The Pirate Empress (48 page)

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Two days and two nights they traversed the hostile land with no water in sight. Had they made a mistake? Were they going to die in this empty hellhole? The desert flats showed nothing but wave after wave of arid sand. The pattern was not unlike the scales of a giant carp, rippling for mile after crippling mile. Did Alai know where she was going? When he thought of the lush green gardens and ripe farmland where the majority of the Chinese lived, he suddenly understood the thirst of the steppe folk to live there, too.

He Zhu wrapped his mantle around Peng to protect her young skin from the scourge of charring sun and blowing sand. His breath shortened and his eyes widened as they approached a strange land. Here the air was less choking. The wind blew steady, but soft. Planes of crystalline sand fashioned waves across the desert like a beach at low tide. Drifts formed, rising into dunes, and as the sun dipped in the northern sky and the day’s heat faded, the wind died. The red gold land lay bare. Nestled on this stark landscape, cut by shadows, Zhu spied the tents of a village.

The tops of the hide tents were in shadow, but the lower sections glowed from lanterns burning inside. The moving figures within cast sharp silhouettes. The sun dropped below the skyline. Without its heat, the air grew keen and He Zhu hastened to get the children someplace warm. But something gnawed at him. Why would the Xiongnu harbour Chinese children? The Chinese were their enemies.
Am I not just leading them to their deaths?

Alai touched his arm. She was riding beside him, her head and torso bobbing in rhythm to her trotting horse. She had reached out with her free hand, the other clutching a sleeping Wu to her breast. “Don’t worry. I’ve been away long enough to invent some story concerning these youngsters that my people will believe.”

Zhu tucked his mantle closer to Peng to ward off the night chill. “They won’t believe that they’re your children. You’ve not been married long enough to have kids of this age.”

“But if they were
yours
, and I was your new wife? That they might believe.”

“They would accept a Chinese husband?” he asked.

“If you bring them valuable gifts—like that ring you wear—they will accept anything. Have you forgotten? Times are tough.”

Zhu narrowed his brow in suspicion, turned his head to her, and reined in his horse. “What do you know of the Tiger’s Eye?”

“Is that what the stone is called?” Her horse stopped, snorted. It shuffled its feet, churning up sand as though it resented its stride being halted so abruptly.

“That is what the monks call it. It’s a holy stone. It has powers that only those of the monkhood can use. I cannot part with it.” And he had nothing else to offer except for the Scimitar of Yongfang. He glanced down at the bronze tip of the blade where it peeked out from under his mantle. Surely, Master Yun had not meant for him to give the sword to its ancient enemy?

“I can see my old camp,” Alai quipped, and spurred her horse to a gallop. “Come! I can’t wait for my family to meet you.”

Every nerve in his body alerted him against defying Master Yun’s warning. Despite the embracing appearance of the lantern-lit tents, and the warm comradery displayed by the silhouettes inside their hide walls, Zhu shook off a brain-numbing chill. As a soldier he had spent much time on the frontier. He had heard tales of the alien lands deep in the haunted plain where none but savages thrived. Out west, they said, in the kingdom of the Scorched Mountain and the Coldhot River, rabbits looked like lizards and snakes like hares. Men grew arms front to back and flying creatures known as the Mad Birds went about in officials’ caps.
Only legends? Ha!
The warriors used to scoff at the stories as they sat around rubbing their hands over weak fires during the bitter winters in the days of the wall building. But Zhu dared not scoff now. He had witnessed the incarnations of legend come to life. They lived in the bodies of
Fenghuang
and Tao, the hopping corpse.

“Your parents will not accept me,” Zhu said with conviction as he caught up to her.

“You don’t know that. Besides, I will
make
them accept you.”

“It isn’t me I’m concerned with. It’s the children. They must be kept safe until I or Master Yun return for them.” He retrieved his helmet from where he had strung it to the rear of the saddle when they first entered the wasted plain. He yanked it down over his head and felt the red tassel twirl in the breeze. “Go to your father’s house, Alai. Tell him you have returned home with a great gift. And tell him you have children who are in need of his protection. Tell him to come outside, here, to me.”

“But why won’t you come with me? The camp sits only a few paces away. We can all be warm then, inside my father’s house.”

She glided off her horse taking Wu with her. The boy was asleep in her arms. He was too big to be carried, but she was strong. The way she held his nephew touched something tender in Zhu’s heart. He alighted, too, taking Peng with him, and shifted her on his shoulder while she murmured, and then awoke. He tapped Wu on the arm and he groaned. “Uncle. Where are we?”

“We have arrived in the country of the Xiongnu. Now get yourself on your feet. You are too old to be held like a babe.”

Wu slipped from Alai’s arms to the ground, stared around him at the welcoming encampment and the cold sand and shadowy dunes. Zhu lowered Peng to the ground and passed her by her hand to Alai. Then he dropped to his knee to speak to the boy. “Wu. I must leave you soon. You will go with Alai and live with her people. They will train you in the ways of the ancient horsemen.”

“Uncle Zhu.” Wu lowered his voice and beckoned his uncle to lean closer. Wu wrapped his arms around Zhu’s neck as if in a parting hug. He whispered into his helmet. “Why do you trust these desert folk? Are they not just like Esen and his Mongols? Won’t they rather kill me than train me?”

Zhu drew his head back so that he could see into the eyes of his nephew: so much wisdom for one so young. “They are not of our time, Wu. Killing you will bring them nothing.”

“But what will
keeping
me bring them? I have been a captive long enough to know that the hostage is only as good as the ransom he brings. Nobody does anything for nothing, Uncle Zhu. Esen taught me that. While in his captivity I lived only because I was of value to him—first when I had the gemstone, and then when you took that from me, because I was Chi Quan’s son. He could still barter with that. But these people know nothing of my father, the great brigade general, Chi Quan. They care nothing of his greatness and get no reward for taking care of me. Why should they do it? And why would they ever even consider protecting Peng. If I overheard you and Master Yun correctly, Peng is a fox faerie!”

He slapped a hand across the boy’s mouth. “You must keep that a secret. Never divulge that piece of information to anyone! Do you hear me?” The boy already possessed the reasoning powers of his great grandfather. It was frightening. He was also dead right. Zhu could not risk leaving the boy or the foxling unprotected. He Zhu rose and locked eyes with Alai.
Can I trust you, Alai?
Why did he think that he could? “Bring your father to meet me,” he repeated to her.

Alai sucked her lips together to moisten them, turned and led her horse into the campground while Zhu and the children waited.

Zhu briefly glanced at Wu. “Do you like Alai, Wu?” he asked.

Wu shrugged, then nodded. “Yes, I like her very much. But she is not my mother.”

“No. Nor will she pretend to be. The only mother you will ever have is Li. Lotus Lily. My sister.”

“You like Alai, too,” Wu said with a coy smile. “She is very pretty. And very strong.”

Zhu nodded and ceased to speak. Inside one of the larger tents there was much celebration at the reunion of daughter and family. Shadows moved joyfully; the figures did not bow formally like they did among the Chinese. They were actually hugging.

“Alai’s family is happy to see her,” Peng said. Both He Zhu and Wu turned quickly at Peng’s remark. Zhu had forgotten her presence. “I’m bored,” she said. “And hungry. I want to eat. Where’s my mother? She always brings me meat.”

“Alai will bring you meat,” Zhu said. “Just as I have brought you meat all these days journey.”

“I don’t like the meat you kill. It is small and scrawny. I want something fat and juicy.” She stared at the camels and goats that meandered among the tents. “I want one of those!”

“Peng,” Zhu said, grabbing her by the wrist. “Those creatures are not for you. While you are among the Xiongnu you must eat what they eat.”

“Do they eat meat?” She salivated and licked her lips at the imagining of a haunch of goat. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked up at Zhu, eyes huge.

“I’m sure they do,” he answered.

“Good, because the Chinese do not eat meat much. They eat rice and noodles and fruit and leaves and all manner of things fit only for birds or fish.”

Zhu laughed. “Where did you hear that?”

“My mother told me. That was why we stayed with the Mongols. Their food is better.” She stared at him. “My mother says that you are Chinese. Do you eat leaves?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes leaves make good soup.”

“Oh, I am so hungry,” Peng said.

Wu pulled out a piece of jerky from a pouch at his waist. “Try this. It is horsemeat from Altan’s camp. I stole it when Esen wasn’t watching. He never fed me enough.” Wu generously shared the jerky with Peng, who scarfed it down immediately.

Zhu smiled. Well, at least the kids got along. Now, if only Alai could keep Peng from transforming into a fox kit at whim. Then, all would be well.

Voices came from the campsite and Alai, followed by an older woman, an older man and three younger men—boys really—stepped out of the tent that she had entered earlier. They were not dressed in silks like Alai. Their attire amounted to hide tunics scraped thin to resemble cloth, and undyed turbans. The entire group walked toward them.

“What bribe will you offer them?” Wu demanded.

“Silence. Take your cousin’s hand.” Zhu glimpsed out of the edge of his eye Wu’s startled brows.
Yes, nephew. You have a cousin who is a fox faerie, just as I have a daughter who is a fox faerie.
Wu cupped Peng’s hand and tugged her close, then gave her another strip of dried horsemeat.

“Greetings,” Zhu said, pressing his palms together and bowing low.

Alai’s entourage tipped their heads suspiciously, and Alai stepped away from her family to stand beside Zhu. “Honoured mother, honoured father,” she said. “This is He Zhu, my new husband. “As I told you, he saved me from the Emperor’s army and brought me home. These are his children. His first wife was captured by desert riders and killed.”

Zhu did everything in his power to keep his face from showing his astonishment at Alai’s improvisation.

“Welcome,” the old man said. “I am Alai’s father, Amon, and chieftain of this camp. This is my wife, Lia and my three sons Ton, Hap and Go.”

“My daughter Peng and son Wu,” Zhu said in response. He tried to keep a frown from creasing his forehead. This was too easy. Something was wrong. He couldn’t leave yet.

“My daughter tells me that you must return to duty on the wall. But first, come and refresh yourself. You and yours are welcome in my house,” Amon said.

Zhu couldn’t let Peng and Wu go with the Xiongnu strangers without protection. “A moment,” he said, bowing with respect. “A word with my son.”

He took Wu by the hand and led him out of earshot of the chieftain’s family, fumbled at his waist and tore a strong strip from his sash. He cut this with his knife and then slipped the Tiger’s Eye from his finger. Catching Wu’s eye, he bade him watch as he looped the band of the gemstone through the strip of cloth and fastened it into a knot. He draped the necklet over Wu’s head and without taking his eyes from his nephew’s, he said, “You are the keeper of the Tiger’s Eye once more. Do not take it off your body. Do not let a soul know you have it. If worse comes to worse, and you need it to save your life, then show your assailant what it can do, but be sure to let them know that it speaks only for you. It will save your life.”

Wu nodded gravely. “But that will leave you without a guide.”

“Your life is more important. Protect yourself. Protect Peng. Trust Alai, but no one else.”

Zhu tucked the gemstone under Wu’s tunic before returning with him to the small group who awaited them. “I can’t stay and sup with you,” he said to Alai’s father. “But I am forever grateful that you will shelter my children and my wife while I resolve matters on the wall.”

Amon sent his family back to the camp with the children. Wu looked back once and Zhu gave him an encouraging nod. Alai remained with her father, but held back as he gestured her to keep out of earshot.

“My daughter is moon-eyed over you, Chinaman. But no daughter of mine is allowed to marry the enemy. You live only because she demands that I let you go. And your brats will live only as long as
she
does because she has threatened to adopt your Chinese ways if I don’t spare their lives.” Zhu’s hand went to his sword, but Amon’s fist already circled the shaft of a dagger. “Try it and you die, foreign dog.” Zhu relaxed his grip, heart thundering like a drum. “Your emperor has left a wake of a hundred thousand Xiongnu dead on his path to the Imperial throne. Some of my sons are among those fallen. You come back, and I will kill you myself. You can forget about ever seeing your children again.”