The Stone Road (11 page)

Chapter 15

Zhou pushed the telescope shut and shoved it back into his small bag. The glowing light that had surrounded the cattle enclosure had meant it was difficult to see what was happening but he had kept the scope to his eye throughout. Now he sat back on his haunches and pondered the events that he had been able to make out. It was clear that the cattle had reduced in number from three to two and that might be a problem for the treaty. Not insurmountable, by his memory, but on its own might be enough to dent the power that Hsin now wielded over the process and over Wubei.

Idiot
,
Zhou thought, the cattle are nothing compared to the murder of everyone here
.

Even at this distance he could make out a commotion in the camp and he retrieved the telescope, raising it to his eye. Focusing intently on the scene, he let his brain put together the likely action from the indistinct blurred motions he observed. There were shapes moving back and forth, smaller shapes of men, larger ones of horses and then larger still, men on horseback. It took barely a second for him to realise that this was not good news.

Stuffing the telescope, for a second time, into his bag, he jumped to his feet and took off at a fast run away from the camp and towards the foothills. His feet pounded down the slope and he did his best to stay on the lower ground away from the sky line. The last thing he needed to do was to give his location away to his pursuers. The grass was slippery under his thin leather soles and he stumbled to the ground, changing the colour of his trousered knees from pale cream to green. His heart thudded in his chest, so loud that he mistook it for hoof beats and glanced over his shoulder in panic, causing him to stumble yet again.

The foothills, and their cover of low scrub, would not be in reach by the time the sun set on the plains. But in the dark, he figured, he could move as fast as the troops from Yaart who had not yet seen him but was sure he was following. If he could just stay undetected until the last rays of the sun sank below the horizon he had a chance.

The small bag slapped against his side as he ran and he had to use one hand to hold it steady. The further and longer he ran, the heavier the bag strap seemed as it dragged at his neck and cut into his shoulder. The ache in his legs, as muscles screamed for oxygen, became his gauge to measure the miles. As he ran on and on, the lack of a good breakfast became more and more apparent as his stomach rumbled and legs trembled.

Each breath rasped down his dry throat and into lungs wearying of their task. He had to stop, his legs couldn’t carry him much further without rest. Yet he drove himself on, step after step, stumbling and staggering until, finally, he collapsed onto all fours. Despite every ounce of willpower his limbs would not obey his commands to rise and run on.

They’ll find me soon, he despaired, and I hope they make it a quick end.

His warm body drew moisture up through the damp earth to soak his robe. He lay, panting, staring up into the blue skies. The constant bright blue, with no point of focus, strained his eyes, causing them to dance back and forth, seeking that one object to lock their gaze onto. Eventually, the thumping of his heart returned to a regular, quieter rhythm, the rushing rivers of blood in his ears settled to a quiet ocean, and the fire in his limbs cooled to a delicate warmth.

He rolled over and ever so slowly crawled his way to the top of a low hill. Using the telescope, he scanned his surroundings. There, in the far distance, he could see the chasing party and he breathed a sigh of relief, they were heading away from him. He watched them for a while, careful to keep the lens of the telescope in the shadows. Once sure they were not doubling back, he let his forehead rest upon the grass. Then, sliding back down the slope he drew himself into a seated position and investigated the contents of the bag. A small rag-like towel, the telescope, a brush, sealed bottle of ink, some dried fruit and meat jerky. Not a great haul, but enough for three days, if he didn’t mind going hungry.

Eating a sliver of the dried fruit, he stood and started off, once again, towards the foothills. All afternoon he sweated in the hot sun and realised that whilst he may have enough to eat, water might be a problem. The plains were renowned for their abundance of springs or rivers. As evening fell, he ate some more dried fruit, trying to summon enough moisture into his mouth to dull the serrated edges in his throat. Tomorrow, at some point, Zhou was pretty sure he could find a village. The map in his tent, which he had studied in great detail during the building of the road, had shown villages in this direction. The map, and his memory, was not too good with scale, distance and, more worryingly, to whom the villages owed their allegiance. Hope was his best friend through the cold, fireless, night.

# # #

The sun rose, ending a sleepless night of shivering, and he set off again. The road was the only way back to the city but it was out of reach at present. The Yaart murderers would be marching down it and, no doubt, they would have some advance scouts looking for any evidence of his passage. He held one advantage, he had built the road, knew its path and needed no map. During the build they had to follow the flattest, easiest, route, and that meant it was not a straight path. It wandered left and right through the foothills, following the low land and that, he knew, meant that there were short-cuts. Especially for one man, one desperate man, racing killers on horseback and a cohort of troops escorting slow cattle.

# # #

              The small village, really just a few huts, a small pond and some shoddily fenced in fields was a welcome sight as the sun climbed towards midday. Zhou limped into the village, wincing with every step as the boots rubbed and chaffed the backs of his heels.

“Hello, the village,” he called and waited for an answer. When none came he called again. “Hello?”

There was silence for a second time. Zhou stood still and looked around the village, seeking signs of habitation. The huts were standing, though it was quite clear they were in need of repair.  Not unlike the other villages he had visited whilst building the road. The pond was covered in a green scum of algae and the grass in the fields looked too long to be have been recently grazed by livestock.

“Hello,” he tried once more. “Can anybody hear me? Is anyone here?”

There was no response, so he sat down and pulled off his boots. His heels did not look pretty. Blood flowed freely from his right whilst the left was blistered and a clear liquid ran across his fingers when he tore the white skin with a dirty finger nail.

He staggered over to the pond and brushed some algae aside, creating a clear pool within the layer of green. Dipping a cupped hand, he raised a small puddle of water to his lips and tasted it. Brackish, rotten and disgusting, he spat it back out quickly. He bent over the still water and stared at his reflection in that tiny, rippling, mirror. A dark smudge of two days’ growth mingled with the dirt on his chin and cheeks, obscuring the normally smooth and perfectly cared for olive skin. His dark eyes looked dull and his hair was ragged, sticking out, un-oiled and un-styled.

He checked on the huts. Of the few, only one was truly habitable. It had a small, rickety, pallet on the floor for a bed and fire pit in the centre. Grass and weeds were growing through the hard packed clay floor and though there were one or two unbroken pots there was no food anywhere. He sat on the bed and considered his options. The stone cattle were slow, the scouts could not get too far ahead of the main body of troops and the road went quite a distance out of its way to avoid the worst of the foothills. The short-cut would save him a few days of travel, though the slopes were likely to take their toll on his legs and feet. All in all, he reckoned, he could spend a day resting before he had to move on.

Decision made, he grabbed the biggest surviving pot and dragged it to the pond, filling it with water after clearing more algae away. He salvaged dry wood from the other buildings and built a small fire in his hovel he had chosen. Hanging the water filled pot above the fire he left it to boil away and, leaving his boots behind, went to search the fields. Not far from one of the houses he found a vegetable garden and though it looked like it had not been tended for quite some time he was able to dig up a few small tubers and onions from amongst the weeds.

He placed them near the fire and unhooked the water pot. Transferring some steaming water to a simple clay bowl pot and, rehanging the boiled water, he patiently waited for the decanted water to cool. He cleaned the dirt from the vegetables using the still warm water and then threw them into the boiling water to cook. With the last of the cooling water he washed his feet, broke the forming scabs and let the blood run freely for a time. Lastly he washed away the fresh blood and with it, he hoped, any infection.

The wait for vegetables to cook was an eternity left alone with his thoughts. His patience wore thin and he used a splinter of wood to stab the vegetables as they bubbled to the surface and took a bite. They were green, bitter and the most disgusting vegetables he had ever tasted but he forced them all down. He drank the left over stock, then dragged the pot again to the pond to refill it and boil some more. He fell asleep, on the pallet, as that second pot of water cooled. The fire danced in front of his eyes, illusions of home flicked and played in the flames, enticements and invitations to dream.

The day after, he set off again. The small bag contained his supplies, a meagre collection of cooked vegetables and a leather water bottle that he had scavenged from the ruins of one hut, full to bursting with cooled but still brackish water. He carried his boots, there would be time for his blisters to heal properly before he would need to wear them again in the mountains. It was going to be a long walk but he was satisfied he had supplies enough to reach the next village.

# # #

“This is your third pathetic attempt to de-rail the peace process, Zhou, and you have been back in the city for week,” Hsin said with venom and Zhou watched the diplomat's arrogant gaze sweep the assembled council. “One of my spies spent weeks with the army, he trained with them, he listened to them, soldiers and commanders alike. All the talk was of peace, and the need to complete the treaty. We have, all here, heard his evidence and yet you persist with this fiction, no doubt to cover up your own failings. Must I remind you, and this honourable council, that my nephew's reports detail your behaviour during the meeting with the Yaart? He had no choice but to dispense with your services and send you home in disgrace. Yet here you are, attempting to tarnish his honour, and cause us to doubt the success of the treaty that I negotiated with the Yaart, with wild stories of a slaughter. Oh, and let us not forget the exciting story of your own escape and survival against the odds. Pathetic.” Hsin pointed a finger to the ceiling, “Even today, a rider brought word from Chung, who accompanies the Yaart honour guard, that within a few days he will be delivering the promised cattle to us. Wubei will be rich and powerful, a force within the wider empire.”

Hsin sat down and folded his arms across his chest and glared at him. Zhou moved to stand, anger granting strength to weary legs, but a firm hand grabbed his arm and stopped him.

“Don’t,” his Father-in-law said. “You’ve given your evidence, such as it is, and we can sink no lower in their eyes. All our tiles have been played in this game. There is no more we can do.”

Zhou turned to the older man and opened his mouth to speak but there were no words to be found.

“Zhou, you’ve never been quite the son-in-law I imagined you could have been but in this, I believe you. They do not. It is time to leave.” His Father-in-law stood slowly, gave an absent-minded bow to the council and left. Zhou followed meekly behind.

Out of the wooden building, but shaded by the covered walkway, the two men walked past other bureaucrats and administrative staff who were bustling about. The walkway formed a large square around an ornamental and exquisite garden. Father-in-law stepped onto the cut grass and moved to an empty bench. Zhou paced back and forth.

“Our family star has fallen far, Zhou,” Father-in-law spoke just above a whisper. “Not so low that we have no friends or power but we are weakened. It is my fault, pushing for a place on the diplomatic mission and yours, for not following orders. We have both been remiss in our duties to our ancestors. However, you have given us fair warning, the treaty is a blind to Yaart’s true intent. You do not murder officers of the province you are making peace with.”

“Then why don’t they listen?” Zhou stopped and turned to face the old man.

“They listen but only to Hsin. His star has risen so high that his family may soon be joined to the duke’s. Another nephew of Hsin, my contacts reliably inform me, is to be promised to the duke’s granddaughter. We cannot compete at the moment, and perhaps, not for many years to come.”

“Father-in-law, there must be something that can be done. Hsin’s actions are going to endanger the whole city. The army must be prepared, the militia called up. We built a road, a jade dammed road, to our city that is strong enough and wide enough to march an army along.”

“Hsin doesn’t see because he does not look. His gaze is inward to the city and upward to the heights of royal position. All the others follow his eyes. There is nothing to be done, you must get your family ready to depart. Take them to safety. Go, we will talk tomorrow before you leave.”