“When you return in twenty years, I’m sure we’ll see a master of the dragon arts,” Luli said, with a sparkle in her eye.
“Why don’t you join us?” the Duke asked. “A Mistress of the Yin and Yang, we’ve always room for someone with your undoubted talents.”
“I thank you kindly but, at least for the moment, I think I’ll stay here,” Luli admitted ruefully. “Heaven answered my prayers to heal my son. Dong has helped me to find the Tao. I intend to ask him if I can help him rebuild the Taoist temple here.”
“I hope it works out for you,” Bolin said.
Ru said to Bolin, “You were one of the few who were loyal to me in my dark years. After my father’s death, I was afraid of life. Now I cherish every moment of it. May Heaven protect you from misfortune.”
“Thank you, Ru,” he said. “You are the brother I never had.”
“We must take our leave,” the Duke said. With a flourish of the drum, the troupe set off along the road. As their laughter faded from earshot, Luli and Ru watched them wend their way along the wall road until they climbed up the foothills of the Yanshan Mountains and were just specks on the horizon.
Luli was happy. Ru purred. The wall was glowing, almost phosphorescent; a bright emanation from its walls repulsing the threat of the Mongols.
Down below, the soldiers were puffing and panting as they lowered the drawbridge. Dong and Jin emerged beneath Luli and Ru and stood next to the moat. Jin carried a spade and a heavy bag.
“We’ve done the north, the south and the west gates, so this is the last one. I need only two more holes,” Dong was saying. “Dig one on either side of the arch.”
“Yes, Abbot,” Jin replied, obedient to the last.
She could hear the sound of the spade kissing the yielding earth. Dong was chastising Jin, “Deeper than that. Imagine you’re going to plant a sapling.”
Luli was curious. What are they going to plant in the holes?
“Good, that’s deep enough,” Dong said. “Give me one.”
Luli craned her neck over the side but couldn’t see what they were doing.
“Fill it with earth,” Dong ordered. “What are you waiting for? Go on.”
By the time they had finished digging the second hole, Luli’s curiosity was well and truly piqued.
“Good,” Dong said. “That’s it. Done.”
“But Abbot,” Jin sounded like he was in pain. “Why are we burying these dreadful things beneath our sacred arch?”
“Make no mistake,” Dong said, in that haughty tone he adopted on occasion. “They’re not buried, they’re incarcerated, nor will they ever be dug up. There’s a spell on them to prevent you – or anyone else – ever finding or retrieving them. And now this is the fourth and last gate where we’ve buried them, the seal around the Bagua tunnels is complete and can’t be broken.”
“Why? I still don’t understand.” Jin was earnest.
“I’ll explain.” Dong took a deep breath. “You know I told you that the Emperor’s Mace is a mysterious and powerful new influence?”
Jin nodded.
Dong went on, “Well, I found a scroll that Abbot Cheng had written, where I discovered why he had the Bagua tunnels built.”
“What are they for then?” Jin asked.
“First, the Emperor’s Mace heralds a new dawn for the human race, a new template of action and reaction, a new Tao. But Cheng realised that its influence is contrary to the nature of the Chinese people and will be rejected by them.”
“Rejected? Why?” Jin was adamant. “We are a zealous, industrious people. We occupy the Middle Kingdom of earth, the Zhongguo.”
“That may be,” Dong said, “but as a people, we are staid and recalcitrant. We Chinese resist one thing more than anything else and that is change. For us, change is untenable. And the repercussions of the Emperor’s Mace will bring change aplenty.”
“I see,” Jin said.
“No, you don’t,” Dong chided. “Let me describe the scale of the change that’s coming – if we let it. Consider that five or six hundred years ago, life was more or less the same as it is today. Nothing was happening, spiritually speaking. The Emperor’s Mace will quicken the pace of change, making human life in five or six hundred years’ time unrecognisable to what it is today. It stands to reason that the people more suited to its uptake will be those more adaptable to change, more versatile, less constrained by ritual and custom.”
“Oh, you mean like… the Mongols?” Jin stammered.
“Exactly,” Dong snapped. “Now do you see why we have to prevent the Emperor’s Mace from seeping into the world.”
Then Jin replied, “Let me understand this. You’re saying that the Bagua tunnels are… a tomb for the burial of the Emperor’s Mace?”
“Yes. The influence is drawn through The First Pass under Heaven and then confined in the Bagua tunnels.”
“Isn’t that wrong?” Jin asked. His voice was pained and troubled.
“Why?” Dong replied, his tone like thunder. “Do you want to invite the barbarian back into the sacred land of the Zhongguo?”
“No, of course not.” Jin was defensive. “But you don’t possess the mandate to manipulate Heavenly matters.”
“I don’t care, I’m protecting the Zhongguo from inner decay and outward invasion,” Dong sounded strident.
“But you’ve taken those eight horseshoes from the Jade Chamber and buried a pair of them at each of the four gates. In so doing, you’re deliberately depriving humanity of Heavenly influence, improvement and potential genius. Instead, you’re going to channel the Emperor’s Mace into those dark, empty tunnels where it will sit unused for eternity.”
“I’ve made my choice.” Dong said and stalked back into the fortress. After a while, Luli heard Jin’s footsteps following him and then the gong, announcing the raising of the drawbridge.
She puffed out her cheeks. How could Dong bury those horseshoes under the arch? Here was a man who chose which parts of the Mandate of Heaven to follow and which parts to ignore; a man who preferred parochial advantage to ubiquitous Heavenly glory. There was a new universal birth at play and Dong wanted it stillborn.
Luli shook her head. The Mongol shaman Altan had trapped the Laolong in an enclosed space to profit his own people and deprive the Zhongguo of a supernatural protector. Dong was deliberately imprisoning a pristine Heavenly influence in underground tunnels in order to deprive the world of advancement and protect his own people. Who was the more immoral?
“I can’t join that temple,” Luli said, spitting out the word with disdain. “The Emperor’s Mace is the world’s destiny. That’s what the legend says. Dong must be stopped. Come on, let’s tell Bolin. He’ll know what to do.”
As they set off along the wall road, Ru nodded and said, “I’m here with you… right now.”
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
A book is the fruition of an original idea and this is the place to give thanks to the many midwives who helped its sometimes difficult and prolonged birth.
First, I owe a great debt of gratitude for her patience to my long-suffering partner, Irene. This novel was born out of a short story about another famous wall, Vallum Hadriani, which I wrote for an anthology compiled by North Bristol Writers, so thanks is due to them.
I owe a heartfelt thanks to my beta readers for persisting with the early draft: Chad Legge, Steve Tanner, Janie St. Clair and Eleni Byrnes. Joanne Hall was also as supportive as ever and as always gave me some invaluable editing advice. Warm thanks are due to Frances Woods and Peter Hardie for their specialist Chinese knowledge and advice.
Also, much of the novel was written and edited in the peace and quiet of Buckfast Abbey, Devon in the company of the Benedictine Monks there.
And a last thanks to my parents, may they rest in peace, for instilling in me at an early age an enduring love of books, read
ing and literature.
Live. Will. Love.
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