The Forbidden Ascension

The boy stared down at the corpse miserably.

He did not know what to do now. At first, he had cried—cried until his chest hurt. Until he could not breathe. But that had been days ago.

Now, his eyes were as dry as the corpse was cold.

The corpse. His mother.

*****

The boy and his mother had lived on the outskirts of a tiny village in the middle of nowhere. The village did not have a name that he knew. Not a proper one, anyway. Most people just used words to describe it. Words like barren. Dirt. Nowhere. Sometimes, when old man Jiu Gui was in his cups, he would call it the End of the World.

The boy’s name was Xiao Ma, or Little Horse. That was what everyone called him. But that was only because they called his mother, Ma Jiaopei.

He did not know what that meant, or why they called her that. It was something to do with horses, though. He had heard from some of the villagers that it was because she was loose enough to do it… whatever ‘it’ was. Some of the children even claimed that they had caught her in the act, but he never asked what they were talking about.

They would only throw rocks at him.

Most everyone hated his mother. And so they hated him—the women especially—and the children followed along.

Of course… the men in the village did not hate his mother. Oh, they would pretend to sometimes. But no matter what scorn they would heap on her, once night fell… almost every night… one of them would pay call to her hut.

Then, his mother would tuck him in to bed. He knew from long experience that he was not allowed to look. He would be beaten otherwise. So, he would turn away and pull the thin blanket over his head. And pretend not to listen.

The boy knew what sex looked like. He did not know what it was called, nor did he know why the men liked to do it. All he knew was that they would pay his mother for it. That was how she made her living, meager though it was.

The village itself was perched on a little bit of a hill, but all around them, almost as far as the eye could see, the ground was dry and cracked. And flat.

The wastes, they called it. The boy had been told that the wastes had once been a grand and majestic lake, and the village had survived from fishing on it. Then one night, a star had fallen from the sky, and the ground had shaken from its fury.

Women clutched at their children, and men stood around with their fishing spears in hand. They did not know what to do, but they were men. They would die to protect the rest. It was their duty.

But when nothing else happened, they put away their spears to console the women and set the babes to rest. And silently, they were glad that they had not needed to do more.

The next morning, the lake was gone. Vanished. No waves nor sound had marked its passing. Fish were left flapping in the mud—stunned and gasping for breath.

Ever since then, the village had been like the fish, but its death had been slower. The people had tried to till the land. Grow crops. Grass for herds. Anything. But the old lake bed was hard with clay and baked by the sun. Nothing would grow save in the village itself. But the land was poor. Long exhausted.

Slowly, people began to move away. Slowly, people began to seek fertile ground. Or new lakes to fish in. Or anything else, really.

Now, there were only a few dozens left. The old and infirm. Those too stubborn or foolish to know any better. Thugs who preyed on the rest, fighting over what scraps remained.

And the boy. And his mother.

Then one day, his mother had gotten sick. And then some of the men had gotten sick. And so, they had been chased out of the village, gleefully pelted by rocks. Though the men had cast no spears.

They had fled across the waste that had been the lake. His mother had been born in the village, just as he had. She had never been anywhere else. She only knew that the closest place was another village that had once sat on the edge of the lake.

It had been the sister to their town, long ago. They had traded back and forth. Back then, it had a real name, much as their village had had a name. Now it was only called, Edgetown. Because it sat at the edge of the waste. And because it was the edge of nowhere. It still survived somewhat. They could grow crops, at least. But there was no reason for anyone to ever go there.

So, they fled toward Edgetown. But his mother was riddled with the disease, and their progress was slow. Very soon, she became weak with hunger and thirst. The boy had tried to give her what food they had. Had tried to force her to drink from their half empty skin. But she had refused. He would need it, she had said.

Soon after that, she had died.

*****

The boy had wept bitterly at first. He was alone now. Alone and forlorn in the middle of the old lake, sitting on the cracked and dry clay. She was his mother. Of course, he would have. Any child would have cried.

But he knew that Spirit Beasts sometimes roamed the wastes. It was how those that remained in the village managed to hold on to anything at all. They were small and weak because the Qi here was weak and thin, drained away like the lake. It was only natural. That was what he had been told, anyway. Even so, it took a full party of grown men to hunt a Spirit Beast, and it was rare that the men would be successful without injury.

If even one found him, he would die. And though he was only half-grown, he was still a man. Or so he thought of himself. His voice had begun to crack, anyway. That was the first sign of it, so his mother had said. As a man, he could not flee and leave his own mother to be eaten by Beasts. Even if she was already dead.

And so, he had begun to drag her.

*****

For a day and a night, he had struggled with the burden. He had tied a bit of rope that his mother had managed to pack before they had been chased off around her ankles, and with it over his shoulder, he had pulled her along over the cracks.

He had been exhausted beyond anything he had thought possible, but still his legs worked. One foot in front of the next. Step after step. Zhi after zhi. Zhang after zhang. Li after li.

He was numb with exhaustion. Numb to the agony in his legs. Numb in his shoulder where the rope bit at him. Numb even to the hatred for the village that had begun to grow in his heart. He had always hated the village. And everyone in it. But now they had killed his mother. And likely, soon they would have killed him.

But he was only a boy. His hatred could only fester.

He did not know where he was going anymore. He had tried to walk in the direction his mother had shown him. But after the first night, he had passed out from his exhaustion. When he had awakened, he could not remember which way the town was.

But he could not stay there, and he could not go back. So on he walked.

At the end of the day, he stopped to rest, quivering and shaking from his efforts. Hurriedly, he tipped his failing skin to suckle at the few remaining drops of water left to him. When he was done, he tossed it aside. It was empty now. Only dead weight.

He only breathed for a while. Too tired to do much of anything else. For a long time, the only thing he had looked at was the ground before him as he plodded along. But now that he finally looked up, he despaired. Somehow, he had turned toward Yewan Shan. The Night Mountain.

It was a lonely place in the middle of the waste, very far from anywhere. Even further from where he had been trying to go. He was most certainly dead now. He had no water. Very little food. And he had wasted so much energy going the wrong way!

The Night Mountain was a forbidden place. He did not know why, of course. He had only been told that no one went there. Supposedly, nothing lived there at all. Not even Spirit Beasts.

Off in the distance, he could hear the call of a Striped Jackal, yipping as the moon rose over the horizon. He sighed. Luck, it seemed, had abandoned him completely.

But he was a man. If he was going to die anyway, he might as well get his mother somewhere where she would not be eaten first. And Yewan Shan would be perfect for that. Then at least, he could say to the Judges in the Heavens that he had been a dutiful son. He could not claim much else. Perhaps they would find mercy in their hearts when they sent him down the Nai River and off to the next life.

*****

At the foot of the mountain—really more of a great hill now that he was there to see it—he could see how this place had gotten its name. And why it was forbidden.

Rising out of the clay in jagged spires was a huge mound of black and smooth obsidian rock. But the boy did not know that name. He could only see that every edge of it was as sharp as a sword and gleamed dully in the moonlight. It was suicidal to attempt to climb Yewan Shan.

However, that no longer mattered to the boy. He had no designs on surviving the night. And up on that hill, he could just make out the dark recess of a cave. He did not know if he could manage to lift his mother’s body there, but even if he could not, he would have made the Jackal’s job that much harder.

Their yips were closer now. No doubt they had discovered his scent. And the scent of his days gone mother. However, they’d not find an easy meal tonight. It might be his final act, but it would be one of defiance.

*****

They boy could not say how it was that he managed the climb. Nor could he say how he found the strength to haul the rope behind him. Especially with how much blood he was losing from the multitude of cuts along his body. Perhaps it was the will of the Heavens.

But he did. His mother was safe.

He patted her cold hand contentedly leaving his own bloody mark behind. Her body would be secure here in this cave in the mountain. He had done his duty. Now he could die.

Weakly, he took a final look at his soon-to-be grave. There was not much to it. The cave was only a few zhang deep, and the floor of it it was nice and smooth save for a bit of sand that had begun to accumulate along the edges. It would be a nice place to sleep forever.

However, off toward the back of the cave, he could see a very interesting formation of black crystals. Interesting because they were black. And it was night. And he could see them.

They glowed faintly. Somehow.

He did not have much time left, he knew. He already felt faint, and darkness was beginning to creep in along the edges of his vision. But he was a curious boy. He might as well go and take a look. No one would mind if he bled a bit on the nice crystals.

He slid himself along the slick and smooth floor with his hands—he had no more strength in his legs—until he was right next to the soft glow. Hesitantly, he reached out and touched one. It was warm, he found. Warm like his mother’s hugs.

Gently, a final tear slid down his cheeks, and he glanced down to see it fall. It would be his last, he knew. Surprisingly, it did not fall to the floor. Instead, it landed on a book that looked to be almost purposely nestled amongst the crystals. As if it had been set there by a master jeweler—a fantastic broach set to the side of the mountain.

The boy squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, not believing that he had found something like this in his final moments. He had only seen one book before. Jiu Gui had one, though he had never let the boy touch it. But the boy was occasionally given to mischief and had snuck a peek. He could not read a word that was written in it, but it had wonderful pictures through it. Of great heroes flying on their swords amongst the high mountains. Flowing rivers falling from castles in the sky. He had loved it. It was even worth the beating.

But this one was nothing like the old man’s. It was… enormous for one thing. And it looked extremely expensive. The book was bound in some sort of black leather and worked with intricate filigrees of gold. If he had managed to find something like this

… before. He shook his head sadly. No use in thinking about that now.

Curiously, he looked it over. The book was thicker than both of his hands put together… maybe even a full zhi of pages! Maybe more! Breathlessly, perhaps from his excitement or perhaps from blood loss, he opened the cover—smearing a trace of his life’s fluid across its face in the process.

He did not notice, but at that moment, the book gave off the faintest of shimmers.

Woozily, he scanned the first page and was disappointed. It was crammed so densely with an unfamiliar and tiny, yet flowing script that there was not a single surface of the paper left unmarked. None of that interested him, though. Hastily, he turned the page. And then another. And then another.

Every page was just the same. No pictures. No heroes. Just endless text. In frustration, he turned page after page, until finally, he grabbed a great handful of them and slammed them to one side, hoping that somewhere the book might relent… and accidentally tore off a small corner in his fingers.

For a moment, the boy was horrified. He had damaged it. But then he remembered where he was and where it was. No one would care. Likely, no one even knew it was here.

Softly at first, he noticed a light emanating from between his fingers, and starting from where they met, the little wedge of paper between them began to glow. Brighter and brighter. Until suddenly, it burst into flame.

Startled, the boy jerked his hand away. The little triangle of burning parchment twirled in the air for a moment before slowly floated its way back down to the book and nestling right into the crease of its pages—igniting the whole of it instantly.

The boys failing heart thudded in his chest at what he had done. He had destroyed it! This priceless treasure was gone! All because of him! For a moment, he considered the notion that perhaps what karma he might have gained in dragging his mother to this place had just gone up in a puff of smoke.

But it was too late for such thoughts. Even as the book burned, his struggling heart gave one final pulse. Slowly, his eyes fluttered closed, and he went limp.

His body seemed to fall slowly. It was as if the world was holding its breath for the Little Horse. His life had been short, and no one would mourn him. So perhaps the Heavens granted him that one kindness.

However, before his body hit the floor, a beam of light shot out from the burning book and engulfed him in a bright glow. The boy pulsed with that light three times, each brighter. Each more magnificent. And then the light went out.

The body fell to the floor. Dark.

And the book was naught but ash.

*****

Chen-xing Daiyu looked down at the boy’s corpse contemplatively. She had a great decision to make.

On the one hand, she rather desperately needed a new body. And the boy had quite literally just fallen into her lap. Seemingly from out of nowhere. Perhaps the Heavens had finally granted her a small bit of mercy. She doubted it though.

If it were up to them, she would no doubt be left to suffer in this cave for the rest of eternity. Or until her spirit faded. That was far more likely. Quite a lot of her power had already leaked away. Some had even formed into the crystals around her spirit vessel—the book that the boy had just carelessly destroyed.

It had contained every scrap of knowledge that had ever existed within her head. Thousands upon thousands of years of experience as one of the multi-verse’s greatest cultivators, up in smoke! She was almost giddy at the irony.

It had galled her that such a thing had been wrought upon her. That was her knowledge. She had fought for every scrap of it, and to have it… displayed against her will for all the world to see? There to be stolen by the first idiotic vagrant who came across it in this low and forsaken realm? And now burned out of sheerest ignorance without a single scrap of it ever comprehended?

Really, the boy had done her quite a service in destroying it, though he had not meant to. Plus, he had been so very, very filial. Almost to a fault. Imagine! Carrying the body of his dead mother all the way up here? Her senses might be dulled from spending so long trapped in this cave, but she could still tell that the two were blood kin even in death.

It was madness. Yet… worthy of respect.

It would be a shame to just take his body for herself. She was hardly above a bit of fair scavenging, but it would be shameful to do that to one of such character. Still… she very much did need one, and unfortunately, the other vessel, the boy’s mother, was already taken to decay. Unusable.

She sighed, though there was no air in her lungs nor even lungs for her to breathe with. She could, at the very least, afford the boy the choice. There was not much time left though. Revivification was a tricky business, and she could not hide the boy’s soul from the Soul Collectors for long. If she was going to do this, it needed to be now.

Besides, there were other ways to obtain a body. Even here.