17. Tunrida

Adan abruptly pulled the donkeys to a halt as he spotted the sign. Once he had seen one marking, he quickly spotted others, creating a line throughout the trees marking off the border between human land and that of the divine beasts. He cursed, and turned to the exalted cultivators to explain the problem.

“I am sorry, my lords, but it seems that there is a reason that this land has not been claimed by any of the local sects. These ribbons in the trees are markers that designate the land belongs to a Tunrida. It draws to itself sources of great power, which in turn attract lesser spiritual beasts. The entire land is extremely dangerous and I would not advise going any further,” Adan explained, bowing humbly as he hoped that he was properly communicating the level of danger.

The quiet one scratched his chin for a moment. Then he nodded.

“Make camp here. Hien Ro, protect the mortals and continue to guide Yara on her path. I will go and speak with the lord of this realm and negotiate passage through the territory,” the little sage said. “If I do not return within a week, then you are to return to the city without me. If I do not return to the city within a year, then you are to move on with your life.”

The other boy, whom Adan knew was less advanced than the younger but taller one, began to argue, his words coming out too fast and clipped for Adan to understand, but the little sage simply took his weapon and a small bag of rations and leapt off into the distance, jumping from tree-top to tree-top until he was too far to hear the other northerner’s protests.

Adan sighed and began making camp. The cultivator sulked, but eventually began helping him as well, and they soon had a set of tents erected and a small fire going, upon which they began cooking the evening meal of beans and rice.

~~~~~~

Adan’s warning of multiple spiritual beasts in the region was well founded, and from the tree tops I spotted several of them quickly. Beasts who walked the bronze or even the silver path, turning the energy of their environment into siphons to draw nature’s energy into themselves and their lairs. I stopped to fight a jaguar of the late bronze path, for I sensed malevolence from it.

The beast was surprised and outraged at the ambush, for I caused the vines in the tree on which it was resting to wrap around it and bind it as I burst through the air and swung my macuahuitl, attempting to behead it in one swoop. I missed and scored a severe blow to its front shoulder instead, cutting deep into the muscles.

The beast roared, and I was pushed back with the power of the roar which contained a significant presence or intent. I roared back at it, empowering my own voice with intent in the same way that it had its own, causing the beast to whimper. The vines from the tree grew into its wounds and began seeking its heart, and suddenly I felt a shift in the beast’s emotions.

“Little human, little human,” the beast spoke, using Qi and intent to communicate. “I have done you no wrong, why do you attack me? Might we not come to an armistice still?”

I paused, because the spirit beast was right, I had attacked it unprovoked. “I sensed malevolence from you. The will to kill the helpless and play with your prey as it died.”

“I am a great cat. Would you expect any less of one like me? But I am more than a cat and can rise above my baser instincts. I recognize you as more than you appear to be, might I not be the same.”

“A soul oath. If you swear to protect my friends and never slay a human except in self defense, I shall heal your wound and put up my attacks against you,” I offered.

“In exchange, you must swear not to slay me or mine,” the great cat said.

“I will not attack any of yours who have made the same oath as you,” I offered. “I too retain the right of self defense.”

The cat chuckled as I closed the loophole it had been hoping to leave open, allowing its brethren to slay me while I was prevented from fighting back.

“So be it,” the jaguar spirit-beast said, and I felt a twisting presence press against me. It was a little thing to one like me, and the spirit beast did not realize until too late how vulnerable it was making itself to me as I reached out gently with my soul and completed the contract.

It whimpered as my awakened soul showed the surface of its depths, and in doing showed a reflection of the jaguar’s own soul.

“Master,” it whimpered.

“Our bond does not—”

“I would call you master and be your apprentice. What would you have of one such as I?” the jaguar questioned.

“I need to negotiate with the lord of this realm for a mountain.”

“You seek the Tunrida? I shall be your guide,” the jaguar said. “If you would just take care of my wound, so that I might be able to keep up.”

So I used one of the many healing techniques recalled from past lives to close the wound on the jaguar’s shoulder, and we set out into the distance to negotiate passage.”

Having touched the spirit-beast’s soul, I knew that I had made the correct decisions. If I had left the jaguar alone, then it would have preyed upon Adan or Yara, and perhaps even taken its chances against Hien Ro. It was intelligent, yes, but cruel and cunning. It turned its belly to me because it must, and I recognized from the scars of its souls that it had employed this tactic before only to break its word.

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Breaking a spiritual oath is a serious matter, one with the potential to cripple one’s cultivation. That the jaguar had survived the oaths in the past was a testimony to several facts. One, that neither participant in the oath had seriously expected the other to keep its word, weakening the pact to begin with. And two, the Jaguar had significant untapped potential.

It was a shame that the scars on its soul would prevent it from reaching the heights that it might have otherwise, as it would have made a formidable guardian. Perhaps if, now that it knew who it was dealing with, it proved loyal, I would show it several methods of healing the damage its duality had caused it in the past.

It took several hours of moving at a pace which only a cultivator or a spiritual beast could move, but finally we reached a tree taller than any others. The jaguar, who had named itself Xol, stopped at the edge of the clearing at the tree’s base.

“The Tunrida lives at the top of the highest branch of the tallest tree. I have led you to the tallest tree, you must make the rest of the journey on your own,” Xol informed me. I sensed a maliciousness in his words.

“You expect me to die,” I said.

“Yes, and therefor I expect to be free of the oath between us,” the jaguar admitted. “The Tunrida does not play court to its lessors, and it walks the golden path. It is truly the lord of this jungle, and you humans who are foolish enough to try to stake claims in its territory soon find out why.”

“I shall see you once the Tunrida and I have made a pact, Xol. Or not. I have not bound you to my service, after all, you may leave so long as you keep the oath not to attack humans except in self-defense.”

“I shall watch this play out,” Xol promised.

Shrugging, I began to climb the tree.

As I climbed, I began to notice that I was not alone. On almost every branch, on every limb, a nest resided filled with eggs. The parents of those eggs were chattering at me, squawking in outrage that I would invade their sanctuary. The higher I climbed, the louder the cacophony grew, until I reached the highest branch where a nest the size of a house resided.

It was empty. It did not remain that way for very long, as I heard thunder on the distance.

Tunrida approached.

~~~~~~

Loneliness.

That is what it was to be a thunderbird.

Endless loneliness.

To have awakened, to have known the secrets of the world and gathered power into itself, doing so set it apart from its kith and kin. Though it gathered those songbirds who were like itself in shape and coloration in the branches of its tree, though it tried to nurturer a mate every spring when the eggs hatched and the chances of another awakening were the highest, it remained the only one of its kind.

It heard over the sound of its own wings the songs of its kindred squawking at an intruder, and it felt a confusing mix of emotions. Outrage that its sanctuary would be invaded, but also curiosity at who would dare. It’s kith and kin were in danger, so it sped home, but although the songs of outrage continued, no songs of mourning or death were song, so the invader had not slain any of the residents of the goliath tree upon which the Tunrida nested.

It spotted the invader from a mile away, a little human thing standing upon the highest branch of the goliath tree. The Tunrida, lighter than its massive size would indicate, landed on the tree nearby and cocked its head at the invader.

“Who are you?” The Tunrida demanded.

Instead of a verbal answer, a spiritual one. The boy, for it was a boy, extended its own soul in greeting, exposing itself to the deepest of scrutinies. In doing, it awoke something within the Tunrida, who realized that it shared a kinship to this boy.

It, too, possessed an awakened soul.

“Ah.” The Tunrida said. “So that is why I dream of being things other than a bird.”

“I thought we might be the same,” the boy said. “I wish you well on the path of many lives, oh junior disciple.”

“Why have you come?” the Tunrida demanded.

“I want that mountain,” the boy said, pointing at one of the snow-capped peaks nearby. “May I have it?”

“What will you do with it?”

“For a season, either this year or the next, I will erect an array which will change the weather to create a storm upon its peaks. I cannot say how long it will last, but I admit that it will cause flooding in the rivers nearby. I am prepared to trade for the permission to do this in your realm, simply name your price.”

“I wish for a mate,” the Tunrida admitted. “If you can give me a mate, then I shall give you whatever it is that you wish.”

The boy blushed and scratched his nose. “You were born a common songbird, were you not? I might be able to raise a common bird to be your equal, but I cannot make any promises. Will you accept my honest and earnest efforts in payment?”

“I shall.”

“Then I shall require the eggs of a number of your species. You are male, but I should be able to pick out only the females even while they remain in the egg. I will do my best to create a true spiritual bird from this hatchery. But you are great and powerful, and I do not know that I can create one which is truly your equal.”

“You repeat yourself. I have felt who and what you are and know that I am getting the better end of this bargain. I shall tell the mothers of the tree to let you take no more than one egg from any one of their nests. After that, I ask that you leave. You may have your mountain, but you frighten the lesser of my kith and kin and I cannot calm them until you have gone.”

“I understand. It shall be as you ask,” the boy said.

He took a few moments to collect the eggs from the various nests, and then he was gone, followed by a great cat off into the distance.

The Tunrida watched the boy go. It smiled, for it truly had gotten the better part of the bargain. Even if the boy failed to raise for the Tunrida a mate, which he seemed to be expecting to, the Tunrida still understood its nature now.

It had been human, once. A woman of great power. Slowly, the memories began to return.

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