Kemsu ripped his knife from its sheath and tossed the blade aside. “Someone pin him!”
Motekeru locked his giant, mechanical hands around Turesobei’s upper arms and held him in place. Narbenu pinned Turesobei’s kicking feet. Kemsu dove onto him, and shoved the knife sheath into his mouth. Turesobei clamped down on the leather.
Kemsu rocked back onto his haunches. “That ought to keep him from biting off his tongue.”
Iniru knelt beside him and nodded to Kemsu. “Good thinking.”
“I’ve done it before. My mother had seizures … until she died a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry about your mother,” Iniru said to Kemsu while stroking Turesobei’s cheek.
Crying, Kurine took Turesobei’s left hand, trying to hold onto it while it flexed and thrashed. “Eira is on her way. Please be well. Please be well.”
Enashoma took the other hand. She was crying, too. “He’s done too much for us. His wounds are killing him.”
Turesobei couldn’t respond to them. All he could do was concentrate on blocking out the storm energies.
With a screech of pain, Lu Bei popped back into fetch form. “No energy from … Master,” he panted. “Hard to transform. Had to use my own. Both of us depleted now.” He hopped onto Turesobei’s chest and tried to look him in the eyes. “Where is it, master?”
Turesobei couldn’t focus on him, couldn’t even gesture with his eyes. Lu Bei started checking under his collar.
“What is it?” Enashoma asked. “What are you looking for?”
“A spell strip, Lady Shoma. A burned-out spell strip. He’ll have it hidden on him somewhere. I knew he was up to something before we left here. But he wouldn’t let me see what he’d done. I had a bad feeling about it.”
“You should’ve done something,” Enashoma said. “You should’ve made him talk. Why didn’t you at least spy on him?”
“He is my master. If he says I can’t know, I can’t know. Besides, he had to rescue you. I know he did what he did because he had no choice.”
Iniru patted Turesobei’s chest and sides while Kurine checked his legs. The others continued holding him down.
Iniru glared at Kurine, and then snapped, “Don’t you think you should be … elsewhere? I don’t think it’s right, you touching him like that.”
“I don’t think you should be touching him at all,” Kurine replied indignantly. “He kissed me.”
“He’s kissed me loads of times.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible,” Kurine said, feeling the inside of his thigh. He wished he was well enough to run away and hide.
“Enough!” Enashoma shouted. “He’s my brother, and I don’t think either of you need to be feeling him up while he’s having a fit! Back off and let me and Lu Bei search.”
Stunned by Enashoma’s uncharacteristic outburst, Iniru and Kurine both backed off. With Kemsu’s help, Enashoma removed Turesobei’s breastplate and jacket.
Lu Bei pulled off Turesobei’s shoes and pinched his own nose. “Nothing here.” Lu Bei then ripped Turesobei’s belt free, and the spell strip fell out. “Aha! Got it.”
“Now what?” Iniru asked.
“We destroy it.”
Narbenu pulled out his knife, and picked up the bamboo strip.
Lu Bei snatched it away from him, peered closely at it, and then groaned. “Curses. Just remembered. Gotta destroy it with magic. Tricky stuff.”
“Why hadn’t he gotten rid of it already?” Iniru asked. “He’d already saved us.”
“I’m betting he was going to cancel it out as soon as he got back here to rest. With a few more minutes, he could’ve done it. Hmm, I bet his wounds are worse than he’s letting on. This is dangerous magic.”
“You’re magical, right?” Enashoma said. “Use your claws.”
“I don’t think that would work.”
Motekeru let go of Turesobei’s shoulders, took the spell strip, popped it into his mouth, and swallowed. He belched a tiny flame and shrugged. “Burned up in the fires of my gut. That should do it. Tasted bad. Going to upset my stomach.”
“I didn’t know you ate!” Zaiporo said.
“I don’t like to, but it’s useful sometimes. I really need to, have for some time now, but I don’t want to.”
“What do you eat?” Zaiporo asked.
“The hearts of Master’s enemies.”
Several of them chuckled, until Lu Bei said, “Not a joke.”
Everyone went silent and looked away from Motekeru.
Turesobei’s convulsions stopped. But the pain, from his skin down into his bones, was extreme, and the pounding in his head hurt worse than when the reitsu had hammered his broken arm. He leaned over and spat up blood.
“Sobei?” Shoma exclaimed with worry.
“I’ll … be … okay … lungs bleeding a bit … I’ll … survive.”
Shaman Eira arrived in her cloak of black feathers. She knelt and tut-tutted loudly as she moved her hands over him. “Don’t know what he did, but his spirit is more depleted than when he arrived. Nearly gone. Almost nothing left.”
“Chonda Turesobei!” Enashoma nearly shouted. “How could you?! I know what kenja depletion does. I’m … I’m very cross with you.”
“Inexcusable,” Iniru hissed.
“What’s the problem?” Kemsu asked.
“Any time a wizard depletes his inner kenja,” Enashoma explained, “he weakens his organs and drains months, maybe years from his life. If it doesn’t kill him. To drain himself this much …” She clenched her eyes shut. “I hope he hasn’t killed himself.”
Narbenu brought a bowl of water. Kurine took it and held it to Turesobei’s lips. Her face was nearly frozen in shock.
He took several sips of water and lay back. “I had to. Not enough … not enough energy to … stay awake and … to save you all. Couldn’t have … done it … otherwise.”
“But I don’t understand,” Iniru said. “How could you cast a spell to keep yourself awake and active without the spell quitting because you lacked the strength to do anything?”
“Lu Bei … explain it.”
“Fine,” Lu Bei snapped. “Normally, if a wizard overexerts himself with a spell, he passes out. You’ve seen Master Turesobei do that before. With too much drain on internal kenja, the body shuts down to protect itself. A single spell can rip away enough to cause a shutdown, and that can permanently damage organs and strip years from the wizard’s lifespan. I’m sure Master is short quite a few already. If a wizard is already exhausted physically, it gets much harder to cast, and Master’s kenja was already depleted before we set out to rescue you. He could barely stay awake.
“The spell he used on the strip, the spell of relentless need, allows the user to burn internal kenja to keep himself going physically. But there’s a catch. External kenja won’t help. The spell of relentless need can only use internal kenja. Master Turesobei created a loop on the spell strip so that the spell would remain active, even though his body’s natural response should’ve prevented the spell from working. That’s how most wizards use that spell. It’s for extreme emergencies. When using it, a wizard also shouldn’t be casting any other spells at all. But Master did, and that made it doubly dangerous. I don’t know how he managed to, but he did.”
Lu Bei slapped the top of Turesobei’s head.
“Ouch!”
“That’s for hiding what you were doing from me, Master. It was too dangerous.” Lu Bei slapped him again. “And that’s for hiding the spell strip from me. How long have you had that tucked into your belt?”
“Since … came back from Wakaro … sneaked the spell past you. Was worth it. Saved the ones I love.”
Chapter Thirteen
Waves of sharp pain woke Turesobei. He curled into a fetal position and groaned. He peeled his eyes open to a room that was almost entirely dark. A few taps like a fingernail on a window sounded. Pinkish light brightened the room to the level of a few candles. A hand touched his shoulder.
“Pain … I’m in … pain.”
Zaiporo sighed with relief, and sank to his haunches. “Thank the gods. That’s the best thing I’ve heard in a while.”
Turesobei groaned. “This is … good … how?”
“Well, you weren’t feeling anything before. No response. No reflexes.”
“Comatose?”
“Nearly dead. For seven days now.”
Seven?! It seemed nothing more than a blink of an eye to him. Last he remembered was Lu Bei and Shoma scolding him.
“You almost died … twice. Eira revived you the second time by beating on your chest and throwing ashes in your face. She’s been doing all sorts of weird things to keep you going. I doubt most of it works, but apparently some of it does. None of us could do anything, so we just let her do whatever she thought was best. I should go get her now.”
“Water … first.”
Turesobei took a few sips, then curled back up. Zaiporo hurried out of the room. It seemed to Turesobei that Zaiporo was gone for hours. Pain swept through him in waves from head to toe, always pausing at his navel, where the spirit meridians all met, forming his kenja-heart. There, the pain grew so deep it felt like he was being stabbed, slowly and steadily, with the blade being twisted — like a hole was being torn open in him.
Sharp, terrible scents assaulted him suddenly. Pungent herbs, decay, and other foul things. He glanced around. Incense smoldered in burners. Long, gray feathers speckled with blood lay all around him. A thick pigment that smelled of excrement was smeared all over him. Torment’s flames! How had he not noticed that before?
Zaiporo returned with Eira. Iniru and Shoma followed them. Like Zaiporo, they were now dressed in cold weather outfits like Turesobei’s, though Kurine had added decorative stitching to Enashoma’s. He wanted to tease Iniru about how she was puffed out in clothes now, too, but couldn’t manage the strength.
The medicine woman placed her wrist on his head, and then on his neck. She licked his sweat off her wrist, grumbled, and started to pull the covers back.
“Ladies,” Eira said, “if you would please turn away.”
Iniru rolled her eyes, and spun around with Shoma. The medicine woman placed one palm high on his chest and the other on his navel. She chanted a moment, swayed, and then shook her head.
“I have no idea how you survived, but your spirit is renewing, growing stronger every moment.”
“My kavaru,” he muttered in between groans. “The life force in it … keeping me alive … can feel it.”
She held her hand over it and nodded. “Yes, it has been feeding you. Not much, but enough. The fetch is bound to it, yes? That’s why he sleeps.”
“He will … survive so long as … the kavaru … survives.”
Shaman Eira covered Turesobei up, and Shoma stepped over and took his hand. “Are you feeling any better?”
“Body feels like it’s on fire inside and … everything hurts like … you know that feeling … when your arm falls asleep … and you get sharp needle pricks as it wakes up? Like that, but worse, all over and inside.”
“I cannot give you medicine for the pain like I did before,” Eira said. “It would kill you in this stage. You’re just going to have to endure it.”
“Didn’t feel anything … until I woke up.”
“Ah,” Eira said, “my apologies then, for it is Torment you will endure now.”
“How long … to recover?”
“Hard to say … weeks, maybe.”
He nodded and squeezed Shoma’s hand. “You okay?”
“How do I look?” she asked.
“Terrible, but not … as bad as I probably do.”
“You look like a corpse, but I am proud of you, big brother. You said you’d get me through it. You did. Don’t know how, but you did.”
“Got you trapped in … eternal winter, though.”
“I’m alive. We’re all still alive thanks to you.”
He doubled up in pain, and when it abated, he said, “Not all. Awasa.”
Iniru knelt beside him and stroked his brow. “You did everything you could. She was the only one we lost. We fought the Deadly Twelve and won. Even Chonda Lu died fighting them. We fought the yomon, who the Shogakami imprisoned here because they were so dangerous. And we won.”
“Isashiara … Tochibi,” he said.
“Okay, okay — we lost them too,” Iniru admitted. “But you did everything possible. The odds were way against us. But you saved us. You even overcame the Storm Dragon. You may not believe it, but I’m really sorry about what happened to Awasa.”
“You were right … I should’ve forced … her back.”
“That’s on all of us,” Zaiporo said. “Awasa wasn’t strong enough. We all knew it. And the Warlock … if he’d taken his time, I know he would’ve broken me.”
“Could’ve broken any of us … given time,” Turesobei replied. “He took the quickest … route. She didn’t … deserve it. Won’t … forgive myself.”
Iniru kissed his forehead. “Don’t think about it. You just rest for now.”
Chapter Fourteen
Enemy horns blared a note of retreat. The clatter of weapons ceased; the screams of the dying faded. Head spinning, a knot swelling on his head, Turesobei picked himself up from the mud. Fallen friends and slain enemies lay all around. A banner snapped overhead. He looked at the emerald goshawk on a field of gray and sighed with relief. The blood-soaked standard-bearer nodded back grimly. The Chonda Clan wasn’t finished — not yet.
He surveyed the battlefield. His clan of ten thousand now stood but a thousand strong. Forty thousand enemy mercenaries lay dead, their charge broken by Chonda warriors who had sacrificed their lives to save their homeland. Turesobei pulled his blade from the chest of the mercenary warlord. The greater threat was on its way. He’d stopped only the weaker advance force.
A column of the most fearsome knights to ever ride emerged from the pass through the Mountains of the Stars. Behind them marched a hundred thousand spears. The figure that led the knights, Vôl Ultharma, Emperor of Pawan Kor and Lord of the Sun, glowed so bright it was impossible to discern any features beyond his red-gold armor, copper helm, and white cloak. A wave of heat preceded him.
The surviving Chonda bravely formed into their battle lines. Vôl Ultharma’s war cry thundered across the plain, and his cavalry launched into a charge.
Turesobei drew out a spell strip made of bronze with glyphs etched onto it. “Steady! We are Chonda. We bow before no one save the Jade Emperor. This invasion ends here!”
A voice that boomed and sang and whispered all at once entered Turesobei’s mind. “Chonda Lu, greatest of the Kaiaru wizards. We meet at last.”
“I know what you are, Ultharma.”
“Then you know that no one can defeat me. Tengba Ren will be mine. The sacrifice of your people today … it’s meaningless.”
“I know that you can never be slain.” Ultharma’s infantry marched out of the pass and onto the Yundragos Plain. “But I also know that you cannot rule a nation as large as mine without an army, Vôl.”
Vôl Ultharma held his spear above his head and summoned a beam of fire. The beam struck Turesobei in the chest, and he was blown backward, somersaulting through the air. The bronze spell strip fell from his hand.
* * *
A scream tearing from his throat, Turesobei snapped up from his bed of furs.
Lu Bei sped over to him. “Master?”
Turesobei grabbed the fetch by the shoulders. “Ultharma — on the plains — have to stop him!” He fell back, clutching his stomach, and groaned as pain bore through him like a drill. “The bronze spell strip … have to get it.”
Lu Bei’s eyes flared with surprise. “Ultharma? How — how do you know that name?”
“On the battlefield … we have to stop him …”
“Ultharma’s invasion was stopped, master. That
battle was long ago. Before my time. You were badly injured, but you saved the day with a most spectacular spell.” Lu Bei dipped his shoulders and cringed. “I mean, Master Chonda Lu, not you.”
Zaiporo knelt beside him. “Turesobei, are you okay?” He put a hand on Turesobei’s brow. “You’re feverish. Let me get you some water, then I’ll go get Eira.”
“Turesobei … I am … Turesobei.”
“Yes, master,” Lu Bei said. “You’ve had … you’ve had a nightmare. Rest now. Everything is fine.”
Turesobei lay back down, eyes closing from drowsiness — in spite of all the pain.
“I dreamed I was Chonda Lu.”
“I know, master. I know.”
* * *
For days, Turesobei endured continuous pain and feverish nightmares. He dreamt of lost loves, of children dying in his arms, of passing through plague-stricken cities and trying to bring relief to the sick. He dreamt of the weight of too many centuries upon his soul. Many times, he dreamed of fighting a demonic woman who reminded him of Aikonshi, or Awasa when he last saw her with the purple in her eyes and the madness on her face.
Every time he woke up, someone was with him. Zaiporo slept in the room, so he was almost always there, resting and recovering. Enashoma or Iniru visited sometimes in the day, though he saw them less than he would have expected. Kurine came every day, with Narbenu or Eira as a chaperone, and she would stay by his side most of the night. Kurine insisted on feeding him, and he was so exhausted he let her. She dabbed ice across his forehead and sang him lullabies. Her voice was as pure and sweet as any he’d ever heard, but the songs made no sense to him. She often sang herself to sleep, but would wake if he even budged.
Turesobei tried to talk to all of his visitors, but he rarely got out more than a sentence or two before pain or drowsiness overwhelmed him.
As his internal kenja returned, the pain worsened. He had sacrificed years of his life to save his friends. A decade at least, maybe more. Assuming he’d ever live to reach an old age — which was laughable. The way his life was going, he’d be lucky if he reached eighteen. So long as he recovered to his former strength, he’d be grateful for however many years remained to him. He had survived and saved most of his companions, despite the odds piled against him.
Storm Phase Series: Books 1-3 Page 70
