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CC: Chapter 37
🕑 Added 2024-04-23 14:30:01 +0000 UTC'Echoes (Part 2)'
XJ-V could feel the biting cold of Ramor-Tai’s base even through the thick skin of Ori’un.
It felt strange to wear the form of a human – a creature of flesh and blood unlike Arha – as he trudged through the snow. Once again, he was struck by the strength he could feel bursting within the Planeswalker’s every muscle – Qi energy begging for release.
Don’t get too used to it, the Ori’un of the present-day warned him. You might end up liking the feeling a little too much.
XJ-V instead shifted his focus to young Feng-Lung scrabbling in the snow, trundling a heavy backpack towards the village in the distance.
“What did I tell you?” Ori’un shouted to the boy. “Only pack the essentials!”
“I have packed all essentials!” Feng replied. “Food, compass, extra clothes, appropriate bedding, and –“
Ori’un picked the boy up and shook him with telekinetic power. XJ-V watched through his eyes as several balls of twine fell out of the boy’s pack and bounced gently off the snow-capped plains.
“Essentials, eh?”
“It…it’s for the cats!” The young Disciple shouted back at his tutor, picking up the spools and hiding them sheepishly away. “I’m sure they are cold this winter, and have no one to play with. I thought after our business is concluded, you might allow me some meagre leisure time.”
“Har!” came Ori’un’s earth-shattering laugh. “You will be lucky if you keep your head after this mission, nevermind having time for leisurely play with kittens!”
Feng ignored the taunting of the hulking brute and continued on his way, Ori’un smiling faintly to himself as he wrapped his shawl closer around his neck and trudged on.
I had elected to administer Feng’s trial as a Third Level Corporeal Temperer, Ori’un of the present explained to XJ-V. It was a simple enough process – as is often the case in the winter season, we’ve received reports of Aoyin activity down south, in the border villages. Taking a Disciple down to face the Flesh-Eaters is a test as old as Qing himself. Ordinarily, there wouldn’t have been any problems.
So, what happened? XJ-V asked.
Ori’un sighed within his mind.
There were…complications.
The Cog saw now that they had approached the village they were heading towards – a dismal settlement so wracked by the ongoing blizzard that XJ-V could barely make out the tops of the thatched roofs or the materials lining the ramshackle assortment of huts that looked like they could give way at any moment. He could, however, make out the name of the village emblazoned on a small rectangular sign just on its perimeter: Narsis.
XJ-V’s memory banks buzzed in recognition. This was the very first village one came to as they descended from Ramor-Tai. It stood at the very foot of the great mountains’ steps, and was often used, in the present day, as a vital supply chain for the Cultivators of the monastery.
Right now, however, the place was a shadow of its future self.
The village was a simple collection of sandstone huts – perhaps thirty in total – that was surrounded by a stout wall manned by armored men with spears and longbows. These men halted Ori’un and his charge at the village gate before the Planeswalker simply fixed them with his steel gaze. They gate was opened to them moments later.
These people, Ori’un of the present explained. They aren’t used to seeing Cultivators like us. The day when a Disciple or Master walks among them is the day when a God has come knocking at their doors to bring good fortune. Rarely is the call of a village Elder heeded, unless circumstances are most dire. Right now, you’re looking at one such circumstance.
XJ-V could see what the Planeswalker meant. As he spoke, he saw the ghostly visages of the villagers hiding behind their windows or in the hallways of their open doors – most of them on their knees, clutching prayer-beads in their hands, begging that the two protective spirits that had come to save them would succeed in their mission.
“Ironic, isn’t it, young Feng?” Ori’un of the past said aloud to his youthful charge as the boy looked around like a deer caught in a hunter’s dazzling lights. “These fine folk look upon you as a hero already. And yet, you’re really here for your own selfish reasons, aren’t you?”
“Had I the chance, Planeswalker Ori’un, I would gladly remain here to safeguard these people from evil.”
The hulking Planeswalker said nothing to this, but XJ-V heard the thought that boomed within his skull then. It was a thought that made even the giant’s chest swell with pride, the gargantuan flow of Qi within him flow directly to his heart.
Yes, he thought. I bet you would, at that.
I bet he still would, despite it all, Ori’un of the present told the Cog within the dream-space of his past selve’s mind. Don’t you think so?
The Cog stared at the boy’s shaken yet determined form, but said nothing.
XJ-V then watched as Ori’un and Feng-Lung approached a stout building framed with an assortment of charms and silver relics – items generally believed had the power to ward off evil.
“Remember,” Ori’un told the stiffening form of the boy. “It’s you who asks the questions. I’m here only to observe, and to administer the test. Your first order of business is to assess the threat level posed by the malevolent spirits and ascertain –“
“Their location,” young Feng-Lung finished, giving the Planeswalker a cheeky side-eye. “Then I pay the Elder for his troubles and go on my way, offering no assurances on behalf of Ramor-Tai.”
The Planeswalker stood on the lip of the doorway impressed. “You’ve been speaking to that little imp Mah-Jung, haven’t you?”
“A Dragon never reveals the secrets of his flight path,” Feng-Lung replied. “All that matters is that he arrives at his destination.”
“And doesn’t burn himself on the way,” Ori’un said, patting the boy’s bald head, freshly shaven to receive his dragon tattoos in the wake of his successful inauguration as a Fourth Rank Corporeal Temperer.
“Let’s go.”
As both men passed through the curtain-flap of the building’s door, they entered into a room filled with more base charms and warding symbols – images of noble Qing lined the walls, smeared with the blood of freshly slain chickens. Above, garlic reefs dangled down and filled the room with a stench that young Feng had to try and waft away. Ori’un, however, was focused entirely on the form of the old man that sat at the far end of the room, surrounded by a ring of candles like a mummified corpse.
The Planeswalker nodded to Feng-Lung who sat cross-legged beside him, and Ori’un coughed politely to awaken the apparently slumbering the creature that sat before them.
The village Elder, Ori’un explained to the Cog.
XJ-V watched Feng’s face as the youth saw the old, withered form of the corpse-like figure raise its bony head and look into at the Cultivators with nothing more than a pair of soulless voids for eyes.
“They came in the night,” the Elder said. “They were seen digging in the graveyards at the southern edge of the village. They had come for us…for…for us…”
Feng-Lung was visibly shaking, but the youth, to his credit, kept his composure.
“Where are they now?” the boy asked with as much confidence as he could muster, and XJ-V once again felt Ori’un’s chest swell with no small degree of pride.
“They…they went West, young Lord,” the aching Elder said. “They found prey on the road – a caravan bound for…for another village…”
Ori’un suddenly stiffened.
Aoyin don’t just give up a feasting ground like a graveyard for nothing, he explained to the Cog within his head.
“What cargo was this supply train carrying and where was it bound?” Feng-Lung asked.
The old man’s eyes seemed to catch the light of his candles for a moment, and XJ-V knew that, buried deep within the old bones of that raggedy-looking human, there was fear.
“The cargo was a heap of corpses,” he said. “They…they were soldiers…soldiers being…taken back…to home.”
“War casualties,” Feng-Lung murmured. “A prize the Aoyin could not overlook.”
The young boy then leaned forward, possessed, XJ-V could swear, by a sense of excitement.
And he felt the Ori’un of the present heave a deep, sad sigh.
“Good Elder,” the boy said. “Do you know where this caravan was bound?”
The old man drew deep the biting chill of the outside world, and even in the dream-vision XJ-V could feel the long breath of winter pour from the depths of the corpse’s black throat as he answered:
“Marsul,” he said. “They go to…healer…in Marsul…”
Ori’un’s shoulders stiffened, and young Feng’s eyes went wide – blazing with sudden, uncontrolled fire. The boy had heard the word and was instantly possessed by a very new spirit. Or, perhaps, it was a spirit that had been buried within his chest that he had never known, or never wanted to know, existed.
Because his face went chalk white when he heard that name, and he could barely keep seated, or composed. He wanted to fly from the room right then and there.
Because Marsul – the name of the village that had come under threat from the Aoyin…
It was Feng-Lung’s home, Ori’un finished.
