The Stone Road

by G R Matthews

  “Now, that is a real shame, Captain.” Shin’s smile broadened.

  “Shin, you can only imagine how upset I was,” Haung said with mock sadness in his voice.

  “Oh, I share your sorrow, Captain.” Shin laughed, right from his belly, “Move aside, lads. Let the Captain through.”

  The other soldiers all cleared a path. Haung bowed to Shin, who, still laughing, returned the gesture of respect and then Haung's horse carried him back into the city of Yaart.

  # # #

  Haung tucked into the bread, cheese and meat on the plate before him. The inn was packed with other diners though he ate alone at the table. Food, he knew, even basic fare like this, would run out soon, so he savoured every bite. The cost was the other consideration, inflation had already raised its ugly head and this simple meal had cost double what he would have paid before riding out in the spring time. However, it was worth it. Just to be out of the castle, away from the soldiers talking about how many they had killed during the battle and what they had done for fun afterwards. Constant reminders of the war. The talk amongst the normal folk of the city still centred around life, death and survival but they were a step far removed from the scenes of violence, of two dead children and a sobbing mother, of a man breathing his last on the tree of death. Those memories brought him sleepless nights.

  “Haung.” The soft voice carried a barb.

  He looked up into the dark eyes of the young woman who stood on the opposite side of the table, next to the empty chair.

  “Jiao,” he nodded.

  “Are you not going to ask me to sit and join you?” She did not release his gaze.

  “Jiao, why are you doing this? I told you, before the army left, that there could be nothing between us. Not now.” He forced himself to drag his eyes back to the food on his plate. The scrape of chair legs was clue enough that she had sat down.

  “I have heard of married Jiin-Wei before. Why should you be any different?” she asked.

  “I just am. This isn’t the right time, Jiao.” He put the chunk of bread down and looked at her. So beautiful, he thought and felt the breath catch in chest. “My life isn’t my own any more. My decisions are not mine to make. I took an oath when I became a Jiin-Wei and nothing can or will change that. Don’t you understand that?”

  “Yet, there are Jiin-Wei with wives and children in the stories and legends,” Jiao said. “There is no consistency between your words and stories. I choose to believe the stories.”

  “Jiao, the world has changed. I’ve changed. You’ve seen the refugees in the tents and still they come. This isn’t a world for soft thoughts and warm nights, it’s a harsh world of survival. You and I, together, would not be a good idea at the moment.” Haung heard the words as if someone else was speaking, they were not his. They lied with each consonant and vowel.

  She reached out and picked a small wedge of yellow cheese from his plate. With delicate fingers she raised it to her lips and took a small bite.

  “It would be better if you left, Jiao. I am sorry,” Haung said his voice calm.

  “Perhaps, but this isn’t the end, Haung. I told you, a long time ago, that I meant you to be mine.”

  He could not take his eyes off her as she stood and gave him a smile before she turned and walked out of the inn.

  “I’d start running now, if I was you,” the inn-keeper said with a smile as he placed another bowl of rice wine before Haung.

  “I’ve been running, for a long time,” Haung said with a sigh. “She is just faster than me.”

  “They always are,” the inn-keeper said.

  # # #

  “Haung, had enough rest?” Commander Weyl said.

  “Yes, Sir,” Haung bowed in respect. Weyl’s office had not changed since his first visit. The central table and the maps were still there.

  “Good, good.” Weyl stood up and walked over to a small table on which were two glasses and a flask of wine. “Drink?”

  Haung accepted the glass of wine and took a small sip, “Thank you, Sir.”

  “After your excellent service during the recent excursion to Wubei, the duke has requested your skills again.” Weyl took a sip of his own wine and gave it a small smile of appreciation. “With the increase in refugees coming to the city, the chances of civil unrest are increasing. It won’t be long till the first food riot breaks out. The resources we liberated from Wubei will keep us going and, in a month or two, the crops can be harvested. It will be tight but Administration has worked with the figures and is suggesting that we have enough, just.”

  “That is good news,” Haung replied.

  “Indeed it is. However, some of the refugees are not as poor as others. The business owners and traders who arrived have formed an agreement. They are using their considerable influence to cause some difficulties for the duke and his staff. Complaints, petitions, accusations - that sort of thing. All minor at present, however, the duke has a mind to put them in their place. Use them as an example, to keep the others in line.”

  “We all need to work together to survive the coming winter. Don’t they understand that?” Haung asked.

  “I imagine they probably do, they just want to make sure they have a better chance of surviving than everybody else. Business people tend to have an intrinsic level of greed and selfishness greater than other people. Anyway, the duke is concerned that once he strikes there will be reprisals and I agree with him.”

  “What do you want me to do, Sir?” Haung asked, a puzzled look on his face. “These business leaders need persuading to back off?”

  “Nothing so blunt, Haung. The duke must act within the law here, and they haven’t truly done anything wrong. No, he will strike when the time is right but with the wealth they control they may, just may, employ people of,” and Weyl paused, “certain special skills to take revenge on the duke. He wants you, and again I agree, to take control of his security within the castle.”

  “A great honour, Sir,” Haung bowed.

  “Indeed it is. You will report directly to the duke. I want copies of everything, though, and should you uncover anything important I want to be the first to know. The resources of the Jiin-Wei may be needed to ensure nothing untoward happens.”

  “Of course, Sir,” Haung responded.

  “You’ll be back to being Captain Haung, hero of the war on Wubei. Let Marbu know by tomorrow of anything you need to perform this role. It is likely to last throughout the year and may be beyond. Give it some thought, but we need to move you into position as quickly as we can.”

  “Yes, Sir. I will, Sir.” Haung bowed and turned to leave, “Commander Weyl?”

  “Yes, Captain?”

  “Could a part of my cover include taking a wife?” Haung asked cautiously.

  “Why would you want to?”

  “A wife speaks of settling down, of a connection to the city. It shows permanence, stability, and most of all it gives respectability. Add to that it distances me from any rumours of being a Jiin-Wei. It would be a normal thing to do. It also opens the door to invitations to dine with others of rank and many men speak their minds more openly in the comfort of their own home. It was just a thought, Sir,” Haung spoke in a rush.

  “You have someone in mind, Captain?” Weyl gave Haung a shrewd look, and he felt he was being measured, but whether for promotion or a coffin he couldn’t be sure, “I’ll write the permission now, collect it from Marbu in the morning. Choose wisely, Haung, a good wife can be a blessing. A bad one, even disguised as a good one, can end a man’s career in an instant.”

  Haung nodded and then bowed once more, “Thank you for the advice, Commander.”

  “Make sure you heed it, Jiin-Wei.”

  Chapter 23

  Zhou stood amongst the ashes of Wubei.

  The stone walls, once mighty and laced with enchantments, were just three or four courses high in most places. Across the ruins, small dwellings built from stones robbed from the walls had replaced the magnificent wooden residences that had
dominated the city's skyline. Gone was the street plan of old Wubei, the passing weeks and months had aged the city more than the centuries of habitation before. Looking around, there was nothing of his home city that he could remember. Between the buildings, people shambled to and fro about the business of survival.

  Summer was almost at an end and cold autumn winds would soon be upon them. Up here, in the mountains, autumn was the shortest season and it gave ground before the snow and freezing temperatures of winter every day. This disassembled city, with little in the way of resources and food, would be no place to try and survive the change of seasons. Zhou pulled the bedroll turned cloak tighter about his shoulders and neck.

  Taking his best guess, he made his careful way to the location of his old house. There was nothing there, but still he sank down onto his knees and placed his hands deep into the piles of ash and fine rubble that had accumulated in the low remains of the foundations.

  “I will avenge you,” Zhou whispered, “I miss you both so much, and I will be with you soon, once my task is complete. Wait for me, I will come for you.”

  Tears dropped into the ash, binding it together in clumps. He filled a small pottery jar with the ash of his former home, his former life, and stoppered it with a cork. Tying a short length of string to the handle of the jar, he hung it round his neck, tucking it underneath the cloak and armour. The clay was cold against his flesh and its presence was uncomfortable, a constant reminder, just as he wanted it.

  “You look well off, my friend. Care to share some of that money.” The voice, dark and unfriendly, came from behind him.

  Zhou spun around, hand falling to the hilt of his sword. Two men stood there holding drawn swords and smiling at him through bristled faces.

  “You steal those off your own soldiers?” Zhou backed away, step by careful step, and they followed.

  “They had no use for them whereas I do.” The first man waved the sword in the air before him, violence and menace in the casual movement. “Now, hand over any food you got, and money, and you won’t get hurt.”

  “I need the food and I need the money. So, with deepest regret, I am going to have to refuse your kind offer.” Zhou reached up to his face and slowly rubbed his ash covered hands down his cheeks leaving a dark smudge of soot. “People died for this city, and by this ash on my cheeks, I fight for them.”

  Zhou drew the sword. The world changed to black and white. Red snakes slithered towards the two men and climbed their legs, winding a pathway towards their hearts. He screamed and leapt, sword following the snakes across and into their bodies.

  Blood fell amongst the tears.

  # # #

  Zhou stumbled through the mountain pass. To either side, steep slopes covered in loose rock which skittered away underfoot with each step made walking difficult. Only a few pine trees, where there was the hint of soil to support them, broke the monotony of grey. The occasional boulder fallen from the mountain side, or deposited by flash floods brought on by the spring snow melt, presented minor barriers to be skirted or climbed over.

  His bedroll cloak was secured by the sword belt at his waist and thin ropes on his arms and shoulders. The narrow valleys funnelled the cold mountain winds and every scrap of warmth was to be savoured. Thin gloves covered hands that, as much as balance would allow, he kept tucked under his armpits. The blisters on his heels had scabbed over and though his feet ached he could still walk. To stop would be death.

  Zhou struggled up the slope around the latest boulder to block his progress, sliding on the layer of scree that coated the rocks. Under his foot, a thin slice of shale slid away and he fell onto his knees, reaching out to steady himself. He lay there for a few minutes, the cold, jagged rocks strangely comfortable under his back. Lying down, the force of the wind was lessened and he found himself gazing, hypnotically, at the grey clouds that washed across the sky.

  It would be easy, he thought, to stay here forever. To lie back, relax, and let go.

  # # #

  Zhou chewed the last of the dried fruit he had stuffed in his back pack before he had departed the burnt skeleton of Wubei. From now on, there would be no fresh food, only that which he could scavenge from the landscape. He did not fancy the idea of eating grass, weeds or any small creatures he could capture but survival was the main concern, that and revenge.

  Night fell, and in the mountains it fell like a stone. Finding shelter was a challenge, as was staying warm. The fuel wood had run out days ago and he had learnt that green pine did not burn well. The fire lighting flint was worn down to a small nub, barely large enough to create a spark. The largest threat to staying warm was the biting wind that stole Zhou's heat with every gust. A small barrier of stones was usually enough protection as long as the wind did not change direction in the night. Zhou was never warm, and sleep was only in fits and starts. Never enough to feel rested but enough to keep going.

  Up ahead, in the descending gloom of the narrow valley he spied a likely boulder. It was low to the skyline and wide enough to curl up behind. Zhou struggled over to it and slumped down onto the rock floor. With the last of the evening light he scrabbled around for rocks the right size to go in his improvised sling, a piece of bedroll that he had cut off with the dagger. It was not much but the chance to knock a bird from the air, or catch a scavenging animal by surprise, was all he had.

  His belly rumbled and ached as he lay down, flicking aside the large rocks, to try and sleep.

  # # #

  As the map had promised, Zhou shambled out of the mountain pass onto a well-worn miners track.

  His legs trembled with every step and gaunt ribs struggled to draw enough air into his lungs. Every so often he was troubled by racking coughs that drove him to his knees. Each time, it was a struggle to clamber back up to his feet and keep moving. However, the village marked on the map could not be too far away and on a road marked by deep cart tracks he would meet someone soon. All he had to hope for was that they viewed him kindly. The end was near and his promise to his wife and son had not been fulfilled. Without that debt hanging over his soul, he would have given up days ago and let the wind carry him away.

  Shuffling up the track, step by slow step, he kept driving himself onwards. By mid-afternoon, no one had passed him in either direction but rising columns of smoke indicated that the mining village was not far now. He quickened his pace, the promise of food, drink and a decent sleep giving energy to his tired muscles.

  Up ahead he could hear the calls of human voices. He cocked his head to one side, trying to pick out the words but only the tone of alarm was clear. He tried to speed up even further but only succeeded in trapping a foot in the cart tracks and falling to the ground. He cried out in pain, a sharp stone slicing through his trouser leg and cutting deep into his knee. As he struggled to his feet, blood flowed weakly from the cut and trickled down his leg. He raised his arm, waving pathetically to the village, signalling for help.

  He kept moving, dragging the injured leg behind. Ahead he could see the villagers gathering together, ready to meet him. Bleary and tired eyes could make out very few of the details as he came closer. The houses were made of a combination of a stone lower course and wooden upper sections. The street, and there was only one that he could see, lead directly into the mountain side. To his right, the rocky relief of the mountain. To his left, a steep drop to a small river hundreds of feet below.

  “Stop there,” a gruff voice said.

  Zhou looked up to see a rugged looking man holding a spear. The point was directed at Zhou.

  “Where have you come from?” said the man.

  Zhou waved a fluttering hand towards the mountain.

  “You came across the pass?” The man’s eyes widened in surprise. “From Wubei?”

  Zhou nodded, the slight shifting of his weight on weak and injured legs caused him to stumble towards the spear point.

  “Keep away. Don’t know what you got, and we don’t want none of it.” The spear backed away a little but its
aim did not falter.

  “Need food, water,” Zhou croaked, using his voice for the first time in too many days to recall.

  “We’ll throw you a bag of supplies. Then you head off, right? Back down the track. You ain’t coming in to the village.” The man waved at one of the other men in the welcoming party who threw a small bag and water bottle that landed at Zhou’s feet.

  Zhou looked at it, confused by the gesture. He knew he was being slow, but try as he might he could not understand what they were telling him.

  “Die. Soon,” he said, the full sentence slipping from his mind as soon as it appeared.

  “Yeah, you have the look of death about you and that’s why you ain’t coming in,” the gruff voice spoke. “Pick up the food and water, then get going.”

  Zhou watched the spear point jab at him, never coming close but making its meaning clear.

  “Need rest.” Zhou’s dry tongue and wind cracked lip tried to form the words but they came out in a mumble.

  “What’s going on here?” A new voice joined the general murmur of the hostile crowd.

  “It’s him, Boqin, this stranger. He looks ill. Come from Wubei, over the pass. Got the death about him, plague probably,” the gruff voice tripped over itself in its effort to explain.

  Zhou peered at the newcomer. He was dressed in miners’ clothes, a rough cotton tunic and trousers made of the same material. His bare arms were large, muscular and covered in thick hair. Zhou blinked at the man. Boqin, as he was called by the others, seemed to blur against the rocks and houses behind as if there were two of him. Zhou blinked a few more times, and wiped his eyes on a dirty sleeve.

  “You’ve given him supplies?” Boqin asked and received a nod in return. “Then you have your stuff, man. Head off down the track. Just a few days walking is the main town.”

  “Rest here,” Zhou mumbled.

  “No. You won’t.” Boqin’s voice was not rough or threatening but it had the tone of one who demanded obedience whenever it spoke. “Get going. The people here do not want you here. I do not want you here.”