Vol. 4 Epilogue II

They were hard women, faces weathered by the sun and the cold air of the Iron Hills. No few of the faces wore bruises. Some from rushing through the old mines as they fled their homes, others from the hands of their husbands, brothers and fathers. The men of the Iron Gang Militia were required to cultivate. The women were forbidden to, on pain of extremely public death. It never made sense, but then, it didn’t have to. The one with the biggest fist had the biggest say. The chiefs wanted it this way, so that was that.

It was still better than being in the mining villages. The mining villages that still survived had turned into cauldrons of suffering. The mine owners had gone mad, turning peasants into slaves and their guards into bandit gangs. The prefects had never been worth a damn and the magistrates were worse. From the perspective of the woman, the main difference was they got more food in the militia, and more safety from raids. It’s not like they had any choice about where they lived or who they married or what families they were born in. It was just something to comfort yourself with. You might be suffering, but others are suffering worse. So, really, did you have it so bad?

Until the Cultivator came. It wasn’t an army, or a great host of immortals descending. Some of the women had seen him from a distance. A child, barely into his teens going by his height and slender build. White as a crane feather, with his hair scattered across his shoulders. He was looking for something. That’s what they told each other. He was looking for something and didn’t like the answer. So he attacked. One boy attacked the strongest army the women knew.

It was a slaughter. Women who thought they knew the difference between people, thought they understood what true power looked like, learned differently. The true Immortal was a thirteen year old boy, and none of the gods and devils of their little village could stand against him.

Nobody had wanted to come back to the base. The rule was you made your way to the rendezvous point through the tunnels and hid for a week. You would be collected by the end of the week, and if you weren’t? Scatter. Scatter and run, because the army had come and would execute everyone remotely related to the bandits. Except there was no army, and nobody came after a week had passed.

Not a single person.

The women knew the men in their lives. They weren’t the sort to fight to the death. If no one came, then they were all dead or running as far as they could. The food, millet that hadn’t quite gone off, mung beans, barley, nothing so fine as rice, ran out. The water was running out too. They stank. The hidden refuge, carved into a hill, stank as the accumulated waste piled up in the room they decided would be the latrine. The militia had remembered food, and water, and even blankets, but not sanitation.

No one was coming, so the women had to choose. Try to find a village to take them in, or flee the hills entirely. It didn’t take a lot of discussion- there was nothing good in these hills. There might not be anything good outside of them either, but they knew exactly the hell waiting for them in the valleys. So they went to the only place they knew had food- the base. And if the madman was still there, then they would run, or beg. What else could the powerless do?

Standing over the bodies of almost every man they had ever met, they had to redefine the word ‘powerless.’

“Is that old Ironfoot? Why has he got Big Smelly’s saber through his neck?”

“Dunno. Someone needs to explain to me how Big Smelly can be decapitated by a shield first.”

“Oi, Little Hua, did you find any footprints?”

“Oh yeah.” The teen came jogging over, looking sick. “Yeah, I found plenty. Then threw up. Now I’m back and want to throw up again. Fuck.”

“Oh stop whining! What did you find?”

“Something was waiting for the ones who ran. Some kind of animal. They were torn apart by claws, their guts scattered everywhere, heads and chests stabbed clean through…” Little Hua looked like she wanted to throw up again.

“I guess we know why nobody came for us. The ones who fought here died to the madman or each other, and the ones who ran were torn apart by beasts.”

“It must have been curse magic. He looked like a madman, they say, so he must have used a curse to drive everyone mad, make them turn on each other and fight each other.” This from a woman kneeling on the blood-soaked ground, cradling the head of a man whose chest had a palm-wide dent over his heart, deep enough to use as a soup bowl.

She thoughtlessly wiped the hair off his forehead. It had been a week and the bodies were stinking. She didn’t seem to mind.Everyone was scared, and exhausted, and hungry. After a week in the reeking dark, their emotions seemed distant, and thinking was hard.

“Anyone search the manor?”

“Everyone, everyone, good news!” A woman came running out of the stockade. “Food! The madman and the beasts left the food, and the wine. They left the tents and camping supplies too. And… the weapons.”

“Really?”

They couldn’t believe it. “Are they poisoned?”

“Doesn’t smell like it, and really, would they bother?” That question was met with more silence. “Well, did they take anything?”

“How should I know? The chiefs are in there. In fucking pieces. The, hah, Grand Strategist looks like he was tortured before he died.”

“Good. Sick bastard. I remember what he did to little Ling. AND little Bai. And I know there were more.”

That met with general nods and some loud sniggering about needing a new latrine.

“The chiefs have been stripped, the bookshelves are empty and all the storage chests have been cracked open. I didn’t find any silver or treasures, but I did find a caved-in staircase. And… I think you need to see it.” The woman led a score of the survivors into the stockade. Most of them split off to do their own searching, but a few followed the scout to the stairs.

“See?”

“See what? It’s a load of big rocks filling the stairs to a basement. Looks like a cave. I’m sure not going digging through it.” An older woman grunted.

“Yeah, but listen-” The scout waved everyone over and put her ear near a gap in the rocks.

“One, two, BREAK! Three, four, BREAK! Back and clear, back and clear.”

“Ah! Little Li isn’t keeping up!”

“Xhe Xhe you bully, you are giving me the biggest rocks to clear. How can I keep up?”

“Children?”

“Sounds like it. And they are getting closer, fast.”

“How is that-”

“Shh!”

“… Break!” The rocks in front of the women shattered into dust, rolling forward in a cloud. They coughed and staggered back, waving their sleeves in front of their faces.

“Woah! There’s a bunch of Aunties here!”

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“I’m twenty six, brat!”

“Sounds middle aged to me, Auntie.” The women blinked and rubbed their eyes. There were ten children in front of them, dressed in red robes stained with blood. Each had the powerful breath of a cultivator. And each had golden irises that faintly glowed in the dim light of the tunnel.

“Oooah! So many aunties! Hey Auntie, do you have any food? It’s been a long time since we ate, and we are all really hungry.” A little moon-faced boy came up and tugged one of the women on the sleeve.

“You think I’m made of food?” She snapped, more out of habit than intention. Her brain caught up with her mouth a moment later. “That is, yes, we have a little food. Simple stuff. You can eat with the other kids if you like… or by yourself. Whatever the Immortal wishes.”

“Immortal? Huh? Auntie, we all just started cultivating, we are a long way from immortal.” This from a delicate looking girl no older than eight. The peasant women went very still.

“Little girl, you are cultivating too?”

“Of course! We all remember different chants in our head so we are all cultivating different ways, but we are all doing it.”