Chapter 84
Ghosts, Old and New
It was raining, Leo noted--but it was raining ash and fire.
The sky above was glum and gray, smoke tearing through and rising from every which corner he looked at. The world itself was washed out from colors, desaturated 'till it nearly only had two. Screams and wails of agony and pain were muted, just like the colors themselves, as though coming from beyond some invisible wall separating him from the rest of reality.
Here, though, there were no screams, no wails, there was no seeming agony or pain. There was resignation etched on the face of someone who was tired and broken.
Another ghost, pale-skinned, silver-eyed, tall and horrifying, the ilk that would haunt the dreams of the weak-hearted... and yet, there he was, the tall behemoth bent on his knees, bloodied from head to toe, his jaw dislocated, eyes gouged out, limbs broken.
For miles on around him, Leo saw corpses--there were thousands of them, all humans. Few were whole, even fewer recognizable, while most meshed into a pile of indiscernible blood and gore. And yet, thousands more stood, gripping weapons and shaking still even as their vanquished foe sat on his knees, tearing the last breaths of life from his lungs.
Time itself slowed, as though it dared not speed up through the carnage, and Leo had to bear witness to it all. To the wasteland, to the pain, to the horrors, to the enduring scars echoing eons ahead into the future. How tall was this man's rage, his anger, his loathing, that even after cutting down thousands of people... his spirit still endured for countless years, wandering aimlessly, consumed with hatred?
Leo crouched, winds whipping softly all across his back, staring at the black abyss that were once the man's eyes. Was this what it was like to be consumed by a singular desire? To be rooted and imprisoned in the past? Was this... what his heart looked like for so many years?
He blinked... and it was gone.
Trees sprung in their hopeful colors and the silver beams of the moonlight pierced through the canopy, dousing the world with rays of hope. The ghost who, just moments ago, was charging toward him with a face distorted beyond human measure... was fading.
The anger faded, ever so slowly, and was replaced with a stoic apathy. Not joy, not hope, not desire, but the seeming numbness necessary to bury the sorrows.
Leo crashed down, feeling his throat swell.
He was already tired, just three nights in. And yet, there were so many ghosts, so many stories, so many tragic endings. By the time he tore through them all, if he was able to do so to begin with, would there be left anything of him? Or would he, too, become a ghostly husk wandering between the fading trees?
Looking down, he saw a familiar face of Whiskers peek through. She meowed ever so lowly and began to purr, pressing her head against his breast.
"Wow, has it gotten so obvious that even you worry...?" he asked, his voice hoarse and quivering as he stretched his arm, petting her gently. "I must look like a ghost myself." she meowed back, rubbing her head once again. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I'm sorry for making you worry."
He felt claws break into his back and soon saw Milky and Blackie flank his face, seated on his shoulders and shoving their faces into his, licking his cheeks.
It wasn't long before Hoot landed on his head, or before Red grabbed him from the back and wrapped all six of his arms around him.
Howly, too, approached, wrapping the furred body around his, gently placing his head on Leo's lap.
The shrubberies parted and even trees seemed to give way as a deluge of animals appeared, blessed and otherwise. It seemed as though the entire forest converged to his little bleeding paradise, silent and concerned. The way they looked at him... it hurt.
"Hey," he greeted softly, forcing a smile.
None of them 'spoke', as it were; once they settled in one position, they didn't move. Even as minutes began to tick, and even as hours began to pass, and even as the hanging maiden in the sky gave way to the golden colors of dawn. The world sat in silence, healing softly his bleeding heart.
A promise he made with it just last night, he'd already broken it. Was it worth it? No. He was not freeing them, not truly. What war seemed to do to a soul... was not something that a person could be freed from. Then, what was he even doing? What was the point of this? Was it him just taking a glimpse at the distant history, destroying himself in the process? No...
Sighing, he coughed softly and looked up, blinding himself momentarily with the piercing light. He was the last thing they saw. A human. The very thing that condemned them to an eternity of pain. What right did he have to suffer with them? What right did he have to be pained with them?
"There are these days, every once in a while," he spoke softly, breaking the silence. "Where it feels like gods stole the breath from your lungs and the thoughts from your mind. So, you spend all day wandering aimlessly, finding no joy in anything. The numbness is, in some ways, worse than pain. At least, with pain, you feel something. Even if it burns. I can't make you all worry so much, so often," he smiled widely, looking around at everyone who gathered. There were even those who only came about once or twice a week, if that, the eyes that used to scare him, the ones that would peer from beyond the curtain of darkness. They were there, too, in the distance; yet, they were gentle, concerned, and warm.
"I don't know whether doing this is accomplishing anything," he said. "I don't know whether I'm simply torturing myself for no reason. But... does it matter? With so many friends by my side, there isn't a mountain impossible to climb."
Chuckling faintly, he turned around and began walking back home. Most of the animals dispersed, retreating into their tiny little hamlets between the trees, though quite a few accompanied him, even beyond the usual entourage.
The morning was rather cool, he noted, a strange occurrence as the temperature in the forest... never really changed. Every day felt largely the same--mild temperature, tender wind, low humidity, pleasant, clear air. Perhaps, he mused, it was simply his imagination.
He paused suddenly as he broke through and landed on the clearing; there, seated by the embers of the campfire was a familiar face. Her short, silver hair was disheveled, and her makeup was faintly smeared across her face. There was a lack of grace she had when she last came over, though she still seemed an immortal flower in the field of vines.
She must have heard him, looking up, her eyes widening.
"Master Leo...!" she exclaimed. "Please, please... save my Master!" Leo's eyes veered to the side of her where, splayed, was a middle-aged seeming man.
Perhaps, beneath the stately gloom, there was a handsome figure, but the surface spoke of someone on the brink of death. Cracks radiated across his skin, as though he were made of porcelain, ebony smoke drifting out of them and disappearing. His lips blue, cheeks sunken, and eyes twitching in agony were merely one part of the horror.
He walked up and crouched down, feeling a strange, nostalgic pull--not toward the man, but rather the seeming 'darkness' leaking out of him.
"I, I know I have no right to ask," Xiaoling's voice cracked as she started crying. "Especially after you helped me out so selflessly before, but... I, I must. Please, save my Master! I will do anything you ask of me! Just... save him!"
"..." Leo glanced at her, a woman who stood firm even in the face of certain death, who put her body in front of the kids and bravely welcomed pain in their stead... was now broken. Leo wanted to help, desperately, but... he didn't know how. He was not a healer, not a shaman, not a doctor; rather, he was barely even a cultivator. All he could do was what he always did--feed him the food or the fruit juice, and pray that the underlying machinations of the world would do the rest. "I will do my best," he said as she seemed to crack even further.
Would anyone... cry for him like this? He pondered selfishly as he took the dying man to the longhouse, deluge of his furry friends coming along, seeming worried too. It was hardly the right time to ponder, but he did, nonetheless. Would Yue and Liang cry for him the same way Xiaoling did for her Master?
He almost cracked a smile at the thought.
They'd be sad, certainly; perhaps they'd even cry. But this... this was a result of the lifelong bond, something that he had never experienced in his life.
She accompanied him in silence, staying outside the room and crashing onto the floor as he entered, setting the man onto the bed and slowly disrobing him. Countless scars appeared--old and new--though he could only ignore them.
He knew that the water from the pond had some healing properties, so he drenched a few of what he called 'crusted leaves'--tall and broad leaves reminiscent of lettuce, only red in hue--in the jug of water before slowly dressing up the countless cracks. Blackie and Milky climbed on top of the bed and lay down by the man's side like a pair of guardian angels, while Red and Hoot settled on the bedframe, observing silently.
One day, he swore, he'd learn the medicine of this world.
He couldn't forever depend on the luck to carry him onward, because he hadn't saved any of the people he did through his own means... just through pure, dumb luck. Even now... what was he doing? Depending on some mythical weal. Even after he promised he'd do everything his power to help... what power did he have? Once again, he felt himself dispirited.
After barely managing to shove some fruit juice down the man's throat and dressing up his body with drenched leaves, he left the room.
Stepping out he saw Xiaoling still sitting on the ground, her head between her knees.
"How... how is he...?" she asked, her voice hoarse from crying.
"... too soon to tell," he replied as honestly as he could.
"He was supposed to report to me, but he missed the day," she said. "He never missed an appointment before. Never. So... I knew that something had happened. I went to see him and... and found him lying by his prayer mat. I didn't know what else to do," she looked up, a pair of twilight-colored eyes strained with blood bearing down unto his heart. "Please, forgive me. You can punish me however you see fit."
"Do I really seem like someone who would do that?" he asked, smiling faintly.
"... no," she said. "Sorry."
"Are you hungry? Sitting here and worrying probably isn't what your Master would want you to do."
"Hm."
"I'll make us some stew."
"Hm." she rather obediently stood up and, with lowered head, started following him.
"Believe in him," he repeated the words told to him and his parents a long, long time ago. This time, however, he hoped those words wouldn't become tender lies for the weak-hearted.
Her smile was pained, but honest. It was a foolish sentiment, Leo knew; she believed in him as much as one person could believe in another. Was this what a true Master-Disciple bond was like? An unbending joist capable of holding up the sky on its own?
He envied it, deeply.