by Kien Nguyen
King NhCc, like most monarchs, was invisible to the public view. He resided high on a hill, isolated from his subjects. The youngest brother, Prince Lu, remained by the king’s side as his guard. Among the warriors, no one seemed to have captured the rebels’ respect and affection more than Prince Thom. François often saw him walking through the campsites, accompanied by the female general, Lady Bui, and the Chinese casino owner, General Wang Zicheng. They made the rounds to help the peasants with their makeshift shelters of bamboo branches and thatch coverings, or to train them in the martial arts, always exuding an air of self-assurance and authority.
At times, François caught a glimpse of the prince alone, standing under a tree, practicing his kung-fu steps. His bronzed body, as if sculpted from the Earth’s purest clay, reflected the burning rays of the tropical sun. His hair cascaded in a rippling tide. As he moved his arms and legs in a deliberate, meditative fashion, the mountains loomed above him. Often the prince would acknowledge François with a nod, never holding his stare long enough to create any bond. When he departed, Thom seemed to leave a part of himself behind, whether it was a musky odor, or the imprint of his feet in the sand, or the lingering energy of his being.
December 31 of the lunar calendar—mid-March on the Western calendar—was the first day of the three-day celebration of the Annamite New Year. That morning, the West Mountaineers received a messenger from the citadel. He presented an official document sealed inside a hollow bamboo tube to the three peasant leaders. The news spread quickly across the mountainside: the Tonquinese were now ready to receive the rebels’ representatives.
The next morning, when the sun climbed above the walled city, the New Year began. A storm of booming firecrackers exploded over the mountainside. The sky pulsated, jolting François from his hammock. Birds were screeching and leaping from their nests. For an instant it seemed the rebels were being attacked from every side at once. But over the clamor, he heard laughter.
In the smoke, the dragon dancers swayed to the beating of the drums. The face of LGc, the buffalo keeper, flashed through the papier-mâché mouth of the dragon’s head every time it turned in his direction. Through the air the creature rose and spun, a colorful and festive sight that was believed to ward off evil spirits. Five other dancers hid under its long yellow tail, their feet stomping in time to the hypnotic drums.
“Father Phan, join us!” Thom’s voice came from behind him.
François turned, disoriented.
From the clearing of the forest appeared five riders, sitting bareback on their horses. He was able to distinguish their faces beneath their full combat armor. Leading the group were the brothers Thom and Lu, accompanied by the three warriors: General Wang Zicheng, Lady Bui, and her husband, General Sam Le. In one hand Thom held his favorite weapon, a bow carved from ironwood with ivory inlay, while his other hand guided the reins of his horse. Trotting alongside him was another stallion without a rider. The prince leaned over to pat its back, motioning to François.
“Come along, Father Phan,” he said. “It’s time for us to meet the Tonquinese.”
François was surprised. “Me?” he asked. “You want me to accompany you?”
Thom handed him the animal’s reins. Even though François was not looking forward to reentering the citadel, he mounted the horse.
Thom reached into a pouch at his cummerbund and pulled out a piece of green jade carved in the shape of a fish.
“This carp,” he said in a soft voice, “I have carried with me for eighteen long years; once it belonged to my mother. It was her talisman that she used to drive away evil. In her last moments on Earth, she gave it to me. I believe that as long as I have this charm, no bullets or arrows can harm me.” He returned the fish to the silk compartment. “You have escaped death many times. So to me you are a jade carp.”
François was pleased.
“If you are my friend,” continued the prince as they rode off together, “I want you to be close to me. However, you’ve committed a grave error against us.”
The smile disappeared from François’s face. The prince was so close to him that their two horses were rubbing against each other.
There was no mercy in Thom’s voice as he went on. “You helped an important prisoner escape. And for that my brothers want your death. But I defended you.”
François looked into Thom’s dark, unblinking eyes. “Why?”
“Because you’ve made the game more interesting, but harder to play. If you were my enemy, I would keep you just as close. Now, ride forward!”
Thom broke away, heading toward the open field.
When François entered Hue City, along with the five members of the council, his hands were clammy. Too confused to think, he concentrated on following Prince Thom’s horse ahead of him.
The warriors brought with them several wagons filled with bounty, including honey, sandalwood, bamboo shoots, gold, and the finest betel leaves—exceptional gifts from the mountain. The last wagon was built like a cage. It contained ten female slaves and a mysterious prisoner, whose head was covered in a red silk sack to conceal his identity.
After a brief stop at the south entrance, where the rebels had to leave all their weapons with the gate wardens, the caravan continued on its way. A Tonquinese official and a small troop of soldiers escorted them deep into the fortress that had once belonged to King Due Tong of Cochin China. It was now being occupied by General Viet, one of the important commanders who served the northern vice-king, Trinh Sam.
François searched the scenery around him for traces of familiarity. All he could see was destruction. Floodwaters had reshaped the land, but clearly the main devastation in the city was not caused by nature.
Down a long, narrow road they made their way behind the soldiers. Several times they had to snake around because the main passage was blocked by fallen trees and collapsed houses. There was no echo; the city sank in muted silence. Ashes floated in the wind, and he could feel them choking him. Heaps of corpses rotted under the hot sun. Their stench permeated the air. No one tended the dead. Their only companions were the black crows who picked diligently through the refuse.
The living dared not appear on the streets unless they were members of the Tonquinese military. Frightened survivors lurked behind the half-burned walls of the brick houses like animal scavengers. It was difficult for the priest to remember how teeming and opulent this city had seemed when he was brought here for his execution.
“Don’t be afraid!” said Thom.
It was too late. He was already afraid.
Lady Bui and her husband whispered to each other. Prince Lu and the Chinese fighter, Wang Zicheng, kept a short distance behind, watching and listening.
They entered the inner fortress through a structure of four pillars that made up one main entrance and two side doorways. The air grew cooler, and the foul smell faded away. They dismounted and walked across a long courtyard, hauling the wagons with them. High-beamed ceilings above shielded them from the sunlight. Through a succession of circular doorways forming a long corridor that led them from one gallery to the next, François caught glimpses of mysterious stairs and arches, strange passages and dark tunnels. He let himself be led over the thresholds of many gates, bewildered by the complexity and repetition of the vast structure.
Through court after court they passed, until they reached the central chamber, which was heavily guarded. The doors were ajar. From the inside they heard voices. The official who had brought them to their destination stepped forward and announced their arrival. His proclamation resonated through the halls. As the sound faded, François heard the faint scuffling of bare feet approaching.
The doors grumbled on their hinges and opened wider. A current of incense engulfed them. From the fog peered two androgynous faces, both whitish, frail, and hairless. They spoke simultaneously with a shrill voice.
“Enter!” said the strange creatures, pointing inside with long, slender fingers.
Thom whispered to F
rançois, “The vice-king’s eunuchs.”
“Oh?”
It took him a few seconds to realize what those words meant, and he flinched before the look in the creatures’ eyes. They seemed ageless and untouched by the sunlight.
The Mountaineers entered. On the tile floor, remnants of things that once belonged to the royal family were scattered: jewel boxes, embroidered silk clothing, broken furniture, and smashed vases. The once-striking walls, decorated with gold leaf, painted scrolls, and hanging calligraphies in an ancient language, were now cracked with jagged fissures and gaping holes. The trickling sound of water came from an unseen fountain, peaceful in spite of the dreariness.
At the end of the great hall, the gilded throne sat on a dais, still impressive in size even though it was missing its inlaid precious stones and pearls. They had been gouged out, and all that was left was the empty shell of the chair. Sunbeams poured through the openings in the ceiling to illuminate a seated man who looked to be in his early forties. A black silk headdress circled his brow, and at its center sparkled a diamond. His thin, straight beard ran down his chest. Like his guests, he was garbed in the traditional bamboo armor.
Behind his chair and partially hidden by a gauzy screen stood what appeared to be a woman clad in white. At the man’s feet sat a group of warriors with crossed feet and arms, all sharing the same expression of menace.
The man on the throne spoke first. “Thom, the Man of Many Arrows,” he said in a rumbling voice, “we meet again.”
The mountain prince nodded. His voice was sharp. “General Viet, this is the first time we have met outside of a battlefield. We brought you many gifts to celebrate your victory over Hue Citadel in the dawn of the New Year.”
The general chuckled. “Hue City was the first to fall, and many more cities will follow. As part of the campaign of Vice-king Sam, I am making Saygun our next target. I am a man of few words. You have been invited here today to discuss the fate of your kingdom, Cochin China. Your messenger claimed that you have a present for us, something more important than spices and slave girls.”
Thom approached the throne. The Tonquinese guards sprang forward to form a barrier between him and the general. Their hands flew to their weapons. Thom halted. His brother and the other warriors took a warning step forward.
“Let him be,” said the northern general.
Again, Thom bowed with respect.
“Show us what you have brought,” said the general.
Ignoring Viet’s request, Thom said, “Surely you are not planning to invade Saygun with the army you possess. Your soldiers are exhausted and grow wearier by the day. The climate and conditions of the South are far more difficult than what you are accustomed to in the North. Also, on your northern border, China watches like a cobra, ready to strike your kingdom the moment your military is occupied with other matters. Furthermore, you cannot preside over our government. The citizens of Cochin China will never accept the Tonquinese king or any foreign king as our ruler. For these reasons, the war will continue long after our bones are rotting in the ground.”
“Rumors said that you and your brothers have anointed yourselves to sovereignty,” said the general, laughing. “Are you presenting yourself or one of your brothers as the new king of Cochin China?”
“You are a very wise man,” Thom replied. “But no matter how much we imagine ourselves as kings, we are not of royal blood. In the eyes of our people, we are just like any peasants who work the rice field. What I brought to you today is royalty.”
He turned and signaled to Lady Bui and her husband, who pushed forward the cage that contained the mysterious prisoner. The prince unhooked the gate and dragged the captive to his knees.
Standing before the general, Thom announced, “You have executed the vice-king, Truong Loan. Due Tong has fled. This shall be the new king of the South.”
He removed the red sack that bound the prisoner’s head, revealing his face. Behind the strings of dark hair, a blue birthmark the size of a coin dominated the left side of the man’s face. He shivered and swayed, oblivious to all around him. General Viet’s shocked expression was replaced by a gleeful look of recognition.
“Prince Hoàng!” whispered the general. “We have been searching for this man to replace Due Tong. We were told that Hoàng was dead. But look at the birthmark —”
Thom placed a hand under the prisoner’s arm, propping him up. “When we overthrew Quinion Citadel, we discovered the prince’s hiding place. His cousin, King Due Tong, had placed him in the care of the governor of Quinion, Mandarin TuyBn, whom we have since executed. As you can see, he does not talk. He does not care about politics. He doesn’t even know where he is. All he asks is to be fed his daily dose of opium. He is the perfect ruler.”
The general threw his head back and barked a loud laugh. The prisoner opened his eyes with a look of fright.
“There is one major flaw in your great scheme, Thom the Warrior,” said Viet. “Without the royal seal, he cannot be made king.”
“I commit my full service to the security of my nation,” said Thom. “Just tell me who possesses the seal and I shall retrieve it.”
“We searched the entire palace,” said the general. “It is not here. I believe it is in the possession of King Due Tong or a member of his family.”
“When they fled Hue,” Thom said, “the only place they could go was farther south. You have let them slip away. It is not a secret they are now residing in Saygun and will be rebuilding their army to retaliate.”
“Then you must chase after the dragon and sever its head. Do it before it can breathe fire.”
“This is our kingdom and it is our problem,” said Thom. “Let us finish what you could not. But it will take time. Saygun is deep in the south. Before we can get there, we must strengthen our army and restock our supplies. With a new king, what Cochin China needs now is peace, even if it is temporary. Our people cannot endure any more hardship. We urge you to remove your troops from the citadel and return to Tonkin.”
“Do not forget the most important part,” said the general. “What would our reward be if we withdraw?”
Thom’s eyes were keen with defiance. “You in the North always regard us as a poorer extension of your kingdom. You believe that it has been written in heaven’s law that your emperor is the rightful ruler of all the land. Our king should be here only to serve yours. A thousand years ago, Tonkin and Cochin China were born one country. We have since been divided but still share the same language and culture. We have been at war for hundreds of years. It is time for peace. Once we rebuild our cities and lands, we will be able to pay tribute to you. For now, your reward will be that we kill King Due Tong and his family.”
He grabbed the prisoner by the collar. “In the name of all things we the Mountaineers hold sacred, I vow this puppet shall be the new ruler of Cochin China and will carry the royal jade seal.”
General Viet nodded. “So be it,” he said.
PART THREE
Slaying the Dragons
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Saygun, 1778
Henri hurried through a dense forest that formed the south- west border of Saygun’s citadel. A smell of ripe mushrooms rose from the bed of leaves on the ground. A soprano voice wove its way through the woods.
We stay detached, with folded arms in the realms of glory and notoriety.
How many times have I escaped the unexpected calamity?
In the moonlight gleamed the silver plum blossom;
And rustling in the wind were the silhouettes of the bamboos.
It was high noon in midsummer. The light around him was delicate, like streamers.
It is not that I overlook my patriotism and devotion to the prince,
But in a day, I cower away from all the choices—torn between right and wrong.
I have trekked over several mountains and rivers:
How many perilous places have I been in the world!
Henri reflected on the folk song’s them
e. How many perilous places had he been in the world? From the day he was born until he set foot on this shore, his life had been a long journey.
Through the foliage, the watchtower of the king’s fortress followed his movements. The babble of a waterfall rose above the melody. He knew where the singer was, but he enjoyed sensing her from a distance.
From high on the mountain, water cascaded down rocky stairs and emptied into a small lagoon. On its banks grew wild peach trees, their branches covered with tiny pink blossoms. Through the dense leaves, hummingbirds flitted in search of hidden nectars. And on the ground, the roots twisted and tangled, embracing one another like lovers. With every breath of the wind, more petals slipped into the water, turning it a deeper shade of rosé.
Xuan stood knee-deep in the pond, under the waterfall, with her face toward him. Her body blended with the mist.
His eyes could have registered many splendors in the scenery, but all he saw was her. She was a butterfly in a background of bright liquid droplets—silver and gold, black, white, blue, and green. Her face was tan and lovely. The triangular crepe-de-Chine blouse clung to her chest like wet rice paper, and her skin shone in the sun.
But she was not being deluged with water alone. Along with the splashing torrent pouring on her came wave after wave of slick, red carp. They came from the springs above to lay their eggs, and the falls brought them to the lagoon. Xuan held out her hands to scoop the fish as they flew in midair. A sweet and pungent smell rose from the stream. Each time she caught a fish, she would toss it in a bamboo basket that floated nearby. Her hands were pink from the peach blossoms.