The Lamb and the Gray Battle

September 17, 1990

Mary ruffed a hand through her hair. The morning of January 6, 1446 was clear in her mind. Even Gran pitied her that day. Tears streamed down her face and she clawed her neck until the mark was bloody. Her cycles were inconsistent at that age, but that day, her body was fertile and called out to Zhangfu.

You will be my wife, Qizi.

The distant drumbeat started on January sixth. Late in the day, when half the moon shone in the sky.

Mary lifted her head, turned her nose, sniffed the air like that would scent out the sound. As a reflex, she touched her neck. She could make out colors, but shapes were blurred. Gran too stiffened. Gran rose, her wand out, her knuckles gnarled and cracked.

Gran said, "Satan is walking the Earth."

Mary's heartbeat became erratic. If she had any vision at all, she would have torn away from that noise, even abandoned the warmth of the fire. All her thoughts were for Zhangfu. As much as she had cursed him over the last sixty-seven years, she feared for him with each thump of the drum.

In the morning, Mary could see no better, but she put her hands into Gran's gloved fingers and let her lead her away. Days they spent walking. The moon grew brighter each night, though Mary was just as cold. Perhaps it was the sun that grew light. Mary couldn't be sure.

"Do you hear that?" Gran asked.

Blind, almost deaf, her tongue a dry strap, Gran knew exactly how crippled Mary was, but she dared ask that. Gran tugged her faster.

Mary was used to Gran's voice, understood the words when she said, "Oi, why is Satan threatening the Earth?"

"Nay," the minstrel said. "Have you not heard the songs?"

"We haven't heard anything," Gran said. "Why has Satan left his kingdom?"

"We have a new king."

"It's not possible," Gran gasped.

"'Tis true. Satan's son has stolen his power, wears his carcass as a cape."

Mary's ice eyeballs cracked and stung. Her lips were deserts, husks that couldn't form words.

"That's King Ao Guang's army."

The minstrel was a scrawny little guy and didn't bother to hide his cowardice, but the heartbeat was muted, so he clutched his lute by the neck and strummed out a new tune.

"This monster of Hell was ambitious for sure

"And his lust for power would always endure.

"With glee he watched as his mother lost her head,

"And instead of mourning, killed his father instead."

Gran melted some snow for Mary to drink, ladled it down her throat. After all the news had been shared and no coins or food was available, the minstrel decided that keeping company with two Irish demon bloods was too dangerous for his cowardly heart and he scrambled away.

Mary was too weak to rise, so Gran allowed her a few hours of rest, let her empty eyes fix on the flames of the fire. But in the morning, Gran was back to her stalwart regimen and yanked Mary to her feet. She stumbled forward, tumbled into a run. Gran tripped under Mary's weight and both fell. Again, they struggled up and onward. For a month, nothing happened. The drum was inconsistent, a staccato beat, at others, a dull drone. Then the beast awakened, drew closer. Gran's hand tightened on Mary, dragged her inland, north, then east. The heartbeat chased them constantly and haunted Gran's dreams.

Aoibh never slept.