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

by Harmon Cooper

  “There are items that you need that I will work to acquire while you are seeing to the task I’ve assigned you. I will go over the items later; I believe they will greatly aid you going forward.”

  “I can’t imagine they sell these kinds of shinobi tools in public,” Meosa told the master illusionist.

  “No, they do not, but I know where to find them. We will be there soon. Prepare yourself, Avarga is… well, you’ll see.”

  It wasn’t long before they came to one of the many roads that led into the capital city of the Jade Realm. Signs of civilization took shape almost immediately, from roadside vendors setting up their wares to herders leading their sheep to slaughter, human and yokai all moving about their daily tasks, Arik seeing a number of beings he had never seen before. There were those he recognized, like the tanuki, but the rest were all foreign to him, Arik not knowing how to classify them.

  As they grew closer to the city gates, the disciple tried to get a better grip on his surroundings, and how it appeared as if Avarga had been painted along with the landscape, a brushstroke going forward lifting walls and buildings at such an angle that they seemed to rise naturally with the environment. Enormous trees with trunks twenty feet in diameter lifted from the ground as if they had been conjured by the sky, homes built around them and interspersed with stone shops and houses, an expansiveness to the place at odds with how small it felt.

  That was one of the things Arik noticed immediately. Because of the natural curve of the land, it was hard to gauge just how large Avarga was, or where it stopped. The flash of light on water told him that there was a lake nearby, one surrounded by life, Arik once again seeing yokai of all shapes and sizes. A stunning visual.

  “Here we are,” Hojo said, interrupting Arik’s awe. They had arrived at a large shop cut into a wall of stone, no windows as far as the disciple could tell. “As I was saying earlier, there is a very expensive pot inside, one with a bottom that has been painted red. I want you to take it and meet me here in…” Hojo squinted up at the sky, the sun hidden behind a haze of ash gray clouds. “Let’s say two hours.”

  “Right…”

  “Use whatever you can come up with to retrieve the pot, any sort of deception or otherwise you can think of to get it out of the shop. Try not to get yourself killed or arrested, because that would only complicate things. And this goes without saying,” Hojo told him as he finally locked eyes with the disciple. “Be wary of your power, and cautious with the information that you reveal to people that live here. Avarga is one of the most amazing cities in Taomoni, but there is an underbelly here, one that you aren’t ready to be introduced to. Not yet, anyway. Good luck. I’ll see you in two hours.”

  With that, the master illusionist turned away from Arik and continued on.

  ****

  Arik entered the shop to find that it was run by a small yokai woman with the head of a bird, scales covering her arms.

  “May I help you?” the female shop owner asked, her thick beak having an effect on her voice that made it sound almost as if she were cooing at him. There were numerous pots hanging from hooks all around the space, a shiny coziness to it all.

  “There it is, front and center, just like Hojo said it would be,” Meosa said as Arik spotted the pot in question. “The poor itsumade shop owner. She just started her day, and here she is, about to get robbed.”

  Itsumade? Arik thought. That must be her yokai classification…

  “Well?” the woman asked.

  “Off to a great start as always,” Meosa started to say.

  “I’m… fine.” Arik pretended to just look around, his limbs tingling for a moment.

  He had never stolen anything in his life, and had absolutely no idea how he was going to take the pot, which indeed had a red bottom. Arik approached it, his eyes falling on the price tag. He still wasn’t certain of the exchange rate, but it was listed at more Jadean sen than he currently had in his pocket, which wasn’t a lot to begin with.

  “You could always take it and run,” Meosa said, “and I could provide some watery backup.”

  “No,” Arik said under his breath. “I don’t want you to hurt her.”

  “Hurt her? I wouldn’t hurt her, but she may slip and, well, there are numerous obstacles in this dingy little place that she could hurt herself on. Not going to lie: I don’t like it in here, disciple. I don’t like being inside a little hollow carved somewhere between a tree and a piece of stone, especially one without any bloody windows. Reminds me of when I was imprisoned back in the cave. Remember the cave?”

  “Do you have any questions?” the shop owner asked as she approached Arik, her eyes darting from his fists, which were clenched, to the red pot in question. “Ooh! I see you found our Crimsonian pot collection. They are very unique, with five bonded layers creating a noticeable difference in their performance, including a steel core that diffuses the heat consistently. Listen to me, ramble on. Ooh! I must admit, some people are thrown off by the red paint, but it fades and ages in a very unique way. Here, I’ll show you.”

  She returned with a smaller version of the large pot, one that looked as if it had been recently scrubbed clean. “This one is mine,” she said as she showed him the bottom of her small pot, Arik noticing that much of the paint was gone, and the paint that remained had changed to an umber color with scratches in it.

  I can’t do this, Arik thought. I can’t do this…

  “I really don’t understand the point of this lesson,” said Meosa as Arik pretended to examine the Crimsonian pot. “How is this supposed master illusionist hoping to relate disguises and deception with stealing from this poor itsumade? I haven’t said anything about it yet, but maybe now is as good of a time as any: perhaps we are making a mistake in staying with Hojo and trying to better understand the iniquitous ways of the School of Illusion. We could use the two hours he’s given us to flee the city.”

  “I don’t know,” Arik said as he looked at the pot. “I really don’t know.”

  “Pardon?” the shop owner asked.

  “I don’t know if it’s the one I need.”

  “It is one of our most popular items, and I’m not pressuring you to buy it here, but they do sell out quickly. I would suspect that this particular pot—the last in the store, mind you—will be sold by the end of the day. Maybe you will be the buyer, then again, maybe not…” She cleared her throat. “Ooh! Did I mention that this particular pot is well suited for slow simmering soups, yet it also excels in cooking grains and boiling potatoes to a softness that humans seem to really enjoy. The best chefs in Avarga use Crimsonian cookware, you know.”

  “She drives a hard bargain,” Meosa commented. “If she only knew that we were planning to steal this thing…” The aqueous kami was quiet for a moment as Arik once again took in the pot. “Have you considered using your wound transfer on her? Just a little can go a long way.”

  “What? No.”

  “Pardon?” the bird-faced woman asked.

  “Sorry, just…” Arik gritted his teeth and he smiled at her once again. “I have been traveling for a while and have, um, gotten used to talking to myself. I think.”

  “Ooh, I see.” She took a step back, tsk-tsking to herself as she did so. “You know, my kind is very adept at soothing human psychological problems. There are shops in the city that would help ease the mental anxiety that seems to be plaguing you.”

  “It’s fine…” Arik started to say.

  “Nonsense, it’s not fine. You should be willing to talk with someone, a professional, about the issues that ail you. Not everything is a visible wound, you know, something that those priests and disciples in the north can’t seem to figure out. Let me write down some information for you,” she said as she turned back to the counter. “I know of someone that could help you.”

  “Enough with her nonsense. Now’s the time to steal if you’re going to steal it, disciple,” Meosa said. “Onward!”

  Steal it? Arik thought as he glanced at the pot on
ce again, the bird-faced woman’s back to him.

  A type of nervous excitement that he’d never felt before, not even before a battle, seemed to freeze Arik in place, the disciple finally acting impulsively and reaching for the pot. In doing so he not only took the pot off its hook, but he knocked over some of the other cookware, including a bowl made of ceramic.

  He just barely managed to catch the ceramic bowl with his foot, Arik balancing it for a moment as he also held onto the pot.

  “What’s gotten into you?” Meosa hissed. “You’re shaking so much that it’s starting to agitate me. You don’t want to see what happens when I get an upset stomach!”

  Arik placed the pot on the counter. He was just returning the ceramic bowl to its rightful place when the woman approached again, a curious look on her face.

  “So you’ve decided to purchase it?”

  “No, I mean…” Once again Arik smiled at the itsumade, only then realizing how crazy the look on his face must have been in that moment. He turned his back to her, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes. I mean, I’m still thinking.”

  “Would you like something to drink?” she asked. “Perhaps you have overextended yourself. It happens, you know. Ooh! I can make you some tea.”

  “Yet another chance to steal this pot, disciple. Do it, or let’s leave. I can’t bear to witness this trifling scene any longer!”

  “Before I forget…” The woman handed Arik a piece of parchment with information written on it, the address of a local sound healer. He noticed once again that she had reptilian flesh. “You act as if you’ve never seen someone like me before,” she said, catching the way he observed her.

  “No, I’ve seen yokai…” He took the parchment and stuffed it into the front of his robes. There was no way he was going to do this. “Just, you know, hearing things and all, making it hard to concentrate. Um, maybe I will go check on this and return.”

  “Are you sure? The pot may be gone by the time you return. I could be persuaded to hold it for you…”

  “If that’s the case, I’ll find another one. Thank you.”

  After a quick bow, Arik stepped out of the shop, back to the streets outside. He nearly had to place his hands on his knees as he let out a deep breath, one that had been bottled up in his chest. “I’m not a thief,” he said, giving words to a thought that continued to flip through his mind.

  “Clearly. Not only that, you have utterly failed Hojo’s first lesson, as baffling as it was.”

  “It was a stupid lesson,” he snapped at Meosa. “Why would he ask me to steal something? What good is there in that? What does that have to do with being an illusionist and for that matter, why am I not training in the way that I should be training, with a weapon? Stealing from some yokai,” he said, motioning toward the shop, “isn’t going to make me a better swordsman.”

  “For once, you and I are in agreement. That’s why I think we should get out of here now, and leave Hojo to whatever it is he plans to do. The man is the epitome of delusional, if you think about it. No school, no money from what I can tell, and by his appearance, poor grooming standards. And we’re supposed to believe he knows about the Mask of the Fallen? Bah. He may have once been a Hidden Warrior, but I once had influence and power, and look where I am now, pretty much a nobody who has latched onto the likes of you, also a nobody.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “The young man who very well may be the last disciple in our world, the last person to be classically trained in utilizing Revivaura, traveling around and trying to become a swordsman like he has a death wish and taking lessons from a supposed illusionist. Ring a bell? Yes, I’m angry at you now. I’m angry because not only have you put us in the situation, but we’re wasting time to accomplish an endeavor that may not be accomplishable! How is someone like you supposed to challenge Nobunaga and his retinue of men—trained blades, mind you—and actually make a change in this world? You saw how they use Thunderaura. You’re supposed to be able to fight them in what? Less than a month now? Not to mention the fact that you’ll have to win in a tournament against people that have been fighting much longer than you, even if they are locals. Why not retreat and get ready for the inevitable?”

  “Which is?” Arik asked, the nervousness inside him now turning agitation.

  “The war that is to come. I’m surprised it hasn't started yet, to be honest. People are going to need the help of someone like you once it comes. Do you not see that, disciple? Instead, in less than a month from now, you may very well die and that will be the end of it. And for what? The rest of Taomoni will be subjected to folk healing and whatever the hell that itsumade in there was talking about. Sound healing?” Meosa scoffed at the suggestion. “Listening to some itsumade’s bodily functions as a form of healing seems like a good reason to give up hearing all together.”

  “What about you?” Arik asked.

  “What about me?”

  “You have free will. Why do you insist on following me around and berating me? And another thing, what is it exactly that you were looking for anyway back in Omoto? Aside from how you’ve latched yourself onto me—”

  “Latched myself? You need me!”

  “I don’t…” Arik bit his lip. Of the two of them, one was going to have to lower the temperature of their conversation. “Never mind.”

  “See? You do need me. You need me more than I need you. You may have saved me, sure, and thank you, disciple, for going out of your way to run like a coward from the slaver and happen upon my cave…”

  “I’m not a coward,” Arik said, once again feeling a flourish of anger within him.

  “No, perhaps I misspoke. You aren’t a coward, but you are a fool, and oftentimes they wear the same pants. But then I have latched myself onto you, as you say, so who is the bigger fool now? Perhaps I’ve been the most foolish fool all along! I digress, sure, you saved me, but I believe we are even now. So as to why I’m sticking around? That doesn’t matter. I’ll leave when I want. How’s that for an answer? And as to what I was looking for: if you’re referring to how we separated briefly in Omoto, then… then… it doesn’t matter. You and I will both know if I ever find what I’m looking for. I’m tired of arguing with you!”

  “I’m tired of arguing with you too!” Arik said, a bit too loudly, clear when a pair of humans passing by offered the disciple a side glance.

  “Then let’s both just keep our mouths shut until Hojo returns. I won’t say anything if you won’t.”

  “Fine.”

  “You just said something.”

  “So did you,” Arik said, his voice to the point of exasperation now. He had argued with people before, but there was nothing like arguing with Meosa because the kami’s voice existed all around him, yet he wasn’t actually there for Arik to look at, not if he didn’t want to be.

  “I’ll stop talking right now, if you stop talking.”

  Arik shook his head. “I said I’ll stop.”

  “You just spoke.”

  “Meosa…”

  “Disciple…”

  Both grunted at the same time, Arik crossing his arms over his chest and squeezing the waterskin a bit as he did so.

  Since there was no place to sit, he ended up standing in front of the shop, occasionally standing to pace back and forth for the next two hours. Eventually, Hojo shambled in their direction, the mysterious man skipping a greeting once he approached.

  “How did it go? Where’s the pot?” he asked, the master illusionist peering at Arik through the slit of his conical hat.

  “In the shop.”

  Hojo, who now had a bag full of what Arik assumed were supplies, turned to the shop. “Wait here; I’ll be right back.”

  It was just about three minutes later when he stepped out, now carrying the pot with the red bottom.

  “You… you stole it?” Arik asked.

  “No, why would I steal the pot when I could simply buy it?” Hojo asked him. Before Meosa could flare up and potential
ly argue with him before the public, the master illusionist turned to the east and motioned for him to follow. “I believe our first lesson is over for today. Think about what happened here on the way back, and if you still haven’t figured it out, I’ll explain once we arrive.”

  ****

  They reached the cabin, its roof held down by stones, Arik Dacre still unsure of what lesson, if any, Hojo was trying to impart on him. Once he unlocked the door using the unique circular key, Hojo stepped inside and slipped out of his boots.

  He dropped the pot on the ground of the shared living space in the way that one would discard an object they cared little about. Hojo then placed the bag of supplies he had purchased off the ground and sat behind it, carefully removing his sword.

  Once he was ready, he motioned for Arik to take a seat in front of him.

  “Instruction at the School of Illusion,” Hojo began, “likely differed from anything you may have experienced in your previous studies. Later on in your lessons, I’m nearly certain you performed fieldwork, especially considering you have completed three branches. Is this the case?”

  “That’s right,” Arik said, recalling his time at hospitals and a summer spent as a wandering healer.

  “Much of what we will learn in terms of disguises and deception over the next few days will be hands-on. There are numerous lessons that I can teach you, and as for now, I’ve tried to pick out the most pertinent ones, the ones that will help you if you survive not only the tournament you plan to participate in, but your inevitable encounter with Nobunaga, even if your chance of survival is slim at best.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” said Meosa.

  “So consider it a very condensed series of lessons, ones that an illusionist would spend much more time studying. Most of the lessons will be difficult to complete, and I don’t expect you to pass all of them, like today’s. But at least you will have a working knowledge of what it means to be an illusionist, one that doesn’t use Chimaura.”