Bridge Across the Land Page 5

  Hesig’s lanky halberd is like a giant spirit that stirs up a storm. As the solid rod blocks nearby soldiers, the sharp wheel of blade cuts throats afar. As if sweeping ants from overhead, sweet blood blows over and black trees sway like the nightly patrol of the lord of hell. Wonbayer grasps the spear and whirls it with raw strength. That person in midair screams and drops dead. He smashes about with his chained hammers, with a crackle, both the rod of the spear and the man’s bones break. The rhombus battle formation closes-in. Kyrigu is in the center protected by three people. His brows tight and eyes bright, with an accurate aim and a harsh shot, arrows fly and metals hum, he deftly goes on the offensive first and eliminates all the marksmen in the royal army.

  His bandaged wound on the left shoulder is spewing blood, but Tianyin grits his teeth and defends the group with sword moving in patterns. Unexpectedly, he stabs an opponent’s armpit and slits the person’s shoulder and arm. He consecutively lies prone and twirls his sword above him to avoid attacks. He chops diagonally then draws arcs to the right and left of him using his sword. He cannot be overcome. When Kyrigu folds his bow and tears away from the team, he uses his arrows as blades. Seeing that Angela is about to fall off the horse, he tumbles to the ground and catches her, holding her up as she drops. Soon enough, the four horsemen have killed off the rest of the soldiers, leaving not one person alive.

  Boruc has long escaped so he is nowhere to be seen. Alexander sees how pathetic things are, being that all his guards are lost; he fidgets and rolls onto a horse but before he ran too far away, Tianyin lashes his whip to catch up. As a glimmer of the sword comes slashing down at him, he fearfully hides and falls off his horse.

  On the side, Kyrigu half kneels on the ground and slices the ropes around Angela’s hands with his arrowhead. Her gray eyebrows are tightly knit and her blue and dark brown eyes pop with red veins. As soon as she is free, she gets up and rushes forward, tumbling and falling; she protects Alexander with her body, she says emotionally, “Don’t kill him!”

  Alexander is holding himself up, sitting and soaking in his perspiration. He is dumb with timidity and his lips are the color of ash. The long straight sword that Tianyin is about to thrust stops halfway all at once. Angela gulps and extends her hands. Eyes following the fresh blood on his left shoulder, she block with determination despite her fatigue and breathlessness.

  Tianyin’s palm is facing up. He draws an arc on his chest and asks her to leave. The vehemence in his eyes has not dissipated. His cool viciousness is fierce and covertly angry. Angela barricades him as he moves, although she continues to break out in a cold sweat due to fear, she stubbornly guards her position. The other three people originally were picking up arrows in corpses walk over and see the impasse.

  Alexander suddenly knew the solution. In short and crude utterances, he speaks in hysteria there on the ground, “Angela . . . aren’t you their princess? Order him quick . . . Don’t kill me.”

  With messy and tangled hair, Angela looks at him with disappointment and seeing that Tianyin still has no wish to withdraw, she thought: if I am really the daughter of Mongolia’s Great Khan, then the legendary knife left behind by Father should represent the highest military authority. Her eyes circumspect while her heart beats rapidly; she digs into her waist and slowly raise that hooked knife high. She locks her sight on Tianyin’s pair of sable pupils. The Mongolian words on the sheath are not clear but as she raises it past her head, it is comparable to the bright moon overhead. The four cavalry scouts watch in silence, stiff like statues. Tianyin’s expression is unfathomable as he furrows his brows and considers. His eyes roll a thousand times until that wave of destructiveness receded.

  “Do they—understand?” Alexander asks like a coward.

  “Run!!” Angela leans forcefully and shouts mightily all of a sudden. Her voice is feverish as she holds up the knife, and endlessly furious. Alexander is awaken by that holler and rolls over to escape, rushing along in a flurry.

  Tianyin dodges and is about to chase after him but is blocked by Angela’s knife. He has to stop; he stares at her bitterly and stands with his martial skills suppressed. He tightens his fists and bears out his wish to chase. He watches that Pole disappear into the night.

  Shortly afterward, Kyrigu packs up his arrows and put on his quiver. He helps Angela step onto a horse while he controls the reins with his arms around and seats behind the saddle. Ushered by the feet of the young man, it is steady and fast. Side by side with Tianyin, he smiles genuinely like the radiant sun and says, “Big Brother Tianyin, excellent. It looks like she knows she is the Princess.”

  Tianyin is his usual seriousness and conscientious steeliness. He elevates his head and says, “Yeah, you should all treat her with courtesy so that she continues to feel that she is the princess. That way she will not run away again.”

  “Okay, I see.” Kyrigu looks at Angela in his arms and who does not know what they are saying, nods with all one’s might.

  “Go back immediately and move the camp tonight!” Tianyin orders as he raises his whip. The four stallions swing their heads and step over the carcasses of the Polish soldiers, clicking and clacking against the moon as they trot back.

  Who would have known that as they run for only a few steps, the troupe hears lone horses approaching them briskly and lightly; perhaps these are Mongolian stallions. The foursome turn their heads and look, the other party is just looking over too. Two Mongolian cavalry soldiers, whose shadows shuttle through the rayless night like movements of the loom.

  “Oh no.” Hesig whispers a sigh as he watches Tianyin waiting with a sedate expression.

  “Hey—Hesig! Tianyin! Kyrigu! Wonbayer!” The two men rush over in delight and arrive in a blink of an eye. One has a giant face like a plate and decorations on his ears. He is sturdy and solid. One has the back of his head shaved and a braid down his elongated neck. A sheep skin vest drapes over his shoulder.

  The elder Hesig warmly and straightfowardly responds, “Tamerlane, Mandalt! It’s you guys. Why are you roaming around here?

  “We will attack Krakow the day after tomorrow,” Tamerlane pulls on the rein and steadies his horse, saying, “The General sent quite a number of us to investigate the situation in the city. The forests east of the city are convenient for ambushes, so we came to check. You killed all those Poles earlier, you didn’t leave anyone alive, did you?”

  Before Hesig could respond, he heard Mandalt point to Angela with the handle of his whip, asking, “This must be that lost princess. Those eyes are different indeed. I had the good fortune of seeing Great Khan once. She really looks like him.” Kyrigu and Wonbayer do not utter a word, only exchanging looks. Angela looks at Tianyin. He is frosty and thoughtful, calculating and unfathomable, blades are buried in his glances.

  “Now that you have found the princess, what are you waiting for? Hurry up and go back with us! The General has been anxiously waiting.” As soon as Tamerlane’s words fall, Mandalt echoes him and urges too.

  When everyone stops talking, the temporary silence is awkward. A chill brushes by. In the dark, Tianyin’s expression is not distinct; just when the two are wondering, they hear Tianyin exhort crisply at once, “You two! Why don’t you get off your horses and bow when you see the princess!?”

  His warning is like thunder that shattered clouds, Tamerlane and Mandalt came to. Frightened at what they realize on the spur of the moment, they anxiously dismount and with both hands on their knees, they lean forward and bow, calling out greetings.

  Unexpectedly and suddenly, Tianyin winks at Wonbayer and Hesig. The old man immediately walks the horse and drills ruthlessly into the back of Mandalt’sheart as both bow unaware. His flesh rip and split; he screams miserably. Sooty blood splatters; the looks of his death is horrendous.

  Wonbayer hesitates and never moves. Tianyin is staring at him sharply and angrily; his look is as incisive as a lancet. T
amerlane cries strangely at the instantaneous occurrence. Just as he is about to get up and pull out his knife, Hesig has already pulled out his dirtied weapon. Hesig’s stabbing falls flat; but his moon-like hook comes round to assault. Tamerlane’s head immediately gets tossed aside and blood sprays the length of seven feet.

  Gloomy clouds float across the sky and the bizarre enshroud the bright moon. Kyrigu tries to cover up this bloody scene somewhat but Angela has taken it all in. She holds her breath frightfully and goggle, breaking out in a cold sweat out of fear. She only feels that the sky is in pieces and the imposing mountains of old are collapsing. Why!? Mongols killing Mongols? Didn’t they come to receive the princess? In whose hands did she fall? She only sees the abysmal frost on Tainyin’s handsome face. The color of his eyes are deep as he cast a chill glance down at the terrifying corpses. Angela cannot help but feel horror infiltrate her marrows, as if she were in a polar cave.

  Hesig’s horse returns to its original place. He sees Tianyin glaring long and hard at the dissenter. His eyes are critical and burn with harshness, as if wanting see through his concerns. Wonbayer has nowhere to hide, fearful and guilty. He is just about to open his mouth, the team leader again raises his whip and orders, “Go back right now, move the camp tonight!”

  Five people on four horses immediately move, kicking up sand and stepping with sound. They draw a line for their run in the middle of the forest.

  Act Two

  Bridge Across the Land

  Act Two

  March 1241 A.D., Chmielnik, eastern outskirts of the capital of Poland.

  The wind of war forges ahead, the blazing sun desiccates. General Boruc leads an array of indomitable and massive troop; cavalry soldiers and militiamen wait in desperation.

  Looking at them, their armors are like barrels, their long spears are like forests and their emblems are as if walls. Their stallions don protective metal and their heavy helmets reflect light. He sits on a steed and squints. He sees in the horizon a lurid shadow of a crowd of no more than a hundred growing gradually. The horses are short and the people are slim; they are in fact Mongolian soldiers attacking.

  Poland originally had decided to sacrifice itself in a dire fight, but seeing how weak the opponents are, they cannot help but explode with the wish to win. Boruc orders everyone to line up in horizontal rows and outflank the enemy in a majestic net. He raises high his heavy ruby sword and shouts heroically, “Defend Poland! Charge—”

  All of a sudden steps and hooves thunder like assaulting waves. More than a thousand cavalry soldiers embrace courage and royalty, tearing into battle and screaming excitedly. Emaciated Mongolian ponies speed up to counter them in war, dispersing like stars as they rush off in flocks. As soon as the two armies engage, the Mongols are intimidated by this fierce river that swallows and quickly turns about to retreat. Boruc sees the one hundred skinny horsemen withdraw and escape, so he immediately orders a pursuit. The Polish military is awesome and mighty, eagerly fighting, chasing and killing.

  At that time, the Polish formation becomes chaotic and any defense it has is completely lost; they only know to aim and chase after distant enemies. Boruc looks about to the left and right, forthwith and shockingly, discovers that several Mongolian light riders have surrounded them on two sides. He groans to himself that he had been led into a trap. Just as he anxiously calls to recede, he realizes that the road behind them is blocked. The Polish squadron is squeezed and disorganized in their steps, losing any strategy all at once.

  Mongolian light riders in the outer circle wearing two quivers pace back and forth, flowing dynamically without engaging in combat up close. Arrows form consecutive waves as they continue to relocate after every shoot. At the same time, nearly a hundred Mongolian heavy riders appear face to face with the Poles. Their coats of armor are exquisite, shiny and securely protective, as grand as walls. In addition, the three rows of light riders are lined up behind the two rows of heavy riders, proceeding into cracks, suddenly hidden and suddenly appearing, throwing spears and shooting poison.

  Not too far away from the battle smoke, Baidar and Kaidu are personally observing the battle, monitoring and amending their strategy at times. They hear the messenger with a soiled face and shirt rush over on a colt to report, “Reporting to—General, Polish knights’ armors are like metal drums, our arrows cannot shoot through them!”

  Baidar wrinkles his brows and throws his mustache, speaking decisively, “Then shoot their horses to death first, then hack each one to death with a saber!”

  The soldiers act on the command that arrives. Pebbles fly and winds change. The light riders trot along and encircle the tall European broncos, glancing once more as they forced arrows into their throats. Polish equestrians all fall off their horses and roll about the ground. Their heavy helmets become burdens and they crawl and walk with difficulty. Boruc looks up at the sky despairingly; he sees Mongolian riders charging forward in unison, brandishing and clearing with spears and sabers aimed accurately.

  A dark red reflection is in the clouds, a river of blood is sliding across the grass and remaining flags are staked into the soil. Soon enough, the great Polish army is annihilated. A spear goes through Boruc’s body. His blond hair is tainted bloody and his head hangs from his skeleton.

  The Battle of Chmielnik ends with the Mongols winning. Baidar breaks through the final line of defense in the Polish capital and straight away goes to take down Krakow. Polish royalty escapes to the west in a scare.

  Golden mist spreads evenly in the west and stars turn over in the sky. Liquid ink drips in the river of night, playfully rippling into the lucid moon. Lone camps are set up on the secluded shore. People are resting in the wilds. The chilly west wind whistles and darkness smears. Kyrigu squats by the river to fetch water, touching the initial melting of the winter ice while the cool dew stings the skin. Hesig sits outside the tent to guard Angela, helping the young man fix his arrowhead. He glances to the side with concern—more than ten steps away, Tianyin and Wonbayer stand stiffly and talk.

  “Wrong. Their corpses and that of the Poles are together, who would know who is the perpetrator? If we were to let Baidar know that we kidnapped Princess and are not returning, he will definitely be suspicious.” Tianyin gazes with eyes of a beast, shooting sharp glances.

  “I feel . . . Even if we were successful this time, we would die for sure.” Still hesitant, Wonbayer says, “Maybe we can wait for a better opportunity and don’t have to use this opportunity in escorting the princess for sure.”

  Tianyin’s ebony eyes are stern and critical, unwelcoming and frightening. He utters each word mightily and harshly, “Are you afraid of death? Did you forget how your uncle10 was pierced to death by the chaotic Mongolia military? Did you forget you must avenge the wrong of the destruction of the Jin Dynasty? Did you forget that your real family name is Wanyan? You have to avenge the wrongs for both your nation and your family!?”

  Wonbayer remains silent and knits his eyebrows, grinding his teeth and twitching his jaw.

  Tianyin softens his voice, “We waited for more than a decade. This is the best opportunity for victory. Do you want to live in security and sacrifice our lives for the Mongols for the rest of our lives?”

  The other person ventured to argue back in a rough masculine voice, “But even if Ögedei is stabbed to death, after a time of chaos for 20 or 50 years, Mongolia will still select a new Great Khan. How can the four of us with our strengths affect such a large country?”

  In the evening shadows, seeming enemies poised tall in their strong and swift bodies; the two men stand at an impasse with their daggers ready.

  “Yes, they will choose a new Great Khan, but don’t look down at the power of a few people.” Tianyin breathes deeply and slowly, determined and candid as if he were in full control of the plan. He is steady but displeased. Just as he turns around and is about to leave, he firmly and ste
adily tosses out these words, “It is too late to turn back now. This is the time that determines victory or loss. Think about how you will work to get things done.”

  With her blue eye and blackish glimmers, Angela locks her knees together rigidly and nervously. She watches Tianyin walk back to his tent alone. Kyrigu just set up a pile of logs, as he strikes the flint, sparks fly. The team leader has to yell for him to stop, “What are you doing!!?”

  The young man is horrified. He innocently opens his eyes wide and picks up with one hand the dead bird with a sharp arrow through its heart on the ground.

  He is dumbfounded, “I . . . I shot down a gray goose before dark, I want to . . . roast it . . . .”

  “Eat it during the day!” Tianyin suddenly gets upset, “It’s so pitch-black, do yo want to expose our location?”

  Put away the fire starter and throw the logs into the river!

  “Oh.” Kyrigu could only swallow his saliva completely and comply as told. He picks up the logs and turns his face to stick his tongue out at Hesig and Angela playfully. He secretly rolls his adorable, round eyes, wantonly cute.

  Angela is relaxed at the sight of the young man’s innocence, but the pressure of an inscrutable puzzle and a hellish experience suppress her smile. Bewildered, she looks at the childish guilelessness of Kyrigu and the gelid looks of Tianyin behind him, she cannot tell whether things will be auspicious or inauspicious.

  The next day, Krakow, the Polish capital.

  The bell in the stone tower is mute. Houses are abandoned and the streets are empty. Bored pigeons are resting, cooing and grooming on the church roof. Lost domestic fowls hop and run on the pebble roads. Boxes knocked over and carts capsize; doors are broken and corpses abound. A necklace with a cross drops and is stomped upon; St. Mary in the oil painting looks on silently and without feeling.