Never Die

by Rob J. Hayes

  Shouts of warning erupted from the tents. Four more bandits charging at them, and more still stepping out of tents. The Emerald Wind pulled his sword from Tuntun's neck and let the quivering body fall.

  "Never liked the bastard, always so proud of his silky blonde hair."

  Cho glanced just once at the fat body. "His hair is grey as a rainy day."

  The Emerald Wind shrugged and disappeared on the breeze again, and reappeared next to the four bandits charging them. He kicked the first to the ground, and then hooked the second's blade away before slashing the man's ribs. Cho rushed to close the gap. Peace danced left, parrying a blow, before she stepped in and drove the sword through the bandit's chest. His wrinkled mouth worked open and closed as he died, blood dribbling out and down his chest. Cho stepped away, withdrawing Peace from the body and flicking the blood clear.

  Another bandit rushed her, screaming and flailing with two knives, each curved and serrated. Cho took two steps back, her sword stance changing with each step, before the man made the mistake of overcommitting to a thrust. She ducked the wild lunge and brought Peace down in diagonal arc across his body. The bandit toppled, screaming, as one of his legs fell away and blood gushed out of the wound.

  The Emerald Wind cut a swath of sliced flesh and severed limbs through the attackers. His hooked swords slashed open one man's belly, and then pulled the legs out from under another. Then he hooked them together, swinging them around his head in a wide arc that left three of the slower bandits with slashed faces. And every time the bandits thought they had their former comrade, he vanished, leaving behind a fading image of himself. The bandits were neither smart enough, nor quick enough to understand what was happening, and many of them died each time The Emerald Wind reappeared. Cho saw him do it time and time again, yet still she could not fathom how he managed such a trick. But then, The Emerald Wind could not set a blade humming with just a whisper, to cut through metal and flesh alike. They each had their secret techniques.

  Half a dozen more bandits joined the fray, and yet their numbers dwindled. The Emerald Wind showed no remorse or hesitation cutting down the men he had so recently fought alongside, and proved more than capable for the slaughter. Cho backed him up everywhere the battle moved, stepping in to engage and distract, Peace moving in practised slashes. These were no legendary warriors, just hardened thugs, flailing about with weapons they didn't understand. They didn't stand a chance, yet they came on regardless, driven by fear or bravado.

  As Cho weaved through the slaughter, limbs and bodies falling with every step, she noticed Ein following them into the camp. He threaded between the fallen bandits, blank eyes staring into the faces of the dead, then flicking his gaze back to her and The Emerald Wind. He seemed at home there, amongst the dead. She lost sight of him as she turned to meet another bandit, lunging in close enough that she could smell his rancid breath and feel the heat of the body as it slid away from her blade.

  "WHAT IS THIS?" The voice was a roar of power and fury, and all the fighting stopped, as though all the those locked in this battle to the death were actually just naughty children caught by their parents. Even The Emerald Wind stopped mid-swing, his opponent visibly exhaling with relief.

  Flaming Fist was standing under the awning of a giant tent, a look of pure rage on his face. He looked older somehow than the last time Cho saw him in Kaishi. There was more grey in his hair, and more wrinkles on his face. Atrocities could do that to a person, whether they were committing them or just witnessing. They could age a man unnaturally, and Flaming Fist had undoubtedly committed many atrocities at Kaishi. Nevertheless, he still stood tall and straight-backed, and his very presence seemed to command authority. Cho could easily see why other men followed Flaming Fist, even knowing the sort of evil he was.

  Cho saw The Emerald Wind take advantage of the distraction, moving quickly and burying the spiked hilt of one of his swords in the forehead of the last remaining bandit. Unless there were others hiding in their tents, only Flaming Fist remained. Cho knelt down and wiped Peace on the tunic of the man she had just killed.

  "You're dead, boy." Flaming Fist shouted. His voice was like hearing a distant rock slide when you live at the bottom of a mountain.

  The Emerald Wind grinned and glanced at Ein. "Don't worry, boy, he's talking to me. Everyone thinks I'm dead. Well…"

  " I saw you die." Flaming Fist took a lumbering step towards them. "You think I don't remember that?"

  "I should hope you remember it." The Emerald Wind twirled his swords in his hands. "It was only three days ago."

  Flaming Fist paused and held The Emerald Wind's stare for a moment then he turned his gaze on Cho. "You're dead too."

  She nodded. "I came back. I am the spirit of justice."

  "Vengeance," The Emerald Wind coughed.

  Cho ignored him. "I am the anguished hope of all those you have murdered. I am the last gasp of a city in flames demanding retribution. My name is Itami Cho, and by my oath sworn below the stars I will have justice for the murder of the Century Blade."

  Flaming Fist laughed. "Ghosts. Haunting my camp." He reached down into the bucket near his feet and pulled out a chain, dripping with oil. "Well I'm no monk, but I'll deal with you the way I deal with anyone who comes calling for revenge." He slowly wrapped the chain around his right hand, thick links clanking against each other. Then he reached down again and pulled a second chain from the bucket and wrapped that one around his left hand. Finally, he clenched both hands into a fist and punched them against each other. The chains sparked and burst into flames, wreathing his hands in the blaze.

  Chapter 10

  Whispering Blade vs Flaming Fist

  "He's all yours, Whispering Blade," Zhihao said, affecting a bow and taking a step backwards. He found the boy waiting for him, somehow having crept closer while they were all distracted. He could still remember the boy's words from the previous night and just the memory of them sent a chill through him. But for once the boy's eyes had another target; he was staring with quiet determination at Flaming Fist.

  The woman shook her head as she pulled the Century Blade's sword from the strap around her back, and carefully placed the weapon on the ground, out of the way.

  "I never said I'd help you," Zhihao continued. "In fact I counselled against even coming here. Good luck, I say, and I hope you both kill each other."

  Flaming Fist lumbered forward past the standing stones. He looked older, grey shocks running through his hair. Lines in his face where before there were none. He wasn't the only one either, Zhihao had cut down three men he knew well from before, and each one seemed to have aged. Clearly something had happened at the camp.

  Fist's hands were ablaze, the skin blackened and smoking, but that was as far as injury went. It was a marvel Zhihao had seen a dozen times. By all accounts the man should be writhing on the ground, screaming at the pain of burning skin, but he never so much as flinched. And the wounds on his hands always healed quickly, a matter of days though it should take months or years. It was a marvel, but not a surprise. Everyone had their secrets.

  As Flaming Fist approached, Whispering Blade closed the gap and struck first with an upward slash and then a circle in the air and another slash down. Fist brought up his flaming hands, and brushed the strikes away with a sound like a sword being forged. He lunged forwards, but Whispering Blade floated backwards across the packed earth and out of reach. Fist stamped across the ground more slowly then, and swung both fiery hands at her head. She ducked away from the first strike, and blocked the second on the katana, turning the blade sideways to brace against the force of it.

  "Mistake," Zhihao breathed, even as the proof of it became apparent.

  Flaming Fist quickly seized her blade in a chained fist, but Whispering Blade flipped her grip and pulled the sword away, causing the metal to spark and squeal so loud it hurt Zhihao's ears, and left a trail of wispy smoke following the blade as she stepped clear.

  Zhihao doubted Whispering Blade would
make the same mistake again. He also doubted Flaming Fist would be so slow to follow up again. He knew now what each combatant would need to do to win. Whispering Blade needed to keep her distance, find a way to strike at Fist's body rather than his hands. Flaming Fist just needed to get in close, if he could just get one hand on the woman she would burn. Zhihao had seen it before and couldn't forget the sight of a man's eyeballs melting out of his skull while he was still alive. He had no love for Whispering Blade, but that was a fate he wouldn't wish on anyone.

  They clashed again. Flaming Fist threw a jab at the woman's chest, but she rolled just under it, jumped to her feet, and ran back another few paces. Zhihao doubted she realised just how close she had come to the end.

  "Your hair is burning," he called out, laughing. In truth her hair was only singed, but she glared at him all the same.

  "Will she win?" the boy asked, his voice quiet against the lull in combat.

  Zhihao glanced down to find the boy standing close again, too close. He took a sly step sideways. "She should really draw her second sword," he told the boy. "With two blades she stands more chance of breaking through Fist's defence, or at least getting around it."

  They clashed again. This time Whispering Blade feinted left, and then spun right, extending her blade toward Fist's legs, but he was too quick and experienced for that. He punched the attack away and then seized her arm. Whispering Blade's scream tore through the camp. Tents flapped and pulled free from their pegs, and at least one camp fire went up in a whoosh of embers and ash. Zhihao felt it too, his face battered by a rush of air. He squinted against it, and when he opened his eyes again he saw Flaming Fist down on one knee, grimacing, one hand half buried in the earth, extinguished, bracing himself against the force of the scream. Whispering Blade noticed her stolen blouse had caught fire and wrestled to free herself from it . At last she pulled free and threw the fiery scraps to the ground.

  With only her under-wrappings, unwashed and grey with sweat and grim, protecting her, and her left arm a motley of red and black bloody burns, Whispering Blade looked every part the hero from the many tales of her he now had to admit might be true. She backed away as Flaming Fist struggled back to his feet.

  "You should help her," the boy said. His voice wavered with fear, and Zhihao was glad the boy's eyes were locked on the battle and not him.

  "Oh no. This is a duel to the death. It's all very personal."

  Both fighters rushed to meet each other, but this time Flaming Fist struck first. He threw a haymaker with his flaming right fist, and when Whispering Blade ducked it, he followed with a punishing jab to her chest that sent her tumbling into a heap near the standing stones.

  For a moment Whispering Blade didn't move. At last she spasmed and coughed up a clump of bloody dirt. She slowly climbed to her feet and clutched her ribs with both hands, struggling to draw breath. Zhihao couldn't help but try to will her to fight on before Fist ended it, but when Zhihao looked over at the man, he was growling and trying to pull the woman's sword out of his left leg. When at last the blade was removed, the wound pulsed blood, but it wasn't enough to stop Fist. He threw the sword into the tent behind him, and staggered towards Whispering Blade, who was clinging to a standing stone as though it were the only thing keeping her upright.

  "Draw your other sword!" Zhihao's voice was barely a whisper, certainly not enough to reach the woman. It was almost as though she had forgotten she was carrying two blades. "Draw your other sword, damn you!" But still the woman just stood with Flaming Fist bearing down on her, one hand still ablaze.

  "She won't," the boy said sadly. "Whispering Blade never once drew her second sword."

  Zhihao looked down at him then. The boy was about to watch one of his champions killed, likely burned by a mad warlord who liked to set his own hands on fire, and yet there was nothing the boy could do. Powerless save for the strength of the hero he brought back to life.

  "Shit!" Zhihao stepped through the world, leaving an image of himself behind to scatter on the wind. He reappeared next to the battered old tent where Whispering Blade had dropped the Century Blade's sword. Zhihao slipped his boot under the scabbard and kicked out towards Whispering Blade. "Hey, woman!"

  Both Whispering Blade and Flaming Fist looked up at the shout, and Zhihao felt like stepping back through the world again and reappearing anywhere else but there. She saw the sword spinning through the air and launched herself, though it looked like it took all the effort she had left. She caught the scabbard in her left hand, and pulled the Century Blade's sword free, and buried it to the hilt in Flaming Fist's chest even as he tried to block it.

  Whispering Blade hit the ground in a puff of dust and didn't move. The big warlord was still on his feet, teetering like a punch-drunk pugilist. Zhihao approached slowly, leaning in to get a look at the man's face. Flaming Fist was trying to say something, blowing bloody bubbles with every word. His eyes rolled up in his head, and he collapsed backwards, his skull thudding on the packed ground.

  Zhihao ignored the woman, unmoving as she was, and approached just out of striking range of Flaming Fist. He prodded the big warlord with a boot, and then followed up with a swift kick. There was no reaction. The blood from both of Fist's wounds slowed to a trickle and then stopped flowing. Zhihao crept closer. Flaming Fist's right hand continued to burn, the smell of roasting flesh strong and pungent. It was a smell Zhihao had experienced more than enough of for his lifetime. He reached down, wrapped a hand around the hilt of the Century Blade's sword, and pulled it free of Fist's chest. Zhihao raised the sword, and plunged it back down into Fist's chest.

  "Right. He's dead," Zhihao announced with cheer. He turned away from the body and decided to quickly put some distance between them, just in case he was wrong. Or just in case coming back from the dead was turning into a common occurrence. "Well done."

  He stopped by Whispering Blade, and knelt down next to her. She wasn't moving either.

  Chapter 11

  "Can't you bring her back again?" Zhihao asked.

  "No. It only works once."

  "So I'm not immortal?"

  "Immortality is subjective. Your stories will always be told. Your legend will never die. But your body can. If you die again, I can't bring you back."

  "Shit. So she's…"

  "She's not dead."

  Cho opened her eyes to see both Ein fiddling with his red scarf, and The Emerald Wind staring down at her. Above them she could see one of the standing stones, stretching high into a sky the colour of a bruised plum. The light was fading. In that brief moment the world seemed at a peace… of sorts. Then the pain flooded in and she had to stop herself from screaming. Gritting her teeth helped, though not much. Each second was agony. Her left arm felt as though it were on fire, and it hurt to breathe, a sure sign of at least one broken rib. She summoned all the energy she could muster and attempted to sit up. The pain convinced her it was futile.

  "Are you certain she isn't dead?" The Emerald Wind asked.

  Ein glanced up. "She's mostly alive."

  Cho winced as a twinge of pain lanced through her chest. "Is Flaming Fist dead?"

  The Emerald Wind nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yes. Quite dead."

  Ein's pale stare moved again, towards the body of Flaming Fist. Cho managed to shake her head. "Don't bring him back."

  "He would make a valuable ally," Ein said. "He's strong…"

  "No!" Cho said it with such force it felt as though something inside of her snapped, opening up a new space inside her to fill with pain..

  "We'd just have to kill him again anyway," The Emerald Wind said. He stood from his spot at her side and stretched his arms. "Flaming Fist isn't…" He paused and a grin spread across his face. "Wasn't the sort of man to follow anyone. Bound to you or not, boy, he would go his own way. And his own way would most likely lead to trying to kill us again. Besides, without his life sustaining his technique, his right arm is already burning to ash."

  Ein stared at The Emerald Wind. "I c
ould still…"

  "Try and I will stop you." The Emerald Wind dipped his head to the boy. "For her sake, of course."

  They held each other's gaze for a while, before The Emerald Wind abruptly coughed and moved away. Ein turned back to Cho. "You're hurt."

  Cho's skin was blackened in places, cracked and oozing something fouler than blood. The burns spread up her arm, but below her elbow she could make out the shape of a hand burned into her flesh. A permanent mark left by a man who had come so close to beating her. A final and indisputable proof that she had fought against Flaming Fist. And won. It hurt, but it was a pain she would bear with pride, knowing that she had found justice for the Century Blade. And once the sun had set, and the stars gazed down upon them, she would pray for him. There were plenty of stories of the dead speaking to the living through the stars, and Cho hoped she could have one last conversation with him. She hoped he would approve of her measure of justice.

  "I can help." Before she could stop him, Ein placed one hand on her left arm and the other on her chest and held them there. The pain vanished in an instant, replaced by that same numb, tingling void so close to pain yet not. It felt as though her whole body had fallen asleep. She drew in a deep breath for the first time since waking, feeling the air fill her lungs. It felt like new life spreading through her veins, new strength coursing into her limbs.

  "Well that's fairly unnerving," The Emerald Wind said, staring at Cho's chest. "And I say that even after all the other unnerving things I've seen in the past few days."