Disclaimer: It is certain, that I still do not own Mulan!
Betaed by: Zim'smostloyalservant
Once a Soldier
The birds were singing; it was a happy song.
Fa Zhu opened his eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling. Sitting up on the thin mat, pain shot through his leg. He winced at it, clenching his teeth. That was not the old discomfort he had grown used to over the years.
"Where am I?" he asked. It was a plain room – there were three other mats, unoccupied, and the small ornamental circular window letting the light and bird sing in.
The door slid open, revealing a wide man who looked to be of an age with him. Judging by his overly plain but well-made robe and shaved head, a monk.
"Ah, the signs spoke true; welcome back to the land of the living good sir," the monk smiled. He had his share of wrinkles and gray bushy eyebrows. A kind face, Fa Zhu felt no threat as the man moved and knelt next to him.
"What happened? Where am I?" Fa Zhu repeated.
"Where you are is an old temple, long abandoned and recently refurbished to house refugees and my patients. War does that, makes us appreciate the value overlooked in peace.
"As to what, you saved a number of people from bandits, but suffered injury for it. Fortunately you were not far from here. You've lingered on the edge for some time, and slept longer.
"It seems your leg was injured before, though I suppose at least your good leg wasn't damaged instead," the monk said, pulling back the blanket to reveal the bandaged and splint leg.
"I was fighting bandits…?" Fa Zhu asked as the monk cast his gaze down.
"They told me your horse twisted at the last moment. He took the arrow in his neck. Fatal, and when he fell your leg was crushed under the weight. I am sorry; it is rare for a man to find such a companion," the monk reported sadly.
"Khan," Fa Zhu whispered. Eyes hardening, he pushed up and looked around for his walking stick.
"What are you doing?" the healer demanded.
"Thank you for all you have done, but I must get moving," Fa Zhu told his caretaker.
"No, you must not. You need rest to heal and as it is, winter is almost upon us. I did not tend to you just so you could kill yourself," he monk said, stopping him with a firm hand on his shoulder.
"No, I need to find her!" Fa Zhu objected.
"Her?" the monk asked.
"My daughter… She was in the north. Khan was with her, he was guiding me back to her," Fa Zhu told him. He dared not trust even a monk with his daughter's secret crime.
"Your horse?" the monk pressed.
"Do you doubt me?" Fa Zhu demanded.
"No, I believe a horse so connected to his master would be capable of such. But he is dead, you have no guide," the monk reminded him. Fa Zhu slouched, suppressing a growl. So much time wasted, and Khan gone!? Perhaps he could recall it, but it seemed horrid to hear about his faithful stallion's death from someone else!
'It's like father dying', he recalled bitterly.
"It doesn't matter. She is my daughter, it's my place to rescue her where others wouldn't," Fa Zhu insisted.
"…I was the physician for my temple. We were a mostly cloistered order, turning our backs on the world. We traded crafts of our humble making for goods from the town that was our neighbor. The head priest and myself were the only ones to leave the temple grounds regularly.
"When the Huns came, I was gathering medicinal herbs in the hills. I rushed back, but there was nothing I could do as they burned my home and slaughtered my brothers. I could have fought, tried to, or gone to die with them. I was tempted too; I had been given to the temple when I was seven – it was my life, they were my family.
"But it would have served no purpose. As it was, there were survivors of the town, people who had fled into the forest or somehow hid themselves from the carnage. I joined with them; I treated them when they need it, and many refugees since. And now my new assistants and I are the only men of medicine for far too many leagues, but we do what we can.
"Your desire to aid your daughter is right. And your heroism shows you are a man who tries to do right with his life. But, as it is, you will serve nothing and no one by pursuing it. Instead you should ask, 'who can I help?'" the monk said.
"You are wise, but you are not a father," Fa Zhu told him.
"True, but truly you cannot go anywhere on this leg and you won't have a horse unless you buy one. Now rest," the monk commanded. Fa Zhu let himself be pushed back down onto the mat.
'Useless old man,' he chastised himself, glaring up at the ceiling.
The Steppes, Right Royal Encampment
Coyot sat in the sour scented tent, for once barely noticing the odor. The tent always seemed bigger on the inside; it shouldn't hold this much clutter, he thought.
His daughter was on the other side of the fire, the shaman examining her, sprinkling some powder from his large hands. Six-Claws was a big man for a shaman. Despite the gray hair, it was clear he could have been a warrior. His thick beard blended with the bear-hide cloak he wire, the head of the bear forming a helm of sorts.
The powder sizzled, black smoke rising in tiny tendrils before fading. The beady eyes of the shaman narrowed as he looked to Coyot.
"It is as I feared, great King – though Narangerel's body lives, her soul has been taken. The color leaves her for the restless dead have touched her center; they hold it in their grasp, even now," the shaman said, gesturing to the girl.
He could see it well enough by this light. Her skin had grown even paler than her mother's where the sun did not darken it. And her hair, once only a bit lighter than his, was fading to white like an old man's. Already the brown was merely streaks amid the white.
"And Nara's eyes?" Coyot demanded. The shaman dared to smile, and delicately pulled back an eyelid, no doubt looking into her eyes. Turned red, like blood, much to his people's distress.
"A good sign. Red is the color of blood and fire. Life. The eyes reflect the soul, and her soul resists, it fights against death and so the struggle satins her eyes in answer to signs of death," Six-Claws told him.
"What can you do?" Coyot demanded. The man's smile faded as he looked to the King grimly.
"It was a strong creature that attacked you and to do this. I can fight it, but I cannot say I will win her soul back," he said.
"What happens to her, if you try and fail?"
"Nothing; I will take any retaliation on myself. I am a shaman," Six-Claws stated, fixing him with a heavy look.
"What do you need?" Coyot asked. The shaman pointed to his side, singling out a goat hide drum, the size of a man's head. Coyot half rose in the cluttered space taking the drum and with a look returned to his spot.
"Beat the drum in time with your own heart, do not stop unless I tell you," Six-Claws commanded. He reached into the ashes around his fire without fear, coating his fingertips with them.
Muttering under his breath, he drew strange designs on the pale skin of the girl's face. Pulling his hand back, he inspected his work while Coyot beat the drum with his fist. Taking a deep breath, the shaman reached into his cloak and pulled out small brown bag, and a rock, glittering with stray bits of quartz.
"Spirits of the restless dead! You have taken that to which you have no right! Return what was stolen!" the shaman demanded. The fire flared green, almost stopping Coyot's drumming, but died down. The shaman opened the pouch and sprinkled dirt on the still form.
"I command you by the name of the female earth soil, in whose bounty all living things rejoice!" the shaman commanded. The fire flared once more, a cold wind ripping around them. Though the fire receded it remained green, and the chill brought by the wind lingered.
Six-Claws placed the stone over her heart and clapped his hands together. Coyot continued the quickening drum beat.
"By the strength of the male earth stone, whose might holds up all that is, release the soul of this child!" the shaman commanded. Everything in the tent rattled as a gale blew around them.
Coyot's hand shot out, grabbing a stray knife from the air in front of his face. His eyes found the shaman's wide ones, and he realized he had stopped drumming. The fire blew itself out; something horrid was screaming.
Dropping the drum, Coyot put his hands to his ears, trying to block out the horrifying sound. Somehow he heard the shaman call out.
"TAKE HER! TAKE HER NOW!" the spirit man called from the darkness.
Paternal instinct seized the King. He found her instantly despite the dark, turning and leaping into the darkness.
They burst together through the tent door, into the dreary day. The door slammed shut behind them, but it did nothing to drown out the noise.
Backing up, he joined the crowd of onlookers, watching the tent creak loudly as many handprints pressed out against the canvas. He held the sleeping girl close, her steady heartbeat calming his own.
At last the screaming stopped, and the tent collapsed inward. While others recoiled in fear, he blinked at that. It all fell together, not a pole standing. The canvas outlined wreckage, and he could make out the shape of one man. A man who was still, dark stains spreading out on the canvas covering him.
As the people muttered fearfully, Coyot carried Narangerel off into the encampment.
China:
Chien Po walked through one town, and saw another. That one had been burned; this one had been spared flames. Others had not been so fortunate, so why was this one stirring his memory so much more?
The towering soldier pulled off his helmet, running a hand through the stubble atop his head. He needed to shave, he had been forgetting lately.
Yes, the town was mess, he thought as he made his way to the square. Looking to a smoke plume to the west he recalled the local lord's fortress. Sacking it had been simple after the battle; he wondered if anyone would bother to rebuild it.
Doors were still on their hinges, having been knocked down or kicked in. He could sense people watching him. Probably should be worried, he thought, they weren't supposed to be wandering on their own. But really, he wasn't worried.
Reaching the town square, he saw the old flowering tree dominating the place. The flowers were gone; instead, Yao was putting strange fruit in the tree.
He approached his friend and the others with them watching the fruit swing in the breeze.
"Chien Po, I thought you were on patrol," the little man greeted him. He knew he should answer, but wasn't sure how, watching the fruit swing as the rope was tied off.
"It's all so familiar," Chien Po told him.
"Oh, them? Yeah, can you believe they were dumb enough to disobey pretty boy like that? I mean, I know the line and walk it, but I ain't crossing it," Yao tried to laugh. Watching his friend, even forced mirth didn't come, and he joined him in looking up.
"Why here?" Chien Po asked.
"Rapists; Li said we could sack the town, but no rape or fire. These guys got caught, so he said to kill 'em and put the bodies here. Show them the Emperor's justice is not just about pounding them back into line. Or something like that," Yao shrugged.
"Remember when we used to sing while we marched?" Chien Po asked him numbly. Yao would have patted him on the shoulder if he could have; the back would have to do.
"Yeah, big guy, I remember," Yao answered.
'A town ransacked, our countrymen dead or terrified of us. Isn't this what I was conscripted to prevent?' Chien Po wandered. He let the other soldiers guide him back to camp, trying to forget the sound of broken bells.
Nearby:
Shang stood in his command tent, pretending to be looking over the map of the province. Pieces marked the scouts' best guesses on the state of their enemies after today's battle. Even the cynical reports indicated a good picture. The enemy may not be defeated yet, but any credible threat to the rest of China was quelled for the being.
But what he was worried about at the moment was his adjutant, a man old enough to be his father despite being lower ranked.
'My command tent, my adjutant, my army; when will it stop feeling like any minute someone will walk in and relieve me in favor of the real commander?' Shang wondered.
Much as he wanted to, he couldn't leave the man waiting longer.
"You have issue with how I handled the battle?" he demanded. He did not turn to face the man, but he did shift from looking at the maps to the canvas wall. There was nothing in here except the chair and the portable cabinets for still more maps and other strategic tools. It was starting to irritate him.
"No, you commanded the troops skillfully, your father would be proud of this great victory," Captain Chung said.
"…Permission to speak freely, sir?" the older man asked. Colonel Li turned and gave the man with sideburns a nod.
"Sir, the officers are displeased with the executions," he told him shortly. He was not a handsome man, this one. Sideburns did nothing to distract from a many times broken nose, prominent lips, or far too much sun far too often on his face. But it was clear the words left him feeling awkward. Shang hardly cared about how awkward his adjutant was feeling.
"What?! They object to the execution of rapists?" Shang demanded.
"No, but they feel that you worked to uncover the truth of the claims against those men. In doing so you appeased rebels, at the expense of men who fought for the Emperor," Chung explained.
"The rules of war are clear, and once this rebellion is crushed these will be subjects of the Emperor again," Shang defended.
"But sir, for now they are subjects of rebel lords. And by not declaring for the Emperor, they are acceding to the rebellion.
"Our men are mostly conscripts. Whether they came eager for glory or reluctantly, they knew they had to come or face consequences.
"You know how little they are paid despite their services. We let them plunder so they can profit from their loyalty. And unless their excesses grow to… excessive, we turn the other way."
"Their families get tax breaks in lieu of excellent service," Shang objected.
"Sir, they know now they may not last the first minute of the next battle, or even skirmish. Two years of reduced taxes after the war mean little to them. Plunder and women are here and now. Deny them that and they will be angry with you rather than resting," Chung told him.
"They resent me?"
"It's only natural for most men. They look up to you as a hero, but a man can only endure so many campaign hardships before they become envious of the luxury officers enjoy by comparison. We could even hope to be ransomed if captured; the enlisted men when they are taken captive are treated as little more than slaves, if not executed.
"Resentment is natural, but they must also respect you. Like a father, you have power and privilege far over them. But like a father, they must believe you have their interests near to your heart. That even if you look down on them, you also look out for them as you can. Trust is something no commander can do without.
"The officers fear harshness on your part could drive men to sympathize with the rebels," Chung explained.
"So what then? I'm supposed to do nothing while my own troops despoil China?" Shang demanded.
"No, make it clear you have no patience for this, as you have. But don't look for it. If you hear a man has done such a thing, dismiss it. If you see it or an officer chooses report it, punish him. Firm, and yet lenient.
"Do not treat your own side as if they were your enemies, sir," Chung advised.
"It's not like those women took up arms against us. They are innocent in all of this," Shang said, looking off to the side. The Captain almost laughed at the idea of a woman fight, but he could see his point.
"True, sir. But they are the wives, daughters, and sisters of rebels. When the rebellion ends and men next think of rising up, perhaps the thought of their women being despoiled will stop the from taking up arms where fear of death did not?
"Your father understood such… vulgar necessities," the Captain offered.
Shang glared at the man; the veteran paled and reflexively reached for his sword.
"Get out," Shang ordered. His adjutant practically fled his presence, leaving Shang alone. Alone with a war, one he had to win quickly. If he could not make war civilized, then by his father's grave he would make it brief.
Surely, that is what his father would have wanted.
The Steppes:
"Welcome women, and girls," Oyunbileg greeted loudly. She walked in front of the group of women who had gathered outside the tents of the Ger, sword on her belt and a battle spear in her hand. They ranged from just old enough to not be chased on principal to nearly too old to consider starting. Better than she had expected, honestly.
It was too much to hope for that they might all or most dress appropriately, the spear wife thought. The dozen other active spear wives of the Ger were behind her, holding their own spears at rest. As usual, the presence of people at her back put her at ease for public speaking.
"I suppose you want to be warriors? Want some of that glory? Show that stupid boy you can do this fighting thing just as well as he can? A change from a boring life of following your mother-in-law and husbands orders?
"Forget that!
"A spear wife is not a warrior. We don't ride out to win glory or bring back loot to enrich ourselves. That's for men, and knowing how to stick them with the pointy end doesn't make you men.
"We fight, to stay alive and protect our tribe. When a spear wife rides to war, it is for seasoning. No training can prepare you for the moment in your first battle that the finality of killing strikes you. The moment when you realize you may never leave that place alive. When you are the final defense for the children, elders, and your sisters; you can't have that blood be unbroken.
"That is why we are called wives, not women. We do this for our families in particular and our people at large. After you've been blooded, you hope to never have to use these skills, but keep them sharp regardless.
"And even then you aid the tribe. A chieftain can take more warriors to war if he knows there are spear wives to aid those he leaves behind.
"As for showing up the men, that is where the spear comes," she said. She paused, dropping into a brief display of spear positions and thrusts.
"Men are made for war, we are not. Most men will be stronger than you. They will charge faster, they will hit harder, they will tire slower. And when faced with a threat, their killing blood rises much quicker.
"Women can overpower them or best them at their own game. Women like me. But I doubt any of you lot could be me.
"No, instead we change the rules as much to our favor as we can. Instead of favoring the sword, where brute strength and longer reach lets them batter us around, we use the spear to extend our reach over theirs. Be quick and agile, strike at openings and keep them at bay.
"Throwing spears, the bow… we recognize our weaknesses and find ways around them where we can, and where we can't, we try and jump over them.
"But as I said before, we fight to survive. If a man dies in battle, the tribe loses a man. His fertile women can get taken in or willed off. But when fertile women die, where do the babies come from? That is how a tribe weakens, that is how a tribe dies.
"The glory of spear wife is to not be needed, and to come back alive at all when she is needed.
"And don't expect to be appreciated. Many a man who might want you otherwise will keep walking when they realize you are a spear wife. Maybe they are afraid of a fighting woman? Or maybe they see it as an insult, saying you don't have faith in their strength to protect you?
"And women who spurn the spear, can be the cruelest of them all.
"Oh, and of course…" Oyunbileg seemed to realize. She didn't say anything; she simply tapped her eye patch with the spear tip, smiling at those gathered.
She threw her spear onto the grass, the spear wives behind her following suit. Only ten spears were picked up. Oyunbileg was a bit disappointed they hadn't needed more weapons.
'How many will stay once their clothes start getting dirty?' she moaned to herself as one of her women stepped forward and the first day of training began.
XXX
Mulan watched the women go though spear routines. If you could call them that. Hun dresses may have been less confining, to accommodate riding, but still they were not suited for this. Though maybe with some modifications…
"Oh no, don't even think about it," Mushu spoke up. The little dragon came up her back to perch on her shoulder. It was odd to have him not hiding from everyone else, and it meant there was no good reason to tell him to go away when he was being annoying.
"Look at them, they don't even know what they're doing," Mulan commented. She was pointing at a young woman with unbraided hair who had just smacked herself in the face with her own spear shaft.
"Of course they don't, and neither do you! Bad enough they pay attention to you as 'Queen of da Huns', you do something no Chinese girl has business doing, they'll watch you even more," Mushu told her.
"I seem to recall you encouraging me in learning," Mulan told him, sounding annoyed.
"That was my dark side! Risking your life for a pedestal. And that's no metaphor baby girl, it is an actual pedestal," Mushu explained.
"Fine, it's not like I want to cause a scene, Gaitan is stalking me again anyway," she told him. The dragon looked over her shoulder, and saw the Hun warrior leaning against a Ger talking to a pretty Hun woman, who was giggling.
"Guess Huns can mix business with pleasure," Mushu remarked.
Mulan ignored him, watching the drill. The mistakes, the corrections, barked orders, so familiar despite the differences.
It hadn't even been half a year, but it seemed like a lifetime ago she reported to that camp. The humiliation in the training, both due to her later friends' sabotage, and Mushu's even more destructive help. But it had turned around; she had earned her place as a soldier and even for the first time in her life found friends.
'Only for them to back down when Chifu called for my head,' she recalled bitterly. True they had tried to stand up for her, but when the Councilor invoked the law, they had stopped.
'Even though had I saved his life. He was cowering in fear hours before, all of them were certain they were doomed. And I saved them.
'Bataar probably could kill a man like Chifu with a single poke, a prick even,' Mualn thought with a wicked smile. The image of the menacing Shan-Yu looming over the pathetic Councilor, oh my yes! Raising his sword and delicately poking the terrified twig man in the cheek, only for him to explode like a firework. But with blood.
'Any chance Bataar could die in the explosion too?' she asked herself.
The possibilities were too much and her grin broke into a loud laugh.
"Mulan?" Mushu asked. She didn't hear him, doubling over in laughter at the absurd thoughts.
"Hachin," an icy voice broke in. She looked up from her bent over position and saw Oyunbileg standing in front of her.
The look in the woman's eye sobered her up, and Mulan stood up straight before the head spear wife. That eye was cold, ice cold. Unlike anything the strange woman had ever directed at her. Mulan almost jumped when the warrior woman stamped her sear butt on the ground.
"Does the distinguished Han woman find women learning to defend their homes and families, amusing?" Oyunbileg demanded calmly.
Mulan stared back at her blankly, and realized all of the spear wives and their students were looking at her. And what her giggle fit must have looked like.
"I am very disappointed. I would expect a woman who has seen war to at least be open to the idea. Perhaps you just need a taste," Oyunbileg sneered. She grabbed Mulan's wrist and dragged her towards the other women. Mushu jumped from her shoulder to latch onto Oyunbileg's chest.
"Hey now!" the dragon objected, putting his face in hers. Without flinching, she grabbed him by the neck, squeezing him with his eyes bugging out, and tossed him aside. In the same motion, she practically threw Mulan into the midst of the recruits. The Huns backed away from her, leaving a rough circle.
Oyunbileg tossed her spear into the air. It cane down directly in front of Mulan, head in the turf.
"If you were that interested in watching, you should be able to demonstrate the spear exercise these brave women are learning. Do it well and you won't have to spar with me for a lesson," the woman said coldly. Mulan pulled the spear out and glared at the woman she might have started to think was a friend.
'Friends… they turn on you quickly, don't they? Maybe I was better off without them. But what should I expect from a Hun?' she thought, looking around her.
She was here because her friends deserted her. Shang had spared her life, but hadn't he owed her more than that? She had saved him twice, once from the Huns, the second from the avalanche.
True, she had not been saving him personally the first time, but the second time she had risked her own life for his. And she had comforted him when Chifu had belittled his every achievement. And again when he lost his father and the responsibility for saving China struck him in the same moment.
He had given her his trust. He had left her to be kidnapped; she was here because of his half assed gratitude.
He could take back the trust, but he could not take back what she had learned from him. The spear wasn't the same as the staff, the weight on one end, the length. But she hadn't pulled that arrow out of the pole by failing to adapt. Her feet went into place, as if it had been yesterday, the weapon falling smoothly into position as posture and weight shifted.
Shang, ingrate.
Chifu, the useless hanger on, presuming to act like he was better than everyone else.
Friends that don't come through for you.
Crazy Huns that make you forget only to remind you!
Scheming shamans.
Fat matchmakers.
A monster who presumed to say her father had no honor.
Everyone thinking she was useless. Whether they hated her or pitied her for it, she was not what they wanted her to be!
She didn't realize her feet had left the ground until they hit it again. Breathing hard, Mulan opened her eyes and looked around. They were still watching her, but mouths were agape now, one veteran spear wife even dropped her spear with clunk.
'…What did I just do?' Mulan wondered nervously. She spotted Mushu, his face covered by a hand, shaking his head. Not a good sign. The women parted, letting Oyunbileg approach her. The cold look was gone, but she wasn't stunned like the others either. She was looking at Mulan like she hadn't seen her before.
"What was that?" Oyunbileg asked plainly.
"Nothing," Mulan panted.
"I don't know what that was exactly, but it wasn't nothing. And I think you weren't laughing at us like I thought," Oyunbileg said. She didn't sound too apologetic; Mulan was surprised the lack of self-recrimination didn't bother her more. She realized the Hun was holding something out to her.
A charm on a string, a small bronze spear glinting in the sunlight.
"I think you should have one of these," Oyunbileg said, casting her eye down.
XXX
"Ha, it's been too long since Oyunbileg has been humbled like that!" Gaitan laughed as he escorted Mulan back. She didn't answer; people were watching her again. First it was being the only Han in the tribe, then it was the engagement, now she had done something unbelievable.
"Why is it I never stand out in a good way?" Mulan asked the air. Gaitan laughed at that.
"The only way it would have been better would have been if you told your bodyguard you were going to do that. Then I could have taken bets and walked away with armfuls of other men's money," Gaitan told her. She gave him a glare hat seemed to sober him up a bit; after a few moments of silent walking he spoke up again.
"Still, I suppose you joining the spear wives makes sense. I mean, all things considered," Gaitan mused.
"I haven't said yes," Mulan reminded him.
"…Actually by taking one of their charms, you did," Gaitan told her. She stopped and he took two steps before stopping to look back.
"Why would she ask me to join right after making her eat her words?" Mulan demanded. The shirtless man shrugged.
"She was probably planning on asking you anyway. She is sensitive about people mocking her 'sisters'. Well, not people, but other women. I didn't know her until the Rebellion, so there is a lot I don't get about her. She may be quick to anger at times, but it moves fast through her," Gaitan explained.
Pulling out the charm, Mulan rubbed her temples with her free hand, studying the bronze work.
"Is there anyway I can get out of it?" she asked.
"Yes, a husband has the right to forbid his woman from the spear. So does a chieftain or Shan-Yu if he deems the woman is more useful elsewhere," Gaitan told her.
Mulan let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. For once, she could count on the man doing something she wanted.
She couldn't be around this sort of thing. If today were any indication, she would show her hand easily given the chance. It had always been her hope that being underestimated by the Huns would help her escape. The odds were bad enough without throwing that away.
As Gaitan started to walk on, she felt someone watching her. Looking around she spotted him, Unegan watching from the shadow of a tent. She stood, waiting for him to make the first move, his expression blank. The Hun took a step back and turned away, walking out of her sight.
XXX
Bataar mostly ignored the cheer as the hunting party returned. He raised a hand in acknowledgment but it was too routine for him to much care. At the very least, the men Unegan had insisted accompany him, Ulaan, and the others, had pulled their weight.
Swinging down from his horse, he walked the mount along, turning him over to his horse master.
"He did well, give him a dried apple," Bataar ordered. He patted the stallion's neck before taking his leave. He wasn't surprised when Lasuluun came up to him; it was typical for them to report to him quickly on what had happened while he was away.
"The woman is causing trouble," the sour faced man reported.
There was no need to specify. The two silently walked away from the corrals and were soon on the open steppes, more privacy than any tent could offer in his opinion, especially with him spotting Suren in the sky.
"What happened?" Bataar demanded. His old comrade recounted the events with the spear wives, admitting he had not been present. But it did not have the exaggerations that he might expect from the other Hun, so it was likely true.
"Well, that was unexpected," Bataar mused.
"Unexpected?" Lasuluun echoed.
"It doesn't really go against the rules I have set down for her, but it will get them asking questions. Though I suppose Old Moon singling her out ended the people seeing her as just another weak Han," Bataar said.
"What are you going to do about it?" Lasuluun demanded. Bataar looked at him, a little surprised at the tone, but answered easily.
"Decline her joining Oyunbileg's merry band. Easily justified – she is supposed to be bearing my child, and the hens have always claimed all that fighting practice dulls the womb with violence. Or something like that," Bataar shrugged. He supposed that reasoning made some sense, but the mysteries of fertility where not things a man should contemplate or long; it just wasn't done. The matter closed, he turned to head back and see to it.
"That's not enough," Lasuluun insisted. The Shan-Yu stopped and turned back to the warrior.
"What did you just say, Lasuluun?" he asked, crossing his arms.
"You think I am as blind as the rest? You were supposed to break her; I didn't expect her to be walking for days after you carried her into that tent.
"I haven't been around to watch every woman I have taken, but I have seen enough. I know how women are after a man has put them in their place. And you have not broken her," Lasuluun accused, glaring at the larger man.
"I don't recall promising to do that. I subjugated her at the river crossing, she has been down ever since," Bataar reminded him, eyes narrowed.
"It's your duty, for the men who died. Who died for your cause, at the hands of that witch. Or are you under her spell now too? Did you let her be on top that night as our comrades spiACK!" Lasuluun fumed. T
The words were cut off as Bataar seized his neck in one hand and lifted the smaller man off the ground.
"It seems you have mistaken long friendship for undue authority. Don't forget you rose high because of my favor. And do not presume to tell your Shan-Yu what he must do," Bataar ordered.
Lasuluun grabbed the arm holding him up. He knew if he went for any weapon at his belt Bataar could snap his neck before any blade was drawn.
"I do not admonish you for your excesses; your loyalty and skills make you valuable. But not so much to overlook treason and insults like this. I won't kill a man for mourning, and that is what I am choosing to see this as," Batttar said. He let Lasuluun go to drop to his rear.
"Do not speak of this with me again. I will handle this as I see fit, and I expect you to follow me in this as you have in everything else," the Shan-Yu told him. This time when he turned to leave he did not look back. Rubbing his bruising neck, Lasuluun looked at his sovereign's retreating back.
"As always, aye. But unlike before, are you the same man worthy of such obedience? I wonder?" he whispered through an aching throat.
XXX
It was nice not having the Han girl around for the night.
Apparently, Oyunbileg was making up for her earlier actions with a dinner invitation. Thankfully it was for the girl specifically, so he stayed while she went. He had told her if she wanted to get drunk with the one eyed woman she could just stay there; he was not in the mood to put up with a hangover.
And while he couldn't fully reclaim his tent in her absence, he could at least relax without her passive spite directed at him.
Bataar set aside the leather-working tool to inspect the saddle. Well, it would be a saddle soon enough. The leather he had traded for was excellent…
The door slammed open, his so called wife bursting in. She stormed over to her side of the tent, stopped, and glared at him.
He looked back at her, hand moving to the dagger on his belt.
He didn't really expect her to attack, but he was wondering why she was angry. When she screamed. It was definitely an angry sound more than anything else.
After making the sound she sat down hard on the floor and began to fume. Bataar watched for about a minute, but she didn't so much as glance at him now. He took his hand from the weapon and set back to work on the saddle.
"What is the matter with you Huns?" she demanded.
"Well, since it seems a peaceful evening is out of the question, can I at least know why?" he asked sarcastically.
"She wanted to tattoo me!" Hachin yelled as if that explained everything. It most certainly did not.
"And that is a problem?" he asked. Obviously it was, but if she was going to be vague and annoying…
"Tattoos are for men," she told, him rolling her eyes.
"Ah yes. The perfect smooth skin of the Han bride. It is odd how I can forget what you are," Bataar chuckled. Now he had her attention, she was eying his suspiciously now.
"What do you mean?" she asked warily.
"The Han, with all their ideas of women. A proper lady doesn't do any real work, correct? No calluses from the fields or cleaning. The more your skin is like a sun fearing brat's, the better. So of course any marring of the skin must be a terrible sin against… whoever wrote all those rules you obsess over.
"Tattoos are acceptable in women here. Nothing elaborate, mostly charms meant to aid in something. One of my father's wives had a moon tattoo on her back for fertility. And I hear Choeten has a boar on her rear from a drunken escapade in her younger days – you can ask Batu if it's true. Not common, but not a taboo," he explained.
"She wanted to make a spear on my arm," Hachin told him.
"An honor, then. Oyunbileg has one on her arm. It is a tradition with some spear wives, a mark to show their undying loyalty to protecting their tribes, regardless of where their life takes them. A spear that can't be put down.
"For her to offer that, you must have impressed her," he concluded. It was puzzling though; the one eyed woman rarely did such a thing and only then with women she trusted.
"So it was an honor," she realized.
"Yes," he answered smugly. Looking up from his work, he was surprised to see her looking sorry. She pilled out the Persian's trunk and began inspecting the oils. He had noticed she made busy work when upset.
"It's odd – you could keep your head with death charging down a mountain at you. But you lose your head over the thought of some stained skin. It's hard to believe someone can be so capable at the same time as being a fool," he commented.
"I never realized you could insult someone at the same time as complimenting them," she shot back.
"Heh, it's quite easy when politics are part of your life.
"And it isn't really about your precious skin is it? Oyunbileg's gift would be a Hun mark. You still think you can escape? And you don't want to have to spend your life explaining proof that something happened. You want to go home and act as if I hadn't caught you in the Pass," he smiled, laying it out before her. She didn't say anything, sniffing one of the oils, acting like she couldn't hear him.
"Is that what my brother is promising? Help him steal the mantle and kill me, and you get to go home?
"That's your foolish side, better use your smart side. Only instead of clever ideas, use it to take a look at the King of the Left. He's never done anything without the intent of profiting from it. You think he went from the disgraced son of a usurper to where he is by keeping his promises?
"Oh yes, nothing can be said of wholly broken ones. The ones too big to hide he could claim he upheld the word if not the spirit. But if you look on the tract he has ridden, you will see he has gotten where he is by taking as much as he can, while giving as little as he could.
"Once he no longer needs you, you will be under his power. And do you think letting you ride off for home would benefit him at all?" he asked her sternly. She rose to her feet slowly and met his gaze. He just smiled at her attempt as a blank expression. His arrow hit the mark on that one.
He watched her walk to the door, and open it. Surprisingly she didn't step through, but almost stumbled back. This revealed Old Moon to be standing in the doorway. The shaman looked to the two of them, his face mournful.
"Terrible news in the night," he told them.
Author's Note:
Narangerel lives, though she is not doing well. Fa Zhu lives, alas Khan does not. Poor Khan but despite going offscreen he still gets the hero death saving Fa Zhu.
And things are not exactly sunny in China. Even as kind monks and refugees pick up pieces wars are still being fought. The boys on the front continue the lessons they learned before the Pass, war is not something you can just pass with a song. Loved that bit of the movie, song and dance, to sober serious.
By the way if you younger readers have never seen the original Mulan theayrt trailer look it up. Finding it on youtube was a treat for me, I still remembered seeing it in theaters, and being blown away. Ah the days of my youth where each year you expected something epic from Disney.
Well enough of my musings on the 90s. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!
Long days and pleasant nights to you. And to the journeyers, safe travels and happy returns.