Fleet of the Dragon Throne

The most powerful weapon saved everyone except himself

Zheng He flung his long braid over his shoulder, planted his hands on his wide hips, and laughed at the swelling waves. His army 60,000 strong, his ship 600 feet long. Leaving behind his identity as an enslaved eunuch to ascend to admiral had cost more than he cared to remember. It mattered not; it was a thing of the past, as soon would be this storm. He would likely traverse this ocean again, bringing in endless plunder. Zheng had seen the sign from the heavens — the blue glow above the masthead — the favor of Tianfei, Goddess of Seafarers. More wealth, greater glory.

“Go ahead,” he said, releasing the bosun, who with a wave of his sword directed the crew to load the chests of plunder. These barbarians brought him vast amounts of treasure, though Zheng cared nothing for it. It was his 7th voyage. How much longer would he do this for his Emperor? Was there any place left to see? Any peoples who did not bow before the Dragon Throne? As the waves roared, he retired to his cabin and put ink to parchment.

We have traversed more than 100,000 li of immense water spaces and have beheld in the ocean huge waves like mountains rising in the sky, and we have set eyes on barbarian regions far away hidden in a blue transparency of light vapors, while our sails, loftily unfurled like clouds day and night, continued their course as rapidly as a star, traversing those savage waves as if we were treading a public thoroughfare...

What he thought next, he did not write. Fear is our most powerful weapon — enough of it and surrender happens without a sword being drawn. The barbarian peoples felt enough fear to send our fleet to the edge of the world and back, bringing in tribute and uttering obeisance to an emperor they have never known.

He emerged from the cabin and surveyed the velvet calm after the storm. Bombs of lightning illumined the fading violet clouds on the horizon. A sticky saltiness hung over the deck like an invisible net.

As Zheng He craned his thick neck skyward, pinholes of stars framed a blue glow which sat atop the mast. Another blessing of Tianfei. He was weary of travel and conquest. Surely the goddess offered more than voyage after endless voyage. Sail the stars, he wished, as he scaled the giant mast.

Upward he climbed until the blue fire wavered just above him. Every hair on Zheng He’s skin stood at attention. Absent of fear, he reached for Tianfei’s presence —

Energy lit his body, and his skin crackled.

Zheng He’s mind shot to the stars before his lifeless body smacked the salty deck. His wish to sail beyond the sea had been granted.

This story was written for the July “Ancient Cultures” prompt. It was inspired by Zheng He, the fleet admiral of the Ming Dynasty navy, and the phenomenon he experienced known as St. Elmo’s Fire. Like this story? Perhaps you should join J.A. Taylor’s Monthly Reader’s Club and read all his stories free.