Threads 191-Concert 3

The hidden doorway led into a crumbling escape tunnel supported by wooden beams. Formation arrays designed to hide the space from outside search marked the tunnel’s arches. Sending her wisps flitting down the shadowed narrow path, Ling Qi felt the echoes of fear and anger that had long soaked into the dirt and wood, staining the passage. Here and there, she saw signs of flight: a golden hairpin trampled into the dirt; a scrap of rotten cloth clinging to a splintered beam; and the shattered remains of a child’s doll.

The path ended at a tunnel collapse a bare hundred meters along, rotten wood giving out under the weight of the earth. There was no sign that those who had fled this place long ago had failed to escape. All the same, the fact that the manor was here, empty and abandoned, told her that they must have met an unpleasant fate later.

“How does it look?” Bao Qian asked, peering down the passage.

“Short, only a hundred and twenty odd meters. Uniform dimensions all the way down. Not especially haunted.” Ling Qi’s physical eyes were half-lidded as she peered through the wisps.

“That shouldn’t require too much adjustment,” Bao Qian said thoughtfully.

“Any idea what happened to the people here?” Ling Qi asked, letting the lights wink out, returning her vision to one viewpoint. “I had made assumptions, but it does seem like they escaped.”

Bao Qian paused at her sudden question. “I do not know. Records from the era are spotty at best, and there has always been motivation for obfuscation of those records in the name of land claims. It isn’t unknown for some courtier clans in the cities to claim descent from border barons and viscounts.”

“I suppose that’s part of Emerald Seas heritage too?”

“Our borders were never as hard as those of other provinces. Maps are often nasty liars after all. The same conflict that bred our traditions also preceded this. Perhaps that is why Her Grace found her ascension so smooth.”

“Not hard to see why,” Sixiang sighed in melancholy. “You lot are more fragile than we are.”

Ling Qi nodded. “I’ve studied a little. I know that the province has always been in conflict: conflict with beasts; conflict between the tribes that would become the modern Weilu; conflict with the hill tribes; conflict with the barbarians. It’s a wonder anyone had time to build anything between all that.”

“Humans are industrious creatures,” Bao Qian said. “It is hard to keep us down for long.”

“That is, of course, part of why the fighting never ends,” Ling Qi said wryly.

“Such a bleak outlook.” Bao Qian chuckled.

“That’s my gloomy girl,” Sixiang huffed.

“Just something to keep in mind,” Ling Qi said. “It’s not like people don’t still recognize many of those old divisions even now.”

Imperial, Weilu, Old Tribe. Bao, Diao, Meng, Luo, Wang, and Jia. Even these were only the beginning. She was sure that there were a thousand little rivalries and conflicts below the level she understood.

Bao Qian was quiet at that, leaving them to walk along the narrow passage in silence. “That is true, but is the solution to that not to give us all something to see as common amongst ourselves?”

“People are stubborn, but yes, that’s probably the only way to solve it,” Ling Qi said. “Though I wonder if that just moves the problem around.”

“Perhaps, but one has to take little steps where we can.” Bao Qian squinted into the dark. He raised a hand to stop her as he studied the ground. “Here. A stake here should include this part of the manor in the greater formation.

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Ling Qi nodded, taking a half step back as he made the placements. Their conversation had wandered a little far afield.

<Not such a bad thing. I think you’ll be having to deal with this stuff soon,> Sixiang murmured.

She supposed so. Ling Qi just hoped she was up to the challenge.