Emily's Saga

by Travis Bughi

  “Shut up!” she screamed, and sent another arrow to save Takeo from harm.

  From out of the chaos, Gan appeared at her side. He was remarkably clean and seemingly unharmed. His fingers gripped her arm, the one she used to pull, and tugged.

  “We have to fall back!” he begged.

  She pulled her arm loose from his grip, ignored his words, and searched for another target.

  “Emily! Did you hear me?” He grabbed her arm again, his eyes wet with tears. “Fall back!”

  She’d nearly released the arrow when he tugged on her, and a flood of anger swept through her clouded mind. She released the tension on the string, holding the bow and arrow in one hand, then pulled her free hand back and slapped Gan in the face so hard his head snapped to the side.

  “Fall back, then!” she bellowed.

  Gan stumbled back, one hand on his bright red cheek, the other feebly grasping his bloodless katana.

  Go peel potatoes, she scowled, you useless coward.

  For all she knew, Gan heard her thoughts, for he took one look at her face and went stumbling away into Fudo’s ranks.

  And then she saw Fudo, riding atop a komainu with one hand on the reins and another wielding his katana like a flag. It was red, dripping blood down Fudo’s arm, and his hand glistened in the sunlight. He was swinging it around in spirals and shouting. What words he was saying, she could not understand, until a brief pause in the clamor and screams let two words fall on her ears.

  “Fall back!” he shouted, and his mouth mimicked the words a second time, but the clamor had returned, and Emily did not hear them.

  She turned back to look for Takeo and found him less than a pace away from her. In the turmoil, she hadn’t realized that others had heard Gan’s words and were stepping back. She was only one body away from the front lines, and a host of enemy katanas were a moment away from descending upon her.

  It is time, her dagger called. Feed me, it cooed.

  She fired one last arrow, piercing another throat, before she slung the bow over body. It was too precious to be abandoned. Takeo stepped beside her, grabbing a katana from a corpse and thrusting it into her hands.

  “Here!” he commanded. “Use it!”

  The stolen katana was caked with blood and dirt, but she did not drop it. It leapt to her left hand as she drew her knife with her right, and she took another step back with Takeo.

  Before her was a wall of fury. Katanas drawn and leveled at every point, held by hands gripped tightly, possessed by faces too many to count. She saw eyes both brown and black, noses both large and small, and cheeks both pudgy and gaunt. She saw people, all of them bent on killing her and everyone around her.

  They are not men. They will not show you mercy.

  The first bellowed and leapt at her, wild and possessed, swinging with a frantic might. She twisted only a hand’s width to dodge and thrust the katana between the plates that protected his guts. He went down, screaming, and no one came to finish him off. Another foe stepped over him and then lashed out with a thrust meant for her belly. She batted it away and made a feinting strike to send him back. Beside her, Takeo cut another down and then took a step back. She followed, risked a glance over her shoulder, and realized Fudo’s lines were still retreating.

  Had they really come that far? How could they still be moving back?

  Her attention was forced to the front as the one who’d thrust at her tried to take advantage of her split attention. He leapt forward and brought his katana sweeping sideways again to open her midsection. She barely got her katana in the way, forcing the strike to blunt against her own steel, and then thrust the knife up under his chin. It went in quick and came out quicker, and the man dropped without as much as a whimper.

  His replacement appeared before Emily could exhale, and rows upon rows awaited to replace each other behind him.

  So many. She shivered despite the sweat dripping down her chest. There are so many.

  They went back another step, and Emily’s back touched an ally. Her spine jolted with shock, and she gasped as those before her closed the gap. Takeo struck down another two, his katana reaping a whirlwind that seemed to personify death itself. Those before him dared not charge so confidently, and a reluctant stalemate formed between him and those he could reach. Emily, beside him, found herself the next victim of the wanton violence.

  A hailstorm of three katanas descended upon her. One was parried by Takeo, one by her, and the other she barely dodged, feeling a tug at her hair as it swept by, and the blood in her veins tensed as her heart stopped and then thundered in her chest. She lunged with the katana, and though her attack struck nothing, it did make her assailants warier.

  A sparring match began, one where death was the only outcome. Before them, their foes hesitated and made probing attacks, and Takeo and Emily responded with quick and efficient counters. Emily had to dig her heels into the dirt because her allies seemed to be constantly pushing her towards the enemy. She felt jabs from elbows, pushes at her back, and a more-than-frequent shuffle of feet across her ankles. There was a moment to breathe, thankfully, however short, and Emily heard screams and the ringing of metal behind her.

  She risked a glance over her shoulder and felt a stab of fear when she saw Fudo, still mounted atop his komainu, fighting with a foe she could not see no more than ten ranks behind her.

  No, she begged. They are among us!

  Her fear made her sluggish, and her return to focus nearly cost her life when one of the samurai took a lunge for her. Takeo was there, however, and he batted the attack aside.

  “Emily!” he yelled.

  She snapped back and held up both weapons. Another parry, another attack—she seemed to be eternally locked in combat. Her arms were tired, her fingers sore, and her throat dry and cracked. The ground was sticky and wet, and the blood on her hands was beginning to harden in the heat of the sun.

  I can’t take much more, she realized.

  But she had to. The fight wasn’t over. One lapse in judgment would mean her life. They would show her no mercy. They are not men.

  An inhuman roar split the sky, this one fast approaching them, and for a moment Emily felt the odd feeling of simultaneous dread and relief. She searched for the oni that must be heading towards them, but no giant, red creature was visible. The roar sounded again, and an icy chill swept over her as she realized that this was not a roar she recognized. It was far more feral than an oni’s.

  The enemy ranks suddenly thinned without explanation, as if pulled away from behind, and Emily saw more foes mounted high above the others coming towards her and Takeo. She could not see what they were riding, but she did not need to see them to know.

  “Komainu!” someone behind them shouted.

  Chapter 27

  They appeared all along the enemy line, divided up with one every ten paces headed straight for Fudo’s ranks. Emily only had a brief glance at this before one such monstrosity burst through Katsu’s men to come barreling toward them.

  It roared as it broke free, bellowing with a voice so strong and deep that Emily’s chest vibrated. Its mouth was agape and its tongue was rolling out and scattering drool everywhere as it charged hungrily for Fudo’s men. The samurai mounted atop it was spurring the creature onwards with vicious kicks to its side, and the katana in his hand flashed in the sun. Huge, powerful muscles expanded all over the komainu’s massive body as it flexed and pushed, bounding in to wreak havoc upon Fudo’s warriors.

  And Emily and Takeo were in the way.

  Takeo gave Emily a shove that was little more than a nudge, but she took the hint and dived along with him out of the way, each splitting off to one side and hitting the dirt. The komainu barreled through them, crashing into the rows of samurai with a final vicious snarl before filling its mouth with human flesh. The first man it grabbed screamed for one agonizing second before the komainu’s jaws snapped him in half. The men around him tried to pull back, but there was nowhere to go; the crowd was too thick
. The komainu swiped with paws bigger than a man’s chest and claws like daggers, ripping open laminar armor like it was linen, showering the world around it in blood. Emily was sprayed with it, her world going red as drops stung her eyes. She yelped and blinked until she could see again.

  Five of Fudo’s men lay dead, and the komainu was whirling around so quickly that those around it barely had time to strike before they were cut down. Takeo was among them, lunging in, thrusting his katana into its flanks, and then leaping back to avoid being cut down or bit in half. Emily scrambled to her feet, pausing to dodge a back kick by the thing, and then cut open a wound on its ankle.

  Her strike must have found purchase because the komainu barked and spun to face her. She gasped and collapsed on the spot as it lunged with mouth wide to swallow her whole. Sharp teeth ripped into her vest, cutting her skin but not entrapping her. In her moment of desperation, she felt no pain, and as the komainu’s jaws snapped shut just above her head, she released the katana and grabbed a handful of the beast’s mane.

  It pulled back, taking her with it, and she hung on for dear life as it snapped its head back and forth, roaring in rage. She was dragged across the ground, flipping over and over, and she might have let go had her fear not made her hand lock tighter than iron. She was enveloped in the creature’s shadow, and it tried to look at its belly to bite her. The many samurai around her took advantage of the beast’s distraction and let out wicked cries as they charged and stabbed. The komainu roared again and began to spin, attacking with its terrible paws against all sides and dragging Emily along with it.

  The ground ate at her back, burning her skin as she was hauled around, but she dared not let go. Her other hand still held her knife, and its call for blood did not go unanswered. She swung it into the mane, up towards where its neck should be, and was rewarded when the pesh-kabz slammed into something soft. The komainu barked as Emily pulled the dagger loose and thrust again and again. Blood, warm to the touch, poured out to soak its mane and run down her arm, but she dared not stop. The komainu thrashed her, but its movements were slower than before, and every breath came slower than the last. She stabbed again and again and again, and the bleeding continued until she was mired in a puddle of the stuff, mixing and coagulating in the dirt.

  The beast gave a shudder and fell back on its heels. Emily heard its rider curse, scream, and then fall with a thud on the ground. A rain of katanas descended upon the man, and his screams went silent. She scrambled away, or at least she tried, but the komainu’s last bit of life gave out before she could crawl free, and its massive head tumbled down onto her back.

  The air was forced from her lungs—the thing’s head was heavier than her—and she tried in vain to push herself up. Her arms were weak, so incredibly weak, and though she had no air in her lungs, her struggles to breathe were to no avail.

  All around her, the battle raged on. Katsu’s men had leaked into the gaps the komainu had created and were hacking Fudo’s men down left and right. Bodies fell all around her, and the screams came more frequently than the shouts of glory.

  No, please no, she begged.

  Another stab of fear shuddered through her veins when she realized she couldn’t see Takeo. She used that fear to push the komainu’s head up the fraction required to draw in air with a ragged breath, her arms trembling from the effort.

  “Takeo!” she croaked. “Takeo!”

  And there he was, cutting his way through foes in a way that was almost graceful, and his hair continued to wave in Juatwa’s gentle breeze. He was bleeding from his thigh, but his movements showed that he was otherwise unharmed. He came bounding towards her, hacking down two samurai who dared to get in his way with efficient strikes that did not slow him. In what seemed both a heartbeat and an age, he was at her side, lifting the komainu’s head with all his strength. It was enough, and she crawled free.

  “Get up!” He grabbed her by the armpit and pulled.

  She was up. Her legs protested, but she was up. Aching muscles were attacking her insides, but a flood of adrenaline and danger washed away any complaints.

  “We have to find Fudo!” Takeo yelled. “It’s the only way we’ll survive! This way!”

  Emily demanded no explanation, and Takeo took off into the slaughter. His katana rose and fell, rose and fell, each time taking another life and feeding Juatwa’s gluttonous desire for death. Emily went behind him, took up a katana from a fallen foe, and quietly finished those Takeo had not mercifully ended. A few strikes came her way, but most were locked in battle with others. Katsu’s men were completely pressed around them now, intertwined with Fudo’s men in a desperate struggle—death everywhere, screams everywhere, bodies everywhere—and Emily walked among them, her feet squishing on this bloody marsh.

  “There!” Takeo yelled. “Come on!”

  She looked over his shoulder and saw Fudo standing side by side with a small group of samurai. He scanned the battlefield, facing off against countless foes, and yet he was the lucky one. At his back were those loyal to him, and in the middle of their group rode the young imposter atop his komainu, crying and wailing for his mother.

  Katsu’s men had him and his group of perhaps ten surrounded. None dared charge in, and by Emily’s guess, their entire purpose was to contain him. Their only fault was that their attention was too focused on Fudo, and none saw Takeo coming.

  He hacked down two, parting a gap in the line, and made a break for Fudo’s group. Emily was right behind him, and she heard the swipe of katanas at her back and shuddered in relief when no steel touched her skin. They dove into Fudo’s men and took up positions near the commander.

  “Karaoshi!” he yelled. “I see you survived.”

  “I did, sir,” Takeo called back. “I came to fulfill my duty. Lord Jiro’s son must be protected.”

  “I judged you wrong, Karaoshi,” Fudo admitted, his voice suddenly heavy. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, you didn’t. I am a traitor, just not to you.”

  Emily put her back to the komainu and held out her knife and katana. She was waiting for one of the enemies to charge, but none seemed eager to do so. An urge came over her to draw her bow, but she decided not to. It would take too long to re-sling it if they came at her, and she wouldn’t be able to use it effectively in this small group.

  Through the gaps of those surrounding her, she saw more of Fudo’s men trying to return to their commander. Nearly all were cut down before they made it, most dying with vicious stabs to their backs and screaming in agony before another slash put them down for good. Three more made it to them, one bleeding so profusely that he collapsed a few moments after joining them, never to rise again. Fudo welcomed them all by name.

  The screams of the dying came less and less frequently, and the clamor was reduced to an occasional ring of metal in the distance. All around them was nothing but enemy faces, like a sea of death just waiting to charge them down.

  And then there was only silence. It came so swiftly that for a moment Emily did not notice it. Once it dawned on her, she realized how heavy her weapons felt. Her arms were exhausted, and she realized they were shaking. Her heart raced, thrashing in her chest, and she was breathing in gasps and gulps. Takeo, to her right, panted and swallowed hard as well. Emily’s mouth felt dryer than it had ever been in Savara, so much so that her lips had cracked in the center. She licked them and touched an elbow to Takeo’s side.

  “What are they waiting for?” she whispered, voice hoarse.

  “The battle’s over,” he replied. “We’ve lost. They don’t want to die anymore.”

  Another scream, strangely unique in its agony due to no others accompanying it, rose above the crowds of Katsu’s men and strangled Emily’s heart. She shivered as the breeze drifted down to grace her sweat-drenched, blood-caked skin, and the sound of silence rang deafeningly in her ears. All eyes were on them, she realized, and through the throng of foes stepped a large man, wearing a decorative helmet and laminar armor that hid everything but h
is sharp, narrowed eyes.

  “Lord Fudo!” the man yelled with a rasping voice. “Do you yield?”

  Fudo looked left and right at those under his command, at those who would die if he defied that order, but none looked back at him. Their faces were chiseled of stone, and Emily had to admire that. As much as she was sure they all wanted to live, the samurai showed an enviable lack of fear in the face of death. For a moment, the faint trace of a smile graced Fudo’s lips, and he seemed about to give the order to enter the afterlife, but then the older man glanced up at the boy on the komainu who was still crying but only softly now, just above a whimper. Emily watched the defiance begin to tumble from that milky white eye until the man called out, “Lay down your arms!”

  “By whose authority?” Fudo challenged. “I want your word that none under my command will be harmed.”

  The man hesitated and then said, “I cannot promise you that.”

  “Then we shall wait until such a person arrives. If that man is Katsu himself, then so be it. Otherwise, feel free to come and meet your death.”

  The man did not. Instead, he gave a whispered message to three soldiers and sent them running. A short time later, a samurai mounted on a komainu came sauntering into view.

  The man was dressed in deep blue laminar armor with stripes of pitch black about the chest. It was rather elegant with a few areas shimmering in the sunlight where blood had not stained the armor. He was older than Emily by at least a decade, and his heavyset frame featured a barrel for a chest and a gut that stuck out just as much. His face, adorned with a neatly trimmed goatee, showed so much disgust that Emily assumed the man was suffering from an internal ailment.

  And when he approached, he looked not at Fudo, but directly at Takeo. He howled with laughter.