Once, at the start of his study of the Divine Branch of Wound Transfer, Arik had snuck into the Academy’s library after they were closed, so he could study overnight. That was about as close as he had come to illegally entering a place at night. Yet here he was, the only thing now separating him from the Mask of the Fallen being just a couple more walls.
“Ready,” Arik said before Meosa could ask.
He turned and kept the tips of his fingers on the wall as Meosa lifted him up and over. There wasn’t a wall walk or anything at the top, and if anyone had been watching it would have looked like Arik had simply floated over it, like some sort of deity.
But strangely enough, no one was watching, and as soon as he reached the inner courtyard, Arik stuck to the instructions that Hojo had given him. He was a good student, one who would listen intently to what was being taught to him, which was why he naturally hid behind the nearest object he could find, only then looking back to see if he’d left any footprints or not.
“Meosa,” he whispered.
“Don’t worry about your footprints, disciple, I’m on it.”
It took a moment for Arik to orient himself, his heart now thrumming in his chest as he observed the courtyard, noticing that it was empty.
There should be guards, but none of them seem to be out right now…
He heard the sound of a bird in one of the trees, Arik steering clear of it as he made his way to the building in the center. Birds, like other animals, were great ways to give one’s position away.
Rather than go over a small decorative bridge leading to one of the side buildings, Arik crawled beneath it, emerging on the other end, keeping hidden. He looked up at the moon and waited once again for a cloud to pass in front of it.
The disciple continued.
He was all nerves by this point, but he felt in control as well, the sense of excitement he was feeling continuing to surprise him. He knew he would be nervous, but he didn’t know that there would be such a burst of anticipation with him.
This close, he was really this close.
The building in question now lay about ten yards away, still no guards in sight. Arik needed to get to the second floor, retrieve the red box, tie it to his back with the haori cape, and exit the way he came. Once he did that, he would finally have the Mask of the Fallen.
He had never questioned why Hojo wanted the box as well, Arik assuming that there was some reasoning behind it, that it served as storage, or perhaps it would prevent him from placing the mask on his face too early on. After all, Arik didn’t know exactly what it would do, regardless of the summary texts from his Coro Pache book.
“Something is off here,” Meosa whispered, giving word to a thought Arik was starting to have.
“No guards.”
“Precisely. Why are there no guards? We’ve been staking out this place for long enough now and this has never been the case.”
“Should we turn back?”
“I… I don’t know. Just be prepared for anything. We have plenty of options if guards do come; you can use your weapon and your wound transfer power, and I can use my abilities to augment yours. We do make a good team, don’t we?”
Arik nodded.
“I suspected so. Try to find a side entrance. I can’t imagine we are just going to be able to walk right through the front door.”
Arik crouched next to a row of bushes, recalling a lesson that Hojo had given him about an old technique for moving through shrubbery. It was rather ingenious, like most of the tactics the illusionists had come up with over the years. The technique involved crafting a barrel without a top and a bottom that could be used to push through the shrubbery, creating a tunnel of sorts. According to Hojo, if one set it up beforehand, they could simply dive right through it, and then retrieve the bottomless barrel as soon as they reached the other side.
It was tactics like this, and a good many of the other things that Hojo had shown Arik, that had given the disciple a begrudging appreciation of the School of Illusion. And all this was done without understanding Chimaura, which Hojo had still kept close to his chest, barely even mentioning the term.
If this was what shinobi could do without any additional aid, how would Chimaura augment Arik’s usage of these techniques? What benefit did it give?
Hopefully, he would have an answer soon.
Creeping along the shrubs, Arik found an opening and pressed through it. He came to a side door and sent his back against the wall as Meosa seeped under the door, checking the other side.
“No one’s there, and the door appears to be open,” he said upon returning. “Too convenient…”
With a deep breath out, Arik quietly entered the space, closing the door behind him. He saw a set of stairs leading up, tunnel vision guiding him straight to it. The disciple took the stairs to the second floor, where he found a series of rooms. He crouched in the shadows, waiting for Meosa to perform a preliminary check.
“It’s the middle door,” he told him once he returned.
As quiet as ever, Arik crept over to the door and crouched next to it, still going with his training even though the coast was clear.
Steeling himself once again, Arik opened the door and glided into the room. There were other wooden boxes, but as if Hojo had somehow conjured a spotlight for him, the moonlight coming through the window illuminated the one in the center, the red box.
Arik quickly approached it, and placed both hands on its side, testing its weight.
“Good,” he said as he removed his haori cape. He was just wrapping his cape around the box when he sensed something behind him. Arik turned to find the woman in the kitsune mask, a sword pointed at him, her head tilted downward.
“You…” he whispered as Meosa came alive, striking the kitsune-masked woman with an enormous watery burst. She was shot back into the door, water rushing all around the room.
“Let’s go, disciple!” Meosa cried. “Get the box, and get to the window!”
****
Meosa shattered the second-floor window with a watery fist, Arik leaping out seconds later, the red box clutched tightly in his hands. The aqueous kami helped him reach the ground, and as soon as he was stable, Arik took off toward the entrance of the manor, his mind wild now, shock, adrenaline, and the tension he was feeling all coming to the disciple at once.
He just needed to reach the exit, he just needed to get over the wall, he just needed to get back to the inn, where he could piece together what had happened. Why was she there? How had Meosa not noticed her presence? What had Hojo actually asked him to do?
That was another thing.
In holding the box, Arik was almost certain that there wasn’t a mask inside, unless it was wrapped, the box seemingly light enough to make him feel that it was filled with paper, or perhaps a scroll.
The sound of the shattering glass cued guards from another side of the compound, three men with spears appearing, Arik feeling even more panic.
How am I supposed to fight them?
“Just get to the wall, disciple!” Meosa told him. “I’ll handle them!”
One of the guards went down immediately, but it wasn’t from Meosa; it was from a small throwing dagger known as a kunai. A bit wet, the kitsune-masked woman was suddenly gaining on Arik, one of her small throwing daggers quickly meeting the top of his back.
The pain made him want to laugh, Arik practically fueled by it as he gritted his teeth, knowing that it wouldn’t stop him, that he would make it.
You can do this…
But then he saw movement along the top of the wall, several shinobi appearing in their dark-gray robes and black masks. They dropped down to the courtyard and withdrew their blades.
“Forget the box, disciple,” Meosa said quickly.
“But the mask,” Arik told him, even though he sensed now that it wasn’t inside. He quickly pried the box open to find…
No…!
There were papers inside listing payments and names, Arik knowing without a sha
dow of a doubt now that Hojo had tricked him.
There was no Mask of the Fallen.
A few of the papers scattered into the wind before he could shut the box, the two manor guards quickly taken down by the woman with the kitsune mask. She motioned toward Arik with her sword, the shinobi who had dropped from the walls all turning to him at once.
“Give them what they want,” Meosa said in a savage way. “Do not be afraid of these false illusionists. They may be the ones that attacked your Academy!”
Arik slowly withdrew his blade. With his free hand he reached up and retrieved the kunai sticking out of his back, and dropped it on the ground, the pain subsiding almost instantly.
Rage filled the disciple as he moved forward, only stopping once he recalled the training that Hojo had given him, Arik suddenly stepping back, loosening up.
Be like water, he reminded himself, even if the man who had taught him this had betrayed him.
Be like Revivaura.
There were five shinobi not counting the woman, six opponents in total. Arik also recalled what Combat Master Nankai had said about forcing one’s opponents into a funnel. But how? He was in the wide open courtyard that would soon be filled with more guards by the looks of it.
“Are you ready?” Meosa asked.
“I’m ready,” Arik told him as he felt his strength amplify, Meosa adding his power to Arik’s, the aqueous kami feeding off the disciple’s Revivaura.
The first shinobi approached, bolting toward Arik at a speed that almost reminded him of the blades and the way they used Thunderaura down south.
Body-Body Initiative, Body Replaces Sword, Arik thought as he boldly pushed his weight forward to address his opponent, driving his own sword deep into the man’s stomach.
He followed this up by grabbing the back of his neck, transferring some of his back wound to him, the masked shinobi letting out an utterance of pain. His opponent fell, blood now dripping from Arik’s sword onto the stones of the courtyard.
“Good,” Meosa said. “Four more like that then we will deal with the woman.”
The masked shinobi hesitated. They exchanged glances and began to back away, the woman stepping forward as smoke began to take shape in the air around her, almost as if a fog had set over the courtyard.
“Cowards. I’ll drown her before she reaches us.”
But something happened as she drew closer to him, her form disappearing and Arik’s twelve-year-old sister taking shape.
He began to backpedal. “Mori?”
“What is? What is the meaning of this?” Meosa asked, his tone of voice telling Arik that he was seeing something else.
Suddenly, the kitsune-masked woman stood just inches away from him.
Before Arik could react, she drove her blade deep into his abdomen and twisted it, Arik gasping in pain at the puncturing of his internal organs. She withdrew her blade, the air filling with the smell of viscera.
Arik sensed another presence.
Glancing to his right, his healing power already starting to take effect, the disciple spotted Hojo standing with his blade drawn.
As always, his conical hat shaded his face, the shinobi all departing now, the kitsune-masked woman running as well, now clutching the red box.
“You… liar…” Arik told Hojo as he stumbled backward, his hand on his wound.
“You liar!” Meosa roared for him, the kami now in his homunculus form, Hojo dodging his first attack. “Liar!”
“Go!” Arik said in a haggard voice as he pointed toward the kitsune-masked woman. It was clear that Hojo wanted the box she had run off with, that he had been set up, Arik officially done with the master illusionist, done with being manipulated. “Go!”
“You must leave, disciple,” Hojo said carefully as he dropped before the single shinobi that Arik had cut down. The master illusionist produced a dagger and quickly slit the man’s throat, his actions so sudden, so instinctual that it looked as if he had simply dropped down to adjust his boot. “Things have gotten out of hand. I can help you…”
“That’s what you really wanted, those papers. You lied!” Arik told him, the pain and adrenaline seeming to add fuel to his anger. “Go!”
Arik sheathed his blade and dragged his feet toward the nearest wall. As soon as he was close, Meosa began to lift him into the air. The two floated over to the other side, where he crossed the moat in darkness, just as a small battalion of guards were coming across the main bridge.
He never looked back to see if Hojo had actually left.
Arik no longer cared.
****
“Good for nothing filth of an illusionist,” Meosa said, who was still ranting by the time Arik reached the inn. He needed to get his things, he needed to get as far away from Iga as possible, Arik considering his options in the limp back to the rented room.
He had less than a week left to get the Mask of the Fallen and head to Mogra. Once he reached Omoto it would be a two-night trip. If he was going to get the mask, he would have to go to Avarga, to the bookseller, which was his only lead.
But perhaps he didn’t need the mask.
Perhaps he would just head back south to Omoto, spend some time in the infirmary with Indra and Master Kojiro, people who cared about him, which would give him a little bit of time to figure out how he would win the tournament. He could deal with the shinobi later, and he knew it would be much safer for him across the border, even if the Crimson Realm was the realm of the enemy.
“I should have known,” Arik said as he sat onto the bed, focusing on the Revivaura around him. Internal bleeding was something he could handle, and his organs had already been repaired. But he still hadn’t completely mended the surface wound, which was going to take a bit of concentration. He was also starting to feel the cruel hand of exhaustion.
Focus, he told himself, that voice appearing at the back of his head, the nearly invisible watery substance he recognized as Revivaura forming in the air around him.
“Just let me heal for another moment,” Arik told Meosa, who continued cursing Hojo.
“Had I known that this was what he was planning, that the supposed illusionist was sending us out as his errand boys, things would have worked out in a radically different way. We could have spent this time actually training. How much combat training did you have? A handful of days? Most of it was deception and infiltration, and sure, it was fun being able to talk to people and play these roles, but it’s not going to help us!”
Arik removed his clothing, and went for a pair of dark-gray robes that didn’t have a giant bloodstain on the front. Once his robes were on, he packed a few items that he had, including his Coro Pache book, as well as some of the items that Hojo had given him, like the makeup case and his grappling hook.
Maybe they would come in handy, but at the moment, he had nothing but disdain for the tools.
Arik brought a candle over to the mirror so he could wash his face. He began scrubbing the dark-gray paint away, feeling shame for what he attempted to do, how far he had strayed from the path. But then he remembered that all of this was necessary, that he wasn’t doing this without a purpose. And in doing so he recalled what happened yet again, back at the Academy, his thoughts jumping to the kitsune-masked woman, Arik finally coming to a realization.
“I… I know what Chimaura is,” he said suddenly, his eyes wide.
“What?” Meosa asked.
“Chimaura. I think…” Arik once again looked at his face in the mirror, at the watery paint that was dripping down his cheeks.
As he began to loosen his focus, a hint of sadness came to him as his face started to melt away, to morph, something akin to smoke billowing up around him.
“Disciple…” Meosa said quietly.
“No, this is what it is. It’s… I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out. I can’t believe you didn’t know!”
“Disciple…”
Arik’s face seemingly snapped back into place as he noticed that someone else was standing in the
room, the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention.
Hojo had come in through an open window.
“I will tell you everything,” Hojo said hurriedly before either Arik or Meosa could respond. “To the best of my ability. But for now, we need to leave Iga.”
“You think we’re just going to go with you?” Meosa asked incredulously. “You’re lucky I haven’t drowned you yet!”
“If we want to reach Mount Osore and have enough time for you to get to Mogra, we need to leave now, tonight.”
“That’s where the Mask of the Fallen is,” Arik said.
Hojo nodded. “Finish washing your face, disciple. We will discuss things along the way. And yes…” Something akin to a smile took shape on the master illusionist’s face. “You have discovered one of the more interesting aspects of Chimaura. But there won’t be time now for you to learn more about that particular aspect. We need to focus on the mask now.”
“You can’t just come in here and—”
Hojo cut Meosa off. “You did well tonight, disciple. And you likely would have beaten those false shinobi had it not been for her. And I should know, I’m the one that trained her.” The half smile on Hojo’s face turned into a bitter frown. “The woman with the kitsune mask is my daughter.”
.Chapter Three.
“Yokai go where humans don’t.”
–A folk saying popular in the mountains around the Jadean city of Moonagwa.
The woman wearing the kitsune mask was Hojo’s daughter, they were apparently after the same document, and all of it had been a set-up, the Mask of the Fallen where Arik had always assumed it was—Mount Osore. Even if Arik was unsure of where following Hojo would lead him, he was doing so anyway. Once again, something was pushing him in this direction, something was pushing him to follow the master illusionist.
Due to the nature of their departure, the three had kept quiet, Meosa not putting up the protest that Arik assumed he would once he agreed to leave with Hojo. What was true and what was false? Why did Arik once again feel as if he were being manipulated, even if he stupidly believed that Hojo was actually taking them to Mount Osore now?
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