“So why exactly are we quitting again?” The sound of his voice being twisted into the fuzzy, lilting human tongue set Cobo’s teeth on edge, but he was annoyed enough to bear it.
Once again they were flying through the unsettlingly tall sky on Lu’s strange human hovercraft. Stingy was all but wrapped around the two of them, one foot on the back of the wooden board and the other on the front, her claws digging into his side just softly enough to avoid drawing blood.
There was a strange scent in the air. On the way in he had ignored it – he was on an alien planet, if he payed attention to every strange smell he wouldn’t be able to do anything else – but a few moments after touching down the answer had become obvious; it was the smell of a woman’s fear.
Stingy really was afraid of heights.
“[I really don’t understand what’s so complicated. We’ve been discovered by Hell, so we’re leaving.]”
“It’s your land, though.” Lu’s clan was obviously the strongest one in the area – allegedly the whole continent, though Cobo was skeptical of that boast. “That Giro guy killed the fly dead in one move. Where’s the danger?” He couldn’t see Lu’s face with the way they were arranged, which was frustrating as the silence dragged on.
Finally, Lu answered. “[Hell isn’t like Earth or Salt, Cobo. The inhabitants are truly immortal; that fly will tell the rest of them where we are. And…]” His words came out slowly, the bundle of gemstones around Cobo's neck injecting their meaning right into his head. “[I can’t say exactly why we’re leaving, because I don’t know myself. I don’t know why that demon was there, whether it was spying on us or on the breach, or if this was simple bad luck – but I do know that nothing good would come of staying put.]”
Cobo was getting a bit familiar with human voices, enough to discern the frustration in Lu’s even though the necklace rendered everything in monotone. The Junk – ‘treasure,’ was the word the locals used, but Cobo thought that was too broad to be useful – was better than the previous metal plate version, but it still wasn’t as good as a real telepathy technique.
“So that’s it? Training’s over, time to bunker up inside?”
Lu at last turned his head, looking Cobo in the eye. “[We can still train indoors. You aren’t running out of energy, are you?]”
He replied with a negative grunt.
“I’m good too. Just so you know.” Stingy didn’t sound afraid, but as her voice right near his ear caused Lu to jolt, which in turn made the hoverboard wobble mildly, the fear-smell increased. Her claws went deeper into his side, and he was sure he would have a deep bruise for at least a minute after they landed.
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Lu stepped off the flying treasure, his legs slightly shaky. Not due to any fatigue or problem with heights, but because the circulation between his upper and lower body had been completely cut off for the last while.
You try to lighten the mood with one little flip, and suddenly everyone freaks out. Now I know how Sir Ded felt when we screamed at every little bump; truly, being a driver is a misunderstood art.
Stingy’s movements were comparatively smooth, leaving no sign of the obvious terror she had been displaying moments before. Lu rubbed his side as qi poured into a healing spell, the numbness disappearing.
“Well, that was a shorter trip than I thought it would be. We almost didn’t even need the tents.”
Neither of the two Saltworlders replied, save for a grumble from Cobo as he limped towards the sect’s front gate.
Bah, no appreciation for the joys of flight. Would you have preferred to have walked all across the countryside?
He stowed the treasure in his purse, the lip expanding to accept the wide piece of wood without complaint, and as it returned to its natural size Sir Giro and the other disciples came into view.
They rapidly ascended the mountain path, whatever movement art the core disciple was casting multiplying their footsteps. It must have been something high realm, to keep them only a moment behind the supreme flying treasure, and as it did every few minutes over the past days Lu’s mind went to the sect’s huge archives of restricted arts.
The training mission being cut short was a disappointment, but I have more than enough to keep myself occupied with. In fact, he was kind of hoping that the Elders would call this whole teaching people consumption thing a misstep, and leave him free to glut himself on new spells.
The disciples slowed to a more normal speed as they approached the gate, Hom How’s laboured breathe becoming audible as they drew close. Lu waited for them; Giro would almost certainly want them to go together to make a report, so there was no reason to enter on his own.
“Any trouble in the way back?” Giro’s voice was less even than it had been, though whether that was from the dire circumstance or the exertion of dragging his four juniors across the land, Lu couldn’t say.
“Nothing, senior brother. Perhaps it was alone?”
They began walking together, the quartet of students a step behind. “Demons are seldom truly alone. For all that they are as vile to each other as they are to us, even they know to band together when in enemy territory.”
The massive stone gates, carved and painted with exquisite detail to resemble many closed fists, passed over their heads. In the light of the evening sun the entrance courtyard – the filter, some uncouth disciples called it – looked like something from a fairytale. The oldest and hardiest of the year’s butterflies danced above rows of fragrant flowers, still blooming despite the winter’s approaching chill. Other insects and frogs from the tiered ponds and shallow streams sang a natural melody, the occasional falling leaf from the mountain’s trees almost seeming to sway to the beat.
It was an extreme contrast to the thing Lu had seen less than an hour before. The imp, though it had been obviously basing its appearance on common vermin, had been unimaginably fouler than the real thing. Lu could still recall its screams as it was peeled apart layer-by-layer, the way its insectile limbs had been packed full of rolling eyes beneath the thin chitin. He couldn’t imagine what Hell was like, to make that body plan sensible.
“Of course, of course.” If there’s even a one-in-a-thousand chance that it was playing scout for something bigger, then we were right to leave. “If I may ask you to speculate, how do you think such a small demon ended up all the way here? It would have had to cross an ocean, assuming it managed to sneak out from the breach on Blackiron…”
At that moment a terrifying thought entered Lu’s head. Is it not just the reality barrier between Earth and Salt that’s weakened, but Hell’s as well? Could it possibly have come through the breach we were training with?
“I would prefer not to speak on matters I know nothing about.” His senior's eyes swivelled to scan Lu’s face. “But with that being said, I’m sure there is no reason to panic. Come, let’s report back to the core sect.”
They made their way through the entrance hall and administrative wing, then further in through the outer sect. Lu didn’t catch sight of either Cobo or Stingy; they must have not stopped to smell the flowers at all.
When they reached the section of mountain where the inner sect stood, Giro stopped and gestured to the four behind them. “Go about your own business for the moment; I’m sure disciple Lu will have some ideas for further lessons, but not today.”
The three inner disciples nodded, but to Lu surprise Hom How spoke up. “Seniors, might I accompany you for your report? I believe I might be of some small assistance.”
Without speaking Giro motioned for him to follow, and the three of them continued up towards the core sect, the air thinning and the vegetation being replaced by artfully arranged stones.
As he watched Hom How’s breathing become haggard again, Lu managed to tear his thoughts away from existential threats and back towards safer, more mundane matters.
You know, I bet one of the reasons the other three went back down to the inner sect was the atmosphere. The core sect really is barren of qi… and oxygen. He was mostly fine at the third realm, but it would still be unpleasant to live at this altitude.
It was also a lot less aesthetically pleasing, to be honest. Lu wasn’t exactly a lover of nature, but the harsher beauty of the windswept mountain couldn’t compare to the lush gardens or well-appointed rooms down below. I suppose that when you live so long, having to care for short-lived plants becomes tiresome.
Giro led them to a building nearer the bottom of the section, not too far from the main path. It was small, but more ornate than many of the surrounding dwellings, with a tall roof of red shingles that stuck out like the feathers of a phoenix. He pushed open the sliding door, and they stepped inside.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
The interior was rather less striking; it was very traditional, almost peasant-like, walls of compacted earth with simple wooden furniture. A lone elderly woman was the only occupant, sitting at a wide desk in front of a multitude of scroll-filled cubbies. They were dug directly into the wall behind her, and Lu got the impression that both this building and its caretaker were very, very old.
The woman’s eyes rose to settle on them, her expression questioning.
Giro answered. “Disciple Giro, reporting back. We encountered interference in the field; please set up a meeting with Elder Winding Wind at his earliest possible convenience.”
“Urgency?” Her voice was raspy but not weak.
“Moderate.”
Lu frowned. Only moderate? We encountered a genuine demon! What could be more urgent than that? But after a moment’s consideration he understood. Ah, right, the invasion. Winding Wind is in charge of the entire scouting effort and all its forces, unless something's changed; he’s probably completely swamped with unending reports.
The woman’s eyes went glassy for a moment, before she spoke again. “You may go up right away, disciple Giro. The usual room.”
Giro bowed, and Lu and Hom How followed his lead. They exited the ancient office, and continued yet further up the mountain.
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Being a mortal was tiresome, in the most literal of manners.
My body is still in the prime of youth, he had thought. I can easily afford a few years to experiment with this brand new style of cultivation. After all, who knows if one interferes with the other?
And besides, I’ll be safe in the sect. It might even be a learning experience, returning to mortality for a time; I can reconnect with the lives of the masses, better understand the profundities of cultivation through contrast. He had shot up through the realms with such speed the first time, there was no danger of him hitting a wall. He could explore the bounds of consumption at his leisure, before returning to his first love with heightened wisdom and life experience.
Now, clambering up the main road of the sect with his heart fluttering in his ears, Hom How’s convictions were tested.
Everything seemed so heavy. His clothes were heavy when he put them on in the morning, and took them off at night. His mind was heavy, weaving forms only with great reluctance. His fingers were heavy, fumbling fat sausages that seemed determined to drop every brush as soon as he picked it up. Even his hair, which was growing for the first time in his living memory, seemed to be pulling his head down to face the ground.
Senior – junior? No, senior – Lu walked beside him, apparently fine even with his low realm. And of course Giro, the personal disciple of an Elder, would have been unharmed even if they were climbing on the moon. But Hom How’s body was flagging.
“Do you require assistance, Sir How?” Lu’s voice and expression were both concerned, and he returned the man a small smile for the thought.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine, sir. I’ll be able to rest once we get inside.” I also have some pills if I need them, though I’d prefer to use them as sparingly as possible.
After what seemed like an eternity of climbing the mountain path – less than an hour in truth – they reached a great hall, four stories tall and painted with varying shades of grey that somehow combined to evoke a vibrant forest.
It was the centre of Elder Winding Wind’s authority, the place where all scouting requests and reports routed through, Grey Tree Hall.
He sighed. …Well, nobody ever said that being good at cultivation made you good at naming things.
They made their way in, immediately becoming a part of the bustle entering and exiting the building. Inside was something much less organised than the clean and proper administrative wing; harried secretaries dealt with multiple disciples competing for their attention, paper flew through the air seemingly of its own accord, and a riot of flaring senses made the interior of the hall something of an assault.
“This way.” Giro gestured, and he and his teacher followed the core disciple up one flight of stairs and then another.
Hom How took a healing pill out halfway up the second landing, and with reluctant movements swallowed it down. It’s usually more bearable indoors, but somehow this is even worse. Nobody’s bothering to restrain their spiritual senses; I feel like a rowboat left unmoored in the middle of a summer storm.
They went down a hallway, and finally arrived at what seemed like a meeting room. The door had a stylised squirrel’s head engraved across it, and Giro knocked twice.
A sense reached out, brushing against the three of theirs, and Hom How recognised Winding Wind through the door. It began opening even before the sense was fully retracted, and without a word Giro walked through.
Hom How swallowed, feeling the expensive pill do its work as he steeled his resolve. Lu gave him another concerned look, but he waved it away.
“Let’s not tarry, sir.”
He stepped forward.
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Lu had never been particularly aware of the various Elders during his longer-than-usual life in the outer sect. Of course he was able to recognise an Elder as an Elder – that was just common sense – but unless they were ones who regularly interacted with or taught outer disciples, like Elder Persimmon, or famous, like White Knuckle, he would not have known them by name.
Winding Wind was not someone he would have known by name, but by now he was at least somewhat familiar with the man. He had a certain distracted air about him, entirely different from the scatterbrained array master who was his peer. No, distracted is the wrong word. Dull is closer; he never looks anything straight-on, he always appears a little bored no matter what’s happening. Lu had no idea if it was an affectation, but given that the man was a specialised scout it seemed likely.
“Disciples,” the Elder said.
“Master,” Giro replied. “I’m afraid I must be the bearer of bad new today.”
Winding Wind’s face might as well have been carved of stone for all that his expression changed. “Go on.”
Giro recounted everything that had happened, speaking quickly and without embellishment. Lu was somewhat surprised when he not only relayed his own experiences defending the camp, but also everything each disciple had been doing simultaneously. Ah, I underestimated his powers of observation. I knew that multitasking becomes second nature in the core realms, but to keep track of everything all at once…
When the story neared its end, Lu felt the Elder’s sense spiking minutely.
“…And so I decided to incinerate the suspect area. The moment Field of Terrible Heat loosed, a small creature attempted to flee – it struck the barrier array, and I caught it. I immediately identified it as a lesser imp, and used spacial turbulence to shred its body.”
“Realm?” It was the first time Winding Wind had spoken since Giro’s report began.
“Tenth, master. It’s body was of remarkably poor construction, but it still withstood the field for an excess of ten minutes.”
A graven air descended on the room, the Elder’s spiritual sense leaking out and pressing against their souls. His face changed only slightly, but as Winding Wind spoke his words were hard. “It was there from the beginning, before you arrived?”
“I cannot say for certain, master, but that seems likely.”
The room was silent. Winding Wind’s hand went into his robes, and he drew out a small scroll and writing implements. “Show me what it looked like.”
Giro moved to grab the ink and brush, but before he could do so the childish figure at Lu’s side spoke up. “Apologies for interrupting, Elder,” Hom How said as he stepped forward, “But I believe I can be of some assistance in this regard.”
Winding Wind’s eyes turned to point at the air past the disciple’s head. “Disciple How. Yes, I suppose you could.” Rather than pass the scroll to him, he drew out a second, identical set. “Feel free to do as you will.”
Giro finished his illustration almost immediately, reproducing the form of the demon in stomach-turning accuracy. Despite using only pure black ink, he was able to capture the way light played off its carapace, the exact thickness of its antenna-like hairs, the palpable malice in its tiny eyes.
Hom How, on the other hand, took several minutes. Lu couldn’t help but stare at the man as he drew, despite a dose of self-admonishment. He must be under terrible pressure right now. I shouldn’t add to it.
But he could not turn away; the alternative was looking into the Elder’s vacant-yet-piercing eyes, and that was simply not an option. And so, minutes passed in silence but for the low scratching of brush on paper.
When Hom How finally handed over the scroll, tension rushed out of Lu’s frame with an intensity that was almost spiritually audible. Very good, very good. But I wonder, was he able to capture it as well and Sir Giro? As an artist, surely his work must be better…
Lu leaned to the side as the Elder made an appreciative noise and spoke one sentence, “You have good eyes.” Then, seeing Lu leaning, he turned the paper over for his benefit.
Any theoretical embarrassment Lu would have felt at being caught out immediately vanished. Hom How had not drawn the imp in life, as Giro had – rather, he drew it in the midst of its death. Pieces were peeling away, underlying musculature revealed to the air as it disintegrated. Organs came away, its hidden eyes rolled in their glistening sockets, each part of it cleanly visible. It was not an image that had ever existed in reality, but rather a composite, pieced together to show the maximum amount of information.
And somehow, though he hadn’t taken out any other paints that Lu had seen, the whole thing was rendered in full colour. If someone had drawn out the raw memory of those ten minutes from Lu’s mind, it would not have been a tenth as evocative as this single picture.
Hom How merely bowed his head at the Elder’s words.
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Lu parted ways with the young disciple as he exited the core sect. The trip down the mountain was much faster without Hom How’s mortal pace acting as a limiter, and long before the sun set Lu was back in his home.
He locked the door behind him, sat in a plush armchair, and pondered the day’s events.
Dear me, a real demon. My life really has been a whirlwind since last year.
Implications and speculation churned in his head, but the reality of his situation hadn’t changed. I still really am just a mere outer disciple, despite everything happening around me. I can only affect things so much.
He bit his lip. Though I suppose pretending I’m on vacation any longer would be foolish. No, it’s time for me to get down and really put my nose to the grindstone. The thought came with a mixed feeling of dread and anticipation; hard work was hard work, but he had gotten used to that certain satisfaction that came from chasing an attainable goal.
He stood up, and hefted his purse up in front of his face. The velvet was untouched despite his tromping around in the woods. I have money, I have treasures and resources. I have people willing to push me as I climb upwards.
Perhaps it's possible… to cease being a mere outer disciple?