Chương 32: Clodde Bastin

Rowan Rowan gingerly walked through the overgrown and muddy yard, the cold scales of a second jet black snake slithering against his ankle. A low chorus of hisses emanated from the grasses, increasing in volume as he made his way further to the front of the barn. Like Rowan was a threat they were trying to warn away from their home. His fingers reflexively found the rosary coiled around his wrist, finding their lack of warmth unsettling.

If the lion-haired man was a demonic cultivator, then Rowan was on his own this time. He knocked on the door. Three heavy thumps. No response, but the weight of his hand pushed the barn door open slightly. He peered inside. It was dark, the air thick with the stench of wet and moldy straw. Rowan stepped inside of the barn and immediately, there was a tinny silence. Soundproofing talismans.

It wasn't proof that there was wrongdoing going on, but when he followed the beam of light that came in from a high window to illuminate a ratty little mattress, the proof followed. Two small girls lay on the mattress, neither of them clothed. They couldn't be more than ten years old. One lay fully slack, drooping off the side. Dead. The other was frozen in a labored sleep, her fingers locked in front of her, a primal fear etched on her face. A damp rag hung across her shoulder. Rowan felt his stomach turn.

Heavy footsteps sounded from the back of the barn, stepping closer. Rowan ducked into a dark corner formed from a broken wood beam. He watched the lion-haired man crouch in front of the girls.

"Beautiful," the man muttered, his fingers running through the living girl's hair.

"Worth every tael." The man had bought the girls from someone, somewhere. Now that Rowan was closer, he could tell that the man was mortal. Mostly mortal, at least. The red mark on his hand pulsed with a watery, stagnant qi. He suspected the man had played around with demonic techniques but not enough to have turned into a cultivator. Not yet. Rowan had likely caught him at the start of his journey. The man continued to run his hand along the girl's hair, and then in one motion, made to disrobe.

Rowan had had enough.

"Disgusting," he whispered, putting out his hand. A faint green glow appeared before shooting forward like a pellet and sinking into the lion-haired man's back. The reaction wasn't flashy. The man paused and placed his palm on his stomach, frowning. He took a step forward and half-collapsed, as though his legs had turned to jelly, but he managed to stand back up with a grunt. Not strong enough, decided Rowan. Germination isn't meant to be deadly, but it should kill a mortal. Their qi has barely any resistance.

"Who's there?" The man turned. His hand had slipped into his robes, withdrawing a small dagger that pulsed with a volatile Fire qi. He tried to activate it by flicking it in the air a few times, but because the man's qi had been disrupted, the effect he was expecting didn't occur. He spotted Rowan and with a roar, charged at him. Rowan stepped out of the way - the man was only slightly faster than the men who had ambushed him on the way to Deepwhale Pier.

His elbow came down hard on the man's wrist, forcing him to drop the dagger. The dagger bounced off of the dirt ground, singeing it. The air suddenly smelled of burning. Rowan dug deep into his Qi Sea, packaging half of it into a seed and shooting it off at the man. The man simply exploded. As soon as the green glow entered his body, it took half a second for the qi to spread through his system, bursting everything it touched. His torso turned into a pile of shredded organs and blood on top of two standing legs.

Rowan stared bleakly at the carnage. He hadn't gained as much insight from this experience as he'd hoped. Tracking his qi through the mortal, feeling it claw up the other person's meridians like virulent roots, gave him a bit of insight into the spell. But it had all ended too fast. The man hadn't cast or wielded any techniques either, so he'd barely been able to see Germination's qi-disruption effect in action. Rowan shucked off his cloak and draped it over the girls to preserve their modesty.

He tried to ignore the heavy bruising around the necks of both of the girls. Whether in life or death, no one deserved to be humiliated and disrespected like this. He stepped over the chunks of flesh, the hem of his cloak remaining clean as it skimmed just over the mess. He turned his head this way and that as he examined the barn. It couldn't hurt to take a look around. He had gotten an important lead already - that the man had purchased the girls from someone.

He combed the inside of the barn, picking through packaging for ship parts and half-eaten meals that had been left to rot. He finally happened upon the man's own bed, in the rafters. There was an open window next to it, and the stink of the barn wasn't quite as severe. On it was a canvas bag full of silver taels. There were roughly forty. As Rowan sifted through the taels, he noticed a little leatherbound notebook at the bottom of the canvas bag. Clodde Bastin.

Resplendent Jade Era, Year 167, the 87th day of Spring was the first entry. Three days from summer, two years ago. After much pleading, the contact has given me a scripture at last. He says I have no future in cultivation, but I have never tried. I've been good at everything I've ever set my mind to and now I have the opportunity. Contact? The man had been careful to not even name the supplier in his journal. Who could it be? Era RJ 167, Summer 4th. I have done it.

I have sold my late father's two remaining properties for four first-grade qi pills and the maiden that the contact recommended to me. He says it will not work if she is not defiled beforehand. Not the most enviable position, but now I know the secrets of "Righteous" Mountain. It appeared that the man had, indeed, fallen into demonic cultivation. He also seemed to believe that all of cultivation entailed these kinds of activities. Rowan flipped through the book. Era RJ 168, Summer 42nd.

I am forced to admit that cultivation is not for me, but I have grown accustomed to the maidens, to the qi pills. I am running out of money. I can no longer afford to pay Rudia. It is a pity, as she raised me in the stead of my mother, but she knows too many of my secrets. Era RJ 168, Autumn 8th. I have moved into a hovel, a barn, in Highwater. Highwater. To think someone of my birth could ever end up here. But I will be gone soon, as I've come across a new business opportunity.

In exchange for my services, I will be provided a new girl once in a while by the nearby orphanage. The nearby orphanage. He flipped to the last entry, dated for last week. Era RJ 169, Summer, 4th. It turns out that after all the prying locals have been dealt with, the orphanage no longer requires my services. They are still willing to sell to me for five taels upfront and another five to be paid by the end of the month. A new shipment has come in, due to the Spring droughts.

Several of them are quite beautiful, and very frail, unlike the girls from the city, who are well-fed and prone to screaming. Rowan didn't want to read any more. He slipped the notebook into his sleeves as well. It would be evidence for the Dao Court. There could be a more extensive investigation if the orphanage was a dead end. Perhaps a stronger divination on the book would lead them to this contact of Clodde Bastin's, who had given him demonic cultivation scriptures.

Written histories were quite powerful for that sort of thing, as far as Rowan understood it. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. He went to the two girls lying on the thin, dirty mattress, and crouched down, checking their faces against the portraits he had collected. No matches. Rowan gently placed his hand on the living girl's forehead. Her skin was cold and clammy. Her qi lethargic, barely able to cycle though her meridians.

Normal sedatives wouldn't have this effect on someone's qi. No wonder the pills Clodde Bastin had bought were killing these girls - they probably had qi ingredients in them, whether the seller realized it or not. Rowan wasn't confident enough in his own skills to help clear her pathways, so he waited patiently until it resolved on its own. Rowan spent those few hours in meditation, refilling his Qi Sea. The girl's eyes opened, glassy and unseeing.

Her fearful expression deepened as if she was on the verge of screaming and crying. She turned to the other girl, who was dead, gave a little whimper, and closed her eyes again. Rowan stood up and put a few paces between him and the girl. He didn't want to crowd her.

"Miss?" The girl did not respond.

"The man who kidnapped you is dead. I, a disciple from Righteous Mountain Sect, descended the mountain to do my duty as a cultivator—" Upon hearing him declare himself to be a cultivator, the girl shed his cloak, looking at him, unable to meet his eye. Rowan tried not to turn away with a grimace of disgust. He quickly pulled the cloak back over her and shook his head.

"That is not what a righteous cultivator does," he promised, trying to convince her of something she could not believe.

"May I know your name?"

"Dalia," she whispered after a pause.

"Were you taken from an orphanage?"

"I won't go back," she whispered, leaning away from him.

"You won't," agreed Rowan. He pulled out the canvas bag from his sleeves. The girl seemed to recognize it. She flinched.

"There's money in here. About forty taels. And a weapon as well." Rowan drew the Fire qi dagger from the canvas bag. The girl let out a hoarse gasp. Rowan realized belatedly that the man must have threatened her with it. He could tell the girl was scared of the knife, so he quickly slipped it into his sleeves. He probably shouldn't be handing over strange qi weapons to mortal children anyway. He handed her the canvas bag.

"This rightfully belongs to you. When I was young, everything was taken from me. Don't let the same happen to you."

"What are you going to do, master?"

"You can call me Rowan," he corrected her.

"Though, I wouldn't advise being so casual with other cultivators. I will go to the orphanage, and see for myself what is happening there." She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.

"Can you tell me where it is?" he asked.

"At the edge of the river. Here in Highwater. It's surrounded by thorny bushes that catch onto your hair. They're under the windows," she remembered, shuddering. Rowan was sure she had been hurt by them.

"Was the other girl from the orphanage too?"

"I think so." She tugged the cloak further around her body, like she was trying to disappear into it.

"The man brought me here two days ago. She was… she was already like this…"

"Do you know her name?" Dalia shook her head. Rowan didn't want to bury the girl in this barn. It was a foul place, full of her suffering. Burying her here was just asking to turn her into a hungry ghost. He fetched the blanket from Clodde Bastin's bed and wrapped it around the thin corpse, carrying her in his arms.

"Can you walk?" he asked Dalia.

"I think so…" Dalia paused for a second, then a determined light that wasn't there before entered her eyes.

"Yes. I will." Rowan and Dalia walked out into the yard. The girl stumbled like a newborn colt, one arm laden with the canvas bag, the other bunching up all the excess fabric to keep the cloak's hem from tripping her. Every time a flash of black scales appeared near the girl, Rowan flicked a bit of qi at it, causing the snake to slither away at rapid speed. Before long, they had learned to fear the girl. He thought back to the first time he'd ever killed someone. Rowan had been five years old.

The axe dropped from his trembling fingers, blood dripping to the ground in circular splotches. He backed away slowly as the bald man gurgled in pain, clutching the gash on his neck. Rowan had hit the jugular like he was supposed to. Why didn't the man die immediately? Why was he… A rough hand clamped down on his shoulder. Stopping his movement, more than out of reassurance.

"That servant doesn't deserve your sympathy. He was a thief. He vowed to protect our family, yet robbed valuables from under our noses," said his father.

"I know," said Rowan, voice strained with tears, "But… but…"

"It is good that you feel aversion right now. If you didn't, I would be far more worried. But this is something you must get over. If you are in a life or death scenario, the briefest hesitation could cost you your life." His father dragged a second person out into the courtyard. The servants of their household lined the yard in fearful silence, shrinking in on themselves as they watched the father and son. Rowan felt their eyes on him.

"Please, no!" cried out the woman.

"I didn't mean to do it!" His father dumped the woman in front of Rowan.

"She trapped her husband and children inside their house and set fire to it. The only punishment for her is death. You will also carry out this sentencing."

"It was an accident!" cried the woman.

"Please, young master, you must believe me!" Rowan didn't let his mind consider the pleas. It didn't matter if he believed her or not - his father had demanded her death, and he was watching. Still, he felt more uncomfortable this time. The bald man had been strong and had silently accepted his fate. This woman was flimsy, her face shiny with tears and snot.

"She's a woman," said Rowan.

"Does she have to be—""Rowan." The axe came down. By the end of the evening, the concrete platform was dyed red. Even as the servants washed and scrubbed, red water flowing into the surrounding grass, the stain did not seem to fade. Four. Rowan had killed four people. Pyrus Helsing walked out of the courtyard. He hadn't a stain of blood on him, but he smelled of it. The remaining servants dutifully left with him, leaving Rowan sitting on the floor, staring at the bodies.

His mother's hands found his shoulders before he noticed that she'd left the house behind him. Rowan felt the familiar wooden beads of her rosary. Mother had been praying.

"What happens to people who die?" he asked.

"The soul, slipping free of its mortal enclosure, travels across the plains forever, and in no time at all, they reach the Wheel."

"Forever, in no time at all?" Rowan didn't understand.

"Infinite in distance and unbound from time, according to the sages. It is by this long journey that the soul is cleansed of everything but the thinnest strands of karma, enough to be spun anew into another living being."

"Into another person?"

"If that's what the Fates will."

"How do they decide?" His mother smiled.

"Aren't you too young to be wondering about things like this?" They sat in front of the bodies together. Rowan leaned into her, seeking sympathy.

"Father says they deserved to die. But one of them, he was just a thief. Couldn't he change his ways?"

"Of course," said his mother.

"Even the woman who killed her own children could change. Day turns to night. Spring to autumn. In this world, what is incapable of change? Even life to death is just a change." Rowan frowned, a cold, hard pit forming in his stomach. It seemed there would be no sweet words for him today. Iseult Brangaine fiddled with the bead pressed against his shoulder.

"Which one is that?" Rowan asked, because his mother liked it when he asked about them.

"A fetter that I have long conquered. Faithlessness." She smiled softly.

"Doubting the Wheel. Death is not always the end - if a soul is meant to, they will return. Life is sacred, but you are a cultivator. Heaven's will is not your will. You must not fear change." Rowan ducked his head.

"But… why did I have to be the one to kill them?" She turned the rosary, presenting him with another bead.

"Irresponsibility. If a tiger lets a poisonous snake into his den to curl up next to his cubs because he can't bring himself to harm it, he is not kind, he is irresponsible. If you let that thief go because you can't bring yourself to punish him, you are not kind, you are irresponsible." She paused.

"You had to be the one to kill them, because you are the one that still needs to learn responsibility." His mother stopped and looked up at the blue sky.

"I have faith you will walk the right path." At a crossroads, Rowan stopped walking.

"Where are you going to go?" She almost bumped into his back. The question made her pause, made her look down at her feet.

"I… have an aunt."

"I do too," said Rowan, smiling gently.

"Is she nice to you?" Rowan didn't know. He'd never met his Great Aunt Iris. To be honest, even his relatives, terrible as they were, hadn't sent him to an orphanage. Rowan examined the girl, wondering what would happen to her. Rowan only said one thing as they parted ways.

"This one is Rowan of House Helsing. If trouble finds you…" He paused, shifting the corpse in his arms.

"Leave a letter with the guard at the Eastern Gate and it will find me." In the distance, the towers of the orphanage rose above the treetops. The scent of roses tinged the air, cloying and sharp. His eyes hardened.