Storm Phase Series: Books 1-3

by Hayden, David Alastair

  Snarls and fighting continued and Turesobei realized there were far more cultists here than he had expected. He trudged forward until he stood beside a zaboko with his arm torn off and wide gashes across his face. Bile rose into Turesobei’s throat.

  Onudaka tugged at his sleeve. “Your father, lad. Gather yourself.”

  Turesobei shook himself from the haze and rushed toward the crude barracks and other buildings in the citadel's center. He hoped he could get his father out. He hoped Iniru was all right.

  Upon nearing a fight between a squad of soldiers and two wolf-sengi, they ducked into an alleyway between the barracks. Onudaka pointed out a tiny building like a squat outhouse stuck onto the side of the central building, which appeared to be a meetinghouse.

  “There! That looks like a prisoner box.”

  Two guards still stood, cringing beside the small door. They had held their posts and gone unmolested by the sengi so far. The alleyway partially secluded them from the rest of the citadel.

  Turesobei drew his sword and followed behind Onudaka as he charged in. The old medic met the first cultist, blocked a sword-strike, and cracked the man's skull with his staff. As that one fell, the other attacked. Onudaka blocked and countered. The cultist dodged, feinted, and attacked unsuccessfully.

  With adrenaline pounding through his veins, Turesobei lunged in and thrust. His sword cut the cultist across the arm. The wound was enough to distract him for a moment. Onudaka then thudded him beneath the chin with the end of his staff. The cultist fell back and slumped down next to his comrade.

  Onudaka dragged the bodies out of the way. Turesobei went to the door and cursed as he saw the iron lock.

  “Out of the way, lad.”

  Onudaka got a running start and shouldered into the door of the prison box. The pine planks shattered. Onudaka lost his balance and crashed inside with a loud oomph.

  “You all right?” Turesobei asked as he crawled in through the gaping hole.

  Onudaka sat up, rubbing his shoulder. Splinters and dust clung to his hair. “Fine, lad.”

  Then Turesobei looked up at the far wall and gasped.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Noboro hung from the wall—his arms and legs chained tightly and splayed out. Lash marks scarred his body along with ample bruises. He was filthy, ragged, and naked. But he was alive, and with a resolute spark in his eyes.

  Turesobei hugged him by the waist. “Father!”

  A strained, distant voice responded, “Sobei, you're alive. My prayers are answered.”

  “This is Onudaka, Father. He saved my life. He's a medic. He's going to help get you out of here.”

  “My best…to you, sir.” Noboro coughed. “My limbs are weak. I'm afraid…someone must carry me.”

  Turesobei drew a healing strip from his pouch. “I can fix some of your weakness and injury. Enough that we can get you to safety.”

  “What's going on out there? It's sounds…like you summoned a horde of demons.”

  “It's a long story, my lord,” Onudaka said. “But a horde of demons isn't far from the mark. Your son has earned us sengi as allies.”

  “The Bogamaru Sengi?”

  “Aye. You should be quite proud of him.”

  Noboro smiled. “I am.” His eyes then focused on Turesobei. “There's much…I must tell you, but we’ve…got to get out of here first.”

  “The sengi should have this wrapped up soon,” said Onudaka. “The cultists don’t seem to have any weapons that can hurt them.”

  “Sotenda and the sorcerer…they’re not here?”

  “No,” Turesobei replied.

  His father's face took on a frantic expression. “Then you’re too late. They've gone on with the key. We have little time left.”

  “Try to relax, Father.” Turesobei activated the healing strip. A warm glow of yellow earth energies filled the little hut, sealing Noboro's scrapes and revitalizing his haggard body.

  Onudaka gave the chains one hard tug and then cursed with frustration. “I can't break them loose.”

  “They're secured…to iron posts inside the timbers,” Noboro said.

  Without another moment wasted, Turesobei summoned a dark-fire globe and settled it onto the links holding Noboro's arms. His father cringed from the heat but said nothing in complaint. That he trusted his son made Turesobei feel proud. After the metal links softened a bit, Onudaka yanked again and broke the chain. They repeated the process on the chains binding his other three limbs.

  Freed, Noboro stood and walked a few shaky steps. Then he took Turesobei up into a giant hug. Tears rolled from his father's eyes.

  “They bound and tortured me,” Noboro said. “Got everything out of me. Used magic…along with pain. I couldn't resist.”

  “Do you know who this sorcerer is?” Turesobei asked.

  “He sounded familiar. His accent was that of a Batsan baojendari, and he's young. But that's all I could tell. He wore a mask when he interrogated me. I never heard his name.”

  “Can you walk?” Onudaka asked.

  Noboro nodded his head. “I can make it. Come, we must head out immediately.”

  “Father, you should rest first.”

  “We have no time. Sotenda is already on his way to the vault. He has the Storm Key, and I told him how to use it. We must hurry.”

  Turesobei looked to Onudaka for help, but the old man merely shrugged. Both of them knew Noboro couldn't be convinced otherwise, and they both knew that he could be right, that if they didn't move quickly a powerful artifact would fall into the wrong hands.

  They met no resistance outside as they moved through the citadel grounds. Fighting continued in pockets here and there, but most of it seemed over already. Noboro leaned on Onudaka for support while Turesobei led the way with his sword drawn. He saw no sign of Iniru and was deeply worried about her.

  They rounded up four frightened denekon from a stable and coaxed them outside, but just barely. They walked them out through the gate and halfway down the hill. They thought they were safe.

  Four cultists emerged from the trees at a run, spotted them, and drew to a halt. Turesobei assumed it was a scouting party out on patrol that must have rushed back as soon as they heard fighting.

  Three of the scouts drew swords and charged uphill. The fourth—with an arrow nocked to his bowstring already—drew, aimed, and released.

  Somehow unable to move, Turesobei watched in disbelief as the arrow sped toward him. Then suddenly, Noboro lunged forward and knocked him aside.

  With a horrid, wet thunk, the arrow struck Noboro. It punched all the way through his torso. The silver tip of the arrowhead poked out from his bare back.

  Noboro collapsed and began coughing blood. An odd wheezing sound issued from the wound.

  “No!” Turesobei screamed. “Father, no!”

  He dropped his sword and clutched at his father's body. Hazy eyes looked up at him. Onudaka leapt ahead of them. “Sobei! We're in danger.”

  But Turesobei ignored him…until Noboro said, “Save yourself.”

  Turesobei picked up the sword and faced the enemy.

  The archer drew another arrow, but then he fell, clawing at his throat. Onudaka took a cut on the forearm, but he maintained his composure and defended himself admirably, backpedaling and holding off the three cultists that were attacking him. Turesobei joined in, but his attacks gained them nothing, except to ease the pressure on Onudaka.

  Unexpectedly, one of the cultists arched backward and spat blood onto Onudaka. The man fell. An arrow was lodged in the back of his neck. As the other two glanced at their fallen comrade, Onudaka clocked one on the side of the head.

  A predatory cry and the flapping of wings sped toward them. The talons of Condor scraped across the face of the remaining cultist, and Onudaka finished him off as he fell writhing.

  Turesobei glanced to the tree line and saw Iniru with the archer's bow in hand. She was running toward them. He had no idea how she'd gotten out into the forest.

&nb
sp; Turesobei rushed back to Noboro with Onudaka following behind. Blood stained his father's pale skin. The arrow had pierced a lung.

  “Father!”

  “Sobei, I'm…not going…to make it….”

  Turesobei fumbled at his pouch. Tears welled in his eyes. “I can heal you.”

  “The wound's…too bad. And we both know…you can't make it work…twice…in one day.”

  Turesobei drew his father's head into his lap and stroked his forehead. “Onudaka, can't you do something?”

  The zaboko medic shook his head. “I'm sorry. The wound is too bad. Even if you could heal him again, I don't think I could save him.”

  Turesobei looked at Condor who had landed beside them. The sengi swiftly replied to his pleading gaze, “I'm only a killer, Chonda Turesobei. I cannot heal your father.”

  Noboro clutched Turesobei's hand. He coughed up blood, swallowed, and then spoke. His voice grew strong for a moment. His eyes blazed with passion. “Sobei, you must recover Yomifano…for Lord Kahenan. I promised Father…I’d bring it back. And you must get the Storm Key before…the cult can steal the heart.”

  “I swear I will do as you ask.”

  Noboro reached up a hand and touched Turesobei's cheek. With his bloody fingertips he drew the sigil of the Chonda Goshawk, the clan's sacred symbol. His touch felt like a burning brand on Turesobei's skin.

  Power resided in that blood as well as in the oath Turesobei swore: “I swear by all the gods and powers in the world that I will restore Yomifano, avenge your death, and retrieve the Storm Dragon's Heart from the cultists.”

  The sigil burned hotter on his skin. For a moment, it glowed softly. He saw it reflected in his father's eyes and on Onudaka's surprised face.

  Noboro smiled weakly and grabbed the back of Turesobei's head. Turesobei leaned in so he could hear his father's fading whispers. “Remember our journey here…martial arts on the ship's deck. Good wine…good times. You had a decent father…at least for a few days…remember me for that….”

  Chonda Noboro's voice trailed his spirit into the realm of death. Turesobei cried out. Condor screeched with him, their grief resonating into one force.

  Iniru knelt beside Turesobei and gently put a hand on his shoulder. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I got to them as quickly as I could.”

  “I'm sorry that I could do nothing for him,” said Onudaka. “I'll pray for his spirit, though, if you'd like.”

  Turesobei said nothing. He merely clung to his father's body, wilted, and cried. The Sigil of the Chonda Goshawk burned on his cheek, and the tears that touched it did not streak the blood, but simply rolled across as if it were a tattoo.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Turesobei knelt beside Noboro and chanted the ritual of preservation. He fixed his mind on this task and nothing else, shutting out his grief, almost entirely. His grandfather would have been proud of his focus. Iniru and Onudaka helped the sengi check all the buildings for Storm Cultists, and then slept in Sotenda's house within the citadel while the sengi kept watch. Two hours after dawn, Onudaka came to Turesobei as he was completing the ritual.

  “Lad, you need to get some rest.”

  “I can't. We must move on today.” Turesobei stood and rubbed at his eyes. “Can you help me?”

  “Of course, lad.”

  With quiet reverence, they wrapped Noboro in silk sheets from Sotenda's bedroom. Then they placed him within the house's small wine cellar. Only when they were finished did Onudaka say:

  “Lad, why are you doing this? We could give him a good burial here.”

  Turesobei shook his head. “When I'm finished with the Storm Cult, I intend to take him home and give him a proper Chonda funeral.”

  Iniru locked the cellar door behind them. “That's not very practical.”

  “I don't care!” Turesobei snapped. “I'm going to do it and if you don't like it, then just stay out of my way.”

  She started to snap back but restrained herself and turned to Onudaka. “We should replenish our supplies here before leaving. Do you know how to ride?”

  “I can't fight from a mount or do anything fancy like that, but I can move along well enough.”

  “In that case we'll take seven mounts with us, one for supplies and a spare for each of us. Do you have any problems with that, Turesobei?”

  “Whatever you think best.” He met her fierce eyes. “You know what you're doing.”

  Her expression softened. “I found a map to the shrine where the heart is. There's a shorter, alternate route we could take, a mountain road that leads to a Moshingan monastery and then to the Storm Dragon Shrine. No one takes that road anymore, though. Sotenda's notes say that it's haunted.”

  “How much time would it save us?” Onudaka asked.

  “Probably two days out of five. But I'm not sure about the danger.”

  “I'm not afraid of ghosts,” Turesobei said. “I've dared one haunted route already. Another means nothing to me. Any demon that gets in my way can taste white-steel.”

  Iniru nodded. “All right then.”

  As soon as she agreed with him, the fire in his spirit drained away. He slumped back against the wall, and his eyelids drooped. “Wake me up when you have everything ready to go.”

  * * *

  Three hours later, they were ready to ride out from the Storm Cult Citadel. The Bogamaru Sengi gathered before them: rows of regal, translucent beasts. All at once, they bowed elegantly, and Turesobei, Iniru, and Onudaka returned the gesture.

  Condor approached. “Chonda Turesobei, will you uphold your vow to us?”

  “I will see your vengeance paid.”

  “That is good,” Condor said.

  A long, thin snake-sengi emerged from the weeds and rose up before Turesobei. He had not seen this one before.

  “Greetings, Chonda Turesobei,” the snake hissed.

  “Hello, honored sengi.”

  “This is Racer,” said Condor. “For these many years he has been our advance scout. But he kills no longer and he fights no longer. Not even under the Storm Cult’s spell would he act aggressively.”

  “I am prepared to move on,” said Racer. “I am prepared to embrace silence.”

  “My best to you, then,” said Turesobei, trying to figure out why this was supposed to be important to him. He was grieving and worried and so tired he could barely think.

  “I have a proposition for you,” said Racer. “When I give myself to the Void, I will release the energies that make up this form. Those energies can be given to you.”

  “But what would I do with….” Turesobei’s mind awoke with purpose. “The diary!”

  “Yes,” said Condor. “Your friend Lu Bei. Would that be enough power to restore your little friend?”

  “Perhaps….”

  “I was preparing to withdraw when we were bound,” said Racer. “If in my ceasing I could help someone else in some way, any way, that would be all the better.”

  “What are they talking about?” asked Iniru. “What friend?”

  “You will see,” said Turesobei with hope. “I must prepare the ritual.”

  “We don’t have long, lad,” said Onudaka.

  “I know, but this is extremely important. And it will only take an hour.”

  * * *

  The sengi, along with Iniru and Onudaka, gathered in a circle around Turesobei, who had spent most of the last hour chanting and drawing sigils in the dust. Racer was coiled in the midst of these sigils.

  “Are you ready?” he asked the snake.

  Racer looked to all the sengi and bowed his head. “My friends…I hope you all find peace as I have. You will always be my brothers.” He bobbed his head. “I am ready now, Chonda Turesobei.”

  Turesobei placed the book before Racer. He wasn’t sure how the energies would be released, and the sengi were no help in this regard. They knew nothing of wizardry. He assumed air kenja would be the predominant form released and had prepared thusly.

  Racer threaded the hole in
the book, coiled around the book many times, and then clasped his tail with his own mouth. He closed his eyes. Moments passed, then minutes. Silence. No one spoke nor moved. And then there was a flash of light and a soft, almost inaudible moan, then silence again.

  The sigils flared to life, one by one.

  Racer glowed and then disappeared.

  The book’s ruined pages turned crisp and clean. The cover mended. The runes on the cover sparkled with an amber glow. And then the book burst into smoke. Onudaka and Iniru gasped as the smoke coalesced into a small creature.

  Turesobei was struck in the chest. Iniru surged forward, blade in hand, but Onudaka held her back.

  “Wait, lass.”

  Turesobei fell back onto the ground with a foot-high creature latched onto his chest. It had amber skin, large black eyes, tiny fangs, and a spiked tail. Its bat-wings fluttered as if it were a butterfly.

  “Lu Bei!” Turesobei said.

  “My lord, you have restored me.” Lu Bei stood up and looked down into his face. “I didn’t think it possible. Thank you, thank you.” His eyes began to well with tears. “Oh, master, you have suffered so. Whatever can I do to aid you?”

  “You are returned, Lu Bei. That is enough.”

  Lu Bei’s expression turned to concern. He reached out a hand and touched the crimson Goshawk sigil on Turesobei’s face. “Master, this—”

  “I know. We can discuss it later. Now is not the time.” Turesobei sat up and turned to his friends. “Onudaka, Iniru, I’d like for you to meet my diary. I’d like for you to meet Lu Bei.”

  Lu Bei bowed to them. “Greetings, friends of my master.”

  Iniru eyed him warily. “You trust this creature?”

  “Yes, but please keep his existence a secret. No one is supposed to know about him.”

  “We will keep the secret,” said Onudaka. “Lu Bei, I am pleased to meet you.”

  Iniru grunted and backed away.

  * * *

  Minutes later, they had said their goodbyes and made their last preparations. Lu Bei had personally thanked each sengi for Racer’s help. It was the best he could do, since Racer was gone.