Elizabeth Hopkinson is a writer from Bradford, West Yorkshire (UK), where she does all her best work in the old Wool Exchange, fuelled by the irresistible mocha/manga combination. Her work has appeared in various magazines, webzines and anthologies, including Interzone, Strange Horizons and Mslexia, and she was the winner of the 2005 James White Award. Her short story collection, My True Love Sent to Me is available online from Virtual Tales, and features knights and ladies falling in and out of love. This is her fourth story for Byzarium.

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He had only wanted to prove himself, Chun-Jin thought. He had just wanted people to believe that he was a man, Knei-Gong especially. When he thought of his brother’s words, his ears still stung with them.

"You, little worm? You will never be a man. You are worse than a girl, just as pretty and twice as useless. You had better run for cover if the barbarians do attack. They will probably take you as a concubine for the khan. Or perhaps that is what you are hoping?"

"Whatever you say, eldest brother," Chun-Jin had replied. He wished he had had the book then. He would have drawn a tiger and willed it to maul Knei-Gong until he begged for mercy. Only he couldn’t draw tigers. That was part of the problem. He could only draw horses.

"A horse!" Knei-Gong had spat on the figure Chun-Jin had drawn in the dust by the brick works, on one of the many occasions his brother had found him there instead of planting the apricot trees they were meant to be growing on the hillside. "Do you know what the barbarians say about us? Do you, worm? They say that we are of less value than a horse, because we work the soil with our own hands to grow food, rather than raiding for it like cowards. That is the kind of scum they are. When Captain Lau accepts me into the Family Tower, I will shoot them as they ride, and their own horses will trample them into the steppes. Then Father will be avenged and his spirit will be at peace. That is what a man does."

Chun-Jin had let him speak, then waited until he had gone off to hang around the soldiers as usual and carried on drawing. He didn’t know what it was about the figure of a horse, but something in the shape fascinated him. He liked the way it curved, the flow, the strength. It made him feel strong as he drew it. He finished the first horse and drew another, running, its mane and tail streaming in the wind. They were only made of dust and would soon be trampled out by the soldiers coming back to the lime kilns to collect more bricks for the wall, but Chun-Jin liked his drawings. At least they were something Knei-Gong couldn’t do.

He drew horses everywhere. Every chance he got between the planting and the water carrying and the thousand other jobs his mother thrust on him when she wasn’t fussing over the little ones. As often as not, they were wiped out as soon as he finished them, sometimes before, especially if Knei-Gong got to them.

"Drawing again, little worm? Why don’t you do something useful for a change?"

Perhaps that comment was the one that planted the idea. That and the day Chun-Jin found the book.

He had rather hoped it was the soldiers’ training manual. Most of the boys around the wall were desperate to see it, despite the fact that none of them could actually read. The threat of the barbarians left most of them wanting to follow their fathers. Chun-Jin could barely remember his, but he knew what had happened to him. It had happened to enough men since. And that sort of thing didn’t leave many boys with a desire to spend their days peacefully picking apricots. If he was to show the manual to the others, or even better study the diagrams and learn some of the techniques himself, then even Knei-Gong might leave off calling him a girl and start to show a little more respect.

But it wasn’t the manual. Chun-Jin turned the pages with disappointment. Every one was blank, except for a small character in red in the bottom corner of every page. He didn’t know what it said. Still, it was at least paper, and that was rare enough. And, if it was blank, that meant it could be drawn on. Chun-Jin smiled to himself. No one could stamp out what was drawn in a book. It would be his secret.

Of course, he didn’t have any inks or brushes to draw with, but that was not a problem. It was easy enough to pick up a few charred sticks down by the brick works and sharpen them with a knife. He would draw a beautiful horse, Chun-Jin thought, a thoroughbred like the one he had seen the army commander riding the day he had come to inspect the progress of the wall. But he wouldn’t waste the paper. That was too precious. Just the one drawing and then he would put it away for another time. That way he could make the book last.

He was quite pleased with his effort. The strokes were a little unsteady in places, but the horse was quite plainly pawing the ground with its front hoof and tossing its head in a dignified manner. It looked very much the officer’s steed. Chun-Jin smiled again and tucked his pencils into his belt. He would keep this in a special place, somewhere that Knei-Gong would never find it.

He was just closing the book’s pages, when a sound of hoof beats made him stop. Chun-Jin inwardly cursed. If it was an officer from the wall, he would not appreciate a young boy loitering around his soldiers’ brick works. The task the men had to do was difficult enough as it was. And if he caught him with the book, he would never believe it was something that he had merely found. Chun-Jin looked around. There was no suitable place to hide. All he could do was either flatten himself prostrate and hope for the best, or run. He ran.

And tripped. The pile of bricks hadn’t been very high, but it was enough for Chun-Jin to sit rubbing his knees and elbows before he could get up again. By that time, the sound of hoofs was right next to him. Chun-Jin sighed and prepared to give up. He lifted his head to see who was about to punish him.

It was just a horse. A well-bred war horse, pawing the ground and tossing its head in front of Chun-Jin. When it saw him, it snorted and trotted over to nuzzle him with its white nose. Chun-Jin sat up and nervously reached out a hand.

"You are very fine, beautiful one. Where did you come from?"

He began to pat it. Its nose was soft and its breath was warm on Chun-Jin’s hand. It seemed quite ordinary. And yet there was something about it that was both strange and familiar.

A rustle of paper made Chun-Jin start. He had forgotten the book. In his surprise he had dropped it, and now it was getting blown about in a sudden breeze coming down from the mountains. He reached out and made a grab for it, but the sheet tore and the paper drawing of the horse ripped down the centre.

Instantly there was a second rip by his side. Chun-Jin watched open-mouthed as the full-sized horse also tore down the middle with a sound like paper and fluttered away in two halves. Then he laughed. He laughed and he laughed until he had to stuff his sleeves into his mouth to stop himself, because what he had discovered was twice as exciting as the manual. And far more powerful.

He used it again as soon as he could. It was difficult to find a space where a horse would not be noticed, but Chun-Jin was willing to try, even if it meant getting up earlier than usual and going out to the edge of the plantation away from the soldiers. He drew a lady’s horse this time, a beautiful bay mare with a star on her forehead. Then he sat and waited, watching the mist clear at the foot of the mountains, until without sound or any kind of warning, his horse was standing beside him, tearing up the green foliage with her teeth and blowing steam into the morning air. Excitement bubbled up inside Chun-Jin like a fountain. Knei-Gong had never done anything like this. His brother would probably have used the book to light a fire, or something equally inane. This power was Chun-Jin’s alone.

He carried on watching the horse eat until he began to get cold and hungry. It was probably breakfast time and his mother would be looking for him if he did not move. Power or not, he didn’t want to face the consequences of that. He didn’t fancy leaving the horse alone, though. Perhaps he could give it to his mother as a gift, Chun-Jin thought. Not that she would have much use for such a thing.

"And I doubt there would be any food for you," he said to the horse. "I suppose you will have to go to the Family Tower. Go on, be off with you!"

He gave the horse a slap on the rump. But as he did so, he felt his hand wafting through nothing. Chun-Jin blinked. The horse was melting away. The illusion he had raised was only temporary. Even without tearing the paper, it wouldn’t last. But it was still the best secret he had ever discovered. The thrill warmed Chun-Jin all the way as he raced back home.

After that, he took every opportunity he could get to use the book. Early mornings were the best, or at midday when people were too sleepy to pay much attention. Of course, he had to watch out for the soldiers. A spear or arrow in the wrong place and that could be the end of his horses, and his secret. He had tried it once himself, just for an experiment. Only a slight nick with the knife to see if it bled real blood. It didn’t. It tore, just like tearing the page. Chun-Jin had had to clap his hand over his mouth to stop the soldiers from hearing his shout of surprise. The Family Army were everywhere these days. The wall work and the endless drilling never let up. Chun-Jin could hear the chorused shouts echoing from the towers even as he sneaked past, book in hand. At least it kept Knei-Gong off his back, though. Captain Lau had agreed to let him take the martial arts test and any time spent on that was less time for tormenting Chun-Jin. Or for checking up on him. It made him laugh inside as he watched his phantom horses trotting through the plantation or grazing by the edge of the last settlement. No one ever spotted them but him.

"There were hoof prints down by the well today," his mother would say. "Chun-Jin, did you see anything?"

"No, mother," Chun-Jin would reply, sharpening his pencils under the cover of his sleeping mat.

"He never sees anything." Knei-Gong cuffed him on the back of the head as he strode past. "Better start waking up soon, worm. You’ll be the man of the house in a few days’ time. That’s right," he said, seeing the look on Chun-Jin’s face. "I have been accepted. I will join my strength with the Family Army. Captain Lau needs men. An attack is coming. Hordes and hordes of coarse, stinking barbarians." He put his face next to Chun-Jin’s and made kissing noises. "Don’t get caught in the wrong place, now."

"I won’t."

Chun-Jin shrugged his brother off with an angry sigh. It was so unfair. In one move, Knei-Gong had made himself out to be the man, and Chun-Jin nothing but an incapable child. That was all he knew! Chun-Jin fingered the pencils beneath his sleeping mat. He was going to prove his brother so wrong.

The idea came to him that night as he lay on his mat, listening to Knei-Gong snoring like a pig. He would create his own army. A mounted force of archers on the finest horses ever seen. All he had to do when the raid came was to take out his pencils, and his own phantom company would sweep out into the steppes and bring the barbarians down. Then he could go up to Knei-Gong and say:

"There is no need to worry about protecting the wall any more, eldest brother. I have taken care of that. Go back to your martial arts training; you need the practice."

He would like to see the look on his brother’s face when that happened. It would be worth twenty barbarian raids. What Captain Lau would think about a host of phantom riders suddenly appearing out of nowhere – and disappearing back there too – he didn’t know. He didn’t really care. What mattered was that he, Chun-Jin, would have turned back the horde without assistance from Knei-Gong or anybody else.

He would have to be quick; he knew that. The horses could not appear until the barbarians had been sighted advancing across the plains. And that did not give him much time. The barbarians were swift, notoriously so. They could duck themselves to the side of their horses as they rode and shoot arrows at full gallop. As soon as he saw so much as a flag go up from the tower, he would have to begin drawing. It meant keeping his pencils sharp and his book hidden about his person at all times: by the house, in the apricot orchard, everywhere. He couldn’t possibly miss the moment. He had to be ready to put his plan into action.

He thought it was going to work at first. He heard cannon fire roar from the tower long before any rider was sighted. Then the half-finished gates opened and the Family Army poured out with Captain Lau at their head. A few were riding; the rest were simply running behind. Not like the barbarians. Chun-Jin could see the great curved sweep of their vanguard, even hear the distant yells and whoops. The sound quickened his pulse. They were here. He had to be quick. He ducked down behind a pile of bricks and began to draw. The strokes of his pencil flew. Horses. Fiery horses. Swift horses. Straining at the bit with their nostrils flared and their manes flying. A whole mounted army to follow Captain Lau, riding like thunder to rout the barbarians. Chun-Jin’s eyes shone as his pencil made fierce curves on the paper. The magnificence of this battle would never be forgotten. He could hardly wait to see it himself. Giving one last flourish, he stuffed the book back inside his belt and clambered up the brick pile and onto the wall to survey his handiwork.

What he saw made him feel as if a brick had struck him. He pulled out the book and looked at the page in disbelief. No, it couldn’t be. And yet it was. Chun-Jin flicked through every page he had drawn on, and on every one he saw the same thing. The horses were riderless. He had not created a great mounted army. He had created a herd of valuable livestock and sent them running towards men who valued horses even above people. He had practically given the barbarians a gift. Even now, he could see them being rounded up in places, with loud whoops and cries. Chun-Jin’s fist clenched around his pencil.

"Go ahead, then. Take them," he muttered at the small horsemen on the plain below him. "See how well you like them when they tear in half. You will not be so pleased with your gift then."

But he did not want the barbarians to have them. Not his horses. Not his beautiful, swift horses. They did not belong in the hands of the men who had butchered his father. They were Chun-Jin’s special possession, his secret. He couldn’t let them be defiled like this. Chun-Jin looked back down again at the battlefield. His horses were running all over the place. Captain Lau’s men were even having to retreat in places to avoid them. The well-rehearsed battle plan was falling apart. Chun-Jin’s horses were ruining everything.

His eyes wet and burning, Chun-Jin tore a page from the book. The little red character in the corner seemed to mock him. He ripped it in half. Then he ripped again, right down the centre of a prancing blood stallion. He ripped and ripped, tearing the paper into tiny shreds, the charcoal marks on the page wobbling in a teary haze. He scrubbed a hand across his eyes and pulled out a second page. He was about to rip again when something on the battlefield made him stop.

Almost directly below him, partly ringed in by his own galloping horses, was one of Captain Lau’s men. Although, even from this height, Chun-Jin could see it was just a boy really. He was huddled on the ground with his arms around his head. One leg seemed to be twisted under the other in an awkward kind of way, and his weapon - it looked like a fork – lay untouched beside him. Had he been twice as high up, Chun-Jin would have recognised the soldier. It was Knei-Gong. On the left flank, the sweep of the barbarian horde was advancing towards him. Only the ring of horses was protecting him. If Chun-Jin ripped now, his brother would die. If a barbarian sword got to his horses, the result would be much the same.

There was nothing else for it. Chun-Jin leaped from the wall. The impact of landing made him fall, but he rolled to his feet again and slid down the hillside, trying to ignore his stinging knees. If he could only reach the plain in time, he knew what to do. Dust flew up behind him. He needed something sharp. The pencils. He reached under his belt. The charcoal sticks were there, but so was an emptiness he had not expected to feel. The book! He must have left it up by the wall. How could he have been so stupid? If a soldier picked it up, he would never see it again. He glanced back. There was no time. He had to keep running. The roar of the battlefield was nearer now. Chun-Jin could see the blue of Knei-Gong’s tunic, the stain of red on his thigh. He could smell the dust and the hint of gunpowder in the air. He forced himself to run faster than he had ever done before, his chest bursting with the effort, his face hot and throbbing. He slid down the scrub towards the ring of horses, dodging the running soldiers, stumbling over the fallen.

"Knei-Gong!" He didn’t know if his brother could hear him. He didn’t know, now that he was here, whether he was not more afraid of a horse’s hoof than he was of a barbarian arrow. All the same, he took out his pencil and, with a deep breath, ran forward, thrusting it into the horse’s flank.

There was a great rip as the horse tore and disintegrated. And, as Chun-Jin was hardly quick enough to remove the pencil, so did the next one and the one after that. Chun-Jin ran into the circle and put Knei-Gong’s arm around his neck.

"Quickly," he said. "Lean on me. We are going back to the tower."

Knei-Gong was shivering like he had fallen into a stream in winter. When he looked at Chun-Jin, he sniffed and tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.

"Little brother?" he said.

Chun-Jin reached out and grabbed the bridle of one of the phantom horses. It skittered and whinnied, trotting its way to a halt. Chun-Jin hauled Knei-Gong into the saddle and then scrambled on behind, clinging to his brother like a monkey.

"Tcha!" he called to the horse.

He didn’t really know if he had expected it to respond to him, nor just how fast a horse could run with someone on top of it, and how breathtakingly frightening that could be. Chun-Jin held on to anything he could get hold of, terrified that Knei-Gong would fall off before they got to safety. The wind flew in his face until his eyes watered. The horse raced across the plain in a smooth gallop and clattered into the courtyard of the unfinished fortress. Chun-Jin tumbled from its back and pulled Knei-Gong after him. His brother’s face was pale, the lips pressed tightly together. Around them were shouts and the sound of running feet as members of the Family Army surrounded the two boys. One of the soldiers’ wives put a quilt round Knei-Gong’s shoulders. Another voice called for a doctor. Further in, Chun-Jin could detect the light and smell of a fire in a brazier. He didn’t dare ask what they had used for kindling.

A sudden tiredness came over Chun-Jin. He sat down beside his brother and looked around for the horse. It wasn’t there. An illusion. That was all it had been. It had done its work and now it had faded away. It wasn’t meant to last. He turned towards Knei-Gong. The older boy was staring ahead, nodding like he was listening to a debate. He reached out and took hold of Chun-Jin’s wrist with a grip like iron.

"It was our father’s spirit. He saw us in danger and came to rescue us. You brought him with you." Knei-Gong looked his brother in the eye. "That is what a man does."

Chun-Jin smiled. "Whatever you say, eldest brother."