Takeo's Chronicles, page 44
Meanwhile, the remaining groups gathered around to watch the fight.
“You ready?” Zulima asked.
“Always,” Takeo replied.
Zulima drew in a breath and charged, kicking up a dash of sand into the wind as she lurched forward with a speed at odds with her size. She unleashed her scimitar as she did so, holding the blade high overhead in the traditional style of a scimitar-wielding warrior, ready to hack one’s enemy apart in a fury of hard blows. She was upon Takeo within a heartbeat, swinging with might and yet utterly silent. As quick as she was, Takeo side-stepped her first blow easily, watched as the blade came down to slice the dirt, and whipped his katana at Zulima’s exposed belly. It was so simple, so standard, so readily countered that Takeo couldn’t believe the fight would be over so soon.
But then—impossibly so—Takeo’s blade rang in his hands as Zulima brought hers up from the ground in time to parry the blow. The vibrations ran up his arms and into his throat, his eyes staring in disbelief as his sword was knocked aside, and then Zulima was counter-swinging, ripping her scimitar at him so fast the air whistled. Takeo leapt back just in time, and his feet hardly touched the sand when yet another swing from the woman reeled towards him. He parried, dropping her blade to the side, and then swung for her cheek.
She ducked, impossibly fast to Takeo’s eyes, and then was swinging at him again not a moment later. He had to backpedal, then parry, then sidestep, before he could finally swing in return, only to have his sword ring out when she countered. He tried to press her, but Zulima’s scimitar came whirling at him over and over, a flash and a blur in the bright sunlight, and he found himself stepping back once more. He realized, all too slowly, that he’d vastly underestimated his opponent and quickly set about making up for that error in judgement. On the next parry, he gripped his katana and rammed forward rather than stepping back, slamming into Zulima with the speed and strength he knew he possessed.
Zulima barely flinched, and Takeo’s shoulder and body came to a dead stop against her solid mass. He blinked in shock, which caused him not to see the flying fist with its two severed fingers come crashing into his face.
Takeo tripped in the sand and fell back to the ground, his vision blurring as tears welled in his eyes. In the same motion, though, he somersaulted backwards, kicking sand into the wind and vaulting to his feet again. He heard the sound of a scimitar cutting sand exactly where he’d once been, and he blinked hard to clear the mix of water and sand grains from his eyes, just enough to see a blurry figure approaching him. His face stung, and he tasted blood in his mouth. He swallowed so it wouldn’t show.
“We can stop now if you like,” Zulima said. “This is quite boring.”
Takeo didn’t answer. He shook sand from his hair and rolled his shoulder to loosen it. He tested his grip on his katana by squeezing and repositioning his fingers. His heart was beating at a rhythmic pace that told Takeo just how comfortable he was in a fight, despite the fact that his mind was screaming in the gripping realization that it’d been too long since he’d fought a worthy opponent.
“Am I bleeding?” Takeo replied.
He charged before she could reply, determined not to allow her the advantage of putting him on the defense. He swept his katana in a flurry of blows, whirling the blade until it was nothing but flashes of light and sound, yet always the ring of metal stopped his blade. She parried again and again, stepping back slowly and marginally, as if she were willingly granting him such space. Then she came to a stop, her feet planting in the sand, and Takeo’s next strike blunted against her scimitar. He pressed hard into her, but she would not move, not even a little. She smiled at him, and it seemed that the entire world drew away.
Zulima pushed back, sending Takeo stumbling across the sands. He was on the defense a moment later when she came rushing at him. The ring of metal sounded like an orchestra at the height of its song as her scimitar became a thing possessed, seemingly in two places at once, and it was all Takeo could do to keep the hunk of metal from parting his head from his shoulders. Not only was she stronger, he realized, she was faster. Her attacks pushed aside his katana and blunted his efforts with ease. Her eyes followed his every move, watching his feet, hands, and sword in an enviable manner. She doubled her attacks, and suddenly, Takeo was not only parrying; he was dodging and stepping back to keep from being cut down.
His heart ticked a pace higher as it sunk in that he had finally met his match.
In a fateful moment that Takeo seemed to watch in slow motion, Zulima batted Takeo’s blade away and stepped forward to ram her shoulder into his chest. He tried to sidestep it, but he was too slow. She struck him with what felt like a glancing blow, but then followed it up with a swift uppercut to his jaw. Takeo’s world exploded in bright light, and his body felt lighter than air for a moment as he tumbled to the ground. Instinctively, he tried to roll away, but froze as cold metal touched the sweaty skin of his exposed neck, and his world came back to him in a daze. He saw that he was lying on his back with Zulima standing over him.
She twitched the scimitar, making a slight incision in his skin, and blood oozed down her blade.
“There,” she said. “Happy now?”
Takeo tried to think of a response, but he’d bit his tongue and it had swelled in his mouth. He tasted blood, as well, and felt it running down his neck, but it was the shock in his system that truly kept his words at bay. In the end, he just stared back, and Zulima lifted the blade from his throat.
All the others were standing aghast just a few paces away. Not a single mouth was closed, not even that of the lone man, who before hadn’t taken any more than a mild interest in what was happening. Takeo looked to see Gavin was having the worst of it, with his whole body gone slack and his eyes staring at Zulima as if he was seeing a vampire enduring the sun. Zulima gave each of them a hard stare, letting them see her sweating and breathing hard, but reigning victorious nonetheless. Each person she stared at looked away, save for Krunk, who just blinked those big, dumb eyes of his.
“Now listen up!” she said. “Here’s the plan. I’m not looking to kill just any old rakshasa for the fun of it. I’m on a mission to wipe their kind from the face of this world. I don’t care if it takes me my whole life; I will hunt them down or die trying.
“Obviously, doing that one rakshasa at a time will never happen, so I’ve improvised. It’s females that I’m interested in. They are smaller and weaker than males, making them easier to kill, and like humans, they are also the ones that give birth. The good news for you mercenaries is that warlords pay the same price for a rakshasa head, no matter the sex. You’ll all be paid just fine. That is, of course, assuming you live. As to what we’re going to do, I’ll tell you now so that if any of you lack the spine to WOMANUPANDFIGHT, you can wander off now rather than a week later when we’re standing before the task at hand.
“This dress-wearing boy here claims there’s a rakshasa hiding away in a cave guarded by a hydra. Unfortunately, being brainless, he doesn’t know the gender, but that makes it good enough for me. Searching for a rakshasa is getting hard enough as it is. These beasts hide too well, they can disguise themselves, they don’t need water as humans do if they can find blood to drink or fresh meat to eat, and they’re tough. Don’t worry that I haven’t checked any of you for being a rakshasa by nicking your little finger; I’ve been hunting rakshasas for so long now that I can practically smell them. You’re all human—except for that satyr and you, purple thing, whatever you are; I don’t care. I’m not interested. So long as you’ll fight, you’ll do.
“Now, fight what, you might ask? As I was saying, don’t you dare ask me, or I will lay you out alongside this samurai. AMIUNDERSTOOD? The only thing you need to be aware of is that you fight when I tell you to fight, and you die when I tell you to die. Those who survive will live to see this rakshasa decapitated, watch as we take her severed head back to this warlord here, and get paid.
“In addition, anyone who survives will have earned the privilege of telling me their name. Now, does anyone lack the gall to follow me?”
No one moved. No one spoke.
“Good,” she said.
Chapter 18
Takeo was never so foolish as to believe himself invincible. For one, he’d grown up in terror of an older brother who reaped men like death personified. For two, Okamoto had drilled into Takeo, over and over, never to underestimate his opponent and always to give everything he had in every fight. With war surrounding him at all times, Takeo understood that death was not something he could avoid. It was more a game of chance, and he owed his survival to both skill and luck. In addition, even without a harsh upbringing, only an absolute moron would think him or herself incapable of defeat in this world. Between basilisks, oni, dragons, krakens, thunderbirds, bugbears, and rocs, there were enough terrifying things living in this world to scare even immortals half to death. Add in war and chaos, and just being alive became an accomplishment worthy of a round of applause. To die of old age wasn’t common, not even in Lucifan, thanks to the bouts of sickness and disease that racked heavily inhabited areas such as that.
Yet still, when Takeo dragged himself off the sands from beneath Zulima’s blade, something inside him broke. Of all the things he thought would bring him to his knees, he’d never imagined it would be a hideous, ill-mannered woman with a hangover in Savara. Despite all his common sense and the knowledge that death was waiting for him, that his defeat was out there somewhere, it was undeniable that he’d been overconfident in that fight. He’d listened to the stories and legends told about himself over and over, and he’d foolishly begun to believe them. Now here he was, having purchased pride on a loan, now paying the cost with defeat.
Could he blame himself, though? He was somewhere in his mid-twenties and had never before lost a fair fight, at least not to a human. He’d been in countless wars, fought ninjas who’d only won by tricks, and faced immortals who’d only survived by running away. His mere presence could sometimes disarm an enemy. He’d faced off against a minotaur and an oni, slaughtered akki wholesale, and disarmed a gunslinger. Takeo’s reputation rivaled Emily’s in some circles, and yet he’d never controlled a colossus, nor had an angel sacrificed itself to save him.
Until that moment beneath Zulima, Takeo had truly thought himself worthy of the goal he’d set for himself. He’d truly thought it was possible for him to save the world from the endless wars that consumed it.
Now he wasn’t so sure.
I need power.
“Well, that didn’t pan out like I expected,” Gavin whispered as they made their camp out in the desert. “By the angels, did you see that woman move?”
“Krunk saw some. Krunk thinks arrows move slower.”
“For once the ogre says something I couldn’t have said better myself,” Nicholas chimed in. “I thought Takeo would destroy her for sure. I can see how she’s killed so many rakshasas. By Valhalla, I never would have expected that just by looking at her. That woman is possessed. I won’t lie that I both admire and fear her at the same time. I can see how she’s become a legend.”
They let silence fall over them, or rather the sound of the night winds. Each group was set apart from the other, including Zulima, who slept by herself several paces away from anyone else. She was already passed out, despite the sun’s light staining the underside of the clouds overhead, snoring loudly enough to interrupt the conversations of all others. The group of three women seemed particularly irked by the lack of manners and huddled together like sisters, darting disapproving glances at their unconscious leader.
Leader, Takeo repeated the word shamefully. I just admitted I’m following her now. I truly am defeated.
“Something has been bothering me, though,” Nicholas spoke up. “Did anyone else find it odd her talking about the cave first?”
Takeo and Gavin shared a glance, both raising an eyebrow.
“The cave,” Nicholas said, opening his palms. “You know, the one we’re headed to? Did anyone notice she mentioned the cave first? Before we said anything about the hydra.”
Takeo thought back, trying to conjure up the conversations prior to his humiliating defeat. Nothing was coming to mind. Gavin seemed to be having the same problem.
“Really? Neither of you caught that?”
“Out with it,” Gavin demanded.
“When Takeo was challenging Zulima to a duel, she said something about him thinking he was special because he knew about a rakshasa hidden away in some cave. Funny thing is that we never mentioned the cave.”
“She probably just assumed,” Aiguo jutted in. “Besides, we have bigger problems at hand. We need to inform Hyun.”
Takeo looked to the man—once again taking a moment to recognize him—and realized he was surprised to hear him speak. Despite being in their group for weeks now, his presence was still unnerving and out of place. Takeo served Aiguo a questioning glance, as the man had been fairly quiet and reserved up until that statement, usually only offering suggestions or bits of trivial advice once a day. That last statement had been spoken with a level of firmness Takeo hadn’t come to expect from him.
“The situation has changed,” Aiguo continued, keeping his eyes focused on the imaginary center of their group. “I need to get to Hyun as quickly as possible or leave a message for him.”
“And how would you do that?” Takeo asked. “Write a note and throw it into the wind? Draw something in sand and hope he stumbles upon it? I don’t think you wandering off will go unnoticed.”
“On the contrary,” Aiguo replied, once again with a level of confidence that irked Takeo’s already wounded demeanor. “I’ve always had a knack for slipping away. People don’t seem to take much interest in me.”
Even through his agitation, Takeo had to agree with that one.
“Alright, still,” Takeo said and shook his head, “I doubt very much Zulima will forget there are five of us. She might not realize it’s you who’s gone missing, but that doesn’t mean she’ll forget how to count. Besides, what would you tell Hyun anyway? What has changed?”
Aiguo went silent, his dull brown eyes focused on the nothingness between them. His unwillingness to speak seemed an act of cowardice to Takeo—yet one more mark against the man.
“You’ve lost control of this situation,” Aiguo explained. “Hyun must be told that he may need to intervene sooner than expected. We can no longer rely upon you to keep this woman in check.”
Takeo’s jaw clenched, and his right hand tightened into a ball, but he otherwise made no motion. The space between them had gone deathly silent, with Gavin, Nicholas, and Krunk all paying rapt attention to them yet struggling to look directly at either one. Takeo’s next words were chosen as much for Aiguo as they were for himself and his friends.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said, “and your summation of the situation is incomplete. Just because I’ve been bested one-on-one does not mean I’ve lost control. I have three friends—that’s three more than you, and three more than Zulima. Although they haven’t yet matched me, all three are twofold the fighters they were when we left Lucifan. If such a fight came, I doubt it would take more than a few strikes for that Kshatriya to see things my way. The situation is well and truly under my control and going exactly as planned. We’re still traveling to that cave, and we’re still going to slay the hydra. As much as I’d love to be rid of you, Aiguo, I don’t trust you enough—at all, actually—to leave my sight just yet. When the fighting starts, you can flee then. Not before. Am I understood?”
Aiguo’s head lowered and his back bowed. He nodded meekly.
The winds rushed by them again, blowing away the heat of the day as the light continued to fade. The last remaining rays were nothing more than a painter’s mark to the far west just above the horizon. Amongst the gusts of wind and Zulima’s snores, Takeo heard unintelligible whispers coming from the other groups.
He looked up at the satyr first. That creature seemed to be neck deep in a serious discussion with his two young human colleagues. They were seated so close together that their knees were touching, and the two humans were leaning forward and down so the satyr could speak to them. The two actually looked fairly similar, Takeo thought, both having dark, curly hair and similar facial structures; he made the conclusion they must be brothers. Why they would be traveling with a satyr who carried a barbed whip, however, remained a mystery. Takeo still suspected they were either pirates or slavers, or perhaps both, or perhaps formerly both, yet none of those conclusions answered why they would be here hunting rakshasas. Not that Takeo needed to know. Like Zulima said, they may well be dead soon.
The lone old man was easier to figure out. The way he carried himself despite his age, so proud and strong, suggested he might have been a Kshatriya, but his words, “just so long as I get paid,” settled any arguments as to whom this man was: an ex-soldier turned mercenary. Takeo imagined this man had been conscripted into some warlord’s army at a young age, served faithfully for years, and then left when his warlord lost power. It was a common story in Savara, and although mercenaries at his age were rare, they were not unprecedented. Takeo had run into more than one under Okamoto’s tutelage. Takeo had even less interest in this man’s motive than he did in the satyr’s.
Now the women, though, that was the enigma. The fiery confusion surrounding their presence seemed to draw the attention of all others. The three women were huddled close together like the satyr’s group with each taking turns speaking softly, having ignored the amount of attention cast their way throughout the evening. Takeo once again took a moment to admire their beauty but did not let his gaze linger too long. He did not want to leer. Both his status as a samurai and Emily’s memory would not let him, but he did wonder what their story was. He distinctly remembered hearing these women say, “fellow Kshatriya,” and judging by their interest in Zulima’s manners, Takeo could safely assume this was not a lie. He also took note of their heavier gear, the way they carried themselves, how close they kept their weapons, and how they twitched at sudden noises and began to draw a conclusion.
“You ready?” Zulima asked.
“Always,” Takeo replied.
Zulima drew in a breath and charged, kicking up a dash of sand into the wind as she lurched forward with a speed at odds with her size. She unleashed her scimitar as she did so, holding the blade high overhead in the traditional style of a scimitar-wielding warrior, ready to hack one’s enemy apart in a fury of hard blows. She was upon Takeo within a heartbeat, swinging with might and yet utterly silent. As quick as she was, Takeo side-stepped her first blow easily, watched as the blade came down to slice the dirt, and whipped his katana at Zulima’s exposed belly. It was so simple, so standard, so readily countered that Takeo couldn’t believe the fight would be over so soon.
But then—impossibly so—Takeo’s blade rang in his hands as Zulima brought hers up from the ground in time to parry the blow. The vibrations ran up his arms and into his throat, his eyes staring in disbelief as his sword was knocked aside, and then Zulima was counter-swinging, ripping her scimitar at him so fast the air whistled. Takeo leapt back just in time, and his feet hardly touched the sand when yet another swing from the woman reeled towards him. He parried, dropping her blade to the side, and then swung for her cheek.
She ducked, impossibly fast to Takeo’s eyes, and then was swinging at him again not a moment later. He had to backpedal, then parry, then sidestep, before he could finally swing in return, only to have his sword ring out when she countered. He tried to press her, but Zulima’s scimitar came whirling at him over and over, a flash and a blur in the bright sunlight, and he found himself stepping back once more. He realized, all too slowly, that he’d vastly underestimated his opponent and quickly set about making up for that error in judgement. On the next parry, he gripped his katana and rammed forward rather than stepping back, slamming into Zulima with the speed and strength he knew he possessed.
Zulima barely flinched, and Takeo’s shoulder and body came to a dead stop against her solid mass. He blinked in shock, which caused him not to see the flying fist with its two severed fingers come crashing into his face.
Takeo tripped in the sand and fell back to the ground, his vision blurring as tears welled in his eyes. In the same motion, though, he somersaulted backwards, kicking sand into the wind and vaulting to his feet again. He heard the sound of a scimitar cutting sand exactly where he’d once been, and he blinked hard to clear the mix of water and sand grains from his eyes, just enough to see a blurry figure approaching him. His face stung, and he tasted blood in his mouth. He swallowed so it wouldn’t show.
“We can stop now if you like,” Zulima said. “This is quite boring.”
Takeo didn’t answer. He shook sand from his hair and rolled his shoulder to loosen it. He tested his grip on his katana by squeezing and repositioning his fingers. His heart was beating at a rhythmic pace that told Takeo just how comfortable he was in a fight, despite the fact that his mind was screaming in the gripping realization that it’d been too long since he’d fought a worthy opponent.
“Am I bleeding?” Takeo replied.
He charged before she could reply, determined not to allow her the advantage of putting him on the defense. He swept his katana in a flurry of blows, whirling the blade until it was nothing but flashes of light and sound, yet always the ring of metal stopped his blade. She parried again and again, stepping back slowly and marginally, as if she were willingly granting him such space. Then she came to a stop, her feet planting in the sand, and Takeo’s next strike blunted against her scimitar. He pressed hard into her, but she would not move, not even a little. She smiled at him, and it seemed that the entire world drew away.
Zulima pushed back, sending Takeo stumbling across the sands. He was on the defense a moment later when she came rushing at him. The ring of metal sounded like an orchestra at the height of its song as her scimitar became a thing possessed, seemingly in two places at once, and it was all Takeo could do to keep the hunk of metal from parting his head from his shoulders. Not only was she stronger, he realized, she was faster. Her attacks pushed aside his katana and blunted his efforts with ease. Her eyes followed his every move, watching his feet, hands, and sword in an enviable manner. She doubled her attacks, and suddenly, Takeo was not only parrying; he was dodging and stepping back to keep from being cut down.
His heart ticked a pace higher as it sunk in that he had finally met his match.
In a fateful moment that Takeo seemed to watch in slow motion, Zulima batted Takeo’s blade away and stepped forward to ram her shoulder into his chest. He tried to sidestep it, but he was too slow. She struck him with what felt like a glancing blow, but then followed it up with a swift uppercut to his jaw. Takeo’s world exploded in bright light, and his body felt lighter than air for a moment as he tumbled to the ground. Instinctively, he tried to roll away, but froze as cold metal touched the sweaty skin of his exposed neck, and his world came back to him in a daze. He saw that he was lying on his back with Zulima standing over him.
She twitched the scimitar, making a slight incision in his skin, and blood oozed down her blade.
“There,” she said. “Happy now?”
Takeo tried to think of a response, but he’d bit his tongue and it had swelled in his mouth. He tasted blood, as well, and felt it running down his neck, but it was the shock in his system that truly kept his words at bay. In the end, he just stared back, and Zulima lifted the blade from his throat.
All the others were standing aghast just a few paces away. Not a single mouth was closed, not even that of the lone man, who before hadn’t taken any more than a mild interest in what was happening. Takeo looked to see Gavin was having the worst of it, with his whole body gone slack and his eyes staring at Zulima as if he was seeing a vampire enduring the sun. Zulima gave each of them a hard stare, letting them see her sweating and breathing hard, but reigning victorious nonetheless. Each person she stared at looked away, save for Krunk, who just blinked those big, dumb eyes of his.
“Now listen up!” she said. “Here’s the plan. I’m not looking to kill just any old rakshasa for the fun of it. I’m on a mission to wipe their kind from the face of this world. I don’t care if it takes me my whole life; I will hunt them down or die trying.
“Obviously, doing that one rakshasa at a time will never happen, so I’ve improvised. It’s females that I’m interested in. They are smaller and weaker than males, making them easier to kill, and like humans, they are also the ones that give birth. The good news for you mercenaries is that warlords pay the same price for a rakshasa head, no matter the sex. You’ll all be paid just fine. That is, of course, assuming you live. As to what we’re going to do, I’ll tell you now so that if any of you lack the spine to WOMANUPANDFIGHT, you can wander off now rather than a week later when we’re standing before the task at hand.
“This dress-wearing boy here claims there’s a rakshasa hiding away in a cave guarded by a hydra. Unfortunately, being brainless, he doesn’t know the gender, but that makes it good enough for me. Searching for a rakshasa is getting hard enough as it is. These beasts hide too well, they can disguise themselves, they don’t need water as humans do if they can find blood to drink or fresh meat to eat, and they’re tough. Don’t worry that I haven’t checked any of you for being a rakshasa by nicking your little finger; I’ve been hunting rakshasas for so long now that I can practically smell them. You’re all human—except for that satyr and you, purple thing, whatever you are; I don’t care. I’m not interested. So long as you’ll fight, you’ll do.
“Now, fight what, you might ask? As I was saying, don’t you dare ask me, or I will lay you out alongside this samurai. AMIUNDERSTOOD? The only thing you need to be aware of is that you fight when I tell you to fight, and you die when I tell you to die. Those who survive will live to see this rakshasa decapitated, watch as we take her severed head back to this warlord here, and get paid.
“In addition, anyone who survives will have earned the privilege of telling me their name. Now, does anyone lack the gall to follow me?”
No one moved. No one spoke.
“Good,” she said.
Chapter 18
Takeo was never so foolish as to believe himself invincible. For one, he’d grown up in terror of an older brother who reaped men like death personified. For two, Okamoto had drilled into Takeo, over and over, never to underestimate his opponent and always to give everything he had in every fight. With war surrounding him at all times, Takeo understood that death was not something he could avoid. It was more a game of chance, and he owed his survival to both skill and luck. In addition, even without a harsh upbringing, only an absolute moron would think him or herself incapable of defeat in this world. Between basilisks, oni, dragons, krakens, thunderbirds, bugbears, and rocs, there were enough terrifying things living in this world to scare even immortals half to death. Add in war and chaos, and just being alive became an accomplishment worthy of a round of applause. To die of old age wasn’t common, not even in Lucifan, thanks to the bouts of sickness and disease that racked heavily inhabited areas such as that.
Yet still, when Takeo dragged himself off the sands from beneath Zulima’s blade, something inside him broke. Of all the things he thought would bring him to his knees, he’d never imagined it would be a hideous, ill-mannered woman with a hangover in Savara. Despite all his common sense and the knowledge that death was waiting for him, that his defeat was out there somewhere, it was undeniable that he’d been overconfident in that fight. He’d listened to the stories and legends told about himself over and over, and he’d foolishly begun to believe them. Now here he was, having purchased pride on a loan, now paying the cost with defeat.
Could he blame himself, though? He was somewhere in his mid-twenties and had never before lost a fair fight, at least not to a human. He’d been in countless wars, fought ninjas who’d only won by tricks, and faced immortals who’d only survived by running away. His mere presence could sometimes disarm an enemy. He’d faced off against a minotaur and an oni, slaughtered akki wholesale, and disarmed a gunslinger. Takeo’s reputation rivaled Emily’s in some circles, and yet he’d never controlled a colossus, nor had an angel sacrificed itself to save him.
Until that moment beneath Zulima, Takeo had truly thought himself worthy of the goal he’d set for himself. He’d truly thought it was possible for him to save the world from the endless wars that consumed it.
Now he wasn’t so sure.
I need power.
“Well, that didn’t pan out like I expected,” Gavin whispered as they made their camp out in the desert. “By the angels, did you see that woman move?”
“Krunk saw some. Krunk thinks arrows move slower.”
“For once the ogre says something I couldn’t have said better myself,” Nicholas chimed in. “I thought Takeo would destroy her for sure. I can see how she’s killed so many rakshasas. By Valhalla, I never would have expected that just by looking at her. That woman is possessed. I won’t lie that I both admire and fear her at the same time. I can see how she’s become a legend.”
They let silence fall over them, or rather the sound of the night winds. Each group was set apart from the other, including Zulima, who slept by herself several paces away from anyone else. She was already passed out, despite the sun’s light staining the underside of the clouds overhead, snoring loudly enough to interrupt the conversations of all others. The group of three women seemed particularly irked by the lack of manners and huddled together like sisters, darting disapproving glances at their unconscious leader.
Leader, Takeo repeated the word shamefully. I just admitted I’m following her now. I truly am defeated.
“Something has been bothering me, though,” Nicholas spoke up. “Did anyone else find it odd her talking about the cave first?”
Takeo and Gavin shared a glance, both raising an eyebrow.
“The cave,” Nicholas said, opening his palms. “You know, the one we’re headed to? Did anyone notice she mentioned the cave first? Before we said anything about the hydra.”
Takeo thought back, trying to conjure up the conversations prior to his humiliating defeat. Nothing was coming to mind. Gavin seemed to be having the same problem.
“Really? Neither of you caught that?”
“Out with it,” Gavin demanded.
“When Takeo was challenging Zulima to a duel, she said something about him thinking he was special because he knew about a rakshasa hidden away in some cave. Funny thing is that we never mentioned the cave.”
“She probably just assumed,” Aiguo jutted in. “Besides, we have bigger problems at hand. We need to inform Hyun.”
Takeo looked to the man—once again taking a moment to recognize him—and realized he was surprised to hear him speak. Despite being in their group for weeks now, his presence was still unnerving and out of place. Takeo served Aiguo a questioning glance, as the man had been fairly quiet and reserved up until that statement, usually only offering suggestions or bits of trivial advice once a day. That last statement had been spoken with a level of firmness Takeo hadn’t come to expect from him.
“The situation has changed,” Aiguo continued, keeping his eyes focused on the imaginary center of their group. “I need to get to Hyun as quickly as possible or leave a message for him.”
“And how would you do that?” Takeo asked. “Write a note and throw it into the wind? Draw something in sand and hope he stumbles upon it? I don’t think you wandering off will go unnoticed.”
“On the contrary,” Aiguo replied, once again with a level of confidence that irked Takeo’s already wounded demeanor. “I’ve always had a knack for slipping away. People don’t seem to take much interest in me.”
Even through his agitation, Takeo had to agree with that one.
“Alright, still,” Takeo said and shook his head, “I doubt very much Zulima will forget there are five of us. She might not realize it’s you who’s gone missing, but that doesn’t mean she’ll forget how to count. Besides, what would you tell Hyun anyway? What has changed?”
Aiguo went silent, his dull brown eyes focused on the nothingness between them. His unwillingness to speak seemed an act of cowardice to Takeo—yet one more mark against the man.
“You’ve lost control of this situation,” Aiguo explained. “Hyun must be told that he may need to intervene sooner than expected. We can no longer rely upon you to keep this woman in check.”
Takeo’s jaw clenched, and his right hand tightened into a ball, but he otherwise made no motion. The space between them had gone deathly silent, with Gavin, Nicholas, and Krunk all paying rapt attention to them yet struggling to look directly at either one. Takeo’s next words were chosen as much for Aiguo as they were for himself and his friends.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said, “and your summation of the situation is incomplete. Just because I’ve been bested one-on-one does not mean I’ve lost control. I have three friends—that’s three more than you, and three more than Zulima. Although they haven’t yet matched me, all three are twofold the fighters they were when we left Lucifan. If such a fight came, I doubt it would take more than a few strikes for that Kshatriya to see things my way. The situation is well and truly under my control and going exactly as planned. We’re still traveling to that cave, and we’re still going to slay the hydra. As much as I’d love to be rid of you, Aiguo, I don’t trust you enough—at all, actually—to leave my sight just yet. When the fighting starts, you can flee then. Not before. Am I understood?”
Aiguo’s head lowered and his back bowed. He nodded meekly.
The winds rushed by them again, blowing away the heat of the day as the light continued to fade. The last remaining rays were nothing more than a painter’s mark to the far west just above the horizon. Amongst the gusts of wind and Zulima’s snores, Takeo heard unintelligible whispers coming from the other groups.
He looked up at the satyr first. That creature seemed to be neck deep in a serious discussion with his two young human colleagues. They were seated so close together that their knees were touching, and the two humans were leaning forward and down so the satyr could speak to them. The two actually looked fairly similar, Takeo thought, both having dark, curly hair and similar facial structures; he made the conclusion they must be brothers. Why they would be traveling with a satyr who carried a barbed whip, however, remained a mystery. Takeo still suspected they were either pirates or slavers, or perhaps both, or perhaps formerly both, yet none of those conclusions answered why they would be here hunting rakshasas. Not that Takeo needed to know. Like Zulima said, they may well be dead soon.
The lone old man was easier to figure out. The way he carried himself despite his age, so proud and strong, suggested he might have been a Kshatriya, but his words, “just so long as I get paid,” settled any arguments as to whom this man was: an ex-soldier turned mercenary. Takeo imagined this man had been conscripted into some warlord’s army at a young age, served faithfully for years, and then left when his warlord lost power. It was a common story in Savara, and although mercenaries at his age were rare, they were not unprecedented. Takeo had run into more than one under Okamoto’s tutelage. Takeo had even less interest in this man’s motive than he did in the satyr’s.
Now the women, though, that was the enigma. The fiery confusion surrounding their presence seemed to draw the attention of all others. The three women were huddled close together like the satyr’s group with each taking turns speaking softly, having ignored the amount of attention cast their way throughout the evening. Takeo once again took a moment to admire their beauty but did not let his gaze linger too long. He did not want to leer. Both his status as a samurai and Emily’s memory would not let him, but he did wonder what their story was. He distinctly remembered hearing these women say, “fellow Kshatriya,” and judging by their interest in Zulima’s manners, Takeo could safely assume this was not a lie. He also took note of their heavier gear, the way they carried themselves, how close they kept their weapons, and how they twitched at sudden noises and began to draw a conclusion.
