The Stone Road (19 page)

“You have someone in mind, Captain?” Weyl gave Haung a shrewd look, and he felt he was being measured, but whether for promotion or a coffin he couldn’t be sure, “I’ll write the permission now, collect it from Marbu in the morning. Choose wisely, Haung, a good wife can be a blessing. A bad one, even disguised as a good one, can end a man’s career in an instant.”

Haung nodded and then bowed once more, “Thank you for the advice, Commander.”

“Make sure you heed it,
Jiin-Wei
.”

Chapter 23

Zhou stood amongst the ashes of Wubei.

The stone walls, once mighty and laced with enchantments, were just three or four courses high in most places. Across the ruins, small dwellings built from stones robbed from the walls had replaced the magnificent wooden residences that had dominated the city's skyline. Gone was the street plan of old Wubei, the passing weeks and months had aged the city more than the centuries of habitation before. Looking around, there was nothing of his home city that he could remember. Between the buildings, people shambled to and fro about the business of survival.

Summer was almost at an end and cold autumn winds would soon be upon them. Up here, in the mountains, autumn was the shortest season and it gave ground before the snow and freezing temperatures of winter every day. This disassembled city, with little in the way of resources and food, would be no place to try and survive the change of seasons. Zhou pulled the bedroll turned cloak tighter about his shoulders and neck.

Taking his best guess, he made his careful way to the location of his old house. There was nothing there, but still he sank down onto his knees and placed his hands deep into the piles of ash and fine rubble that had accumulated in the low remains of the foundations.

“I will avenge you,” Zhou whispered, “I miss you both so much, and I will be with you soon, once my task is complete. Wait for me, I will come for you.”

Tears dropped into the ash, binding it together in clumps. He filled a small pottery jar with the ash of his former home, his former life, and stoppered it with a cork. Tying a short length of string to the handle of the jar, he hung it round his neck, tucking it underneath the cloak and armour. The clay was cold against his flesh and its presence was uncomfortable, a constant reminder, just as he wanted it.

“You look well off, my friend. Care to share some of that money.” The voice, dark and unfriendly, came from behind him.

Zhou spun around, hand falling to the hilt of his sword. Two men stood there holding drawn swords and smiling at him through bristled faces.

“You steal those off your own soldiers?” Zhou backed away, step by careful step, and they followed.

“They had no use for them whereas I do.” The first man waved the sword in the air before him, violence and menace in the casual movement. “Now, hand over any food you got, and money, and you won’t get hurt.”

“I need the food and I need the money. So, with deepest regret, I am going to have to refuse your kind offer.” Zhou reached up to his face and slowly rubbed his ash covered hands down his cheeks leaving a dark smudge of soot. “People died for this city, and by this ash on my cheeks, I fight for them.”

Zhou drew the sword. The world changed to black and white. Red snakes slithered towards the two men and climbed their legs, winding a pathway towards their hearts. He screamed and leapt, sword following the snakes across and into their bodies.

Blood fell amongst the tears.

# # #

Zhou stumbled through the mountain pass. To either side, steep slopes covered in loose rock which skittered away underfoot with each step made walking difficult. Only a few pine trees, where there was the hint of soil to support them, broke the monotony of grey. The occasional boulder fallen from the mountain side, or deposited by flash floods brought on by the spring snow melt, presented minor barriers to be skirted or climbed over.

His bedroll cloak was secured by the sword belt at his waist and thin ropes on his arms and shoulders. The narrow valleys funnelled the cold mountain winds and every scrap of warmth was to be savoured. Thin gloves covered hands that, as much as balance would allow, he kept tucked under his armpits. The blisters on his heels had scabbed over and though his feet ached he could still walk. To stop would be death.

Zhou struggled up the slope around the latest boulder to block his progress, sliding on the layer of scree that coated the rocks. Under his foot, a thin slice of shale slid away and he fell onto his knees, reaching out to steady himself. He lay there for a few minutes, the cold, jagged rocks strangely comfortable under his back. Lying down, the force of the wind was lessened and he found himself gazing, hypnotically, at the grey clouds that washed across the sky.

It would be easy, he thought, to stay here forever. To lie back, relax, and let go.

# # #

Zhou chewed the last of the dried fruit he had stuffed in his back pack before he had departed the burnt skeleton of Wubei. From now on, there would be no fresh food, only that which he could scavenge from the landscape. He did not fancy the idea of eating grass, weeds or any small creatures he could capture but survival was the main concern, that and revenge.

Night fell, and in the mountains it fell like a stone. Finding shelter was a challenge, as was staying warm. The fuel wood had run out days ago and he had learnt that green pine did not burn well. The fire lighting flint was worn down to a small nub, barely large enough to create a spark. The largest threat to staying warm was the biting wind that stole Zhou's heat with every gust. A small barrier of stones was usually enough protection as long as the wind did not change direction in the night. Zhou was never warm, and sleep was only in fits and starts. Never enough to feel rested but enough to keep going.

Up ahead, in the descending gloom of the narrow valley he spied a likely boulder. It was low to the skyline and wide enough to curl up behind. Zhou struggled over to it and slumped down onto the rock floor. With the last of the evening light he scrabbled around for rocks the right size to go in his improvised sling, a piece of bedroll that he had cut off with the dagger. It was not much but the chance to knock a bird from the air, or catch a scavenging animal by surprise, was all he had.

His belly rumbled and ached as he lay down, flicking aside the large rocks, to try and sleep.

# # #

As the map had promised, Zhou shambled out of the mountain pass onto a well-worn miners track.

His legs trembled with every step and gaunt ribs struggled to draw enough air into his lungs. Every so often he was troubled by racking coughs that drove him to his knees. Each time, it was a struggle to clamber back up to his feet and keep moving. However, the village marked on the map could not be too far away and on a road marked by deep cart tracks he would meet someone soon. All he had to hope for was that they viewed him kindly. The end was near and his promise to his wife and son had not been fulfilled. Without that debt hanging over his soul, he would have given up days ago and let the wind carry him away.

Shuffling up the track, step by slow step, he kept driving himself onwards. By mid-afternoon, no one had passed him in either direction but rising columns of smoke indicated that the mining village was not far now. He quickened his pace, the promise of food, drink and a decent sleep giving energy to his tired muscles.

Up ahead he could hear the calls of human voices. He cocked his head to one side, trying to pick out the words but only the tone of alarm was clear. He tried to speed up even further but only succeeded in trapping a foot in the cart tracks and falling to the ground. He cried out in pain, a sharp stone slicing through his trouser leg and cutting deep into his knee. As he struggled to his feet, blood flowed weakly from the cut and trickled down his leg. He raised his arm, waving pathetically to the village, signalling for help.

He kept moving, dragging the injured leg behind. Ahead he could see the villagers gathering together, ready to meet him. Bleary and tired eyes could make out very few of the details as he came closer. The houses were made of a combination of a stone lower course and wooden upper sections. The street, and there was only one that he could see, lead directly into the mountain side. To his right, the rocky relief of the mountain. To his left, a steep drop to a small river hundreds of feet below.

“Stop there,” a gruff voice said.

Zhou looked up to see a rugged looking man holding a spear. The point was directed at Zhou.

“Where have you come from?” said the man.

Zhou waved a fluttering hand towards the mountain.

“You came across the pass?” The man’s eyes widened in surprise. “From Wubei?”

Zhou nodded, the slight shifting of his weight on weak and injured legs caused him to stumble towards the spear point.

“Keep away. Don’t know what you got, and we don’t want none of it.” The spear backed away a little but its aim did not falter.

“Need food, water,” Zhou croaked, using his voice for the first time in too many days to recall.

“We’ll throw you a bag of supplies. Then you head off, right? Back down the track. You ain’t coming in to the village.” The man waved at one of the other men in the welcoming party who threw a small bag and water bottle that landed at Zhou’s feet.

Zhou looked at it, confused by the gesture. He knew he was being slow, but try as he might he could not understand what they were telling him.

“Die. Soon,” he said, the full sentence slipping from his mind as soon as it appeared.

“Yeah, you have the look of death about you and that’s why you ain’t coming in,” the gruff voice spoke. “Pick up the food and water, then get going.”

Zhou watched the spear point jab at him, never coming close but making its meaning clear.

“Need rest.” Zhou’s dry tongue and wind cracked lip tried to form the words but they came out in a mumble.

“What’s going on here?” A new voice joined the general murmur of the hostile crowd.

“It’s him, Boqin, this stranger. He looks ill. Come from Wubei, over the pass. Got the death about him, plague probably,” the gruff voice tripped over itself in its effort to explain.

Zhou peered at the newcomer. He was dressed in miners’ clothes, a rough cotton tunic and trousers made of the same material. His bare arms were large, muscular and covered in thick hair. Zhou blinked at the man. Boqin, as he was called by the others, seemed to blur against the rocks and houses behind as if there were two of him. Zhou blinked a few more times, and wiped his eyes on a dirty sleeve.

“You’ve given him supplies?” Boqin asked and received a nod in return. “Then you have your stuff, man. Head off down the track. Just a few days walking is the main town.”

“Rest here,” Zhou mumbled.

“No. You won’t.” Boqin’s voice was not rough or threatening but it had the tone of one who demanded obedience whenever it spoke. “Get going. The people here do not want you here. I do not want you here.”

Boqin stepped in front of the spears and folded his thick arms across his chest. Zhou raised his head to look directly into Boqin’s eyes.

“Rest, here,” Zhou said again, slowly enunciating both words.

“And I said, no.” Boqin stepped forward, “Move on peacefully or I will make sure you leave.”

“No.” Zhou put every bit of force and will he could into his voice. Several days travel with no energy and a damaged leg was certain death. “Stay.”

Boqin took one more step forward and jabbed a meaty finger into Zhou’s food starved and skeletal shoulder, “Get moving now. No more chances.”

Zhou felt it. Flowing up from his feet, through his belly and into his throat. He growled at Boqin and his hands formed claws by his side. He saw Boqin’s eyes widen as the world moved from vivid colour to the now familiar black and white lines that outlined bodies and buildings in stark contrast. The red lines snaked across the ground and the growl deepened.

As the snakes approached Boqin they began to twist and writhe in pain. The first one dissolved into mist and then another exploded in a firework of red sparks. The other snakes kept their distance and flowed around Boqin, keeping their distance. Around Boqin's feet a circle of red formed, first as a line on the hard packed earth and then it started to rise in a low cylinder about his whole body. As Zhou focused his anger on the snakes, encouraging them to attack, Boqin’s shape flickered and altered from that of a large man into that of a gigantic bear. The bear growled and the cylinder of red exploded outwards destroying all the snakes. Sharp shards of red pierced Zhou's clothes, sinking into his skin and flesh.

White faded to black and Zhou felt the world tilt under his feet.

Chapter 24

The early morning sun played across his face and tickled his eyelids. Haung grunted and rolled over, his arm coming to rest across the warm flesh of his wife. He opened two sleepy eyes and took a deep breath. She smelled of sleep and comfort. His arm tightened around her and she shifted further into his embrace with a contented mutter.

Haung lay still, happy and snug, as the sun continued to creep higher over the horizon and further into the room.

“Get up, Haung,” his wife whispered.

“Stay here,” he quietly replied, giving her another squeeze and his hand began to wander down her body.

“Can’t. I have to get up. Lots to do today.” She wormed her way out his embrace and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Sitting with her back to him.

Haung propped himself up on one elbow and ran a slow hand down her back, “Just another few minutes, Jiao.”

“No, Haung, I know what your 'another few minutes' leads too and we haven’t got time for that.” Her dark hair swayed invitingly as she turned her eyes, brimming with mischief, on him, “Now, the rest of you needs to get up too.”

Haung watched her stand, letting his eyes trace every contour of her perfect olive skin as she started to dress. His propped elbow collapsed and he fell back onto the warm sheets with a deep sigh.

He enjoyed the feeling that he could just stay in bed all day, wrap himself in the blankets and the smell of her that lingered on them, but reality forced him up. Haung padded over to the wash stand and splashed cold water on his face then ran damp fingers through his hair. Ablutions done, he pulled on his captain’s uniform, followed Jiao into the small kitchen area of their new, married, quarters and sat down on the cushions next to the low table. Jiao put thick slabs of bread and cheese on the table, alongside two glasses of water.

“No tea?” Haung asked.

“I haven’t got time to start a fire and boil the water. If you’d let me get up earlier you might have had a hot drink instead of just your hot thoughts.” She smiled at him, and he could not help but smile back.

“The thoughts will have to keep me warm, I suppose,” he replied.

“See if you can get them back tonight and we’ll see what we can do about them.” Jiao gave him an impish grin.

“Duke’s off to a dinner tonight, Jiao. So it’s going to be a late one for me,” disappointment filled his voice.

“Again? All that man does is eat.” Jiao moved from impish to peevish in the blink of an eye.

“I know, but with the influx of refugees finally slowing down he has to keep the public leaders and councillors happy. Can’t imagine he is overjoyed at another night of people complaining they don’t have enough food, or clothes, or whatever.” Haung took a big bite of the cheese, ignoring the harder edges where it showed its age.

“I thought the supplies from Wubei and the plains were coming in now,” Jiao asked.

“They are but they were never going to be as much, or as fast, as they would have been if we hadn’t taken the city.” Haung lowered his eyes, fighting the vision of children hanging, like meat on the butcher’s stall, from the rafters of a house. He took a deep breath, forcing the vision out of his mind. An exercise in pointlessness, it would be back again and again, just like the memory of the blade sliding slowly into the woman's skin made him flinch sometimes when he handled his dagger.

“Then why do it? We had peace and people to feed,” Jiao asked him, licking the butter from her fingers. A sight which distracted him completely.

“I can’t answer that, Jiao. Please let's not talk about this again. I thought we’d agreed to avoid this topic.” Haung gave a little shake of his head.

“Well, you brought it up.” Jiao looked into his eyes and paused, “Sorry.”

Haung smiled at her. It was clear that she knew him much better than he knew her. She was a puzzle and a constant amazement to him. After pursuing him for so long, and capturing him, he often felt like he was her little toy to be played with for amusement. And being honest with himself, he quite liked that feeling.

“I’d better get going.” Haung stood from the cushions, moved round the table to kiss his wife gently on the lips. He pulled away laughing as she ran her tongue quickly across his lips. “I’ll see you later.”

“I’ll be asleep when you get in, wake me up if you’re not too late.” She gave him the imp-like smile again.

# # #

Haung stood behind the duke’s chair. The dinner that night was at the leader of the Cloth Traders guild. Wisely, the host had placed the duke at the head of the table but had not provided Haung with a chair. The large room was full of other guild members, all tucking into a sumptuous feast of meats, cheeses, and rice. The rice wine was flowing like a river in full flood and Haung could see some of the guests indulging perhaps a little too quickly this early in the evening. In the far corner, a single musician sat on a simple stool played a traditional song on his Guqin. The room was lit with candles and servants moved to and fro, refilling plates and bowls in equal measure.

Whilst the guests feasted and talked, Haung watched the musician and listened to each note as it sliced cleanly through the air, unimpeded by the noise of conversation. The long and low stringed instrument was being played by hands that danced with grace and lightness across it. Clawed fingers on one hand plucked the strings whilst the heel of the other hand slid along them developing bass notes which enhanced and deepened the melody. It was entrancing and Haung tapped his fingers on the hilt of his sword.

“Master Li,” the duke said, “is that Xi Jang you have playing for us tonight?”

“Indeed it is, my Lord, he came recommended by a friend,” said the guild master sat to the duke’s left.

“Your friend has good taste. I have tried to have the great scholar play for me in the past but he has always offered a polite excuse. You must tell me how you arranged his service tonight,” the duke paused and then in a mirthful tone continued, “I think my bodyguard would like to know as well. He seems hypnotised by the music.”

Haung snapped his attention back the duke, “My apologies, my Lord.”

“No, no, Captain, the Scholar is uncommonly gifted and it would be a crime if you did not listen when you had the chance. It should be me who should apologise for disturbing you,” the duke said and Haung felt a warmth of affection flood his mind.

Haung took a sharp breath and clenched his fists. The music had lowered the barrier in his mind that he always held when he was with the duke. The man had some power in his voice and it disturbed him that his feelings could be so easily discerned and manipulated. He had not felt the duke use it on him since he had entered his service as the Captain of the Guards. Taking a calming breath, Haung rebuilt the barrier, carefully, brick by brick.

“Again, my apologies, Captain Haung,” the duke said with a smile and this time Haung was sure it was not for disturbing the music. He was not sure it was even an apology.

Haung bowed to the duke, “None needed, my Lord.”

He returned to scanning the assembled guests and servants. His stomach felt empty as he watched them gorge themselves on the mountains of food placed in front them. Xi Jang carried on playing and Haung saw a small smile peeking out above the long, dark, flowing beard on the musician’s face.

As the evening continued, the candles burnt down but the wine kept up its pace. Haung shifted his weight from foot to foot on a regular basis, easing the pain in his legs. He had listened, with half an ear, to the Guild Master’s complaints about the lack of trade and low prices he was getting for the cloth. The duke spoke the same responses that Haung had heard on too many similar nights to recall.

Then, one of the wall carpets behind Xi Jang twitched and Haung moved without thought, grabbing the duke’s chair and pulling it over backwards. The duke yelped as he tumbled out, heels rising over his head in a backward roll.  Haung did not spare him a glance as he drew his sword and leapt over the table in front, pushing the cloth merchants out of the way as he scrambled towards the movement he had seen.

Xi Jang looked around in surprise as Haung vaulted over the Guqin to stab his sword through the wall carpet. It stuck something solid, not the stone that should have been there but wood. Haung tore the rug from the wall to reveal a small door set into the wall, perhaps only four feet high from the floor. Probably a bolt door, he thought, many rich folks had them as escape routes in their houses. Why hadn't the Guild Master mentioned it and why hadn't the advanced guards who'd checked the security of the room noticed it, Haung wondered as he kicked the door open.

He crawled, on all fours, down the passageway which twisted and turned in complete darkness. Ahead, he could just make out the harsh breaths of another and as they grew louder he knew he was catching up. The utter darkness changed to speckled grey, a clue that he was getting close to the tunnel’s end. Suddenly, he spilled out of the tunnel, landing in a steaming, stinking pile of horse manure. The horses in the stable began to neigh.

He staggered out of the stall he had landed in and checked both directions. The door to the left was swinging open and drawing his sword he ran for it. A dark shadow leapt out of the final stall and Haung was driven to the floor by his flying assailant who landed on top and drove a dark metal dagger towards his heart.

Grabbing the descending arm with one hand, Haung released his sword and reached for his own dagger. The assassin drove his other hand at Haung’s face and he was forced to give up on the dagger to defend himself. They rolled about on the floor. Haung bucked his hips trying to dislodge his attacker who was bearing down with all his weight. The dagger was still there, above his heart and the better position and greater weight of the assassin was slowly edging it towards his heart. Haung could feel his arm weakening and he was breathing heavily. The cold eyes of the assassin bored into his, promising death.

Haung tried one last burst of energy, twisting and writhing underneath the heavier man. Despite his desperate strength the dagger crept lower, its tip skimming his uniform. A horse neighed loudly and there was a loud crash as it kicked its stall door. The assassin looked around and Haung, seizing the chance and the shift of weight, rolled his body quickly to one side. The dagger scrapped over his breastbone, cutting the material and skin beneath, but the assassin fell off of him.

Haung could not stand up, he knew he was not quick enough and his whole body ached. The assassin rolled to his feet and picked up Haung’s discarded sword.

“You should not have followed, soldier boy.” The accent was strange and Haung couldn’t place it, “Now, you will die and I’ll get a second chance at the duke.”

The assassin jumped forward, Haung’s sword extended before him. Haung threw the small piece of paper he had dug out of a belt pouch when the assassin was taunting him and spoke a single word. The paper caught flame immediately and Haung saw the shocked look on the Assassin’s face as a fist of pure force caught him, mid-leap, and flung him like a rag doll across the stables. The dark robed man bounced off the stone wall and landed face down in a pile of straw. As Haung struggled to his feet, he saw the assassin try to lift himself up then collapse back down.

Haung shuffled across the stone floor and picked up his sword, put his back against the wall and slid down to sit next to the now unconscious killer. The pain in his chest reminded him he was still alive.