Takeo's Chronicles, page 56
And to Takeo’s surprise, Gavin didn’t press the issue. The knight only sighed and shook his head.
“And Qjang?” he asked. “Did she get the death she wanted?”
“That all went as planned.” Takeo nodded. “The secret tunnel was right where she said it would be. I don’t think we’ll ever be able to use it again, though. I left a trail of red footprints in my wake, and Lord Pircha will surely have it sealed up once he realizes just how thoroughly he was betrayed. Aiguo escaped, as well.”
A chorus of disgust swept through the ranks.
“Things could have gone better, then?” Gavin asked.
“Don’t you wish I had killed him back in Savara now?” Takeo answered.
“No—you needed that. You should never regret sparing a life, only taking one. That’s a mistake that can’t be undone.”
“We’ll agree to disagree,” Takeo said.
“It’s still all so crazy to me,” Nicholas jumped in. “To think that all this time Qjang was a loyal spy for another shogun, willing to die for her lord’s cause. Samurai are insane.”
“Fanatical,” Takeo corrected. “There’s a difference.”
“Takeo,” Yeira spoke up. “Won’t you come in out of the rain? The fire is warm.”
“A tempting offer,” was all the reply he could muster, but he did not move.
Yeira and Takeo had hardly exchanged more than a courteous greeting in all the time they’d spent traveling together. They had taken great pains to avoid each other, which was an absurdly difficult task when they represented a third of the group as a whole. Somehow, they’d managed, at least up until recently. Takeo suspected Gavin must have said something to her, as Yeira was becoming more cordial as time went on. Either that, or perhaps she was growing tired of the supreme effort it took to actively ignore a person who slept just an arm’s length away every night.
Takeo had more patience.
“Are they here yet?” he asked.
“Yes,” Gavin said, his tone equal parts regret and acceptance. “Just one, but I told him—or is it her? It? Anyway, I told him there’s no room in the cave for his size, obviously, so he said he’d wait just to the south. He thought Krunk was some long lost kin.”
“I thought so, too, at first,” Krunk said. “But Emy didn’t like him, so I knew he was wrong. And red. Don’t like the red.”
Takeo glanced to the rakshasa cub, ever-present at Krunk’s side. She’d grown significantly in the few months of travel, now roughly the size of a gnome, and she had altered her appearance to look like an ogre child. She pretended to be Krunk’s offspring and had taken a strong liking to the name Emy—probably because Krunk had chosen it for her. She was starting to become rather talkative of late, so the fact that she was silent now told Takeo far more than anyone else ever could.
“I’ll go talk to it,” Takeo said. “Alone, if no one minds.”
“Someone does mind,” Gavin countered, standing up. “This isn’t some enemy-filled keep you’re going to. I can come this time.”
“Just you, then. At least let me do the talking.”
“Don’t I always?” Gavin scoffed.
“No.”
“Fair enough. I swear on my oath and promise to be as little a burden as possible.”
Gavin smiled, and despite all efforts to counteract the charm, Takeo smiled back.
“Admit it,” the knight said. “You’d be lost without me.”
“You have no idea,” the samurai replied.
Together, they trudged through the rains, down the grass and mud, towards an outcropping of trees amongst the foothills. Beneath those branches, a single huddled figure of impressive size sat patiently. Other than to grin with canine teeth, it didn’t move a muscle as they approached.
Out of the tree’s shadows materialized a red-skinned monster larger than an ogre with wild, black hair, sharp claws and teeth, and two yellow horns that grew out of its head. It wore nothing but a simple loincloth, so old, ragged, and dirty, Takeo wouldn’t use it to wash away dirt. Across its back was slung a massive kanabo, which was a long club with metal studs nailed to its frame.
“Takeo Karaoshi,” the oni spoke from the deep abyss of its stomach. “It is good to see you again.”
The humans balked, but Takeo recovered faster as realization swept over him.
“You,” he said. “You’re the one who slayed my village.”
The oni laughed loudly. “Your village was it? That explains why you were so angry. Interesting that you didn’t let rage consume you; humans tend to be such emotional creatures. Meanwhile, you’re the only human I’ve ever failed to kill. Well, you and that other one. Where is your little friend, the one with the bow?”
“She’s dead,” Takeo said.
“Pity,” the oni replied, reaching a massive hand up to massage his neck. “We could use her skill.”
Gavin grabbed Takeo by the shoulder and pulled him in close, whispering in his ear, “You know this creature?”
“Emily and I fought it,” Takeo replied, whispering out of courtesy.
“And it killed your village?” Gavin pressed. “Are you sure we should do this?”
Takeo didn’t reply, other than to pull away. The oni watched them curiously, occasionally shifting its bulging cords of muscle as the rain dripped steadily upon its mass. It didn’t seem bothered by the fact that it was seated directly in the mud.
“Why did she send you?” Takeo asked.
The oni snorted.
“The Hanu family sends us nowhere. We are allies, not slaves. She asked us if one of us were willing to reach out to you as a show of strength. When I realized whom it was she sought, I demanded the right. I’ve never met a human who could survive me one on one, and so I desired this meeting.”
“I should warn you, I’m ten times the warrior I was before,” Takeo said. “I don’t mean that as a threat. I’m simply stating a fact.”
“This does not concern me,” the oni replied and waved. “Are you willing to meet with the lady or not?”
Takeo paused to take in how calm he was in the face of this oni. Here was the slayer of his old village, the one responsible for the murder of so many who’d once been so kind to him. The sight of their lifeless corpses had once instilled so much rage in him that he’d had trouble seeing clearly. He remembered that moment, with Emily at his side. He would ever remember the names of all those people. Gorji, Bayani, Hai, Cam, and . . . and. . .
There were more. Surely there were more, but he couldn’t remember them. Was that why he was so calm? Or was it because this felt right? Joining with a shogun and continuing his destiny to unify the world and thus end the ceaseless wars.
Damn them all. This is my purpose. Emily’s death shall not be in vain.
Takeo nodded to the oni.
“I will meet with her, but only so long as she meets my conditions. If I give myself over to her, I am to be used. I will not tolerate her armies sitting idle. If she’s only content to slice out a tiny piece of heaven while the rest of the world burns, I will move on. Qjang promised that Lady Zhenzhen dreamed of a unified Juatwa and will stop at nothing to achieve it. So long as this is true, I will fight for her with everything I possess.”
The oni grinned that wicked grin of their kind. The canine teeth appeared to be the jaws of evil in the rain, and its eyes were a deadly mix of intellect and hunger. It seemed almost too eager to accept, pausing only to glance at Gavin, who watched silently from Takeo’s side.
“I’ll take you to her myself,” it said.
Epilogue
Cyrus crept along the forest floor as silently as he could, crawling beneath bushes and shrubs while carefully picking over dried leaves and twigs. The air was cold with only wisps of lingering fog protesting the morning light, which pierced through the thick canopy above. He didn’t make a sound, not even to breathe, and the little harpy had no idea it was being stalked as it squawked and crowed about its findings.
“Shiny! Shiny!” it sang. “Bawk! Clinky, clanky, goldy!”
The harpy had found some old, yellow coin and was going to great lengths to drag it about the Forest of Angor. The metal was too heavy for it to carry for more than a few paces at a time, but it was too excited to let the shiny bit go. Cyrus had heard the bird making calls from some distance away as the sun was rising and had followed the sounds, slowly but surely closing the distance between them.
This was an exceptionally difficult hunt, he knew, not only because of the light but also because Angor was quietest in the mornings, but he could hardly pass up such an opportunity. Harpies were tasty, and he really wanted to bring home a fresh kill for his mother. She’d like that.
Just a little bit closer, he thought, catching glimpses of the harpy through gaps in the leaves and brush as it dragged the coin around thick trees, over gargantuan roots, and through piles of dried leaves. The bird was a little bigger than his own palm, covered in grey feathers, with wings and talons. Its face resembled a human’s, except it lacked ears and had a beak instead of a nose and mouth.
Harpies loved anything brightly colored or that reflected the sun’s light, so this bit of gold was making the bird especially narrow-minded. It huffed and puffed as it dragged the coin along the ground with its beak, only dropping the metal to catch its breath.
The harpy was tenacious, really, and Cyrus paused for a moment to admire that sort of focus. Then he crept closer until he was a little less than a short dash away. It was as close as he was going to get without being discovered.
“Shiny! Clinky!” the harpy hooted in delight, then stopped and looked up into the trees. “Birdies! Here, here! Shiny! Me bring shiny!”
It flapped its wings and took to the air, doing a short circle of celebration about the coin. When it landed again, its back was finally to Cyrus.
He sprung from the shadows with all his strength, bursting out of the shrubs to sail through the air like the mighty hunter his kind were known to be. The harpy squawked in terror and took flight, but not fast enough, as Cyrus’ hands clapped over it.
“Got you!” he cried out as he slammed to the ground, scraping his elbows and knees.
The harpy screeched and pecked at his fingers, trying to push through his grasp, but he quickly grappled the thing and snapped its beak shut. The coin was lost beneath his body.
“I got you! Yes!” Cyrus yelled and raised his hands. “Mother is going to be so proud. I can’t wait to show her! Yes!”
The chirping and squawking went on, sharper and lighter than before, in an echo about Cyrus like a singing chorus. He went to tighten his grip on the harpy’s beak when it suddenly dawned on him that the sound wasn’t coming from his recent capture. He paused, momentarily perplexed, and then slowly tilted his head up toward the trees. Dried leaves and tiny twigs fell out of his black, curly hair.
Sitting amongst the branches in a tiny twig nest was a row of three baby harpies crowing like mad. They were so young that their feathers were still fluffy like fur, and they chirped in shrill beats as they cried. All three were looking down on Cyrus and frantically dancing about.
“Huh? What?” He shook his head, wondering how he’d not notice those before. Had he really been so absorbed as to miss the sight and sound of three harpy chicks?
The harpy in his hands struggled again, pushing against his fingers and also drawing his attention back. Cyrus and the harpy caught each other’s eyes momentarily, and the harpy showed a remarkable amount of defiance for its size.
And also sadness, regret, and sorrow.
“That’s your family, isn’t it?” Cyrus asked, then continued. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
The harpy looked incredulous.
“Really, I didn’t,” Cyrus pressed. “I’m sorry. I was just hungry, that’s all. And my mother, I wanted to bring her something. I haven’t seen her for a month, and she likes fresh food. Look, I’m really sorry. Here.”
Cyrus set the harpy on the ground and let it go, and it immediately flew up into the nest where its tiny babies crowded around its feet, still chirping like mad. Meanwhile, Cyrus stood up and searched about the forest floor, finding the yellow coin and picking it up.
“I’ll make it up to you, I swear,” he said.
Cyrus approached the tree, and the harpy started squawking again.
“I’m just trying to help you,” he replied. “It’s what Ven would do.”
The harpy didn’t look convinced, but he put the coin in his mouth anyway, wrapped his arms and legs about the tree, and started to climb. The harpy went frantic.
“Leave! Go!” it cried out. “Shoo! Bawk!”
Cyrus just shook his head and kept climbing.
“Yu ca turst meh,” he mumbled through with the coin in his mouth.
“Awk! Go!” it hooted and took flight, then dove about Cyrus’ head to peck his ears.
“Och!” Cyrus said. “Im ju halpin!”
He scrambled up the tree as quickly as he could, pulled the coin from his mouth and dropped it into the nest. Then he let go and tumbled to the ground, rolling amongst the brush to avoid the harpy’s pecks. It quickly flew back to its nest, the little babies crowding around its feet again.
Cyrus brushed himself off and stood up. He looked up at the harpy, and the two shared a heated gaze.
“You’re welcome!” Cyrus called and huffed, to which the harpy replied by raising its beak. “You can thank me later. Sheesh, like I didn’t let you go already.”
He walked off, letting the sounds of chirping and squawking fade behind him.
Well, at least Ven will be happy.
That was the nickname he’d given his teacher. Her full name was Flinar Vensandoral, but that had been a mouthful when his mother had first dropped him off at the elven village, so she called her Ven. He was eight years old now and could properly pronounce her full name, but he preferred the nickname, and apparently so did she as she never corrected him.
“I could have taken it to Mother, but I remembered what you said,” Cyrus mouthed quietly to himself, acting out an imaginary conversation with his mentor as he strolled through the forest. “Only take what you need, and never from those who need it more.”
His mother would have to do without a gift, and he hoped she’d be okay with that. It’d been a whole month since he’d last seen her, and he was teeming with excitement to rush into her arms again. Just thinking of it made his skin tingle and his pace quicken. He started jogging through the forest, leaping over limbs, bushes, and roots alike. The forest became a dash of green as he sprinted through columns of light that barely managed to push through Angor’s thick canopy.
He was less than half a day’s travel from his mother’s home, and he reached the place just as the sun reached its highest point, sweating and out of breath, yet with enthusiasm undiminished.
As he burst into the werewolf camp, his sudden appearance made the other werewolves jolt. One dropped a leather sack, a few snarled their surprise, most took several moments to realize whom he was and then scoffed and looked away. Cyrus scanned the plethora of shabby brown tents for his mother’s and, upon spying it, dropped his pack and bolted for the tent.
“Mother! Mother!” he yelled, pushing the tent flaps back and rushing into the darkness.
His werewolf eyes adjusted within a heartbeat, and he caught sight of an older woman with auburn hair, a wide nose, and a firm jaw seated in the back of the tent. She gasped and smiled as Cyrus appeared, and he dashed into her arms.
“Mother!” he cried out again.
“Cyrus!” she said. “My boy! My beautiful baby boy! You’re back.”
She kissed his forehead, and Cyrus felt moisture run down his coarse hair. It was a sentiment equally shared, as his eyes started watering, too, and his nose began to plug. He squeezed her tighter.
“It’s so good to see you again,” Belen whispered. “Oh, I missed you.”
“Me, too, Mother,” Cyrus said.
“You’re getting so strong,” she said, rubbing his back. “Look at you! So tall. You’re getting so big. My strong little man. Tell me what you’ve been doing! I want to hear all about it.”
She pushed him back, and Cyrus looked away. He tried to wipe his eyes without her noticing, but he was pretty sure he failed miserably. She laughed and brushed his cheeks with her thumb.
“It’s okay. I won’t tell the other boys,” she said.
“I don’t care,” Cyrus replied. “They don’t like me anyway.”
“Don’t say that. They just don’t know you. You’re stronger than them anyway, and smarter, too. My brave big man. Come on now, tell me what you’ve been learning. Have they taught you how to fight?”
Cyrus shook his head, and Belen sighed. She gestured to the ground beside her, and Cyrus took a seat. His mother’s hand went to his chin, and she tilted his head up, shaking him back and forth.
“Don’t worry, they will,” she said. “They’ll teach you far more than this place ever could. What have they been teaching you?”
“Ven teaches me all kinds of things,” Cyrus said, grinning. “She teaches me about the treants, and about bugbears and centaurs. I learned about history and stuff, like this one place called Lucifan. Do you know about it, Mother? There is this place of nothing but rocks, and people live inside man-made mountains.”
Belen grinned wide, and Cyrus giggled his enthusiasm. His mother always took such great interest in what the elves were teaching him, and it was partly for these little meetings that he studied so hard with Ven. Cyrus loved making his mother proud.
“Yes, I know about Lucifan,” Belen replied, then cut him off before he could ask another question. “What else? I want to know what my boy is learning.”
“Ven says she’s teaching me how to be a good person,” Cyrus continued, eager to please. “She tells me things about respect and honor, and putting others before myself. She says I have to work hard at it because I’m human and it’s in my nature to be selfish and cruel, and that being a werewolf makes it worse. I’m learning, though. Like today! There was this harpy! I saw it, Mother—I saw it and I chased it and I caught it. I was going to bring it to you, you know, ‘cause I thought you’d like it, but I didn’t. It had a family, and they were pretty and, I don’t know. There was this coin that it had—and I’m really sorry I didn’t bring you anything, but it would have been wrong. Ven would say it was wrong, and I just wanted to do the right thing, and I hope you’re not mad, and—”
