The Blue Mountain (The Forbidden List Book 2) (6 page)

“We have to find Boqin,” Zhou shouted as he stumbled down the worn path.

“Go. I'll catch you up,” Xióngmāo panted.

Zhou turned around to see her leaning against the trunk of a tree, holding her ribs. “You're hurt?”

“I'll be fine, Zhou,” she said, even as she sank lower down the tree, “just tired.”

Zhou ran back up the path and crouched down next to her. In her eyes, he could see the pain she was trying to mask with a weak smile. “Just tell me where it hurts.”

“Zhou,” her voice was just a whisper, “they have not hurt me physically, they have damaged and drained my
Qi
. I need to rest and recover.”

“Not here you don't. I need to get you to someone who knows more than I do.” Zhou stood and moved a little way from her. He sought the thread in his mind, the tiny strand of blue that was his link to the spirit. Grasping it with both hands he allowed his own
Qi
to swell from his centre. The spirit rushed down the filament and swept through his being. Strength flooded his limbs and his exhaustion fled. With care, he maintained the link but limited the flow of
Qi
– too much and he would wear himself out, too little and it would not be enough for the task.

“Zhou, no. You haven't recovered enough,” she raised a frail hand towards him.

“Stop talking,” Zhou bent down, slipped his arms under her and lifted. She felt light, incredibly so. “I still have to get used to this.”

“Be careful,” her voice fading and, when he looked down to check, he saw her eyes had closed. Her breathing, shallow but steady.

He cradled her in his arms as he ran down the trail. The renewed power in his legs enabling him to skip over the raised roots and loose stones, swiftly eating up the distance.

The land dipped and the trail widened. Underfoot the ground changed from dirt and grass to carefully laid rectangular stone slabs as he entered the temple complex.

The maze of wide streets and narrow alleyways between the one storey buildings told of a time when the temple was more densely populated. During his time in the library he had never come across a scroll that dated the construction of the temple. It seemed as though it had always been here and to suggest anything else was heresy. There were, in some rooms, painted scrolls hanging on the walls that showed the hustle and bustle of the temple at the height of its power. Men and women of every colour, size and fashion, were depicted conversing, buying and selling in the market square, playing games. On the finest scrolls, ghostly images overlaid some of the figures, indications of the symbiosis of spirit and person.

“Zhou, put me down. Save your strength,” she said.

“It’s not far. Stop talking.” He smiled down at the small woman in his arms. In truth, the power in his arms and chest was intoxicating. He felt as if he could carry her forever. He recalled picking up his wife, swinging her around during the early days of their marriage, before Shui was born, when they had time to dance, planting a kiss on her welcoming lips. Zhou stumbled, his legs tangling, and fell to the floor, spilling Xióngmāo onto the stone slabs. She cried out it pain.

Zhou’s hold on the spirit fled and a wave of tiredness swept through him. He dragged in a ragged breath and looked to Xióngmāo. She was lying on her side, her face towards him. Her eyes were closed. He scrambled on all fours over to her. Pressing his fingers against her delicate throat he checked her pulse, it was strong and steady. He sat back for a moment, gathered his strength and reached again for the thread of blue. It was there, he could see it in his mind’s eye and he sent his ghostly fingers towards it, to grasp and pull it to him. He could not reach it. He tried again. Picturing the thread and fingers outstretched towards it, making to grab it and missing. The thread remained out of reach.

Zhou sighed and with no other options, slipped his arms beneath Xióngmāo’s unconscious form. Lifting her, he set out at a much slower pace in search of Boqin.

* * *

Zhou barged the door open with his back, shielding Xióngmāo, and staggered into the building.

“What happened?” Boqin rushed over, reaching out to take Xióngmāo from Zhou’s arms.

“We were attacked,” Zhou panted.

Boqin laid Xióngmāo on the floor and bent over her. Zhou saw him check her pulse and then gently lift an eyelid. The great bear let out a sigh of relief.

“Go and get a drink.” Boqin did not turn from Xióngmāo. “I’ll put her to bed. She needs rest. Then you can tell me what happened.”

Zhou collapsed into one of the wooden chairs near the table and filled a cup with water from the clay jug. He was pouring a second cup when Boqin returned.

“What attacked you?” Boqin asked.

“Is she going to be all right?” Zhou said at the same time.

“Yes, she just needs rest. She has expended a lot
Qi
and, from what she managed to tell me, some of it was drained from her. I didn’t get much else before she fell asleep again. What happened?” Boqin said.

Zhou sat forward, pinching the bridge of his nose and started to explain.

* * *

“I’ve never heard of anything like this before.” Boqin sat back, a perplexed look in his eyes. “We must gather the others. Some of them may know what this means.”

“Boqin,” Zhou said, “the horse creatures. They were the same. Can there be two of the same spirit?”

“No,” Boqin shook his head, “there is only one spirit of each animal. One true spirit, at least. When you have travelled the Spirit World some more, you will see pale reflections of the Spirits. But of each animal, there is only one real spirit. All the animals of this world are born of that one. A
Wu
can only bond to the true spirit.”

“Then how can there be more than one of those horse creatures?”

“I don’t know and I don’t like it. Something has changed.” Boqin slapped his hands down upon the table. “I don’t like this at all. Come on. We have to find the others. Xióngmāo will be fine in a few days.”

Boqin stood, his broad shoulders hunched with worry. Zhou followed suit and they left the building in search of the other
Wu
. As the door banged closed against its frame, the whole mountain shook.

Zhou staggered and fell. The solid, dependable ground beneath his feet betrayed him. He steadied himself with a hand against a wall when the ground shook again. The rock below him bucked upwards, throwing him into the stone wall and depositing him face down on the path. The taste of blood in his mouth and the warmth of it against his face brought him back to consciousness. The shaking subsided and now, against the sky, great blooms of red erupted.

He struggled to his feet, wiping away the blood from his face with the back of his hand. Zhou blinked a few times, fighting to rid himself of the double vision he seemed to be afflicted with.

“What,” Zhou looked towards Boqin who was kneeling on the ground, “is happening?”

Boqin turned back to Zhou who could now see that the great bear’s hands were touching the ground just as they had touched Xióngmāo’s neck earlier, seeking a pulse. “The mountain is under attack. I’ve summoned everyone. Stay here.”

Boqin travelled. Zhou could not describe how he knew the bear’s spirit was no longer here. Maybe it was the way that the large man went as still as one of the bronze statues in the great hall. Or perhaps, the sudden chill on the air that brushed against the fine hairs on Zhou’s arms. Or the way the man’s body seemed to lose its focus, its solidity, to fade from view.

“Not on your life.” Zhou spat the last of the blood from his mouth and reached for the thread.

It seemed further away than ever before, but he forced himself to stretch further and further. His heart beat faster in chest and sweat broke out across his forehead. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. A ghostly finger caught the thread and hooked it. With great care he pulled it towards his palm and then closed his hand around it.

Now, rather than pull it towards himself, he tried to do the opposite. He let the
Qi
swell from his stomach and pushed it along the thread. The blue filament grew brighter as his
Qi
surrounded it and began to rise. He could see it rise into the far distance and he began to pull himself upwards. A creeping numbness rose from his toes and through his legs as he climbed. The thread widened into rope as he ascended.

He climbed and climbed. Pulling his spirit body up, hand over hand, legs wrapped round the rope aiding when they could. His arms ached, his palms, pricked and scratched by the rope fibres, felt red raw. The air was becoming colder. It hurt to breathe as his ribs fought to suck in the thinning air.

He climbed on, the numbness in his corporeal body now almost total and the pain in his spirit one growing beyond endurance. Like the stone steps, he had passed through the void, the coldest layer, the one closest to the earth, and into the next. He focused on the climb, ignoring the biting, the itching and the stabbing pain.

Zhou passed into fire and wished for the cold to return. He pushed on. The rope blistering his hands and each breath was like swallowing burning lamp oil. He tried to blank out the smell of blackened skin, burnt hair, and closed his eyes to the cracked and weeping flesh on his hands. One hand over the other and pull. Grip the rope with charred legs and lift the next hand. Onwards, up and up.

He was drowning. Water poured down his throat and into his lungs. At first, a blessed relief from the fire, quenching the flames and cooling his flesh. Then the instinctual panic and the rising fear, the heaving of lungs, the aching of ribs, as they searched for life-giving air and drew in only water. He clamped down upon the panic and forced his diaphragm to be still. His legs let go of the rope and kicked against the resistant liquid, powering upwards, hands on the rope as a guide.

He broke through and gasped in the fresh air beyond. Zhou started to fall, remembering in time to cinch his legs around the rope and cling on with his hands. The buoyancy of water had given way to the insubstantial support of air. He coughed and heaved, expelling the water from his lungs. Where the liquid met the air, it sparkled and turned to steam, drifting away on the cool breeze. He climbed on. Ten steps to heaven, nine for the spirit. Five now traversed.

Past the realm of air and all sight vanished. Only darkness remained. Pressure pummelled every part of his body and moving was impossible. He was entombed in rock. There was no space. No margin of movement, no room to flex a finger or even open his mouth. The panic rose again. Encased in rock, he could not scream. He fought for air, for breath. Zhou calmed his mind, the lessons on the stone stairs fresh in his mind, accepting the rock and understanding it. Zhou let the rock in and, in turn, the rock let him through.

Into a desolate realm. Ash fell from above in a constant downpour of grey. Zhou could see no further than an arm’s length in any direction. He pulled himself upwards along the blue thread. Every so often a tunnel of vision would open through the ash and he would see them. Emaciated, wan and thin. People little more than skeletons with skin stretched tight in a parody of flesh. He could see their eyes, dark holes of pain and sorrow. Zhou choked on the ash, the burnt remains of bodies tossed onto fires. He forced his hands to climb and his body to follow.

Light. So pure and bright that tears sprang to his eyes. A melody of joy, hope and expectation tickled his ears and brain. Worming its way between his thoughts and lulling him to sleep. Zhou’s legs let go of the rope and he dangled from his hands. He was caught in a warm embrace. It urged him to let go. To join with it, be with it, become part of it. His fingers were releasing their hold on the thread when common sense returned through a pause in the music. He shook himself and wrapped his legs back around the thread. He climbed again, hand over hand, pulling his body upwards towards the next realm.

Into the spirit. Before him was the panther, waiting. It raised a paw and its pink tongue swept across the black fur.

He dived into the spirit and joined with it.

* * *

Zhou opened his eyes, the eyes of the panther. The buildings were gone and the ground was covered in sparse grass and trees. From further up the slope he could hear the sounds of battle, the screams of wounded beasts, the growls and roars of beasts.

*I told you not to come, but if you are here you had best come and help.* Boqin’s thought’s appeared in Zhou’s mind, followed by an image of his location.

Zhou focused on the image and moved into it. His legs flew across the ground, covering the distance to Boqin in a few seconds. The great bear had grown and swelled beyond its normal size. Its large paws were swiping at horse creatures that glowed with the red he had seen earlier. The creatures ducked back out of range and then dived in to jab at the shaggy bulk of the bear with their sharp hooves.

Beyond Boqin, a large goat charged into the midst of the horse creatures. Lowering its head at the last moment and butting them with its long, curved horns. Further along, a giant, bristle covered pig was gouging at a horses’ belly with its tusks. The horse was screaming and scrabbling on the point of a tusk, desperate to escape, not realising it was already doomed.