The Red Plains (The Forbidden List Book 3) (35 page)

The old man’s fingernails scrapped along the back of Zhou’s hand, drawing blood, as Jing Ke’s hand slammed down. All around the wind whirled, screamed, picking up snow and creating a wall of white isolating them from the outside world.

This is wrong. She’s hurt. I made the wrong choice. Someone else could have done this. There was no one else. Anyone. They can save her. They promised. Nothing to live for. All the time in the world. Centuries. Moments. Choices. Why did I agree? Volunteered. Only one. Family. They have a family. All of them.

Panic thudded in is heart, twisting his stomach into tight knots of fear. Every thought, every possibility raced through his mind. A wall of Mongols on horses, hammering against the barriers in his mind. Swords raised and arrows descending. A charge no one could survive.

It started in his hand, a river of fire, of lava, of ice. It burned his bones and froze the blood in his veins. Up his arms, waves of pain crashing and tumbling through muscles and nerves. Elbows and shoulders cracked, popped. He threw back his head and screamed. A growl and roar forced its way from his throat, a fountain of blue erupting forth.

*Let me in.* It spoke in his head. An old, dry, patient voice.

*Who?* he returned.

*You chose this,* the voice said. *Let me in.*

*I chose?* The barriers he’d held so long bowed and bent under the pressure.

*To join. To become the guardian. To be responsible. To keep them safe.*

*Safe?* He stammered, holding onto the word and the promise.

*Let me in. Become me and I will become you. Let me show you. We can protect them.*

The barriers broke, shattered. All the grief, loss, and guilt cascaded over the top of the broken dam that had held back the torrent ever since Wubei. It swept away all thought. Faces, places, memories, were flotsam and debris on the waves. Tossed about, dredged up and dragged under.

And his vision pulled back, away from the container of his mind, of his body. Faster and faster he flew. Higher and higher. Seeing the three of them, the table and scene on the plateau. Higher still, the Three Peak Mountain and the battle lines in the valley below. The pass and the fortress. Winding rivers and snow falling over the landscape. A layer of clouds and, in the distance, the orange glow of fire and flame that marked the battle at the capital.

Above the clouds, rising still. The curve of the earth and the cold of the air above. The moon and the disk of the sun emerging from behind the earth. A ring of fire that warmed him. Further and faster, the earth shrinking and vanishing.

Out into the cosmos, the stars swirling around and on the edge of his mind, the realms. A rainbow of colours that rippled and danced against the universe. Small, he was so small against it all. Something else, another presence. Older and stronger, larger and more encompassing than anything he had beheld so far.

*We are one,* Zhou said. *Part of you and part of me.*

“What now?” Haung asked.

“Now,” the Emperor, Dà Lóng, responded, “we have an Empire to save. The Mongols are at large, the capital is under siege and there is a frontier to defend.”

“That’s it?” Haung said.

“What else did you want to do, Colonel Haung?” The Emperor smiled, a tired gesture. “Though I suppose I should start referring to you as General Haung. I hope your wife likes large houses and lots of staff to see to her every need.”

“I am sure she will be adjust, my Lord,” Haung said, adding a small bow to show his respect.

“Your daughter and grandson?” Haung looked towards the small group clustered around Xióngmāo.

“The Lady Shù will do what she can and Xióngmāo’s own spirit will return her to health. She will not be as before, but she will live and for many more centuries to come. As will you, if you continue your training.”

“I am not sure I could stand to see Jiao grow old and die without me,” Haung said.

“Oh? I understood that Shifu considered her an even more promising student than you. I would not worry too much on that score, General. Life is about growth and change. Plan for the best and take your chances when you can. It is all that can be asked of you, and all you can expect.”

Haung watched the Emperor pick his way through the deepening snow towards his son and daughter, and stop, looking back over his shoulder towards the
Taiji
.

“I would appreciate it if you kept the knowledge of my daughter and grandson to yourself. I could command you, but you are on the list and even I must follow my own edicts.” The Emperor raised a questioning eyebrow towards Haung.

“Of course, my Lord. I understand how difficult families can be. We need to protect those we love above all.” Haung placed a hand on the sword now scabbarded at his hip.

“I knew you would,” the Emperor moved to resume his journey, but halted once more. “I think, at some point soon, we need to have a talk about that sword. No one outside the realms has ever carried a Sword of a Servant before. Keep it hidden for a time.”

Haung looked down at the white hilt and tassel. “Yes, my Lord Emperor.”

Zhou stood and looked out across the mountains. The walls of the city stood strong and few clouds obscured the bright blue sky. A cold wind swept down the path and he placed his feet carefully, sinking into the deep snow on every step. He took a deep breath, letting the air rush into his lungs, filling him with a pleasure he had not realised he had missed. A smile threatened to crease his face, but the thought of his long, everlasting future alone dampened his spirits.

The gates were open and the roads inside clear of snow. The people who lived in this city obviously worked hard to keep the buildings and roads in a fine state. No cobbles were missing and every home and business was freshly painted. Those folks about at this early hour noticed him and nodded or bowed in his direction. Unsure how to respond, of the customs in this particular place, he returned the gestures as best he could.

Some of the dwellings were recognisable as being built in the Empire style. Others were alien in design. No sweeping roof or decorated tiles for some. Just simple block structures that rose from the ground like pillars of rock. Others were low to the ground, consisting of woven wood walls and thatched roofs. Smoke crawled into the sky from a few of the homes and the sounds of a city coming to life, the clatter of kitchen activity, the shouts of parents to children too tired to rise from their beds, could be heard. Thankfully, the streets were mostly empty and he followed the path written into his heart.

He raised a hand to knock on the door and hesitated. Zhou stood still for a while, lost in indecision, thoughts racing through his mind, his heart hammering in his chest. To knock or walk away? A simple question. He had an eternity to decide how to answer. To know or not to know. Pain either way.

Zhou knocked.

And waited.

He heard footsteps and the bolt drawn back.

The door opened.

“Husband,” she said.

“Daddy,” his son shouted, a high pitched squeal of glee.

And they were in his arms, never to be let go off ever again.

Ever.

So that’s it. A trilogy complete and a story done. I’ll do the thanks in a minute, in a few pages. But I wanted to take a chance to say my thanks to Haung and Zhou, the Emperor, to Xióngmāo, Enlai, Gang and Liu, to Sabaa, Biyu, Gongliang, Jiao and even Yángwū. My thanks, and apologies, to Zhou’s wife and child also.

It is a strange thing to kill off characters, even those with no names but without whom there would be no story.

I hope, by the end, I was fair to Zhou.

It may also seem a strange thing to thank fictional characters in a book, but it is important to do so. For me, anyway. They have been a large part of my life for the past four or five years. I’ve gotten to know them well and I’m sorry to let them go, to live the rest of their lives without me. Having said that, some of them live a very long time. We might see them again at some point. Who knows… certainly not me!

When I started ‘The Stone Road’, all those years ago, I never thought I would end up actually finishing the series. That I would suffer along with characters. That echoes of myself and those I know and love would find a place in the story. I never thought that readers, you, would pick up the books and enjoy them. Never expected that people would have discussions about the characters and the story on my Facebook wall (come and join in, if you’ve a mind to -
https://www.facebook.com/gr.matthews.9
).

I never thought I would be writing for Fantasy-Faction (
http://fantasy-faction.com/
), that I would get to know so many great Traditional and Indie authors, that there was place for me in the world of fantasy (ever so small and humble a place it is, but it is mine and I’m grateful for it).

On the following page or two is an article about creating the world these books are set in. It was written for Fantasy Book Critic (
http://fantasybookcritic.blogspot.co.uk/
) and the fantastic Mihir Wanchoo. I really suggest you head over for a look at the blog if you’re interested in books and author interviews.

A last plea, if I may. If you liked this book, this series, please leave a rating (and a few words if you feel so inclined) on whatever platform you bought the book and Goodreads too. As an Indie author, these are the life-blood by which our heart beats. If you want to, and I am going to encourage you to do so, feel free to tell the world, friends, other readers, any and everyone about the books. Tell them to go and get them. If you’re one of those that was told to go and get them… “Hi” and “Thanks”… pay it forward!

Anyway, let’s let Haung get back to his wife and Zhou to reconnect with his…

‘The Stone Road’ is set in an
alternative
ancient China. In this land there are Kung Fu masters of many styles, magic of many flavours, exotic weapons, politics, ecology, geology and mythology.

My childhood years were spent surrounded by Iron Age hill forts, long barrows and the standing stones of Avebury. Why did I decide to write a novel set that far away, in a culture so different to my own? And do I have any right to do so?

A new world cannot be revealed to a reader in encyclopaedic sense. It cannot be rammed down their throat, or driven into their skulls with the hammer and six inch nail of info-dumping… I hate info dumps. A world should be created around the reader from little seeds that grow into the full flower of imagination and vision. And a story is not about the world, it is about the manner in which the characters interact and exist within it.

The first seed is language.

China is often quoted as the birth place of the written language – though Egypt also has a hand on that crown – and the use of the Chinese words here and there, where appropriate, where they are easily recognisable and can be reused, add to the flavour of the world. Take, for example, the
Jian
, the ‘gentleman of swords’. It would be simple to use the word sword, but
Jian
has more potential to take root in the readers mind. Add in the names of other authentic weapons and though were are talking spear, staff, sword, dagger;
Qiāng, Nángùn, Dao, Shuāngdāo
all sound so much better, more evocative of a different culture.

Language extends through all aspects of the world-building. Take the major groups in ‘The Stone Road’, the
Jiin-Wei
(spies and secret police) and the
Wu
(shamans, spirit walkers, sorcerers) are real groups from ancient China. A little drop of the language here and there, a military rank and a name, provide a structure to hang the world upon and before long the reader is thinking in those terms. The language creates the world in their imagination.

What about other cultural seeds?

Two taps on the table when tea is served is not something you see a lot of in café’s or diners (for the American readers amongst us) and might seem strange, began when an Emperor, who liked to travel incognito amongst his people, served tea to another who recognised him. Not wanting to bow and reveal the Emperor’s identity, the tea drinker tapped two fingers on the table in place of a deep bow. The tradition took hold and now, tapping fingers on the table after being served tea, is a way of saying thank you without interrupting the conversation. It is a little gesture, easy to overlook, but it is something different, a cultural clue.

And the magic? Though book one does little to explain the magic, there are clues in everything. The
Jiin-Wei
cast magic through the written word. The spell has to be written, the power is in the words and paper. It is an idea from some Chinese movies with ghosts and the undead. And it reinforces the idea that China is the home of writing, and more than that of nationwide literacy and books.

Then there are the
Wu
, the ‘magicians’ who can call upon the spirits of animals to aid them. The Chinese horoscope identifies birth signs and years with animals. The
Wu
are the embodiment of their animal counterpart, over time they take on the name and the traits of their spirit. A little research will tell you the characteristics that ancient Chinese scholars ascribed to the animals and there is your character. It feels a little like cheating, but really it just helps that seed of imagination to sprout.

The actual source of each magic, and there are (Spoiler alert, though not a great one) ten types in the world of ‘The Stone Road, is something I based upon a broadly Taoist philosophy. The
Baopuzi
and the
Zhong Lü Chuan Dao Ji
contain some information, and I only dipped a toe into the shallow end of the internet to find inspiration. There is so much out there to read, to find out, but how much will the reader need to pour water on the seed and help it grow?

The Jade Emperor, another aspect of Taoist belief, is synonymous with Chinese culture appearing in the popular myth ‘Journey to the West’. Eastern dragons and the association of the Emperor with such creatures is part of culture and architecture. Little drops of rain and sunshine that can fall upon the seeds within the first book, ‘The Stone Road’, and grow taller in later ones, spreading a canopy over the trilogy.

Food. Not to the GGRM level of foodiness, but alongside tea there are things like
congee
, a porridge of rice, and
Youtiao
, a type of doughnut fried in oil. The characters have to eat and drink or they would die of starvation before the refugee crises that sparks the story off ever took hold.

But it isn’t China, at least not the one in our world. The needs of the story would not permit, and I did not want to make, a perfect recreation of our world’s China, but the history and mythology is a rich hunting ground. The development of writing, imperial exams, administrators, a culture built on the written word, all make it different.

Back to that question at the beginning. The one I have dodged, not answered. Do I have any right to write a story in a culture that is not my own? This question was raised, briefly, at BristolCon by one of the panels; writing a story in culture that is not the one you are raised in – “Cultural appropriation” was the term used. Well, you know what, I wasn’t raised a Viking, a Franc, a Saxon, or a Venetian. I’m not Gaelic, Celtic, a Vandal (though my year 8 German teacher might disagree… sorry about that), a Roman, a Goth (never went through that teenage phase) … and I suspect many authors who write stories based in fantasy world that uses ideas and concepts from those histories/cultures weren’t either.

Looking at my family tree, put together by a relative and forwarded by my fantastic father, you discover that one of my ancestors was born in China in 1675. I suspect that if you look in most people’s family trees you’ll find something similar. In fact, I’d bet that someone reading this has the same ancestor.

I wanted to write was a fantasy novel set somewhere different, where there would be a different flavour to the story and culture, so that’s what I did. I love Kung Fu movies, the old ones and the new ones. In my childhood, I studied Kung Fu for a year or three. I find it fascinating; the country, the culture and the differences.

Confession time.

I ‘cheated’. Kind of. No more than any author who uses their imagination (and what else do they have if not that). By creating an alternative far eastern realm, analogous of China, I could move across the millennia, picking and choosing those bits which excited me, that slotted into the story and either helped or hindered the characters. As the reader (you with any luck) moves through the series they see those bits that are historically accurate and those that diverge. Some might notice, some might not, it doesn’t matter – it is a work of fiction.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely (mostly) coincidental.

I ‘cheated’ in another way too. I’m not sorry. Maybe I am sorry that I am not sorry. I did not write historical fiction, I wrote fiction in the fantasy genre – and as such I didn’t need to be an expert, I just needed to be convincing enough to give the reader a flavour, a scent, a sound, a taste, a feel of the world and culture. Enough that their imagination would create the world based upon the seeds and saplings I planted. No two readers create the same world, the same vision, but there will be some commonality despite the differences. In the writing, I researched as much as I needed to do that job, to create that image. No more, no less.

You may think less of me now, for that I’m sorry. But I am in good company, the best. Stephen King’s rule 6 of writing a bestseller; Do the research, but don't overdo it for the reader (
http://www.theguardian.com/books/2000/oct/01/stephenking.sciencefictionfantasyandhorror
). What you could do, this is just a suggestion, feel free to follow it, is read the book and decide for yourself. Maybe those seeds I planted will sprout and grow into to a full forest in your imagination. I hope they do.