The Pirate Empress (64 page)

Quan interrupted. “So the children are in our possession. His Majesty is hidden and alive. We have only to obtain Fong’s cooperation, but I insist Li can’t go alone. I have served under the admiral and I can tell you from experience that the White Tiger has a heart of brass. Do not ask me to choose duty over love.”

“I am not asking you to make a choice,” Li said. “I am asking you to do the right thing. You know what that is. What is one life when so many more are at stake?”

Quan seized her and stared at the laceration on her arm. She yanked it away. “You did not react when he whipped me,” she said. “I took it and so did you. My actions simply made him desperate to restore his reputation. That was my fault. I emasculated him and turned him into a desperate man. I have seen desperation rot the kindest soul.”

“He has never been kind, and I am not certain he has a soul. You will not submit to him. Not even to save the Middle Kingdom.”

“Quan, look at what you have done for the Empire. Let me do the same.”

“But it is not the same.”

“Isn’t it? You have your sources of power and I have mine.” She glanced up at the figurehead of Xiang Gong.

“The gods are unpredictable, and sometimes unreasonable.” Quan turned desperately to the warlock. “Master Yun, forbid her to go. I will go in her stead.”

Master Yun shook his head. “Look at her, Quan. She’s strong and wilful and powerful. She will survive. She is the only one who can bend the sea to her will. Allying Fong won’t be easy, nor is it her only task. She must rally all of the water people, sea gypsy and pirate alike, to come to our aid. Even the Terror of the Seas, the Pirate King, Mo Kuan-fu is wanted in this dire time. We will need every man and woman who can wield a blade or staff. Now come, we have wasted enough time.”

%%%

They had filled their goatskins at a small oasis, but with four riders and two horses, reserves were draining quickly. He Zhu’s sole purpose was to bring Alai and the children to a safe place. The only refuge he could think of was the Taoist temple in Xian. It was a long ride from where they were now. The wind formed patterns on the desert landscape reminding him of the yellow scales of the giant carp at Hot Lake. Where was the wall? If he could sight the curved eaves of a gate that would relieve them of these barren lands, he could rest his mind. Zhu’s breath shortened as they approached a familiar territory. A strange feeling assailed him. The wind blew steady across the desert plain. The tents of a village cut the ground with shadows. Was this Alai’s village? How had they come here? Why had neither of them recognized the change in direction?

“We can’t stay here,” Alai whispered. “It was from this place that I fled!”

What few felt tents remained quivered in the breeze. Most of the remaining structures were wooden poles and beams, weathered and cracked. The cooking fires were cold smudges, littered with charcoal. “Alai, come back. Something is wrong. The village is deserted.”

Alai reined in her horse, drawing an arm around Wu to keep him from being unseated. “I told you that my father and his men have decided to join Esen and take the Forbidden City from the Chinese rebels.”

“But where are the women? The children? The livestock? It looks like everyone fled on short notice. But why?”

Master Yun had told Zhu not to enter the village. Once inside its boundaries, he might not be able to leave.

A flicker of gold caught his eye. A white tipped tail swished. It skirted the side of a lopsided tent and pranced into the open. A fox!

Instantly, it changed and the golden pelt disappeared, leaving a woman in its place. “Hello, Zhu,” she said, shaking out the folds to her snowy white gown. She watched him seated unsteadily on his mount. Zhu’s horse whinnied, baulking as she swaggered nearer. His first thought was to protect the children. Jasmine still wanted Wu—for what ungodly purpose he wasn’t sure—and Peng was her foxling.

“Jasmine,” he said. “What do you want? Return to your Mongol master.”

“I have no master,” Jasmine snapped. “It’s high time you learned that, Zhu. And what is this we have here? Who is this sturdy bowmaid?”

Jasmine moved her hips like the fox flitting her tail, lifted her regal head and wrinkled her nose at him. Zhu knew to be cautious. She was testing his will, and he must not let her know the extent of his worries. He dropped from his horse, leaving Peng seated, holding the reins. He walked closer, placing his body between the fox faerie and the children. Still beautiful, fair-skinned, and with feral eyes sparkling, she went to meet him.

“Zhu,” she said softly, mockingly. She swayed her hips, swishing the white satin of her skirt, and stroked her ebony hair across her bared breasts as she approached. She leaned into his chest, but he stood his ground, the fragrance of jasmine blossoms teasing his nostrils. “How long has it been, My Champion, since we were one?”

He Zhu shut his senses to her perfume, and wiped the vision of her beauty from his eyes. The feel of her skin repulsed him. “Save that for someone else. You cannot touch me.”

“Why? Because of that?” Jasmine shot a look at Alai, then her eyes settled on little Peng whose horse shuffled restlessly next to that of the bowmaid.

“Those days are gone, Jasmine,” he said. “Leave us, or face the alternative.”

“And what is that?” She swished her gown as she turned. She laughed when he fell silent. “You’re afraid, aren’t you, Zhu? Do you think I would harm the sire of my foxling? Peng, come here.” Peng remained where she was. Alai reached out and looped an arm around her shoulders. “Do not touch my kit!” Jasmine spat.

Zhu spoke, “What do you want with her?”

“I don’t have to answer your questions; I am her mother.”

Jasmine approached Alai’s horse and stared at the boy who perched in front of her. Her eyes moved up to Alai and stayed there. “Your scent is familiar. But you are not of this time.” A small gasp escaped from the bowmaid’s lips and Zhu frowned. How did she know? “You have chosen the wrong side,” Jasmine said. “Give me the boy.”

Alai’s grip went from Peng to Wu. “I made a promise to protect this boy.”

“To whom? What for? He’s not even yours. And he’s not Zhu’s either. Is he, Zhu? Is this boy your son?” Her lips curved into a sneer.

“Of course not, he’s my nephew.”

Light dawned in the fox faerie’s eyes.
Swords and stones!
What horror had he committed?

She grabbed Wu by the leg, although Alai held him fast, drawing her blade. Jasmine transmuted into the golden fox and snarled, darted between the horse’s legs, spooking the beasts, and causing them to rear up on their hindquarters—but strangely, they did not flee.

How was it that they could not run? Zhu drew his sabre, reluctant to strike, lest he cut one of the horses. The ground shook, a booming voice shattered the desert silence, and in the fierce, blue sky creatures circled in droves. “What are they?” Alai’s voice came in a frightened squeak.

Seven-headed raptors. The Jian: evil birds with one-eyed heads and seven sights between them. Zhu had only ever seen such creatures in painted vases, watercolours and tapestries that adorned the Imperial palace. They were not of this earth. Where had they come from?

“Zhu,” Alai shouted. “Behind you!”

When he turned, he felt the teeth of the fox at his throat.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

The Language of Colours

Zhu had no time to use his blade. The fox had torn out his throat. His only thought was that Wu must take the Tiger’s Eye and escape, but how was he to get it to him? In his blurred vision he saw another fox leap into the fray. The foxling locked eyes with him and a flicker of comprehension stirred in her stare, then she tore the gemstone from his finger and his lights went out. He could hear Alai’s screams as she fought the fox. Something warm fell on him and he knew that it was Alai. Everything else was silent. He was blind to what was happening, had lost his voice and all sense of his legs; only one arm responded. Warm, wet blood seeped over his body, and he knew Alai had been mortally wounded. He forced his only functioning limb to embrace her, to hold her against his waning heart. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, that he was sorry he had brought her into this mess, that the world was in chaos, in mortal danger of annihilation—and he was denied the task of seeing it through. His tears mingled with the blood and he felt the last breaths from her lips. He opened his eyes because he desperately wanted to see her face once more. His lids peeled away and all that was visible was the top of her head, then a dark image appeared in the distance. The wall. They were so close!

Alai stirred in his arm, her head tilted toward him and their lips touched. His last thought came as a revelation: the walls, the damn walls that he had helped Quan build for almost all of his life, had failed. They could not keep the Chinese in, or the barbarians out. But the four thousand mile long barrier, now known as the Dragon Wall, had brought him and Alai together.

%%%

“What have you done?” The booming voice demanded.

Jasmine returned to her human form, lips dripping with blood. “I should have done that long ago.”

“I wanted to kill him myself.”

“Why, My Lord of Supreme Battles, when I can do it for you? Besides you refuse to break the laws of your Heaven. They will not allow you to take the life of a mortal, and until you grow a pair of testicles that will allow you to defy them, I will do the dirty work for you.”

Chi Yu’s metal face creaked. His eyes blackened. “Do not taunt me, fox. You are not beyond the reach of my powers.” The war god shuffled his hoofed feet, took in the carnage that she had left. The boy trembled upon his horse, which the god of war had frozen into place. The foxling had returned to her human form and stood watching. “What will you do with the boy?” he demanded.

“Save him for a snack. I want to see the face of his mother before I do them both in.”

%%%

The last time Master Yun used his powers of geomancy to transcend space, he had sent Jasmine into her own sinkhole and teleported her to her progenitor. How could he manipulate this knowledge to his advantage? He had used a spell of reversal on her, but it was she who had created the sinkhole. The creation of sinkholes was not among his known powers. “I need to get to the capital, and I need to send you back to the desert,” he told Quan.

“What? Forgive me, Master Yun, but what for? I refuse to return to that wasteland. Did you know creatures live there, prowling the arid sands, leaving footprints, but are themselves unseen? I do not wish to confront the beast again.”

“That is exactly why I want you to return. They are not malicious, Quan. At least I don’t believe they are. For I have encountered one, too: a creature of ungainly proportions, whose bones grow flesh and fur at will—and then dissolve into air. But I don’t think they mean us harm. They can’t speak as we do, and their means of communication is a mystery. But all creatures speak to their own kind, and I suspect they have as much reason to fear us as we to fear them. We must learn their speech. I have studied them since my time in the Red Desert, and have learned some points of interest. We need every man, every creature that will join our armies because we must build a force equal or greater to that of the Nine that Dahlia will summon. We must hold back her forces until all members of the magic Crosshairs can be assembled. And one more army—an invisible army at that—gives us the advantage of surprise.”

“But if they don’t speak the Emperor’s Chinese? How will I communicate with them?”

“That is why I have assigned you to this task. If anyone can find out, you will.”

The bamboo sails luffed, and already Li prepared her pirate junk to meet the White Tiger. Li was sure she would not have long to wait before the admiral caught up with her. Meanwhile, she was prepared to sail north to land Master Yun and Quan on shore.

Master Yun paced the deck as the wind bellowed. “This vessel is too slow. Time runs swiftly, and we cannot return on the same transport by which I came. I must try something else.”

With the besiegement of the Forbidden City, Ming soldiers had fallen. Zi Shicheng’s rebels and Liao Dong’s Manchus had wiped out the guard, and sentries too numerous to count were crushed or fled at the sight of the invaders. Master Yun’s power was strong. So many deaths of his own people had increased his ability tenfold. What more was he capable of? Could he outwit the fiendish fox faeries? “Li!” he shouted up to the helm. “We are leaving now. Do not fail me. Bring the pirates and the White Tiger to join us in battle. We fight on the Plains of Xian!”

Before her astounded eyes, Master Yun raced around Quan in a vicious circle causing the deck planks to scorch and smoke. Faster and faster he sped until he seemed to be flying, his grey robes and silver hair whipping out perpendicular to his torso. When it seemed the deck would burst into flame, the warlock grasped Quan by the shoulders, leaped into the smoking circle, and vanished.

%%%

Chi Quan awoke to the sound of a voice reading poetry. He sat inside a dark, round structure, and overhead a camel-hide stretched across a steepled framework of animal ribs. Dried flesh clung like rags to some of the bones. Quan croaked out a greeting but got no response.

On the floor of the living area were the same hides, bones and water-filled animal bladders. The floor started to move. Chains of ants burdened with the days foraging flowed to their sandhill. They reminded him of his own hunger. Locating the corner of the hut where he recalled a cache of dried meat, he gobbled down three strips before searching for his host. The place was mostly composed of bones, etched with delicate Chinese characters. Blood, dried and darkened, had been rubbed into the letters, each stanza leaping to the eye like they had been inked on white parchment. He lifted one and read:

The Emperor’s armies have fought

one hundred thousand battles.

The soldiers flee

scattering

while the black crows watch,

dipping their beaks and wings in blood.

The invaders have taken the wall.

The golden gates of the palace wait.

And hear only

the silence of the drums.

“So, you’ve returned!” a voice called.

Sunlight from outside cast a half shadow around the figure that stood above him. “Ho Teng, you’re still here!”

“Don’t you see me? But I must say, I am surprised to see
you
. How on the god’s earth did you get here? I saw no horse outside.”

“That’s because I have no horse.” Quan apologized for dropping in so unexpectedly. “Master Yun decided on the mode of transport and although the ride was unconventional, it’s nothing I haven’t experienced before.”

Ho Teng’s mouth curled with amusement. He understood for he, too, was acquainted with His Majesty’s warlock. Quan studied the outline of the wizened figure of the poet uncertain how to proceed. “I suppose you must be wondering why I’ve returned.”

The poet flung off his hide cloak and turban. Clawing his way down the ladder, he stopped in front of Quan, and when Quan bowed in courtesy, the poet indicated for him to sit. “Perhaps you missed my insightful verses?” he said, sinking cross-legged beside him.

A laugh, not of disdain, but of joy escaped Quan’s lips. “Have you written much that is new?”

“Here, in the barrens, everything is new.”

Quan suddenly became serious. “I need your help. You have thrived in the desert for many moons, and it’s a wonder you still live considering what lurks beyond these tough hides. Can you tell me how you do it?”

“Why?” the poet asked suspiciously.

“Because I may need the help of the Yeren.” Quan proceeded to explain Master Yun’s theory, how the Yeren were the precursors of all men, and, for that reason, might have a loyalty to their current-day relatives. Then he untangled all that had happened since they’d last met and how the day of reckoning approached. The beasts of legend were rising, seeking to reclaim the land, to be ruled by the laws of magic under the dominance of the malignant fox faeries. Simple men had no weapons against beasts of lore. If they won, what would be left for men, but enslavement? “You must have seen many strange things in the badlands, least of all, the invisible monkey-faced man-beasts they call Yeren. Did you know the creatures supposedly died out millennia ago, but have somehow returned to haunt us? You know these manlike creatures, Ho Teng. You have shared the desert with them and survived. Do you think they will help us?”

The wizened old poet’s head dipped in a bow. “Why would they help us? Aren’t they creatures of legend themselves?”

“If Master Yun’s surmise is true, they are kin to us.”

A sigh left Ho Teng’s lips, and his eyes widened with wonder and detachment. “Perhaps, perhaps not. You wish to speak with them? Do you know how? If you make a mistake, your skull will be crushed before you know it, and your bones buried in the sand.”

Quan shook his head. “I thought, maybe, having lived among them so long, you’d know their manner of speech.”

Ho Teng chuckled. “I know only this: they don’t speak with voices like you or I. I swear they speak the language of colours. Oh, yes, I recently discovered that when they become visible and show stark white fur, it means they are frightened. White as you know is associated with death. And white means they fear for their lives. That’s when they are most dangerous. They strike first, and think later. Indeed, I’m not sure how much they actually think. I believe that is how they communicate among their own kind. I have seen their fur transmute from white or silver to red, blue, black and gold.”

Stunning as this new knowledge was, Quan could not afford to waste another moment. He left the pithouse followed by the poet to seek out the mysterious bones that walked.

The sand gleamed red-gold under the red sun. Correction—the white sun. The sand gleamed red-gold under the
white
sun. For when he blinked at the blinding celestial orb, it was a ball of pale fire. And all around him loomed rust-coloured columns.

A disturbance in the atmosphere drew his eyes level to the skyline. A crunching of footsteps. On the ground, twelve paces distant, tracks appeared, and the footfalls came louder.

Quan slammed shut his eyelids to listen; then raised them. The footsteps ceased. Tenuously, he reached out, felt nothing and rubbed his face from forehead to jaw. He closed his lids again, feeling his footing waver.
Remember, the creatures are invisible
. An invisible prey was a prey that remained alive. An invisible hunter had the advantage over his prey. Quan’s eyes snapped wide to the desert landscape and he almost catapulted out of his boots. All around him the rust-coloured columns separated to open a path. He sidled to one of the columns and paused beside it. The crunching resumed, but this time it moved away.

Weren’t there originally seven rust-coloured columns to his left? Now there were twelve. He spied an opening and headed for it, another column blocked his way. Confound the travelling stones; confound the bones that walked! How was he supposed to communicate with the beast if it refused to show itself? A sound sent Quan spinning on his heel, and instinctively he hoisted his sabre. It was nothing more than a reflex action; the blade was useless against the unseen.

Quan exhaled involuntarily, kicked something hard near his feet. He glanced down to see a cracked, white skull. The footsteps began to move away. The tracks travelled well beyond the forest of rust-coloured columns, and red sand sank all around. Quan squinted to control his focus, made chase. The footprints stopped abruptly. Quan waited as the sand settled. No movement now, except for the tracks on the ground. He stared at the last footprint, and then saw a magnificent form rise from it. Covered in muscle and fine white fur, the Yeren’s pale fleshy face grimaced.

Quan untied the red sailor’s kerchief fastened at his throat and waved it like a flag. As the sands swirled and spewed in the wind, slapping at the beast until it cowered in confusion, Quan held his stance while Ho Teng joined him.

“Good thinking, Quan. Red corresponds with fire and symbolizes good fortune and joy. It is also the colour of the stone forest and the desert sands. It’s a peace offering.”

The pale fur of the Yeren darkened to black, almost blue, the hue so deep in contrast to its earlier shade. This colour was associated with death and funerals. A shriek came from above and Quan’s head shot up to see the green-headed desert vultures circling the skies. Far to the east more birds flocked, but these ones appeared different. They seemed to have multiple heads and one was much larger than the rest. Something had died or was dying in the badlands and the monkey-faced, man-beast changed course to follow them.