The Stone Road

by G R Matthews

  “Jiao,” he whispered.

  “Haung,” she started to rise but he put out a hand to stop her and she sank back onto the cushions, “you are home early. The extra guards in the castle, something is happening?”

  “Possibly. The duke is unsure but taking precautions is the wise thing to do.” He sat down next to her, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth as he watched the boy wave his arms and legs. “How’s he been today?”

  “Crying, feeding and crying some more,” Jiao said as she leant her head against her husband’s firm shoulder.

  “No sleeping?”

  “In little bits. Not enough for me,” she said.

  “I’ll take over for a little while.” He curled an arm around Jiao’s small form. “We need to talk though, first.”

  Jiao raised her eyes to his, “Oh? What is going on? Why the extra guards?”

  “Those are one thing; the duke fears an attack by a small force of men. We had information from the emperor himself but that is not my immediate worry,” he said.

  “Then what is Haung?”

  “Marbu dislikes the idea of a married Jiin-Wei. Either that or he really dislikes me.”

  “How is it different from before?”

  “He has made threats that concern you and the baby. Always before it has been snide, double-edged comments but tonight it was blatant. I could not let it pass. Times are too uncertain and I worry that he will use the heightened security to manufacture a reason to carry out his threats. I have made it clear to him that if anything happens to you or the baby, I will kill him.” Haung felt his wife stiffen in his arms.

  “Haung, go to Weyl, go to the duke, they will do something.”

  “No, Jiao, they won’t. All I have is my word against a man they have trusted with their lives for more years than I have been in the duke’s service. I don’t have anything to use against him.” Haung turned himself round to face his wife. “I want you to pack bags, emergency bags. One for you and one for the baby. Stay in these rooms, I’ll see that food and supplies are delivered by someone I trust. Open the door to me only and the rest of the time keep it locked.”

  “Haung, we can’t live as prisoners in our own rooms. It’s not fair. Not on me or the baby.”

  “A week, maybe two at the most. By then I’ll have something worked out. I just need a little time to make the arrangements,” Haung said. “I have a friend in the Capital. I need to get word to him.”

  “The Capital?”

  “Yes. Now, get some sleep if you can. I’ll spend some time with the boy. It’s going to be a busy few days.”

  # # #

  “You are sure this is the place?”

  “Yes, Haung. We’ve been watching it for three days now. The same man visits the innkeeper at the same time every day, buys the same drink, and stays the same amount of time, then leaves,” the other Jiin-Wei said.

  “Doesn’t make him a Blue Dragon,” Haung said, staring at the inn door.

  “True, but our background checks suggest he comes from the province, arrived in the city a few weeks ago and, though money falls like rice from his hands, he doesn’t have a job or any source of income that we can discover. So...”

  “So whatever he is doing is illegal anyway.” Haung patted the Jiin-Wei on the shoulder. “Good work. How long till he gets here?”

  “Not long now.”

  “Right, in that case I’ll go and get set up in the inn. Get one of your men to guard the back entrance in case it all goes to hell,” Haung said.

  “He’s already in place, Haung. We’re not new to this you know.”

  “I know. Sorry.” Haung checked the knife was in place at the small of his back and then shook hands with his fellow Jiin-Wei, just two friends ending a conversation on a street corner, and headed into the inn.

  The tall wooden door swung open under the pressure of his hand and he stepped inside. The ground floor was spacious and airy with square tables set in regular rows, four stools at each. The long bar, already busy with customers, took up one of the walls. In the far corner, a small raised stage with a lone, unoccupied, stool; the musician’s dais. A staircase lined the other wall, leading up to the second floor which was really just a balcony that ran along all four sides of the building. Above that the roof, constructed of wooden struts running down and across, that supported the slate above.

  Only a few of the tables were occupied and Haung took a quick glance at the occupants. All were dressed in silks, not the really expensive type but still fashionable and more than he could afford on his Jiin-Wei salary. Business men, he categorised them. The customers at the bar were dressed in similar silk robes. It was that kind of inn. Close enough to the heart of the business district to be a regular meeting and deal brokering establishment. Unlike many inns he had been to, no one here was shouting, laughing loudly or arguing with a fellow drunk. All the conversation was quiet and purposeful. The local militia had reported ‘no trouble’ from this place for more years than any could remember. A perfect place for a group of rebels to utilise, no one would suspect anything untoward happening here.

  Haung fingered his own silk robes, borrowed from the Jiin-Wei stores for this mission. They were not the height of fashion, nor as obviously costly as those worn by many of the men here. They placed him somewhere between a newcomer and an established businessman. Not low enough to warrant introductions and not high enough to be known by everyone.

  He had a few words with the bartender, bought a small bottle of rice wine and took two cups from the stand, before finding an empty table where he could get a good, unobstructed view of the door. He flicked the robe out behind him before lowering himself onto the stool and pouring a short measure of wine into the cup, knocking it back in a single motion. He placed the other cup on the opposite side of the table and filled it with a full measure then refilled his own. Wetting his finger with a little wine, he drew a complicated symbol on the table top and then covered it with his hand. Before it evaporated he fixed it in place with a quick incantation, feeling the spell click into place beneath his palm. He drew back his hand a little and tapped the invisible sigil twice with his middle finger. A second later he felt a single pulse against his finger tip, the return signal from the Jiin-Wei on watch outside.

  Haung let his gaze wander the room again. Checking no one was paying him much attention and was satisfied that they were not. He took another sip of wine, then drew a scroll out from his robe and gave that his full attention, right hand resting lightly on the table top.

  Three pulses against his fingers. He tapped once back. The target had been spotted and was approaching. He placed the scroll down and took another sip of wine, the liquid barely touching his lips. Haung noticed his hand shaking a little. He took a few calming breaths and picked up the scroll again, pretending to read.

  Two pulses, one tap back. The target was nearly at the door. Haung kept the scroll still and took a glance around the room. Nothing had changed, all was quiet and calm.

  One pulse, one tap. The target was opening the door. Haung focused on the scroll but could feel the air lighten as the door opened, letting the early afternoon sun and breeze into the quiet, closed environment. He looked up to take a look at the newcomer and the other customers did the same. He returned his disinterested gaze to the scroll. The light disappeared, the door closing. Haung tapped twice, target in sight. One pulse back, all ready. He put the scroll down, flat on the table, and leant forward, furrowing his brow at the script.

  “The bartender said you have a message for me?” the voice from the other side of the table said.

  Haung looked up. The stranger was, he judged, a little shorter than him with dark eyes and long black hair tied up into a ponytail.

  “Sorry?” Haung said. Three taps, contact made.

  “The bartender,” the man pointed, “said you wanted to talk to me.”

  “Ah, you are Lu Tian, the timber merchant?” Haung rose to deliver a short bow and with an open palm indicated the stool
opposite and the readied rice wine. “I’m so glad you could spare the time. I had thought that you had been unable to make this meeting. Good fortune must smile upon me today. Please, sit, drink. You would like some food?”

  “I am not Lu Tian nor do I deal in timber.” The man glanced at the scroll and wine.

  “Really? I am so sorry. I specifically told the bartender to direct Lu Tian, the timber merchant, to my table when he came in. This is very embarrassing.” Haung wrung his hands, the picture of apologies. “At least let me get you a drink. It is the least I can do.”

  “No, thank you,” the man said. “I have business elsewhere and must go.”

  “Go? Surely you just arrived, honoured Sir,” Haung said, “Allow me to introduce myself so you may know no slight was intended. I am Haung, a factor for the timber purchasers in the Capital. I was hoping to meet Lu Tian, to negotiate a large order for the extension of the emperor’s palace grounds. Mostly, to be honest with you, a small project in the extensive gardens but worth much to my masters.”

  “You come from the Capital?” Haung nodded his answer. “Well, perhaps I can share a drink at least as you have travelled so far. My name is Shing, I operate a modest transport business in the town.”

  “It is good to meet you, Honoured Shing,” Haung waited until Shing was sat down before he followed suit.

  “It may be that I can assist you in your project and at the same time extend my business interests as far as the Capital,” Shing took a sip of the rice wine. Haung watched the man’s hand shake a little as he placed the cup back onto the table. “I can provide the haulage to get all the timber you wish to purchase to the Capital and, for the opportunity to do business in the Capital, I’ll even give you and your master a discount.”

  “Well,” Haung smiled, “this was a fortuitous meeting. My next step was to organise the transportation and I can see nothing wrong with changing the order of my plans around. Here, have some more wine.”

  They raised a cup together and began to discuss the amount of wood, distances and costs.

  “Master Shing,” said a small boy, wearing the uniform of a waiter, who had approached the table. “Master Bo wonders if he could have a private word with you.”

  Haung watched as Shing looked across the room towards a large man dressed in the finest silks in the place.

  “Of course, I will be right there.” Shing turned back to Haung, “Forgive me for a moment, I will be right back.”

  Haung nodded and smiled as Shing rose from the table and made his way between the rows to reach Master Bo. He continued to watch as Shing and Bo began to speak. Bo was the more expressive, waving his hands and a red hue rose to his face. Haung could not hear the words but when they both stopped speaking and looked over at him, he guessed that his cover had been broken. Still, he smiled at them both and gave Master Bo a small bow, a mere nod of the head but respectful nonetheless. They both walked over to him.

  “My apologies, Honoured Haung, but I must go,” Shing said, his hands clasped together in front. “Master Bo has made me aware of a potential opportunity that I must act quickly upon. Perhaps we can meet again soon to discuss the plans.”

  “Of course, Master Shing, I would be delighted to…” Haung began.

  Shing nodded and turned away, hurrying towards the door. Haung stood and went to follow but Master Bo moved to block his path.

  “I am afraid your discussion will have to wait, Master Haung.” Bo’s hands were held loosely at his side but Haung noted the veins that stood proud through the olive skin, pulsing quickly, a reflection of Bo’s heart rate.

  Haung gave a slight bow and stepped to the side to go around Bo.

  “Perhaps we can discuss your plans,” Bo said, moving to block Haung’s way once more.

  “Move aside, Master Bo,” Haung said in a dead voice.

  “Make me,” Bo replied, his hands forming into meaty fists.

  Haung brought his left hand up to his face. On its upraised palm a small quantity of blue powder which, with sharp exhalation, he blew into Bo’s face. The effect was immediate. Bo took a step back and struggled to raise his hands up to his face. The large man’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell in a clattering heap to the floor.

  Haung stepped over the fallen fat man and raced towards the door, wrenching it open and darting out into the sunshine. He squinted and looked up at the rooftops. His fellow Jiin-Wei pointed down the street. Haung set off in pursuit.

  Chapter 31

  “I don’t have a knife,” Zhou said.

  “You can’t lie to me,” said the serving girl, “not in here. For instance, your right hand is, as we waste time discussing this, gripping the hilt of the very knife you claim not to have. So, let it go and come with me, if you want to live.”

  Zhou stared deep into her brown eyes, seeking the truth. She returned the stare, unblinking, and he let go of the hilt.

  “There, that’s better. Now follow me.” The girl stood and turning her back to him walked away. He hurried to follow.

  They passed by the crowd of men who, still arguing about the poster and the soldiers, paid them no mind. In the corner of the inn was a small door that was visible to Zhou only now that he was so close. As she approached, the door swung open without a sound. Zhou, the taller of the two, could see, beyond the door, a staircase leading downwards.

  Must be the cellar, he thought. Once she has got me down there, there’ll be no escape route.

  “You’ll be quite safe,” she said without turning, “the door only opens from the inside for others and the outside only for me.”

  With no better option, Zhou followed her down the narrow stairs. The wooden walls here glowed with a soft green light, and there were no candles, lanterns or other forms of illumination. He watched the girl descend ahead of him. One hand brushing the wall as though she was dipping it into a lake from the side of a slow moving boat. Where her fingers touched the wall the green glow rippled and pulsed. The more he watched, the more it looked as though the ripples were not moving away but being draw toward her hand. His eyes narrowed and he directed his focus at the wall, he reached out his own hand towards the wall.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” she said, but he ignored her.

  The moment the tip of his finger made contact with the wood he yelped in pain and snatched back his hand. He placed the burned finger in his mouth and tried to suck away the pain.

  “I told you not to,” and there was laughter in her voice.

  Zhou glared at her back while he blew cool air onto the burnt skin.

  “It doesn’t know you. If every stranger you met poked and prodded you, I bet you’d react in some way,” she said. “We’re almost at the bottom.”

  “You talk like the stairs are alive,” he said.

  “They are,” her answer began, “and not just the stairs, the whole inn is alive. I thought you knew.”

  “Why should I know?” he replied.

  “As soon as you walked in, I knew that you were alive.”

  He shook his head, “Of course you did. I am alive.”

  “No, you are alive,” she stressed the last word. “All those other men in the inn, they have life but are not alive. They walk, talk, eat, drink, reproduce, but they are not truly alive. They do not see or feel.”

  The stair way came to an end and before him a large room opened up. The room was more than twice his height and larger than the floor of the inn above. The walls were not the brick, or wood, he had expected. Instead, rising from floor to ceiling, were twisting, intertwining roots and tendrils. Perhaps, he pondered, it should be the other way around, the roots fell from the ceiling to the floor. The floor was a carpet of roots and he saw that, wherever the girl trod, the roots rose to meet the fall of her feet. Underneath his own, they were still and immovable.

  “I don’t understand,” he said and she turned to face him. Zhou took an involuntary step backwards. The girl’s eyes, deep brown upstairs, had taken on the green glow of the walls. More than th
at, filaments of browns, yellows and red, all the colours of autumn fell like rain through her irises.

  “Don’t you?” she said. “Then open your senses, open the eyes of your spirit and look around you.”

  Zhou took a calming breath and sought, within his mind and heart, the spirit of the animal he had bonded with. The process was still not natural to him and it took him a few moments but when his thoughts touched the spirit, a swell of joy crashed over him. His eyes opened and looked at his surroundings. But what he saw in his spirit enhanced vision was confusing. Draped across everything, he could see a second layer. Zhou relaxed into the vision, just as the Bear had taught him, and the two merged into one.

  The scent of the forest wormed its way up his nostrils and he took a deep breath, the taste of green life, of oak and pine, grass and herb. The air was fresh and cleansing. He took another breath and a surge of energy rose from his lungs into his brain, thoughts scattering and reforming, renewed and alive.

  “You see it now?” she said, her voice like a bird’s mating call on a spring morning. “You feel it. This is alive.”

  Memories of Wubei came to the fore of his mind. Playing with his child in the courtyard, the kite he had made for him, the kiss goodbye in the mornings, the awkward run and scoop into the return-from-work embrace, the warm embrace of his family, his wife’s smile and her smooth skin at the end of the day.

  “Stop it,” he choked.

  “No.” Her voice was a winter storm. “Understand life. You have lived, loved, lost and now live again. You are young and have suffered but you do not understand. You have the chance to live for hundreds of years, if you desire it. You have the spirit to do so. You will love and suffer again. You will know joy and heartache, trust and betrayal, the good and bad of all life.”

  The attack on Wubei. The screams of the injured and dying. Faces of friends, stilled and lifeless. The wreckage of his house, of his family. The fires of the first night, the charnel smoke of human flesh.