by Jeff Gunzel
* * *
Zhou tossed and turned beneath his dark blue silk sheets. Assorted pillows lay about the spacious red-walled room. The larger ones were used as floor pillows when entertaining his less-than- willing servants, usually several at once. However, the smaller ones scattered across the thick black and white checkered carpet had been randomly thrown about during his dream-filled sleep—another restless, terror-filled sleep the egocentric being was unaccustomed to.
Of course, most of the pillows were ruined now, caked with dry blood, while others had absorbed just enough to still be damp from the night before. The poor servant’s body parts were scattered about the room; a leg in the corner, an arm draped over one pillow, and her head laying face up were about all that remained. Through the matted black hair wrapped around her face, dark eyes stared up in a frozen portrait of horror. Ironically, her fate had been rather merciful, compared to some. In this case, Zhou’s usual sexual abuse had ended in an abrupt fit of rage, tearing the poor girl to pieces in a matter of seconds. Yet, death had come quickly, which was a merciful end to a tormented existence.
With a sudden jolt, the young brute sat up. Covered with sweat and panting, his blue eyes darted around the room, reassuring himself of his surroundings. With a growl, he kicked back the sheets before swinging his thick legs over the side. He looked over to the silver oval mirror bordered with a red swirling pattern. With bloodshot eyes and sunken-in cheekbones, Zhou could hardly recognize the reflection gazing back.
Sleepless nights had been the norm for a few weeks now. Shaken up after his failed raid on the Takeri Clan, Zhou simply couldn’t get the details out of his head, that surreal scene that haunted his sleep nightly. That unnatural being had come bearing down on him like a cat stalking a mouse, his primal animal instincts taking over, screaming for him to flee, promising him he was overmatched in every way possible. What was that thing? Where did it come from, and why is it here?
The light rapping at his door made him jump, breaking him from his dark thoughts. It was no more than a courtesy knock that was quickly followed by the expected intrusion. Morita drifted through the doorway, her movements slow and graceful as her hips swayed with each step. Her yellow eyes followed the dotted path of coagulated blood, fanning out to the various wet splatters and remains thrown about the room. The redhead rolled her eyes, as if catching a mischievous child with his hands in a cookie pot. “I see we’ll be replacing yet another servant,” she moaned. “I would hope this little distraction was worth it to you.”
“Don’t concern yourself with my affairs, dear sister,” he growled, flexing his muscles as he stretched toward the ceiling. “At least my hungers can be satisfied with one or two, unlike yourself.”
She opened her mouth in protest but slowly closed it again, thinking better of it. There simply wasn’t much she could say in her defense. No matter, there were far more pressing concerns on her mind. After clearing her throat, she said, “I see you’re still having trouble sleeping, dear brother.” He looked away, not wanting to have this conversation again. “Tell me, does this sort of thing make you feel small? Does it make you feel like less of a man?” she said mockingly with a forced frown and fattened lower lip.
“Enough!” he barked, leaping to his feet. “If I ever see that thing face to face again, I’ll–”
“You’ll what? Run for your life...again? Hide behind your small contingent of useless men as they fall one at a time, like dry grass in a storm?” With a low, rolling growl he dropped to the floor, his whole body vibrating as his eyes began to take on a reddish glow. “Calm yourself, brother. It’s not me you want to fight,” she said smoothly. After a few heavy breaths, the reddish glow began to relinquish, but that did little to hide his lingering anger.
“I trust there is some hidden motive behind your intrusion,” he growled while rising back to his feet. “I warn you. I have no tolerance for your games today. If you have something to say then say it.”
She feigned a hurt look, pressing the back of her hand against her forehead. “You wound me, dear brother. Why must a friendly visit from me always result in suspicion on your part? Really, your constant trepidation is not very becoming.”
The rage growing in his eyes warned she better not push her taunting any farther. “Loosen your tongue or I’ll wear it as a necklace,” Zhou growled menacingly.
“Very well then,” she sang, twirling about, making a dismissive gesture with her hand. “If you find you’d like to know a bit more about that adolescent that sent you running away like a scared rabbit, feel free to find me.” Two steps were as far as she got.
“Wait,” he pleaded with an outstretched hand, reaching toward her back. She wasn’t looking at him, but found his desperate tone most gratifying. “What did you find? Tell me who or what that thing was.”
Satisfied with his reaction, she turned back slowly, her full, red lips puckered into a rosebud. “I don’t have all the details just yet,” she admitted reluctantly. “Hashiki has been researching just who this ghost actually is.” She paused a moment, clearly no longer in the mood to ridicule her brother, her tone becoming much more serious now. “It seems Hashiki’s been having trouble getting a lock on that thing. It’s like the ghost is somehow...protected. In this unusual case, it seems the old ways have proven to be a bit more...fruitful.”
“And what exactly does that mean?” her brother asked suspiciously.
Morita’s eyes flashed with sudden excitement. “This ancient being has been mentioned multiple times before. All scrying attempts have failed, so Hashiki has been spending his time in Father’s private library. Tales of this ancient being have already been documented multiple times throughout history. This pattern has repeated itself in even the most ancient books and scrolls.”
Deep lines of confusion creased Zhou’s forehead. “I don’t understand. What exactly are you saying?”
The excitement slowly faded from the redhead’s eyes, and was now replaced with mild concern. “Dear brother, do you believe in...prophecies?”
Chapter 3
Light cots with thin bedrolls lay about the room, each barely able to hold two. Covered with thin pillows and even thinner blankets, they provided minimal comfort, but were better than nothing through the frigid nights. Their daily routine had been much the same for quite some time now. Meals were served three times a day while they remained confined to the rickety shack assembled from crumbly wooden planks. The meals were almost always the same: rice, tea, and an assortment of vegetables. Kicking down a wall or tearing open the paper sliding door would have proven a simple enough task, an idea Jacob had suggested multiple times.
Nima’s daily visits helped to settle them in a bit. She assured them daily that they were not really prisoners here, regardless of how all this seemed, and today’s visit would be no different than any other. A light clicking sound rattled off the walls before the light paper door slid open. The dark-haired girl peeked in wearing her mischievous smile. “Good morning everyone,” she said in her usual lighthearted tone. “I trust you all slept well.”
“As well as you can in the freezing cold with a paper-thin bedroll fit for a dog,” snapped Jacob as he sat up and kicked back the worn covers, exposing Athel in the process. “And I assume you’ve brought us the same cold rice we’ve been having every day since...well...forever. And furthermore–”
Eric cut him off midsentence with a raised hand and a sharp look. Jacob’s eyes met his friend’s for only an instant before drifting back down to Athel, who was snoring away peacefully.
Eric rose from the floor, his full height suddenly vary apparent as he gazed at Nima from across the room. His dark eyes held her fast as he moved methodically toward her with a delicate grace that belonged to a warrior half his size. She twitched impulsively, as if being woken from a dream when realizing he was right on top of her. She found it difficult to look away as he looked down at her, arms hanging passively at his sides. “I know we are not familiar with the ways of your people,
but we’ve done everything asked of us.” Eric leaned in a bit closer as the nervous woman rocked back on her heels. “How much longer must we wait?”
Nima nervously sidestepped him and worked her way to the center of the room. She pressed her foot against the wooden floor several times, then slid it around in circles, as if checking for soft spots. With the obvious stalling tactic complete and her lost nerve regained, she turned back to face Eric. Jade now clung to his arm, while her head rested against his broad shoulder. “I understand your impatience, but you must see this from our point of view.” Nima cleared her throat. “There has been much to do since the...incident. Many arrangements had to be made.”
“Such as...” said Jacob impatiently, more than a little fed up with being kept in the dark.
“Such as burning our dead and consoling their families!” Nima snapped, her dark eyes ablaze. Jacob instantly looked away, mortified by his own insensitivity. “Don’t think for an instant that your perceived lack of comfort compares with what we’ve suffered since the sea threw you onto our door step and somehow made you all our responsibility.” Nima closed her eyes and looked up to the ceiling while rubbing circles around her temples, then whispered into the air, “My responsibility.”
Jade stepped forward, hoping to defuse the sudden tension. “Please, Nima, don’t think we are ungrateful. It’s just that–”
“Then try and display a shred of dignity,” Nima fired back. Jade graciously swallowed her remaining words. She had learned long ago when it was best not to speak. Nima gazed around the room. “You all feel you are prisoners here? Feel you are being treated harshly?” She shook her head in disgust. “Do you have any idea how many children will never see their fathers again?” She paused, allowing the gravity of her statement to hang in the air. “And do you understand how many of them blame all of you? I might be the only person in the village who doesn’t care to see your heads on pikes.” Her eyes narrowed. “And even that is only because mine would be placed next to yours.”
Athel stood up from her bedroll. “Nima, we’re so sorry. You’ve done so much for us already.” Her voice softened. “So much for me. There must be something we can do to make this right.”
“Which brings me to the reason for my visit,” said Nima as she ran slender fingers through her long, black hair. “The final observance will be held tonight, and our honored dead will finally be at peace. I have been instructed to inform you that you must all be in attendance.”
“We would be honored to ate—”
“You have no say in the matter,” said Nima, cutting off Athel. “You will be there. My orders have come straight from Kelus.”
“And when do I finally get to meet this honorable man?” Eric inquired evenly, his calm face never betraying his true thoughts.
Nima matched his gaze, silently impressed by the young man’s ever-growing confidence. “He waits for you now.”
* * *
None of the party was blindfolded this time as the small contingent of soldiers led them through the streets. The soldiers’ green capes flapped and rolled with each step as they led the group across the worn dirt path, and the black leather armor they wore swished and crackled. With oversized wicker helmets that hung low on their faces, their expressions remained a mystery to all. Nima led the pack, showing no emotion as her eyes remained focused straight ahead. The four companions all breathed deeply as the cool air gently kissed their faces. Although cold, it still felt refreshing, considering how long they had been cooped up in that shack of a room.
Men who had just been cutting wood and working on broken homes stopped to stare. Women with baskets of clothes perched on their heads, balanced on top of rolled towels, glared with unbridled hatred. Most of the group kept their eyes low, withering under the overbearing scrutiny, but Eric returned their looks with both patience and sadness. He understood it was nothing personal. How could they be faulted for what was burning in their hearts? They had lost so much already, and someone needed to be blamed. Blame me. After all, this is all my fault. He shared in their sadness, felt their pain. More death because of me. When will it ever end? He gazed up into the blue sky, taking a deep breath as fluffy clouds rolled along in the mild breeze. At what point can one’s sins no longer be forgiven? Do I have to die a thousand times to make things right? Eric looked back to those angry faces. “A small price to pay for the pain I’ve caused,” he whispered to no one. Jade glanced at him briefly, not sure if he had just spoken or not.
The broken trees from the battle had been mostly removed now, and only a few splintered trunks remained. Homes and buildings that had been severely damaged now had new walls and paper windows in place. Even the ones that were completely crushed now had the debris cleared away, and new wooden frames stood in their place. These simple structures used so little materials, that it looked as though the rebuilding would be done sooner rather than later.
Nima raised her hand without looking back, then pointed to the left. Two of the soldiers quickly marched ahead, spun on their heels, then disappeared around the corner. Turning the corner, the four companions saw the guards now standing on either side of a large dark-green tent, with the ends of their spears planted in the ground. They stood still as statues while peeking through the bars of their wicker helmets.
The massive tent was square, with various gold and red looping designs swirling across the canvas. Some patterns gave the appearance of misty smoke rising up from an open fire, while others flared out like wild vines, then flowed into what looked like the heads of large reptiles.
The double flap slowly spread open as golden, fringed tassels hung down, wiggling like small fingers. A small, bald man ducked through the opening and stopped in front of them. He wore a black robe with white trim circling around the sleeves and base. The small man looked to be well into his seventies, but his smile was warm and kind. “Please come inside,” he said as he motioned to the companions. “Kelus is eager to meet you all.” Eric approached first, looking down at the little man. After holding his unblinking gaze a few seconds, Eric nodded before entering.
The strong scent of spicy incense assaulted their senses the moment they entered the cluttered tent. Four armed men stood around a long rectangle table. Each was tall, muscular and shirtless, and they stood still as statues, with arms crossed and hands resting on the hilts of their double scabbards, one strapped to each side. Although motionless, it was apparent those blades would eagerly come free at a moment’s notice. It was impossible to read their expressions through the large metal helmets that covered their entire heads. Tightly woven metal grills masked their faces while a thick, scaled plate fanned down from the top, protecting all sides of the head and neck.
At the head of the table sat a thin man, his impressive height apparent even though he remained seated. A silver-banded headpiece decorated with long, colorful feathers pulled back his long, jet-black hair. With white paint covering his entire face, he appeared ghostly and spirit-like, which only made the thin line of black painted around both eyes stand out boldly. Leaning hard to one side, the man looked rather bored, rubbing his long black fingernails across the chair arm. With a long, thin mustache and cold dark eyes, he did not look the patient type.
Nima moved to stand directly behind Kelus as the others tentatively took seats around the table. Eric, however, drifted about the room as if he were the only one here, taking in his full surroundings. The bare canvas walls gently pumped in and out to the rhythm of the outside breeze. Bags lay bout the room, held closed by coarse frayed drawstrings most likely made from horsehair. He gazed down at the black rug with red squares and gold trim, a beautiful ornate piece that seemed out of place in the makeshift tent.
“Ahem,” came the less than patient grunt as the tall man stood, glaring at Eric as if he had just stolen something. “I ask that you be seated along with your companions. We have much to discuss,” he said in a deep voice that resembled rolling thunder. It was clear the man was nearly a head taller than Eric.
Kelus growled, his fists clenching tightly before sitting back down. “I think it’s time you all tell me where you came from and why you are here.”
Eric quickly spun about, placing his hands firmly on the table. He looked at Kelus for some time before speaking. “My name is Eric Aethello, but you knew that already, didn’t you?” He went on without waiting for a response. Gesturing around the table, he said, “This is Jade Ethrista, Jacob Couture, and Athel Thenalra. Our homeland is known as Tarmerria, but you seem to refer to our lands as ‘the old world.’” He raised an eyebrow. “But you knew that as well.”
Kelus rose from his chair, slamming both fists down on the table. The four guards tensed—the first time they had even proved to be alive—but kept their blades sheathed. “How dare you! I’ll have you all–”
Eric went on, ignoring Kelus as well as the shushing protests from the others, who were begging him to keep quiet. “Your representatives have asked the same questions day after day. They question us when they bring our meals, if you can call our daily cold rice sustenance. They ask again when finally getting around to replacing our buckets, and each time we patiently answer the same repetitive questions. No doubt you’ve been cross-referencing, searching for inconsistencies in our stories as your daily reports roll in.” His voice remained calm and steady despite his obvious irritation. “And now I think this has gone on long enough.”
