The Blue Mountain (The Forbidden List Book 2) Page 14

  “I’m sorry,” Haung said.

  “I know,” Jiao said. “We will be fine on our own. Just don’t be there too long.”

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Haung paused and took a breath. “Jiao, I don’t want you to be on your own. I have made some arrangements. I know that I didn’t ask you, but there hasn’t been time. I can’t take the risk that someone will use my absence as an excuse or opportunity.”

  “Haung, we are in the Holy City, the safest place in the Empire. The people you worry about are not interested in hurting me, just in your position amongst everyone else. It is no different to serving in the castle. The little battles over position, the unspoken hierarchies, those who consider themselves better, and those who want to be. You spent too long in the barracks and on the training floor, where rank and position is displayed on uniforms for all to see, to understand the little politics of it all.” Jiao gave him a little smile.

  “Jiao,” and again he was forced to confront the fact that his wife was probably wiser than he, “for my peace of mind then. I have arranged for you to move in with Shifu for a while. His house is large and there will be room for the boy to play. Plus he has servants who can look after you.” Haung offered the final point with a smile and great deal of hope.

  She did not answer straight away. He knew she was debating the move. To accept would please him. Allow him the security that she was protected, but she was a stubborn, independent woman who had already proven herself more than capable of looking after herself.

  Haung waited. He would much rather leave for the wall with her acceptance rather than an argument. In the end, she nodded and he let go the breath he had not realised he had been holding.

  “Shifu will be glad to have you and the boy around the house.”

  Chapter 21

  Zhou stared into the fire. Tongues of orange rose and flickered from the tangle of dark, charred wood below. Some of the kindling burnt so long, and so hot, that it had turned white forming small scales with crevices of glowing red and orange in-between.

  His eyelids felt heavy as he watched the fire burn. A deep, weary warmth and heaviness settled into his limbs. He yawned.

  “Don’t go to sleep yet.” The woman’s voice floated over the fire and Zhou looked up, away from the flames. The glare hid the owner of the voice. A picture of her face formed in his mind, unbidden, but welcome.

  “I’m not,” he said.

  “Of course you were. You’ve been staring into that fire for ages. Folks who stare into fires fall asleep. In one of the villages I lived in, a woman was accused of practicing Ku, black magic, because her neighbour fell asleep and went headfirst into his fire.”

  “What happened?”

  “He lost a lot of hair and lived the rest of his life with scars on his forehead,” she said.

  “No, what happened to the woman?”

  “I stopped them from putting her head upon a spike. Peasants, all over the Empire, are easy to scare. So much of their life is a struggle to survive, to pay taxes, to feed their families that anything out of the ordinary, or frightening, brings out the same reaction. The desire to kill it and rid themselves of it. They don’t look for reasons, actions are enough.”

  “Peasants are not intelligent,” Zhou said.

  “It is mistake to think so, Zhou. You were lucky. Brought up in a wealthy city, in a rich home. No need to struggle for food. No need to be up with the sun, work the fields and paddies all day for a landowner and then, in the early evening, farm your own little scrap of land to provide for your family. It does not allow a lot of time to think about the future or much else. Rebellion and unrest are much more difficult to contemplate when you are exhausted. Most children are taught to read and write to basic level. The Emperor brought in that and he pays for many of the schools, but it isn’t taken much further. You went to school and had the chance to learn from tutors and teachers. Zhou, you were always going to have food and shelter. Peasants don’t have that luxury, but you’ll find amongst them a wisdom and common sense to rival any philosopher. An understanding of the seasons, astronomy, and the truths of life that the great temples would struggle to match. Don’t write them off, Zhou. There may come a time when their wisdom or knowledge will be of use to you.” Her voice was strong and her words clipped. It reminded him of his teacher’s.

  Zhou sat in silence for a time, watching the sparks rise and dance into the air accompanied by small creaks and cracks as the wood expanded. I know that she is right, he thought, so many peasants gave their lives in the siege of Wubei. Their blood ran red like everyone else’s.

  “Don’t stare into the fire for too long, Zhou, and don’t worry about the peasants too much. You are still young and the world is more complicated than most people like to believe. It is easier to put people into categories, to imagine that they are all the same and deal with them as such. It is what the Empire relies upon to function. So many people to govern that, in the end, we are all faceless to a government who are faceless to us.” There was a wistful tone to her voice as she said, “It wasn’t always this way.”

  “It wasn’t?” Zhou asked in a drowsy voice.

  “Zhou, look away from the fire before you fall headfirst into it,” she said. “Fire is a strange and dangerous thing. Can you recall your first trip to the spirit realm? You passed through the other realms, one of those being fire. We use it to cook, to keep us warm, but it is conduit, a gate to that realm. Nothing can come through unbidden, but it weakens the barrier between here and there. That is what makes folks tired and why it hypnotises them. The fire realm is pulling at them, feeding them energy but taking their Qi in return. The more you focus, the more it can feed upon you.”

  “Time to sleep,” Zhou said. He lay back on the ground, pulled the waxed blanket roll over his body and rested his head on one folded arm.

  “Sleep well, Zhou,” Xióngmāo said.

  * * *

  His first thought upon waking was that it was still night. The fire had burned low and there was only the residual heat to warm his face. Above the trees the sky was dark. It took him a moment to realise that there were no stars to see. He dragged out a hand from beneath his blanket to rub the sleep from his eyes.

  “Don’t,” Xióngmāo ordered. “Here, come and wash your face first.”

  Zhou’s hand stopped on its journey and, through gritty eyes, he looked around. The ground, grass, leaves, his blanket, everything was covered with a thin coating of fine grey.

  “The dust is beginning to fall,” she said. “I’ve seen it before. We are far enough away for it not to be danger. If we were still closer to the mountain then we could choke on the falling dust. You will need to brush as much off as you can before you wash your face.”

  Zhou stood and yawned. The dust sucked all the moisture from his tongue and left claggy, stone tasting, lumps behind. He spat out what he could and dusted himself down, rubbing his hands across his face. They came away covered in a film of dust and he clapped them together creating a billowing cloud of his own.

  “Here.” She handed him a small bowl of water which he used to carefully clear the dust from his eyes. The rest he drank, spitting out the lumps in his mouth. “We’ll need to cover our nose and mouths as we travel or the water will run out. While this dust is falling, the rivers and lakes won’t provide water safe enough to drink.”

  Zhou nodded and dipped into his back pack. Selecting a robe from the small supply they had cobbled together before they left, he ripped a strip off the bottom and tied it around his face, tucking the excess into his robes.

  “Let’s move on. Perhaps the dust will stop later. Then we can do something about food. If we come across a village or a farm we can stop and see what we can find.” Zhou’s voice was muffled by the fabric. He saw that Xióngmāo heard him when she nodded. He hefted his pack and set off through the dust laden air.

  * * *

  Late in the day, though being honest with himself it was hard to tell the exact time with clo
uds of dust covering the sun, they stumbled over a village. Zhou raised his hand and they came to a stop. Resting at the bottom of the hill, a collection of rough built shacks, barns and outbuildings. Surrounding the village, the fields were laid out in a regular pattern and there was a line of low trees, just visible through the falling grey, past the houses.

  “Can you see anyone?” Xióngmāo asked as she settled down beside him.

  “No,” Zhou said. “If they had any sense they would be indoors right now.”

  “They probably are. No one could do much today. The fields will just have to look after themselves.” She rested a hand on his shoulder. “It is strange to think that the dust will actually improve the yield if it does not lay too thick on the plants.”

  Zhou turned to look into her eyes. “Really?”

  “Why do you think so many folks live near volcanoes? The farming can be some of the best in the Empire,” she explained.

  “But isn’t it dangerous?”

  “Of course it is. But many volcanoes erupt only once every two or three generations. They forget the risk and focus on the rewards.” She looked down at the village. “Though, I doubt the people down there are thinking that at the moment. Can you see any animals?”

  “No. Probably brought those into their homes,” he said.

  “What about smoke?”

  Zhou peered through the falling ash. “Impossible to tell. I think we should go down. They can either share their shelter with us or, at least, some water and food.”

  “Then let’s go.” Xióngmāo’s hand drifted from his shoulder as she started walking.

  Zhou slung his pack up over one shoulder and followed. Walking on the dust covered ground was like walking on a sandy beach. At each step the ground sank and his foot twisted, just a little, to gain purchase for the next. Grass still battled its way through the covering. Leaves on small trees and bushes were sagging under the weight. He looked to the sky once more. Was it getting brighter or the dust fall slowing down? After a moment he concluded that no, it was neither.

  As they closed in there was no evidence of any activity, no noise, no smoke, and no movement. The dirty grey streaked, white walls supported thatched roofs whose golden straw was similarly darkened by the dust. There were windows, but the shutters were pulled closed.

  “Which one?” he asked.

  “The main house, of course. It will be the sturdiest. If the village chief has any sense, he’ll have let people in.” She moved towards the largest house in the village and he followed.

  Zhou knocked on the door and waited. No one came, so he knocked again and called out, “Hello.”

  There were noises from within, footsteps coming towards the door. He tried to mould his expression it a friendly one, recalling his training in the diplomatic service that was now almost a part of someone else’s lifetime. The door crept open and Zhou saw a wrinkled face peek out.

  “What do you want?” the old woman snapped.

  “We would like to come in and get out of this mess.” Zhou gestured to the dark grey world behind him.

  “You can’t come in,” the woman said.

  “Please,” Zhou said. “We would like to rest and eat. I promise that you don’t need to worry about us. We have our own food, if that is a concern.”

  “I told you,” she said, her clawed hand on the door frame, “you can’t come in.”

  “We’ve been walking a long way and just need to rest. We won’t stay long if you don’t wish us to.”

  “You can’t come in but you can use the barn over there.” Her head jerked towards the building on the edge of the village.

  “That is kind of you,” Zhou said, assuming that this was the best offer they were going to get.

  The old woman grunted and something inside the house drew her attention away from him. She looked back inside. He strained to hear the conversation the old lady was having. Perhaps she was being convinced to relent her hard stance and let them in, out of the dust. After a few moments, she turned back to him with an expression turned cold and hard.

  “You can’t stay in the barn. You must move on. Go on. Get away from our village. Leave us alone.” She slammed the door on him and he turned a puzzled look to Xióngmāo.

  “What was that all about?” he asked.

  “Some villages are like that,” she said and beckoned him away from the door. “Let’s do as she says and move on. I would guess that there is another village not far from this one, if we follow the road north.”

  “Road?” He looked around the village.

  “Yes, road. Villages tend to be connected to each other and to the towns. This valley runs north to south and we want to go north. There is bound to be a road, we just can’t see it due to the dust. Come on.”

  Zhou shook his head and resettled the fabric on his nose before following her from the village. Every few steps he looked back over his shoulder and shook his head. What would it have hurt to put them up for a bit of time, even just the night? They had their own food. Peasants the world over were a superstitious lot.

  “Keep walking,” Xióngmāo said, “and stop looking back.”

  “Why?” he asked, but she did not answer. He picked up his pace to draw level and asked again.

  “Didn’t you hear the fear in her voice?” Xióngmāo asked. “There is something wrong in that village.”

  “Maybe it is just the dust storm?”

  “No, they’ve done the right thing and have everyone indoors. Only the fools and the desperate would be out in this,” she said.

  “We are out in it,” Zhou said and all she did was stare at him for moment. “Fair enough.”

  “There is something wrong. The conversation the old lady had with the person inside. Did you hear any of it?”

  “No,” he said, “but I don’t think she was happy with what she was being told.”

  “Nor do I,” Xióngmāo said. “I used the sight and looked at the building and the spirits inside. There was sadness and fear, just like you would expect given the conditions outside, but some of the spirits were different. There was a taint to them, of anger, of violence.”

  Zhou pictured her, on their first meeting. The way she had bound the people of the tent-town together with invisible threads of compassion. “Then let’s go back and find out.”

  “No,” Xióngmāo said. “First, let’s get out sight of anyone watching. We’ll go back and have a proper look tonight. We are not going to find a better place to camp for the night than under the trees. We can rig a canopy to stop the dust from smothering us in our sleep.”

  Chapter 22

  Haung stepped from the Dragon Gate alongside Gang and Liu. Light spilled through the open door and the solitary window high up in the stone wall. The large room was filled with tables and chairs. Congregated around each table were groups of officers. Administrators weaved through the crowd, passing scrolls back and forth between the tables. There was a hum of conversation and despite all the noise and people there was a sense of order and purpose to it all.

  All conversation stopped as Haung’s foot hit the floor and the Dragon Gate faded away. The crowd of officers, soldiers and administrators parted and a short, balding man walked towards the three newcomers. He halted a few paces from Haung and held out a waiting palm. Haung bowed, recognising that the man outranked him, and placed the Emperor’s scroll into the open hand. From the corner of his eye, he saw Gang rest his gigantic hammer on the floor and lean upon it, a picture of nonchalance.

  The officer who had taken the scroll frowned at Gang, who smiled back. With a wrinkle of his nose the officer turned his attention to the scroll. Haung watched him check the seal, turning it a little to catch the light, and when he seemed satisfied of its authenticity, break it open. His arm ached and he took a calming breath, releasing the stranglehold he had on the hilt of his Jian sword. No one in the room had moved.

  As the man read the scroll, he kept glancing up at Haung, then Gang and finally Liu. The man’s expression d
id not alter from the look of disgust it had adopted upon spying Gang. At last, he finished reading.

  “Corporal Enlai.” The officer had a surprisingly high pitched voice for such a short, fat man and Haung made the effort to keep his thoughts from revealing themselves in his expression. Gang and Liu did not feel under the same obligation and snorted. The officer shot them both murderous looks. “Corporal Enlai, escort Captain Haung and his two companions to the officers’ barracks. Ensure they are settled in and well-fed.”

  A man at the back of the crowd made his way forward and bowed to Haung’s group. “If you’ll follow me, please.”

  “I’ll expect you all at the pre-dinner briefing this evening,” the officer said. Haung bowed to him in agreement. “Good. Till this evening then.”

  The short man turned his back to Haung and started waving the other officers and administrators back to work. Haung followed the corporal from the room, through the only door, and out into the sunshine.

  The wall, the great wall, before him, stretched on and into the distance. Haung could see that they had exited one of the regularly spaced towers that were dotted along the wall at regular intervals. This one was larger than the others and set back from the walls, but maintained the same square, brick built design. A wide walkway connected it to the wall proper. To the west, the wall descended into a valley before rising up and over the hills. To the east, the wall rose and fell with the landscape. To the north, a compacted mud road descended the hill to the plains below. The plains themselves continued into the distance, looking more like a sea of green, low hills like waves across its surface. South was the Empire and, nestled below the wall and tower, a town.

  The encampment close to the wall was laid out in a grid pattern, just as every good army encampment should be. Haung could see that, from his position high up on the walkway, the town itself spread beyond the army encampment. A sprawl of crudely constructed buildings and, further out, clumps of tents huddled together alongside the main road that led deeper into the Empire.