Read Online The Blue Mountain (The Forbidden List Book 2) by G R Matthews - Free Book Online
Authors: G R Matthews
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upon the table. “I don’t like this at all. Come on. We have to find the others. Xióngmāo will be fine in a few days.”
Boqin stood, his broad shoulders hunched with worry. Zhou followed suit and they left the building in search of the other Wu . As the door banged closed against its frame, the whole mountain shook.
Zhou staggered and fell. The solid, dependable ground beneath his feet betrayed him. He steadied himself with a hand against a wall when the ground shook again. The rock below him bucked upwards, throwing him into the stone wall and depositing him face down on the path. The taste of blood in his mouth and the warmth of it against his face brought him back to consciousness. The shaking subsided and now, against the sky, great blooms of red erupted.
He struggled to his feet, wiping away the blood from his face with the back of his hand. Zhou blinked a few times, fighting to rid himself of the double vision he seemed to be afflicted with.
“What,” Zhou looked towards Boqin who was kneeling on the ground, “is happening?”
Boqin turned back to Zhou who could now see that the great bear’s hands were touching the ground just as they had touched Xióngmāo’s neck earlier, seeking a pulse. “The mountain is under attack. I’ve summoned everyone. Stay here.”
Boqin travelled. Zhou could not describe how he knew the bear’s spirit was no longer here. Maybe it was the way that the large man went as still as one of the bronze statues in the great hall. Or perhaps, the sudden chill on the air that brushed against the fine hairs on Zhou’s arms. Or the way the man’s body seemed to lose its focus, its solidity, to fade from view.
“Not on your life.” Zhou spat the last of the blood from his mouth and reached for the thread.
It seemed further away than ever before, but he forced himself to stretch further and further. His heart beat faster in chest and sweat broke out across his forehead. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. A ghostly finger caught the thread and hooked it. With great care he pulled it towards his palm and then closed his hand around it.
Now, rather than pull it towards himself, he tried to do the opposite. He let the Qi swell from his stomach and pushed it along the thread. The blue filament grew brighter as his Qi surrounded it and began to rise. He could see it rise into the far distance and he began to pull himself upwards. A creeping numbness rose from his toes and through his legs as he climbed. The thread widened into rope as he ascended.
He climbed and climbed. Pulling his spirit body up, hand over hand, legs wrapped round the rope aiding when they could. His arms ached, his palms, pricked and scratched by the rope fibres, felt red raw. The air was becoming colder. It hurt to breathe as his ribs fought to suck in the thinning air.
He climbed on, the numbness in his corporeal body now almost total and the pain in his spirit one growing beyond endurance. Like the stone steps, he had passed through the void, the coldest layer, the one closest to the earth, and into the next. He focused on the climb, ignoring the biting, the itching and the stabbing pain.
Zhou passed into fire and wished for the cold to return. He pushed on. The rope blistering his hands and each breath was like swallowing burning lamp oil. He tried to blank out the smell of blackened skin, burnt hair, and closed his eyes to the cracked and weeping flesh on his hands. One hand over the other and pull. Grip the rope with charred legs and lift the next hand. Onwards, up and up.
He was drowning. Water poured down his throat and into his lungs. At first, a blessed relief from the fire, quenching the flames and cooling his flesh. Then the instinctual panic and the rising fear, the heaving of lungs, the aching of ribs, as they searched for life-giving air and drew in only water. He clamped down upon the panic and forced his diaphragm to be still. His legs let go of the rope and kicked against the resistant
Boqin stood, his broad shoulders hunched with worry. Zhou followed suit and they left the building in search of the other Wu . As the door banged closed against its frame, the whole mountain shook.
Zhou staggered and fell. The solid, dependable ground beneath his feet betrayed him. He steadied himself with a hand against a wall when the ground shook again. The rock below him bucked upwards, throwing him into the stone wall and depositing him face down on the path. The taste of blood in his mouth and the warmth of it against his face brought him back to consciousness. The shaking subsided and now, against the sky, great blooms of red erupted.
He struggled to his feet, wiping away the blood from his face with the back of his hand. Zhou blinked a few times, fighting to rid himself of the double vision he seemed to be afflicted with.
“What,” Zhou looked towards Boqin who was kneeling on the ground, “is happening?”
Boqin turned back to Zhou who could now see that the great bear’s hands were touching the ground just as they had touched Xióngmāo’s neck earlier, seeking a pulse. “The mountain is under attack. I’ve summoned everyone. Stay here.”
Boqin travelled. Zhou could not describe how he knew the bear’s spirit was no longer here. Maybe it was the way that the large man went as still as one of the bronze statues in the great hall. Or perhaps, the sudden chill on the air that brushed against the fine hairs on Zhou’s arms. Or the way the man’s body seemed to lose its focus, its solidity, to fade from view.
“Not on your life.” Zhou spat the last of the blood from his mouth and reached for the thread.
It seemed further away than ever before, but he forced himself to stretch further and further. His heart beat faster in chest and sweat broke out across his forehead. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. A ghostly finger caught the thread and hooked it. With great care he pulled it towards his palm and then closed his hand around it.
Now, rather than pull it towards himself, he tried to do the opposite. He let the Qi swell from his stomach and pushed it along the thread. The blue filament grew brighter as his Qi surrounded it and began to rise. He could see it rise into the far distance and he began to pull himself upwards. A creeping numbness rose from his toes and through his legs as he climbed. The thread widened into rope as he ascended.
He climbed and climbed. Pulling his spirit body up, hand over hand, legs wrapped round the rope aiding when they could. His arms ached, his palms, pricked and scratched by the rope fibres, felt red raw. The air was becoming colder. It hurt to breathe as his ribs fought to suck in the thinning air.
He climbed on, the numbness in his corporeal body now almost total and the pain in his spirit one growing beyond endurance. Like the stone steps, he had passed through the void, the coldest layer, the one closest to the earth, and into the next. He focused on the climb, ignoring the biting, the itching and the stabbing pain.
Zhou passed into fire and wished for the cold to return. He pushed on. The rope blistering his hands and each breath was like swallowing burning lamp oil. He tried to blank out the smell of blackened skin, burnt hair, and closed his eyes to the cracked and weeping flesh on his hands. One hand over the other and pull. Grip the rope with charred legs and lift the next hand. Onwards, up and up.
He was drowning. Water poured down his throat and into his lungs. At first, a blessed relief from the fire, quenching the flames and cooling his flesh. Then the instinctual panic and the rising fear, the heaving of lungs, the aching of ribs, as they searched for life-giving air and drew in only water. He clamped down upon the panic and forced his diaphragm to be still. His legs let go of the rope and kicked against the resistant
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