When he could no longer hear their footsteps, Jiang Wei turned to the crumpled mass behind him.
“Prime minister!”
Jiang Wei had seen men disemboweled and mutilated on the battlefield, but never anything like this, where the very flesh had turned to sludge, and Zhuge Liang was still alive!
“Your student, Jiang Wei, is here,” he said, kneeling by his mentor.
He wanted to help him, but he wasn’t sure how. The prime minister lay face down, and his liquefying body could not be explained by wounds alone. Maybe there was something in the book he’d used. Jiang Wei had left it by the Sign of Qi, but the fog was thinning now. He would be able to find it shortly.
Battle cries rang in the distance. The ambush must have started.
His mentor murmured something Jiang Wei did not catch, so he set down his spear and steeled himself as he gripped Zhuge Liang’s shoulder. The flesh slid beneath his hand.
“Hold on. I’ll turn you over, prime minister. Shall I prop you up? I see a place you can rest.”
There was a sound he thought was assent, and he carefully lifted his mentor. The prime minister’s face was wasted, his cheeks hanging loosely from his skull, but Jiang Wei could still recognize him. He supported Zhuge Liang’s head and shoulders as he dragged him to a steep slab of stone, and tried to ignore the wet trail they left behind, the sticky dampness that seeped around his hands and into the crevices of his armor.
“You can rest here,” said Jiang Wei. “I’ll go look for my horse, and if I can’t find her I’ll go get the men... ”
“You are kind,” said the prime minister, “but what you see is no longer all of Zhuge Liang. This is only his spirit. His body is where it should be.”
“Even so, I am not leaving you to those creatures.”
The prime minister looked at Jiang Wei with eyes that could no longer see, as though someone had taken sand and scratched the color from his irises.
“I do not want you to delve further into the Seven Cryptical Books of Hsan,” said Zhuge Liang. Jiang Wei did not recognize the word Hsan. It did not sound Chinese, not in any of the dialects he knew.
“I did not tell you of them because I do not want you to pay as I have. This old fool was fine with the coming of the ghouls. It is payment for a true understanding of the books.”
“Why?” Jiang Wei demanded. “Why would you do such a thing? You were already a great scholar when our First Ruler came to you, when we were still one empire beneath one emperor!”
“Jiang Wei... you know the size of Shu Han. Wei has always held the power. We could only win by out-thinking them, by using powers they could not match, and when we could, by winning over talented officers like you.”
It was not right. Jiang Wei did not know what hurt more, knowing what his mentor had bargained with, or what he had been willing to sacrifice. He squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head.
“These powers do not care about Shu,” said Zhuge Liang. “They are beyond the wars of men, but they will use us when it suits. They have already taken most of what they wished, and when the fog lifts and you are no longer beside me, they will take the rest.”
“Prime minister,” said Jiang Wei, his voice ragged. “Am I not to follow you? Is not the campaign in the north my responsibility now?”
“Would you do anything for Shu, as I have?”
Jiang Wei swallowed. “I do not know enough, and perhaps I do not wish to, but I used one of the books to call this fog, even knowing that the consequences might be dire, because I wish to protect our people.”
“Pull me up,” said Zhuge Liang. “Take me to where you wrote the sign.”
The fog was almost gone. Jiang Wei slipped an arm around the prime minister’s sagging back and draped one dripping limb across his shoulders to help support him. Together they walked. It was not comfortable, feeling the sloughing body of his mentor seep against his skin, but he would not complain.
“The Wei army is still there,” said Jiang Wei when they got to the overlook.
A part of him wanted to disbelieve. He thought the fog together with the ambush would have been enough. Only the prime minister had been able to command the elements.
“Sima Yi has often had good intuition,” said Zhuge Liang. “It will take more than a little fog to make him disbelieve the stars.”
“What more can we do?”
“You can set me down and return to your soldiers. You are leading the rear guard, are you not?”
“The rear guard should have already engaged. If Sima Yi has not retreated by now, many men will die. Though I can run to join them, I do not think that I alone could change the tide of battle. Prime minister, can you not do one more prayer? Use me as your hands if you must.”
“There is not enough of me to serve as a proper vessel,” said Zhuge Liang, “and what I did to myself I cannot ask of you. Those things you fought were once men, and if you follow this path as long as I have, you will become either them, or me. It is not enough just to read the Books of Hsan. To master them one must partake of another human’s flesh. It is a most unholy thing.”
Zhuge Liang spoke calmly, as though the matter truly was that simple, when it wasn’t at all.
“There was always flesh in abundance on the battlefield,” the prime minister noted wryly. “But there are no enemies close by you now, and I know you are not the kind of man who would slaughter his own. For both those things I am grateful.”
But Ma Yun was fighting down below, if he was still alive. Jiang Wei sagged to his knees, Zhuge Liang sliding down along with him.
“Then I will have failed,” said Jiang Wei.
Zhuge Liang shook his head. “No more than I. But I can make you an offer.” The prime minister twitched, struggling as he shifted to better face Jiang Wei. “My spirit flesh will soon be gone regardless. It is not what the books desire, but it will be enough to allow you to command the elements, just this once, for a short while.”
It was anathema. The very thought made Jiang Wei’s stomach churn.
“I asked you before,” said Zhuge Liang. “Would you do anything for Shu?”
Jiang Wei swallowed. “I would.”
“Then lay me down and pull back my robes.”
“How much?” asked Jiang Wei as he set down his mentor and tried to keep himself from shaking. His hands trembled as he loosened the prime minister’s sash and uncovered his pallid torso.
“Four mouthfuls. You must not be meek, and do not waste what you take.”
Jiang Wei wanted to turn away, but knew he could not. He had asked for this. He wanted to protect Shu, to give Ma Yun and Yang Yi a fighting chance, to save the lives of men who would otherwise be called to battle.
But still... His mentor’s pale flesh was thick and viscous, like congealed gruel. It would come away easily in his mouth even without a predator's fangs. Jiang Wei wanted to close his eyes.
He did not.
He bowed his head and tried not to think anything about the texture, the taste, only caring that each mouthful went down, and that his stomach did not reject it. This was Zhuge Liang’s sacrifice, and Jiang Wei was going to make the most of it.
On swallowing the last bite he felt sick, and hot, like he was burning, and he did not know if his earlier injury had caught up to him, or it was something in the spirit flesh.
“Now, remake the Sign of Qi,” said Zhuge Liang.
Jiang Wei did not see him anymore, did not see anything except the sigil carved in the dirt and the roiling battle in the distance. He traced it again, clearing the damage done by his horse, and cut himself without hesitation to feed the sign with blood.