Prophecy Two

  A blind guide seeks direction

  The dormant engravings foretold

  The dreamer’s potion discovered

  Converging thunderheads opposed

  “We have no time, Arrow Head,” Sochai murmured, squeezing the belly of his dying horse. “Please ...we have no time . . .”

  He had crossed the dreaded desert in five days, and for the past week, struggled through an endless chain of mountains. The winds were unusually harsh, the treacherous terrain impossible with blankets of icy snow blown at him. Yet, according to his grandfather’s map, the destination was within reach; he needed to cross one more peak.

  For days, they battled the elements. The barren mountains offered little refuge from the freezing wind, and neither man nor horse had food left.

  “No, Arrow Head. Just a little further.”

  Arrow Head crumbled with a whine, his eyes half-closed, thick foam dripping from his mouth.

  “We’re almost there. No, Arrow Head! No.”

  The stallion couldn’t respond. A film of ice had long settled on his mane, and it was over—without doubt. Sochai drew his saber. A horse too weak to walk must be used as meat. It was inevitable.

  Snow was falling again. Arrow Head would freeze to death, regardless, and slaying him would also mean enough food for a week.

  His horse stared. Perhaps it would plea for a quick, painless death. Sochai waited. He hoped Arrow Head would somehow ask him to end the misery, tell him that a quick stroke of the heavy saber would help him rest in peace.

  “Who am I to decide whether you live or die?” Sochai asked, severing the saddle and reins, tossed them aside, and sheathed his weapon. “Fight for your life, Arrow Head. While I fight for mine.”

  Much later, from a high elevation, he turned around for a final look at the horse he left behind. He thought he saw Arrow Head climbing to his feet.

  ???

  According to the map, the terrain would become friendlier after he crossed this last peak. He peered down, and this time, noticed a trail at the foot of the mountain. It was too dark for him to see where it led to. Any man-made road was a sign of civilization. Pan Tong Village should not be far. He tucked the diary into his inner pockets and descended.

  The events in his grandfather’s diary occurred fifty years ago. It could have been just a legend in a distant land—like the myths the Elder used to tell around the camp fires, about heroes who rode on flaming wheels and fought sea dragons to prove their courage, or great hunters who shot down flying horses that breathed fire.

  Pan Tong Village. He thought of Su Ling, of the same poison that he somehow inherited fifty years later. He thought of the three-headed dragons. Those who raided his camp wore carvings identical to the jade.

  Sochai felt like his head was going to explode. None of this made sense to him. His life was simple, peaceful. He was a great hunter, a champion wrestler guaranteed leadership on the Mongolian plains. Never had he thought of riding farther south than the border, of meeting any Chinese outside the marketplace. Why was this happening to him?

  By the time he reached the trail, the early rays of the morning sun peered over the hilly terrain. The wind was calmer then, the cold air less brutal.

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  A town appeared out of nowhere, built in a strange place hardly noticeable to the common traveler. A tall wooden wall surrounded the town, and there were only four gates, one facing each direction. Sentry posts were erected outside each gate but no one manned them, and the few guards seated outside weren’t in uniform. Armed men casually passed through the gates with only a light nod to the guards.

  After crossing the desert, in one night’s time, Sochai had ventured deep into the land of the Chinese. He hadn’t seen a living soul throughout the night, and suddenly, there were Chinese everywhere. He gripped his saber, ready to draw if anyone noticed him, then checked himself. He came here to ask questions, not to instigate wars.

  From the top of a hill, he was able to see a bustling market inside. He needed a town, a populated one, if he was to learn anything.

  Sochai shifted down the hill, into the main road, approaching the northern gate. He tried to walk among the others, his head down, his eyes on the ground. The gate was wide open and those around him simply entered.

  A guard called to him. Sochai’s hand flew to his saber but the guard didn’t notice.

  “Where are you from, traveler?”

  Others continued to pass through the gate. “The North,” Sochai responded, pronouncing slowly to cover his accent.

  “Have you seen Li Kung?”

  Sochai shook his head without turning.

  “He’s wandering around Northern Pass with a girl. If you see him, Master Dong wants him captured. There’s a reward.”

  Sochai nodded, eager to go.

  “He’s getting his skull cracked open,” the guard said. “He should’ve known better than to offend the Red Dragons, don’t you agree?”

  Sochai nodded again. “I agree.” He continued. No one followed to question him further.

  The town was crowded. There were vendors selling hot tea and buns on the side of the road, stores selling food, cloth, and dried goods. Every structure was firmly built; so solid they could last forever. Some of them were higher than trees. For the first time, Sochai saw stairs and balconies, translucent windows made of waxed paper, and the written language of the Chinese in front of every shop. What a strange world. It didn’t resemble the makeshift marketplace at the border.

  The pungent smell of food was everywhere, and it finally dawned on him that he hadn’t eaten in days. He went first to a small shop and traded a sheepskin for a few coins, then found his way into a crowded inn.

  Other customers were simply seating themselves. He walked in, found a table in the corner, and sat down with his back to the wall.

  The innkeeper came up to him, a dirty cloth draped over his shoulder, a greasy smile frozen on his face. “What would you like, sir?”

  Sochai kept his head lowered. He pushed the coins across the table. “Food and wine.”

  The innkeeper scooped the coins from the table. “Certainly. What would you like?”

  “Meat.”

  “What kind of meat, sir?”

  “Horse meat.”

  The innkeeper stalled. “We ...we don’t have horse meat here, sir.”

  “Wild boar, then.”

  The innkeeper paused before politely turning away. “Roast pork loin coming right up!”

  In a moment, he returned with more food than Sochai ever thought possible for a few dusty coins. Evidently, the sheepskins that he traded at the border were worth much less.

  He stuffed the dry buns into his pockets, saving them for later, and devoured the meat and noodles. He never knew food could be this good.

  “Have you heard? Red Dragons are looking for Li Kung.”

  Two men, in a table beside him, one tall, another chubby, were seated face-to-face and drinking rice wine. The tall one replied to his friend, “I heard only Dong wants him. There’s a reward.”

  The fat one asked, “Dong? The Red Dragon master’s son? What in the world did Li Kung do to deserve that?”

  “Oh, he really asked for it. He couldn’t treat the Old Grandmother.”

  “No one can.”

  “But he suggested killing her with poison.”

  “What!”

  The tall man shook his head. “He said there’s no cure, and the family should just kill her so she wouldn’t suffer anymore.”

  The fat man clapped his hand to his mouth.

  The tall one said, “Li Kung could’ve been cut down, right there on the spot. But they probably didn’t want to spill blood in front of the Old Grandmother.”

  “How long has she been suffering? She’s been sick for a long time.”

  “Ten years, I think.”

  The fat one frowned. “That’s a long time.”

  Sochai turned back to his meal, trying hard to follow their conversation without appearing to eavesdrop. He recognized none of the names they spoke of, except for the name Li Kung, mentioned by the guard at the gate.

  “I feel bad for him,” the fat man said. “He did save forty children from that strange fever last month.”

  The tall one shook his head. “There’s no doubt Li Kung is talented. But he’s just foolish to say something like that.”

  The fat one scratched his head. “I wonder why they kicked him out of Redwood Cliff, just to search for him again.”

  “I told you. Master Dong wants him dead. But it’s Cricket who sent him away.”

  “But Cricket is just a boy. Dong’s the older brother.”

  “I know.”

  “I guess Li Kung’s as good as dead.”

  “Well, maybe he’ll get lucky and he’ll walk away just maimed and crippled.”

  Sochai chewed on his last strip of meat. His chest felt hot again, and he noticed the bluish tint on his skin fading. What was he looking for? Who was he looking for? Maybe the jade had something to do with the Red Dragon House. The answers were in Pan Tong Village. He had little time to lose.

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