Mask of the Fallen: A Cultivation/Progression Fantasy Series: (War Priest Book One)

by Harmon Cooper

  “I do,” Arik said with a short nod. It was dark all around them now, aside from the faint glow of the lanterns that the caravan guards had attached to their spears. The temperature had dropped as well, the woman across from him with a wool blanket over her body to protect from the elements. “I spent some time with him years ago in Avarga.”

  “You are the worst liar,” Meosa told him with a chuckle. “Why would someone of your status, one who can afford to travel this way, be spending time with a tanuki whose main job is to heal slaves? What are you going to do next? Tell her that you are friends with Domen? How would you explain that? But, continue on; you’ve stopped listening to me as of late anyway.”

  Arik took off his square hat, the woman now able to see his face. He didn’t know what the protocol was, but as soon as he removed his, she removed hers as well, the woman much younger than he expected. “May I ask what is wrong with your child?”

  “It’s…” The woman very carefully removed her child from the sling attached to her chest. “It’s a rash from not getting the proper nutrients,” she said she showed him the child, Arik barely able to make out the baby’s face in the dark. “It can be hard down here.”

  “I’m sure Master Kojiro will be able to help with that,” Arik said as he reached into his robes. “But you could probably start with a proper meal.”

  He had placed his Jadean sen in the left inner pocket, and the Crimsonian oban in the right, so he wouldn’t get them confused. He returned with some of the Crimsonian oban, which he assumed she could use for food at the border.

  “And now you’re being charitable,” Meosa lamented. “Alas, I suppose it makes sense. It is in your nature, is it not? So selfless. And here I thought that you were the War Priest. You know, Coro Pache wasn’t as charitable as you seem to be, but that is to be expected considering he was Crimsonian and you are Onyxian. Fine, give her your money,” the aqueous kami said as Arik handed her the bills marked in red ink to the woman. “We can always get more. I think. Well, I hope.”

  “I… I don’t know what to say,” the woman told him. She sniffled, and then tilted her head up, trying not to get emotional. “It has been a trying journey as of late.”

  “I’m sure it has,” Arik said, the tone of her voice making him feel the emotion in his chest as well.

  They had both experienced hardships that the other likely couldn’t fathom, yet here they were, in a cramped carriage moving to the border, their shared suffering having a way of calming both of them, the two united by the idea that life was challenging no matter who you were or where you came from.

  “Thank you again, my lord,” the woman said. “I wish you luck in all of your endeavors, and will pray for your success.”

  .Chapter Three.

  “Sound judgement can be corrupted with prolonged contemplation. Eight breaths should be more than enough time to make a proper decision.”

  –Madame Noll Arimask in her Scroll on Better Order, later published in the Jadean Book of Proverbs, Year 1475.

  It was as if the border city of Omoto was cast in a different light after Arik Dacre’s brief time in Mogra. He suddenly saw the differences in the dress, from the square hats to the robes the people on the Crimsonian side of Omoto wore, which seemed heavier, less ratty than those of the desert-beaten denizens of Mogra. There was also a difference in the construction of many of the buildings, everything more spread out along the border, not confined to a valley surrounded by a close-knit settlement.

  The slave trade was much more visceral here, clear in the people being auctioned off, and those waiting on wealthy men and women who wore flowing red robes, many with conical hats that had additional stitching on them, some of the women also wearing veils tucked into the front of their clothing, golden threads laced along the stitch lines.

  The journey had taken a day and two nights, Arik using his healing power to occasionally reduce any pain he felt in his legs from lack of circulation. The caravan only stopped a few times, keeping up an absolutely grueling pace. The woman Arik shared his carriage with rarely spoke, and her baby remained quiet for most of the ride, something Meosa came to appreciate by the time they had reached the city.

  Meosa had talked to Arik a lot during the trip, but he still had yet to reveal his reasoning for parting ways with Arik the first time they had come to Omoto. What was he hiding? Why was he so secretive about it? Everything else seemed to be on the table, but Arik couldn’t help but feel that there was something Meosa was leaving out.

  Perhaps it would all be revealed soon.

  Arik expected trouble at the border itself, the disciple figuring he may have to procure some document or something of the sort to prove where he had come from. But appearances seemed to be everything around here, and the upgraded robes he wore, gifted to him by Master Altai, granted him swift passage, the guards barely blinking an eye.

  There was a stark difference between the Jadean and Crimson parts of the city, things slightly more lax on the Jadean side, the abundance of red banners and bright-umber robes replaced by seafoam-green flags with squares in the center. It was by no means a subtle visual, the green adding a touch of life to a place so marred by its sandstone walls and barren surroundings.

  After bidding farewell to the woman and her child, who were planning to eat something before visiting Master Kojiro, Arik headed toward the stadium where he had tried to save Jinmo. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but in truth it had only been a handful of days.

  “Let’s try not to stay here for the night,” Meosa reminded him, the aqueous kami adamant that they should begin their journey to Avarga now considering their deadline.

  “You haven’t met Master Kojiro and Indra.”

  “That won’t be necessary, disciple.”

  “You can trust them.”

  “You can’t trust anyone, not in the world as it was in my time, and not in the world as it is now.”

  Rather than disagree with the often cantankerous kami, Arik entered the infirmary to find Indra attending to one of the patients. He was clearly a local, the man with a bloated lump on the side of his neck. Arik kept his square hat on as he approached the man, Indra not sure of who he was at first. But then she recognized the way he held himself, the nursemaid slowly relaxing her posture.

  “You are actually going to start working around here, aren’t you?” Meosa moaned. “We have a caravan to catch, disciple.”

  “Is Master Kojiro in?” Arik asked as he hovered his hand over the injured man. He’d seen similar wounds before, likely a tumor, and as long as he didn’t need to extensively use his power for the rest of the day, healing something like this wouldn’t take much out of him. He could always correct the man’s ailment through Wound Transfer, but then he would have to carry the pain to some degree, which wasn’t something he was interested in doing with the trip that lay ahead.

  “Certainly,” said Indra. The Onyxian brunette was just as Arik had remembered her, the dimples on her face softening her smile, at odds with the look of sheer exhaustion in her eyes. “I’ll get him.”

  Soon, the nursemaid returned with Master Kojiro, the tanuki in his off-white robes, sleeves rolled up, less blood stains on them than normal. By this point, Arik had already started to heal the man, the man with his eyes clenched shut as the lump on his neck, easily the size of a potato, began to tremble and melt back into his skin. What he couldn’t see was the chi all around him, Arik fully in control of the Revivaura in the space, liquid-like as it began to strengthen around the older man.

  Soon he was finished, and as Arik lowered his hands, Indra came to his side to give the patient a sedative.

  “It appears you have returned,” Master Kojiro said, a slight grin on his face as he looked up at Arik, his whiskers switching. “Fancy yourself a man from Mogra now, do you?”

  “The disguise works to some degree,” Arik told him as he joined Master Kojiro on the other side of the room. He took a seat, the tanuki remaining on his feet. Indra joined them after she�
��d seen to the tumor-ridden man, the nursemaid sitting on one of the cots generally reserved for patients.

  “Combat Master Nankai wasn’t at the Double Sword Academy of Combat Arts,” Arik began, “but the man you suggested, Master Altai, was there.”

  “I see, and where was Master Nankai?”

  A pained expression came across Arik’s face, one that neither the tanuki nor the nursemaid could see due to his square hat. “He appears to have upset Nobunaga and was summoned to Tenrikyo. No one has heard from him since; he is likely dead.”

  A hint of sadness traced across the tanuki’s black eyes. The white hairs sticking out of his snout seemed to dip in a way as well, his raccoon ears lowering as he bit his bottom lip. “Pity. What will you do now, disciple? We could always use the help around here…”

  “There are a number of things I plan to do,” Arik began.

  “Be careful what you tell tanuki,” Meosa hissed in Arik’s ear. “Most are trustworthy, but others…”

  He ignored Meosa as he explained what happened over the last several days, Arik leaving out his plan to assassinate Nobunaga. He did, however, mention his desire to find an artifact known as the Mask of the Fallen, which caused Master Kojiro’s bushy eyebrows to raise. “Mask of the Fallen? I can’t say that I’ve heard of it. Where will you go to search for it?”

  “To Avarga. I have a book about Coro Pache, and it was where the book was published.” Arik motioned toward his pack, which was now resting against the wall.

  “Avarga can be a very interesting and beautiful place, where yokai and humans coexist, but you must be careful there, Disciple Arik,” Master Kojiro said. “There are many ways to lose yourself in Avarga.”

  “I will do my best,” he told the tanuki.

  “You will draw attention to yourself in your Crimsonian clothing. Indra, fetch the disciple some spare robes. You can leave your square hat and anything that ties you to the Crimson Realm here, for safekeeping. There are many people in the Jade Realm, especially as you move to the east, they do not like the Crimsonians. I assume you want to blend in, right?”

  “That’s right,” Arik said.

  “Yes, good, blend in like an illusionist, as they say. It is best that you don’t look like you just came in on a wooly kayno from the outer rim of Mogra. Filthy creatures, those kayno.”

  “Now there is something that I can agree with,” Meosa commented so only Arik could hear.

  “I suppose you will want to leave on the next caravan then,” said the tanuki.

  “Yes, if you could point me in the right direction.”

  “Certainly, and you have funds? I do have a modest amount that I’m able to part with…”

  “No, I should have enough.”

  “You will need more in Avarga. It is the most expensive city in the Jade Realm. I’ll give you what I can.”

  “Please, Master Kojiro, it’s fine,” Arik said as Indra returned with a spare set of robes. She also had two pairs of boots lined with deer skin.

  “It gets cold to the east at times,” Indra said as she placed the clothing on an empty side table. “I don’t know which boots would fit you.”

  “Indra, I’m sorry to ask you again, but please fetch my satchel as well…”

  “Really,” Arik said, “you don’t need to give me any money.”

  “I’m sure you’ll pay me back one day. But you’re going to need at least some sen to get started once you arrive. I would suggest staying clear of the tourist districts. You’ll know which ones they are. There is a part of Avarga that…” Master Kojiro looked up at the ceiling for a moment as if he were considering something. “You don’t have this book on you, do you?”

  Arik retrieved the Coro Pache book from his bag and opened it to the front page, showing the tanuki the stamp.

  “Yes,” Master Kojiro said as he squinted at the publisher's marking. “Yoshimura Books. This will be in the old Bookseller’s District. That would be a better place for you to stay, much quieter. I suppose I shouldn’t keep you any longer than I have; there is a caravan leaving within the hour.”

  “Is there anything you’d like me to deliver in Avarga?” Arik asked.

  “No,” Master Kojiro said. “I wish I could say that I have family there or friends that would want to hear from me, but alas, that isn’t the case. Avarga changes people, and I moved here to get away from that region.”

  Indra returned with the tanuki’s satchel, and soon, Arik had changed into a set of gray robes with purple lining, as well as the boots that Indra had provided him, the disciple no longer wearing his square hat, now with a crease line on his forehead from where the inner frame had set. Aside from the money, he was also given food to take with him on his journey, dried bread and fruit, Arik promising to visit once he returned to Omoto in less than four weeks’ time.

  “I suppose you are wanting me to say something like, they aren’t as bad as I thought they would be, is that it?” Meosa asked as they left the infirmary, Arik cutting through an alley protected from the sun by a hastily erected covering.

  There were spools of wool and other assorted goods in the alley, a man marking the supplies on a scroll while several others carried in a crate. Arik stepped around them and soon, he found himself in yet another square, just as Master Kojiro said he would. From there he turned toward a bakery with an abandoned well beside it, Arik eventually coming to the caravan.

  “Well?”

  “I was ignoring you,” Arik told the water spirit.

  “Ignoring me? What good would that do? I am your companion, your elder, a being that should be respected! Do you know what happened to the last person that ignored me?”

  A smirk took shape on Arik’s face.

  “Do you?”

  “I haven’t the faintest clue.”

  “You would be good to show me some respect from time to time,” Meosa huffed. “Especially because there will come a day when you need my help more than you already do.”

  “I seem to be getting around just fine…”

  “Because of my help. Have you asked yourself yet where you would be without me?”

  Arik stopped walking, allowing a man leading a thin donkey to move in front of him. “Have you?”

  “Yes…” Meosa finally said in a disgruntled way. “You may have me there, disciple. I will admit that. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in five hundred years…”

  “What could you have possibly learned in that cave?” Arik said, for once feeling like engaging Meosa.

  “I… I have learned to mind my manners and to respect those who have come before me! Basic decency. But you know what? You were right, and I was wrong.”

  “About what exactly?”

  “I shouldn’t tease the local fauna.”

  Arik shook his head at this statement. “Is that what you call Master Kojiro and Indra?”

  “Well, they seem to have put down roots here, so yes, I would call them that. And that tanuki was right about another thing.” Meosa cleared his throat. “You need to be exceedingly careful in Avarga. It is a place of sin, not unlike Minowa in the south. You’ve heard of Iwara Pleasure City?”

  “I can’t say that I have…”

  “If our travels ever take us to Minowa, you will. Now pay the caravan man over there and claim a carriage before that strange fellow does.”

  Arik spotted an older man in a conical hat with a triangular slit cut open over his face. He had a gray beard and was exceedingly thin, his shoulders pressed back, some muscle visible under his slightly threadbare olive robes, a haori cape draped over his shoulders, and a blade sheathed at his waist. The opening over the front of the man’s conical hat cast a triangular pane of light across his face, yet it still obscured his features to some degree, even as he turned slightly in Arik’s direction.

  “Whatever you do, try not to get in a carriage with him,” Meosa said. “Pick up your pace, my boy. It seems as if he’s hesitating.”

  Arik did as instructed, and after paying the
fee, he was led to one of the four horse-drawn carriages at the back of the group. Once the disciple was settled in the carriage, he removed his bag, his waterskin still tucked under his arm as always.

  “It shouldn’t be much longer now,” Meosa said. “Now all we need to do is sit back and enjoy the bumpy ride. Might I suggest using your healing power to settle your stomach. The rocky road that lies ahead isn’t for the faint of heart. I’m sure you will be fine, disciple.”

  The shutters were closed to prevent the sun from baking the inside of the carriage, Arik not able to see what was happening outside of the caravan. It sounded like they were getting ready to go, and once the driver mounted up, he knew it would be any moment now.

  “Great,” Meosa said as the carriage door popped open and the man who had been wearing the disheveled conical hat quickly got inside. “Just the guy we didn’t want to be stuck in a carriage with. Try not to make any small talk, disciple.”

  “Hi,” Arik told the man, mostly to annoy Meosa.

  “Afternoon,” the man said as he removed his hat. His hair was a mixture of gray and black that had been bundled up beneath the inner cone of his hat. It quickly fell down to his neck as he settled deeper into his seat.

  There was something misty about his eyes, Arik not able to quite make out the color due to the darkness provided by the shutters. He would later notice that there was a hint of gray to them, sometimes green, sometimes blue, depending on his environment, but at the time, all he could tell was there was a unique and mysterious nature to them. As he had seen earlier, the man had a beard, but it wasn’t thick along the sides of his cheeks, which were gaunt, a hint of darkness to them.

  Meosa’s voice appeared in Arik’s ear: “I know you don’t always listen to me, disciple, but there is something off about this fellow—”

  “You look like you have moved from one long journey to another,” said the mysterious stranger.