Storm Phase Series: Books 1-3

by Hayden, David Alastair

  “Just five years. I entered as soon as I was old enough and served thirty-five years.”

  “That's a long service!”

  Onudaka laughed. “I never had much else to do, and I really am a pitiful merchant. I always liked helping wounded men, and I enjoyed staying on the move and always seeing new places. I guess I had a lot more freedom than most people like me ever get.”

  * * *

  As they neared the top, Turesobei heard crows cawing. Some circled overhead. He feared the carnage that awaited them, but at the same time he became increasingly anxious to get there.

  “It's not going to be pretty, lad. Death never is. I've seen more than a fair bit in my time, and I've always been horrified by what's left after a battle.”

  It had taken them two hours to scale the cliff. At last Onudaka locked his hands on the precipice and pulled them up. Turesobei quickly slid out from the rope tying him to Onudaka and ran toward the bridge. Onudaka called after him, but since he couldn't stop him, he secured the rope tied to his pack and followed.

  They had climbed the southern face so they wouldn't have to cross the bridge. The Chonda dead lay scattered on the ground and bridge ahead. The cultists' bodies must have been taken away and buried, while the Chonda soldiers were left to rot.

  Turesobei rushed toward the bridge, thinking of where he had last seen his father. He stopped, heart pounding, eyes wide.

  It was not his father that he saw, but a k’chasan assassin heading toward him.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The assassin was a young k’chasan woman. Wide hips stretched out her grey bodysuit. A scarf covered her lower face, and a tight-fitting hood shaded her large amber eyes. She watched him carefully. Her stance conveyed quiet power, but Turesobei didn't fear her. She would pay for what her kind had done here.

  Turesobei drew his father's white-steel saber and charged.

  “Wait!” Onudaka called, but Turesobei ignored him.

  He passed several bodies and leapt over one. Crows scattered into the air, cawing their curses at him. The assassin didn't budge. He watched for darts and throwing spikes, but she threw none. Turesobei reached her and swung with his sword.

  The assassin sprang to the side and his blade whisked through empty air. He stumbled past her, and she kicked the back of his right knee. As he fell, she grasped his queue and jerked his head backward. As if from nowhere a sickle, made for combat and not farming, appeared within her hand. The crescent blade flashed in the daylight. His knees struck the ground and his neck lightly touched the inner curve of the blade.

  “It was not wise to attack me,” she said. Her voice was high, pleasing, and almost sweet. Not at all the voice an assassin should have.

  Turesobei didn't dare move, but he did growl at her. “Murderer!”

  “Hah!” was all she said in reply.

  Onudaka plodded toward them with a heavy, rolling gait. Turesobei thought Onudaka would rush in to help, but the old medic stopped about ten feet away.

  “He didn't mean any harm,” Onudaka said, panting for breath.

  “It doesn't seem that way to me.”

  “He's distraught. These are his people lying here.”

  “Ah,” she said, “I suppose that does provide some excuse. He's lucky I didn’t feel threatened or I might have killed him in self-defense.”

  She removed the blade and let go of his queue. He fell and smacked his injured jaw on the ground. “Ow!”

  He climbed to his feet, wary of her. He backed away and held his blade at the ready. “Watch it, you.”

  The assassin narrowed her eyes and sighed. “You would have to be an impudent boy.”

  Turesobei's cheeks reddened. “I'm not impudent, and I'm not a boy either. You don't seem that old yourself.”

  “I'm an adult, and you are not.”

  “We really are sorry, my lady,” Onudaka said.

  She hung the combat sickle in a harness on her belt. “No harm, I suppose. And I've been sent here by my clan to help you.”

  “What!” Turesobei said as he lowered his sword. “You're a qengai?”

  “Well, of course I am. Couldn't you tell?”

  “No,” he mumbled, but she ignored him.

  “My clan's Codex assigned me to help an old man seeking his brother.”

  “That's me,” Onudaka said.

  “And a young man seeking his father and an ancient artifact.”

  Turesobei scowled. “I don't want your help, assassin.”

  Onudaka bowed. “We are vastly honored, my lady. And I will gladly accept any help you are willing to give.”

  “My name's Iniru.”

  “Obu Onudaka and this is Chonda Turesobei. He is not himself, right now, I'm afraid.”

  As soon as he heard the Chonda name, Turesobei remembered his father. Ignoring Iniru, he rushed about, scanning the bodies. He ran onto the bridge, barely noticing its sway, but he didn't see his father. He did, however, see Captain Fodoru.

  Turesobei knelt beside the zaboko soldier. The face was swollen, discolored, and marred. Crows had pecked at his eyes and dug into his cheeks, exposing teeth and bone. A sword cut had bared flesh and bone from Fodoru's neck to his sternum. Another had nearly severed his right hand. Other cuts marked the body and sticky blood lay all around.

  The stench of opened bowels and flesh already decaying in the heat overpowered Turesobei. The scent hung everywhere, but he hadn't noticed it until now. He turned and vomited out over the bridge. He looked down, and vertigo only made him feel worse.

  Turesobei turned back toward Fodoru and tears streaked down his face. But he wiped them away and stood. Fodoru had fought and died proudly. He would not want Turesobei to cry over him.

  Turesobei carefully left the bridge. His heart pounded, and bile rose into his throat. He checked everywhere. He saw all the bodies: men he had known for weeks, some for years, men he had chatted with only days ago.

  “You are looking for your father?” Iniru asked.

  “Yes,” Turesobei grumbled.

  “He's not here.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Where’s my father?” Turesobei asked. “What happened?”

  “The assassins dragged away a baojendari who was alive and not their own, someone who kicked and fought against them.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I have been trained in the art of tracking. I was finishing my analysis of what happened when you arrived.”

  “I guess you'd know all about their tactics, wouldn't you?”

  “Of course,” she said, “though they’re not highly skilled. Your father had knowledge they wanted, did he not?”

  “Probably.”

  “So they would want to keep him alive, don’t you think?”

  Turesobei nodded. That made sense. The assassins obviously attacked them to get the vault key. But his father might also have important information the Storm Cult didn’t possess.

  To catch up to the assassins, they would need to get moving.

  “They stole the denekon,” Turesobei commented, noting only a few dead ones lying about, including his still tangled in the bridge ropes.

  “Of course they stole the mounts.”

  Turesobei scowled and turned to Onudaka. “You trust this woman?”

  “She’s a qengai. If she wanted to kill us, she would have done so already.”

  Turesobei sighed and stalked toward the bridge, intent on retrieving his gear. Onudaka went to pull his pack of supplies up from the gorge. The assassin didn't seem to bother him. If anything, he seemed pleased that she was here.

  Once on the bridge, with his adrenaline no longer pumping, Turesobei became afraid of its height and movements. He was taking light steps, but then the bridge began to jostle. Iniru was jogging toward him.

  “What are you doing?” she said.

  “Getting the packs off my denekon.”

  “Look, I'm sorry I gave you a hard time. And I’m sorry about your father. Honestly.”


  “Thanks,” he muttered.

  “I'm also sorry that I roughed you up back there.”

  “I could have hit you with magic,” he replied sullenly.

  She laughed so hard she bent over, clutching one of the guide ropes.

  “Stop shaking the bridge!”

  She chuckled and bounced up and down playfully. “Are you scared of heights?”

  “This bridge worries me. It doesn’t look secure.”

  She giggled like a girl. “Ah. Well, why don't you fix it with a bit of magic?”

  “You know, I really am a wizard.”

  “I believe you. I can see the kavaru hanging from your neck. But if you’re so skilled, why didn't you just blast me instead of charging in with your sword?”

  “It's more complicated than that.”

  “I see,” she said in a light, amused tone. She bounded ahead of him, hips swaying impertinently.

  Iniru helped him remove the packs. “I am sorry,” she said. “And I will help you rescue your father. I swear it on my honor.”

  Turesobei met her gaze and found it mesmerizing. He couldn't quite speak. He muttered a few unintelligible syllables and Iniru raised one of her thick eyebrows.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Er…yes. It's just…I've never met a k'chasan before.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I'm from Batsakun in the east. Not many of your people venture there.”

  She bowed. “Well, you've met one now. Iniru of Yasei-maka at your service.”

  Not knowing whether she was mocking him again, he said nothing in reply. After they removed everything valuable, she helped him untangle the denekon from the ropes. A third of the great beast hung out over the river, so they pushed and prodded until it fell.

  That made the bridge swing in a great arc. Turesobei gasped and clutched at the ropes. Iniru didn't hold to anything. She laughed and easily balanced herself as the bridge swung back and forth.

  “Come on,” she said, grabbing him by the sleeve. “I'll help you back. There's nothing to it if you don't think about it being so high up. Just walk.”

  “And what?”

  “And nothing. Just walk. That's all there really is to it.”

  Turesobei let her guide him from the bridge, hating her every step. He tried to tell himself that at least she had apologized, but his pride was wounded. When they reached solid ground, he sighed and knelt down, gasping for breath.

  “You look terrible,” she said.

  “I was wounded in the battle, before I fell into the river.”

  “Then get some rest. I'll scout around and find their trail.”

  Turesobei watched her go and cursed. He hadn't expected anything like this. She was offering expert help, but he didn't want to trust her. And her golden eyes and graceful walk. Those haunted him so much that he nearly forgot about all the death that was surrounding him.

  She returned a half-hour later. “I found their trail, but we need to move on. Trails age quickly and if it rains….”

  Turesobei stood. “I have something more I must do first.”

  “If you wish to save your father, we must go quickly.”

  “She's right,” said Onudaka.

  Turesobei shook his head. “I have a duty to perform. I must honor those who fell here.”

  Onudaka patted him on the shoulder. “We don't have time to bury them, lad.”

  Turesobei inhaled a deep breath. “I know, but I can still see them honored.”

  Iniru cursed and stalked out toward the forest. “I'm going to take a nap. Wake me when you're done.”

  “Gods, but she's infuriating,” Turesobei said to Onudaka.

  “She's young and confident, and I think you may have gotten on her bad side when you attacked her.”

  “Well, it was an honest mistake.”

  “I know, lad. Now what are we doing?”

  “The Chonda give metal amulets to each soldier. On one side is the Chonda Goshawk sigil; on the other is their name. I want to return these to their families. And if they have any personal effects with them like bracelets or talismans, I'll take those, too.”

  Onudaka stopped and Turesobei turned back toward him. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a gleam in the old man's eyes.

  “You all right?”

  “Fine, lad, quite fine.” He smiled broadly. “Let's get to work.”

  They moved as fast as they could. Onudaka spoke the Shogakami Prayer for the Dead over each corpse and wished them a pleasant rebirth if they didn't reach Kaiwen Earth-Mother's paradise. Turesobei thanked each man for his service to the Chonda and promised to return their effects to their families back home. They finished by wrapping the effects within a torn shirt and putting them in Turesobei's pack.

  “They deserved better.”

  “Aye, lad. Everyone deserves better, but life is rarely fair.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Iniru darted silently through the forest ahead of Turesobei and Onudaka. They pushed through curtains of vines, groping bushes, and low-hanging limbs. They crossed fallen trees and small streams. And yet they followed a trail of sorts. They would've had to cut their way through otherwise.

  By late afternoon, Turesobei felt like he was wading through mud. His leg muscles were stiff and exhausted. He stumbled over a tree root, fell, and scraped his knee on a rock.

  “I can't go on any longer. I've got to rest.”

  This angered Iniru. Apparently, she didn't think an arrow wound was reason enough to stop so early.

  Turesobei pulled his boots off and dipped his feet into a cool, shallow stream. He lay back against the forest turf with a deep sigh. Onudaka built a campfire just large enough to boil some water and heat their food rations.

  Iniru removed her hood and scarf. Turesobei stared at her, upside down from where he lay. She had silky, red-brown fur and delicate, rounded features. He was stunned. He hadn't guessed she would be so…gorgeous.

  And young! She couldn't be much older than him.

  Iniru began to strip off her charcoal bodysuit. Turesobei started to avert his eyes but then noticed she was wearing clothes underneath: a flimsy cotton top and scant shorts. It was hardly decent clothing. He really should have looked away.

  He didn’t, and then she noticed him staring.

  Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  She leaned over him. Her nostrils flared. “Is there a problem?”

  “Well, it's just that…I've never seen….”

  “A k'chasan before? You gave me that excuse already.”

  “You had the bodysuit on, and I couldn't even see your face. Just your eyes.”

  She lowered her face near to his. He could smell her warm breath. It was pleasant, like mint. “Got a good enough look now?”

  “Er, yes, thank you.”

  “Hmm.” She sat down nearby and dangled her feet into the stream.

  Turesobei found he couldn't stop staring. He'd never seen quite so much of a girl before. He blurted out, “You're going to put on more clothes, aren't you?”

  “Why would I do that? It's hot, and the bodysuit is for protection, not comfort. Besides, I don't have to worry about mosquitoes like you do. Fur is good that way.”

  “Well, it's just that…it's not proper for a lady to wear so little.”

  Iniru laughed. “A lady? Well, I never thought someone would call me that. You really don't get out much, do you?”

  Turesobei sulked. “I know how the world works.”

  “I'm not sure you do.”

  “How old are you anyway? You don't look much older than me.”

  “I turned fifteen two months ago,” she said proudly.

  “You're the same age as me!”

  “And when will you be an adult?”

  “When I turn eighteen.”

  “K'chasans become adults at fifteen.”

  “That's ridiculous!”

  “Oh, really? My people thank you for pointing
that out, your highness. Whatever would we have done without your expert baojendari knowledge?”

  “I didn't mean it like that.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. It's just that I've always thought….”

  “That you wouldn't be a man until you were eighteen, even though you feel like you're one already. I've heard it all before from zaboko. They're just as bad that way. I've been making decisions for myself for years, and now I'm completely free to behave as I wish. I'm a woman now in every way. You'd be a man if you were a k'chasan, though it's clear your upbringing has left you far behind. You baojendari are just not in tune with nature.”

  Turesobei thought of a dozen mean retorts, but he ended up not saying anything and sulked throughout dinner.

  That night, Turesobei tossed in his sleep, haunted by nightmares of his father weeping as he walked past the dead Chonda soldiers, of Iniru stalking toward him and laughing, of Lu Bei’s pages crumbling into dust, of the dark trees overhead filled with millions of chirping insects waiting to devour his corpse.

  * * *

  At dawn, they returned to the trail. Turesobei felt stronger, even though his muscles were stiff and sore. The cultists probably had a substantial lead on them. Turesobei hoped their need for his father would last long enough to rescue him.

  The three travelers spoke little. The forest sang to them, and they listened out for the discordant notes of enemies. Turesobei still needed frequent rest breaks, and at each stop, Iniru became agitated. On the fourth break, she moaned with disgust and Turesobei couldn't take it anymore.

  “Why are you in such a hurry? It's my father who's been captured.”

  She stuck her face right up to his and scowled. He backed away but she followed him until he crashed into a tree.

  “Who says I care?” she demanded. “Maybe I don't.”

  “Then why are you hurrying so much?”

  “Perhaps because helping you is my job whether I like it or not.”

  “Well, I don't like it and I don't trust you either.”

  “I don't need you to trust me. What I need you to do is stop acting like a baby and follow my lead.”