The Great Wall - The Official Movie Novelization

20

Ballard cackled as he rode through the canyon. He’d shown that idiot who was boss! All the time Pero had thought he was top dog in their partnership, whereas in truth Ballard had manipulated him every step of the way. No doubt the Spanish simpleton had planned to dispatch him at some stage of the process and take the spoils for himself, but if he thought such a possibility wouldn’t have crossed Ballard’s mind, he was even stupider than he looked. Well, how did he like it now, out in the middle of the desert with no food, no water and no horse? Ballard’s only regret about running out on Pero was that he hadn’t been there to see the look on his face when he realized he’d been hoodwinked!

He moved quickly along the valley floor, the reins of both Pero’s horse and the packhorse attached to the pommel of his saddle. Eventually he came to a ridge and paused to scan the surrounding landscape, raising his hand to shield his eyes from the setting sun.

Suddenly his horse shied, almost throwing him off. He gripped the reins tight, lowering his hand and looking down to see what had startled it.

Trudging up the ridge towards him, converging on him from three directions, were a trio of rangy horses with unsmiling, black-clad men on their backs. The men’s hands were not on their reins, however. Instead each of them had their bows drawn and pointed his way. At the sight of the metal arrowheads trained on him, Ballard felt his bowels contract, his balls shrivel into his belly. But he forced himself to clench his teeth in a grin and raise a hand, as if he was greeting old friends.

“What fortuitous timing, gentlemen!” he cried. “I’ve been wandering all day looking for new partners!”

He kept his smile fixed to his face as the brigands closed in.

It had gone on for a long time—the explosions, the fierce, brief flashes of flame—but now it seemed to be coming to an end. William still heard the occasional shattering boom, some of which seemed quite close, some much further away, and saw white flashes burst like lightning bolts into his cell, but they were more spaced out now, the periods of darkness between one explosion and the next more protracted.

He still couldn’t work out what had been happening, why the Nameless Order had taken to the sky in vast balloons. Had they decided to attack the Jade Mountain from above, to drop black powder into its craters and tunnels, to split it apart? But if so, why? Why take the fight to the Tao Tei? The Wall was a powerful war machine, and a fearsome defence mechanism, and according to Wang, all they had to do was hold out for a few more days and the threat would be over for another sixty years.

Something must have happened, he decided. Something drastic that had necessitated a change of tactics. But what? Was it something to do with Pero and Ballard? Had they used the black powder to… to breach the Wall in some way, perhaps as a distraction to allow them to escape? But that didn’t make sense either. That still didn’t account for the balloons.

William was still trying to work it out when the key grated in the lock of his cell and the door was shoved grittily open.

He wafted dust away from his face and squinted against the light. It wasn’t particularly bright light, merely the pine oil lanterns burning in the corridor, but after being shut up in the dark for several hours, it was like staring into the sun.

As far as he could make out, there were three soldiers standing in the doorway. Shielding his eyes he saw they were Bear Corps warriors—all big men and all staring at him without expression.

Why were they here? Was his presence required? Were they bringing food? Or had Lin Mae decided to execute him, after all? One of them stepped into his cell and beckoned him with a crooked figure and a guttural phase that he didn’t understand. Still blinking, he stepped into the corridor, the Bear Corps soldiers moving back to give him room. He expected to be grabbed, perhaps even chained, but to his surprise one of the soldiers waved a hand at him as if he was a stray dog they were trying to shoo away.

“I can go?” he said. “Go where?”

One of the soldiers barked something at him in Mandarin.

“Where’s Lin Mae?” he asked. “Lin Mae? Wang?”

The soldiers conferred among themselves, then one of them jabbed a finger downwards, as though pointing vaguely at the floor.

William knew what the man meant. Lin Mae, or Wang, or maybe both, were out on the Wall. He began to jog in that direction, his mind whirling. To be freed from his cell and apparently given the run of the fortress—essentially to be granted a free pardon. What was going on?

When he stepped out of the tower exit on to the top of the Wall, he was shocked by the scene of devastation before him. He stood for a moment, trying to take it in. The desert beyond the Wall was strewn with wreckage. There were burning balloons, like vast, crumpled animal skins, there were smashed gondolas, and there were twisted, blackened bodies. Not only that, but some of the balloons had clearly lost control as soon as they had lifted off, and had either blown back against the towers or exploded directly overhead. A huge, burning balloon skin was draped over the parapet less than thirty feet away, a cloud of black, stinking smoke rising from it and curling into the night. Drooping from the top of the Northern Tower, from which he had just emerged, was a smashed and smoldering gondola, a body, which had been twisted in its severed ropes, dangling beneath it like a charred puppet.

There were other bodies, or parts of bodies, lying around on the plaza area directly in front of him too, as well as a great many unidentifiable bits of twisted, burning debris. He looked to his right, but with the smoke and the darkness it was hard to see if anyone was still alive out here. And then, through a greasy pall of smoke, he saw someone moving, and he started heading in their direction, picking his way through the grisly obstacle course that lay between them. The smoke cleared for a moment, and he saw the figure was not a soldier but a small man in dark, simple robes and a brimless hat.

“Hey!” he shouted. “Wang! What happened? Wait!”

But if Wang heard him, he chose not to acknowledge him.

William coughed to shift a tickle of smoke in his throat and shouted again, louder this time.

And this time Wang did stop and turn. His face was white and drawn. He looked both haunted and impatient.

As if unsurprised to see William there, he said, “We have failed. The Tao Tei are in the city.”

William looked at him, stunned. “What? How?”

But Wang ignored his question. Like the Bear Corps warrior a few minutes earlier, he wafted a dismissive hand, as though shooing away a troublesome animal. “You are free. Free to leave. Take what you wish and go. This was the General’s final order.” As though as an afterthought, he gave a short bow. “Good luck to you.”

William stared at him, wide-eyed. Final order? What did Wang mean? Once again he took in the carnage around them: the bodies, the burning debris, both here and strewn across the desert. In the night sky, far away, in the direction of Bianliang, he saw winking flames. More balloons? Those that hadn’t crashed and burned? That were still heading towards the city?

When he turned back, Wang was walking away. William saw that further along the Wall, in a space that had been cleared of debris, a final balloon was being inflated.

“Where is she?” he called.

Wang kept walking.

“Hey!” William broke into a run, going after him. He thought of reaching out, grabbing Wang’s shoulder, but he didn’t. Instead he said, “Lin Mae? Where is she?”

Wang stopped and sighed. He turned to face William again. Gesturing at the sky he said wearily, “Out there somewhere. Who knows?”

“Has she gone to fight? Is there still a fight to be had?”

Wang shrugged and turned away again, his face exhausted, defeated.

William ran past him, around him, halted directly in front of him and actually did put out a hand to stop him this time. Before Wang could react he said, “Tell me—is there a chance?”

“To win? You mean, do I have a plan?”

William nodded.

“We must kill the Queen. Kill the Queen or die together.” The little man shrugged, grimaced, as though to convey how utterly hopeless the situation was. “So if I were you, I would make haste and be gone. Tell the world what you have seen. Tell them what is coming.”

William heard footsteps behind him, felt hands grabbing his arms, pulling him away from Wang. They weren’t overly rough with him, but they weren’t gentle either. Wang gave him a sympathetic look, then hurried towards the balloon. It was three-quarters inflated now. There was just time for him to climb aboard before it drifted away.

“I’ll need my bow,” William shouted at Wang’s retreating figure.

Wang’s shoulders twitched briefly—he had clearly heard—but he kept walking.

William raised his voice. “If I’m to join you, I’ll need my bow!”

Wang stopped, turned. There was a look of astonishment on his face.

“What?” he said quietly, nodding at William’s captors to release him.

William walked forward. He smiled. “Be honest,” he said softly. “Have you a better soldier than me?”

At least he was still alive, which had to be a good sign. If they’d simply wanted to rob him, they’d have killed him there and then, and left his body in the sand for the vultures and wolves to eat. But the fact they’d bound him and brought him along for the ride meant… what? That they wanted to take him somewhere? Question him?

Torture him?

No, no, he wouldn’t countenance that. He’d win their trust somehow; make them understand how invaluable he’d be as an ally, how much they could help each other.

Lying on his side on the sand, Ballard squirmed, trying to get comfortable. His feet had been tied together, his hands bound tightly behind him, and a thick wad of brightly-colored but filthy material had been crammed into his mouth, then secured with a strip of brown cloth that stank of sweat and worse. He tensed as a scorpion scuttled towards him from behind a nearby rock, seemed to regard him for a moment, its pincers poised and its sting raised like a question mark above its head, and then, when he twitched, darted away.

Fifteen feet in front of Ballard, just close enough that the warmth of it took the edge off the cold night air, was a freshly built camp fire. Two of the three brigands who had captured him were now sitting around it, warming themselves and roasting lumps of meat on metal skewers. The third brigand was some distance away, tethering the six horses tightly together. He was the youngest of the trio, with a full set of teeth and only a straggle of facial hair.

Ballard had come to think of this man as Brigand 3; he was very much the junior member of the group and performed most of the menial tasks. Brigand 1, who was now biting into the fatty meat on the end of his skewer, making slobbering noises as he chewed, was plump and sweaty with a growling voice. Brigand 2, sitting beside him, was older, skinny and almost toothless. He had a full beard and a jagged red scar down the left side of his face. All three men stank of unwashed flesh and were dressed in dark robes over layers of rags. Ballard had seen them laugh, but only at his discomfort. Most of the time they conversed in guttural, staccato phrases that he didn’t understand.

He was hoping that once they removed his gag so that he could eat—which they surely must at some point—he could talk to them, draw them into his confidence. They were unintelligent, uneducated men. Like Pero, they would be malleable, easy to manipulate. All he had to do was bide his time…

His eyes widened in concern as Brigand 3 trudged back over to the camp fire carrying a couple of Ballard’s saddlebags, which he had removed from the pack horse. Ballard knew that the saddlebags contained Wang’s copious notes about black powder, as well as various black powder based weapons and, of course, large quantities of the stuff itself.

He was worried enough about the notes—he’d need them if he was going to make a long-term profit from his windfall—but what made him far more anxious was the prospect of large quantities of black powder so close to the fire. If it wasn’t handled with care they could all be blown to Kingdom Come. But how could he communicate such information to these primitive savages in his current state? He wriggled like a worm on the ground, making frantic sounds in the back of his throat to draw their attention. Brigand 3, firelight playing across his face and across the leather saddlebags he was carrying, glanced his way briefly, but then turned his head dismissively away and sat down next to his companions.

Ballard watched in horror as Brigand 3 opened the first of the saddlebags and began to scrabble at the contents. He pulled out Wang’s notes with abandon, tearing the delicate parchment, glanced at them a moment, and then—clearly unable to read or understand them—tossed them away. Some of the rolls of parchment landed on the sand nearby, some were picked up and blown into the surrounding darkness by the wind, and some drifted into the camp fire, where they shriveled and were quickly consumed.

Ballard glared at the man, as if hoping the sheer force of his fury could stop his hand. He wanted to rage at him and his companions, ridicule them for their ignorance, punish them for their presumption, their effrontery, their willful destruction of his precious property. But he was helpless to do anything. All he could do was watch as Wang’s black powder formulas, his painstaking research notes, his diagrams of potential weapons, were scattered to the wind, or burned, or crumpled. He felt like weeping in frustration. There was even a part of him that wished Pero would magically appear and dispatch these three filthy primitives, lopping their heads off where they sat.

When Brigand 3 tossed the first saddlebag aside with a snort of disgust and opened the second, Ballard really began to sweat. He saw the man delve inside and rummage about. Then he saw his hand emerge clutching one of Wang’s black powder grenades.

In many ways, Ballard knew the worst thing he could do was react, but he couldn’t help it. He managed to remain silent as Brigand 3 examined the grenade with a puzzled expression, but when he casually tossed the grenade to Brigand 2, and when Brigand 2 fumbled it, causing it to drop in the sand close to the fire, Ballard screamed. Or at least, he made a shrill, panicked sound behind his gag, which drew his captors’ attention. They looked at him at first curiously, and then with amusement, as he attempted to squirm back from the fire, his eyes bulging. They said something to one another, and burst into uproarious laughter. Even when Ballard shook his head frantically from side to side, trying to communicate to them the terrible danger they were in, they only laughed and mocked him.

Brigand 2 picked up the grenade, looked at it, then handed it to Brigand 1, who was grasping for it with greasy fingers. Brigand 1 sniffed the grenade, as if hoping it was something to eat, and then leaned forward with a groan, holding it close to the fire for a better look.

In his mind, as he frantically wriggled backwards until he was squashed up against a sheltering outcrop of rock and could wriggle no further, Ballard was screaming at them. In truth, though, he could only make shrill and muffled noises beneath his gag—noises which they either ignored or laughed at.

When Brigand 3 pulled one of the small leather bags of black powder out of the saddlebag, opened it and tipped a quantity of the powder into his cupped hand, Ballard felt as if the panic trapped inside him would make his heart explode. Then Brigand 1 barked something at Brigand 3, causing Brigand 3 to swing round so quickly that some of the black powder blew out of his hand and drifted towards the fire.

Next instant there was a sound like the world splitting apart and a burst of blinding light. Ballard experienced a brief, agonizing blast of pain and heat, and then he felt no more.

Pero was marching in the moonlight, following the direction Ballard had taken. The scowl and dead-eyed stare on his face had been in place for the past eight hours. He marched steadily and with great determination, energized by a survival instinct that was second to none and a seething desire for revenge. Horses or no horses, he would track Ballard down. And when he did he would take the black powder from him—but not before he had ripped the man’s head off with his bare hands.

Aside from the soft chirruping of desert insects and the occasional faraway howl of a wolf, the night was silent. Suddenly, though, the peace was shattered by a muffled explosion that echoed flatly from the mountains and seemed to cause the very air to ripple.

Immediately Pero’s head snapped up. His lips curved in a scimitar-like grin. And then, feeling very like a desert wolf himself—one with the smell of his prey’s blood in his nostrils—he broke into a smooth and tireless run.

William and Wang stood side by side, watching as the final balloon was inflated. In a few moments it would be time to climb aboard, and then there would be no turning back.

William knew, of course, that what this also meant was that in a few minutes he could be dead, his burning body hurtling towards the earth. He tried not to look at the charred corpses and still smoldering debris littering the top of the Wall and the desert plain beyond, tried to blot out his memories from earlier that day of the explosions and the screams he had heard from his cell, the flashes of light that had sizzled like rods of fire through the slit of his window.

At least if he died, it would be while pursuing a noble cause. Which was infinitely better than dying pointlessly for a crime he had not committed. He wondered where Lin Mae was now. Was she somewhere out there, still drifting towards Bianliang? He wondered where Pero was too, and how he and Ballard were shaping up as partners. He wondered which of them would kill the other first, and whether either of them would end up profiting from their misdemeanors.

Once, such questions would have invigorated him. Now, pursuing such an existence seemed pointless, devoid of both honor and worth.

Behind him, someone spoke his name, or something like it. He turned, as did Wang, to see Commander Wu standing there, resplendent in his shimmering yellow armour and flowing cape. In his arms he was carrying a full set of red Eagle Corps armour, a brace of red-feathered arrows in an Eagle Corps quiver clutched in his right hand. Almost shyly he offered them to William.

William was taken aback. “For me?”

Behind him the black powder was being pumped into the brazier, the flames roaring as the hot air rising from them filled the balloon. Wu gave a single decisive nod and Wang echoed the motion. A little overcome, William stepped forward and took the armour from Wu. Wu clasped his hands together in the traditional gesture of comradeship and respect.

“Xie, xie,” said William, trying to get the pronunciation right.

Wu smiled and nodded, and then at the sound of raised voices all three men turned towards the Northern Tower. Through the haze of smoke they saw two men standing there, apparently engaged in an argument. Both wore the black armour of a Bear Corps soldier. The smaller and younger of the two, William recognized as the kitchen orderly, who, by speaking up, had apparently saved his life. The smaller man had something in his hand, which the Bear Corps warrior was trying to take from him. William couldn’t see what it was at first, and then the smoke cleared a little and suddenly he recognized it.

It was his bow.

“What’s that man’s name?” William asked, pointing at the kitchen orderly.

Wang all but rolled his eyes. “That is Peng Yong.”

“He’s got my bow,” William said. “What’s going on?”

As if Peng Yong had heard, he shouted something across to the three men.

Wang said, “He says that if you wish to thank him, you must tell us to let him join us.”

Peng Yong was still shouting. Wang winced, but added, “He is begging you. He says that you owe him this honor.”

William looked at Peng Yong, who was still tussling fiercely with the Bear Corps warrior. He felt a sudden wave of almost brotherly affection towards him. Shrugging, he said, “Well, if he wants to come… why not?”

“Look at him,” replied Wang, as if that explained everything.

“The less to carry,” William said persuasively.

Wang almost smiled.

Although it was warm close to the brazier, it soon became cold when you moved away from it. They had been travelling now for several hours, and so far things were going well. They had got into a rhythm, Lin Mae and Xiao Yu taking turns to manipulate the ropes and keep them on course, Li Qing working the brazier. Although it was Li Qing who was closest to the source of heat, however, it was she, ironically, who was sitting with a blanket draped across her shoulders. This was because hers was a mainly sedentary role, whereas working the ropes took effort and strength. Having just completed her latest stint, Lin Mae was now taking a break, and hoping that the aches in her arms and back would have lessened by the time her turn came around again.

She stood at the prow of the gondola, looking out across the sky. In the darkness she had done her best to count the balloons spread out around them, and therefore knew that seventy-five (or thereabouts) of her fleet were still airborne. The balloons furthest away were visible only by the constant glow, and occasional flare, of their braziers. Indeed, the occasional hushed roar of the braziers was all she could hear this high above the ground.

If it hadn’t been such a risky way to travel, and if there hadn’t been such urgency to reach Bianliang before the Tao Tei laid waste to the city, the journey would have been almost enjoyable. Certainly the passing view was one that prompted a feeling of serenity, despite the fact that the balloons were travelling deceptively quickly—more quickly than a horse could gallop, for instance, or, most importantly, a Tao Tei could run.

All at once a flash of light from behind them lit up the sky, which was followed a split-second later by a distant boom. Lin Mae turned to see another balloon become a plummeting fireball, and felt yet another wrench in her stomach at the knowledge that more lives had been lost, that even now friends and colleagues, perhaps people she had known all her life, were hurtling in pain and terror towards the earth.

Then she felt an extra jolt as she remembered that Wang had been planning to oversee the entire launch, before boarding the very last balloon to lift off from the Wall. Had that been the last balloon she had just seen suffer a fiery demise? She scanned the horizon behind her. If not the very last, it had certainly been one of them.

The balloon that had gone down had been close enough to the one occupied by William, Wang and Peng Yong for the hot, buffeting wind of the explosion to rock their gondola. With William working the brazier (under instructions from Wang), and Wang himself at the ropes, they had managed to keep the craft on an even keel. Now, as they pulled smoothly away, William and Peng Yong silently watched the stricken balloon flailing towards the earth in flames. It was too dark to see what had become of the crew, but William knew there was no way they could have survived.

Glancing at Peng Yong, he saw that the boy was pale and very scared. William reached across and patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. Peng Yong looked startled for a moment. Then he smiled.

The ceiling of the Main Hall in the Imperial Palace was composed of panels of rare glass, which made it the perfect laboratory. Dominating the center of the opulently appointed room was the huge iron cage containing the captured Tao Tei. Despite the presence of dozens of scribes and assistants who were making notes, Imperial Councilors, courtiers and various other onlookers, all of whom were surrounding the cage in a wide circle, chattering or simply gawping, the Tao Tei was sitting placidly, its head down, its eyes glazed, its huge taloned paws resting between its knees.

The creature remained inert as Shen edged towards the cage holding a lacquered pole with a hook on the end. He was clearly nervous, but trying to fight it. This was his moment, after all. His moment to prove his worth, to make an impression on the Emperor’s court, and to be subsequently elevated into a position of influence and importance.

When, having walked up to the cage, he realized that the Tao Tei was still not paying him—or anything else—the slightest attention, his confidence grew a little. He drew himself up, standing straighter and squaring his shoulders. Extending the pole slowly through the bars of the cage, he tried to keep his hands steady as he hooked the noose around the creature’s neck, to which the magnet was attached, and started to lift it slowly and carefully up and over the creature’s head. He sucked in a sharp breath as the dangling black stone bumped against the Tao Tei’s snout, but it didn’t react.

Stepping backwards, pulling the magnet away from the Tao Tei, he looked around at his audience and indicated the white, carefully measured lines beneath his feet.

“The markings on the floor,” he said importantly, “will measure the distance from the beast at which it begins to demonstr—”

He was still looking at his audience when the Tao Tei’s eyes blazed, its head snapped up and it launched itself with a bellowing roar at Shen. It slammed into the bars of the cage with such force that the entire construction toppled over. Shen turned in utter terror and let loose a shrill scream—and then the heavy cage smashed down on top of him! The pole with its attached magnet flew out of his hand and went slithering away across the polished floor, out of reach.

Although the Tao Tei had not actually broken out of its cage, people began to scream, to panic, to run in all directions. Inside the cage the Tao Tei opened its vast mouth and expelled shriek after bellowing shriek. Shen, on his back, the lower half of his body crushed, found himself looking up at the glass ceiling. But he was already so delirious with pain that when the ceiling began to shatter, when the glass began to rain down in glittering shards, he wondered if it was real.

Through the valleys, across the desert plains, up and down the peaks and troughs of the mountain ranges, came the Tao Tei horde. There were thousands of them, massed together, moving as one. They formed a seething green ocean of teeth and talons, which flowed ever forward at incredible speed, flooding the land, stopping for nothing. Anything that got in their way—any animal, any roaming tribes, any bands of brigands or groups of merchants—were instantly overwhelmed and devoured. Nothing was left.

At the center of this raging sea, this teeming crush of Tao Tei soldiers, was the Queen, surrounded and protected by her Paladins. Her skin rippled with the thousands of eggs she carried. Yet her young didn’t slow her down. If anything, they made her more frantic to feed, to procreate, to flood the world with more of her kind.

Suddenly, however, she stopped. And as she did so, as though at an unspoken command, so did the green wave of creatures. She raised her vast head, opened her mouth wide and from it extended a surprisingly fragile and flexible receptor. She could hear something, taste something. It was one of her own. And it was calling to her. Informing her of the feeding ground it had discovered, inviting her to the feast. She felt excitement flooding her, felt her salivary juices flowing in anticipation. A scream erupted from her, high-pitched, ululating, causing fat veins to pulse and bulge all over her bloated body.

Then—a moment of silence as the horde took on new information.

They turned, as one, and began to flow in a new direction.

Towards Bianliang. Towards the feast.