by Noah Ward
In truth, Shay knew she was being selfish, trying to turn it around on Kaz. But she didn’t have the strength to be alone in this place. Deep down, she knew they would be back and she’d rather die fighting than be locked up in a carriage again. All she could do--all she wanted to do was go forwards.
The path wended its way through the forest for an indeterminable amount of time. Every so often she would check through gaps in the forest canopy and try to determine how far through the day they were. Shay didn’t want to be in this forest when night fell… She was sure Retsudan’s soldiers or bandits or mythical beasts might leap out at her every second, but as the day dragged on, only the chirp of birds or rustle of branches afforded her company.
When the path eventually widened to reveal the overcast afternoon sky, she breathed a little easier. The two of them emerged on a slight ridge on an elevated section of the forest. Off to her left, down a winding path, the forest perimeter seem to stretch endlessly. Despite all the space off to the west, consisting of flat, snowy valleys with the occasional hill, the entire stretch of land seemed empty. Not another soul in sight.
Shay shivered and drew a fur cover she had found in one of the keval’s packs tighter. It was chillier here than in the forest. And beyond the ridge she spotted the thin, icy river Kaz had talked about. She dug her heels into the flank of the keval, who brayed and then cantered off down the path. Hopefully, they would reach the village before nightfall.
18
Shay Wants A Blade
In her dream, Kaz had been back in that forest at night but Hanza had driven his blade right through her chest. As she was dying, a crater had formed at her feet, and she had been surrounded by dozens just like her, yet there had been no blood. Not a drop. Just a crack, like a giant’s bone breaking.
A sense of vertigo overcame her and Kaz was falling. A girl yelped. Cold snow blanketed her face. Her eyes opened, staring towards an evening sky bruised in purple and orange.
“Be careful!” Shay said from atop the keval, which it seemed she had been riding.
Kaz grumbled and pushed herself to sit. “Why do people always feel the need to say that after something bad has happened?”
“Because--”
“I wasn’t waiting for an answer.” She stood, flexed her arms and stretched her muscles. Almost healed. Nothing but the slight twinge of fresh, knitted flesh. Kaz made no move to remove her bloodied bandages, however.
“Are you okay? Have your wounds reopened? I don’t think we have any more of that stinky goop.”
Kaz waved her off and took in their surroundings. Ahead of her was a river that rent the land. Over to her right, a mile or so away, was a village. Frowning, she looked up at Shay.
“Kirral!” said the girl, a triumphant grin on her face.
“What happened?”
Her smile soured. Kaz wasn’t about to congratulate her.
“You were exhausted,” Shay said and pointed over her shoulder. “In the forest. I followed your directions. This is the place, right?”
The village of Kirral had a thick swathe of forest to its left; to its right was farmland all but iced over but starting to thaw. A small cliff rose beside it, farther out, atop which there was a shrine and more forest surrounding it. The sun had just about set.
“Shift over,” Kaz said as she strode to the keval.
While Shay didn’t speak, her face said it all. She moved. Kaz took the reins and ushered the keval off the path, heading to the right.
“I thought we were going to Kirral?” said Shay.
“I’m going to Kirral. You’re going to stay out of sight.”
“But--”
Is this what being a parent feels like, Kaz?
“You come from the south?” Kaz asked.
“Well, yes. But--”
“You’re not in the south. You’re in Zenitia. You’d be going to a village that is not under the rule of Retsudan’s soldiers in Zenitia.”
“That means they wouldn’t recognise me!”
Kaz peered over her shoulder. “You think that’s a good thing?” She drew closer to the forest and made sure the area was free from prying eyes before entering. “Small villages don’t get visitors dropping by, not this far out. And the fact that a visitor would be a child would raise even more questions. If you’re sworn--”
“I’m not sworn.”
Kaz brought the keval to a halt. In truth, she didn’t know what assumption to make. Was the girl sworn? Maybe. Maybe not. Right now, it didn’t matter. Akimaru? That was a problem for later.
“You can say that, girl, but they may not believe you. And after what they may do to you, you may lie--if even you’re not sworn, which you claim--you’ll be swearing to all the shogens that you are.”
Shay’s shoulders sunk. “But...why?”
Kaz swung off the keval and motioned for Shay to shift up the saddle. She took the reins and led the keval further in. The injury on her leg felt better, but she wanted to warm all her muscles up before entering Kirral.
“Let’s come to the logical conclusion you’re sheltered,” Kaz began. When Shay attempted to interrupt her, she shot the girl a glare. “You’re sheltered. Nothing to be ashamed of. Before the war, Zenitia had its share of sworn--less so than the rest of land, but they were powerful. They feared them and had executed or ran out a fair few of them over generations.” The land started to rise gently towards the shrine not too far from here. “Some banded together in villages of their own making. Some were able to live without outing themselves. The fact most people’s abilities manifest during adolescence can make things...difficult. Things plod along. Then Retsudan decides to unify the land.” A pit tried to claw its way open in her stomach. Kaz found herself fumbling where to go from there.
“But Retsudan had sworn warriors--more than any other daimyo,” Shay said after a few moments of silence.
“He did,” Kaz conceded. “And they killed many. Especially in Zenitia. Many villages of sworn would not join Retsudan’s sworn, so they were eradicated. They fought back, of course. But, obviously, here we are.”
The two had been travelling for a good few minutes now, putting enough distance between themselves and the edge of the forest. She brought the keval to a halt.
“Villages that were yet to be encountered on the warpath had an ultimatum: give up your sworn and surrender, or die. People went mad, accusing people who weren’t sworn. Those who were sworn fought back. Let’s say it got very...bloody and stupid. After all that--being hunted by sworn and hunting those in your company--regular people don’t have a high opinion of them. The mentality that they are a disease to be eradicated has only festered over time. In the larger settlements, it’s curbed. Out here, in the arse-end of nowhere, the laws are a little more...lax.”
“So they don’t like strangers...” Shay said.
“They have a tendency to shoot them from afar if they can.”
“So why can you go to Kirral?”
Kaz roped the keval’s bridle around a low-hanging branch. “Because of my friendly face.”
Shay frowned at that.
“I’ve been there several times over the years, traded a few things from Akimaru for moments such as these. Now, I want you to wait here.”
“You’ll get my sword? How will you know what type I need?”
“I’ll use my imagination. We’ll need supplies, too.”
Shay scrambled down from the saddle. “How long will you be?”
Kaz gazed upwards. “I’ll be back before nightfall. It won’t take long. The less time I spend there the better.”
The girl’s eyes widened as she absorbed the lonely, darkening atmosphere.
“You’ll be fine. You survived long enough by yourself, right?” said Kaz. She put a hand on the girl’s shoulder and then immediately regretted it.
It seemed to get her to acquiesce quicker, however. It was something to think of for the future. Shay straightened her shoulders and nodded.
Kaz picked up her f
eet and sprinted off towards Kirral, determined to make the rest of the day equally uneventful.
That’d be a nice change.
19
Familiar Faces
Akimaru was the largest and, perhaps, only city around the central area of Zenitia. In the war of unification close to a decade ago, the location received just as much attention as the port cities along the western coast. While it was a huge trade hub--relatively speaking--the profit the whole of Zenitia produced was that of Kaizen’s smaller cities. But because it was the hub of the land, where their symbolic rulers had lived, it had been a prime target. The leaders of the different factions had made their home in Akimaru in an attempt to engender trust and collaboration. The theory Retsudan’s army had held was that if they cut the head off the snake, then the rest would fall. Unfortunately for them, despite the capture of the city and death of its leaders, the people had continued to fight, and harder.
Since the fall of Akimaru, the city had been somewhat restored to its former glory. Instead of multiple leaders overseeing their respective factions, there was just one man, given the seat by Retsudan. Most would think it an honorable position, but Gin, and let’s face it, many others, knew that was keval shit. A few chancers had emigrated to the cold north, but few stayed there long. Zenitia did simply not gel with most. Including himself. But this was business.
Gin had hounded the thin man after he departed from his hovel before dawn. Both men had ridden their kevals hard throughout the day, across icy valleys and over snow-covered hills, passing frozen rivers where fishermen plunged nets through frigid holes while skirting towns that spewed black smoke. As evening broke, the sun set Akimaru ablaze in amber light.
Akimaru’s castle was the landmark most travellers witnessed on their approach. The city itself was designed like a helix, or as some referred to it, a coiled serpent. From the plan’s Gin had studied, it was more akin to a snail’s shell. The ground slowly rose as it curved, creating several levels, which had become districts. The castle was constructed on the highest point. It was nine floors high: a floor for each shogen with an extra storey to honour them or something. Who knew how people worked this far north. It had been mostly burned and destroyed during the fighting, but time and, more importantly construction workers, had patched up the curving, emerald-tiled roofs, and had replaced the mixture of sturdy wood and stone of its floors. Its walls still sported guard towers, while the black mouths of krystallis-powered cannons now poked out of wide murder holes.
Gin’s prey had been forced to dismount as he had drawn close to the city, had crossed one of the drawbridges that connected the outer valleys to Akiamru. Part of the sea fed across the entirety of Zenitia, and it was here that it created a moat severing the outer world from the city. As Gin approached, there were the usual clutches of trade camps, travellers, and structures erected outside Akimaru, where hundreds if not thousands gathered. At this hour, the populace had not died down: people hoped to travel in for the night life, to rob, drink, indulge in drugs; others were done for the day or even ventured outside the safety of the city to sate themselves.
After spying the man queuing for entry in hopes of speaking to a city guard, Gin had quickly sold his keval to a stable for a pittance of what it was worth. He was slightly sad to see the beast go after its dutiful service, but needs must.
Then, he observed the man for a few minutes, ensuring that his time would be occupied sufficiently. The fact he was in the part of the line of “undocumented” travellers, who would be, above all, trying to determine whether you were sworn, meant he wasn’t going anyway anytime soon.
Good. Gin had a little errand to run first.
The onset of evening had brought with it the lighting of fires, torches, braziers and the like, as well as a growing abundance of shadows. For this next trick, Gin had to concentrate. Abandoning his keval meant he had to pack the rest of his belongings into a sack. There was his blade and amour in it, along with a few other surprises and tools. However, this abundance made his shadow walking more...challenging.
When fellow clan members asked Gin what it was like to use his ability, he likened it to a child’s game where one had to take a loop of wire across a twisting trail of copper wire. If the loop was of a good size, akin to when it was just himself and weapon, he could navigate these twists and turns and ups and downs fairly easily. Baggage threw this off, because then it was as if the loop was too big or too small. A turn or twist could catch it, and the effort of keeping your wrist still enough could oftentimes become impossible. Over the years, he’d improved, but he was never so confident (or arrogant as some had said) to believe he was infallible.
Gin slipped between two tents as close to the gate as he could manage without drawing attention. Once he’d melded with the dark, he drifted through the crowds and across the river; scaled the stone walls along the perimeter before materialising in an alley between an inn and teahouse. His brow was sweating and he dropped the sack to the floor to compose himself for a moment before stepping into the crowd.
Trying to get his bearings was no easy feat. This district was a combination of inns, tea houses, brothels, and gambling dens meant to trap visitors and denizens alike before they could head further in. A homeless man or a drunk jumped at Gin as he wandered into the street. The smell of muck and burning braziers was a heady combination. Barkers outside of establishments hollered at people passing by, trying to be heard over the general cacophony.
Movement would be a pain in the arse, but he didn’t want to strain his ability with the thought of following the man to his mystery destination. With the money in his purse, Gin slunk into the crowd, slipping past the masses toward his destination.
The Yuzuu Tree was an inn on the third climb of the snail’s tail. It was set back, closer to the walls of the next, higher district. At the back, steam rose into the sky, signalling the baths. Next to the inn was a trader’s shop that dealt in artwork and a food merchant. Gin walked up the short steps and slid open the door. The light buzz of conversation wormed its way through the slit in the doors ahead of him. To the left was the owner and to the right was a set of stairs heading up to the inn’s other three floors.
The innkeeper nodded in greeting as Gin was already withdrawing his money. He slipped a gold aian on the counter.
“Parchment and ink,” he asked the innkeeper before the man could ask if he wanted a room.
The innkeeper frowned but pocketed the coin. He bent to reach under the desk, old bones popping, before presenting Gin with the inkwell and ivory-coloured parchment. He hastily scrawled his message, blew on the ink to dry, and then folded the parchment before handing it to the innkeeper.
“For Kusanagi, fourth floor,” said Gin.
The innkeepers eyes widened and he accepted the parchment. “Of course.”
“The bag, too,” he said and nodded to the sack on the floor.
The old man shuffled around the desk to collect the bag, but Gin was already leaving.
He practically sprinted back to the gate, doing his best not to cause a scene or shove someone too harshly that it would end in a brawl or lengthy berating. When he reached the gate, Gin slowed his pace and stuck to the anonymity of a small crowd gathered by a handful of market stalls. Glancing in the polished reflection of a particularly gaudy bronze statue depicting a woman and mollusk entwined in a rather interesting encounter, he caught sight of the man, now off his keval, trudging through the mud. While it appeared the letter had worked, he did not seem too pleased about the time it had taken for him to enter the city. If they’d known he was sworn, chances are they would have kicked him out or, at worse, just slaughtered him on the spot. Or tried to at least.
Gin allowed the man to put some distance between themselves before he picked up the trail. Constantly tugging at the beast’s reins, the thin man wended towards the eastern portion of the first level. Whereas the distribution of businesses could have been described as tight over to the west, the east was a different affair. The
streets and alleys narrowed; a combination of small shanty housing for workers and residents, combined with the cheaper end of everything the west offered made for thicker, louder crowds. While there were the docks further along the curve, this section was like a clogged artery in the city’s heart.
The slow pace made the man easy to track, especially leading that hulking keval around. After few hypnotic twists and turns, the man finally stopped and turned down a street. It was not long until the path relented to some kind of building. Judging from the kevals tied up outside and the smell wafting down the street that stunk like heated death, it was a restaurant.
Gin stopped at one end of the street. The cover of night made it easy for him to wait under a building’s awning until the man had vanished inside. He then slunk into a thin gap between two structures and disappeared. The rest of the journey was easy enough; he prowled towards the restaurant, eschewed waiting for the door to slide open and instead wound his way around the rear, entering via an open window to where the chefs (though perhaps that was too generous a term) slaved away.
Burly and reedy men hacked at sorry-looking poultry or attacked root vegetables before tossing them in pots or large metal pans, sweat pouring down their faces. Serving girls nipped in and out of the kitchen, their scrawny hands filled with bulging wooden trays piled precariously high.
Gin snuck through a door and into the restaurant proper. There was no sign of the thin man here; about forty patrons were crammed into the place. Smoke from pipes and rollups clouded the ceiling as if this were atop a mountain plateau. It seemed like his destination was to the back, where private dining areas had been sectioned off.
The series of lamps on the walls cast puddles of illumination he circumvented by gliding under tables. One of the serving girls nimbly tiptoed her way through the minefield of tables and chairs, managing to keep her balance and payload despite the barrage of arse slaps and roaming hands. She arrived at one of the private booths with only minor spillage, and through surprising strength managed to steady the tray with one arm while sliding open the door to reveal Gin’s target.
