The Terracotta Warrior

by Silvia Millward

The Terracotta Warrior

Megan pulled her thick blue woolly scarf over her mouth and nose, refusing to allow the bitter cold wind to chill her excitement. She watched as her classmates ambled the short distance from the coach to the museum, putting away their mobile phones and complaining about the overwhelming smell of disinfectant on the coach. Nearby, Mr. Thompson, her history teacher, talked enthusiastically about his fourth-year students' project on China.

"Can we go into the town centre, Sir?" said Daniel, nudging his friend conspiratorially.

"Turn around now or spend the next hour on the coach," said Mr. Thompson, his voice cracking like a whip in Daniel's ears. Immediately the boy turned sharply on his heels.

The fourth-year students, one of whom was Megan, had attended extra history lessons every week, and were truly excited that the Chinese government had sanctioned Walsall's request to borrow, for their exhibition on ancient China, six life-sized statues of the famous Terracotta Warriors and their pottery horses.

"Gather around, fourth years, I've no need to remind you that we are representing our school today, so no stupid antics-you in particular, Daniel," warned Mr. Thompson.

"Me, Sir?" said Daniel innocently.

Megan's excitement faded a little, as it was clear that Daniel, whom she had known since kindergarden, was in one of those frighteningly belligerent moods. He had a new flick knife and regardless of the danger couldn't resist showing it off.

Wrapped up well against the weather, Megan's petite five-foot frame was hidden beneath a baggy black blazer and thick grey trousers. The museum felt like a fridge, and Megan reluctantly yanked off her gloves, reasoning that perhaps the Terracotta Warriors had to be kept at a certain temperature after all, they were over two-thousand years old. With her scarf still covering half her face and wisps of her long silky black hair falling over her beautiful oval brown eyes, she gazed straight past her teacher and into the museum's imposing hall.

The tall windows in the museum were positioned in such a manner that light channelled into the hall with varying intensity, so that some of the warriors were in shadow, looking menacing, and the others within the light looked tall and imposing. She drew her scarf from her face, letting her mouth gape open in wonder at this smallest of Chinese armies, proudly awaiting her inspection.

Booklets were handed out and Megan's friend John eagerly began to read and digest the first page, his thick glasses almost touching the paper as he scanned the words into his computer-like brain.

The children arranged themselves in a semi circle around a terracotta charioteer, his height over six-foot, and at his side, looking eerily lifelike, were four magnificent pottery horses.

"The statues of the Terracotta Warriors were discovered in Xi'an, and were funerary objects for the Emperor Qin Shi Huang's tomb all are portrayed in readiness for combat, and number well over 6,000. They were designed by the Emperor's craftsman to give the onlooker a feeling of power in the sheer might of their numbers." Mr. Thompson seemed to relish every word he uttered.

"Sir," said Megan, "Were there any woman warriors found?"
Daniel sniggered.

"The simple answer is no," replied her teacher, frowning at Daniel. "In ancient China no woman was deemed worthy of being in the army-thankfully things have changed greatly over the years.

"The thirteen-year-old Emperor ascended the throne in 246 BC. Terribly vain, his idea of punishment within his army was to have their heads shaved or to pluck out their beards, as a warrior's hairstyle or beard was a reflection of his social status." Mr. Thompson strode towards the next Terracotta Warrior, his eyes resting briefly on Daniel's spiky hair.

"The detailed facial features of these warriors are believed to resemble those of their once live counterpart," he continued.

Megan thought the charioteer looked frozen in time, ready to burst into action at any moment. She shuddered feeling that beneath the red clay was a mummified warrior.

Suddenly the sound of Daniel's flick knife opening caught her attention, and as everyone moved on to the next warrior, she watched as he squatted next to the statue and began to carve something on the warrior's leg, red dust, liked dried blood, falling onto the museum's white marble floor.

"How could you do such a thing?" she groaned, pushing him away.

His flick knife fell from his hand and clattered noisily onto the floor. Daniel's dark blue eyes flashed with anger as he scrambled to retrieve it, then rising onto his feet he spitefully kicked out at the warrior. Without hesitation, Megan blocked his way, feeling the full force of his trainer on the calf of her leg.

"What's going on in here?" asked a bemused Mr. Thompson.

Unable to comprehend that anyone could dare to damage a statue that had miraculously survived for two-thousand years, Mr. Thompson shouted such words as "detention" and "expelled" at Daniel, who, showing no remorse, waited until his teacher was not looking and mouthed to Megan that he was going to get her.

As Megan crouched down to look at the damaged statue, she unconsciously rested her hands on the thin layer of red dust that now encircled the warrior's feet.

"Go and wash your hands thoroughly, Megan. Who knows what germs or fungi have lain dormant over the centuries within the clay," snapped a furious Mr. Thompson.

Megan stared out of the window of the coach, as they returned to school. The entire fourth year class, including Mr. Thompson, was in a subdued mood, reflecting on yet another event ruined by Daniel. Vexed, she scratched at her sore hands, cross that no matter how many times she had washed them, she had been unable to remove the red dye that had soaked into her skin.

After a few days, Megan became bored of her own self-inflicted imprisonment, and decided it was better to face the inevitable, painful confrontation with Daniel, rather than stay at home and vegetate. She called her friend John and they rode their BMX bikes into Walsall town centre, planning, just before nightfall, to race from Sister Dora's monument to the pinnacle of the town, St Matthew's Church.

Taking advantage of a good start, she rode powerfully up the steep hill towards the church leaving poor John behind, she approached the darkest part of the town, where half-used and crumbling buildings cast ghost-like shadows of their former structures onto the road. Then the sound of pigeons fluttering overhead briefly distracted her, before Daniel appeared out of nowhere, throwing the full force of his body against her bike, making her crash to the ground. She crawled to her feet, inspecting her smarting hands and covered in a multitude of cuts and scratches.

"Idiot!" she screamed.

"I'm in trouble because of you," he raged.

Run, thought Megan, and she did, but he was so close behind her, she could hear, with dread, his flick-knife open.

"Stop, Daniel, you're frightening me," she said, running into the churchyard. He lunged for her waist and pulled her down to the ground, the smell of dog shit and grass filling her nostrils as he pressed her face hard into the ground.

"I've never stabbed anyone before," he said, almost in a trance, then venomously thrust his knife into her back, sending shock waves of pain throughout her body.

She could hear John frantically calling for her, but Daniel pushed her face even harder into the ground, so that she could not call out. Megan felt warm blood begin to soak into her cotton blouse, as freezing cold beads of sweat strangely cooled her forehead, then as tears filled her eyes, she slipped away into an impenetrable darkness.

Fighting the infection that had taken hold of her body, Megan tossed and turned in her hospital bed, afraid to close her eyes, as sleep brought only visions of a huge army of warriors, endlessly searching for her.

Hoping to give her a restful night's sleep, her doctors administered a sedative, unknowingly hastening her journey into a hellish nightmare.

Suffocating in a billowing red mist, she strained her eyes to make identifiable shapes of the yellowish brown shadows that began to leap and dance before her, the blood in her veins flowing around her body like molten lava. Excruciating pain followed every breath she struggled to take, and the leather warrior uniform she now wore felt heavy and tight.

Suddenly, a huge red flag unfurled before her and a strong hand gripped her shoulder, immediately releasing her from pain.

"Come," said a Terracotta Warrior, his leather body armour and robes bright red. Dark brown eyes peered out from a battle-hardened face obviously of high rank, he had a magnificent braided hairstyle and well-groomed beard.

She followed him to his silver and gold chariot pulled by four dark purplish red horses, who stomped the ground with their powerful forelegs. The warrior leapt onto the chariot, taking hold of the reins in his right hand, then hoisted Megan alongside him. The horses began to emit fire from their nostrils and whinnied evilly, as the wheels of the chariot turned at great speed, giving off flames. Megan could find nowhere to hold onto, and had to stifle a scream when the warrior cracked his whip, demanding more speed from his horses.

Bursting out of bright red clouds, she saw, with a jolt of her heart, Walsall town centre below, its street lamps reflecting off the walls and pavements, and everywhere still and deserted. The horses' hooves first touched down on the uneven tarmac of the street, followed by the chariot, which sounded like a thousand chariots and horses were galloping through the high street.

Within a heartbeat they were approaching the wharf, where Daniel, as if summoned, stood alone, his expression transforming from one of disbelief to terror when the fiery chariot halted just yards from his feet.

The warrior leapt onto the pavement and strode over to Daniel, grabbing him by his neck and forcing him onto his knees. When Daniel plunged his flick knife into the warrior's leather-clad leg, red dust exploded from the injury, making the warrior laugh loudly as he wrenched the knife from his armour and crushed it between his two large armoured hands, until its minute fragments fell to the ground.

"His head?"

"No!" screeched Megan, making the warrior scowl.

"My Emperor bid me serve you, Megan. I cannot return until the boy atones for his cruelty. He must be punished," he said, pulling his double-edged sword from its scabbard, while Daniel struggled desperately to break free from his grip.

"It's only a dream," Megan began to repeat in her head.

When satisfied with his work, the warrior tossed Daniel aside and strode powerfully towards her, then getting down on his knees, he proudly placed large clumps of spiky hair at her feet.

The warrior turned sharply to look at Daniel, and roared in anger, "Do not look upon The Megan again, until you have her forgiveness!"

Cracks now appeared in the deep red sky above them and shafts of bright yellow light burst through the nightmare had ended and she was awake, her horror quickly washed away by floods of tears, as she looked about her sterile hospital room and breathed a deep sigh of relief.

When at last she was well enough to leave the hospital, cheerily she said her goodbyes to all the nurses and patients, and holding onto her mother's arm, took the long-awaited walk down the hallway to the lift, and back to normality.

Outside one of the private rooms, the chair previously occupied by a policeman over the last few days, stood empty, and nosily she peered through the slightly ajar door, seeing Daniel sitting up in his bed, looking ridiculous with his head bandaged. Megan frowned a little, unable to believe what she was seeing, then pushed the door open and stepped into his room, hearing him give out a little whimper as she did so.

"What happened?" she whispered.

"An argument with my barber," replied Daniel, keeping his chin pressed tightly into his chest.

Megan tried to stifle a grin as she walked away intending to forgive him the next time she saw him, but in truth she waited until after the summer holidays.

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The Terracotta Warrior