Bridge Across the Land Page 22

  “Is it the Mongols?” Angela pants, eyes shining like gems. Touching his body again after a long time, for some reason she is just sad.

  “Right, you hang on to the reins first.” Tianyin speaks cautiously, stuffing the ropes into her hands and carefully avoiding the young woman. He slowly draws his silver sword. Grabbing it by the handle, he rapidly pierces the tree trunk and drills a tiny hole so light instantaneously leaks into the dim room. Wisps of light compensating for darkness, floating dust dance in the air. Angela squints. Tianyin props himself forward and peers through the hole. His nose and eyes are bathed in light; his blackish eyelashes move slowly. Danger freezes on his brows and he is armed and prepared.

  He only sees the Mongolian soldiers reach the edge of the river, braking out of fear of water. There are approximately 100 people, all bear bows and knives. However, their battle formation is chaotic as they stand encircling like stars. Looking down, there are several large dogs in the circle shaped like lions and at a height that is almost to the stomach of the horses. They have black fur with bristles. They bend over to kiss the ground and sniff the river shore, toiling the fertile soil and focusing intently as a part of a careful search.

  Tibetan mastiffs! Tianyin twitches inside and suspends his breathing given the chill. He thinks to himself, oh no; he did not think Lacson is able to move Tibetan mastiffs to capture him. This crisis is just ahead, a fierce battle is probably inevitable. The tips of his fingers are icy and he secretly tightens his fists, hoping to warm up by circulating his blood. The black hounds are leonine, a specter of devilish shadows. He rigidly crouches down to peer at the scene; he is extremely tense. He only feels his scalp numb and frozen, his ears shut down, his blood flow is constricted and his stomach and spleen burn.

  How . . . . will he avoid the sensitive smell of the Tibetan mastiffs? How will he as one person defeat a hundred soldiers and ten wolves?

  At a loss for solutions . . . .

  Since Wonbayer’s defection and since Angela became his younger sister . . . . he has already lost all solutions . . . .

  Wisps of ray brush over his face, Tianyin is frozen and stunned, retreating to sit beneath the shade. His steely brows knitted together. Angela gasps and her heart jumps. She clings to the bark and asks pronto, “Where are they now? They can’t find us, right?”

  “No problem, they have not crossed the river yet.” Tianyin lies to cover his worry. His eyes still glued to the hole. Forcing himself to remain steady, he thinks hard about a battle plan while cold sweat slides down his temples.

  Angela does not understand. She squeezes over, half kneeling and leaning over; she peeks through the hole.

  Tianyin’s face is a green and pale; his back is benumbed and freezing. He leans and stares at the heads of the horses through the slit; his thoughts a mess. He has no plan of escape and yet no matter how hard he thinks, his head is still blank. He minds the innocent glimmers of the horse eyes outside the cave and only wishes that he can hurry up and wake up from this nightmare.

  Next to the Volga River, Lacson’s bean-like eyes roll swiftly, wearily attending to the straight flow with rolling waves and green mountains that surround. Impatient, he taps his five fingers frustratingly. He turns his head and sees the cadets who train the mastiffs are still circling about, searching for imprints and smell. Several Tibetan mastiffs hesitate, lifting their heads and pacing back and forth, questioning the scent.

  Lacson cannot bear it any longer, he takes a few steps across and back, yelling, “Enough already! Xirimo, how much longer will you be smelling?

  The head trainer for the mastiffs stands up straight and responds, “I don’t know, it seems as if the scent was interrupted here, when the other smells disperse later then . . . .”

  “Of course it has been interrupted!” Lacson stands akimbo and snorts, pointing at the Volga River behind him and says testily, “Don’t you see such a large river? They have crossed the river for certain. What can you smell if you keep sniffing here?”

  “Then—” The young Xirimo opens his eyes wide in shock, the rest of the mastiffs trainers also halt too.

  Lacson grunts arrogantly and orders, “Listen everyone, build rafts and cross the river!”

  Puffs of clouds stroll at leisure; the golden wheel moves sluggishly. The mountain ranges watch muted and flying birds observe from on high. The freezing water tumbles endlessly, occasionally scraping the shore with crushed ice. The cold wind whines and whizzes along the banks, accompanying the sounds of wood-chopping and twigs breaking.

  In a while, more than twenty wooden rafts are tied together and a hundred horses carry bundles of floatable log. As soon as Lacson waves his arm, the Mongolian soldiers push the rafts into the water, paddling while hanging on to their reins, planning to cross the wild waves.

  Through the hole in the ancient tree is a flicker in the eyes of a leopard, Tianyin’s dark eyes alert and clear. Tianyin notes that the Mongols are about to get into the water, each moving slowly and terrified; an idea suddenly flashes across his mind.

  Yes! This is the only opportunity.

  He darts out of the tree trunk, bending his head and extending his hand to Angela, “Quick, come out!”

  “Huh?” The young woman’s crystal eyes are wide and stunned. She takes his hand and comes out, asking, “What is the matter?”

  Tianyin moves swiftly and adroitly, his serious pupils keen and he does not look at her. Quickly he unloads a cloth bag from the horseback, opens it to verify. Inside it are the ninety-nine Mongolian arrowheads wrestled off at Tavalu Village, their steel tips squeezed together densely and their venomous blades surround each other. After he checks, he expeditiously ties the bag around his waist and says, “They are going to cross the river, I am going to sink them, getting as many to drown as possible. You ride the horse toward the east first, run as far away as you can.”

  Angela is shocked, her white teeth shown and her eyes stubborn and anxious. She peers at the Volga River, takes a step forward and drags his horse. She speaks with determination and insistence, “No, if we are going to go, let’s go together!”

  Tianyin’s harsh brows finally face her, startled all of a sudden in the face of that set of physician’s eyes that stare obstinately. After a while, he returns to his icy viciousness; His stern face is blackened and he allows no more words, “They have Tibetan mastiffs with them! No matter how far we go, it will be useless. Miss this river and there are no other chances!” He finishes talking and pushes Angela by force, gritting his teeth and ruthlessly saying, “Hurry up and get on the horse!”

  The young woman is coerced to sit on the saddle. She hears him say by her feet, “Uncle He has a son and a daughter, Heng Zhou and Zhen Zhou who are in the fabric business in Hangzhou. If you don’t see me, go and find them. There is money in the bag—I will naturally go find you, hurry up and go!”

  Those words fall like hail. Angela snorts coldly and pants angrily, shivering at his words. What does it mean to go to Hangzhou? What does it mean if she does not see him? How can he say such a thing . . . . She throws one foot over and is about to get off, fighting rebelliously. She struggles stubbornly, “No! No! I want to stay and help you!”

  The Mongols have started to cross the river. Tianyin looks and burns with anxiousness, angry at her insistence. He harshly and cruelly scolds, “Go—I don’t need you!!”

  “But I need you!” Angela immediately responds with sincerity and insistence. Her blue and black eyes glistening with authenticity, sincerity and sadness, choking up with rosy waves.

  The two become silent, a gloominess permeates quietly.

  Is this emotion finally expressed?

  Tianyin is pained with grief, watching her looking disparaged and nervous. He turns his head and says nothing. The two of them are the only ones left on this journey now, how could this not be a mutual need? This bitter fruit of today w
as buried step by step eighteen years ago. It is enough that he alone swallows it.

  He ogles the ancient tree and tries his best to cover his hurt, suppressing his breath and saying steadily, “Listen to me, Mongolians will not kill me if they don’t find you because I am the only one who knows your whereabouts—hurry up and go.”

  It seems reasonable. Angela is about to argue again when she hears the sound of a whip, Tianyin whacks the horse’s behind from its back, “Ah!” The pained horse below her straddle shoots out, like an arrow leaving the bow. Unexpectedly she is on a bumpy ride with the whooshing of the wind and the scenes around her blurry.

  Trying to control the rein is useless, the young woman has to force herself around. She sees Tianyin with that bag of arrows by his side turn toward the river like a hawk, the outline of him grow increasingly small.

  Tianyin’s feet generate wind and his boots take flight on the walk. He steps here and there consecutively, retaining the bag of arrows at his waist. He taps trees moving through the forest, as agile as an intelligent jackal. In a blink of an eye, he reaches the riverside. He lifts his head and sees a tall tree standing strong, the spring leaves are just sprouting and its foliage holds up the sky while it faces the gigantic river. With a leap, he steps on the trunk and gets to the top, crouching among the branches and leaves.

  He sees the river blocking and full of soldiers shaking on the rafts. The Mongolian horses carrying logs are swimming dizzily. The Tibetan mastiffs’ bristles are wet as they tread water. The wobbly waves sway softly, quite different from being on horseback. No one knows swimming and are all flustered and muttering to themselves.

  Tianyin’s incisive eyes are stern. Lifting himself up and stepping lightly, his left hand pulls several arrows from his bag and the right hand takes them smartly. Three fingers handle each simultaneously. He crouches lightly and exerts his arm, bouncing one off the toss of his wrist and leaving his palm, the broken arrowhead suddenly does a flip in the air, shoots out forcefully, slides above the silver ripples and pop, stabs into the neck of a Mongolian soldier. The man shrieks in horror, takes one giant step back and hugs his wound while blood burst forth. He is about to plummet into the waves when he clutches his companions helplessly. As a result, five or six people do not know whether to advance or retreat, the raft staggers and people fall, an extended series of plunks.

  Abruptly the whole army is in chaos. Lacson hangs on tight to the edge of the raft, before he even realizes what is going on, he sees another anonymous arrow rush forth, shattering someone’s eyeball directly. Cringing in pain, that person hits the water with a bang. Faster than can be described, another broken arrowhead fires quickly like a cannon, hurting endless soldiers. Even for those who are not shot, they lose their balance as they try to evade the arrows so that they end up drowning in the fast waters. Waves splattering continuously, they struggle as they soak their arms and heads in the water, floating with the river into the distance or disappearing into the drowning water.

  Lacson is shocked beyond belief, drenched in a dirty mix of river water and sweat he screams, “Don’t be alarmed! Lie down! Hang on tight!”

  Tianyin stares viciously and frostily, extending his hand to grab arrows; with a toss of his wrist, he releases two bullets at once. This time he aims for the raft, one arrow cuts the brown rope that ties the logs together so that the floating raft suddenly dissolves, wood rolls, floats and disperses. The Mongolian soldiers fall into the arctic water in droves, hanging on to the logs and choking. Half of them are lost. The crazy arrows shoot again, trying to pierce the mastiffs. However, the Tibetan mastiffs swim quickly and hide themselves beneath the water as the arrows shoot lightly pass them, unable to do serious harm. Therefore he switches to attacking the wooden rafts again, the strident arrows fly and the brown ropes snap apart, unawares, three or four rafts disintegrate, more than a dozen enemies are extinguished.

  Lacson finds the source of the secret weapons with a visual check and suddenly sees the branches shake and leaves move in the tall tree by the riverside. He can make out a faint shadow. He explodes with rage and points his arm to screams hastily, “He is in the tree! Hurry up and shoot him dead with the arrows!”

  The rest of the Mongolian warriors crouch down on the rafts in a panic, hearing the order, they all stretch their bows but the waves shake and sway below them, the arrow has a hard time aiming in such unsteadiness. When they manage to release the arrows anyway, they are weak and imprecise. Tianyin evades adroitly in the branches, clutching the leaves and twisting his waist as he readily hides behind the tree. The incoming arrows plop down blindly and hit the tree trunk. He suddenly sticks half of his body out again and releases another dart during a pause and it hits exactly the arm of one marksman. The man’s bow and arrows fall from his hands. When he nervously grabs for them, he drops into the deep river, slapped by the waves.

  In this way, Tianyin’s series of ruthless arrows strike from the tree like pieces of chilly lights, they split the wind and shoot into the river, cutting flesh and damaging rafts. The Mongolian soldiers flounder up and down and plunk like dumplings about to drown; horrifying screams rise and fall. Lacson has not fallen into the water with the protection of his underlings, but he is cautious and hateful. Plus the tumultuous waves make him tired and nauseated; his clothes and pants are completely soaked.

  He waits to get on the other shore of the Volga River. The ten Tibetan mastiffs leaped rapidly, shaking off the water crystals. As the broken rafts reach land, the wet soldiers climb up, only twenty percent of the one hundred people remain. Most of the bows and arrows sank and the soldiers each appears to be tired and pale, trying to lead their horses on shore and unload the floating logs.

  Tianyin sees the other party gets on shore and knows that he cannot go on fighting. He suddenly twirls and hops on a branch, jumps onto the ground and rolls on his back. He leans over to call his horse, the smart horse rushes closer—

  Through the dense forest, Lacson extends his neck and scrutinizes. His mustache flipping up savagely. He screams at the people around, “Over there! Tell the Tibetan mastiffs to chase after him!”

  The mastiff trainers raise their hands and commands fall, the ten ferocious lions with hair standing on end and eyes red, jump simultaneously. They surge into the forest in a straight line like evil ghosts in search of blood.

  Tianyin abandons his bags and hangs on to his long straight sword alone. He lightly flips onto the saddle and sees the vicious mastiffs; he immediately raises his whip to escape. The brown horse strives freely and runs like mad—however, the leonine mastiffs are extremely fast, they arrive one step earlier. With sharp teeth like blades, creaking and screeching, they bite right into the horse leg and do not release no matter how it is kicked. The shocked horse bitterly neighs, twists and paces as it struggles with pain. The rest of the Tibetan mastiffs arrive in packs, biting on its four legs, drinking in its blood with mammoth teeth and pressing on the stallion so that it cannot move.

  Tianyin removes his saber and plows down, sticking it violently into the giant mastiff. It cries and whimpers but still refuse to let go at the mouth. Without warning, another lusty olf hops over, shuttling like black lightening and grimacing bestially with its white teeth. Its takes a crisp chomp of Tianyin’s calf. He immediately feels the piercing pain in his leg and is dragged down, warm breath spraying his skin. He casts his eyes down and sees a pair of golden eyes staring at him wildly.

  “Ah—” Tianyin yells furiously, grabbing the dog’s ear. That Tibetan mastiff swings its neck and back vigorously, leaning into his hind legs and dragging ruthlessly. Tianyin cannot compare with its mighty tug, he rolls off the horse and slams into the ground. The man and the mastiff are in a fight. He grits his teeth to resist tenaciously, searching for an opening to pull out his sword. He drags its fur with it, turn his hand over and slice the sword across. He cut its throat. Tianyin then kicks upward to get rid of the dog,
blood splattering so many feet away.

  Tianyin limps and leans against his sword, rising out of the red bath. He then sees Lacson arrive. Twenty Mongolian soldiers all pull out their weapons, sabers flash and they surround him.

  The pained horse strives like the comet, air streams vibrate the ear drums and the forests on the sides rush by in a blur. It finally slows down when they were several miles away. It steps tardily and relaxes. Angela’s hair is a mess as she held on to the rein and the saddle, back her straight, she was at a loss. She sees the dark clouds scraping against each other ahead and the white sky has no sun. She leans against her horse and turns her head. She tries with all her might to look and search, but the Volga River has long been left behind, the river line is invisible.

  The lusty horse below her bumps along in small steps toward the east. It strolls along. Angela frowns and does not know what to do. She just remains in a depressing stupor and let the horse go where it wishes. Her clear eyes sweep downward and her palms are drenched in sweat. A vein of fear climbs up her back. Is this okay? Can she just walk away like this?

  The one that he is sacrificing his life to protect . . . . is Dad’s real daughter . . . . not her, not her!

  How is Tianyin right now . . . . has something happened to him?

  Now the riverside is probably in a bloody battle, whereas she is running away into the quiet wilds . . . . escaping to a place where she does not belong.

  Vivacious trees align the sides of the path, the buds shake when caressed by the wind. Angela looks at those trees dejectedly, guilty and pained. She twists the rein tightly, stops the horse and stands in the middle of the road. The horse swings its tail helplessly. Her white teeth bite her lips and her breathing faint. Her heart is racing as she hesitates and as she catches a glimpse of the silent forest afar.