The Stone Road

by G R Matthews

  “Stop it,” he cried and fell to his knees.

  “No,” her voice the clap of summer thunder. “You are alive. All those things are yours. They are you. Accept them all and know them all. Then you’ll be ready.”

  “No.” His tears splashed down onto the roots. They rose to meet them and carried on rising, climbing over his shoulders and hips. The roots embraced him and drew him down into the heart of the inn.

  # # #

  Zhou bit into the apple. The skin popped as it parted under the sharp edges of his teeth, juice flowed across his tongue and dripped down his chin.

  “You’re a dryad,” he stated.

  “Of course,” she replied as she nibbled on an apple of her own. “This inn is my tree. It has stood here for over seven hundred years. When men came, I hid. The village grew into a town and I knew I could not hide forever. When they came to my tree I fought, at first. Men died and they called the land cursed. They built around the tree, keeping their distance but the town grew large and I, the tree, was trapped.”

  “How did it become an inn?” Zhou asked.

  “I made it change. It took some time.” She took another bite of the apple, “I hired some men to do the work, to look as though the inn was built, but it wasn’t. The inn grew over the years, my tree and I took care of that.”

  “Haven’t they noticed you don’t age?” Zhou took a sip of the cleanest, most refreshing water he had ever drunk.

  “Men come and go, they don’t notice a serving girl,” she answered, “and it is not hard to change my appearance.”

  Zhou almost spat out his water as the dryad’s hair changed hue to brown to black and back again, her eyes changed colour to match and her skin tone shifted.

  “Do you still want to kill the Duke of Yaart?” She asked.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Then I can help you.”

  “Why?” Zhou put the wooden cup down onto the table of roots.

  “The duke seeks to expand his holdings to the east, into the forests. The guardian of those is aged and weak. It has asked for my help and I am happy to give it, though there is little I can do from here. However, I can help you to do what I cannot.”

  “You really are tied to your tree.”

  “I am the tree and the tree is me. We cannot be separated. I do have some contacts in Yaart who will be willing to help you. I can even get you into the city with little difficulty. Once you are in, you are on your own.”

  “Tell me how.” Zhou leant forward, intent on her words.

  # # #

  “This tunnel leads all the way under the city and out beyond the walls,” the dryad said. “You’ll emerge in a small wooded area and someone will meet you there.”

  “Thank you.” Zhou bowed to her.

  “You can thank me by killing the duke. I’m sure your family will be proud of you too.” She handed him a pack which he swung onto his back and settled the straps across his shoulders. “There is enough food and water in there for many days, some money and a letter of introduction.”

  “A letter?” Zhou queried.

  “To a man of power in Yaart. You can read it if you want, it merely details an order the inn placed with a factor in Yaart but, give it to the right man and he will know what it means.”

  “What is the man’s name?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered, “and he doesn’t know who I am. That’s how we work, through intermediaries who themselves don’t know one end of the chain to the other.”

  “Sounds confusing,” he said.

  “It is safer. The Blue Dragon Clan has always operated this way. No one knows anyone more than two or three steps up or down the chain and even then, there are the intermediaries who don’t know they are working for us. In that way, should one get captured only a few are ever at risk and the chain breaks before it can be followed too far.”

  “Blue Dragon Clan? A terrorist group,” Zhou spluttered.

  “Terrorists?” She stared at him with narrowed eyes and underneath his feet he felt the root floor writhe. “We are the people of this land and we stand up against those in power. Those who abuse their power and don’t listen to the people.”

  “You kill people.” Zhou stared back at her.

  “So do you,” she stepped toward him. “You have in battle and you want to kill the duke.”

  “I want revenge. I want justice for my family. You want power and don’t care who gets in the way.” Red and black began to cloud his vision. His jaw ached and warmth was spreading down his arms, pooling in his fingertips.

  “I don’t want power. I want someone in power who respects the people, who works for them and,” she raised her arms and roots snaked upwards from the floor pinning Zhou’s own arms against his sides, binding his legs together, immobilising him, “yes, people get hurt. But I will not stand aside while a greater number suffer because of the will of a few. I will not hide behind pretty words, promises and treaties. We both know that pretty words get dirty, promises get broken and treaties torn up.”

  Zhou struggled in the group of the roots. The more he fought the tighter they became, breathing was becoming difficult and soon the pain in his ribs forced him to admit defeat. He swallowed the beast back down.

  “Now, for the moment we have an aim in common.” She lowered her arms and the roots began to relax their constricting grip. “It may not always be that way little Wu but if you come back here, come back with good intentions. In this tree, in this inn, your spirit will not be enough. Come back with the duke dead and we will be friends. The choice, as always, is yours.”

  The last of the roots faded back into the tangled mess of the floor. Zhou rubbed his arms and took an experimental deep breath. His ribs creaked as they expanded but there was not the sharp pain of anything broken. “I will kill the duke but I don’t think we will meet again.”

  He settled the pack once again and picked up the short staff of wood that she had provided him. The wood was smooth and the staff was just the right length, more than that there was the feeling that the staff was his and there was something else within it. Against his palm he could just detect a slow pulse in the wood, the sap flowing or a heart beating in the rhythm of a long lived tree.

  “I thank you for the gift and the chance to avenge my family and city.” He gave her a shallow bow this time.

  “Kill him then get yourself off to the Blue Mountain. Learn what you need, expand your vision to see the reality of the world. Then you’ll be back little Wu.” She smiled at him, devoid of the anger a few moments ago. “The trees see the seasons come and go, the years pass and the centuries pile up against each other. They see the patterns in things and my tree tells me there is a pattern here. You will be back.”

  Zhou watched her for a moment then turned and headed down the tunnel.

  # # #

  That had been two months ago and now the city of Yaart was slowly coming into view.

  Chapter 32

  Haung barged through the crowd. He tried hard to be considerate, offering apologies where he could but the imperative was to catch the man from the restaurant, Shing.

  “Excuse me,” he said to the fruit seller whose stall he knocked into.

  There were just too many people in the way to keep a good eye on the fleeing timber merchant. He jinked left and right, walking as quickly as he could through the mass of people. The influx of refugees had made already crowded streets even more difficult to navigate. Glancing up he could see another Jiin-Wei pointing him in the right direction. He had to catch him soon, before too long Shing would be past the last of the watchers he had set up on every major thoroughfare and then he would be on his own. Should have put a tracking mark on him, he thought.

  Without warning the crowd parted in front of him, giving him a good look at Shing. Unfortunately, at that moment, Shing turned around and caught sight of him. Their eyes locked across the transient open space. Haung saw the thoughts play across his quarry’s face; surprise, shock, anger and fear. />
  “Stop,” Haung shouted.

  Shing turned, ploughed into the crowd as it moved again and the line of sight disappeared.

  “Shit.” Haung doubled his speed, no longer caring that he was knocking people out of his way.

  Ahead of him he could hear shouts and curses, a sure sign that Shing was taking even less care than he. Soon he was passing by people picking themselves up, waving fists or talking angrily with a friend or neighbour about the rudeness of some people. Haung followed this un-happy trail, round corners, down streets and through alleyways, always heading further and further away from the help of his fellow Jiin-Wei.

  They passed out of the restaurant and merchant district and through the wealthy residential areas. The streets were less crowded here. Tall walls surrounded the private residences. Set into the walls, double gates with guards either side, their watchful eyes following Shing and Haung as they wended their way through the people on the streets. Haung could see that their hands did not stray far from the swords at their waist but they did not step from their posts to interfere or help. They were not paid to get involved in other’s business.

  Then, ahead, Shing turned a corner and Haung lost sight of him for a second. When he raced around the self-same corner, the road ahead was empty. There were small clusters of people further down the road but no more than seven or eight and too far away, Haung judged, to have any part in Shing’s disappearance. Either side of the road, just a few metres ahead, were the gates of the residences and their accompanying guards. Both sets stared straight ahead, giving no sign that anyone had passed them by.

  Haung paused and caught his breath. Two things crossed his mind. Firstly, if Shing had entered one of the houses there was no way the guards were going to let him in. It was their job to prevent any trouble for the home owner and whilst he was quite sure he could fight and beat two of the guards, with a little surprise and magic, he was doubly sure the other two would join in on the guards’ side. The unspoken, unwritten, guardsman code or something like that. Secondly, even if he picked the right house he did not know who lived there and would risk causing a problem for the duke. It was generally accepted that rich people’s houses were their own little kingdoms and even the duke only entered them with an invitation, or a very large armed party and a lot of evidence. Neither of which Haung had at his disposal.

  Nodding to the two sets of guards, Haung took a moment to scan the road surface and as expected there was nothing to see. He dipped his hand inside his robe and carefully selected a small jar of ointment from one of the pockets sewn into the lining, smearing the contents onto his index finger. Closing his right eye and using a clean finger to pull down the lower lid of his left eye, he swept the ointment across the skin there. Then he closed his left eye. Blossoms of reds and yellows erupted behind his closed eyelids and he winced as his eyes began to water. He clenched his hands into fists and stamped his foot on the cobbles.

  A few moments later, he could open his right eye and the world looked just the same as it always had. He took a deep breath and opened his left, just a little. The immediate urge was to close it again but he fought it. The regular world was overlain with a rainbow of colours from deep blue, almost black, to bright reds, oranges and yellows that caused his eyes to sting. Haung took another deep breath and let his eyes adjust to the new sights. The ointment would not last long and it was not a good idea to apply a new dose before a week had passed. As it was, he would have a sore eye through the next day. However, it was a small price to pay for the evidence it gave him now.

  He focused his changed vision on the surface of the road and discovered that it had not been used much. The right hand side was still in shadow and it was a dark, dark blue. The guards had remained at their posts. In his vision, their legs and hands were a dull red, their chests were brighter and their heads glowed the brightest, a vibrant orange. The left hand wall was radiating a deep red though the gate was an almost invisible black. The right hand wall was darker and it would have been impossible to pick out the gates from the walls were it not for the dull red hand print on one of the doors and the smudge of colour on the dark iron pull ring.

  I wonder who owns that house, Haung thought, not that it matters. The colours began to bleed from his vision as he turned back the way he had come. He ambled round the corner, following the wall of the suspected hide-away house. Once the guards were out of sight he stopped, spat into his hands and used the moisture to clean the last of the ointment from his eye.

  The walls were close to four men high and constructed of tight mortared brick work with a layer of smooth white plaster over the top. On top of this imposing wall the ridged ceramic tiled roof of one the inside buildings jutted out over the street. The main residence, Haung knew, would be the building with the south facing door. All the rich courtyard houses in the city had south facing doors, it was considered lucky by the people and that luck was serving Haung as well. The late afternoon sun was fading, a warm day storm was on its way, and dark clouds were encroaching on the sky. Haung waited and watched the door.

  # # #

  By the time the rain had begun to fall, it was clear that Shing was not going to come out of the home. Haung moved out of shadow he had found under the eaves of a neighbouring building and headed round to the south side of the target house. The plaster was slick with a coating of rain and without damaging the wall, and being heard by all inside, there was no way he could make enough hand and toe holds to climb. There were no windows in the outside wall, another common feature of the city’s rich houses.

  Their own little kingdoms, Haung recalled.

  Haung stepped back from the wall and took a small scroll of paper from one of the secret pockets. Muttering a few words, he opened the scroll and watched the ink characters flame and vanish. A few seconds later the scroll itself caught light and flared out of existence. Haung squatted down and bounced on his haunches a few times, feeling the magic strengthen his legs. He exhaled sharply and exploded into action.

  Three steps carried him across the road and he leapt up at the white plaster wall. His right leg made a solid contact and he allowed it to fold underneath him, a spring under tension. Twisting his body, he used all the stored energy in that leg to push back up and away from the wall, gripping the slick ceramic tiles first with one outstretched hand and then the other, letting the power of his jump carry him up and over the eaves. His legs hit the rake of the roof at the same time, folding once more beneath him. Another leap, backwards this time, up to the highest point of the roof in a tight somersault to land, balanced, on the crest looking down into the courtyard.

  The candle glow from the open windows of the building opposite created a garden of rippling flowers on the cobbled courtyard. The shadows of people moving back and forth inside created the garden’s gentle breeze. Haung searched the shadows for guards, or inhabitants, but spied none. He kept his feet flat to the slope of the roof and with great care slid down towards the courtyard. The owner’s penchant for displaying his wealth was a boon as the hips of the roof, the small ridges that led down from the central crest, were decorated with good luck beasts. Bulls to dispel evil, heavenly horses to carry spirits to the jade heaven, seahorses that brought good luck and fortune and, at the head of the procession the symbol of imperial power, a dragon. It was to this last one that Haung clung onto as he leant forward to gaze over the eaves and at the door of the main residence.

  He strained his ears to catch any sounds that would give him a clue to the number of people inside but the patter of rain on the roof frustrated his efforts. The window closest to him was open, however, the angle of observation only allowed him to see a limited area of the floor. He sat back and considered his options. Rainwater was dripping off his nose and his silk robe was beginning to lose its natural water proofing. Before long he would be soaked through but he knew that was no excuse to rush into things.

  He flicked one panel of his silk robe over the dragon statue creating a small dry area beneath th
e cloth. From yet another pocket he drew out a sliver of paper and nubbin of charcoal. Scribing a character, similar to the one he had used at the inn hours earlier, onto the paper and then scrunching it up into a small tight ball he forced it into the end of a finger length hollow tube. The tube he placed between his lips and gripped with his teeth. Then he leant over the eaves once more, head upside down, and spat the small wad of inscribed paper through the open window before pulling himself back up. He used the charcoal to draw a character on the flank of the dragon and covered this with his hand then spoke the command words.

  Sounds of clinking cutlery and china were the first things he heard. There were muffled voices, too indistinct to make out. He listened to footsteps coming closer and fought the urge to spin round and attack. The footsteps were in the house, passing the spell paper, and he tried to breathe in a regular rhythm. He heard a door open and suddenly the words were clearer.

  “When will he be back?” one voice was saying.

  “I don’t know. He doesn’t spend every night here. Sometimes he can be absent for weeks,” said another.

  “Did you get a message to him?”

  “One has been sent by the usual means but there is no guarantee it will reach him tonight. They don’t fly well in the rain.”

  “I’m worried. I don’t know who it was who followed me but I’ll bet it was one of the duke’s secret police. Are you sure he went away?” said the first voice.

  “The guards reported a man, matching your description, go past the gates and head off. They have not seen him since. Shing, calm down, eat something. You are safe in here. The master will get the message and send word or come himself.”

  Haung listened for a while longer but had satisfied himself that there was no one else in the building. He removed his hand from the dragon and the spell ended. It was then he noticed that the dragon sculpture was wrong. It should have had a rider, traditionally depicting the emperor. But the rider was absent.