Nhan paced and pondered all night at the edge of the stream with a robust energy which mocked sleep. At the darkest moment before dawn, the long-tailed bird called for her, as if it knew the timing. The teen mounted, her body contained in its wide span, and she clutched the long plumes of feathers like she had ridden a thousand times before. The bird ascended, and as it rose, Nhan released her grip from the feathers and balanced herself in the rush of air around her, feeling adrenaline and feeling alive. Her body remained upright regardless of the dip, turn, or swirl the bird performed. They swooped over the area of Hoa Lu, and she called out to the deadened troops in a rousing voice.
“It’s time! We ride to Yen Lenh Bridge.”
Her voice commanded authority, like its echoes bounded off the early morning cloud cover. She didn’t recognize her own voice, but the bizarre troops did. The zombies awakened and lifted into the air like flying ghosts, eyes glowing, sparkling metal swords in their hands. They hadn’t had swords before, but she dared not ask about them. The massive contingent flew north at high speed, and as the first streak of light painted the eastern sky a pale rouge, Nhan spotted the bridge below. Lady Trieu had instructed her to amass and wait for a signal, but Nhan pushed onward, feeling there was no time to waste. She exhorted the beings into attack formation, and they swarmed downward onto the bridge, a band of rabid locusts seeking to devour the enemy. Machines let loose a torrent of fire. Bullets ripped through the first wave of warrior ghosts and disintegrated them to nothingness. The battle had begun.
Nhan’s massive force suffered extensive losses, but she pushed them onward. As the light finally illuminated the battlefield, a garrison of Chinese army regulars had holed up a quarter mile behind the bridge. She motioned for the bird to land, and she grabbed a sword which had been strapped to the side of the bird. She assumed it had been Lady Trieu’s, but it was now the only weapon she had, and she sprinted toward the garrison hidden behind staggered jeeps and heavily armored vehicles. Voices shouted, then the automatic weapons fired. Pock. Pock. Pock. The first bullet ripped through Nhan’s chest. She staggered backwards for a moment and looked down. No blood and no pain. Another bullet caught her shoulder. But again, it disappeared into her body without causing any effect. She raised her sword and two bullets ricocheted off the blade like harmless flies. She maneuvered the weapon back and forth, stopping numerous oncoming bullets with ease. In the rear, the machines continued the destruction of the ghost ranks, but there were also fewer machines. She remained unharmed against human troops firing at her at point blank range. She remembered Lady Trieu’s words: “You’ll know what to do.” She jumped forward, a massive leap atop one of the armored vehicles. She sliced through one of the soldiers and then another. She flicked away their bullets with her sword, and she advanced on a group of panicking Chinese, who withdrew from their positions. She persisted and decimated a slew of soldiers with her precision sword strikes. The air couldn’t contain her force. The modern weapons couldn’t contain her destruction. A smile crossed her face. The power she had always wanted, now in her grasp. Had Lady Trieu given it to her? The turtle? The Red River? If only her father could see her now. The exhilaration consumed her, and she terrorized and hunted every soldier from the roadblock, showing no mercy and flattening them all to the ground in silence.
But joy turned, as it does. She felt a burning in her leg. A bullet had lodged there and remained when no other one had. She writhed in pain and twirled around to face off with a rogue machine. It fired again and grazed the side of her stomach. She lunged forward and pierced it in two with her sword. It disintegrated into dust. She leaned against the back of an armored vehicle and witnessed the destruction. Her ghost army sacrificed themselves one at a time to take out additional machines. Numbers on each side dwindled in the relentless fight. Thick dust coated the air with the stench of staleness, like history had been unleashed from the books and its smell soaked the environment. “You’ll know what to do.” She had witnessed what the machines could do and what the humans couldn’t. Had the attack been successful? She had no way to know. Lady Trieu had said the losses would be great, and she decided to let the battle of her strange warriors play out on its own. She had one person in mind: Minh. She whistled once for the bird. It swooped down toward her. She climbed onto the hood of the vehicle and jumped headfirst onto the back of the long-tailed bird, soaring into the sky.
“The facility.”
The bird let out a mighty call and charted a path toward the heart of Hanoi. Nhan had a bird’s eye view of the battlefield. Thousands of Chinese troops mobilized into position along the myriad roads leading out of south Hanoi. They barricaded the streets and waited for word from the battlefield between the dead-headed force and the machines. She had been the decoy, but no longer because she had survived. She would spearhead the attack against the heart of the beast.
They did indeed come. From all over. Small bands of resistance forces overwhelmed the Co Loa Citadel in the dead of the night. Lieu instructed his commandos to divide into battalions, each one commanding one of the groups. The villagers formed their own ragtag crew with the two old men—who typically played Chinese chess—now vying with the other to instruct the group to kill the Han at all cost.
As dawn approached, they amassed on the shore of the pond, spilling over into the courtyard of the citadel. No one used light of any kind, lest they be discovered. Lieu, Tho, and Lien were the first ones to make their way over the pontoon bridge and onto the cement ring of the pearl well. Tho crawled on all fours and twice nearly slipped into the water, but Lien held him steady. Some of the first battalion followed. Those who could took their places on the cement ring as well, while others balanced on the unstable basket boats as the rest waited their turn on the shore. Most had no idea why they were there or what they waited for, and the long wait in the dark took its toll on the psyche of some of the resistance soldiers. One started a rumor that Commander Lieu had lost his mind. Others called old man Tho a sorcerer, some even questioning if he was actually Chinese.
The disgruntled rumblings of the masses slithered to a still stop, however, as a bright light—a glowing angel—descended over them and landed in the midst of the group on the cement ring. The crowd all goose-necked to see the wonder. A mighty warrior, sword in hand, towering over everyone else, with long flowing black hair and a thick leather chest plate. Lady Trieu.
“Listen,” she commanded. “The southern attack has begun. We will take grave losses there, but it will allow us a brief moment of surprise, and we must not disappoint.”
“We have no one attacking from the south,” said Lieu.
“Yes, we do. Led by your daughter.”
“Nhan? But—how?”
“I appointed her to run the diversion. It has begun, now we must move quickly.”
“But we have no troops there?”
“I have raised an army.”
A murmur spread through the ranks until one of the voices rose above the rest. “But we’re still far from Hanoi. How will be get there?”
Lady Trieu looked over at Lieu, who nodded. He removed the magic crossbow from his pouch, inserted an arrow into the release point, and, without warning, shot the arrow at the center of the pearl well. The water parted and a fluorescent tunnel formed with a great gust of wind whipping out of it and over the heads of the onlookers.
“Follow me,” said Lieu. He jumped into the tunnel. The first battalion roared at once and followed their leader blindly into the center of the pond. Dozens upon dozens of men jumped in and the pontoon bridge held its weight as the soldiers moved from the shore to the jumping off point. Lien, Tho, and Lady Trieu watched from the edge as wave after wave of men were sucked into the past, whirling through the magic tunnel until the final group of villagers joined them. Men and women. Young and old. No one warned them of their fate to come. No one said they were too old or too young. Everyone was welcome. In fact, everyone was expected. It was the only way the Vietnamese knew. Everyone, in concert, facing the daunting challenge and the mysterious unknown using whatever meager resources were available to them.
As the last old man belly-flopped into the tunnel, Lady Trieu took Lien and Tho by the hands. “Come. I have a special task for you. You both are our final hope. I will show you your guide. You’ve met before.”
She smiled slightly, an odd thing perhaps, on the edge of a day of great destruction. But the smile calmed Lien and Tho, and they gladly followed her into the colorful, pulsing tunnel which sucked them in. As Tho passed the threshold of the top of the well, the water crashed in behind him, and the well returned to normal. The quietness of the citadel permeated the area—vacant of people, and completely still except for the haunting calls of history which buoyed them onward toward Hoan Kiem Lake.
Mr. Thao, the former policeman who had informed Minh’s father of the planned attack from the south, awakened to a dark shadow standing over his slatted bed covered with a reed mat. Sunrise was still hours away.
“L … Lady Trieu.” He bonked his head on the wall behind him as the startled look stared back at the intruder.
“I was right about you.”
“I’m at your service, Lady Trieu. I’ll do anything.”
“True. You’ll do anything for anyone. You’ve already completed your part. I thank you for it.”
He scrambled to sit up more properly. His head bobbed in a perpetual nod and his rotten teeth shone from his fake smile. “Yes, of course. Anything to help.”
“Thank you for telling the Chinese about our attack to the south. They diverted their troops, so we have a chance.”
“What?”
“And now your reward.”
She raised her sword until it hit the tip of his chin. He squirmed backwards against the wall. “No, Lady Trieu. I was afraid. I thought they were going to kill me.”
“No, your betrayal did that.” She slid the sword through him and removed it in a quick retreat. He fell into a ball on top of the reed mat, slumped over, dead.
The Old Quarter of Hanoi awoke without Mr. Thao to the early morning sounds of heavy fighting to the south. The first light illuminated plumes of smoke hanging lazily in the distance. The weary Hanoi population gathered in the center of the city to await the unknown. Word had been spread, but no one was sure how to react until further information reached them.
The eighty-seven-year-old Mrs. Tuyet had been coming daily to Ngoc Son Temple in the middle of Hoan Kiem Lake for the past thirty years. She had started the routine after her husband died suddenly of a heart attack. At dawn each day, she walked the red curved bridge from the shore to the islet and lit incense in the inner hall to remember her family, and especially her husband. She prayed for many things: health, a blessed afterlife for her long dead relatives, and she always ended her prayer with a request for the miraculous. She wanted to see a miracle, whether a sighting of the great turtle of the lake or an unspoken blessing for her family. On this particular day, she didn’t alter her routine one bit. She ignored the sound of fighting to the south. She had heard that before. In fact, her husband had been on the front line of resistance against the Chinese invasion of the north in 1979, as they ferociously fought to keep the northern invaders out. And they barely did. She lit her incense and prayed as usual. As she ended her prayer, she asked for the miraculous.
A vibration shook the Ngoc Son Temple, and the center of Hoan Kiem Lake opened, like a giant sink hole had swallowed the water by trapping gravity inside it. Light pierced out of the center of the lake, like a massive searchlight shooting into the sky to announce to the world a special promotion. The hole expanded until it reached the edge of the western shore of the lake—the same place that Sun Quan had tossed Lady Trieu into the water, not far from St. Joseph’s Cathedral. Mrs. Tuyet moved to the back edge of the temple to watch. The resistance troops, led by Commander Lieu, touched dry ground, and marched out of the center of the lake like General MacArthur returning to the Philippines. Tears streamed down Mrs. Tuyet’s face, and she stretched her arms upwards towards the heavens and asked to be reunited with her husband. The time had come. She fell over on the wooden floor, and joined her husband in the afterlife, her prayer finally answered.
The army continued emerging from the opening onto dry land. Lieu stood on the edge of the lake and barked out instructions. They had not met any resistance, but he knew it wouldn’t last. Small platoons of rebels spread out street by street until they created a perimeter around the Old Quarter. They awaited instructions on how to proceed. They were to coordinate all intel back to Lieu at Hoan Kiem Lake so he could piece together the whereabouts of the occupying forces.
The citizens of Hanoi stretched along the perimeter of the lake and looked on in disbelief. Lieu tried to send out word for the mobs to dispense and stay quiet, but nothing worked. After two years of anguish, they stood at the edge of a miracle. All the legends, all the lore, all the history exposed itself in the blatant way the resistance marched onto shore from the soul of the nation of Vietnam. They believed it all. No story too outlandish. No prayer unanswerable. No outcome unthinkable. They banded together and pushed in against the commander, who pushed back with his frantic words for the population to be patient, but it was no use. The people had been loosened. The mental chains which bound them had fallen frayed and worn onto the ground, so Commander Lieu relented to the moment, understanding the thirst in their eyes—the hunger for justice—the love of country. He would use it in that moment, and he said, and his commandos enforced, “Go. Take back Hanoi.”
Nhan soared across Hanoi on the back of the lost bird and landed on top of the facility without any resistance. She had passed over Hoan Kiem Lake moments before Mrs. Tuyet had prayed for her miracle. Solitude didn’t faze the teen as she prepared herself for a fight to the death, if need be, to rescue Minh from the facility—if he was still there. The sound of the battle still echoed from the south, but as she prepared to move, a massive light shone into the air from the center of town, accompanied by a rumble. She watched from a distance, not knowing the rebels hit the ground using a magical tunnel. Sirens blared around the facility and Ba Dinh Square. Troops mobilized, machines sounded, and a buzz of activity surrounded her at ground level. She watched alone for a long time, trying to discern its meaning. As she pondered her options, she caught a quick glimpse of a shifting shape behind her.
“Nhan.”
“Lady Trieu, I—”
“Get the boy. I’ll go after the source of this occupation.”
“You’re going to fight Sun Quan?”
“No. Get the boy.”
“I will. On my life.”
Lady Trieu nodded and jumped off the edge of the building. Nhan shifted to the edge and looked over, but Lady Trieu was already out of sight. Nhan ran to the roof access door and swung it open, sheering off the lock with ease. She descended one flight and ran along the corridor of the top floor. A Chinese guard yelled for her to stop and fired three errant shots. She turned and attacked him without mercy, piercing him twice through the midsection before she descended further into the boughs of the maze. An internal alarm sounded, and she heard the clanking of walls locking down the sections of the facility. As she approached the first wall, she held her breath and pushed on it, only to fall through it unencumbered, like she was a sound wave passing through a solid wall.
“What?” she questioned. Her heart pounded; she felt like electricity pulsed through her veins. She sensed something. She stared at her feet and the floor seemed to flicker, like a glitchy TV screen, which flashed to allow her a view straight through the solid floor. Minh rested below her, curled up in a ball with his head dipped between his knees. He could have been sleeping, or contemplating the nature of his life. She noticed one other item—he gripped the marble tablet firmly in his right hand. She held her breath once more and closed her eyes. She jumped off the floor and floated downward in ethereal bliss through the solid structure to a spot in front of the boy.
“Minh.”
He looked up. “Lady Trieu?”
“No, it’s me.”
“Nhan?” He jumped to his feet and shifted his head in for a closer look. “Nhan?”
“I’m here to rescue you.”
He sprang toward her and gave her a hug, but he backed away quickly with a strange look.
“Nhan? You look different.”
“Minh, I would never leave you behind. We have to go.”
“But … how? How did you …?”
“I’ll explain later. Come.”
“But I’m locked in. I’m—”
“No matter. I’ll help you.”
She floated through the wall and looked back to see Minh pounding his fists on the black granite, yelling for her to return. “Minh, wait there. I’m going to open the walls.”
“Where else am I going to wait? I’m locked in here. Hey. Hey, come back. Nhan! How did you do that? Nhan?”
She backtracked through the hallway—lights blaring, alarms sounding—and dispensed three machines with two sword thrusts and one ricocheted shot off its blade. She passed through walls unimpeded on command but didn’t think it strange. She jammed her sword into a control panel, and all the walls of the facility disappeared into the ceiling. The openness of the massive hall spread out in front of her, and the prisoners all stood in unison. Weary men with long, gray beards sulking over their crouched shoulders, sat dazed at the freedom ahead of them, no longer in their solitary confines. Scores of men and women stood watching her. And one boy. A thirteen-year-old. Minh. Rubbing the marble tablet in his hand. No one moved, for where would they go? Most couldn’t move, decrepit and wounded from abuse, vagrants of the war, pawns of the Chinese.
“Release them. Use the boy and release them,” a voice called from behind. Nhan knew its authority, and she didn’t look back. She ran toward Minh, but he pointed at something beyond her. Nhan paused her approach and looked back.
A dozen machines attacked Lady Trieu. They climbed on her from all sides, ripping their bladed weapons into her side.
“Nhan, we have to help her.”
Lady Trieu threw off several of them and sliced them to dust, but more came in unrelenting waves. They swarmed her like a mountain of ants turning on its queen. They tore and ripped, but she shrugged them off like the wounds only made her stronger.
“Nhan!”
“Minh, she told us to release them.”
“Who?”
Nhan turned Minh’s head toward the rear. “Them. All of them.”
“Who are they?”
“Minh!”
“Why don’t they run?”
“They can’t. They’re too old.”
“What can we do?”
“Minh, they’re not meant to be old.”
Minh noticed an old man in front of them, just ten feet away, maneuvering himself up on his knees with great concentration. He held out his hand and spoke in a soft tone. “Minh.”
Minh walked toward him, eyes locked on to the strangely familiar face.
“Minh.”
“Cuong? Is that you? Cuong?”
The old man reached out for the boy, and Minh placed the tablet into Cuong’s hand. The old man fell to the floor, unresponsive for a moment, until he turned around, still at Minh’s feet, and spoke, “I’m back.” Cuong, the rebel soldier who had helped them discover the truth on Hang Ngang Street, stood to his feet, exhausted, yet free. “The others, Minh. Release the others.”
It finally dawned on the boy. All the old men and women moaned for him. One by one, Minh approached each person, Nhan by his side, and placed the tablet into their hands to release the generational spell. Each freed prisoner thanked Minh then quietly approached the fight on the other side of the massive hall. Shattered metal parts littered the area like a random explosion had occurred. Wisps of dust fluttered in the air. One figure walked through the center of the chaos and stood alone amidst the damage: Lady Trieu. Nhan and Minh and the rest of the rejuvenated rebels joined in the circle of spectators. One man approached Lady Trieu from behind. He walked slowly and methodically without angst or worry. It wasn’t Sun Quan. This man was of normal height, yet he too had a sword in his hand. He didn’t attack her but worked his way through the carnage and dust until he stood opposite her.
“At last we meet,” he said.
“Why do you wear such foolishness on your face?” she asked.
“I like the game. It amuses me.”
“It will end here,” she said.
“Yes.”
Minh approached, still a hundred feet away, but he knew him. He knew both of them. It made no sense. Why was he holding a sword? Why was he not afraid of her? As they both raised their weapons to start the fight, Minh called out. “Dad!”