by Travis Bughi
Mako took a deep breath and then let it out in ragged gasps. Her eyes didn’t drip water anymore; she’d cried so much already. With a few more painful breaths, her body steadied enough for her to give Takeo a nod.
“Good,” Takeo said, “and thank you. Now, did the oni or akki take anything? Slaves, equipment, food that you saw?”
Mako shook her head.
“Were there any samurai in the area?” he said. “Did an army pass through recently?”
“Just to collect grain for the war,” she said with a squeaky voice.
“How long ago?”
“A few days, maybe, I think.” Her eyebrows furrowed.
“Okay, now, I need to know how the war is going,” Takeo said. “Last I left, Katsu was waging war with Jiro Hanu. The boundary between their territories was not far from here. Have you heard anything since then?”
“I’ve heard many things,” Mako said, her voice suddenly going low, “all of them bad for Hanu. The stories vary with each traveler. Some say Hanu is considering bowing to Katsu; others say he has developed a secret tactic that will bring him victory. Sometimes I hear stories that he has gone mad and sworn he will never bow to Katsu until all his men are dead. No matter which version, though, the word is that he’s doing poorly. Katsu is slaughtering him.”
“And Xuan Nguyen?” Takeo asked.
“She sits up on her mountain, same as always. People joke that she plans to outlive them, or that she thinks Katsu will leave her alone once he’s finished with Hanu.”
“Hanu and Nguyen haven’t joined forces to oppose Katsu, yet?” Takeo asked, surprise in his voice.
Mako shook her head.
“The pride of a shogun,” Takeo sighed and lowered his chin. “Okay now, what about Lei Gao? Do you know what happened to Lei? Where is he?”
Mako blinked, but then a look of understanding came over her face.
“Lei,” she repeated, the word sounding unfamiliar in her voice. “I think I remember him. Wasn’t he your friend? He had a widow’s peak?”
Takeo nodded. “Yes, him.”
“He’s been gone for a while,” Mako said. “I don’t know where he went. My parents wouldn’t let me associate with him. He was . . .”
“A peasant, I know,” Takeo said. “Did you hear any rumors? Surely your Father must have said something. He knew when new people arrived and old ones left. Please, think hard.”
Mako pursed her lips and stared at the floor again. A few moments passed by, and Emily went back to whittling her arrows. When there was a nice stack cut, she began to fletch them, using what material she’d gathered from the village, and then set them aside for her quiver. A quick count of what she’d made brought her to twenty arrows. A nice number, she thought, though dreadfully short in a land so marred by violence. She would do better to find a katana or practice with her knife.
“He didn’t die. I know that,” Mako said finally. “He just ran away. I think my Father made a comment about ninjas, but that might have been someone else. He always said that, though. He would always tell me . . . oh . . . Father.”
Mako’s head drooped, and Emily prepared to hear another cry of anguish. Mako gave none, though, and instead just hung her head with eyes closed. She began to hiccup.
“Thank you, Mako,” Takeo said. “Trust me that was helpful. Okamoto would have been proud.”
“You’re going to leave me now, aren’t you?” she asked.
Her voice was steady when she said those words, not a drop of hesitation, but she’d said them so quickly that Emily had to think twice to be sure she’d said them at all. Emily looked to Takeo and opened her mouth to say something, but then thought better and stayed quiet.
She wanted to tell Takeo there was no way they could leave this poor girl here. She was frightened and alone, just having witnessed the death of both her parents. Emily could imagine such a tragedy, could even sympathize with Mako, but she did not want to. Just the thought alone brought a sharp pain to her heart, and seeing Mako made Emily feel that sharp pain, brutally real.
But another part of her realized they could not bring her. Emily did not know where they were headed, but she could safely assume it was nowhere good. They had a task to fulfill, a dark and dangerous one. They needed secrecy, mobility, and any other advantage they could possibly think of. Were Mako a samurai, or another warrior of some kind, Emily would have her follow along in a heartbeat. However, what Emily saw was nothing of the sort. When Emily looked upon Mako, she saw a child who was scared, alone, and in need of tending—a care they could not give.
Takeo never took his eyes from Mako. They shared a long stare, something that irked Emily for reasons unknown, and then Takeo spoke.
“Yes.”
Mako sighed, long and deep, before looking away.
“I understand,” she whispered.
“The village here will help you,” Takeo said. “You know they will. And remember not to mention my name. I’m dead to you.”
“I know,” she repeated. “I know.”
“Good luck to you,” he added, rising to his feet.
“And to you,” she muttered.
Takeo turned his back and walked across the room towards the door. As he passed through it, Emily went to follow but turned to look at Mako once more. Their eyes met, and suddenly Emily felt compelled to speak.
“It was nice meeting you,” Emily said, her voice forcing geniality.
“You, too,” Mako responded, her voice lacking strength.
Throat dry, Emily left the house. Outside, Takeo was already making a beeline north, through the village, headed directly towards the woods. Emily had to sprint to catch up to him.
“Hey!” she called out. “I want you to know I think you did the right thing.”
He shook his head. “No, I didn’t. What I did wasn’t right. It was only less wrong.”
“Either way,” Emily pressed, “I’m sure she understands.”
“I hope so,” Takeo replied.
Chapter 7
They trudged through the village, heading directly north toward the outskirts of the village. Takeo stopped only to gather a pack of smoked meat hanging outside a burnt home. Emily had to skip to keep up. The few villagers in their path scattered, parting to either side and bowing their heads low. Takeo didn’t as much as glance their way.
Emily, though, couldn’t help but gape at the villagers who had been avoiding her ever since she’d rescued them. At first she thought it was because they were mourning, but then she realized they bowed lower when her eyes fell on them, as if to avert their gaze. In a way, it would have seemed respectful if fear hadn’t marred their faces. What are they afraid of? she wondered. She and Takeo had saved them, after all. Weren’t they thankful? They ought to be. Emily had never met people who feared their saviors. She wondered if it was because she was a foreigner, but dashed that thought. They gazed upon Takeo with the same mix of awe and terror, and for a moment it flabbergasted her.
The two parted the cowed villagers and broke through the vines that dictated the village’s boundary. The smell of smoke and blood began to fade as the heavy aroma of flowers and pollen saturated the air. Emily’s nostrils were assaulted, and she sneezed.
“Takeo?” Emily asked, wiping her nose.
He glanced at her but did not slow his pace.
“The villagers,” she started, “they looked afraid. Why are they afraid of us?”
“I’m a ronin,” he said flatly, “and as far as they can tell, you’re a foreign sellsword.”
“You’re—I’m—what are we?” she asked.
“You’re a sellsword: someone who fights for money. Shoguns don’t use them; they’re often extremely disloyal. Samurai are considered much more dependable because we have ancient bonds and are sworn to die for our lords. Sellswords only fight so long as they profit, so only those with money but no loyal soldiers hire them. They’re called mercenaries in Savara and are a bit rare in Juatwa, but not unheard of. Villages and merchants
need protectors, too, and samurai are only sworn to daimyo lords. It’s another way the commoners survive.”
Like the ogres and minotaurs in Lucifan, and like gunslingers, she thought. She hadn’t known there would be so many names for the same thing.
“And what’s a ronin?”
“A samurai who serves no lord,” Takeo said darkly. “They saw me traveling alone with you in the middle of a war, and they know that means I’m wandering. Only ronin wander.”
“You make that sound terrible,” Emily replied.
Takeo’s rapid pace came to an abrupt stop when they came upon a small stream. They both paused and stopped to drink from it. The water was lukewarm, and Emily was thankful for that. She still disliked the numbing feeling of cold water.
“Samurai only become ronin by being dishonored,” Takeo explained. “It means I either ran from combat or disobeyed my lord. Either one is considered cowardice of the greatest kind. The people ran from me because they see me as an unshackled beast, a chaotic creature without morals or ideals. In their minds, I could, at any moment, unsheathe my katana and slay them, though I’ve never heard of any ronin doing that. As for you? Well, they only consider you slightly safer than me.”
Takeo turned to Emily and gave her a faint and ironic smirk. Emily brushed a strand of hair away from her face and gazed back aghast.
“So we’re dangerous thugs? Even though we saved them?”
“In Juatwa, that’s more common than it sounds,” Takeo said. “War can be a profitable business for the wicked. Those people we just saved are likely sighing in relief that we didn’t extort them after driving the oni off.”
Emily sighed and rolled her eyes. She could scarcely believe it. She’d come here to slay a monster and yet was somehow the enemy. It seemed horrendously wrong and unfair.
“I thought we were going to try and keep our heads down?” Emily asked. “The way you make it sound, we’re likely to make a scene everywhere we go.”
He nodded. “True, true, but they’ll never know who we are. Did you notice that no one spoke to you? You likely thought they were busy mourning, am I right?”
Emily gave a reluctant nod.
“Well, now you know the real reason they avoided you,” Takeo said, “and that kind of stealth is difficult to mimic. A samurai and an amazon traveling together? That’s curious indeed. A ronin and a sellsword, though? We’ll be forgotten as soon as our backs are turned.”
Emily rinsed her hands in the stream and frowned in understanding. What Takeo said made sense to her, and although he made it sound positive, it was less than ideal. There was nothing she could do about it, though. She did not have the time or the patience required to break cultural stigmas. The two of them rose up and drove onward into the forest.
Around them, the blooming, marshy forest of Juatwa continued to protest to Emily that it was indeed beautiful. Bright pink and purple petals covered long, lush, green vines hanging from trees that twisted as if frozen in a dance. The wet, fertile ground was perpetually covered in a mossy carpet that gently supported Emily’s every step. They passed several streams after the first, each one littered with smooth, rounded rocks that were gentle and soothing to the touch. The air continued to remain just thick enough to ward off any chill, and the trees let in just enough light to make the botanical painting before her shine with pleasant radiance.
It was enough to take her breath away.
“Your home is beautiful,” Emily said, unable to suppress her awe any longer.
Takeo glanced at her and appeared about to reply, but then stopped and looked ahead again.
“I mean the landscape,” Emily continued, fearing she’d offended him, “not the war. It’s just, all these colors—it’s like a painting. I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“I know what you meant,” he said.
“I mean, in the Great Plains,” she pressed on, “all I ever saw was yellow grass, brown dirt, and blue skies. Sometimes there was red when my father’s old farm tools rusted, but they rarely sat idle long enough for that. The Forest of Angor was green, but I’ve seen nothing else except brown dirt and grey stone. Themiscyra didn’t have this much color, either, despite the flowers and fruit trees I saw there. I mean, it’s just, it’s all so beautiful. It makes me wonder how anyone could want to fight in place like this.”
“I know,” Takeo said in a low voice. “I know. I agree with you, with all of it. It’s a tragedy I’ve never been able to comprehend. In Savara, I saw nothing but yellow sand and whitewashed stone. Well, that and red blood. There was plenty of that in Savara. When Okamoto brought us back, I was overcome with awe. It took everything I had not to mention it to him. He would have seen such a question as a lack of focus. But I do know what you mean. I’ve seen colors here in Juatwa I’ve never seen elsewhere. I’m not just talking about the forest either.”
He stopped and took in a deep breath of the lush aroma.
“East of here,” he pointed, “the forest ends and we come to the plains of Juatwa. That’s where Katsu rules, and it is just as beautiful as this forest. It isn’t like the Great Plains. These plains are moss green and covered in flowers. There are entire fields of nothing but flowers, ranging from orange to purple, pink to blue. You can lie down in them and look up at the sky, seeing deep blue surrounded by petals.
“Northwest of here, we come to the foothills, the land of Xuan Nguyen, the Old Woman of the Mountain, and that’s the last area of Juatwa before one reaches the Khaz Mal Mountains. Even those foothills have their own beauty. The hills are covered in short, green-yellow grass and moss-covered stones. Trees with yellow and orange leaves dot the place, and rice fields like tranquil pools frame the white-tipped, snow-covered Khaz Mal Mountains—a magnificent background. I’ve noticed it all, and I just can’t help but shake my head.”
Emily blinked, realizing her eyes had gone dry while she stared wide-eyed at Takeo, picturing the scene he had described to her. She took a deep breath and found the forest’s aroma no longer bothered her as it had before.
“You make it all sound so wonderful,” she said. “So why does it make you shake your head?”
He frowned. “Because it’s all a lie. It’s a sham Juatwa throws up to hide its hideous soul. I believe real beauty comes from within, and Juatwa has been rotting for longer than anyone alive can remember. Those trees there, the ones with all the flowers? They look lovely, sure, but I guarantee there’s at least one long-buried corpse feeding each one. That field of flowers I mentioned? They are lush from the blood of men. Every stream we have passed and every stream we will pass has at one point in time run red. Every garden you see is just a mask for a graveyard that marks a battlefield. It’s a truth that should make me sick, but instead I just shake my head.”
Takeo looked out into the woods and shook his head ever so slightly. He touched a hand to his sword hilt, fingers running from the pommel to the guard, and Emily knew that he was unconsciously seeking comfort. She did that, too, on occasion. Her bow had once been her constant companion—her old amazon bow, not the shoddy hunter’s bow made of plain wood she carried now—and it was a rare moment when a simple touch couldn’t calm her heart. She touched her knife this time, feeling the itch to do so only after hearing the anguish in Takeo’s voice. He saw her do it, and they exchanged a look that Emily found equally comforting.
She spoke with her eyes when she looked at him.
I understand.
He smiled.
“I guess it could be worse,” he said. “We could be in Savara.”
“Ha! Good point!” Emily agreed. “That will be my line for everything from now on, I think. Oh, hey, we’re dead? Could be worse. We could be in Savara.”
Takeo’s smile broadened, and together they continued their travels north. Emily never asked where they were headed. She already knew.
* * *
That night, they took shelter within a dense collection of trees. Neither of them wanted to sleep on the ground, both because neit
her of them had bedrolls and because they didn’t want to take turns taking watch. They were exhausted and so used the fading light to climb a tree with large enough branches to support them. They hoisted themselves up into it, braced themselves as best they could, and settled in for a rather uncomfortable night of sleep. Despite this, Emily was looking forward to the experience until the bark bit into her back, and she found a sudden and unwelcome sense of alertness fall upon her. After a few moments of trying to subdue her active mind into unconsciousness, she looked for assistance from Takeo.
“How long until we reach your friend, Lei?” she asked.
“Should be there tomorrow,” Takeo murmured to the sky, head tilted back against the tree trunk. “It’s been awhile since I was last there.”
“This place being where the ninjas are?” she asked.
Takeo gave a hum of acknowledgement. Emily shuffled against the tree. She’d found a spot where two branches grew alongside each other before spanning out, and she was using that to rest her legs and keep her upper body propped up. To her left, Takeo’s arm brushed against hers, and the touch of heat was comforting. She suddenly wished for a blanket. The night air was promising a slight chill.
“Takeo,” she whispered.
“Hm?” he grunted.
“How do you know Lei became a ninja? And what is a ninja?”
Takeo breathed in deeply, and his eyes fluttered open. He dropped his head and rolled it to look at her out of the corner of his eye.
“That’s not a short answer,” he said, then sighed and continued when she shrugged. “Alright, well which do you want to hear first?”
“What a ninja is,” Emily answered, “and you know, just once I’d like to know what something is before I hear of it.”
“Interesting, tell me, how would you manage that?”
Emily blinked, realizing the contradiction. Takeo smirked.
