Dao ran over. “No one else nearby.”

“Stand guard.”

Tsung crouched by Leong,

Xau and Li now sitting side by side

while Leong evaluated them.

“How are they?”

“Middling. The king’s badly bruised.

An arrow grazed Li’s arm,

bloody but shallow.”

“All right, let’s get them back

to the campsite.”

“No,” said Xau,

pushing himself upright.

“We will not leave our soldiers

to face a threat

we will not face ourselves.”

In the king’s voice

the weight of the burnt towns.

Tsung responsible for the king,

the king responsible

for a country.

Tsung set his hand gently

on Xau’s shoulder, said,

“At least rest a while.”

Xau nodded,

sat back down without protest,

proof that the king was shaken.

Tsung not that calm himself.

Hours until dawn.

Demons out there somewhere.

MIDSUMMER’S DAY

Plump bees clung to the clover

in the stretch of meadowland

between Donal’s encampment and Xau’s,

both armies allied against the demons,

but ready to fight each other

if the demons ever fell.

Midsummer’s Day,

but the soldiers inside their tents.

No feasting, no celebration,

the demon fire, the burnt towns

had marked them all.

∗

A messenger came to Donal’s tent.

“Your Majesty, a package from King Xau.”

Donal undid the long, heavy bundle:

bamboo, colored silks, paper, string.

“What is this?”

“String,” said the messenger, “paper—”

“I can fucking see that. What’s it for?”

The messenger, prudently, said nothing.

“Get out,” said Donal.

He tossed the bundle to Rose, his woman,

went to the entrance flap.

Over at Xau’s encampment,

a scrap of purple lifted into the air—

a kite, a fucking kite—

The purple diamond climbed higher.

Donal’s sentries shouted,

more animated than they’d been in weeks.

Other soldiers peered from their tents,

saw the kite, came outside.

“Fuck.” Donal turned to Rose.

“Have you ever made a fucking kite?”

∗

As the long day wore on

more kites dipped and rose

on the skittish breeze.

At dusk, they held a contest.

Two boys, one from Meqing, one from Innis,

unable to speak each other’s language,

between them crafted a paper wolf head

that darted and soared,

hunting the wind,

outflying all the other kites.

Two hundred years later,

when Xau and Donal and their soldiers

were long buried,

their deeds reduced to song,

the children of Innis and of Meqing

flew kites each Midsummer’s Day.

BURNT

First went Polton, home to tanners,

skinners, saddlers, cobblers.

Not one hide, one shoe left

of all their wares.

Next Harmouth, the deep harbor

and the dry-stone walls unscathed.

Within the town little left

but stone, ash, bones.

Then Lare, Aldford, Angshan:

linen, sheep, the silk market;

Balimar of the horse races;

Jozhou of the flowered courtesans.

All burnt, and with them a convoy

of Sumbrese merchant galleys,

four triremes from the Ritan fleet,

unnumbered fishing boats.

TRAINING: ENDURANCE

In humid heat,

up and down a low hill

along a goat track,

carrying shield and sword,

sweating, ran King Xau,

his guard Li at his side.

Another town burnt.