We rode in single file, and for most of our journey the pale horse and its black rider led the way. Steadily by the monk's compass and the beggar's memory, we moved northward and to the west. Through villages and towns we rode, and there was no joy at the sight of us. In fact, there was no joy anywhere along our route. It was a path paved instead by suspicion, fear, and misery. We saw crops rotting in their fields. The pox was still a bigger problem than the hunger that had not yet arrived. Everywhere we saw the new markers of the recently dug and the freshly buried.
In contrast to the dying, I saw wonders of engineering; smooth straight roads and immense stone bridges that by great design hung suspended over wide rivers. On occasion, majestic pagodas of wood and brick towered higher than any building of my world amid the untamed beauty of forest and meadow. I knew that by these standards the world from which I came was primitive, but in the face of a plague, these wonders meant nothing.
I did not know that it was possible for the earth to mourn, but as we rode farther, I heard its wails and saw its many tears. We had left our peaceful home less than a week before, and now we were much farther than a world away.
We stopped briefly at an inn when we were perhaps one full moon into our journey. What used to be a place of shelter and hospitality was now cold and foreboding. At the prompting of his shy but stubborn wife, its keeper brought us into its dark back room. A child lay wet and red on damp and dirty sheets. It cried softly, weak from fever and listless in appearance. Selah approached it as we watched, and cradled the child lovingly in her arms. The innkeeper looked lost for words, and I saw the eyes of its mother, red and swollen from tears already spent.
Selah was in her realm as she sang the ancient songs of healing to the baby girl. They were songs that she had heard her mother sing on the full moon of winter's longest night. I watched her put a trace of powder into the small nostrils, and with warm breath blow it gently into the weakened infant. The baby stopped crying and drifted into comfortable sleep. She spoke to the child's mother in the hushed tones that only women know.
“The sores have not yet come, and she will live if she can fight the fever for three more days.”
Selah made a brew of herb and set it out before the mother as she explained its dose and schedule. There are not words to explain well the reaction of the innkeeper's wife, so it must suffice to say that the sorrow we had felt follow us for so long, was at least here laid to rest.
The couple pleaded with us to stay the night, and I was greatly relieved when the monk accepted. Both we and our horses were road weary, and the chance to eat well and bed warmly was a blessing. We would soon enter the capital, and it would be well to do so refreshed and alert. The room they led us to was humble by most standards but was a palace spa by ours.
I lay my head upon its soft pillow and remembered little else.
Here there is no memory, and yet here there is all memory. Here memory is not merely a past event echoing through the mind of the living. It is a noise that rumbles from distant origin and fades only at time's far end. From the dead through the living and to the not yet born, and it is a resonance that echoes not within the mind, but within the soul. It is a sound heard not faintly with my ears but loudly with my spirit.
I am not alone, the priest and the woman are with me. Like the snow, the river, and the mist, we are three as one, and we are not alone. Death is here, and Life is also here. I know now that Death and Life are not two separate beings but two separate parts of one whole. As long as Life remains, Death can only wait. It can touch but it cannot yet hold. I listen with all my senses, for Death does not always speak with the words of men.
From familiar ground, we look upon what was once a mountain. Time has whittled it to just a hill. I stand comfortably on a lush green highland. I see a solitary oak and a river's falls, and in the great distance, a lion; a sentinel of standing metal.
From the north, the light cirrus clouds move over and past the peaceful highlands. The sky thickens. Their formations turn from wispy white to serious grey, and these move over me like the march of a great army. The dark northern sky lights up with flashes, and its low pitched growl reaches my ears in the time of three deep breaths. The rumblings move steadily closer, like the heavy weapons of siege drawn by the relentless cavalry of the advancing campaign.
I see in the ever-darkening sky that the approaching lightning cracks ever more destructive, and that it is no longer held by bonds of altitude but shoots down violently from the heavens to wound and scorch the earth. They flash like the jagged shapes of oaken roots, and I am afraid. I look for shelter, but the presence of Death steadies me, and in silent kindness, he bids me watch.
This I do, and as the celestial flashes descend around me, I feel the rain. Gentle refreshment at first, it builds quickly to a driving lash. Through my legs I hear the earth tremble, not from within like the mountain of fire, but from the surface and down. I see, with open-mouthed wonder, the ancient being that brings the rains.
It moves slowly in the measured steps of time. The sun-bleached bones that I once touched are now wrapped in the living flesh of muscle, sinew, and blood. Bones wrapped in the miracle of life.
The earth quakes with its every methodical step, and it comes to rest above the sheltered cavern, its size the measure of the shrinking landscape. The dragon rests upon its hollow nest and casts an eternal eye in my direction, it seems to implore me to release it unto Death and release it unto Life, so that it, too, can flow out to join the world and shape the destiny of all mankind. It wants only in death, to live once more.
I look away from its cold, all-knowing gaze, but am sternly guided back by Death who bids me once again to watch. One last flash in the blinding rain and my whole world goes white and rumbles. The noise obliterates all my senses. It expands within me, and in fear I fight my way to consciousness.
The explosion faded to an echo, and I woke safely within the comforting walls of this inn's simple room. Shaken to my core, I trembled as I drew on my armor and flew to meet the others. Mah Lin, Selah, and the beggar sit relaxed and smiling before their warm morning meal.
They had chosen not to wake me, and decided instead, to leave me to my dreams.
In my world, towns and cities are a cluster of shelters that grow haphazardly around ports of commerce. They are a random assortment of stone and wooden hovels. Man and livestock all thrown together to survive as best they can. There is no order to the laying of road or walkway, and the population of their people is far outnumbered by pest and vermin. My capital is merely a wooden-walled fortress built upon the banks of a mighty river. While it is true that in my homeland there are great stone castles that impose their presence upon the landscape, all would pale compared to the vision that was now before me.
I strained both sight and imagination to take in properly all that I was seeing. I beheld a city that seemed impossible to be the work of mortal men. Its surrounding landscape dotted with thatched huts and hamlets and well-tended fields and canals gradually merged toward the mighty stone foundation. They provided scale for the vista, as did the measure of time needed to ride from first sight to final destination. I studied carefully the details of this splendor. The white walls of the city formed a rectangular shape and were higher by far than even my mighty oak. By my estimation, they spanned an enclosed length of seven thousand and a width of six thousand long paces.
As we drew closer I saw that each of the three walls held four gates, and that the south facing wall, the one that we now approached, had only three. Around the entire structure was a moat wider than a strong man could cast a stone, and the banks of both sides were lined with willow trees. Although I could not begin to guess its depth, I could see that its surface reflected the turrets that sat atop every wall, evenly spaced at a distance of about one hundred paces.
The gate before us was an amazing structure. Its roof floated like a ship upon a ship, and its elaborate elegance hid well its defensive purpose. Before we had reached the bridge that spanned the moat, we were met by this capital's military arm. For an instant their general seemed thinking to attack; I felt the sword speaking from my back, and wisely he decided not to. The beggar held up the tattered proclamation, and this secured our escorted passage through a humble passage in the monstrous gate and toward the heart of the palace.
We were not delayed or even questioned, this spoke of the power of the written word upon the beggar's paper. We were accompanied at a steady pace through the outer city along an avenue of immense width and proportion. This street was lined by water furrows filled with the ephemeral beauty of the floating lotus. We were escorted through the gate of a second great wall and through the inner city. The size and expanse of the inner city was breathtaking. Our horses in single file did follow the beggar's grey stallion. Its rider knew the streets like the raven knew our homestead.
We rode by lakes and fountains, parks and squares. Everywhere the air seemed full of fragrance, some the sweetness of flower and tree, some of pungent spice, and some just the normal stench of daily human life. We crossed canals on beautiful bridges, and rode on level streets and wide avenues laid in orderly fashion.
To my eyes and ears the population was thicker than any I had ever seen, but the grave faces of those I rode with spoke a different story. To them the city bustle seemed eerily muted. Any that looked in our direction quickly looked away and scurried behind a closing wooden door or window shade. Even the screams and laughter of the wild urban children had been dramatically stifled. Like the bones of the rain bringer, my imagination brought this city back to life, back to the vitality of normal times. If this capital was a mighty dragon, it was one who trembled in the throes of death. It was a beast that now faced and understood its own mortality.
Finally we arrived at the blood red outer walls of the imperial palace they called the âgrand inner.' It lay nestled and protected in the center of this great urban expanse. After passing through yet another gate, we were herded like animals through the corridors of stone by our military escort. Their sideways glances told us that we were not the first that had responded to the minister's proclamation, and that none had been successful. It was also clear that although we were not the first, we were perhaps the strangest.
As we spilled into the large nine-pillared hall, dignitaries were already in their places. The large throne, with carved dragons on each arm, was empty, and our eyes focused on a carpet of exquisite beauty that hung behind it.
My eyes were pulled briefly from the image of its two dragons, as a grey-caped commander hurriedly brushed by to find the darker corners of the hall. His face was kept low as if trying to be invisible, but the mangled features could not hide their contempt and hatred no matter how his head was held. I looked to Mah Lin for a sign of explanation, but could read nothing but serenity upon his strong features.
I turned back now to the direction of the carpet as the emperor entered and took his place upon the throne. A man of quiet dignity stood by his side.
Understand that the position of the imperial chroniclers is a serious one, but sometimes accuracy is deemed less important than the need to engage future generations. Often a more riveting tale will usurp the mundane details of stark event. History would record us as a Taoist hermit from Omei Shan, a holy physician, a ânuminous old woman' (in this case a nun), and a âOuija board immortal.' In any event, we had arrived, and it was recorded correctly that we would introduce inoculation to the empire.
The emperor recognized the robes of Mah Lin's order, but his voice betrayed nothing as he bade us speak. Selah calmly spoke for us. “While we cannot cure those already ill, we can prevent the pox from taking hold of those untouched.” In this land, a great physician is not one that heals the sick; a great physician is one that prevents the healthy from contracting the disease.
The minister stooped and whispered to the emperor's ear. The ruler wore his mask well, but it could not hide an incredulous glance in our direction. His features quickly regained their composure and he spoke for all to hear.
“None so far have been successful, and none have looked more unlikely to succeed than you. Even the greatest of rulers must bow sometimes to the advice of his most trusted. You may stay, and I will pray for your success.” We obviously had powerful allies within the court, but clearly we also had powerful enemies.
Spurred on perhaps by the emperor's derision, it was the beggar who initially poked at the festering boil of hatred and venom and brought it quickly to a head. With the support of Selah and Mah Lin he instructed, no, commanded the emperor to destroy the carpet, before our work would begin.
He was direct, “That is the trophy that holds the seeds of pestilence and must be burned.”
Everyone within the court drew breath at the same time. It held the tension of a drawn bowstring. The imperial guards were steadied by an almost imperceptible wave of the monarch's hand. The first minister feared his life was forfeit for this brazen affront. It was clear to the Son of Heaven that these strangers knew nothing of palace protocol. Still, he wondered whether they were monumentally foolhardy, or heroically courageous. Time, he surmised, would tell.
I felt once more the sword on my back as I turned and saw him. This one sought the shadows, but his hatred found the light. I saw evil wrapped in the flesh of a man and skin of beast. He glared with wrathful eye at the monk's back.
His unmasked loathing blew through me like a strong wind. The fires of my warrior mind flared. I heard Death whisper unknown words to the heat that seared my soul, but the drawing of a single breath brought it once again to peace.