“Why can’t you teach me about Chimaura?” Arik asked. “I already understand Revivaura; maybe there are some similarities.”
“Maybe there are,” Hojo said with a tight nod, “but there simply isn’t enough time for you to truly understand and utilize Chimaura, nor do I want you to even think that you could rely on it. Strip it from your mind, for now.”
“It seems to me if he can use Revivaura, he should be able to use Chimaura, and perhaps that would help him in these perplexing lessons you insist on bequeathing to the disciple. He seems to be a fast enough learner,” Meosa said, coming to Arik’s defense.
Hojo moved on without commenting. “Have you considered what happened back at the shop, the lesson I was trying to teach you? Do you understand the meaning of it?”
Arik glanced at the pot, which was now overturned, its red bottom visible. “That I was supposed to buy it?”
“That was likely one of the easier solutions, yes.”
“But you told me to take it, to steal it.”
“I didn’t tell you to steal it; you assumed this was what I wanted. The lesson? Deception comes in many forms, but the most powerful form of deception is how you deceive yourself and what you are able to do when given a blank canvas. Before you can deceive others, you need to understand how you deceive yourself. For example, you deceived yourself in assuming that I wanted you to steal the pot. I never told you to steal the pot.”
“You said take it…”
“To take does not necessarily imply stealing, and if it does, you have once again deceived yourself.” Hojo removed his conical hat and placed it on the other side of his body. “Did I steal my hat off my head? Or did I take it?”
“So it’s all semantics?” Meosa asked.
“It has less to do with semantics and vocabulary than it has to do with the way you think about things, and how you have deceived yourself into believing not only those around you, but what they may be implying. Let’s look at the pot itself as an example. It’s not of Crimsonian design, as I’m sure the kind shop owner told you, nor is it worth any more than any of the lackluster pots in her shop. The red paint on the bottom of the pot was done by the shop owner. Did you happen to see the price tag?”
“It was…” Arik tried to recall the number, realizing he hadn’t paid much attention to it. But it was definitely in the thousands of sen. “Thousands.”
“I paid thirty sen for it, which is a fair deal. So, back to deception. To understand how we deceive others, we must understand how you deceive yourself. Were there other ways that you could have procured the pot? Could you have traded your healing ability for the item?”
“You said not to use my powers.”
“How would I have known if you had used your powers? As an illusionist, your most powerful tool is deception, and deception is all around you, similar to how you see chi. To use Revivaura, you must be aware of its chi qualities, which I believe are water-like, yes?”
Arik nodded.
“And which also explains your symbiotic relationship with the kami. You asked earlier about Chimaura, and I told you that it wasn’t a lesson that we would touch anytime soon. The reason being is you don’t need to understand Chimaura to be an illusionist, or to benefit from the skills that I’m going to rapidly try to teach you here. Just as you can see chi, and know it exists even if others can’t, I can sense deception, even if others don’t know it exists. Deception is a multifaceted sculpture visible from myriad sides, each painting a different picture. Not everything has a solution, and to think that it does would be in fact deceiving yourself. Most things, especially interactions with the broader public, have multiple deceptive solutions to produce the outcome you need.”
“I think…” Arik shook his head. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions just yet, but he was starting to get the master illusionist’s point.
“You could have bought the pot for its full price; you could have gathered more information about its origins and used it as leverage to buy it for a much cheaper price, which was what I did; you could have offered something to the yokai based on your healing powers and never told me; you could have stolen it, sure, but that wasn’t what I asked you to do; you could have bought a cheaper pot and painted the bottom red, which would have deceived me especially given that you had two hours to let it dry; you could have asked the kami to cause a watery commotion and do something like fight him off, thus gaining the owner’s trust and perhaps getting the pot for free. Do you see what I’m suggesting here?”
“Yeah, I think I do,” Arik said.
“Today was a test, and I deceived you to some degree by not sending you into the field with the tools of an illusionist. We will go over those tools now. They will serve you in the future and will become a very important part of your training going forward. Afterwards, I have a final lesson for you today— becoming who you are not.”
****
Hojo produced a number of items from his bag that Arik didn’t immediately recognize. There were some that were more familiar, such as a grappling hook, but the others, including what looked like a small wallet, were completely foreign to him.
“The first item is traditionally called a sanjaku cloth.” Hojo lifted the cloth, looped it once around his hand, and then pulled it tight. “As you can see, it is quite strong, and just about a yard in length. Try cutting it.”
“If you insist…” Arik withdrew the blade that Master Kojiro had given him.
Hojo got to his feet and turned to the side, holding the sanjaku cloth out. Arik brought his blade around and struck the cloth. It didn’t quite bounce right off, but it didn’t tear either, and Arik realized that if he truly wanted to cut it, he was going to have to really hack at the fabric.
“A helpful item for certain situations.”
“I’ll say,” Meosa added, his watery form now visible next to Arik.
“It has other usages,” he said as Arik returned his blade to its scabbard. “The sanjaku cloth can be helpful when crafting a disguise.” Hojo mirrored wrapping it around his forehead. “And if you ever need a rope, you can tie it to the sash of your robe to give you length. So this is the first item that is instrumental in an illusionist’s toolkit. A sanjaku cloth. The next item is a grappling hook, which we will deal with at a later date. I’m sure you’ve seen one of these before.”
“Not in person, but I’ve heard of them.”
“This is likely how the men parading around as shinobi scaled the walls of your academy. Moving on, we have a fairly simple object, one that is instrumental in what we do.” Hojo unraveled a small, stone pencil no more than a few inches long. “This is used to take notes and make marks, which you will do from time to time. It is also poisonous. Swallowing it will kill you within an hour, which is why it is wrapped in cloth so your body sweat doesn’t melt it. You likely won’t have to use this feature of it, but the point of it originally was to prevent any interrogation if captured with no means of escape. You will need this compact mirror, which can be helpful for a distraction. You also need this,” he said as he produced another object.
“A fire starter.”
“Correct, but one designed specifically for shinobi. It will work even in wet environments,” Hojo said as he took two small pellets out of a soft leather case. “This isn’t just for a campfire, although it is useful for that. It is also a useful tool for deception. There may come a time in which you need to escape some place rapidly, and while it would make the most sense to simply run and try to get away as best you can, one tactic that has proven useful time and time again is to start a fire. We can cover more of that later, but think about it for now.”
Arik nodded, his eyes falling onto what looked like a leather wallet. “And that?”
“A makeup kit.”
Meosa laughed. “So your plan is to turn him into a pillower?”
“Not quite. The makeups in this kit are ones that have been useful to other illusionists in the past. There is usuzumi, a type of gray ink; shu, a sh
ade of vermilion red; and oshiroi, which is your average white face powder. They can be mixed in a variety of ways.” Hojo opened the wallet, showing how the makeup was arranged. “There are numerous applications and ways to use these makeups, one of the more common ones being to make yourself look sickly, which I suppose you could do on your own if you simply absorbed someone’s sickness.”
“I could,” Arik said. “But then I would have to actually suffer through their illness unless I cured it through wound transfer.”
“With this makeup, you can do everything from making a false beard, to changing the tone of your skin; from blackening your teeth to modifying the shape of your hairline and your eyebrows. The ability to disguise yourself thoroughly will serve you numerous times.”
Hojo unfolded a dark cape and flattened his hands across it.
“This is traditionally called a haori cape, which as you can see, functions as a cape that can latch around your neck. You might wonder why you would need such a thing, and perhaps it would be best if I showed you. With an object like this,” Hojo said as he stood, “you can make yourself look like a beggar.” He brought the cape over his head and used the sash from his robes to tie it around his neck. “Worn on your shoulders, perhaps covering one arm, will make you look like a monk of sorts, because they wear similar outfits in the mountains of Jade Realm. There are other usages as well. The items I am giving you here are all about covert operations, and the limitation, really, is your imagination. You could even use the cape to make a flag, or to hold something. It is a useful item.”
Hojo removed the haori cape.
“There are a few other items that will, or perhaps better I say, may become part of the new person you are becoming, who the kami believes could be the true reincarnation of the War Priest.”
“I’m just trying to stop…” Arik bit his lip as he considered what he was about to say. He was about to tell Hojo that he was trying to stop an impending war, masking over the fact that his quest was most certainly one for revenge. Rather than finish his sentence, he simply nodded.
“So, as I was telling you,” Hojo said, “these items will hopefully aid you in your journey.”
“How did you get all these things anyway?” Arik asked.
“My sources are something you needn’t worry about for the time being. If you do ever lose something, and I’m not around, return to Avarga and use the skills I will have taught you by that time to figure out where to buy these items, and do note, that the shinobi running around now use lower-quality versions of these tools, which are more readily available. It is time to move on to our final lesson for the night, as promised, becoming who you are not. Once we are finished, we can both rest and prepare for what must be done tomorrow.”
“I hate to point out the obvious here,” Meosa began, “but the disciple has already become someone he is not. Disciples don’t kill people. I’m sure you took a vow to that effect.”
The words came to Arik, almost as if they had floated in on the breeze. I will strive to heal regardless of the circumstances. No matter how broken, I will repair. These hands do not extinguish life, they prolong it. I will always remember this.
He shook his head.
“I don’t think I am stepping out of the bounds of rationality by saying that you have, to some degree, become who you are not,” Meosa said. “But now that I say that out loud, is it even possible? In a way, you were who you were before you got here.”
“A great philosophical discussion that can wait,” Hojo said, naturally moving the conversation along as he motioned to Arik. “Rather than understand this from a philosophical lens, let’s take it for its surface meaning. Do you do impressions?”
“You mean of other people?”
Hojo nodded.
“No, I do not.”
“This should be good…” Meosa said under his breath.
“In that case, I want you to do an impression of…” Hojo glanced up at the wooden ceiling, Arik noticing a change in him, something about the way that his skin sat over the bones of his face. It was something that he would come to understand at a much later date. “How about, an older woman?”
“You want me to do an impression of an older woman?”
“Yes, let’s see what you can do, disciple.”
“Umm…” Arik tried to remember the last time he’d had a conversation with an older woman, skipping over the yokai shop owner he had recently spoken to. He settled on Domen the herder’s mother, even though she wasn’t that old. Arik tried to remember her voice.
“It should come naturally,” Hojo reminded him.
“How hard is it to do an impression of an older woman?” Meosa asked. “Watch and learn,” he said as he shifted his voice into something more haggard, crone-like: “Listen here, sonny. You’re never going to be an illusionist with a piss poor attitude like that. Why, back in my day…” Meosa started to laugh and stopped himself. “Back in my day, a lad of your size could not only steal a pot, but he could cook a fine soup in it as well upon command! You’re as useless as a one-legged gaki!”
“When I was a young girl,” Arik tried, going with a fairly bad feminine voice. “Ahem, when I was a young girl there were more flowers in Sunocea.”
“More flowers in Sunocea?” Meosa snorted, water flying out of his form and nearly reaching Hojo. “Is that in reference to the old poem Flowers in Sunocea?”
“Yeah?”
“How do you even know that poem? Aside from your terrible impression—I’m sorry, but it was bad, disciple—I’m intrigued to know where you heard that poem.”
“My teacher made me memorize it, Master Guri Yarna did. It made sense though, right?”
“One thing that you will want to keep in mind when doing an impression,” Hojo began, “is that the less clever you make it, the more genuine it becomes. At least for most circumstances. While I appreciate the reference, and I can see how it came to your mind as it is a poem that a distinguished woman of our society would potentially recite, I would know immediately that you were faking, that I was being deceived. Remember, the whole point in what we are doing is deceiving others to the point they don’t know that they’re being deceived. If they know they are being deceived, then we have failed. Let’s try another.”
“Sure,” Arik said.
“And after that, I believe we will be done here. You can practice on your own with the kami, if you’d like.”
“Please, spare me,” Meosa said. “Although I don’t mind playing an old hag every now and then…”
“Then maybe there is a way for you to help each other,” Hojo suggested, the master illusionist raising an eyebrow. “Think on that. Now, I want you to do the voice of someone else entirely. This person is from the Crimson Realm, they’re upper class, and well-off. Imagine them as coming from a family of merchants and enjoying the finer things in life.”
“How would that even sound?” Arik asked.
“I don’t know, perhaps something like this?” Hojo cleared his throat. “The most important thing about the deal is that we get it done before sunset, because I have another meeting with the silk provider from Austere. You weren’t interested in silk, were you? This is the kind of silk that would be perfect for everything from a wedding ceremony to a more sober event, perhaps even a funeral if you insist on darker colors.”
Arik’s eyes went wide. The voice coming out of Hojo’s mouth was nothing like his real voice, the son of the merchant he was pretending to be speaking in a more clipped way, fluid, less like someone who actually thought about the words that were escaping their lips.
“Just an example,” Hojo said, returning to his normal voice and its steady pattern. “Perhaps you have one as well?”
“I… I don’t,” Arik said.
“I do,” Meosa chimed in, also going for a clipped, upper-class voice. “Silk from Austere? The pallet I recently received from Hojo de Omoto happened to be some of the best, purest, most…” Meosa made a smacking sound with his lips, his voice that
of a person who had tasted luxury and kept his chin up while he did so to the point that it had affected his intonation. “I’ll tell you what. Bring me a sample of golden silk with green stitchings and if it is appropriate for the upcoming Moon Ceremony, I will order two pallets of it. Do we have a deal? If not, I’ll just have something delivered from Minowa again. I truly can’t be bothered.”
Hojo nodded. “Yes, you do have a knack for it, don’t you?”
“For impersonations? Of course I do,” Meosa said, back to his normal voice. “Do either of you realize how much time I’ve spent observing humans? Most of my life—aside from those wretched years in that dreary cave—has been spent in a symbiotic relationship, as you like to call it, illusionist, although I don’t like that term for it because I’m clearly using him more than he is using me,” he said, motioning toward Arik.
“I see. In that case, I believe our lesson for today has come to a close.” Hojo clasped his hands together. “Practice tonight, Disciple Arik, and think about what I’ve told you. Tomorrow, and for that matter, the next day, we will spend as much time as we can in Avarga working on our disguises.”
.Chapter Five.
“I yearn to die charging headlong into enemy ranks rather than spoil away in this cursed home for the elderly. Do not be afraid of the sword nor the sweetness of suicidal glory!”
–Combat Master Travin Yarat, as told to his nursemaid at the start of the Crimson-Onyx Shroud War, Year 1080. He died the following morning in an attempt to escape a distinguished home for the elderly in Katano.
Arik Dacre remembered the mantra that Hojo had given him as he stood outside the Avarga city armory.
The wind has no shape, and neither should you.
It had been one of the master illusionist’s more memorable lines over the last several days, days in which they spent most of their time in various public parks and city squares of Avarga practicing disguises, Meosa generally speaking for Arik when he needed to change his voice.
Mask of the Fallen: A Cultivation/Progression Fantasy Series: (War Priest Book One) Page 23
