The Stone Road

by G R Matthews

  Boqin stepped in front of the spears and folded his thick arms across his chest. Zhou raised his head to look directly into Boqin’s eyes.

  “Rest, here,” Zhou said again, slowly enunciating both words.

  “And I said, no.” Boqin stepped forward, “Move on peacefully or I will make sure you leave.”

  “No.” Zhou put every bit of force and will he could into his voice. Several days travel with no energy and a damaged leg was certain death. “Stay.”

  Boqin took one more step forward and jabbed a meaty finger into Zhou’s food starved and skeletal shoulder, “Get moving now. No more chances.”

  Zhou felt it. Flowing up from his feet, through his belly and into his throat. He growled at Boqin and his hands formed claws by his side. He saw Boqin’s eyes widen as the world moved from vivid colour to the now familiar black and white lines that outlined bodies and buildings in stark contrast. The red lines snaked across the ground and the growl deepened.

  As the snakes approached Boqin they began to twist and writhe in pain. The first one dissolved into mist and then another exploded in a firework of red sparks. The other snakes kept their distance and flowed around Boqin, keeping their distance. Around Boqin's feet a circle of red formed, first as a line on the hard packed earth and then it started to rise in a low cylinder about his whole body. As Zhou focused his anger on the snakes, encouraging them to attack, Boqin’s shape flickered and altered from that of a large man into that of a gigantic bear. The bear growled and the cylinder of red exploded outwards destroying all the snakes. Sharp shards of red pierced Zhou's clothes, sinking into his skin and flesh.

  White faded to black and Zhou felt the world tilt under his feet.

  Chapter 24

  The early morning sun played across his face and tickled his eyelids. Haung grunted and rolled over, his arm coming to rest across the warm flesh of his wife. He opened two sleepy eyes and took a deep breath. She smelled of sleep and comfort. His arm tightened around her and she shifted further into his embrace with a contented mutter.

  Haung lay still, happy and snug, as the sun continued to creep higher over the horizon and further into the room.

  “Get up, Haung,” his wife whispered.

  “Stay here,” he quietly replied, giving her another squeeze and his hand began to wander down her body.

  “Can’t. I have to get up. Lots to do today.” She wormed her way out his embrace and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Sitting with her back to him.

  Haung propped himself up on one elbow and ran a slow hand down her back, “Just another few minutes, Jiao.”

  “No, Haung, I know what your 'another few minutes' leads too and we haven’t got time for that.” Her dark hair swayed invitingly as she turned her eyes, brimming with mischief, on him, “Now, the rest of you needs to get up too.”

  Haung watched her stand, letting his eyes trace every contour of her perfect olive skin as she started to dress. His propped elbow collapsed and he fell back onto the warm sheets with a deep sigh.

  He enjoyed the feeling that he could just stay in bed all day, wrap himself in the blankets and the smell of her that lingered on them, but reality forced him up. Haung padded over to the wash stand and splashed cold water on his face then ran damp fingers through his hair. Ablutions done, he pulled on his captain’s uniform, followed Jiao into the small kitchen area of their new, married, quarters and sat down on the cushions next to the low table. Jiao put thick slabs of bread and cheese on the table, alongside two glasses of water.

  “No tea?” Haung asked.

  “I haven’t got time to start a fire and boil the water. If you’d let me get up earlier you might have had a hot drink instead of just your hot thoughts.” She smiled at him, and he could not help but smile back.

  “The thoughts will have to keep me warm, I suppose,” he replied.

  “See if you can get them back tonight and we’ll see what we can do about them.” Jiao gave him an impish grin.

  “Duke’s off to a dinner tonight, Jiao. So it’s going to be a late one for me,” disappointment filled his voice.

  “Again? All that man does is eat.” Jiao moved from impish to peevish in the blink of an eye.

  “I know, but with the influx of refugees finally slowing down he has to keep the public leaders and councillors happy. Can’t imagine he is overjoyed at another night of people complaining they don’t have enough food, or clothes, or whatever.” Haung took a big bite of the cheese, ignoring the harder edges where it showed its age.

  “I thought the supplies from Wubei and the plains were coming in now,” Jiao asked.

  “They are but they were never going to be as much, or as fast, as they would have been if we hadn’t taken the city.” Haung lowered his eyes, fighting the vision of children hanging, like meat on the butcher’s stall, from the rafters of a house. He took a deep breath, forcing the vision out of his mind. An exercise in pointlessness, it would be back again and again, just like the memory of the blade sliding slowly into the woman's skin made him flinch sometimes when he handled his dagger.

  “Then why do it? We had peace and people to feed,” Jiao asked him, licking the butter from her fingers. A sight which distracted him completely.

  “I can’t answer that, Jiao. Please let's not talk about this again. I thought we’d agreed to avoid this topic.” Haung gave a little shake of his head.

  “Well, you brought it up.” Jiao looked into his eyes and paused, “Sorry.”

  Haung smiled at her. It was clear that she knew him much better than he knew her. She was a puzzle and a constant amazement to him. After pursuing him for so long, and capturing him, he often felt like he was her little toy to be played with for amusement. And being honest with himself, he quite liked that feeling.

  “I’d better get going.” Haung stood from the cushions, moved round the table to kiss his wife gently on the lips. He pulled away laughing as she ran her tongue quickly across his lips. “I’ll see you later.”

  “I’ll be asleep when you get in, wake me up if you’re not too late.” She gave him the imp-like smile again.

  # # #

  Haung stood behind the duke’s chair. The dinner that night was at the leader of the Cloth Traders guild. Wisely, the host had placed the duke at the head of the table but had not provided Haung with a chair. The large room was full of other guild members, all tucking into a sumptuous feast of meats, cheeses, and rice. The rice wine was flowing like a river in full flood and Haung could see some of the guests indulging perhaps a little too quickly this early in the evening. In the far corner, a single musician sat on a simple stool played a traditional song on his Guqin. The room was lit with candles and servants moved to and fro, refilling plates and bowls in equal measure.

  Whilst the guests feasted and talked, Haung watched the musician and listened to each note as it sliced cleanly through the air, unimpeded by the noise of conversation. The long and low stringed instrument was being played by hands that danced with grace and lightness across it. Clawed fingers on one hand plucked the strings whilst the heel of the other hand slid along them developing bass notes which enhanced and deepened the melody. It was entrancing and Haung tapped his fingers on the hilt of his sword.

  “Master Li,” the duke said, “is that Xi Jang you have playing for us tonight?”

  “Indeed it is, my Lord, he came recommended by a friend,” said the guild master sat to the duke’s left.

  “Your friend has good taste. I have tried to have the great scholar play for me in the past but he has always offered a polite excuse. You must tell me how you arranged his service tonight,” the duke paused and then in a mirthful tone continued, “I think my bodyguard would like to know as well. He seems hypnotised by the music.”

  Haung snapped his attention back the duke, “My apologies, my Lord.”

  “No, no, Captain, the Scholar is uncommonly gifted and it would be a crime if you did not listen when you had the chance. It should be me who should apologise for di
sturbing you,” the duke said and Haung felt a warmth of affection flood his mind.

  Haung took a sharp breath and clenched his fists. The music had lowered the barrier in his mind that he always held when he was with the duke. The man had some power in his voice and it disturbed him that his feelings could be so easily discerned and manipulated. He had not felt the duke use it on him since he had entered his service as the Captain of the Guards. Taking a calming breath, Haung rebuilt the barrier, carefully, brick by brick.

  “Again, my apologies, Captain Haung,” the duke said with a smile and this time Haung was sure it was not for disturbing the music. He was not sure it was even an apology.

  Haung bowed to the duke, “None needed, my Lord.”

  He returned to scanning the assembled guests and servants. His stomach felt empty as he watched them gorge themselves on the mountains of food placed in front them. Xi Jang carried on playing and Haung saw a small smile peeking out above the long, dark, flowing beard on the musician’s face.

  As the evening continued, the candles burnt down but the wine kept up its pace. Haung shifted his weight from foot to foot on a regular basis, easing the pain in his legs. He had listened, with half an ear, to the Guild Master’s complaints about the lack of trade and low prices he was getting for the cloth. The duke spoke the same responses that Haung had heard on too many similar nights to recall.

  Then, one of the wall carpets behind Xi Jang twitched and Haung moved without thought, grabbing the duke’s chair and pulling it over backwards. The duke yelped as he tumbled out, heels rising over his head in a backward roll. Haung did not spare him a glance as he drew his sword and leapt over the table in front, pushing the cloth merchants out of the way as he scrambled towards the movement he had seen.

  Xi Jang looked around in surprise as Haung vaulted over the Guqin to stab his sword through the wall carpet. It stuck something solid, not the stone that should have been there but wood. Haung tore the rug from the wall to reveal a small door set into the wall, perhaps only four feet high from the floor. Probably a bolt door, he thought, many rich folks had them as escape routes in their houses. Why hadn't the Guild Master mentioned it and why hadn't the advanced guards who'd checked the security of the room noticed it, Haung wondered as he kicked the door open.

  He crawled, on all fours, down the passageway which twisted and turned in complete darkness. Ahead, he could just make out the harsh breaths of another and as they grew louder he knew he was catching up. The utter darkness changed to speckled grey, a clue that he was getting close to the tunnel’s end. Suddenly, he spilled out of the tunnel, landing in a steaming, stinking pile of horse manure. The horses in the stable began to neigh.

  He staggered out of the stall he had landed in and checked both directions. The door to the left was swinging open and drawing his sword he ran for it. A dark shadow leapt out of the final stall and Haung was driven to the floor by his flying assailant who landed on top and drove a dark metal dagger towards his heart.

  Grabbing the descending arm with one hand, Haung released his sword and reached for his own dagger. The assassin drove his other hand at Haung’s face and he was forced to give up on the dagger to defend himself. They rolled about on the floor. Haung bucked his hips trying to dislodge his attacker who was bearing down with all his weight. The dagger was still there, above his heart and the better position and greater weight of the assassin was slowly edging it towards his heart. Haung could feel his arm weakening and he was breathing heavily. The cold eyes of the assassin bored into his, promising death.

  Haung tried one last burst of energy, twisting and writhing underneath the heavier man. Despite his desperate strength the dagger crept lower, its tip skimming his uniform. A horse neighed loudly and there was a loud crash as it kicked its stall door. The assassin looked around and Haung, seizing the chance and the shift of weight, rolled his body quickly to one side. The dagger scrapped over his breastbone, cutting the material and skin beneath, but the assassin fell off of him.

  Haung could not stand up, he knew he was not quick enough and his whole body ached. The assassin rolled to his feet and picked up Haung’s discarded sword.

  “You should not have followed, soldier boy.” The accent was strange and Haung couldn’t place it, “Now, you will die and I’ll get a second chance at the duke.”

  The assassin jumped forward, Haung’s sword extended before him. Haung threw the small piece of paper he had dug out of a belt pouch when the assassin was taunting him and spoke a single word. The paper caught flame immediately and Haung saw the shocked look on the Assassin’s face as a fist of pure force caught him, mid-leap, and flung him like a rag doll across the stables. The dark robed man bounced off the stone wall and landed face down in a pile of straw. As Haung struggled to his feet, he saw the assassin try to lift himself up then collapse back down.

  Haung shuffled across the stone floor and picked up his sword, put his back against the wall and slid down to sit next to the now unconscious killer. The pain in his chest reminded him he was still alive.

  Chapter 25

  “Wake up.” It was an order, not a request.

  Zhou struggled to open his eyes. He rubbed his eyelids, wiping away the dry and gritty rheum.

  “Here.” A wet cloth was shoved into hand and he used it wipe both eyes and hands. The blurry world settled into focus. Zhou looked towards the source of the voice. It was Boqin, the mountain man of the village. The one he had tried to kill. Zhou’s heart skipped beats and he could taste the fear swell in his throat. He tried to rise.

  “No. Rest. If I'd wanted you dead, I could have done it a thousand times in a thousand different ways by now.” Boqin’s face was impassive, no smile accompanied the truth of his words. “I haven’t spent this past week looking after you just to kill you now, either.”

  “Why not?” Zhou mumbled, the dustiness of his tongue garbling the words.

  “Because you are a puzzle.” Boqin turned his head to one side, listening to something that Zhou could not hear. He nodded slightly and turned back to Zhou. “A puzzle indeed and I have been a long time without a puzzle. There is warm meat broth on the table over there. You need to eat and regain your strength. If you can make it there, you can eat. If you can’t, then you will go hungry until you can. I will be back later.”

  Boqin stood, pointed to the table on which the steaming bowl rested, and walked to the door. His strong arms were left uncovered, a black wrap-around tunic, belted at the waist with a sash of knotted silk, clothed his torso. Zhou watched him leave the room and close the door. The room itself was bare except for a bed and the table. A window in the far wall let light in but Zhou, from his position on the bed, could not see anything but sky through it.

  “Food,” Zhou, determined, flipped the bed cover back and swung his legs around to clamber out of bed. At least, that had been his intention. The cover moved sluggishly under the power of his weakened arms and his legs trembled. With a struggle, he managed to get both legs out of the bed but by then he was panting and covered in sweat.

  “Food,” Zhou repeated and rolled his body off the bed, collapsing to the floor. His head hit the wooden floorboards and he lay dazed, face down, for a few minutes.

  “Food,” the word becoming a mantra. Forcing his rebellious limbs to obey his commands he rose up onto all fours and dragged himself, slowly, over to the table.

  Unlike the refined dining tables of the city that were set low surrounded by silk cushions to sit on, this table towered over him. There was a chair, roughly constructed from wood and stained with oil, charming in the rustic sense but at present just another obstacle to Zhou reaching the broth. Resting his back against the chair, he reached up for the bowl of broth. Fumbling fingers sought the bowl's rim and he made a clumsy grab for it. Hot brown liquid flowed over the top and down his arm, scalding the flesh as it meandered its way towards his chest. He did not let go, gritting his teeth against the pain, and dragged the bowl to the edge where he could take a better hold w
ith both hands.

  Lowering the bowl to his lap, he breathed in the meaty aroma as he let the warmth seep into his legs and his arms, recover from the scalding they had received. Securing his grip, he raised the broth to his lips and drank. First, a little warm dribble across his lips and tongue which then slid down his throat, heating him from the inside out. When it reached his belly, he suddenly realised just how ravenous he was. The rest of the broth he gulped noisily, some spilling down his chin and onto his bare chest, like a heavy drinker finishing their final ale in rush. The chunks of meat, stringy and chewy, he left till last, picking them out of the bowl and savouring each bite.

  Hunger sated for the moment, he considered going to the door and finding out what was going on but it seemed a very long way away. The bed was closer and he crawled back over to it. Using every ounce of muscle power he had, he climbed back into bed and pulled the cover over his head, blocking the sunlight. He closed his eyes and fell asleep immediately.

  # # #

  “Wake up.”

  Zhou’s eyes snapped open and he took a deep breath, followed by a yawn.

  “Now, get up. Three days since you first awakened and it is time to go outside,” Boqin said. “You’ll find clothes on the chair. Once you're dressed, meet me downstairs.”

  As soon as the door closed, Zhou went to the chair and began changing into clothes similar to the ones his self-appointed carer wore. He had to tie the sash tightly around the tops of his trousers and tunic to keep them from falling down or exposing too much flesh. Zhou had never been a fat man, or even over-weight, but what belly a comfortable life had bestowed on him was now gone. He lifted his arms and examined them, no ounce of fat or spare skin on them. Muscles and blood vessels stood out clearly under the stretched covering of olive skin.

  Moving to the door, legs trembling with the fatigue of under use, he opened it and stepped out into the small corridor beyond. To the left, a window looked out onto the mountains and to the right, the corridor ended in the promised stairs. The door opposite his own was closed and the walls were undecorated plaster. Sparse and functional, just like the owner, Zhou thought.