Takeo's Chronicles, page 178
Takeo continued to hold his sword until Qing was brought to the scene. He held tight and watched her every move, waiting for what he thought was surely to come.
Qing, still reeling from the shock of seeing Lady Zhenzhen pregnant, now stood before the empty litter and beheld the motionless body of her former empress swaying from the trees. She stared and stared, tears dripping slowly yet steadily from her eyes. Her small, frail, yet wiry figure seemed to close in on itself as she clasped her hands and paced slowly towards the body. She looked up at Zhenzhen’s swollen form, held her feet, and pressed the empress’ toes to her lips.
Takeo waited. This had always been the plan, for Qing to see Zhenzhen like this. It wasn’t just about the cruelty of it, as much as Takeo liked to see the little elf suffer for all her insolence. No, it was sheer prudence. Seeing her lover like this would surely push Qing over the edge, and when the elf came at Takeo in a rage, he could kill her and be rid of one more loose end.
But that’s not what happened. Qing, in uncharacteristic fashion, stood meekly and wept.
“Why?” she whispered.
“You know why,” Takeo replied.
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
Qing let her tears drip on Zhenzhen’s feet and kissed them one more time. She took a deep breath and let out a long shudder. Then she closed her eyes and let go.
Takeo waited, poised. Nothing happened.
“Well?” he asked.
“Well what?” she replied without turning. “What do you want from me?”
“Anything, for starters. I can say that if I were you and that were Emily, I wouldn’t hesitate to attack the person responsible. You’re being awfully calm, Qing, which makes me nervous.”
“Ah, so you planned to kill me in self-defense, is that it?” Qing scoffed. “Not to assuage your guilt, no doubt. You’d have no issue killing me in cold blood. So here I am. What are you waiting for? Cut my body in two, as you have done to my heart.”
Takeo considered doing just that, but he couldn’t shake his disbelief at what he saw. In all the time he’d known Qing, she’d been an angry mess, shouting and raving, spitting insults. She’d even tried to kill him once already, just on the chance that he might kill Zhenzhen. She should be in blind rage right now. It just didn’t make sense.
A modicum of respect rose for her in his mind.
“How?” he asked.
“How what?”
“You know what.”
Qing sighed and shook her head.
“I’ve been mourning her for some time now,” Qing whispered. “When she killed Mako, I knew you wouldn’t let it go. Like watching an old relative pass away from sickness, I’ve been waiting for you to take your revenge. I realized nothing could save her. At least, nothing I could do. She had a sickness all her own—the very human diseases of shortsightedness and thirst for power. She never should have taken you in, but there was nothing to do.”
“Do you want me to kill you?” Takeo asked.
“Almost,” Qing replied. “Almost, but, well, she never loved me. That’s the difference, you see, between yourself and me. That and I’m an elf. I just want one thing.”
“What?”
“Let me bury her. Let me cut her down and take her away, some place only I will know about, where I can lay her to rest, in peace, and visit her whenever I like. That’s all I ask.”
Takeo was still waiting for the betrayal, yet he weighed her words. That was easy enough to grant. He’d planned to burn the body originally. He didn’t want to make a martyr out of Zhenzhen. He figured it would be better if she mysteriously disappeared with a rumor going out that she and the baby had died in childbirth. Sure, the truth would get out eventually, but by then the power of the act would have been disarmed through disinformation.
“Then what?” Takeo asked. “You want me to kill you?”
“Actually, if you’ll let me, I thought I would continue to serve you.”
Takeo balked this time, and he nearly let go of his sword. Then he tightened his grip, thinking that this was the exact moment of surprise Qing had been waiting for to attack. It’s what he would have done.
She did nothing.
“You,” Takeo stammered, “would continue to serve me? After what I’ve done?”
“It’s not so crazy,” Qing replied. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about this, logically, like a good elf. Trying to kill you would be pointless. It wouldn’t bring Zhenzhen back. And what if I left you? First, I doubt you’d let me go, but more importantly, to what end would I be leaving? Isn’t your intent to spread this war over the rest of the world? There will be no escaping you, wherever I go. What you’re about to do will shape history itself, and I could have a hand in it. Also, you forget that I will outlive you by hundreds of years. This is but a moment in time for me—a rather important moment that I would be foolish to walk away from.
“And think about things from your perspective. If you’re about to fight the world, then you’re going to need capable generals, lots of them. You can’t be everywhere at once, Takeo, so you’ll need people you can trust to act independently and competently. As a smart man, you’ll know few meet those qualifications as thoroughly as me.
“In fact, I’d wager you need me.”
Takeo paused, still anticipating treachery at every word. However, that didn’t stop his mind from turning, calculating, and weighing the truth in her statement.
“But we hate each other,” Takeo said. “How could I ever trust you?”
“That’s never stopped you before.”
That was true. As Gavin had liked to mention, Takeo actually did trust people who hated him. In fact, he trusted them more than others because he expected people to hate him—wanted people to hate him. Life was easier that way, familiar, and less painful than loving and losing. Look at what had happened with all those he did trust. If they weren’t dead, they’d betrayed and abandoned him.
Now he was surrounded by people he didn’t trust. There was Aiguo, the traitorous vermin. Lord Oiu, the sniveling coward. Lady Anagarika, the fearful mother. Only Kuniko was the exception, and one was enough.
“Alright then,” Takeo said. “Go ahead. Cut her down and do as you please, then return to me for your orders. However, just know that I’ll always be watching you. I’ll expect you to betray me at every turn, and I’ll always be ready.”
“I know, my lord,” she said, bowing. “And it’s for that reason you will survive when I do.”
Takeo finally let go of his sword. Qing did nothing. Only then did he release his breath and walk away.
“My lord?” Qing called out.
Takeo turned back and raised an eyebrow.
“May I ask what your plan is for me? What you’ll do now?”
Takeo thought a moment, debating the harm in telling her. Then he decided there was no point in waiting. This part of the story had come to a close, and now it was time for the next one to begin, this time with him as Emperor Takeo Karaoshi—The Dark Lord.
“I will launch an invasion force at once,” Takeo said. “I will attack everywhere so that no place will have a chance to rise up against me, like what happened to Jabbar. Savara, Lucifan, Khaz Mal, and The North must all be either scouted or assaulted. While Kuniko, Oiu, and Anagarika handle those places closest to here, I intend to have Aiguo go after a loose end that slipped through my fingertips. He’s knowledgeable about rakshasas—I can think of no one better, besides myself, to hunt down Emy. I’ve no doubt she’ll be a thorn in my side somehow. As for you, I think I’ll either send you into The North or to Savara. I’m not sure yet. I hadn’t planned on having you around. I will think on it.”
“But where will you go?”
Takeo nodded.
“Yes, I’m not surprised you asked that. I’m sure everyone wants to know. I’m thinking ahead, of Lucifan. That city may be the most difficult place to bring down, thanks to the remaining colossus. I have no way of knowing if it’s still . . . alive. I have to know. I can’t complete my dream without knowing. The world can’t know peace if Lucifan still stands. I need to find the last angel.
“And hopefully, just maybe, I won’t have to kill him.”
Epilogue
This is the night.
Cyrus took a deep breath, held it, and counted to five. Then he released it and repeated the line.
“This is the night,” he said, mist seeping out with the words. “This is the night.”
Yet, no matter how many times he said it, his insides churned. He hesitated and contemplated waiting another month. He shook with nervous energy and rubbed his shoulders where excess adrenaline made his limbs go numb.
Oh, and there was the fear, of course.
But he couldn’t. Everything was ready. The Phizeiros brothers and their friends had set up a small camp just west of the elven village where Cyrus and his mother could live in peace, comfortably beneath a well-made elven structure. The brothers had even given Cyrus words of encouragement some nights ago, favoring the werewolf with a smile and an oath of protection.
“You’ll do fine,” Katar had said. “You’ve been training for this, and by elves, no less.”
“Come on,” Urddusk had added. “I mean, you’ve fought a bugbear. You can’t be scared. I’ve never seen a werewolf be afraid of anything.”
But the truth was that Cyrus would rather fight that bugbear two more times than fight Ralph once. In fact, the more he thought about his stepfather, fear wasn’t the right word to describe Cyrus’ emotions. Outright terror was a better description.
“But tonight is the night,” he whispered.
There could be no more waiting. Not only was his private camp set up well within trading distance of the elven village, but Cyrus’ plan had been discovered by Nathok. Surprising everyone while Cyrus had been putting the finishing touches on his new camp, the old elf had come by.
“I heard what you intend to do,” Nathok had said. “Brave, but more importantly, courageous. Even if you fail, you’ll have died for a worthy cause.”
“Thanks, I think,” Cyrus had mumbled in reply.
How could Cyrus go back on his plans now? Everyone was counting on him. Most of all, Belen.
She didn’t know it, of course. Cyrus hadn’t seen his mother in months. In exile from both the elves and the werewolves, Cyrus had spent his days traveling between the outskirts of one village and the other. Although time and circumstance had mended his relationship with the Phizeiros brothers, Cyrus could still only meet the elves outside their village. He wasn’t allowed back inside—not yet. Even if everyone now disagreed with the decision to banish him, they had to abide by their own laws and wait until another council could be drawn up and a new vote administered by the elders.
He couldn’t make a camp close to the werewolves. Since defying Ralph, the authoritative decree had come down that Cyrus wouldn’t be welcomed back until he made amends. It didn’t matter that Cyrus had been so broken and bruised that night that he’d had to be carried to the outskirts, then dumped on the ground to heal on his own. It hadn’t mattered that Ralph abused Cyrus’ mother. That wasn’t how the pack operated. Ralph was the alpha male, and he had friends. He was the strongest and thus was in charge until another brought him down. Then, and only then, could his will be defied.
And that was why Cyrus was so terrified as he hid among the shrubs on the outskirts of the werewolf village. Tonight was the first night he would see his mother in the camp itself, as opposed to in secret somewhere far from prying eyes.
“Mother,” he’d pleaded in the past. “Please, come with me. I’ll set up a nice home for us, just us two. You don’t have to stay with him.”
“Cyrus, he’s the alpha. Please don’t talk about this. I can’t defy him like that. They’d come after us. It’s better this way. I can protect you from him.”
“You’re not protecting me. He’s hurting you. You can’t hide the bruises from me. Please, let’s just run away.”
But she wouldn’t. She was just as terrified as Cyrus was, but she felt powerless. Ralph had abused her for so long that her mind was as much a prison as his might. She wouldn’t leave, not so long as Ralph seemed unbeatable.
“This is the night,” Cyrus said.
It was almost time. Defying a werewolf pack leader wasn’t as simple as walking up to the man and issuing a challenge. Werewolves had a strict tradition that the alpha could only be challenged in werewolf form under a full moon, when both were at their peak physical condition. In such a form, Ralph would be even stronger than normal, more ferocious than normal, and less merciful. In his bestial form, Ralph wouldn’t be able to stop himself from killing Cyrus.
“You can do this,” Ven had said last they’d met. “Just do as we’ve planned. Pick the last night of the full moon, that way when you win, you can bring Belen back without her changing again. We’ll have the cage ready by the next cycle, so she can be confined at night, and everything will be just fine. You two will be happy here, and you’ll finally become the man you’ve always wanted to be.”
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Cyrus had replied, bile rising up in his throat even with the fateful night being so far out.
“You must, Cyrus. You must stand up to him. You’ll forever live in fear if you do not.”
“Live in fear,” Cyrus muttered now, beneath the shrub. “I’m swimming in fear right now. Okay, okay, okay. Come on, you can do this. For her. For her. This is the night. This is the night.”
Cyrus took another deep breath, balled his hands into fists, and stood up. Then he straightened his back and marched toward the werewolf camp.
There wasn’t much of a guard set up around the place. There was precious little light left before the full moon rose up, so any creature that valued its life would have run far, far away. That being said, Cyrus wasn’t trying to sneak in, so he was spotted by two of Ralph’s goons.
“Eh! Ain’t that Cyrus,” one said, an ugly man with a flat nose.
“I don't believe it. It is. You know you’re not supposed to be here, boy,” the other replied, far more pleasant to look at, and somewhat levelheaded from what Cyrus remembered. “Get out of here before Ralph sees you and beats the snot out of you. Come on, you don’t want your mother to see that. And you best be running before we change.”
“I, I’m, uh, I,” Cyrus said, trying to summon some sort of courage into his voice. “I’m here to challenge him?”
What in the world? Did I just make that sound like a question?
The ugly one laughed.
“What was that?” the other replied. “Don’t be daft, boy. Didn’t you hear me? Get out of here, or I’ll beat your face in myself.”
“Cyrus?” another called out.
It was too late. The rest of the village had noticed him by now, and his name echoed out like a ghost from the past.
Ralph’s tent was bashed open, and the man himself appeared, heavyset and sporting a small, greying beard now. Cyrus’ stomach flipped twice over, and his knees went weak at the sight of his lifetime tormentor. So many nightmares, both real and imaginary, flooded into his mind, and old wounds long since healed began to ache. He resisted the urge to touch his face where the last wound had taken longest to heal.
Ralph’s gaze scanned the perimeter, stopping dead on Cyrus’ form.
“Well, I don't believe it,” Ralph said with a grin. “If ain’t little Cyrus.”
He strode out. Belen followed a moment later, dashing out of the tent with a look of hope and fear in her own eyes. Her wide jaw and auburn hair gave her that motherly glow Cyrus always thought about every time he saw her. A measure of strength poured into him, and he met Ralph’s gaze.
“This is the night,” he whispered.
“What was that?” Ralph called out, walking to them.
“Eh, don’t worry about this kid,” the handsome goon said. “I’ll take him out to the forest and give him a good beating. Don’t bother yourself, Ralph.”
The goon tried to push Cyrus away, hurriedly.
“No, no,” Ralph countermanded. “Wait. I’m sure my son didn’t come here for nothing. Perhaps he came to apologize, am I right? He’s old enough to be a man now, so I’ll bet he’s realized his wicked ways and come to repent. Ain’t that so? You better hurry, Cyrus. Night’s a comin’, and I’m getting hungry.”
A couple of chuckles let loose from around the camp, the ugly goon laughing loudest. The handsome one just grimaced.
“I tried,” he whispered to himself, then looked at Cyrus. “Stupid kid.”
“I,” Cyrus started, then drew in a breath to steady his voice. “I’ve come to challenge you.”
Ralph froze, shocked. So did the rest of the camp. Some families quickly ushered their children out of sight.
“What was that?” Ralph finally said. “I must be going deaf. I swear I just heard little Cyrus asking me, begging me, to beat his little face in again, right here in front of his mom. What would she think of that, eh? You trying to kill her or something, Cyrus? Heartless little bastard. You’ve caused your mother nothing but grief, you know that? Challenging me? I ought to bust your head open just for all the heartache you’ve given her. Ungrateful, that’s what you are.”
Cyrus clenched his teeth and let the words wash over him. When they broke, he looked at his mother.
“I’ve got us a place, Mother,” he said. “I’ve got us a nice place for us, far from here. Please, come with me, and I’ll keep us safe. It’s with the elves—”
“The elves,” Ralph shouted, looking around the village until everyone got the hint and started laughing. “Why, ain’t that the daftest thing I ever heard. The elves don’t want you, and they definitely don’t want her. You know what they’d do to her Cyrus? The second she changed, they’d put her down. Like an animal. No, you’d kill her, that’s what you’d do. The only chance we werewolves got is to stick together, and I won’t let you put your mother in harm’s way. Ungrateful, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Ungrateful is what you are. I work and work to make you a nice home, safe, with plenty of food and shelter, and what’s the thanks I get? This shit right here. Challenging me? What an idiot. Little old you? I’ll rip your throat out, young pup.
