by G R Matthews
The
Blue Mountain
Book 2 of
The Forbidden List
G R Matthews
Copyright © 2015 G R Matthews
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1507831668
ISBN-13: 978-1507831663
ASIN: B00S736LGE
DEDICATION
For Tom, who wants to read it, and Holly, who wonders why I do it.
Chapter 1
“You did well,” Boqin said. “Tell me what you learned?”
“To eat when I could, rest when I needed to and drink whenever the opportunity arose,” Zhou responded.
“But you spent three days on the mountain being chased?” Boqin asked. “Why not escape in one?”
“There was no escape from the mountain in the time I had.” Zhou looked into Boqin’s eyes. “I could have made it off the mountain in one, using the spirit all the way down but there would have been nothing left of me at the bottom. I would have been out of energy, out of resources and, if I did not die there and then, I would have slept for three or four days straight. My only hope would have been to find an empty hovel or friendly farmer. Without food, they would have caught me as I slept.”
“Good. Do you understand the limits of the spirit now? You can use it to do incredible things but there is always a price to pay afterwards.” Boqin clapped him on the shoulder. “Do you recall when I first met you, at the miner’s village? You fell at my feet, almost dead from exhaustion. Now, I hope, you know better.”
Zhou smiled at his teacher and bowed. “I now know better.”
“Then the exercise was not wasted and my three nights following you through the forest were not in vain.” Boqin looked over Zhou’s shoulder. “I see someone has been missing you.”
Zhou turned to see a small, lithe woman step into the room. She smiled at him.
“I will leave you two to talk.” Boqin nodded to the woman and left.
Zhou bowed to her. “It is good to see you.”
“You’ve changed,” she said and, with a delicate wave, indicated that they should sit.
Zhou waited until she had taken one of the chairs at the tea table before sitting on the other.
“You would like some tea?” he asked.
“Leaner and more graceful,” she replied, “and yes, tea would be nice. Thank you.”
Zhou placed a fresh cup in front of her and poured the dark liquid into it. The steam rose in lazy clouds between them.
“Changed?”
“You have grown.” He saw a small smile upon her face.
“I stopped growing a long time ago.” He poured his own serving of tea and raised the warm cup to his lips.
“No. We never stop growing. Life is growth and change.” She turned to him. “Not all growth is physical. There is growth of the mind. The growth of wisdom. Perhaps develop is a better word?”
“You are saying I’ve become more intelligent?” he queried.
“I am saying you have grown up.” Zhou waited as she took a sip of tea. “It has been almost a year since I saw you in the tents before the city of Yaart. You were a ragged creature then. There was a wildness in your eyes, an anger that dominated. Now you are changed. The ferocity is there, the potential for savagery and cunning, but it is tempered with calm and understanding.”
“The mountain is a calm place, Xióngmāo,” Zhou responded. “I am glad that I came.”
She smiled at that. “I believe you had little choice at the time.”
“True, the Emperor did make it something of an order.” Zhou dipped his head in acknowledgment of her point. “However, I believe I have learned a lot in that time.”
“You have. As I said, you have grown. You have learned to accept the spirit and to care for it. Zhou, you have learned much of the physical aspects of being a Wu. Whether you go on to learn the spiritual as well is something that we will have to see, and help you to develop.” She took another sip of tea. “Boqin has taught you well, but now you must learn from the others. They have gathered, finally, to teach you as we must when a new Wu comes to the mountain. It has been a long time since the last and sadly he did not learn well from us.”
“When was that?” Zhou asked.
“Another time, Zhou. For now, the others will teach you. Biānfú can teach you to harness your spirit, to develop your Qi and to stretch it. Dà Xiàng will teach you to use your strength wisely. Māo will teach you to protect and shield your spirit from others. Hóuzi will teach you think before you act and how to act quickly when you must.”
“And what will you teach me, Xióngmāo?” Zhou asked.
“I will teach you to see things that you have always seen but never taken notice of. I will teach you to travel as a spirit and how to seek out the spirit in others. How to balance their needs with your own. I will teach you harmony with your surroundings,” she said, “but for the next few days you need to rest and recover your strength.”
* * *
“What does this un-trained, uneducated Wu know?”
“Uneducated? I passed every exam to reach the rank of Diplomat,” Zhou said.
“Pah, that's not what I am talking about. You know nothing. A few years of studying laws, rules and proper etiquette,” the grey haired Wu said from his place on the bench, “and, at the end, what do you have? A piece of paper you can wave in people’s faces. Power over a few that relies on some imaginary power given to you by someone else who thinks they have power. None of that is true power.”
“Nothing learned is ever a waste,” Zhou said.
“You’ve learned nothing of any worth.” The Wu turned and spat onto the floor. The motion gave Zhou a glimpse at the man’s ears, much too large and pointed. “To become a Wu was viewed a calling in my village. We all stood there when he came around. It was the first time in over fifty years and he just looked at us, into our hearts and souls. We weren't allowed to speak, just stand still. And he chose me over all the others. Even then, it was five years of hard training before I could call the spirit. Another three years before he taught me to travel and you, you call the spirit by accident.”
“Accident.” Zhou gave a strangled gasp and stepped forward, grabbing the front of the Wu's tunic pulling him up and off the bench. “I lost my wife and my child. Pulled their burnt bodies out of the ruins of my family home. Saw my whole city go up in flames. I didn't want this. I didn't ask for this. I'd give it all up in a heartbeat to have them back.”
The Wu wrapped his hands around Zhou's arms and squeezed. Thin, sharp claws extended from his fingers and dug into Zhou's flesh.
“Let me go,” the Wu said and stared straight into Zhou's eyes. A challenge.
Zhou held him still. He could feel the eyes of the other occupants of the room on him, measuring and judging. He called the spirit to him and a low, deep rumbling growl welled up from his throat.
“Zhou, put him down.” Boqin's gruff voice sounded loud in the silence of the room. “Biānfú, back away.”
Zhou let his grip relax and Biānfú pulled himself free, the thin claws retracting from Zhou's skin. The small man backed away, tugging his tunic back into place and smoothing down the front.
“We are not here to argue. We are here to train the first Wu in nearly twenty years. If you don't like it, you can go.” Boqin glanced round the room, meeting the eye of everyone in there. “I know that your own masters taught you about wild ones. They were, many years ago, the normal way that people became us. The wild ones built the first temple on this mountain. It was they who began the studies and to teach others. Because of them you are here. Your teacher left you with the instruction to teach a wild one should
you find one. It has taken nearly a year to get you all together. You are here because he is here. You responded to that call. Honour your teachers now. Teach Zhou. He needs you all.”
There was muttering from the seated Wu as Biānfú returned to his place on the bench. Zhou, stood in the centre of the room, waited. One by one, they nodded or grunted their agreement.
“Well?” Boqin asked Biānfú.
Biānfú looked up at Boqin, his small eyes meeting the bear's for a time before he looked down at the hard packed floor. “Agreed.”
“I knew you would. I taught you well.” Boqin favoured Biānfú with a smile.
Zhou looked around at the others. Eight Wu sat on the benches that surrounded the clear area in the centre of the room. A slab of sunlight fell through the open doorway, spreading into a long rectangle across the room.
* * *
He stared up the stone stairs. They were wide enough for one person and the balustrade, made of the same grey stone, was supported by vertical columns topped by teardrop shaped stones.
“I see stone,” Zhou said.
“And what else?” Xióngmāo asked.
“It’s grey and,” he ran a hand long the balustrade, “smooth.”
“What else? What can you tell me about the stone?”
“Xióngmāo, I don’t understand what you want me to say. Stone is stone.” He was aware of the petulance in his voice, but carried on anyway. “I’ve been looking at this staircase for ten minutes. I have been up and down it twenty times at least. I am not sure what else to say.”
“Zhou, the stone is smooth. Why?”
“The stone masons made it that way?”
“Partly, and partly because many hands have, over the years, smoothed it even more. Tell me about the stair case,” Xióngmāo said.
“It has many steps. They are all the same size and height.”
“And...”
“And, they are smooth too. Many people have walked up and down them?” Zhou turned to face Xióngmāo with a look of desperation in his eyes.
“And why do they go up?”
“To get to the top?” Zhou pointed, rather needlessly he realised, to the top of the stairs. “But there is nothing there. They don’t go anywhere.”
“So, you’d say these stairs are made of stone, been well used over the years by people wanting to get to the top.” Xióngmāo smiled at him. “Zhou, you’ve been here a year, stop thinking like a man and just seeing with your eyes. Use your spirit instead.”
Zhou took several deep breaths and called the spirit to him. His vision altered, a hue of blue overlaying the physical world. As always, the trees and plants glowed with a soft light and Xióngmāo shone out like a lantern on a dark night. Stone was darker, there was no spirit or life to shine from it. It was calming. Many of the rooms and temples on the mountain were made of stone built directly up from the rocks. Zhou could appreciate now, not just the aesthetics of the stone built temples but the sense behind them too. When practising and focusing with the spirit, the stone was a comforting place to direct tired and strained eyes.
Now the stone stairs did not look like stairs of stone. Each one glowed in a different colour, black and oily at the bottom, changing as the staircase rose. The top stair was bright blue, painful to stare at and his eyes watered.
“Now you can see the teaching stairs,” Xióngmāo said. “My role is to teach you to climb them so that you can, in time, travel to the spirit world. Boqin took you there the first time, to meet your spirit, but you must be able to travel there whenever you have need. Zhou, walk up the steps.”
He moved forward and placed his right foot upon the first step. A blast of cold numbed his leg and worked its way through his body, up towards his skull. He gasped in pain and fell backward.
“That is the step into the void, the space between worlds,” Xióngmāo explained. “You must traverse that void. It is a deliberate act. A choice and one you must make.”
Zhou rubbed feeling back into his leg. “That hurt.”
“If it helps, the journey back is much quicker and easier,” Xióngmāo smiled. “Try again.”
* * *
Zhou warmed his hands over the small fire he had built at the bottom of the steps and said, “I can’t do it.”
“You will do it,” Xióngmāo said. “We have all been through this. Some find it easier than others and some, once they have learned, spend much of their time in the spirit world. Others rarely visit, but we all can. We all must.”
“Xióngmāo, I’ve failed to get past the first step for two weeks of trying. Now, I can barely reach the fourth. At this rate, it will be years before I can reach the top.”
“Then it will take years. You are comfortable, sheltered and well-fed. You have the time,” Xióngmāo said, “and as you said, you are making progress. Try again.”
Zhou dropped the water-skin he was drinking from to the floor and faced the stone stairs again. He called the spirit to him and took a cautious step to the base of the stairs. He looked towards the top and, as always, the brightness of the blue made his eyes tear. Zhou inhaled and exhaled in a slow rhythm, and took the first step.
The shocking cold ran up his leg and froze his spine. It still hurt but it was best to move on. He lifted his trailing foot up onto the second step. Gasping in pain as sharp spikes pressed against the soles of his feet, Zhou stepped again. His skin prickled and itched as if a thousand mosquitos were biting, again and again. He ignored the pain and the itch, seeking to distance himself from his body and stepped again.
He screamed in agony. A searing flame burnt his flesh from the inside out. His heart hammered in his chest, pumping his now boiling blood around his body. Zhou tried to block out the pain, to convince himself that it was not real, that the fire did not exist. But, as he retreated into the sanctuary of his mind and spirit, all he could see were the burnt bone and charred remains of his son.
Zhou fell back down the stairs. The heat, cold, daggers of pain and prickles of insect bites vanished. The tears in his eyes remained.
“I can’t do it.”
“Zhou,” and Xióngmāo’s voice was sympathetic, “you must do it.”
“I can’t get past that step.” He looked up at her. “I have tried every day for nearly a month. I cannot do it.”
“Zhou, you know that it is not real. What you are feeling are the realms beyond our world.” Zhou felt Xióngmāo’s hand cup his chin and turn his head gently to look into her soft brown eyes. “It is a place we are not meant to be yet must traverse to reach the realm of the spirit. When you have mastered these steps you will no longer need them. The journey will take but a second. You will be able to move back forth at will.”
“Xióngmāo, I can’t do it.” Zhou pulled away from her touch. “I can’t do it.”
Standing up he snatched the water skin from the floor and stomped down the trail into the forest.
Chapter
2
The razor-edge of the sword cut the air so cleanly that there was not a sound, no whistle or swoosh of air. It was all he could do to duck and stagger backwards, his own sword raised to ward off the next attack.
Regaining his balance when the expected blow did not come he slid into a defensive stance. Jian sword held out straight in his right hand, pointing at his attacker, and left hand stretched out behind giving balance to the stance. His feet were shoulder width apart, both pointing in the same direction as the sword. He took a breath and studied his opponent.
The old man had adopted a more compact stance. His own sword held across the body, hilt at his left hip and point near his opposite shoulder. Long greying hair pulled back and tied into a pony tail, beard and moustache of the same colour and light eyes that did not waver in their direct gaze. Haung was panting and fighting hard to catch his breath. The old man stood calm and patient. More of a worry, was the hilt of a second sword jutting above the man’s shoulder. A sword he had not drawn, yet.
‘He is just playing with me,’ Haung
thought. He drew back his sword, tracing a circle with the tip to draw the old man’s eyes and then stepped forward, putting his strength and weight behind the lunge. The old man parried the attack, his own sword snaking out to catch Haung’s and push it wide. Without stopping the movement, the old man’s sword twisted upwards, pointing to the sky, and he stepped in, driving Haung’s sword further away stealing his balance. The old man’s foot caught him in the ribs and Haung felt the breath explode from his lungs as he flew backwards.
He landed on his back but let the force of the kick roll him over. Gathering his legs beneath him, he sprang back up to his feet, sweeping his sword round in a large circle, clearing the space around him. Haung resisted the urge to rub his bruised ribs. Instead he raced forward, Jian sword spinning circles to either side, picking up dust and small pebbles from the ground, flinging them towards the old man. As he closed in, he leapt, sword extended before him.
The old warrior merely leant a little to one side and Haung’s sword passed him by. In retaliation, Haung took a punch to his solar plexus. He staggered past the old man and collapsed to his knees, attempting to catch his breath. Keeping some semblance of self-preservation, he let himself fall to the ground and rolled away, hoping to dodge the sword that he was sure was stabbing down at him.
“Is this the best of the Jiin-Wei?” The old man spat the question at him.
Haung levered himself back to his feet and took another stance, a defensive one. “You haven’t beaten me yet.”
“You think so?” The old man began running towards him, sword leading the way.
Haung dipped his free hand into his belt pouch, pulled out a slip of paper which he threw into the air and shouted the word written upon it. The bolt of energy shot towards the old swordsman. Haung followed the bolt with another leap forward, his own sword reaching out and seeking the swordsman’s flesh.
