“Then why do you weep?”
She sat upon the bed, and wiped her eyes. “Imagine waiting so long to finally be reunited with the man of whom you have dreamt for years, only to be…” she sniffed and sat up with great courage. “I—I don’t even know how it all fits together.”
“Forgive me, Your Highness—”
“Please, don’t call me that. I would give anything not to be princess right now.”
“Why?”
“My father is dead—killed in battle, so they say. My mother lies ill, perhaps days from death. Only my uncle remains as the Lord Protector, and he insists that the future of this kingdom rests upon my obedience.”
Ying perceived her anguish, but still did not understand.
Which Mei Liang must have understood, as she continued to expound. “My obedience to marry the victor of the tournaments today. Whomever it shall be, we are to form an alliance in military and economic force. This, as he says, is ‘for the best.’ It is my royal duty. What my parents would have wanted.”
“But what do you want?”
Now her eyes lit up in anger. “My uncle knows nothing of my parents. Especially my father. He would never have compelled me to marry anyone I didn’t…why, he even encouraged me to wait until I found…” She lowered her eyes, as though she had spoken out of turn. In a softer tone: “It’s not just that, you know. It’s the visions.”
Ying sat on the bed next to her and poured a cup of warm Fire Jasmine tea for her. She took a sip and rested it in her palm. Keeping a respectful distance, though they had just embraced and kissed, Ying said, “What about the visions?”
“No. I can’t bear to tell you. All I can say is that there were two. And both—” suddenly, she looked up and gazed straight into his eyes as though searching for evidence it would be safe to continue. “They came from Valhandra.”
“How can that be anything but good?”
She blinked, then released his gaze. “One was that I would finally be reunited with you.” Mei Liang touched his face. A warm tingle rushed through his entire being.
“And the other?” He took her hand into his and kissed it.
“That…” Her lips quivered. “That…” A heavy teardrop fell from her eye and landed on Ying’s hand. It was so hot it nearly singed him.
“Yes? What was it?”
“That I would save my kingdom from destruction and…and bring about the return of the Sojourners.”
All of a sudden, everything came rushing back to Ying. He leapt to his feet. And though his abruptness should have alarmed her, it seemed to have no affect at all. “You must warn the Lord Protector immediately.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Wait, I haven’t even said anything.”
“I know.”
“You must warn him that there will be an attack on the citadel, perhaps by Xieh Di’s army. I don’t really know, but I’ve heard talk of it.”
“I have been warning my uncle of these things for many months now. And he always looks upon me with deep thought when I do. He assures me that he has the royal guard on high alert. However, I have my doubts.”
Just then, a heavy pounding came upon the door. “Mei Liang! Come out at once!” It was the Lord Protector. “The final rounds of the tournament are about to begin!”
“I am finished.” Ying said. “If they catch me here…”
“Coming, Uncle!” Mei Liang shouted. She stood, went to her dresser and pulled out a dusty cloak which seemed to be made of sackcloth. “Ying, put this on.”
“But Your Highness.”
“For the last time, I command you to address me by name.”
Ying slipped his right arm into the sleeve of the cloak and it vanished. He could still move it and feel it, but it was completely invisible.
“Do not tarry, Princess!”
“Yes, Uncle. Just fixing my hair.”
“Such vanity.” The Lord Protector grumbled, but not so quietly it could not be heard through the door.
By the time Ying put the hood on, he turned and faced the full length mirror and realized that he was completely invisible. He tested it by lifting the tray from the bed and putting it back down. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled at the ghostly sight.
“Follow me out the door and then to safety. As soon as you remove the cloak it will no longer work. Discard it.”
“How…?”
“An old wizard, a friend of my father’s, gave it to me for such a time as this.” She whispered. “Now, let us go.”
He’d left the cloak under the stands and sat with the crowd of farmers and country-folk from Xingjia. Most of Ying’s friends consoled him regarding his defeat by telling him how impressive he had been, and that they’d never seen anyone from their village fight as impressively.
Except, of course, for Chi.
The final contest was a test of all the disciplines of war, from swordsmanship, to hand-to-hand martial arts, and most of all endurance. Ten separate contests took place in separate arenas and the finalist from each would meet in this arena to fight for the hand of the princess.
The only reason Ying remained was to keep Mei-Liang in sight, should any danger arise. He scoffed at himself. What would he do if an entire invading army actually attacked? Still…
After about three hours, the sun went behind a cloud. It seemed the entire audience let out a sigh of relief. Within minutes, the judges declared the two finalists.
“Moh-Gwei is the first division champion!”
Of course.
But what happened next truly surprised Ying. As it did some of his countrymen in the peasant box. The announcer called out, “The winner of the second division and finalist who will fight Prince Moh-Gwei…” Trumpets blared a short fanfare. The announcer motioned to the arena doors yawning open. “Chi Ma, of Xingjia!”
Everyone in the peasant box rose to their feet and cheered the most undignified cheer, full of whoops, banging pots, bird calls, and other provincial noises.
Oblivious, Ying got up and shouldered his way to the front. “Chi?”
He had returned and won for his division.
But why?
And within minutes, the final contest began—swords clanging, feet shuffling, dust floating such that you could barely see the fight. All this amidst the roar of the crowds, which seemed to shift from favoring Moh-Gwei to the unknown contender from the peasant village of Xingjia.
During the second final round, hand-to-hand combat, an elderly village fisherman began to sing an old song Ying had not heard since his childhood. The old man sang it quietly at first, but then other old men joined in when they heard.
Soon the entire box, some seventy peasants began to sing with strong breaths and aggressive diction. It was an ancient folk song whose lyrics were derived from the same Sojourner texts Ying had studied.
It was then that something like a heavy blanket fell over Ying’s entire being. There was nothing there, but his legs could no longer hold him up. Darkness enshrouded his senses until all he saw was blackness, and all he heard were the distant echoes of the arena.
Then, as if he had been transported to a position high above the kingdom, he gazed down and saw the arenas, the citadel, and in the valley leading up to Chungzhou, an army of countless soldiers charging with weapons and horses. He discerned slain sentry men, shot down from their towers with arrows smoldering in their chests.
The vision began to fade out into the gloom even as the sounds of the contest returned. Ying had missed the entire fight. He rubbed his eyes and blinked to see what was happening in the center of the arena.
Chi had fallen to the ground.
He struggled but Moh-Gwei had twisted his arm behind his back and was about to win. Despite all this, Ying knew what was about to happen. A brief glance around the arena and he found the sentry tower.
Unmanned, as he had suspected.
Another flash of the images: dead sentries, smoldering chariots overturned.
Pushing past everyone in the crowd,
Ying leapt over the wall of the peasant box and began scaling the steps of the arena. As the crowd stood up to cheer Moh-Gwei’s victory, he slipped by undetected. He could hear the announcer declaring the crown prince the victor of the tournament. Pausing to turn and look, Ying felt ill when the Chungan prince raised his fist to claim his applause.
“Bring her to me, now!” Moh-Gwei shouted.
Chi stood, brushed himself off and limped away, defeated.
Mei Liang approached the center of the arena adorned in crimson ceremonial wedding clothes, her head bowed in reverent humility beneath her veiled headdress.
As she processed obediently to be wed to Moh-Gwei, an Elder from the Seventh District came and stood by Moh-Gwei’s side along with Mei Liang’s uncle, The Lord Protector.
Ying wanted to shout, “Stop! You mustn’t marry him, Mei Liang!” but he could not get the words out. For in his periphery, clouds of sand rose in the distance as the invading army rushed across the valley unimpeded.
Ying leapt into the empty sentry tower high above the arena. Through his right ear, he could hear the thunder of several thousand horses approaching. But before anyone else could hear it, a cheer went up in the arena as the Lord Protector took Mei-Liang’s hand in his right hand, and Moh-Gwei’s in his left. The Elder took the ceremonial red string and prepared to tie their hands together, thus symbolizing the utter union of the two people, and their kingdoms.
Ying rang the alert gong. It barely registered above the trumpets below that played a nuptial fanfare, even as the priest began to tie the cord.
Just then, Ying called out into the arena. “Hear me!” His voice cut through the din of the crowd in an otherworldly call that resembled that of a great eagle. Though everyone turned and looked up at him, he did not think it strange that his voice had transformed for that one shout.
“People of Bai Kuo! Your enemies are upon you! By the time this ceremony is concluded, the entire kingdom will be overrun with soldiers from Chungzhou. We have been betrayed! This union must not be sealed!”
At that, the Lord Protector turned his back and motioned for the Elder to continue. But the Elder stood trembling with anger, as he looked into the eyes of the princess.
Mei Liang stood firm.
Then she tore her hand away and pulled the red string away. “Neither I nor my father’s kingdom shall ever be sold!”
Moh-Gwei turned and looked in confusion into the box where his entire delegation sat.
And then, just when Ying saw the first wave of enemy horsemen disappear behind the citadel walls, the crowd let out a collective gasp.
“Treachery!” someone called out. “They’ve killed the Lord Protector!”
He lay there, a poisoned arrow sticking up from his chest and convulsed wildly.
“Sound the alarms!” The Princess shouted. “Deploy the royal guard!”
But at that very moment, thousands of arrows fell into the arena like hail. By the hundreds, people fell dead.
Moh-Gwei dragged the princess across the dirt ground and to the delegates of Chungzhuo.
Ying called out to her, and rushed down the stairs to her, not giving another thought to the arrows that fell all around him from outside the arena. Even as he ran, someone shouted, “They’ve breached the gates, they weren’t even locked! We’ve been betrayed by the Lord Protector!”
By the time Ying got to the ground, a small band of Bai Kuo’s royal guard had appeared. But before they could get close enough to help the princess, they fell one by one as flaming arrows from the top of the arena cut them down.
Someone grabbed Ying’s arm. “You! Come here!”
It was one of the many soldiers from Chungzhuo who had just scaled the walls of the arena. They were rounding up all the surviving citizens of Bai Kuo and joking with one another about what fine slaves they’d make.
The one that grabbed Ying drew a scabbard and thrust it at Ying’s throat. But just then, Ying kicked at his chest and his black cloth shoes fell off. To his amazement, his feet had transformed into eagle-like talons. With them, he tore through the soldier’s clothes and gripped through his flesh until his claws wrapped around his rib bones.
The soldier dropped his weapon and shrieked in pain.
Ying leapt up—higher than he could ever have imagined, and with little effort at all—and threw the soldier with his talons at the company of Chungan soldiers who stared with their jaws slacked open in wonder. They fell like stones in a row.
It was then Ying realized he was actually hovering in the air. Just like he had done so many times in his childhood dreams. I’m flying! He would shout with joy until he awoke to find himself grounded in his bed of straw.
He turned back to find Mei Liang, standing defiant before the Elder of Chungzhou who shouted angrily at her.
“For the last time, will you be wed to your lawful husband—?”
“It is not lawful what my uncle has promised you. Not when you have both conspired to use this union to turn my father’s kingdom over to the king of Chungzhou!”
“—or will you refuse to obey and be subject to the punishment according to the royal edicts of Xieh Di?”
If he could just do it quickly enough, Ying would swoop down, grab Mei Liang and fly away with her. Perhaps regroup the fighting men—any who still lived—and defend Bai Kuo. He flew down as quickly as he could, despite how awkward this new ability felt.
“Refuse,” Moh-Gwei grunted as he gripped her arm and caused her to wince in pain, “and your life will be taken, as easily as this citadel shall be.”
Mei Liang shouted and in one swift move, grasped the hilt of Moh-Gwei’s sword and pushed him away. With two hands, she lifted the sword over her head, the blade pointing straight into the air.
Ying cried out, “Mei Liang, don’t!”
The archers pulled back the burning arrows on their strings.
“No one takes my life!” Mei Liang gasped, looking straight into Ying’s eyes, as he approached in the air. Then she smiled, and turned to the Chungkuo’s Elder. “I give it for the glory of my kingdom, for—!”
Three flaming arrows flew right into the center of her chest, the triune thuds cutting her words short. But she stood, her eyes narrowed and did not—would not fall.
With an angry cry Ying flew down towards her. But a barrage of flaming arrows launched at him and forced him to fly away in order to evade them.
He swung around, never taking his eyes from Mei Liang. She too kept her eyes on his as she first fell to her knees, and the darkening red from the arrow points spread wider and wider over her crimson wedding gown.
// MY PRINCE //
Tears blurred Ying’s vision as the peasants from their box leapt out like a mob, some shaking fists at the Chungan soldiers, some pointing up at Ying who was flying in sharp angles around the arrows and around the arena. Some ran to Chi, who rallied them with his sword held high.
Ying reached out to her.
// WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, MEI LIANG?//
Her shoulders slumped, now the flames from the arrows ignited her gown. White and gold flames licked up all around her.
// DO NOT GRIEVE…YING. IT IS…THE WILL OF VALHANDRA //
And then she fell to the ground. Her entire gown burst into a colorful conflagration of gold, white and red. As though an entire barn had caught fire. The flames were so much more than one body should produce, but Ying could only think of one thing.
Eyes burning with anger, Ying turned his focus to the Chungan Elder. He could see him as clearly from way up in the sky as though he were sitting directly before his face.
With a wild eagle cry, Ying rushed down at him.
The wind rushed against his hair, against his clothes, against his face.
And within moments, his feet had turned down and transformed into talons.
Those talons fell upon the Chungan Elder, who covered his eyes to protect them.
With a heavy crash, Ying pinned the Elder to the ground, the sharp point of one of his claws pre
ssed into his throat.
“The only reason I haven’t torn your throat out immediately is so that you would know who it is that has avenged the Princess!”
But rather than terror, the Elder only laughed. “How amusing!”
Ying tightened his grip. A small stream of blood oozed from the Elder’s neck. He gasped. “You have not quite thought through this course of action, have you?”
Immediately, about seven or more sharp sword points touched the back of Ying’s neck and spine. From the corner of his eye, he noticed half a dozen archers with crossbows standing at the ready. He was not certain that he would be able to fly away before they stabbed him or shot him with arrows. Or if he could actually fly again.
The Elder scoffed. “Not so arrogant now, are you?”
Ying's talons withdrew and returned to his calloused human feet. The Elder got up and stepped back from the soldiers surrounding Ying. He slowly circled Ying and stroked his dark brown beard. “Most intriguing. I have heard the legends of this region of people who could do extraordinary things like you have just done. The… The…oh, what were they called? Ah, yes. Sojourners! They believed in this thing called the Spirit Potential. Is that what you just exhibited, flying and transforming in part into a great bird of prey?”
They all had their backs facing the arena, but Ying could see Chi gathering a group of his fellow townsmen together for some kind of attack. Perhaps all was not lost. Ying shrugged and glared at the Elder. “Choose your final words with care. Your death is at hand.”
With one hand, the Elder snatched a crossbow from one of his archers and pointed it straight into Ying’s chest. But Ying could not help but focus over the Elder’s shoulder where the pyre in which his beloved Mei Liang’s form burned brighter still. Even the Chungan soldiers backed away from the flames, shielding their eyes from the blinding light and rising heat. It was so overpowering that they didn’t notice furtive movements of Chi and his men holding stones and the spears of the fallen contestants which they’d picked off the arena grounds.
“I don’t truly believe those tales of the Sojourners myself,” the Elder said, “But one can never be certain, can one?”
From The Ashes Page 4