump to his throat that he had to swallow hard to dislodge.

  “It wasn’t. It isn’t shame, Zhou. I have nothing to be ashamed of, but too many years passed without anything being said. I’ve avoided my father, even the mention of him, as much as he has avoided me. It was hard to forgive him,” Xióngmāo said.

  “For what?” Haung heard himself say, surprised that he had let the words escape.

  “For leaving us on the mountain, for using me and for me agreeing to it.” She shook her head, the corners of her mouth turning down.

  “I don’t understand,” Haung confessed.

  “The Emperor is a Wu,” Zhou began and when Haung nodded, he continued, “he did something on the sacred mountain. Boqin, my teacher, had to remove him. The Emperor had to leave.”

  “He was not the Emperor then,” Xióngmāo added, “but he broke one of our laws. I think he had a reason. I even think he thought it was a good reason. When he became Emperor, he called for me and I left the mountain to be with him.”

  “And he sent you to kill the Mongol King,” Zhou said.

  “You killed the Mongol King?” Haung looked between the two of them, confused.

  “A long time ago, Colonel Haung. Wu live for a long time. Many of those who commit to one of the realms can extend their life-spans, even the Taiji should they chose to,” she said.

  “The Fang-shi?”

  “No,” and her face flashed an expression of anger. “They steal the power, control and demand of it. If they understood, perhaps we would not be in this situation.”

  “The Mongols would not have attacked? Is it because you killed their king?” Haung said.

  “They do not know what I did. Very few do and I would prefer it stay that way. Please do not talk of this around Jing-Ke.” Xióngmāo’s dark eyes met his for moment and he read the pleading in them.

  “Why?” Zhou asked and Haung winced, the diplomat still retained some of those weaknesses he had observed during the negotiations in Yaart.

  “Zhou,” Xióngmāo said, turning and walking away from the man.

  “You know,” Haung said, “sometimes it is better to say nothing until you are sure your words will be welcomed.”

  Behind them the sound of rock grinding and groaning began, quickly rising in pitch and volume. It echoed along the valley, bouncing from the walls, bringing more dust down to obscure Haung’s sight of the passageway. From out of the dust and noise, a small group of figures staggered, the old lady leading the way and, from the snatches of words carried on the evening air, berating the Emperor for something he had done or said.

  “My lord,” Haung said and bowed as the Emperor approached.

  “Ran into a few troubles on the way,” Jing Ke said, a smile on his face that faded when Xióngmāo returned to the group.

  “There were Mongols on the path,” Haung said, noticing the change.

  “What is ahead?” Zhou pointed with the his staff towards the vertical crevice ahead.

  “The city,” Biyu answered.

  “There is a city here?” Zhou replied, his voice rising in pitch, in surprise.

  “This valley was the home of mankind,” Biyu said, pushing forward to get to the path’s edge. “They lived here for a very long time before spreading out across the world. It was a refuge in the war with the universe. The final battle happened here, or rather were we are heading.”

  “Where is everyone?” Xióngmāo interrupted.

  “Dead and gone,” Sabaa said.

  “No one lives here anymore,” Biyu confirmed. “When the Jade Emperor succeeded, the city was abandoned. Under those horses hooves are thousands of years of history being ground down into dust. The foundations of people’s homes, their farms, and the skeletons of those who died in the first war.”

  “And what is this?” Zhou indicated the crevice once more.

  “The first homes, and the last homes, were built into the cliff. Before the valley was safe, people lived in caves on the cliffs, venturing down only to gather food, to fish and to hunt. At the end, when great stones of fire were falling from the skies, they retreated up here to carry on the fight. The Jade Emperor’s war almost brought the human race to extinction. There were so few of us at the end.”

  “You were here?” Haung moved to stand next to her.

  “A child.” Biyu was looking down at the valley, but her eyes were focused on a memory. “My parents survived the war. When the Jade Emperor wrenched us away from the universe, I was chosen to guard one of the realms. My parents were so proud. Every parent should be proud of their child and every child will one day understand what it is to be a parent.”

  The silence on the path was broken by the sound of battle below. It was too dark to make out much of the conflict, the occasional flashes of flame and magic illuminated parts, not the whole.

  “The army will pull back soon, Colonel,” the Emperor said. “It is too dark to tell friend from foe in the midst of battle. We should keep going, we cannot help them.”

  “The city is a maze.” Biyu’s voice returned from the past and resumed its waspish tone. “I’ll lead the way, children. Don’t stray too far and follow close. Keep your hands to yourselves. Leave everything where it lays and don’t wander off.”

  # # #

  The first steps into the old city were made in almost total darkness. Only the last gasp of evening served to illuminate the stone floor. Biyu did not stop moving, her shuffling steps loud in the enclosed passageway. Haung followed the best he could, letting his fingers, which brushed against the smooth wall, guide him.

  A few steps later, he saw it. He blinked a few times, seeking to clear his vision. The red and orange spots which had formed refused to disappear. Instead they grew in strength and it took him a moment to realise that the glow came from the wall itself. Speckles of red, orange and dark yellow hues shone a colourful rain of stars across the ceiling and walls.

  “They take a while to warm up. It has been over two millennia since anyone passed this way,” Biyu whispered.

  “There are no more Mongols blocking our way?” Jing Ke said.

  “There may well be,” Biyu said.

  “But you just said,” Zhou began.

  “The stone lights the way for me,” Biyu snapped. “My people understood stone. They lived in it, hunted with it, butchered, carved, ground rice, did everything with it. The stone knows I am here. It is waking up after a long sleep.”

  In the lightening gloom, Haung saw Biyu trail a hand across the wall, almost a caress. The woman was old, older than he had first thought, older than even the Emperor had expected. She was one of the first people, alive when the Jade Emperor had walked the earth. The splitting of the realms and the universe was not something Haung understood, but the others acted as if it made sense and, at the moment, that was all that mattered. How much time had passed for the old lady? How many millennia had she witnessed? Watching people, loved ones, be born, live, grow and die was at once a thought of wonder and infinite sadness. There was something of her short temper, her harsh words, and her treatment of them all as children he understood.

  The corridor, now lit by the glowing motes of stone, meandered through the rock, always rising. Steps gave way to gentle ramps and then back to steep staircases. On either side, low, narrow doors opened into small rooms. The light did not penetrate far enough into the new spaces to show much but a smooth stone floor.

  “Homes,” Biyu said when he asked what they were.

  “They’re tiny,” Haung said.

  “These were the early ones, the ones for the very first people and, at the end, the poorest. I lived in one just like it until the spirit chose me. They get larger as we go up.”

  “No doors?” Xióngmāo asked.

  “We used to hang hides or blankets over them,” the old lady said.

  “Stop,” Sabaa said. Her low pitched command brought them all to a standstill. “There are more people ahead. I do not recognise the
language.”

  “Mongols,” Jing Ke whispered. “How far?”

  “I don’t know,” Sabaa said, her tattoos glowing with their own light. “The corridors reflect the sounds and alter the paths of the air.”

  Haung put his hand on his sword, the familiar grip warm against the skin of his palm. Beside him, Jing Ke did the same and he noticed the twin daggers slip from their sheaths on Xióngmāo’s belt.

  “I’ve got them,” Biyu said. Her hand, usually brushing the walls, had vanished inside the stone. As Haung watched, more of her aged spotted and wrinkled flesh disappeared into the rock wall. “They are level up and do not appear to be moving.”

  “How many?” Haung asked.

  “What weapons?” Jing Ke said at the same time.

  “I am not a magical telescope that can bring the stars into perfect vision,” the old woman snapped, pulling her hand from the stone. “There are people up there, they are not moving and there is no way around them. I don’t know how many because the rock cannot count, nor do I know what weapons they have because the rock does not know what a weapon is. They have metal on them, the rock knows what metal is. If you want to know what they had for breakfast, you’ll have to ask them. Rock does not eat. I know what the rock knows, that’s it. Even immortals have limits.”

  “When we get closer, Sabaa and I will be able to tell you more,” the Emperor said, drawing a fabric bag from its place on his back. The bag was about as long as Haung’s arm and the Emperor drew forth three sections of wood. Between two of the wooden rods, a short chain served to link them together. “Do not concern yourself with me, Colonel. I assure you, I know how to use the sanjiegun.”

  Chapter 41

  With the spirit infusing his body, strengthening his muscles, speeding his reactions, Zhou tore out the throat of the Mongol who raised a sword against him. His staff crushed the skull of another to his left.