The Wandering God

43 Fall to Pieces and Come Apart 1/3

分崩離析
Fēnbēng líxī
Disintegrate; fall to pieces; come apart.
To come apart.

*~*~*~*~*~*

There are stories told, on the islands of the southern oceans, about revenants that return to life from death, still carrying the wounds that killed them.

I knew that really these stories probably came from tales of Zhu's servants. It was said those that carried the seals of the Red Duke had nine lives. Nine chances to live. Really it was probably closer to four or five, that holy number. Three if you were unfavored.

There's truth to all stories, it just gets twisted in the telling.

I thought of those stories now, as Captain Duan stood before me, blood running from his head in veritable rivulets, and an arrow through his neck.

As I watched, he reached up, broke off the fletching of the arrow, then pulled it out by the head, barely grunting as the shaft dragged its way through his neck.

I thought of when he had pulled my knife from his shoulder so easily. As though pain mattered little to him. A regrettable inconvenience.

The daquan threw the broken arrow to the ground in disgust, and then tugged his sword from where it had lodged in the window frame when he had cut the rope, destroying my route of escape.

I knew I should move to stop him. That I should take advantage of his slow movements to strike hard and fast with the liu xing. But I did not. I found myself watching, fascinated, like a child seeing blood for the first time.

I almost found myself rooting for him to overcome his injuries, and stand before me once more.

He did. It was shaky, but he stood, held his sword at the ready, and then spoke, his voice raspy, as though his throat had simply suffered a bad cough, and not an arrow through it.

"I thought there was something odd about you, little mouse. And now I know what it is."

He paused, sword tip dropping and then finding its way up once more. "You are like me," he finished. I realized every rasp of his throat was caused by the blood flowing down it.

I threw back my head and laughed. "Like you? And how are we alike?"

"You see beauty in violence." He grinned, teeth red with his own blood.

His words did not surprise me. What surprised me is that I agreed with him.

"We are nothing alike, dog," I spat coldly.

Captain Duan laughed. "Does it excite you? The thought of ending life, of bringing pain? It does, doesn't it?"

I swung the liu xing in a wide arc, regretting giving him the chance to talk.

"Or maybe it's the prospect of the fight you love," he pressed, swinging his sword in a lazy arc as well. "The chance to gamble your life? To feel truly alive?"

Captain Duan stopped the swing mid arc, his sword at eye level. "In which case, you're even madder than I!"

And at that the mad dog charged.