Categories > Original > Fantasy
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There is a valley dark and deep.
The way there is narrow and twisting; you must carry a ball of red thread, tied to the village gate, to wind past the dark pines, or you will never find your way back. Put a bell on the wrist of your wife, mother or sister -- if the thread breaks, the sound of the bell will lead you home.
Tien can hear the sound of the bells from where he stands, panting, two li away, for all the women in the village wear bells at their wrists, so that the menfolk will not be led astray. The sound tinkles faint and fickle with the wind as they wash their cloths or work the fields.
At night, they take off the bells. Something else finds their way to the village if they leave it on.
"Uncle Li," Tien whispers timidly. "Why do we have to go there? Let's go home."
Uncle Li clouts him sharply on the ear. "Move, sluggard."
Tien moves, but as he climbs on, he cannot help turning his head to listen for the sound of bells.
---
The grass in the valley grows up the boy's waist, thick and lush. It is not easy, looking for the tiny, five-fingered leaves, that mark the presence of the changshou, also known as shan-er or Mountain's son, a root that grows deep underground. Tien is sucking on scratched fingers, trying not to sniffle, when he finally spots the tiny leaf behind a patch of thorns.
"Uncle Li! Uncle Li! I've found it!"
Uncle is stronger, easily hacking away the thorns, and then the two take turns to drive the mattock deep into the earth, until the precious root can be seen. Gnarled fingers carefully brush the dirt away, until the deep bronze skin is revealed. Uncle sighs deeply. "Ai," he says again, and straightens wearily. He drops the root into the basket, stretching to ease his sore back. "Here, boy." Tien moves closer, crouching over the basket in curiousity, and cannot help but think that it is a very ugly legendary root, for it is wrinkled so, with long and straggly root hairs, uglier even than Old Grandfather Pao, and the whorl of wrinkles right in the center looks like the face of an angry child. It certainly doesn't look like the kind of food Emperors should eat, or something that should bring long life.
Tien is too surprised to struggle when Uncle Li grabs him firmly by the neck and cuts the boy's throat, as if killing a chicken.
---
The villagers are all gathered at the gate, and someone cheers when they see the wilting brown leaves trailing from the basket. The gold the changshou root brings will feed the village for years. Only one girl weeps, clawing her own face and hair at the sight.
"Shut up you stupid slut!" snarls Madam Li and slaps her until she is huddled into a silent ball. "Be grateful we fed you and your bastard for so long!"
She is left to weep soundlessly at the gate, while the men head to the teahouse, counting the days the merchants will pass by again. A changshou root takes six years to grow; the slut is still comely and fertile, and can surely produce more bastards. They drink themselves senseless in celebration.
The village gate swings in the wind, unbarred.
The girl has stopped crying. She tears her clothes into strips, then knots them together. It takes two tries before she gets the other end over the arch, which is little more than a length of bamboo with the clan marker lashed to it. She shivers in the wind, but finally knots the cloth into a noose.
After her body stops convulsing, the wind rocks her limp body, and the little bell at the end of her bracelet tinkles softly.
---
There is a valley, dark and deep.
The way there is narrow and twisting; you must carry a ball of red thread, tied to the village gate, to wind past the dark pines, or you will never find your way back. Put a bell on the wrist of your wife, mother or sister -- if the thread breaks, the sound of the bell will lead you home.
At night, they take off the bells. Something else finds their way to the village if they let the bells ring.
There is a bell, ringing now, a sound that carries all the way up to the mountains.
End
There is a valley dark and deep.
The way there is narrow and twisting; you must carry a ball of red thread, tied to the village gate, to wind past the dark pines, or you will never find your way back. Put a bell on the wrist of your wife, mother or sister -- if the thread breaks, the sound of the bell will lead you home.
Tien can hear the sound of the bells from where he stands, panting, two li away, for all the women in the village wear bells at their wrists, so that the menfolk will not be led astray. The sound tinkles faint and fickle with the wind as they wash their cloths or work the fields.
At night, they take off the bells. Something else finds their way to the village if they leave it on.
"Uncle Li," Tien whispers timidly. "Why do we have to go there? Let's go home."
Uncle Li clouts him sharply on the ear. "Move, sluggard."
Tien moves, but as he climbs on, he cannot help turning his head to listen for the sound of bells.
---
The grass in the valley grows up the boy's waist, thick and lush. It is not easy, looking for the tiny, five-fingered leaves, that mark the presence of the changshou, also known as shan-er or Mountain's son, a root that grows deep underground. Tien is sucking on scratched fingers, trying not to sniffle, when he finally spots the tiny leaf behind a patch of thorns.
"Uncle Li! Uncle Li! I've found it!"
Uncle is stronger, easily hacking away the thorns, and then the two take turns to drive the mattock deep into the earth, until the precious root can be seen. Gnarled fingers carefully brush the dirt away, until the deep bronze skin is revealed. Uncle sighs deeply. "Ai," he says again, and straightens wearily. He drops the root into the basket, stretching to ease his sore back. "Here, boy." Tien moves closer, crouching over the basket in curiousity, and cannot help but think that it is a very ugly legendary root, for it is wrinkled so, with long and straggly root hairs, uglier even than Old Grandfather Pao, and the whorl of wrinkles right in the center looks like the face of an angry child. It certainly doesn't look like the kind of food Emperors should eat, or something that should bring long life.
Tien is too surprised to struggle when Uncle Li grabs him firmly by the neck and cuts the boy's throat, as if killing a chicken.
---
The villagers are all gathered at the gate, and someone cheers when they see the wilting brown leaves trailing from the basket. The gold the changshou root brings will feed the village for years. Only one girl weeps, clawing her own face and hair at the sight.
"Shut up you stupid slut!" snarls Madam Li and slaps her until she is huddled into a silent ball. "Be grateful we fed you and your bastard for so long!"
She is left to weep soundlessly at the gate, while the men head to the teahouse, counting the days the merchants will pass by again. A changshou root takes six years to grow; the slut is still comely and fertile, and can surely produce more bastards. They drink themselves senseless in celebration.
The village gate swings in the wind, unbarred.
The girl has stopped crying. She tears her clothes into strips, then knots them together. It takes two tries before she gets the other end over the arch, which is little more than a length of bamboo with the clan marker lashed to it. She shivers in the wind, but finally knots the cloth into a noose.
After her body stops convulsing, the wind rocks her limp body, and the little bell at the end of her bracelet tinkles softly.
---
There is a valley, dark and deep.
The way there is narrow and twisting; you must carry a ball of red thread, tied to the village gate, to wind past the dark pines, or you will never find your way back. Put a bell on the wrist of your wife, mother or sister -- if the thread breaks, the sound of the bell will lead you home.
At night, they take off the bells. Something else finds their way to the village if they let the bells ring.
There is a bell, ringing now, a sound that carries all the way up to the mountains.
End
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