Takeo's Chronicles, page 108
Takeo graced the viking with a single glance.
“Do you?” he replied.
The conversation—if it could be called that—came to a swift end. Nicholas stormed off without an answer, having gotten his rant in and been favored with a two-word reply from Takeo.
The truth was that Takeo was only taking Krunk because he was also taking Emy, and no one questioned him on this, not even Emy. It was an unspoken law that where Takeo went, the rakshasa girl was to follow.
Qing also came, surprising those who did not know her true purpose here. However, those soldiers who gossiped were smart enough to do it in private.
Takeo received another request to join the skirmish forces, one that caught him off guard. Just before they were due to leave, Kuniko approached him and begged to join. She’d caught him just outside his tent with her things all packed and ready for the journey.
“My lord,” she said, taking a knee with head bent over as far as her spine would allow. “Please, take me. I beg you.”
Takeo furrowed his eyebrows at her and glanced about to see if any others had joined her, like Ping. There was no one as far as he could see, though a thin girl in black lay hidden somewhere close by, or so he assumed.
“Kuniko, what are you doing here? Weren’t you assigned to someone else?”
“I was, my lord,” she replied, “but I’m here requesting, begging, to be reassigned back to you, as I was before by my father.”
Takeo sighed. Kuniko wasn’t wrong. Her father had requested Takeo, personally, to take his daughter and teach her to be as skilled as the ronin. Takeo had agreed and taught Kuniko dutifully for some time. However, he hadn’t trained her since that fateful time in the old fortress, not since he’d seen her learn things he’d never intended to teach.
I’ve done irreparable damage to this girl. I wish she could see that.
“Kuniko, as I recall, you didn’t want to join me when we first met,” Takeo said. “I think you had the right idea then. You’re better off as far away from me as possible.”
Takeo went to step around her, but Kuniko shifted on the ground to block him. He cocked his head to the side.
“Please, my lord,” she pressed, voice shaking. “I swear my life to you.”
“Don’t,” Takeo said. “And get out of my way.”
“I meant what I said about wanting to be the greatest warrior I can be to restore honor to my family name. You swore you’d train me, so please do that. Please, I’m begging you. I can’t serve anyone else. I only want to serve you.”
“Kuniko—”
“I’d sacrifice anything—no, everything—my lord, to be at your side. What will it take for you to let me do so? Name it, and it shall be done.”
Takeo looked down at the girl, still bowed over, and covered his face with an open palm. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. This young girl, or young in his eyes anyway, had so many great prospects at her fingertips. For one, she was a daimyo’s daughter and thus had access to many avenues of power. Not only that, but her father was well connected. Perhaps not respected, due to his injuries, but he still had many strings he could pull. She was strong and healthy, clearly loyal and ambitious. True, she wasn’t exactly pretty, but that hardly mattered for one in her position. Takeo couldn’t understand why she’d want to throw all of that away by associating herself with one so tainted as himself.
“Kuniko, I’ve lied to you,” he said. “I must have because the man standing before you is not worthy of such devotion. I think all this stems from that time in the fortress. Perhaps it was the hunger or the fighting or the desperation of it all, but you see some sort of kinship between us, am I right? Perhaps you think we share a bond for having survived that encounter together, but you’re wrong. We survived because Lord Nobu rescued us at the last second, and nothing else. All I ever did was prolong our death, and you need to see that.”
“All I see is that you are abandoning me,” she whispered.
Abandoning, he repeated the word. Abandoning? How dare she? I should abandon her. Why am I even arguing with her at all? This isn’t me. I don’t bargain with soldiers ten years younger than me. Why am I even concerned about what she thinks? Were this anyone else, I’d have sent them away already. What am I doing here?
“This isn’t up for discussion,” Takeo said, dropping his tone to a dark level.
In a flash, Kuniko drew her sword, and Takeo stepped back on instinct. Less than a heartbeat later, he’d dropped his pack and grabbed his own sword, his body alight with the thrill of combat, all before he realized Kuniko was still bowed over.
He froze, hand on his sword.
Kuniko slid her blade across her belly, lightly so no damage was done, and then pressed the tip to her navel. She held the handle out towards Takeo and there gripped it with one hand. With the other hand, she parted her clothing, letting her kimono slip away from her shoulders, exposing her body from the waist up. The tip of her katana dug into her skin, just a hair’s breadth away from drawing blood. She never looked up.
“I will serve no one else, my lord,” she said, voice unwavering. “If you send me away, I will take that as a sign that I have shamed you, and I will take my own life.”
Takeo’s lips parted, and his heartbeat rose. It was worth noting that his pulse hadn’t risen from Kuniko drawing her blade, as he was so used to combat that he was numb to the adrenaline. His body had awakened, sure, but his pulse had remained calm. However, as he looked upon Kuniko now, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest.
Seppuku was a sacred tradition in samurai culture, the ritual sacrifice to restore one’s honor. A samurai’s purpose was to serve their lord or lady ‘til death, or so their code went. If they disobeyed or ran from combat, such shame was brought down on their name that only a great sacrifice could restore their virtue. Specifically, they were expected to commit suicide. If they didn’t, they were branded a ronin and doomed to a life worth less than a beggar’s. It was an interesting dilemma, full of morbid romanticism, but Takeo had rarely seen it practiced in real life. Seppuku was a great sacrifice, indeed, and most lacked the strength to do it, himself included. Other samurai avoided becoming a ronin by joining the daimyo who conquered them, and this went mostly unquestioned because death was such a permanent thing. Daimyos couldn’t have their best samurai killing themselves when second chances could prove more profitable, so seppuku wasn’t exactly enforced. Some rules were law; other rules were for the dreamers and poets. Such was life.
Yet now here was this promising girl on her knees before him, and Takeo wasn’t so sure he knew what would happen next. He wondered for a moment if she was bluffing, and then he remembered her with fresh blood caked across her mouth and throat, dripping down her clothes, and the smile on her face. What was worse, she had encouraged others to follow suit.
And now she had many more followers, all claiming to be equally devoted. Kuniko was their spiritual leader, their shining example, and Takeo felt a sudden sickness creep into his stomach.
I can’t risk this.
He stepped forward and grabbed her sword arm, yanking the blade away. Kuniko looked up at him.
“You can come,” he said, “on the promise you’ll never do that again.”
Kuniko beamed. “Yes, my lord.”
“Promise,” he repeated.
“I swear on my life.”
Takeo sighed. Good enough.
Chapter 7
Takeo made a strong effort to take only the best samurai when he left. This was a difficult task due to the problematic age gap in the Hanu army. The young and the old were plentiful, but Takeo’s perfect mix of experience and athletic ability was in short supply—another legacy left in the wake of Emily’s passing. Still, Takeo was as selective as possible because the skirmish game was one he knew well. That had been his primary purpose under his brother’s command all those years ago.
The rules of success and survival were simple: Strike hard and fast and then disappear in mock ninja fashion, if not for the brutal damage and direct combat that ensued. Skirmishers were used for all sorts of tasks, from attacking supply lines to striking deep into enemy territory. Such attacks were considered cowardly and dishonorable by some daimyo, but that never stopped any of them from using these tactics. Mobility was a weapon as deadly as numbers, if used properly.
They packed light, and not just on Takeo’s orders. The very nature of their work meant all gear had to be carried, and at a running pace if the situation called for it. Each soldier only carried what he or she deemed necessary, knowing that too many possessions might spell their death.
Takeo was moderately impressed that those samurai he chose packed well, and his assigned sergeant, Kuniko, only had to scold one or two individuals for being too greedy in their selections. As Takeo expected, she performed well. The girl was an exceptional leader, and Takeo was smart enough to take advantage of that. After all, if she insisted on coming, then Takeo would put her to work.
Only Krunk carried a heavy load. The ogre was a voracious eater and so hefted an abundance of food on Takeo’s command. Emy carried another large load, again reserved mostly for Krunk, and wasn’t burdened any more than the ogre due to her inhuman strength. She ran side-by-side with her purple surrogate father and, without any command from Takeo, knew to place herself and Krunk close to the ronin when they marched.
Takeo didn’t set a harsh pace. Thanks to well-traveled roads and favorable weather, they made good time.
“Krunk doesn’t like leaving Gavin,” the ogre complained for the third time on the morning of the second day.
They had just peeled off from the main path and were headed into the thicker parts of Juatwa’s lower foothills. In these regions, the wooded area of Juatwa’s southwest mixed with the sparse, hilly region of Juatwa’s northern end. To help defend the Hanu supply lines, Nobu had ordered—or rather, been directed by a wise general to order—that the supply lines be broken up and scattered about. If they couldn’t be defended properly by soldiers, then the next best thing was to make them difficult to find. It was a tactic Takeo agreed with, even if it made his job difficult. He’d have just as much trouble finding the attackers, and so he intended to meet up with the few defensive forces sent to guard the caravans. He knew where they were, at least.
“As I’ve said, Krunk,” Takeo replied once again, “Gavin doesn’t like it either.”
“I’m sure he misses you, too, Father,” Emy said, rubbing the slabs of muscle that covered Krunk’s arms.
“Krunk misses Gavin’s baby, too,” the ogre pressed. “Krunk like babies.”
Yet another oft repeated complaint, Takeo thought. It’s a good thing I know him well. If some random villager heard him say that, they’d think he was talking about eating babies, just by looking at him. Poor Krunk. He makes my life seem easy.
Emy rubbed Krunk’s arm again, smiling at him.
“Oh, I know Pleiades misses you, too. Remember that one time you got to hold her? That was the only time she didn’t cry when Takeo wasn’t holding her.”
Emy glanced over to the samurai and gave him a grin. Takeo grimaced.
The rakshasa’s disguise today was of a woman of striking beauty. Emy often chose to disguise herself as a woman, even though she could have easily chosen to be a man. She could have been an ogre, too, if she wanted, or a vampire, a sennin, a viking, or even an orc if she knew what one looked like. Yet she had a strong affinity for the human female form, particularly pretty ones, and Takeo couldn’t help but see some malicious intent in that. The fact that human men were easily duped by the charming features of the opposite sex was hardly a secret. Surely Emy was practicing her disguises so she could live in a country dominated by male warriors.
Or maybe she just likes being pretty like most women, like most people, a quiet thought slipped through his brain. He silenced it in an instant.
“Takeo,” Krunk whispered. “Takeo, you should have children. Children are best things in life.”
“No, Krunk, I think it’s best I didn’t,” the samurai replied.
“Huh? But children make everyone happy,” the ogre countered, this time at full volume. “Krunk would know. Krunk lived in orphanage. Krunk had friends, so many friends. More than Krunk could count.”
“So two, then,” came a voice from behind.
It was some random samurai in the ranks who had tried, but failed, to whisper. A muffled chuckle ran through the crowd, one which the patter of many feet couldn’t hide. Fortunately, Krunk didn’t seem to notice, but that didn’t stop Takeo from glancing ever so slightly over his shoulder. The chuckling stopped.
“I’m sorry, Krunk, but I think Gavin is the only one of us who will fulfill that dream of yours,” Takeo went on. “There aren’t any other ogres on this side of the world for you, and it’s just not in the cards for me. As for Nicholas, we all know he won’t father any offspring. Not unless he gets absurdly drunk and meets a woman with a beard bigger than his.”
The ogre frowned, sending a glob of drool falling out of the corner of his mouth. This wasn’t unusual. Krunk had been drooling a lot more as of late. It was as if he was forgetting to swallow.
“That’s not true,” Krunk said. “Emy could have children.”
The air went still, or so it seemed to Takeo as the hairs on his neck stood straight up. He darted a look at the rakshasa before he could stop himself, only to find Emy looking straight ahead, one arm still looped around Krunk’s, seemingly lost in thought. Takeo didn’t buy it.
“Krunk thinks that would be nice,” the ogre went on, oblivious to the tension in the air. Even the soldiers marching behind had gone quiet, breathing softer and standing straighter.
Takeo jumped in before Krunk could say anything else.
“Let’s worry about all of that after the war, shall we? Just focus on staying alive. The dead can’t breed.”
He looked to the rakshasa again, yet still she seemed disinterested. She even bobbed and weaved like she was daydreaming, as opposed to walking with a more rigid gait like every human within earshot. On that thought, Takeo glanced off to his other side to where Qing was walking. She met his gaze, infuriated.
Damn it, Krunk. Can’t you keep your wits about you for a little longer? One year ago, you would have never said such a thing in public. To admit wanting a rakshasa to breed? What else will you let slip in the coming years? Will you talk about killing the oni or how Lord Eun truly died? Will you tell people about the jinni in the cave or the cannibalism in the fort? And I’m not even sure what to think about Emy anymore. She heard him, loud and clear, and pretended not to. Is that a good thing? Is she truly disinterested or hiding it? If she is hiding, is it from me or for the sake of everyone else?
Damn, I know too little, and I have no time to solve another problem. I’m supposed to be fighting a war here, not dabbling in rakshasa rearing. Is this problem number eleven? Twelve? I’ve lost count.
The conversation died away as the Juatwa landscape took them. They were well off the main road by now but still traveling along a beaten path. The road was wide enough for two komainu-drawn carts to squeeze past each other, and the thicket of trees grew along the edges to create a clear indication of direction. The trees were in bloom, covered in green moss, and flowers brushed the ankles of the soldiers that walked closest to the edge of the road. Their path wound through the forest and around low hills, following nature’s course, as opposed to cutting through it, and so their travel was anything but direct. However, it was still the easiest and surest way to reach their destination.
Assuming the Hanu defensive forces hadn’t been wiped out already.
They had yet to meet any travelers along the way as this area was now a dedicated warzone. The only ones to brave these paths were soldiers and the desperate merchant caravans that made up the Hanu supply lines. So that being said, Takeo was shocked when he and his troops rounded one corner to find their path blocked by a trio of humans.
Two of them were distinctly ninjas, wearing tight-fitting dark clothing that wound about their bodies. They each carried a wakizashi—a shorter version of the samurai katana—but Takeo knew from experience the two would have countless other weapons hidden in the many pockets and folds of their clothing, including throwing stars and daggers. One of the ninjas had his or her face and head covered, exposing only their eyes, while the other was bolder. He was a short, old man, judging by his wrinkled skin and age-whitened hair, but one wouldn’t think so by the way he carried himself. He stood like a rock, solid and unwavering, almost unnaturally so. His beady eyes were as watchful as a thunderbird’s, scanning and assessing everything within sight. It took Takeo a moment to recognize the man as the leader of the ninja clan he and Emily had dealt with all those years ago, but it only took him so long because he’d immediately recognized the third person.
Standing between them with her hands tied, tears streaming down her cheeks, and a dagger held to her throat was Mako Tamura, his brother’s widow.
She was as tall and beautiful as ever. Her long, straight, black hair fell like a dark waterfall about her light brown eyes and the soft glow of her skin. What her body lacked in curves, it made up for in innocent charm. She was almost a hand taller than Takeo, but one wouldn’t think so by the way she hunched, drew her shoulders in, and cast her gaze to the ground or by how she blushed and came to tears with ease. Of course, she had a legitimate reason to be pouting now as the dagger at her throat forced her chin aloft and the tears ran down to drip onto the cold steel.
The masked ninja held the dagger and didn’t seem at all concerned as Mako sucked in tiny, pained huffs of air.
Upon seeing Takeo, she closed her eyes and let out a whimper.
Takeo froze in every sense of the word. The rest of the army stopped, too, but not like their ronin leader. Takeo’s whole body went stiff, and a chill ran down his spine as if he’d just been exposed to the full force of a northern winter. His mouth fell open, and for once in his life, his mind went blank.
