Takeo's Chronicles, page 47
One bow was strung, four crossbows were readied, and one pistol was loaded. Meanwhile, thirteen strips of cloth were cut, laid out on the sands, and urinated on. The group of three women attempted some mild forms of modesty by taking turns, two standing in front and blocking sight of the third, but Zulima dropped drawers so quickly and openly that a few recoiled. None voiced opinions though, and the pieces of damp, smelly cloth were tied into loops and hung from waists. They dumped their packs at the dune and made sure they only carried the necessities.
Then they were off, silently and urgently, charging up over the sand dune. Before them lay a somewhat common scene along Savara’s coast, that of a sandy beach, idyllic in all ways except for the fact that it was in Savara. Alongside the beach lay a small mountain of rock, and in the mountain facing the beach was the massive opening of a deep cave.
They bunched up as Zulima had commanded into two groups ready for a fight. Eyes darted left, right, behind, even up and down, as nothing but the gentle ocean breeze and steady slap of waves rustled over them. Their gear and clothing made the most noise, with their bows creaking, leather rubbing, and metal chinking. The quietness of it all seemed to clash with the sounds Takeo normally associated with combat, and it made his throat dry up. He felt his heart’s pace quicken, and the eagerness to draw blood started to overwhelm him.
As always, the memories came back to him. A quick flash of countless battles and screaming washed over him, and he felt like a naked man slipping into a black lagoon that only he could swim. He hesitated because it was both ice cold and boiling hot, knowing that once he dipped below the surface, he wouldn’t breathe normally again until he’d cut his way out. It both thrilled and terrified him, reminding him of his upbringing.
He didn’t admit to it easily, but he always felt more comfortable at war.
And then they arrived at the cave, its entrance looming over them. The cave was massive, and its entrance a consuming darkness unsoiled by the sunlight from above. They glanced inside, waiting patiently for their eyes to adjust to the abyss that beckoned them forward.
“Nothing,” Zulima whispered, barely audible over the sounds of the crashing waves, which echoed down the cave. “The beach is unmarked. No hydra has slithered this way all day.”
“Or it’s been sleeping in the cave since morning,” Nicholas replied.
The group paused, and a look of realization dawned on them all. They hadn’t quite considered that. Zulima gave Nicholas a shrewd look, as if he was solely responsible for this possibility. Their silence would have been ominous had the beach not been thunderously loud with each break of the waves just shy of the cave’s entrance.
“I’m just saying.” Nicholas shrugged. “We don’t want to fight it inside. We’ll be at a disadvantage. Perhaps some of us should check it out first.”
“And if there’s a rakshasa instead?” Zulima countered.
“Send us, then,” Nicholas answered, managing to sound noncommittal about it. “Save the satyr and his pistol for if we screw up.”
The satyr stiffened as the focus briefly fell on him, and Takeo sensed the tension in the air. They were all on edge, and rightfully so. They’d come to ambush two sets of prey, yet neither were in sight.
“Just hold on,” Zulima said, grinding her teeth. “Let me think a moment.”
Hold on? Think?
Takeo’s eyes widened. That was the last thing he wanted to hear. In Juatwa, that sort of talk was considered a sign of incompetence. A bad decision was preferred over no decision.
Takeo tried to calm his nerves by slinging his bow over his shoulder and drawing out a few arrows to look them over. He only had about two dozen left of any good shape. The only use this bow had seen since entering his hands was to practice and to hunt game. And considering there was precious little game that could be easily hunted with a bow in this world, Takeo had only broken a half dozen arrows over the years. The remaining ammo, he intended to expend at this very moment.
“I’m no Emily,” he muttered out loud, “but I’ll do what I can.”
Another salted breeze misted by them, dampening Takeo’s kimono and blowing away the heat of Savara’s sun. At the same time, the stench of their sweaty bodies and urine-soaked scarfs was swept away, and Takeo gasped a breath of fresh air. He turned into the wind, letting his hair whip behind him. He kept its length between his shoulders and his ears these days, both retaining his symbol as a lordless samurai and also honoring the memory of Emily, who was the first to cut his hair like so.
And then his eyes caught something on the waves. A ripple behind the rolling and crashing that didn’t seem quite right. He squinted against the glaring sunlight that twinkled off the water, losing and then regaining sight of the ripple. He watched it grow, becoming a tiny wave in its own right, and then he saw five others appear about the first, all rushing toward the shore at an alarming rate.
In any other circumstance, he might have wondered what he saw.
“Nicholas,” Takeo called out, grabbing everyone else’s attention in the process, and then nodded out to sea.
Heads swiveled quickly to see six tiny waves grouped together, tumbling towards them, spraying white foam and sparkling saltwater off to the sides. The air grew noticeably colder as everyone went still.
Instinctively, hands went for weapons first and then piss-scarfs second. Nicholas, though, yanked down his breeches and gave his scarf another soak before wrapping it tightly around his nose before grabbing his maul. Takeo grimaced at the viking’s eagerness, but took note of the urgency. It spoke volumes that a viking would grab his weapon second. Takeo licked his lips, inhaled one last breath of fresh air, and then tied his own strip of warm, wet cloth across his nose. His mind begged him to breathe through his mouth, but Takeo was a better master of himself than that. He inhaled deeply through his nose, swallowed the urge to gag, and drew his bow. Those around him began to spread out and take proper footing.
“Wait for its body,” Zulima called out. “Don’t waste any shots on the heads. You, too, fuzzy.”
The satyr glared and checked his pistol’s pan, making sure the powder hadn’t caught any ocean spray.
Before them, the unnatural waves were perhaps fifty paces away when each sprouted a fin that was easily as tall as Takeo himself. They cut the water like a knife and began to sway side-to-side. Takeo became hypnotized by the movement, and he felt his shoulders start to mimic them. Left, right, then left again, he could almost picture the hydra’s each and every kick that propelled it through the ocean currents. There was something defining about it he realized, erasing all doubt in his head that there was any way to avoid what was coming. The bow in his hands felt awkward. His fingers itched for a sword. He dropped a hand down so that his wrist brushed against the handle of his katana.
Soon, he whispered to it and then nocked an arrow.
The first hydra head broke free of the water, erupting violently enough to send the sounds of crashing water hurtling towards them. Takeo got his first true glimpse of the creature that haunted the dreams of sailors, and he had to admit that it had rightfully earned that reputation. The head was distinctly reptilian, long and narrowed as if specifically designed to pierce the water, while it had two ears that appeared more like vertical fins, identical to the one atop its head that ran down its spine. The thing’s skin was a pattern of blue-green scales, and it had slits for nostrils, while its eyes were devoid of emotion. Whatever details those lacked, however, were more than made up for by its sleek jaw, which was open as it charged across the waves. A long, thin forked tongue stretched out and licked each of its eyes with intimidating dexterity. Its mouth appeared quite wide and was lined with numerous tiny pointed teeth that sent a chill up Takeo’s spine. He drew back the string and began to aim.
Five more heads of equally terrifying nature sprouted from the seas, and they began to rise in unison, lifting toward the sky on long, twisted necks perhaps just as wide as Nicholas’ torso. The heads continued to weave and bob, jutting left and right with less uniformity than Takeo had expected. He’d thought the heads would act like trained soldiers in an army, moving as one, yet they acted more like mercenaries scrambling for an easy kill. They ducked and dodged about each other, occasionally colliding, then turning to snarl and screech at the other. Those in the back thrust forward to knock the front ones aside, trying to get a better look at the prey, while those in front leaned as far forward as they could, hissing and salivating with their eagerness.
“Not yet. Not yet,” Zulima needlessly commanded.
At twenty paces from the shore, the hydra’s body struck land, and the ocean waves burst apart. White, sparkling foam was thrown into the air, caught by the wind, and sprayed across the shore to soak the coalition of fighters. Nicholas turned away and covered his piss-cloth with one hand, while the satyr frantically tried to cover his pistol. Takeo closed his eyes briefly, letting the saltwater fall upon him, and then opened them to find the target he’d been patiently waiting for.
Overall, the hydra was just smaller than a viking ship in size, and the hydra’s body was oval in shape, with one end sprouting a group of necks and the other slowly tapering down to a long, whip-like tail that ended in a human-sized spade. The fins that ran along the backs of each neck coalesced into a single ridge down the beast’s spine, shrinking in size down the tail. The hydra’s skin was composed of the same blue-green scales throughout, which sparkled and reflected the sun’s rays. It only had two feet, which were short and webbed and ended in vicious talons not unlike those of a bird. Its back end and tail slithered along the ground as the hydra propelled through the water, heads whirling in a maelstrom of hunger and fury.
Takeo released his arrow, and he heard the thump of four crossbows nearby, followed by the thunderous boom of a single-shot pistol.
The hydra’s heads shrieked as projectiles slammed into its body: one arrow, three bolts, and a blatant gunshot wound that seeped blood into the ocean waters. The hydra cleared the remaining ground and came thundering up the shore where it met the gathering of tiny creatures spread out in all directions. Its heads scattered, each thrusting towards a different target while its body slithered and crawled up the land. Nicholas was closest, beckoning the thing forward with one hand while brandishing his maul in the other. The first head struck out at him like a whip, snapping forward so fast that Takeo might have missed it had he blinked, and his heart seized at such enviable speed. Nicholas parried, barely striking the head with the shaft in time before the plethora of pointed teeth could snatch him up. Takeo went to shout at Nicholas for being so reckless, but stopped when the viking scrambled back.
The head that went for Zulima received a nasty gash as the Kshatriya opened the beast’s cheek up with her scimitar, spraying blood across the sand. The head shrieked and snapped back, and another came at Zulima from the side. It swept in so fast that Takeo thought for sure she was doomed, but her remarkable skill was brought to bear, and that second head was soon screeching as well.
Another head went for the old man, who dodged by throwing himself to the ground. Takeo drew and released his second arrow, heard the creek of crossbows being pulled into place, then drew and released a third arrow.
Too slow, he thought. Crossbows are too slow.
The scene was eerily quiet, unnerving Takeo that the dominant sound was the soft crash of ocean waves washing away the hydra’s blood. Not even the creature’s hisses and screeches could distract from the otherwise tranquil setting, which could have served as the opening for a love ballad of the ages. For a brief moment, Takeo was reminded of Juatwa. It, too, was a place of beauty and serenity, marred by war and chaos brought on by the greed of man.
Greed, and lust for power. Takeo drew and released another arrow.
Another boom from the satyr’s pistol shook the air, and a cloud of black smoke was belched into the world. The hydra’s heads screamed and flailed in pain, those cut slinging blood about the battlefield. Its body writhed, now pouring red from two gaping holes in its side, and the satyr looked down to reload his pistol. One head recovered quickest and snapped forth like a gunslinger’s draw, snapping up the tiny creature in a single gulp with such terrifying speed that the satyr didn’t notice until it was too late. Takeo heard a muffled scream from inside the hydra’s mouth and shuddered as the hydra swallowed, and the screams traveled down the neck until they were silenced within its belly. One of the satyr’s companions shouted, the other froze, and two heads went for them. One was intercepted by the old man, who sliced into its neck, while the other was stopped by its target’s weapon just in time. Krunk and Zulima took advantage of the brief distraction and rushed in, hacking the creature open with mighty swings, and then pulling back as a plethora of heads descended upon them.
The hydra reared back from the blows and retreated a pace, and the group started to close in. Takeo, Gavin, and the three women were still loading and shooting their arrows and bolts, slowly turning the hydra into a pinprick. It seemed only marginally affected, though, and it began to act strangely by pulling in a deep breath. Nearby, Nicholas’ eyes went wide, and he stopped creeping forward.
Then the beast heaved from every head a thick cloud of green gas, and Takeo lost sight of all around him.
Chapter 21
All six heads spewed a thick cloud of green gas so dense it blotted out the sun, and the wind pushed it along the shore to roll over them all. Takeo instinctively raised a hand to shield his face as the thick mist swept over him, slamming into him like a wave. His clothes absorbed the wretched stuff, growing heavy in the dense air, and his hair matted to his skin. The gas was hot, like the morning breath of an old hag, and Takeo held his breath and closed his eyes. Nicholas’ words echoed back to him that this stuff was toxic and would make a mortal fall to the ground, choking and convulsing, without a proper filter.
Somewhere nearby, Takeo heard such coughing start—a woman by the sound of it. She started gasping and gurgling, and there came a sound of kicked up sand, but no cries for help. There wouldn’t be either, for opening one’s mouth would draw the stuff into the lungs. Takeo pressed a hand to his wet scarf and reluctantly, slowly, pulled in a tiny gasp of air through his nostrils. The air was thick, like he was trying to breathe steam through a straw, but manageable. He opened his eyes, then immediately closed them as the gas stung and made his eyes water. He blinked until his vision blurred with tears, clearing the muck away so he could squint through the green.
The ocean breeze worked tirelessly against the cloud, blowing it away from the water yet unable to lift its weight beyond the shore. The cloud was too heavy to rise and yet too light to sink. Green fog swirled and danced in all directions, and Takeo nocked another arrow and made his way forward, unable to see clearly more than a few paces ahead.
He heard a chorus of thuds and the screeches of the hydra. Takeo noted its direction, then drew and released his bowstring at the source. Less than a heartbeat later, he was rewarded with the dead thunk of an arrow piercing heavy scales, and the shriek of a wounded animal. Takeo locked in like a komainu, drawing and releasing, drawing and releasing, all the while pacing forward.
His mind told him he should be afraid. His mind understood that he couldn’t see clearly more than a pace in front of him and that the sounds of the screeching hydra growing ever closer were terrifying. He understood he was surrounded by a deadly fog that could kill him if only his scarf slipped by nothing more than a hair. Yet fear did not touch his soul. His heart beat steady and true, his muscles working in unison even when set to an unfamiliar task. He could sense with each release of his bowstring that he was drawing blood, which was a feeling that set him at ease. The urge to lick his lips required more effort to control than his ceaseless trudging towards this creature of horror.
And then, out of apparent nothingness, shadows emerged in the green mist. One was huge, towering over all with a whirlwind of necks and heads twisting and darting in all directions. About the central shadow was a plethora of smaller ones that ducked and dodged, plunged and parried, working in a tempo of silence as they circled the creature, ever more agile than this thing that was meant to stalk the ocean. Takeo heard the tremble and slice of weapons through the air and the occasional rip of a blade through flesh. The heady scent of blood filtered through Takeo’s scarf, and he released another arrow, which streaked through the green to pierce the gargantuan shadow, then another and another and another until he reached up and there were no more to grab. He didn’t even hesitate as he cast down the bow, unslung the quiver, and drew his family’s sword. He could almost sense the gas parting for him as he marched through it.
One of the shadowy heads of the hydra let loose another screech and pounded down towards something below. One loud thud followed by a softer one echoed to Takeo’s ears, and the hydra shifted, revealing Takeo was approaching its rear. He hefted his katana in both hands and changed his footing to pace silently across the sandy shore. His eyes darted about for his target, listening for the whip of a long, agile tail. He heard it first, off to his left, then saw it next, a line of darkness in the green that ended in a spade the size of himself. As the hydra screeched and attacked, Takeo charged.
The line of darkness grew stark, and from the green emerged the hydra’s tail, flailing across the ground as it fought to propel the hydra along. Takeo pounced, leaping over the tail as it went sailing under him, and then plunged his sword down with all his strength. He felt the brief resistance of the scales give way, blood bursting from severed flesh, and pressed down until his katana pierced the other side and slammed into the sands.
