Now his eyes were used to the darkness, Tao could make out the paintings on the wall. At least they hadn’t been defaced. He smiled. It was the story of the elephant and the dog that were friends. There was the dog swinging on the elephant’s trunk for sport. There was the miserable elephant refusing to eat or take a bath when the dog was taken away. And there they were, reunited and happy, the elephant lifting the dog up in his trunk to sit on his head. It had been one of his favourites when he was a younger novice. He had always envied the friendship between the unlikely pair.
Tao had not really expected that the sutras would have magically returned to where they were supposed to be, but they had been housed in the pagoda for two hundred years. Surely such holy items would have left a trace of themselves. Kai had told him how Ping had been able to find things by holding the shard of dragon stone and concentrating hard. From his bag, he took out his own shard. It fitted comfortably into his left hand, as if it belonged there. He closed his eyes and focused his mind, seeking a trace of the holy sutras. He tried to empty his mind of every thought except the sutras. He pictured the Sanskrit words in his head, imagined the feel of the birch bark, the faint smell of the ink. It didn’t work.
He was disappointed, but not surprised. Why would Buddha set him an easy task? He had to persist. He had to try harder, to risk his life.
Tao’s bag was just a plain cloth sack with a long strap to hook over his shoulder, but it marked him out as a Buddhist. He found a niche behind the altar where he could hide his things. He reached into his bag. He only had three of his five permitted possessions – robes, alms bowl, mat. He’d lost his straining cloth in the stream near his family home, but he didn’t know what had happened to his razor. He ran his fingers over the rough cloth of his robes, feeling the darns that he’d sewn himself, the holes that he hadn’t had time to repair. Apart from the odd day when they were being washed, he had worn the robes every day for three years, since he’d outgrown his first set of robes. It was like leaving a part of himself behind. He hoped he would soon come back to collect them. He dug his hand deeper into the bag and took out the shard of dragon stone. He felt its smooth coolness against his hand. That was one thing he couldn’t bear to leave behind. He put the bag in the niche. The piece of dragon stone he slipped into his boot.
Out in the courtyard, Tao’s disguise was soon put to the test. A nomad soldier caught him by the shoulder.
“The Chanyu is awake. He wants some breakfast,” he said. “Kumiss and meat. Now!”
The disguise had worked.
Tao had no intentions of walking straight into Shi Le’s tent, but it had given him an idea. If he were carrying food and drink, and he walked purposefully, as if following an order, he hoped no one would take notice of him. He went back to the kitchen. From what he had observed, all Nomad meals were the same – meat and kumiss. He found a leather bag hanging on a hook, which contained the milky drink. He poured some into a cup. It smelled as if people had washed their feet in it. He found a lump of meat that had fallen into the ashes of the kitchen fire. He dusted it off, took a knife and hacked off a few slices and put them on a plate. It was the first time he had cut into flesh since he had left home to become a monk.
Tao heard a jangling sound that set his teeth on edge. It was coming from the stables. But whatever was confined in the stables, it wasn’t a horse. The jangling sound grew louder. He thought it sounded like a dragon and he wondered if Kai had been recaptured. Tao was angry with him. That didn’t mean he wanted the dragon to suffer. As he got closer to the stables, he became aware of an unpleasant smell, like the smell of a dead animal, only worse.
He crept in, making sure there were no guards. The smell was so strong Tao had to cover his nose and mouth with one of the hood’s side flaps.
The stall with the iron bars where they had been imprisoned was occupied again. The creature caged there was the source of the jangling sounds. It was a dragon, but it wasn’t Kai. It was Sha, the yellow dragon. She was shackled to the bars with chains – iron chains, one around each ankle. She pulled at them in turn, trying to free herself, but she didn’t have the strength. The iron shackles had left red-raw welts around her ankles. Even though she had tried to kill him, Tao pitied the unfortunate creature. It was hard to believe this was the same ferocious dragon he had seen the previous night. Her scales were dull yellow, the colour of dirty sand. The spines down her back drooped. Her eyes weren’t red, as they had been the other times Tao had seen her; they were yellow, like pools of stagnant water. Now that he was close to her, he could see the metallic tips on her horns. They were smooth and shiny, as if she had dipped her horns in molten iron.
The dragon looked straight into Tao’s eyes and snarled at him. His disguise hadn’t fooled Sha. She had only glimpsed him briefly on the night they had escaped from Luoyang, but she had recognised him. And from the sound she was making, she had decided that Tao was her enemy. He couldn’t afford to feel sorry for her.
In the corner of the stables, he saw something he recognised. He couldn’t help letting out a small yell of triumph. There was a pottery jar – a big one that came up to his waist. It had dragons painted on it, chasing each other around the elegant swell of the jar’s belly. On each side was a monster face with a ring held in its mouth that could be used as a handle. It might have been a vessel for storing wine from the time of the Han that had somehow found its way to the temple. The mouth of the elegant jar was crudely stoppered with a ball of sheep’s wool. He had only seen fragments of it in his vision, but it was the same jar. His heart was pounding as he went up to it and removed the sheep’s wool. Was that where the sutras were hidden? He almost reached into it, but the smell coming from the jar was so strong he had to hold his breath and pinch his nose or he thought he would faint. Whatever was in there, it wasn’t the birch-bark scrolls.
A nomad entered the stables carrying bridles and saddle blankets.
“What are you doing here?” he snapped.
“I was taking food to the Chanyu,” Tao said, ducking his head, so that his face wasn’t visible. “I heard the dragon. I thought it was sick.”
“It is sick. But it’ll soon be feeling a lot better.”
The man went over to the jar and stirred the contents with a ladle. The stench was nauseating. It made the smell of the kumiss seem like spring jasmine.
“This is all there is left,” he said. The smell didn’t seem to bother him. “It’d have the lot, and all at once if it could. I have to make it last though. It’s on rations from now on.”
“What’s in the brew?” Tao asked, trying to sound interested instead of disgusted.
“Lots of things – scorpions’ tails, cockroaches, snakes’ tongues, bat droppings, cinnabar, mainly tigers’ blood. I was supposed to make more when the dragon killed that tiger last night, but in all the fuss it got away.” He filled the ladle with the foul liquid. “Jilong wasn’t very happy about that. It wasn’t my fault. He was the one who wanted to show off his tame dragon to the womenfolk.” The man laughed. “It’s not tame yet. Not by a long way.”
The man emptied the ladle into a trough inside the stall. The liquid was thick and black, and Tao could see bits of the loathsome things the nomad had listed floating in it.
The dragon sank down at the trough and drank as if she were dying of thirst. She drained the trough, closed her eyes and sighed.
“Is it medicinal? What does it do?” Tao asked.
“You’ll see.”
Tao thought the dragon had dozed off, but after a minute or two, her eyes snapped open. Now they were red again. She let out a deep roar that Tao could feel reverberating in his chest.
The nomad stuffed the woollen stopper back in the jar and turned to leave, his job done. “Why are you still here?”
Tao hurried out of the stables. He had intended to search the storerooms for the sutras, but the man was right behind him.
“You’re going the wrong way,” he said, giving Tao a cuff around the ear. “Tha
t’s the Chanyu’s tent over there, stupid.”
The man stood and watched, so Tao had no choice but to follow his pointing finger and walk straight up to Shi Le who was standing in front of his tent with Fo Tu Deng.
Chapter Twenty-Three
BLADE
Shi Le looked awkward when he wasn’t on a horse, as if a part of him were missing. He was standing naked to the waist wearing nothing but his deerskin trousers. A fold of his stomach hung over the top of them. His bare feet were grubby and misshapen. He wasn’t in a good mood.
Fo Tu Deng was hovering around the Zhao general like a fly.
“Today is a great day, Chanyu,” he said. “Today you will become a Buddhist!”
Shi Le didn’t share the monk’s enthusiasm. “My feet are cold,” he grumbled. “Will someone hurry up and put on my boots?”
Tao stood back, holding the cup and plate, his head bowed, expecting Fo Tu Deng to recognise him at any moment. But the monk was far too engrossed in this latest scheme of his to take any notice of a servant boy.
“Here are your robes, Chanyu.” Fo Tu Deng held out a set of worn and mended robes with a flourish. For a moment, Tao thought they might have been his own, but they were too big. He had to cover his mouth to stop himself gasping as he realised they were the two-hundred-year-old robes that had once been in the pagoda – the very cloth that had touched the skin of the venerable monk who had brought the sutras to the temple.
“I don’t want robes. Where are my boots?”
“You must wear robes, Chanyu,” Fo Tu Deng said, as if he were coaxing a small child. “It is an essential part of the ceremony.”
Shi Le fingered the robes that Fo Tu Deng was dangling in front of him.
“They are thin and worn,” he complained. “I want new robes.”
“Monks never wear robes made of new cloth, Chanyu. And these are sacred relics. They once belonged to a most holy monk.”
The nomad leader didn’t look impressed.
Someone brought Shi Le’s boots. They were covered in mud and the soles were caked in horse dung.
Fo Tu Deng glared at the nomad. “The Chanyu’s boots must be clean for the ceremony.”
The man disappeared again.
“If you could take off your trousers, Chanyu,” Fo Tu Deng suggested.
“I will not!”
“But …”
“I will wear the robes over my trousers,” Shi Le announced.
“An excellent idea, Chanyu, very symbolic. It will indicate your nomad origins, enhanced by your recent embracing of Buddhism.”
No one was taking any notice of Tao, so he started to back away slowly.
Fo Tu Deng attempted to make the robes reach around the Chanyu. It was not an easy task. The length of the cloth was generous, but it only just overlapped. The fragile belt that Fo Tu Deng tied around Shi Le’s waist disintegrated as he pulled it tight.
“Use my belt,” Shi Le commanded.
One of his men gave the uncured leather belt to Fo Tu Deng who fastened it around the portly waist without comment. He then draped the outer robe over the Chanyu’s shoulders and stood back to admire his handiwork.
Shi Le’s patience was wearing as thin as the centuries-old robes. “Where are my boots?” he shouted.
“I will go and find them myself, Chanyu,” Fo Tu Deng said.
Someone decided food and drink would improve Shi Le’s mood and Tao found himself pushed forwards until he was standing right in front of the Zhao general. Tao wasn’t sure if he should bow, or kneel, but he didn’t want Shi Le to see his face, so he went down on one knee, hunched his shoulders and lowered his eyes, glad he had the hood to hide beneath. He stared at the nomad leader’s dirty feet.
“What do you want?” Shi Le asked grumpily.
Tao held out the cup to him and tried to speak like an untutored farm boy. “I’ve got your breakfast, Chanyu.”
Shi Le gestured to his men. They laid out a felt mat for him and lowered him onto it, but lost their grip and Shi Le sat down heavily. Tao winced as he heard the fragile fabric of the robe tear down the back.
Shi Le took the cup of kumiss, drained it and belched. Tao was relieved. He put the plate of meat on the mat in front of the Chanyu. Shi Le picked up the meat with his fingers.
“What is this?” he asked, his squinty eyes peering at the grey flesh as if it were a dead rat. “I want fresh meat, still bleeding, not this cold, overcooked lump.”
Shi Le hurled the meat across the courtyard.
Tao bowed to the ground, trying to avoid close scrutiny, terrified that the nomad leader would recognise him.
“I am sorry, Chanyu,” he stammered. “I have no cooking skills.”
“Find me a woman,” Shi Le shouted. “A woman of the Five Tribes who knows how to cook meat.”
Everyone’s attention was on the Chanyu and Tao was able to duck away and out of sight. At last he could resume his search. He searched the Recitation Hall and the monks’ quarters, but he didn’t find the bamboo cylinder.
Tao came out of the monks’ windowless quarters into the courtyard. The clouds had disappeared and the sun was high in the sky. He shaded his eyes. Fo Tu Deng had returned with the Chanyu’s boots. They were a little cleaner than they had been. Tao could see Shi Le sitting next to a fire warming his hands while his servants struggled to put on one of his clean boots. Next to the nomad chief, Tao could just make out the figure of a young woman, on her knees, head bowed, industriously skinning a rabbit. She skilfully stripped off the small animal’s grey fur as easily as peeling an orange. She picked up a large knife, cut open its stomach and pulled out its insides, throwing them into a bowl to be used for some other purpose.
The servants hauled the Chanyu to his feet and he supported himself on their shoulders, so that he could stand on one leg and stamp his foot while they pulled at the boot to get it on, but Tao’s eyes were on the young woman as she skewered the rabbit on a sharp stick and put it onto the coals. She picked up the knife again. It was a large knife with a bone handle decorated with spiral patterns. Its curved blade was about six inches long and ended in a sharp point. She wiped off the blood in the dirt and held the blade in the flames as if she meant to clean it. Tao’s eyes finally adjusted to the sunlight. A servant was struggling to force the second boot over Shi Le’s lumpy left foot as the nomad leader hopped on one leg. This one was proving even more difficult than the first. Tao didn’t need to see the girl’s face to know who she was. He would have recognised that hair and the little pin holding her jacket closed anywhere. It was Pema. When she withdrew the knife from the fire, it was red hot.
That was when Tao saw her face. Pema’s mouth was set in a firm line as he had often seen it before. He stepped closer. She didn’t recognise him in his nomad clothing. A flame leaped up and reflected in her eyes. For a moment they looked like Sha’s eyes after she had drunk the tigers’ blood – red with hatred, hungry for blood.
The Chanyu was still hopping around on one leg. No one was watching Pema. She leaped to her feet. Tao knew what she was about to do.
“Pema, no!”
Her head snapped back. She recognised Tao and faltered for a second, then she lunged at Shi Le. One of the guards shouted out a warning, but the Chanyu’s own voice, yelling abuse at his servants for their inefficiency, drowned him out. Pema plunged the red-hot blade into Shi Le’s chest. Tao’s interruption had broken her rhythm. She missed the heart. Shi Le stumbled back. The force of Pema’s thrust had knocked him off balance and the servants could no longer hold his weight. The Chanyu fell heavily to the ground. Pema didn’t try to run. The knife slipped from her hand as she stood and stared at her handiwork. Three nomads grabbed her.
Tao stood with his hands hanging at his sides. He had vowed never to hurt a living thing. There was nothing he could do.
Chapter Twenty-Four
SHATTERED
Tao had seen bloodshed before, back when nomads had first invaded Luoyang. Nameless men had committed that violence, no
t a girl, not someone he called his friend. He could barely believe it had happened. Yet there was Pema with the bloody knife at her feet. There was Shi Le lying on the ground, his hands clamped to his chest, blood streaming through his fingers and soaking into the ancient robes, one boot on and one foot bare. His breathing was a slow rattling wheeze. The nomads stood staring at their Chanyu’s lifeblood soaking into the earth. Fo Tu Deng didn’t seem to know what to do any more than they did.
Someone had had the sense to fetch Jilong. He strode into the courtyard and stood for a moment, taking in the situation with a cool and unhurried glance, as if allowing everyone time to admire him. Tao was more than willing to take his eyes off the bleeding general and be dazzled by his handsome nephew. He was wearing a brown fur hat, nothing like the stinking thing that Tao still had on his head. The fur was on the outside and it was clean and brushed. The tail of the animal (a marmot, perhaps, or a sable) hung down over his shoulder. His jacket was made of animal skin as well. His had the fur turned inwards. The brown leather had been dyed a deep red and the edges were embroidered with strange designs in black and gold.
“Who did this?” Jilong asked.
The nomads all pointed at Pema, glad that there was an obvious culprit, but still terrified that they could be in trouble for allowing this crime to happen. Jilong looked at her as he fitted the pieces of her deception together. The nomads recognised her as his favorite from the night before. No one breathed as they waited for Jilong’s fury to explode. He didn’t speak, he didn’t move. Only his eyes displayed emotion – not surprise, not hurt, but hatred. Tao half expected that look to kill Pema there and then.
Several nomads drew swords and axes ready to kill the traitor. Shi Le tried to speak. The awful gurgling sound that he made reminded the nomads that he was still alive and in urgent need of care.