by Jay Noel
Whether Zen found the Sky Blade or not, war with Iberia was inevitable. Yet that didn't bother him as much as Governor Kaga's parting words. He said a short prayer to his mother for strength of conviction.
“Let us go, Zenjiro. Your vessel leaves shortly.”
A short distance away, he spotted Kyta's recumbent vehicle parked on the road. The cart was ancient, but somehow Kyta kept the machine running. It lay low, close to the ground. Sitting in the long seat felt like lying on a stiff bed. A cast iron boiler was bolted to the rear, connected to various components and moving parts. As they got closer to Kyta's transport, he watched a dragonfly land on the steering wheel. It remained motionless, oblivious to the world.
“If we hurry, we will be right on time,” Kyta said.
They slid into the two seats. Kyta grunted as her stiff bones were forced to crouch and get into position. The old sorceress pushed a brass button on the dashboard and released a heavy lever next to the boiler. The machine spat a plume of smoke from its two exhaust pipes. Zen laughed. It was absurd for one so powerful and influential to be driving such an old jalopy. Kyta could have traveled by carriage complete with her own driver as the other nobles did. After watching his teacher slide the dark goggles over her eyes, he concluded Kyta would never allow herself to enjoy such luxuries.
“You always laugh at my cart,” said Kyta as she adjusted various controls on the panel in front of her. With the goggles on, she looked like a crazy bug with mad white hair. “I built this with my own two hands.”
The engine resuscitated from near death, forcing Kyta to have to raise her voice above the cacophony. “My own two hands...no enchantment involved whatsoever.” She brushed the dragonfly off the steering wheel and watched it fly away in search of prey.
Zen strapped himself in. With an open cockpit, it was sure to be a cold ride against the harsh wind. He placed his large canvas pack on his lap and held onto it, bracing for the trip in the chilly air. Kyta pulled a rusty lever on her side and the boiler spat with a metallic burst. The tires spit gravel as the cart sped down the dirt road leading to the western harbor of Tsuo. They raced towards the ship that waited to take Zen far across the ocean.
A MAMMOTH STEAMSHIP BUILT FOR carrying cargo dominated the small harbor. It had traveled from Xia and was now docked in Nihon to pick up passengers and giant crates of goods bound for Agrios. It was the largest ship Zen had ever seen.
Master Kyta's steam cart chugged up to the wharf. It shook and rumbled to a stop. Hideaki, surrounded by his royal guard, gave them a disapproving look. He waved his hand in the air to fan away the black steam puffing from the exhaust. Zen slid out of the seat to greet his father.
“Master Kyta, please allow me to supply you with a carriage. At the very least, a cart that will not explode upon giving it full steam.” Hideaki shook his head at her homemade contraption.
“Tinkering is how I find peace,” said Kyta as she removed her dark goggles. She leaned on her metal staff and straightened her body.
The area was nearly empty, as Zen's departure was kept a secret from the rest of the populace. The Sacred Journey was more than just a heroic mission. There was to be no fanfare, no celebration for Nihon's greatest hero. The surrounding silence made Zen even more nervous.
Hideaki looked pained as he put his arms around Zen. The guards shifted in agitation, most likely not accustomed to witnessing such a public show of affection among nobility.
“I wanted to send you out into the world to study all the different cultures,” Hideaki said in a low voice. “I hoped that maybe Nihon would someday break out of isolation and share itself with the rest of mankind. You were to be my ambassador to the world.” He glanced up at the cargo ship. “This is not exactly how I imagined sending you off.”
Zen smiled to lessen his father's worry. “I speak fluent Standard, thanks to Master Kyta. And I have studied several international societies.”
“There is a vast difference between reading about the world in a book and stepping out into it, Zenjiro.” Hideaki's brows crinkled. “You will see many strange things, and you will meet all kinds of unscrupulous people. They will know you are out of place. You will find yourself faced with many temptations we do not have here in Nihon. Stay focused on your Sacred Quest.”
“I will, Father.”
One of the guards handed Zen his newly repaired sword. He slid it into his scabbard and tied the cord to his leather belt. Zen lifted his pack and slipped each arm through the pair of worn straps.
“I am ready.”
Kyta pointed towards the ship. “This galleon will take fourteen days to reach Agrios. From there, where you go is up to you. Remember to pay attention to any signs the spirits should bestow upon you. Listen to your inner voice.”
She laid a frail hand on Zen's face. “Agrios is an untamed land filled with violent nomads and tribes. The Iberian Empire has a presence in this country, but their authority is disorganized and scattered.”
Hideaki added, “Remember, keep your nobility a secret. We have assured your safe passage with the captain of this frigate directly. Nevertheless, there are many untrustworthy individuals on board this ship. Pirates and thieves.”
“I understand,” Zen replied. He did look younger than his twenty years, and crooks would surmise that he was an easy target. “I will be careful.”
Zen gave everyone one final look before turning and making his way onto the bridge that lead to the top deck with the other passengers and crew. The giant smokestacks chugged rhythmically. Zen followed the steep walkway until he hopped onto the ship's wooden deck.
At first glance, he noticed that most of the crew looked to be from neighboring Xia. Their dark, golden skin looked worn from the many days under the sun. All of them shaved the front of their heads, leaving the rest braided into a long tail.
After closer inspection, several other foreigners scrambled all over the deck and carried out their seafaring duties. Zen leaned against the railing and allowed his pack to fall to the floor. He spotted Master Kyta and his father looking up at him from the pier. The galleon's six smokestacks burst into action with black steam. The whistle blew, signaling the beginning of a voyage for Zen to the other side of the world.
AFTER CHECKING IN WITH THE ship's purser, Zen went to find his assigned room. The tiny cabin housed only a cot, table, and an old gas lamp. The quarters below the upper deck were cramped; the aging walls made poor sound insulation. It was difficult to sleep with the constant din of heavy boots and drunken men on all sides. He was grateful, however, for the privacy, since most of the passengers and crew were assigned larger rooms but bunked with complete strangers.
His door rattled as someone lost his balance in the narrow alley outside. Zen reached for his sword under the cot, but realized it was just a drunken fool stumbling past his door. He took a deep breath and tried to lull himself to sleep.
The gentle rocking of the ship was comforting, and Zen nodded off. That all came to an end when the door blew open. A menacing figure stood in the threshold. Zen sprung to his feet, blade already in his hands.
“You don't get a private cabin, boy!” The figure stepped forward, a lantern in one hand and a revolver in the other.
Others stood behind him, but they were dwarfs compared to this man. “I want your room and whatever else you might have that's valuable.”
He had dirty, wavy hair pulled into a loose tail, and his bearded face was pockmarked with scars and divots. The man appeared fierce, but his legs wobbled under his own weight. He looked drunk.
Zen held his sword steady and kept his eyes on the muzzle of the ogre's pistol. “Go, before you regret this,” he said to the pirate in a quiet and stern voice. “Go back to your whiskey.”
The others in the alley laughed. One of them fell over and hit the floor with a drunken thud. The giant cocked the hammer of his revolver still aimed at Zen's chest.
“Do you know who I am, boy? I am Zapitoni, wanted in ten countries all across the Iberian Territ
ories. I am practically royalty. Royalty does not bunk with stinky rats. Royalty gets the luxury of a private room. Now leave your things, including that pretty sword of yours, and I'll spare your life.”
Zapitoni might have been drunk, but he held his gun firmly. Zen didn't have the time, nor was he in the right state of mind, to reach the calm composure the power of Ishen required.
His heart thundered out of his chest while his arm muscles twitched under his skin. He heard the sound of squeaking metal and knew the brute was about to pull the trigger.
Zen lashed out, his blade a blazing arc reflecting the lantern's flickering light. The ear-piercing boom of the pistol rang out and silenced the drunkards peeking in from the doorway. Zapitoni fell to his knees. He screamed and cradled his right arm against his chest. Still clutching his pistol, his separated right hand lay on the floor.
When it became obvious the others weren't going to jump into the fight, Zen raised his sword as high as he could under the low ceiling. He held it above Zapitoni's head. The pirate's mates crowded the doorway, stunned and silent. Zapitoni writhed in agony on the floor while swearing in an ancient tongue. The lantern continued to throw light into the room, and Zen noticed the man's once beige shirt was now soaked with scarlet.
“Spare me, boy,” Zapitoni whimpered between sobs. “I will pay you whatever you ask. Please have mercy.”
“I will, as long as you promise that neither you nor your friends will bother me for the duration of this voyage.” Zen lowered his blade. “Swear to me.”
Zapitoni looked to be on the verge of passing out. “I swear. Right boys?” The others grunted in agreement. “Can I please get my hand back?” he mumbled.
Zen stepped back, but kept his blade aloft. “Yes.”
They lifted their leader by his arms and led him out of the room. A short stocky fellow entered the cabin, pausing before taking another step. Zen nodded, and the man grabbed Zapitoni's severed hand and scurried away into the darkness. Even when the pirate shut the door behind him, Zen heard them dragging Zapitoni's heavy body down the alley. Zen thought of his father's warning. Agrios was a wild country, not beholden to any laws. Maybe the only thing these savages understood was strength and power. He expected to run into more like Zapitoni in the near future. Despite their promise to leave him alone, these men had no honor.
He flicked his blade and slid his sword back into its scabbard underneath his cot. Zen lay on his back and took deep breaths before deciding to remove his revolver from his bag. He laid the hard steel on his chest. The pirates left the lantern in his cabin, and he watched the dying and dancing flames until he was finally on the verge of sleep.
Before fully surrendering to the world of dreams, he prayed to his mother's spirit. When he finished, he heard her voice in his mind.
You must save the machine boy.
Her dying words had haunted Zen for seven years. Before he could speculate yet again on what she meant, he allowed the gentle lolling of the sea to calm his muscles. Zen thought of his mother's face, trying to recall every detail. It was difficult, and it disturbed him that he wasn't able to remember what she looked like. Zen regretted not bringing a photograph of her.
He drifted again, and in minutes the veil of sleep swept over his weary body.
FOLLOWING THE BECKONING AROMA OF brewed coffee, Zen found the mess deck one floor above his cabin. Only a handful of travelers and sailors sat at the long rectangular tables when he entered. Tacked to a tall counter on the far end of the deck was a sign written in Standard, declaring the cost to eat two meals a day for the voyage was twenty ibers.
Zen's shoulders sagged. How could he aspire to be the greatest hero of Nihon if he couldn't even wrangle up a single breakfast? He turned to leave the mess deck and try his luck topside.
When he turned, he found Zapitoni and his friends blocking the only exit.
“Leaving so soon?” Zapitoni went to stroke his beard, but he frowned when he found no hand at the end of his bandaged arm.
“You could have killed me last night. Luckily, one of my men is an excellent surgeon” He raised his handless arm again as if to remind Zen of their encounter. “If I had been you, I would not have been so merciful.”
Zen spotted one of Zapitoni's men draw a long knife from his belt. This pirate was short but wiry, and his eyes were full of hate.
“As I recall, I made you a promise. One I intend to keep.” Zapitoni turned to his man with the blade. “Go pay for this young man's meals for the duration of our journey to Agrios.” He bent his tall frame towards Zen. “What is your name?”
“Zen.”
Zapitoni shooed his associate away. The pirate sheathed his knife and walked past Zen, going straight to the counter as instructed. Zapitoni's followers seemed to relax and filed into the mess deck. Zen, however, kept his right hand on his holstered revolver.
“Will you join me for breakfast?” Zapitoni asked.
Zen's stomach answered him with a stretched out growl.
THE RICH BLACK COFFEE SOOTHED Zen's belly, which was also full of two sea biscuits and several strips of dried beef. Zapitoni and his men ate slowly. They used their mouths more for talking than for eating. Zen caught bits and pieces of one man's story of having survived a horrible shipwreck, and after hearing a similar tale coming from all around the table, Zen assumed Zapitoni and his men were pirates without a ship. That would explain why they were on board a cargo galleon.
Zapitoni, despite his appearance and lacking his dominant hand, proved to be a hospitable host, and he engaged with small talk while they ate their meals.
“Tell me, Zen. Why are you going to Agrios?” Zapitoni asked as he took a final swig of coffee from his tin cup. “That's quite far from home.”
Zen thought about his answer for a moment, careful to give a proper reply without revealing his nobility. “I am searching for something.”
“Aren't we all?” Zapitoni slammed his cup on the table. “I'm looking for a new ship. Hit a terrible typhoon off of the southeastern coast of Xia. Lost half of my crew.”
The pirates ceased their chatter. Their banter ended with Zapitoni mentioning their recent tragedy. Several bowed their heads in reverence to their fallen comrades, and Zen felt surprised at the show of honor among thieves.
“I seek the Sky Blade,” Zen said, cutting through the silence.
Zapitoni cleared his throat. “The Sky Blade?”
Zen felt the bewildered stares from the pirates.
One of them let out a bellowing laugh, and the others followed. Zapitoni took a few slaps to his back from his men, but he refrained from joining in the wild guffaws of his crew. Zen felt his face burning with white-hot rage, but he kept his composure. These were not men mocking him. They were animals. The taunts from such vermin were beneath him, and it wasn't worth his time to kill them for their insolence.
“Forgive my men,” Zapitoni said. With an irritated look on his bearded face, he motioned for his crew to leave the mess deck.
The pirates were still snickering when they got up from the table and exited. Zen looked down at his empty plate and cup, not willing to look up at Zapitoni who remained seated across from him.
“I admire your quest,” Zapitoni finally said. “If you do find the real Sky Blade, you stand to make quite a bit of money. Now that's a treasure worth finding, right?”
Zen's insides felt twisted, and he had the urge to rush back to his room to be by himself. “Yes.”
Zapitoni stood up and straightened his soiled white shirt. “When I was young, I too hunted for lost relics. Piracy is the family business, but I thought I could find my own way. Starvation put an end to my rebellion. I decided to find a steadier stream of income, and I haven't looked back since.”
Only shame and doubt filled Zen's heart, and the cold medallion against his chest mocked him in his despair. To be insulted by criminals should not have hurt him, but it did. Zen's faith had been shaken too easily.
“If the treasure hunting doesn't pan o
ut, I think you'd make a wonderful pirate,” Zapitoni said. “I'd hire you in a heartbeat. Think about it.”
Zen nodded and watched Zapitoni walk away.
CROSSING THE OCEAN IN FOURTEEN days on board the massive steam galleon left Zen with too much time to think. He tried meditation to clear his mind, but dark thoughts continued to bombard him. Zen had always considered himself a devout person, but he hoped he hadn't left his faith in Nihon.
He ate all of his meals with Zapitoni and his crew, and he found the pirate captain's stories of adventure and thievery exciting. At the very least, it helped Zen pass the time.
After the galleon reached Agrios' most western port, Zapitoni said farewell with a bow and led his crew off the ship. Zen lingered on board for a long while, waiting until the last minute to finally disembark the vessel. Stepping into this new world intensified his festering uncertainty.
Zen was overwhelmed by the bustle of Porticus City. People from a variety of nations wore their native wardrobes, and they filled the crowded market streets. There was an obscene mixture of smells from unknown food, burning coal, and the salty air from the nearby ocean filling the marketplace. The vendors and wandering salespeople greeted Zen with wide eyes and exaggerated amity. Most sold their goods on large carts and called out to passersby to view their wares. Some offered frivolous merchandise like jewelry or artwork. Others peddled more practical items like guns and boots. Zen needed none of these.
What he needed was a sign, direction from divinity. This was a strange land, and not only did Zen feel alone in the midst of thousands of strangers, but he was lost. The solid footing of the earth beneath his boots made him uneasy. During his voyage, Zen's body had become accustomed to the constant turbulence of the violent seas.
He stood in the center of a sea of strangers and tried to decide which direction to travel and what to look for. Zen noticed wrinkled faces eying him. He must have looked as alien to them as they did to him. This was not the time to panic. This was the time to quiet the mind and be open to all possibilities. He grasped the hilt of his sword for comfort. Zen commanded his body to relax and decided to just let things happen, as Master Kyta would have instructed.