War Priest: The Complete Series, page 49
“What are you doing, disciple?” Meosa asked as Arik took a step closer to Sengum Minamoto. “Pay attention, you fool, he’s a true Hidden Warrior!”
Arik spoke: “Let me take him to Moonagwa, where he can be properly buried.”
“Properly buried? I have to properly kill him before you can properly bury him.” Sengum Minamoto brought his arm back, as if he were going to uppercut Hojo and send his gauntleted blades through the bottom of his chin. As he did Hojo multiplied, Arik gasping as the master illusionist formed a circle of replicants around Sengum Minamoto, several of them hazy.
“My sword,” they all said at once.
“Secret weapon be damned!” Meosa told Arik as he came alive, stripped the sword from his hand, and shot forward. Suddenly, all the replicants were also holding swords. Sengum now wore a newfound sense of fear on his face, one that quickly twisted into a smile as he loosed a kunai from the sleeve of his robes toward the safe house.
The explosion that followed caused Arik to fly several feet forward. Another took place off to the left, dirt and debris kicking up into the air, fire lifting and settling into golden plumes.
Arik coughed up smoke. Abrasions covered his body, shrapnel jutted out of his back. A portion of his shoulder was on fire, the flesh beneath his robes broiled from the heat. He ignored it all as he dragged forward and found Hojo, the master illusionist once again on the ground, his hands on his stomach where he had been stabbed.
As far as Arik could tell, Sengum had vanished.
Even though he was gravely injured himself, the disciple turned his focus to Hojo.
****
Hojo’s stab wound was deep. It had punctured several internal organs, yet Arik was able to heal them all before slumping over.
He sucked in a deep breath as the dust settled, the disciple finally turning his focus to the explosion and how badly it had burned him. Voices came to him, one belonging to Meosa, the other belonging to Hojo, who now stood in a haggard way with his sword drawn, guarding Arik.
He ignored them.
You can do this.
(You can do this.)
Arik focused on his training to better heal his wounds.
He still wore the Mask of the Fallen, the legendary item warm against his face as he placed both palms on the ground. Arik knew that in the heat of battle he wouldn’t have this long to heal, and that was if he was given the chance in the first place. This wasn’t like what he had trained for back at the Academy, most of the healing scenarios based on taking care of others, not one’s self in the aftermath of a series of explosions.
You can do this.
(You have to do this.)
Arik gritted his teeth as the shrapnel pressed out of his back and the burnt flesh on his shoulder stitched back together. The blades of grass beneath his hands started to change color as he released the little bit of his power left in his body. He wasn’t trying to transfer his wounds to the grass, it merely happened in his focus on healing up as quickly as possible.
“We need to go, disciple,” Hojo said in a low voice. The master illusionist looked just about as tattered as he did, portions of his robes burned out, dried blood splattered across his torso. “Before we do, we need supplies.”
“Where is Sengum?”
“Gone, for now. But he will be back, and the explosions will draw the attention of the city guards once they see the smoke. Come. Let’s grab our things and head to the well.”
“The well?” Arik asked, recalling that it had been in the woods behind the Hidden Warrior retreat, not far from the stream where he had gotten fresh water. He remembered wondering at the time why they didn’t just use the well.
“Trust me.”
Arik found the bag with his shinobi tools and the Coro Pache book. Once he located his sword, he joined Hojo, both of them slipping into the woods behind the safe house, what was left of the thatched roof still on fire.
They reached the well and Hojo led Arik to an alcove just beyond it, where there was a shovel, the blade covered in rust. The master illusionist began digging, the shovel quickly striking something hard.
“You should have… you should have let me do something,” Meosa finally said. “I could have killed the other illusionist!”
“I didn’t…”
“What did you intend to do anyway in challenging the man, disciple? What were you going to do?” asked Meosa. “Are you a fool? He was a Hidden Warrior! You’re a disciple, not a cold-blooded killer, not like him…”
“I thought he would either…” Arik settled his thoughts, well aware that adrenaline was still racing through him. “I thought that he may simply leave, and then I could have healed Hojo. Another thought was that he would try to kill me and I would let him stab me, then he would leave and I would heal both of us.” Arik glanced at Hojo, who had just started to reveal a buried chest. “I also thought that maybe he would approach me, and I could transfer some of the wound that I absorbed from the itako. I… I was going to try to kill him.”
“You will not be the one that kills Sengum Minamoto, disciple.” Hojo pulled a medium-sized chest out of the ground and began dusting it off. “In the end, he will get himself killed with his brazen behavior. Those explosions could have hit him as well.”
Meosa scoffed at this statement. “I would have sworn that you would be the one to stake a claim in his death, but here I am, surprised by you yet again.”
“I do not wish death upon anyone if I can help it, kami. It is bad luck.” Hojo popped open the chest to reveal a canvas sack that had been tied off with a rope. There was fresh clothing inside, as well as other shinobi tools such as a grappling hook, a pair of long daggers, and kunai. He saw a few other items inside as well, shinobi tools that Arik didn’t recognize.
How many caches like this are there in the Jade Realm? he thought as Hojo handed him a fresh set of robes.
“They should be about your size. Put them on, and then we will head toward the mountains. We can skirt around Moonagwa and visit the Mourning Courtyard just to see what it looks like. We will need some food as well, and I will need a hat.” Hojo showed Arik a wad of sen that he had procured from the chest. “You do know how to get there, right? The Crystal Castle?”
“You know how to find clothing and knives hidden in treasure chests by past shinobi, do you not?” Meosa told Hojo. “Of course, I know how to get to the Crystal Castle. I’m not some sort of brick-headed gaki fond of fingering his perineum. I am a kami of renown!”
As usual, Hojo didn’t acknowledge Meosa’s remark. The master illusionist merely turned his focus to Arik. “For now, we need to change clothes, wash our faces, and move on. Time is of the essence, disciple.”
****
Hojo and Arik reached the Mourning Courtyard, both in their new robes, their wounds completely healed. As he had been since they left the Hidden Warrior retreat, Hojo was on high alert, jumpier than normal, which was understandable considering their encounter with Sengum Minamoto. They had come across several people along the way toward the outskirts of Moonagwa, and he’d almost drawn his sword on a man that looked at them for a second too long.
For the most part, Meosa had remained quiet, but he had whispered to Arik at some point to keep his eye on the supposed illusionist, that something wasn’t right. Once again, Arik wished this was something he could help with.
He was aware that it was a necessity to be cautious before, especially as he was potentially the last healer left in their entire world. But now that Sengum Minamoto knew of their existence, and had clearly proven how easy it was for him to track them, it was going to make everything they did, and every place they went, ripe for some sort of ambush.
Arik had already pieced together how Sengum had triggered the explosives with his kunai. With that sort of skill and cunning, an attack could come at any time. It was clear without mentioning it to Hojo they severely needed to limit their public interactions.
“I see now why it would be difficult for us to locate whatever crypt the Whispering Sword is stashed in,” said Meosa as Arik finally shifted his focus from the master illusionist to the hills upon hills of graves that now stood before them. The magnitude of it all nearly brought tears to his eyes as he remembered those who had died back in his Academy, his classmates, his mother and father.
That was then, this is now.
Arik took a deep breath in through his nostrils and let the feeling pass.
The Mourning Courtyard was in the center of the graveyard, with a fountain facing to the east. There were a pair of men seated on stools, flowers and other offerings laid out on maroon blankets before them. They wore hats similar to the one that Hojo always had, conical, with a triangular slit cut into the brim allowing someone to partially view their face.
“I would like to buy a hat,” Hojo said as he approached the man on the left, who mostly sold trinkets and small carvings. As they had taken the steps to the courtyard, Arik noticed these carvings laid out before some of the grave markers.
“Hats? I do not sell hats,” the man told him without looking up at Hojo. “I wear them.”
“I would like to buy the hat you are wearing.” Hojo produced a wad of sen. “How much?”
Arik could almost smell the bills as Hojo began counting them out, the sound drawing the merchant’s attention as he looked up, the gray hairs from his scraggly beard now visible.
The merchant grumbled a number and Hojo gave him the bills. The man followed through with his conical hat, which Hojo placed on his head. It looked almost exactly like the one he had worn before, just a bit more weathered.
“I always wondered where you got those hats. As it turns out, you buy them from graveyard merchants. How quaint,” Meosa said once they’d left the courtyard.
Hojo led Arik toward the crypts, the disciple noticing that there were dozens upon dozens of them.
“There can’t be this many people in Moonagwa. I mean, over time, yes but…”
“They aren’t all from Moonagwa. This is a famous place to be buried, disciple. The wealthy of the Jade Realm pay to have their bodies transported here. The courtyard, while empty today, often hosts gatherings and other events for the dead. The royal families are buried here as well.” Hojo motioned to the right to a series of crypts on the highest hill, freshly arranged Jadean flags draped from them. “It is an honor to be buried here.”
“Is it where you would like to be buried?” Arik didn’t know why he asked this question, but as soon as he said it, he instantly regretted it. Hojo had nearly died just over an hour ago, now he was asking him where he wanted to be buried.
The master illusionist didn’t seem to mind the question. “I would be so lucky to be buried in a place like this, disciple. But that generally isn’t the fate for Hidden Warriors. While we are integral to the operations of the Jade Realm, at least in the past, our kind has always been viewed with suspicion and severe distrust in some circles.”
He didn’t elaborate, and Arik didn’t press him for any more information on how the School of Illusion buried their graduates.
Soon they were transitioning away from the famous graveyard, starting up a smaller mountain with weathered paths showing evidence of human existence. They reached a summit and Hojo motioned toward the east, to a rim of mountains, several of them reaching through a pocket of gray clouds.
“That’s where we’re going.”
Arik gulped as he took in the towering peaks in the distance. It was going to be quite the climb.
“It will be cold up there, disciple. We’ll keep moving to stay warm.”
“I’m ready.”
For the time being it was a picturesque scene, one that Arik would remember at some point in the future, standing on the summit alongside Hojo, their destiny cast before them. It would be a memory that he would cherish, one that would come to him from time to time.
.Chapter Eight.
“Never forget that the hand of life is fluid. A rigid hand is a dead hand when holding a sword.”
–Combat Master Rai Dalanzad from his battle treaty The Three Rings, Third Edition, Yoshimura Books, Year 1429, Page 11.
Arik Dacre only realized how tired he was once the sun began to set.
His healing power had an effect on his stamina, but he had spent the night in a barn and had a pretty strenuous day, not to mention their encounter with Sengum Minamoto and the terrain, which had grown rockier and more dangerous as they scaled another wall of rock.
They’d used their grappling hooks more than once by this point, Hojo always going first to show Arik how to climb the wall correctly, the disciple less and less worried about falling as he grew comfortable with the practice. The master illusionist had taught him a few things along the way, including which mountain vegetation was good for eating, from mushrooms to certain roots. Hunger wasn’t a problem, nor was hydration, their path bringing them to several streams of snow runoff, the water cold and refreshing. But the journey itself had been strenuous.
Hojo never said anything about Sengum Minamoto as they traveled, Arik wondering more than once what was going through the master illusionist’s mind. Not only that, he continued to try to figure out how Sengum knew where to find them. Maybe it was just a lucky guess. This got him wondering how much of Chimaura was based on sheer luck, the practice already less chi-based than he had anticipated.
“What are we going to do if this old shadow-brother of yours is waiting for us at this village you know of?” Meosa asked, interrupting a spell of silence that had lasted more than an hour.
“Sengum won’t be there.”
Arik figured this was as good of a time as any to ask. “How do you think he tracked us in the first place?”
“We were sloppy.”
“We were?”
Arik remembered hiding the bodies of the men that they had fought between Katano and Moonagwa. They would have been harder to discover than the bodies left on the beach. The disciple paused for a moment, suddenly becoming aware of what he was thinking and how utterly bizarre it was.
Hiding bodies? Killing indiscriminately and without remorse?
These kinds of things would have done something to him in the past, but now it had become a way of life.
This was who he was now, someone who had blurred the line between disciple and illusionist.
“The beach. As I’m sure you’ve figured out by now. But also in staying at the Hidden Warrior Retreat outside of Moonagwa, our second mistake. I should have known better. A hostel in the outer settlement of the city would have been a better option, and we could have moved in and out more easily. I want you to note where we went wrong, disciple. Even someone who has been doing this for a while, who has an understanding of Chimaura exceeding a normal person’s, and who has spent a life in espionage can still make mistakes. Mistakes are what make us human.”
“Now that’s something I can agree with,” Meosa said with a cackle. “Kami like me? We rarely make mistakes. Well, aside from that mistake I made five hundred years ago that led to me being imprisoned, and a mistake I may be making in leading this merry little band of blathering misfits. Other than those two, I have a pretty good track record.”
“It both behooves and humbles us to get a better picture of who we are,” Hojo told the kami. “We have a few more miles until we reach the village.”
“Does the village have a name?”
“Not to my knowledge. It isn’t really a village, to be honest, it’s just a gathering of families who are nomadic in the spring and fall, and stay near each other in hastily crafted cottages for the summer and winter.”
“No one has named it?”
Hojo shook his head. “Not everything needs a name.”
Meosa grumbled about the statement as they started up a ridge line that revealed the valley beyond, the mountains they were planning to reach at the other end. Many of the rock formations here were shaped like blunt swords, Arik pausing once again to appreciate the beauty of the Jade Realm.
“If they don’t have a name for it, what do people call it?” Meosa asked, his annoyance boiling over. “This village wasn’t here when I was alive. You know what I mean, I’m still alive. But back in my day, anyone who was brave enough, or maybe dumb enough, to visit Sukitoma would bring their own supplies then. If there’s a village, humans would surely name it.”
“I have heard people call it The Village Beneath the Crystal Castle.”
“Sounds like a name to me. The Village Beneath the Crystal Castle.”
“Then I suppose it does have a name,” Hojo told Meosa as he tilted his chin up, a short grin appearing on his face. Arik caught a glint of his eyes, noticing that they didn’t match the smile, a hollowness to them, as if he were looking to a landscape beyond anything Arik could see or imagine.
The master illusionist tilted his head back down and continued on his way, stopping only once to drink from another stream, this one with rocks lining it that had Jadean ideograms carved into them. “Directions,” Hojo told Arik as he motioned to the rocks.
