by Mark Swaine
“There is no assassin, it would appear that Anming leapt to her death from Chung Denshi's balcony,” says Kamui Li now appearing irrational.
“The attacker pushed Anming from Chung Denshi's balcony?” asks Peng Shi playing dumb.
“Where is Chung Denshi?” asks Kamui Li growing impatient, “and the High Priest who was among you, where is he?”
“There are many High Priests honoured to our house Master Samurai, you will need to be more specific,” says Peng Shi.
“High Priest Dewei,” replies Kamui Li.
“Minister Dewei has retired for the night, and Chung Denshi went for a walk, he will return shortly,” replies Peng Shi.
Kamui looks to the other Priests; some of them cup their tankards of wine tightly at the mere mention of Chung Denshi's return. But all of them cannot look Kamui Li in the eye as they drink with their heads down in a vain attempt to mind their business.
“Have any of you people frequented the séance room this night?” asks Kamui Li sheathing his sword completely into his scabbard.
“The séance room is off limits to everybody but an Elder Priest, it has not been used for a long time as I understand,” says Peng Shi looking to the other Priests in agreement.
“You haven’t answered my question Peng Shi,” says Kamui Li.
“No, not one person has visited the séance room,” says Peng Shi exaggerating his lie.
“Not one of you has seen, or heard anything strange, anything at all?” asks Kamui Li observing the Priests’ stifled demeanours.
“Perhaps you had a little too much wine earlier this evening, you have a long journey ahead of you upon sunrise, goodnight Kamui Li,” says Peng Shi.
Kamui Li mutters a spell and his hand glows red. Outstretching his red glowing hand in the direction of the Priests; he searches for signs of spiritual corruption and dark auras.
“What are you doing? You have definitely consumed too much wine?” smirks Peng Shi patronisingly.
“Making sure,” says Kamui Li.
“Of what?” asks Peng Shi impatiently.
“Never mind, I shall await Chung Denshi's return and speak with Minister Dewei upon sunrise,” says Kamui Li.
“That will not be necessary,” says a familiar voice from behind him. “Master Dewei passed away this night during his sleep,” continues Chung Denshi sadly.
“You often make late night visits to your Brothers?” asks Kamui Li.
“Anming was a dear part of this Brotherhood, and had long since served us with honour and dedication. After seeing her lifeless body I visited Master Dewei to inform him of her death, only to find he had died. Unlike yourself, not all of possess the ability to avoid perishing of age,” adds Chung Denshi.
“Perhaps you dreamt the attacker,” suggests Peng Shi.
“Why are your belongings gathered beside Anming's Minister Denshi, were you both going somewhere?” asks Kamui Li.
“I am due to ride out first thing after sunrise and aid the people in rebuilding their homes. Anming is my servant, so yes Master Samurai. Why do you ask? What are you trying to imply?” asks Chung Denshi suggestively.
“That you and Anming were secret lovers,” replies Kamui Li sacrilegiously.
“Were the Emperor here now, he would see you punished for your blasphemy. My vows of celibacy I take with me to my last breath,” replies Chung Denshi.
“As a Brotherhood, we shall mourn the loss of Anming. She was one of us, and will be dearly missed. Now kindly and calmly explain the cause of her demise,” interjects Peng Shi.
“Something made her jump to her death,” replies Kamui Li.
“She took her own life,” replies Chung Denshi.
“No, I do not believe that,” replies Kamui Li firmly.
“Master Samurai, it was dark, you are under a great deal of pressure, and your people have suffered a great loss during the attack. It would seem you have misinterpreted a simply tragedy as something more sinister,” replies Chung Denshi sympathetically.
“Perhaps it was the storm,” says Peng Shi seeking emphasis from his quiet brothers.
Almost in unison, the Priests unconvincingly concur and back up Peng Shi's wild guess as they fear for their very souls. An elderly Priest echoes the words of Peng Shi, repeating it over and over until it fades away into a whisper as he stares into the fireplace.
“The storm, it was the storm, it is just a storm, storms pass,” says the High Priest Jin nodding to himself,
It’s only now the old Priest understands why the Emperor had forbidden the spell for eternal life as he fears for the final resting place of his soul.
“Take me to the séance room,” demands Kamui Li.
“The séance room is off limits to civilians, what part of this do you not understand?” snaps Peng Shi.
“Calm yourself Brother, the good Samurai has good reason to suspect foul play,” says Chung Denshi.
“I do, why is that?” asks Kamui Li sensing something seriously wrong with Chung Denshi.
“Given the tragedy of todays event, why wouldn’t you. And Anming, I spoke with her shortly after we arrived because she was so inconsolable with grief,” says Chung Denshi.
“Perhaps this is the very reason she decided to end her own life,” says Peng Shi.
“The Seance chamber,” says Kamui Li.
“Yes, yes, yes, very well, I will escort you to the séance chamber,” says Peng Shi rising tiredly from his seat.
“No, Minister Denshi will take me,” says Kamui Li.
“Very well, leave your weapon,” says Chung Denshi.
After making the short rain filled journey into the séance chamber, Kamui Li recognises it immediately, from the shape of the cave down to the ever detailed cracks and curves in the craggy rising walls. Kamui Li, conscious of being alone with Chung Denshi, plays innocently as to what he seeks.
“What is it you hope to find Master Samurai?” asks Chung Denshi.
“I do not yet know Minister Denshi, but were I to be as cowardly as the servants of Darkness, I would first target the Emperor's Ministers, I have seen it before,” replies Kamui Li testing Chung Denshi.
Kamui Li strolls near the Diexian table and observes the familiar clockwork design on the surface. Sensing Chung Denshi's eyes on everything he takes an interest in, he peers at the glass ampoule of virgin blood and a level stain around the interior signifying its recent use.
“Diexian's require a planchette do they not?” quizzes Kamui Li.
“Indeed,” replies Chung Denshi.
“So where is it?” asks Kamui Li.
“I know not, it should be here,” replies Chung Denshi innocently.
Kamui places a well-targeted foot on the ground as he recalls where he found the rag of cloth in his dream. He pushes the rag of cloth under the table with his foot and then walks over to Chung Denshi and stands with his back to him as he observes the height of the cave.
“Find anything of interest?” asks Chung Denshi kindly.
Kamui Li's hand glows red as he turns to face the Minister and the Priest smiles uselessly as Kamui Li aims his hand at him, certain he would need to carry out an exorcism on the awkward looking Priest. Kamui Li appears frustrated and confused as he aims it closer, but still he finds no signs of spiritual corruption.
“Satisfied?” asks Chung Denshi. “You can trust me Kamui Li. You have always been able to trust me. I spoke of my allegiance to the Samurai many times with Anming,”
“Yes, she told me of this,” replies Kamui Li as the red glow fades from his hand.
“Shall we leave the cold and morbidity of this unwelcoming place?” says Chung Denshi.
“Yes, my apologies Minister Denshi, let us leave,” replies Kamui Li smiling civilly.
Kamui Li follows slowly behind Chung Denshi and his polite smile disappears as he sneers at him suspiciously. Kamui Li suddenly holds his hand out behind his back and the green rag he had shoved under the table flies into his hand. Yu-Huang returns to his chambers, but does
not sleep. He sits awake cursing himself for indulging in rest in the first place, for had he been awake, he might have been able to prevent this troubling cause of events. Even though Chung Denshi shows no signs of spiritual corruption, there is something different about him, and his entire manner has changed. With Yu-Huang fully aware of his disdain for the Brotherhood, Kamui Li dare not even raise his suspicions, not yet, not until he has proof. Kamui Li even begins to contemplate the possibility that he is wrong, what if Anming had taken her own life. The Samurai opens up his hand and looks at the green rag embroidered with the gold emblem of a horse, then squeezes his hand shut again whilst trusting in his instincts.
CHAPTER twenty-SIX
En route to “Nínìng de Yīng” (Muddy Hawk) Mountain Range.
After journeying back to the borders of the city, Mǎkè had located the tree described to him not only by Akio, but by the Black Dragon himself. Since his talk with the Black Dragon, he wonders how such a thing is possible, yet there it stood in plain sight beside an ordinary village trail. Mǎkè, Húluóbo and Ling Long Song vacated the tree from the other side andMǎkè had looked back at the enchanting, organic teleporter disguised as a tree, now knowing for certain that anything is truly possible. Mǎkè, with Ling Long Song riding Húluóbo, traverse the narrow steep winding trail leading to the Qiūjì Tiě village. Mǎkè appears troubled as he sees billows of smoke coming from the far side of the mountain, and as they clear the obstructing corner he holds his hand over his head in mortification to find the village of the Blacksmiths in ruins. Making their way through the villageMǎkè looks around glumly as families embrace their dead in pained wailing cries. As plain faced Jade soldiers put out fires whilst holding back families, others plough through the charred and destroyed ruins of huts and shelters for any survivors, but there are none. Mǎkè approaches Wèizào's hut and as he sees it aflame, and he races over in a mad dash to ensure he isn't trapped inside. Two Jade soldiers grab the frantic man and eventually pin him to the ground as he lashes out in frustration.
“There was a man here, a big man, a blacksmith named Wei Li, you may know him as...”
“Wèizào is dead,” says a Jade Captain as the two soldiers bringMǎkè to his feet.
“No, not Wèizào, it cannot be, nothing in all the realms could kill Wèizào,” replies Mǎkè in disbelief.
“He fought well, he fought bravely, but ultimately he fell in combat. He was a good friend of yours?” asks the Captain.
“Yes, well no... we had a complicated friendship,” says Mǎkè solemnly remembering his irate customer and sometimes workmate.
“We found this in his grasp; it was of great importance to him. Ultimately, it cost him his life,” says the Jade Captain.
The two soldiers loosen their grip on Mǎkè as the Captain offers him a green and silver scabbard containing a sword with a lime marbled hilt.
“I forged this sword for him,” says Mǎkè rubbing his forehead in despair, “it was intended to be a gift for him to find as a prank. He often wondered if it was a gift from the Three Pure Ones. Much time passed and I had not the heart to reveal the truth of its origin. He often joked about presenting it to the Emperor as a gift,” says Mǎkè in reminiscence.
Mǎkè looks at Ling Long Song's weak posture and knows he must leave as the dressings around her flush wrist begin dripping with blood again. Mǎkè offers thanks to the Captain then continues onward, through the village and across the newly tied drawbridge with Húluóbo wading across the rushing river of ore. Mǎkè and Ling Long Song face a battering barrage of heavy rain as they push uphill to the verge of a winding precipice overlooking the Huanghua city. On the verge of the flush Nínìng de Yīng mountains, the two drenched travellers look at the mountain face and can't seem to remove their eyes from the sight before them. Ling Long Song because she had never seen a settlement of this kind before, and Mǎkè because it was finally good to be home.Mǎkè smiles as he looks up at the various arched balconies and rectangular shaped doorways high up the mountain face, all sealed shut by rattling gates. Ling Long Song looks at a strange design of iron tracks attached to the cliff face that pass over the outstretched balconies. Mǎkè approaches the base of the mountain and wipes the muddy water off a large square panel holding twelve smaller panels, each embedded with a picture of an animal.Mǎkè beckons Húluóbo and helps Ling Long off the metal mule before guiding it onto four square panels built into the ground lateral to the wall panel. As the ground panels sink with Húluóbo weight, the entire mountain groans to life as plumes of smoke escape vents from the side. A furnace in the void of the mountain directs heat and flames through various chambers and pipes, and as the animal symbols glow from the internal flame,Mǎkè slaps a pressure pad on Húluóbo's rear end. Húluóbo bucks suddenly and lifts its strong rear whilst kicking out on the twelve panels. As the iron donkey kicks a combination of panels, the knob of a short lever shoots out and Mǎkè guides it downwards and crossways through a series of grooves and dead ends. Behind the rock face an internal succession of clanking and chinking accompanies the sound of burning coal as a tarp covered cage appears from the distant corner of the twisting rails at the top of the mountain. The cage attached to a twin rail by a cogged wheel balanced by a gyro, along the lateral ride. As the tracks turn downward the cage remains levels in its downward journey. Mǎkè caringly ushers Ling Long and Húluóbo into the sheltered elevator and cranks a short lever. The elevator groans and creaks the higher it climbs and creates an unnerving sensation for Ling Long as she looks at Mǎkè with uncertainty.
“Húluóbo, have you put on weight?” asks Mǎkè jokily.
Húluóbo honks and shrieks in a high pitch and Mǎkè is caught off guard at the panoramic view of the Huanghua city, and all the once fine cities surrounding it. Gone is the blue sky merging with innocence of the ocean, everything is replaced by dark and hazy clouds of smoke rising from flickering tiny specks of glowing fire. The elevator grinds to a stop at the highest terrace, a wide veranda formed of metal grating that bridges the gaps between solid rock. Mǎkè carefully guides his guest to the closed archway and tugs on a chain sending the steel shutter rattling upward to disappear behind the rock. Inside the pitch black room, Ling Long has no idea what to expect from the eccentric man's residence asMǎkè lights a wall mounted torch to find a handled wheel half concealed in the wall. Mǎkè pushes the wheel into motion handle by handle and Ling Long looks strangely at the rough cave ceiling. A network of flintstone crafted wheels grind together creating a shower of sparks onto kerosene lamps hanging below. The sparks ignite the suspended torches casting light on various sections of the living area, with each section looking just as impressive as the last. Ling Long is pleasantly surprised at the cosy living space, and curious to the nature of all the kooky mechanical gadgets laying around or neatly polished for display. The two remove their footwear and Ling Long's feet feel a treat as she treads across the warm furry bear skin lining the ground. Mǎkè rushes Ling Long to a small workstation in the corner and sits her down at a table before rushing over to a massive steel cylindrical machine built into the cave wall. The humongous chilly machine fuelled by a separate ever running power source, hums loudly. Mǎkè presses a circular button on a side panel and two doors slide open to release a cloud of cold vapour. Mǎkè enters the walk in fridge and pushes a wheeled ladder before quickly climbing to the top. Reading the labels aloud to himself he finds what he's looking for, a bottle filled with a thick red liquid. Sliding the freezing bottle out from storage he double checks the label before sliding back down the ladder. Mǎkè grabs a steel bowl from a nearby shelf and places it in front of Ling Long whilst sitting beside her. Ling Long smiles worriedly as Mǎkè takes her arm, and as carefully and as painlessly as possible, he begins to unravel the sticky blood drenched bandage from the stump of her wrist. Ling Long whimpers slightly and grits her teeth and Mǎkè winces apologetically whilst observing the wound that has already begun to fester. He removes the top of the bottle and can already feel the sub
stance heating up so quickly pours the scolding hot contents into the basin. The bowl of red stuff bubbles wildly and spits and Ling Long looks at it with uncertainty.
“Ling Long, your wound has become infected and has begun to clot, dip your arm in this,” says Mǎkè sternly.
“What is it?” asks Ling Long cautiously.
“Dragon’s blood combined with a secret mineral,” replies Mǎkè showing her the bottle. “‘Tis extremely potent and will not only clean your wound, but reopen it. But more importantly, it will act as conduit,”
“A conduit to what?” says Ling Long shivering pain.
“Bite on this,” saysMǎkè placing a small stick between her teeth.
As Mǎkè lowers the stump of her wrist into the bubbling bowl of blood, Ling Long screams through the short stick as he forcibly holds her arm still. As the secret potion enters her system she jolts in her seat as her heart pumps with adrenaline, amplifying her pain. Ling Long’s screams grow wilder and locks her eyes on Mǎkè's.
