Heretic, Betrayers of Kamigawa: Kamigawa Cycle, Book II

by Scott McGough

  “That’s your decision,” Riko said. “He still has to answer for Choryu. Whatever he did, he was our friend, and this one—” she jabbed a finger at Toshi—“sent him to his death.”

  “Mercifully,” Toshi said. “I did so mercifully.”

  “How dare you—”

  “Please,” Pearl-Ear said. “Let us hear him out.” She crossed her arms. “Ochimusha, why do you doubt Mochi?”

  The blue kami nodded. “Hear, hear.”

  Toshi bowed. “Lady. I doubt this little blue pustule because he always leaves things out. If he’s so concerned about fixing things, ask him why his soratami are moving in on the criminal underground in Takenuma. Ask him why your man Choryu murdered my partner. Ask him why there’s an entire army of soratami in the city above, preparing to move out in force.”

  Toshi placed his hands on his hips. “Where’s the battle, Mochi? And which side are you fighting on?”

  Mochi’s smile hardened. His eyes narrowed, and his voice grew sharp. “You have set foot in Otawara?”

  “Danced from one end to the other. I left your pet mind-talker bleeding on the road, too. She’ll have a headache for a few days. If she survives. The streets are so dangerous these days, even in the clouds.”

  Mochi cocked his head. “If you left Chiyo alive,” he said, “you should be worried about your own long-term survival.”

  “Mochi,” Pearl-Ear said, “I do believe what you just showed us is the truth. It felt far too real to be a trick or illusion. But is what Toshi says true? Do the soratami have an army? If so, what is its purpose? They have never fought in large numbers before.”

  “They have never done anything in large numbers before,” Mochi said. “More than that, I cannot say.”

  “But you must,” Michiko said. “You must tell us everything. How can we help each other if—”

  “You flatter yourself, my dear. I am trying to help you, yes, but the only thing you can do for me is stop interfering. If O-Kagachi manifests, even partially, it will change everything. The fabric of both worlds and the barriers between them will be altered.

  “So why didn’t you stop Konda when you had the chance?” Toshi said. “And don’t give me that ‘we tried and failed’ nonsense. You’re craftier than me, and I can think of a half-dozen ways to stop someone from casting a spell.”

  Mochi grimaced. “The daimyo’s will is strong,” he said. “When the soratami saw that he could not be stopped, they decided not to prevent the crime but to manage it. If the Great Old Serpent comes, we will be the ones who endure, who rebuild. O-Kagachi will destroy everything until he recovers The Taken One, but his wrath will fall on Eiganjo first. If the destruction of Konda and his kingdom is all it takes to retrieve the prize, there may be hope for the rest of us. Even so, in the absence of a strong central authority, someone will need to prevent Kamigawa’s tribes from slipping into barbarism. Who should it be, if not the soratami? The goblins? The rats?”

  Michiko’s face went pale. “You intend to sacrifice my nation, my people,” she said. “You will offer us up to slake the serpent’s wrath then sweep in to pick up the pieces.”

  Sadness crossed Mochi’s face. “You wound me, Princess. I swear to you by all that is holy, it is not my aim to conquer Kamigawa. Your father brought this on himself and upon his nation. You are correct in that I would gladly trade one kingdom to preserve the entire world, but you must believe that it was never my intent, nor is it something I do gladly.”

  “All the same, you’ll do it,” Toshi said. “The fact that it will benefits your followers just as it cripples everyone else for twenty years is an added bonus.”

  “Otawara is as besieged by kami as any place you can name,” Mochi said. “For our part in Konda’s crime, we are also punished.”

  “Not enough,” Toshi said. “Just wait a few days.”

  Mochi threw up his hands. “This is fruitless,” he said. “You may believe me or not, but it does not change our situation or your options. What are you going to do? O-Kagachi is fast approaching the daimyo’s tower. The soratami armada is ready to defend their home if it comes to that, then they are prepared to move across Kamigawa, saving who they can while they prevent the survivors from preying on each other. We have been preparing for this day since Michiko-hime was born. We cannot turn back now.

  “Your support is welcome but unnecessary. We have the wisdom of Minamo and the power of Otawara, and this is what gives us the right to rule. If you cannot see that this is the only future any of us have, return to your forest, your swamp, and your tower. If you survive, I will seek you out in the new world, if only to prove that your fears were unfounded.”

  Horns suddenly blew outside, a strong, warning note that penetrated even to the depths of Hisoka’s chamber. Stirred by the sound, the headmaster awoke and fumbled groggily for the arms of his chair.

  “What’s that sound?” he muttered. “Is there an alarm?”

  Mochi strolled over and placed his hand on Hisoka’s head. “Relax, my friend. That is the sound of a new age beginning. There will be a time of wild and violent action, but it will be followed by a long and lasting peace.”

  Toshi rubbed the back of his hand, gazing up at the ceiling. The mark on his wrist burned. He had just been outside, had just seen the crescent moon overhead, but the mark on his hand burned.

  “Actually,” he muttered, “I think you’re only half-right.” Toshi drew his jitte and twirled it around his thumb. “It’s going to be a long and lasting violent action,” he said, “followed by nothing.”

  Mochi puffed air through his cheeks. “What are you talking about, Toshi?”

  “The hyozan have come in force,” Toshi said. “Hidetsugu has brought them early, damn him to hell.”

  The hyozan brand seared into Hidetsugu’s shoulder had smoked when Toshi cracked the tile and released the oni dog. The ogre snarled in ferocious glee when he felt it—it heightened his bloodlust and sharpened his senses.

  The o-bakemono had ignored Toshi’s pleas and skipped Jukai altogether. Why waste time on distractions when the prime mover in the murder of Kobo was within his reach?

  His captive yamabushi followed him unquestioningly as they charged through the edge of the forest, skirting the Towabara border and pressing straight for the Kamitaki waterfall. Toshi had described them as kami-hunters, and Hidetsugu grew more and more enamored of the notion that they were predators running down a specific and dangerous prey, chasing it back to its lair before delivering the death blow.

  Hidetsugu was dressed in his battle gear, metal plates on his shoulders and across his waist, his massive war club clutched in his great hands. He was lucid now, clear-headed and focused, but his heartbeat grew steadily louder in his chest and his brain as he ran. He felt the fury rising in him, the red-tinged fog that clouded his thoughts and shortened his temper.

  At times like these, between bouts of killing rage and sheer malice, he knew he had changed. Kobo’s death had derailed the long-term plans he had been nurturing for decades, robbing him of the comfort and satisfaction of a well-planned and well-executed gambit. With the right apprentice, Hidetsugu could have taken down kami and myojin one at a time, feeding them in turn to his oni. Now he was alone again, forced to take up arms himself and directly command his living tools in the service of his demonic patron.

  The end result would be the same, as it always was: Chaos would feed. Without Kobo, Hidetsugu had simply abandoned the option of surviving and serving for as long as possible. His oni would have to be satisfied with the embarrassment of riches the o-bakemono planned to provide in one fell swoop. That Minamo and Otawara would scream in the process brought profound delight to his callow heart.

  His yamabushi kept pace as he ran, moving silently through the trees. When ogres went hunting, they howled and snarled and roared with delight, their carnal joy increasing as they closed in on the prey. The yamabushi ran, jaws set and eyes vacant, following Hidetsugu wherever he went.

  They had bee
n accosted by rogue kami twice on the journey. Hidetsugu himself did not engage the spirits but watched as his hunters practiced their art. They were swift, efficient, and brutal in battle. They cast spells quickly and efficiently, sundering the rogue spirits into pulsating chunks. He was extremely pleased, and his oni enjoyed these odd snacks en route to its main meal.

  The ogre broke through the trees onto the shores of the lake. Out on the water, boat traffic was light. Three-quarters of the meditation chambers suspended on pillars of water were full of deeply devout men and women in deep concentration. Overhead, the crescent moon was just visible over the eastern horizon.

  Hidetsugu grinned at the curved sliver of silver light. Forgive me, oath brother, but I saw no reason to wait.

  The yamabushi had stopped behind him, waiting for their next command. Hidetsugu waved them back into the trees. A large ferry was coming toward the shore. Hidetsugu slipped into the water, crouching so that only his huge ridged head was visible.

  The ferryman was singing to himself as he rowed, a jaunty little tune about the women he’d met in various ports. Hidetsugu waited until the boat was almost at the dock then submerged completely.

  He swam with powerful strokes until he was under the barge. He positioned himself under the center of the boat, dug his feet into the muddy lake bottom, and reached up until he touched the keel.

  Hidetsugu strained, pressing up with all the strength in his arm and legs. For a moment, the entire craft rose out of the water. Hidetsugu kept lifting, his roar of exertion turning the lake water around him into a bubbly froth. His head broke the surface and his bellow echoed across the surface of the water.

  The ferryman screamed and dived overboard. Unable to support its own weight while balanced across an ogre’s shoulders, the wooden keel splintered apart in Hidetsugu’s grip, dropping both halves of the barge back into the water with an enormous splash.

  Enraged at the loss of his load, Hidetsugu threw himself into the section of barge nearest the dock and hauled it toward him. He curled his massive arms beneath it and flexed, lifting it out of the water and perching it on his shoulder. The ogre paused, blew cascading water from his mouth, then grunted an incantation. With orange flame wreathing his head, Hidetsugu heaved the broken barge halfway across the lake.

  On the way, the crude missile splashed through a support geyser, severing the column in a flash of heat and fire as the burning boat exploded. The magical flames lingered, keeping the halves of the watery column separate until the upper portion toppled like a falling tree. The person inside the meditation chamber screamed just before she slammed down into the lake. The small chamber flattened on impact and sank almost immediately. No one emerged from the wreckage.

  Hidetsugu turned to the remaining half-barge, his fingers splayed wide in front of his chest. Ogres were born of the mountains, steeped in fire magic, and their shamans were among the most powerful mages in Kamigawa. A massive ball of flame sparked to life between Hidetsugu’s hands, its reddish-orange glow reflected in his eyes.

  The ball of flame surged forward. It struck the center of the broken boat and exploded. Peppered by charred bits of wood and flaming debris, Hidetsugu roared laughter from the heart of the inferno.

  “More!” he screamed. The waves around him were large enough to sweep him away, but he stood as if anchored. “I will have more before I feed you to my god!”

  He flexed his fingers, creating a new fireball. Before it launched, he turned and called to his hunters.

  “Now,” he cried, his voice ragged with fury. “Now we will kill them all!” The hyozan brand sizzled and smoked, sending delicious agony through Hidetsugu’s chest. He bared his terrible fangs.

  Silent, dead-eyed mages burst free of the trees. Hidetsugu let fly the fireball and slammed his great fists down, through the water and into the deep mud below.

  The entire surface of the lake shuddered, and Hidetsugu roared in triumph.

  On the docks outside the academy, the visiting force of kitsune and human retainers stood waiting. The throng of student archers and faculty wizards waited on the stairs opposite the dock, but there was no tension between the two armed groups. They were all just soldiers waiting while their commanders parlayed.

  The visitors refused all offer of food and water as the sun began to set, preferring to rely on their own rations and unwilling to display weakness in front of their hosts. Konda’s men were too proud, and the kitsune could go much longer without sustenance. Besides, none of them wanted to accept anything from the wizards before their headmaster declared himself as ally, neutral, or hostile to Pearl-Ear’s entreaties.

  Unable to restrain their curiosity, a few of the student archers eventually worked up the courage to approach Captain Silver-Foot. They introduced themselves, bowing respectfully.

  “Forgive me, sir,” one said, “but I have studied the kitsune culture for several years. The scrolls make it seem as if your society is filled with nothing but clerics and tricksters. I had no idea there were kitsune warriors as well.”

  Captain Nagao stepped forward. “You should spend more time in the real world,” he said, smiling, “instead of reading about it in scrolls. The kitsune have been valued allies of Eiganjo for decades.”

  The student bowed again. “Forgive me. I meant no offense.”

  Silver-Foot tilted his head. “None was taken. I am only pleased to have expanded the boundaries of your excellent Minamo education.” He crinkled his short muzzle in what could have been a smile or a sneer.

  Far below the floating building, something exploded on the shores of the lake. It barely registered at this height, with no more light and sound than a child’s firecracker.

  The curious student paled. “What was that?” he said. “Another kami attack?”

  Silver-Foot peered down through the mist. Another explosion sounded, larger than the first but still almost insignificant from where they stood.

  “Hard to say,” the kitsune admitted. “It could be a problem, though.”

  Up the stairs, a soratami in heavy robes slid up alongside the students with the ornamental horns. She—or he—whispered something to the leader, who nodded. He spoke to the other musicians, and together they sent out a long, mournful note that hung in the damp air.

  The student quickly bowed again. “That’s an alert,” he said. “We’re all supposed to return to our rooms. I’m sorry, I don’t know where you’re supposed to go, but if you stay here you’ll at least have the best archers and mages the school has to offer at your side.”

  “We will wait here,” Silver-Foot said. “If we can be of any help—”

  Below, two more explosions, the largest yet, rolled up from the shore.

  Nervously, the student laughed. “Thank you, sir, but as you’ll soon see we’re far from helpless.”

  On the stairs, the assembled wizards all linked hands and began to chant softly. A dim blue glow enveloped the group, and their hair stood on end.

  As he turned to go, the student said, “I envy you in a way, sir. Standing right here, you’re going to see an incredible sight. We students are never allowed this close. I hope you enjoy it.”

  “Thank you. I will remember to enjoy my good fortune.”

  The student bowed. “Very good, sir.”

  The inquisitive archer rushed off to join his peers as the non-combatants hurried inside. In a few moments, the stairway was empty except for the chanting wizards and a few reserve archers.

  The blue glow continued to expand around the chanting mages. The sky above churned. Clouds darkened and tongues of lightning flashed between them.

  “Stand ready,” Silver-Foot said. “We still don’t know who our allies are.”

  Nagao nodded. “Or our enemies.” He nodded down toward the shore. “What do you think is down there?”

  Silver-Foot shrugged. “Nothing good. If it’s not a hostile kami or a goblin horde, it’s probably some new disaster.”

  “Probably, but at least it can’t be much wors
e than what we’ve already faced.” Nagao rubbed his breastbone, where the arrow wound was still healing.

  Silver-Foot didn’t answer. As he stared down through the mist, trying to focus his keen eyes on the trouble below, he suddenly wished Nagao had not chosen that particular turn of phrase. One thing he had learned as a soldier and as a leader of soldiers: Things can always get worse.

  The yamabushi in combat were a study in grace and power. Lean and sinewy, they sprang high into the air and landed in sequence at the edge of the water.

  Hidetsugu jerked his head past the flaming wreck of the barge to the central geyser at the lake’s center. The vacant-eyed warriors gave no sign, but each fell to one knee, gathering the strength and magic they’d need for their next leap.

  They were formidable, these kami-killers. Five males and three females, all specially trained to defeat the hostile spirits of Kamigawa. They carried bows without strings, samurai swords, and short spears. Each wore a rigid phylactery bound tightly to his head and ritual war paint, and all of them had the same symbol somewhere on their person: a spiked cross inside a jagged circle.

  The ogre watched as two of the yamabushi performed a complicated hand motion that ended with a circular wave. A solid platform of force materialized over the waters of the lake. It was grayish-brown and as thick as a wooden plank.

  A female yamabushi leapt from the shore to the floating platform then performed the same circular motions with her hands. Farther on and up, a new disk of force appeared.

  Now the rest of his hunters were waving their hands and leaping, picking their own path across the lake on circular stepping stones they created. Though he could not deny they reminded him of fleas leaping from a yak’s back, he was impressed. Everything about their discipline was fast, efficient, and practical.

  He blasted another nearby barge with a fireball, briefly lighting up the area around him. He checked on his hunters’ progress, calculating it would take them several minutes to reach the harbormaster’s geyser before storming the school above.