Ryojin- the Bonded Blade Page 2

  Goro and Sho were muttering something to themselves as Kaz crept to the rear of the hokora. Hand on the grip of her curved blade, she contemplated confronting them right then. How that would go, probably bloodily and rather poorly for everyone involved, remained unanswered.

  In the depths of the forest, another floating light answered the call of Sho’s lantern. A flicker at first, it soon blossomed into a steady ball, illuminating the figure who carried it. A warrior, to be sure, judging by the blade holstered at their hip. One of Retsudan’s? No, they lacked the insignia. It was high-quality, lamellar armour, though, which did not come cheap. The warrior carried themselves with an air of absent-minded, almost detached authority. Goro and Sho rose. Lantern light danced off the warrior’s helmet, modelled like an iron death mask. Kaz looked down to find her hand clutched tight around her sword’s grip, knuckles white.

  “It’s done,” said Goro, in between puffs of his pipe. “Got the krystallis.”

  Silence from the figure.

  “We’ll, er, bring it to you as soon as we have the coin, yes?” Goro looked to Sho, then back to the warrior. “There was a girl, too. Don’t take that from the fee, though. We’ll make use of her.”

  Still silence.

  He snapped his fingers, remembering. “Oh, the others’ll be dead soon,” he rambled on. “The drink’ll--”

  Goro’s pipe splintered under the warrior’s blade. The squat man spun on his feet, spraying blood from a gaping neck wound across the snow. Before he’d collapsed to the ground, as Sho dropped the lantern and reached for his blade, steel pierced his throat. His dying gurgles bubbled above the call of the cicadas for a few seconds before petering out.

  Well that was...unexpected.

  3

  Shay’s Escape

  Shay awoke to the sound of heavy breathing, somewhere far in the distance. Damp earth and the sour tang of alcohol burrowed up her nostrils. Had she collapsed in the forest? No, no. That wasn’t what happened. There were...people. Soldiers? Had they taken her? And there was that breathing again...

  She groaned, cracking an eyelid and fearing for a moment she’d been blinded before realising it was just dark. Her eyes began to adjust. A shallow ceiling--stone. Off to the side, cages. Muttering had joined the breathing now. Some kind of animal in the traps? No, no. A man. Standing above her, bottle held in one hand like he was trying to wring its neck. His other hand was...oh shogens, he was trying to wring something else…

  Shay felt her cheeks reddening. This must be an hallucination, some absurd trick of the mind after what happened.

  “Pretty...girl,” the man slurred. When the spittle from his mouth flecked her cheeks, she knew this was reality. Tried to move. Hands and feet were bound well. Her stomach sank.

  Shay tried to squirm away and quickly discovered she was tethered like a dog to the cages. The man got a chuckle out of that. He dropped the bottle and extricated his other occupied hand, dropping his knees on either side so she couldn’t escape.

  Think, Shay. There’s a man on top of you….your hands are bound...it’s clear his intentions are...questionable. Thoughts?

  None whatsoever?

  She could…

  A blinding memory, how she got herself tied up in the first place.

  His hands her on her shoulders, eyes bulging. She tried to shove her back into the earth; it wouldn’t outfit her escape.

  She couldn’t do it. What if there were more of them? They’d surely kill her for it.

  His tongue was on her neck. Shogens, he reeked of alcohol. Her heart was racing, fear curdling her insides. Whatever the cost, surely it was not worth this?

  His hand went searching in between her robes…

  Shay reacted, all instinct. Her knee rose and sunk true between his legs. The man loosed a choked gasp; eyes rolled into the back of his head; his tongue lolled out of his mouth. He collapsed backwards as if the blow had paralysed him.

  After several breathless seconds, Shay gulped in air and dared to look the man’s way. He was splayed in the dirt; foam bubbled out of the corner of his mouth. He appeared very much dead.

  Had Shay kneed a man in the crotch with such force it had killed him? Was that possible? Was she the first person in history to perform such an act? He had certainly deserved it.

  Now that she attempted to focus, murmurs of life drifted in from outside the cave. It was still dark. Shay heaved herself to a seated position. She could escape, if she were smart. But with her hands and feet bound, she could only hop to freedom, and that would take time, in addition to appearing ridiculous.

  Wiggling like a worm towards the fresh corpse, she relieved him of a small blade sheathed at his waist and used it to sheer through her bindings. All the while, here eyes were flitting to the partially obscured mouth of the cave. Finally free, Shay crept forwards and ducked by a couple of small wooden boxes. By their smell, they held foodstuffs. She was tempted to rummage around; shogens knew she was starving, thirsty, and by all accounts knackered. With great effort, she ignored her stomach and focused on the developing scene outside the cave, which confirmed her nut-cracking knee was not the probable cause of death.

  By a smouldering fire, close to a perimeter of forest, a man choked and collapsed onto a pile of flaming wood. Someone behind him thrust a sword into his back and then kicked his immolated corpse into the snow. There was another man face first in the snow a few steps from the mouth of the cave.

  Now Shay was truly lost.

  Sometimes people go crazy and murder each other, Shay. That is the way of life in the north.

  In no mood to dispute such sage council, Shay decided to leave the men to their poisoning. She reached into her hakama and dug out her necklace, clutched it tight, and fled. A short distance ahead of her, past a small ridge, were a few kevals nibbling at bags of feed, unfettered by the death surrounding them.

  That was her break.

  Blade concealed up her voluminous sleeve, believing the coast was clear, Shay focused on the kevals and sprinted, prayed the dark covered her flight. Her feet crushing the snow sounded like cracking bones and she stumbled once as she tackled the ridge. Refusing to look towards the fire, she took solace in the fact no one around it began shouting.

  Upon reaching the keval, she would cut through the rope, hop on its back--in one fluid motion, mind you--and be free of this hellish place. There were just a few more tantalizing steps and then--

  An arm whipped out, catching her across the top of the temple and sending her spinning. The world became a whirlwind of white snow and blackened sky. Shay’s landing may have been soft, but her journey there was anything but. She stumbled to her feet and whirled on her attacker. He was a tall man, shaved head, thin leather jerkin despite the chill. There was a blade on one side of his hip; he kept one hand on its grip. At the other side was a bulging pouch.

  Shay shook the confusion and snow from her head, thanked Sora, shogen of the great cataclysm, guiding light of the way, purity, and making sure blades do not get flung from Shay’s hand.

  “You should be sleeping, fated,” he said, circling around her slowly.

  Her eyes tracked him but her body didn’t budge. Was she going to have to fight him--kill him?

  “I think you should find those ropes, just tie yourself back up, and we’ll forget you ever went exploring,” he said. The man had stopped, stared into her eyes, as if pure pissed-off will would get her to do it. “Now--”

  “No,” Shay said. Her brow creased. Had she actually said that?

  But she didn’t want to go back there, with the cages and the smell and the soon-to-be-corpses trying to cop a drunken feel.

  “I have...there’s something I have to do. Someone I have to--”

  “Oh, well, don’t let me stop you, girl.” He held one hand towards the keval.

  Maybe people in the north weren’t so bad.

  “Thank you for your understanding,” Shay replied, proffering a curt bow before she turned towards the keval.

 
“Bein’ fated make you thick or that because you’re from the south?” said the man as cold steel landed against her neck.

  Shay firstly thought there was no good answer to that question; secondly, she thought he would not want her to answer it anyway. She deliberately shuffled on her feet to face him, palming the butt of the knife into her hand. Letting this...thug stop her was not an option. Not after all this time.

  “Please…” she begged, keeping her eyes to the snow.

  “Back,” he spat.

  C’mon, Shay, do you really want to go back there? You have to act--need to.

  “I--” she began, but he pressed the tip of the sword into her neck, drawing blood. She clenched her jaw, met his gaze. “Very well.”

  Shay took a step forward. Ducked. Let the blade fly. It rocketed into the dirt ridge behind the thug. It seemed she was still a little groggy…

  The man’s eyes widened in rage. He lashed out with a fierce backhand. Shay spilled to the door. There was blood in her mouth. “We need you alive,” he said. “That’s all.”

  They needed her alive? For what?

  To be sold into soul-destroying slavery, Shay. That’d be a good guess…

  No, no, nononono. Not after coming so far.

  A rough hand encircled her bicep, tightened, tensed to drag Shay to her feet.

  She clamped her eyes shut into impotent fury. “I won’t,” Shay spat, lashing out.

  The wet squelch of flesh tearing. The muted thump as it dropped into the snow. A moment of stunned silence. Shay cracked an eye. The thug stared down at his forearm, then back to the stump at his elbow where it should have been.

  A howl, like a dying wolf, cut the air. He dropped his blade and clutched the stump as blood spurted and wept from the cleanly cut wound. Dark red patches and stringy crimson lines marred the snow. Shay craned her head downwards to find that her hakama had been stained, too.

  You wanted to be free, Shay. Now’s your chance. Move!

  Shay scrambled to her feet in a daze.

  Fated...he was right. What had she done?

  He deserved it, Shay.

  No doubt there. Bastard.

  Next to his severed arm was the pouch he had worn at his side. The fabric had been shorn to reveal the the amber-coloured chunk of krystallis--Sephyr, shogen of the righteous gale, breath of vessels, dexterous body, and bestowing Shay with enough funds to help in her mission.

  Her hand lanced out and swept up the weighty pouch, which she cradled against her chest. Then she was on the keval, slicing through its bridle to free it from the post.

  “Stop!” the fresh amputee hollered in between breathless curses.

  Shay’s head whipped up to the edge of the forest behind her where the sound of hooves rumbled. After digging her heels into the keval’s flanks, the beast brayed, then she was off. Plumes of white powder erupted where the keval’s sturdy hooves struck the ground. She bolted for the forest, hoping for survival but settling for escape. There was still a long, dark road ahead of her.

  4

  The Stone Hermit

  Kaz suckered her spine to the rear of the shrine, not daring to peek around the corner. The warrior was quick, no argument there. They had dispatched Goro and his man with just a couple of expert strikes. Maybe Kaz could win--can’t go into a fight thinking you’re going to lose. But who travelled alone in this land? She was willing to bet the coin she’d never see from Goro that there were several others just as unsettling waiting out there in the forest. And their next destination was the camp.

  So the plan was to wait here, not get stabbed, then flee.

  After what seemed like a lifetime of holding her breath, Kaz dared to angle her head around the corner. She let out a long sigh. The lantern was bobbing towards the darkness. No others had seen fit to join it. For now, at least.

  From the sounds of it, Kaz and the rest of the ryojins’ betrayal was on the books from the start. Good job she’d learned from an early age never to accept rice wine from strange bandits. Now she had to resurrect some good from a shitty situation. Best to start with fleecing that krystallis and whatever aians Goro had on his person.

  Hand still close to drawing her blade, she rounded the corner, eyes flitting about, and approached the prone forms of Goro and Sho. Their injuries were precise, deadly, born of a trained hand and honed katana. A slither of splintered pipe jutted out of Goro’s gobsmacked death mask. She ignored it and began rifling through his pockets.

  “Shit,” Kaz spat, withdrawing her hand. “Nothing.”

  The only solace (and item) worth taking was Goro’s tobacco, which she promptly used in her rollup, all the while muttering under her breath about how she should have taken a simpler job.

  “A move like that’s fit to anger Kagen,” came a voice from behind her.

  The unlit rollup tumbled from Kaz’s lips as she spun in the snow. Her blade uttered no sound as it escaped her scabbard. She took a step backward--careful not to trip over Goro--and craned her head upwards.

  Perched atop the shrine, like some ornamental onigawara affixed to a roof, was a withered-looking old man. His dirt-coloured shawl and wide straw hat could have easily escaped perfunctory stares…

  Surely there had been a statue there before?

  Perhaps you’re just slipping, Kaz?

  “Filching a dead man’s tobacco is set to earn you eternal damnation,” said the man in his raspy voice. He lifted his chin a little so she could see his bushy white eyebrows and the rat tail he called a beard. The living statue cackled. Then, belying his age, hopped off the roof into the snow.

  A loud crack seemed to echo through the forest.

  “Ahh,” he snapped, then began rubbing his lower back with his free hand; the other held a long wooden staff he had somehow managed to conceal under his shawl. Regaining his composure, he leaned onto his staff and said, “Still, I would be willing to lessen your spiritual burden by taking some of that tobacco off your hands.” He began walking forwards.

  “Sneaking up on people is likely to get you skewered, hermit,” Kaz said. Her narrow eyes considered his seemingly frail frame; her outstretched sword ensured he wouldn’t be taking another step.

  The hermit held up his palms placatingly. He shuffled off to a nearby stump and deliberately lowered himself onto it. Kaz chanced a look to where the light from before had recently vanished.

  “You’ve got time,” said the hermit. “I won’t keep you long.”

  “Oh, my apologies, you’re keeping me?” said Kaz. She still had not lowered her sword.

  “Prickly…” said the hermit. From within his shawl he withdrew a pipe, similar to Goro’s, and stuck it between his broken teeth. “Never find a man with that attitude, Kazumi.”

  Kaz’s jaw tightened. She took several quick steps forward and, in one smooth motion, sliced his pipe in half. “Where did you hear that name, old man?”

  He shook his head, chuckling, used the butt of his staff to tip his hat and look into her eyes. “It is a nice name. I assume those in recent company may not use it.”

  “You’ve been following me?”

  “I’ve been...in the area and overhead some things…”

  She looked down at her white knuckles and then withdrew her blade but did not sheathe it. Something about the hermit unsettled her. Fear? No, that didn’t seem quite the right word. It was like being party to a joke you didn’t understand, patronising. Something inside Kaz assured her that the real threat was still very much out there.

  “I am Izado,” he said. His hand disappeared into his shawl again and appeared with another pipe.

  Her brow furrowed at him, the whole encounter verging on farcical. “You’re a pipe maker who hangs around shrines and eavesdrops on people’s conversations.”

  “We have something in common then, Kazumi--”

  “--Call me that again and we’ll see how many pipes you really have.”

  “That would mean we’d be here for some time,” said Izado as puff of smoke rose from his
pipe. “And I’m afraid time is not that much of a luxury.”

  Kaz took a few steps back. Was he sworn? He could well be. Living out here, away from society was the smart option for many. It would explain how he’d grown so old.

  “I’ll ask again: what do you want?” she said. “And how do you know my name?”

  Izado turned away and gazed into the army of thick tree trunks. “Nothing for now. I would say it is more about what you want,” he gestured to the corpses with his pipe, “what they wanted,” then to the forest, “what they still want.”

  “It seems you talk a little too much,” she said.

  He cocked his head to the side. “But the one who met with those fresh corpses did not seem to speak at all. Nothing about that ring a bell with you, girl?”

  Kaz couldn’t stop herself from scratching her chest, which had begun to itch almost uncontrollably. “No,” she said.

  Izado sighed theatrically, slapped his thighs as he rose, pipe still crammed into the corner of his thin lips. “They did not have it with them, did they?” He gestured to Goro. “Which means it is still at the camp…”

  Kaz found herself glancing over her shoulder to Goro’s body.

  “Somethin’ tells me it won’t be at their camp for too long, though. If I were you, I’d stop talking to some old man in the forest and return whence ya came, Kazumi.”

  “I said--” Kaz began as she whirled round to him. The words died in her throat. He was gone. There was no evidence he had even been there, aside from the acrid smell of tobacco.