Bridge Across the Land Read online

  “Your Highness?”

  “Anthony,” the prince fixes his gaze on the distant clouds afar and says sorrowfully, “Did I . . . do Angela wrong?

  Anthony wiggles and puckers down with his thick lips while shaking his head, “No, as the prince of Poland, of course you must think of your country and people first in any situation.”

  “Ha,” Alexander suddenly sneers. What ridicule. He is mixed with hate and bitterness, quivering all over. He says, “Prince? Is a prince without a country . . . still a prince?”

  An elite and proud role assumed since young is actually fragile in the face of war, almost as laughable as a dream. Rain accumulates on his features and cool crawls about his face. Immediately the drops roll down together, jade beads are merely fake tears.

  “Poland has not completely lost, Your Royal Highness.” Anthony wraps up the snack and says, “The Duke of Silesia13 still has military power and King of Bohemia is leading his army in support of us too. Perhaps the course of the battle can be reversed this time and we can take back Krakow.”

  Alexander does not respond any further. He sits wallowing in despair. Looking at the receding morning scenery, traces of precipitation make his eyes wet.

  In the afternoon, the sky is hazy from the stationed rain. The caravan of royal carriages finally arrives at the city of Legnica in the Polish Silesia Dukedom. They ride into Duke Silesia’s castle. The imperial carriage driver pulls on the long strap and eight hooves stop and four wheels halt. Boleslav’s pointed boots touch the ground while his crown and belt glisten. He steps out of the carriage ahead and leads the way. Alexander follows closely in his elegant attire—a low cut shirt with folds and double-breasted buttons. He wears a silver belt, appearing particularly high class.

  He suppresses his fatigue, with chest high in his well-bred manner, he walks and notices the other members of the royal family and clergy members who disembark in hoards. Suddenly he observes that the castle a hundred paces away has its door open, a band of carriages of another country cruises up slowly. The flag is unfamiliar to him, he asks out of confusion, “Father, what is that?”

  Boleslav looks over and drops his solemn voice saying, “That is the envoy from the Holy Roman Empire14, you will be marrying their princess Catherine.”

  “What!?” Alexander seems to have suffered a blow to the head. He is shocked at that spur of the moment and a ringing in his ear seems to be splitting him asunder; it is like the beating of celestial drums, each beat a thunderbolt. He only feels that the father before him is cunning and evil. He has become a chess piece. He gets upset all of a sudden and roars, “Why do I have to marry her? I don’t want to!!” Everyone gives him the once-over.

  “Alexander! Watch your propriety!” The king rebukes irritably, dark-faced and inflexible.

  “That is the way it has been since ancient times, the prince and the princess are a match. What do you want?”

  “I . . .” Alexander is speechless at once. He thinks of Angela who is also a princess; he cannot help but be sad. He grits his teeth and resists with his head lowered, “I, I am going into battle with Granduncle Henry to fight off the Mongols.”

  “The Mongols are so cruel. You are the prince, what if you lose your life?” Boleslav takes one step forward and hits him hard with each word, “How much help do you think you can offer as an individual? What you can do for Poland now is to marry Catherine so that Poland may unite with the Holy Roman Empire as a patron!” The King stares harshly at the young blond before him, bushy-browed and authoritarian, “This matter has already been decided. Don’t say any more about it. You have to marry even if you don’t want to!” He leaves as he words fall. He heads straight for the castle with a large following of attendants immediately behind him.

  Alexander wants to argue but cannot; he can only stand in the back and pant bitterly, white face red with resentment. The prince grips his fists, grieved and indignant. It feels as if he has metal wires tying him up so that he cannot move. His throat is bitter and his heart burns but Alexander can only break out in a cold sweat of fear; his green eyes rebellious and wronged, pulsating hatred.

  Dawn breaks in the east; the early sun is about to rise but already illuminating the refreshing scenery. As darkness disperses, the silhouette of all things is outlined. The tender sunrise reflects from afar on the faces of people while the scent of soil fills the air. Tianyin’s group has already left Poland and heads for the prairies of South Russia. The dense forests become increasingly sparse and short. The roads widen and the bushes are spare, only green grass covers like a carpet, becoming stronger and verdant along the way.

  Two people ride side by side up ahead; horses tread steadily while carrying people and things. Kyrigu’s mustang slows as it proceeds however; its four hooves are like lead, falling way behind. The young man incurred serious injury unexpectedly and did not rest last night; so he only feels dizzy and swelling in the head. There is a dull pain in the back of his skull and he has forgotten to steer the horse for a time. He hangs on to the horse mane and looks up with difficulty. Tianyin and Hesig go farther and farther away, leaving only the shadow of the wagging horsetail. He cannot help but fear that he will fall behind and a chill goes up his spine.

  Kyrigu wants to call after them but feels an urge to vomit. An upcoming gas makes him whimper weakly. His horse kicks about while things go blurry before him. The young man cocks his neck with one hand, straddled on the side and is about to fall off; he only hears his blood pumping and painfully pants nonstop. Cold sweat is breaking out in his palms. He twists the horse hair even tighter so that the stallion anxiously paces back and forth. The universe seems to be swirling and the morning rays blinding his eyes. Bile climbs up his lungs and food tumbles in his stomach so that he suddenly vomits. Leftover food and liquids pour forth, along with tears.

  His eyes go black and his face swells pink. He leans across the horse diagonally and keeps throwing up to temporarily ease his dizziness. Fortunately, he is delighted to hear two horses turn back. Flashes of moving shadows. In a short while, Hesig brings him down the horse and props him against a tree. The old man curses Wonbayer in Mongolian on the one hand, cleaning his clothes and feeding him water on the other. Angela is also forced to dismount too, waiting helplessly.

  Tianyin ropes his horse to another tree and walks up to Kyrigu to inspect. His iron face is harsh and overcast. He stands with his frosty eyes attending to the lad for a long time. Abruptly, he turns to Angela in words clear to her, “Can . . . can you cure him?”

  Angela’s two-colored eyes are crystal and countered with surprise and rebelliousness. She paces with hesitation, camouflaging resentment and resistance, worry and concern. Her moist eyes downcast and she remains awkwardly immobile like a stone carving. She defies the waves of aggression from Tianyin and keeps soundless with her lips pursed. Tianyin towers over her, quiet and patient like a pond; he does not waver. The young woman frowns and feels a tug at her heart, she catches a glimpse of Kyrigu passed out. Remembering the mare milk and the spirited song, a parental concern cannot help but well forth. At least she will never defy the medical oath. She steps forward. Hesig sees that she is crouched down next to the young man and makes room for her. He switches to speaking in Chinese and says delightfully, “Little doctor, you have medicine to cure Kyrigu? Excellent.”

  Angela wears a cool expression and an even tone of voice, “The herbs are home-grown, they have all been used up these last few days.” She sits Kyrigu up and gets behind him. She holds his head for a while then grabs his wrist and checks for his pulse. With three fingers on the acupressure point, her eyes survey elsewhere then ruminates with those blue and dark brown pupils. She focuses finely and analyzes keenly.

  Isn’t this . . . Hesig is shocked at her skills and communicates visually with Tianyin. Tianyin also sees everything clearly with alertness, carefully fathoming and suspecting.

 
“It’s okay, blood didn’t congeal. He will get better on his own.” Angela sees how pale and depleted the young man is, so she opens his mouth to examine his tongue. Put plainly, she bents her legs and sits on the ground as she begins to massage the back of Kyrigu’s head. With one hand holding his forehead, with another hand she kneads him with her knuckles from his hairline to the lower back of his head, back and forth several times. With her two thumbs she rubs the neck muscles behind his clavicles. A while later she presses on the two acupressure points Fengchi and Naokong. She takes a step to get around to the front and rubs four acupressure points: Yintang point located in the forehead area between Kyrigu’s brows, the Jingming point at the eyes and the Yingxiang point next to the nose and Chengjiang below the lips. She then massages the Jiaosun point in the upper corners of the ears several dozen times. Finally she uses the inside of her wrist to press on the point Zhenghou and slaps the point Xinmen on the top of his head.

  Her fingering skills are light and mature. She identifies acupressure points quickly and precisely, smooth and strong in the execution. Hesig is stunned and turns to look at Tianyin. He only sees how his face darkens, his eyes sharp, his lips frozen and his overall look is hawkish but his thoughts hang in the depths.

  In a short while, Angela finishes the treatment and stands up. Kyrigu leans against the tree to rest. Tianyin walks up. Unfriendly, he cross-examines her with a grim face, “Where did you learn your medical skills?”

  Angela is stunned. She turns to avert his eyes, resentful and determined, she says, “From my dad.”

  Hesig stands akimbo, “You’re saying that your father is Chinese, a Chinese who knows medicine?”

  Angela nods and says sadly, “Yes, my dad is a Chinese from the Song State to Poland.” The young woman suddenly hastens her breathing and gets upset. She excitedly exclaims to the iceberg-like Tianyin, “So my father is not at all some Great Khan. I am not a princess. You grabbed the wrong person from the start.” Impassioned, she discharges words full of principles.

  Who would have guessed that instantaneously a biting light shoos over, and Tianyin’s long straight sword is next to her snowy neck, frightening her into a collapse. Tianyin is not moved. His eyes incisive with a mighty viciousness that is difficult to block. His scary voice is low and heavy, “Do you think your little trick can fool me? What is that Mongolian knife all about?”

  Angela feels the icy blade against her skin and does not dare to swallow. She insists, “That . . . that is a gift from an older sister. But she died already . . . I estimate she is the one you are looking for.”

  Hesig crosses his arms and sneers, “Shut up, what you say sounds fake. Why would someone give her family heirloom to you. Why would a Chinese man come to Poland? Besides, now that we are at this stage, real or not, you are it.”

  “I am telling the truth! We cannot cure patients privately and cannot overstep the Church in Poland. My dad refused and that is why she used that knife as payment.” Angela is besieged and red in the eyes. She bitterly hollers and wants to move but is forced back by that sharp silvery sword. She can only inhale and say, “When he was alive, my dad was a . . . . some kind of doctor for the Song State. He treated the imperial family in particular. Later he was dismissed as a citizen because of problems associated with delivering some concubine’s imperial child. Later he became a military doctor for Mongolians. Eighteen years ago when Mongols first attacked Kievan Rus’, he went west alone and hence came to Poland.”

  In an instant, words end and people are mute.

  Angela sense something is the matter suddenly. She only sees how the expressions of both individuals change straightaway, looking startled as if just hit by lightening. Hesig is dumbfounded with mouth agape and wide open eyes that roll slowly. Tianyin’s breathing quickens, his blackish eyes wild and concerned; he follows up hurriedly with a question in a hoarse voice, “What . . . . is his name?”

  Angela speaks slowly and carefully, “Hanyuan Wang.”

  Clang, his elongated saber falls, knocking stones down to the ground.

  Tianyin loses all light to his eyes. He abates his breath with his lower jaws twitching and trembling. His frozen facade dissolves, revealing his apprehension for the first time. His rage completely evaporated. He stands rigidly and shaking; his head is a complete blank while blood rushes to his forehead. Straightaway, his mind is restless and chaotic; his bones are light and his muscles frosty.

  Rather abruptly, he clutches Angela’s shoulders and shakes her like mad. His voice quivers desperately, “You are lying! Tell me you are lying!!”

  Hesig recovers from this incredible surprise and steps up to stop him, “Tianyin!”

  The three separate. Angela does not know what to do and feels confused and afraid. She feels the painful bruise in her shoulders, casting while panting.

  Tianyin grits his teeth and his anger turns to sorrow. He shakes his head in a bewildered manner. The woe and ache in his eyes cuts at the forlorn heart that is beaten down. His lips dry and his body trembles. He becomes heartrendingly resentful, saying bitterly, “Impossible. You . . . you, how could you . . . be . . . . my . . . sister?” His voice wobbles and is mute; his fine features looking tragic. His sincere and excited words suddenly leave Angela frozen.

  Hesig ponders and grabs his shoulders, exhorting him, “Tianyin, calm down! Maybe just someone with the same name . . . with the same experience. Didn’t somebody see your dad’s corpse with his eyes?!”

  Tianyin’s pupils are full of loss and brows hang with injury. He looks enduringly at Angela and takes his time to declare, “Where the nature of medicine may be warm or hot, decipher with care . . . .”

  This line is so familiar. Angela is shocked that she actually hears the next line echo in her ear and hesitantly lets it out, “Where people are neither good nor bad, humaneness and discernment cure . . . .”

  This time even Hesig is speechless.

  Tianyin’s heart quivers and his lips half parted; his body is as still as dead. Rapidly and noiseless, he lets out a strange laugh, followed by anguish that makes him sniffle and well up in tears. He abruptly turns around and with uneven steps heads toward the spot where the horse is roped.

  Hesig is aggrieved at the sight of him. He furrows his brows and sighs at the truth that suddenly appeared. Angela has not yet calmed down either. She cautiously asks the old man, “He . . . is the . . . . brother that my father said he had left on the east end of the earth?”

  “Sigh,” Hesig sees Tianyin standing, hanging on to the horse and standing dejected, completely immobile; Hesig is so pained by this sight and could only shake his head and heave, “Toyed by fate, toyed by fate.”

  Angela is soundless and doleful. Kyrigu squints his eyes out of ignorance. The old man languishes for a long time then walks away. He comes around to the back of Tianyin, lowering then raising his head, Hesig wants to utter something but swallows it. He does not know how to comfort Tianyin.

  His back as still as a rock suddenly turns around, with possibly traces of moisture still in those eyes that glisten in the morning light. He speaks to Hesig in a clear voice, “Let’s go, . . . we still have to get on the road.”

  Hesig is shocked, hardly believing the words out of his mouth. He anxiously says, “You . . . still want to continue?”

  “Continue.” His intonation is as desolate as autumn.

  “Really . . . kill your little sister to avenge your father?”

  The outline of his back pauses and he looks up at the sunrise. He pretends to be at peace but his throat is filled with pain, “She cannot be believed.”

  “Who else can respond to the ‘Ten Essentials to Medical Ethics’?” Hesig says sincerely, “She must have been with your dad day and night. She received his medical skills too. She is someone very important to your father.”

  A silent screen drops between the two. After a long
interval, the outline of that back nails himself in one place. Filled with loneliness, he masks his grief by force; he can only have his black hair face Hesig. Hesig knows that he just pricked a wound and is most regretful and guilty.

  “We must continue.” Tianyin declares decisively, “Otherwise what about vengeance for Kyrigu, and you?”

  “We . . .” Hesig is speechless and no workable solution comes to mind. He only sighs.

  “Let’s get on the road.” Tianyin’s tone of voice is distinct and unhampered as spirit returns to his long eyes. He grabs the rein to the horse, “Let’s see, perhaps . . . we will not have to kill her.”

  In the town of Legnica in Poland, the round dome of the church symbolizes the universe. The cross pierces through the clouds and the holy one is given a wide throne. Giant windows inside surround so rays pour forth evenly, brightening the mystical light of realms. The intricate carvings climb the walls. Bean-like flames to the candles burn on the sides, where the statues of saints are revered. The mosaic marble floor is shiny, reverberating melodically as footsteps are heard. Alexander enters alone, his boots knocking the floor and a hat down to his forehead while the arches and columns stand to the side. This lone shadow passes through the outstretched corridor and seems particular tiny and companionless in this seemingly empty and tall building.

  At the end of the corridor is a large hall with interweaving strands of light, calming and profound. He walks in slowly. Thick sorrow in his green eyes, he hushes and lowers his brows. His golden and patterned cape drags along the floor as he passes one row after another of those vermillion benches. Finally he quietly selects the first row to sit down. The prince takes off his hat with one hand and his face is covered with grief. He looks up at the awesome cross and the statue of Jesus sincerely and humbly. Eyes closed and head lowered, he prays with his fingers crossed.

  After a long pleasant silence, Alexander opens his eyes and lifts his head. He is unhappy and has suppressed so many of his words. He looks at the statue of Jesus that smiles vaguely. It appears to understand with relief and mercy. The prince feels a sense of loss and whispers, “Lord, I, perhaps I have sinned, so I have to redeem myself by being a prince . . . .”