Dragon Dance (10 page)

The sky was quite light when he awoke and looked across to Brad. The other mat was empty.

S
IMON ASKED BEI PEN: “WILL
you send someone after them?”

“It would serve no purpose.”

“You could have him brought back.”

“Supposing they could be found, in the first place. The bounds of the Middle Kingdom are wide. And would he thank me for it? Or thank you?”

“He doesn't know what he's doing. He needs protection from the illusion she puts into his mind. Protection against himself, if you like.”

“In sleep, first mind is defenceless against the dreams that invade it. But B'lad was not sleeping when he went away with Li Mei.”

“But he doesn't have the powers she has!”

“True. And that is why I broke the illusion for him. It was not easy, and the consequences are immeasurable.”

“You may have broken it, but obviously it's come back.”

“There is a difference. Now he knows it to be an illusion, even though he embraces it.”

“But can't you do something about that?” Simon tried, hopelessly, to think of a Chinese word for
deprogramming.
“Through the law of suggestion?”

“A puppet pulled by different strings is still a puppet. It may be that in the end he will reject illusion. But only he can do it.”

“If you won't do anything,” Simon said, “I shall. At least I can go and look for him.” He stared at Bei Pen. “You won't try to stop me?”

Bei Pen inclined his head. “No one will.”

•  •  •

Bei W'ih said: “I leave in the morning. Are you coming with me, Si Mun?”

“No.”

The big man looked speculatively at him. “I looked to have two companions. First, one is lost and now, it seems, the other. Your friend follows a will-o'-the-wisp. What is it you have decided you would rather do than watch my dragons fly?”

“I'm going after him.”

“And which road will you travel?”

Simon did not answer.

“If you go south and they have gone north, it will be a long journey. And every crossroads can lead you further astray.”

He came to Simon and put an arm around his shoulders.

“It is understandable that you should wish to find your friend, and proper. But let us apply second mind to the situation and think rationally. You could wander for years and find yourself further off at the end. It is better to be in one place and listen to what travels on the wind. The army has scouts and spies by the thousand. If their eyes and ears do not bring news of him, nothing can. And meanwhile”—he grinned—“you will see the dragons.”

•  •  •

They travelled very light, taking no rations. Everywhere, at the sight of the blue priestly robes, the villagers brought out the best of their food and drink. On the third night, at a large village in the rich farming land of the plain, a banquet was provided by the local mandarin.

As the long succession of exotic dishes wound towards an end, Simon became aware of an atmosphere of expectancy. When the lamps were being extinguished, he guessed what it was about: a magic show like the one Bei Tsu had failed to perform at the palace. His guess was confirmed when the last lamps were put out and Bei W'ih brought out two rods from his pouch and started to twirl them.

They seemed to be tipped with a phosphorescent material: the twirlings made arcs and twists and circles of luminescence in the darkness. And Bei W'ih began to tell a tale, a flight of fancy involving a noble hero, pure and lovely maiden, wicked villain, and a host of minor characters.

The twirlings continued all the while—pretty, Simon thought, but pointless. But the audience, as he realized from their vigorous expressions of approval, horror, anger, were getting a lot more out
of the proceedings than he was. The tale wound to its climax, signalled by a delirious twinkling dance of lights, which was greeted with sustained and rapturous applause.

As their mules jogged along next day, Simon asked: “The storytelling is something expected?”

“Hoped for, shall we say? And so provided, in return for hospitality.”

“And shaking the rods is a necessary part?”

Bei W'ih looked at him. “When the rods danced, what did you see?”

“Moving lights.”

“The others saw much more: men fighting, a boy and girl embracing, a boat buffeted by rough waters on a river flowing between high cliffs, dragons soaring through skies pierced by lightning bolts. . . .”

“So the lights were helping you to create illusions which they believed?”

“Yes. But illusions which existed for me, too. I saw all those things. But not for you, Si Mun? I wonder why. Because you are of the Lomani? But you are not the first such to visit the Celestial Kingdom and witness its wonders. Others have seen the pictures. I wonder why not you?”

Simon did not reply. It was interesting, he reflected, that this time the illusions had worked for others, if not for him. Maybe his negative vibes were getting less powerful—as a result of his contacts with Bei Pen? It was just as well anyway: the villagers might have been less civilized than the members of the imperial court about losing their evening's entertainment. They jogged on in silence.

Twelve days later, at a point where the rough track they were following crested a hilltop, they came in sight of the Wall. Simon had been prepared to be impressed, but the actuality bludgeoned him. No pictures in books or on television had adequately prepared him for the impact of the vast bulwark of stone striding across the valley floor and climbing hundreds of feet over the next hill.

He remembered reading somewhere that even in his own world this had been the only work of man visible from the Moon. And here it was no crumbling ruin but an artifact in good repair and in use—he could see the heads of a troop of soldiers bobbing above the battlement as they marched towards the fort at the top of the hill. There banners, twisting in a stiff breeze, decorated a central tower. A stream
ran through a culvert beneath it, and huts stretched away on either side to form a straggling village.

They were respectfully greeted and taken to a room looking south along the valley towards hazily sunlit hills. They were brought water and oils for washing, and a change of linen. Tea with the General followed.

He was short even for a Chinese, but colourful in a scarlet robe trimmed with jade and silver, and his wispy beard had been lacquered into the shape of an out-thrust dagger. He had deep-set eyes which darted, quickly and penetratingly, to whatever took his attention. Although small in stature, he was well muscled; as a bare arm demonstrated. His appearance, Simon thought, could be called birdlike, but the bird was a fighting cock.

Following the formalities of the tea ceremony, practical considerations formed the basis for discussion. Over recent years, the barbarians had grown increasingly troublesome. In the previous six months, they had destroyed several villages north of the Wall and, in one impudent invasion of the sacred territory of the Celestial Kingdom, three south of it.

It would not, the General said, have been
difficult to move at once against those daring to encroach on the domain of the Son of Heaven, and destroy them; but he felt a more signal retribution was appropriate. Spies reported that the barbarians, flushed with their success, were moving south in great numbers and that a large-scale invasion was intended.

Bei W'ih asked: “Is it good terrain for dragons?”

“There are three valleys through which the lawless ones might come south. One of these, the Valley of Winds, is excellent dragon country. The remaining two will be strongly defended. They will come, therefore, through the Valley of Winds.”

Bei W'ih nodded. “How soon?”

“We can choose the moment to lance the boil. A weak assault will lure them into counterattack. Defences at the valley's entrance will also be weak. Three miles in, the valley narrows, and if battle is joined there, retreat will not be easy. There will be estimable slaughter.”

During the days that followed, Simon had time on his hands. As long as he wore the robe marking him as an acolyte to the priesthood, he was treated with wary respect; but when he changed it for an
ordinary tunic, the men of the garrison proved more amiable. It was not very different from being in a Roman military station. There were the same grouses, the same distractions—above all, the same resignation, stemming from the realization that others were in charge of one's destiny, and that there was nothing to do about that but grin and bear it.

He felt he might have adjusted to the situation and settled down, except for worrying about Brad and wondering what might have happened to him. He still found it difficult to accept what had happened—that Brad, whom he had thought of as both brighter and more level-headed than himself, should have done something so totally irrational. There was obviously a compulsive element in his behaviour, like a moth pursuing a flame. But a moth had no brain, and this particular flame, as had been so clearly and shockingly demonstrated, was nothing but an ugly guttering candle.

He could not believe that Brad would not, sooner or later, free himself from the net of fantasy Li Mei had thrown over him. But he felt also that there should be some way in which he could help. He hadn't made much impression on Brad at the
bonzery, but if he were in a position to keep on hammering away it must be possible to do something. The difficulty about that was that he needed to be with Brad to exercise persuasion, and he didn't have the remotest idea where Brad might be. He reminded Bei W'ih of his promise of using the army's sources of information to help trace Brad. Bei W'ih told him instructions had gone out; but reminded him in turn that the Middle Kingdom was a vast country.

He also found himself missing Bei Pen. In the first days after leaving the bonzery, he had had a sense of relief: each mile they travelled made him more confident that his mind was his own again, free of external intervention either for good or ill. But here, without the distractions of travelling, his thoughts often went to Bei Pen and, at times, with a recollection that pierced and troubled him, to the strange mental closeness they had shared. He both wished for and dreaded its renewal.

Altogether he was glad when rumours of impending action began to circulate and still gladder when the army finally moved.

He resumed his acolyte's robe and travelled with Bei W'ih in the rear of the long column of men and
horses and wagons. They took a separate course on reaching the Valley of Winds; their mules laboured up a steep and stony track, which led them to a village several hundred feet above the valley's floor. Almost directly below lay the narrower section of which the General had spoken.

In the morning, Bei W'ih chose a position on a spur some distance from the village. The night had been dry, and the tops of the hills were etched by the glow from the still unrisen sun. A coruscation of campfires glimmered beneath them. Bei W'ih pointed north. Far off, at the mouth of the valley, there was movement: it looked like a horde of trekking insects, dimly visible in the half-light.

Simon had seen armies moving into battle before, but always as a prelude to action in which he himself would be involved. His chief concern had been with the part he was going to play, with excitement and apprehension warring in his mind. In this case, he was condemned to be a spectator. Although they looked like insects from this vantage point, he knew they were men—men who would soon be joined in a frenzy of bloodletting with those other men now munching breakfast beside the campfires. He had an
unhappy consciousness of the absurdity of it all. He said to Bei W'ih: “You came to help win a battle. Is there no way of preventing the battle taking place?”

Bei W'ih looked at him. “Would you have me make an end of the follies of mankind? Have they learned that secret in the land you come from, Si Mun?”

“These dragons of yours—if they showed their power
before
the fighting started . . .”

Bei W'ih shook his head. “There are no easy ways. And all has to be repeated, over and over, until men find wisdom, or time itself ends.”

•  •  •

The advancing line halted about a hundred yards from the opposing ranks, and a bombardment started. Both sides had field artillery: cannons boomed, sending dark specks of cannonballs hurtling through the air, and there were the fiery streaks of rocket arrows. The remote thin cries of the wounded punctuated the deeper din. After about half an hour, the interchange died away; there was silence apart from distant moans of pain, and everything seemed frozen into tranquillity. Then, from a rattle of orders, movement began again. The gap
between the lines narrowed and disappeared. There was the sudden roar of men hiding their fears in anger.

The imperial troops wore green uniforms. Simon saw patches of green encircled and swallowed up, the green line generally falling back. Unexpectedly he had a feeling of partisanship, an urge to be down there fighting with them. He said urgently: “What about the dragons?”

“Look.”

His eye followed Bei W'ih's pointing finger. In the rear of the imperial army, objects were rising into the sky. They were in a multiplicity of colours—scarlet and yellow, blue and green and vermilion. They had tails trailing behind them and crudely shaped heads. Even so far away, he could see just how crude, and could recognize the constructions of paper and bamboo, flying from strings. They were kites.

It was ludicrous—a line of kites flying above forces locked in desperate battle. He said disbelievingly: “Is
that
what you call dragons?”

“Watch.”

Carried on a stiff breeze, they advanced steadily
as the lines controlling them were paid out. They soared above the rear guard of the imperial army and onwards over the fighting. At the same time, the noise of battle had a new cacophony added to it: of gongs, trumpets, rattles, exploding crackers. There was a surge of whiteness like a wave, as thousands of faces turned upwards to the sky. Then a yell of despair, an answering shout of triumph, and the barbarians broke and ran, with the victorious greens pursuing them.