by Kivutar » Sun Dec 22, 2019 5:01 pm
The scouts report that Liang Ju has left a garrison at Shang Bei and continued on to Shangdang. He will reach the city days before they do, but there is no help for it. The army marches for the hidden pass, marching boldly by the Shanbei garrison in disguise as the Black Mountain survivors, and camp outside for one night. They will enter at the first light of dawn, in order to spend as few nights inside as possible.
Dewang spends that night preparing - whatever awaits them inside is powerful. He spends hours in a deep trance, culminating in a pure, piercing whistle.
Moments later, the entrance of his tent flies open. “Elder Brother, I have nothing but respect for your powers,” hisses Wenchang. “But for all of our sakes, do that outside.”
Dewang apologizes hastily and moves out of the camp to complete his rites, and the rest of the night passes peacefully. By morning, he feels ready to deal with any devil of Hell that crosses their path.
The first day’s march is uneventful, and soon it is time to camp. Baozi orders the tents pitched in such a manner that they form the word ‘Hidden,’ in order to confuse the demons. Soon after nightfall, however, the fabric of the tents begins to shake, and then to tear. Weapons rattle, carts turn over, and they hear the spooked horses whinnying. Dewang steps outside, and calmly orders the demons to leave.
They draw off, but do not flee. Thousands of eyes gleam in the darkness around them, fierce and unblinking. Somehow, the horses and soldiers stay calm. For a moment, everyone waits.
Then, before anyone can stop her, Zidan marches to the edge of the camp. “Do you think you can frighten me?” she calls defiantly, looking directly into the largest pair of eyes. “I am not afraid of you!”
There is a great rumble of laughter, and one by one, the eyes start to flicker out. Last of all is the largest pair, which seem to glow, boring into the young girl’s eyes before they, too, vanish, just as the glow of sunrise appears over the mountain peaks.
Few of them have slept, but they are all eager to move on and spend as little time in the accursed valley as they have to. But, as the light starts to fade once more, they are nowhere near the exit.
The demons are bolder this time, but also invisible. A fierce wind blows through the camp in great gusts, tearing up tents and knocking people to the ground. Dewang once more tries to send them away, but the horrible laughter echoes once more, and the large command tent begins to rise into the air.
“Oh no, you don’t,” snaps Wenchang, and, seizing it by the corner, drags it back to the earth. There is a moment of horrible strain, and part of the fabric tears. But Wenchang stands firm as an anchor, and suddenly it goes slack. The demons screech and scatter, hundreds of small whirlwinds bursting out in all directions, tearing up bushes and scattering stones as they rush up the mountain slopes. For an instant, Dewang sees a horrible face above the big tent, sneering down at them, before it vanishes in a swirl of dust.
When everyone wakes up the next morning, there are not one but two paths in front of them. Baozi examines them carefully.
“One of them is magic,” says Dewang. He strains for a moment, trying to break through the illusion, and for an instant he does. It is little, but enough for Baozi, whose cat-like eyes pick out the small eddies and inconsistencies along the path to the right.
The last night, they are near the exit, but not near enough, and the men quite understandably refuse to march through the dark. Finally, they pitch camp and wait anxiously for whatever terrors are waiting in the night.
Everything is quiet.
One by one, they drift to sleep, thanking the gods for this peace.
Flames lick along Dewang’s skin. He tries, irrationally, to wipe them away, then to run - but the entire world is in flames. Walls loom up around him, then crumble as he touches them. In front of him, a roof crashes to the ground. Screams rise up from every side, and he stops his ears, screwing his eyes shut - and for one instant, the burning agony changes to an intense, bone-shattering cold before he starts awake.
Baozi is surrounded by people. All of them are staring at him: some are laughing, some mock him openly, others mutter under their breath but his hearing seems as keen as if he were in his cat form, though he is not.
“Look at the famous Mao Xu!”
“He was defeated by common brigands.”
“He is a fool.”
“Liang Ju has bested him twice.”
“He is incompetent.”
“He just takes the credit for his brothers’ talents.”
He begins to recognise people in the crowd. Xu Huang with a mixture of fury and contempt, “I will have your head for your incompetence.”
Liang Ju is there, laughing loudly, “Can you not even count?” The captive Zhang He is beside him, bound and beaten, “You sent me to lose.”
There are Liu Bei and Liu Yan, side by side and both looking at him scornfully. “He thinks he is a strategist just because he can play weiqi.”
His father and mother simply look disappointed without saying anything, but his elder brother Wu takes a step towards him with his hand on his sword hilt, “Did you think that you could lead an army? I will teach you to play at soldiers.”
Through a gap, Baozi sees a graceful grey form keeping pace with him at the back of the crowd; no-one else seems to have noticed. He tries to move in that direction, but the leopard turns its back on him as he draws near and stalks away, the picture of feline disdain. He breaks into a run, ashamed to do so but unable to bear it any more.
There is Lu Zhi, dressed in white clothes stained pink with his own blood. “You failed me.”
Baozi falls to his knees and tries to beg forgiveness, but is unable to find any words. But a part of him realises, even in the dream, that this at least cannot be. Lu Zhi is dead, but he does not appear to be a ghost, nor can this be either heaven or hell, with so many people here whom he knows to be alive.
This is not real. This is the demons of the pass. This is a vision sent to torment him. This is just another battle, just another stratagem of the enemy to outwit. The insults still sting him, but now he knows the way out. With an effort, he forces himself awake.
There are cries from every tent, as every sleeper faces their own demons. Dewang stumbles outside into a frightful torrent - the calm of the night is gone. Rocks fall, and thousands of demons, big and small, caper around, leaving terror and death in their footsteps.
"Why are you here?" he shouts at the top of his voice.
The torrent slows. Hundreds of devils swirl around in the air, and after a moment their leader, a giant red as embers, stomps up to Dewang. It stands at least ten chi tall, and raises its giant club threateningly as it booms like thunder, "Who comes to challenge the Hellspawn of Failed Ideals?"
"I am the Tree that Grows towards Heaven,” answers Dewang. “What harm have we done to you, that you trouble us so?"
There are footsteps beside him, human footsteps, and Baozi stands beside him, hardly pale. Bless Baozi.
"Tree that grows toward Heaven has roots that grow toward Hell," the monster roars. "It is you who have brought death to this place!"
"How so?"
"Your parents' graves decay and you pass by without concern. Sinful child, you shall be chewed by dogs."
Dewang is suddenly sick with horror. He knows, beyond a doubt, that the demon is right. The Hellspawn of Failed Ideals slams his club against the ground and steps forward. Boulders fall from the cliffs and with each step a dozen men die in their sleep.
"And you are here on account of that?" Dewang manages to answer.
"Heaven has abandoned the Han and so I may roam free,” laughs the demon, and prepares to charge.
“Dewang,” whispers Baozi. “They think they are invulnerable. Attack, quickly, before they think to defend themselves!”
Dewang nods and closes his eyes. It is a tremendous effort, and the demons shriek horribly, but he calls on every power he can think of. A chasm opens in the earth, and the demons are dragged into it, squealing and snarling. The Hellspawn of Failed Ideals roars, but is pulled backwards into the chasm nonetheless. Finally the valley is quiet, and in the faint light of dawn, Dewang sees two graves in front of him.
He breaks down sobbing, clinging to Baozi as his brother tries to comfort him. “You saved them all,” Baozi says, but Dewang shakes his head. “Not all of them. And I can never thank you enough but please - don't risk yourself so on my account."
"How could I live with myself if I let my elder brother face such danger and did not help him?”
“Thank you,” is all Dewang can say. “I don’t know what I have done to deserve a brother like you.” With a great effort, he pulls himself together and kneels in front of the graves. “I have a duty here, now -”
“Magistrate Mao? Master Du?”
It’s Boxiao, looking white and haggard. “Colonel Wei. Captain Lu. They won’t wake up.”
Being aware of how risky it was for her to be pulling some of the tricks she did never gave Zidan pause, that is until now. Having taken it upon herself to do some reconnaissance, she had gotten caught attempting to leave the enemy encampment. Under usual circumstances she would have tried to fight her way free, but the enemy seemed prepared for those kinds of shenanigans.
Deciding to bide her time until she could find a way to get free, Zidan was taken before the enemy leader, only to discover he was someone who not only knew who her father was, but was also devious enough to want to use that fact to his benefit. Keeping Zidan captive, he made sure she was in a slightly nicer tent that his other prisoners. Despite everything, she wasn’t actually concerned until she found out he was keeping her to be used as bait for a trap against her new friends.
Managing to get her hands on a knife, Zidan prepared to take matters into her own hands by sacrificing herself.
Wenchang feels tired to the bone. War rages around him, but that is nothing new. What is new is a beheaded Boxiao riding up to him, his head in his hands.
"You let us down, boss."
The Cavalry Kids are mercilessly cut down before his eyes. Wenchang struggles to protect them even as the
horde keeps coming. He retreats to the camps, intent on finding Baozi.
The brave kid is still clutching his sword when he finds him, lying in front of Dewang's still form. No, no,
no!
Dewang catches his eyes, and speaks, blood gushing from his mouth.
"Where were you?"
Wenchang shakingly turns and runs out in search of medical aid. He finds himself in a garden, in front of his
ancestral home. At last! He runs in to meet his beloved family but stops at the threshold, crying out in horror at
the sight.
His parents are on the mat, holding each other even in death. His siblings' bodies surround them. Lin raises
her head, with glassy accusing eyes.
"You were supposed to protect us."
Wenchang takes a halting step back, and the battlefield reappears, desolate this time, with a solitary tent in the distance.
Inside Zidan lies in a pool of blood. Her dagger is buried to the hilt in her stomach. Sinking to his knees, Wenchang cradles her head. Unbidden tears spring to his eyes.
"The Mighty King of Yan."
The Ghost King is back, dancing and leering. "He has failed to perform his duties satisfactorily, and now he has no one. That is his punishment."
Zidan and Wenchang are still and green as corpses, though they do breathe, slowly. Xu Huang is in the same condition, as well as dozens of soldiers.
“Some of the demons managed to get into their minds,” says Dewang. “Before I banished the others.” His heart feels like a stone.
“Can you save them?” asks Baozi anxiously.
“I believe so,” says Dewang, but he has only been this exhausted once before in his life. Nevertheless, he lights incense and prays. The vicious parasites are clinging desperately to his friends’ minds, knowing that they will be trapped in Hell if they leave. They twist, turn, and he can’t see them clearly, can’t catch hold.
Dewang doubles his efforts, hounding the demons harder, but he is weakening. He curses himself. After everything, he cannot save his friends…
“Let me help you.”
“Please,” is all he can gasp, and Yuanjian kneels beside him, throwing the force of his own mind against the demons as well. For a moment, the evil creatures are pushed back -
And then they turn, fighting even harder against this new assault. He feels the life-force dimming in the prone bodies in front of him, and in an instant of pure rage, finds some last well of strength in himself.
The mental demons cannot make a sound, have no claws - but nonetheless he hears their hellish snarls, feels a thousand daggers slicing into his mind as the demons try and fail to resist. In their last struggle, they release their victims and turn their ghastly attacks onto him before he flings them away, forcing them all into the innumerable cracks opening between here and the underworld.
He barely sees the frightful pallor fading from the others’ faces, before everything swims and goes black.
Yuanjian catches him as he crumples onto the ground. After a few heartbeats, his senses slowly start to return - first of all, the taste of blood in his mouth.
“I’m all right,” he tries to say, but it comes out all wrong.
“No, you’re not,’ says Yuanjian. “Don’t die, if you die, I swear-” His eyes have an odd shimmer, and Dewang feels a piercing pang of guilt. He’s caused this pain before.
“I won’t,” he says, more steadily. The world is starting to feel solid again. The dawn is a little brighter, and the sleepers are beginning to stir.
He leans on Yuanjian and opens his hand, trying to make more light, that first simple trick he’d taught his apprentices. Nothing happens, except that he feels a little dizzier. He knows better than to try again.
“I’m not dying,” he whispers. “But I've got nothing left.”
“You have me.”
Dewang lights incense at his parents’ graves and bows low. For the next few hours, he makes whatever offerings he can and begs forgiveness for being an unfilial son.
Afterwards, despite his complete exhaustion, he feels oddly at peace.
Then the LORD said to me, "Go again, love a woman who is loved by her husband, yet an adulteress, even as the LORD loves the sons of Israel, though they turn to other gods and love raisin cakes."
Hosea 3:1