The Blue Mountain (The Forbidden List Book 2) (3 page)

“Your tea, Shifu.” Haung handed the small, delicate porcelain cup to the old man sat across from him. They both tapped the table twice with the fingers of their right hand and then sipped the hot, green and fragrant fluid.

“Haung, Jing Ke is... complicated,” Shifu began. “He is not one man alone. There are a multitude of him. It is how he operates. He finds likely candidates, teaches and trains them to play his role, to use his name. His fame and legend spreads with each deed or atrocity. Some only days apart, but thousands of miles distant from the other. You killed one of those men. The real Jing Ke would have killed you in short order.”

“Shifu,” Haung halted as the old man raised his hand.

“Haung, I was tasked with tracking down and killing Jing Ke many years ago. I killed four of his men and never came close to finding him,” Shifu explained.

“Yes, Shifu.” Haung looked into the other’s eyes. “I am sure I can handle an assassin.”

“Haung,” Shifu shook his head, “Jing Ke is not an assassin. He is a warrior and a master. He may take work as an assassin, but that is not how he was trained. I should know, I trained him. Believe me when I say, you could not stand against him. Not yet.”

Haung took a deep breath, his fingers gripping the thin porcelain tightly enough to cause the glaze to crackle. “You trained Jing Ke?”

“To be a fighter, a warrior. I trained him to be a
Taiji
, not an assassin. He was, is, one of the best students I ever trained.” Shifu looked away from Haung and took another sip of his tea. “He is my son, my adopted son. Let me tell you how I found him...”

* * *

The young officer did not wait for the horse to stop before leaping from the saddle. He sailed through the air, tucking into a somersault and landing on his feet, balanced. The long, straight sword appeared in his hands and he struck, twice. The bandits fell to the ground, blood spraying from their necks and swords tumbling from their lifeless fingers.

More bandits in mismatched armour spilled out of the ramshackle houses that lined the churned up mud road, the only thoroughfare in the small village. The weak cries of their victims followed them through the doorways.

“Get him,” screamed the largest of the bandits and they all drew steel; swords, axes and rust-spotted daggers.

The young officer flicked his long braid of hair around his neck but did not turn to run. With a sharp cry he jumped forward, into the midst of the onrushing bandits. His sword flowing like a river over their guards and around their parries, washing away their lives in a flood of bright red blood.

The young man smiled, proud, as the bandit leader slipped off his sword with a soft sigh.

* * *

“... I killed them all. Twelve in all. Back then, when I was young, that was my job. If a problem arose and it needed a quick resolution, I was it...”

* * *

His fingers felt the neck of every villager, in every home. Those who were dead, he made sure their eyes were closed. He eased the passing of those too injured to save, the sharp knife in the intricately inlaid sheath the best mercy he had. And, when possible, he bound wounds or cut and cauterised if needed. The smell of burning flesh was sweet but repugnant.

The village was finished. There were simply not enough people left alive to farm the land and produce the food. The pitiful number of survivors were staggering away from the ruins as the rain began to fall and he emerged from the last house, a small wailing boy in his arms.

* * *

“...they didn’t want him. His mother was dead, as were his three brothers. I never found the father. For all I know, he was amongst those stumbling away. To them he was another mouth to feed. A drain on their non-existent resources. I burnt the village to the ground.”

“Shifu, how could you burn the bodies?” Haung asked, “Won’t they rise as ghosts?”

“To haunt a patch of land? No, Haung, I am sure they never wanted to return there.” Shifu looked down at the table, tracing the inlay with one finger. “I brought him home with me and raised him as my own.”

* * *

“You have to stand up to the other boys.”

“They’re all bigger than me, Dad.” The little boy’s sad, soft eyes looked into his father’s and the older man was tempted to gather him into his arms, to make it all better.

“Jing Ke, size does not matter. Heart and courage are enough for this.”

“They’ll hit me. They’ll hurt me.” A sob followed the words.

“Yes, they will, Jing Ke. But, by standing up to them, by fighting back each time, you will teach them that you are strong. That you are brave and not to be easily picked on.”

“I can’t, Dad. I’m scared.”

* * *

“He was picked on because of his size, he was always small for his age, and because he was my son. They tried to get to me through him. It was not an easy childhood, but he was a bright boy. Timid and tearful, but he cared for others. I loved him, so I taught him.”

* * *

“Here,” he handed the boy a wet cloth, “wipe the blood off your face. The same boys again?”

“Yes, Dad.” His son’s voice was on the cusp of breaking and deepening.

“How many this time?”

“Four of them.” The boy pulled the cloth away from his face and examined the smear of blood upon it. “I gave them something to think about.”

“They’ll be back again, Jing Ke.” He put a comforting arm on his growing son’s shoulder. “Perhaps I should speak to their parents.”

“I can handle it, Dad. You’ll only make things worse.”

* * *

Shifu finished the last of the tea and placed it on the table. Haung followed suit and then looked up into the old man’s eyes, recognising the faraway look in them.

“He was a good son, a good student. He got stronger and faster...”

* * *

The loud, repeated thumping on the door reverberated throughout the house. It echoed from the walls and bounced down the corridors.

He sighed as he stood and, putting aside the scroll he had been reading, moved to answer the summons.

“How can I help?” he asked of the two red faced and sweating men outside.

“Is your thug of a son home? I want him punished. I want him beaten. Look at what he has done to my son.” The first man, dressed in the robes of a middle ranking administrator, shouted, dragging his son forward and pointing at the teenager’s puffy, grazed face that was dominated by a large purple bruise around the left eye.

“And look at what he did to mine.” The second father, in the robes of a trader, waved at his son who limped forward, dragging his right leg and cradling his left arm.

“Are you sure that it is my son who is to blame?”

“Both of the boys said so.” The Administrator raised an accusing finger at the homeowner whose gaze never left the loud man’s face. The finger drooped.

“In that case you had better come in to discuss the matter. I am sure we can resolve this,” the homeowner stepped back, allowing them to enter. “Please, take a seat and I will find my son.”

He walked past the variety of swords that hung, displayed, on the wall, towards the door at the rear. The two fathers and their battered sons stood in silence.

He returned, Jing Ke in tow. The boy’s face showed its own evidence of a fight. The other boys saw him enter and took a protective step behind their own fathers.

“My son, Jing Ke.” The owner indicated his boy with sweeping, open palm. “I have been given a brief account of the attack and it is a shameful business.” The two aggrieved father’s nodded, the Administrator going as far as to raise the accusing finger again before thinking better of it. “We, Jing Ke and I, wondered where the other five boys were?”

* * *

Haung saw a small smile form on Shifu’s lips that died a slow death.

“And, they had me hunt him down and try to kill him. My own son, and I had to do it. What he has become is not who I taught him to be.”

Zhou gritted his teeth and lifted his foot. It felt like a thousand mountains were pushing down on his leg and that he, with only his human muscles, was attempting the impossible. Yet his foot rose from the third step, passed his standing right leg, and pressed down on the fifth.

The grimace turned to an exultant smile of success before a gasp of pain squeezed out between his lips. He clutched at his lower back. It felt as though a hot, sharp blade had stabbed into his kidney and was now with slow, deliberate care slicing it into tiny slivers.

“You have to keep going.” The voice sounded far away, but he knew it and held on to it.

He raised his rear foot from the hated fourth step and placed it on the sixth. New pain, searing pain, in his stomach. Bile rose and burnt with noisome acid the lining of his throat. He swallowed it back down and took another step, then another towards his goal. At each footfall, a new and exquisite pain ripped at his internal organs or ravaged his mind. He kept to a steady rhythm, seeing the long metal pole scrape back and forth at the boulder. Watching it get smaller with every scrape and every step, becoming the needle it was always meant to be.

Nine steps, ten, eleven, getting closer to the bright blue light at the top. Visions passed before his eyes. Teaching in Wubei, students attentive to his every word. Twelve. Father-in-law sharing tea with him, discussing the war. Thirteen. Meetings in Yaart, Hsin demanding more and more. Fourteen. Disgrace on his return, the look in his wife’s eyes. Fifteen. Making the kite with his son, ruffling his hair. Sixteen. Building the road. Seventeen. The cursed cattle dying in bursts of purple light. Eighteen. The battle and destruction of his city. Boqin’s eyes staring at him, into him. Roots writhing and grasping. Nineteen. Scaling the wall, finding the duke. Twenty. Screaming and cutting. Screaming.

And falling. Air swept past his face, tugging at the flesh on his cheeks, drying the tears in his eyes even as they formed. He kicked his legs and spun his arms in circles, anything to try and control his fall. Zhou’s instinct for survival taking over his conscious brain. The ground was rushing to meet him with its lover’s arms open wide, ready to enfold him in a deep, final embrace. Instinct continued to fight its futile battle with gravity and Zhou did the only thing he could. He closed his eyes.

“If you want to,” the calm voice said, “you can open your eyes.”

Zhou took a shaky breath and opened one eye. All he could see was an unbroken, clear, bright blue. He closed his eye again. Black with darts of reds, blues and oranges. Blobs of pulsing colour that swam slowly in the darkness. He took another breath.

“You’re not dead.”

“Really?” Zhou’s limbs shook and his stomach felt sick.

“I guarantee it, Zhou,” and he could feel another’s hand on his own, peeling them away from his face. “Come on, stand up and look around you.”

I am breathing and I feel sick. I am sure that if I was actually dead, it wouldn’t feel like this. At least, I hope it wouldn’t.

He rolled onto his side and put his hands onto the earth beneath him. His fingers pressed down on blades of grass and dug into soft dirt. Zhou opened his eyes and crept to his feet. The mountain was there, underneath his feet and encompassing most of his vision. The trees rose from the earth towards the blue, cloudless sky. It was all as it had been when he began his ascent of the stairs.

The stairs? Zhou spun around. The stone staircase with its balustrade was gone. The ground where it should be was covered with grass and established ferns. He looked again and noted the pathway was missing. The stone slabs that made its surface were not present and there was no evidence they ever had been. The more he examined the mountain, the more differences he noticed. It took a moment to discern the pattern.

“All the temples are gone?” he asked Xióngmāo.

“They are not missing, Zhou. They never were.” She rested a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll find nothing man-made in the spirit world. When we return, look carefully at the buildings and temples, look at how they were constructed. Nothing is built from the rock. The shape of the mountain has not been changed by us. We built on the mountain. Nothing was destroyed or altered.”

“I made it into the Spirit World?”

“Of course you did. Everyone does at some point. I told you this. You crossed the void on your own. That first crossing is the important one, it has to be done alone,” she explained.

“But Boqin took me once?”

“Boqin shielded you on the crossing - you recall all the preparations he made? He shielded you whilst you were there and on the return journey.” She moved away and sat, cross-legged on the ground. “You crossed over as part of him. This time you have crossed over as you.”

“Why is that important?” He continued to gaze around and began to see wisps of blue rise from the plants around him. They twisted and joined with each other as they rose into the air.

“Because your soul, your
Qi
, had to make the journey. It had to get to know the barrier, to have the barrier accept it and grant it passage here.”

“So my body isn’t here?”

“No, at present, I would guess your body is lying face down just beyond the top step. Mine is sat, cross-legged, leaning against a tree trunk for comfort. Whilst you are here, your body remains in our world. Remember that. Travelling to the Spirit World should not be taken lightly. But, now your
Qi
knows the way and the barrier between the worlds accepts you, you can travel whenever you need to,” Xióngmāo said.

“I’m not sure I want to,” Zhou said.

“The next journey will be easier and much less painful. Subsequent ones will be even easier and easier as your
Qi
, the barrier and the Spirit World move into harmony with each other. Already you are starting to see the energy of the spirits twisting through the air.”

“Yes,” Zhou said as he watched a rising column of blue energy cavort with others in the air. There was something else too, something was pulling at him. A small hand grasping at him, tugging in one direction. “Xióngmāo, I can feel...”

“Your Spirit is calling you, as is mine,” Xióngmāo smiled. “You have a choice. We can move to your spirit or you can call it to you. Choose.”

“When I came with Boqin he had the shape of a bear. Why can I see you and you see me?” Zhou asked.

“Call your spirit to you,” Xióngmāo said, “then you will see.”

Zhou closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Calming his mind and slowing his heart, reaching for the spirit within him. Little fingers tickling their way through his thoughts, pushing aside the emotions and worries there, probing at dark spaces and corners, searching. And not finding.

“Xióngmāo, I can’t call my spirit. What’s wrong? I can call my spirit whenever I want to.”

“Zhou, think about it. How are you calling the spirit?”

“Just like I normally do. Just like Boqin taught me to do.” Zhou closed his eyes and searched again. Rifling through his brain in a desperate search for that feeling, that little thread that led to the spirit and that called it to him. “I can’t find it.”

“You are in the world of the spirits now. You cannot call the spirit into you here. You must go into the spirit. Reach out to it, not inward. Reach out and it will come to you. Watch.” Xióngmāo raised her arms and spread them out to either side at shoulder level, palms facing forward. With smooth grace she brought her palms together in front of her face, breathing out as she did so.

Zhou saw her form flicker and change. Bright blue light seemed to flow into her and he had to squint to see past the blinding glow. She shrunk in height but widened in stature. Limbs shortened, hands became paws and fingers claws. Fur, black and white, sprouted from her skin as her clothes faded from view. Her face changed, nose elongated and broadened into a snout as her chin receded, lips thinning and mouth widening. The process took several seconds, but as the light faded Zhou saw a large Panda, stood on all fours, looking at him.

“Reach out, Zhou, call it to you,” said the Panda that was Xióngmāo.

He closed his eyes once more and sought the thread that connected him to his spirit. This time he did not look within himself, but turned his gaze outward. The feeling of energy surrounded him, making his skin tingle. He could taste its tang on his tongue and his nose twitched at its scent, wafts of pungent spice. At first, there was nothing but the energy coursing through him and past him. Then he re-discovered the tug, that small grasping hand on his body. He grabbed hold and pulled back.

He stumbled backward having to rapidly shift his feet to remain balanced. There had been none of the expected resistance. Zhou opened his eyes. Now looking forward, he could see a thin strand of energy springing from the centre of his chest and flowing across the landscape ahead. It disappeared out of sight amongst the trees of the forest, but he could feel something coming his way. The thread vibrated and thrummed against his chest. His heart beat faster and there seemed too little breath in his lungs. He gasped for air. From the forest came a loud roar and the vibration on the thread increased.

It bounded from the line of trees directly ahead. This was his first real sight of the spirit and the breath stuck in his throat. Its black fur rippled as muscles bunched, flexed and powered the sleek animal towards him. Front legs reached forward, claws extended to dig into the soft ground as its body compressed. Back arching upwards as the rear legs caught up with the front and gathered their strength, propelling the cat forward again. The panther ate up the ground between the forest and Zhou. As it closed, he could see the yellow iris surrounding the deep, black, circular pupil. Either side of its snout, whiskers sprouted, sensing the movement of air, and its mouth parted to reveal two, long, sharp canine teeth rising from its bottom jaw.

Zhou took a step back. The panther leapt and he raised his arms to ward it off, expecting to be knocked down and mauled.

It flowed within him. The scents on the air grew more intense. The noise of the forest sounded louder, the sun grew brighter, the colours of the land sharpened. Strength coursed through his limbs and he felt his body change. Itching, aching, popping and creaking, muscles growing and bones shifting. Raising his hands before his face he saw the fingers curl in and under themselves, merging with his palm as black fur grew from his skin. He sunk to the earth, onto hands and knees, twisting his neck as teeth erupted in his jaws. Hips burned in pain, flattening and compressing. Bright sparks of pain flamed behind his eyes and across his skull as his nose broadened into the panther’s snout.

As he rose onto his paws, he roared.

“Welcome, Hēi Bào,” Xióngmāo said.

* * *

Zhou lifted a paw in front of his eyes and inspected it. Short, dense, black fur covering the top and underneath, pads of dark, wrinkled skin. He flexed his toes and sharp, hooked claws, serrated on the inside edge, shot forth. Zhou twisted his paw, watching the sunlight shimmer across the fur and claws. He relaxed and the claws slid home, back into their sheaths.

*When you’ve finished admiring yourself, there are some things you have to know.* It was Xióngmāo’s voice, but it did not disrupt the sound of the forest, it spoke directly into his mind. *Whenever you come into this world, call your spirit and join with it. Your essence will be shielded when you do.*

Zhou growled, shook his head and tried again. He purred.

*Just think of me and shape the words in your mind, I will hear.*

*Like this?* The panda appeared to nod in response. *What next?* Zhou asked.

*Your spirit has the shape of an animal, a great cat in your case, a panda in mine. They choose us and we subconsciously choose them. You can tell a lot about a
Wu
from their spirit, if you understand the animal in our world,* Xióngmāo explained.

*That explains the scrolls in the temple,* he responded.

*Hundreds of years of research and worth a good deal of your time to read and understand them. But not today. Today, I want you to learn about your spirit.*

*How?*

*Experience is the best teacher. Go and run. I will wait for you here.* Xióngmāo sat back on her haunches and soft blue sparks rained down for a moment before a bamboo shoot appeared in her raised paw. She began eating. *Go.*

Zhou leapt forward, revelling in the power that coursed through his muscles and the awareness of his surroundings that the enhanced senses of the panther gave him. Damp forest earth sprayed upwards from his paws as he raced into the forest, leaping over fallen trunks, ducking under branches. There was no need for conscious thought, his body knew what to do.

Speckles of sunlight, filtered by the canopy, danced along his path as he ran. He could smell the life of the forest. The scents of plants and animals created a second layer of sight, augmenting and overlaying that of his eyes. Insects flitted and buzzed between the plants. To the left, skitters of tiny feet and the smell of rodent. Above, the cries and caws of birds launching into the air, disturbed by his careless traverse.

A new scent on the trail. Something larger, something he could hunt. Prey. He came to a halt, paws skidding on the leaves. Lowering his nose to the ground, he sniffed and recognition brought saliva to his mouth. He licked his lips, long pink tongue curling around the large canines. Zhou slunk lower, ears twitching and sampling the sounds of the forest.