The Great Wall - The Official Movie Novelization

15

It was dusk. Lin Mae’s first full day as General of the Nameless Order was almost over.

And what a day it had been. A day of blood and violence and fear.

But they had survived. Again. And with the foreigner’s help they might even have achieved a significant victory.

Only time would tell.

Exhausted now, but trying not to show it, she followed a nurse into the huge infirmary, buried deep within the belly of the fortress. Most of the time, during the years when the Tao Tei slept, the infirmary was all but empty, the smattering of patients suffering from little more than fevers or training injuries. Now, though, it was a full and bustling place, the medical staff tending day and night to those wounded, some severely, in the recent battles. Nurses and doctors hurried here and there as Lin Mae followed ‘her’ nurse between the occupied beds, nodding and offering encouraging words as she went. Many of the men and women lying here had lost limbs or been so badly injured that they would never fight again. Some were so badly injured that they would not survive, and were merely being kept as comfortable as possible until the inevitable occurred.

The patient she had come to see, though, had suffered no more than cuts, bruises and concussion. His worst injury was a gash to his ribs, which a nurse was bandaging as she arrived.

Nevertheless, when she sat at the side of William’s bed, Lin Mae was shocked to see the condition of his body. William, still groggy, was stripped to the waist, and she found it hard not to stare at the dozens of battle scars striping his torso. Together they seemed to make up a map of pain; they were testament to a life ruled by violence and conflict. Some of his more recent scars were still red and angry, whereas others were little more than tough old knots of white scar tissue. She exchanged a glance with the nurse tending him, who was also clearly shocked at the extent of his injuries. Finishing up, the nurse bowed and excused herself, as did the one who had brought her here.

“Tell them I won’t be long,” Lin Mae said as the nurse walked away. She bowed in obeisance.

William turned his head slowly on the pillow to look at Lin Mae through heavy-lidded eyes. Drowsily he asked, “Did it work?”

“Yes,” she said. “The beast was captured.”

“And my friend?”

“He was unharmed.”

He sighed in satisfaction and made an attempt to lever himself up on his elbows. His face, however, creased in pain, and Lin Mae moved forward to help. Eventually, grunting with the effort, he managed to raise himself into a sitting position. Once again Lin Mae’s eyes strayed to the scars on his body. William noticed her looking, and became suddenly self-conscious, trying to tug his thin blanket up over his chest.

“I know. It…” He shook his head, embarrassed. “It looks worse than it is…”

Lin Mae lowered her eyes and offered a small smile of apology. When she next looked up, it was to find that he was staring fascinatedly at her.

To cover both their embarrassments she asked, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you go over the Wall? Why did you risk your life?”

He gave a crooked smile. “Xin ren. Did I say it right?”

She nodded. She looked stunned. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, as if uncertain what to say. Then she murmured simply, “Thank you.”

He gave an awkward nod, as if the gratitude of others was a new thing to him. Self-consciously he rubbed at a dark patch of soot, a powder burn, on his right forearm.

“Do you know what that is?” Lin Mae asked. Her voice grew heavy. “That black powder?”

William’s eyes flickered. “I’ve never seen its like.”

“It would be best if you had never seen it.”

There was a deep sorrow in her voice, and perhaps also an implied threat. When William looked at her he saw how uncomfortable she seemed, how regretful. All at once he realized that she hadn’t simply come here to thank him, or to see how he was. No, she had a different agenda. Something larger and more important.

A little hesitantly she said, “It is a terrible weapon. I know… very little of the outside world, but it seems to me that men are not so very different from the Tao Tei. Both are full of greed. Is that true?”

Despite her prowess as a warrior, the expression on her face was one of naivety and confusion.

“The strong take what they want,” William admitted.

Tentatively she reached out. William didn’t move as she trailed a finger gently down his cheek, then held the finger up in front of his face, showing him another smudge of black powder.

“Think of a world where that becomes this simple.” She stared into his eyes, her face becoming serious. “Forget what you have seen.”

Before William could answer, one of her lieutenants, her blue armour flashing beneath the lamps, hurried through the crowded ward towards her.

The lieutenant said something, her tone urgent, and Lin Mae nodded.

As she stood up, William asked, “What is it?”

Lin Mae turned back to him. “The beast is waking.”

Accompanied by Xiao Yu and Li Qing, Lin Mae strode into the fortress courtyard. It was a huge, torchlit square open to the skies, surrounded by high walls. It was currently packed with a full contingent of her commanders and hundreds of soldiers, all warily eyeing the massive iron cage in its center. Guarded by a quartet of soldiers, each of whom had their long lances aimed at the cage, it contained the captured Tao Tei.

As Xiao Yu had informed Lin Mae, the creature was indeed waking. It had been unconscious for many hours, but now it was groggily lifting its head, its nostrils opening and closing as it snorted the air. Lin Mae noticed that Shen, the imperial liaison officer who had been acting as Strategist Wang’s assistant, was standing further forward than most, his eyes glittering with fascination as he watched the Tao Tei revive. As she came abreast of Shen, the creature made an attempt to climb to its feet, but skidded and fell, its legs not yet able to support it. Undeterred it tried again, and then again, its body seeming to shake itself further free of the sedative with each fresh attempt.

All at once, with a bellowing screech, it jumped up and threw itself at the bars. Every single soldier gathered in the courtyard flinched, many reaching for their weapons, but the iron bars were thicker than a man’s arm, and although the cage rattled they held firm.

To the left of the cage was a long table, on which lay a single item—William’s magnet, which had been placed into a bag of rope netting. Standing calmly beside the table was Strategist Wang, holding a length of bamboo with a hook at one end. As Lin Mae appeared, he bowed, then used the hook on the end of the bamboo rod to pick up the rope netting bag. He turned towards the cage, in which the Tao Tei was fully awake now, its teeth bared, its tiny eyes wild and rolling, snorts of steam rising from its nostrils as it took long, hard breaths in and out.

As Wang approached the cage, the bamboo rod with its dangling magnet held in front of him, the Tao Tei began to go crazy. It threw itself against the bars of the cage again and again, screaming with fury, its talons raising sparks as it thrashed at the bars and floor.

The four guards blanched and stepped back, the tips of their lances quivering as their hands started to shake. Wang, though, kept calmly walking forward, proffering the magnet as though it was a tasty morsel for the creature to eat.

The creature continued to hurl itself around the cage until the black stone was about eight feet in front of it. Then it stopped. The sudden change from bestial fury to quiescence was astonishing. At first the creature shook its head, confused. Then, as Wang pushed the magnet through the bars of the cage, it sat down. A collective gasp ran around the onlookers as the Tao Tei became utterly motionless, as still as a statue. Wang thrust the bamboo pole into the ground at an angle, pushing it down until it could stand on its own, and then he turned to the crowd with a look of satisfaction.

Lin Mae approached the cage slowly, staring in wonder at the dormant Tao Tei. This creature was her sworn enemy. It was the organizing principle of her entire life, the reason for her existence. She had fought these creatures, of course, but she had never had the opportunity to study one before. To stand now, staring into its tiny, dulled eyes, to feel its cold, rank breath drifting over her face, was both eerie and awe-inspiring. There was a part of her that wanted to put her hand through the bars and touch it, feel the roughness of its hide beneath her fingers. She clenched and unclenched her fist, began to slowly raise her arm…

And then the moment was broken as Shen, standing behind her to her right, began to applaud.

“Excellent!” he cried. “We must send it to Bianliang immediately!”

Wang’s smile dropped from his face. His brows furrowed. “No! Absolutely not!”

Shen regarded Wang coolly. He moved closer to the Strategist, taking his time, his robes rustling.

“Strategist Wang,” he said in the condescending tone of a teacher addressing an errant pupil, “the Emperor must view the Tao Tei immediately if captured alive. It is a standing order of the Imperial Council.”

Wang was outraged. “Not now!” he barked. “Don’t you see—”

“Does the General agree?” Shen said smoothly, both cutting in on Wang and turning away from him, in order to address Lin Mae.

Lin Mae said nothing. She looked from Wang to Shen, assessing the situation, weighing up her options.

In a pleasant voice, Shen said, “General, I am curious… how will His Majesty react, do you think, when he learns three foreigners have been invited to a military meeting?”

“Didn’t you also agree to it?” Wang said acidly.

Shen spread his hands, all innocence. “How dare I defy the General’s order?”

“Are you threatening the General?” Wang said.

Shen smiled. “I wouldn’t dare.”

There was a long silence. All eyes turned to Lin Mae. Though her mind was whirring, she stared back at Shen without expression. She was beginning to realize that the position bequeathed to her was not merely a military role but a diplomatic one too. It was a role in which she would not only be forced to make difficult decisions, but also in which, whether she liked it or not, she would be bound to make new enemies.

The Southern Gate of the fortress was slowly pushed open by a troop of Bear Corps soldiers. It was a job that required some strength. The gate hadn’t been opened for some time and drifts of sand had collected against the outside of it.

As soon as the gap was wide enough, a wagon hauled by six horses emerged and began to set off across the desert towards Bianliang. On the wagon bed was a cage covered by a thick canvas tarpaulin. At Lin Mae’s insistence a retinue of Deer Corps cavalry escorted the wagon on horseback. At their head, also on horseback, was Imperial Liaison Officer Shen, basking in a smug glow of self-congratulation.

The huge piles of dirty dishes in the kitchen never seemed to diminish. Peng Yong, at the slop sink, his hands already red and sore from their constant immersion in water, groaned as the door banged open and two Bear Corps warriors entered with a cart laden with yet more dirty dishes.

Peng Yong wondered what his parents would say if they could see him now. His mother had wept with pride when he had left home to become a soldier at the Great Wall, and his father had solemnly shaken his hand.

But he had failed to achieve the standards expected of him. What could he tell them in his next letter home? How could he possibly reveal that instead of protecting Bianliang from the Tao Tei, he had been reduced, because of his cowardice and incompetence, to a menial role more commonly suited to a peasant?

He caught the eye of one of the Bear Corps warriors, who smirked at him. Peng Yong blushed red and lowered his eyes. Oh, the ignominy of his fall was almost too much to bear. He almost wished he had been killed in the first battle with the Tao Tei, torn apart in their huge jaws like so many others.

At least then he would have been looked upon with honor.

At least then his parents, in their hour of grief, would have had a son to be proud of.

Ribs still aching, William made his way back to the Spartan barracks he shared with Pero. He had been laid up in the infirmary for twenty-four hours, and in all that time had not been visited by his friend. He hoped Pero was all right. Lin Mae had told him the Spaniard was unharmed, but since then he had received no further news. He hoped she hadn’t been misinformed, or lying to spare his feelings. Reaching the barracks, he pushed open the door, and was relieved to see Pero slumped on his thin mattress.

“I’ve been looking for you,” William said. Pero did not respond. Indeed, William sensed a chill in the air. Pero was looking at him with resentment, perhaps even hostility. Nevertheless he ploughed on.

“I wanted to say… look, I know you know this, but… gracias. Gracias, amigo.”

He held out his hand, hoping Pero would rise from his bed and shake it. Pero, though, simply stared at William’s hand darkly for a moment, and then glanced up into his face.

“So sweet,” he grunted. “You feel good, huh? A full heart for you.” This time he did rise from his bed, but he was scowling, confrontational. “Maybe you sing a little song, eh? I’ll join you. We’ll sing together about how you saved the grateful Chinos.”

William was taken aback by Pero’s hostility. “You saw what happened out there—and yet this is what you say?”

“I see black powder,” Pero muttered. “I see a man forget his friends.”

William’s ire was rising now. He snapped, “The black powder’s not going anywhere.”

Pero grinned, but it was a nasty grin; there was no warmth in it. Jabbing a finger into William’s chest, he said, “What’s going nowhere, my friend, is you.” The grin became a sneer. “You’ll never get what you want from this. You think they see you as some kind of hero? A man of virtue? Maybe you can fool them, but I know what you are. You know what you are. A thief. A liar. And a killer. And you can never undo the things you have done. And you will never be anything—”

Despite his sore ribs, William moved with lightning speed. Fuelled by rage he smashed a forearm into Pero’s throat and slammed him into the wall. Even as Pero was reaching for the knife at his belt, William’s other hand was already there, whipping the knife from its sheath, tossing it behind him. As it clinked and clattered across the stone floor, William leaned forward, increasing the pressure on Pero’s windpipe. Leaning in close as Pero gasped for breath, he hissed, “Don’t ever forget what I’m capable of.”

With a final shove he released Pero and stepped back. Pero slumped against the stone wall, his legs sliding from under him. He rubbed his throat ruefully, trying to massage some life back into it. Then he looked up at William and grinned again, and this time the grin was genuine.

“Good to see you again, amigo,” he croaked.

William glared at him. Though Pero had meant it as a compliment, he didn’t appreciate his implication that the real William, the ruthless warrior, the beast, was lurking just beneath the surface. No, he was a better man than that. He would be a better man than that. Here among the Nameless Order he was discovering there were greater motivations in life than selfishness and greed. There was courage and friendship and loyalty. There was Xin ren.

Leaving Pero rubbing his throat, he turned and walked away.

General Shao’s open casket lay in the center of the command tower. The General was laid out in full armour, his hands crossed over his stomach with his sword resting beneath them. The flag of the Nameless Order had been draped over his body, though folded back at the waist. Lin Mae knelt beside the casket, head bowed, her lips moving silently as she paid her last respects.

At last she rose and looked down at the General’s peaceful face for a moment. Then she reached out and gently pulled the flag all the way up his body, eventually concealing his features from view. Stepping back, she closed the casket and walked slowly to the edge of the command tower. Below her, lined up on the Wall in their various corps, thousands of soldiers were standing in perfect formation, wearing white mourning headbands and holding long lances, at the ends of which small white pennants fluttered in the night breeze.

William stood transfixed in the dark doorway of one of the exit towers, watching the ceremony. As ever, he was overawed by the majesty and dignity of the spectacle before him. He saw Lin Mae, having closed the General’s casket, descend the stairs of the tower and emerge from it to stand beside Wang. In front of Wang was a platform of some kind, on which were arranged rows and rows of what from William’s vantage point appeared to be large white gourds. He looked on curiously as Wang approached the gourds and bent over them. What was he doing?

Then he gasped as the first of the “gourds”, lit from within by a soft golden glow, rose into the air. The soldiers nearest the platform began to file forward, and within seconds more of the “gourds” began to rise, one after another, taking to the air and floating out over the Wall and across the desert. As the night sky became illuminated with floating balls of light, William suddenly realized his mistake. These were not gourds at all, but paper lanterns. Looking closer, he saw that beneath each lantern was suspended a small metal dish of black powder, which each soldier was taking his or her turn to ignite.

“As if by magic, eh?” murmured a voice beside him. William turned to see Ballard standing there. The man was smiling wolfishly, his thin hands clasped together. “The heat from the fire changes the air and makes the lanterns rise. As the fire dies and the air cools, they descend.” His voice became a purr of enticement. “Black powder magic!”

William turned back to look at the lanterns. Dozens, perhaps hundreds of them, had taken to the air now, and were sailing away through the night, like the ascending spirits of the dead. It was one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen.

Black powder magic. Yes, this was magic. This whole place was a land of enchantment, complete with its fairy princess, its wizard and its ogres.

As if to consolidate the fantasy in his head, a row of eight Bear Corps soldiers began to beat their drums in a slow, almost soporific rhythm. After a few moments one of the soldiers began to chant words that William didn’t understand, but which nevertheless struck him as ancient and soothing—a song of peace and beauty, perhaps a touching lament for the dead.

The soldier’s voice was deep and husky, and soon it was joined by other voices, as more and more soldiers took up the song, a rising chorus that spread and echoed all along the Great Wall. William felt a tingle run through his body as he listened to the song of the warriors – a song of love and sorrow and longing – drift out across the vast black desert and into the endless heavens above.