He awoke in a pool of blood, his eyelashes smeared and stuck together with something heinous. A wad of phlegm sat in his throat making each breath a gravelly gurgle. He coughed. Specks of dust leapt from the blood stained carpet to ride on the rays of gold streaming in through the moth eaten curtains. Peeling his cheek and hair off the pale cream carpet, common in every new flat across town, stung, the dried blood crystallised like honey. Only one of his eyes opened, the other was welded with old blood. Was he blind? Injured? He knelt for a few minutes allowing himself to claw his thoughts to himself, thoughts that lay scattered across the flat, across time. Blood, red as merlot, pooled at his knees rising from the carpet like water from a deep hole. Was he bleeding? He rubbed his blood-shut eye, the pink crystals falling away clinging to their eyelash safety wires, the tiny hairs glinted in the sunlight as they fell down his sodden jumper.

David. I am David.

He looked at the familiar carpet, though the stark new smell had been smothered by something earthy and dank. A knife lay beside him, the blade clean except for a smear of fingerprints were it was snapped in half. The tip was nowhere to be seen. He was in the hallway, the door closed and bolted top and bottom. A spider plant sat on a pedestal beside the door, translucent green and wilting. A pile of shoes gathered in supplication to the tendrils of the great plant, all muddled and muddied up, even his dress shoes were coated in a thin cake of mud and autumn leaves.

This is my flat. My home.

David reached for the doorframe of the bathroom and stood up, his knees creaked. Blood pooled around his feet, it was cold through his soaks. A cursory check of himself revealed no wounds, no broken bones, not even a scratch. The bathroom was beside him, the bedroom next to it, the kitchen behind him, and a living room the width of the building in front of him. He staggered toward the living room, the dining table merely a surface to build his pyramid of books on, the chairs heavy with coats, unwashed clothes, and plastic bags he had paid for and couldn’t throw out because it would be “wasteful”.

A fly crawled along the doorframe, its front legs wringing over its face, the iridescent wings shaped like a love heart. The television was on. A black and white film was showing in mute, the speaker icon with a line through it flashing periodically. David didn’t know the film. A bowl of pasta had grown a fine fluffy coat sitting on the coffee table half-eaten. He ventured back out, grazing a bookcase with his hand. The long dark green stems of the cheese plant were limp, hanging down from the top of the bookcase as if hanged. He looked up, stroking one of the flabby leaves, and caught sight of the calendar. The last date crossed off was the 21st of September. He headed for the couch and found the television remote between the cushions and pressed the ‘guide’ button. The television said ‘25th September’.

Three days. Gone.

David turned the television off and went to the bathroom to shower. The spout coughed and spluttered, kicking out a flash of foul smelling water that was swiftly swallowed by the plughole. Steam soon rose and he peeled himself out of his blood laden clothes. They hit the laminate with a slap. In the shower he lathered with soap until the bar vanished in his palm. He scrubbed until his skin was raw and stood under the torrent as the last of his scattered mind returned to him.

When he emerged from the scalding wash he was none the wiser as to what had happened in the three days. He’d been at work, then the pub, and then dinner with his girlfriend, then nothing until he woke up on the carpet. He stared at that blood stain on the carpet as the water cooled and dripped from him and onto the bathmat. Did he report it or did he clean it? Oh hello officer I awoke in a pool of blood holding a broken knife with no memory of the last three days. It sounded like an easy way to get arrested and end up in jail for something he had no recollection of, even if he had committed some… act he wanted to at least remember. The stain had to be removed but first he checked his phone.

David dried and dressed in the bedroom. The double bed, shoved against one wall, was unmade, the purple covers a twisted pile, the four pillow in a crescent near the headboard. A stack of clean washing sat on the drawers while the dirty was confined to a basket. His phone was on his bedside table, dead, next to a photo of Sarah from a holiday three years back. The destination was hazy but it had been sunny and warm. He reached behind the table for the charger and waited for his phone to return to life.

A minute or so passed by until everything he’d missed had flooded his phone. News alerts, calendar notifications, emails, offers, an invitation to a party, and a dozen texts from his mum.

There was nothing from Sarah.

The last message had been before meeting at the restaurant. He fired off a quick ‘How’s it going? xx’ and then searched the internet for carpet stain removers. Seemed the best ones were machines for hire, he reserved one at a supermarket a few miles away and flicked through the rest of his notifications. The party invite jostled his mind, it was tonight, at Peter’s place with the usual crowd. Less a party, more a gathering. Sarah would likely be there, if she was around.

A message came through saying his carpet cleaning thing was ready for collection. Nothing from Sarah. David pulled on his trainers, found his car keys, and left for the store.

The drive was short and uneventful even though David’s heart raced. Had he missed a speck of blood, did the stench of it cling to him, would someone go into his flat while he was gone? He pulled into a parking space and sprinted for the sliding doors, dodging round elderly shoppers doing their midday scavenge. At the kiosk desk he held up his phone so the customer assistant could scan the QR code and a few minutes later he returned with the carpet cleaning machine, a big cylindrical vacuum cleaner with brushes underneath.

‘You’ll need the soap,’ the assistant pointed to the shelf behind David.

He turned and saw the stuff was £20 a bottle. He groaned, he knew the rental fee of £6 was too good to be true. He paid for it then and there and hurried back to his car, threw the contraption and soap on the backseat and raced back home doing the speed limit as to avoid any unnecessary attention.

By the time he reached his front door on the second floor his palms were sweaty and he felt like he needed another shower. Once inside he breathed a sigh of relief, no one had called by and no one had entered. A smell lingered in the air, multiple smells in fact. The first was mouldy food, the second was the blood, and third was stale sweat and a perfume he did not recognise. The instructions were simple enough and soon his mind was filled with the gentle hum of the carpet cleaner cleansing his floor of someone’s blood.

When he had finished the carpet bore only a faint tan stain that could have passed for wine or coffee or anything other than blood. The carpet cleaner stung his nostrils, likely to linger for days if not weeks, but as he ventured into the living-dining room the unfamiliar perfume wafted over to him, sweet and mild chocolate tones tugged at nostalgia for memories that didn’t exist. Association but no recollection. He glanced at the clock and decided it was time to get ready and head to Peter’s.

David was one of the last to arrive, he wasn’t particularly late, maybe thirty minutes, but his friends were all of a type and so when he strolled in he received the sarcastic barrage of ‘Good of you to make it,’ and ‘We thought you weren’t coming.’

Peter told him to help himself to a lemonade from the fridge and that they were listening to rare vinyl in the living room. From the sound of the current antique of choice rare meant unloved and forgotten rather than hidden gem or surprise hit. Peter opened a bottle of beer and headed in.

Sarah sat on an armchair in the corner chatting with Anna, a black haired woman David only knew by name. She wore a black skirt, white blouse, and had a turtle neck draped over her arm. Her mousy brown hair was straightened and past her shoulders, the fringe recently neatened up over her forehead. He headed over and kissed Sarah on the top of her head, ‘You been alright today? You didn’t text back.’

Sarah leapt out of her chair and threw her glass of wine over David, ‘What are you doing here?!’

David gasped, wiped the red wine out of his eyes, and said, ‘Huh? Peter invited me. What was that for?’

‘What was that for?’ Sarah screeched, her demure appearance shattered. ‘You know exactly what that was for!’

David moved closer to Sarah but she stepped back forcing him to speak louder than he wanted, ‘I don’t remember anything since dinner the other night.’

‘Huh? That some kinda joke?’ Sarah regarded him with a grimace that said, get away, freak.

‘Serious,’ David whispered. He watched everyone else in the room staring at him, everyone apart from Peter who had decided now was the time to change the LP to something worth listening to.

‘Have you two broken up or something?’ Mark asked.

‘Yes.’ ‘No.’

The pair spoke at the same time then eyeballed each other quizzically.

‘Interesting,’ Peter murmured, sliding a glossy black disc from its sleeve. He set it on the turntable. ‘What happened?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘None of your business,’ Sarah folded her arms, the empty wine glass clutched under her arm.

‘It’s my business because you’re in my house and I invited you. You’re disturbing the joyous atmosphere,’ Peter lowered the needle. The scratch and crackle made Anna jump while Mark and Daisy whispered to each other on the sofa. Jen sipped her cider looking at the same artwork above the fireplace she’d seen a hundred times.

‘And I have no idea what I supposedly did,’ David said.

Sarah blushed, ‘He was with another woman, tall, black haired, tanned.’

An audible hiss spread about the room.

‘You caught him with her?’ Jen asked, her attention flipping to Sarah.

‘I saw him in a coffee shop with her and she was being all touchy-feely with him,’ Sarah had turned away from David, away from the group, and was facing one of the speakers as some classic rock song everyone knew but no one could name played.

‘David?’

‘I don’t remember the last three days.’

‘That’s a serious bender,’ Daisy said, laughing.

‘Not helpful. I haven’t taken anything nor drank anything in months.’

‘Is that right?’ Mark turned to Sarah.

‘Yeah, he… he quit…’ Sarah sulked. She dropped into the armchair, knees up to her chin, and pulled her jumper about her ankles.

‘Could this tall dark, presumably attractive woman slipped you something David?’ Peter asked.

David shrugged, he had not considered that he’d been drugged, though now it seemed the most obvious answer. The memory of the broken knife flashed in his mind, he’d left it on a stool in the kitchen.

Why didn’t I get rid of it?

‘What else?’

‘What else what?’

‘You didn’t break up with David because you saw him with another woman who was being overly friendly, what else?’ Peter probed as he always did, it was his job, insurance fraud investigation. Scratching at scabs until the truth oozed out.

Sarah squirmed.

‘Leave her alone,’ Anna said, her dark fringe shadowing her eyes.

‘Answer or leave,’ Peter said.

‘I followed them to his flat. She came out an hour or so later, he didn’t.’

That explained the perfume at least but who was she, what had happened in that hour, and why had he woken up in a pool of blood with a broken knife in his hand.

Peter stood up, burped, and said, ‘Then we have to go to David’s place to investigate. Maybe they’ll be clues there that jog his memory or reveal what he did or did not do while alone with this hot chick.’

‘Well I’m staying here,’ Daisy said.

‘Me too,’ Mark said.

‘Uh-huh, don’t wake the neighbours while we’re gone,’ Peter said.

Daisy blushed and shrank into the sofa cushions.

‘Hold on, I just got here,’ David said.

‘Sure but neither of you have anymore information as to what actually happened so if you want to know we have to go,’ Peter slipped on a pair of beat up trainers and grabbed his car keys. ‘Two spaces, who wants one?’

‘I’ll go home, I’ve got to be up anyway. Early shift at the hospital tomorrow,’ Jen said.

‘Anna?’

Anna rolled her eyes, ‘Fine.’

‘Right then, let’s go,’ Peter led David, Sarah, and Anna to the door and out to his car. The indicators flashed when he unlocked it. ‘David, you really have no memory of the last three days?’

David nodded as he got in the passenger front seat.

‘Maybe get a blood test and an MRI, you know. Stroke so young could mean a terminal illness,’ the engine started with a purr and he set off once he heard the click of three seatbelts.

‘Thanks for the joyous thought, Peter,’ David sipped his lemonade while Anna and Sarah sat on the backseat in silence.

Peter parked on the curb right outside David’s flat. It was a row of three storey terrace houses, each floor a flat with a communal staircase in the centre of the building.

‘You can’t park here, it’s double yellows,’ Anna leaned between the headrests.

‘No traffic wardens going to be out this late,’ Peter said, with uncharacteristic flippancy. He got out, the others followed. ‘Do the honours, David.’

David headed up the path to his front door hoping none of the neighbours were up, he could have asked them if they’d heard or seen anything but he was too embarrassed too. Besides, if anyone had then they’d have said or posted a note through his letterbox or, more likely, called the police. Given none of those things happened he settled into assuming anything that did happen was quiet, or did not sound unusual, and if there was another person there they went unseen. He unlocked the front door, pressed the timer switch, allowed the trio to filter through, and closed it again. He checked the postbox out of habit, it was empty, and then ascended the stairs two at a time under the hum of florescent lighting. The light switched off just before he had reached his floor so he pressed the one outside his door and the bulbs worked up a hum again. David paused outside his flat door, the stainless steel ‘3’ screwed in wonky.

‘What are we doing?’ Peter said.

David didn’t answer. Maybe someone had hidden in his flat, or maybe someone had come back, or maybe it smelt weird, or maybe the stain would be noticeable, or… a thousand questions raced through his mind.

Peter snatched the keys out of David’s hand, ‘Come on.’

‘Hey, I’ll do it,’ David snatched the key’s back and turned the lock. The door swung open with a creak and stale air wafted over him.

Peter shoved past David, ‘Need to open a window in here.’ He crossed over the cleaned blood stain into the living room and opened one of the three sash windows. ‘That’s better.’ A cold breeze rushed in kicking up the curtains.

David entered his flat feeling like he was stepping into a stranger’s home. Everything felt off, like someone had come in and shuffled everything around but in the smallest of details so that it looked almost the same but his unconscious knew it wasn’t. That eeriness settled in his stomach and never left him.

Sarah and Anna entered, rigid and uneasy. Sarah stopped where the bloodstain had been and peered down at the carpet. Anna went to the bedroom. ‘You cleaned the carpet,’ Sarah said.

The eerie feeling was enhanced with nausea and a quickening heart. ‘Yeah,’ David’s throat went dry.

‘You forget three days but take the time to clean the carpet… bit weird.’ Sarah said.

‘She’s right,’ Peter said, from the front room. ‘What’d you spill?’ his head popped round the doorframe.

David shut the front door behind Sarah, shushing them off both as he did it, even pressing his finger to his lip like they were still in primary school. ‘There was blood there, dried blood.’ He regretted telling them as soon as the words left his mouth.

‘Oh shit, I thought you’d spilled a glass wine or cup of coffee,’ Peter said. ‘Blood, yours?’

‘No… not mine,’ David sounded relieved by that fact still, though he kicked himself for not thinking up a lie.

Peter stepped back into the hall. So did Anna. ‘What?’ Anna had her arms folded across her chest, one eyebrow hooked.

‘I don’t know whose it was and no one else was here, there was a knife too, though it was clean,’ he figured all he could do was tell them everything now.

Sarah shrank in on herself and shivered, she headed to the kitchen. Her scream made David cower.

‘What?’ Peter and David yelled at the same time.

‘It’s… just a knife. Just a knife. Broken, snapped… how do you snap a knife?’ Sarah sighed, one hand on her chest.

‘Let me see that,’ Anna said, worming her way between the men and into the kitchen, she caressed the handle and David’s vision swam. David stumbled backwards, a flash of memory searing his brain. The dark haired woman had been here, she had come in as Sarah said, and then asked him for something, she’d asked him for a knife. He had refused at first, he thought, but then she’d kissed him and his resistance faltered. The memory was hazy from then on.

Peter was leaning over David when the latter came too. ‘You alright there? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’ Peter offered his hand to help David to his feet.

David accepted. ‘I’m fine just had a memory come back to me. The woman… she’d asked me for the knife but I’d said no, at least at first. She’d kissed me then and… I don’t remember anything after that, not right now anyway.’

Anna set the knife down on the stool where Sarah had found it.

‘Drugged through lipstick,’ Peter gave an all-knowing nod. ‘You should have a blood test just in case any residual compounds remain.’

David nodded but said nothing. He was focussed on Sarah who now, for the first time, appeared miserable rather than angry. ‘I didn’t want to kiss her…’ he said to her but Sarah acted like she hadn’t heard.

‘Seems farfetched,’ Anna said, she aimlessly opened and examined David’s cupboards one by one then moved on to the drawers, sifting through his cutlery in her search for… something.

‘What are you looking for?’ David said.

Anna shrugged. ‘Dunno, clues could be anywhere,’ her tone nonchalant.

Sarah wormed her way from the kitchen to the living room, avoiding eye contact with all three of them. David followed and stood in the doorway. Sarah stared at the couch, at the bowl of mouldy food, at the television still on the classic films channel. Throwing the couch cushions off she got down on her knees and searched the crevices of the seat. ‘Why is there food out?’

‘It was lunch on the last day I remember,’ David answered. Peter tried to squeak past him but David stopped him in the doorway.

‘You have money down here,’ Sarah set a banknote and some change on the table. ‘And a lot of crumbs,’ she dusted her hands and stood up, visibly annoyed. She marched to the doorway with a scowl that made David and Peter step aside and she headed for the bedroom.

The bed was made, haphazardly, the wardrobe open but organised, and minimal clothing forming ridges and mountains on the floor. Sarah threw the duvet back to reveal nothing. She narrowed her eyes and searched the bedside tables, the drawers, the bin, and then eventually the pockets of discarded trousers and shirts.

‘What are you looking for?’ Anna asked, leaning against the doorframe, arms folded.

Sarah didn’t answer and headed for the bathroom where she made a similar search. ‘You didn’t sleep with her, did you?’

‘No,’ David said, instinctively. He didn’t remember enough to say either way but something told him he hadn’t.

Sarah regarded him from her five foot vantage, those piercing blue eyes peeling back his skin to delve into his memories. David looked down at her, ‘I didn’t,’ and reached a hand out. Sarah flinched away, averting her gaze and stepping into the hallway. She stopped at the blood stain.

‘Anna, look at this for a moment,’ Sarah said.

Anna stood behind her, peering down.

‘Come down here,’ Sarah waved her friend lower.

Anna sighed and crouched down, ‘What?’

‘You’ve watched enough true crime, is this blood stain a weird shape to you,’ Sarah traced the outline with her finger.

‘Oh come on, I watched some tv. I didn’t study this stuff,’ Anna said.

‘Carpet feels stiff, don’t think you’ll get rid of that,’ Sarah said. ‘Feel it,’ she took Anna’s hand and pressed it into the carpet.

David reeled back, a flood of memories, disjointed and shuffled, flashing before his eyes. The dark haired woman was there, kneeling over him, straddling him. They were both dressed. He was on the floor. She held a knife over him, the same knife that was now in two pieces in the kitchen. The woman’s face was a swarm of flies, its lips moving and a hideous buzzing escaping in what must have been language. David screamed. The knife plummeted towards his chest and the memory vanished.

David awoke on his backside, pressed into the corner between the kitchen and bedroom doorways. His breath was raspy, sweat prickled his body all over.

‘What did you do?’ Sarah said, calm and quiet.

‘Huh?’ Peter made the sound unthinkingly, he was stood over the stain, in way of the front door, gawping down at the two women.

Anna recoiled her hand from Sarah’s grip, her lip quivering.

Sarah turned to regard her “friend”, ‘What did you do?’

Anna lowered her chin, exposing the whites underneath her eyes and sneering, ‘What I must do,’ the voice rasped. Her eyes flickered with wing-like reflections.

David screamed and pushed himself further into the corner. His chest wept blood, his shirt was sodden, his hands smeared. The dark haired woman was a mass of flies flitting and buzzing about in the form of Anna. Or was it Anna. The woman stood, her clothing and hair concealing the worst of her being. The snapped blade of the knife appeared in David’s hand, slicing his palm and fingers. He dropped it.

Anna’s hair flew about, her eyes a searing black and silver, ‘I will have you. You will not escape me! You will not flee from me! I will return!’ She exploded into a swarm of bluebottles that rushed into the living room and burst through a window. Glass shattered, raining down onto the street below, as the swarm hissed and buzzed into the sky.

David shivered as the blood pulsed out of him.

‘David,’ Sarah was beside him, her soft, warm hand against his cheek. ‘Wake up, David, she’s gone.’

David was awake. He closed his eyes and the wounds vanished, the knife vanished, and all he could feel was Sarah’s hand on his cheek. ‘Where… Where has she gone?’

‘Gone,’ Sarah said. She smiled, sadly, then her eyes became glassy and tears ran down her cheek. She burrowed into him, there on the floor, curling up beside him.

Peter let himself out without saying a word.

David held Sarah tighter than he’d ever done before as she sobbed and he stared blankly at the stain. A single fly skittered across the floor.

Many thanks for reading.

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Sophia awoke with a mind of jumbled geometry. The world span around her single cot stuffed with wool and nothing but a coarse length of linen for a cover. Her eyes would not open. She wasn’t sure she would see anything if she did open them. Each revolution was quicker than the last until her head spun and her sense of self stretched outward into a thin disc getting flatter and flatter, wobblier and wobblier until holes began to appear, tears in her self, in her soul. Bile rose in her throat but the force of her spin held it at bay.

With a sudden jolt she was brought to a halt.

Sophia opened her eyes. Long, soft grass blew overhead. The ground was soft and warm beneath her. A pale blue sky went unmarked above her. She rose knowing she was still in her mouldering room with her narrow cot, yet that was all very far away. She felt the grass slip between her fingers, watched ladybirds flit about as grasshoppers leapt from stalk to stalk. She walked through the endless sea of grass, unaware of how she stood or when or for how long. On the horizon, peeping between long grass were silhouettes of men and women, distant and shy. Sophia headed towards them, quickening her pace gradually until she was sprinting. She never tired yet ran for miles.

The silhouettes did not move. Sophia slowed her run to a walk as she reached the first face, it was made of stone trapped in a scream, hands pressed to its cheeks. Beneath the head was unformed, a lump of stone a little taller than Sophia. The next statue was a man clawing at his scalp, beside him was a woman gouging her own eyes with her finger nails. The grass thinned and eventually vanished and all that stood was a forest of screaming statues.

‘Sister,’ a voice called from nowhere and everywhere. ‘Sister.’

Sophia awoke in her single cot stuffed with wool and covered with a coarse linen blanket. A novice ringing a high pitched bell stood over Sophia, her habit falling like a curtain around them both. The novice smiled when Sister Sophia opened her eyes.

‘Oh good, I was worried you required a surgeon,’ the novice’s smile beamed down at her, the pudgy cheeks hid her eyes. The bell clinged and clinged.

‘No, no, I am quite alive and well,’ Sophia sat upright, holding the linen to her body with one hand. ‘You may cease the ringing.’

‘Of course,’ the novice smiled, clamping the bell with her free hand.

‘Who sent you?’

‘Sister Avowed Yulie.’

Sophia nodded knowingly, ‘I am late for recitals.’

The novice nodded, her eyes shrinking as her grin widened.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Rachel.’

‘Rachel, please step outside so I may dress.’

‘Of course,’ Rachel shuffled backwards, found the door handle behind her back and slid out into the hallway without ever taking her eyes off Sophia.

Sophia readied herself for the day, the feel of grass on her fingertips.

*

Sister Avowed Yulie was leading the singing circle when Sister Sophia entered. The soft voices of the five women resonated off ancient brick and intricate stained glass to fill the blessed space with the divine. The circle parted without a word, or even a glance, to allow Sophia in. She flicked through her hymnary to the seventy-fifty canticle and waited for the next line to begin. Her voice joined with the others in glorifying the holy.

As the nuns reached the end of the third canticle a bell chimed throughout the convent signalling the midday meal. Sophia waited behind for the others to leave until it was just her and Yulie. ‘Sincerest apologies for my tardiness, Sister Avowed.’

‘The Lord forgives and so will I,’ Yulie held her hymnary in both hands against her midriff. ‘Out of curiosity what kept you?’

Yulie’s sickle smile sliced through Sophia’s calmness. Panicking she hurriedly said, ‘A bad dream.’

‘A bad dream? What was this bad dream?’

It had not been Sophia’s intent to divulge the dream to anyone, yet, until it had repeated another night or two. Then she would take it as a vision, until then it was merely a dream. ‘The details are hazy,’ Sophia fumbled the words and knew by Yulie’s expression the Sister Avowed did not believe her.

‘These things happen, but dreaming so late in the morning. I suggest less reading before bed. Best to be asleep before the midnight bell, those hours are the best for restful slumber,’ Sister Avowed Yulie smirked.

‘Of course, Sister Avowed,’ Sophia curtsied, then hurried out hoping to make it to the refectory unaccosted.

*

The refectory was bustling with novices and sisters enjoying the midday meal. Today’s fare was a soup with a bread roll. Sophia kept her head down as she stalked between the tables and round the servers ladling out bowls of steaming soup. The scent of thyme and sage wafted through the hall, reaching the rafters in great swirls of heat. Sophia reached the far corner of the room, near a low narrow door that would allow her to dart out if need be, though she would have to duck and squeeze through due to its diminutive size. The door twisted, opened on its own, and beyond was a field of long grass stalks fluttering in the wind.

Sophia blinked.

The door was closed once more.

She sat down with three sisters she was acquaintances with, they said hello before returning to their conversation. Sophia was happy they did, her mind spun and she held onto the bench to keep herself from flying off into the ceiling.

Sophia screamed.

The women beside her jumped, the one beside her asked if all was well. The refectory fell into a quizzical silence.

Sophia sat on the bench staring at her bowl of soup. A chunk of carrot bobbed on the surface, steam rising in lazy columns around it. She no longer span or floated or flew. No wind blew upon her cheeks and no grass brushed her palm. ‘I’m… well,’ Sophia managed. ‘Just a tad out of sorts.’

‘See Sister Avowed Nalia, she’ll have a concoction to set you right,’ the sister beside Sophia said. Conversation began to bubble once again and with a dozen heartbeats Sophia’s scream had become the past.

Sophia nodded, thanked the woman for her advice, though she knew Sister Avowed Nalia well. She contemplated the soup but her stomach rolled at the thought so instead she left via the overly small door and fortunately it led to a hallway and not the endless grassy plain of her dreams.

*

‘Bad dreams… bad dreams… I have no poultice for bad dreams save good ones and those do not come bottled or grow on trees, if only they did,’ Sister Avowed Nalia said, her voice an unbroken stream of words. The diminutive soul sat on a stool scribbling various quantities of herbs in her minuscule scratchings into the apothecary ledger. ‘Sing to the Divine, pray to the good Lord, and tire yourself out before this evening’s rest, there is your medicine,’ Nalia looked up her work, her wide and honest smile scrunching up around her nose. ‘Come back tomorrow if the dream persists.’

Sophia thanked the Sister Avowed and headed straight for the smallest Chapel knowing the underground cave would be empty as it always was.

Candles burned either side of the altar, their brass stands shining orange-gold under the flickering flame. The altar table was bare save for a runner of pale silk that draped over the edge. Behind grew a mountain of marble chiselled with hundreds and hundreds of men, women, and children, straining to carry the weight of those above them, each level slightly thinner than the rest until at the top the people gazed upwards at a depiction of the Divine Lord, a seventy-two spoke star of solid gold that illuminated the chapel in soothing light.

Sophia bowed and slid into a pew to kneel down, head bowed. She clasped her hands and tried to pray but nothing came to her. She recited the proper prayers as she had every morning and evening since she could talk but even then nothing else came to her. Each time she imagined the horror of her dream words became meaningless and the experience itself immune to description.

She squealed in frustration and muttered out, ‘Help me.’ Her words crawled up the marble to reach the Divine before tumbling down and filling the small cave chapel and escaping out the winding tunnel. The silence that followed was oppressive.

Sophia knelt for what felt like a whole day yet she heard nothing, saw nothing, felt nothing, when she finally looked up, her neck stiff, her fingers knotted, she saw the candles had burned to nothing while the glimmer of the spoked sun remained. Staring at that visage of the Lord she hoped to hear Him, to see Him, to feel His presence. Something prowled at the edge of her awareness, something familiar. Anticipation grew within her, excitement even, as she continued to stare at the gold sun.

A spoke fell from the sun, then another, and another, until all seventy-two lay on the silk runner of the altar. The light faded. The marble tower of people peeled away like ash in the wind and behind it was a field of grass as tall as Sophia. She knelt in the ground, a pew behind and in front of her, the grass swaying and brushing against her. Statues stood nearby in the same style as before with detailed faces but lumpen bodies.

Sophia stood up, bowed to an altar no longer there and investigated the statues. Her heart raced, her thoughts jumbled, and seeing the strained expression of a woman clearly in agony within the stone forced the little food she had in her stomach up. Sophia spat the vomit into the grass beside the statue of the woman, hoping she was not offended. Sophia admonished herself for the thought, it was a statue, a lump of stone that a skilled craftsman practiced a face on. That was all.

The simple thought did not calm her nerves.

She scoured the horizon but all directions looked the same so she chose to go north, the direction the altar was in, hoping to find the edge of this world, and, hopefully, catch a glimpse of the sun, or at least discover what illuminated the dream world. The sun had fallen and yet light remained. There was no doubt in her mind she had been transported from her convent to this strange land she had dreamt about. Though now it seemed her dreams had not been dreams at all but sleeping visits.

The meaning of the falling sunburst played on her mind as she walked north towards the flat, unchanging horizon. To her surprise doubt was not amongst her thoughts. It was impossible the Divine lacked power over this grassy realm, impossible He had been toppled, destroyed, or cast aside. Her faith remained and she deemed it to be a trick by some ancient enemy that had wormed its way out of whatever prison had been intended to hold it. She had overheard of such tales when the Avowed of her order had spoke too loudly one afternoon in the library, the Abbess Avowed and two Sister Avowed, though Sophia could not decide who the voices had belonged too.

Sophia recited the canticles in order as she walked. She reached the seventy-fifth, the one she had been recited with Sister Avowed Yulie earlier in the day, though “day” seemed to mean nothing as the light had not changed, nor had the horizon. In her dream visit she had reached an end to the grass but now such a place seemed not to exist.

The seventy-fifth canticle came and went and soon she reached the final one, one-hundred-and-sixty-one, the shortest of all canticles.

‘Blessed is he that sits in the illumination of the Lord,’ Sophia’s voice rang out with a three-part chant, echoing out again and again long after she had finished reciting even though there was nothing for her words to echo against.

She walked on and finally reached the end of the grassy plain, though the grass still danced across the horizon. Ahead of her stretched miles of dirt, flat and dry, studded with statues, many facing the same way she did. As she past them by she inspected each one. Most wore neutral expressions, a few were ecstatic, but many were in agony. She stopped at an old man, shorter than she was, his face contorted with pain. His eyes shone with life staring up at the sunless sky, his lips twitched, and Sophia thought she could hear a faint cry. She leaned closer and turned her ear to the stone mouth. His eyes flicked, the stone becoming translucent for heart beat, and fixed on Sophia. She screamed and the man’s eye darted back to stare at the sky. The statues were alive.

Sophia began to run northward but her legs grew heavy, her steps piercing the ground like it was soft wet sand. She looked down to find scales emerging from her habit. She collapsed to her knees, too heavy to carry on, and felt the stone race up her body and cover her head. She looked to the sky, reciting the one-hundred-and-sixty-first canticle once again, ‘Blessed is he that sits in the illumination of the Lord.’ The stone covered her mouth, her nostrils, and sealed her eyes and ears. Her hands were clasped in prayer beneath the stone, but all that was visible was her face.

Sophia knelt in eternal prayer, the words of the one-hundred-and-sixty-first canticle held forever on her lips. The light shone, dim, cold and never ending. With great effort and agony Sophia found she could look around, mouth her mouth, and string a thought together to produce a sound but there was no reason to. There was no one but the statues around her and the last sound from her lips was the most beautiful she could think of.

*

How long she remained upon that desolate plain she did not know but the grass had grown taller than she was in that infinite day when, eventually, a great light emerged from the zenith and bore down on her with seventy-two spears of radiant illumination…

Many thanks for reading, this was written without any plan or direction. It came to me not quite in a dream but close to it and I allowed it to unravel without thinking too much about it. I hope you enjoyed it, please like and share, thank you.

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Excavations near the lonely ruin have unearthed a score of scrolls, or at least remnants of documents. Many are so fragile they resist unrolling and fall to pieces upon trying. Others have been kept in leather tubes or pottery and fair a little better. One in particular has survived without any covering and is made of vellum while the rest are some archaic form of papyrus.

Translation is slow but one word appears a number of times and is in a recognisable tongue; Torsgaar, a people and language few in number. I had not thought such a reference would exist after the ruined lighthouse went dim, if it was a lighthouse, great calamity struck the land surrounding what is now an isle. It is said a sea god waged war upon the coastal peoples and no ships sail this way anymore. Though those who say this live far inland and from beyond these documents I have seen no evidence of settlement now or at any time in the past. With regard to ships, well the coast is a hazard and so the lack of ships is logical. Whether people lived here or merely maintained the lighthouse (or maybe it was a temple?) I know not. Seems odd to have a lighthouse and no ships or ports nearby. The ruin consists of a tower, what appears to be hall and other single level rooms, so little remains of anything connected to the Tower that it is hard to say what it was.

The age of the structure on the isle and the vellum document are difficult to ascertain but the inlanders told me of the Torsgaar of the coast, how they had survived the initial fury of the sea and only when the inevitable was plain to all did they preserve themselves and then flee. Flee where the inlanders couldn’t say, why they preserved the artefacts here rather than taking them with them they also couldn’t say. I am inclined to think it all hearsay and drunken tales for so little makes sense once thoughtfully considered. No Torsgaar I know has ever mentioned such tales.

What we know is the tower on the isle served some immaterial purpose and a tribe of people, called the Torsgaar, lived on the coast. The following song is the first bona fide artefact of that people. This is a rough translation using old Calethenic and then Fhirgan as the language appears to be some blend of both, I suppose it would be a precursor, revealing hidden history in itself. Forgive the oddness, there is no punctuation, nor line breaks, it is one long sentence and I have attempted to break it out into lines and verses.

Wise waters caress the coast[,]

Fires [are] quick to fade[,]

Sky above witness this[,]

For the Torsgaar withstand the wind[.]

Waters repel the wind[,]

Forcing breeze back to sky[.]

Sable powers lie below[,]

Chained by opposed[.]

Torsgaar treads the sea[,]

Repelling ancient foes[.]

Flame and spray lopsided rivals[,]

One destined for defeat[.]

The song, hymn, story, continues for many more lines but another stash has been discovered and all hands are needed to transport and preserve the artefacts before the storm arrives. Dark clouds circle overhead and the rain to follow will provide plenty of time for translation but for now the rest of the artefacts are of prime importance.

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The artefacts have been secured in lockboxes on three separate carts drawn by workhorse. I had to coax a local to assist. After an initial barrier of language he understand the basics of my request and then a few silver pieces convinced him further. It is a small fortune in truth but these treasures must be saved from the harsh environ of the coast. The sea, the wind, the salt, the storms, it is miraculous they have survived this long. Once returned to the Academy I can rest easier while our study unfolds at a careful pace, rather than in the hurried fits and spurts clinging to a wind and sea battered cliff here by the ruin of some god’s wrath.

Those ruins, out on that lone isle, hold a certain charm. Lichen covers the crumbling stone as it weathers to dust before my very eyes and yet the place seems whole, as if it were always a ruin, always a feature of the landscape, as timeless as the sea, as eternal as the mountain. Yet such a thing cannot be, it is a structure that has decayed, is decaying, will decay further, and eventually vanish entirely like many before it and many to come. Yet still I cannot help but stare at it.

I leave on the morrow. The excavators leave today with the first cart. A handful of apprentices will travel the day after me with the final cart, the one we brought ourselves. I travel with the hireling to make certain he completes the journey while the others travel with the Academy’s own cart drivers.

*

A blessedly uneventful journey back over many days. The hireling moaned incessantly after the second day about his animals and whether they’d be in good health or if a covetous neighbour had stolen them. I elected to sleep in the cart amidst the lockboxes, tools, and rolled up tents, instead of talk.

*

The artefacts are all gathered in the main hall, spread out over the tiled floor, the various writing desks and study benches pushed to the edges of the room. All other research has been set aside for a great cataloguing exercise. Dull but necessary work.

*

After three days of everyone of every rank working I, and a few other scholars, can return to analysing the treasure trove of this lost people. The song is my principle work and I have unrolled the whole vellum scroll in my study, it hangs from the ceiling and reaches the rotten leather strap that tied it together brushes the floor, the text is cramped and flowing without any break between paragraphs, lines, sentences, or even words in some places. Almost as if it is one whole thing, inseparable, indivisible. Was it to be read in sitting, sang in one ritual, chanted to the sea or the land or the tower? I know not, all I can do is translate, make it legible, and hope answers to the mystery lie within.

The following is another section, further along than the previous for there is confusion where the ink has bled or water has seeped in.

Fire stirs[,]

Spray drowns all sirens[,]

Those on High meet those Below[,]

We Torsgaar suffer what we must[.]

Waters caress[,]

Fires lick[,]

Neither succumbing[,]

Nor overcoming[.]

Defeat [has been] postponed[.]

Victory no longer assured[.]

Death comes regardless[,]

The coast succumbs[.]

These verses are baked with contradiction within themselves and with what came before and yet remain illusive to what is being spoken about. Is it a revelation of the future or a description of the past, a wish, a plea, or a fear? What’s more the document appears to have been written in a single hand in a single sitting, all twelve feet of it, thousands of lines which may contain a single statement or many for the language loops and trails, elongates and shrinks, as required. There is a rhythm to it, or was, but such things allude me, perhaps, once I am done, a poet can discover the hidden qualities known only to artists.

I will continue my work.

*

Restless nights have plagued me and others since we returned from the coast. The words of this poem spiral in my mind, the ancient tongue resounding in my dreams has if it is my mother tongue and all of it makes sense, until I awaken and all of that native understanding slips from my mind like sand through fingers.

*

I dream of storms. Of hail. Of waves. Of angry sea gods and ferocious sky deities. Of crumbling coastlines and ever patient oceans grinding the world to dust.

*

The wind smells of salt yet we are many leagues inland.

*

Arrayed before the storm[,]

Warriors one and all[,]

To stand before a god[,]

For who else is here to witness[.]

*

The Tower stands, everlasting stone, a bulwark against watery death, ever vigilant. Its omniscient light falls upon me, commanding me to return, to stand against… something, someone, somewhere.

*

The Tower beckons. I have arranged a trip with some of the others on the pretence of uncovering more artefacts. I’m certain we will but all of us are agreed, we must seek answers to our dreams.

*

Only I boarded the carriage for the coast. The others have not been seen in a couple of days, in all honesty I struggle to remember their faces, let alone their names, it is as if their existence has been bleached from the world. All that remains are gaps, gaping wounds in time and place but no pain for no one can remember what is missing but all have a sense of something missing. The answer is at the Tower, I am sure of it.

I carry the ballad with me, the scroll rolled up and sealed in a new cylinder that I wear across me at all times.

*

The sea beckons.

The tower beckons.

Neither will leave me in peace.

*

Far from home[,]

Fate to guide thee[,]

Torsgaar welcomes thee[,]

With test of blood and gift of bread[.]

Who remains[?] Shadows speak[,]

Of eternal halls and illuminated peak[,]

Yet none can see, such splendour yet[.]

Who remains[?] None will speak[.]

The style of the latter verses is distinct to the earlier, as if the story, the history, unfolds, unfolded, in unexpected and unpredictable ways. Or the writer was… changed somehow. The handwriting and implement used stay the same so the change must have been sudden.

The Tower beckons.

*

Summoned[,]

Welcomed[,]

Bestowed[,]

Dwelled[.]

Great swathes of the epic are yet to be translated. I have unravelled pockets of it, near the beginning, near the middle, and near the end. I have focussed a great deal on the end in recent days for I believe if I know where I am going it will make the journey easier. Only the end is not an end and the clarity I sought is nothing of the sort. I am bewildered. Lost. Drifting.

Drifting…

*

I stand upon the coast admiring the Tower’s ruin upon that lonely isle. Tall waves lash at the cliffs, eroding the timeless stone. Gulls squawk, circling over the highest remains. Nests of grasses and old fishing nets cling to the lichen covered stones. The sky is a tumult of greys reaching down to blur with the sea at an horizon I know should be there but that I cannot see.

I told the carriage driver to return to the Academy and he happily obliged.

I am alone.

The Tower beckons.

*

Waves lap upon the pebbled shore, depositing foam and seaweed in hazy lines. Crabs scuttle from rock pool to rock pool seeking fresh prey. Jellyfish, trapped in the stagnant waters, await the next wave to make their escape. Sand and crushed shells crunch beneath my boots, sticking to the leather like stars in the night sky.

The Tower beckons.

A boat rests on the shore, the sea lapping at its prow. My arrival was anticipated. I find two oars inside and push the boat out on the water. The icy sea reaches my knees before I clamber into the buoy of my salvation.

The coast stretches away from me, the Tower on the lonely isle behind, averting my gaze once more yet its presence rings within my heart.

Shadows loom. Gulls cackle. Steep cliffs raise above me.

I find a shallow and pull the boat onto a pocket of sand no wider than I am tall. A set of steps carved into the rock climb upwards, wet and slick. With a hand on the stone wall I ascend, ignoring the perilous drop to my right and to certain doom. The steps bend back on themselves and climb ever upwards, the first glimpse of the Tower above the ridge line beckons. I look down, the boat is gone.

I climb, it is all that is left to me and all I can do as some will, not my own, drives me onwards. The isle, the Tower, some force unknown, has me in its grip and will not let go.

*

The Tower grows over the summit as I ascend the last steps. The darkening skies brood overhead, thick with whites and greys. The black ruins, stained with yellow lichen, stand proud amidst thicket and thorn. Three arched windows stand on the north side, the glass long returned to sand. Crumbling walls no higher than my waist etch the grass and bramble of what was once, no doubt, a lustrous hall, the stone climbs again to a single storey porch, either side of the doorway are iron fittings for torches or lanterns encrusted with layers upon layers of rust hammered into the mortar lines, little of which remains. A few desperate slates cling to the mouldering timbers black with age. At the far end of a trace of low walls and collapsed fireplaces is the Tower, resplendent in its decay, drooping with ivy on its western face and a young sapling bursting from a windowsill high above.

Panting, I reach the plateau. The boom of the sea surrounds me. Lightning strikes the earth, thunder tears the sky, the gulls are silent. In the flash of light I see the Tower as it was, all fine cut stone and illuminated glass. Was it a monastery? A church? A lighthouse? The image of the past was so short I can barely attest to its happening.

I steady my breath and approach the doorway. Two long iron hinges cling to the stone, the door long rotten to dirt. I push one aside, the metal shrieking its disuse. I enter the porch and duck beneath a low arch to stand where the entrance hall would have been. Wine red carpets line the centre of the hall, low tables with painted vases sit to either side, tapestries of forgotten myths hang upon the walls. Laughter echoes from the Great Hall. Servants gather at a far door with meat and drink. Lyre strings and silken voices caress my ears.

I look behind me, there is a solid wall. Above me is wooden beams.

One of the servants sees me, approaches with haughty look and bows. He guides me, unspeaking, into the Great Hall. Hundreds have gathered, dressed in splendour. I look down and I am donned in peculiar garb of forest greens with fringe of bumblebee yellows. A tankard is shoved into my hand. A woman, laughing, her dress cut low enough to be scandalous, takes my hand and brings me towards a circle of men and women. A toast is raised. I drink, laugh, and make merry.

Rain lashes the stained glass, providing backdrop to the lyre players and chorus. Lightning flashes. I see a glimpse of the ruin this Tower will become but I think nothing of it and turn to the scandalous woman, laughing at some joke I barely heard.

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AUTHOR’S NOTE

This story was originally planned to be part of the Ynysfall Codex set up by and to tie in to ’s A Letter Concerning the Remains of Tower Isle, and the Last Words of its Former Keeper but it broke its banks and became this longer standalone piece. Thanks to both Chronicler and Man Behind the Screen for the inspiration.

Thanks to for organising the Ynysfall Codex collaborative project, find the index of other entries here.

A mere paintbrush is said to have crippled armies, toppled kings, stolen the hand of a princess, and created entire worlds. Yet the brush has lain inert for the best part of three decades, ever since Aramasa the Painter’s death. A great many painters have come to try the brush of The Master yet none have managed to summon the power between its bristles. Non-artists have tried also, yet they have had no success either. Prophets and sorcerers claiming to have powers beyond human-ken have tried and failed to rouse the energies within the simple brush, a wood handle tipped with boar hair bristles stained thick in old paint and twisted into a curve at the tip. The boar hair refuses all new paint, the bristles behave like stone.

Aramasa, near the end of his days, revealed that he found the brush. Everyone had assumed he had crafted it himself, or had someone in a far away land do so. On the eve of his passing the Master told us a story of a man once called Master that he had learned under. That man had ceased to have a name and had become the title, even signing his paintings The Master, a step Aramasa never did. Aramasa did not say if this Master had had the paintbrush only that when the article came into his possession Aramasa’s Master was no surprised by it, as if he knew what it was. After months of probing, the Master agreed to answer Aramasa’s questions and said the brush was not of this world but of the world higher up, a world accessible by a tear, a gap in the fabric of our world, and that the brush should not be here and that Aramasa needed to embark on a quest to return it.

Aramasa did not do so and in all his years he had never came across another soul who knew anything about the brush. He also admitted to using the paintbrush only thrice and only once actually painting. The painting in question is barely a square foot and hangs on a wall in a palace somewhere, though he was certain no one was aware of the hidden nature of said painting. The other two uses he admitted to were purely for selfish gain, one involving the innocence of a princess and another to secure his own future. Fascinating tales I am sure but so banal given the supposed power of the brush that I withered with shame hearing of them.

There were certainly elements he refused to tell us about. Aspects he skipped over, obviously and deliberately.

Now we know even less than he did and if no-one is able to harness its powers some part of this world will perish. A great mystery, a great object, will be lost. How many other objects like Aramasa’s Paintbrush are there out there lying inert? How many mystical objects lay dormant just waiting for their chosen user to find them? I endeavour to collect as many as I can. Admittedly that will be difficult as I do not know what I am searching for… Perhaps this painting will serve as the first object to acquire.

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Check out the latest chapter of my ongoing serial The Mage Hunter.

If you’re all caught up then last week’s One Shot is sure to entertain.

And if you’ve read that too, then you’re magnificent.

Yoi spent his days, and sometimes nights, watching the trees. Rarely did any creature come within sight of the village, be it predator or prey. Only hunters ever saw deer, rabbit, or birds alive and Yoi’s duty was to keep an ear for the hunters, the few men with the courage to brave the forest, along with a few dozen others stationed along the wall. His nearest companion was a ten or so yards away making conversation difficult and so Yoi had the faint murmur of village life behind him and the eerie silence of the forest before him.

The trees, with trunks stout enough for four men to stand around arms out to the sides, rose to the very sky, threatening the Empyreans above, with barbed branches heavy with rich dark green leaves that blotted out the sun. Days were short, the sun rising above the trees to grant full light for only a small portion of the day with the rest spent in gloom and the majority in darkness. Winter was worse and in the deepest depths there was no daylight at all. Yoi stared into the pillars that held up the sky, seeing no more than three or four trees deep before the gloaming obscured everything further in, even in the middle of the day.

He leaned on his spear, the foot buried in the mud. Crunching leaves echoed from the forest gloom. Yoi squinted into the darkness. A form emerged, shambling over dead leaves and fallen branches. ‘Who returns?’ Yoi called out.

‘Nees,’ the silhouette responded.

‘Ahh, Nees. Where are the others?’

‘I… was injured,’ he stumbled out of the shade, blood sheathing his right side from ear to foot and smeared across his face. He hobbled on.

‘We need to get you to the healers,’ Yoi said. ‘Get to the gate, Nees, they’ll let you in.’

Nees nodded and limped along the outside of the wall. The other watchmen spoke to him, asked about how the hunt went, how he had been injured, but Nees avoided giving answers. Yoi feared the worst for the others out in the forest.

No one else appeared from the forest during Yoi’s watch. He returned to the longhouse for a bowl of Whiteclaw’s stew before heading to see Nees in the healers’ hut.

Nees lay on a cot, a sheet hanging from the ceiling like a cone around him. Yoi stuck his head through the gap to find the hunter struggling to sleep. ‘Nees? How goes it?’ His friend’s face was swollen and the lacerations were like lines of rust now the worst of the blood had been cleaned off. Yoi thought Nees’s nose was different, his jaw wider, his eyes larger. He recognised him but it was if he had aged in the few hours he’d been away, whatever the hunters had found was not to trifled with.

Nees opened his eyes, ‘Oh… errr… Yoi… A woman… did something,’ he paused, staring up at the sheets around him. ‘Said if I rest for… a month I… should heal.’

‘You alright?’ Yoi looked down the length of his friend’s body but couldn’t see anything beneath the layer of bear furs.

‘Huh?’

‘Why are you talking like that, all… stilted… and… uncertain,’ Yoi imitated his acquaintance to prove a point.

‘Oh… I don’t know.’

‘Your eyes are odd too, did they change colour?’

‘Change colour? I… don’t know. Just tired I guess,’ his eyes drooped.

‘I see,’ Yoi’s brow knitted. Nees eyes had changed from a pale grey with a deep blue outer ring to something dun and dark. Maybe it was the shock or burden of what had happened beyond the tree line, Yoi groped for reasons. ‘Rest well, I will visit come the morn.’

Nees was asleep.

Yoi stepped outside and wandered the second inner most concentric circle of the village before venturing to the centre of Lavitia where the godstones stood. He knelt before Braceph’s stone and said a prayed for his friend to the healer god. Then he made his way round the circle to Anakasis, god of hunters, and said a similar prayer. She would look after her own, at least Yoi thought so. Finally he knelt before The Umbra, unkind god of the unknown, and muttered a plea that it had not taken Nees for its own.

Yoi returned to his hut, the bloodied and bloated face of his friend haunting him from the shadows. It was him, it had to be, he was still talking, he had vague memories but given his state some confusion was to be expected. Yoi fed a log to the fire and set a pot of water to boil. He sat on the end of his bed and remembered the conversation they’d had. Sparse would have been a generous description and he made a point to ask about what happened in the forest on the morrow. The Elders and Seers and other village heads would be inquiring too. The other hunters Nees had gone out with had yet to return.

The pot bubbled over and Yoi poured the boiling water into a kettle stuffed with an assortment of dried leaves, primarily nettle. He waited for the tea to brew and then poured himself a cup before turning in for the night.

Yoi arose to semi-dark morning. The moon had dipped beneath the canopy but the sun had yet to raise above it and the village was left in a gloom thanks to a clouded sky. He rose, finished the now cold tea, and dressed with a measured haste. He left without eating.

Nees lay on his cot, asleep. The man and woman beside him were awake though staring into the middle distance, both were old, both were alone and relied on the healers for everything. Yoi found a stool, set it by Nees’s bed and pulled back the canopy. ‘Morning, Nees,’ he did not whisper.

Nees’s eyes sluggishly opened, ‘Huh?’

‘Been asleep this whole time?’ Yoi leaned forward, allowing the cloth to close around his shoulders.

‘I… guess so,’ Nees cleared his throat. The swelling had not reduced, in fact it had gotten worse, and the whites of his eyes had started to grey.

‘Where you attacked?’

‘Yes,’ Nees nodded as he spoke. A section of his head had been shaved to the scalp and a line of stitching bulged red and angry from the stubble.

‘Who by?’

‘Unsure. A predator, a bear perhaps?’

‘Who was with you?’

‘Errr,’ he rubbed his eyes. ‘Mmm. I can’t remember. Two others were there.’

‘You went out with a party of six.’

‘We split up.’

‘Is that normal?’

‘I… don’t… No, no, it’s not normal,’ Nees shifted and sat upright against the wall. ‘What’s with the questions?’

‘Have to ascertain the events that occurred.’

‘Is that your responsibility?’

‘No, think of me as practise,’ Yoi smiled and sat back, feigning a relaxed stance. ‘An Elder will question you if the other hunters do not return, maybe even if they do return.’

Nees said nothing.

‘Who went where?’

Nees furrowed his brow for a long while, as if willing a memory to form in the air above him. After a dozen heartbeats he relaxed and sighed, ‘I can’t remember.’

Yoi mmm’d. ‘Can you remember anything?’

‘No,’ Nees admitted. He turned away from Yoi. ‘Please leave.’

Yoi placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder and then left to stand watch on the wall for the day offering him plenty of time to wrestle with Nees’s unpromising answers.

The forest beckoned. The shadowed depths crawled from the trees and grasped for Yoi, teasing him, taunting him, to venture into the forest’s cloying embrace. Yoi leaned on the palisade, his spear against his shoulder, and stared into the abyss. The darkness so total as to move with shapes of half-men and wicked beasts. Yoi rubbed his eyes and the figures always dissolved back into the black. Had they been there? He didn’t know, would never know. Umbra would never answer a prayer and even if It did answer it would not be clear what was said or shown, there was no possibility of Yoi venturing beyond the village wall either.

For all the shifting shades and mistaken glints that could have been eyes Yoi’s watch was uneventful. Night descended, meaning the almost perpetual dusk finally gave way to true dark. Braziers flickered throughout the village, a weak attempt to ward off the worst of night. Yoi returned to the longhouse for a bowl of Whiteclaw’s stew and to listen to the gossip of the day. He sat at one of the fires in the centre of the long, narrow building and watched the flames paint visions of nothing.

Whiteclaw sat beside him, the wizened woman clattering as the carved bones and pebbles in her hair and clothing chimed. ‘What’s caught you?’ she wheezed and sat down, her lank grey-white limp across her shoulders, an ivory bear twirled about clicking against a bundle of feathers and a single claw as big as Yoi’s hand.

‘Nees,’ Yoi said.

‘The poor hunter with the healers. I saw him today,’ she leaned back on a pile of furs and skins.

‘And?’ Yoi sat upright, eager for news of his friend, eager for someone to tell him he was over worried.

She tutted, sucked her teeth, ‘Bad way of it. Bad way of it.’ She scrunched her face up causing her wrinkles to tenfold and devour her eyes. When she released her eyes were vacant, ‘Nothing good I see for him. None of his party have returned. We must face the Truth.’

‘I will not. What have the Elders said?’

‘They question him now and then and tomorrow, over meals, in the dead of night, you know their way. Meandering like a river when we can ill afford it and crashing like a fallen giant when delicacy is required. Have you seen the Empyreans?’ Whiteclaw untangled a pale pipe, as long as her forearm, from her hair, stuffed it full of some dried leaf and petal, and ignited it. She gave three long draws to bring the smoke through, making the lines around her mouth come together in a lipless pucker.

‘I spoke with the gods, none answered,’ Yoi set his empty bowl down beside him, his vision suitably dazzled by the fire.

Whiteclaw nodded through plumes of smoke. ‘Not unusual, the Empyreans are often silent.’ She was silent a moment longer, drawing on her pipe and staring into the fire as Yoi was doing. ‘You must keep by Nees’s side, he needs you now lest he slip away. An answer will reveal itself.’

Yoi smiled wanly but felt no comfort from Whiteclaw’s words. After a short time he made to leave without saying a word. Whiteclaw had wandered off to console some other hapless youth with a meal and a kind word. As he left he overheard a group of men muttering about Nees. Yoi only heard a single sentence but it was enough, “Claimed by the Shadow.” Yoi ran out.

Yoi returned to Nees’s side as the woman had told him to but his friend was asleep and he didn’t see any need to wake him so he went home and wrestled with sleep.

The next day dawned and Yoi awoke groggy and unrested. He rose, dressed, and stepped into the cool, damp air. The sun was at its zenith, baring down with all the intensity of an abandoned fire. A mist clung to the forest canopy and sat over the village like a thin sheet, the sun diffused through it.

Yoi was late.

He reached the wall unsure of how long his post had been vacant and when he tried to catch someone’s eye they avoided him. It was his connection to Nees, he knew it. People had begun to question if he had been lying about the hunting party. No others had returned and rumour had it he was unforthcoming with the elders too. If Nees had been claimed by the Shadow as people thought then he had to be dealt with. He shouldn’t have been admitted in the first place. The Shadow’s touch, the touch of the Unknown, could spread unknowingly. The whole village could succumb and no one would be aware, at least not right away. The degradation would be in the little things, people stopped praying to the gods, stopped carving toys for their children, spoke less and less each day, forgot the faces of their mother and father, and, finally, forgot themselves. The flesh would remain but the spirit would be gone, nothing more than a beast going about its habit in the here-and-now, no past, no future.

Yoi leaned on his spear, morose and staring into nothing. The forest yawned at him. The depths of its darkness swirling about in impossible shapes. The sun had vanished behind the canopy and the stray light that made it to the village was a faint flicker. The eternal endless forest had remained still for the whole of Yoi’s watch, the unmoving trees and infinite shadow concealing any and all things. Yoi yawned, his legs wanting to buckle under the pressure of the day. He blinked, slowly, and when he opened his eyes there was a silhouette moving in the rightmost reaches of his vision. He stood up and focussed on the figure. It was Nees.

‘Nees!’ Yoi waved and bellowed.

There was no response.

‘Nees!’ Yoi beckoned again.

No response.

Nees strode across the thin glade and into the trees.

Yoi looked towards the other watchers to his left and right, ‘Who let him out?’ But his voice fell on no one. The guards near the gate were missing. Yoi hurried to the open gate and shouted after Nees for a third time, though he knew it would amount to nothing. When Nees’s form was engulfed in darkness Yoi stepped up to the precipice of the village. He fought to cross it. It was dangerous, suicidal even but in the end he stepped across and once across he ran after his friend who had vanished into the mammoth trees.

‘Wait!’ One of the other forest watchers shouted after Yoi, but it was too late.

Leaves and spines crunched under Yoi’s foot. He burrowed several yards into the forest before coming to a halt, the air damp and cloying. The village was still there, obscured by trees and branches but a comforting sight nonetheless. Yoi felt the cool forest air slither up his sleeves and down his back, he was panting, his hot breath steaming out of his mouth. He frantically searched for his friend and there, on the forest floor, he found Nees. Flat on the ground face first. ‘Nees!’ Yoi rushed to him and turned him over.

The man fell limp in Yoi’s arms. ‘Nees!’ His voice swam through the trees for miles.

Nees flinched, weak but not dead. His eyes remained closed. He was clammy. Yoi hoisted him up on his feet and he came too, dazed and struggling to speak.

‘Come on, we must get back to the village,’ Yoi whispered.

Nees murmured something but Yoi could not make out any words in the sounds. Yoi half-dragged his friend towards the edge of the forest, Nees’s head lolling against his chest and his feet snagging under roots.

A crunch rang out from behind them. A second sounded to Yoi’s left as a rustle of leaves chimed to his right. ‘Nees?’ Yoi said.

His friend looked up, eyes open.

Yoi recoiled, dropping Nees, and screaming. ‘It can’t be! No. No. Nononono!’ Yoi made to run but shadows barred his way.

Nees caught himself and stood upright, swaying, red irises and the whites now black. ‘I… must return,’ he turned around and lumbered deeper into the forest, his form darkening, his shadow swelling.

Breathing heavily Yoi tried to force his way past the shadow man but he was solid and unmoving. ‘Let me go! I am not one of you.’

‘Not yet,’ the man of shadow said, and stepped aside.

Yoi fell flat on his face and scampered away, rising to his feet and running without looking back. His memory of the last few days had grown hazy.

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Welcome to the shattered realm of Ynysfall, together we may piece together its fragmented history.

The following is remnant number four of Isenbard’s Annals of the Years of Winter, though attribution is difficult and it may be another writer entirely. Little is known of the Years of Winter save it was after the collapse of a once great and mighty empire whose architectural wonders impress upon people to this day yet almost nothing is known about those who built said wonders. Isenbard does not shed light on what came before but charts the miasma that humanity found itself in when, for once, the world did truly end. The pages were found in a broken jar buried beneath an old cottage in Malua Woods. There is no obvious order to the entries and they are presented as they were found. — Esfer Tarantus, Historian of the Years of Winter

[…] lost before the fall. Unfathomable to those born in this time of darkness. Impossible to explain to the youth what was, how we used to live. Those who remember are fewer every year.

[The text is damaged for three lines.]

We now enter the twentieth year since the Last Emperor vanished. He has never been seen and no body sits within the mausoleum constructed on Teranith Hill, I should know as I was the first to raid it along with my band of marauders. Others have done so since and found as much as we did. Naught but dust and an empty sarcophagus. Tales of the Last Emperor have been spreading of late, that he is gathering great warriors to his cause and will re-conquer what was lost. Conquer from whom? Plague has decimated every town from the Sirinine Sea to the Kalg Mountains. Petty bandits vie for pockets of territory smaller than a middle sized farm in the days of Coren. The Last Emperor is dead and this dearth of life is our punishment.

[The text is damaged for ten lines.]

A boy visited my hut today. Less than ten summers, all skin and bone with sunken eyes. He begged with his bowl and spoon. […] plague again. […] sprinted off. Good riddance.

In my dotage all I have are memories of that once shining city, centre of the world. Life was full of colour then, now it is mere shades of grey even in the summer. Thousands of people would visit the markets each day, ships would arrive from far off lands loaded with treasures, exotic goods, and the sailors would be eager to share outlandish tales.

Now I am alone and am lucky to see a passing drover, though the herd is never more than three cattle. Not like in my youth when you’d see herds in the hundreds. My boyhood spent running messages through the streets and back alleys of the golden city and now my final years chronicling my life have been the best to me. Those pesky years in the middle, banditry, treachery, mercenary work, mercy killings, they were the worst. Seeing the towns and villages that once hummed with life become abandoned or burned down, me and my men doing the burning. Men, I were still a boy when I raided my first village. Dying of hunger and thirst with nothing but a skinny horse and rusted sword to my name. The villagers fared little better and after killing two of them they gave me a cup of wine and a leg of dried ham. It was all the food they had, or so they said. I imagine that village is desolate now, like so many others.

[…]

The armies march no more. No retinues demand taxes, no kings request fealty. Farms lie untilled, smiths have no coal, coinage has been replaced with haggling. A man fights another for the slightest infraction of honour. Children are kept indoors for fear of plague or bandits.

The world is dying.

As we well know, the world did not die. Though it cannot be said to be thriving. Isenbard offers few details on the geography, nor on the names of people or places. His is a personal history, the sort once common at the peak of the Empire, though so few survive whole and intact and I have certainly not had the fortune to see more than fragments.

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Thanks to for the prompt - crystalline crustacean - from his 5th September Flash Fiction Friday post.

‘You don’t understand, Mikael, every hunter in the Reach will be on the trail of this beast, we can’t stop for a rest, no matter how brief,’ Gregor ploughed on through foothills, the dense heather catching his trousers and rustling against his armoured boots. The scabbard of his claymore knocked against his lower back with each step.

‘Only we would be putting ourselves through this. Alright, maybe Leana’s lot would but no one else. We don’t even have an accurate location for the beast,’ Mikael said, trudging behind Gregor.

‘No one could offer a description of the prey either,’ Tristan added. He languished behind the pair, picking his way through the terrain at half Gregor’s pace.

‘Precisely,’ Mikael said. He ran a hand through his blond locks.

‘Obviously it’s a dragon. Scales of diamond, teeth of sapphire, a ferocious breath, and a nasty bite. That’s a dragon,’ Gregor said.

‘Or a minotaur,’ Tristan said, adjusting his pack and pulling at his shirt.

‘Or a salamander,’ Mikael offered.

‘Salamanders don’t have scales,’ Gregor corrected. ‘And besides, there are no lakes or seas up here.’

‘There are different sorts of salamanders,’ Mikael said, bristling at Gregor’s reply. He was meant to be the bestiary for the group, he knew his salamanders from his lizards, dragons, drakes, and wyverns.

‘None with scales,’ Gregor said. ‘Doesn’t matter. Whatever manner of beast it is we will slay it, we will butcher it, and we will be rich beyond our wildest dreams.’

There was a pause in the conversation. The only sound was the wind breathing down from the mountain top and the scratching of heather against their boots and trousers.

‘The bill did not say scales, it said hide,’ Tristan said. He stared at the ground, creeping through the knot of plants that covered the foothills of the unnamed mountain. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Guys at the lodge said to go to the shadow of the lonely mountain to the east. That’s what we have done. Given no one else had bothered to check out this target it’s the best we have,’ Gregor halted and straightened up. He tugged at his short beard, pinching singular hairs and yanking them out of his chin. He checked each time and when he successfully got one he released it on the breeze like he was wishing on an lost eyelash.

‘This bulletin is a red herring. A means to get us lost so someone else can go after a real prize. I just know it. We haven’t seen a thing for days. No towns. No monsters. Barely any animals. We’ve been had,’ Mikael dropped down to sit in the heather, the pots, weapons, and odd-and-ends tied to his pack clanged. He folded his arms and lay back. ‘May as well rest for an hour then head back to town.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, we ain’t far,’ Gregor bellowed. He was pleading but it didn’t sound like it, to Mikael it sounded like anger at him giving up.

‘What’s over that hill?’ Mikael jutted his thumb out behind him. ‘If it’s more of this than I’m done. There are easier hunts to do than this.’

‘None will pay as well as this one.’

‘This one doesn’t pay anything, the prize is the kill! And I don’t think the monster exists at all!’

‘Well that’s just preposterous, every bill is checked out by the lodge.’

‘How?’

‘What do you mean how?’

‘How do they check? If they had checked we would have an accurate location rather than be wandering the wilds!’ Mikael lay in the heather staring up at the sky. Wispy grey clouds approached from south, thick black clouds behind them. ‘Storm’s coming in and we’re in the middle of absolute nowhere.’ He thumped the earth, though the heather cushioned the blow.

The ground rumbled.

Gregor lost his footing, falling backwards into a cushion of heather. Tristan crouched, a hand on the hilt of his sword. ‘What was that?’

‘Tremor,’ Mikael said. He had closed his eyes and listened for bird calls, there were none.

A second quake rippled through the ground, raising a section of the heathland up a few feet above where it had been. ‘This is no tremor,’ Gregor said. ‘Mikael, get up, need to move. Back down the hills, grounds collapsing.’

‘That’s farcical. It’s a tremor, count to fifty heartbeats and all will be well,’ Mikael sat up on his elbows, pale lilac flowers danced about him.

The earth rose beneath them, a fissure sprang between with Mikael and Tristan on one side and Gregor on the other. Another opened up twenty foot away, and a third curled around the hillock behind Gregor. Beneath the boom of the earth swallowing them up was a chittering. Gregor flung himself onto solid ground. Tristan had done the same but Mikael was barely on his feet as he was thrust ten foot into the air. A great clack sounded across the foothills. Gregor landed in a heap and turned to find Mikael standing on a layer of heathered dirt piled upon a massive shell that stretched twenty foot to his left and right. He drew his claymore with a dumbfounded slowness.

Two claws emerged from the land, dirt tumbling from them in great gouts. The clackclackclack was deafening. Many thin spindly legs emerged from underneath, each with what looked like billhooks all up the side.

There was no roar, no cry from the giant crustacean only a chittering, a side-ways lunge, and then a claw slamming down where Gregor stood. He scrambled and dove out of the impact, the ground exploding in a pillar where he had been.

‘That’s a crab...’ Tristan gawked. ‘That’s a giant crab.’

‘Yes, it’s a crab! Wake up would you!’ Gregor screamed. He raised his claymore and charged at the beast. Its shell glistened like trapped stars in its partial translucence. Two eyes as blue as sapphires peered down from their stalks jutting up from near the beasts mouth that had more moving parts than Gregor could count. He struck at the nearest leg. A shudder went up his arms as the sword bit into the shell around the leg and became wedged. Gregor wrestled with his weapon but it was futile, the sword was stuck in the crab’s leg, barely a dent to show for it. ‘Mikael! Attack its eyes! The eyes!’ Gregor yelled as he ran towards Tristan, hoping to avoid a swing from the crab, abandoning his sword. He dove for cover behind a lichen covered rock and peered over the ridge as the crab attempted to grab Mikael with its claws. Gregor’s sword remained wedged in the crab’s leg as it danced around, shards of shell broke off, glistening and translucent.

Mikael gradually made it to one of the crab’s eyes and swung with his sword. The eye vanished as the sword blurred through the air. ‘I missed!’ he shouted, more in shock than to inform the others. He hacked at where the stalk had descended and shards of crystal chipped and scattered about. A small hole appeared and Mikael plunged his sword into it. The crab scuttled left and right, shaking violently. Mikael held fast to his sword as he was thrown about like a child’s doll. A claw snapped at him but failed to reach him. The crab span, churning the loamy ground into pillars of dirt and mangled heather. Gregor had fled from beneath the crab, abandoning his sword to the crustacean’s legs. Tristan remained a safe distance away, trembling with sword in hand. Mikael leant on his sword, plunging it further into the eyestalk. He toppled forward as the crab dove. Mikael fell over the front of the crab, holding on to the hilt of his sword. Dangling, he kicked at the crab’s mouth-parts, or what he guessed was its mouth. Nothing happened. Mikael half-hoisted himself back upon the crab as he felt something pass through his middle. He coughed and tried to kick but his legs wouldn’t move. He lifted himself up, suddenly lighter, and looked down. His legs were gone. Blood rained down over the crab’s face, his legs motionless on the ground far below. Mikael felt his cheeks pale, his throat went dry.

‘Mikael!’ Tristan yelled but it was too late.

‘We should run,’ Gregor murmured.

Mikael heard them both talk, his hearing clearer than it had ever been. He agreed with Gregor, they should run. He lay atop the crab, arm wrapped around the handle of his sword. He felt his life slip away, a life spent wandering from place to place, patching boots and sharpening swords, never seeing more than a handful of silver coins at once. It was a life, but not a good one.

The giant crab snapped at Tristan and Gregor, reducing the heather nearby to fragrant dust. Gregor had began to run. There were no diamonds, some fool had mistook a crystalline crustacean for diamond. Fools.

Tristan stammered, stepping backwards as the crab began to chase. The razor sharp legs tore across the hills faster than he could run. He looked for Gregor but he had already bolted down the hill. ‘Oh...’ A shadow yawned over Tristan and a claw the size of a small cottage fell upon him.

Gregor heard the crash of claw, then felt the ground rumble. He stumbled and fell face first into a patch of brambles nestled within the heather. The cuts to his hands, arms, and face stung as he tried to rise. The ground rumbled with a staccato rhythm. Clackclackclack sounded behind him. As soon as he was standing he ran without looking back.

And ran.

And ran.

And ran. Until he had reached the flat moors of wherever he was. Gregor’s head was scrambled. He panted, sweat dripping from every inch of him. The ground no longer rumbled and when he finally turned there was only a silhouette of a crab about the size of his little finger nail on the furthest peak of hill he could see. He was free. He lay down in the grass staring up at the clouds and wept.

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Thanks to for his 15th August prompt.

“When my god came down from Serenity I expected fanfare, flocks of converts, the temples and sanctuaries to be packed and the coffers overflowing. That did not happen, for my god is a vengeful god and never more so than against the other gods…”

Chronicle of the Deviation, Yulien Fang

The third day of the Festival of Rebirth rolled around and Kallen had forgotten to construct enough lanterns for the evening. The whole of Gyan would be out, sharing food and mingling, celebrating the similarities of their chosen god rather than the differences. Devotees of Jankathos would sit side-by-side with those of Isinieth, putting aside any conflicts of the year prior and starting afresh, while followers of Oslarangi and Misis would make plans to work together on repairing their respective temples, splitting the work to share the load. Now, because of Kallen’s forgetfulness, many would be making such plans in darkness.

Yulien Fang rummaged through the store house for cloth and sticks, she found enough for two more lanterns, she gave them to Kallen. ‘Next year you will receive no duties if you continue in this manner.’

Kallen breathed a sigh of relief, ‘Good.’

‘No, not good. An attendant to Jankathos would do well that without responsibility we are nothing. Without our small tasks and busy-work we become prey to lethargy, we lose a part of ourselves, become less conscious.’ Yulien had never fathomed why Kallen had been granted the prestige of becoming an attendant at the sanctuary, he had nothing of Jankathos inside of him, no essence of the god, if anything the boy had tendencies of Isinieth.

‘If you say so,’ Kallen made the frame of the lantern, using straw twine to tie the sticks together into a vaguely cylindrical shape.

‘How long have you been an initiate here?’ Yulien Fang chose a bundle of sticks and lay them out into a pattern that would become a lantern.

‘Three years,’ Kallen yawned.

How? Yulien thought. Never had an initiate taken so long to advance, never had such a lazy boy or girl been admitted to the sanctuary. ‘Are you from a crested family?’

Kallen shook his head, he began wrapping his lantern in cloth leaving a hole in the bottom and top.

‘Orphan?’

‘No.’

None of it made any sense to Yulien Fang but she had to trust her superiors knew what they were doing, perhaps it was an experiment to see if Kallen, or any one unsuited to Jankathos’s ways, could be made to be. Three years and clearly the experiment was a failure, at least Yulien was only stuck with one lazy initiate.

The pair finished constructing the extra lanterns. ‘Thank you for your help, Kellen,’ Yulien gathered them on a string and carried them over her shoulder out to the street.

Kellen huffed and remained seated, arms folded, staring into the distance.

Yulien traipsed outside to hang the lanterns at the end of the street, over the row of tables situated down the centre in one long line. Locals had begun to emerge, bringing their own offerings, some had found a place and were nattering while attendants and initiates worked around them to add finishing touches. Food had begun to arrive, much of it made by the attendees but a significant amount cooked by the devotees that inhabited the sanctuary. A tray of creamed cabbage went by and Yulien’s stomach rumbled. To give freely of your own food was the height of charity and such goodwill was paramount during the Festival of Rebirth, when all things were renewed, from nature as new plants budded and many animals mated, to relationships between neighbours and family, strangers became friends, and estranged couples reconciled. New life appeared and old life was reinvigorated.

As she wound the string of the lanterns around a nail lodged firmly in a window frame she thought of her own faith in Janakthos’s ways. She had joined the sanctuary full of wonder and love for her god, ready to give herself to his command so that good would spread throughout the world. Her approach had not changed except she now knew that spreading good was best done as locally as possible and that the results rippled outward in ways unbeknownst to her.

A horn was blasted once and Yulien Fang saw the devotees of the local temple to Isinieth emerge from a corner further down the street. Two horn blowers, wearing garish bright robes, led the way. Behind was the First Abbot and behind him came the various ranks of officiate. Similar scenes would be playing out all across the city, in every city and town and hamlet. Yulien hurried back to the sanctuary to alert Principle Attendant Maia.

Half a watch later a welcome party had been assembled, dressed in ceremonial finery of long hood robes with little in way of ornamentation. The Principle led the procession down to the mile stretch of dining tables, a hodgepodge of all the locals tables and chairs, none of which matched in height or width. Maia welcomed First Abbot Tasern, the pair shared pleasantries and then a two handled glass of wine which they had to hold together, one handle each, before drinking to show their common nature and desire for harmony. Once the cup was drained all the guests were invited to sit.

Kellen was the last of the initiates to process down the steps of the sanctuary. Yulien had found her seat, between two Isinieth attendants, or the equivalent, of a similar age, before spotting Kellen making his way to the far end of the table. The boy was pale faced, staring at the groundas he stumbled along. Yulien reached for him but as she did he fell forward, collapsing onto his front. A sigh burst out of him, a long wretched croak, that made it sound like his lungs had shrivelled up like old crumpled leather. He writhed and shook so hard that he slammed into the cobbles, the crack of his bones breaking from the force echoing off the three storey buildings either side of the street. Blood coursed through the cracks and when the boy finally laid still, his face was turned towards Yulien. His eyes were bloodshot and bulging, his cheeks popped and lacerated from the impacts, his nose was broken too. A wheeze left him and when the last crumb of air was forced from his lungs Kellen stood up, his limbs squirming and bending at impossible angles where the bones had been snapped. His blood shot eyes surveyed the crowd that had gathered for the Festival of Rebirth, he did not breathe.

A chill swam down Yulien’s spine and she began edging away instinctively. There was something to his eyes, a kind of madness that she did not want to uncover. Kellen’s hand rose towards the First Abbot and with a flick of his wrist the worshipper of Isinieth exploded, dousing those near him with blood and gore.

A host of screams tore down the table. Men, women, and children ran for safety, as they did, Kellen turned his attention to them and held out his hand, when his hand hovered over the diminishing forms they were unmade. A man simply unravelled. One moment he was running and the next he was a pile of string on the ground, his shirt and trousers nothing but strips of cloth.

‘I will unmake you, I will remake you,’ Kellen said. His voice was triple-toned, warbling along three times in quick succession giving the illusion of a deep bassy echo. It was not Kellen’s voice. ‘Rebirth is my gift to give and I find you all wanting,’ the sky clapped with thunder, Kellen waved his hand around and another two dozen men and women burst, shrank, were reduced to ribbons, or their water removed from their bodies to leave nothing but husks that collapsed into dust.

‘For I am Jankathos,’ Kellen continued to stride down the road, unmaking people has he saw fit.

Yulien ran the opposite way, tears streaming down her face. Others were with her, screaming and crying, but she was too focussed on her own flight to notice who they were. Some barged past, faster, others tripped and crashed against the setts. She ran towards the one place her father had always told her to run if disaster struck.

Share ReddOscarWrites - Fantasy, SciFi, and Horror

Word had travelled fast through Gyan and people were packing up carts and wagons to flee the town. Kellen’s possessed form had been seen to the south heading towards the temple of Isinieth cursing the god to Oblivion.

Yulien leapt up the black steps of the Temple to the Unknown Deity and raced inside the obsidian building. The nebulous rock spun and contorted the flickering flames from the scant torches dotted haphazardly around the main chamber. Reflections danced and glistened so that her shadow was on a pillar while she stood before the altar, struggling to catch her breath. Candles of blue flame illuminated the ebony altar and nothing more. A cup of dark liquid encrusted with jet sat between the candles.

‘What besets a woman of Jankathos to disturb the peace of the Unknown?’ the voice was everywhere and only in Yulien’s ears all at once. She twitched left and right to find a sea of black robed thralls surrounding her, drawing closer with nary a sound.

‘Jankathos has possessed a boy and is unmaking all he comes across,’ the words fell out of her without thought. ‘No, not Jankathos. Something pretending to be him.’

‘That tells us nothing of why you are here,’ the black clad followers formed a ring around Yulien and the altar, hoods low to obstruct their entire faces.

Yulien gulped down a breath and straightened up. ‘I have heard the Unknown have ways to counter the power of gods, that you harken back to primordial times, powers forgotten, or at least, that’s what my da used to say.’

‘Perhaps but why do you think we would assist you now?’

Yulien was stunned and ran up to one of the servants of the void. She reached out to grab him or her by the shoulders but at the last the person became a pillar of smoke. Yulien gasped and fell back, once more encircled beneath the altar. ‘But… whatever it is out there is killing everyone!’

‘Perhaps that is meant to happen.’

‘Perhaps that is what the gods will.’

‘Perhaps that is what the Unknown wills.’

‘The Unknown Deity wills all.’

The cacophony forced Yulien to her knees, clutching at her ears. ‘No. No. Nonononononono. NO!’ Her final scream silenced the black temple, the echo snatched away by the strange glassy stone.

‘Many are the gods and many are their wills. Jankathos has broken the Covenant of Binding, the gods are unleashed, havoc returns to Creation. Serenity and Oblivion open their gates!’ the words came from a single woman who shook, her hands quivering to remove her hood. Her eyes rolled back to reveal pure white and as the words poured from her plump lips she arched back until a final gasp rattled out of her and she collapsed into a mound of ash. The thralls around her gathered the dust into a cup and set it on the altar beside the cup of dark liquid. Everyone else knelt to the altar, pressing their foreheads to the floor.

‘The Unrevealed has spoken,’ they said as one. ‘Ancient laws have been renounced. The Old Ways are no more. A New Dawn is upon us. New traditions must be formed. New wars will be fought. New gods will be born, old gods will die. That which was foreseen has come to pass and the will of the Unseen will be felt.’ The black clad worshippers rose to their feet. Three came to Yulien and guided her towards the altar. ‘Drink. Drink. Drink. Eat. Eat. Eat,’ the trio said in turn, the words tumbling from her left to her right, resounding of the temple in ways her own voice did not. ‘The powers once lost have been found, once forgotten, remembered, a host is required. A host is presented. The Unwilling becomes willing. Drink. Drink. Drink. Eat. Eat. Eat.’ A cup was raised to Yulien’s mouth, another held her mouth open.

Yulien made to speak but some force prevented it, an influence that came from within and without, not malevolent but a far ways from kind. The ash was poured into her mouth, drying her tongue and causing her to cough. A bloom of black soot mushroomed over her. The second cup was lifted to her lips. The liquid was cold and tasted acidic. One mixed with the other and she swallowed. Hands released her and she stumbled backwards feeling a pressure building within her.

‘A shard of the Unknown reveals itself to us. That which was lost is found, that which was lost is found,’ the thralls fell to their knees once more, this time facing Yulien. ‘A new aspect is born. Uncertainty remains if she will ascend.’

Yulien clutched her chest, her robes bunched in her fist. A black fire rose from her stomach and poured from her lips, her vision blurred and cleared, her skin rippled and her fingernails became like black glass. The feeling subsided and she stood tall. For a moment a sense of control overcame her and she knew with a wave of her hand she could shield others from Kellen’s misbegotten power. Knowledge flooded her mind, names, faces, places, she had never known or seen, far from Gyan and far from the world. Her mind reeled and she fell back, caught by a plethora of the Unknown devotees, and she fainted.

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Yulien awoke moments later, her mind clear and focussed. She was lifted onto her feet in the centre of the sable temple and guided towards the door.

‘You must go,’ many thralls spoke as one. ‘Put an end to Jankathos’s intrusion. Destroy his slave, destroy his connection to this world.’

Yulien was hurried out into the harsh light of day and rushed down the steps. She was shoved in a vague direction and when she turned around there was no one with her, not even the sound of footsteps or people breathing.

‘Go,’ the word echoed in her mind in a voice she knew intimately but could not place. She stalked the barren streets of Gyan. Doors hung open, homes abandoned. Dogs wandered from corner to corner sniffing for food and company. Noise returned to the town as she neared her temple, the sanctuary to Jankathos. There were screams and cries, yelps, and fearful shouts all followed by silence. A silence that burrowed beneath her skin and clawed around her, turning her blood cold and laying fear in her stomach. She turned onto the main street at the far end of town and saw Kellen unravelling a woman as she left her house. Yulien reached out too late. She felt a force worm out from her fingers and buffet against Kellen’s potency. The unseeable vines she had sent forth spiralled out of control and dissipated into the aether.

Kellen, possessed by Jankathos, continued on down the street. His hands flexed, the skin swollen and split. His entire body was a score of lesions and weeping sores were his insides had bloated and burst out of him. Bone jutted from his right shoulder and he favoured his right leg, his left twisted wrongly so the foot faced outward.

A man darted from an alleyway, sprinting away from Kellen.

The false-god raised his hand to unmake the man.

Yullien thrust both her hands out and formed an invisible dome around the man. Kellen’s power slammed into the dome and Yulien felt as if she were pressing against a brick wall, unable to move and unable to be moved. When the man did not perish Kellen relaxed, grunted, and tried again. Yulien had been ready for the second attempt and wrapped the dome around his needling attack. She could feel his might as it recoiled from her own borrowed ability. She directed the Unknown power to ensnare Jankathos’s and that lead to Kellen being pinned to the dirt by an invisible hand.

‘Let go!’ Kellen yelled, his head pressed into the dirt so his neck was elongated. His bloodshot eyes watched Yulien upside down, his body worming against her.

Yulien was thirty or more foot away from him, hands outstretched, fingers strained and twisting like playing at cat’s cradle. ‘No!’ She pressed down on him again, leaving an imprint of him in the road. Patches of his skin burst from the pressure. He screamed in pain but did not die. It seemed nothing could kill him so long as Jankathos had hold. ‘Surrender!’

‘No!’ A hand flung out and Yulien felt something wrap around her leg. She was thrown across the street, smashing into a low wall. There was no pain, something had shielded her at the last moment, but she still ached from impact and knew a bruise was inevitable. Whatever power was aiding her it was not infinite.

Kellen leapt to his feet and raised his hands above his head, fingers like a knot of brambles. Yulien felt the air around her tighten and begin to taste acrid. She waved her hand and rebuffed the attack. ‘How is this possible? I am Jankathos!’ Kellen yelled and punched out another attack.

Yulien deflected the invisible beam of energy away with an effortless swipe of her left hand. With each use she felt the power of the Unseen draw closer to her, as if becoming entwined with her very soul. Fear spiralled her thoughts of Kellen and the need to put a stop to him. She knew he was already dead, or close to it, but finishing him off… it wasn’t right. It wasn’t what a follower of Jankathos would do, should do.

Kellen’s attack came swift and fierce and each of them Yulien deflected with worrying ease and when Kellen screamed out in rage she funnelled everything she had into him. The puppet of Jankathos fell apart, his flesh crumbling apart like old stone. Some cold, dark wind slapped Yulien in the face and heartbeats later the world fell still.

She gasped as a warmth left her body. Panting she fell to her knees, the capabilities she was growing used to gone.

‘You did well,’ a voice spoke to her, it echoed as if standing within the black rock Temple to the Unknown

‘I did?’

A figure stood before her, vaguely mimicking her own shape in a tower of featureless inky smoke. ‘Yes, you have the instinct.’

Kellen lay dead on the ground, his body a mess of gore. ‘Why did it happen?’

‘Jankathos has a long plan, that boy was part of it.’

‘Without him is it over? Is Jankathos banished?’ Yulien felt strange saying her own god’s name with a negative light but she had no other guidance on how to interpret what had happened.

‘Over? No,’ the man of smoke shook its head. ‘The old ways are no more. The bindings which held us in stasis are broken. I fear your world will become a battlefield and nothing more.’

‘There will be more possessions? Will the gods… come to this plane?’

They might. I, who remain hidden, will not. Though I may draw nearer to exert greater influence. Jankathos is sure to try again, he has a reason but I know none who know it. War is here, Yulien, war between the gods and your world is not prepared,’ the man of smoke evaporated leaving Yulien alone in a gore-filled silence, tattered lanterns flitting in the wind.

Thanks for reading, check out the latest chapter of The Mage Hunter if you have not already, thanks:

Thanks to for his prompt “A character who is a culture critic” for this one.

Preposterous! That’s all I can say about it. To think we have fallen so far as to take ideas from humans! The mere thought drives me into a virulent rage that is wont to have me take to my bed lest I expire. Not only are we the elder species but also the more sophisticated, accomplished in all manner of arts, technology, and science. We are responsible for their success! I doubt anyone reading this needs a full lesson of history but needless to say we rescued them when they appeared on our shore starving, desperate, and few in number. We welcomed them into our towns and cities, taught them the ways of the land, introduced them to all our understandings and cultivations. And how do they repay us? By undermining us! By filling our heads with ideas on par with boiled cabbage!

How many of you have seen this latest trend? Mmm? The swaying, the shuffling of feet, the joining and separating of hands, the spinning. Oh the spinning, those silly humanfolk look as if they are spinning tops, twirling along to that cat’s claw on slate they call “music”. And just last night I witnessed a dwarf engaging in the same act. Suffice to say I was beside myself, my wife too, and our young, as well as the entire clan and all onlookers. A dwarf engaging in dance! Can you imagine a more ignoble sight? I cannot. Undignified, shameful, the offender should be exiled to prevent his failure of judgement spread.

There is no coordination that I can make out, no reason for a left step or a right step or when and why a spin occurs. The humans, and dwarf, appeared to have lost their minds. The musicians too as they continued to play without any respect given to proper musical metre. I chastised the fellow but a few saw fit to applaud his efforts. The humans were all too glad to have convinced one of their betters to lower himself, I’m sure they believe themselves to have won a great victory. I assure you this will lead nowhere good, nowhere sane and Dwarven. Only chaos lies at the end of this deep, long road, and our kind no all too well the perils far of the long roads beneath the dirt. This is merely a step towards such dangers.

The humans have their own settlements now but some insist on remaining in our towns and cities, why? It is many decades since they arrived ashore, shipwrecked and homeless, and by our bounty they survived. Yet they disrespect our customs and entice good dwarves to betray themselves. A human may lack the iron to be disciplined, a dwarf does not and if he does, as that young man did last night, then he must be brought to bear the importance of our ways and why we keep them.

We who have guarded the mortal realm from evils so few know. We who do this selflessly and without reward. We who die so others might live. Dancing is for the folk who have no cares, no worries, because they sit behind our shield, our hammer, and know nothing of the horrors below eager to arise.

Keep your discipline, fellow dwarves. Keep your iron, do not relinquish that which makes you Dwarven, stand strong, stand firm, and the next time a human invites you to dance, pat them on the head and tell them it’s nice they can flit away the hours in idleness for even our children know more of duty than the oldest human.

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There is unlikely to be a short story next Tuesday as I am away at a wedding.

Check out the latest chapter of my ongoing novella The Mage Hunter:

Part 1 | Part 2

General Zhou Shang had his remaining archers advance behind the mangonels and moat bridges as General Lu Liang had requested, rank and seniority had cracked because of Zhou Shang’s disastrous misstep. The evening before the General Who Quells Rebellions had read the stars and found inauspicious movements in the Heavens, ill-fated for him specifically. Surrendering command to Lu Liang, who had the larger army and the siege engines, made good strategic sense and, he prayed, would prevent his ill-fortune from manifesting.

He commanded the spearmen from horseback, guarding the right flank of the mangonels from potential raids. He arrayed his troops in a crescent moon formation and held position a couple li from the moat. The mangonels rolled into range of the city walls and began to launch boulders and thick clay pots of fish oil followed by great knots of sticks and hay set alight. Stone erupted from the walls of Xiangpi, that which was doused caught flame, swift and hot, forcing the rebels atop the walls to flee or waste time attempting to quench the fires.

The moat bridges were rolled into position on the western side of the north wall, the soldiers pushed the siege equipment along by long rods set between the wheel with canopies of hide to deflect arrows. The odd arrow had slipped through and at least four of the twenty man crew was dead, their corpse left to bake in the sun. The first concertinaed bridge reached the moat and the living crew hurried to winch the bridge into place. The layers of the bridge began to raise into the air and come apart like a snake. Arrows clattered and rocks cracked into the siege weapon, to no avail, the crew safe beneath their hide canopies and behind the bulk of the bridge parts. The head slithered into place, craning across the moat until it crashed down on the other side. The bridge was ramped either end and flat in the middle to allow the towers to cross.

The second moat bridge began its approach on the eastern side of the north wall. Lu Liang’s soldiers escorted it into place. All Zhou Shang could do was watch.

The drums sounded a steady beat for the mangonels to launch projectiles too and for the army to advance on the city. Zhou Shang knew that there was a time when he would have to assault Xiangpi, leading his spearmen across the moat bridge and attempting to infiltrate the city itself.

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To Lu Liang the siege appeared as a silk painting, unrolling gradually with each volley of arrows from the rebels followed by the barrage of stone and fire from the Imperial army, his army. The first moat bridge was in place, the mangonels on the western side pummelling the walls, and beyond, into submission. It was only a matter of time before a hole opened up, and if it didn’t the siege towers would enable his troops to pierce the walkway.

The eastern bridge had reached the moat too. Flaming arrows rained down like poppy petals from the rebel held walls, pattering the hide covered timber. Seven of the crew had been downed by the enemy archers and the remaining thirteen were huddled behind the siege weapon, four of them turning the huge winch to assemble the bridge. Lu’s own archers loosed in high arcs towards the city but their arrows splintered against the wall. The next volley also failed to reach the height of the wall. The general considered ordering them the move closer but that would place them in range of the enemy.

Flames flared to life on the western moat bridge. The fire laced over the sections of bridge, devouring the mechanisms that allowed its movement. The thirteen remaining crewmen fled, only to be picked off by bowmen on the wall.

Lu Liang watched half of his crucial weaponry be destroyed knowing it was only a matter of time before the western bridge suffered the same fate.

‘Captain Fei, order the western infantry to advance across the bridge and lower the drawbridge, mangonels and archers to provide cover.’

‘Yes, general,’ Fei Yiling saluted, fist in palm, and ran to the nearest drum stand to convey the message.

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The rhythm of the music quickened and slowed, quickened and slowed. General Zhou Shang sighed, knowing death awaited him on the other side of the bridge. His spearmen were to lead the charge over the moat and lower Xiangpi’s north drawbridge. Zhou Shang had expected the order to come after the towers had attempted to cross the bridge but the destruction of the other moat bridge must have struck fear into Lu Liang and Zhou Shang was to pay the price.

Zhou Shang raised his sword and guided his horse forward. The spearmen diligently obeyed, ‘The only way across is with haste. Once across head east and focus on securing the drawbridge. Forward!’ Zhou cracked the reins and galloped ahead, his men cheered and sprinted after him.

The General Who Quells Rebellion thundered across the moat bridge. The clatter of hoof on wood drowned out the war drums for a brief moment. Arrows rained down around him, snapping against the bridge and splashing into the water, he hunkered down in the saddle, hearing a number of quarrels whistle overhead. His men screamed, grunted, or simply sighed and slumped over, as volley after volley drove into them. The dead fell where they stood or slid into the water with a crash. Zhou Shang caught sight of corpses floating in the water and drove his heels into his mount’s ribs. The solid planks of the bridge gave way to the dry soil and Zhou yanked the reins to head east once he had reached the shadow of the city walls. He glanced behind to find the van of his spearmen rushing off the bridge and towards the wall. Mangonel launches careened through the air, arcing high and blazing, to crack into Xiangpi. The stone cracked from the impact, showering Zhou Shang in grit and pebbles, but the structure held.

The eastern bridge was engulfed by the inferno, the flames licked the sky and spewed out great gouts of black smoke in billowing puffs. Zhou Shang raced for the drawbridge sitting vertically with huge chains winched tight, all he had to do was turn the two winches to lower the bridge and open Xiangpi to another angle of assault.

General Zhou Shang leapt from his horse and shoved his whole weight behind the furthest crank.

It refused to budge.

An arrow clipped the chain, shattering on impact.

He looked to the gatehouse, the north gate still shut, to find bowmen taking aim at his location. His men began to arrive, the fastest chucked their spears to the ground and threw themselves at the arms. The chains rattled. The bridge shuddered, beginning its slow descent across the moat. Arrows pelted them from the gatehouse, picking off man after man. Zhou Shang’s soldiers at the rear formed a spear wall facing the city.

A great echoing groan bled from the north gate. There was a cacophonous cry and then the clashing clash of iron. Zhou Shang could not see the fighting but he knew the rebels had launched an assault on his men, on him. He was sent sprawling over the arms of the winch, an arrow in his right shoulder. The man beside him fell down dead, an arrow through his neck. Another of his soldiers replaced him and a few moments later joined him, an arrow piercing his eye.

Blood sluiced down his arm and his right arm refused his commands. The drawbridge lay at a forty-five degree angle and was falling fast. In a hundred heartbeats it would be down and reinforcements would relieve them.

A second arrow buried itself in his lower back. Zhou Shang slumped over the winch.

‘General!’ the men around him cried and carried him back. One was pierced through the cheek and crashed in the dirt, dead. The arrows poured down as thick as the spring rains and his ten thousand men had been reduced to less than half. A third arrow tore open his thigh.

All he could see was a press of men about him, eyes wide with terror and blood smeared with mud on their faces. Their screams were punctuated by the strumming of bowstrings. One by one those around Zhou Shang were cut down. The spear wall held but only because it was a thousand men thick and arrows took time to loose.

‘The drawbridge is down!’ a man screamed.

A few dozen men rushed to cross over it, back to their own lines, but they were picked off by the expert archers atop the walls.

Zhou Shang was left lying in the dirt, surrounded by the dead and dying. He was the latter and would soon be the former. He wondered what he would be remembered for, falling for the ambush in the valley or for his heroic advance to lower the drawbridge. The thought was cut short as an arrow punctured the soft flesh between his neck and shoulder. his life seeped out of him and he passed into the afterlife.

Lu Liang observed Zhou Shang’s death and waste of his spearman, ‘That man was a fool, the Empire is improved with him gone. How many men did he lose in that demonstration of disastrous tactical judgement?’

‘A few thousand, general,’ Colonel Fei Yiling answered. He had trimmed his campaign beard, making him seem older than he was.

‘At a time when we have insufficient men as it is,’ Lu Liang shook his head. ‘At least Zhou Shang can damage us no longer. Have a unit of heavy pike secure the drawbridge, make sure they have assault covers, I don’t want unnecessary loss.’

Colonel Fei Yiling saluted and hurried to organise the relevant people. Fei Yiling would not have usually handled such requests personally but he had limited messengers and fewer still that he trusted wholeheartedly.

Lu Liang stood upright, hands behind his back, his cloak wafting in the breeze. He watched his army advance on the north side of Xiangpi and wished there was a hillside he could observe the city from. Alas, that was not to be and he would have to suffice being unable to see over the walls.

The sun arced across the sky and the fields were in full bloom with broken arrows. Great gashes scarred the walls of Xiangpi. The north gate had been smashed by boulders, though not completely destroyed, and dead rebels were sprawled along the merlons, some having fallen to their deaths lay at the foot of the walls. Three mangonels were little more than smouldering heaps and one tower had reached the walls but the men inside had yet to secure a footing. Heavy pikemen stood at the drawbridge Zhou Shang had unnecessarily spent his life to lower, his corpse, along with thousands of others, lay strewn across the ground between the ruined gate and the bridge. A cluster of soldiers leaned against the levers that lowered the bridge and against one another and from a distance appeared to be merely sleeping oddly.

A barrage of brickwork and bundled together timber was flung from inside the city. The timber spun through the air, came apart, and crashed to the ground harmlessly. The boulder careened and crashed into a mangonel, annihilating the siege weapon and slaying three of its operators. Only two of the weapons remained.

‘We don’t have time for this,’ Lu Liang muttered to himself. Colonel Fei Yiling, Captain of the Army, stood nearby, along with a dozen other lower ranked officers awaiting orders. Runners were waiting too, ready to relay commands to far off units and, most importantly, the drummers who would inform army of various commands with various flags and distinctive beats. ‘Colonel Fei! Have a ram destroy what remains of the north gate. Colonel Dong Jia, ready the pikemen to advance, archers behind. Where’s the other tower!? Someone bring me Pang Huan!’

Colonels Fei and Dong raced to see to their respective commands and to command the outcome personally, a number of the officers went with them. Runners dealt with the rest. The drums were swift to alter tempo and beat. Within one hundred heartbeats one of the runners returned with a message saying the other tower had been damaged but failed to say how. The drums rang out a round and Pang Huan appeared, flustered and breathless, ‘What is it, general?’

‘I need you with me when I lead the charge, you will direct us, warn us of potential dangers you know of inside the city,’ Lu Liang had someone bring him two horses and spear.

‘I… am no soldier,’ Pang Huan was stooped and curled his shoulders in but Lu could see the man had a solid build.

‘I’m not asking you to fight, I’m asking you to guide,’ Lu Liang was not giving Pang Huan a choice. The noble had surrendered himself and in Lu’s mind that meant he was as good as his to command.

Pang Huan straightened, ‘Very well.’

Lu frowned, disappointed the nobleman had given up without much of a fight. He thought he caught a glimpse of a smile but convinced himself he was mistaken.

The gate shattered after the third swing of the ram. Arrows, flaming and piercing, rained down from the gatehouse and walls to, mostly, thud uselessly into the wheeled assault covers the pikemen sheltered under. One hundred or so men had met their end clearing out the bodies of Zhou Shang’s men between the drawbridge and the north gate so the ram had been able to reach the gate. Lack of foresight was another of Zhou’s failings in Lu’s mind, one that would be included in his report to the Imperial Court after the Emperor’s rule had been restored to Xiangpi. The ram was wheeled away but before it moved even a zhang the rebels sallied out and slaughtered the men. Orders were issued to the front rows of pikemen to drive the enemy back while the fourth and fifth were to move the ram. More men died needlessly from the bowmen overhead.

Flames roared to life to the east, lancing up the siege tower and reaching the clouds. Lu Liang watched, despondent, at the tower becoming enshrouded in flames. Soldiers screamed and threw themselves from the top of it, others sprinted from the base, flailing flaming arms and legs, to jump in the moat only for some to drown as the weight of their armour dragged down. General Lu scanned the length of the wall, pausing to assess the craters and holes in the wall, he could see the glistening ji behind those big enough to impregnate. Any route inside the city would cost an inexorable number of lives, but still less than retreating and risking pursuit.

The pikemen had made short work of the rebels who attacked the ram unit and already the vanguard was inside the walls, lockstep and shoulder to shoulder, advancing with grim determination. The long polearms were making quick work of the rebels, most of whom fought with farming equipment or decaying weapons from ages past. Lu spotted some of the enemy wearing breastplates, helmets, or scale vests, but not one who sported a full set of armour. ‘Pang Huan, where are the rebellion’s elite soldiers?’

‘Last I saw they were defending the old palace.’

‘That doesn’t take tens of thousands of men.’

‘The rebels don’t have that many elite troops.’

‘They must do, somewhere, hidden perhaps. We must stay alert for ambush,’ he directed runners to spread the word to the officers.

Lu Liang guided his horse from the security of his makeshift command tent and down onto the field of battle. The infantry had pierced the city and he could see fighting on the walls. Once those were secure the whole of Xiangpi would be within days. Pang Huan followed and once clear of the camp the general urged his mount into a gallop and shouted for Pang to keep up.

Dong Zhi saw that Wen Bei’s body was wrapped in death clothes and placed in a coffin of the proper dimensions for his rank. He had commanded the surviving army to don mourning clothes over their armour and break camp in preparation for a retreat back to the Celestial Capital. The rites demanded it, strategy demanded it also. Less than a quarter of one hundred thousand who had set off were still living, and many were close to death due to disease. He struggled to believe such a large force had been eviscerated so quickly but disbelief did not change reality. Wen Bei had accomplished his orders to drain the River of Falling Stars and died for it. Dong Zhi did not wish to die so far from home, nor see the rest of his men die needlessly. Retreat was the only option and he had already begun composing his memorandum to the court explaining it all. His fate was in the hands of the Son of Heaven.

Lu Liang raced across the drawbridge, the clatter of hooves like sweet singing. Finally, I will crush this rebellion and receive rightful recognition. The heavy foot soldiers had advanced a li into the city, with swifter swordsmen charging to the top of the wall to prevent the rebel bowmen striking from behind. The rebel melee soldiers had little discipline or coordination and were being crushed. Morale was high but Lu Liang knew the rebel leader was keeping his best for last. He quizzed Pang Huan about troop locations but the aristocrat had nothing else to offer beyond sweat and stammered words.

Lu gazed about the city like a hawk, looking out for an archer trying to pick him off or a rogue band of rebels attempting to flank him. His heart quickened from the danger, arguably unnecessary, but he wished to slay the rebel leader himself, to land the crippling blow and restore stability to the Empire. Perhaps it was a younger man’s dream but it was one he would attempt to make true if only so Zhou Shang’s ghost would weep for realising who was the better man.

Near to the palace was a residential district with massive walled homes replete with gardens and lakes once home to chancellors and other top ministers of a previous dynasty. The mammoth three-quarter circle doors of one had been smashed in recently, a trail of silk of bronze mirrors littered the cobbled streets. ‘Was one of these yours?’ Lu Liang asked.

‘It was, further away from the palace. Smaller than these but with a fine garden, ponds, and pavilions. I’m sure the rebels will have destroyed it,’ Pang Huan continued to talk about his lost home but Lu Liang had ceased to listen.

Echoes of clashing steel and rabid men boomed down the streets just wide enough for a noble’s carriage drawn by six horses. A rider approached, his horse skittering to a stop before Lu Liang. He saluted, fist in palm, ‘General. The rebels are engaged in a fighting retreat. Colonel Fei is requesting instruction.’

‘Pursue! We must be close! Pursue!’ General Lu threw his hands in the air. ‘The rebels are preparing a last stand, we end this here and now!’

The rider saluted again and galloped back along the edge of the road, clinging to his stallion’s neck to avoid hitting the lamps above the doors of the estates.

‘Pang Huan you must invite me for a banquet after our victory and I will be sure to memorialise you to the Emperor for proper recognition of you assistance,’ Lu Liang wanted the man indebted to him and any reward he received would be inconsequential at court.

Pang Huan leapt from his horse and threw himself to the ground before Lu Liang, forehead pressed to the stone, ‘The general is much too kind! You will be a hero to me and this city forever, we will feast you yearly as thanks.’

Lu Liang smiled and guided his horse round the undignified nobleman.

A shrine opened up between two estates on Lu’s right. Wooden plaques filled the shelves each with a name written on it and incense burning before it. The cloud of musk lazily crawled out the front and over the low pitched roof. Lu Liang gave a tug on the reins to stop at the ancestral shrine, likely of a family now wiped out with no sons to continue honouring their ancestors. A grim fate for all. On closer inspection he found the names were from multiple families, an odd thing for aristocrats who often had personal familial shrines. Reading from left to right and from the top shelf down he didn’t recognise any names, which wasn’t much of a surprise, but on the second to last was a cluster of dead men with the surname Pang. The third one in from the right read Pang Huan. Tongue suddenly dry he spun around but Pang Huan had vanished and left his horse loitering in the street in the way of Lu’s advancing soldiers. A family did not use the same forename as a relative so perhaps, Lu thought, there were two Pang families.

Not likely at the same rank in the same city, Lu Liang thought.

A flaming arrow thudded into the roof of the shrine chipping the wood frame. The fire dripped down. A hundred more fire arrows followed.

‘Prepare for battle!’ Lu Liang bellowed, reaching for his spear.

Screams echoed from the estates and alleyways. Ruined doors burst open and rebels rushed out, fully armed and armoured, ladders crashed against the interior walls and men clambered up to leap down from the height of the walls or to loose arrows.

‘Formation! You secure that building!’ Lu Liang spun to the south. ‘You lot seal that door!’ He spun north. ‘Send word to the main camp for reinforcements!’

A swordsman leapt through the flames engulfing the roof of the shrine. He shrieked, sword in both hands overhead. Lu failed to raise his spear in time. The blade bit into his shoulder. Lu Liang screamed and fell from his horse, spear arm limp at his side. Five more rebels dropped down and skewered him like a hog.

“Pang Huan” glided round the bodies of the false Emperor’s host. He had been sad to hear of Lu Liang’s death but knew it was for the best, such a man was a danger left alive even if he lacked wit. Heaven had bestowed favour upon “Pang” and his uprising by allowing such a resounding victory over Emperor Ling’s mighty army.

Scouts had reported the retreat of the third part of it, the part responsible for drying up the river. He had already despatched engineers to undo the damage and restore Xiangpi’s water supply. Once they returned the army was allowed three days rest, then it was on to the Celestial Capital to claim the Mandate of Heaven.

Part 1 | Part 2

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Part 1 | Part 3

Wen Bei awoke in a cold sweat, his joints ached, and he struggled to draw a full breath, when he exhaled there was a crackling from his chest. ‘How goes the dam building?’ he asked to whoever was in ear shot.

His tent sentry entered and saluted. He was barely a man, his helmet oversized on his beardless face, ‘The dam is complete, General. Digging on a lake has begun to gather the water.’

‘Shouldn’t that have been done first?’

The sentry faulted, gasping for words.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Wen Bei fell into a coughing fit. His throat burned as he hacked up his lungs. Blood splattered onto his knuckles.

‘I will summon the doctor for you, General,’ the sentry bowed and ran from Wen Bei’s tent.

He thinks I’m dying, Wen Bei lay down and thought of his wife and children, his elderly parents, his youngest sister, yet-to-be-married, and wondered who would care for them if he were to die. His Imperial Majesty would not allow them to be destitute, besides my beloved is from a wealthy family and she is more than able to manage… and our sons are rising in the administration. All will be well. Sleep stole him soon after.

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Zhou Shang pitched camp at the mouth of the valley overlooking Xiangpi. Such a location was only possible because he had lost three quarters of his initial force, had he still commanded 100’000 troops he would have had to descend into the forests and even onto the plains which would have left him open to attack. The mouth of the valley was fortified with palisades and watch towers with archers stationed at all parts of the day, if they were attacked they could hold position for a spell or retreat and nullify the enemies superior numbers. Zhou Shang assumed the rebels had superior numbers, reports had varied over the months and year as the traitors had gathered at Xiangpi, some said as many as a million had gathered, others no more than 250’000, though many were untrained peasants and vagrants. Either way the Imperial Army would be hard pressed to find victory.

From atop the forward watch tower he could spy the additions and improvements made to the north facing walls. The rebel commander, a man still shrouded in mystery, had increased the height by at least ten zhang. The gates had been strengthened with iron bars and scouts rode or marched around the city both on the walls and the grounds inside the moat. A unit of cavalry circled the city every few watches, swapping on the third, throughout the day and night. General Zhou Shang knew he had been expected.

On the first day he had sent scouts to search the forest and quickly located Lu Liang’s camp. The general was preparing for a siege, building new engines and organising sappers to dig beneath the moat as well as constructing bridges to cross it. All this please Zhou, all save the fact General Lu was late in beginning the assault.

Wen Bei had yet to arrive either and so far nothing unusual was occurring with the River of Fallen Stars.

Mount Chang Cao pierced the distant horizon, a pale grey pyramid against the azure sky. It would be many days before General Cai reached the road that clung to the foot of that mountain. All Zhou could do was ask Heaven to grant him safe passage. Beyond that he tried not to think about what happened after the siege, if there was an after.

A few days had passed and General Zhou met with General Lu at a midpoint between their camps in the vast forest surrounding Xiangpi. Pleasantries were exchanged and the significant events that had plagued them both along the march. General Lu Liang had escaped practically unscathed compared to Zhou Shang. Neither had heard from Wen Bei.

‘We need to begin the assault within two days. Our food is running low and the supply lines are stretched thin, baring nothing impedes them,’ General Lu Liang said. He sat on a tree stump, his cloak wrapped round a gauntleted arm. Four soldiers stood behind him.

‘I have a couple of carts of grain going spare given our recent losses, I will have them sent over. On the matter of the siege, you’re correct. How comes the siege engines?’ General Zhou Shang paced between two withered paper birch trees, their bark flaking in white sheets. His two bodyguards stood with the horses, out of earshot so they could hear for potential enemy scouts.

‘The mangonels we have will work wonders. I am having the engineers construct an extra level to the towers as well as build more moat bridges. We were unprepared for the scale of the city, the Imperial Library is out-of-date, can you believe it?’ General Lu shook his head. ’No matter, we know now and can adapt.’

General Zhou tensed when Lu spoke, his words bordered on treason. ‘Well, now we know. I have 10’000 archers to assist in whatever you need.’

’10’000?’ Lu scratched his chin. ‘Not enough, even with my 25’000. General Wen should arrive soon enough.’

‘He had the worse terrain.’

‘True but he also only had infantry.’

‘Let us wait and see if the river changes first. Once that happens we can estimate where General Wen is,’ Zhou had a pit in his stomach, something told him Wen Bei and his army were dead or dying. A rebel ambush had gotten them, like the one that had nearly finished him off. He found it suspect General Lu had encountered no such thing on the roads. Zhou Shang had a sudden sense of dread and exclaimed, ’Tomorrow, at dawn. Have your sappers begin digging in the night.’

‘General?’ Lu Liang gasped.

‘We have a rebellion to crush,’ General Zhou Shang marched off towards his horses without waiting for a reply. There was no discussing the point, nothing further could be added. Prolonging the inevitable only made the slim chance of success even slimmer and, judging by the patrols, the rebels were unaware Zhou and Lu were encamped in the forest, a situation that would not last forever.

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The River of Fallen Stars had been reduced to a trickle. A new lake had been dug, named Starhome. Within hours Xiangpi would see her life source dry up, her wells dry up, and the small ships in the docks sink to the river bed. The dam would not hold forever and the lake would eventually overflow, even with the thousands of men digging all day, every day, to expand it in every direction.

Wen Bei heard all this from his cot. A cold, wet cloth across his head. Incense burned in the four corners of his tent and around his head, creating a nauseating fog the doctor promised had healing benefits. The doctor, Jia Huajie, gave Wen Bei the same ashen expression his guard had. The one that said, you’ll be dead soon. Only Wen Bei still lived after many days of being bed bound, for the second time. He wondered why Heaven had seen fit to cure him of one disease only to strike him with a miasma mere days later. He did not ponder it long for Heaven’s Will was not for a lowly man such as himself to understand.

‘That’s all that has occurred, General. Should we march?’ Lieutenant-General Dong Zhi finished his report.

‘That will be your decision. Think of the men, do not waste their lives.’

‘General, do not speak like that. You may yet recover, others have. Our infirmaries are emptying, though we have lost a great deal of soldiers to the various diseases of the swamps there are still more than 50’000 capable of fighting,’ Dong Zhi knelt at Wen Bei’s bed, staring at the wooden floorboards.

‘I appreciate your sentiment but command will pass to you when I die and you must be prepared,’ Wen Bei sighed. ‘But now I am tired, leave me to rest.’

‘Of course, General,’ Dong Zhi saluted and withdrew from the tent. The flaps closed and Wen Bei closed his eyes ready to accept death.

General Lu Liang mounted his steed as the first of the moat bridges rolled through the forest. The road had been poorly maintained, likely due to the rebel occupation which had stretched on for over a year. Ahead of the first moat bridge were three mangonels and 10’000 spearmen armed with tower shields. The spearmen also had assault covers, massive wooden contraptions on wheels with hide rooves, which they would use to cross the bridges once the towers were in position. But first the infantry had to defend the mangonels from potential cavalry charges. General Lu rode at the head of one of his units of horsemen. The 2000 men would assist the spearmen in protecting the siege equipment by encircling any rebel force foolish enough to attack. Lu Liang had ten such units with man and horse well rested and battle ready.

It was impossible to remain hidden now and General Lu expected an attack on his troops at any moment, whether in the trees or out on the grasslands. He would have preferred to observe the state of the river, to assess the condition of Xiangpi’s walls some more, and maybe have a few men sneak inside and find out the sentiment of the people. None of that was possible now that Zhou Shang, General who Quells Uprisings and Commandant of the Campaign to Uproot Rebels, had ordered an attack. Lu Liang’s army was the main hammer for that command, Zhou’s own army utterly ravaged in the narrow valley road. An obvious trap, Lu thought.

Lu clicked his tongue and his steed set of at a trot, his 2000 cavalry shuddered to a start behind him. A siege tower rolled along behind them, the wheels grinding against the recently worked earth and time-worn stone. While the sappers had begun digging under cover of darkness, Lu Liang had ordered the lumberjacks and those with even a pearl of experience to carve a path through the forest wide enough for the siege equipment. The road was already there but many parts were overgrown, the trees hemming the ancient stone slabs, many cracked and had been uneven. He hoped once the rebellion was defeated and Xiangpi returned to the harmony of the Empire that the Son of Heaven would restore such roads that the ancestors had bequeathed.

The canopy curled overhead like long, slender hands. The fresh light of the morning rained down on Lu in spots and speckles. The clatter of horses echoed behind him while the grind of wheels droned on ahead and behind him. He had yet to hear the clash of steel but he was still a few li from the plains surrounding Xiangpi.

Battle had begun at the edge of the forest. Lu Liang’s spearmen held a line across the road and up along the sides in order to fend off attacks by a cobbled together force of rebels wielding rusted swords and chipped pikes. Lu kicked his mount into a gallop and yelled for his the horsemen to ride with him. He led them off the road and weaving through the trees. Charging down the right flank of his spearmen he quickly overran the rebels and burst out into the field. The ragtag force scattered. He swung his jian sword left and right, hacking through traitors with every swing. None fought back. Lu Liang paused and saw that few had full sets of armour, most had parts, a helm here or a leather vest there. It was only then he realised they were not rebels but commoners from the city forced to fight. ‘Halt! Do not harm the people! Loyal subjects of His Imperial Majesty, lay down your arms and all will be forgiven!’ It was too late.

The people scattered after the first cavalry charge rent their formation apart. A clatter of tools hit the earth as men fled in all directions, but while those who had suffered at the hands of Lu Liang’s cavalry took flight many others continued to fight, and die. The spearmen concluded their task with a grim efficiency, slaughtering wave after wave of people forced to fight. Lu Liang brought his horsemen to bear on the enemy and he continuously shouted for them to surrender and be spared, that the Emperor’s forces were here to save the city and its people.

The commoners did not listen. A few broke away or threw down their well-worn weaponry but most fought on, committed to the grim end.

As the fighting drew to a close Lu Liang had the surviving enemies rounded up and he went to question them. One man stood taller than the rest, his hair pinned in the cap of an aristocrat. ‘Why are you here? Why are you fighting us?’ The tall man stood proud, his lips downturned and slightly pinched, revealing wrinkles along his top lip and round his nose. His clothes were tattered and full of moth holes, his hair, while pinned, had started to tangle and was stringy with grease and grey streaks.

‘We are being forced to.’

‘How?’

‘They take our families and say they will execute them if we return before victory is achieved.’

‘What will happen now?’

‘I imagine the streets are soaked in blood,’ the aristocrat did not flinch from the grim fate of his family.

‘Did they take—‘

‘Yes. Wife, son, daughter, and my sister,’ he aged a decade as he said it, yet still he stood proud and did not cry. He stared into the middle distance and after a few heartbeats caught Lu’s eye, ‘I can help you. Let me help you.’

Lu Liang peered through the cluster of captured commoners. Most were farmers or labourers. There was a blacksmith, his hammer his weapon, and a few sailors, plenty who would know the interior of the city. ‘Why you?’

‘I grew up, lived my whole life, in that city,’ he pointed over his shoulder without looking. ‘Most here know the streets and avenues, the side passages and where the patrols are lax, but I am the only one who knows the Old Palace District where the rebels have set up their command base.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Pang Huan,’ the aristocrat raised an eyebrow as if to say, you should know the family name.

Lu Liang did not recognise the name, ‘Ahhh, I am Lu Liang, General of this army. I should give you a fair hearing, but be warned. If you attempt anything my guards will kill you without a second thought, so you better not be an assassin.’

‘Unarmed and honest, I swear on my ancestors,’ Pang Huan raised his rope bound hands. Lu Liang sliced through the bonds and led him away.

General Lu Liang waited before telling Pang Huan about the maps of Xiangpi from the Imperial Library because he wished to test the man’s knowledge. Lu’s carriage was a ways down the road, though he despised using it it did help when orchestrating battles from afar. Upon the wide four wheeled platform, with canopy, was a table with rolled up maps. ‘Tell me, which gate is closest to the Old Palace District?’

‘North Gate. You can see the palace from here,’ Pang Huan turned and pointed, ‘See those tiered rooves, that is the palace, practically in front of us.’

‘Won’t that be heavily defended? Would be easier to attack the south gate and fight through the city,’ Lu Liang said. He knew it wasn’t true but he had to check Pang Huan’s understanding and knowledge.

‘That… will not work. While the South Gate is lightly guarded, the road heading north is not. There are checkpoints at the edge of every district with a full contingent of elite soldiers at each. The [rebel leader] has instigated a messaging system to allow these units to rapidly defend each other should the city be breached,’ Pang Huan said, without hesitation. ‘The North Gate is heavily defended but once through there is only one guarded checkpoint before the palace. A swift attack will render the messaging system usual and you’ll be able to take the rebel’s head without issue.’

‘Forgive me if I am skeptical of such a claim. The palace will be thick with elite soldiers, no?’

Pang Huan hung his head, ‘It will. You are correct. Unlike the ragtag you defeated today those soldiers are properly fed and equipped, but they are few in number.’

‘How few?’

‘Only a couple thousand, at most ten thousand. Though not all are stationed at the palace, a good many are protecting the treasuries and other vital locations scattered about the city.’

This was information Lu Liang did not have. ‘What vital locations?’

Pang Huan gave pause. ‘In truth, I know not, I have only seen numerous soldiers patrolling certain areas of the city more than others.’

‘You’re guessing,’ Lu Liang sighed.

Pang Huan nodded and bowed his head, hand over fist toward Lu Liang. ‘I am guessing, you’re right. Forgive me, general.’

‘What of the east and west gates?’ Lu Liang was convinced Pang Huan wanted to provide information and to assist. Rumours about how the rebels were treating the gentry were beyond cruel so it would be natural for an aristocrat to assist the Emperor’s army.

‘Sealed.’

‘Sealed?’

‘The rebel leader had them nailed shut, bricked up, and then packed with mud and clay,’ Pang Huan said.

‘Why would… this rebel do that?’

‘Because he is uncertain of his position. Xiangpi is a magnificent city but situated in a wide plain with only a narrow moat. A well equipped army, such as yours, would be able to surround Xiangpi and reduce its stout walls to rubble. The river has dried up, the ships sit on the silt, useless,’ Pang Huan bowed again to show deference.

Lu Liang was less confident of his ability to totally surround the city, though to hear the river was dried up gave him courage. The sappers had not reported anything yet. ‘Who is this rebel then?’ the identity of the rebel leader had long been theorised about and attempts at divining their identity had failed.

‘I do not know,’ Pang Huan said. He sighed, his eyes glazing with disappointment.

‘Have you ever seen him?’

‘Only once, from afar, when he first marched into the city. I don’t remember there being anything remarkable about him.’

‘Nothing?’ Lu Liang agreed with the rumours that the rebel was a scion of the Imperial House, a cousin of the Emperor or perhaps an unaccounted for half-brother from a concubine. Such things appeared in the Histories, though rare.

‘He was perhaps thirty, slender, but I could not make out the features of his face, my eyes have deteriorated in recent years, and he wore similar armour to his commanders save for his helmet was plumed with peacock feathers.’

‘That is something at least, but not enough to identify him,’ General Lu said. ‘Enough, remain here, accommodations will be made.’ The army lingered at the edge of the forest. No other force had emerged from Xiangpi and no patrol had rode past, a surprise to Lu Liang. He stormed from the tent, ‘Advance! Begin the siege!’ he shouted.

The drummers took up the order immediately, launching into a rapid rhythm. The soldiers roared into action, the mangonels groaned to life. Lu Liang hurried to his horse, ordering the man holding the reins to drop to the ground on all fours so the general could use him as a step. He slapped his mount’s neck and galloped toward the vanguard.

Wen Bei lay on his cot soaked in his own sweat. He shivered yet felt he was bathed in fire and he could not feel his legs. Jia Huajie’s prognosis was death, nothing could be done. General Wen Bei had accepted his fate, written letters for his wife, children, his sister. Death would have claimed Wen Bei by the time the letters were read. Command had fallen to Dong Zhi.

A servant held a sponge heavy with water to Wen Bei’s lips. He bit into it, sucking a sip of water from it. He panted from the effort. A twitch of his finger and the servant shuffled away, face downturned. Wen Bei spat the water out, unable to swallow, his vision blurred and his thoughts frayed, drifted, and faded into mist. Death swallowed him.

Part 1 | Part 3

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This short story grew to a 3 parter and over 10’000 words. Part 3 will appear next week, in the mean time why not catch up on The Mage Hunter:

Thank you to for the prompt which can be found here. The prompt was “dragon” with a limit of 300 words, this comes in at 281.

The Wheel turns once more and the dragon cometh.

To the peoples of the east the dragon represents harmony, prosperity, and good fortune, but for those to the west the dragon is a symbol of desolation, greed, and evil.

I can only mould myself to the idea that mortals have of me. Bound by my nature as a I am, created to serve those petty folk in the way they need most. I have provided wise counsel, been worshipped as a god only to be forgotten for a millennia, I have been imagined as an ancient, extinct beast of the earth, and a cosmic being that swims the infinite black sea. I am all of these; I am none of these.

The Wheel turns and I am summoned to play my part.

The skies part as I plunge from the cosmic void in a maelstrom of crimson clouds and lightning. Wings sprout from my hide, luminescent scales become hard and dull, a raging pit opens within my chest and my breath tastes of smoke. I am in the west and I have come to bring destruction.

I unfurl my wings and roar, catching the currents above the wispy clouds of early summer, the sea glistens below. I roar again, knowing the sound will carry to the shore and take pleasure in knowing the terror stricken in the hearts of the multitudes. Bells will be rung, couriers sent, soldiers mustered.

All of it will be for naught for I am the Terror of the Skies, Destroyer of Mankind, the Harbinger of the End.

Time will tell if a hero will rise in the west, the Wheel turns but prophesies can be fickle.

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Thanks for reading, The Mandate of Heaven - Part 2 will be posted next week. if you have yet to read Part 1, now is your chance:

Part 2 | Part 3

'The moon is full, the Confuser and the Golden One are also in alignment, all three gleam bright, Your Imperial Majesty, now is an auspicious time,' Tao Huan's voice filled the Green Jade Hall, his head pressed to the polished wood block floor. Legions of counsellors, attendants, military officials, and civil servants filled the hall, all armed with their tassels of office ranging from simple bronze and copper beads to pearls and sapphires hanging from rings of jade. Four carved wood pillars stood either side of him, with coiling dragons reaching up to the rafters, each scale and whisker depicted in vivid detail.

The Son of Heaven's mianguan chimed as the jade beads struck each other. The young Emperor Ling looked to Chancellor Yu and nodded. The most excellent of the Three Excellencies sat on a low stool three steps down from the Emperor on his Dragon Throne flanked by celestial sunbirds and immortal tortoises. Chancellor Yu rose to his full unimpressive height, pulling at the grey striped beard sprouting from his chin, 'It is time. Generals Zhou, Lu, Wen, march south via the Three Passes, each take one hundred thousand troops and besiege the rebel stronghold of Xiangpi. General Cai secure Mount Chang Cao and cut off the enemies retreat. Restore peace to All Under Heaven and be richly rewarded now and in the afterlife.'

The four generals marched out from the ranks and bowed before the Emperor saying in unison, 'Your Imperial Majesty graces us with this duty. The rebels will be destroyed.'

The Son of Heaven smiled, his narrow eyes narrowing further. He stood and reached for his sword. His yellow robe slid over the steps as he descended. The four men kneeled and stared at the floor. 'General Zhou, as the senior amongst you We name you General Who Quells Uprisings and name you Commandant of the Campaign to Uproot the Rebels. We present you our sword as a symbol of our authority.' Emperor Ling held the jade sheath and silk wrapped hilt horizontally and lowered it for Zhou to accept with hands outstretched.

'I thank Your Imperial Majesty and promise to deliver the heads of the rebel leaders before the persimmons ripen.’

The Son of Heaven returned to his throne, ‘I look forward to the day, do not keep me waiting long.’

‘Yes, Your Majesty!’ the four generals announced together.

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General Zhou Shang rode at the head of his force of one hundred thousand men, swordsmen, bowmen, cavalry, with siege equipment and the baggage train behind them, a column many li long pressed even longer by the narrow valley that separated Xiangpi from the Celestial Capital. Craggy walls of sheer rock as high as the Green Jade Hall rose on both sides. Zhou Shang had scouts atop the valley navigating the mountainous terrain on foot though he had not seen one in many hours but nor had there been a signal bomb to alert of an enemy presence either and so he remained confident but cautious.

Generals Lu and Wen had drawn lots for the west and east passes while Zhou assumed the middle one as the Commandant of the Campaign to Uproot Rebels. Lu Liang had chosen the east pass, a wider, straighter road that was sometimes used by travelling peoples, he was expected to arrive ahead of Zhou and Wen and prepare the siege of Xiangpi. Wen Bei was left with the west, less a pass and more a series of rivers, streams, and marshland. Boats had been provided but they would have to be carried part of the way. Wen Bei had taken no cavalry or siege equipment and his entire force was expected to arrive late but, crucially, the pass led to the River of Fallen Stars that fed into Xiangpi itself. Once the river was dammed victory was guaranteed. Xiangpi was a natural fortress with thick walls for extra measure, built on the corner of a mountain range the river was only accessible from the west but flowed to the east. A well provisioned fleet would be able to flee down river, where it became wide and deep enough for sea faring ships to sail.

A thunderous crack split the valley. Zhou Shang’s steed whinnied and reared, the foot soldiers behind him shuddered, asking each other questions of what the sound was and where did it come from. General Zhou began to turn in the saddle to calm his troops when he caught a cluster of spindly trees halfway up the valley wall slump and plummet. A cacophony of earth echoed through the valley followed by a mist of dirt and grit that engulfed Zhou and his army. He drew his sword, peering into the beige fog but nothing emerged from it. No arrows pelted down from the mountains and no hidden rebels sprung out to slaughter him and the Imperial Army. Yet he felt no calmer for it, the lack of an ambush for surprising than an ambush would have been. He felt a tension as the air began to clear around him and the landscape ahead had been altered.

Great boulders and mounds of clay now blocked the valley pass, too much to move and too high for anyone but light infantry to climb. Zhou would have to use the sappers to dig a path through and that could take days. He called for a runner and commanded him to bring the sappers to him. Just as the feather of a man sprinted off there were a series of yells from somewhere in the dust cloud where it was still thick towards the centre.

‘The corrupt Emperor must be slain, the True Son Of Heaven will prevail!’ a single voice cried out from everywhere nowhere followed by a chorus of the same. General Zhou tugged at his reins, spinning his steed in a spiral. Crossbowmen emerged from the craggy cliffs. Spearmen from over the mountains of clay and stone. Sounds of battle clanged to the rear of the column. Someone had begun drumming to direct the troops but he was out of time and frantic in his beats.

‘For the Emperor! For the Empire!’ General Zhou cried, his throat burning from the intensity. He raised his sword and charged, hoping against sense the bewildered swordsmen behind him were following.

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General Wen Bei was sailing along a third nameless stream that fed into another nameless river that ran into the River of Fallen Stars, but he was yet again being told he could not sail the whole way for the streams became too shallow and the river went underneath a mountain. He would, again, have to organise his men off the water and across land, all while carrying the boats. All Wen Bei could pray for was firm ground to set up camp. He scratched his eyes, itchy from the three weeks without a full nights sleep.

Tao Huan observed the night sky at third watch as he did everyday. Clouds obscured large swathes of the east and the Fourth House had dimmed save for the Central Star which shone brighter. The Three Jewels of the Emperor’s Belt also shone brighter than usual, the western most star shimmering in reds and yellows. Something had changed, and not for the better.

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General Zhou Shang hacked at the crossbowman with his blunt sword. The scale armour on his right shoulder was split, his helmet was lost, and his horse was dead or dying from puncture wounds. He was hunched over the corpse of the crossbowman, wheezing, blood welling in his ears, a thousand aches across his body and only a handful of them to do with being hit by something. Grit stung his eyes, the final howls of battle hissed in his ears, but when he looked around he knew the Imperial Army had won. Joy was short lived. For every rebel he saw dead there were three Imperials. Wounded soldiers staggered across the valley or knelt in mourning beside dead comrades.

Of the one hundred thousand Zhou Shang, General Who Quells Uprisings, had been given no more than twenty-five thousand survived the ambush.

Wen Bei was on his cot sweating from every pore and shaking from the fever that gripped him and a third of his army. Sores had opened up on his arms, on his hands, on his face, sores that wouldn’t heal and wept white pus. They had reached the final river crossing, ahead of schedule his astronomer informed him, a sure sign of Heaven’s favour and yet disease was a sure sign of Heaven’s disfavour. The astronomer had no idea why. General Wen felt Heaven wished him to advance swifter and so he ordered his army to march, the sickest amongst them to be carried in the boats. Progress would be slow but more than lying about in camp for days if not weeks on end.

The final river was shallow enough for the men to wade through, those who could at least. The sick were taken across by boat. Wen Bei was the last of the ill to cross the water, he was shivering even though he was drenched in sweat. He saw the sky open up and a cluster of dragons descend, coiling from each other until twelve azure jade dragons flew overhead. The celestial dragons spoke to Wen Bei, not with their voices but with their minds, and he knew he had to continue on, had to dam the river and conquer the city for it was Heaven’s Will. The dragons returned to Heaven and Wen Bei fell unconscious.

General Lu Liang had been riding for days, stopping at last light and rising at dawn, a gruelling pace but a necessary one if he was to reach the rebel stronghold of Xiangpi. That the rebels were within striking distance of the Celestial Capital was an insult that could not be borne by the Son of Heaven any longer. To have succeeded in striking so close to the heart of the Empire had drawn countless undesirables to their cause too, making the task of routing the disruptors to the Emperor’s harmony all the more difficult. The men were tired. The horses exhausted. The column had stretched out as the baggage train had slowed, the oxen close to collapsing. Some of the men, veterans and recruits alike, complained openly and while no-one had yet spoken against Lu directly it was only a matter of time.

The road south cut through thick forest nearer the Celestial Capital and flat farmland nearer to Xiangpi. Under the forest canopy the sun’s heat had been diminished but out on the farmland there was no such luxury and the further south Lu Liang’s army marched the hotter and more humid the climate became.

Colonel Fei Yiling rode to the head of the army, sidling close on his white mare. ‘General, the men are weary. Some units have stopped marching and nothing will make them march anymore.’

‘Have you tried everything?’ General Lu asked, not because he wanted the colonel too but because it was his duty to know.

‘No…’ Colonel Fei lowered his head, his dark narrow eyes peering into the black mane of his white mare.

‘Would it be a normal march then I would reprimand you but seeing as the pace has even me panting I will relent,’ General Lu said. At that moment he spied a crop field that had failed, the ground was hard, dry, and clear. It was not enough space for a whole encampment but it prevented too much crop land from being destroyed. He leaned to the Captain of the Army, ‘See that open field?’

‘Yes, General,’ the Captain said, a young man with an oversized helmet.

‘We will camp there for the night. Make certain any crop land used is harvested first, we cannot afford to damage the farmland,’ General Lu ordered.

The Captain saluted and whistled for his horse to turn. He galloped back along the road to liaise with the camp builders.

General Lu brought the army to a standstill as the logistics were carried out. ‘Colonel Fei, see that the troops do not wander into the fields.’ He continued to stare into the distance as he spoke, then up to the cerulean sky. There had been no travellers on the road, no farmers, no merchants, as if Xiangpi and the cities and towns near it were sealed shut or the roads closed. He had heard of no pronouncement and that only meant the rebels had done it. By his reckoning they were three days from Xiangpi, three days from laying siege and bringing justice and stability to the Empire. Three days, Lu Liang could think of nothing else.

Wen Bei awoke to the sounds of hammering and wood chopping. He no longer shivered, no longer was he drenched in sweat. He asked his sentry about the celestial dragons but the man had heard of no such sightings from anyone else. Wen Bei had been chosen to know, chosen amongst all his men to carry the burden of saving the dynasty. He ordered water to be brought so he could wash. As he did so he noticed the sores over his body were now scars about the size of copper coins. Dozens if not hundreds were scattered over his body, with a handful across his face. Whatever vile illness he had survived almost no-one else had. Over 30’000 men had been infected when they had crossed the final river, of those ten thousand had already died and a further five thousand were expected to before the next day. Another 20’000 had fallen ill while those like Wen Bei who had survived were few and all had been scarred.

He left his tent to see the camp was far smaller than he expected, with great sections sealed off by guards fully wrapped in linens save for their eyes. Wen Bei was in a truncated section of the camp reserved for those who had recovered, while the bulk of the camp was a collection of triage tents. The rest was for the still healthy. Each area was prevented from crossing into each other with armed guards dividing the three sections. General Wen was not eager to risk his troops, nor contract the disease again, so he left the camp entirely with a pair of guards who kept their distance and in turn he kept his.

Work on the dam was slow but progressing. The River of Fallen Stars surged through the valley, the melting snows high on the western mountains mixed with heavy spring rains making the river run high and swift. Enormous willow trees leaned over the river valley with long trailing branches thick with leaves like a sage’s beard. Men were shifting rocks and wood into the river, the nascent attempt at diverting its flow. Wen Bei overlooked the work but he did not interfere, the walk had winded him and he had grown aware that his robes and armour no longer fitted him snugly. A warning was shouted followed swiftly by a deafening crack, a rustle of leaves, a thud and a quake of the earth. Another tree had been felled and the wood workers were already swarming over it, hacking off the branches and straightening the top and tail. Wen Bei clambered back from the sloped ledge, using the angled trunks of the weeping willows to steady himself. The pair of bodyguards kept their distance and guided him back to camp by a circuitous route. Wen Bei struggled to catch his breath and each step became weaker, more of a slide along the flattened earth path. If he was to destroy the rebels he needed to be hale, and for that he needed rest.

Once back at camp and in his own tent he removed his armour and lay down. Sleep was quick to snatch him away.

General Zhou Shang rode at the head of his paltry force. Twenty-five thousand men, many suffering from minor injuries, and none too few from major ones, marched or rode behind him. Platoon Chiefs had been promoted two or three ranks, to Major or Colonel, due to the significant losses. In an afternoon Zhou Shang had gone from having the most experienced force to the least.

Of the three hundred mangonels a mere ten remained, only two hook carts remained, and none of the cloud ladders had survived. The worst loss were the moat bridges, without it they would have to work to fill in the moat around Xiangpi and that would take days under constant assault. Thousands of screens had been constructed for the siege and none of those had survived the fire ambush either, those at least his engineers, at least those who survived, could build swiftly. Mangonels and moat bridges were an impossible burden on the remaining men. He would give the order anyway, it was up to his men to figure it out and for Heaven to inspire them.

The valley road since the ambush was barren and charred. The cliffs had shrunk too but from what Zhou could make out all of what was above him had been scorched as well. Where once would have been plentiful berry bushes and fruit trees, along with small animals and nesting birds, was reduced to cinders. Food was going to become a problem, Zhou Shang knew, even though the ambush had failed to ignite the bulk of the grain and salt. He was thankful for that but without deer, birds, and whatever else to hunt the men would grow weary of porridge. The rebels had prepared themselves far better than Zhou had expected, than anyone had expected and for the first time since setting forth from the Celestial Capital he felt his confidence in victory falter.

Xiangpi shone on the horizon, the ancient city had not crumbled like its ancient empire had, and it struck General Lu Liang that it was larger and more formidable than even the Celestial Capital. The walls were wide enough at the top for a cart to be pulled along by two horses, the base of the walls twice as thick, and so high that Lu was uncertain his siege towers were tall enough. Peaked rooves of storied temples glistened crimson and gold in the sunlight while soldiers, well armed and armoured, patrolled the walls with stout spears. Cavalry units of between ten and twenty men made sweeping searches of the surrounding plains. Fresh stumps clogged the land were the forest had been chopped back three li.

General Lu had camped in the forest, ten li from the rebel stronghold, and he was thankful he could not hear the logging. He stayed a hundred strides from the edge of the forest and observed along with his two lieutenant-generals and a handful of his colonels. He had not expected such organisation and was regretting having the head of his army clustered in the trees without support.

‘I don’t see how we can siege that city alone,’ Colonel Fei Yiling, his beard had grown wild on the forced march making him look like a vagabond.

‘My engineers can construct three moat bridges wide enough for a siege tower each and with mangonel support we can storm the walls. From there it’s easy enough. The people, seeing the Emperor’s army, will rejoice and fight alongside us,’ Colonel Dong Jia said.

Colonel Fei snorted but said no more. He scratched his chin, his beard glistening in the southern heat.

‘Keep your thoughts to yourselves until we are back at camp. If those mounted patrols catch so much as a syllable we’re dead,’ General Lu Liang spoke with a monotone as he observed the nearest gate open. A fresh mounted patrol cantered out but none entered before the gate was closed. ‘We should go, the patrols are thickening.’ The general turned and began traipsing back towards the horses, tied to apple trees a short distance away. The lieutenant-general’s and colonels followed, the only sound coming from the rustling of the undergrowth.

Palisades surrounded the camp with a pair of watch towers at each of the four entrances. Rows and rows of tents filled the interior with cooking pits every ten tents. Soldiers milled to and fro, some drilling, others on watch, others off duty. Carts piled high with recently felled tree trunks rolled into camp, heading straight for the builders to craft extra siege equipment. The din of activity was a sea of calm for Lu Liang, it meant everything was going as intended.

Lu Liang and his colonels headed for the command tent to mull over their observations. Eager to make additions and alterations to the centuries old maps the Imperial Library had provided the general quickened his pace. Within two days he wanted the siege to begin so that when General Zhou and General Wen reached the city there would be no delay in the assault. He found it strange that he had yet to hear from either of the other armies and hoped the rebels hadn’t intercepted any missives.

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Zhou Shang, General Who Quells Uprisings, spied the grand city of Xiangpi on the horizon framed by the valley walls. Short, gnarled, trees grew along the steep rises, buffeted by summer winds and winter blizzards to grow almost horizontal. Upon seeing the rebel stronghold Zhou lost heart. He continued forwards, continued to think through the upcoming siege, what he knew of Xiangpi and the rebels, but he knew he looked upon the place of his death. Even if, by Heaven’s Will, Generals Lu and Wen had arrived without a single loss the sheer scale of the walls meant a frontal assault would cost half the army at a minimum. Luring the enemy out was the better strategy but the rebels had coalesced in Xiangpi, abandoning all other positions to pose a real threat to the Celestial Capital and the Son of Heaven himself, so a great many tricks were made moot. Zhou Shang would perform his duty to the best of his meagre talents but he knew the end was near, he knew the Empire had lost Heaven’s favour.

Part 2 | Part 3

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Thanks to for his prompt “don’t speak” on the 27th June 2025 for Flash Fiction Friday.

‘Do not speak. Speaking makes them aware. If they’re aware they will grow fearful. If they’re fearful they become wrathful and will punish those who trespass upon their domain.’

Kalamaster Luan’s words returned, unbidden, to Yuhara as they always did upon entering the Spirit Realm. She trod silently, clutching her satchel, the infinite black sea sending out soundless ripples beneath her feet. Soundless and never-ending. The ripples of Kalamaster Luan and all the Kalamaster’s before him still echoed through the Spirit Realm beyond even the furthest reaches of the Spirit Walkers. Yuhara wondered if others traipsed the distant plane and had seen their ripples for she had never seen anyone else’s. Perhaps our ripples neutralise other ripples, she thought, fiddling with the secateurs slotted into the front pouch of her satchel.

Yuhara looked behind her. The infinite darkness stretched in all directions, faint slivers of white, like abandoned cocoons, passed by, blind to her trespassing. A number gathered around the gash in the veil, the doorway she had used, that even now was shrinking at a pace so slow she could not see it but each time she turned round it would be smaller until it closed and she would be trapped forever in the Spirit Realm.

‘Make straight for the umbral rose. Do not dawdle. Once found do not remove the entire plant but only take a cutting, or a few leaves or petals, never the whole flower or stem. Then return by the most direct route. You will not have time to admire the sights.’

Kalamaster Luan’s words rang in her mind again. Yuhara hurried on, knowing the umbral rose to be close for the sweet scent of its petals tickled her nose.

Yuhara froze, her breath caught in her throat.

A bone white spirit lethargically crossed her path, the top half of its curled up leaf-like form leaning ahead of its base which trailed in a thin white vapour to nothing. She held her breath as the wandering soul passed her. She exhaled, a slow and careful action to minimise any potential noise. Once certain its tail had gone she continued on, eyes peeled.

The umbral rose glowed ahead of her. Its five petal flower a radiant honey colour glowed against the vast black background, its stem was dark at the base of the flower and fell to a ghostly blue-grey and then to nothing near the surface of the ever present shallow waters.

Yuhara glanced back to her doorway without stopping. She turned and halted, her nose almost touching a spirit as it descended from the aether. A squeak of air escaped her throat, like the sound of a dormouse. The freshly formed apparition grew crimson, her squeak echoing through the infinite realm. Yuhara tried to reach the solitary flower. Sidestepping the spirit and continuing a few steps before finding two more manifesting ahead of her. A third appeared to her right.

‘First sign of trouble. Run.’

Kalamaster Luan had told her. Yuhara clutched her satchel and ran. The shallow wet-less water splashed with a bell-like resonance. The field of white spirits ahead and behind her blossomed like a poppy field. She ran as fast as she could.

Spirits bled from the aether, their gaping maws stretching from top to tail with wispy edges ready to devour her. Yuhara side stepped one, dove under another, and jumped over a third as it rose from the murky shallow sea.

The tear in the veil was closing, the glimmer of the peach blossoms beyond fading fast. She sprinted for the portal, the spirits almost surrounding it. It did not matter from which side she approached, the passageway always looked the same to her and so she circled the spirits until she found a small gap.

Yuhara dove.

Her satchel brushed against the crimson hue of a fearful, rage filled, spirit. A section of the apparition dispersed, her satchel turned to ash, and the ghost reformed, redder and more jagged than before.

Yuhara’s vision blurred like diving under water and she landed heavy on damp ground, peach blossom flittering overhead.

‘You do not have the umbral rose,’ Kalamaster Luan’s voice rang out through the grove.

The branches of blossom caressed the sun and sky above Yuhara. She stood, the strap of her satchel falling to the ground, her secateurs were gone too. She would have to forge a new pair. ‘I failed,’ she whispered, her voice a dry croak.

‘I know,’ Luan stamped his staff into the earth and ground it like a pestle.

‘I am sorry.’

‘There will be other chances. The fabric between our realm and the Spirits’ is thin here still, worry not. Prepare yourself for the next attempt,’ Luan stood, patting the dirt with his staff.

Yuhara brushed herself off and hurried to the Kalamaster’s side, offering her arm to guide him. He thanked her and they returned to the monastery to inform the others and to await the next parting of the veil.

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Thanks to for his Flash Fiction Friday prompts. This short story was inspired by the 31st January prompt; “The type of character who doesn’t feel safe.”

Maria shuddered. She knew it was there, it was always there. Waiting, watching. No matter where she went it followed her. When she sat to drink her tea and watch TV it was there. When she went for a snack from the fridge, it was there. When she showered, it watched her. If she went outside to tend to her garden, it stalked her. Her skin prickled with the thought of the ghastly thing.

Maria shuddered.

She sat in her high-back armchair, reupholstered from the worn dun leather to a joyous red tartan. Only it no longer had her imprint and the cushion was over stuffed. It would take many months, if not years, to make it hers again. Years of being watched. Years of being scrutinised by a hundred eyes.

Maria’s tea was lukewarm and so she went to make another. As she stood she noticed a cobweb hanging down from above the door frame, the thick grey dust danced in the warm air wafting up from the radiator. She went to the kitchen, set the kettle to boil, and fetched her duster. With a swipe she caught the string of greasy dust. As Maria stared at the ceiling she saw more dust, more cobwebs, hanging from the picture rail, the architrave, the cornicing, clinging to the walls. Had it been so long? Soon she found herself clambering on her sofa and jumping to catch the highest offenders. The kettle boiled, announcing its achievement with a single shrill beep, but Maria did not stop.

All the while she got goosebumps knowing she was being watched and judged for her actions. But she did not stop. Could not stop. Her lounge would be clean and maybe it would leave.

Once the long thick dust bunnies had been caught and wrapped around the feather duster she moved on to the skirting boards and the furniture, the sofa and the shelves, the television and the router. All of it lined in a thin grey veneer, neat grey thin lace connected the television to the router, the router to sofa leg, the sofa to the bookshelf. With each swipe colour returned to the lounge and with each swipe her fear ebbed a little. No longer did tiny eyes watch her. No longer did her skin prickle with the feel of all those legs. No longer did she shudder at the thought of encountering it. Soon Maria would enjoy her tea in peace.

She swiped the last leg of her overstuffed armchair and sighed at a job well done. Her duster was thick with dirt and detritus. The lounge was now spotless. Maria returned to the kitchen and set the feather duster back in on its shelf in the utility cupboard. The kettle was still warm and so she made a cup of tea, milk with one sugar. She lifted the still warm kettle with one hand and poured the steaming water into her mug, the tea bag soaked in the water and floated, and as she set the kettle on its stand she shuddered. Something was watching her.

It was watching her.

A prickle caressed the back of her hand. Goosebumps rose on her arms. She released her hand from the kettle and a hundred tiny eyes stared at her, eight legs crawled along her wrist.

Maria screamed and flailed.

The spider flew from her hand, a black speck against the white walls and cabinets, and landed out of sight. Maria panted and searched frantically, but it was gone.

Maria stood, petrified, trying to feel for anything creeping across her skin, across her clothes, but there was nothing but goosebumps and itchy skin. A few thundering heartbeats later she poured the milk, her hand shaking so it sloshed out in fits and spurts, and then a heaped teaspoon of sugar followed. She stirred, squished the tea bag out and deposited it in the bin. She retreated with her tea to the lounge, sat in her over stuffed armchair and shuddered knowing those eyes were watching her, knowing that the spider was plotting to rebuild its home. Maria would allow it, if it left her alone she would leave it alone. Both forever stewing in their fear.

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Part 1 | Part 2

Guan Yu landed on the northern shore and had gone no further than the end of the wooden dock when a rider approached from the north. Assuming the worst he reached for Green Dragon and went to mount Red Hare. The ladies were still on the ferry.

‘Lord Guan!’ Sun Qian called out, he had picked up the pace. ‘Lord Guan! How fortuitous to have met you on the road. Liu Bei has left for Runan.’ The man panted, his face murky from the road.

Guan Yu was exasperated, ‘To Runan!? Why would my brother go there?’

Sun Qian reached the dock and reined in his horse, ‘I convinced him to leave Yuan Shao. Allow me to explain,’ he held both hands out, fingers splayed, to deter Guan from responding just yet. ‘Yuan Shao has imprisoned his most talented advisor, Tian Feng, and his court is nothing more than power. plays between Guo Tu and Shen Pie. He dithers on every issue and is bitter about the deaths of Yan Liang and Wen Chou. Let us cross the river and journey south to Runan.’

‘But why Runan?’

‘I did as you asked and came to Ji but I did it under the pretext of securing an alliance with Yuan Shao for Liu Pi. There is no hope for such a union but it provided our lord with a destination.’

Guan Yu stroked his beard, ‘I see. There is some sense to that, I suppose.’ With a surge of energy, ‘We have no time to waste. Board the ferry, take us back across!’ his command rippled across the silt thick water of the river. He returned to the boat and knocked on the door of the carriage and bowed. ‘Sun Qian has found us and informed me that Liu Bei is in Runan, we are headed there now. I am sorry for the delay.’

‘I am relieved to hear of my lord’s whereabouts no matter how long it takes to return to his side,’ Lady Mi said, her voice echoing from within the carriage. Guan Yu could not see her or Lady Gan. but he could hear them both weeping.

Back on Cao Cao’s side of the river Qin Qi’s men were confused by Guan Yu’s return but none dared confront him about it, instead they aided him in securing the boat and getting the horses back on dry land. As soon as they were Guan Yu raced ahead as fast as the carriage allowed. He pelted out of the dock and was a good distance to Huazhou when he heard hoof beats behind. He urged Sun Qian and the carriage to continue on.

‘Halt!’ a voice barked.

Lord Guan turned to see the one-eyed general Xiahou Dun racing towards him with three hundred riders. He raised Green Dragon, ready for a fight. ‘Are you going to ignore the Prime Minister’s orders?’ Guan Yu growled through his clenched jaw.

‘I have no orders but you have slain my commander and killed others on your way, that is an outrage, one the Prime Minister must address. He can do with you as he wishes,’ Xiahou Dun trotted back and forth, spear in hand. Steam rose from his mounts flared nostrils. He roared wordless and kicked his horse into a gallop.

‘Stop!’ a rider cried from further north on the road. ‘Guan Yu is not to be harmed or obstructed!’

Xiahou Dun pulled the reins and his mount skidded to a halt, ‘You have word from the Prime Minister!?’ he was incredulous, the muscles of his face twitching.

The messenger tugged his reins, his mount neighing as it clattered to a halt, legs trembling. He saluted and handed Xiahou Dun a scroll.

The one-eyed general skimmed the characters, ‘His Excellency does not know about the men you have killed, I will still arrest you for him to judge.’ Xiahou Dun tossed the letter to the ground and raised his spear, kicking his horse to action.

‘You will try,’ Guan Yu remained still, ready to parry the man’s strike. Xiahou Dun jabbed as he galloped by, the blow glancing off the head of Guan’s crescent blade. Sparks skittered through the air. Guan Yu circled Red Hare and was ready to give chase when a second messenger thundered down the road.

‘His Excellency the Prime Minister orders all commanders and governors to allow Lord Guan Yu safe passage!’

Xiahou Dun cursed and guided his horse in a trot to the messenger to read the second letter. He chewed the meaning and then finally said, ‘His Excellency is unaware of Qin Qi’s death, he was Cai Yang’s nephew and Cai will want retribution.’

‘Retribution is not his to decide. The Prime Minister has granted me safe passage and if you will not let me go then I will slay you too,’ Guan Yu raised his crescent blade, ready for another bout.

‘Surround him!’ Xiahou Dun ordered his three hundred riders. The cavalry shuddered into action and Guan Yu found himself in a duelling ring with Xiahou Dun. ‘Yield!’

‘No,’ Guan Yu said, unafraid of the three hundred or their general.

‘Then you leave me no choice!’ Xiahou Dun went on the offensive, their blades crossing three times.

‘Stop this fighting!’ Zhang Liao yelled. ‘His Excellency grants Guan Yu safe passage, and a pass for him to carry and show wherever it is needed. The Prime Minister is aware of Qin Qi’s death, as well as all the other officers, and pardons Lord Guan. Let him go!’

Xiahou Dun howled and launched his spear like a javelin into the hard packed earth of the road. The spear cracked the dirt and swayed from the force of the throw. The three hundred riders parted for Lord Guan who cantered through, Green Dragon held high for all to see. Lord Guan saluted Zhang Liao, accepted the pass, and galloped after Sun Qian and the Ladies.

‘Cai Yang will not forgive him,’ Xiahou Dun said.

Guan Yu caught up to Sun Qian and regaled him with the tale. The advisor could not believe Guan’s luck but was thankful that there would be no more pursuers.

The road south to Runan led them near to Gucheng, a small walled town. On the road Lord Guan heard two travellers talking about a new magistrate called Zhang and stopped them to enquire. Zhang was a common name but Guan felt a stir from the Heavens. ‘Tell me, good sirs, what do you know of this Zhang?’

‘Oh not a lot, only that he beat up the old magistrate and has been recruiting men and buying provisions for some big campaign,’ the older of the two men said. He bowed, ‘Sorry I do not know more.’

Sun Qian raised an eyebrow, ‘Beat up the old magistrate, that sounds like Zhang Fei.’

‘It does sound like third brother, let us go to Gucheng and see,’ Lord Guan said.

The gates were closed. Flags with the character for Liu flew over Gucheng. Guan Yu and Sun Qian halted an arrows distance from the gate when it opened and a single rider bolted out towards them. The Gucheng horseman carried a banner with the character for Zhang emblazoned on it.

‘The Magistrate Zhang wishes to know who approaches Gucheng?’ the rider slowed and stopped a short distance away.

‘Guan Yu, brother to Liu Bei and Zhang Fei, and Sun Qian. Where is elder brother? His flag flies above the gatehouse.’

‘I am under instruction not to answer your questions. Wait here while I report,’ the rider galloped back towards Gucheng. The gate yawned open and close, swallowing the rider.

Sun Qian stared slack jawed, ‘What is going on?’

‘I do not know,’ Lord Guan stroked his long beard, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face. The air smelt sweet with blossom and the horizon shimmered from the heat. The sun dipped a degree before the gates reopened and a boar of a man emerged mounted and in full scale, his beard unruly, wielding a serpent spear. Guan Yu was delighted to see third brother, Zhang Fei, after many months of knowing nothing of his whereabouts. He clicked his tongue and Red Hare began to trot.

‘Traitor! How dare you show your face here!’ Zhang Fei roared. He kicked his black stallion into a full gallop and readied his serpent spear.

‘Brother? I have only just heard where you were by chance, this is an auspicious day before us!’ Guan Yu refused to raise his Green Dragon. ‘Where is elder brother?’

‘Silence! You’re here to capture me for Cao Cao, you will not have Liu Bei as well. You have been bought with rank and title, prepare yourself!’ Zhang Fei was crimson with rage, he yelled wordlessly and brought his weapon up high.

‘If I were here to capture you, wouldn’t I need an army?’

‘Master Zhang,’ Sun Qian pleaded. ‘Lord Guan has escorted Lord Liu’s wives, we are here to reunite.’

‘You have been tricked. Sisters I will save you from this villain!’

‘Magnanimous brother, Lord Guan is loyal to us all. We stayed with Cao Cao because we had too while he searched for word of Liu Bei!’ Lady Gan cried from the carriage.

‘You have been tricked, I will save you! Traitor, your army has arrived!’ Zhang Fei growled. His first strike was aimed at Lord Guan’s head. Guan Yu was forced to defend himself, refusing to attack and only deflecting his sworn brother’s relentless assault. Guan was unable to see what Zhang Fei had seen.

‘Cao Cao is here!’ Sun Qian cried.

‘Brother, we need to retreat into the city!’ Guan Yu said, deflecting a vicious strike to his leg.

‘That’s your army! You’re here to finish us off!’

‘Never! Let me prove it to you,’ Lord Guan parried a strike hard enough to knock Zhang Fei off balance. His third brother had his teeth bared, grunting, his knuckles white around his spear.

‘Slay the general before the third round of the drum!’ Zhang Fei spun his steed around and returned to the city. Heartbeats later he was atop the wall, his armour discarded, his robe tied around his waist. With the drum sticks in hand he mounted the war drum and began to beat.

Guan Yu was already facing the enemy. It was Cao Cao’s army but it was not Cao Cao at the head of it, nor was it Xiahou Dun who Guan had expected. It was Cai Yang. ‘Guan Yu! Stand and fight! You have betrayed the Prime Minister’s trust and slew my nephew Qin Qi. Prepare to die!’ Cai Yang shrieked and sped ahead of his army. The drums beat thrice. Lord Guan rode out to meet Cai Yang and forced all his frustration into the swing. Cai Yang’s scream was cut short as he was decapitated in a single swing before the first round of drums had finished. Guan Yu surged forward, grabbing the flag bearer of Cai Yang’s army as the rest fled.

‘Does Cao Cao know we are here?’

The flag bearer was on his knees before Red Hare, Guan Yu scowling down. ‘No, we were on our way to recapture Runan. General Cai Yang was furious about Qin Qi’s death and petitioned the Prime Minister to take revenge, he was denied and sent to quell Runan but he happened to hear about a long bearded man escorting a carriage heading to Gucheng and ordered us to pursue you.’

Zhang Fei was galloping down the road, wearing only his robes. ‘Brother!’ Grinning from ear to ear, his tiger’s beard bushy and thick. ‘Incredible, your stint with the traitor Cao has not dulled your skill.’ He yanked the reins of his mount to a halt before the flag bearer. ‘Who’s this?’

‘Cai Yang’s flag bearer, tell my younger brother what you told me.’

The flag bearer did so and Zhang Fei chuckled, ‘To think I thought you had betrayed big brother and I when in fact you’ve been wrecking havoc throughout his lands.’ He howled with laughter. ‘Come, brother, join me for a banquet and lots of wine to celebrate our reunion,’ Zhang Fei clapped Guan Yu on the back and they rode together into Gucheng.

‘Where is elder brother?’ Lord Guan asked as the gates of the city opened for them, Sun Qian, the riders and the carriage carrying Lady Mi and Lady Gan.

‘Runan, he thought he could forge an alliance with the Yellow Turbans there to fight Cao Cao. He should be back soon,’ Zhang Fei grunted. ‘They’re not soldiers though, more likely to run than to fight.’

‘Hmm. I reclaimed Runan for Cao Cao, it was where I found out Liu Bei was with Yuan Shao. Liu Pi and Gong Du fled without giving battle, they are not trustworthy in battle.’

‘Exactly. Tell elder brother that when he returns.’

‘What happened with Yuan Shao? Sun Qian mentioned divisions in his court.’ The two brothers reached the magistrates compound and a meal was already being prepared. They dismounted and stablehands took their steeds. Woman servants emerged, shuffling along, heads bowed, to escort the two Ladies to their quarters. The twenty riders were given a guard barracks. Guan Yu set Green Dragon on a weapons rack in the main hall beside Zhang Fei’s serpent spear. Roast meats, grilled vegetables, and a mix of millet and rice. Stacks of wine jars were being warmed by the ovens, an uncouth method but one Zhang required to quench his thirst.

‘I wasn’t with elder brother when he was with Yuan. I would have told him to abandon the pompous oaf to his fate. He could have twice Cao’s number and he would still lose, even now my scouts report that Cao Cao’s vanguard is surrounded Yuan’s main provisions depot this side of the river. Without that he’s finished, without Yan Liang and Wen Chou he was finished already. You saw to that.’

‘I did what I had promised.’

Zhang Fei fetched two pots of wine. He grunted, ‘Doesn’t matter. Wouldn’t have made a difference to the war. We need to attack from the rear, attack Xu direct, while the Traitor Cao is distracted up north.’

Guan Yu accepted a cup. ‘Does elder brother approve?’

‘To our reunion!’ Zhang clashed his wine jug against Guan’s bronze cup and swigged for many heartbeats. He gasped, wine dripping through his grizzled beard, ‘No. He does not approve, doesn’t think four thousand men can do much. I told him a small force causing havoc here, there, and everywhere would work. Well he went to Runan for an alliance,’ he shrugged and chugged more wine.

The pair drank late into the night, Zhang drinking three cups for Guan’s one, until the former sank into a snoring stupor. Guan Yu took himself to find a bed.

Morning came and Guan Yu emerged into the light of day with a clouded mind. He reached the main hall and found a pair of swords in the weapons rack too. ‘Elder brother!’ he exclaimed.

‘Guan Yu!’ Liu Bei cried, his hair was unkempt and shoes dusty from the road. He was standing over Zhang with a pot of water, two empty ones were beside him yet Zhang remained sleeping. A stream trickled out from the hall and down the steps to the pavilion. Liu Bei set the water down and hurried over to embrace Guan Yu, ‘I cannot imagine the harrowing time you have had as a servant of Cao Cao.’

‘I was no servant. We had an agreement, one we both honoured even if his underlings tried to refuse.’

‘Well it is good to see you in any case,’ Liu Bei frowned at Guan Yu’s implied praise of Cao Cao but he quickly moved on. ‘Now help me wake third brother, we must prepare to depart,’ he had not even removed his travel cloak.

‘Runan?’

‘They will be of no use, they are opportunists, not true allies of the Han. We must go to family, Liu Biao in Jing is near, Liu Zhang in Yi is further west. Both will aid us in dispatching the rebel Cao, I am certain.’

Guan Yu knelt beside Zhang Fei while Liu Bei spoke and pinched a few of his brother’s acupuncture sites. Zhang Fei startled awake with a deafening roar, sitting up like a doll. ‘Good morning, third brother, it is time to leave. Round up your recruits and provisions, we head south.’ Guan Yu spoke slow and steady before standing and retrieving his sword and long pole crescent blade.

‘South?’ the word was groggy on Zhang’s tongue.

‘Liu Biao in Jing, an Imperial Scion like elder brother,’ Guan Yu said.

Zhang Fei grunted, ‘Fine. I still think we should fight.’

Guan Yu leant a hand to Zhang Fei to help him stand, ‘I’m sure there will be plenty of fighting to come. Isn’t that right elder brother?’

Liu Bei slid his swords onto his belt, ‘Most definitely. So long as I live I will fight to save the Han.’ He drew one of his swords and pointed it to the Heavens.

‘As will I,’ Guan Yu and Zhang Fei said together, raising their Green Dragon and serpent spear too.

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Part 1 | Part 3

Guan Yu was back on the road to reuniting with his brother, Liu Bei, when he reached the first of a number of gates he would have to pass through. Dongling Pass was situated on the southern side of the mountains separating Xu from Luoyang. There were other gates Lord Guan could have passed through but nowhere that he could have avoided inspection. The gate spanned the shallow valley with two watch towers at either end to survey the craggy mountain tops. The gate itself was sealed shut, hundreds of archers alert atop the fortification. Lord Guan bid the carriage stop a safe distance while he advanced. ‘I have been granted leave to reunite with my sworn brother by the Prime Minister, open the gate,’ his voice boomed through the valley. The wind blew in response.

The gate yawned open and the commander slipped through on horse back, his helmet plumed with peacock feathers, ‘If that is so, show me your papers.’ The gate closed behind him.

‘My departure was hurried, I have no papers.’

‘Then I cannot let you pass,’ the commander, clad in full scale armour, rested his hand on his sword, while his mount paced back and forth.

A clatter echoed from above as the archers nocked their arrows. Lord Guan gripped the reins, ready to outrun any loosed arrows. ‘What’s your name, commander?’

‘Kong Xiu.’

‘You will not let us pass?’ Lord Guan readied Green Dragon.

‘I cannot without something in return. In the carriage, the Imperial Uncle’s wives I take it? Collateral, until I can confirm your story.’

Lord Guan growled and jabbed his heels into Red Hare’s flank. The legendary horse bounded, happy to oblige his rider. ‘Thank you for telling me your name, it would be impolite to kill a man without knowing that at least.’

‘I cannot allow you to pass, fight me if you dare!’ Kong Xiu drew his sword and charged. Drums sounded from the gate but they had barely finished the first rhythm when the two warriors met.

A heartbeat later the gate commander was dead. Cut in half by Guan Yu’s Green Dragon. He rode towards the gate. ‘Kong Xiu gave me no choice but you are all blameless, open this gate and I will pass through peacefully,’ his voice thundered through the valley. Arrows were returned to their quivers.

The men of the gate nattered for a time and then the gate opened, the massive iron banded doors pushed open by ten men each. Once the gate was opened the men got down on their hands and knees to Lord Guan.

‘When the Prime Minister asks what happened, tell him your commander refused me safe passage. You will all be pardoned of any offence,’ Lord Guan rode through slowly, so the carriage carrying his sisters-in-law and the twenty riders could catch up. Once clear of the gate Guan Yu galloped ahead, crossing hundreds of li before the sun began to dip. It was only a matter of time before news of Kong Xiu’s death travelled and without the Prime Minister’s word the response would likely be aggressive. Luoyang was near, though he would avoid the city itself and instead head east through Sishui Pass.

The road wound through a patch of forest but was blocked by a barricade of sharpened stakes and felled trees. Lord Guan circled his horse, glancing between the trees and atop the nearby cliffs for any sign of an ambush, there was a shuffling of bushes and a man emerged from the forest leading a swathe of soldiers.

‘Halt! Who goes there?’

‘Guan Yu, Lord of Hanshou, sworn brother to Liu Bei and Zhang Fei, and you are?’

‘Han Fu, governor of Luoyang! You are a wanted criminal for slaying a gate commander, the penalty is death, surrender!’

‘I cannot do that,’ Lord Guan sighed. Lady Mi and Lady Gan’s carriage had caught up, he signalled for the driver to stop.

‘Then you forfeit your life!’ Han Fu declared, ‘Who will fight him?’

‘I killed Kong Xiu because he challenged me, do not make the same mistake,’ Lord Guan said, though he knew Han Fu would not listen. He held Green Dragon horizontally behind him, the crescent blade out to his right side ready to sweep across which ever fool dared challenge him.

A man dashed from the line wielding twin twirling swords, ‘I, Meng Tan, will take this vagrant’s head!’ He leapt upon a steed and rushed for Guan Yu. Swords and crescent blade clashed twice before Meng Tan reared his horse and fled. Lord Guan pursued, Red Hare’s preternatural speed allowing him to catch up and split Meng Tan in half.

An arrow screamed from the forest and struck Lord Guan in the left arm. He flinched, gripped the shaft with his teeth and tore out the offending projectile. Han Fu held a bow, his mouth agape at his failed attempt to kill Guan Yu. The sworn brother with the magnificent beard raced forward, ploughing through the lines of soldiers holding the road, sending the troops flying through the air with a few swings of his dragon blade. Han Fu panicked and tried to flee but his horse was scrawny and Guan Yu’s Red Hare caught him easily. He felled the man with a single strike, carving through his head and shoulder. Han Fu’s men scattered.

Guan Yu tore a strip of cloth from the hem of his robe and dressed the arrow wound. Aware another ambush could be moments away he and the riders cleared the road and hurried toward Sishui Pass, crawling ever closer to the Yellow River where he hoped to requisition a boat. Once across they would be Yuan Shao’s territory and a short distance from Liu Bei.

Lord Guan had the party travel all through the remaining day and subsequent night, fearful of another ambush. The Ladies could sleep while moving but the men were not afforded the same luxury. Morning came bright and clear as they neared the next pass, a great deal closer to their wayward lord, Liu Bei.

The road meandered by a temple, the carved wood characters above its door read Zhenguo. Lord Guan slowed his march as a number of men, many of them monks, greeted him. ‘It is a gift from Heaven that I have the chance to meet you, Lord Guan Yu. I am Bian Xi, Commander of Sishui Pass. The realm reveres your name for the loyalty you have to your brothers. Please come inside, a feast has been prepared.’ He was in a modest robe with a sword on his belt, his thin hair pinned under a cloth cap atop his head. A soldier, presumably a bodyguard, was beside him, and the rest of the men were monks wearing various multicoloured robes featuring opposing trigrams.

Lord Guan explained what had happened so far on his journey.

‘While saddening, your actions were permissible, I will petition the Prime Minister myself on your behalf and grant you safe passage through Sishui,’ Bian Xi grinned.

Delighted, Guan Yu dismounted and accepted Bian Xi’s offer. The monks chimed bells and blew pipes. Guan Yu instructed the riders to remain with the carriage and upon hearing that the women were Liu Bei’s wives Bian Xi had a meal prepared for them as well. They passed beneath the temple arch and more monks welcomed Guan Yu with not another soldier in sight. He bowed to each of them, exchanging curtesies until Bian Xi urged him onward.

A monk called out, ‘Guan Yu, how long ago did you leave Pudong?’

Lord Guan paused and scrutinised the monk’s face but he did not recognise his wide eyes nor thin lips, ‘Twenty years.’

‘Do you not recognise this old monk?’

Lord Guan and Bian Xi shared an awkward glance. Guan Yu stroked his beard, ‘I’m afraid not.’

The monk looked saddened, ‘It has been twenty years but our homes were separated by only a stream. My name now is Pujing and I have forgotten my before-name.’

‘Sorry, Pujing, but I have invited Guan Yu to a banquet, may you do this another time,’ Bian Xi stumbled over his words, an eagerness to his eyes that spoke of more than worrying about the wine going cold.

‘Commander, when fellow townsmen meet far from home they should relish the time to reminisce,’ Lord Guan said.

‘Quite, please come and have tea with me before the feast,’ Pujing said.

‘I have my sisters-in-law in the carriage outside, I—‘

‘I will have tea sent out to them at once,’ Pujing fixed his gaze upon Lord Guan.

Guan Yu knew the monk wished to tell him something and he, in truth, wished to catch up on old times and learn about his former neighbour’s travels. He accepted, much to Bian Xi’s chagrin, but in the temple grounds there was only so much the commander could do. Bian Xi agreed to collect Guan Yu in the time it would take for one pot of tea to be prepared and drunk.

The abbot’s quarters were simple. A bedroll sat in one corner, a fire in the centre, a second robe hung by the window, swaying in the breeze. An iron tea pot and two clay cups waited near the fire. Pujing filled the pot with water and set it in the fire, while it boiled he prepared the tea leaves. ‘Old friend, do you know this Bian Xi?’

‘I do not,’ Lord Guan sat on a cushion beside the fire. The walls were bare wood, the floor and ceiling also.

Pujing dipped the leaves in a saucer of water until they began to unfurl, once opened he lowered them into the warming water. Pujing raised his monastic knife to his eyes and looked to the door. After a few breaths he slid it back into his sleeve pocket. The kettle began to boil and the monk served the tea. Lord Guan grasped his meaning and stiffened wishing he had had time to rest.

The pair shared tales and reminisced about old times until there was a knock on the door. ‘Lord Guan Yu, please join me, the meal is ready,’ Bian Xi called.

Lord Guan thanked Pujing for the tea and when he opened the door scowled at Bian Xi, ‘Is this invitation in good faith?’

Bian Xi’s eyes widened, his cheeks turned crimson, and he spluttered out, ‘Of course!’

A soldier peeked out of the door of the main hall across the courtyard and Guan Yu caught sight of the axe on his belt. He stepped into Bian Xi, barging the man backwards, ‘Liar! I took you for a decent man, yet you would try and kill me!’ Lord Guan drew his sword but Bian Xi was already running.

‘Come out! Kill him! Quickly!’ Bian Xi bellowed as he ran. Men armed with axes burst from the main hall, the side chambers, and even leapt down from the roof of the temple.

Guan Yu reached for Green Dragon, his long pole crescent blade, leaning against the wall just inside Pujing’s room. Bian Xi launched an iron spear at him but he brushed it aside and sprinted after the villain. Guan Yu roared, the puncture wound in his arm throbbed, and he swung wildly. The dragon etched blade buried itself into Bian Xi’s chest. The commander fell to the ground dead. The other would-be assassins froze giving time for Guan Yu to hurry out to the carriage where he found his riders battling an equal number of axe wielders. Lord Guan carved through them, possessed by rage and fury at a betrayal made worse by being on hallowed ground. Bian Xi’s remaining men surrendered or fled. Guan Yu instructed those who surrendered to return to Sishui Pass and to open the gate for him.

Afterwards Guan Yu found Pujing donning a travelling robe, rain cloak, hat, and carrying a walking stick. ‘Thank you,’ Guan Yu bowed. ‘Without you I would be dead now. Why do you look ready to leave?’

‘Take care on the road, old friend. I cannot stay here after this, I will return to the road as I did when I was younger. So long as I have my alms bowl I will prosper,’ Pujing gave a wide toothy grin.

‘Farewell, may the road bring you Heaven’s favour,’ Lord Guan thanked the monk again and then continued onward.

Xingyang was the next city on the road towards the coast of the Yellow River. Lord Guan had hoped to pass by without issue but he was easily recognised and with twenty riders and a carriage, hard to miss, and he had a letter for Hu Hua’s son, a task he had given his word to complete. The governor of the Xingyang, Wang Zhi, welcomed him fifty li outside the city and offered a guesthouse for Lord Guan and Lady Mi and Lady Gan to use for the night on his estate inside the city. Lord Guan was cautious but he knew the ladies were tired for he himself ached from long hours on the road. The wound on his arm needed a fresh dressing and the horses, even Red Hare, needed rest. He accepted but declined Wang Zhi’s offer of a banquet. The governor instead sent him a private dinner at the guesthouse.

Finally alone Guan Yu removed his armour, set his sword and crescent blade to one side, and sat down for the first time in days without the feeling that there was a sword at his back. The dinner was more than enough for Guan and both his brothers and so he left a great deal of it. The horses were fed, his men were sleeping, the ladies had their own quarters, but Lord Guan still could not sleep. The events since leaving Xu weighed on him, not out of regret or worry but physically and the sense of imminent danger would not leave him. He read, long into the night when the world stood still, the insects quietened, and the birds ceased to chirrup. The third watch sounded from the drums atop the gatehouses of the city.

‘… like a god…’ a stranger’s voice caught on a breeze and reached Guan Yu as he read.

‘Who goes there?’ Guan leapt to his feet armed with nothing more than his book and a bronze oil lamp.

A young man clad in armour with a pheasant feather from the peak of his helmet entered the room. The fact he had snuck into the house without waking a single man was proof of some talent. He bowed and saluted, ‘I am Hu Ban, lieutenant to Wang Zhi.’

‘Are you the son of Hu Hua who lives near Xu?’ Lord Guan said.

‘I am,’ Hu Ban looked quizzical, his long face becoming longer.

Lord Guan set his book aside and said, ‘I have a letter for you.’ He went to the small chest of belongings he had brought inside with him and found the letter from Hu Hua. ‘It is from your father.’

Hu Ban read the scroll swiftly, his expression shifting from neutral to outraged, ‘We almost killed a worthy man!’ His eyebrows vanished into his helmet. ‘Wang Zhi plots to kill you. Men will come to burn this guesthouse down at the fourth watch but I will go and open the gates for you now, do not tarry.’

Lord Guan rearmed himself, readied his men, and had aides wake his sisters-in-law. The party was ready within a third of a watch but when Lord Guan led the carriage out of the guesthouse walls he could see men with torches approaching. ‘Hurry to the gate!’ he yelled, kicking Red Hare in the flanks. He galloped ahead to find Hu Ban had been true to his word, the north gate was open. The young officer waited by the guardhouse at the side of the road, alone. ‘What will you do now?’ Guan Yu asked him.

‘I will go and burn down the guesthouse and report that you have escaped to the governor,’ Hu Ban said. ‘Wang Zhi may catch you but he is no warrior.’ He saluted, ‘I pray to Heaven you find your brothers.’

‘My thanks.’ The carriage had gone through the gate while the two were talking. Lord Guan trotted behind, wary of pursuers that Wang Zhi would inevitably send.

The fire was a beacon on the horizon. Hu Ban had really burnt down the guesthouse and that meant pursuers would be close. The carriage trundled along, the ladies sleeping peacefully inside. Lord Guan watched over his shoulder and after a few li saw torches bobbing out of the gate. Soon a dust cloud reached the stars and soldiers were shouting for him to halt.

‘Halt, villain!’ Wang Zhi bellowed from the head of a hundred men.

‘What insult did I give you that you would have me burned to death?’ Lord Guan reined in Red Hare while the carriage and the twenty riders continued on.

‘You slew Han Fu! My son and his daughter are married, you may as well have killed my brother!’ Wang Zhi was red with rage and stormed at Guan Yu. He twirled his spear from left to right in order to feint he came within striking distance.

‘Han Fu tried to kill me, like you are doing. You will fail like he did,’ Guan Yu charged, he held Green Dragon low. A single stroke came up and severed Wang Zhi from hip to shoulder. The two halves of the governor slipped from the saddle without a sound. The dead governor’s fellow pursuers fled back to Xingyang. Lord Guan cleaned Green Dragon’s blade before setting off to catch up with his sisters-in-law.

Their route had brought them closer to the war. Deserted villages and ravaged farm houses dotted the land, the crops harvested early or not at all. Great swathes of the land were black from wildfires left to burn crops away that could not be harvested in time. A stone signpost rose at the side of the road with the words “Huazhou” chiselled into it. A few li beyond was a unit of spear wielding horsemen led by the governor, Liu Yan.

‘It has been some time, Liu Yan,’ Lord Guan saluted his old acquaintance. ‘I hope you have been keeping well.’

‘Where are you going?’ Liu Yan cut to the point, a dire look upon his flabby face.

‘To reunite with my brother, Liu Bei,’ Lord Guan said, flatly.

‘He is with Yuan Shao, is he not?’

‘He is.’

‘We are at war with Yuan Shao. Did the Prime Minister sanction your leaving?’

‘He did.’

Liu Yan guided his horse closer, the man was not armed or armoured, dressed only in his governor’s robe. ‘Truly?’ he frowned.

‘It was agreed long ago and Cao Cao is a man of his word.’

‘Very well then. The crossing is guarded by Qin Qi, a man under Xiahou Dun’s command, I doubt he will let you through.’

‘Will you not provide a boat?’

‘I… cannot. Xiahou Dun would hold me responsible for the consequences, I do not seek to make enemies,’ the chubby governor had dark rings around his eyes.

‘When I slew Wen Chou and Yan Liang did I not save you and your city? Had Yuan Shao’s army continued its advance this land,’ Guan Yu swept his arm across the burned farms and ravaged countryside. ‘Would this all not have been conquered?’

‘I am eternally grateful for your martial prowess but I cannot provide boats for you,’ Liu Yan bowed in apology, his hands shook holding his horse’s reins. Though the governor was being ground down by the war he showed no sign of weakness.

There was no moving the governor, Lord Guan saw, and so he bid farewell to his old acquittance and carried on toward the crossing.

The crossing was situated at a narrow point on the river, upstream from where the Yellow River notoriously shifted hundreds of li north or south depending on Heaven’s Will. The small harbour, along with plenty of boats, was well guarded by Cao Cao’s troops. Qin Qi emerged from the barracks decked in arms and armour.

‘Where are you headed?’ Qin Qi asked as he mounted his steed, he gripped the rein with butcher’s hands.

‘I seek my brother, Liu Bei, on the other side. I request a boat for the passage,’ Lord Guan kept his sword sheathed and Green Dragon strapped to his saddle.

‘Xiahou Dun himself commanded me to make sure no one crosses the river. Do you have permission from the Prime Minister?’

‘I am not subject to the Prime Minister’s authority.’

‘Excuse me?’ Qin Qi growled, he came closer until there was only a few zhang between them. He was a small but stocky man with a round face and whiskers for a moustache. ‘You will not pass here, not even if you had wings.’

Rage bubbled up in Guan Yu’s stomach. To be so close only to be stopped by this lackey was too much, ‘I have killed those who blocked my way before.’

‘Then come at me!’

‘You think you the equal of Yan Liang or Wen Chou, you are nothing but a dust mite to those two!’ Lord Guan sallied forth, sword drawn. Qin Qi let out a war cry and flew at Guan Yu. There was no clash of steel. Guan Yu decapitated Qin Qi cleanly and rode towards the crossing. Once there he called out to the men, ‘Your commander challenged me, so I killed him. You are all faultless. Prepare me and mine a boat and we shall cross in peace.’ Qin Qi’s blood still dripped from Guan Yu’s sword.

The men complied and soon Lord Guan, along with Lady Mi, Lady Gan, and their twenty riders were crossing the Yellow River into Yuan Shao’s territory on a ferry along with the carriage and horses. Lord Guan stood at the prow of the boat and sighed, finally letting a slither of a smile reach his lips. The reunion with his brother was close and he hoped no one else stood in his way.

Part 1 | Part 3

Thank you very much for reading, Part 3 will be posted next week.

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Part 2

Lord Guan Yu led his cavalry around the hillside, the sounds of fighting a short distance away. The allied drums thundered across the sky, pouring down the grass like a heady wine. A rider rounded the hill. Lord Guan raised Green Dragon, his long shafted curved sword, and drove his heels into Red Hare's flanks. The horse bolted forth. 'Halt, Wen Chou!' Lord Guan shouted over the drums sounding from Cao Cao's main camp atop of the hill. The enemy army was further down the slope, their backs to the river. Skirmishes had broken out in the centre but a full engagement had yet to begin.

The enemy commander grimaced and raised his spear, aiming for Guan Yu's throat. Lord Guan parried the blow, yanking the reins tight. He spun Green Dragon around his waist and chopped at the grizzled enemy. His blow was blocked but Wen Chou floundered and made to flee.

'Coward!' Lord Guan roared, giving chase astride Red Hare, the swiftest of all steeds. He levelled Green Dragon at Wen Chou's head, splitting his skull. Wen Chou slipped from the saddle dead, his horse continued to flee. Panic rose from the dead man's forces.

The drums changed form and Cao Cao's army surged forward, forcing the enemy into the river. Half of Wen Chou's army drowned, the rest killed or captured on the shore. While Guan Yu watched the battle unfold, Xu Huang, a bear of a man, appeared, his great axe resting over one shoulder. 'He fled from Zhang Liao and I too. So much for Yuan Shao's best generals, both dead by your hand. The Prime Minister is sure to reward you well.'

Zhang Liao was behind Xu Huang, on foot. 'Huh, dead by your hand. I shall drink to your skill.' Dried mud cracked across his cheeks and all down the front of his scale armour.

Lord Guan stroked his magnificent beard that reached down to his waist, 'I do only what I promised.'

'Have you heard anything of your brothers?' Zhang Liao leaned on his spear, squinting as Cao Cao's forces effortlessly outmanoeuvred the leaderless army of the enemy.

'Nothing,' Guan Yu sighed. He had not heard from Liu Bei or Zhang Fei since the three brothers had been separated in a battle near Xiapi some months ago. Since swearing an oath to restore the Han years prior the Three Brothers had fought side-by-side against rebels across the land, including Cao Cao, the Prime Minister who many believed to be a tyrant who had designs on the Dragon Throne himself. Guan Yu had sworn allegiance to the Emperor, not Cao Cao, and had done so only to preserve the lives of Liu Bei's wives, Lady Mi and Lady Gan.

Zhang Liao clapped Lord Guan on the back, 'They'll be somewhere, there's a lot of places to hide in this world,' he laughed, 'maybe they're with Yuan Shao. He is the greatest threat to the Prime Minister and Liu Bei has made his intentions towards my lord clear.'

Guan Yu grunted wordlessly. It was true, Liu Bei was no supporter of Cao Cao's but Yuan Shao? He was pompous, indecisive, and rumour had it he wanted the Mandate of Heaven for himself like his cousin, Yuan Shu, before him. Yuan Shao's control of Ji province and surrounding commanderies was more luck than skill, luck of birth, of cash, of a noble name and title that attracted talented men to his service. But all the talent under Heaven did not make up for poor decision making.

'The battle is won. Let us return to camp,' Xu Huang's voice rumbled from his chest like dragon's breath.

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Wine was served and Cao Cao invited his esteemed guests to sit. Lord Guan was highest amongst them, sitting to the Prime Minister's left. Lü Qian, Xun You, Zhang Liao, Xu Huang, and many of Cao Cao's top generals and advisers were present. Xiahou Dun, Cao Cao's cousin, had been sent to defend Guandu in preparation for an attack from Yuan Shao. Lord Guan and the others all faced Cao Cao, sitting atop the dais of the banquet hall, and bowed before taking their places facing each other in two columns. Each man had a low table before them, a jug of wine to the side with a copper ladle the serving girls used to portion the wine for each toast. Lord Guan sat on his cushion and took the bronze cup, steaming with wine, in hand.

'A toast to Guan Yu, whose honed blade and unmatched skill won the battle by slaying the famed general Wen Chou!' Cao Cao raised his cup in both hands in Guan's direction and drank. A room divider stood behind the Prime Minister with a wide silk map of the Central Plains on it. Cao's domain, the core of the Han Empire, was outlined in black stretching from the old capital of Changan to Xiapi in the east, where Lord Guan had surrendered in order to protect the lives of his sisters-in-law. His brothers Liu Bei and Zhang Fei had fled elsewhere and he had not heard from them in the intervening months but he felt in his heart they were alive.

'To Guan Yu,' all the assembled generals repeated and drank, all except for Cai Yang who shook his head and poured his wine on the floor.

'The Prime Minister is too kind with his words, I did only what was required of me, a loyal man of the Han,' Lord Guan stroked his beard.

'Cai Yang,' Cao Cao was calm. 'What is the meaning of this?'

'That man is a turncoat. Rewarding him is like giving your newborn to tigers,' Cai Yang ranted, his expression pinched.

The Prime Minister shifted on his cushion, propping one knee up so he could lean on it. He turned to Guan Yu, his dark eyes fixing on the ruddy faced warrior. 'Are you a tiger? Will you bite my hand when I turn away? Hunt me through the dark woods when I'm wounded?'

Lord Guan scowled at Cai Yang at the far end of the hall. 'I have promised to serve the Prime Minister until I have located my brothers, honour forbids me from doing anything else.'

Cao Cao smiled at the answer.

'But what about after? When, if, your brother, that big-eared shoe weaver, turns up what will you do if he commands you to slay the Prime Minister?' Cai Yang was red faced and half-standing.

'Silence!' Cao Cao roared. 'Cai Yang! Remove yourself from my presence lest I have Xu Chu remove you.' The eight chi tall Xu Chu was broad and oversized for his cushion midway down the western column of guests. The man looked up, his cup steaming from the fresh wine he had poured himself.

Cai Yang gritted his teeth, stole a look at Xu Chu, nicknamed Tiger Fool, and stormed out of the banquet hall.

Cao Cao clapped once and servants appeared from behind the dividers that depicted celestial dragons and three-legged sun birds. Bowls of roasted meats, pearl scallops, rice, and millet were served to the gathered commanders. At the same time one of Cao Cao's house guards appeared, kneeled, eyes to the floor, while holding a sealed bamboo scroll in front of him, and said, 'A report, Prime Minister.'

Cao Cao waved him forward, flourishing the wide sleeve of his robe around his wrist to accept the bamboo scroll. The guard marched down the centre of the banquet hall, the eyes of Cao Cao's finest tracking him the length of it, and handed the scroll over. Cao fished out a scallop with his chopsticks as he read. 'Huh, a remnant of the Yellow Turbans led by Liu Pi and Gong Du have captured Runan, Cao Hong requests reinforcements.'

Lord Guan saluted, right fist cupped in his left hand with a bow of the head, 'Allow me to break the rebels, Prime Minister.'

Cao Cao regarded Guan Yu with narrow eyes, 'Recently returned from Yanjin having slew Wen Chou you volunteer for another campaign? Your previous distinguished service has yet to be repaid, how can I allow you to go so soon?'

'If I linger too long I will wither, I am healthiest out in the field. Allow me this task.'

Cao Cao smirked, 'Very well, fifty thousand troops will be assigned to you. Yu Jin and Yue Jin will serve as your deputies. Crush this Yellow Turban remnant for me,' he paused before adding, 'and the Han.'

Lord Guan marched directly for the commandery of Runan and camped a short distance from the walls of Pingyu, its capital. He had fought Yellow Turbans before, their forces were mostly the dispossessed, unhappy peasants, criminals, and those without prospects. Since their leader Zhang Jue had perished over a decade prior pockets of his religious zealots had survived through banditry all across Cao Cao’s domain, the central plains, and Yuan Shao’s lands of Jizhou and beyond. Guan Yu was confident victory would be swift as the fifty thousand men Cao Cao had granted him were crack troops, veterans of wars against the Yellow Turbans, Dong Zhuo, Tao Qian, Yuan Shu, Yuan Shao, and his own brother Liu Bei of which there was still no word.

Guan Yu served himself a cup of warm wine as he read the maps of the land surrounding Pingyu. He tilted the map towards the gilded bronze oil lamp to illuminate a section south of the city. There was a river to the south of the city, if Gong Du was going to try an escape it would there. Lord Guan formulated a plan to dam the river north city, drying up their wells and preventing their escape. The siege would last shorter too, he was certain.

'My lord,' his guard called. 'Two spies have been caught snooping around the camp, they have been brought to you.'

'Bring them in,' Lord Guan rolled up the map and picked up the oil lamp to set it away from the other maps and orders he had written.

Two men, hands bound and rope between their teeth, were brought in by a trio of scouts. Lord Guan recognised one as Sun Qian, advisor to Liu Bei back in Xiapi. He sent the other away to be interrogated and then dismissed his guards in order to speak to Sun Qian alone, he undid the binds and removed the gag. 'How did you end up here, with Liu Pi and Gong Du of all people?' Guan Yu poured his friend a cup of wine.

'My thanks,' Sun said, accepting the wine. 'After Xiapi I wandered in search of our lord Liu Bei but was unsuccessful. I happened to be in Runan when Liu Pi took over and he was in need of capable men so I offered my services while I continued to search.'

'And?' Lord Guan remained standing, glowering at Sun Qian.

'Liu Bei is with Yuan Shao but I have not had the courage to venture north. With the war between Yuan and Cao I didn't see a way of travelling through Yan nor of crossing the Yellow River,' Sun Qian bowed his head, hissing. 'Such failure shames me.'

'Yuan Shao...' Lord Guan furrowed his brow, his face growing ruddier than usual. 'Of all the lords to join with.'

'Liu Pi seized Runan commandery at Yuan Shao's behest but he isn't looking for a fight, not a real one at least. He knows he cannot win. Tomorrow, challenge him and he will feign defeat, surrendering the territory he has taken and you can reclaim the city, the whole province in fact, with little bloodshed,' Sun finished his wine in a single mouthful.

'I cannot join my brother while he is serving Yuan Shao...'

'Why not?'

'I slew Yan Liang and Wen Chou.'

'Oh,' Sun Qian's mouth was down turned. He scratched his head, a few lengths of hair slipping free of his cap. 'Surely Yuan Shao would over look such a trifling matter to have one of your skill replace them?'

'Perhaps... but Yuan is a petty man who attracts talent and fails to utilise it.'

'Our Lord will not stay with Yuan Shao for long, I am certain. Cao Cao looks to be winning this clash of titans and we will all have to find a new home... again.'

Lord Guan was lost in thought of his brother. He had vowed to save the Han, to die the same day, and to never cease defending the people from chaos, 'I must take my leave of Cao Cao and find my brother, will you join me?'

'I will go ahead, knowing you are behind me will steel my heart, and I’ll begin smoothing things over for you with Yuan Shao and his officers. He would be foolish not to accept your talent.'

Lord Guan sent Sun Qian north to rejoin Liu Bei.

The following morning Guan Yu sat astride Red Hare, Yu Jin and Yue Jin behind him ready to command the fifty thousand Cao soldiers. Gong Du rode out of the city gates clad in armour and wielding a one-and-a-half zhang long spear. 'Why have you turned against the Imperial Court?' Guan Yu bellowed. He raised Green Dragon and urged Red Hare forward.

'Why have you forsaken your oath and sided with the traitor Cao?' Gong Du growled, his beard frizzing with anger. 'Your brother is with Yuan Shao, yet you fight against him? To break your vow is an affront to Heaven!'

Lord Guan charged, hefting his crescent blade high. The two clashed blades once before Gong Du disengaged and galloped back to Pingyu, 'Advance and we will yield Runan.'

Guan Yu knew what he meant and halted his pursuit. The city gates remained open and he ordered Yu Jin to secure the commandery capital with ten thousand men while he and Yue Jin split the remaining forces to calm the rest of Runan.

Liu Bei was with Yuan Shao, he had heard it twice now in less than a day. Did the whole world know but him? Had Cao Cao kept it from him somehow? He supposed it didn't matter now he knew. All he had to do was leave Cao, as their agreement allowed him to, and finally he could return to his brother's side. Then came the question of third brother, Zhang Fei... Guan prayed he was with elder brother but neither Sun Qian nor Gong Du had mentioned him.

Upon returning to the Imperial capital of Xu, Cao Cao rewarded his soldiers for restoring peace to Runan with five years of tax exemption for their families. Such rewards were Cao's most common and most well received. Since before the Yellow Turbans had risen up in the latter years of Emperor Ling's reign locusts, earthquakes, and pestilences of many kinds had left many families with too few crops to harvest and too many mouths to feed. Children were sold into slavery for a peck of millet, young men became bandits, and later joined Zhang Jue on his quest to overthrow the Han, and many afterwards had signed up for the one place a meal was sure to be served, the army. Cao's army bulged with recruits, Yuan's too, as did even the peaceable rulers like Liu Biao in Jing. Swirls of news were chaotic from the southlands but a scion of the Sun family had taken up arms, amassing men and territory as if he were soon to perish.

Lord Guan returned to the home Cao Cao had provided for him and his sisters-in-law, the Lady Mi and Lady Gan. Both quizzed Guan Yu on Liu Bei's whereabouts, he resisted their efforts at first but after significant needling he relented. The pair chastised him for not revealing this sooner but he assured them he himself had only learnt of the Imperial Uncle's whereabouts while reclaiming Runan. There was nothing left to do but inform Cao Cao, the Prime Minister of the Han, of his intention to leave. He set forth immediately but was rebuffed by a sign on the Prime Minister's residence that read 'ABSENT'.

Uncertain how to proceed he visited Zhang Liao but his friend claimed ill health and refused to meet. Guan Yu had an inkling what was being done and though it irked him there was only one way to circumvent Cao's refusal to formally allow him to leave.

First he attempted to call on Cao Cao twice more but found the same sign and, while ashamed of the inferior conduct a letter would be, he wrote to the Prime Minister detailing the revelation of his brother's location and intent on rejoining him. He instructed the twenty soldiers who had surrendered with him, along with the Ladies’ maidens to pack only that which they had come with. All gifts from Cao Cao, no matter how trivial, were to be left behind. Lord Guan hung the seal that made him Lord of Hanshou, his reward for slaying Yan Liang, in the main hall, the letter beneath it.

Lady Mi and Lady Gan shared a carriage with their attendants and each of the soldiers had a horse. Guan Yu donned his armour, his sword, and his crescent blade, Green Dragon. He led the party on Red Hare, a steed capable of riding 1000 li in a day, and made for the North Gate of Xu. Relying on surprise he did not stop for questions, nor did he flourish his blade. A swift exit would prevent any interference. The gate captain called out to him to stop but he ignored them, flying past as swift as the wind.

'Go ahead,' he called to the carriage driver and the twenty riders. Guan Yu circled around and watched for pursuers, seeing none he continued north as rear guard.

A short time later he spotted a rider tearing up the road towards him, a thick cloud of dust behind the lone rider making it look like a whole cavalry unit.

'Wait!' Zhang Liao bellowed, but he bore no weapon. 'The Prime Minister wishes to see you off personally.'

Guan Yu grunted, 'If that were so he would not have refused my calls these past days, nor would you have feigned illness.' Seeing Zhang wielded no weapons he relented, however, having spotting Cao's carriage emerging from Xu.

Lord Guan and Zhang Liao remained in silence while Cao Cao's carriage approached, each on their mount, Lord Guan with Green Dragon in one hand, the blade almost brushing the dirt.

Cao's carriage halted a few zhang from Guan Yu, a number of his officers fanned out behind him. Six horses pulled the carriage and Cao himself had a cushioned chair in the centre with an awning to keep the sun off. Cao stood and stepped to the front of the carriage, leaning on the balustrade. 'Guan Yu, why do you leave without saying farewell?' The Prime Minister's face was shrouded in shadow as the sun sloped in the sky to the south.

Lord Guan, still mounted, answered, 'I tried but each time you were absent. I must keep to our original agreement now I know the whereabouts of my brother.' He met the eyes of each officer in turn, Yu Jin and Yue Jin had served with him in Runan, Xu Chu was a ferocious warrior with a kind heart and a round face, Xu Huang had been a good friend, and Li Dian was diligent though Guan had spent little time with the man, and Cai Yang with an expression approaching hatred. None were armed but Lord Guan did not relax his guard.

'And I shall keep to our agreement. I merely wish to gift you expenses for the road.'

'I cannot accept for I do not deserve such. Keep it as reward for your officers in the battles to come.'

'This is a paltry amount compared to what I owe you for your short service.'

'I did only what was asked of me,' Lord Guan stroked his beard.

'Humble to the end,' Cao Cao laughed. 'Then accept this damask robe as a symbol of my good will,' Cao Cao clicked his fingers and a captain came forth with the gift. The soldier dismounted and crossed the gulf between the two men to hold up the robe.

Lord Guan reached down with Green Dragon and lifted it on the flat of the sword, 'My thanks, Your Excellency, may we meet again.' He guided Red Hare around and continued the ride north.

'Insolence!' Guan Yu heard from Cai Yang. 'He insults you when we have him outnumbered!'

'Silence! I have given my word, his posture was understandable outnumbered more than ten-to-one.' Cao Cao paused, then ordered. 'No-one will pursue him.'

The carriage was nowhere to be seen. Lord Guan crossed a bridge and rode for thirty li but there were no tracks. He rode off the road, searching for any sign of the carriage or his men. Returning to his brother with news of Lady Mi and Lady Gan's deaths would be too much so Lord Guan continued his search far beyond reasonableness. He came to the foot of a hill, ready to find a place to rest for the night, when a man appeared out of the trees ringing the hill. 'Who goes there!' Lord Guan raised his crescent blade.

A man appeared, mounted, a decapitated head hanging from his horse's neck, and a yellow scarf around his ears. He threw down his lance and dropped to the ground and kowtowed. 'My name is Liao Hua, the head is Du Yuan's. I told him to release the ladies but he refused and wished to marry one of them. I only did what I had to.' The man pressed his forehead to the mud.

'You have my sisters-in-law?'

'Sisters-in-law? Then you're Guan Yu, brother to Liu Bei,' Liao Hua looked up for a moment, startled, and then averted his gaze once more. 'I apologise, it was Du Yuan who kidnapped the women.'

'Where are they?' Lord Guan guided his steed closer, ready to fight.

'Atop the hill. No harm has come to them, I promise.'

Lord Guan galloped to the peak of the shallow hill to find the carriage with the two ladies inside, unharmed. The same could not be said for the guards and attendants who were bruised, though none were dead. Lord Guan dismounted and approached with his hands clasped before him, eyes downturned, 'Are you both alright?' Over a hundred scrawny men with yellow scarves around their necks or heads surrounded the carriage, most wielded nothing more deadly than a plough or hoe.

'Thanks to Liao Hua, we are,' Lady Mi answered, her voice quavering. 'We should be on our way.'

'Indeed,' Lord Guan stepped back and called to the driver. 'Back to the road!' He hurried to his mount and trailed the carriage and riders.

Liao Hua appeared, 'Would you accept my offer of service? I'm sure my men would join Liu Bei too.'

Lord Guan stiffened, 'I am loathe to accept the service of Yellow Turbans though know that I am grateful for your honourable action. Return to the hills and help the people.'

Liao Hua bowed low and bid farewell, promising to do as Guan Yu asked.

Once they were back on the road night had begun to fall so Guan Yu led the party towards a farmhouse a few li further along. He knew they could not camp in the wilds for fear of wild animals and wild men, bandits, but there was no guarantee the farmhouse was occupied or secure. He approached the lightless cottage, expecting no-one, when a flicker of a lamp illuminated the doorway. 'Who visits my house so late?' an old, wizened voice called from the dark.

'Guan Yu, brother to Liu Bei and Zhang Fei. My sisters-in-law are with me, along with a score of attendants and guards, would I be remiss to press upon your hospitality?' Lord Guan remained a respectful distance from the man as he stepped into the light. He was white haired and white bearded, with a crooked back.

'Guan Yu who slew Yan Liang and Wen Chou?'

'The same.'

'What an honour to receive such esteemed guests, my name is Hu Hua and I served in the court of Emperor Huan, I retired many years ago. Please, come inside, I will have my wife and daughter provide for the two ladies whilst a feast is prepared.’ The old man had handmaidens welcome Lady Mi and Lady Gan while he himself ushered Lord Guan into his home. The riders were attended to by servants in the stables. The house was humble and well kept, a fish pond dominated the surrounding grounds within the walls lit by oil lamps hung on tall poles. The pond encircled the home like a moat with bridges and pavilions dotted about it. Lotus flowers floated along while carp swam beneath, the moon and stars glittered across the water’s surface. Hu Hua led Guan Yu through to the main hall where a pair of tables had been prepared, wine was being warmed by a servant behind a divider that depicted a historic battle fought across a river. ‘My son, Hu Ban, is serving as an aide to Wang Zhi, Governor of Xingying. Do you expect to pass that way?’

Guan Yu thought of his route north, he could not head direct as that would lead through Cao Cao’s main army and then Yuan Shao’s main army, a final confrontation was looming and he thought it best to avoid becoming further entangled. ‘I expect to pass through Xingyang, yes.’ The city was near to where he had fought Yan Liang and later Wen Chou but was no longer on the frontlines.

‘How fortuitous! I have a letter for my son, would you please deliver it to him?’

Guan Yu saw no reason to deny the retired official and accepted the letter handed to him. The pair sat and drank a toast to the Han, to the Emperor, and to their longevity before enjoying the banquet.

To be continued in Part 2 next week…

Part 2

Many thanks for reading!

The novella Atlanteans of Proxima b is now finished, read the whole thing for free starting here:

Sage upon the mountain, seer beside the stream.
Each knows the world, neither knows the other.
Elixirs for eternal life, divinations from the heavens.
Both know your need, neither can assist you.

Stars change each night, fickle as the stream.
Heavens cast in shadow, doom for Earth below.
Men march for glory, women march for sorrow.
Children cry for mothers, mothers cry for husbands.

Sage upon the mountain, seer beside the stream.
Each knows the world, neither knows the other.
Men quest for wisdom, women quest for love.
None meet each other, none find their want.

Stars change each night, fickle as the stream.
Sage descending into valleys, seer venturing into wilds.
Each knows the world, neither knows the other.
Man and woman grieve, Heaven does not answer.

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This poem is one of several I have written for a long term fantasy project taking inspiration from Chinese history. The idea is the poems will serve as chapter intros and/or outros, making comment about events, people, locations, etc.

First contact with aliens was not like in the movies. There was no great invasion by a flying saucer, nor a benevolent species inviting us to join with a galaxy spanning community of sophisticated aliens, and there were no little green men. Technically there was no real contact. Humanity has yet to meet any space-faring aliens. What we have is a message, a short cryptic space post-it note.

The message read: “Be quiet, they can hear you.”

The original message was in English and so slight a signal to be barely perceptible to our telescopes but stood out clear as day when someone was looking for a signal.

There was no follow up explanation, no return address, not even a vague direction. A great many top brass of everywhere thought it best to continue sending signals out into space, asking questions, trying to find out who sent it. Fortunately their advice was, mostly, ignored and instead humanity returned to a quieter existence, for the most part. Less radio wave clutter, fewer signals sent out into deep space, those searching for extra-terrestrials were forced to close, funding ceased. Hobby equipment made illegal. We had proof but it was not the kind we wanted and some couldn't let their belief in a galactic community die.

The same cannot be said for every nation on Earth. Some of the more braggadocious peoples continue to search for life, replying to the cryptic message, asking questions of the great black nothing of space.

They have had no reply.

Claims of the message being a hoax grew in number but it is impossible. The signal came from hundreds of light years away and once received, vanished. How the senders knew we'd received it I don't know, perhaps they only sent it for a short time and hoped for the best. Whatever “best” is.

There were also theories that an alien civilisation was playing a trick on us. A possibility but one that would have been uncovered by now. Other signals, other messages, a response to those still trying, something. But there was nothing of the sort.

For twenty years we remained in limbo, frightened by a message from hundreds of light-years away that we could not verify nor act on in any meaningful way. The question of who they were was written about ad nauseam, not of it satisfying, almost all of it barely masked science fiction.

That was until Earth was visited proper. A vast ship, the size of a small moon, appeared in our night sky one day. Too distant to be seen by the naked eye, at first, but as the nights went on it drifted through our solar system and there was no doubt where it was headed. A week later and it orbited Earth, the smooth spherical form looming over us. It did not respond to attempts to make contact. There was an attack, rockets launched into space from the ground and from a handful of military satellites. That did exactly nothing and the presence responded with an electronic pulse that destroyed all our satellites and bricked all of our electronics.

Humanity sits in the dark and the cold adjusting to a life we have not lived in centuries. Order has crumbled. Simple tasks, like drinking a glass of water, must now be thought about, considered, planned into the day. Food will run out soon enough, harvest time will be difficult and without artificial fertilisers will be lower than necessary. Mass deaths are expected.

The months ploughed on and there was nothing from our new sleek black moon, visible only because of its slight reflectiveness. Aliens had visited us but they were not the talkative type. Without electricity there was no real way to attempt contact and so we waited. And waited. And waited.

And we continue to wait.

What it is there is no doubt in my mind it is the “they” the message spoke about. Some beast of the dark forest, prowling the infinite night for its prey. We live in the monsters shadow, an incomprehensible being summoned by our own hubris, and now we wait to see if it will kill us, enslave us, or merely enforce a technological limit that means humanity never expands beyond Earth and that we may only support a fraction of our current population.

How many other civilisations have been hunted, destroyed or imprisoned in the steam age? The galaxy, the universe, could be teeming with life but we would never know.

Some have begun to worship our new moon, maybe that is its intent. To gain followers, to create an interstellar religion merely by showing up and disabling electronic technology. Is that better than being destroyed?

Survival... mere survival. Future generations will adapt, perhaps live out meaningful lives, but for us who experienced life before and life after... it is too much. Time has slowed. Simple tasks now require planning and hard work. News from other places is non-existent. Night time is dangerous once more. To be forced backwards through time, to regress... even now I can hear the younger generations who have known no different chastising me for the word choice. There is no regression or progression, there is only what is and our new moon and its Dark Age is merely the world we live in.

Humanity had twenty years to prepare. Twenty years to camouflage our communications, innovate to become hidden yet remain technologically advanced. The warning message we received was, I believe, from one such civilisation somewhere far, far away. They figured out how to remain hidden. We failed.

And now we suffer under the ever watchful warden of the skies who prevents anything electrical from working, I do not understand it but without electricity I do not see how humanity overcomes this fate.

We are doomed.

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The idea for this vignette came from re-reading about the Fermi Paradox. Simply put it asks why have we not encountered any aliens when the conditions for life are somewhat common throughout the galaxy/universe. The conditions for life being common is because of the sheer scale of space, hundreds of billions of stars, many older than our Sun, means millions, if not billions, of planets in the habitable zone, and many millions to billions of years for life to develop before anything had begun on Earth.

One of the possible explanations is that communication through space is dangerous, nowadays called the Dark Forest hypothesis (named after Liu Cixin’s novel The Dark Forest). A similar idea is the Berserker hypothesis which suggests rogue self-replicating drones systematically destroy all life they find, this also derives its name from a scifi series by Fred Saberhagen. I have not read either of these book series but they are now on my to-read list.