The cold touch of winter ran its chilly tendrils across the roofs of the Ramor-Tai communes.
In the Wasteland, winter brought more than just simple cold. It was a time when darkness reached across the land, and malevolent spirits had greater sway over all mortal minds. With the onset of year’s end, many villagers from below the mountain came to Ramor-Tai seeking blessings of protection from its mighty Cultivator Masters. Both Longhua and Yoma-Dur could often be seen meeting with such villagers during these trying times, listening to their woes and accepting their gifts for the monastery, offering them simple prayers in return.
It was not unusual to see mothers bring their babies to the monastery in this time, pleading with the Masters and the Core Regulators to heal a malaise that plagued their child. The coldest season was particularly brutal on the young, and a newborn babe was a prime target for the evil spirits that stalked the land, waiting upon biting winds for their chance to devour a human soul.
Rumors began to abound about one particularly nasty group of spirits operating during this time – the Aoyin, or ‘Flesh-Eaters’. XJ-V would listen to Mah-Jung’s tales of the hoof-footed beasts during breakfasts or dinner sessions, trying to parse fact from fiction. According to the ascending young Disciple the beasts devoured the brain matter of mortals for sustenance. Often, they gained the memories of their victims in the process, and some became intelligent enough to mimic the exact mannerisms and movements of those whom they had feasted on. They were malevolent deceivers – one of the most loathsome beasts that stalked the lands that had once been the Qingua Dynasty.
“But,” Mah-Jung said as he chewed on his second helping of rice noodles one morning. “They are not powerful beasts. They are skinny like malnourished dogs and their skin is elastic like an ailing old man’s. Individually, they pose no threat to even a novice versed in the Earth Grade techniques.”
That’s good to know, XJ-V thought to himself as he passed another bowl of rice noodles to the boy. By this time, he had observed that providing Mah-Jung with a constant supply of food in turn provided him with a steady stream of useful information. Like Fai-Deng said – every warrior had a weakness. It turned out Mah-Jung’s was his stomach.
“Tell me, Brother,” XJ-V asked as the youth attacked his bowl. “Have you ever fought one?”
Through mouthfuls of noodles, Mah-Jung slurped out his answer:
“I have tasted their fangs but once, XJ-V. Once, upon a moonlit eve beneath the banks of the Tru’Matra ruins, I encountered a brood of five feasting on the corpse of a slain washerwoman, her head split open and being supped on by each vile demon like she were a bowl of red bean paste.”
Mah-Jung suddenly laid his food aside, his eyes becoming overtaken by the memory.
“They spoke with her voice,” he said. “They asked if I would join them, there, by the river, as the blood of their victim seeped into the water.”
XJ-V tried looking into his Brother’s eyes as he simply stared at his firm hands. He had never seen the boy so shaken.
“I slaughtered them,” he said. “But I am not ashamed to admit that I hesitated. To hear the voice of a kindly old woman emanate from the gnarled lips of those monsters…well, the mind plays tricks. That is the Aoyin’s greatest defense mechanism. Had I submitted to their will, it would be my brain they licked their forked tongues around. It would be my techniques they would employ against their prey, and it would be my voice they used to deceive my brothers who came to slay them…”
The boy shuddered at the memory. The cold air of winter that waited outside the canteen was not helping.
“Forgive me, Brother,” he said. “I seem to have lost my appetite.”
“Why did you track down the beasts?” XJ-V asked, leaning forward and allowing pure curiosity to take hold of him. This was the first time he had heard any of the Disciples speak so openly of the outside world.
“Do not get the wrong idea,” he said. “I am no Planeswalker of the Wasteland. The sacred mission to slay the beasts was granted to me by Master Longhua when I was on the cusp of entering my fourth rank of Corporeal Tempering. A test of might, and of resilience against the horrors of the world. You too shall be given a suitable test someday.”
The Cog pondered that. A test of might. Of strength – it was indeed a necessary component of advancing as a Corporeal Temperer. But he had never imagined such tests would take place outside the bounds of Ramor-Tai. Back in the dreaded winds of the Wasteland…
What horrors would Master Longhua have him confront?
Mah-Jung seemed to sense his metal Brother’s tension, for he slapped XJ-V on the back and broke into riotous laughter like he usually did.
“I wouldn’t look so worried, Brother!” he laughed. “After all, I doubt Aoyin enjoy the taste of metal and steel. Your brain, I’m afraid, would not be of interest to them.”
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XJ-V smiled back at his jovial brother and took his leave. He had an appointment with Feng-Lung for some guided meditation in the courtyard. Yet, as he rose and bowed to quit the canteen, he found that he couldn’t quite forget the visage of horror and disgust Mah-Jung had displayed. It had been like a momentary chink in his armor of humor.
But, hearing Mah-Jung turn and nudge a sickly looking Disciple beside him as he left, XJ-V knew Mah-Jung probably never dwelled on such things as much as he did.
“Brother Casa-Dur,” he heard Mah-Jung say. “Are you going to be finishing your noodles…?”
…
“I thought you would be training with your new pet dog?”
Arha fought free of Feng-Lung’s stroking hand and ran at the meditating form of XJ-V.
“Arha’s machine-man has gotten a new pet!?” she wailed. “Oh, devious, two-timing XJ! It seems that men are men, even if they are made of steel!”
XJ-V opened his eyes and gave a steely chuckle as he reassured the teary-eyed Huli.
“I much prefer your company to Fai-Deng’s, Arha. This is mostly because you do not try to kill me.”
“Hmpf!” the spirit pouted. “Is that the standards Cogs set for their loyal companions?”
“I agree with the Huli,” Feng-Lung said. “I still cannot believe you convinced Master Yoma-Dur to bring that hound to heel.”
The moon rose like a ball of frozen sapphire over the clouded winter skies. Evening drew in with a brisk chill that ate at the bones of man and machine alike, but Feng-Lung had insisted that they stick out their meditation session in the monastery courtyard. The boy had said that the cool air of the outside would produce an effect on the flow of Qi, and that a winter Dao-Walk could only be safely conducted in the open. Malicious spirits waited upon those who dwelled in the dark.
“I am more surprised by you, Feng-Lung,” XJ-V said, eyeing his friend who seemed to only have eyes for the walls of Ramor-Tai’s gates in this moment. Really, during their entire session of deep breathing and Qi channeling, preparing to walk the Dao as a pair, the Cog had noticed his friend was possessed by a far more somber mood than usual.
“Why?” the boy asked. “Because I showed mercy to the man that tried to kill me? We both did that, XJ-V. I am not about to sully my reputation as a Cultivator over some brash Tiger who now trips under his own tail.”
XJ-V smiled, trying to catch his friend’s eyes while Arha snuggled into his lap. “There are a great many things about you which confuse me.”
Feng simply laid his head in his hands and ran his fingers over his bald, tattooed skull.
“Go on, then.”
“Why you first sat with me out here,” XJ-V continued. “Why you continue to train me even though you have your own path to follow. You have already reached Rank 3 of Corporeal Tempering. Right now, you should be focused on honing your own skills.”
“Really?” Feng-Lung said, yawning and lying down on the icy ground of the courtyard, watching the last petals of the chrysanthemums trickle down to the ground. “Is that what you would do in my situation?”
“It is what a Cultivator would do.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Feng-Lung looked at XJ-V with an intensity that did not become him. The Cog was once again surprised. He expected nothing but good humor from the youth.
“I – am sorry, Brother,” he said, turning over and wiping his nose. “This season puts me in a poor mood.”
XJ-V shuffled forwards, still maintaining his meditative stance. He allowed time to pass. He gave his Brother space. He knew that words were only useful when a human did not wish to speak. And, judging by the flow of Qi he could sense building up around Feng-Lung’s head and pallid mouth, his Brother certainly wished to say something. So, the Cog simply listened.
“Master Longhua has told me I must speak of my demons in order to dispel them,” the boy finally said, rolling over on his side. “But the old man does not know…he does not know the burden of the thoughts I have.”
XJ-V’s eyes flared. “You are possessed by demons, Feng-Lung?”
“Not in the way you think,” the boy replied with a laugh, pointing at his forehead. “These demons are those of the mind.”
The Cog looked at him like a confused kitten.
“Can we fight them?” he asked.
At this, Feng-Lung rose to banish any silly notion of fighting his sorrows away when, suddenly, he was seized by an idea.
“…In a manner of speaking…yes, but.”
“Then we should do so,” XJ-V said with feeling. “I will not allow these demons to take you, no matter how evil they may be.”
“Ah!” Feng-Lung said. “There it is – the Cog paladin of justice…”
The boy’s fists tightened, deepening XJ-V’s confusion.
“XJ-V,” he said. “This is the one thing I do not think I can share with you.”
“Why not?”
“Because – because I can’t. My words are not good enough to give these thoughts voice.”
“Brother –“
“I just can’t!”
A flurry of snow dripped from the rooftop of Dragonpyre hearth. Somewhere beyond the monastery, the call of a Wasteland creature echoed through the night.
“I – forgive me,” Feng-Lung said. “Forgive me, Brother…the Feng-Lung you see before you is not the same Feng-Lung. Like a hungry Aoyin, this thing I am right now has eaten me whole.”
XJ-V met his apology with silence, waiting to see if the boy could even look him in his eyes.
“And I fear it will continue to eat me,” Feng-Lung whispered. “Every year.”
He turned away and barely even looked back as Arha nuzzled into the back of his leg.
“You are lucky to have this creature,” Feng-Lung said as he walked on back to his chamber in the commune. “Good night.”
XJ-V did nothing else except stare at his departing Brother’s back. His fingers twitched. His toes itched to move, and yet his head told him there was nothing he could say to alleviate whatever pain was currently traveling through Feng-Lung’s troubled mind.
“You know what Arha thinks?” Arha whispered in his ear. “Arha thinks all Cultivators are stuck in their own heads.”
Stuck in their heads…
That was exactly what Fai-Deng said was my weakness. But can demons of the mind truly be beaten out of a human?
If they could, he’d find a way. He’d found a way to do much in the short time he’d been here. He’d had his own demons to banish, and he had pushed through just fine. It was time to help another do the same.
As he stroked Arha’s fuzzy forehead, XJ-V made up his mind then and there that he had a new objective: he would cheer up his Brother before winter was through or die trying.
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