Never Die

by Rob J. Hayes

  Cho managed to raise her head enough to look down at her chest. A huge, purple and brown bruise spread out from where Ein touched her, showing through the gaps in her under-wrappings, and nearly encompassing the left side of her body. Her arm too, seemed to have sped along in its healing, most of the burn fading to an angry red, leaving only the imprint of Flaming Fist's fingers against her skin.

  When Ein finally took his hands away, Cho felt the pain rush back in to fill the void, but it was less than before. She could breathe without the stabbing in her chest, and her arm no longer seemed to be both freezing and burning all at once. She even managed to sit up without screaming, needing no help from her companions. The bruising on her chest was tender to the touch, and hurt when she flexed, but the pain was no longer severe enough to subdue her. She ran her right hand over her left arm, feeling the rough, raw skin. It was no worse than a bad case of sun burn. She got her feet beneath her and stood, stretching and flexing the aches away."

  "You can heal us?" Cho asked, still testing the limits of her movement. She needed to know how far she could push her body while it was recovering.

  "No." Ein stood and brushed the dirt from his trousers, the ragged end of his scarf in his hands once more. "You aren't healed. You're just further along in your recovery. And I can only do it once." He turned towards The Emerald Wind. "You aren't immortal."

  The man threw up his hands. "Well that's a shame, because it would make your little quest to kill the emperor a whole lot easier if he couldn't kill us in the process. Are we done here? Can we leave? Fist is already starting to stink, and he didn't smell pleasant in the first place."

  Cho summoned her humility and said the words before she could decide otherwise. "Thank you, Zhihao Cheng." She bowed deeply from the waist.

  "What?" The word snapped out of his mouth, and The Emerald Wind's cheeks flushed red. "For what? Not getting involved? No need to thank me, it was no effort really."

  Cho shook her head. "You saved me."

  The Emerald Wind snorted. "I did not. You saved yourself, woman. All I did was pass you a sword, and only then because I'd rather see that old bastard dead than you."

  Ein took up the argument, a smile spreading across his face. "I told you you could be a hero."

  "I'm not a hero!"

  "You were my hero, a long time ago." Cho noticed the woman then, standing next to the farthest standing stone. She was tall and beautiful, with dark hair that cascaded from her head almost to her knees, and bright blue eyes that shone in the dwindling light. She wore matching faded red britches and shirt, with a suit of green scale over her chest. A naginata rested in the crook of her arm, the wooden pole as long as she was tall, and the blade atop it almost half that again. An Ipian weapon, it reminded Cho of her homeland. She had spent four months training with one just like it, before she discovered her skill with a katana.

  The Emerald Wind didn't turn around to look at the woman, instead fixing his stare on the corpse of Flaming Fist. "Long ago?" His voice was quiet, wavering. "It was just yesterday. And I wasn't a hero. I just got a lot of people killed so you'd think I was. Fist always knew exactly where you'd gone. He used it as an excuse to attack towns."

  Cho looked at the woman again and saw the similarities. For some reason it surprised her that Flaming Fist truly did have a daughter. She had suspected it was a lie; unable to see the man as anything more than a thieving warlord.

  "Is he really dead?" the woman asked.

  "Yes," Zhihao said, staring at the corpse.

  "Have you checked?"

  Cho saw a frown pass across The Emerald Wind's face, but he swallowed it down, and nodded. "Yes, of course I checked. I even put a new hole in him to be sure. You are finally free, Yanmei." He smiled then, though Cho thought it was more to himself than to anyone else.

  "I've been free for years, Zhizhi." Yanmei walked towards them and Cho instinctively looked around for a weapon. Her second sword was still secured in its saya, but she hadn't drawn it against Flaming Fist, so she certainly wouldn't draw it now. She needed to find Peace, and wouldn't feel complete until the blade was with her once more. The swords were a set, never to be parted. But Yanmei didn't look like she was getting ready to avenge her father.

  "After you died there was no one around to spirit me away," Yanmei said. "No one willing to help me escape. So I stopped trying. He'd come for me wherever I went anyway. He'd kill everyone and drag me back just like every time before. So I played the dutiful daughter and joined his little army. What was left of it anyway. But I guess that's nobody now. You killed everyone who was left."

  The Emerald Wind shrugged. "I never really did like any of them." He was still staring at the corpse of Flaming Fist, refusing to look at the man's daughter.

  Cho moved around the body, glancing at the sword embedded in its chest. The flames around his right fist were starting to gutter, and The Emerald Wind was certainly right about the smell. She ducked into a nearby tent and found Peace lying in the dirt.

  "Well, he's dead now. I suppose you can do whatever you want," The Emerald Wind said as Cho emerged from the tent. Yanmei still stood, her naginata nestled against her body. Cho slid Peace back into its saya, next to her other sword.

  "Thank you," Yanmei said, bowing her head to Cho just slightly. Cho returned the respect, but didn't take her eyes from the woman. She couldn't be certain there wasn't vengeance on her mind.

  Ein said, "Why didn't you desert when the others did?" He was hugging his little pack to his chest again.

  "Because my father would have come after me. He was always so protective. He named me Yanmei, the Last Bloom of Summer. Sometimes he treated me as his legacy, training me to take over the warband. Other times he treated me like a delicate flower to be sheltered and protected at all costs." She turned her attention to The Emerald Wind once more. "He never knew about us. I don't think he would have mourned you so if he did."

  "Mourned me?" The Emerald Wind laughed at that, but it seemed a shrill outburst, passing dangerously close to hysteria. He aimed a savage kick at the corpse. "I think you overestimate how much I meant to him."

  There was a look in Yanmei's eyes, a savageness not there before. Cho rested a hand on Peace's hilt and winced again at the pain in her ribs. She wasn't certain Yanmei would attack, nor certain The Emerald Wind deserved protecting. But she would protect him because he had earned that much. Despite his claims otherwise, he had helped her, saved her even, when it would have been far easier to do nothing. Perhaps, Cho had to admit, Ein was right about the man.

  "Why didn't you just kill him yourself?" Ein asked.

  Yanmei glanced at the boy, her lips pursed. "Because he was my father. A child should never kill their father. Just as a father should never harm their child."

  The Emerald Wind yawned loudly and stretched. "You should never have been here, Yanmei. You should never have been his daughter. You were always far too soft for it."

  "Do I still look soft to you, Zhizhi?" Yanmei replied. Cho had to admit, the woman looked anything but soft. She had the bearing of a warrior, far more so than The Emerald Wind.

  "Too soft for where we're going." Still Zhihao refused to look at the woman. "And we really should be going."

  "Where are you going?" Yanmei took another step forward and The Emerald Wind retreated a step. "I can fight, Zhizhi."

  "Really?" Ein looked up and for just a moment there was something like hunger in his pale stare.

  "No!" The Emerald Wind moved himself between Ein and Yanmei. He stared down at the boy, blocking his view, and Cho saw real determination there. "No. Not her."

  Ein cocked his head to the side. He looked from The Emerald Wind to Cho and back again, and there was something like anger on his youthful face. "Not her, not him, you keep saying. I need more than just you."

  "What is this, Zhizhi?"

  "Quiet, Yanmei." The Emerald Wind stood his ground in front of the boy, but it looked to Cho as though he were shaking. "Please, not her."


  Again Ein turned to glance at Cho and then back, biting his lip in childish determination. "On one condition. You refuse me no one else." The words sounded petulant coming from such a young boy.

  The Emerald Wind nodded his head gravely and without hesitation, and Ein looked to Cho once more. She too, nodded at him. She knew well what he meant and what it would entail. Anyone else the boy wanted to serve him, they would kill. Cho now realised the boy would make monsters of both of them before his quest was done. Without another word, Ein turned and started away towards the camp entrance.

  Cho watched while The Emerald Wind took a deep breath and put the smile once more on his face. Without even turning to look at Yanmei, he said, "And now I must say goodbye, my love."

  "Where did you go, Zhizhi? Why did you leave me? And why haven't you changed?"

  Cho turned away from them, following after Ein, but her gaze was drawn to one of the standing stones, and the writing she saw carved into it, between the bodies. The history of Hosa, all the wars, all the kings. And all the princes.

  "Whither it blows, east to west or north to south, The Emerald Wind never changes." Zhihao started walking away from Yanmei, waving a hand over his shoulder, but his smile slipped. "And it always carries the stench of death. You can't come with us, Yanmei. Not where we're going. Where we're going people don't come back from. No. You should stay, bury your father. Deep. Bury him deep."

  The sun was all but gone, and the stars watched over them as they made their way down the hill from Flaming Fist's camp. It was almost deserted when they entered, now they left it a graveyard, with one beautiful flower still blooming amidst the corpses. Zhihao hated to leave things the way he did, but he had no other way to leave them. So much had changed in so short a time and none of it seemed to make any sort of sense to him. They plodded down the hill in silence, listening to the chirping of cicadas hidden in the long grass. Zhihao was seized by an oppressive melancholy.

  Zhihao glanced at Whispering Blade to find her frowning and looking up at the stars. It seemed a private moment, so he left her there and did the only the thing he could. He followed after the boy.

  The reason for his melancholic mood was slow in coming, but he soon puzzled it out. Yanmei was the last one alive who actually knew him. Everyone else was dead and good riddance to them. It seemed a sad thing to know that no one else cared for him one bit. And the only person who did care, he had left behind. But things were different now that Fist was dead. Gone was the young girl so full of spirit and energy, always dancing and laughing with men who killed for a living. Gone was the young woman who picked flowers to wear in her hair, and stole Zhihao's kisses when her father wasn't looking. Gone was the woman who begged Zhihao to help her run away and be free from an overbearing father who slaughtered entire towns to keep her by his side. Gone, was everyone and everything Zhihao knew.

  "You're a coward," Whispering Blade said as she caught him up. Zhihao might have imagined it, but it sounded like her insult lacked conviction. Either way he was glad of it. Anything to take him away from his own thoughts.

  "I never claimed to be otherwise." He smoothed down his moustache. "But weren't you calling me a hero just a bit ago?"

  "A person can be both. You helped me against Flaming Fist. Some would certainly call that heroic." Zhihao noticed something then about the woman: she only ever seemed to speak in a whisper. He wondered if it had anything to do with the force she released when she screamed. "But you should at least have told her how you feel."

  Zhihao snorted. "How I feel? What would you know about how I feel, woman?"

  They walked in silence for a few moments. Zhihao glanced at Whispering Blade. She walked tall, her back straight despite the obvious discomfort. Her chest was a motley of bruising, covered by only her under-wrappings. Her scars, those given to her by Fist's men, were angry red lines of puckered flesh, some with the stitching still showing. Her left arm was red and raw, with a blackened imprint of burning fingers. And her hair fell at an awkward angle, free of any binding. Yet she walked tall and proud, a hand always resting on her sword hilt. Truly, Whispering Blade was worthy of her stories, far more so than Zhihao was worthy of The Emerald Wind's.

  "I have a name," Whispering Blade said eventually, her eyes still locked on the boy walking ahead of them.

  "So do I. It's Zhihao, in case you were wondering."

  She turned a smile on him. "Not Zhizhi?"

  "No."

  "And you may call me Itami."

  Zhihao sighed. "Wonderful, and now we know each other."

  "Is that such a bad thing?"

  Zhihao sighed at that. "Yes. It's much easier for me to betray someone whose trust I never had in the first place."

  "I never said I trusted you," Itami whispered.

  "A wise precaution. I'm quite untrustworthy."

  "In my experience, it is those who claim to be trustworthy who are most untrustworthy. Those whose claim to not deserve trust, are often far too scared of trusting others." She said it with such levity. Zhihao wondered if she knew how close to the truth she walked.

  "Do you think the boy even knows where we're going?"

  "Ban Ping, city of veiled enlightenment," the boy called over his shoulder.

  Zhihao let out a loud groan. "City of pretentious monks, more like."

  "I've never been to Ban Ping," Itami said.

  "You're not missing anything."

  The boy ignored Zhihao and kept on walking, and Zhihao had no choice but to follow. For a while they walked in silence, but the boy kept glancing at Itami. When he spoke, the boy had a wistful edge to his voice. "We can't go back."

  Itami nodded. "I understand."

  "But your oath. You buried it with the Century Blade. It can't be burned so how will the stars know you've completed it?" The boy reached into his pack and pulled out a knot of hair that looked suspiciously like it had once belonged to Whispering Blade.

  Itami smiled. "There is no need. My oath to the Century Blade will remain, a link binding us together long past both of our deaths."

  The boy rubbed the knot of hair between his fingers. "Oaths are important to you."

  "Yes. To a Shintei, there is nothing more important than the oaths we swear. Three to complete our training. Protect the innocent. Be honourable even in the face of dishonour. And keep our oaths."

  Zhihao snorted. "You swear an oath to keep your oaths?"

  "Yes. We do not make oaths lightly, but when we do we are bound to keep them."

  The boy seemed to consider this for a few moments, then placed the knot of hair back into his pack. "What if one of your oaths conflicts with another?"

  Whispering Blade had no answer to that.

  Chapter 12

  It took them three days to reach Ban Ping, though it would have been fewer had Ein not insisted on walking barefoot the entire way. After they joined the road they saw quite a bit of traffic; merchants mostly, but also farmers and even a few carriages. The carriages were all curtained to prevent prying eyes from seeing who rested inside, and each was accompanied by soldiers on horseback. They shouted and threatened and everyone: even the merchants with carts full of goods shuffled to the side of the road to let their betters pass unhindered. Both Cho and Zhihao earned some odd looks from those soldiers as they tried to decide whether the two warriors by the road side were bandits or simply travelling sellswords. No doubt they would have been even more wary had they known who they really were: a couple of dead heroes in search of others to recruit into their macabre group.

  Cho spoke to some of the travellers who passed them, and even asked one merchant for a half day's ride on the back of his cart. The man had agreed, but Ein refused. It seemed important to the boy that he walk, that his own two bare feet carry him the entire journey. Cho respected his wishes, but Zhihao complained like a babe without a teat.

  The first night they stopped with a farmer and his three sons. They were leading a small herd of rangy livestock, mostly pigs and cows, towards Lushu, and se
t up a camp off the side of the road to sleep under the stars. They seemed happy to welcome some extra swords for the night, especially ones with some technique to back up the steel. They shared what little food and wine they had, though both tasted like rot and ash in Cho's mouth. Their dog, a shaggy hound with fur as grey as a week old porridge, spent the entire time growling at Cho, hackles raised and teeth bared. The Emerald Wind surprised them all with a smooth singing voice and a wide repertoire, though most of the songs contained some sort of dirty limerick or a metaphor for the female body that had the farmers laughing, and Cho cringing. Ein sat silent, watching everyone and sleeping not at all.

  When the road split, the farmers went north, and Ein continued doggedly east. Cho and Zhihao both followed without question, matching his pace. It was quite frustrating, but Cho had dealt with far worse in her time. Zhihao, apparently, had not. The Emerald Wind threatened to pick the boy up and carry him on the second day, but it was an empty threat. Both of them knew the feeling of contact with the boy, and neither would put themselves through it willingly.

  On the third day the road joined with a main route from the south and the traffic increased, with dozens of people all moving steadily along one way or the other. Cho could see travellers stretching out to the horizon both in front of them, and behind. Many of them looked destitute, beggars on their way to the city with nothing but hope. On the southern side of the road, rice paddies stretched uphill in tiered gardens, the sun glinting off the standing water. On the northern side, the fields continued to the horizon and Cho spotted huge herds of great beasts grazing on the grass. But she saw no soldiers on the roads, nor any watching over the fields. It was far more peaceful than she had expected given the turbulent nature of Hosa's ten kings. When she asked about it, Zhihao snorted.

  "Ban Ping is full of monks. Have you ever fought a monk? Most of the time they're all smiles and bows, and 'May the stars shine down favourably upon you'. But if you anger them, they swarm you like a pack of angry hornets. And they're all trained. The monks of Ban Ping are the most peaceful elite soldiers in all of Hosa."