Cultivation Fever

She shouted at father and I felt him get up. He replied to her bashfully, as if explaining himself. Mother laughed in disbelief.

She walked over and picked me up, then brought me back to the nursery to feed me. She took some powder from a cloth and dumped it in my mouth.

It was dry and acrid. At first, I thought it was the powder father had forced me to eat. But it tasted different; it was more earthy.

I looked down and saw the same cloth that the old man had emptied his mortar into. It was probably some kind of medicine to help my soul.

I remembered the vine that was keeping my soul together. It wasn"t a part of me, so someone must have put it there. Had this medicine created it? Did the old man do this to me?

If he knew enough about souls to make the vine, he might know how to fix one. Unfortunately, I couldn"t ask him to help. I didn"t know how to.

I knew that learning language was important, but now I had a new sense of urgency. I needed to speak to the old man.

Over the following weeks, I spent as much time with mother as I could. I started trying to speak, but my mouth couldn"t form the words. All that came out was a babble.

Father started coming out of his study. He still looked tired, but his face brightened each day.

Sometimes he would join me in the garden, bringing books to read. I encouraged him to read them to me as much as I could. I didn"t just want to speak their language, I wanted to read it.

Slowly, but surely, my vocabulary started to build. Each word was a building block that allowed me to learn even more. I felt excited whenever I could understand a sentence.

The more I babbled, the more I became used to the shapes my mouth made. At 2 months old, I could just about form syllables, but I lacked the precision to speak words.

At 3 months old I spoke my first word. My parents were shocked and elated. My achievement spurred them on, and they immersed me in language.

I was making leaps and bounds of language progress in the day. I didn"t have to sleep, so I spent the long nights meditating. But my cultivation was falling behind.

Even after long periods of meditation, the trickle of qi never sped up. My body was also growing fast, and each time I explored a path in my body, a new one formed.

I couldn"t keep up with myself. Every night, I fully explored the channels to my arms and to my eyes. But morning always came before I could go any further.

Every week or so I would ingest some of the powder the old man had sent me, but it was running out. I worried about what would happen when it did. Would my soul fall apart completely?

A few weeks after I spoke my first word, the old man came to visit our house. I was sitting with father on the bench at the time. Father jumped up and briskly walked to him.

They exchanged a quick greeting, and father brought him to me. Now I could understand basic speech, I could tell that that his name was Crow.

Crow looked at me and paused. He seemed conflicted and walked away with father.

I watched Crow lead father to his office. He seemed familiar with the house. Maybe he was an old friend?

Mother came to check on me. She was surprised to see me sat on the bench by myself. I was entertained by a book father had left behind, so she left me to look for him.

She walked into the study but left after a few seconds. A minute later, she walked across the deck, carrying a tray with two cups and a teapot back into the study

A few minutes went by before I heard shouting from the study. Mother stormed out, followed closely by father. He seemed to be trying to explain something to her, but she refused to listen.

They walked into a room, and I heard arguing through the door. Crow walked out of the study and came to sit with me on the bench.

It was evening, and the sun bathed the garden in a warm orange glow. Crow rubbed my back and started to speak. I could understand snippets of his speech.

"I"m sorry little one. For this to… I"m sorry."

What was he sorry for? For my parents arguing? What had he said to them in the study to cause this row?

After a few minutes, the arguing stopped. Father walked out of the door with mother. Mother was holding back tears, and father looked dejected. He nodded at Crow, who stood up and stepped back.

Mother and father sat either side of me and held my hands. Crow reached into his robes, and I could hear his chains rattling. From his robes, he withdrew a circular object.

It was a dark metallic bracelet formed from twisting, th.o.r.n.y vines. On closer inspection, it was a deep red, and glistened like liquid. The dimming evening sun took on a sinister light as it highlighted the demonic spikes.

Father offered my right arm to Crow, who slipped the bracelet over my wrist. Mother gripped my other hand tightly, and my heart started to beat faster. Crow opened his mouth to speak.

"Korat," he whispered.

There was a silent pause, then I heard whispering from behind me. It was rasping and sent a shiver down my spine. I turned my head to see who was there, but I saw no-one.

Another whisper came from my right, louder this time. I turned, but again, there was nothing there.

Whispers started coming from every direction, flooding my ears. They got louder, and I heard distant screams.

"Baby I"m right here!"

Mothers voice pierced the cacophony, and I whipped my head around to see her distraught face. I glanced at father, and he looked solemn.

I felt a sharp pain in my wrist. The bracelet was tightening. The vines were twisting and spinning, sc.r.a.ping and digging along my flesh.

I let out a yelp, and father gripped my hand even tighter. He was looking dead ahead at Crow, his jaw clenched.

The bracelet kept tightening, digging deeper and deeper into my wrist. I screamed out and heard mother let out a cry.

"Stop it! Make it stop!" she shouted at Crow.

Crow"s lips were drawn tight into a grimace. He solemnly shook his head.

The bracelet was shredding my flesh now. Blood poured out, but the bracelet seemed to pulse and drink it in. It was tight to my skin now. It couldn"t possibly get any deeper.

But it didn"t stop. It kept tightening, slicing a trench into my wrist. I squirmed and tried to rip my hands free from my parents" grips. I had to get the bracelet off.

Mother let go, but father held on tight. I clawed away at the bracelet, but it felt like iron and shredded my hand when I touched it.

Crow yanked my hand away. All I could do was watch and shriek in pain as the bracelet churned chunks of my flesh to blood-drained dust.

The pain was excruciating. I thrashed around and gnashed my teeth, trying to escape from their grip. I was too weak. I was being pinned to the bench, helpless as my body broke down.

My eyes rolled back in my head and I felt my consciousness drift away from my body. Inhuman screams enveloped me, then disappeared in an instant.

There was no more pain. There were no more sounds. I opened my eyes, and all I could see was red.