“You’re coming with me,” he growled.
“ALL RIGHT! I’m coming!” Mulan protested as the brandished spears waved at her and the man’s hand tightened on her arm. She slid off the horse and found herself swept up by the mob, Black Wind’s reins ripped from her hands.
“Black Wind! My horse!” Mulan cried out, trying to reach back for him. But the crowd ignored her plea and pushed her. Instead, they muttered to themselves—a low growl from starving wolves. Mulan caught some of the grunts swirling around her as she moved forward helplessly. “It’s her.” “Just like she said.”
“What do you want from me?” Mulan asked, looking around desperately. “Where are you taking me?”
But no one answered or looked directly at her; all were dour and glum, as if determined to finish an unpleasant task. Even the official-looking soldier with the leather armor and metal spear marched her along without meeting her eyes. As he stared ahead stone-faced, she realized his expression reminded her of her own when she was sent to kill a chicken for dinner. Mulan shivered.
As they trudged through the unkempt streets and past ramshackle buildings with tattered paper windows and rotting wooden beams, she kept trying for an explanation. But it was to no avail. None answered her. Soon Mulan could see they were headed for the river. Another crowd, a larger one, waited for them there. The second crowd made a path for her, gawking wide-eyed. “But she’s just a young girl,” Mulan heard a voice say. “Shh!” someone else hissed. “Do you want them to take our daughter instead?”
Mulan could now see that she was headed toward a landing by the river, its water dark and turbid. The waves struck the ancient dock with angry blows, as if punishing it for past misdeeds. That crumbling and creaking platform was almost like a stage, rising slightly above the throngs of people with a large, odd-looking rock—a hulking, twisted white shape that seemed to be cringing from the water—as its usher. Through the weather-carved holes of this misshapen rock, Mulan could see two people waiting for her.
One was a short, rather rotund man. Mulan guessed that he was the magistrate, or at least some sort of official, from the black silk hat that stuck up from his head like a rectangle fan. His fur collar signified his comparative wealth, as did his plump, well-fed face.
His well-off appearance struck a strange contrast to the other figure on the landing. For next to him stood a malevolent hag. She was wrinkled and bent, her white hair hanging around her warty face in grimy clumps and her pale rags drooping to the ground like dirty puddles. But it was her eyes that made her menacing. She glared at Mulan with such viciousness that Mulan flinched.
Mulan felt herself pushed past the strange boulder and onto the landing in front of the Magistrate and the Hag. At a loss, Mulan bowed politely. The Magistrate gaped at her awkwardly, his soft face wearing an uncomfortable expression.
“It was just as she said,” the soldier in the leather armor barked. “A girl on a black horse, riding through the gates.”
“Ahh,” the Magistrate said, tapping his fingers together. His raised eyebrows came down slowly. “Well, I guess the River King,” he said as he bit his lip, “shall have his bride, then.”
A roaring murmur crossed the crowd, and Mulan had to speak loudly to make herself heard.
“What?” she said. “What are you talking about? What is all of this about?”
“You!” screeched the Hag, pointing a gnarled finger at Mulan. “You are the River King’s bride. Without you, he will continue to flood the city and anger the waters. You must join him at the bottom of the river!”
“What?” Mulan gasped. Her thoughts were crashing in her head like the wild waves of the river before her. If she went to the bottom of the river, she would drown! What madness was this?
“This is ridiculous!” Mulan burst out. “I am no one’s bride!”
The Magistrate’s eyes bulged slightly, perhaps in surprise at Mulan’s outspoken manner, an uncommon trait in most girls. But he pasted on as pleasant a face as possible.
“I am afraid you are,” he said, his voice as smooth as oil. He looked at the mass of people fixated upon them. “This, uh…” He looked at the Hag, who scowled back at him before he continued. “This honored elder, here, has been able to determine what has caused the disturbance in our river,” he said. “It seems the River King lost his mate and has been unhappy ever since. He has been longing for a new wife.”
Mulan stared at him in disbelief. Honored elder? She turned to look at the old Hag, who returned her gaze with a sly smile. Mulan felt her insides turn to ice. That smile. It was familiar. This face was wrinkled and spotted with ugly, hairy boils, but it was the same smile she had seen on a face as beautiful as a fairy’s.
“While such an honor would be great for any girl in our city”—the Magistrate spoke these last words loudly and slowly, giving the crowd in front of him a baleful look—“the, uh, honored elder was able to determine that his destined bride would ride into the city on a black horse. You came riding in today on a black horse, so, uh…you…uh…are the…uh…chosen bride,” he finished pitifully.
“No, no!” Mulan said, desperately. “That…that…woman is after me. Don’t you see? She’s just trying to trick you into getting rid of me!”
The Hag cackled. “Now, don’t be nervous, dear,” she said wickedly. “You’re going to be a queen.”
“Don’t listen to her!” Mulan pleaded to the crowd. “If you throw me in that river, you’ll be killing me!”
A wave of discomfort moved through the watching throng.
“People of the city!” the Hag shrieked. “Do you want the floods to continue? Do you like having hungry children? Do you like having your homes crumble on top of you as you sleep? Do you like having no future?”
The mass grumbled. “No!” a voice grunted, and the sound was echoed and repeated, becoming a babel of resentful discord.
“If you don’t,” the Hag said, her screech piercing into every ear, “then you must give the River King his bride!”
The cacophony of the crowd grew to a furor and the mob surged forward. Mulan saw the thousands of determined eyes and glittering teeth swelling toward her. She opened her mouth to scream. But before a sound could come out of her mouth, she felt the Rabbit’s head rub against her shoulder.
“Wait! Wait!” Mulan yelled as loud as she could, throat raw with her effort. “I’ll go! I’ll go! Just wait!”
The Magistrate held up his hands, holding the mob back. They halted but did not pull back. Mulan could feel that their mad desperation was past reason, and she saw the Hag’s sneer of satisfaction. There was no hope for her. She would not escape the furious river, but perhaps the Rabbit could.
“I’ll go,” Mulan said again, gulping. She tugged the pouch around toward her chest and then pulled at the cloth to reveal the Rabbit. “But you must promise not to hurt my pet rabbit.”
“Pet rabbit?” A voice from the back of the crowd boomed above all others, silencing all sound. A man came into view. He was tall, with a lengthy black beard, and while he wore a scholar’s robe, a long sword was strapped to his back. He led a dark horse. Black Wind!