The Blue Mountain (The Forbidden List Book 2) (11 page)

Zhou came to a halt before the rest of the
Wu
on ground that, in the physical world, the temple rested upon. They had all returned to their human forms and not one of them looked anything but tired and despondent. It was also clear that they were arguing amongst themselves.

“Stop it,” Boqin, just ahead of Zhou, stepped in between them. “We have to work together to stop these creatures.”

“What are they?” Húli asked.

“We don’t know. Zhou,” Boqin waved in his direction, “looked through the archives and could not find any mention of such creatures existing. Nor was there mention of this red energy they seem to be infused with.”

“What about the birds of fire?”

*I can only suppose that they were brought here from the fire realm,* Dà Lóng spoke and they all looked up. The long wyrm floated down from the sky and settled to the ground. Its form shimmered, a sparkling shower of blue, and was replaced with a man whose eyes shone red and gold. The Emperor bowed. “Honoured
Wu
. Boqin. Little Cub. It is good to stand upon the mountain once more. Even if it is for such a short time and in such dire straits as we find ourselves.”

Boqin was the last to turn. “Jian-min, it has been a very long time. I never thought to see you here again.”

“Ah,” the Emperor gazed at Boqin, “that is a name I had not thought to hear again. You requested I come to your aid. I told you, all those years ago, I would only return when you asked. Not before.”

“And I had hoped that would be forever,” Boqin growled.

“Listen...” Zhou began but was interrupted by a loud groan that echoed from the mountains. A quiver that ran through the ground beneath his feet. The
Wu
looked around in confusion.

“What was that?” Zhou asked.

“Earthquake?” Boqin said.

The ground shook again. No gentle tremor, but great heaves of earth lifted the land and then settled back, the mountain taking deep breaths. Zhou staggered, thrown off balance, and fell to his knees. The next wave threw him onto his back. The earth groaned in agony once more and there came a noise that, to Zhou’s baffled ears, sounded as if a thousand silk robes were being ripped apart. He struggled to keep himself rooted to the earth, holding onto clumps of low grass to stop himself being thrown about like a child’s toy.

In his disjointed vision he saw trees sway, their crowns colliding with one another and become tangled. They pulled at each other, a tug of war and a fight to escape the other’s embrace. The losers were dragged from the earth, trunks screaming as they were bent and splintered. Roots whipping back and forth as they were ripped from their mother earth, leaving behind bowl shaped depressions of dark soil.

Those great trees whose trunks were too strong, too sturdy to flex and sway in time with the heaving earth struggled to retain their grasp on the earth. Ancient wood would not bow nor give in. They stood, had stood, for an age rigid, proud and immovable, yet, with sharp cracks, the trunks snapped. The trees collapsed, dying, to the earth.

Still the shaking continued and now, from the earth, dust rose to obscure vision. Fine and grey it rose, or perhaps the ground fell away and the dust was merely left to hang in the air. Zhou coughed as he breathed it in. His mouth turned dry, the fine rock powder absorbing all the moisture in his mouth and throat. It stopped, the mountain returned to calm and peace.

Zhou stayed face down on the earth. His fingers still clung to the clumps of grass that had been his anchors through the shaking, bucking and heaving. He worked his jaws, bringing as much spit back into his mouth as he could. His teeth and gums were clagged with thick dust and he could taste the dry earth on his tongue. Zhou spat a grey, green, filthy gobbet of dust and saliva.

Surprisingly, many of the trees still stood, though the fallen reminded him of jumbled chopsticks, broken trunks of sharp tooth-picks and up-turned roots of twisted noodles. The dust, he could now see, had only risen to a foot or so above the ground and was settling, covering the grass in a fine, grey film of powder.

“Everyone all right?” Boqin’s voice sounded loud in the quiet.

The other
Wu
called back as Zhou, touching the earth with the palm of his hand one last time, making sure it was not about to throw him skywards, stood. He looked to the others. They were all rising to their feet. Some were dusting themselves down, causing more of the fine dust to rise up around them in faint clouds.

“We’ve never experienced an earthquake in these mountains,” Dà Lóng said. “Where is Biānfú? He knows these mountains better than anyone.”

“He fell in the battle,” Zhou answered.

“He is being looked after,” Boqin said. “Though, hopefully, that earthquake will have driven off those creatures and give us time to rest, to plan.”

“I’ll look,” Dà Lóng said. The Emperor turned and walked a few steps. Blue light streamed from his form and Zhou was forced to blink. He was buffeted by the first down draft of the Dragon’s wings and had to shift his feet to remain upright.

*The creatures have gone,* the dragon’s voice sounded in Zhou’s head.

“Good,” Boqin nodded, “then we have some time.”

*Boqin, look to the heart of the mountain.* There was alarm and an edge of fear to Dà Lóng’s thoughts.

Boqin turned his face to the earth and his eyes took on a faraway look. Then he gasped, “What is that?”

Zhou, confused, looked around and could see nothing.

*I don’t know,* Dà Lóng said, *but whatever it is, it is attacking the mountain’s heart. I would guess that it is the cause of the earthquake.*

“We have to do something,” Boqin said.

*What exactly? I have never communed with the mountain’s heart.*

“What is going on?” Zhou asked, raising his palms upwards.

“Look at the mountain, Zhou. Really look. The mountain glow you see from afar, that is the heart of the mountain. It forms the link between our world and the spirit world. Look at it, Zhou.”

Zhou focused his gaze on the earth by his feet. At first all he could see was the short grass, its green dulled by the grey dust. He shifted his focus, looking beyond the land, beyond the vegetation. Letting his gaze see the spirit and not the shell of land that covered it.

The heart of the mountain glowed bright blue, a flame of pure cerulean burning beneath the earth. Zhou stared at it in wonder. The last time he had looked, on the Emperor’s orders, after slaying the Duke of Yaart, the flame had seemed large and shone as bright as the full moon. Now, closer to the fire itself, it was almost too bright to look at. Hot tears sprang to his eyes, misting his vision. He was forced to wipe them away. The blue heart was more beautiful than anything he had ever seen or imagined. As his eyes became accustomed to the light, he began to see that the assumption of purity actually masked a much more fantastic sight. Swirling within the flame were a multitude of blues, every shade, darker like the deep sea and lighter like an azure gemstone. He saw the separate shades take on a variety of forms from small sparks to large teardrops. They all danced and flickered within the flame itself.

“It’s incredible,” Zhou whispered.

“It is alive,” Dà Lóng, now back in his human form, said. “Some of the older
Wu
used to commune with it during their studies.”

“What did they learn?”

“Not a great deal. As it was explained to me, the heart does not think in human terms or time scales. Most importantly, it is the earthly link with the spirit realm. The spirits flow both ways through the flame. Those are what you are seeing in the flame. Every realm has such a physical link with ours, though how they all work or, indeed, where they all are, is a mystery I never knew to be solved,” Dà Lóng said.

“Stop teaching the boy for a moment and explain what that is,” Boqin snapped, pointing towards the bottom of the flame.

The base of flame did not burn the pure blue Zhou had expected, but was tinged with pink. Spreading away from flame and, therefore through the mountain rock, were channels of glowing orange and red.

He tried to count them, but it was an impossible task. Even as he counted, new channels formed, cutting through the rock and stabbing into the heart of the mountain. Here and there, a river of red would dry up. Its glow fading away to nothing.

“The heart is fighting those... red things,” Zhou realised.

“The heart protects itself,” Boqin said.

“But it is losing,” Dà Lóng said.

Boqin turned away from the heart and pulled the Emperor around to face him. Zhou stood still, shocked. Touching the Emperor was forbidden. A crime punishable by a painful, agonising death. He held his breath and waited.

“It has been a long time,” Dà Lóng said, his own eyes focused on Boqin's large hand that still held onto his arm.

“You're not the Emperor here,” Boqin said. “You came to help because I called you.”

“Boqin, if the heart loses the battle, this mountain is going to be destroyed. Beyond that, without the link to the spirit realm, I would guess that the last of the
Wu
is stood before you. And without us, and the link, I am really not sure what will happen to our world.”

“Then think of something. That's what you were always good at,” Boqin said.

“Let's return to our world. There is nothing we can do to help here,” Dà Lóng said and winked out of existence.

“I'll go tell the others,” Boqin said. “Zhou, go and check on Xióngmāo. Tell her to prepare.”

“What for?”

“I don't know but, Dà Lóng was, is, one of our greatest. Whatever he has planned, it’s not going to be easy.” Boqin walked towards the others.

“It has been a while,” the man, sat behind the seven stringed Guqin, said as the
Jiin-Wei
entered the room.

“I see that you followed my advice,” Haung smiled in return. “You do not have your own tea plantation yet though?”

“Listen with your heart and head, but let instinct be your guide,” the musician said.

“Another of your teacher’s sayings, Master Xi Jiang?”

“He was a man that spoke a lot during his life. The only time he was silent was when he played.” Xi Jiang smiled a sad smile and rested his hand on the strings of the long, thin musical instrument before him.

“And was all he said wise?” Haung asked.

Xi Jiang chuckled at that. “No, he spent of lot of time berating me for my lack of skill and practice, and even more trying to charm any lady that strayed too close.”

“Sounds like a wise way to live.”

“Indeed it does,
Jiin-Wei
Haung, indeed it does.” The musician’s smile brightened and broadened. “However, I doubt you paid me this visit to talk about the wisdom of my master. What can I do for you?”

Haung bowed and sat down opposite the musician, the Guqin between them. “I need some information and hoped you could provide it.”

“A
Jiin-Wei
seeking information? The world is a strange place, young Haung.”

“
Jiin-Wei
no longer. At least, not in name and rank.”

“So I had heard and yet you have not suffered a demotion or loss of honour. A captain’s rank you still carry and, if I am correct, the
Taiji
has taken an interest in you. Going so far as to train you, I believe. This has caused quite a stir in the ranks of the rich and powerful. It is well that you are not attached to any of the five houses.”

“Why?”

“The
Jiin-Wei
and
Fang-Shi
are a known quantity. Every house will have contacts in those organisations. Indeed, one or two of the houses have, in the past, boasted a
Jiin-Wei
of their own though, as you know, the loyalty of a
Jiin-Wei
is to the Emperor alone, not to any house. And the
Fang-Shi
are bound to no-one except by payment and power. There are ways to combat the influence and power of those two groups, but a
Taiji
? They are much rarer. Not everyone is comfortable with the idea of that much skill and power in the hands of an unknown person. In other words, you. Worse still, if you were bound to a house then the balance of power would shift.”

“I don’t think they need worry about me,” Haung said.

“But they will. A
Jiin-Wei
plucked from his position in a minor province after the mysterious death of his Duke, placed under the wing one of the few known
Taiji
masters to be trained as one. You have all the five families talking and wondering.” Xi Jiang plucked a few discordant strings to emphasise his point.

“After nearly a year of training I don’t feel that powerful. Can you tell them not to worry?” Haung said.

“They pay to listen to my music not my words, Haung. And you may not feel powerful, but you have changed since we first met. There is something quiet about you, I can almost hear the silence you create.” Xi Jiang closed his eyes for a moment. “It is peaceful, yet a little disconcerting.”

“No one has mentioned anything, Master Xi Jiang, perhaps it is your imagination or the reputation of my Shifu you feel.” Haung watched the musician stroke his long beard, the dark hair was now peppered with grey.

“It is a little like seeing your brother’s child after six months. To you, they have grown up quickly and changed beyond recognition. To your brother, the child has hardly grown. Absence makes changes easier to spot. You have changed, Haung, but still not told me why you are here?” Xi Jiang placed his hands in his lap and waited.

“You still play in the noble’s houses? Still hear the rumours, what they say about the goings on in the city?” Xi Jiang nodded and remained quiet, so Haung continued. “A man, a noble man, has been asking about me and my family. I don’t like it.”

“I understand,” Xi Jiang said, “but this not Yaart and here information is the key to power and position.”

“I will not let anyone threaten my family again,” Haung rubbed his shoulder where, underneath his robe, his skin was scarred and the bones ached in wet weather.

“What can you tell me of this man? A description perhaps?”

Haung dipped his hand into his robe and withdrew the folded paper from within. “I think this is his family seal, but I could find no mention of it in the libraries of the Holy City.”

Xi Jiang took the paper from Haung’s hand and unfolded it. The musician gazed at the impression of the seal for a long moment and Haung found he was holding his breath.

“Interesting. I had heard that there was a break-in a few nights ago at the owner of this seal’s house. Am I to assume that you were the intruder?” Xi Jiang gave Haung a questioning look.

“I had heard that too, though I do not believe anything was stolen,” Haung said in return.

“That does seem to be the case, from the rumours I had heard.” Xi Jiang flicked his gaze down at the ink marks on the paper. “Well, to answer your question. The seal is not a family one. At least, not the seal of the family that own the house, but rather of a family that joined theirs through marriage many years ago. It is not a family of fame or power. Some, so I have heard, did question the marriage.”

“Why?”

“Why what?” Xi Jiang was still staring at the paper.

“Why did they question the marriage?”

“I don’t know.”

“Sorry?”

“I don’t know. The marriage was many years ago, three or four hundred.” Xi Jiang looked up and met Haung’s eyes. “It is probably not relevant, but it is interesting.”

“So how do you know the seal, if it is that old?”

“I have it on one my music manuscripts. The composer belonged to that family, but do not get your hopes up. The manuscript is over half a millennia old,” Xi Jiang said and shook his head. “So many memories.”

“What can you tell me about the family who own the house now?”

“The house itself belongs to one of the cousins of the family, a functionary and record keeper mostly. Amongst the noble houses, he is not known for his sobriety, but rather for his keen interest in the joys of the flesh.” Xi Jiang folded the paper and passed it back to Haung, “The family itself are the
Qing
and I hear nothing but praise for them in all other noble houses. So now you know, what do you intend to do?”

“I promised Shifu that I would not take any direct action. As yet, there have been no threats, but now that I know who to look out for I can do some digging around. If in the Holy City information is power and I am,” he paused, “was, a
Jiin-Wei
then I would feel happier if I had more of it than they did.”

“Nothing else?” Xi Jiang stared into Haung’s eyes, trying to read the reaction.

“Nothing else,” Haung smiled back. “Not yet anyway.”

“Be careful, Haung, the noble houses have many hands and long arms.” Xi Jiang spread his arms wide. “Now, tell me, did you like my gift of the Rolling Hills?”