BAF 45 - Kai Lung;s Golden Hours, page 26
part #45 of Ballantine Adult Fantasy Series
“Greeting,” said Ten-teh, when they had regarded each other for a moment; “yet, alas, no more substantial than of the lips, for the hospitality of the eleven villages is shrunk to what you see before you,” and he waved his arm feebly towards the empty bowl and the blackened hearth. “Whence come you?”
“From the outer-land of Im-kau,” replied the other. “Over the Kang-ling mountains.”
“It is a moon-to-moon journey,” said Ten-teh. “Few travellers have ever reached the valley by that inaccessible track.”
“More may come before the snow has melted,” replied the stranger, with a stress of significance. “Less than seven days ago this person stood upon the northern plains.” Ten-teh raised himself upon his arm. “There existed, many cycles ago, a path—of a single foot’s width, it is said—along the edge of the Pass called the Ram’s Horn, but it has been lost beyond the memory of man.”
“It has been found again,” said the stranger, “and Kha-hia and his horde of Kins, joined by the vengeance-breathing Fuh-chi, lie encamped less than a short march beyond the Pass.”
“It can matter little,” said Ten-teh, trembling but speaking to reassure himself. “The people are at peace among themselves, the Capital adequately defended, and an army sufficiently large to meet any invasion can march out and engage the enemy at a spot most convenient to ourselves.”
“A few days hence, when all preparation is made,” continued the stranger, “a cloud of armed men will suddenly appear openly, menacing the western boundaries. The Capital and the fortified places will be denuded, and all who are available will march out to meet them. They will be but as an empty shell designed to serve a crafty purpose, for in the meanwhile Kha-hia will creep unsuspected through the Kang-lings by the Ram’s Horn and before the army can be recalled he will swiftly fall upon the defenceless Capital and possess it.”
“Alas!” exclaimed Ten-teh, “why has the end tarried thus long if it be but for this person’s ears to carry to the grave so tormenting a message! Yet how comes it, O stranger, that having been admitted to Kha-hia’s innermost council you now betray his trust, or how can reliance be placed upon the word of one so treacherous?”
“Touching the reason,” replied the stranger, with no appearance of resentment, “that is a matter which must one day lie between Kha-hia, this person, and one long since Passed Beyond, and to this end have I uncomplainingly striven for the greater part of a lifetime. For the rest, men do not cross the Kang-lings in midwinter, wearing away their lives upon those stormy heights, to make a jest of empty words. Already sinking into the Under World, even as I am now powerless to raise myself above the ground, I, Nau-Kaou, swear and attest what I have spoken.”
“Yet, alas!” exclaimed Ten-teh, striking his breast bitterly in his dejection, “to what end is it that you have journeyed! Know that out of all the eleven villages by famine and pestilence not smother man remains. Beyond the valley stretch the uninhabited sand plains, so that between here and the capital not a solitary dweller could be found to bear the message.”
“The Silent One laughs!” replied Nau-Kaou dispassionately; and drawing his cloak more closely about him he would have composed himself into a reverent attitude to Pass Beyond.
“Not so!” cried Ten-teh, rising in his inspired purpose and standing upright despite the fever that possessed him; “the jewel is precious beyond comparison and the casket mean and falling to pieces, but there is none other. This person will bear the warning.”
The stranger looked up from the ground in an increasing wonder. “You do but dream, old man,” he said in a compassionate voice. “Before me stands one of trembling limbs and infirm appearance. His face is the colour of potter’s clay; his eyes sunken and yellow. His bones protrude everywhere like the points of armour, while his garment is scarcely fitted to afford protection against a summer breeze.”
“Such dreams do not fade with the light,” replied Ten-teh resolutely. “His feet are whole and untired; his mind clear. His heart is as inflexibly fixed as the decrees of destiny, and, above all, his purpose is one which may reasonably demand divine encouragement.”
“Yet there are the Han-sing mountains, flung as an un-surmountable barrier across the way,” said Nau-Kaou.
“The wind passes over them,” replied Ten-teh, binding on his sandals.
“The Girdle,” continued the other, thereby indicating the formidable obstacle presented by the tempestuous river, swollen by the mountain snows.
“The fish, moved by no great purpose, swim from bank to bank,” again replied Ten-teh. “Tell me rather, for the time presses when such issues hang on the lips of dying men, to what extent Kha-hia’s legions stretch?”
“In number,” replied Nau-Kaou, closing his eyes, “they are as the stars on a very clear night, when the thousands in front do but serve to conceal the innumerable throng behind. Yet even a small and resolute army taking up its stand secretly in this valley and falling upon them unexpectedly when half were crossed could throw them into disorder and rout, and utterly destroy the power of Kha-hia for all time.”
“So shall it be,” said Ten-teh from the door. “Pass upward with a tranquil mind, O stranger from the outer-land. The torch which you have borne so far will not fail until his pyre is lit.”
“Stay but a moment,” cried Nau-Kaou. “This person, full of vigour and resource, needed the spur of a most poignant hate to urge his trailing footsteps. Have you, O decrepit one, any such incentive to your failing powers?”
“A mightier one,” came back the voice of Ten-teh, across the snow from afar. “Fear not.”
“It is well; they are the great twin brothers,” exclaimed Nau-Kaou. “Kai-hia is doomed!” Then twice beating the ground with his open hand he loosened his spirit and passed contentedly into the Upper Air.
III: THE LAST SERVICE
The wise and accomplished Emperor Kwo Kam (to whom later historians have justly given the title “Profound”) sat upon his agate throne in the Hall of Audience. Around him were gathered the most illustrious from every province of the Empire, while emissaries from the courts of other rulers throughout the world passed in procession before him, prostrating themselves in token of the dependence which their sovereigns confessed, and imploring his tolerant acceptance of the priceless gifts they brought. Along the walls stood musicians and singers who filled the air with melodious visions, while fan-bearing slaves dexterously wafted perfumed breezes into every group. So unparalleled was the splendour of the scene that rare embroidered silks were trodden under foot and a great fountain was composed of diamonds dropping into a jade basin full of pearls, but Kwo Kam outshone all else by the dignity of his air and the magnificence of his apparel.
Suddenly, and without any of the heralding strains of drums and cymbals by which persons of distinction had been announced, the arras before the chief door was plucked aside and a figure, blinded by so much jewelled brilliance, stumbled into the chamber, still holding thrust out before him the engraved ring bearing the Imperial emblem which alone had enabled him to pass th$ keepers of the outer gates alive. He had the appearance of being a very aged man, for his hair was white and scanty, his face deep with shadows and lined like a river bank when the waters have receded, and as he advanced, bent down with infirmity, he mumbled certain words in ceaseless repetition. From his feet and garment there fell a sprinkling of sand as he moved, and blood dropped to the floor from many an unhealed wound, but his eyes were very bright, and though sword-handles were grasped on all sides at the sight of so presumptuous an intrusion, yet none opposed him. Rather, they fell back, leaving an open passage to the foot of the throne; so that when the Emperor lifted his eyes he saw the aged man moving slowly forward to do obeisance.
“Ten-teh, revered father!” exclaimed Kwo Kam, and without pausing for a moment he leapt down from off his throne, thrust aside those who stood about him and casting his own outer robe of state about Ten-teh’s shoulders embraced him affectionately.
“Supreme ruler,” murmured Ten-teh, speaking for the Emperor’s ear alone, and in such a tone of voice as of one who has taught himself a lesson which remains after all other consciousness has passed away, “an army swiftly to the north! Let them dispose themselves about the eleven villages and overlooking the invaders as they assemble strike when they are sufficiently numerous for the victory to be lasting and decisive. The passage of the Ram’s Horn has been found and the malignant Fuh-chi, banded in an unnatural alliance with the barbarism Kins, lies with itching feet beyond the Kang-Lings. The invasion threatening on the west is but a snare; let a single camp, feigning to be a multitudinous legion, be thrown against it. Suffer delay from no cause. Weigh no alternative. He who speaks is Ten-teh, at whose assuring word the youth Hoang was wont to cast himself into the deepest waters fearlessly. His eyes are no less clear today, but his heart is made small with overwhelming deference or in unshrinking loyalty he would cry: ‘Hear and obey! All, all—Flags, Iron-caps, Tigers, Braves—all to the Seng valley, leaving behind them the swallow in their march and moving with the guile and secrecy of the ringed tree-snake.’” With these words Ten-teh’s endurance passed its drawn-out limit and again repeating in a clear and decisive voice, “All, all to the north!” he released his joints and would have fallen to the ground had it not been for the Emperor’s restraining arms.
When Ten-teh again returned to a knowledge of the lower world he was seated upon the throne to which the
Emperor had borne him. His rest had been made easy by the luxurious cloaks of the courtiers and emissaries which had been lavishly heaped about him, while during his trance, the truly high-minded Kwo Kam had not disdained to wash his feet in a golden basin of perfumed water, to shave his limbs, and to anoint his head. The greater part of the assembly had been dismissed, but some of the most trusted among the ministers and officials still waited in attendance about the door.
“Great and enlightened one,” said Ten-teh, as soon as his stupor was lifted, “has this person delivered his message competently, for his mind is still a seared vision of snow and sand and perchance his tongue has stumbled?”
“Bend your ears to the wall, O my father,” replied the Emperor, “and be assured.”
A radiance of the fullest satisfaction lifted the settling shadows for a moment from Ten-teh’s countenance as from the outer court came at intervals the low and guarded words of command, the orderly clashing of weapons as they fell into their appointed places, and the regular and unceasing tread of armed men marching forth. “To the Seng valley—by no chance to the west?” he demanded, trembling between anxiety and hope, and drinking in the sound of the rhythmic tramp which to his ears possessed a more alluring charm than if it were the melody of blind singing girls.
“Even to the eleven villages,” replied the Emperor. “At your unquestioned word, though my kingdom should hang upon the outcome.”
“It is sufficient to have lived so long,” said Ten-teh. Then perceiving that it was evening, for the jade and crystal lamps were lighted, he cried out: “The time has leapt unnoted. How many are by this hour upon the march?”
“Six score companies of a hundred spear-men each,” said Kwo Kam. “By dawn four times that number will be on their way. In less than three days a like force will be disposed about the passes of the Han-sing mountains and the river fords, while at the same time the guards from less important towns will have been withdrawn to take their place upon the city walls.”
“Such words are more melodious than the sound of many marble lutes,” said Ten-teh, sinking back as though in repose. “Now is mine that peace spoken of by the philosopher Chi-chey as the greatest: ’The eye closing upon its accomplished work.’”
“Assuredly do you stand in need of the healing sleep of nature,” said the Emperor, not grasping the inner significance of the words. “Now that you are somewhat rested, esteemed sire, suffer this one to show you the various apartments of the palace so that you may select for your own such as most pleasingly attract your notice.”
“Yet a little longer,” entreated Ten-teh. “A little longer by your side and listening to your voice alone, if it may be permitted, O sublime one.”
“It is for my father to command,” replied Kwo Kam. “Perchance they of the eleven villages sent some special message of gratifying loyalty which you would relate without delay?”
“They slept, omnipotence, or without doubt it would be so,” replied Ten-teh.
“Truly,” agreed the Emperor. “It was night when you set forth, my father?”
“The shadows had fallen deeply upon the Upper Seng valley,” said Ten-teh evasively.
“The Keeper of the Imperial Stores has frequently conveyed to us their expressions of unfeigned gratitude for the bounty by which we have sought to keep alive the memory of their hospitality and our own indebtedness,” said the Emperor.
“The sympathetic person cannot have overstated their words,” replied Ten-teh falteringly. “Never, as their own utterances bear testimony, never was food more welcome, fuel more eagerly sought for, and clothing more necessary than in the years of the most recent past.”
“The assurance is as dew upon the drooping lotus,” said Kwo Kam, with a lightening countenance. “To maintain the people in an unshaken prosperity, to frown heavily upon extortion, and to establish justice throughout the land—these have been the achievements of the years of peace. Yet often, O my father, this one’s mind has turned yearningly to the happier absence of strife and the simple abundance which you and they of the valley know.”
“The deities ordain and the balance weighs; your reward will be the greater,” replied Ten-teh. Already he spoke with difficulty and his eyes were fast closing, but he held himself rigidly, well knowing that his spirit must still obey his will.
“Do you not crave now to partake of food and wine?” inquired the Emperor, with tender solicitude. “A feast has long been prepared of the choicest dishes in your honour. Consider well the fatigue through which you have passed.”
“It has faded,” replied Ten-teh, in a voice scarcely above a whisper, “the earthly body has ceased to sway the mind. A little longer, restored one; a very brief span of time.”
“Your words are my breath, my father,” said the Emperor deferentially. “Yet there is one matter which we had reserved for affectionate censure. It would have spared the feet of one who is foremost in our concern if you had been content to send the warning by one of the slaves whose acceptance we craved last year, while you followed more leisurely by the chariot and the eight white horses which we deemed suited to your use.”
Ten-teh was no longer able to express himself in words, but at this indication of the Emperor’s unceasing thought a great happiness shone in his face. “What remains?” must reasonably have been his reflection; “or who shall leave the shade of the fruitful palm-tree to search for raisins?” Therefore having reached so supreme an eminence that there was nothing human above, he relaxed the effort by which he had so long sustained himself, and suffering his spirit to pass unchecked he at once fell back lifeless among the cushions of the throne.
That all who should come after might learn by his example the history of Ten-teh was inscribed upon eighteen tablets of jade, carved patiently and with graceful skill by the most expert stonecutters of the age. A triumphal arch of seven heights was also erected outside the city and called by his name, but the efforts of storytellers and poets will keep alive the memory of Ten-teh even when these imperishable monuments shall have long fallen from their destined use.
When Kai Lung had completed the story of the loyalty of Ten-teh and had pointed out the forgotten splendour of the crumbling arch, the coolness of the evening tempted them to resume their way. Moving without discomfort to themselves before nightfall they reached a small but seemly cottage conveniently placed upon the mountainside. At the gate stood an aged person whose dignified appearance was greatly added to by his long white moustaches. These possessions he pointed out to Hwa-mei with inoffensive pride as he welcomed the two who stood before him.
“Venerated father,” explained Kai Lung dutifully, “this is she who has been destined from the beginning of time to raise up a hundred sons to keep your line extant.”
“In that case,” remarked the patriarch, “your troubles are only just beginning. As for me, since all that is now arranged, I can set about my own departure—‘Whatever height the tree, its leaves return to the earth at last.’”
“It is thus at evening-time—tomorrow the light will again shine forth,” whispered Kai Lung. “Alas, radiance, that you who have dwelt about a palace should be brought to so mean a hut!”
“If it is small, your presence will pervade it; in a palace there are many empty rooms,” replied Hwa-mei, with a reassuring glance. “I enter to prepare our evening rice.”
An appreciation for one of the most famous Masters of Adult Fantasy:
“I do not know how often I have read it since I first possessed it. I know with what care I have bound it constantly for presentation to friends…All this is not extravagant praise. It is merely a judgment: a putting into as carefully exact words as I can find the appreciation I make of his style and its triumph.”
—Hilaire Belloc
Lin Carter (ed.), BAF 45 - Kai Lung;s Golden Hours
