Zen steeled his expression. “It knows no pain. Do not let its human form or its pitiful cries fool you, Lan. It is ademonicthing, and I am giving it what it deserves.”
As though to drive his point home, he funneled more qì into his Seal, the energies spilling from the angriest, darkest place within him. The air cleaved open, shadows opening in the ground.
He heard the girl speaking as though from very far away: “…it’s gone, Zen.”
The storm broke. His qì cooled. The Seal dissipated. When Zen blinked again, he and Lan were alone in the clearing.
He drew a stilling breath. “Are you all right?” he found himself asking.
“I am.” Her tone was uncertain as she looked to the copse of trees where the yao had stood.
Zen made his way over. His ring of black flame had leftbehind no marks. In the place where the spirit had been was a single stalk of bamboo. He could sense the swirl of demonic qì dissipating from around it.
“The bamboo spirit,” Lan said softly, coming to kneel by Zen’s side.
He nodded. “My Seal broke its existence and released the core of qì that gave it life. Now it returns to its true form: a stalk of bamboo.”
She gave it a long look. “In the storybooks…there were tales of practitioners who bound demonic spirits to them.”
“Oh?” The question fell dull against his tongue.
She nodded. Her voice was low. “There’re lots of tales the villagers and townsfolk used to tell. I guess the most popular one is the one of the Mansorian clan general that the Dragon Emperor defeated at the end of the Middle Kingdom. I know that’s the history of how the Last Kingdom was founded, but…well, urban legends say the Mansorian general lost control of his demon toward the end, and that that was why he went on a killing spree after he lost.” Zen could feel her sliding a look toward him. “That can’t be…can’t be true, can it?”
He knew the tales. Knew how the commoners had always whispered ofdemonsanddark magicwith horror, as though it were an illness that could seep into their bones.
“It is true.” His voice scraped. “The story of the Nightslayer—whatever you have heard—bears truth. Upon losing the final battle against Emperor Yán’lóng, the Mansorian clan general and practitioner Xan Tolürigin lost control and massacred thousands of innocent Hin civilians by channeling the power of the Black Tortoise.”
He heard her intake of breath. “The Black Tortoise?” She spoke softly, with awe and fear. “The Demon God? I thought they were simply…. lore.”
Zen looked straight ahead. “Long ago, the clans practicedspiritual shamanism: manipulating spiritual energies in harmony with natural qì. One branch of spiritual shamanism became notorious for the dangers it posed: demonic practitioning. When a practitioner invites a demon into his core of qì—of power—he runs the risk of losing control. Of succumbing to the demon’s will.
“The most infamous examples you might have heard of in your stories are those of the legendary Demon Gods. A demon is a creature that gains awareness and desires through a festering pool of yin. The Four Demon Gods are beings that formed at the beginning of time, cultivating power and consciousness over thousands of cycles and hundreds of dynasties and blurring the lines betweendemonsandgods.Many wars were fought over possession of the Four. Countless deaths, insurmountable bloodshed…over their power. The Hin emperors recognized the threat these Demon Gods could pose to the peace and unity of his kingdom and therefore sought to outlaw demonic practitioning altogether in the era of the Middle Kingdom. A sword’s purpose may be determined by its wielder, but take the weapon away entirely, and neither the merciful nor the cruel may draw blood with it.”
Her eyes were wide, reflecting the ink bowl of stars overhead.
Zen stood abruptly. The night had chilled, and a lone wind swept past the fabric of his clothing, sinking into his skin. “That is why demonic practitioning is a taboo against the Way,” he finished.
“Was what I did…summoning that bamboo spirit…was that…” Lan swallowed. “Was that demonic practitioning?”
He hesitated. Demonic qì was composed solely of yin, yet not all yin energy was demonic. It was outlandish to think that a girl who believed practitioning to be the stuff of legends could in any way partake in demonic practitioning.
If anything, the abundance of yin in her energies had something to do with whatever the Seal on her wrist hid.
“It was not,” Zen replied, and she let out a breath of palpable relief. “Demonic practitioning is only possible if you have made a bargain with a demon to borrow its power. When channeling a demon’s power, the energies you use, the type of Seals you would conjure—all those would be solely yin, rooted in the power of a demon.”
“Well, I haven’t made any bargains,” Lan said. “Unfortunately, demons were in rather short supply back at the Teahouse.”
He did not smile. “You would do well to steer clear of such topics when we arrive at the school. And do not try to channel any more qì without my guidance. There is only one Way of practitioning, and anything that deviates from it is strictly taboo. The masters would not like to see what you just did—and neither would most people.”
“Why not?”
Zen turned and began to walk away. “There is no ‘why.’ Do not question why things are the way they are, Lan. It will only bring you misery.”
“Wait,” she called out. Zen tensed, preparing himself for another question on demonic practitioning. Instead, the girl said softly, “Do you know a place called Guarded Mountain?”
Zen turned to her. “Guarded Mountain,” he repeated. He’d not heard or spoken that name for many long cycles. “I do.”
Her eyes lit up. “I know this is going to sound strange, but…I had a dream during my meditation that I’ll find answers there. About…about this.” She held her left hand up, her Seal pale against the horrendous metallic streaks the Elantian magician had injected into her skin.
