by G R Matthews
Deshi looked towards his wife, “Sying?”
“Please,” she said, “let’s get it over with.”
“Of course, Lady Sying of Ya’an,” Shù bowed to Deshi’s wife. “We have a reached a compromise, your wife and I. She has life about her, did you know that? You do not, nor does your void-stealing bodyguard and under other circumstances I would see him dead, but not today. She has life, she does not know how to use it yet but I can teach her a little and there others that can teach her more should she need it. Her children will have it too, that is part of our bargain, I have strengthened the bond to the spirit.”
“Life? Children? Our son died.” Deshi thrashed about attempting to escape but the branches grew tighter.
“You will learn not to struggle in time,” Shù said. “She will have more children who in turn will become the rulers of Ya’an. They will protect the tree as she does. It is clear that she has already picked out a new husband.”
Sying gazed at Deshi, her fingers stoking Guo’s unconscious face, “I will tell the troops that you fell in the river and were swept away. Guo will back up this story, as will the chief and any villager that is spoken to.” She let Guo’s head fall gently from her lap and rest on the short grass, “We will leave the village and build a town further along, towards the mountains. A small monument to your passing will be raised here, designating the village as a protected site. Custom, tradition and laws will protect it from development.”
“And what about me? Are you going to drown me?” Deshi felt fear grow in his stomach, his heart beat rapidly, and his limbs trembled.
“No,” Shù spoke, “you are coming with me, into the tree. You will live out your life in my home, at my beck and call. You will be my servant to use as I see fit, and when I see fit. Your wife tells me that you have similar servants in your palace. You will do as I say, when I say, or there will be consequences.”
The bark of the tree’s trunk began to split apart and green light shone forth. Deshi was pulled towards it by the constricting branches. He screamed all the way.
THE CHASE
Note: This was originally the first chapter to Book 2 of the Forbidden List – The Blue Mountain but it was cut in early draft. However, I quite liked it and I hope you do too.
The Chase
Zhou ran.
Saplings tugged at his cotton trousers and the fallen leaves that carpeted the ground made his footing treacherous. He drew the cold mountain air into his lungs as he scrambled up the steep incline. The tired ache in his thighs and calves was an unwelcome indication that his endurance was nearing its end and the clatter of pursuit was coming closer.
Zhou looked around. There was nowhere to hide. Either side of the narrow trail tall, thin trunks of mountain trees rose high before the first branches spread out their arms to catch the sunlight. The canopy covered the forest floor in shadow and ferns sprouted where patches of clear sky allowed a beam of sunlight through.
With tiring legs there was little point pushing further up the mountain, Zhou decided, and so he ran, skidding through the crowd of trees at a right angle to the slope. His left foot, being the lower of the two, left deep gouges in the humus - evidence of his passage that he could do nothing about.
Sweat dripped down his forehead and with his free hand he wiped it away, never stopping, following the contour of the steep slope. The smell of wet earth and slow rotting leaves surrounded him. Despite the situation, he smiled. Using his right hand he swung round the smooth trunks using them as support to add speed to his traverse.
In the act of reaching for the next tree the leaves beneath his feet slid away in a miniature avalanche of greens and browns. Zhou fell. Left leg skidded out following the leaves downslope and down he went onto his right knee and then forward onto his face. Reflex drove his hands towards the ground to brace and protect. Forward momentum was the enemy of balance and control.
He bounced and rolled down the slope. Leaves sprayed upwards with each desperate attempt to halt his tumble. Zhou yelped in pain as his elbow caught a hidden root or stone beneath the thin cushion of the forest floor and then his mouth was filled with leaves and dirt. He tucked his arms in close around his head and gave himself over the uncontrollable descent.
The journey came to an abrupt end as his ribs crashed into the trunk of a tall tree. Zhou lay still, gasping for air whilst the world continued to spin around him. When at last the wild rotations died down he probed his ribs with a delicate touch, wincing as he did so.
Don’t think any are broken, he surmised, but there’s going to be a nasty bruise.
Using the self-same tree that had caused the damage he pulled himself to his feet. Gazing upward and following the route of his tumble he saw scars of black earth amongst the green leaf litter. Each one marked where a shoulder, hip or leg had gouged into the ground during the fall. He sucked in air between gritted teeth as he realised how many times he had narrowly missed a raised stone or tree. If his head had struck any it would have been the end and he would be reunited with wife and child. The thought had some appeal.
Through the forest Zhou heard the sound of pursuit again. They would be on his scent, though the evidence of his passage required no great tracking skill to unpick. He had to move on and he did so but this time with a little less pace and a lot more care. There was still a long way to fall.
The land beneath his feet began to curve inward towards the mountain itself and a new sound filtered past the leaves and branches. Zhou stopped, clinging onto a tree with his right hand, calmed his breathing and focused. The sounds of the forest drifted through him and he sieved them one by one, identifying and discarding them. The flutter of leaves on the breeze, the creaking groan of bending branches, the skittering claws of small animals in the leaf litter, the call of birds in the high trees and there, in amongst them all, was a new sound. He let it swell in his consciousness, comparing it with past experiences and after a few moments nodded. The ache in his legs forgotten, replaced by hope and the germ of an idea.
A hundred or so paces later he stumbled out of the trees into clear sky and the warmth of the late afternoon sun. He checked over his shoulder, beyond the first few ranks of trees nothing else could be seen. The water course had cut a shallow valley into the side of the mountain. Either side the rocks were covered moss, lichen and low growing ferns. The stream was shallow, more a series of tiny waterfalls over smooth, flat rocks that reminded him of a collapsed wall. For a second memory of the tumbled wall and charred wood of his smouldering home encroached on the present. He forced it away, back into the recesses, behind the cell door that contained away all those memories. He turned the key again and kept it safe, next to all the others, in his heart.
All morning he had been moving upwards, not with any great plan but because instinct told him to. If he was careful, the flat stones beneath the water course could be climbed like a staircase. He looked down stream. They could also be a good route of descent. Perhaps a change in direction would throw his pursuers off the trail. In addition, he knew, the water would mask his scent and passage from the trackers and dogs they had brought with them.
He stooped and caught some of the falling water in cupped hands. Much of it dripped through his fingers before it reached his mouth but it tasted fresh on his tongue. More than that, it gave him a lift and sharpened his focus. After three more drinks from the mountain stream and placing his feet with great care he began to pick his way down.
Water soaked his trousers and whenever he reached out a hand to steady his balance it ran along his arms making him shiver. One waterfall was too high to step down and he was forced to sit and lower himself. After that he no longer noticed the rivulets of water, the wet tunic or the saturated trousers.
The bubbling noises of the waterfall masked the sounds pursuit but he had a clear view up stream could see no sign of them. That did not mean they were not coming, just that they were not in sight right now. The dimming light hinted that dusk would soon fall upon the forest
and soon after the utter darkness of night. Travelling the mountain forest at night was not an option he could consider. He had no means of making fire and at this altitude the nights were cold.
Somewhere to get dry and a bit of shelter for the night before it got too dark to see, he thought
With the decision made, he stepped out of the stream that had been his path through the trees for the past few hours and headed back into the forest. Under the canopy, the early evening sun made little impression on the gloom beneath. As soon as the stream was no longer visible through the trees, he stopped and stripped off the sodden clothes. The first twist of material and water flowed from the clothes in a steady stream which soaked into the earth. Each subsequent twist brought forth less and less water until, finally, with aching wrists only a single drop formed. He laid the damp clothes over a low fern and hoped the slight breeze would dry them by morning. Damp and naked, Zhou felt the chill as the breeze evaporated the last of the water on his skin.
Shelter? Zhou pondered as he looked around. There were no helpful trees with low hanging branches over-burdened with leaves that could be pulled down and made into a simple lean-to. Like all the trees in this forest, the trunks were smooth and uninterrupted save for the occasional bare stub of a branch. All the leaves were up in the high canopy or littered on the floor beneath his feet.
Better than nothing, he decided and began to move around the area kicking and sweeping the leaves into a large pile close to a trunk. The black earth beneath was as damp as his clothes and clung to the leather of his shoes. He noticed small grubs and beetles scuttle away from the last rays of the sun as he exposed them. Without thought he ducked down and caught those he could see. Plucking them from the safety of the detritus he popped them into his mouth and crunched down. The grubs squished between his teeth; warm and tasting of dirt. The beetles carapaces jabbed into his gums, their wings caught between his teeth, forcing him to fish around and hook them out between thumb and forefinger. He continued to pile the leaves higher and higher.
When he judged the pile was great enough and the light nearly gone he stopped and examined the area once more. A great swathe of the forest floor was empty of leaves and only the black damp earth was visible. Here and there, the root of a tree poked up through the dirt. Zhou checked the condition of his clothes, they were drier but still wet and wet clothes were not good to sleep in. They sapped the heat and energy from your body, using it to evaporate the moisture so that, by the morning, your clothes were dry but you were dead from the chills.
Zhou closed his eyes, took a calming breath and called to his spirit. It came easier now and he felt the familiar presence rise and swell through his entire being. It brought warmth to his bones and the night forest came alive with sounds and scents. His vision sharpened also and the dark shadows vanished. He smiled, he felt alive, and a low, guttural growl escaped his lips. Turning in the direction of the stream, he clamped down on the spirit’s natural exuberance, and with clear sight through the gloom he moved like a ghost through the trees.
Pausing at the tree line before the stream, he sniffed the air and listened. The only noises were those of the forest and though there may have been just the hint of smoke on the air it was not enough to judge the fire close by. It may simply have been his imagination. However, he waited for time. Letting the sounds of the forest become familiar and developing a feeling the rhythm of the night. At last, sure that no one was close, he crept out of the tree line and to the stream. Bending down he cupped more water to his lips. After each drink, he raised his head and sniffed the air again. When he had drunk his fill, Zhou moved back to the tree line and resumed his patient surveillance.
Satisfied that nothing was close by, he moved back through the forest to the clearing of dark earth and pile of leaves. He tasted the scents on the air again and then, with a sad regret, let the spirit go.
Immediately, he felt cold. Goose pimples broke out across his exposed skin. The spirit was a blessing and could keep him warm but it did burn through his energy reserves at a pace he could not sustain even if he had a good days rest and full stomach. He had neither and had to be careful. It was quite possible, he had been told, to die from using the spirit too much without rest and food. So, whilst it could keep him warm throughout the coming night he would wake, if he did, as weak as new born kitten. Easy prey for those chasing him.
Leaving the clothes on the branch he turned to the pile of leaves he had made. With care he lay down on them and with gentle movements wormed his way deeper into their embrace, pulling more leaves over him as he sunk. His mattress of leaves would protect him from the draining coolness of the earth and the blanket of leaves would protect him from the worst of the chill wind and cold night air. It would not be an easy night but Zhou knew if he made it through, it would be the last.
Tomorrow was a new day.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Cover art from Freedigitalphotos.net. Created by Chaiwat (Published on 19 August 2011)
Thanks to BC, you know who you are, for the research on ants!
The dryad’s wedding poem is real. I discovered it here; Wedding poem by Kuan Tao-Sheng (1262-1319) courtesy of http://www.documentsanddesigns.com/verse/Chinese_wedding_vows.htm
