Cry Havoc

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Cry Havoc - book excerpt

Prologue

(195 BCE)

Dying felt very much like going to sleep.

Waking up, however, was much less pleasant.

The first moment of awareness, the first thing that might be considered a genuine thought, was the realization that he was floating. Floating someplace warm. It was almost relaxing until he realized that every last inch of him was submerged. Was that a problem? Something told him that it was a problem.

He suddenly remembered that he had to breathe. The liquid. It would get into his lungs, choke him. Frantically, he struggled for the surface only to discover that he felt no burning in his chest.

His head broke through, trails of slime dripping from his chin. Some of it got into his eyes, but thankfully, it didn't hurt. His face. He pawed at his face. He could not say why, but he knew with absolute certainty that this was not his face.

Coughing and sputtering, he flailed until he reached the edge of this strange pool. His hands grabbed the rock, and then he immediately retracted them. It wasn't rock at all. It was warm and soft…like flesh.

With a gaping mouth, he looked up to blink at his surroundings. “Where?” A voice spoke. Not his. “Where am I?”

He crawled onto the shore at the edge of the lake of slime, his head hanging. Long, dark hair, thick with sludge, dangled and trailed along the floor. “Where am I?” he asked. “Who has done this?”

It all came back to him.

Gao.

That was his name. One of many. He had been born Liu Bang, the son of a peasant from Pei County. He had been a soldier, a husbandand an Emperor. His people needed him. “Why have you done this to me?”

“Calm yourself, my son.”

An Old Woman stood at the edge of the pool, a crone with a face like leather and thinning gray hair. She wore simple country clothes and sandals on her feet. “Be at ease. All will be well.”

He looked up at her, narrowing his eyes, and felt a flush of anger burning his face. “You!” Struggling to his feet, he tried to seize the woman. She was gone before he got within two feet of her.

“We mean you no harm, my son.”

When he turned, she was there again, at the very edge of the pool, close enough to dip a toe in the slime. “You are to be our emissary,” she said. “One who will guide your people to greatness.”

Baring his teeth, Gao hissed at her. “You were there!” he growled, striding toward her. “On the roadside! You set all of this in motion!”

The Old Woman looked up at him, and her mouth cracked into an almost-toothless grin. “We recognized your potential even then,” she said. “You were meant for glory, my son. You have not yet achieved a tenth of your true purpose.”

“I have to return to my people.”

“They will not know you. Not as you are.” She poked a finger into his chest, and he stumbled backward at her touch. “That life is over. It is time for you to embrace your next challenge.”

Gao ran hands over his body. Hard, sculpted muscle greeted his fingertips, smooth without a single strand of hair. He felt his face and found it nothing like the one that he remembered. His cheeks were gaunt, almost hollow; his chin was pointed. He had no beard, but long, black hair fell to the small of his back. He was a young man again, filled with a vigour he had all but forgotten. “Who are you?”

The Old Woman closed her eyes, breathing deeply. “Your people have no name for us,” she said. “And you must tell no one of our existence until we deem them ready to possess such knowledge.”

“Return me to my people.”

“As you wish.”

She gestured to a tunnel in the cavern wall. With faltering steps, he followed it, soft flesh squishing beneath his bare feet. The walls seemed to glow with a reddish light. Just enough for him to see clearly.

The tunnel curved slightly to the left, and when he went around the bend, the Old Woman was standing before him again. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor, on a pile of clothes that she had gathered there. “You will not get far as a naked man.”

Once he dressed, she guided him through a smaller tunnel that branched off from the main one. At the end of it, he found an empty chamber with nothing on the walls or floor or ceiling.

He forced his eyes shut, stiffening, and then took a hesitant step forward. “What is this place?” He turned, but the doorway in the wall sealed itself up, flesh knitting together so perfectly you would have never known there was a gap.

So, they planned to trap him?

He would have protested, but the floor writhed, and when he spun around, a lump was rising with a slimy sound. It split to form both arms of an upward-pointed triangle. He approached with caution.

A bubble formed around his body, distorting the light. He cried out in shock, but his momentary outburst was nothing compared to the scream that ripped its way out of his mouth when he began to fly through an endless tunnel of blackness.

Moments later, he arrived at what appeared to be a grassy field under a blue sky with just a few clouds. It was hard to tell. Peering through the bubble's surface was like trying to see through a curtain of falling water.

“What sort of devilry…”

The bubble popped.

He was in a field, a field of tall grass that reached almost to his knees, the stalks around him flattened by his arrival. Quickly, he turned around and found another triangle like the one in the other place.

He reached out with a tentative hand, but brown flesh became gray, and the triangle collapsed into a pile of ash. What sort of creatures were these? Not spirits, he thought. But what? Beings able to bend flesh to their will. They had given him a new body, but he was still himself, so far as he could tell. His mind remained intact.

Sinking to his knees in the grass, he shuddered as he drew in a breath. “They have restored me to life for a reason.” He looked up and felt his eyes widen. “Ying is not yet ready.That is why.”

Mountains rose up before him. He knew this place; the Old Woman had brought him to a spot not far from Chang'an. He could be home within a few hours if he ran. Perhaps it was time to put these young legs to work.

The walls of the city stood tall and proud under the harsh light of the noonday sun. The moat sparkled as if someone had strewn a thousand diamonds across the dark water. With summer nearing its peak, it was warm.

People flowed across the bridge toward the gate, some on foot, one or two leading horses. Soldiers in iron lamellar stood on either side of the opening, casting glances at everyone who passed.

Gao walked with his head down.

He kept his posture demure, eyes fixed on the stones under his feet, and hoped it would avoid attention. The wind made strands of his long hair flutter. Fortunately, most of the slime had dried and flaked away.

One of the guards, a hard man with a scar on his chin, looked up to sneer as Gao passed. “Strange clothing, countryman,” he growled. “Who are you? And where do you come from?”

Gao froze.

The Old Woman had given him garments that were little better than rags. Not even the simple yi and shan that you might see on a peasant. His clothes were not cotton or silk but rather some scratchy material that made his skin itch. And there were no rich colours. He was clad in gray from head to toe. To these men, he must have looked like a beggar or a vagabond. Perhaps that was the point.

“Who are you?” the soldier said again.

Lifting his chin to meet the other man's gaze, Gao narrowed his eyes. “I am your emperor,” he said. “And you will not speak to me in such-”

He was down on all fours, head ringing like a struck gong, before he even realized that he had been slapped. Blood dripped from his mouth to land upon the stones. Slowly, he looked up. “How dare you-”

“Be silent, countryman.”

Closing his eyes, Gao hissed when he felt the point of a sword at his throat. “You must believe me,” he panted. “I am Gaozu of Han, the Unifier. Bring my wife, and I will prove my claim-”

He cut off when the blade pressed a little deeper into his skin. Hard enough to draw blood. The soldier stood over him with a snarl fit for an angry dog, teeth clenched, face flushed to a deep red. “The city is in mourning after the death of the Emperor!” he spat. “You will not disgrace his memory with these lies. Speak but one more falsehood, and I will kill you, stranger.”

“I am Liu Bang of Fenyu-”

The soldier drew back his sword.

“Have the mighty warriors of Han fallen so far?” Gao paused when he realized that a small crowd had formed, surrounding him. It was the timbre of the speaker's voice that got his attention. A woman?

He looked up to find her standing just a few paces away, a tall and slender woman in a chang of bold, blazing red and a ru of white with red along the collar and the cuffs of each sleeve. Her black hair was left loose, falling almost to her waist.

Her face was lovely with a thin, delicate nose and dark eyes that seemed to burn with some hidden, inner fire. “Killing beggars and madmen,” she said coldly. “Is there no better use for your sword?”

“Quiet, woman,” the soldier barked. “This is no concern of yours.”

She did not obey.

Instead, she placed herself between Gao and the soldier, standing tall and proud as if she could stop a flood with nothing but the fury of her stare. Gao could only see the back of her head, but he realized that he would rather not be the target of that stare. “Can you not see that this man is ill? He should be cared for, not slaughtered.”

“Who are you to-”

“I am your emperor!” Gao shouted.

That was the last thing he remembered before something thumped him across the back of his head. Everything went dark then. Perhaps he had died again.

No.No, he hadn't died. He realized as much when the pain became unbearable. He felt as though the world were spinning, as if he might fall at any moment. And he might have if not for the fact that there was something soft beneath him.

His vision came into focus, and he saw the woman who had come to his aid staring down at him. “He's awake,” she said.

“Who are you?”

“Who are you, stranger?”

Gao sat up, touching his face, noting again the hollow cheeks and hairless chin that were not his. The lump on the back of his head gave him pause. “You won't believe me even if I tell you the truth.”

The woman sat at his bedside with arms crossed, frowning as she considered that. “You expect me to believe that you are the dead emperor?” she asked. “Even when you look nothing like him? Even though you are decades younger than him?”

A flash of pain made him wince, and he let himself fall back on the bed. “I do not expect you to believe anything,” he said. “They did this to me.”

“Who did?”

“The spirits, the…I don't know. I awoke in a place of darkness, trapped in this body. And they sent me here. To suffer. To see all that I have lost.”

He became aware of an old man standing behind the young woman, a distinguished fellow with creases in his face and thinning gray hair. Her father? Yes, that would have to be it. “It would be unwise to continue telling your story,” he said. “They might have done far worse to you if my daughter had not intervened.”

“They might have done far worse to her.”

In response to that, the young woman sniffed and turned her head to stare at the wall. He suspected she wanted to look at anything but him. “I'm not afraid of a few surly guards,” she insisted. “What they did to him was wrong.”

Gao expected some kind of rebuke from the old man, but none came. Instead, the fellow just put a hand on his daughter's shoulder and smiled lovingly. Old fool. No good would come from nurturing the girl's eccentricities.

“I am Feng Ju,” the old man said. “My daughter, Lihua.”

“A pretty name for a pretty face.”

“Tell me, stranger,” the girl replied, “are men capable of admiring a woman for her intelligence or her bravery? I intervened on your behalf; I tended to your wounds, but you say nothing of that. Your appraisal of my name means little to me, and your appraisal of my face means even less.”

“Discipline your daughter,” Gao hissed.

The old man only laughed and bent forward to kiss the girl's forehead. “As well try to discipline the wind, stranger,” he said. “We are returning to the country in a few days. Come with us. It would not be wise for you to stay in the capital.”

The journey to Feng's country home took several days. The man had a small farm near the banks of the Wei, and he had offered room and board if Gao was willing to work the fields. It was almost enough to make him laugh -- or weep. The emperor had returned from death to be reduced to a mere farmhand.

He would have spat in the old man's face if not for the fact that he knew he needed food, and he would find no help in the city. Lihua was right. He was no longer Gaozu of Han, no longer Liu Bang from Pei County. He still felt like himself, still grew angry at the things that had made him angry before, still desired the same things he had wanted when he was emperor. But that life was over. Lihua pestered him to choose a name every time they spoke. Last night, he had tossed his bowl aside and growled, “Sui Bian.”

That only produced laughter from the young woman. “You wish to be called 'whatever?'” she scoffed. “Surely you can do better.”

He could, but he refused to. He might have been forced into this life, but he would not accept it. On the second night, while Feng and his daughter slept, he sat alone in the tall grass by the river's edge.

“Did you think we brought you back to resume your old life?”

He froze.

It was an effort to make himself stand up and turn around, but the Old Woman was there when he did, watching him. “You have done a marvelous thing, my son,” she said. “You do not know it yet, but the Empire you created will propel your civilization to new heights.”

“Then let me return to lead it.”

With a sigh, she came toward him and shook her head. “All things pass, my son,” she said. “It is time to begin the next great work.”

Stomping through the grass, he put himself right in front of the old crone. He had to resist the urge to seize her by the shoulders. She just stared at him, unflinching. “Time to begin my next great work?” he yelled. “What work is that?”

“Building new empires, of course.”

He turned away from her and went to the riverbank, smiling and shaking his head. “New empires,” he whispered. “How am I supposed to forge a new empire when you curse me with this body! When you take away all that I was!”

He turned around, but the Old Woman was gone.

Sobbing, Sui Bian fell to his knees and covered his face with both hands. His body trembled with every breath. “Why couldn't they just let me die?” he whispered. “Just let me DIE!”

“Who are you talking to?”

The sound of Lihua's voice made him jump. He found the young woman standing just a few feet away, wrapped in the blanket that she had used to keep herself warm. Her hair was loose, her face serene and pale in the moonlight. “I fear for you, stranger,” she said. “Does the madness have you so firmly in its grip?”

He said nothing.

It surprised him when Lihua approached and knelt beside him, reaching out to lay a hand on his cheek. “Let us help you,” she pleaded. “My father can give you a good home. You will be safe with us.”

What else could he do but accept?

(194 BCE)

Sui Bian used a hoe to violently remove some weeds, churning up a spray of dirt with them. He didn't much care about that. The work was hard and tiring, but it kept his mind off other things. News came from Chang'an now and then, but he tried not to listen. What he heard disturbed him greatly.

His widow – the Empress Lu – now dictated much of what went on in the capital, and his weakling son could do little to restrain her. Liu Ying was a timid emperor. It left Sui with a bitter taste in his mouth. Had the boy learned nothing of what he had tried to teach? Any thought of returning had long since fled from his mind. If he tried, Lu would have him killed.

Hearing what she had done to Qi – ripping the woman's eyes out, cutting her arms and legs off and leaving her to die in pig shit – had been enough to make him empty his stomach in the fields behind Feng's house. After years of battle, Sui Bian had thought that no amount of human brutality could unnerve him, but that…That was something else entirely. And his third son, poor little Ruyi, now dead at Lu's command.

Sui Bian had wept for him. He had prayed to the Old Woman several times, begged her to intercede on his behalf – if the spirits could raise him from the dead, surely they could do the same for Ruyi – but she would not come. The Old Woman ignored him now. He had not seen her since that night by the river. He was beginning to think that perhaps he had imagined all of it. Perhaps he was mad, just as Lihua suspected.

The sun was sinking toward the distant mountains, but its glare was still bright and strong. High summer had come. Over a year since his death and rebirth, and here he was, hoeing weeds on a little farm that he would never have noticed in his former life.

Sui Bian was facing west, shading his eyes with one hand. “Why?” he whispered to himself. “Why don't you just let me die?”

“You needn't push yourself so hard.”

He turned around to find Old Feng watching him with a frown. Had the man heard his muttering? “Have some water, my friend,” Feng said. “Do not break yourself under the sun's cruel gaze.”

“I do not need your pity, old man.”

Anyone else might have punished Sui for his disrespect, but Feng only sighed and turned away, making his way back to the house. Eventually, Sui decided to follow. He did need to quench his thirst.

Halfway to the house, he found Lihua in the fields, inspecting the barley. The girl was always doing things like that, taking on a man's work as if her father would not be scandalized by it. Strangely, Old Feng didn't seem to mind. In fact, he encouraged it. To some extent, Sui understood.

Old Feng shared his home with the children of his dead neighbour, Zhao Si, a man who had died at Gaixia. A man who had died under Sui's command when he was still Liu Bang. Zhao Fuling and Zhao Tian were both good boys, but their father was gone and his wife as well. Lihua's mother had perished shortly after her birth, and Feng's only son had lost his life in the very campaign that won Sui his empire. The two families relied on each other, and Lihua being Lihua, she insisted on helping.

The young woman looked up to favour him with a smile. “That fury I see in your eyes, Stranger.” She refused to call him Sui Bian, and he refused to choose another name, which left them at a standoff. “Tell me, is your existence so miserable that you can find no joy in anything?”

The stalks rustled as Guo Dong stepped into the open.

The boy came from a neighbouring farm, but in recent months, he had offered his services to Old Feng. Sui suspected that he intended to ask for Lihua's hand, but that was none of his concern.

Guo Dong was a slim youth, just shy of average height, with short, black hair and a pitiful excuse for a beard. There was something in the way he looked at you, almost as if he were planning some trick. “In Sui's defense,” he said, “Hoeing weeds on a hot day like this would dampen my spirits as well.”

“I'm not so sure about that,” Lihua countered. “The task falls to you more often than it does to him, but you're always smiling when I talk to you.”

“Perhaps your company raises my spirits.”

Lihua blushed, turning her face away as if that could hide feelings that were now painfully obvious. It should not have annoyed Sui – if Guo Dong wanted her, he could have her; a woman like that would be a fitting wife for this useless fool of a man – but it did. He chose to leave without comment.

Guo Dong, however, was determined to provoke a reaction.

The boy stepped in front of Sui with an impish grin and a glint of mischief in his eyes. “There must be some way to make the job easier,” he said. “Perhaps you should do away with the hoe and simply scowl the weeds to death.”

Lihua giggled.

Clenching his teeth, Sui pushed past the young man. He shook his head as he made his way toward the house. “Idiots, the both of them!” he spat. “To think that this is what my life has come to!”

Feng's home was a modest building but well made. Walls of wood supported tiled roofs that rose to a peak on each of the three wings that surrounded a small courtyard. The fourth wall was an iron gate that stood open despite the onset of evening. Sui had left it so. Seething with frustration, he had taken a walk by the river to relieve himself. He was just returning when the sound of hushed voices made the hair stand on the back of his neck.

Old instincts took over, and he reached for the bronze knife on his belt only to find it missing. Well, of course it was. He was a farmhand now, not a soldier. His former life was over, but he still retained much of what he knew. And he felt invigorated in this new body. He crept around the back of the house and froze.

In the golden rays of the setting sun, Guo Dong and Lihua stood side by side, both gazing out on a field of barley that swayed in the wind. Neither one saw him watching. He was about to leave, but something made him pause.