The crossbow of destiny, p.1
The Crossbow of Destiny, page 1
Praise for
THE CROSSBOW OF DESTINY
“The Crossbow of Destiny is a dazzling blend of Vietnamese culture and fascinating folklore. With heart-pounding adventure and a heroine as brave as she is clever, this tale is a must-read for anyone who loves their fantasy with a dash of wonder and a whole lot of heart!” —Michael Dante DiMartino, co-creator of Avatar: The Last Airbender
“The Crossbow of Destiny is the perfect blend of laugh-out-loud funny and Indiana Jones adventure. Freddie is a delightful character, at once a kid figuring out how to be both Vietnamese and American, and a bold hero I would follow into the jungle any time!” —Julie C. Dao, critically acclaimed author of the Team Chu series and the Rise of the Empress series
“A hilarious and adventurous romp through Vietnam full of vivid details, mouth-watering food, and jungly action. You’ll love hanging out with Freddie as she rediscovers her identity and history, navigates friendships, and perhaps most frightening of all, endures the jokes of her Vietnamese aunties and uncles.” —Van Hoang, award-winning author of Girl Giant and the Monkey King
“A middle-grade fantasy that has it all, from the magical intrigue of traditional Vietnamese mythology, to a modern-day cross-country adventure punctuated with both heart-stopping action scenes and humor, to a wonderfully genuine exploration of what it means to be family. Freddie leads a cast of characters that shines from page one, and I fell in love with them all (along with Hoàng’s mouth-watering descriptions of Vietnamese food!). Readers will absolutely adore The Crossbow of Destiny.” —Elsie Chapman, award-winning author of The Scroll of Chaos
To my cousin Amy Quyên and to all Viet cousins everywhere.
No one shows up for you like a Viet cousin.
Praise for The Crossbow of Destiny
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Glossary
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
Cao Lỗ’s hands were shaking. He massaged his twitching fingers, then rubbed his tired eyes. There was no time for rest: General Zhao Tuo and his massive army would be at the citadel at any moment—and they meant to take it this time.
The gifted engineer shifted the crossbow to his shoulder, testing its weight. It had some heft to it; not too heavy, but not too light either. King An Dương had given his childhood friend and trusted weaponry architect permission to use whatever resources he needed to construct this unique crossbow. The wood was cut from the hidden glade where Cao Lỗ and the king romped as children, and the weapon’s trigger and butt plate were made of exquisite bronze inlaid with deep green jade.
It was Cao Lỗ’s masterpiece.
A knock at the door jolted the engineer from his trance.
“Come in,” said Cao Lỗ, brushing his thumb over the crossbow’s intricate engravings.
King An Dương stepped inside the chambers. He looked almost as weary as Cao Lỗ. “I don’t mean to rush you, my friend, but General Zhao Tuo and his men approach.”
The engineer raised a finger. “I need to fit the last piece.”
The king locked the door behind him, put his ear to the door, and when he was satisfied they were alone, he extended his hand to the engineer. In the king’s palm lay a turtle’s claw.
So it was real.
Cao Lỗ plucked the claw from the king’s hand. It didn’t feel divine or magical. The king claimed the claw had come to him in a dream. He had prayed, ordered that incense sticks be burned around the clock, anything to earn the gods’ favor to help fend off General Zhao Tuo’s attacks. And it worked: One night, a golden turtle appeared at the foot of the king’s bed and instructed him to build a custom crossbow that would fit the claw.
“Whoever wields the crossbow rules the realm,” declared the turtle-god. “Whoever wields the crossbow … controls destiny. This weapon will give you what you desire, but be warned: When you have succeeded in defending your kingdom, you must return the claw to me—or you will pay with your blood.”
And when the king awoke, he found the turtle’s claw on his pillow.
Cao Lỗ slid the claw where a traditional crossbow’s tumbler was supposed to be. A perfect fit. The engineer smiled. He could still surprise himself with his own creations.
“And you’re sure this will work? This turtle-god can be trusted?” Cao Lỗ asked, handing over the crossbow. The gods could sometimes be mischievous, meddling with humans and their affairs as if they were game pieces.
“A risk we must take. If not, we are doomed.” The king inspected the crossbow, carefully turning it in his hands. A glint shimmered in his eye. “You’ve outdone yourself this time, old friend. When I fire the first arrow, I’d like nothing more than to have you by my side.”
“But what if the crossbow fails?” Cao Lỗ asked.
The king grinned. “Then we will die together.”
Cao Lỗ bowed, accepting the invitation. Even after all this time, he felt silly displaying such formality to his dearest childhood friend.
As they approached the top of the city’s outer walls, Cao Lỗ shuddered at the massive sight before him. General Zhao Tuo’s army had arrived. Hundreds upon hundreds of soldiers stood in perfect formation, their spears glistening, war banners unfurled. Their horses pawed the ground, eyes hungry for battle.
General Zhao Tuo rode to the front of the line, his son Trọng Thủy flanking him.
“King An Dương of u Lạc!” shouted the general. “I call on your formal surrender.”
Cao Lỗ snuck a glance at his friend—no, at the king. There was an iciness to King An Dương’s stare, enough to send a shiver down the engineer’s back.
“And in return, I offer you a chance to save your men,” said King An Dương, his voice cool and steady. “Leave my kingdom, return home, and you’ll be spared.”
“You can’t win,” General Zhao Tuo said, smirking as his son fought to keep a brave face. “Who will save you now?”
King An Dương raised the crossbow. “The gods.”
Cao Lỗ jolted awake. The engineer was exhausted, but whenever he shut his eyes, the visions of what happened at the gates of u Lạc tormented him. In the weeks that followed, the general from the north refused to admit defeat. Every time, General Zhao Tuo and his son fled from the battlefield, only to return with more men. And every time, King An Dương drove them back with his divine weapon. The screams and howls from the fallen soldiers rang in Cao Lỗ’s ears. Some soldiers pleaded to the gods for relief. All of them begged for their mothers. The ending was always the same: When the golden arrows flew from the magic crossbow, the general’s armies melted like snow falling on warm ground.
But that victory came at a price. When King An Dương fired the crossbow, it was as if he paid with a piece of his soul. There were nights the king wandered the hallways, muttering to himself. The king wasn’t sleeping. The king wasn’t eating. Most days he’d hide away in the armory where he kept the crossbow and simply hold it in his lap for hours. King An Dương was deteriorating. Cao Lỗ wondered if he made a mistake by agreeing to build that cursed weapon.
Eventually, General Zhao Tuo was forced to admit that u Lạc was impenetrable, and he called King An Dương for a truce. As a sign of peace, General Zhao Tuo sent Trọng Thủy to offer his hand in marriage to King An Dương’s daughter, Princess Mị Châu. When Cao Lỗ caught word of this, he felt a deep pit of worry grow in his gut; he wasn’t so sure the general could be trusted. But whenever Cao Lỗ tried to raise his concern to King An Dương, the king waved him off. It wasn’t like the king to be so dismissive of his most trusted friend and advisor, but ever since he first fired the crossbow, the king hadn’t acted like himself. He’d become irritable, snapping without provocation.
“Do you want peace?” King An Dương growled.
“Yes, of course,” replied Cao Lỗ, careful to temper his voice.
“You disapprove of the gift the gods have bestowed upon me. I can see it in your eyes,” said the king. Cao Lỗ knew better than to speak. “So, the way I see it, the only way to peace is by accepting my enemy’s offer—to have his son join us. Or would you rather I take up the crossbow once more?”
Cao Lỗ bowed. It seemed like all he did these days was bow.
It wasn’t until Trọng Thủy married Princess Mị Châu that King An Dương’s mood finally shifted. It was the happiest Cao Lỗ had seen his friend in months. Joining the families through marriage would bring prosperity and peace to the kingdom. And while Cao Lỗ was delighted to see King An Dương in good spirits, he knew that harmony in u Lạc would not last.
Cao Lỗ waited for the perfect opportunity to talk to King An Dương about the turtle’s claw. That moment would come when Princess Mị Châu gave birth to a baby boy and u Lạc rejoiced. After the celebration died down, Cao Lỗ approached his friend and tried to convince him to return the claw to the golden turtle . He found King An Dương in the armory admiring the claw. The moonlight seemed to glisten off it.
But the king was not pleased at Cao Lỗ’s suggestion.
“I grow tired of you questioning me at every turn,” snarled King An Dương. “And now you question me again on the day my grandson is born. You’ve forgotten your place.”
This time, Cao Lỗ refused to bow. “You haven’t been yourself since the first arrow flew. The crossbow consumes you. It must be returned.”
“Would you not have me use this gift to save our people?”
“You have succeeded,” Cao Lỗ fired back. “It is time to return the claw where it belongs, as the god instructed.”
“Why stop at peace?” King An Dương volleyed, eyeing the claw as if it called his name. “With the crossbow by my side, I can ensure u Lạc’s prosperity for all time—perhaps even expand it.”
“Then you are no better than the general!” The words flew out of Cao Lỗ’s mouth before he could stop himself.
King An Dương seemed to be just as shocked by the engineer’s outburst, for he did not speak. Cao Lỗ seized the opportunity.
“I don’t know what the gods intended,” he continued, “but I cannot believe any deity that is benevolent and merciful would have us inflict this kind of pain on another living creature, especially with a divine weapon. You may be a king, but you are no god.”
“Then you are a traitor to me and a traitor to your kingdom!”
The king wheeled around, aiming the crossbow at Cao Lỗ’s heart.
Cao Lỗ did not cower; he did not flinch. But a tear rolled down his cheek.
His friend was gone.
King An Dương’s finger twitched over the crossbow’s trigger. The two men regarded each other with something akin to confusion, anger, and sadness, as if they had just wandered into a land from which they could never return.
“I should kill you where you stand for speaking to your king in such a manner,” said the king at last, lowering the weapon. “However, I will spare your life because you are … you were once a friend to me. But if I see you again, you will know the crossbow’s power firsthand. Be gone.”
Cao Lỗ packed what little possessions he owned—his tools, a waterskin, some feed for his horse—but before he left the kingdom of u Lạc, Cao Lỗ sought out the princess.
“You know your father isn’t himself. You must take the crossbow from him,” Cao Lỗ begged.
“But how?” asked Princess Mị Châu. “You know as well as I do that my father doesn’t let the crossbow out of his sight.”
“With this.” Cao Lỗ slipped his hand in his robes and pulled out an exact replica of the turtle’s claw that he had created. “You are the only one he trusts to get close. Swap out the claw with this fake tumbler. Without the claw, the crossbow is nothing.”
The engineer placed the claw in Princess Mị Châu’s open palm and closed her fingers around it. He did not wait for an answer.
Cao Lỗ left the kingdom but secretly kept eyes on the princess. He learned through his spies that Princess Mị Châu enlisted the help of Trọng Thủy—now Prince Trọng Thủy—to make the exchange, and they succeeded. What Cao Lỗ didn’t know was that the prince would return home to inform General Zhao Tuo of what had transpired.
u Lạc was vulnerable once more. Armed with this new knowledge, General Zhao Tuo did not hesitate. He sent down his great army for the last time. King An Dương took to the outer wall, prepared as always to defend his kingdom. But this time, when the king released the crossbow’s string, golden arrows did not fill the night sky—only the cries of war as General Zhao Tuo’s soldiers breached the city gates, swarming like angry ants.
u Lạc fell within a matter of hours.
King An Dương mounted his horse and fled, the crossbow sheathed on the horse’s saddle. Princess Mị Châu rode on the back, trying to quiet the wailing baby in her arms. They rode for days through dense jungles, crisscrossing mountains, seeking refuge in neighboring provinces, and traversing unknown lands occupied by unknown kingdoms. Finally, when the king and his daughter reached the sea, King An Dương pulled hard on the reins and the horse skidded to a halt. There was nowhere left to go.
King An Dương clasped his hands in prayer and tears streaked down his face. Behind him, Princess Mị Châu sobbed.
“Why have you forsaken me?” asked King An Dương. “Why have you stripped me of my powers?”
And then a golden shell crested the waves.
“It was never your power,” the golden turtle addressed the king. “It was mine. It has always been mine. And I have come to claim it.”
King An Dương offered up the crossbow without a second thought.
The turtle slowly shook his craggy head. “That is not my claw.”
“W-what do you m-mean?” the king asked, his voice trembling with fear.
The turtle’s eyes glanced past the king’s shoulder. “Ask the one behind you where it is.”
King An Dương turned to meet his daughter’s gaze, his eyes wide with realization.
Princess Mị Châu threw herself from the horse, cradling the baby, and dropped to her knees. She tugged at her father’s robes and begged for mercy.
But there was no mercy, no hesitation: King An Dương drew his sword and struck down his daughter. It was quick. She felt no pain.
Then came the thundering of hooves. Prince Trọng Thủy had arrived.
“How did you find us?” The king spat, drawing his sword once more.
Prince Trọng Thủy didn’t answer. Instead he drew his own sword. “What have you done?”
They clashed. The king fought for vengeance. The prince fought for his family. By the time Cao Lỗ reached the beach, it was too late. Both were evenly matched. Prince Trọng Thủy was dead and King An Dương was left mortally wounded.
Cao Lỗ found the turtle claw in Prince Trọng Thủy’s clenched fist, and he took it. The engineer kneeled before King An Dương and shoved the claw into his shaky hand. “Return it. Do it now. The claw must be returned by your hands.”
King An Dương grinned, baring his blood-stained teeth. He stared at the sea, then back to his old friend.
“No,” he breathed.
Cao Lỗ placed the turtle claw back onto the crossbow. A satisfying click rang out as the claw snapped into place, and the crossbow radiated a golden glow. Cao Lỗ could feel the warm power ripple through his body—a power that was absolute.
It was the sound of a baby’s cry that snapped Cao Lỗ out of his stupor. The little prince was still alive.
With the crossbow tucked under one arm and the baby in the other, Cao Lỗ surveyed the death that choked the beach.
The prince.
The princess.
A baby without his father or his mother.
“Look at all this death. All this destruction. And for what?” Cao Lỗ lamented. “They shall never be together again.”
“Freddie, you’re missing it!”
Freddie blinked herself awake, wiping the corner of her mouth, slightly embarrassed that she’d drooled in her sleep. The week leading up to the trip to Vietnam, Freddie tried preparing herself for the inevitable jet lag by staying up until odd hours. Apparently, her training didn’t work. The gentle, rhythmic clickety-clack of the train tracks didn’t exactly help keep her awake either.
“Sometimes I worry about you,” said Freddie’s mom, Diễm, nudging her. “I swear if I wasn’t here, you’d never wake up for anything.”
“What can I say? I’m a growing girl.” Freddie checked to make sure she didn’t get any drool on her cousin Liên’s regulation-size Home Depot box. Liên specifically instructed Freddie to triple duct-tape it for extra security and sent her no fewer than four follow-up emails to make sure.
Mom put an arm around Freddie and planted a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. “What do you think? Do you recognize any of it?”
Freddie gazed out the window. The train glided alongside perfectly symmetrical squares of rice fields, sunbeams gleaming off their muddied waters. Floppy-eared goats were free to wander on the side of the road, lazily hunting for patches of grass. A fleet of fishing boats bobbed in the sea. And beyond that was the mountain range from which her sleepy seaside town got its name—a small rock poking from the water like a turtle’s head, followed by a jagged cliff that created what looked like a turtle’s shell.
