Takeo's Chronicles, page 146
“I can't believe it,” he said. “I just can't. Honestly, look.”
“What?” Dhyana asked, then coughed. “That’s how my legs have always looked since I got old. Your skin thins. It’s normal for old people to have purple, blue-ish veins showing through. And skin whites when you press on it.”
“This white though?” he replied and pressed again.
That’s when Takeo saw it. Nicholas pushed but only a little bit, and the whole vein turned white as snow. Dhyana had to lean over with some assistance from Mako to even see them.
“So? What does that mean?” she asked.
Nicholas looked back to Takeo, grimaced, and cast his eyes down. Takeo directed his attention to Qing, who swallowed.
“We’ve all had plenty of suspicions about Lord Botan’s purpose for your mother,” Qing started. “Among them was the thought that maybe he just wanted to kill her right in front of you, which we always assumed we could stop. Ping is still guarding the entrance. But when she got sick, I began to wonder if perhaps we were too late. I went back to the Hanu keep to do some research, and that’s where your viking comes in.”
Takeo’s heart skipped.
“Nicholas,” he said, then firmer when the viking didn’t speak up. “Nicholas!”
“Damn it all,” Nicholas whispered, shaking his head. “Dhyana, was the tea white?”
Dhyana hesitated, then nodded. She said, “I take it that wasn’t just a heavy dose of milk?”
“By Valhalla, I can’t believe he found it,” Nicholas said.
“My patience is running thin,” Takeo said through clenched teeth.
“Why? You already know what I’m going to say. Are you really going to make me say it?”
“If I knew what you were going to say, I wouldn’t be asking.”
“Fine! She's going to die.”
Takeo's heart stopped, and Mako gasped. Nicholas had been right. Takeo did know what the viking was going to say, but that didn't soften hearing the words.
“How?” Takeo asked.
Nicholas sighed.
“There’s this legend, in The North,” he started, “about a flower. Just one flower, white with star-shaped petals. Legend has it that only one of them grows in a decade, in the dead of winter, when there’s no light to snuff it out. I don’t really know the details, or the why, or where. It’s just a child’s bedtime story really, or a running joke at the dinner table. Anyway, in our legend, to find the flower means one is destined for greatness, and lots of our tales start with the hero finding one as a child. What’s important to know is that it’s deadly to eat. It doesn’t kill you immediately, but instead causes you to wither and die over some time after. In viking lore, eating the flower is akin to denying one’s destiny, and doing so means you’ll die a tragic death.”
“The flower is real and has been documented in the past,” Qing jumped in. “It’s very impractical, though. Because the flower can’t survive in light, that means—assuming one can find it at all—the flower has to be transported in total darkness to wherever it needs to go. On top of this, the flower cannot survive outside The North’s frigid winter temperatures for long, nor does it have any sort of noticeable seeds, which means it can’t be cultivated. This is all known because once upon a time it was considered an option for assassinations, but the practicality of it all is ridiculous. Assuming one does manage to find the flower and transport it back, the target has to consume it within a week, before the flower dies. And all for what? To kill someone a month later? Who has time or money or patience for that? Knives work just as well, and there are other slow-acting poisons, though none so slow as this one. Assassinations are absurdly difficult to pull off as it is, what with how guarded all royalty are in this part of the world.”
“I mean, the amount of effort he went through to get this done,” Nicholas said. “It’s insane.”
The silence in the tent was palpable. Nicholas hadn’t let go of Dhyana’s leg, instead just rubbing one white-streaked vein as if he still couldn’t believe his eyes. Tears flooded down Mako’s cheeks, and she wrapped her arms around Dhyana tightly. Takeo and his mother met each other’s gaze.
“How long do I have?” she asked.
“Not long, I think,” Nicholas replied. “According to legend, the white streaks don’t show up until the very end. It’s a sign of your blood dying within your veins.”
Qing nodded and said, “From what I read, at this point, you’ll be lucky to make it to morning.”
Takeo’s eyes fell to Dhyana’s leg. It seemed to him that the white streaks had increased in length since this conversation had started. Nicholas felt the gaze on his back and set the woman’s limb down. The viking stood up and walked out of the tent, pausing only to place one hand on Takeo’s shoulder.
Takeo barely felt it. His body had gone numb.
“I’ll, um,” Qing said, stopping and starting. “I’ll let Ping know you don’t want to be disturbed. I’m sure Kuniko can manage the catapults. Oh, and I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure.”
“Just go,” Takeo whispered.
She stopped, bowed, then obeyed. Takeo heard her muffled commands to Ping on the other side. Takeo met Dhyana’s gaze again. The old woman had her arms up, clutching Mako’s arms that were so firmly wrapped around her.
Takeo found his will to stand had left him, so he sank to his knees.
“I’m sorry,” he said, throat so thick that the words were difficult to get out. “I’m so sorry. I thought we had time.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Dhyana replied, wiping her eyes. “It’s not your fault.”
“Of course, it’s my fault. This is all my fault. None of this would have happened if not for me.”
“You can’t blame yourself. This is the best thing that could have happened.”
“How can you say that?” Takeo said. “You're about to die? How can this be the best thing?”
“Because I got to see you,” Dhyana replied, forcing a smile. “I got to meet you, speak with you. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I could have lived one-hundred more years and died a sad woman, but because I got to see my son again, I can die happy.”
“Don’t say that,” Takeo cut in. “Please, just don’t. If I had known, if only I had known.”
“What? What would you have done differently? Tell me.”
Takeo looked at his hands. They still had traces of blood on them. His sword still had blood on it, too, though Takeo didn’t care. It wasn’t truly his sword, just a borrowed tool that could be replaced. In a way, it wasn’t much different than the way some royalty looked at peasants, or the way generals thought of their soldiers. It was certainly the way Takeo had treated the akki, and that was okay by him. They weren’t human. Not even some humans were worthy of humanity as far as he was concerned, himself included.
But this woman? His mother?
“I,” Takeo started, then stopped, a shudder running through his heart. “I shouldn’t have been so distant. I kept you at bay because I was scared, and I didn’t want to be hurt, again, and I thought we had time. I thought we had all the time in the world, or at least if we didn’t, it would be because I died. I didn’t think; I, I didn’t feel—”
Dhyana wiped a tear from her eye before a coughing fit took over. She buried her face into Mako’s chest to cover her mouth, and Mako held fast.
“Would you say that you love me?” Dhyana asked once it was done.
“I don’t know,” Takeo replied.
“But at least, please, tell me you accept my love.”
Takeo paused, then nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “I do.”
Dhyana sighed and lay back in Mako’s arms, a wave of relief rushing off her shoulders. Her forced smile turned genuine, reaching her eyes and seeming to embrace the entire tent in warmth. Takeo’s chest ached with a pain he hadn’t felt in a decade.
“If I’m going to die tonight, can I ask something of you, son?”
“What can I do?”
“I know you’re a grown man now, and I’m an old woman,” she started, “but you’ll always be my baby. Let me hold you one last time.”
She opened her arms.
Takeo hesitated. Physical contact of any sort wasn’t something he was prone to. He even recoiled a hair on instinct, but fortunately Dhyana didn’t appear offended. He looked to her hands, her arms, then to her smile. Mako, tears still streaming from her face, pulled away, letting Dhyana down gently as she did so. Takeo took a deep breath and swallowed his unease.
He wanted to deny her. He knew that doing this would only hurt him more when she passed. Yet he couldn't do it. He couldn't say no.
Against every fiber in his body, Takeo crawled over and slipped into his mother’s arms.
It was awkward, at first. The last time Takeo had lain close to anyone without carnal intent had been for one night on a mountaintop to survive freezing temperatures. This was much different, and he wasn’t sure how to proceed. His hands drifted about aimlessly, unsure where to rest. Her waist seemed too intimate, her face impractical, and her legs unreasonable. He wasn’t even sure which way to lie. Should he face her? Turn away? He cringed a hundred times over.
Fortunately, Dhyana took the lead.
She pulled him close and pressed his head to her chest, just so that his hair nestled under chin. Her arm became a pillow for his head as they laid on their sides, and she wrapped her other arm under his and around his back. Through her skin, he could hear the faint beat of her heart. The warmth of her skin was comforting.
Dhyana drew in a deep breath and shuddered.
“Oh, my baby boy,” she whispered.
Takeo swallowed.
“You don’t have to say anything,” she said. “Just be here with me.”
Takeo took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around her. He forced down his pride and unease and fear to say the words he might never get to say again.
“I will,” he said. “Mother.”
* * *
The morning air was crisp but far from clear as Takeo emerged from the tent. The lingering smoke from the catapults permeated the camp and clouded the sunrise. Outside, he found Ping sitting on the grass, hunched over and leaning on his sword, which was impaled on the ground, trying to ward off sleep. It seemed the man had been awake all night, keeping guard, which Takeo could empathize with. He hadn’t slept either.
Ping’s fluttering eyes snapped open at his general’s appearance. Ping scrambled to his feet and bowed a hair too low, so that he almost toppled over.
“Sir, is she?” he asked.
Takeo didn’t reply, and that was answer enough.
“My sincere condolences, my lord. I got to know her. She was a kind woman,” Ping said. “Uh, Kuniko sends her regards, too. I think word has spread; you should know. She also wanted you to know she's handling the remains of the catapults. She’s getting the army organized and trying to salvage what remains of our siege works. Morale is low, people are talking of defeat, but your true followers remain unshaken. I want you to know we're with you, my lord. We know you have a plan. I can take you to Kuniko if you like or relay any message you need. I await your orders, my lord.”
Takeo flexed his wrist, cracking the bones that had lain perfectly still for hours. Ping’s words had fallen on deaf ears. The ronin’s eyes fell to his hands, still bloodied, yet far too clean for his mood.
“You’re right,” Takeo whispered. “I do have a plan.”
He strode off, leaving a bewildered Ping still bowed over.
“My lord?”
“Stay with Mako,” Takeo shouted over his shoulder, then whispered to himself. “At least one of us ought to survive.”
And he went to face Lord Botan.
Chapter 16
Takeo wasted no time in acquiring a mount and spurring out of the Hanu camp. The fewer people who saw him, the better, he figured, so he set a relentless speed that edged his komainu into bloodlust. Its long tongue lolled out and flung saliva into its self-generated wind, its eyes darting for targets as soldiers dove out of the way. Takeo was free of the camp in mere moments, ripping through the tall grass on a direct course for the Katsu fortress. The sun still lay hidden behind the massive structure, and the artistic combination of stone and wood loomed like a glowing beacon before Takeo’s approach.
Once Takeo entered within catapult range of the fortress, the grass began to deaden and fall around him, having been trampled under an armored stampede not too long prior. Some places were still soaked with blood, particularly under the boulders. Takeo didn’t doubt that his approach was being watched, and in fact, he hoped for it. As he passed into bow range, he spurred his mount again. The komainu snarled, losing its sanity to the pace of the run, and pushed itself harder.
Takeo yanked on the reins as he came within charging distance of the moat, where the walls were so clear that Takeo could see individual soldiers and hear shouts on the wind. It took a massive effort to get his mount to stop, and it whined and snarled in protest. The beast’s blood was up, its heart pumping, and it was too lost to sit still. Forced to halt by its master, the komainu settled for a pacing stride, winding back and forth in a tight circle like a caged animal, whirling Takeo about at the same time and making him an impossible target for a bowman at this range.
“Botan!” Takeo bellowed out to the walls.
The whispers on the wind died out.
“Come and fight me!” Takeo yelled. “You coward! I’m here!”
A few quick shouts echoed out from inside the stone walls. Takeo waited, turning this way and that as his komainu flipped from side to side and paced along flattened grass.
“What’s the matter?” Takeo shouted. “You’re brave enough to dismember a prisoner and poison an old woman, but you can’t stand up to straight fight? I’m right here! What are you waiting for? Show yourself!”
A thunderous clang echoed from the gate, and a shower of dust and dirt broke out along the seal between wood and stone. The drawbridge lowered to the ground, clanking and shuddering all the way. At long last, the fortress was open, and a way across the moat presented itself.
And Lord Botan Katsu road out.
He wore immaculate armor, regal and bright in the intensity of its colors. Varying shades of Katsu blue wrapped him from head to toe, embroidered with gold and silver edges. He had recently shaven, his chin unsullied by even a touch of hair. His mount was no less presentable, wearing an equally impressive suit of armor, such that the two seemed an inseparable unit of metal, fabric, and flesh. The komainu had clearly been starved this morning, as it stalked out along the drawbridge snarling and drooling voraciously.
Yet it was Botan’s hip that drew Takeo's attention, for there hung the black blade of the Karaoshi family.
Lord Botan brought his mount to a stop when it touched the grass, leaving some distance between him and Takeo. Then he smiled.
“Wipe that smug look off your face,” Takeo shouted. “Or does it bring you that much pleasure to kill an old woman in her sleep?”
“It serves her right,” Botan replied, also shouting so that his voice would clear the distance, “breeding a monster like you.”
“Me, the monster? You wear hypocrisy like you do your wealth. I knew there was something wrong with you. I sensed it the first time I laid eyes on your holier-than-thou stance. I tried to warn Gavin. Never trust a man who believes his cause is righteous, for he thinks himself incapable of evil.”
Botan laughed.
“I have no desire to hear the philosophical ravings of a lunatic. I see your camp had quite the fire last night. How tragic. I assume you blame me for that, and I’ll gladly take credit, even if it’s undeserved. Is that what this is really about?”
Takeo clenched his jaw. He had hoped to inflame Botan’s temper, but it seemed the lord saw through his every move. Takeo reeked of desperation, and there was no hiding it.
“I know it’s me you’re after,” Takeo said. “It’s all anyone’s after. Whether they want to kill me, shackle me, or bed me, this whole damned land can’t think beyond me for two damned seconds. So fine, you can have me, but on my terms and on one condition: you let them go.”
“Them?”
“Gavin, his daughter, and Krunk,” Takeo said, “and Yeira, I suppose. Gavin would want that. And damn it, fine, the rakshasa, too, wherever she is. Give them all safe passage to wherever they want. Just get them out of this war.”
Lord Botan raised his right hand, which was covered in a thin glove, and pulled at the fingertips one by one. He stripped the glove off and then wrapped his bare skin about the handle of his sword. Even from this distance, Takeo could see the power flow into Botan’s veins, the heat and strength that whirled about his body. Botan drew the sword, and with it, a shimmer of heat wafted off the blade’s exposed metal.
Takeo swallowed.
“You have my word,” Botan said, “that when I plunge this tip into your icy heart, I will release your companions. Now, are you going to be a good little ronin and march quietly over to receive your coup de grace?”
Takeo drew his own sword and yanked the reins on his komainu, directing it at the lord for a charge.
Botan smirked.
“I thought not,” he said. “In a way, I’m glad for it.”
“I told you,” Takeo replied. “On my terms.”
The ronin slammed his heels into his mount, spurring the komainu into a dead sprint. The beast dug its claws into the ground and launched into the air with such tenacity that the reins were almost ripped from Takeo’s hand. Botan was less than a heartbeat behind, driving his komainu into an unrelenting charge that ate up the distance between them.
Each a skilled combatant in his own right, they drove their mounts into perfect lines that would run along their right side. Botan held the Karaoshi sword out and high in a flourishing style favored by the daimyo, while Takeo held his blade angled down and slightly behind him, as taught by his brother. Each bounded up and down with his komainu’s raw gallop, leaning out over the right side of their saddles, loose strands of hair and embroidery trailing behind them in the self-made wind. At this pace, they’d each have time for a single stroke, which was all the time they would need.
