The Sixth Seal

Approaching hoof beats from the raised road to the east interrupted the silence in the tiny hut. Their only advantage was the soldiers would be forced to dismount in order to enter the hut. Xi Shi wanted to dash out the door and run across the paddies to draw them away from Peng and his family, but she knew Wang Xu would not allow it.

He ushered them toward the side room where the other crewman rested. “We should hide in the other room. The soldiers may have only seen Peng and his sons. They might just question you.” Wang Xu’s expression didn’t do much to bolster confidence. “Tell them you saw us heading south on the road to Qiantang.”

She placed a hand on Peng’s shoulder. “If the soldiers threaten your family, we will give ourselves up.”

Peng nodded, but she knew he would gladly sacrifice himself to help her; such was the power she had over men. It was a power she now wished she didn’t have.

Wang Xu ushered her and the other crewmen into the room, closing the bamboo door behind them. She could hear the soldiers now. They waded through the water, their scabbards clanging against armor. A faint warmth emanated from the pouch beneath her robes. She pressed her hand against it and the book responded. Take the weapon, Protector. It will not fail you.

The same greenish-blue glow that illuminated the pouch the night before once again radiated outward. She pressed down harder on the book, willing it to cease lest they be discovered. There were raised voices at the front of the hut.

“A woman and a man, they are traitors to the Emperor,” said a gruff voice.

Peng replied in a calm tone. “I saw some people on the road heading south to Qiantang, but I do not know how many.”

The soldier who was questioning snorted. “Then why is it my men saw you and your sons running back to this hut? What are you afraid of?”

She wondered just how many soldiers were with this man.

Peng maintained his calm demeanor. “We did not know the nature of your business, sir. I wished to hurry back here to tell my wife to prepare tea and rice for our visitors.”

She was even more impressed with Peng.

“Very good. Then you won’t mind if I look around while my men have some tea?” The soldier’s sneer came across in his words.

For the first time Peng’s voice faltered. “I assure you, sir, we have nothing to hide. Why not rest yourself while my wife--”

“Don’t toy with me, peasant. Asking your permission is merely a courtesy. I could run you through where you stand if I so desired.”

Wang Xu looked to Xi Shi and pulled a short blade from beneath his robes. She followed his lead, pulling the glowing dagger out of the leather pouch. She had intended to wait for the soldier to come across the room and open the door, but something deep within her core rose to the surface, willing her body into action as if she was some sort of puppet.

She held the dagger in front of her chest, pressed the hilt into her palm and spoke a litany from a mouth that was not her own. The greenish-blue glow intensified, building to an orb of shimmering light that traveled down the length of the blade and leapt from the tip in an arc of lightning that shattered the door outwards into a thousand tiny shards.

The soldier drew his blade and called out to the other soldiers. She could hear them clattering up the narrow steps of the hut.

She flung her body toward the blinded windows of the hut to the right of the door as Wang Xu rushed out of the room toward the soldier. She twirled, putting her back to the blinds right before impact. As they shattered around her, she watched Peng place a foot behind the soldier’s knee and push him toward Wang Xu. Behind him, Jia and her mother huddled in the corner of the hut using the wok as a makeshift shield.

Xi Shi threw her arms out wide and leaned forward so that when her feet hit the ground beneath the shallow water they quickly took hold. Water rose up in sheets around her and dropped back to the ground glowing with a phosphorescent green. The men on the steps stopped their advance and turned to face her. One had entered the hut, but the other two seemed mesmerized by her.

A litany, a derivation of those found in the great book, escaped her lips, but this time her wrist flicked to the right in a motion that seemed to command the glowing water. It swelled up quicker and larger than would have seemed possible. When it reached the steps the wave crashed over the heads of the men, sending them backwards over the edge.

She watched them sputter and struggle to regain their footing, but it was a short triumph. The two men drew their weapons and charged her, the water splashing around them.

One of Peng’s sons hurled himself from the front of the hut and onto the soldier nearest her, wrapping his thick arm around the man’s throat. The soldier writhed and flailed, but the boy kept a firm grasp on the man’s neck. The other soldier pulled a dagger from his belt, hefted it, and then flung it at the boy. It found its mark, sinking deeply into the boy’s shoulder.

Peng’s son cried out in pain and fell backward into the water.

The part of her that was still her own, screamed, her voice raising up from her throat loud and anguished. She could not let him die.

The soldier who had thrown the dagger stood over the boy. The fine edge of his sword caught the morning light as he raised it above his head.

This time she commanded the book. It obeyed. A surge of energy pushed outward from her core and through her extremities. Her hand tightened around the hilt of her dagger. It pulsed in her palm. She swiveled around like a typhoon and released the blade at precisely the right moment. It whistled through the damp air and struck the soldier at the base of the neck. He spasmed, dropped his sword and fell backward, his crimson blood mingling with the murky water creating a morbid tapestry of earth and death.

Another soldier, perhaps emboldened upon seeing she was no longer armed, charged her. He raised his sword above his head and lunged. She dipped low, thrust her hand upward, and caught his wrist while pushing her right shoulder into his ribs. The armor protected him, but he still cartwheeled over her and landed awkwardly in the water. He recovered quickly and took up a defensive position, eyeing her warily.

She called out to the jade dagger, commanding it to return. A moment later she was holding it as she had before. Point outward, her palm over the hilt, and just as before, the light grew and travelled the length of the blade. This time the arc danced wildly until it hit the surface of the water. The light swam through the water like a shark locked on its prey. The man’s eyes went wide as the light hit his leg and the charge rushed through his body. He fell to the water, twitching and convulsing, blood erupting from his nose and mouth.

Peng’s son grunted as he tried to stand, the dagger still firmly lodged in his shoulder. She pushed the jade dagger back in the pouch and rushed to his side. His eyes roved over her and his skin was losing its color.

Wang Xu leapt down from the hut and trudged through the water toward her. He had several cuts and gashes, but they were mostly superficial.

“Hold him steady,” he said. “I’ll pull out the dagger.”

She held the boy as Wang Xu tore a length of cloth from his robe. With a deft motion, he pulled the dagger out and pushed the end of the cloth into the wound. Then he wrapped the remaining length around the boy’s arm and tied it off.

“We should get him inside.” She placed a hand on Wang Xu’s arm. “What of Peng’s family?”

He met her gaze. “The girl and the woman are fine, but his other boy...” He looked away.

“Is he alive?”

“Barely.”

She rushed toward the hut, slowing only to pull herself inside. Peng and Lin were at the boy’s side, and Jia was stroking his hair, tears streaming down her cheeks. One of the crewmen lay in a heap on the far side of the room, the other kneeling over him speaking in hushed tones. A prayer for the departed perhaps?

Peng reached up and grabbed her hand. The look in this strong man’s eyes brought her to her knees. He had sacrificed his family for her. Now his son was dying, a deep red gash running the length of his waist. His body shook lightly and tiny beads of sweat dotted his exposed skin. His lips were blue and he gasped for air like a Paddlefish plucked from the Yangtze.

She pulled the book from the pouch and held it to her chest, calling to it, pleading with it to help the boy.

I cannot, Protector.

You must, she willed back to it.

This fight has weakened you too much. We must be away.

Not until you restore this boy’s life.

You do not understand. The power to do such a thing comes from within you. I am an instrument.

Then I will give what I have freely.

I need you to be whole, Protector. I cannot allow it.

Then I will end our journey here.

Xi Shi took the dagger from the pouch and pressed it to her throat. She was vaguely aware of Peng’s pleas. He must think me mad.

Again she willed her thoughts to the book. There is enough within me.

Very well.

The clear orb in the center ring of the book shimmered to life with the now familiar greenish-blue glow. She dropped the knife and instinctively pressed the book down over the boy’s wound. Light shot from the orb and into her chest. Her back arched and her ears bled. Everything within in her screamed out. The book pulled all of the energy it could gather and forced it through her core and down into the orb. The pain was so great that she nearly lost consciousness.

She was above herself looking down. Everything stood still. Every being. Every particle. A thousand bells rang on top of a thousand mountains across a thousand seas. She fell back to her body. She felt a slight shock of pain as her face hit the ridges of the bamboo floor. The light flickered, faded away. All was quiet once more.