Heretic, Betrayers of Kamigawa: Kamigawa Cycle, Book II

by Scott McGough

  Konda waved his concerns aside. “Noble General,” he said, “I have the loyalty of my retainers. I have the love of my people. I have the prize that stirred the entire spirit world to action. I need nothing else.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  The tower shuddered once more from another tremendous impact, and the walls around the short staircase collapsed. Beyond the rubble, Takeno could see that other interior walls had crumbled, turning this level of the tower into one great chamber enclosed only by the solid stone and enchantments of the tower’s exterior. Through the dust, Takeno could see a hole in that massive barrier and the night sky beyond the hole.

  The exterior wall buckled, exploding inward as if struck by a black powder bomb. Takeno saw a wedge of sharp rock as large as a table slicing through the air toward Konda. Though the daimyo was facing the deadly missile, his eyes had migrated to the far left and right of their sockets, trying to stay fixed on the stone disk.

  Takeno sprang forward without hesitation. With his sword held high and his powerful voice echoing across the chamber, he leaped into the path of the soaring stone and slashed at it, splitting a jagged piece from its surface.

  The rock plowed into the old soldier’s chest, bearing him violently backward. Takeno’s weight and momentum were sufficient to deflect the great chunk of wall away from Konda. As he sailed past his lord and master, Takeno tried to cough out one last warning, one final word of caution in the hopes it would keep Konda alive for just a little while longer. His lungs were flat and his back was broken. The stone missile drove him out the opposite wall, crashing through the rocks and arcing over the north courtyard below.

  His last thoughts were those of a soldier who had done his duty.

  Konda whirled as Takeno’s body flew past him, borne on a bier of jagged stone. He was as shocked by the sight of his loyal subordinate’s broken body as he was by the force of the impact against the far wall. There was a deafening crack and an avalanche of stone cascading down to the ground.

  Konda turned to his prize. Laboriously he dragged his eyes away from it and scanned the wreckage around him.

  There were holes in both sides of the exterior wall. No whole walls stood anywhere on this level of the tower. Takeno was gone. His armies outside had either been defeated or driven off. Below Konda, thousands of people huddled together, praying for death to pass them by.

  Something glittered on the far side of the tower, out in the cool night air. Konda took a step toward it, unsure of its size or shape but fascinated by the palpable aura of power that rolled off it like heat from a furnace.

  Outside the hole, O-Kagachi’s eye blinked, and the great serpent roared, sending a jet of hot, acrid breath blistering through the chamber. Konda shielded his face with his forearm.

  So this is how it ends, he thought. The oldest and most powerful spirit from the kakuriyo come to make war on the oldest and most powerful ruler from the utsushiyo. It would have been unthinkable twenty years ago, a ridiculous concept. But as Konda told Takeno, he had the love of his people, the loyalty of his soldier, and the power of his prize.

  With the stone disk in his possession, Konda could be fearless. He alone knew what it represented, how its power could humble even O-Kagachi. It had made him immortal. It had made him invulnerable. Now he would use it to destroy the beast that threatened to undo all he had built.

  Konda turned to face the prize. His eyes were drawn straight to it, as always, but he also noticed something on the periphery. The daimyo froze, nearly paralyzed by cold and unimaginable rage.

  Someone was standing next to the stone disk’s pedestal. He was an average-looking man, armed with samurai swords and dressed in simple black linen. His dark hair was pulled tight behind his head.

  “So,” the warrior said. “This is it. The Taken One.” He placed his hand on the closest edge of the disk and quickly drew back as if stung. “It’s cold,” he said then shrugged. “It’s not that impressive.”

  “Take your hand away, sir.” Konda’s voice could not have been more menacing if he’d had a sword to the young man’s throat. For the first time in years, his eyes stopped listing and fixed firmly on the intruder.

  Konda noticed Takeno’s sword on the floor and quickly scooped it up. “You will die for this. Draw, if you care to, and defend yourself.”

  The young man shook his head. “No, daimyo,” he said. “We will not fight.”

  Behind Konda, more of the exterior wall blew inward as O-Kagachi widened the hole. The daimyo felt grit and sharp stones along his back, but he did not wince, and he did not waver.

  He stepped forward, pointing the tip of Takeno’s sword at the intruder. “Who are you?”

  The intruder smiled. “I am oath-brother to both ogre and rat. I am the bane of snakes and the shivering cold that baffles moonlight. I have walked the streets of the cloud city and crawled through the mire of Numai.

  “I am Toshi Umezawa, sir. I am the man who twice stole your daughter. I have come here now to steal this thing that you value so much.”

  Toshi had never seen the daimyo up close—hardly surprising, since a man in his position was obliged to avoid government officials whenever possible. He had thought Konda would be older, more bent and wizened. He also wondered what had happened to the daimyo’s eyes, which seemed to big for his head and somehow vibrated as he glared at Toshi.

  When Toshi said the word “steal,” Konda charged. The ochimusha didn’t expect the daimyo to be so fast, but he still had time to slide behind the cover of the stone disk.

  The daimyo yelled something incoherent about glory and destiny and the future as he wildly swung his sword. Toshi was far more concerned about the huge face outside that was dismantling the wall brick by brick than he was about the frenzied daimyo.

  He had watched Konda and the other old man for a short while, long enough to confirm his long-held suspicion: He didn’t like Konda. Besides the fact that he had started the Kami War and imprisoned his own daughter, the old man was selfish. Clinging to the stone disk at the expense of everything else, keeping it locked away in this dank little chamber—what was the point in ruling the entire spirit world by stealing something if all you were going to do was sit and stare at it? He claimed it was a source of power, but even the akki and the nezumi knew that power unused was power wasted. Maybe no one else could have taken the disk from the spirit world, but Konda was definitely someone who didn’t deserve it.

  Toshi realized that Konda was still yelling at him. That proves it, he thought. Truly formidable leaders don’t have to yell to get their point across. Uramon never yelled. Hidetsugu … well, Hidetsugu roared a lot, but he was confident enough to let his actual words convey his threats rather than the volume at which he said them.

  “How will you move it, thief?” Konda was raving, still slashing wildly with his sword, pursuing Toshi in an undignified scramble like one child chasing another around a tree. “The prize is mine, mine alone, and I will kill you before I ever let you touch it again.”

  Toshi stayed ahead of Konda, circling around the pedestal. What a blowhard, he thought. This is the noble and respected ruler of Eiganjo? Michiko’s father was little more than a cranky old man, a miser who had forgotten the value of treasure and concerned himself only with keeping it from others.

  The tower trembled once more, and the great serpent finally worked one of his heads through the hole in the outer wall. Time to finish this. Toshi veered away from the stone disk, moving toward the center of the room. He drew both his swords, watching Konda with one eye and O-Kagachi with the other.

  Though old and manic, Konda did not seem to have exerted himself at all during the chase. His eyes rattled around in his skull like marbles in a cup, and his breath blew his thin mustache around, but he was still focused and vibrant.

  “Stand and fight, ochimusha. It’s better to die on General Takeno’s sword than to be crushed and consumed by the great serpent.”

  Toshi lowered his swords, his face though
tful. “That’s good advice,” he said. “If I were you, I’d take it.”

  The ochimusha called out to his myojin and endured the stinging burn on his arm as he faded from sight.

  Konda fairly howled as Toshi disappeared. The daimyo ran to where Toshi had stood, slashing the empty air. Standing nearby, invisible, intangible, Toshi shook his head. How did this loon ever rule Kamigawa?

  Too late, Konda realized he was now in direct line of sight with O-Kagachi. The great beast roared, shaking more stones loose from the crumbling tower. Konda, to his credit, stood firm as he called out defiantly.

  “Here I am, guardian of two worlds. What you seek is behind me. Come and take it, if you can.” He paused, glancing over his shoulder, displaying his wandering eye. “You, thief, hidden in the shadows. Do your worst. The glory of Eiganjo will last forever.”

  Toshi faded in alongside the pedestal. “Maybe,” he called. “Maybe not.” He reached out and placed his palm on the stone disk. As before, some strange force jolted him, shocking him like a frozen piece of metal, but he did not retract his hand.

  Staring intently at the shadow of the pedestal, Toshi willed himself to fade once more. He concentrated on his palm and the stone disk beneath it. The great round mass grew transparent, a ghostly image of itself, then it, too, disappeared.

  Konda screamed. O-Kagachi plowed through the shattered rooms and walls that had once been the daimyo’s private chambers.

  Guiding the stone disk like a child’s balloon, Toshi stepped into the pedestal’s shadow and left the noise and the strife of Eiganjo behind.

  Toshi hung motionless in a sea of empty black space. Usually the journey through shadows lasted only a few seconds, but he had ground to a halt halfway between his origin and his destination.

  Disoriented, Toshi jerked his head around until he spotted the daimyo’s prize floating nearby. He quickly calmed down as his surroundings becoming more familiar.

  He had been here before when he first accessed the power of the Shadow Gate. Then he had been forced to float until he called upon his myojin. It was her power that he employed when he moved through shadow. Perhaps this was her way of inviting him to another discussion.

  “Myojin of Night’s Reach,” he said, though his voice was lost in the soundless void. “I am in haste. Come forth and talk to me.”

  Toshi, the myojin’s cold voice came. I see you have returned. You have brought something new … and left your manners behind.

  “Forgive my impertinence. As you noted, I am bearing a unique burden.”

  Indeed. That is something we need to discuss. Look up.

  Toshi craned his head back and was borne up by the myojin’s power. Once more he hurtled toward a small white speck in the distance that grew larger as he approached.

  Toshi hit the hard white floor of the myojin’s honden. He quickly got to his feet, noting the daimyo’s statue standing on its edge nearby. The etched figure of the serpent faced him, impassive and immobile as ever.

  He stood and faced the curtain and the cloud of hands. The myojin’s bone-white face was slowly fading into view at the center of the broad black field.

  She stared at him for a moment. What have you there?

  “This is some sort of spirit,” Toshi said, “which Daimyo Konda wrenched from the kakuriyo.”

  It is that. It is also so much more.

  Toshi paused. “So Mochi told us. Where do you stand, O Night, on Mochi as an ally?”

  The cold face continued to stare. It was so lifelike, so close to motion that Toshi began to grow uneasy under its gaze.

  He has his uses, the myojin said at last.

  “He presented his interests as if they were yours,” Toshi said. “As if you and he had an understanding.”

  More silence. Toshi cleared his throat. “Is there one?”

  I have understandings with many entities, Toshi. In your world, in the spirit realm, and in other worlds far beyond both.

  “Of course. But …” He broke off. “I do not wish to offend you again.”

  Sometimes, acolyte, you are too clever for your own good. Speak.

  “Mochi has designs on this.” He pointed to the stone disk. “As do I, but I must admit, all that I have accomplished … including the acquisition of this … is because of you. I know I cannot keep it without your support.

  “If you intend to relieve me of this—if you’ve promised it to Mochi or if you just want it for yourself—I would prefer to just hand it over now. Don’t have me removed or stranded in the void or fed to a primal spirit beast. I want it, but I haven’t really decided what I’m going to do with it yet. If you have, I will humbly surrender it to you.

  “However, if it please you, O Night, leave it to me. Let me have it because I want to keep it from Mochi. Let me have it because if I do figure out something grand to do with it, I will do it in your name and according to your desires. I am not known for my steadfastness, O Night, and perhaps I am not trustworthy, but I would be dead ten times over if not for your blessings, and so I rededicate myself to your cause and your glory.”

  The cold bone mask lost all sense of vitality, becoming no more alive than an actor’s mask. Toshi waited, becoming convinced that the myojin had abandoned him and left him to wait forever.

  What a fine speech, Toshi. I would be truly moved by your eloquence and your passion except for one thing: I have no interest at all in the daimyo’s prize. I don’t care if Mochi has it, I don’t care if you have it. So long as you never use the Shadow Gate to transport it through my realm again, you may do as you will. Which, my acolyte, is what I suspect you were always intending to do.

  Toshi blinked. “Really? I can have it?”

  Of course. But I do not want it here. Anywhere it goes, O-Kagachi will follow. And avoiding his presence here is something I do care about.

  Toshi pondered for a moment. “Where is he now?”

  Would you like to see? Mochi isn’t the only one who can produce visions. Dreams are my messengers, too, after all.

  Toshi glanced back at the prize. “You can show me Eiganjo?”

  I can.

  “You can show me Minamo?”

  I can.

  Toshi smiled. “Show me, then.”

  The white mask’s empty eyes flashed, and Toshi felt himself being drawn into them.

  Daimyo Konda kneeled in the wreckage of his private chamber. There was no roof over Konda’s head, barely any walls around him, and the wind blew his long hair and whiskers so that they stretched parallel to the ground. He still held Takeno’s sword listlessly in his hand, the tip lodged between two floorboards.

  Eiganjo still stood, though it had been badly battered by the Great Old Serpent. O-Kagachi had withdrawn when the statue disappeared, but not before tearing the top off the tower. Without his prize to defend, the daimyo seemed lost, broken, humbled. Without the prize to pursue, O-Kagachi had slowly turned his vast bulk and slithered away, fading from sight before he had cleared the exterior walls.

  Konda stood, slowly, and shuffled to the edge of the chamber, which now overlooked a straight drop to the courtyard below. Takeno’s sword cut curls of wood from the floor as it dragged behind him.

  The terrible, clinging mist that had shrouded Eiganjo had finally dispersed, allowing the daimyo to see clearly the devastation O-Kagachi had created. Broken stones, broken bodies, and a hundred small fires littered the ground. Konda straightened his shoulders, sheathed Takeno’s sword, and buried his head in his hands, weeping.

  From below the wreckage of the short staircase came a voice. “My lord?”

  Konda lifted his face. He composed himself, wiped his eyes, and called, “I am here. Who calls?”

  “This is Captain Okabe. We are working to clear the rubble away. We should be able to reach you before long. Are you hurt, my lord?”

  Konda didn’t answer. He walked across the floor, his drifting eyes still drawn to the empty pedestal. At the top of the ruined staircase, he called, “Carry on with your work. I
await your swift arrival.”

  Konda tightened the belt on his robe and stood at attention. When they found him, he would not be bent and weeping like an old man. He would be standing tall and proud, like the lord of the realm.

  “My lord.”

  The voice came from behind Konda. Startled, he whirled in place. A pale figure stood at attention, a soldier with gleaming white armor and an empty scabbard belted on his hip.

  Konda could not hide his shock. “Takeno?”

  The ghostly figure was almost a perfect copy of the man Konda had seen killed minutes before. He looked different now, his hair, skin, clothes and boots all bone-white. It was not the Takeno who had served Konda so faithfully for so long. His eyes were featureless white orbs that never blinked. His face was a twisted, half-melted parody of what it had been in life. He had grown taller, broader, with one arm far more massive and muscled than the other. His sword was in his hand, but Konda could not see a clear distinction to mark where the ghostly hand ended and the pale weapon began.

  “My lord,” the ghost said again, “I am ever your loyal retainer.” The phantom bowed and held out his smaller hand, which seemed shriveled and dead compared to the bulging power of his sword arm.

  Konda glanced at the spectral hand then back to the empty scabbard on the ghost’s hip. Cautiously, he drew Takeno’s sword and offered it hilt-first to the shade of its owner.

  The shade of Takeno ignored the weapon it had carried in life and saluted with the blade attached to his arm. He stood. “What are your orders, my lord? We are all sworn to your service.”

  “We?” Konda stared at the blank-eyed ghost as he swept past him, moving once more to the precarious edge of the floor.

  The courtyard below was now full of ghostly warriors, mounted on white spectral horses and arranged in huge, precise formations. Each was swollen, or stunted, or somehow distorted from the lean, trim figures created by Konda’s daily drills. Some had no eyes at all, some had horn-like protrusions jutting from their shoulders, and others had distended, scissor-like jaws.