Threads 470-Revelry 4

“I don’t believe that. Out there, there are so many emotions in the air. Joy and relief and anticipation and a hundred others. I don’t doubt that joy can be born from the ashes of rage, but I think it is wrong to say that what is happening today is still that,” Ling Qi said.

She drew on the cool dark qi that flowed through her meridians, letting it flow through her eyes and ears more precisely. The crushing darkness of the studio was lightened by fractions. She could see the outlines of the stage, the suggestion of moth-eaten curtains still held up by fraying rope, the shallow stairs which descended toward it, and the stumps and skeletons of the seating. She saw too many shapes, set out haphazardly without pattern or reason. Vases and urns, from tiny delicate ones set atop broken pillars and nestled among the wreckage to towering curved ceramic giants big enough to fit multiple men in their depths, dotted the landscape.

Shu Yue traced their long fingers along one such giant, set near the top of the shallow descending stairs. “It is true that they look to the future now. She drives that. Her light demands to be seen and followed as it leads the way forward into something new. But the past remains behind us. Its bloody maw and scarred muzzle nips at their heels. Even the Radiant Tyrant cannot slay such a beast. Ignoring its fetid breath on their backs will do you little good, even if they themselves no longer consciously acknowledge it.”

Ling Qi’s hands curled into fists beneath her sleeves. Qiyi shifted, silk rippling. She felt concern blooming through their bond, the question flitting by. Was this an attack? If it was, it was one she preferred to receive.

“I know. Beneath the praises for our summit and our new peace, I can hear the drums of war and the anticipation of profit. I know I have bought peace with the White Sky through blood and land. The greatest happiness among my allies is toward the dream of crushing the threat of the cloud tribes once and for all.”

Shu Yue traced their hands over the painted patterns on the sculpture. Geometric patterns moved and crawled, changing between one eyeblink and the next.

“I can’t say I do not understand this,” Ling Qi continued. “I saw Ogodei tear a city from the earth in Elder Jiao’s memory formations. I’ve seen the echoes in the liminal. I have seen a raid in progress, and I know the tribes which attack have no more interest in the concept of mercy than our most furious retaliations.”

“Grudges do not die without blood to drown them,” Shu Yue agreed.

“But you still gotta find a point where people can agree to stop,” Sixiang insisted. “I can’t say I like that fat old nightmare draping itself over the whole mountain range. Really messes with the ambiance, you know? Also, what the heck do you use these big ones for?”

Sixiang squinted up at a towering, narrow necked vase. Ling Qi had almost mistaken it for a pillar in the dark.

“What man has always used pots of river clay for,” Shu Yue answered. “Storage. Preservation.”

Ling Qi observed the urn Shu Yue leaned against more closely, enhancing her eyes to the point that they prickled uncomfortably with the qi impressed into her nerves. The shifting patterns squirmed like trapped insects until she could force them to make a kind of sense.

Meng Delun’s snarling face looked back at her, stark in black and grey, eyes that were pits of furious hate.

She recoiled, letting the qi flee from her eyes and trickle away into her channels as she blinked away tears. “That isn’t…”

“It is his grudges. No more. The man is dead,” Shu Yue said. “I become. That is the nature of the faceless. In the old days, I would leave such husks behind, unknowing or caring of their pollution. I am a cleaner hunter now.”

“And what do you do when they’re emptied out?” Sixiang asked.

“They remain… meditation aids,” Shu Yue said. “We stray. You do know then, even if you chose to put the thoughts away. Darker urges are as much a part of men as brighter. I will accede to you that the rage which buoyed my master unto the heavens to burn it down is a lesser thing now than it was in the days after when men and women howled and clapped at each bleached skull scoured by her light. Still, their cheer comes in memory of what she did and what she will do. There is another foe, after all. One who has begun to remind them of old scars.”

The ith. The insidiousness of the most recent attack gnawed at her. It was an assault built to sow paranoia and distrust, especially if her observations were correct. It was exactly the sort of attack which would stoke bad old memories, even more than the bombastic attacks.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

She wondered how much the minds of the ith-ia understood what they were stirring.

Yes, if she cleared her preconceptions and let herself feel the ambience of celebration outside, there was a building furor there. This was the celebration of life as it was and of joy in the now for the future held violence. And it was not violence the participants were opposed to.

“Indeed. When the armies of the Emerald Seas march, it will be with a righteous fire in their bellies. And why not? Who are these beasts from beneath the earth who strike them beyond any bound of honor or custom, who sow bleeding, sickening harm beyond any cloud tribe raid?” Shu Yue asked rhetorically. Her mentor stepped away from the massive urn holding the Meng elder’s grudges. “Follow.”

Ling Qi did, Sixiang tailing along. Ling Qi considered Shu Yue’s words. She knew that desire. Want was not an emotion which could be called good or bad; it arose from many corners. Her eyes saw more the desires which bent toward consumption and possession, and so, she was less attentive to the passions which fed more destructive urges. While she did not think she was wrong in that the desire to consume, possess, and grow was the greater urge, she could not afford to ignore the Want that was retribution, spite, and wrath.