The Blue Mountain (The Forbidden List Book 2) (16 page)

As the officers broke up and headed for the door one of the uniformed men approached Haung. At first glance the uniform seemed an ill fit for the man. It was a little too loose and the knife at the waist was worn in a way that meant drawing it with any speed would be difficult.

“Captain Haung,” the young man bowed to him and Haung returned it. “I am the
Fang-Shi
liaison to the general’s staff. I am sure my master would welcome a chance to discuss the Emperor’s findings with you and determine how the
Fang-Shi
may assist you.”

“That is kind of you. Please inform your master that I will call on him at the earliest opportunity.”

“I will.” The young man smiled. “Forgive my boldness, Captain, but I understood that
Jiin-Wei
often carried charged scrolls and items, yet I detect no such concentrations of power on you.”

Haung paused and reassessed his initial assumptions about the young man. His suspicion told him to walk with care and he recalled the equipment he had seen in the noble’s house back in the capital.

“That is true.” Haung nodded to the young magician. “Please convey my good wishes to your master.”

He turned away and walked to the door.

“I don’t think there will be a moon tonight,” Zhou said as he peered upwards at the clouds that covered the sky.

“Perhaps not, but rain will fall soon. If not tonight then tomorrow. With this much dust in the air, rain is a certainty,” Xióngmāo said.

“The rain will be good,” Zhou said.

“No, the rain will be bad.” Xióngmāo stared at him through the darkness of night and a fog of dust. Above the face mask, her skin was covered with black ash. “Here it will fall on the roofs and the dust will soak it up, adding to the weight. Some of the houses might collapse under the strain. In the mountains, where the ash is thickest and the rainfall greatest, floods of muddy water will sweep through the valleys and many will die. The loss of the mountain will have an impact on the area for a long time to come.”

Zhou looked into her eyes for a time. “How many times have you seen a volcano erupt?”

“Once is enough, but I have seen more.” She shook her head. “The Duke will need to call in the army to help rebuild the villages and towns that are lost or damaged.”

They waited in silence. Zhou peered, through the last of the trees, at the village. All he could see was the faint outline of the main building. The falling ash had slowed, but distance and the deepening darkness gave his vision a grainy quality. The road north, such as it was, sat below the layer of ash about forty paces to his right. Zhou could feel the need to travel north, to discover who had destroyed the mountain, tug at him and he resisted the urge to give in to impatience. The enemy he sought was still far away and another night would make little difference. Plus, he thought, I cannot just walk away from these people if they are in trouble. There was still the chance that there was nothing but Xióngmāo’s suspicions and she did have an annoying habit of knowing almost everything. He sighed, maybe when I am several centuries old I will be just like her.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

“I suppose so,” he said. “What do you want to do?”

“Me?” He could just make out a smile in her eyes as she responded. “I am not going to do anything. You are the stealthy cat. I am the slow and thoughtful Panda.”

“Right,” he said, not believing a word. “So, I’ll go in and have a look around.”

“Start at the main house. That’s where I think the trouble lies.”

“What do you think it is?”

“I’m not sure but I have some ideas. Go and listen in to what you can. Then come back and tell me,” she instructed.

Zhou lifted his face mask and took a last drink from the water skin he carried. A little water dribbled out, enough to coat his tongue. He lifted the skin to his ear and gave it a shake, confirming it was empty.

“Take it with you, see if you can fill it from a covered barrel.” She waved him forward with an open palm. “No point putting it off.”

He tucked the scarf back into his robe and called to his spirit. Each time it was easier. Zhou could feel the energy surging down the thread in his mind and suffusing his body. He bit down on the urge to growl. Blinking, his eyes adjusted to the improvements in his vision. The grey blur fell away and the world settled into sharp clarity. The buildings sprang into focus, even the texture of the thatch was visible from this distance.

He examined the village for a few seconds. No smoke rose from any of the smaller houses or the barns, but there was a thin column rising from the low chimney on the roof of the main building. The range of his hearing had increased though he was too far away to pick out anything but the swishing of the crops and the low creaking of the trees in the soft breeze.

Zhou left the tree line and scampered over the ground, keeping low amongst the crops. His first steps sounded loud to his ears and he adjusted, running on his toes rather than heels. Every twenty paces he stopped and listened. There was no change in the village. He came closer and closer to the largest building. Ahead, the crops stopped and a dirt path ran before a low wall that surrounded the building. Past that, there was no cover until he reached the building itself.

He crouched below the top of the wall and listened again. There were voices on the air, muffled by the wood and plaster walls. Zhou stopped trying to discern to the words and focused upon the tone. There was no hint of urgency or anger in the sounds and so, after a few moments, he lifted himself over the wall and crept across the intervening land to press up against the house.

Here the voices were louder, but it was still impossible to pick out individual words. He raised his nose to the air and sampled the scents of the village. Nothing but the aridity of dust. He took a deeper, slower breath trying to find a way past the smell of dust. There were little flecks and flavours. Nothing certain and nothing he could derive any useful information from. With one hand on the wall, he made his quiet way to the corner of the house and peered around.

The rest of the village, now that he could see it, still looked deserted. Zhou ducked round the corner and headed to the front of the house. On the ground, by the door, he could see that the dust covering the ground had been disturbed. Not just by his and Xióngmāo’s footsteps, which had left prints as they walked, but by many others since. He tried to trace the paths the footsteps had taken. Someone followed us from the village, he surmised, and others criss-crossed the area. There was one set that headed off from the confused mess and he decided to follow them. He checked the door was still closed and that no one was peering through the small windows on the front of the house before moving.

They led across the open space between the houses and to a barn on the far side of the village. There was no sign of the footsteps returning and as he approached the barn he moved with greater care, straining every sense to pick up a clue to what was inside. Within twenty feet of the farm building, he stopped and wrinkled his nose. There was a smell that some part of him recognised and, crouching down low to the ground, he took another breath. His mouth filled with saliva and his belly rumbled with hunger, the scent of blood and meat.

Zhou forced his conscious brain to take control and damped down the spirit. A lot of blood had been spilled and the rich, sweet, tang of it was on the air. He edged up to the barn. There were no signs of footsteps returning to the main house and the obvious thought entered his mind, there was going to be a body in there. But, if there is, he thought, who killed them? Maybe it was an accident. They did happen on farms, he knew that much about agriculture.

He pressed his back up against the thin wall of the barn and sidled to the door. It had not been closed fully and he could see a little of the straw covered floor. The aroma of blood was stronger than ever and it was a struggle to contain the spirit that wanted to tear into the flesh. With a careful hand, he pushed the door wider and listened once more. There were no sounds, no rustle of movement or whisper of breath. Lowering himself into a crouch, he darted a look round the door, just a glance into the barn. Without the moon or even faint starlight it was just too dark to see anything inside.

Zhou let the spirit rise, closed his eyes and swung around the door, into the barn, keeping to the wall on the right hand side. He relied on his other senses tell him what his eyes could not. Hearing told him the barn was a large empty space, no walls but the four holding up the roof, and there was nothing moving or stalking him in the solid dark. His sense of smell registered the blood and meat, the most pungent and strongest odour seemed to be coming from further to the right. The air moving over his tongue on each breath hinted that the meat was fresh. A thought that brought more saliva to his mouth.

To his fingertips the wall was rough, vertical wooden branches with horizontal ones woven in. The spaces between were filled with dry crumbling mud. He brought a piece to his nose and sniffed. Dried dung, months old. Zhou let his fingers lead the way towards the smell of blood.

His foot found it first. An obstruction on the floor that almost caused him to fall. He tapped it with his foot and it gave a little, absorbing the impact, making a dull thud as it did so. Zhou reached down with a tentative leading hand and encountered the torn flesh his foot had found. His hand came away from his investigations wet and sticky. He rubbed his forefinger and thumb together, testing the viscosity and raising it to his nose. Blood. Not a surprise.

Zhou knelt and, using his hands, tried to work out what had been killed. Fingertips dipped into rents in the flesh and there were many. Whole chunks of the body seemed to be have been cut away. Thick, slippery nobbles of bone jutted from the meat in places. In others, broken, sharp spears of bone erupted and he was careful not to cut his fingers. After a time searching, he concluded he was none the wiser regarding the identity of the body. The lack of fur covering the flesh meant that it was, or had been, human. There was a piercing scream, full of terror and panic.

He shot to his feet and, putting his hand back on the wall, edged towards the door as the scream sounded again. His heart beat faster and he wondered why he was excited by the prospect of danger.

From the door, he could look back across the open space to the main building. It seemed to be from there that the screams were coming. Now they were followed by further shouts and, from his hiding place, he saw the door to that building clatter open. A figure came flying out to land in an unmoving heap on the ground. In his spirit enhanced vision, he saw a scruffy looking man standing in the doorway pointing at the crumpled form on the earth. Zhou waited, his heart thumping in his chest and the spirit urging him to attack. But who?

From the open door another person pushed past and ran to the one who had been thrown out. The second person was more easily identified. A young girl, perhaps thirteen or fourteen years old, flung herself down onto the collapsed body. He heard her crying. Sobs of fear and sadness carried across the ash covered ground to his ears. The man in the doorway stomped down the steps. As she turned, he grabbed her hair, dragging her away. She screamed again.

Another face appeared in the doorway, the elderly woman who Zhou had spoken to earlier. She seemed to be gesticulating, pointing at the man dragging the girl away. Her shouts carried to Zhou, hidden in the barn, but the words were too garbled by distance. The man was still dragging the girl away towards, Zhou realised, the barn. The old lady turned and started swatting at someone inside, but she was ineffectual at dissuading whoever it was from pulling her in and slamming the door.

Zhou pulled back from the door, let the dark interior mask his presence and waited. The crying came closer. He fought the urge to lunge round the door and save her. He closed his eyes and focused on the footsteps. They brought to mind the pounding of stones on the walls of Wubei before they fell. His breathing quickened despite his efforts and his hands formed fists at his side. The girl’s sobbing reminded him of his son, falling over on the hard tiles of the courtyard, cutting his knee.

She came stumbling in through the door to land and roll on the straw. The scruffy looking man followed. Zhou had only a second to see the dirty smile on his face before the world turned black and white. The only splash of colour, red snakes that wormed up the man’s legs and body to coil around his neck.

Zhou leaped from his hiding place, wrapped his hands around the man’s throat and bore him to the ground. He squeezed with all of his spirit enhanced strength and felt the man’s throat collapse, the skin and flesh tearing, warm blood coating his hands. The man kicked at the floor, raked at Zhou’s hands and face. Zhou growled and, shoulders bunching, squeezed even harder.

The young girl screamed.

Gang snored. If Haung had possessed a little less patience only one of them would have woken up in the morning. During one mission, back when he had been in the employ of Yaart and an active
Jiin-Wei
, he had investigated some suspicious behaviour at a saw mill that was providing the wood for one of the duke’s projects. The investigation had come to nothing, but the sound of the trunks being sawn in two by rough-toothed blades was frighteningly reminiscent of the noise Gang made with each breath.

And the man could drink. The officers’ club had never seen anything like it, if Haung was any guess. Liu had been much more restrained, only sipping at his drink and picking at the food. Enough for politeness sake but nothing more. Gang drank everything put in front of him. The officers seemed, at first, in awe of the man and his tales of heroics, of battles and duels. He kept them entertained for hours. After a time, the stories began to repeat themselves and the man himself began to confuse the details. The audience of officers drifted away and left Gang drinking and eating all by himself. Liu had looked over in disgust before excusing himself. It had fallen to Haung to guide the drunk back to his quarters and onto the bed.

The dawn light finally climbed its shy way over the window ledge and into the room. Haung rolled off the bed and padded over to the wash bowl. He splashed cold water onto his face and ran his damp hands through his hair to control the strands that seemed determined to find their own way to do things. Selecting a clean undershirt and dressing in his captain’s armour, Haung spared a glance for the still snoring Gang before opening the door. The late summer sunlight flooded in, eliciting a groan from the large man who turned over, away from the light. Haung smiled at his tiny victory and left, closing the door behind him.

He made his way to the officers’ club and ate a light breakfast. Shifu’s voice sounded in his head, eat lightly and often, drink wine but sparingly, drink water whenever you can. After a year of training under the man’s stern gaze he found many of his habits had changed and new ones engrained.

“Can I get you anything else, sir?” the waiter asked.

“No, thank you,” Haung said and scratched his arm. He had looked at the bite last night but had not found anything. Might be that I am just not used to wearing armour, he pondered.

“Ah, there you are.” Corporal Enlai poked his head in through the door. “The
Fang-Shi
sent a messenger to the command post to confirm your appointment, Captain.”

“Thank you, Corporal.”

“Do you need a guide?” the corporal asked Haung.

“No, I don’t think so. I’d like to explore if I can.” Haung rubbed his arm again.

“The bite still bothering you? If you ask the waiter, I am sure they can dig out some ointment that will help.” The old corporal smiled. “And if that is all, I have some other tasks to perform for the general.”

“Thank you, Corporal, you’re dismissed.” Haung waved Enlai away as the waiter returned.

“Begging your pardon, Captain, but enlisted men are not allowed in here,” the waiter said and bowed.

Haung studied the waiter for a moment longer than necessary. “Do you have any ointment for bites?”

“Yes, sir. We do keep some in stock. The flies and bugs like to make life difficult for newcomers. If you’ll wait here a moment, I’ll find some for you.” The waiter bowed once more and left in search of the promised itch relief.

* * *

There it was. In the corner. Covered in a white sheet. It probably had not been used in years, but they all had one. It was a mark of rank, of learning, of a desire to understand. They knew how things worked, how to create the desired effect. The lesser were content to know that they could do a thing. The greatest wanted to know why they could. For, in that knowing, they surmised, their power would be extended, enhanced and pushed to new heights. The one that reached that understanding first would stand head and shoulders above them all.

At least, Haung thought, that it is how it was explained to me. He wandered over to the sheet and slid it off the armillary sphere. The devices were notoriously difficult to use, let alone understand. A
Jiin-Wei
was not permitted to learn their operation. However, during his education he had been taught to understand the heavens and stars. The
Shi Shen Tianwen
and the
Tianwen Xingzhan
had been required, if somewhat confusing and boring, reading as he learned to drain the power from the void between the stars. To use it for his own purposes. To master something, he was taught, you first had to understand it.

“It is a work of art is not, Apprentice Haung.”

Haung did not turn, but continued to study the sphere for three slow breaths. “I have always found them fascinating. To map the heavens and strive to understand that which we can never understand seems a worthy goal. If we lived at a time of peace, I would have been happy to attend a university and learn more.”

“But in times of war, when the need is greatest, we learn the most. Without strife and conflict there is nothing to drive us onwards. At heart, men are lazy. Contentment is a full belly and an empty head.” The whisper of slippered footsteps indicated the newcomer had entered the room and was standing a few feet behind him.

“Then why, when the Empire has been peaceful for so long, have we advanced so far?” Haung turned to face the other man in the room.

“I think the measure of advancement depends on where you are stood and from what distance you look. A thousand years ago, we farmed the fields, built towns and defended our land with swords and spears. It is little different now, save for the number of people we have to protect. We still kill with a sharp edge or point of metal, blood runs red still, sons ride off to war and parents grieve. If you look at the Empire in its whole, then it is peaceful. If you look closely, you will see the small wars, the bandits and rebellions. Look more closely still and you’ll see the petty crimes, the struggle to survive, the rich bleeding the poor. Even the soil can turn against its farmers, yielding few crops. Or the weather, a late frost killing the early crops. There is strife and conflict everywhere in the Empire. Everywhere you find men, you find conflict.”

“How then can you argue that we have not progressed?” Haung smiled at the tall thin man who stood before him. “With one argument you say we need conflict to advance yet, before those words have died away, you say the Empire has not advanced in a thousand years.”

“Oh, we feed more than we did. We house more than we did. We teach more than we used to. The Empire is good place to live, but it has not advanced. Look at the sphere. We were using these five hundred years ago and they have changed little. The swords are made the same way. The people farm the land in the same manner. We have deployed all our skills to the utmost to clothe, feed and employ everyone in the Empire to the best of our ability. But, knowledge? The advance of understanding? The development of new ways of doing things? These have changed little in that time. The books you read during your training are hundreds of years old, the teaching in the universities is, believe me, as old as those books. We learn little that is new.”

“Then we are at the pinnacle of our achievements. Perhaps this is all that man is and can be?” Haung said.

“Pah, you don’t believe that any more than I do. You look at the sphere and wonder, why is it like that? Why does the sun shine down on us? What are the stars? Where did the moon come from? You have questions, Haung. As soon as you are able to ask questions you understand the limit of your knowledge. By acknowledging a limit you recognise there is more you could know and learn. No, we are not at the pinnacle of our power, of our existence. We have scrambled to the top of an ant-hill at the bottom of the world’s highest mountain. We have a long way still to climb.” The man smiled. “It seems a long time ago that we had this same discussion?”

Haung bowed. “Almost as long as a lifetime, Master.”

“You were a promising student. It is a shame that you had already become a
Jiin-Wei
. More years of study and you could have become a great
Fang-Shi
. Perhaps you would have the answers to your questions.” The sorcerer returned Haung’s bow.

“And do you have the answers, Master?”

“Sadly, not yet,” he said and shook his head, “but I don’t stop asking. That is the key.
Kongzi
said, by three methods we may learn wisdom: First, by reflection, which is noblest, second, by imitation, which is easiest and third by experience, which is the bitterest. I can attest to the latter. Knowing I may never have the answers is a pain an old man could do without.”

“Didn’t he also say that real knowledge is to know the extent of one's ignorance?” Haung threw the sheet back over the sphere.

“He did. Unfortunately that makes me one of the most ignorant men in the Empire,” the sorcerer said. “Tea?”

“I would be honoured,” Haung replied, “and we can discuss the Emperor’s report. I’d like to know what he found out and what light you can shine upon it. I fear the wall will be under attack before winter arrives. I would rather know what we are fighting than be caught unawares.”

* * *

Haung tapped the table twice with his fingertips, raised the small clay cup of steaming tea to his lips and drank. Across the small table the
Fang-Shi
master did the same.

“I have read the Emperor’s report of the attack,” the
Fang-Shi
said.

“Then you are ahead of me.” Haung put the cup back on the table. “He spoke of an attack before sending us here, but did not go into much detail. What can you tell me?”

“Truthfully, little. At least, little that will make a lot of sense.”

“Master Shen, anything might be of use,” Haung said.

“Do you remember all of the theory you were taught during your training?” Shen did not wait for Haung answer. “We drain the power of the void, the space between, to enact our spells. In essence, we take energy or in some cases the absence of energy and twist it, turn it, impose our desires upon and bend it to our will. Even you, with limited training, are able to tap into that source of power and do some incredible things. For those of us who have made the study of the void a lifetime’s work, your tricks are nothing. With enough preparation, planning and thought, a true
Fang-Shi
can accomplish marvellous things.”

“But there are risks? I remember some of the teachers cautioning us against using too much or too often,” Haung said.

“That is true. There are limits, but that is why we study. How to overcome those limits?”

Haung waited for more but the sorcerer seemed to have drifted off into contemplation. “What does this have to do with the attack the Emperor spoke of?”

“The Emperor seems to have encountered an enemy in the far west that used power from a realm we cannot access. You recall the different realms?”

“There are ten including the Jade Heaven that is forbidden to all?” Haung answered.

“Correct. We, that is, the
Fang-Shi
, use the power of the lowest realm, the one closest to our own, the void. You know how challenging it can be to break through the barrier and draw the power to you? Well, think of traversing the realms above, each one requiring more and more power to push into.” Shen took another sip of tea. “Beyond the Void is the realm of
Téngtòng
that none can dwell in for more than a moment. Then the realm of
H
uǒ
, of fire. It is from here that the enemy the Emperor faced drew their power.”

“How is that possible? The
Fang-Shi
can only reach as far as the first realm? Who could draw power from the third?” Haung asked.

“A possibility springs to my mind, does it not to yours?” Shen waited for a moment, letting Haung fill the silence with an answer, but he had nothing to say. “The
Wu
, Haung, the
Wu
. You have faced one in combat and your previous duke was one, though only a few of us knew the truth.”

“Why them? I thought they were like the
Gōngfū
masters in the old temples? They model themselves on totem animals, drawing strength and power from training and self-discipline. In Yaart, the
Wu
were not regarded highly nor considered dangerous.”

“In Yaart, when people spoke of the
Wu
they spoke of the Shamans and tricksters. The sleight of hand magicians and martial artists. True
Wu
are not common, but they draw their power from a higher plane still. The ninth realm of the spirit. And, if they can reach to the ninth realm then the third should not be a problem. Perhaps one has chosen a different path to take and aligned themselves with creatures of the third realm?”

“There are creatures in the third realm? Are there similar in the first, the void?”

“The void is aptly named. It is empty, but based on the Emperor’s report and thoughts it seems clear to me that the third realm, like the ninth, has creatures living within it. These the enemy summoned to fight its battle.”