Moby Jack & Other Tall Tales (26 page)

‘Prince Pang Yau is like some tethered cow, which is bled and milked each day for its nourishment.
The prince’s spirit regenerates, just as do blood and milk.
So the wicked sorcerer need never go outside, need never seek food elsewhere. However, since he now lives in darkness, the sorcerer has become part of the darkness itself. Should he ever be subject to the light of day he might vanish in its brightness.’

‘Why not just knock down the walls?’ asked the war lord, grieving along with his daughter. ‘Why not smash it to pieces?’

The peddler shrugged, as he wrapped his pots and pans in oiled rags, and fitted them to the
frame which
he carried on his back.

‘Why not indeed? But the castle is immensely strong. Such a feat is not possible. The blocks of stone of which the walls are made are each as large as a house. There is no machine known to
man which
could breach such walls. And even if one could, how would you ensure the survival of the prince? If but one should fall on the prince, he would be crushed. I have no doubt the sorcerer moves the prince around, within the walls, so that those on the outside never know exactly where the young man is located. It is a grave problem, which has all the wise men in the kingdom pacing the floor of nights.’

‘And the door?’

‘The door too, is made of huge grey slabs of slate, with a great iron lock the intricate works of which have defeated even the most superb locksmith. They say the key itself weighs more than a man, and is of such complex design that craftsmen of the first order could not even imagine the amazing twists and turns it takes. No, no, I am afraid the prince has been incarcerated until he dies. It is a sad and shocking story.’

Of course, Mai Song wept. The mocking man made much of this, saying she could sob until the swallows stayed for the winter, she would not see her prince again. Once she had cried enough, however, she sat down and thought about the problem. If the King of Gwongdong’s wizard had not been able to release Pang Yau then Mai Song saw little point in appealing to sorcerers. Wizards worked for money, power or position, not for love, and the king had presumably offered the first three in order to have his son released. There had to be another way. The next time she saw the white crane, she asked the creature if he could help.

‘I don’t envy your situation,’ said the crane, spearing one of her favourite goldfish, ‘but I do have some advice. This is a very powerful sorcerer who has your young man in captivity. I can understand why it is difficult to find another wizard to go against him. However, you can go in search of your own magic, young woman. If you do break into the sorcerer’s castle, do so during the day, when he will be rendered helpless.’

Mai Song thanked the white crane for his advice, but asked, ‘Where will I find such magic?’

‘Everyone knows,’ said the crane, ‘that magic can be found in the bones of dragons. All the dragons are now gone, but their skeletons remain, hidden in various crevices. Dragons are born of fire, in the hearts of volcanoes, and there they go to die. Their bones turn to glass in the great heat and the glass has magical properties. I know of at least one volcano not a thousand miles from here which secretes the bones of a dragon...’

And the white crane told her the name of the volcano and where she might find the glass bones of a dead dragon.

Mai Song went to her father.

‘The white crane said
everyone
knew about dragon’s bones, but I didn’t.’

‘Neither did I, daughter, but then we live on the edge of nowhere and though everyone
else
might know, we are ignorant of such commonly recognised facts.’

Mai Song then told her father she wished to go on a quest to find the bones of a dragon.

The
war lord
was dreadfully unhappy. ‘How can I let my only daughter, an innocent child, go out into the wilderness? You have hardly been outside the walls of the castle, except to take part in the peasant festivals and harvest blessings. There are vicious bandits out there, and giants, and lone monsters
who
would eat you whole at one swallow. I must go myself.’

‘No,’ replied Mai Song, ‘you must not. I must go. I love Pang Yau and it must be me who saves him from death in the hands of the dark sorcerer.’

The mocking man instantly appeared by her side. ‘You?’ he scoffed. ‘You are but a mere girl, a piece of pink ribbon, an empty-headed female. How could you even imagine you are strong or wise enough to save this prince?’

‘Go away,’ said Mai Song, coldly. ‘You are nothing to me any longer. Once you were the only companion I had, but now I have someone I love, and who loves me, and you are unnecessary.’

The mocking man gave her an angry look before vanishing.

‘Who are you talking to, daughter?’ asked the
war lord
. ‘This business has turned your mind. Let me go instead, I beg of you? I am a man, used to bearing arms and fighting with the forces of evil. You are but a young woman. I do not want to lose you, daughter. You are all I have left of your mother, whom I loved dearly.’

But Mai Song would not hear of her father taking her place. Instead she asked to borrow his black-and-gold armour, which he wore when he went to battle against the enemies of the marsh people. Her father gladly loaned it to her, along with his sword and his charger. Mai Song needed to pad her limbs and torso, to make the armour fit. Once she was accoutred she set forth on the charger, heading north towards the great volcano the crane had told her about.

Her first night out in the open was not easy. She was unused to raw weather and became damp and cold in the exposed conditions. Mai Song soon learned however, and thereafter sought the shelter of rock overhangs, or gullies, or copses. She found soft mossy banks on which to rest, taught herself how to construct bivouacs and soon became proficient at making fires. She had never lacked hunting skills and had always been good around the marshes of the castle with her little bow. Small mammals were her main fare, and plump birds, supplemented by wild vegetables. There were herbs and spices growing free in the wilderness, which made her meals that much more appetising and nourishing. Gradually, over the days, her physical condition hardened and her mind quickened.

Her father’s armour was heavy and chafed her elbows, neck and knees, but she told herself she must get used to that. If she were to be confronted by a foe, she would need to look fearsome, and so had to wear the metal except when sleeping. Her horse was the most important thing in the world to her and she made sure it was fed and watered, groomed and blanketed, even before taking care of
herself
. This was not just because she had a love of the beasts, but was wise husbandry. Without her horse she would doubtless not survive for very long.

Mai Song’s first enemy was a giant who lived in a limestone cave she hoped to use as a night shelter.

The giant was tall and naked, wearing only a gigantic helmet on his head, his body being covered in long hair. His nose was a snout, much like that of a pig, and his feet were huge and spreading. He came out of the cave at a rush, roaring obscenities and threats.

The mocking man appeared for a few moments.

‘Now you’re for it,’ he crowed. ‘You’ll be spitted on that monster’s teeth before long.’

Mai Song ignored the mocking man, speaking instead to the onrushing giant.

‘What are you getting in a fuss about?’ she enquired. ‘I only wish to share your cave for the night.’

The giant skidded to a halt and stared, then said in thick husky accents, ‘You have the voice of a young woman.’

‘That’s because I am a young woman.’

The giant smiled lasciviously at this, having little enough sense or guile to keep his face clean of his thoughts.

‘Why, then you can certainly share my cave with me.’

Mai Song made a fire in the cave, since the giant had never known how to work such common wonders. Later, while he stared at her across the flames, she took two of the broken boughs she was using for logs and sharpened the ends with her sword.

‘What are you doing?’ asked the giant.

‘These?’ she laughed. ‘Don’t you know that wood burns better when one end of the log has been cut to a point? We shall need these to start the fire again from its embers, tomorrow morning.’

‘I knew that,’ muttered the giant with a scowl, ‘I just wanted to make sure you did.’

Mai Song slept fitfully in her armour, keeping her sword by her side, while the giant lay awake, his milky eyes on her form. In the early hours
she was woken by the giant shaking her shoulders
. Sitting up she saw that her sword was on the other side of the cave.

‘Wake up,’ growled the giant, his voice thick with lust, ‘I find that I want you.’

‘Oh
that
,’ she laughed. ‘Just a minute while I put some more wood on the fire. We don’t want to be cold, do we?’

She went to the
wood pile
and picked up the two sharpened stakes. ‘Oh,’ she then said, with the two stakes poised above the glowing charcoal, ‘the fire’s a bit low. Can you blow on the embers?’

The giant went down on all fours and started to blow on the coals.

Mai Song quickly rammed the stakes down on the giant’s two spread hands, pinning them to the earth. The giant screamed in agony. Mai Song then leaped to snatch up her sword and swiftly decapitated the giant before he could wrench the stakes free.

The giant’s head rolled into the fire, his mouth still cursing her. His filthy wild hair was soon in flames, the scorched smell driving her from the cave. Mai Song mounted her charger and sped away, through a low valley. She rode hard and long, but could still hear the giant’s severed head shrieking at her from more than a league away.

This was only her first encounter with a problem. In the next few weeks she had to outwit a man-eating
tiger which
picked up her scent, by laying false trails for the creature to follow. She fought and killed a monster snake, which had wrapped its coils around her steed during the night hours. She had wide raging rivers to cross, chasms to negotiate, wandering hordes to avoid. There were villages where the people were kind to her, and gave her food and shelter, and there were
villages which
drove her out with stones and shouts the minute she entered their community. Once she unwisely stayed amongst the bone-urns of a graveyard and someone’s ancestor rose up and in hollow accents ordered her to be gone from that sacred place before she was forced to stay there permanently.

There were chill and unfriendly mornings when the isolated shrines to wayfarers’ gods were sparkling with frost crystals. There were days when the snow lightly covered the bridges across gullies and hid them from her searching eyes. There were nights when the rain came down in silver torrents from an indifferent moon.

Finally, not long after her encounter with the phantom, Mai Song came in sight of the volcano she sought. But before she could begin to scale its heights she was attacked by a group of bandits, coming out of the east, their banners flying from tall black lances. They wore the red armour of men of the
south lands
and their steeds were stocky ponies with hairy ankles: sturdy little creatures that could cover rough terrain without injury. The riders were short men, with wide shoulders. The bandits hemmed Mai Song in with spear points, until she called them cowards, thieves and murderers, keeping her voice low and masculine this time.

‘We are no thieves,’ said their chief, furiously. ‘We are the dispossessed. Once my family had land until a mandarin from the south stole it from us. We are no murderers. We always give our victims a chance to defend themselves against equal odds. We are certainly no cowards, as I shall prove to you in single combat.’

With these words the man who led the bandits prepared himself for battle.

The mocking man appeared before Mai Song.

‘You easily overcame that oaf of an ogre in the cave because he was stupid, but this youth has brains as well as brawn. I think this time, missy, you have met your match. I shall enjoy seeing your entrails decorate the lance of this bandit chief.’