CHAPTER SEVEN: REVELATIONS
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Alshiram looked down from the balcony watching the flying boat descending towards the sky dock over the Fair Sky Plaza. Next to him, Dorn breathed out a sigh of relief when Dunstan came into view. He could understand. The boy looked none the worse for wear, a miracle given what he no doubt went through.
As they alighted, his eyes narrowed, following an unnatural shape in Dunstan’s left sleeve. A hidden cast. Clever. It would not do to broadcast how injured their leader was.
“Welcome back, Sect Leader”, he said with a “We’re glad to see you home safe.”
“Thank you very much for the welcome. The desolate fields were not as accommodating as I believed.
Dorn smiled.
“It’s good to see you kept your spirits”, Dorn said with a smile. The portly old man walked up to his great-nephew had pulled him into a hug. “We were worried the daemons would run off with your sense of humour.”
“Hah!” Dunstan scoffed playfully. “As if they could!”
“The arm?”
Dunstan immediately straightened up, his tone and manner changed into a formal one before he answered. “A bite wound from a foetooth I encountered. I treated it as best as I could and had Elder Gage take a look at it. It’s healed as best as he is able and there will be no lasting damage. The cast is a precautionary measure. I merely have to be careful not to damage it further until the bones within recover their full strength.”
Alshiram shot a glance at the Elder in question. The man nodded profusely. He wasn’t quite sure when it was he became this strict old man that put everyone on edge but it was a burden he had learned to live with. “No other injuries?” he asked to make doubly sure.
“Nothing a good rest wouldn’t cure”, Dunstan said managing a sigh even as he made discrete signals that drew his attention.
“I trust there is no need to say to reckless your actions were?” Alshiram said tonelessly. “What you risked?”
“Senior Brother!”
“Sect Master Kaguri has just returned. I’m not sure now is the time…”
Unexpectedly, he wasn’t so above reproach that he would not be questioned. Alshiram wasn’t sure whether to be happy that the assembled elders were so quick to jump to their Sect Master’s defence or to be sad that he was apparently that much of a villain in their eyes. Whichever it was, he didn’t have time for it.“Don’t start with me, Dorn!”
The poor man’s mouth shut with the audible clack of teeth and whatever, he had meant to say died in his throat. He would have to make it up to him later. He turned to the others who spoke up and found no one who was prepared to meet his gaze. Everyone gathered at the dock looked like they would rather be anywhere else.
“He is now the leader of this sect. We can no longer afford to treat him like a child. Four thousand years. An unbroken line spanning four thousand years nearly ended…” as he spoke, he felt some of his true frustrations leak into his words. It was unbecoming.
“Come”, he said with a real sigh. “We’ll talk inside.”
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The Sun-Facing Tower had a very appropriate name. Perched on one of the lesser peaks, it was high enough on the mountainside to look over the entirety of their eastern holdings. Small enough to overlook, only high-standing members of the Vast Heaven Palace knew its significance, that for nearly five hundred years, it had been the Sixth Preceptor’s private office.
Directing Dunstan to a seat, the old man made his way over to his favourite chair.
“Lord Preceptor, I … I apologise for…”
Alshiram waved his hand dismissively, hoping to rush past the embarrassment on the sky dock.
“Forget the theatre boy!” he charged the youth. “What is it you wish to speak of so urgently?”
The boy said nothing, choosing instead to stare about the office pointedly.
“Relax”, Alshiram assured him. “This room is as secure as can be. No one can eavesdrop on us here.”
“No one?” Dunstan asked in a strange tone.
Meeting him with a piercing gaze, Alshiram steepled his fingers. “Do you doubt me now, boy?” To his credit, Dunstan met his eyes head-on and did not waver.
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“My apologies, on my return I find that I am far less convinced about the security of the sect as I was when I left.”
Alshiram nodded in approval, There was steel in him yet. A few decades of tempering and he could truly lead the sect to its old glory. However, that did not stop his face from turning at Dunstan’s words.
“What happened?”
“The entire excursion was a plot to kill me.”
Alshiram sighed, his suspicions confirmed. The full weight of his advanced age seemed to crash down on him at that moment.
“You knew?” The boy questioned, his mind no doubt leaping to all sorts of places.
“I suspected as much when the first reports came in”, he admitted. Standing back up, he busied himself preparing some tea, discovering that he need to keep his hands busy to keep the urge to wring necks at bay.
“Start from the beginning!”
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Dunstan told his story, watching the old man like a hawk. The relationship between himself and the Sixth Preceptor was a strange one. There was always the feeling that they should be closer, however, their wildly different ages and dispositions made that impossible. Technically, the man was his master’s, grandmaster. The only sect master in centuries to successfully retire from the post and take the title of Reverred Preceptor.
Before his own master, the Eight Sect Master, went on that disaster of a mission, Dunstan could have counted the number of times he met this enigmatic former leader of the Vast heaven Palace on one hand. In the two years since the old man had become a sort of aloof grandfather to him. Learning that the old man he had come to trust had been lying to him was a shock that needed to be addressed.
When he was done recounting his tale, Dunstan sat back in his chair and waited for the old man to speak. He didn’t. He just continued to sit there, sipping at his tea.
“Are not going to say something?”
“If you have questions, ask. Don’t expect others to volunteer what you need.”
Here it was, the lessons. Dunstan found that he wasn’t in the mood for cryptic messages and parables at this time. “When were you going to tell me that the sect was on the verge of revolt?”
“Revolt?” The old man repeated. “Is that what Midian told you? That boy could never help but exaggerate. It is as if his deeds meant less if they were not stretched to near fantasy”
“You’re denying it?” he pressed.
“No. Of course not”, the Sixth Preceptor answered. “I cannot deny that the sect is in trouble but revolt? The sect is not that divided.”
Somehow, even as he spoke, Dustan heard the implied yet.
“Your master was decent, talented…”
“What’s he got to do with this?” Dunstan interrupted.
The old set his cup aside with a sigh. “Patience.”
“Atanga Frill was a good man and he had the potential to be a great sect leader. His greatest fault was mine. I put it in his head that he was the one going to reverse our downward spiral, that he was going to be the one to return our sect to our glory days and he believed me. He carried my dream for a revitalised sect. None of us knew the dream would eventually doom him. We worked hard at it and for a time, the sect seemed to slowly recover. Then the Demon Subjugation Order came.”
Dunstan clenched his fists. He knew where this was going. How could he not when it was practically etched in his mind? His master’s proud face, the assembled sky vessels, half the sect off on a mission to fight demons on behalf of all humanity. A glorious quest that would bring honour and riches. It would be two years before they received the news. Annihilation. His master, Uncle Yinbia, Cousin Atasalma, and so many others, all of them dead at the hands of the demonic invaders. To this day, the official position of the Sect was that they were victims of foul play.
“So many lives were cut short with nothing to show for it while our enemies grew to higher heights”,
“Then came the fear. We’ve been warring with the Nine Phantoms Sect for eight hundred years and for the first time, they had a decisive lead. A lead that would let them crush us if they should so choose.”
“Why haven’t they?” Dunstan asked. The higher-ups of the Phantoms outnumbered their own nearly three to one and their Preceptor was a Nascent tier cultivator. The balance of power was firmly in their favour.
“Because as much as Preceptor Vanush might be a warmonger, he is not stupid”, the old man across from him answered, his tone conveying that he didn’t quite believe his own words. “The Nine Phantoms can overwhelm us but chances are we would cripple them with our dying breath. A thousand years of accumulation would go to waste. He’s not willing to forgo his sect’s future for the short-term benefits of seeing me dead. He needs another to destroy or remove us from the board.”
“Divide and conquer!” Dunstan realised with horror. The Preceptor nodded
“It wasn’t long before rumours began to circulate in the sect. At first, I didn’t believe anyone would be dumb enough to fall for such an obvious ploy. Then Elder Maltun had the gall to bring up a proposal from Vanush in a meeting.”
“What happened?”
“I had him imprisoned in the mountain depths. If he is lucky he might see sunlight again before the turn of the century. Sadly, that did not stop our problems. Vassal Sects have started to act up. Suppliers suddenly found better deals. As our problems worsened, enrollment began to dry up. Worse, some began to defect.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dunstan asked again, his voice dripping with an unknown emotion. he could have done something, anything.
The Sixth Preceptor sighed, his face half shadowed by the lengthening shadows of the room. “I was two hundred and fifty years old when I became Sect Master. Your master was seventy-two when his turn came. You are only in your twenties. Forgive me for sparing you a burden you need not carry. Besides, the situation is not as dire as it seems.
“Our sect might be in the dumps and our enemies might be ascendant but what Midian and his fellows fail to understand is fortunes can change at any time. Like you they are too young to have a clear picture of the future. They can see our current embarrassment but are blind to our growth potential”, he explained.
“The sect lost greatly in the Demon Subjugation Quest but its bones were untouched. Our upper levels might be reduced to a tenth but our youths remain. People like you, who carry on the dream remain. For every Midian, there’s a person working his heart out to return our sect to prominence. Who cares if admissions are low? Our methods have never failed to produce great cultivators. We have over 3000 students. In a decade, we are guaranteed at least a hundred new exultants. In thirty years, when your generation is reaching the half-century cut off a good third might have achieved exultation.”
The current sect master of the Vast Heaven Palace listened to his predecessor’s words. As inspiring as they were, he couldn’t help but consider the major flaw in them. “Your plans only work if we are given the time and space to regrow. The Phantoms will never allow that. “
“Yes”, The Sixth preceptor admitted. “That is indeed a problem.”