The Red Plains (The Forbidden List Book 3) (24 page)

“What?” He backed away three steps.

“Your clothes will slow you down,” she said and started to remove her robe, stopping when she saw the look on his face. “Haung, you don’t have anything I have not seen before and if your modesty is important, keep your undergarments on.”

He stood still for a moment, not sure what to say, but was forced to turn his back as the dark robe fell from Sabaa’s body.

“I have undergarments on too, Haung. You are a married man are you not? I trust you not to take advantage of me, if you’ll grant me the same trust.” The foreign woman laughed, a series of musical notes that rose and fell with his embarrassment.

He took a deep breath, the night air, cold with a whisper of smoke upon his tongue, and began stripping off his outer clothes.

“We can’t leave them here,” Haung said, pointing at the pile of clothes.

“Why not? We are going into the city. I am sure they will have more clothes for us and anyone stumbling over these is not going to worry us. Leave them and lift the screen.”

He shook his head. Leaving evidence of the route went against all his
Jiin-Wei
training, but she was correct. Anyone finding the clothes would have no idea who they were or where they were going.

It took all of his self-control not to scream in agony when he dipped his foot into the water. It was cold. A cold that raced up his veins straight to his heart, causing it to flutter. Haung looked at the water as if was an enemy and braced his body for the shock. The foot slid back beneath the water and he stifled a gasp. His toes sunk into the fine mud and small pebbles on the river bed when the water reached his knee. Another deep breath and his other foot joined its braver companion. There was a splash behind him and he turned to see Sabaa follow him into the water.

The bamboo frame was attached at the top of the tunnel by a simple woven hinge. He was forced to clear the leaves away before lifting the screen and letting Sabaa past. Holding it as high as he could, he shuffled beneath it and lowered it back into position.

“Put this on,” she said and handed him the hood they had fashioned.

Haung slipped it over his head and then pulled on the draw strings at the bottom. The bag closed in on his neck, tightening and constricting his flesh. He could breathe still, though the smell of wax, oil, sweat, leather and his own breath was far from pleasant.

“You can breathe?” the muffled voice of Sabaa asked.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Good, at least that works,” came the reply. “Now as long as you are in contact with me you will be able to breathe so I am going to tie us together.”

The feeling of the rope sliding around his waist and being pulled tight was an unpleasant reminder, as if he needed one, of the noose around his neck. Those thoughts fled as soon as he felt her body press tight against his and her arms encircled him.

“Trust remember,” Sabaa said.

He nodded and realised she likely could not see the motion of his head. “Yes.”

“Good,” she said. “Let’s go. We’ll walk till it reaches our waist. Once the water is that high the current will take us. Do not worry or thrash about as we swim, it will make it easier.”

He managed a reply, but the dark, the smell and the thought of going underwater was terrifying. The image of Jiao’s face when she was told he had been drowned with a half-naked woman tied to his body made him giggle and he realised he was close to panicking.

Haung felt for necklace around his neck, letting his thumb brush over the image, and settled in to the quiet. A safe place for the journey, he hoped.

Xióngmāo followed him through the twists and turns of the rock maze, light emanating from glowing stones set in the ceiling. They had started to shine when Zhou returned from his vision journey through the rock, and his guide was the memory of the layout he had seen. The image was vivid in his mind and he had no hesitation at any of the crossroads.

At the last turn, Zhou paused as the map dissolved in his mind. He struggled for a moment to recapture the image, but there was nothing to reach for, to hold on to. It was gone. Without assistance there was no way that they could find their way back to entrance.

“Is there a problem?” Xióngmāo said.

“No,” he replied, seeing no reason to worry her. “We are here. At the end of this corridor.”

Zhou pointed down the long, narrow corridor which ran straight, unlike many of the others they had traversed, into the distance.

“The sooner we are done, the better I’ll feel,” Xióngmāo said as they walked down the corridor.

The wooden door at the end was devoid of markings. No words, no pictures to give a clue to the contents of the room beyond. A plain metal ring was set into the door to act as a handle.

The room revealed was tiny. Gone were the smooth walls and glowing lights. Here the walls and roof were rough, uneven, natural. In the centre, a tall stalagmite, its wide base supporting an ever thinning spire that reached almost to the ceiling.

“Did you take a wrong turn?” Xióngmāo asked.

“No,” he replied. “I am sure this is the right place.”

“Zhou,” she placed a hand on his shoulder, “there is nothing here.”

“On the contrary,” a whispered voice said. “The world is here. This is the centre of the earth, the point around which everything revolves.”

Zhou raised his short staff and cast his gaze around, looking for the source of the voice. There was nothing to see. The only area out of sight was the area behind the stalagmite. He gestured Xióngmāo to circle around in the opposite direction and two steps later they came face to face with each other once again. He directed a questioning look at his companion. She shrugged.

“Hello?” Zhou said.

“Welcome to my home,” the whisper said. “I have watched your journey across the land of the horse people and the dry lands.”

“You knew we were coming?” Xióngmāo said.

“I did,” the whisper responded, “though I do not require your assistance to make the rest of the journey.”

“Our assistance?” Zhou looked confused.

“Your emperor is overly worried,” the whisper said.

“Worried about what? Where are you?” Zhou backed up to the entrance.

“Be patient.” The quiet words were followed by the sound of grinding and scraping, as if a heavy stone was being dragged across the rock floor. It echoed in the small space and Zhou was forced to cover his ears with his hands.

The base of the stalagmite bulged, the stone deforming and extending outwards. The distended rock became a shape, it lengthened and straightened before turning and following a vertical line. Higher up, another section of the stalagmite protruded and reached out towards Xióngmāo and Zhou. Another slid from the stone next to it. Four long shapes now stretched out from the stalagmite. They grew slowly, the lower ones reaching towards the floor, flattening along it as they touched, and the larger ones bent back upon themselves to press against the stone column.

Even through his hand-covered ears, the screech of the stone was painful and, as a larger shape began to emerge, it rose further in pitch and volume. Next to him, Xióngmāo had covered her ears as well.

The shapes became a recognisable form as it continued to extrude. Two legs, two arms, a head and a body. Not smooth and supple flesh but rough, jagged and uneven. Individual fingers and toes were not distinguishable, neither were eyes, a mouth, hair or any fine features. It was the shape of a person and that was all that Zhou could make out.

The scraping sounds died as the figure emerged fully from the stone. The top of its head was lower than Xióngmāo, who was not tall, and it was rounded in the middle with short bowed legs and thin arms. If it had been made of flesh, Zhou would have said the figure was fat.

“Now, children,” the whisper came from the stone figure, “you should shield your eyes.”

Zhou moved his hands from his ears to eyes and so heard the loud, sharp, crack and felt the stinging impact of a thousand chips of rock as they struck his exposed flesh. Fine, dry dust filled his mouth when he gasped in pain and there was the sound of rain in small room. The patter of tiny stones striking the floor.

“It is safe now,” the whisper said.

He lowered his hands and opened his eyes, spitting the dust out of his mouth in one great globule of clag. A glance and he spun around, placing his back to the figure who had been revealed. And revealed was the right word. In place of the rock creature stood a wizened old lady whose skin, the grey pallor of rock dust, sagged and drooped from a frame that looked as if it might snap at any moment under the weight of years. Her face was covered in wrinkles and beneath long grey eyebrows, sparkling blue eyes stared out.

“What’s the matter?” the old lady’s whispered voice asked.

“You’re na... not wearing any clothes,” Zhou stammered.

“You’ve never seen a naked woman before?” the old lady cackled.

“I have a spare robe in my pack,” Xióngmāo said and he heard the sound of her rummaging.

“No need,” the old lady said. “If we need to spare the blushes of the young boy here, I will do something about it.”

For a moment everything was still and then Zhou felt the tug of a light breeze upon his clothes. All around the chips of stone, the sharp flecks, the tiny motes, all rose into the air and swept past him. He raised a hand and covered his eyes once more.

As abruptly as it had begun, the whirlwind of rock died.

“Impressive,” Xióngmāo said, a note of awe in her voice. “Zhou, you can turn round now.”

Zhou complied and saw that the old lady was now draped in a grey robe that covered her from her neck to the floor. The material rippled and waved in a non-existent breeze.

“Took your time getting here,” the old lady said, looking around the small chamber, puzzled. “Where are those servants? Don’t they know I need a drink and something to eat.”

With startled look, Zhou backed away as she stomped forward, past him and out of the door where she raised a gnarled fist and banged on the rock wall. A clear tone, low in pitch, sounded out and the vibrations ran up through Zhou’s feet.

“Come on.” She waved them forward and without waiting clumped off down the corridor.

# # #

“Eat,” she said to them, pointed at the food and raised a skeletal finger, using it to punctuate each remark she made to the servants. “And you lot, clear out. Don’t think I’ve forgotten how slow you were getting the food here. And the corridors too. There are marks on the walls that need to be cleaned off and so much dust and dirt on the floor. I bet you’ve all been traipsing the dirt in from outside. What are you still doing here? Get out and do as you’re told.”

The three servants, all dressed in grey flowing
Hanfu
robes which covered their arms and pooled on the floor by their feet, bowed to the old lady and walked from the room at a steady, but slow pace. Their faces betrayed no emotion as they bowed once more before closing the doors at the end of the large cavern.

“Youngsters today. No work ethic. Think they are owed everything. No respect for their elders. What has happened to honour and duty? And did you see that one on the end give me the eye? I’ll deal with him later. Eat. Eat. What are you waiting for? Don’t stand around looking stupid when there is food to eat. Drink too. I’m starving. Haven’t had a good meal in,” she paused, “at least a hundred years. Might be longer. Years are nothing to the earth. Sit. Eat. Drink.”

Zhou shared a glance with Xióngmāo, who shrugged in return. The table was made of stone and the long bench, which Zhou swung a leg over, was the same. The cold came through his clothes and chilled him. He shuffled, trying to find a comfortable place to sit.

“Sit still, child,” the old lady said. “Give the rock a moment to find you.”

“What?” he blurted.

“Sit. Still. Was that too difficult for you? If you want to grow up into a fine man, you’ll need to learn to listen to instructions.” She turned to Xióngmāo. “Has he always been like this?”

Xióngmāo smiled. “He likes questions.”

“You’re older than him.” The old lady said, a statement, not a question. “But still young.”

Zhou used his
kuàizi
to lift some of the steaming meat from one of the bowls. He laid the dark meat, covered in rich sauce, over his rice and let the white grains absorb some of the flavour. Raising his bowl, he transferred the rice and meat to his mouth and started to chew. It was delicious and, before he had finished swallowing, he had reached out with his chopsticks to secure more for himself.

“He’s grown a lot in the past year or so.” Xióngmāo took some of the vegetables and added them to her bowl.

The old lady did not demonstrate such delicacy, picking up whole bowls of meat and vegetables, shovelling them into her bowl. From there, they were lifted with increasing rapidity into her mouth where she seemed to barely chew the food before swallowing and clearing the way for more.

He watched with a strange horror, realised he was staring and looked away, returning to his own meal.

“My name is Zhou,” he said when he had finished eating. “My companion is Xióngmāo. We came here seeking help, to help, and find information.”

“I think you know most of it,” the old lady said, pausing in her eating just long enough to speak.

“We don’t know your name,” Xióngmāo said.

“Biyu.”

“Or who you are?” Zhou said.

“You don’t know who I am, but you came looking for me anyway?” Biyu chuckled. “Such a silly thing to do.”

“The Emperor said you would help,” Xióngmāo said.

“Did he? Youngsters never really know what help they need do they? You have children?” Biyu asked. Xióngmāo shook her head. “Such a shame.”

Zhou nodded and felt a lump rise in his chest. “A boy. He died.”

“Doesn’t get any easier does it?” It was the first bit of sympathy, of understanding that others had emotions, the old lady had shown. “I’ve had more and lost more than I want to count. Should never outlive your own children. It hurts too much and for too long. Memories are worth the world, but you’d give it all to have them back at your side. Course, I don’t have that choice. I’ll always outlive them.”

“You’re one of the immortals?” Zhou said. Xióngmāo looked between them, the question in her eyes. “Yángwū told me that there was an immortal for every realm.”

“So there is, so there is,” Biyu responded. “I’m the oldest of them all.”

“How can one immortal be older than another?” Xióngmāo asked.

“Immortal is an easier way to think of it, but it is just a word. None of us is truly immortal, but the spirit that abides within is. Even your
Wu
immortal is young compared to me. Young compared to many of them. There’s only one other who comes close to my age,” Biyu said, finally pushing her bowl away and rapping on the stone table with a fist.

The doors at the end opened and the three servants filed back in to collect and clear the food away.

“My great, great, and possibly, great-grandchildren,” she said watching them like a hawk, bright blue eyes shining, as they left. “I think they forget they are only here because of me. Where was I? The immortals, nine of them.”

“What does this have to do with the Mongols and Yángwū?” Zhou asked.

“If Yángwū is one of the immortals then he has access to an amazing amount of power,” Xióngmāo said. “When I was being trained, they were always spoken of as if they had no relevance to, no impact on, the world anymore. My tutors, the other Wu, suggested that the immortals had never really existed, nor did the Jade Emperor, it was all a form of religion. Wu study the world around them. They learn from it, construct theories based on evidence and observations. As far as I can recall, the scrolls about the origin of the world read more like a story than something that actually happened. Some of the Wu had different ideas.”

“New ideas aren’t always right,” Biyu replied. “Folks can make mistakes as easily now as they did in the past. The immortals exist and I should know.”

Zhou looked between the two women, not understanding. “Do you mean Yángwū could actually do what he says he wants to? Take the Jade Emperor’s place?”

“Is that what he desires? Silly boy,” Biyu shook her head, pausing to dig a long fingernail in between her teeth and extract, after a little twisting and turning, a thin string of meat. “That was really annoying me. I doubt he can do that.”

“He says he has taken the power of two immortals.”

“Two? What is the other one?” Biyu asked.

“Fire and the magic of the Mongols,” Zhou said.

“Death,” Xióngmāo clarified.

“The between,” Biyu corrected.