Prince Shisin's Revenge
A tale inspired by the wuxia tradition
Author’s Note: This is slightly different from my usual style, and somewhat longer, but I decided to have a go at the Sword & Saturday challenge, set by
, to write a swords-and-sorcery fantasy tale in the 10-20,000 word range. This is more swords than sorcery, but I hope you enjoy it!1. Escape from the Palace
“Wake up! Wake up!”
Prince Shisin opened his eyes. His bedchamber was dark, with only the faint glow of charcoal from the three-legged brazier in the corner casting a dim reddish tinge in one corner. Someone was shaking him by the shoulder, and as his consciousness surfaced, he recognised the whispering voice of Aygül, his favourite concubine.
“Wha—”
“Shh!” she hissed. “Your Highness, please be quiet and listen.”
Prince Shisin closed his mouth abruptly and rubbed his eyes. He was used to doing what others told him to do.
“Your Highness, your life is in danger.” Aygül was speaking urgently, but so quietly he had to strain his ears. “Crown Prince Shesin is about to murder your father, and you will be next. You have to get out.”
Shisin sat up, the silk duck-down quilt slipping from his shoulders and the sharp cold of the winter air slipping in.
“What? How? Where’s my sword? We must rescue my father!”
“Quiet, Your Highness! It’s too late. The eunuchs and the palace guard are with your brother.”
“Where’s Princess Lanyu?”
Aygül hesitated for an instant and then told him. “She’s with your brother too.”
Shisin’s mouth fell open. He had thought his wife respected him at least, even though he knew she didn’t love him.
“Come on! There’s no time! Get dressed!”
Aygül shoved some clothes at him as he scrambled out of bed. It was hard to get the thick padded robes and the light mail tunic the right way round in the dark and without his valet, and Aygül had to help him bundle them on, over the woollen winter undergarments he was already wearing.
“Your sword,” she whispered, once he had got the fur-lined leather boots on. Shisin always kept the Phoenix Sword on its stand within reach of the bed, and quickly belted it on over his robe.
“Follow me,” said Aygül. “Don’t make a sound.” She listened for a moment at the screen door to the bedchamber, slid it open a fraction, then wide enough for them to slip through.
There was a lamp burning in the antechamber, casting yellow gouts of light across the room. By its light, Shisin saw the body of his least favourite eunuch sprawled on his face across the floor. There was a dark stain soaking across the back of his light-green eunuch’s robe.
“What—”
“Sshh!”
Shisin noticed for the first time that Aygül was carrying a short sharp dagger, its bronze handle shaped like the body and head of a curlew, so that the blade formed its beak. And the beak was dark with blood.
Aygül led him through the servants’ entrance and into the back parts of his wing of the palace. They could hear muffled shouts from the interior courtyard, and the sound of men running. They reached the kitchen, and were stepping cautiously across the stone floor when the footsteps from outside became louder, and the light of torches bloomed through the paper-paned windows. Shisin could see the stack of winter cabbages against the wall, and the shine of the great copper pan set into the stove, scrubbed and ready for the morning porridge.
“In here!” came a voice from outside.
Aygül looked at him in fear. “We’re too late!”
“No,” said Shisin as they backed away from the outside door. “Follow me.”
He hadn’t been in the coal cellar for a long time. Not since he and Shesin had been youths in search of mischief. Indeed, he hadn’t been in the kitchens for a long time. The hatch was still where he remembered it, though, set into the wall beside the stove. He pulled it open, and breathed a sigh of relief. The pulley was up at their level. Still half-full of coal, but that didn’t matter. He hustled Aygül onto the pulley then pushed himself in and grabbed the rope. It was a tight squeeze, and there was an ominous creaking sound from above their heads. The pulley had been built to lift coal up from the cellar to the kitchens, but it was designed for no more than a hundredweight at a time. Shisin realised with alarm that he and Aygül and the remaining coal weighed significantly more than that, and significantly more than when he and Shesin were boys. As soon as he unlooped the rope from the hook by the door, the rope burned through his fingers and the pulley fell the ten feet into the cellar, landing with a bone-bruising crash. From the hatch above, there were shouts and the flicker of lights, but it wasn’t clear whether Shesin’s men had seen them or not.
“Are you alright?” Shisin whispered.
Aygül nodded. He could hardly see her face. They got up cautiously, Shisin wincing at a pain in his ribs. The supply entrance to the coal cellar was at the back, behind a small hill of loose coal. They had no light, and it seemed that the men above had moved further into Shisin’s apartments, so even the flicker of torches from the hatch was gone. In the dark, Aygül tucked her curlew dagger into her clothes and pulled out a small silk drawstring bag.
“This way.” Shisin began to scramble up the coal towards the back of the cellar. The floor was sloped so that coal from the supply hatch would tumble down towards the pulley, so every step was precarious and more often than not sent a small landslide of coal fragments sliding down the slope. It was impossible to do it without noise. They had only got halfway towards the door when the sound of running footsteps came back.
“Go! Faster!” hissed Aygül. There was no point trying to stay quiet now. Both of them scrabbled up the slope as fast as they could. The men were at the hatch now, exclaiming at the broken pulley. With a burst of effort, Shisin reached the edge of the coal and lunged towards the supply hatch. It took some fumbling in the dark to find the bolt. Shesin’s men were beginning to lower themselves down the hatch now.
The door was bolted from the outside.
“Stand back,” gasped Shisin. He stepped back a foot from the door, balanced as well as he could, then charged the door with his broad shoulder. The wood groaned but held. The first of Shesin’s men landed on the floor of the coal cellar. Aygül grabbed some lumps of coal and began to throw them. Shisin charged again, and the door creaked some more. Again. Again. Something came loose and a gasp of air came in from outside. He charged again, and the door gave way, throwing him out into the alley behind.
Aygül leapt after him, but instead of running immediately, she peered back into the coal cellar, and pulled something else out of her robes. A small tinderbox. And a handkerchief. She clicked the flint and after a couple of attempts, got the edge of the handkerchief alight.
“That’ll do.” She tossed the handkerchief back into the coal cellar. “RUN!”
The explosion came when they were halfway down the alley, and nearly knocked them off their feet.
“What did you do?” asked Shisin, coughing coal dust.
“Fire-powder,” she said simply. “Never travel without it.”
2. The City Gate and the Hundred Blossoms
It had begun to snow. Prince Shisin and Aygül sheltered beneath the broad eaves of a camel feed store opposite the West Gate of the city. It had taken them the best part of two hours to get there, sneaking through alleyways and slipping from shadow to shadow. Now, past two in the morning, in that weather, even the footpads and drunkards and brothel-crawlers were indoors.
Nevertheless, the gate guards appeared on high alert. Shisin and Aygün could see them pacing beneath the lantern-lit arch that formed the gateway. The massive bossed gate deep within the arch was closed, as usual for that time of night.
“What are we going to do?” asked Shisin, keeping his voice low.
“We need to get out the gate somehow.” Shisin heard Aygül’s teeth chattering as she spoke. He put his broad arms around her and pulled her close.
“You’re freezing,” he said. “We can’t wait here.”
“We need to get on the road west. To Kerija.. When we get home to Kerija, we’ll be safe. And we will take revenge..”
Prince Shisin heard the glazed sound in his concubine’s voice, and looked at her with concern. It was dark — even before the clouds gathered and the snow started, the moon had been thin and low — and between that and the coal dust with which they were both coated, he couldn’t see her face properly, but he didn’t think she sounded well.
“We need to get out of the cold first,” he said firmly. “Even I can’t fight my way through the wall, by myself. We need to find another way.” He rubbed Aygül’s arms briskly to try and warm her up. He wished he had his hip flask with him.
“The Hundred Blossoms,” said Aygül, reviving a little. “It’s not far.”
The House of a Hundred Blossoms was only a few streets in from the West Gate, and a little to the north. Shisin knew it well enough, although he had frequented it less since his official marriage. The current owner, Gormal, was one of his brother Shesin’s former concubines and a friend of Aygül’s. Like her, Gormal had originally come to Hsienyang as treaty tribute, but when she was dismissed as royal concubine, she had chosen not to try and make the long journey home.
“Do you trust her?” asked Shisin as they approached. The doors of the house were closed and most of the windows were dark, although a soft glow and the sound of laughter came from one of the upstairs rooms.
“With my life,” said Aygül. “She has no love for Shesin, after what he did to her.”
The servant girl who opened the door took one look at their coal-blackened clothes and faces and tried to slam it in their faces, but Aygül wedged her foot in before the girl could shut it all the way. She would have screamed, then, had Aygül not twisted through, clamped a hand over her mouth and told her to fetch her mistress. Prince Shisin watched his concubine with admiration at her agility and presence of mind, closing the door softly behind them as the girl led the way into the back of the house.
Madam Gormal was sitting up in bed smoking a clay pipe and listening to a young man playing the zither. As soon as she saw Aygül, she dismissed the young man with a sharp command. The servant girl was sent off with the threat of dire punishment should she breathe a word to anyone. Shisin hovered behind the door until the room was clear. He heard a murmur of urgent conversation between Aygül and Gormal, and then Aygül called him in.
“Your Highness,” said Gormal, pushing herself hastily off the bed and kneeling on the hardwood floor.
“Please, get up,” said Shisin. A thought struck him, and he half-smiled. “Better not call me that. I guess I’m not His Highness any more.”
“Nonsense,” said Madam Gormal briskly. “You will always be the Prince. And I’m sure I’m not the only one who wishes you were the older, and not the younger. But it is true that you had better be careful. We had all better be careful.”
Now that she was closer, Shisin could see the heavy make-up she wore. She was wearing her golden hair in heavy ringlets that cast curling shadows across her face, but even combined with that, the rouge and powder could only partially hide the snake-like scar Shesin had left down the right side of her face.
“Is there any way you can help us get out?” asked Aygül. “Maybe in a cart? Or a disguise?”
Gormal frowned, and circled round them for a few paces, measuring them with her eyes.
“First thing you need is a bath,” she said eventually. “And a shave. I’ll do it myself. I have a client upstairs, about the same height as Your Highness, a little fatter, but I think his clothes will do. Aygül, we’ll have to dress you as a servant boy.”
Prince Shisin and Aygül were hidden in Madam Gormal’s extensive wardrobe while they waited for the servants, accustomed to all sorts of odd requests at odd hours, to fetch hot water for the bath. Shisin nearly fell asleep in the dark warm space, but he could tell that Aygül was alert, like a cat, thinking. When the water was ready and the servants banished again, they made him strip off first. The hot water was scented with oil of roses, and as Gormal and Aygül scrubbed his back, he could almost imagine himself back in the palace. But when he saw Gormal approach with the scissors and razor, he tensed in horror.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” said Gormal. “But I have to shave your head. The client whose clothes I’ve stolen is a bonze.”
A grey light was filtering through the window-panes by the time they were both shaved and dressed in their new clothes. Prince Shisin ran his fingers over his smooth scalp for the hundredth time.
“Stop doing that. You’re going to ruin the make-up,” said Aygül. Gormal’s client was a monk of the Earth Temple, and she had painted Shisin’s head in a replica of the tattoo the Earth Monks wore.
“Sorry.” Shisin put his hands in the pockets of the padded brown robe. At least he was still wearing his own undergarments and inner robe beneath the bonze’s gear, as well as the supple chain mail, with the Phoenix Sword strapped to his waist. The man was apparently several sizes bigger in girth than Prince Shisin. He felt a pang of regret for his own now-filthy outer robe, which Gormal was going to have dropped into the Grand Canal later that day.
“We’d best be on our way,” said Aygül. Her face was pale with exhaustion. Her thick dark curls were cropped like a peasant boy’s now, and she was dressed in ragged grey garments taken from the stable boy. At least they were warm.
Gormal kissed Aygül on the cheek and gave her a bundle of provisions to carry. She gave Shisin a little curtsey.
“Come back to us, Your Highness,” she said. “Come back from Kerija with an army and save us.”
3. Blades in the Snow
A heavy jolt of the axle shook Prince Shisin awake. It took him a fraction of a second to remember where he was and what was happening. He and Aygül had been so exhausted by the time they hitched a lift with this peasant farmer that they had both fallen asleep soon after settling into the bed of the cart. Now, as he opened his eyes and watched the snow falling like feathers around them, he remembered Shesin’s treachery, and for the first time he felt tears form. Tears of grief for those who had died, including his own father, the Emperor. Tears of bewilderment at Shesin’s choice. Tears of anguish at his brother’s betrayal. He refused to let the tears fall. Instead, he sat up in the cart and spoke to the farmer.
“Where are we now, friend?”
The farmer turned round from the seat where he was driving the mule, startled. Shisin cursed to himself as he remembered that he was supposed to be a bonze of the Earth Temple, and that Aygül had told the man that her master was under a vow of silence.
“Ah.. we’ve come about eight or nine miles from the West Gate, master. We’re about halfway to Winding Dragon Village.”
Aygül woke with the sound of the voices, and gave Shisin a severe glare. He responded with a sheepish look and a raised eyebrow that meant help.
“Master, do not forget your vow of silence,” she said, doing her best to sound like a local boy. Shisin was impressed at her gift for languages. It was difficult to disguise her foreign-looking eyes, though. The best she could do was to keep her hood up as much as possible. Thankfully the weather made that natural enough.
“My master’s vow started only recently,” Aygül went on, addressing the farmer. “One of my tasks is to remind him, and to make sure he does his penance this evening!”
The farmer chuckled. “How’d you end up working for the monks, lad?”
“They adopted me when I was orphaned,” replied Aygül after a moment’s hesitation.
“Ah!” said the farmer. He might have said more, but was distracted by a tricky corner as the mule had to navigate the cart around a boulder. Shisin and Aygül were glad he had not been inquisitive so far. It had been a relief to get through the city gate unchallenged. Outside the protection of the city walls and the warmth of Hsienyang’s familiar multitudes, though, the wet snow whirling in their eyes and sogging into their boots, clogging the crevices of their cloaks, had made the long road ahead almost unbearably miserable. They had both thanked the Five Spirits when the cart had stopped and the farmer offered them a ride, no doubt hoping the favour would boost his standing with the Earth Spirit.
None of them spoke for the next mile or so. The road was gradually climbing into the loess plateau northwest of Hsienyang, and began to carve through the sharp gullies cut in the crumbling yellow clay. The snow was falling less heavily, but the road was deeply rutted and thick with half-frozen sludge. Shisin and Aygül were alert for any sounds of pursuit. They could only hope their disguise had been effective enough to throw Shesin off their trail for a while. Shisin watched a magpie hop-flapping along the edge of the gully they were crawling through, following them, and hoped it was a good omen.
As they wove deeper into the gully, the farmer kept an anxious eye on the edges and shadows, and pushed the mule as fast as it could go on the difficult ground. He was clearly concerned about bandits. They were all relieved when the road began to open out, although visibility was still poor in the snow. They were all unprepared when a spear flew from behind a solitary knarled tree and slashed the front of Shisin’s cloak before embedding itself in the wooden side of the cart. Shisin gasped and felt into the gaping hole in the fabric. If he had filled the cloak as snugly as its original owner, his intestines would have been uncoiling on the floor of the cart by now. As it was, the spear had merely torn the fabric, glancing off the hidden lining of supple chain woven into his own robe underneath.
Shisin rolled onto the balls of his feet and reached beneath the cloak for the Phoenix Sword. The cart was suddenly surrounded by bandits, all masked. The mule was frantic, pawing the frozen rutted ground and braying, half screaming, but the cart had got stuck in what Shisin now saw was a trap, a muddy depression with a steep step on the other side. The bandits were circling in cautiously, but their coarse jokes and laughter showed they expected little resistance. An old farmer, a boy and a monk seemed no threat to half a dozen well-armed professionals. Shisin got into a defensive posture, pulling Aygül behind him as he drew the Phoenix Sword from its scabbard. He would protect her with his life, if need be, and the old man as well if he could.
He was startled when the old farmer sprang from the driver’s seat and positioned himself back-to-back with Shisin, and when he reached beneath the seat and pulled out a long crescent-bladed spear. But there was no time to confer, because now the bandits were upon them.
The first man came at Prince Shisin with a clumsy swipe of a long-handled dagger-axe. Shisin blocked the move with ease, then launched a flying kick that caught the bandit in the throat. The Phoenix Sword tasted blood. The bandits’ shouts lost their edge of levity. Out of the corner of his eye Shisin saw the leader direct his men round the other side of the cart, and spun round to follow them. To his astonishment, the old farmer was in mid-air, spinning his weapon in an intricate manoeuvre that Shisin recognised as the legendary Moonlight Dragon Swims the River. The crescent blade sliced the throats of the two nearest bandits, before the old man rammed the spear-blade through the heart of a third, piercing his armour as if it were cotton. The old man yanked his spear out of the thug’s chest, and his blood spurted very red onto the dirty snow. The remaining two bandits fled.
“Shall we chase them?” asked Shisin, dropping the pretence of being a monk.
The old farmer shook his head. “These men are a plague on this area, yet now is not the time. We should get going. I want to be home before nightfall.” He eyed Prince Shisin’s sword. “That is a fine blade, master.”
Shisin wiped the blood from the sword’s edge. “Yes. This is the Phoenix Sword, passed down to me from my father.” The farmer’s eyes widened. “And that is an equally fine weapon, master,” Shisin went on. “And that move.. tell me, where did you learn Moonlight Dragon Swims the River? I have heard of only two men in the kingdom who mastered that move. The great Master Jiangzi, and his greatest pupil, Tieshu, who disappeared years ago.”
The old farmer bowed slightly. “This is the Dancing Barley blade.”
“That is a strange name for a weapon.”
“Indeed. Yet there is power in the earth, and power in what grows from the earth, more power than you know. Although you would know that, if you were truly of the Earth Temple.” The old man chuckled.
Prince Shisin smiled, a broad grin. Aygül, who had got down from the cart, gave him a jab in the ribs, a reminder not to say too much. Yet Shisin felt instinctively that the man was trustworthy. “You’re right, master,” he said. “I was forced to adopt this disguise to escape the city.. I am Shisin, Second Prince of the Sapphire Throne.”
The farmer fell on his knees in the frozen muck and kowtowed at Shisin’s feet. Shisin squatted down and pulled him up by the shoulders.
“Stand,” he said. “I no longer have a place in the kingdom. I’m on the run. And you have already saved my life and the life of my concubine.”
“Your highness,” said the farmer. There was a shake in his voice. “I heard in the city about what happened.. about His Majesty your father the Emperor, and Prince Shesin’s coup.. I assumed, like everyone else, that your highness had also been killed. Praise the Five Spirits you are alive!”
“I have put you in danger,” said Shisin slowly.
“We should keep moving,” said Aygül, almost at the same time.
“I will take you to my home,” said the farmer briskly. “You can rest, shelter for a few days, and plan your next steps.”
“But—”
The old man held up a hand. “I insist.”
Together they hauled the cart out of the mud, and when the mule had been soothed with an apple, they started back on the road.
“Master, I wonder if I could know your esteemed family name?” asked Shisin once they were moving. “And the Moonlight Dragon Swims the River…”
The old man gave another dry chuckle. “I am Tieshu.”
4. The Village of Caves
Prince Shisin gave a sigh of pleasure as the hot water soothed his cold feet. His winter boots, of finely-tooled leather lined with thick fox fur, had stood him in good stead over the years, but they had soaked in too much water during the fight with the bandits. Now, sitting on a low stool with his back to the heated earthen kang at the back of Tieshu’s cave home, the warmth gave him a dreamy sense of bliss. Aygül was beside him on another stool, with another basin of water. They both cast covert glances around the dwelling, admiring the neat way in which everything was arranged.
Tieshu’s wife, Yueshi, ladled more steaming water from the stove into a small bucket and came to top up their basins. Shisin smiled at her gratefully. Tieshu had gone to tend to the mule, which was housed with several pigs and some chickens in a smaller cave to the side. The whole of the village, in fact, consisted of a series of caves carved out of the soft clay soil of Winding Dragon Valley, which was itself carved out of the loess plateau by a narrow muddy streamlet. Each cave home was secured with a heavy wooden door, some of which were painted in bright colours and all of which were framed with lucky dragon-tongue paper.
“This is a fine and cosy home,” said Shisin. “I have seen these cave homes from the outside, before, but this is the first time I have had the honour of entering one.”
Yueshi inclined her head graciously. “Your Highness honours us with these kind words. “
“Please,” said Shisin. “Please treat me as a normal person. I am no longer a Prince of the Empire.”
“As you wish, your Highness.”
The woman knelt on the swept earth floor and began to lave Shisin’s feet. Aygül snapped out of her daze with a guilty start.
“Excuse me, madam. I should take that responsibility.”
Yueshi pushed Aygül gently away. “No, my lady. You too have had a difficult journey. Rest now.” A troubled look crossed the older woman’s face. “And the road ahead may be yet more arduous. You should rest while you have the chance.”
Tieshu came in, bolting the door behind him then swinging a heavy metal bar into place. Yueshi hastened to pour a third basin of hot water for him.
“Have you cast the oracle?” he asked his wife.
“Not yet. After we eat. Supper is almost ready.”
“Yueshi is a skilled soothsayer,” Tieshu explained.
“I seldom practice, now,” said Yueshi abruptly. “Only in times of great need. Yet I think this warrants it. Come now, husband, let us eat.”
There was no dining table. They sat on their low wooden stools and Yueshi served them each a hot bowl of fragrant mutton stew, with small round flatbreads to soak up the juices. Shisin was about to plunge his spoon into the broth, his stomach rumbling, when the old man stopped him with a raised hand.
“Let us first give thanks to the Great Spirit, Ruler of Earth, Fire, Water, Wood and Metal.” Tieshu and his wife tapped the five fingers of their right hands to their foreheads, then held their hand with the palm facing upwards and looked to the ceiling. After a moment’s silence they looked back at their guests and invited them to eat.
“The Great Spirit?” asked Shisin curiously as he dipped his spoon into his bowl.
“Yes,” said Tieshu. “Have you never thought that there must be one spirit greater than each of the Five?”
“It’s never occurred to me,” admitted Shisin. “Theology is not really my strong suit. Or any kind of study, really. That was always more Shesin’s domain.”
“When I was a child in Kerija,” Aygül said slowly, “I heard tell of the Great Spirit.”
The old man seemed ready to say more, but at that moment there was a sudden loud knocking at the door. They all fell silent. Shisin looked round for the Phoenix Sword.
“Old man Iron! Are you home?” came a shout from outside.
They saw Yueshi’s shoulders relax a little. She got to her feet and went to the tiny window cut into the wall beside the door. It was hung with a thick woollen curtain, and she slipped under it rather than draw it aside. They heard her speaking with someone in local dialect. She came back shaking her head.
“Old Turtlenose asking if you got those new ploughshares in the city. I told him you were resting.” A doubtful look crossed her face. “I hope nobody saw you arrive, especially him, the old gossip.”
They spoke in low voices after that. When they had eaten their fill, Yueshi cleared the bowls and spoons, refusing Aygül’s offers of help. Tieshu took out a short clay pipe and a tin of herb, and offered Shisin a smoke.
“May I ask you a question, master?” asked Shisin after taking a puff of herb-smoke. “Why did you disappear? You could have been a great general. You could have passed on your skills to the finest fighters in the land. You could be living in a palace, your wife could be dressed in the finest of silks. What happened?”
The old man shook his head. “Better is heart’s peace and plain gruel than a feast seasoned with envy and strife.” He stroked his wispy white beard. “That answer will probably not satisfy you, young man, but someday you may learn the truth of it.”
“The bones are ready,” said Yueshi. She took the pipe from Tieshu and inhaled deeply, then pulled her stool in so they were sitting in a circle. She closed her eyes and appeared to be speaking under her breath, though no-one could hear the words. Aygül watched her closely. After a few minutes, she got up and took two sheep’s femurs out of the hottest part of the fire, handling them deftly with long-handled tongs. She placed the bones in the centre of their little circle, then quickly passed Shisin and Aygül a cup each of some cold dark liquid.
“Pour it on the bones,” she instructed.
They did as they were told. A steam rose as the cold liquid hit the hot bones, followed by a stutter of short sharp cracking noises. There was a stench of medicinal herbs and burnt bone. Shisin wrinkled his face in disgust. Yueshi leaned over the cracked bones and examined them carefully, her face unreadable. Eventually she looked up.
“I believe you are safe for now,” she said. “At least for tonight. But the bones are hard to read this time. You see this crack here? And this one, the long one? As I suspected, the path ahead is long and difficult. But in the short term, you may rest safely.”
“That is a relief,” said Aygül, though she still looked suspicious of the oracle. “Yet we should set out as soon as possible. As you say, the road to Kerija is long and difficult.”
“I did not say the road led to Kerija,” said Yueshi quietly. “Although it may. I simply said it is long.”
“Why Kerija?” asked Tieshu. He had picked up his pipe again.
“My kin are there,” said Aygül. “From there, we can build our forces and return to avenge the Emperor.”
Tieshu gave them both a long, measured look. “Take care, if you choose that road,” he said. “Revenge is a long road indeed. You will walk it your whole life, if you choose it. Trust me, I know.”
He fell silent after that, other than nodding assent when Aygül and Shisin insisted they would depart early next morning. They were glad to climb onto the kang, heated from below by a slow-burning charcoal fire, wrap themselves in blankets of wadded cotton, and fall into deep sleep.
Tieshu woke them in the dark of the early morning. The cave home was surprisingly well insulated from the bitter cold of dawn, and the fire in the stove, banked overnight, made the interior warmer than Shisin’s palace apartments at this time of year, but he still found it difficult to drag himself out of the warm blankets. Yawning, he pulled his outer robe on and forced himself into the cold outside. He went into the stable to pee in the corner Tieshu had shown him the previous night, shivering and beginning to feel the bite of life on the run.
He was almost finished when one of the farmer’s small yellow dogs, curled up in the straw, stirred then sprang to its feet, barking. Prince Shisin thought first that it was barking at him, but the animal was looking towards the door. The mule, too, whickered and twitched and paused her munching on the hay in her trough. Shisin turned his head. He saw a thicker darkness outlined against the greying black outside. He only half-saw the dim glimmer of the blade as it left the man’s hand, but it was enough to spin-swerve and dodge the dagger intended for his heart. At the same time, he heard shouts from the house, and the clash of blades.
Shisin’s hand automatically went to his sword-belt, before he recalled that the Phoenix Sword was inside by the kang. He dropped into a crouch, making himself as small a target as possible in the dark of the stable. There was no time to think. He groped in the wet straw behind him for the dagger. His assailant rushed in but was hindered by the dog, which had somehow gripped the man just below the knee. The attacker growled a foul curse and sliced at the dog with a short flame-bladed sword. There was a half-scream of pain and the smell of blood, and then the assailant kicked the dog’s body out of his way, under the mule’s feet. Shisin positioned himself to rush the man while he was distracted, the short throwing dagger in one hand, but before he could spring to attack, the mule brayed and kicked.
Shisin wasn’t sure if the man was dead or just stunned, but he didn’t wait to find out. Keeping low, he darted to the stable door and peered out into the street. To his right, in the doorway of the cave home, Tieshu was in furious battle with a dark-robed masked fighter wielding a long sword. Shisin could see another two fighters guarding the street to and from Tieshu’s house, and he could hear sounds of conflict from within the dwelling. The men wore no inisgnia, but Shisin recognised the cut of their night-black clothing as the uniform of Shesin’s Serpent Guard. His brother’s men had found them.
Shisin weighed the throwing dagger in his hand and looked for an opportunity to strike. The Serpent Guard liked to travel fast and light, with just a light hauberk protecting their torsos, relying on their speed and skill in the arts of the blade. Shisin aimed for the back of the man’s knee, breathing deep and stilling his mind the way his boyhood tutor had trained him. The man cried out and stumbled as the blade bit through the gap between his supple boots and the lower edge of his tunic. It was enough for Tieshu to bring the Dancing Barley blade down on the man’s skull, cleaving from top to bottom in a mess of blood and brain and splintered bone.
“Get in!” Tieshu shouted to Shisin. Shisin dashed to the door, stopping to pull the long sword from the dead man’s hand. The men on watch had seen now that one of their own was down, and were running at them with drawn weapons.
“See to the women!” commanded Tieshu. Shisin obeyed, instinctively following the authority in the old man’s voice.
Inside, the once-neat dwelling was in chaos. Yueshi was lying huddled on the floor next to the stove, where there was a large pot of some sulphurous potion. Aygül was crouched in the inner corner of the kang, stabbing with her curlew-bladed dagger at another of the Serpent Guard. Shisin took one look and two strides, then hefted the unfamiliar sword and ran it right through the man’s body, the searing sharpness of the blade piercing through the links of mail beneath his tunic. He tossed the enemy’s sword aside and grabbed his own Phoenix Sword, still resting by the kang.
“See to the woman!” he called to Aygül as he dashed back to assist Tieshu.
Outside, Prince Shisin found Tieshu hard pressed by his two new assailants. Shisin leapt into the fray, swinging the Phoenix Sword low and slicing one man’s legs from under him. By his side, Tieshu was executing a complicated manoeuvre Shisin didn’t recognise, rolling under the enemy’s blade then launching off the rock wall to kick the man in the chest, knocking him flat before plunging the spear-point of the Dancing Barley blade through his neck.
For a few seconds, there was silence. Shisin could hear the dying gasps of the defeated fighter, the thick gurgling of blood and air. A crow cawed loudly. He slowly became aware of a murmuring, and noticed a knot of villages peering cautiously from a little distance away, not daring come too close. It was getting lighter, and the first thin rays of sunlight were stroking the top of the gorge in which the village sat. Tieshu had stayed in a low defensive crouch, but now straightened up slowly and looked at Shisin.
“I am sorry, master, for bringing this trouble upon you,” said Shisin, breaking the silence.
The old man shook his head. “It was bound to come sooner or later. I would rather it be for a good cause than for some senseless brigandage.”
“That move, master,” said Shisin admiringly. “I have never seen that before.”
“Oh, Rolling Donkey Kicks the Hay?” Tieshu laughed modestly. “That is one of my own devising.”
“Perhaps you could teach it to me someday?”
“Perhaps. But first there are things to do. You will need to move, now. Five men seems too few, even if they expected only you and the concubine and a stupid farmer.”
Shisin nodded. It had been bothering him, though he hadn’t realised until now. The Serpent Guard usually travelled in squads of eight. Where were the others?
At the same time, a cry came from within the cave dwelling.
“Shisin! Master Tieshu! Come quick!”
As they both turned to the door, there was a low fast whistle and a gentle thump. In the split second that Shisin took to recognise it as an arrow and to dive to the ground, Tieshu toppled forward slowly, a surprised look on his face. The shaft of the arrow stood in his back like a miniature flagpole. Shisin had no time to think. He crawled through the door into the cave, keeping as low as possible, then grabbed Tieshu’s hands and hauled him through. The old warrior was already dead.
Inside, Shisin saw Aygül’s tearful face in the gloom. Yueshi was laid out on the floor, unbreathing.
“She’s dead,” whispered Aygül. “Just a few seconds ago.”
“Hide,” said Shisin simply. He pointed at the green-and-black fletching of the arrow. “Dahei is here.”
Aygül’s face turned pale. Dahei, the Captain of the Serpent Guard, and Prince Shesin’s bosom friend, was known for his cruelty as much as for his skill with sword and bow. The sound of cantering hooves was now echoing through the gorge towards them.
“Hide in here,” said Shisin again. “I’ll do my best, but…” His words trailed off as the horse’s hooves grew louder. Shisin was a fine swordsman, but he knew his skill could not match Dahei’s, and there would be more men with him. He kissed Aygül gently, hefted the Phoenix Sword in a double-handed grip, and crouched low against the door.
“Shisin, traitor to the Throne, come out!”
There was a jangling of harness and the light thump of a man dismounting. Shisin could hear other hoofbeats coming up from further behind.
“Are you a lion or a rat? Come out!” Dahei’s voice jeered from outside.
Shisin put his shoulder to the door, coiled himself tight and then exploded outward in Tornado Strikes the Harvest. It was a basic move, but he hoped there would be some small element of surprise. Dahei was a little further away than he had anticipated, though, and merely laughed in mockery as Shisin swung into the defensive stance at the end of the move.
“Is that the best you can do?”
Dahei lifted his own sword, the Viper’s Fang. The remaining two fighters from his squad had dismounted their horses now and stood a couple of feet behind him and to either side.
“I tell you what, Shisin. I’ll give you a choice. Surrender your arms, we tie you up and take you back to Hsienyang, and your brother the Emperor will deal with you as he sees fit. Or single combat. I’ll keep my lads here at bay while I polish you off. How about it?”
“Why not just let me go?” replied Shisin. “I have no desire for the Throne. You can tell my brother that. I’ll go away and stay away. We’ll not cause any trouble.”
Dahei gave another theatrical laugh. “You think the Emperor will believe that? When you’ve already connected with rebels and seditious elements who have killed some of my best men?” Dahei jutted his chin at the bodies of the men Shisin and Tieshu had killed, their blood staining the muddy snow. “I will say this, if I’d known this village was home to such a deadly swordsman, I’d have come in with the advance group. No matter. When we’re done with you, we’ll do to this place what we’ve already done to the Hundred Blossoms.” He laughed again as Shisin blanched. “Yes, the Emperor’s old plaything has come to a sorry end. That’s what your flight has achieved, rat-heart.”
Shisin felt a chill of fury sink into his bones. He gave a great cry, and launched himself at Dahei with more force than finesse. Dahei parried his blow easily, almost lazily, then swept at Shisin in Black Lightning, one of his signature moves. Shisin only just avoided him, the blade of the Viper’s Fang slicing the sleeve of his robe. The next few minutes were a ringing haze of sword clashing against sword, the two of them circling and feinting. Dahei was the better swordsman, but Shisin’s anger gave him a power beyond what he usually showed in practice sessions at the palace. He was making Dahei work harder than he had expected, but Shisin knew it was only a matter of time before the Captain of the Serpent Guard gave him a critical blow.
The explosion took him and Dahei both by surprise, although it struck neither of them. There was a hissing like water on a hot stove, then a bang that echoed off the walls of the gorge like a thunderbolt. Green-tinged evil-smelling smoke rose in a compact cloud from where one of Shesin’s remaining men was now screaming.
“A witch! A witch! Sorcery!” the other man shouted, running to aid his comrade. The man was beyond help, his clothes and hair alight. He rolled frantically on the snowy ground to try and put out the flames, but they seemed possessed of an unnatural vigour and the more he rolled the more they seemed to spread.
Dahei advanced on Shisin again, his face contorted with rage.
“Sorcerer! Coward!”
“This is not of my doing!” Shisin shouted back. He was puzzled. Aygül had shown herself handy with the fire-powder earlier in their escape, but this was another order of alchemy altogether. Yet, as he parried another of Dahei’s vicious lunges, he saw out of the corner of his eye another fireball flying from the tiny window of Tieshu’s cave home. This one missed its target. The last of the henchmen had seen it too, and was creeping cautiously towards the door.
“Aygül!” Shisin managed to yell before a flying kick from Dahei caught him in the stomach and sent him sprawling on his back. Groaning, Shesin tried to get the Phoenix Sword in position to stab Dahei from below, but his antagonist landed with one foot on Shisin’s sword arm, pinning his wrist to the hard ground. Shisin gasped in pain. His wrist was probably broken. Not that it mattered now. Dahei used his other foot to kick Shisin in the groin then kneel on his chest. Shisin bucked and kicked but was unable to dislodge him as he raised the Viper’s Fang for the kill.
Shisin closed his eyes. He was ashamed to admit it afterwards, but he closed his eyes in the face of death. When the weight on his chest and arm suddenly lightened, he thought for a split second that the Viper’s Fang had already struck. Yet he was still painfully aware of his own ragged breathing and then realised he could hear the ringing of sword upon sword and a bellow of rage from Dahei. He rolled over, picking up the Phoenix Sword with his left hand, and staggered to his feet. A few feet away, Dahei was in fierce combat with a new, unknown, swordsman.
Shisin only took time to notice that the new combatant was young, and dressed like a peasant farmer. He was wielding what looked like a cheap short-sword, but with a speed and athleticism that was pushing Dahei hard. Shisin dashed forward to join him.
Now outnumbered, Dahei still put up a hard fight. He was bleeding now from a ragged gash down one arm, and his breath was coming in pants, but his mastery of his art was still evident. Nevertheless, it was clear that he could not prevail for long. With one almighty shout, Dahei first swung the Viper’s Fang in the move known as Heron’s Wings, then while Shisin and the youth were recovering their balance, made an unexpected rush for his horse. The sun had risen above the edge of the gorge now, gilding the yellow-grey clay. Black against that golden backdrop, Dahei disappeared round the bend in the road at the entrance to the village with a clattering of hooves.
The youth made as if to go after him, but Shisin put out his hand to stop him.
“We can get him, if we go now!” urged the youth. “Look, the horses of his men are here!”
Shisin shook his head. “No, my son. You do not know this man as I do, or his steed. That is Dahei, Captain of the.. Emperor’s.. Serpent Guard, and his beast is the fastest in all the stables of Hsienyang.”
“But his men’s steeds…”
“They will not easily heed any but their own masters. Come, he is gone.”
The youth reluctantly dropped his arm to his side and turned to look about him. The sight before them was grisly. A large crow hopped towards one of the dead bodies that had soaked red into the dirt and snow. There was a scorched and melted trail where the man torched by the fireball had rolled, ending in what remained of his charred body. There was a stench of blood and smoke and tar overlaying the pre-existing tang of manure.
“Who are you?” asked the youth. “And where is my father?”
“Who is your father?” asked Shisin.
At that moment, Aygül peered out from the house, then rushed over into Shisin’s arms. She was trembling. Shisin put his good arm around her, and tried not to wince when she brushed against the other.
“Are you alright?” asked Shisin gently. “What happened to that other fellow?”
“I hid in the dark then stabbed him in the guts with my dagger,” she replied dully.
The youth ran towards the cave house. “Father! Mother!”
Shisin and Aygül looked at each other, and followed slowly after him.
5. The Song of the Golden Hwamei
The three travellers looked up at the narrow mountain path in trepidation. They had been on the road for over a week since the tragedy of Winding Dragon Village. Taking his father’s blade, Tieshu and Yueshi’s son Feidao had joined Prince Shisin and Aygül on their journey, declaring that there was nothing for him now but to avenge his parents. They had set out on foot, knowing that the road ahead, threading through the loess plateau for the first few leagues but then climbing into the treacherous passes of the Dragon’s Spine, would be unsuitable for horses and even for Tieshu’s sure-footed mule. The rest of the villagers had silently watched them leave. Feidao led them out of the valley in the direction of Hsienyang, waiting until they were out of sight before they doubled back by a less used path and headed towards the mountains.
Now, after days trekking through ice and mud, their faces burnt red with frost and wind, Shisin’s right arm strapped to his chest so the sleeve of his robe flapped empty, they all looked like beggars or down-at-heel bandits. In the hamlet they had come to last night, the villagers had looked at them warily, until they produced some coins to pay for lodging and food. They had tried to stay out of sight as much as possible, knowing that Dahei would be tracking them — Shisin knew his brother would allow no threat to remain to his throne, and he also knew Dahei would never admit such an insult to his honour as defeat — yet they were limited in how much they could carry by way of provisions.
“We’re sure this is the way?” asked Aygül. The villagers had directed them here, for they said no-one on this side of the mountains knew of the path beyond, through the desert to Kerija, unless the Master of the Nameless Mountain did.
“Yes,” said Feidao. “Look, there is the boulder shaped like an eagle’s head, as the villagers told us.”
Shisin glanced at the youth. Feidao’s voice had flattened and hardened over the days they had been travelling together, as the reality of his parents’ fate and what he considered his new destiny settled in. Feidao had been studying at the Five Pines Academy, far to the north, training to be a scholar as well as a blademaster. For a youth who had seen scarcely seventeen winters, thought Shisin, his skill was prodigious. He had been journeying on a visit home when he had been overtaken on the road by Dahei’s men. Worried for his home, he had followed as fast as he could, arriving just in time to save Shisin’s life.
They started up the steep stone steps carved into the rock shaped like an eagle’s head. The sky had been clear earlier in the morning, a deep cerulean blue bowling above the bald grey and bright snowdrifts of the foothills. Now, Shisin noticed clouds gathering in the east.
The clouds clustered and grew as the three of them clambered up the path. The steps had been carved, by men or demons or giants, so long ago that they were grooved in the middle. They were so high that even for Shisin, whose height gave him an advantage, it was tiring to climb. For Aygül, the steps were sometimes higher than her knees, and she had to use both hands and feet. The steps wove up between the tumbling granite crags and crevices of the mountain, sometimes ducking beneath the knarled branches of ancient knotted pines, sometimes pushing between whispering thickets of bamboo with stems that were as sturdy as Shisin’s arm and startlingly green in the grey of winter. For some time, no-one spoke.
“Look, master,” said Feidao suddenly, as they clambered up through a tight defile between two high boulders. “In a place like this, even one man skilled with the sword could hold off a whole squad. Even of these Serpent Guard. And we are two warriors, and the lady Aygül with her skill at alchemy…”
“No, my son,” Shisin replied wearily. It was not the first time they’d had such a conversation. “We might hold them off for a time, it is true, but that is not enough.” He wondered why his words felt so hollow.
“Remember, we have an Emperor to avenge and an Empire to recover, not just your parents alone,” said Aygül. “And as I said before, the fireballs were due to your mother’s potion, not just my fire-powder. I have some idea of what went into it, but I was not paying close attention at the time.”
Feidao fell silent again, but with his eyebrows knotted in a bitter frown. He pushed on ahead and disappeared round a corner of the rock. Shisin sighed and looked after him. A bird — a wood pigeon — clattered into the air from where it had been startled from its perch in a pine tree.
“I’m worried about that boy,” said Shisin.
“I know,” said Aygül. “It’s one of the things I like about you.”
When they caught up with Feidao, he was sitting on top of a boulder next to the path. The trees were fewer now, and there was an outlook over the plateau below. Shisin hauled himself onto the boulder next to the boy, gritting his teeth as the movement jolted his broken wrist. As he did at any high point, his first action was to look out the way they had come, looking for signs of movement, looking for black-robed men on horseback.
“Nothing,” said Feidao. Shisin could hear the iron and bone in his voice. He placed his good hand on Feidao’s shoulder.
“Feidao, son of Tieshu, listen to me.”
Feidao turned his head, startled by the solemnity in Shisin’s voice. There were traces of tears in the dirt on the young man’s face. Shisin looked him in the eyes.
“Feidao, I am responsible for what happened to your parents. We will avenge them, together. I, Shisin, Prince of the Sapphire Throne, adopt you as my own sword-son and blood-brother. I give you my word, by the Spirits of Earth, Fire, Water, Wood and Metal.”
There was a hush as Shisin spoke his oath. Feidao’s eyes were wide with awe. Suddenly, from the trees just beneath their boulder, there came a mellifluous warbling, a song of such sweetness that they all held their breaths. Then there was a flash of gold as the singer of the song flew higher up the mountain.
Shisin and Feidao scrambled back down to the path. Feidao knelt and kowtowed at Shisin’s feet on the icy stone, until Shisin raised him gently.
“Come on,” said Aygül. “Look, the top of the mountain is in sight.” She pointed up and to the west, where they could see the true peak of the Nameless Mountain.
“What was that bird?” asked Feidao in a subdued voice.
“I believe that was a golden hwamei,” said Shisin. “The Old One wrote about them, in the Book of Seasons, if I remember right. A sign of good fortune.”
Aygül raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I believe in signs and oracles. What about the oracle Feidao’s mother cast, that said we would be safe that night?”
“Hush,” said Shisin. “We were safe in the night, were we not? Dahei’s men did not strike until we were already up.”
Aygül opened her mouth to respond, but closed it again as Shisin gave her a meaningful scowl, and they turned back to the path.
It was now late in the afternoon, and the clouds had thickened and curdled above them. The path climbed out above the treeline, though there were still solitary pines twisted here and there among the rocks. They had reached a lower peak or shoulder of the mountain, and the path ran more or less level for a mile or so along a broad ridge before starting up the final peak. They could see now the tower at the top. It was an unusual shade of blue. Shisin thought of cornflowers, or of the cerulean tint of the sky that morning. At certain times of day, in certain weather, it might be invisible against the sky. Now, with the heavy clouds behind it, it looked somehow like a half-open door cut through the grey and into the heavens.
“That must be it,” said Prince Shisin. “Come. We can get there by sundown.”
“It’s going to snow,” said Feidao, looking at the clouds. Even as they set out along the ridge, the first flakes began to fall.
By the time they were halfway to the last peak, the snow was falling so thickly that they could see no more than a few feet ahead. A wind from the north, howling through the passes, flung the flakes stinging into their faces, making it even harder to see where they were going. At least the wind helped keep the path, which clung to the very top of the ridge, free from snow, but it was becoming very slippery underfoot and they could make but slow progress.
When they reached the bottom of the next set of steps, where the path began vaulting up towards the blue tower, they paused in the lee of a large boulder, overhung by an ancient pine. Aygül looked with dismay at the route they had to climb. The steps were hardly more than notches in the rock now, the path almost vertical.
“Perhaps we should light a fire and wait until morning,” said Shisin. “Look, the ground here by the rock is dry enough, and there are pine needles.”
“No,” said Aygül. “The temperature is already falling. It will be colder here than down below. I fear we would freeze.”
“Would you rather we fell and broke our legs and then froze?” asked Shisin.
Just then, there was a lull in the wind and from somewhere a little above them, the song of the golden hwamei tumbled.
“Look!” called Feidao. Shisin and Aygül missed the flicker of the bird that Feidao had spotted, but as they looked, they saw something float down like a large golden snowflake. It landed at the base of the steps. A single feather.
“Well, let’s go on,” said Shisin. “Spirit of Fire, be with us!”
“Look!” said Feidao again as he placed his foot on the first step. He reached and knocked the snow off something by the side of the path. A rope.
The rope was knotted and anchored by iron spikes, driven into the rock at intervals of a few feet. It was frozen and heavy, but as Feidao gave it an experimental tug, it seemed sound enough and was clearly maintained regularly. Even so, with their hands freezing inside their gloves and the snow driving at them from the side, each step up was both painful and terrifying. Shisin gave thanks that the rope was on the left-hand side of the steps, for he knew he couldn’t have made it if it had been on the other side. Yet every so often, the song of the hwamei called them. Each time he heard it, Prince Shisin felt as if golden fire warmed his veins, and the pain eased for a few minutes.
When at last the precipitous staircase levelled out and they found themselves gasping on a narrow strip of level ground, it was almost full dark. The snow had eased off. Just a few yards from them, the blue tower stood black against a less black sky. They could no longer see the path, but before they could begin probing their way forward, a yellow sliver of light opened in the tower. It broadened into a door. Standing in the door was a short man in bonze’s robes, silhouetted against the light.
“Welcome,” he said as they approached. “Welcome to the Nameless Mountain. I am Tian’en, Keeper of the Mountain. Come in, come in.” On his shoulder was perched the golden hwamei.
6. At the Cerulean Tower
When Prince Shisin awoke the next morning and tried to get out of bed, he gasped and then roared a very unprincely curse. Every muscle in his legs and in his left arm was on fire. His head spun as he sat up and put his feet on the wooden planks of the floor.
“Good morning, master,” said Feidao, who was standing by the window. “Come and see this.”
Shisin hobbled over to the narrow casement. The paper panes had been curtained overnight, but Feidao had not only opened the curtains but also pulled open the window itself, allowing the morning sunlight and freezing air to flood the room.
Prince Shisin gasped again as he looked out, but this time from wonder. The sun had not long risen, and shone spears and lances of light into their east-facing window from across a sea of cloud. The blue tower — they were on the third floor — stood on a rocky island on whose snowy shores the clouds lapped. And the air.. Shisin blinked a few times to make sure it wasn’t his eyes playing tricks, but the air itself was sparkling. All around them, tiny sparks of silver fire, each one an infinitesimally brief coruscation, winking out of existence before the eye could settle on it.
“What is it?” asked Shisin. “It is not snow…”
“No,” said Feidao in an awed voice. “I do not know. I have never even heard my father mention such a thing.”
“Ah! You’re awake!” Tian’en’s voice came from behind and below. Startled, Shisin and Feidao turned to see his smooth-shaved head sticking out of the trapdoor that led to the floor below. “That is what I call star-fire. It is beautiful, is it not? It happens only a few days a year, in winter, when the air is very cold and the sun shines just so. You are fortunate.”
Shisin felt, rather than saw, Feidao stiffening behind him, bridling at the idea that they were fortunate, after all they had suffered. He nudged the young man in the ribs in case he should break the etiquette of a guest, and a guest in a bonze’s hermitage at that.
“It is beautiful,” said Shisin.
“When you have watched enough, come and have breakfast,” said Tian’en. He disappeared back down the ladder, and they prepared themselves to follow.
After an agonising climb down the ladder, they found the monk in the living quarters on the ground floor, frying eggs over a pot-bellied stove. Aygül was sitting on a three-legged stool with her fingers wrapped round a cup of something hot.
“Come in, come in,” cried Tian’en. “Eggs?”
“Please,” said Shisin. “But, Master—”
“Aha! You’re wondering how I, a hermit monk, am permitted to eat eggs! And, no doubt, where the eggs come from, in this place and at this time of year!”
“Yes,” said Shisin, wondering how the monk could read him so well.
“That is because the monks you have met before are the servants of the Five Spirits, are they not? They have so many rules.” Tian’en shook his head sadly as he flipped the eggs neatly in the pan. “But their knowledge is incomplete. You see, I serve the Ruler of the Five Spirits! As for where they come from, all I can say is that my hens are very gracious! Now sit, and we can eat!”
There were several other three-legged stools arranged around the round table in the middle of the room. Tian’en tipped the eggs onto a plate and placed it in the middle of the table, where there was already a basket of steamed bread buns and a bowl of pickled cabbage. Before sitting down, he poured Shisin and Feidao each a cup of the beverage he had already given Aygül.
“Drink this,” he said. “It is a tea infused with healing herbs. It will help with the stiffness.”
“Thank you, master,” said Shisin.
“We give thanks to the Great Spirit, Ruler of Earth, Fire, Water, Wood and Metal.” The monk tapped the fingers of his right hand to his forehead and then held his hand open, palm upward. Shisin recognised the gesture as that Tieshu and Yueshi had made. Feidao made a choked sound.
“My parents!” he cried. “That is how we — how my parents prayed… Master, did you know them?”
Tian’en looked curiously at Feidao. “Who are your parents?”
“My father was Master Tieshu, the great swordsman,” said Feidao, louder than he needed to. There were tears pricking his eyes, and he was trying to keep his voice under control. “And my mother was Yueshi, daughter of the great Master Jiangzi.”
“Was?” asked the monk quietly. Feidao pushed his stool back and rushed out of the room. Shisin briefly recounted the events at Winding Dragon Village, while Tian’en listened and stroked his long beard. When Shisin finished the story, Tian’en nodded. “Eat,” he said to them, and went out to look for Feidao.
When they came back, Shisin and Aygül had nearly finished their breakfast. Shisin sipped more of the tea. It had an odd taste, something like sweetroot and something like tingle-grass, but it did seem to be helping.
“Eat,” said Tian’en to Feidao. He himself picked up a piece of steamed bread and chewed it slowly. “I did know his parents,” he said to the other two. “At least, I knew his father. Master Tieshu came to me once when he was in great trouble. I am saddened to hear of his departure, though I know it was an honourable death.”
There was a short silence, broken only by the sound of Feidao eating his eggs vehemently, as if to show there was nothing at all the matter.
“So tell me,” said Tian’en eventually, “what brings you to the Nameless Mountain?”
“We were told,” Aygül replied, “that you are one who can direct us through the mountains and across the desert to Kerija. My homeland.”
“I see,” the monk replied slowly. “You would go to Kerija, and then? Raise an army and return to seize the throne from Shesin? Avenge yourselves?”
Aygül nodded. Shisin gaped at the monk, wondering how he had divined that.
Tian’en shook his head. “Listen, my children. Revenge is one way, but it is not the best way. Do not strive to take what is not yours. Vengeance is mine, says the Great One.”
“It is true that the throne would probably have gone to Shesin in any case,” Shisin began slowly, before Aygül cut in.
“That doesn’t matter,” she said. “Your brother slaughtered your father in his bed, and would have slaughtered you too if we hadn’t escaped. Your brother’s men killed Feidao’s parents. The empire needs a wise and just ruler, not this murderer. And Shesin needs to be brought to justice.”
“There is truth in what you say,” said Tian’en peaceably. “Yet I would say that justice will prevail, in due time, in the hands of Heaven. Wait for it. Do not take it into your own hands.”
“I will not wait,” said Feidao harshly. “I will avenge my parents.”
Shisin nodded uncertaintly. “It is my duty,” he said heavily.
The monk sighed. “If you are determined to go to Kerija, I will draw a map for you. Yet hear me out. There is another way.”
“What do you mean?” asked Aygül.
“The Valley of Kingfishers.” Tian’en sighed again and stroked his beard. “The Valley of Kingfishers is far to the south and west of here, near the Jade Snow Mountain. It is a place of sanctuary. Far from the reach of the Emperor Shesin, and so well hidden that none can find it who do not know the way. We have a community there.”
“I have never heard of this place,” said Shisin cautiously.
“No,” said Tian’en. “Only those of our sect know of it, and of those only a handful are told the secret of the way. Yet it is a beautiful place, and a place where you would be safe. Where you could live in peace.”
Tian’en got up from the table. “Now I must prepare the hall for worship,” he said. “You discuss it among yourselves. You will not set out today in any case.”
They were indeed too stiff and sore to attempt the next stage of their journey that day, despite their anxiety about the Serpent Guard, and the next day the weather closed in again. Tian’en assured them that the Nameless Mountain was in itself a kind of sanctuary, and that it would be extremely difficult for enemies to find the way. And the mountain, their little island above the clouds, with the blue tower perched like a lighthouse on the peak, did feel like a place of peace and safety. They helped Tian’en feed his chickens — a small, pure white breed — and shovel the snow from the path and the tiny yard behind the tower. They knelt in the central worship hall while he performed his thrice-daily ceremonies, burning incense with a sweet smell that was somehow reminiscent of pine sap and osmanthus blossom. The oddest thing about the worship hall, thought Prince Shisin, was the total absence of images. Every temple and ancestral hall he had been to had at least one central image of that clan’s god or tutelary spirit, usually one of the Five. Yet the circular hall at the heart of the cerulean tower was empty. There was only the central brazier where Tian’en burnt his incense, and the sequence of slit-windows that cast shafts of sunlight onto the heaven-blue, kingfisher-blue glazed tiles that covered the wall, floor and high domed ceiling. Prince Shisin felt a longing to stay and learn more from the monk, but a strange reluctance to ask questions held him back. Both Aygül and Feidao refused to consider the Valley of Kingfishers, and Shisin reminded himself that it was his duty to avenge not only his own father, but Feidao’s parents, who had died to protect him.
The monk, after offering them the choice, did not press their decision. In between performing his own duties, he brewed pot after pot of the healing tea that he gave them to drink, and day by day they felt the pains of the road lift from them. On the second day, he asked to look at Shisin’s injured arm. He unwrapped the cloths and splints carefully and examined the swollen flesh with gently probing fingers, while Shisin clenched his teeth in pain.
“It is healing, though slowly,” said Tian’en after a few moments. “But I can perform a ceremony of healing, if you like, that may help you. For whichever road you choose, I expect you will be glad to have the use of your arm.”
Shisin nodded, and Tian’en led him by himself into the worship hall. There, he had Shisin kneel on the floor by the brazier, while he warmed up a sweet-smelling ointment in a small bronze bowl, chanting all the while in a language Shisin did not recognise. When the substance in the bowl had melted, Tian’en rubbed it into Shisin’s arm and hand, massaging it gently into every inch of skin from the elbow to the fingertips, still chanting. The ointment made Shisin’s skin tingle. Tian’en then bound the arm tightly then in fresh cloths marked with strange symbols. At the end, he bowed with his forehead to the floor, before leading Shisin out and telling him to leave the cloths tied until his wrist was strong enough for him to pick up a cup of water.
The next day, Shisin found that the swelling had gone down and that he could wiggle his fingers. The following day he could flex his fingers almost fully, and pick up a spoon or a calligraphy brush. Tian’en watched his progress with a quiet and grateful smile.
They agreed to set out on the morning of the fifth day after their arrival at the Nameless Mountain. The evening before, Tian’en presented them with a map he had drawn of the route through the mountains and then on through the Black Desert.
“Be careful going through the passes,” he warned them, showing where he had marked a sign on the scroll. “There is a fox demon in those parts. It is very cunning, and will do its utmost to lure you away from the path. Especially in winter, when there are few travellers for it to prey on.” The monk hesitated, then went on. “And look, here.. where the road forks towards the desert.. the other road, if you follow it south for long enough, beyond the Jade Mountains, will take you to the Valley of Kingfishers. If you seek it, you will find others who can help you find it.”
They thanked him politely and Shisin tucked the scroll carefully into his robes. The next morning dawned fine and clear. Tian’en spoke a blessing over the travellers and with many expressions of thanks they set off down the far side of the Nameless Mountain.
7. Under the Wild Apple Trees
“Look! There it is!”
Feidao was standing on top of a spur of black rock that sprang like a talon from the worn granite of the mountains. The black rock was bare of trees, although all down the west side of the range the slopes were thick with pine and spruce and wild apple trees. Shisin and Aygül scrambled up to join him.
The sun was low and shone red and gold into their eyes. It was a relief to see open horizon again. Since descending the Nameless Mountain, they had travelled three days through tangled valleys and ridges, following Tian’en’s map carefully yet always fearing that they had taken a wrong turn, for there was often no discernible path.
“We’ll have to camp another night here, but we should be at the desert road before noon tomorrow,” said Aygül. There was a quiet triumph in her voice, and Shisin saw a sparkle in her eyes. For the first time, he realised how far she had been taken from her home, and how young she had been when it happened.
“We still have the desert to cross,” he replied.
“Yes, but the road is straight from one oasis to the next. Another week, and we might be at Kerija!”
From where they stood, the desert looked like a sea of black water. The setting sun glittered off the crests of great dunes like waves. Closer to the mountains, before the desert rose into dunes, in the shadows, it looked like a vast dark pool. Shisin thought he saw a red flicker in the black, as of glowing embers suddenly flaming then dying, but decided it was a trick of the light.
“Well, let’s find a place for the night,” said Aygül.
A little further down the slope, they found a flattish space near the path, under a grove of wild apple trees. At that time of year, the trees were bare, but the ground was thick with dry dead leaves and twigs. They kindled a small fire, careful to keep it within a circle of stones, and ate a sparse supper of dry bread and raisins that Tian’en had given them.
“We should keep watch again tonight,” said Shisin, examining the map by the light of the fire. “Look, we are still in this region Master Tian’en warned us of.”
“Didn’t he put the fox demon as further up?” asked Aygül sleepily. She was already curled up on the ground next to the fire.
“It might have moved,” said Shisin. He rolled the map up again and tucked it back into his robes, noting with satisfaction that his right hand felt as dexterous as his left now. Cautiously, he picked up the half-full gourd of water warming by the fire.
“Look!” he cried.
Aygül sat up again, startled. “What is it?”
“I can pick up the gourd! I think tomorrow I can take the cloths off! Master Tian’en is truly a marvel.”
Aygül gave a relieved laugh. “That’s wonderful. For a moment there I thought the fox demon really had shown up!”
“Go to sleep,” Shisin told her. “I’ll take the first watch. Feidao, you second.”
Feidao nodded from across the fire. He was already half-asleep as well. They had all slept poorly the last few nights, with the cold and the continual threat of danger.
Prince Shisin sat and watched the fire for a while, every so often feeding it with more dry branches from the stack they had collected earlier. It was difficult to keep his own eyes open, and more than once he shook himself awake after drifting off while he sat. When he heard the voice and got up to investigate, he thought he was dreaming.
At the edge of the grove, just outside the circle of dim orange light cast by the fire, he heard the voice again. A faint voice, from somewhere deep within the trees. A woman’s voice.
“Help! Help me!” the voice cried.
Be careful, Shisin told himself. But it’s only a dream, he told himself. He checked to see that the Phoenix Sword was at his belt, and pushed into the shadows between the trees.
It took some minutes of pushing cautiously through the pines, more than once getting his face scratched by low-hanging branches, before Shisin could accurately pinpoint the source of the voice. There was a faint silvery light ahead. Moonlight, an open space, he thought gratefully. He forgot for the moment that the moon was new that day and in any case would have already set. He was a little alarmed to realise that he could no longer see their campfire, but he was sure he could find his way back.
He pushed through and found himself at the edge of a circular glade with a large wild apple tree at its centre. When he saw it, he clenched his jaw and drew the Phoenix Sword from its scabbard, for tied to the tree was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and at her throat was a black and bloody dagger held by a masked bandit. With a yell, Shisin sprang forward and launched himself at the bandit.
Even as he swung the Phoenix Sword to attack, Shisin knew the stroke was off. Without thinking, he had used his still-healing right arm, and the sword was still too heavy. Yet somehow as soon as the edge of the blade touched the man’s ragged cloak, the bandit disintegrated into a crumpled grey heap like old bones and ashes. Shisin looked from the ruins of the man to the edge of the sword, and saw nothing, no blood besmirching the blade. He felt his heart beating very fast, and a cold trickle of dread began to seep into his bones. He looked at the girl, who was still tied to the tree. She looked at him piteously, her eyes huge with what Shisin took to be terror. Her face was very pale in the silvery light, which Shisin now realised came not from the moon but somehow from the air around the girl. He looked at her and marvelled at her beauty. Her face was perfectly symmetrical, almost heart-shaped. Her eyes were classically almond-shaped, but the irises were the colour of bog moss. Her hair was quicksilver, flowing past her waist in long curling tresses.
“Are you hurt?” asked Prince Shisin, his voice trembling a little.
“Untie me, please,” she said, in a voice like all the music of the forest. Shisin quickly moved round to the side of the tree, and with one flick of the Phoenix Sword sliced through the ropes that bound her. She gave a cry of relief as the ropes fell to the ground. Shisin hardly noticed them fading into nothingness. The girl fell into his arms, and he marvelled at her lightness. She kissed him on the cheek, and he felt that the world had contracted to just this glade, with the tree and the girl at the centre. He felt an overwhelming desire for her flood him. He looked into her eyes.
“Thank you,” she said. Her eyes seemed to glow with their own light, a soft mossy yellow-green.
“Who are you?” he whispered.
“Come,” she said. “I will show you.” She took him by the hand, and led him out the far side of the glade, further into the forest. Shisin followed, unresisting.
Afterwards, he was never very sure how long they walked through the trees, though he remembered that the direction was generally upward. But eventually she led him into a cave in the mountainside, lit by a pale fire. She sat him down on a bed blanketed with the pelts of rabbits and ermine, kissed him on the lips, and began to undress him. Shisin was unable to move, and had no desire to. He desired only what was before him.
The fox demon had almost finished undressing him when there was a shout from outside the cave. The voice was harsh as a crow’s in Shisin’s ears, and he could not understand the words. The fox demon, though, reared up and turned towards the entrance, the beautiful face transformed by a snarl of hatred.
“Let him go.” Aygül held her own long curved dagger before her, pointing it at the fox demon.
The fox demon laughed, a musical laugh cold and sharp as icicles. “Let him go? Why, have I stolen your man?” It laughed again. “How are you going to make me?”
Aygül advanced a couple of steps. “This is the Curlew Dagger of the princes of Kerija,” she said evenly, hiding the tremor in her voice. “This dagger is blessed by the magic of the Great Spirit, Ruler of Earth, Wood, Fire, Water and Metal. It has ended the existence of more than one djinn in the desert. It will end your existence if you do not let him go.”
The fox demon looked at the dagger and growled. It sniffed uncertainly. “I smell no such magic, human.”
“Of course not,” said Aygül. “You think all magic smells the same? You think a demon from this side of the desert would recognise something from the land of Kerija?” Aygül stepped forward another pace, and the fox demon drew back a pace.
“I invoke the name of the Great Spirit!” Aygül called loudly and authoritatively. The fox demon hissed, and covered its ears. It was already changing its shape, the beautiful girl’s form slipping away like melting wax. A thing of fur and fangs and shadowy limbs crouched in the cave and snarled at Aygül. Only the eyes were the same. Prince Shisin seemed not to have noticed. He was still sprawled on the bed, half naked, eyes glazed. “Let him go!” said Aygül again.
“What will you give me in exchange?”
Aygül took another step forward, putting the point of the dagger to the creature’s throat. “Why do I have to give you anything in exchange?”
“If you kill me — though I doubt you really can — he will remain with me in the afterlife. Look at him. He is mine. I will let him go only if you give me something in return.”
A slow half-smile crept across Aygül’s face. “Very well,” she said. “There is a troop of men following us, demon. They are led by a warrior named Dahei, Captain of the Emperor’s Serpent Guard. Take them. They will provide better meat for you than this idiot prince of mine.”
The fox demon narrowed its yellow-green eyes as if thinking. “Very well,” it said eventually. “But if you have played me false, human, you will regret it, for I will seek you and take what is mine, wherever in the mortal realm you happen to be.” It vanished in a curl of silver smoke, and with a gasp like a man coming out from under water, Prince Shisin sat up.
8. The Desert of Glass
They stood at the shore of the desert and looked out across the sea of black shingle. The first of the dunes swelled a few miles away. Between the dunes and where they stood, the ground was relatively flat, but pebbled with what looked like chips of black glass. Prince Shisin squatted down and picked up a piece. It was icy to the touch, and the edge was surprisingly sharp.
“What is it?” he asked, turning it in his fingers.
“Obsidian,” said Aygül, peering at it closely. “I think.”
“You can make a keen knife with this,” said Feidao, picking up a piece for himself and examining it. “I’m surprised the Emperor doesn’t exploit this. Must be miles of the stuff.”
Prince Shisin frowned, trying to remember something. “My father said something about it once. Some reason why. But I wasn’t paying attention at the time.”
“Never mind,” said Aygül. “That’s not our business. We need the road across.”
They unrolled the map again. After the encounter with the fox demon, they had dared not linger in the forest, but had broken camp and hurried down the rest of the mountain as soon as Aygül had led Shisin, shocked and staggering, back from the demon’s lair. Feidao had been waiting anxiously for them. It was he who had woken Aygül when he awakened and realised Shisin was gone, but she had insisted on going in chase while he watched over the camp. In their hurry, and in the dark before dawn, they had missed the path. Now, the question was whether they had come too far south or too far north. None of them could agree, and Master Tian’en’s map was not detailed enough to help.
They were still arguing when Feidao froze, putting a finger on his lips. Shisin and Aygül fell silent. They heard nothing but the distant cry of crows and the whisper of the wind in the small scrubby bushes that stumbled toward the desert then petered out, but they knew Feidao’s hearing was the sharpest.
“People,” he said, barely audible.
“Where?” asked Aygül.
“That way.” Feidao nodded towards the north.
“Dahei,” whispered Shisin.
“It might not be,” Aygül replied. “But at least now we know where the road is.” A chill ran down her spine. The fox demon had not taken him.
Keeping low and in the cover of boulders and bushes as much as possible, they climbed the low ridge that lay to their north. They could see the road a little beyond that, and standing at the edge of the desert, Dahei and nine or ten men, each with a woolly-coated camel. He looked like he was debating something with a couple of his men. Prince Shisin and his companions crept back down out of their line of sight and looked at each other. They dared not speak. After what felt like an age, though it could have hardly been more than ten minutes, they heard Dahei give the command to mount, followed by the jingle of harness and then the soft crunch of camel’s feet on the gravelly road.
“What shall we do?” asked Shisin after a long while, when they could see the string of camels advancing into the desert, after they were out of earshot. “They were closer behind us than I thought. And with camels!”
“There must be a faster way through the mountains,” said Aygül, frowning. She was wondering why the fox demon hadn’t taken them. “Or they gained on us while we were at the Nameless Mountain.”
“They can go much faster than we can now,” said Feidao gloomily. “They’ll see pretty fast that we’re not ahead of them on the road, and if we take the road now they’ll find us when they turn back.”
“Unless…” said Aygül, examining the map again. “Look, the first oasis is here.” She jabbed a finger at a spot where Tian’en had marked the character for water. “But the road curves round like so, it doesn’t go straight. If we fill our waterskins and set out early, I think we could make it in one day without following the road. Dahei will have reached it by then, realised we haven’t been through yet, and turned around to search back this way.”
“Isn’t that a bit dangerous? Not following the road?” asked Shisin apprehensively. “It is the desert, after all. Not something to take liberties with.”
“Nonsense,” said Aygül. “The road is mostly for the convenience of camels and wagons. And it’s winter. I wouldn’t suggest it in summer.”
They argued back and forth for half an hour, but nobody could come up with a better plan. They used the remaining hours of daylight to walk a little further south, to be more directly opposite the oasis that lay in the midst of the dunes to the west. They made camp in a small hollow, but dared not light a fire. With so little sleep the previous night, they were all exhausted and slept, dreamless, despite the cold and the hard ground.
They awoke before the sun had pulled above the massy bulk of mountains behind them. Their breath puffed in front of their faces as they filled the waterskins from the tiny spring they had found bubbling from under a boulder rimmed with icicles and rimed with frost. As they looked across the black desert, all was quiet.
“Not even a bird,” said Feidao.
“We’re up before they are, today,” replied Shisin. They checked their bearing with the tiny pocket compass Aygül carried, and started out towards the dunes.
They had all become accustomed to hard walking, but they quickly found the scaly obsidian shingle to be heavy going. There were unexpected soft pockets where one leg might sink up to the knee. There were unevennesses in the ground, gently slopes where the stones rolled and slid and you almost had to run to make it to the top. Worst of all, many of the obsidian chips had edges like knives. Their boots were soon criss-crossed with tiny scratches and cuts into the surface of the leather, and Shisin began to worry lest the stones cut through the soles. Their progress was much slower than they had imagined. As the sun rose from behind them, turning the black to constellations of coruscations that hurt their eyes, their shadows stretched long before them and they saw that the dunes were still further than they thought.
By noon, they had made appreciable progress. The mountains behind them were smaller, and the sable dunes ahead were clearly closer. The wind had swung round to the north, and when they reached a shallow saucer-shaped depression in the plain, they decided to sit and rest for a short time beneath its lip, out of the cold wind. The sun had warmed the obsidian chips a little, and by sitting on their bundles they could avoid the sharp edges. As they settled, a small avalanche of scree rattled down towards the bottom of the depression, where there was a deeper central pit filled with rubble.
“I think we’re perhaps past the middle of this plain,” said Aygül, chewing a piece of mutton jerky and looking again at the map. “With the blessing of the Five Spirits — or the Great Spirit — we can reach the dunes before sundown. And with any luck, Dahei and his men will already have turned around and left the oasis.”
“Can I see?” asked Feidao, reaching for the map. As he did so, his foot dislodged another slightly larger stone, which rolled down the shallow bowl of the depression, gathering momentum and disturbing more scree as it went. When it reached the bottom, they all felt a shiver in the ground, like a tremor from far away.
“Did you feel that?” asked Shisin.
“Perhaps an earthquake, far off?” Aygül replied. They looked at each other uneasily.
There was another tremor, a little stronger. It seemed to come from the depression itself. And then the ground underneath them began to vibrate, in rhythmic pulses, building in intensity. The shallow sides of the depression shook enough to send everything sliding down towards the centre, knocking them off their feet as they tried to scramble upwards. With a desperate lunge, Shisin got to the top, then grabbed Aygül’s hand and dragged her up while Feidao charged to the edge and hauled himself over, his hands and face slashed by the scree. The depression was getting wider as the ground vibrated, and they scrambled to get further away. As they ran, flailing and staggering, Shisin saw out of the corner of his eye a dark shadow rising behind them. There was a clattering of falling stones. Then Aygül turned round and screamed.
The thing that had risen out of what was now a hole in the bottom of the depression looked like a huge black serpent, but with the horns and whiskers of a dragon. Its scales were the same colour as the obsidian black of the desert. Its lidless eyes were yellow, and it flicked a thin forked tongue in and out, scenting for its prey.
They ran. The serpent poured out of its hole, huger than any of them had imagined any beast could be. Its shadow fell on them as its head circled above them. There was no way to outrun it.
“Take positions! Back to back!” Shisin gave a hoarse word of command. The three of them pressed together. Shisin and Feidao had swords drawn.
“Do you have fire-powder?” Shisin asked Aygül.
“It was in my pack,” she replied. The pack that was now at the bottom of the serpent’s trap.
“May the Five protect us,” said Shisin. “Try to pierce between the scales. Go for the eyes, if we get the chance.”
The serpent lowered its head, swaying from side to side, as more of its body uncoiled. It began to circle round them, trapping them in a ring of glittering black scales, a wall as tall as Shisin’s height. Prince Shisin kept his eyes on the monster’s, the Phoenix Sword ready to strike. They were all breathing very fast, hearts hammering. The serpent opened its mouth, showing needle-like fangs ready to strike.
“Watch out for poison!” shouted Aygül. She held her dagger in both hands.
The beast’s first strike seemed to be a kind of feint. The head pounced down towards Shisin, but just before it got into range of his sword, it pulled back and continued circling.
“What manner of creature is this?” said Feidao. “Is it intelligent? I have never heard of such a monster.”
Before anyone could respond, the serpent struck again, and this time it was no feint. It swung in on Feidao’s side. Feidao leapt just in time, kicking off the monster’s jaw and bringing his sword down hard on its face in a classic Mountain Sheep maneuver. The blade rang off the hard scales as if they were metal plates. Feidao landed lightly on his feet, but the snake’s attention was now on Shisin, who was swinging at its fangs. Feidao put himself into a forward roll to try and get underneath the serpent’s head and stab it from below, but he found the underside of its jaw as well protected as the rest of it. The scales overlapped tightly, allowing no blade to slip between them.
“The nostrils! The eyes!” Aygül was shouting. Feidao rolled out from under the serpent just as Shisin managed to stab the Phoenix Sword into the creature’s gums, narrowly avoiding one of the fangs. A drip of poison rolled off the tip of the fang as the serpent hissed and withdrew its head sharply. The tip of the Phoenix Sword was wet with thick dark blood, but for the serpent it was no more than a scratch. The vicious head darted back at them as quickly as it had withdrawn.
While Shisin parried the fangs again, Feidao used the long haft of the Dancing Barley blade to pole-vault up to within reach of the serpent’s tangled whiskers and grab a handhold. The monster shook its head violently, but Feidao managed to clamber onto the top, clinging to one of the stumpy horns.
“Get its eyes!” shouted Aygül. She handed her dagger to Shisin. “Throw this! At the same time!”
Feidao poised himself to strike, though the snake was still tossing and rearing, trying to throw him off. Shisin back a little bit away and prepared to throw the dagger.
“I’ll take the left, you take the right!” he shouted.
Feidao launched himself into the air in a perfect parabola, the spearpoint of the Dancing Barley blade pointed downwards. At the same time, Shisin threw Aygül’s curved dagger. Feidao’s aim was true, and the blade pierced the serpent’s right eye with all of Feidao’s weight behind it, the spearpoint and the crescent blade sinking in until there was only a foot of the haft sticking out. At the same time, the dagger flew not towards the left eye, but the right. Shisin was never very sure afterwards whether he had misjudged the effect of the curve in the blade, or whether he had confused left and right in the heat of the moment. The dagger, razor-sharp, sliced Feidao’s face open then clattered to the ground. The serpent tossed its head again, writhing now in pain, and threw Feidao off sideways. He landed next to the snake’s body, which was twitching and undulating. Before Shisin or Aygül could get to him, the snake slid heavily over him, grinding him into the black obsidian. Aygül screamed. Shisin’s face turned grey.
Now the snake, drawn to Aygül’s scream, turned its head towards her. The Dancing Barley blade had destroyed one eye, but the monster seemed little impaired. Shisin leapt forward, knocking Aygül out of line of the fangs, and tried to get the sword into the creature’s mouth again.
“Come and get me!” he screamed. “Come on, come and get me!” He hardly cared whether he lived or died.
A heavy barbed spear, trailing green and black cords, came from behind Shisin and plunged into the serpent’s open jaw. The serpent whipped its head back as the spearhead crashed through the thin bone of its palate. The barbs then tore the flesh open further. Dark blood poured from the hole in its mouth, and slowly the monster began to back off. It turned, and slithered towards its hole. Shisin and Aygül both ran forward to where Feidao’s shattered body lay, then turned to face Dahei.
The Captain of the Serpent Guard stood poised with his hand on his sword hilt. There were just two men with him. They all looked at Feidao. Aygül knelt and closed his remaining eye. Shisin felt the tears running down his face, and his shoulders shook in the sobs that he tried to suppress.
“He was a valiant fighter,” said Dahei after a moment’s silence. “He is worthy of an honourable burial.”
“Why did you help us?” asked Shisin. “You could have let the monster kill us.”
“I could,” acknowledged Dahei. “But I wanted the honour of taking you myself. And the Emperor hardly benefits from a giant serpent terrorising his lands.”
“Where are the rest of your men?” asked Aygül, looking around.
Dahei spat on the black shingle in disgust. “Cowards and fools. Those that were not fool enough to be entrapped by that creature in the forest turned out to be weak enough to run rather than fight. They will hang from the walls of Hsienyang when I find them.”
They buried Feidao there in the desert, heaping a mound of stones over him. Shisin wept freely. Aygül’s face was like marble. When they had recited the words of commital to the Five Spirits, Shisin turned to Dahei.
“Take me,” he said. “I will not run. I will return to Hsienyang to face my brother, or you may kill me here. I will not fight. I deserve death.”
Dahei’s lip curled in scorn. “What, you lose one battle-brother and you think it’s your fault, is that it? You don’t even have the guts to fight for yourself, is that it?” He shrugged. “Fine, have it your way.”
“No, take me,” came another voice. Dahei spun round to look at the newcomer. Another Prince Shisin stood there, a few feet away, in fighting stance with the Phoenix Sword in hand. Dahei looked from one to the other in astonishment. Same torn clothes, same wounds, same voice. If the new Shisin’s face had not been in shadow, perhaps Dahei might have noticed the odd colouring of the eyes, bog-green. As it was, he signalled to his two henchmen to circle round and guard Prince Shisin and Aygül, while he drew the Viper’s Fang and approached the new Shisin.
The fox demon drew back one step, then another, sword held in a defensive stance.
“Come and take me,” it said.
Dahei jumped into Black Lightning, whirling forward in a move that should have brought his sword to the Shisin lookalike’s throat, but when he landed, the demon was a little further away, taunting him. Dahei leapt again, and this time the demon parried, turning into a complicated and unnameable move of its own. Dahei attacked again, and again. Each time he got close, the demon brought him a little more under its spell. His men looked at each other uneasily, and at Prince Shisin and Aygül.
“Men, to me!” shouted Dahei. He was already a little distance away.
The two Serpent Guard looked at each other again, then chased after him. Shisin and Aygül watched as the fox demon led them away, back towards the mountains and its hidden lair. When their figures were small against the desert, Shisin put his arm around Aygül. They turned back to look at Feidao’s grave, and for a while the two of them sat down on the torn-up ground and wept, until the sun lowered into their eyes from above the dunes.
“We should press on a little further, away from this place,” said Aygül eventually. “We can still make the oasis tomorrow. And we don’t have Dahei to worry about now.”
“Was that the fox demon?” asked Shisin.
Aygül nodded. “I promised it Dahei, in exchange for you,” she told him. “I have to admit I was worried when it showed up.”
Shisin looked at the ground, then looked Aygül in the eyes.
“Aygül, my love. I can’t do this any more.”
“Do what?” She clutched his hand in sudden fear.
“I cannot follow this path any more. I cannot take revenge on my brother. All I have done is hurt everyone who has tried to help me.” He started weeping again, and buried his face in his knees.
Aygül stroked his head gently, tears filling her own eyes.
“What shall we do, then?” she asked when he looked up.
“The Valley of Kingfishers,” he said. “Let us go south and look for the Valley of Kingfishers, and live out our days in peace. Do you remember what the old man said? Tieshu? ‘Revenge is a long road, and if you walk it you will walk it all your life,’ something like that? Let us allow heaven to take vengeance on my brother.”
Aygül nodded, only half reluctantly. “The monk said something like that too. I hope he’s right. I hope you’re right.” They got to their feet, and started, slowly and painfully, back towards the mountains and the road to the south. The road to the Valley of Kingfishers.