Emily's Saga

by Travis Bughi

  It was a gift, wasn’t it? Surely it must be. Quartus had given it to her, along with his life, the weapon he knew she’d need to defeat the foes before her. But if that was so, then why hadn’t he told her about it? Just one line would have been enough.

  “Emily, you have control of my colossi now,” would have been all he’d needed say, but he hadn’t.

  Maybe he hadn’t known. No angel had ever given their life to another, so maybe he hadn’t known she would wield the power he left behind. She could ponder this forever, she realized, but it would change nothing. She was here now, in Juatwa, about to fight a war that could decide the fate of the world.

  I should have commanded that colossus sooner, she cursed again.

  They marched for hours and ate and drank on the move. The army was not permitted to stop, not even to allow its soldiers to relieve themselves, and Emily had to run back to her spot in line after finding a shrub to do so. The dust they churned up filled the air and drew in the heat, and Emily coughed and covered her mouth with the inside of her elbow. She frowned at that, realizing that the only discomfort Juatwa had ever dealt her was at the hands of the humans who lived here. It seemed the fate of all such beauty and tranquility to be marred by war.

  “Takeo.” She tapped his shoulder. “You remember how I said I dislike Juatwa’s pleasantness? I think I’ve changed my mind.”

  “That’s just the pre-battle nervousness talking,” he called back to her over the clatter of leather and metal. “You’re looking for a distraction. Once this is over and you see how the flowers grow over corpses, you’ll realize just how much Juatwa loves death.”

  She felt no urge to argue. He might well be right.

  “What’s going to happen?” she called to him again, unwilling to be left with her own empty thoughts. “When we get there, what will happen?”

  “Well, we’re at the back of the army. That’s why the dust is so bad. The battle will start long before we’re a part of it—you’ll hear the screams of warfare before we’re ever in danger. A short time after that, Katsu’s men will be sent to flank us and head off our retreat. Then they will engage us directly, and the only thing you’ll know is blood for the rest of the day.”

  “Am I allowed to be scared?” she asked.

  “Only if there are no komainu charging us,” Takeo said, “and only if your aim is unaffected by your fear. Are you frightened?”

  “No,” she said, honestly, “but it scares me that I’m not.”

  “That is also allowed.”

  Half the day had passed by the time the forest thinned and the ground sloped into a shallow valley. As the army flowed into it, Emily glimpsed over the countless heads the battleground that Fudo had drawn on an empty table.

  Directly ahead was a huge swath of green, grassy plains that ran out as far as the eye could see. The forest ended along a tiny stream that ran mostly east and west to Emily’s left. To her right, and still at least an hour’s march away, were the shallow slopes of a small mountain that seemed to jut up from the plains with little regard for how odd it looked. What this created was a huge field that could and would house a hundred thousand bodies.

  The first half had already arrived. Emily’s jaw dropped as she saw in the distance another army that mirrored the one she was in. Lines upon lines of blurry figures carrying blue flags waited patiently as Lord Jiro’s army descended into the valley of death, trampling the green grass flat. It had taken so long for the scene to come into view that those at the head of Lord Jiro’s army were already in position, just a short charge away from Katsu’s. Emily and Takeo would likely be among the last to file into place.

  “So, this is what seventy thousand people looks like,” she said. “All of this so only one of two people can die.”

  The clanking of armor drowned out her words, but it was enough to have said them out loud. The insanity of it all struck deep into her heart, and she felt numb.

  She shook her head. How can this be normal to these people? In Lucifan, she’d changed the city’s fate with no more than a squad of knights and two minotaurs. Fewer than half of them had died in that exchange, but Emily, knowing she had instigated the revolt, had shouldered the burden of guilt for their deaths.

  Now, though, in the midst of this field, Emily saw just how naive she had always been. More people will die today, she realized, than I will ever know in my life. And she would contribute.

  An urge struck her to end this madness here and now. A sudden plan came to her to find the young boy they were guarding, steal his komainu, and then charge headlong into Katsu’s army to find that shogun and put an arrow through his heart. Her own safety became trivial at the thought of stopping so much suffering, but she knew this was only a fantasy. She wouldn’t make it to the komainu, and even if she did, it probably wouldn’t follow her directions, and she’d be killed long before she found Katsu in that mass of bodies.

  She felt hopeless and powerless, which made her laugh because just this morning she’d felt more powerful than she’d ever imagined.

  “Are you alright?” Takeo asked.

  “No.” She frowned.

  He frowned, too. “Sorry, that was stupid. Of course you aren’t alright. Can you hold together?”

  “Yes.”

  They spoke no more as they filed down into the valley. Emily’s vision once more became restricted to the soldiers surrounding her and Fudo and the young imposter riding their komainu at the head of their group. After marching for what seemed like eternity, they came to a stop, and silence fell upon them.

  “What do we do now?” Emily asked.

  “We wait,” Takeo replied. “We’ll be waiting awhile.”

  A light breeze picked up now that they were free of the trees, and it was strong enough to brush the heat from Emily’s skin. It was soothing, to say the least, and were it not for the adrenaline rushing strongly through her veins, Emily would have yawned.

  “What’s happening?” she whispered.

  “Lord Jiro and Lord Katsu will speak first,” Takeo whispered back to her over his shoulder. “They’ll meet in the center of the field and speak to each other cordially. Each will request the other to surrender, exchange colorful insults, and then agree to battle. After they’ve returned to their lines, Lord Katsu’s horns will sound, signaling his men to charge. After that, we’ll hear yelling, lots of it, and I hope you’ll keep an ear open for anything behind you.”

  Emily turned around and looked behind her. She couldn’t see the end of the army through the mass of standing soldiers, but somehow she knew it wasn’t too far back there. A feeling of entrapment clasped her heart and weakened her legs.

  Then there was a horn, sounding clear on the wind—one huge, long blow that touched Emily’s ears and stole her breath. When it subsided, the thunderous tone of thousands screaming echoed all around her.

  And then the men around her were screaming, and she screamed with them, a brief period of frantic yelling that died out nearly as quickly as it came. She hadn’t moved at all, yet her heart was pounding in her chest, and sweat made her vest stick to her skin.

  “Emily,” Takeo whispered.

  “Yes?” Her voice quivered.

  “When they come, remember that they are not men,” he said. “They are oni in mortal form. They will not show you mercy. That is not the samurai way. Show them none in return, and you will survive.”

  Emily nodded. “I understand.”

  “And Emily?”

  “Hm?”

  “Watch my back, please,” he said. “I need you.”

  “As do I.”

  It seemed ages later that the thunder of footsteps came from behind them, but when they did, Fudo’s men were prepared. They turned and faced the foe Emily could not see, and she traded places with Takeo. The monstrous chorus of screams was swallowed by the rise of individuals yelling as they charged. Still Emily could see no one, and though she cursed her shortness, she trusted her ears.

  The voices grew louder, and
the screams divided between those dying and those yelling war cries. Takeo drew his katana, and Emily drew her bow, nocking an arrow to the string.

  Chapter 26

  The first wave crashed into Fudo’s lines with a clamor of metal and screams. She heard the harrowing yells of half-mad men, combined with wretched cries of pain and agony, mixed with sharp crashes of steel on steel. All around Emily, samurai and soldiers drew weapons and readied themselves and pressed in tightly, as if eager to get closer to the fray. Many began to shout or cheer.

  As the weight of their bodies pressed in, she realized she wouldn’t be able to draw her bow. Frantically, she pulled the arrow off the string and reached to put it away. Takeo caught her movements out of the corner of his eye and stopped her.

  “No, don’t. You’ll need it,” he said.

  “I can’t even draw.”

  “You’ll have room enough, trust me. I’ve seen you use it. Please, for my sake.”

  She swallowed with a dry throat and nodded, putting the arrow back to the string.

  The screams grew louder, and then Emily saw a flash as a katana twirled up into the air, a severed hand still gripping it, before falling back into the crowd.

  How far away was that? Twenty paces?

  If the fight was approaching them, didn’t that mean they were losing? How were battles fought? Did the armies line up and fight one by one, or did they intertwine?

  Breathe, damn it! Breathe!

  More screams and then a spray of blood, bright red and sparkling in the midday sun, was splashed up into the air. Emily dared to stand on her tiptoes, one hand on Takeo’s shoulder, to get a look. She saw between many heads the flash of faces and swords. The screams were close now, and the yelling, so close they drowned out the pounding of her heart, and Takeo settled into a forward stance.

  There was space. Slowly, but surely, small gaps were beginning to form in front of Takeo, and he moved to fill them. All around, more space opened up, and men began to cry out and shout and chant, and Emily’s hands shook.

  And then through the mass of bodies came a samurai, barreling down between Fudo’s men, slicing them apart with broad strokes of his katana. His face was red, dripping blood from his nose, and his queue flew wildly as he screamed and hacked. With every strike, he yelled, his eyes ablaze with a terrible fury.

  Screaming with mouth wide open, he hacked down one, two—three men in three strokes. He was close enough for Emily to shoot, but she could not aim because Takeo was in the way. The enemy samurai hacked down another and another, bellowing in rage, leading a host directly behind him. Emily’s bowels loosened, and her tongue grew thick in her mouth. Just ahead of Takeo, a man yelled and charged in return, but he fell to a single merciless slash.

  Then the enemy set his sights on Takeo, and the faintest flicker of recognition and astonishment flew across his face. He died with that expression, too, for not even Emily saw the flash as Takeo slit the man’s throat. Blood sprayed from the new gap, and the wild man crashed to ground, covering the corpses he’d made with his own sword.

  And then Takeo was free, bounding ahead with katana raised high against the countless samurai behind the one he’d killed. Next to him, all around, Fudo’s men cheered and screamed and shouted and charged. Emily found the room she needed and drew her bow. She let the madness of it all take her.

  Takeo leapt and sliced into the next man without pause, splitting open the crack in the man’s laminar armor and sending his guts flying. The man let loose a horrendous scream and collapsed, kicking and crying out, and one of Fudo’s men put an end to his cries with a spear to the throat. Takeo never bothered to stop. Before that one hit the ground, he’d sent two more into Juatwa’s warm embrace. All around him, Fudo’s men were charging, slicing into the foe that had come to meet them, and Emily pulled her string back.

  Emily found her first target. The man came screaming and bloody, katana raised in his one good arm, as he set his sights on Takeo. Emily never saw why the man was bleeding, though, because he disappeared once her arrow found his throat.

  Instincts took over, and another arrow was nocked without thought. She found another foe, calm as the eye of a storm as he hacked down one of Fudo’s men; he died with a look of surprise when an arrow appeared in his heart. Her attention swept back to Takeo as the samurai hurled himself further into the enemy lines, swinging his katana left and right like a farmer reaping wheat, scattering corpses all around him. He neither screamed nor shouted, and Emily lost herself for a moment watching him until another foe came to hack Takeo down, this one from behind him. Emily put an arrow into that one’s spine, sending him toppling to the ground.

  She heard a cry and looked right to see a broad-shouldered samurai standing over Gan. Emily’s arrow saved the young boy’s life, but Gan continued to scream when the corpse fell onto him.

  “Get up!” she yelled at him. “GET UP!”

  Her throat had gone dry as sand. She felt so horribly thirsty that it hurt to breathe, and screaming at Gan had caused acid to boil up from her stomach. She swallowed it down as best she could, ignored both the burning and Gan trying frantically to kick himself free, and drew another arrow.

  Her eye searched for and found Takeo still leading the wedge of Fudo’s men into the throng of battle. His laminar armor glistened red, and his katana sent streams of red into the air with every swing. His helmet was gone, and his hair was loose, too short to be bound, and swayed with his every move, following him like a shadow, and Emily again felt lost for a moment until the next scream caught her attention.

  Someone was yelling and charging her, katana raised high, red drool hanging from his chin. The arrow she released passed clean through his neck and into the crowd behind him as the man crashed and slid on the dirt before her. Another arrow was at her string before he came to a stop.

  She leapt forward. The battle was moving, and she was being left behind. Fudo’s men eagerly followed Takeo’s ferocious drive into the enemy. Emily did not hesitate to follow, too, and tried simultaneously to keep near her allies and to maintain a clean view of Takeo.

  The samurai was a herald of destruction. His katana moved so quickly that Emily never saw the cuts it made until its victims cried out in anguish. He was so sure of his strikes that those few who did not die immediately before him were left broken behind him to be silenced by one of Fudo’s men. Rarely, a foe would parry his first blow, but Takeo was never surprised nor caught off guard, and the second strike ended whatever short duel could have started. Emily kept her eyes focused and her mind sharp, and when Takeo went too deep or Fudo’s men lagged, her arrow was a heartbeat away to save the samurai the trouble of defending his flanks.

  One enemy down, then another and another and another, and Emily’s fingers were turning red as she held the string of her bow to her cheek. Her hands were slick with sweat, and the string had once slapped her wrist as it had sent an arrow flying on its message of death, but she hardly noticed. Her blood rushed to every corner of her body, and she breathed in such short breaths that her lips never closed. She tried to keep track of her arrows, but for once in her life, she lost count. Despair gripped her, and she froze in fear for a moment before the screams and ring of metal shook her free. Two more arrows, two more corpses, and Takeo stopped his relentless push.

  The samurai faced a wall of foes too thick to cut through. He found swords on every side and desperately parried those he could. One found his left thigh and jabbed a hole into his laminar armor, making him stumble and shout. Emily’s bow thumped twice, only a pace behind her heart, and sent four arrows to Takeo’s aid. One fell dead, two faltered and took a knee, and one stumbled as his helmet took a nasty dent. Those last three joined the first as Takeo’s katana swept over them.

  The moment they were gone, though, five more took their place, and Takeo backpedaled to put Fudo’s men to his sides. Emily halted, and other allies stepped backwards into her. She tried to keep her bow drawn, but she was being pressed from both sides by th
ose retreating and those wishing to advance. They still shouted, nearly all of them, yelling and crying out their rage and pain. Amongst them, she heard the deep, rumbling roar of something far from human.

  She looked right, dread in her heart, and saw an oni cleaving through Katsu’s ranks, which both shocked and relieved her. The hideous creature was wielding a kanabo with a wicked grin on its face, swinging with full might from side to side, sending piles of human bodies spiraling into the air. Against such brutality, their laminar armor was hopelessly ineffective, and their ranks were too closely packed to avoid annihilation. The victims’ screams were terrifying, and the oni only roared with laughter in return, its eyes going wild with passion. Emily struggled against the urge to send an arrow into the creature’s skull, so fierce were her sudden feelings of hatred. How dare it enjoy this? How could anyone enjoy this insanity?

  Her eyes became wet, and she cursed herself for allowing her thoughts to wander, if even for a second.

  They are not men. They will not show you mercy. That is not the samurai way. They are not men. They are not men!

  An arrow was in her hand again and drawn to her string, but she did not feel it when it slid along her cheek and buried itself into another member of Katsu’s army. Neither did she feel the next arrow touch her cheek, and only once the bow was drawn did she remember to think.

  Takeo was getting closer to her, trying to hold his ground, but every ally that died beside him exposed another area to watch. The samurai directly in front of him were avoiding him, watching his eyes as he parried and only daring to lash out when they thought he was distracted. Emily’s arrows took them completely unaware. But then her hand reached up to her quiver, and an icy chill ran down her spine as her fingers slid through open air before grasping another arrow.

  “No, please, I need more.” The words formed at her lips, but her dry throat choked them.

  The knife bounced at her hip, providing a small comfort in this sea of horror as it clapped against her, suddenly heavy, as if signaling to her how eager it was to join the madness. It wanted flesh and death, and she cursed it, telling it to be silent. The dagger cried out in return, weeping that it had but one purpose in life, and that the two of them had been wed through blood. Its only desire was to renew their vows.