Wild Orchid

by Cameron Dokey

  “It shall be as you wish,” Li Po vowed.

  “Good,” the prince said. “Then make ready, for you will go first thing in the morning. The Huns are close, and I do not like surprises.”

  He turned away. Together Li Po and I left Prince Ying’s tent and made our way to our own in silence. This time I did not notice the stares as we walked through the camp. I was too busy wondering how Prince Jian would react if he knew the greatest surprise of all.

  How would he feel if he learned that the archer who had fulfilled his desire to leave no portion of China unprotected was not a young lad named Gong-shi but a girl named Mulan?

  FIFTEEN

  I did not see Prince Jian for the rest of that day. Both Li Po and I were busy making preparations for our departure. After some discussion between Li Po and General Yuwen, it had been decided that half of our company of archers would go to the narrow pass.

  “I would send all of you if I thought I could,” General Yuwen said as we took our evening meal of rice and seasoned meat. He could have too, for every single member of the archer corps had volunteered to go. But a consultation between General Yuwen and his fellow commanders had determined that no more than half of the archers could be spared. The men had drawn lots to see who would accompany Li Po and me and who would remain with the main army.

  “Do not wait, but send your runners as soon as you can if you need reinforcements,” General Yuwen continued his instructions. “Once you have spent your arrows, you’ll be down to hand-to-hand fighting, and if it comes to that, even a small force of Huns may overpower you.”

  “It shall be as you say,” said Li Po.

  General Yuwen sighed. “I wish your father were here, Mulan,” he said. “It would be good to fight once more with my old friend at my side.”

  “You do him honor,” I said. “And I will do my best to do the same.”

  “Well,” General Yuwen said. He stood up. “I have a final meeting with the other generals, and then to bed. Make sure to get a good night’s sleep. There is no telling when the next one will be.”

  With that, he left the tent.

  “I am going to bid the horse good night,” I said. “Do you want to come?”

  “I think I will stay here,” Li Po answered. “I want to write a letter to my parents.”

  “I should have thought of that,” I said as an image of my father and Zao Xing rose in my mind.

  “I will write something for you, if you wish,” Li Po offered.

  “Thank you. I would like that,” I replied.

  All of a sudden Li Po grinned. “I could say hello to my mother for you,” he said. “I could tell her she missed having a hero for a daughter-in-law.”

  “I’m sure she’d be delighted to hear the news,” I answered with a chuckle, even as I felt my heart give a funny little squeeze inside my chest. “But I am not a hero.”

  “You mean, not yet,” said Li Po.

  I left our tent and made my way to the far edge of camp, where the horses were picketed all together. Dark came early at this time of year. The campfires were already lit.

  The mood is different tonight, I thought. There was no raucous conversation. Instead all around me men were quietly and seriously attending to their tasks. Soon the true test of all our courage would come.

  My father’s horse was pleased to see me, particularly when I shared the carrot I had brought along. Even the horses seemed to sense that something was different. My father’s stallion tossed his head and pawed the ground, as if eager to set off for the pass.

  “Do not be impatient,” I whispered against his dark, smooth neck. “The morning will come soon enough. “It was only as I began to step away from the horse that I realized I was not alone. A figure stood in the shadows at the edge of camp, in the place where the light of the campfires did not quite reach. I gave a gasp, and the figure stepped forward.

  It was Prince Jian.

  “I did not mean to startle you—” he began, but he interrupted himself. “No, don’t do that,” he exclaimed as I began to kneel down. To my astonishment Prince Jian reached out and hauled me upright.

  “I get so tired of staring at the tops of people’s heads all day long. Stand up.”

  “It shall be—”

  “Yes, yes,” Prince Jian said impatiently. “I know. It shall be as My Highness wishes. Shall I tell you what I wish? Sometimes I wish I were not a prince at all.”

  “You should not say so!” I exclaimed, shocked and surprised. “If the men heard you, they would lose heart. They do not fight simply for China. They fight for you, because they love you.”

  As I do, I realized suddenly. And not just as a comrade in arms but as a soul mate. I could feel how Prince Jian’s heart was made differently from all others, just as my own was. It wanted different things, things it didn’t always know how to explain to itself. In this way it called out to mine.

  But this was a secret my heart had to keep forever. For my heart was not just Gong-shi’s. It was also Mulan’s.

  “I know the men love me,” Prince Jian answered simply. “I know it. But sometimes I think it makes what I must do twice as hard. It is not easy to know you are sending some men to their deaths, even if they face death willingly, with love in their hearts.”

  I chose my words carefully, as if walking through thorns. “I cannot say ‘I know,’” I said. “We both know that would be a lie. But I think, I hope—that an act done out of love has the power to wipe the slate clean, to absolve. You may not always wish to be a prince, but nothing, not even your own will, can change the fact that that is who you are.

  “How much better, then, for you to send your soldiers into battle understanding their true value, acknowledging that their loss will be mourned. We may not have a choice but to fight, yet surely there is still a right way to send men into battle, and a wrong one.”

  Prince Jian took a step closer. He was so close I could have reached out and touched him, though I did not.

  “Who are you?” he asked in a strange, hoarse voice. “How can you say such things to me? How can one so young, a stranger I’ve just met, see so clearly the conflicts of my heart?”

  My own heart was roaring in my ears, so loudly that it threatened to drown out any other sound.

  Tell him, I thought. Tell him that your heart understands his because his heart is like your own. Tell him you are as different as he is. Tell him his older brother is right. There is much more to you than meets the eye.

  I didn’t, of course. Even as my heart urged my tongue to speak, my mind won the struggle. If I told this prince the truth, he would surely prove himself to be like all other men in one respect: He would judge what I could do on the basis of my sex. If he knew I was a girl, not only would he feel betrayed that I had deceived him, he would make me stay behind. And that was a risk I would not take. I had not come so far only to sit in my tent. I had come to help save China.

  “I cannot answer that,” I said, and thought I felt my own heart break a little at my response. “I am sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” said Prince Jian. “I think I know what you would say. I felt it yesterday as we stood side by side before the archery targets. Our hearts are joined; they are the same somehow. I don’t pretend to understand it, but I believe it to be true.”

  “I do not claim to have the heart of a prince,” I protested. Even in the darkness I caught the flash of his smile.

  “No? Then maybe you’ve just proven my point, Little Archer. My brothers would tell you soon enough that my heart is not as royal as it should be.”

  “If they say that, then they are wrong,” I answered confidently. “I believe you would do whatever it took to make China safe, even if it went against your own heart’s desire. Surely that is what it means to be truly royal.”

  “Do you have no fear of what tomorrow may bring, then?” Prince Jian asked.

  “Of course I do,” I replied. “I have as much fear as any of your soldiers on this night, but my fear will not save Ch
ina.”

  Prince Jian put a hand to his neck, to where the tunic that he wore parted to expose his throat. He made a motion I did not immediately comprehend. Then, as I watched, he lifted something from around his neck and extended it toward me. From his outstretched fingers hung a length of fine gold chain. At its end dangled a medallion.

  “Take this,” Prince Jian said.

  “Highness,” I protested, “I cannot. You do me too much honor.”

  “Take it,” Prince Jian repeated. “Do not make me command you.”

  Slowly I reached for the chain, the tips of my fingers just barely brushing Prince Jian’s. I held the medallion up so that it could catch the faint firelight. There was a raised symbol on the medallion’s smooth, round surface.

  “Can you see what is there?” asked Prince Jian.

  I nodded. “It is a dragonfly.”

  “And what does the dragonfly symbolize?”

  “Courage,” I said.

  “Courage,” Prince Jian echoed. “Let me see you put it on.”

  I slipped the chain over my head, letting both chain and medallion slide down to hide beneath my tunic, just as the prince had worn it.

  “That medallion was given to me many years ago,” the prince said quietly. “When I was just a boy. It was a gift from Hua Wei, who was once my father’s greatest general. He presented it to me when he returned me to my father, after rescuing me from the Huns.

  “General Hua said that if ever I feared my courage might fail, I should remember our ancient symbol. I should remember the courage embodied by the strength of the fragile wings of the dragonfly.”

  “He sounds like a wise man,” I said, battling with a fierce and sudden impulse to cry. I could almost hear my father speak the words, as if he stood beside me.

  “My father’s greatest general,” Prince Jian had said.

  “I believe he is a wise man,” Prince Jian answered softly. “He helped me to remember that those who seem invincible are sometimes not so very strong. While those who seem small and fragile may carry great things inside them. Think of this tomorrow, Gong-shi, when you face the Huns.”

  “Sire, I will,” I promised. And now I did kneel down, and Prince Jian did not stop me. “I have no gift of gold to give you in return, but I swear that I will give you all the courage in my heart. When that is spent, I will find the way to give you more.”

  “In that case,” Prince Jian replied, “your gift is more valuable than gold. Whatever the future brings, I will always honor the strength of your heart. It reminds me to stay true to what I hold in mine.

  “Now stand up, and don’t think I didn’t notice that you knelt down after all.”

  “Indeed it is true what they say,” I said as I stood. “Prince Jian has keen eyes.”

  “And his archers are impudent,” the prince replied. “And now I will say good night. Think of me when you face the Huns, and fight well, Little Archer.”

  “I will,” I promised.

  Without another word he turned and was gone.

  SIXTEEN

  Our company departed at daybreak, though we could not see the sun. Dark clouds lowered in the sky, and the wind had the raw sting to it that always meant snow. Li Po called the archers together; General Yuwen assembled the foot soldiers. Those of us on horseback would ride ahead, and half a day’s swift march would bring us all to the second pass.

  Once there we would await the Huns.

  All three princes came to speed us on our way. Prince Guang’s handsome face was impassive. If he was unhappy to have been overruled by his brothers, he did not show it in public.

  “Take this,” Prince Jian said, suddenly materializing at my side as I sat upon my horse awaiting orders. In his outstretched hands he held a war horn made of polished bone.

  “This horn has been in my family for countless generations,” the prince said. “It is said that its voice is that of China. Though the throats of a million enemies cry out for our blood, the voice of this horn will always be heard above them. If your need becomes dire and all else fails, sound the horn and I will come.”

  “My lord,” I said, reaching down and taking the war horn. “I will do so.”

  The horn felt cool beneath my fingers. Its surface was elaborately carved; its mouthpiece, gold. As I tucked it beneath my shirt, I felt a moment of dizziness, as if I could feel the earth turning beneath my horse’s feet as the prophecies about this prince began to come full circle.

  Though, as Li Po gave the signal and our company began to move out, it seemed to me suddenly that the fate of China no longer lay in Prince Jian’s hands or even in his heart. Now China’s fate lay in mine.

  We were cold and tired by the time we reached the small pass that was our destination, for the way was rocky and the riding hard. Though a fire and a hot meal would have been most welcome, we had neither. Even the best-tended fire will smoke a little, and we would risk nothing that might give away our location to the Huns.

  After we had rested and eaten a cold meal, Li Po took a group of archers to reconnoiter the cliffs on the right side of the pass, while I led a second group to explore the left one. At the same time, Li Po sent scouts through the pass itself, that we might learn more of its terrain and determine if any additional information could be gathered about the whereabouts of the Huns.

  “There is this much in our favor,” Li Po said late that afternoon, after we had finished our reconnaissance. We were having our own small council session, just the two of us. The rest of the men were checking their equipment. The scouts had not yet returned, but we had posted a guard at the head of the pass. Our force might be small, but we would not be caught unawares.

  “The cliffs are steep and rocky. They will provide us with good cover,” Li Po continued.

  “Now if only I knew whether to hope that Prince Jian is right about what the Hun leader intends, or that he is wrong,” I replied.

  “Try hoping that we are strong enough to meet whatever challenge comes our way,” Li Po suggested.

  “Captain!” I heard a voice call.

  Quickly Li Po got to his feet. “Keep your voice down!”

  “Apologies, Captain,” the soldier, a man whose name I did not know, said in a quieter voice. “The scouts have returned. They have sighted the Huns.”

  “You are sure it was the Hun commander that you saw?” Li Po asked several moments later.

  The scout leader stood bent over with his hands on his knees, breathing hard. The news he and his comrades carried back to camp was dire. A large Hun force was headed our way. It was commanded by the Hun leader himself.

  “As sure as I can be,” our scout leader said. He pulled in one more deep breath and then straightened up. “I saw their standard with my own eyes. A great horse, galloping.”

  “Perhaps it is a ruse,” another scout suggested. “Meant to trick us.”

  “They have no need to do that,” I said. “They believe the pass is unguarded.”

  “How large is their force?” Li Po asked. “Could you tell?”

  “So large that we could not see them all,” the scout leader replied. “We stayed as long as we dared, but we left before we could be seen, lest we give all of us away.”

  “You did well,” Li Po answered at once. “You made the right choice. Go get some rest and what you can to eat. The rest of you, return to your posts. Gong-shi and I will confer about what to do next.”

  “We will never be able to hold them,” Li Po said in a tense voice after the others had departed. “Even a small force would have tested our strength, but to face the Huns in such numbers …”

  He eyed the war horn I wore slung around my neck. “Perhaps it is time to hear the voice of the war horn.”

  “No,” I said decisively. “Not yet. That will only bring them on. They’ll overwhelm us before we even have the chance to fight.”

  “You are up to something,” Li Po said. “I can always tell. What is in your mind?”

  “Give your fastest rider my father
’s horse,” I said. “And have him ride for reinforcements. We have but two things in our favor: the narrowness of the pass and the element of surprise. Let us put them both to work for us.”

  “If only there were some way to block the pass completely,” Li Po cried.

  “I have been thinking about that,” I said. “First send the messenger to Prince Jian. Then come with me. I have seen a place where we might attempt such a thing.”

  By the time the sun plunged behind the mountain, our plans were set. In addition to the man on horseback, Li Po had also sent his two swiftest runners to Prince Jian. No more horses could be spared, but it did not seem prudent to trust our information, or our fate, to just one man.

  Shortly after sundown Li Po and I led the archers up into the cliffs. There, as silently as we could, we worked feverishly on the plan we hoped would ensure both our survival and China’s.

  Though the pass was never wide enough for more than two men to ride abreast, there was one spot where the passage grew so narrow that the legs of the riders seemed sure to brush against the sheer stone walls as the men rode side by side. This was the narrowest point of all, and it was here that Li Po and I hoped to create a rock slide. A rock slide big enough to block the passage so that no men could come through the gap afterward. Even if we didn’t close the pass completely, we hoped to slow down the Hun army long enough for our own reinforcements to arrive.

  It was exhausting work, cruel to the hands we would need later to ply our bows. We labored through the night. At least the work took such concentration that none of us had much room to spare for thoughts about what would happen once the sun rose. We could only hope our plan would work and that word of the Huns’ true intentions had reached the princes’ camp.

  We could only hope that some of us would survive.

  Li Po called a halt several hours before daylight, sending the men back down the mountain for food and what sleep could be managed before dawn. After much discussion the two of us had decided that we must allow a great enough number of Hun soldiers to come through the pass to maintain the illusion that they remained undetected, that their plan was succeeding and they would catch the Chinese army by surprise. And here, at last, something about what the Huns were planning worked in our favor, for our scouts had reported that the Hun leader rode at the head of his column of soldiers.