by Ryan DeBruyn
“Keep her company. We will be several hours—just don’t let her fall asleep,” the woman says, and I freeze.
The sound of the door closing behind the two exiting women jolts me out of my daze, and I am stuck between two options. Do I rush after the women and tell them about the arachnid leg, or do I go to Veronica? The youngest woman is still in the room, and I decide to send her after the women if my suspicions prove correct.
I step up to the side of the blankets and get my first look at Veronica. Her usually pale face is even more washed out, and large black bags under her eyes make her look sickly. It’s a big difference from the lively, happy woman I met up on the roof.
“Veronica, are you okay?” I ask as I grab her hand. It’s so cold that my hand attempts to reflexively let go of it, but I force it to hold harder.
“Ow.” Veronica whimpers as my grip gets a bit too intense. “I’m not going anywhere, Jeff. No need to hold on so tight,” she adds with a smile, softening her first response. It doesn’t stop the other young woman in the room from glaring at me.
“Sorry,” I say as I loosen my grip and feel my already-warm cheeks become burning hot. Still, I don’t have time to feel embarrassment. Her ice-cold hands are another puzzle piece falling into place around my suspicions. “What ritual are they talking about, Veronica?” I ask sternly.
“My father sent back a few of his discoveries yesterday, along with a few tinctures and potions that he found in his travels. It’s been like this for a while, so I didn’t hesitate to try one of the brews. Unfortunately, it had been infused with cultivation liquid. Instead of making me feel better, like usual, it caused my liquid to overflow. Darren immediately sent for a healer, but they couldn’t do anything without killing themselves.
“My father had sent along a ritual that is supposed to cure the Ice Crystal Body mutation as well. Jacque and Darren think it might be the only option left to save my life, and their return means they found the last ingredient they needed.”
“Oh no.” I wince and feel my face pale despite the heat. “Does this ritual involve a Rhinoceros Beetle’s horn?” I ask, hoping I am wrong.
“Yes,” Veronica says and nods her head slowly, a slight smile on her face. “Did you find out about a similar method?”
“They didn’t find a Rhinoceros Beetle horn,” I cry and stare at the young woman sitting on the other side of Veronica. “Go tell them that they purchased an Arachnid Leg mutilated to look like a horn.” Her only response is to squint at me, and I turn my gaze on Veronica, attempting to plead with my eyes. “I saw the trade happening and recognized the Arachnid Leg. Honestly, they don’t have the right component! Please, Veronica, I am telling the truth.”
Her green eyes search my face through drowsy eyelids. Her lips press together, losing what little red is left in them and turning them a deeper shade of blue. I am still holding her hand, and I swear I feel it drop a degree or two.
“Miss Veronica, I shall remove him from the room if he is causing distress,” the younger woman says sternly. I guess she is probably the same age as Veronica and me, but I can’t be sure. The only hint of a person’s actual age since the appearance of the God Organs is how they carry themselves and their voice.
“I want to believe you, Jeff, but if I do—what little hope I have dies. Why didn’t you say something to them when you saw the item?” she asks, her voice quivering in a way that wasn’t there before.
“It was in the hunters’ district, and I didn’t want to get involved,” I start, the reasoning sounding so hollow in hindsight. “If I had known it was meant for you, I would have, though,” I try adding, thinking it will be endearing but feeling it turn manipulative the instant I say it.
Tears begin to well up and then trace a path down her cheek, leaving behind a white trail. I stare as small crystalline patterns form. Is that ice on her face? I take a deep breath, unsure how to voice the next part.
“I was on my way here today to tell you I may have an answer to your problem,” I blurt out in a rush, trying to return some of the hope she shone with a moment ago.
“That’s enough!” the younger woman snaps at me and attempts to pry my hand from Veronica’s. I don’t let go and continue to stare into her eyes. “Coming here and trying to take advantage of a sick woman is despicable. I want you to leave—now!” she shouts, her voice straining as she begins to exert her rather considerable strength in trying to break our grip.
She has come fully round to my side of the fabric pile by the time she manages to pry our hands apart. As soon as she does, she begins to shove me toward the door. I stand against the pressure as firmly as I can but am moving backward in little jerks.
“Wait!” Veronica groans from her cocoon of blankets. “Let him speak, Jessamyn. I don’t think he has a reason to lie.”
“You are far too trusting, Miss Veronica,” Jessamyn responds angrily. “There are many reasons he could be lying. Hoping for money, a spot in our guild—I can name hundreds. You just stay in those comfy blankets and pillows, and I will deal with him!”
“They already offered him a guild spot, Jess!” Veronica calls again. “Please, I want to hear his. . .” She cuts off into a coughing fit, which finally gets through to the fiery little blonde woman. Jessamyn stops shoving me at least, and she rushes back to Veronica’s side.
“Are you certain of your initial claim?” Jess says as she stands over Veronica. I nod emphatically and move toward them. Jessamyn’s hand grabs my shoulder and stops me, though. “I need you to come with me and explain it to the others.”
“My solution may be able to help Veronica right now. If I go with you, we would be wasting time. Can’t you bring everyone back up here?” I say, looking between the blue-lipped Veronica and Jessamyn.
Veronica’s blanket shifts slightly as she nods her head, and Jessamyn gives me a look that threatens great pain if I do anything untoward. Still, she does rush out of the room.
Now, with just the two of us left, it seems hard to return to Veronica’s side. Her green eyes stare at me with a mixture of hope and fear. What if the method Crash found isn’t actually useful? It did come from a comic book, after all. . .
“Well?” she says in exasperation. “What did you find?” I feel my cheeks blush at the reminder of the rather lewd images in the comic but remember that Crash said we only have to hold hands.
“It’s something called [Paired Cultivation]. All we need to do—”
“You think I haven’t cultivated around other people before? That isn’t going to work, Jeff,” Veronica interrupts, her words clipped and short. Her assumption takes the wind out of my sails.
“Not quite. . .” I manage to stutter. “It’s actually more like a skill or technique that two people can use in conjunction in my style of cultivation,” I add hurriedly. She already knows that I’m not using the Church method for cultivation, so my admission isn’t entirely as crazy as it sounds to my own ears.
Or so I hope. . .
Chapter 41
September 5th, 151 AR
Jeff Turle
“So you really are following a different cultivation strategy?” she asks rhetorically before continuing. “Will I need to follow the same cultivation?”
“That’s a good question that I can’t answer,” I admit. “All I know is that you will likely have to learn how to circulate qi the way I do. It isn’t comfortable and is the reason for the filth and smell you found me with.”
“First, please call it liquid. Our guild already has a strained relationship with the Church,” she admonishes sternly with her hoarse voice, which somehow makes me feel worse about my slip-up. “But are you telling me my choice is death or being smelly for the rest of my life?”
I swallow as I feel my soul wither and die. Is that what she thinks of me? My nose has long since become blind to the odor, but does everyone who meets me believe I don’t shower?
“I am joking, Jeff. Keep explaining, please,” she pleads with a dry chuckle, and I shake off
my internal dilemma. Who cares what she thinks about me?
“Well, from my understanding, I need to push my qi—ah liquid, sorry. I infuse my liquid into you, and you need to start circulating that liquid slowly.”
“Wait, now you’re an infuser?” Veronica asks, her eyebrows rising and her mouth forming a line of disbelief.
“Please let me explain. Then you can voice your doubts. You will take in my infused liquid and bring it back to your Dantian using your veins.”
“Along my veins?” she interjects again, and I stop speaking to give her my sternest look. She blinks at me but then nods her head, agreeing to let me finish.
“Then you push your Frost liquid into me through your arteries. From there, it becomes a bit theoretical, but when your liquid comes into my body, I break it down and then transfer it back to you. What little information there is claims that you will then be able to use my activated liquid for yourself,” I finish and shrug lamely.
“Wait, Frost liquid? Activated liquid?” Veronica asks, narrowing her eyes again.
“Yes.” I point upwards at the ceiling. “There are six types of liquid that I know of: sun, moon, fire, earth, air, and water, and I can activate them by using cultivation—”
“You just said Frost liquid, though.”
“Sorry, Veronica, I don’t really know. From what I understand, it is a higher form of liquid, and I will learn to understand it through this [Paired Cultivation] skill, but I can’t tell you much more.”
“This all seems a little too easy but too complicated at the same time, Jeff. How am I supposed to believe all this?”
There isn’t a good answer for that, so I shrug helplessly. I know that this is as much of a theory as everything her father’s sent for years. Still, if she is about to die, and they don’t even have the right components for the ritual, this has to be a better option than that, right?
“Honestly, Veronica, I just found this technique, and I was coming to tell you on the roof today. I didn’t think it would be a matter of life and death.”
Does the urgency of the matter complicate this conversation—well, her eyes and my stomach tell me it already has. But does that mean we can’t just go with the original plan? My method isn’t going to kill her if it fails. Right?
“That’s it,” I exclaim to myself, startling the bundled-up Veronica into raising her eyebrows again. “Sorry, I realize that my method shouldn’t hurt you. We should be able to try it, and if it doesn’t work, well, nothing should be lost.” After a deep breath, I add, “Theoretically. . .”
The silence stretches between us in the intense heat of the room. Sweat runs down my face, but the ice from her tears doesn’t even melt. I open my mouth and close it several times, realizing that everything I can say, I already have. This is her decision now, and I hope whatever choice she takes helps her.
Am I confident in my method? Yes—everything from the Training Room so far has been right. Crash and those items haven’t always given me all the information, but it still works—just maybe differently than I expect. That’s more than I can say for the potions and attempts by Veronica’s father. Looking at her now, in this state, I can’t help but think her father is running out of ideas.
Sweat runs down my arms and over my hands, and I feel it drip off of my middle finger to fall to the floor. I clench my fists, wanting to focus on the moment, on Veronica’s decision, and not on the slightly ticklish sensation. That only makes the sweat pool in my palms.
I’m about to give up, when she finally opens her mouth.
“Okay, Jeff, please try to explain what I need to do.”
“It will likely be best to both sit on the floor—”
“I can’t really leave the blankets,” Veronica says with a violent shiver. I blink and think better of it. I could try this standing, I guess?
“In that case, you first need to begin circulating your liquid in your River artery of your Dantian,” I say excitedly. Then I reach forward to grab the hand that I lost hold of during Jessamyn’s shoving. “Let me know when you have it flowing in a circle there at least. Just let it go from the River artery to the vein and back.”
I know she completes that step because her cold hand begins to tremble, and I realize she is shivering. Whether that’s a bad sign or a good one, I am not sure. Was she too cold to shiver before and is warming up a bit? Or is she getting colder?
Impossible to tell.
“Okay, I am going to [Infuse] my liquid into your hand. I want you to pull it into the venules and veins and direct it back to your heart, then through your heart to join the liquid you have around your Dantian, okay?”
I feel a drop of my qi leave my body and enter her hand. She hisses, and the shivering intensifies. There is a strangeness. I can still feel my drop of qi, but it is in her body. I can also see an outline of her hand and most of her forearm. It’s almost like I am feeling my qi radiating a signal back to me. Similar to when a stone drops into a pond, the qi ripples out, and I see those ripples highlight her hand in my mind’s eye. The sensation of double sight staggers me for a moment.
I try to catch myself on the mound of blankets, but it is so deep. So I sink slightly into them. I close my eyes, and the vertigo ceases. However, I still have that image of her hand in my mind. I open my mouth to repeat my instructions but take a mouthful of a blanket for the effort.
My repetition isn’t necessary, though, because I feel that drop of qi sift through the muscles, ligature, and bones of the hand to find a vein. Almost like a low-pressure system is forming, I can feel my internal qi shift—wanting to go toward her hand as the drop rushes away from me and down her arm toward her heart. Standing back up is a struggle, especially with my eyes shut, but I manage it.
“Veronica, we should hold both hands from this point.”
She doesn’t respond, but I can feel the blankets shift as her other hand slaps me first in the face, then the chest, feeling its way down my shoulder to my other hand. I almost yelp as her fingernails dig painfully into it when her hand clamps down.
“I am going to try to sit down, okay?” I warn her as I start to maneuver myself into a rather uncomfortable position, crossed legs with my arms held up around my head. The drop of qi I sent her is slowly vanishing as the abscesses erode, but I can tell her back is hunching as she reaches down to maintain her grip.
“Help me to the floor as well,” she says, urgency in her voice, which explains itself when she continues. “My whole arm felt like it was on fire. That sensation was almost the first warmth I’ve felt since I was a child,” she practically cries.
Well, it seems like we might be doing something right. I chance opening my eyes, and the dizziness doesn’t return. So, I help her into a cross-legged position across from me. Blankets somewhat following her to the floor, becoming a bit of an avalanche that falls over us both. I ignore it, and as soon as she is seated, I infuse another drop of qi into her hand and close my eyes.
This drop flies into her veins far faster than the last, and I let more of my rather short supply of qi follow.
“Okay, now I need you to send your own qi into your heart.” I begin forgetting to use the word liquid in the heat of the moment. “Then push it out along your arteries toward your other arm. Once it’s there, try to send it into me,” I instruct, hoping it won’t take her too long because I won’t have enough qi to maintain this connection for long.
My qi continues to show me her hand, forearm, upper arm, and shoulder as I feel the fifth drop transfer over. The moment the liquid enters her chest, I feel a shock. I can see her—I clamp down and try desperately to ignore the sensation. But as a young man, the sight of my first pair of— No, you are ignoring that. This is not the time.
I choose to treat it like a painting or a statue, both things I have seen before, and try to ignore the rising and falling of her chest when she breathes, the thumping of her heart as it pulls in my qi and sends it back out to her lungs.
My distraction vanishes, and I ga
sp as something collides with my qi in her heart. It’s like I just ran into a blockage so thick that my qi is forced to spin around it. However, this isn’t an abscess, as I can sense those. Whatever this is, it’s invisible to my mind’s eye. One thing is certain—cold doesn’t begin to describe this mass. It’s like a lump of ice that is somehow churning and moving. An ice whirlwind? This must be the Frost qi! My qi runs alongside it as a small stream breaks off, and they both exit the heart toward her lungs. I hear her breath catch, and then she begins to huff.
“It’s cold.” She shivers between her hyperventilation.
I am about to respond, but a drop of something hits my other hand, and the temperature in that entire limb plummets. It’s like my arm up to my shoulder is sitting in the icy water of a frozen river.
Hastily I pull in the qi and mimic the instructions I gave Veronica a moment before. I can still feel and hear her—shivering and gasping. I am not sure what I can do with this dense lump of qi yet, but one thing is certain. I can’t just send it back to her the way it is. That will likely kill her.
More of the qi begins to suffuse my hand, and my body starts to shiver as well. The Frost qi leaves my arm and enters my chest. I hear her gasp at approximately the same time I do and feel my cheeks flush. That flush is easy to ignore because a moment later, the liquid hits my heart.
My shuddering intensifies as it continues to my lungs, but my mind is still focused on my heart. There is a sensation there that I can’t place. It’s like I can feel cracks in the frosty qi. The qi returns from my lungs, and I think that the cracks have widened. My lungs have activated four parts of the liquid. Two parts Water qi, one part Moon qi, and one part Air? But held together and condensed into a single drop somehow?
I send the first two drops to circulate around my body but feel the temperature fall precipitously wherever they go. In a panic, I send the next drop from my lungs to my Dantian. I’m not sure why, but a part of me is hoping I can lock away some of this frigid qi inside the organ. Perhaps, that will create some protection from its nasty cold.
