Mask of the Fallen: A Cultivation/Progression Fantasy Series: (War Priest Book One)

by Harmon Cooper

  Arik recalled Meosa telling him that the reason he had been banished to the cave was as punishment, but the aqueous kami had never gone into deeper detail as to how that had happened. Perhaps he would open up about it soon.

  “So what I’m saying here is… are you listening, are you listening?”

  “I’m running,” Arik told him, just slightly out of breath but still feeling good, strong. He’d been running now for twenty minutes or so, dipping in and out of Meosa’s monologue.

  “Yes, you are running, and you should be listening as well. I can’t imagine what it would be like to meet some entity like me, and not be instantly curious about him or her. But that’s just me. I’m sentimental for the past, considering it is technically where I’m from. But I digress, as I often will over the next several hours. Disciple, listen! We have a destiny to fulfill, and you are uniquely set up to see it to its completion. Do I know what that destiny is? No, not really, but I believe I will be part of it. Should I be putting my faith in a human who likely has some psychological issues after all his friends and family were killed before his very eyes? Certainly, that is of concern. Should I be even more worried that he turns out to also be able to kill people relatively easily without much remorse? Yes…”

  “I have remorse for that,” Arik told him.

  “Do you?”

  “He… not only did Konwa try to kill me, but I witnessed some of the things he did to the other slaves.”

  “And you believe he deserved to die?”

  Arik found himself nodding. He was aware that this wasn’t how justice was supposed to work, not in a semi-civilized realm, but it was how it often played out.

  “Judge, jury, and executioner? See, disciple? You are most definitely the new War Priest. And the sooner you learn to embrace it, the better chance you have of living long enough to do what it is you plan to do. And because we are heading south, rather than north, or deeper into the Jade Realm, I am going to assume that you have decided that the path of revenge is what best describes what you plan to do next. Am I wrong?”

  Arik hated to admit it, but he wasn’t one to lie. “No.”

  “Then don’t be ashamed of this, embrace it. Not to sound evil or anything. That’s definitely not my intention here; Nobunaga and the shinobi that attacked your Academy have it coming. Keep running until it feels like your legs will fall off at the knees! With what you plan to do, you’re going to need to be not only the best healer in Taomoni, but you’ll also need to be a remarkable fighter.”

  “I can handle myself in a fight,” Arik grunted, especially if I use my wound transfer ability, he thought to himself.

  Meosa laughed long and hard, his voice loud in Arik’s ears. “Says almost anyone who has won a few battles and spent most of their life fighting with wooden weapons. Does that describe you?”

  Arik wanted to curse at the kami, but he didn’t.

  “I know how disciples are trained, my boy, do not forget that. But, at least you have some weapon skills, at least you were trained by a professional, and perhaps you will learn more at the Double Sword Academy of Combat Arts. That remains to be seen. It is going to be rather odd, don’t you think?”

  “What will be odd?” Arik asked as he started up an incline, rocks falling around them once he reached the top. He paused for a moment, hands on his hips as he took a deep breath in.

  “You’re just going to show up at the Academy and expect them to enroll you? If anything, you would have to be part of their mastery school considering your age.”

  “I… I don’t know what I expect yet; I just need to get there,” Arik said, trying not to be intimidated by the expansiveness of the desert, and how it was cast before him as far as the eye could see, the remnants of volcanic rock twisting up into spires at some points, the only shade provided by side canyons in the distance and clusters of prickly yellow cacti taller than the disciple.

  It made him thirsty just looking at it, but, as Meosa had promised, he felt no thirst. Silencing the fear of the unknown, Arik took a deep breath in and started running again.

  He couldn’t give up now.

  ****

  It was hours later, when the sun had officially set and the desert started to cool, that Arik grew concerned.

  “We didn’t get supplies for a fire,” he said as he began to slow down. He hadn’t run the entire time, but he had done several thirty to forty-minute stints, and while he wasn’t completely exhausted, he was definitely ready to call it a night.

  “You can’t really blame me, can you? Fire and I aren’t exactly friends.”

  “How am I supposed to stay warm tonight?” Arik asked.

  “Maybe that’s something you should have thought of before deciding to cross the desert by yourself.”

  “It was your idea,” Arik said, growing annoyed with Meosa.

  “You’re right, and I’m certain the caravan would have plenty of fire and good food for everyone. In fact, I’m sure of this. We may have made a mistake going about this on our own…” Meosa began to laugh. “Relax, my boy, we will survive this together. You have extra robes, do you not?”

  “I do…”

  “You’ll be fine. You’re lucky it’s not winter; it gets much colder here during the winter.”

  Rather than say something about Meosa pointing out the obvious, Arik began to scan the side of a canyon wall, using what light was left to find shelter. He located a hollow of sorts, protected by the rocky overhang, the hollow deep enough for him to crawl into. Once he reached it, Arik used his sword to make a little bit of noise, just to be sure that there wasn’t something living in the space.

  “I could have checked for you,” Meosa said.

  “Nothing here but…” Arik swept away dry clumps of dung, not quite certain of what animal it had come from. It tumbled down the side of the canyon, all of five feet before hitting the ground.

  “Ah, good. Now that you’ve cleared the crap out, I suppose this is as good a place as any to rest for the night. As you know, I don’t really sleep, so I will keep an eye out to make sure nothing bothers us. Just be sure to leave the cap off the waterskin.”

  “Will do.”

  Arik took a few items out of his bag, including the spare robes and some of the desert almonds that Indra had given him. He ate the nuts, and as he did so he thought about the best way for him to keep warm. He settled on sandwiching himself between the two sets of robes, one of them higher up so he could rest his head on it, his hood keeping his ears warm.

  He got comfortable, not quite certain of where Meosa was at the moment but figuring that the aqueous kami was hovering near the waterskin.

  “Where did you go?” Arik asked aloud after he’d settled. “Back in Omoto. I’ve been wondering about that.”

  “Where did I go? I… I hopped around from shoulder to shoulder in search of…” Meosa grew quiet. “You know, it really doesn’t matter now that we’re here in the desert resting under the stars. I don’t know if anyone from my time is still alive, and if they are, they’re probably just about as surly as I can be at times. So maybe I don’t want to know.”

  “Know what?”

  “Maybe I don’t want to know if…” Meosa sighed. “You should get some rest, disciple. Just about two more days left of this desert and we will be in Mogra, where the real challenge begins.”

  “There’s always a challenge.”

  Arik had meant this to be a throwaway statement, but after it left his lips it seemed to linger, the words becoming a mantra of sorts in his head as he drifted off to sleep.

  There’s always a challenge…

  (Embrace it.)

  He had nightmares that night, everyone around him being slaughtered by the masked warriors, the shinobi, Arik falling into the canyon below, captured by swirling entities that looked like demonically morphed versions of Sawtooth and the other slavers.

  It was cold, but the temperature had a way of pushing him into a deeper sleep once the nightmares faded away. He awoke the next m
orning feeling surprisingly well-rested until Meosa’s hurried words reached him.

  “Get your sword, disciple,” he said in a low voice, “we have gaki.”

  “Gaki?” Arik sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

  “Gakido?”

  “What?”

  “So if you don’t know them by that name, you aren’t going to know them by their shortened name. Gaki are a type of tormented yokai that look vaguely human, if humans were all the size of five-year-olds with distended bellies and skinny little arms. Claws too. They are below us now, and they know we are here. They shouldn’t be difficult to kill, but they do have a habit of ganging up on their target. Do not show them mercy or think of them as human.”

  Arik got to his feet, and as he did he reached for the sword that the tanuki had given him.

  “What are you doing? Pack up your things, first. Unless you want to come back up here to get them after. They aren’t going to come up here; they’re incredibly stupid creatures,” Meosa told him as the morning light continued to illuminate the inside of the hollow. “The gaki’s buffoonery is legendary. You have time to watch them, to track them and understand their movements. Eat something as well.”

  “You made it seem like I needed to rush.”

  “Did I? In that case, I guess this is all my fault. Is it my fault, then? Is that what you’re trying to tell me rather than getting ready to deal with these wretched little monsters and doing as I suggest?”

  Arik knew better than to start up an argument with Meosa, at least this early in the day. He was sure by the end of it they would be bickering to some degree, yet he was also starting to see that this was simply a side of Meosa’s personality, that he didn’t mean anything by it.

  Still keeping low just in case Meosa was wrong about the gaki, Arik crept over to the edge and looked down to count seven of the little monsters. They were all looking up at him, snarling and snapping their teeth. The gaki had gray skin covered in scabs and leathery patches, Arik assuming the darker ones were older, the lighter yokai the younger of the group. They were blocking the way down from the rocky hollow he’d spent the night in, clearly looking for their next meal.

  “And if we just wait for them to leave?” Arik asked Meosa as he continued to observe them.

  “Won’t work. Once they lock onto your scent, those things will follow you to hell and back. Like I said, they are stupid, and there isn’t much to eat out here that is easy to catch.”

  “Are you saying I’m easy to catch?”

  “Ha! Compared to a lizard or snake, yes. Pack your things, and be sure to keep the waterskin over your shoulder, the cap off. I’ll assist you when I can.”

  “I can do it,” Arik said, a hint of his true personality making itself known.

  He’d been known back at the Academy for his competitive nature, which oftentimes took on a sense of stubbornness to win, to succeed. It was why he had chosen the Divine Branch of Wound Transfer, Arik wanting to set himself apart from the others, even though he had to work twice as hard as his peers in the end considering it was often a subject people saved for the mastery school.

  He didn’t eat, as Meosa had suggested, and instead packed up his robes and his bag, Arik looking down once again at the crazy-eyed gaki as they continued to gather at the base of the canyon wall.

  “How are we going to get down without them overwhelming me?”

  “Don’t worry, disciple, I have a plan for that…”

  “Another thing I’ve been wondering: what happens if you get stuck out here?” Arik asked the aqueous kami. “If I die, and you are stuck out here in the waterskin, what happens?”

  “Hopefully, someone comes along, or…” Meosa hesitated. “It’s not really good for either of us; I don’t think I’d be able to control one of the yokai in the same way I can humans by simply pretending to be a voice in their head. Maybe I could exist on the gaki until I’m able to transfer to another creature in the vicinity, but it is pretty quiet out here, and the odds of me having to exist with these despicable creatures until some idiot tries to cross the desert alone is high.”

  “Idiot? You’re the one that told me to do this.”

  “Agreed, so who’s the idiot then? Don’t answer that question. We’re in this together!”

  “If you say so,” Arik told him as he continued to watch the gaki.

  “Enough talk. Point the nozzle of your waterskin at them. I’ll take care of the rest, giving you a chance to hop down without putting yourself in harm’s way. It’s good for you to practice with a real sword, so I won’t help you out in that regard, unless you are in trouble. How does that sound?”

  Arik offered him a short nod. “Works for me.”

  The disciple pointed the tip of the waterskin toward the gaki, and as he did, the water burst out, hitting the creatures and sending them flying backwards. Interestingly, the waterskin never depleted, Meosa cycling the water back and forth in a similar way to how Arik utilized Revivaura.

  “Ha! Watch the little bastards crumble under the force of my power. Go, disciple, go!”

  He swiftly moved down to the first ledge, and from there to the next as he kept the waterskin pointed at the gaki. Arik reached the ground below, where he quickly withdrew his sword, the yokai growling and hissing at Meosa’s watery blasts.

  Arik brought the sword down just as one of the gaki broke through the stream of water and dove for him, the disciple hacking at the creature just above its collarbone. He followed up with a horizontal cut that killed the yokai, the deranged creature letting out a final, bloodcurdling yelp.

  “Yeearraaaghhhh!”

  Another gaki screamed as it tried to come at him from the side, Arik initiating a strike before his opponent could reach him. His sword easily pressed through the yokai’s body, Arik using his sandaled foot to pry his blade free from the gaki just as another leaped for him, a dash of airborne blood following the tip of the sword as he swiveled to address his new opponent.

  The next gaki would have reached Arik too had it not been for Meosa, who blasted the leaping yokai with a face full of water. “Take that, you hideous little desert gimp!” Meosa shouted.

  Arik’s next strike managed to kill two of them, the disciple using his full body weight to sweep his sword in front of him. He had learned briefly about fighting multiple enemies, and knew that the best strategy in dealing with them was to herd them into one place so he could take them one at a time. But that was impossible in such a wide open area, Arik forced to take risky swings, secretly hoping that it would invoke fear to some degree.

  But it never did; the three gaki surged toward him with hate in their demented eyes, one of them finally reaching Arik’s arm and sinking its claws in deep enough to shred blood vessels and scrape bone. The sting was sudden, as was Arik’s anger as he tossed the gaki off and advanced on the creature, quickly driving his blade through its chest.

  Once again, Meosa saved Arik from being overwhelmed by the final two, especially as they both jumped at Arik at the same time. The two gaki were shot backward, straight into the burnt orange canyon wall.

  “Finish them, disciple!”

  Ignoring the swelling sensation in his arm, Arik drove his blade into the chest of the first gaki and quickly did the same to the second. He stepped away from them, listening as they garbled on their last breaths.

  “Heal yourself,” Meosa said, a hint of panic in his voice, “and rip off any part of your sleeve that has blood on it. They will be able to smell it.”

  Ignoring his throbbing arm, Arik looked down at his sword, just as a swirl of water flashed around it, the blade suddenly clean.

  “Hurry, my boy,” Meosa told him. “And never forget this: where there are a few gaki, there are usually others. Sort of like thieves, and definitely like humans.”

  ****

  Arik tried not to doubt where Meosa was leading him as he continued with the kami’s often bewildering directions. It seemed as if they were pressing further into the middle o
f nowhere, the sun high in the sky above, the landscape barren desolate, cast in hues of cream and brushed by ochre dust. The rust-colored slot canyons and mesas were ripe with iron, but impossible to mine considering just how far out they were, the wind chiseling at many of the formations as if it were a sculptor’s apprentice. This created natural arches, magnificent windows in stone which provided concentrated spotlights of sun, a fragile, unimaginable landscape.

  It wasn’t the first time that Arik thought that he could die out here, that no one would discover his body for hundreds if not thousands of years. With absolutely no signs of civilization, and no sense in which way he would turn to reach the nearest town or village without Meosa’s guidance, Arik began to begrudgingly appreciate what the Crimsonians had gone through to colonize and bring order to their country. How these pockets of civilization had popped up and propagated was beyond him, Arik’s study of history limited due to the overwhelming nature of his chosen profession.

  Becoming a disciple hadn’t been something he had chosen for himself, but he had been young enough to not let this bother him. As everyone in the Onyx Realm did at the age of five, Arik had been tested by a group of disciples led by an older priest whom he could barely remember now. Everyone in the Onyx Realm that wasn’t a healer had the mark, a scar on either their wrist or ankle, which was what Indra had shown him when the nurse first met Arik, proof of where she was from.

  Upon receiving the test wound, five-year-old Arik had placed his hand over it, and when he brought his hand away, the wound was partially healed up. He passed the test without even knowing it, but he suspected now that his parents had known earlier, as many did. After all, someone with a natural healing ability exhibited signs before the age of five, through the various falls that toddlers took and the illnesses that could affect them.