Limbo

by Thiago d'Evecque

  “It had to be you,” I said, catching my breath. “I’m sorry. It will be a human life without memories.”

  “Liar,” he murmured, closing his eyes. “You’re not sorry at all.”

  His body and Ifrit flashed for a moment and burst into flames. The temperature dropped, making me shudder.

  I’m not sure how the return from Limbo to Earth worked. I simply ‘killed’ intending to reincarnate them, and so it happened.

  And Azazel returned.

  The Dudael dissolved in the same way it had appeared. The pieces undid themselves, parts broke down and others flew up, until darkness embraced me again and the lament of the dead floated around.

  Eleven to go. On my way to the second soul, I thought about the world situation and what qualities would best fit the scenario. Humans lacked strength. An unstoppable, unbeatable, unbreakable strength that didn’t flinch, didn’t surrender, didn’t bend.

  The ideal option was someone who represented power and resilience, who was proud, but not so much to the point of ignorance. They would need brute, proactive force. The courage to keep going despite fear. The determination to prefer death with honor over life with disgrace.

  I made my decision. I would choose the warrior worth a thousand, a samurai by choice, who confronted demons and gods, riding or on foot, a master with both sword and bow. The fearless Tomoe Gozen.

  Before getting there, I found that Azazel had a surprise for me. The evil face of terror stared at me. That outrageous presence that should not exist, a harrowing aura that gripped the heart with the icy hand of death. My ghost body sweated and all my muscles tensed, overwhelmed by that abominable projection. The darkness became too heavy for me, and my legs were about to give in.

  I lowered my head.

  My journey wasn’t lonely anymore.

  The evil was there, inside the sword.

  3

  ARMY OF ONE

  The incomprehensible runes carved into the blade glowed. The eight stripes on the guard twitched, like lazy tentacles just waking up.

  What do you think you’re doing, abject beast? the creature in the sword asked, right in my head. My jaw dropped. There was a conscious presence in there.

  “What am I doing? You are in my sword!”

  The thing choked. It seemed to be just waking up from the ritual Azazel had done to trap it. Bloody disloyal demon! He promised me… no… no! I hope he rots in that desert.

  “What did he promise you?” I asked, curious about their pact.

  That I would return to Earth alongside a foolish creature to once again implant my reign of fear.

  So, Azazel really thought I would go back to Earth. I was the foolish creature.

  “I’m sorry to inform you, but Azazel returned alone.” And the thing gurgled in fury, shouting profanities in my mind.

  “Who are you?”

  How can you not recognize me, you worthless goon? I am the Cosmic God, the Great Ancient One, the Destroyer of Worlds, the Corruption of the Abyss, the Breath of Death, the Emperor of Madness…

  It kept saying its self-proclaimed titles and then pronounced its name. ‘Pronounced’ for lack of a better word. It was a strange tongue, full of guttural burps and lisping moans, that I will never reproduce due to laziness, uncertainty of how to do it, and to spare the listeners from the saliva shower. The name challenged the vocal apparatus to the limit, as if an octopus tried to create a wicked coral language. I’m not sure if it is possible to repeat that obscenity without a sore throat.

  As the nameless one continued his monologue in the darkness, I noticed its hungry spirit absorbing my feelings. Then I got it. I understood that it fed on fear and insanity, but in this imprisoned form it had no power. Or at least not so much. The creature spoke as if to convince itself and me. As long as I thought it terror incarnate, I would strengthen it. Nightmare beings need external recognition, and its strength came from phobia.

  It must be some forgotten god of humanity. A strange entity that contained remnants of immense influence, now relegated to the Limbo. I had to impose my presence on all that hatred. I thought of a way.

  “Chuck.”

  …the Immortal, the Eternal, the Mouth of… what?

  “Chuck,” I repeated.

  Are you having a stroke, filthy flesh?

  “No. Your name is too ridiculous. I’ll call you Chuck.”

  And Chuck hated me. He hated me with all the fury of a megalomaniac god, with the wish for revenge of a slave who smiles at their master and plots their death with each breath. Because names have power, and I took his. To name is to give life.

  He gurgled his endless insults. But I would make him love me.

  Yes. By the end of my journey, Chuck would love me.

  I proceed toward Tomoe Gozen, toward the Rising Sun, striding in the darkness. The ground rose and the sky came down. Set pieces fell into place. Chunks of dirt formed beneath my feet to become a small slope, and the puzzle of a cloud-filled sky took shape above. Beside me, a corridor of leafy cherry trees completed the path to a wooden temple, with the complex simplicity that only the Japanese are capable of.

  A small house with a bell sat at the top of the two-story temple. Pink petals slid and floated away from the blue-gray tiles of the slanted roof. As we got closer, the relaxing sound of flutes greeted us.

  What are you looking for in this forsaken nest, you lice-infested tit? Chuck asked before we entered. I told him my goal and why Tomoe was next.

  You think any little woman can represent strength and courage? I’m in the hands of a delusional maniac.

  I couldn’t blame him. Human history was based on patriarchy, full of heroes but few heroines. Women were often marginalized, cast as supporting actors or mere lovers of glorious men in tales. Many are fragile maidens who await salvation by the enchanted prince, and the greatest achievement of their lives is to find a husband. Tomoe, however, crushed this sexism with the indignation of a thousand feminists.

  “You don’t you know her accomplishments?”

  Why would I be interested in the pathetic life of humans? Does a hunter care for the hunt’s past? Humans exist to serve. To sacrifice their own to win my favor, to drink their brothers’ blood in my name, to perform orgies for my pleasure.

  He shook with excitement under my fist.

  “You will find that the determination of certain people is greater than the desire for power at any cost.”

  Show me the heart of a man and I shall give you back corruption and insanity. Why is this harlot any different?

  And I told him the story.

  Tomoe lived during social and political insurrections that ushered in the samurai era. She was part of a group of women fighting at the forefront of armies in Imperial Japan, known as onna-musha. Offensive warriors who chose this path and carried sword and bow.

  In a true eastern Game of Thrones known as the Genpei War, two powerful clans vied for control of the country—the Taira and the Minamoto. Named as chief commander by Yoshinaka Minamoto for her skills and courage, Tomoe became known as a synonym for death to enemies and was one of the protagonists in the Minamoto victory over the Taira. She collected the clan lords’ heads, led thousands of soldiers on the battlefield, and rode outnumbered to triumph over the male militarism that dominated the era.

  Even when facing likely defeat, she did not run away. Enemy bribes did not seduce her. She showed loyalty and saved Yoshinaka’s life countless times during the war.

  Chuck was silent.

  We entered the temple, and he grew uncomfortable with the sacred mood of the place. The flutes became louder and the smell of incense invaded me. I walked over smooth wooden boards lit by the dim sunlight behind the clouds.

  At one table, a geisha served tea to three people kneeled on mats.

  Two of them were Tomoe and General Yoshinaka.

  It’s said she was his concubine, lover, or wife. They were more than good friends, that’s for sure. Seeing them together, I wondered what the warrior�
��s true death was like. Yoshinaka, after imprisoning the Emperor of Japan and proclaiming himself Shogun, was mortally wounded during the battle of Kyoto, betrayed by his cousins. This time, he didn’t want Tomoe around. He ordered her to flee as he threw himself to the enemy swords. But why? Was he ashamed to die with a woman fighting beside him, something that had never bothered him before? Was he jealous of the possibility that she would achieve an even more glorious death than his? Did he want any of his living leaders alive to pray for his soul and tell of his deeds? To me, he stared death in the eyes, knew there was no way out, and feared for Tomoe’s safety. And I don’t understand why she accepted this fate.

  Some stories told that the onna-musha lived the rest of her days as a Buddhist nun, reciting sutras for Yoshinaka’s soul until old age. Others spoke of how Tomoe rode toward her lover’s murderers to kill them and retrieve his head, preventing its desecration. Then she rode to the sea, toward eternal rest beside his love. However, these are legends. In fact, she heeded Yoshinaka’s orders and for the first time left a battle, never to be seen again.

  Tomoe raised a small bowl to her mouth, drank some tea, muttered something to the geisha, and gave the bowl to Yoshinaka. He drank and passed it to the other kneeling man.

  I approached them.

  Do you understand these people’s language? asked the insane god.

  “In the Limbo, communication is universal. That’s why I can decipher this submerged dog speech of yours.”

  I ignored his growls and moved past a table full of all kinds of food. An orgy of rice, lots of tofus, fried rolls, fish-stuffed dumplings, some wrapped in seaweed, bits of fruit, tentacles that made Chuck squirm, and other things that looked about to escape from the plate if not quickly swallowed.

  I kneeled beside them and rested my sword on my thighs. The geisha gawked me. She turned to the other three. With no indication of what to do, she withdrew with short, light steps.

  “This presence is not welcome here,” said Tomoe in a calm and firm voice, referring to Chuck. It surprised me him being mentioned so trivially, with no sign of fear and terror.

  “We won’t be long,” I replied.

  She nodded to the other two. Yoshinaka hesitated for a moment, but at last they both stood up, brows drawn and jaws set. I regarded the other man’s face and understood Tomoe’s story.

  He had Yoshinaka’s face with some feminine traits of his mother. He had a mustache and a beard on his thin chin, and a look of pride and defiance. That’s why the Shogun ordered her retreat. Besides worrying about his wife, he wanted to ensure his lineage continued. She was pregnant and gave up the way of the sword to raise her son.

  Father and son disappeared down a ladder. Tomoe looked at my luminous figure.

  “What are you looking for?” she asked, studying me with little coal eyes. Her white, smooth face had no trace of wrinkles. Her long black hair contrasted with the bit of skin appearing beneath the kimono.

  “The force capable of moving mountains.”

  Her red lips sparkled. “And who are you?”

  “I’m the one who helps humans. Maybe the last one. I need to save them.”

  “I didn’t ask what you do. And this is not my problem.”

  I stretched my back and lifted my chin a little. “It’s easy to believe we’re just the tree. But we are also the forest.” She watched me unchanging, drinking from the small bowl. “The whole goes unnoticed. It is a joint problem.”

  Tomoe lowered the bowl, maintaining eye contact. “No. I’ve done my time and my place is here.”

  I hardened my expression but then remembered that I still had none to show. “You’re here because you still have a purpose to fulfill, and I came to show it to you. You must return.”

  She smiled with the corners of her mouth. Her eyes did not take part in the gesture.

  “You think I will live under time’s heel again when I can enjoy eternal peace here?” She waved an arm around.

  I shrugged.

  “Time is a habit. You get used to it.”

  “I think not.”

  “The warrior who never feared death now fears life?”

  She stared at me unblinking, and I’m not sure how long it lasted. A spring breeze passed until it turned into a cold breath. The cherry trees swayed and changed petals. The flutes melody changed. Tension amassed. Even Chuck retracted himself.

  “Humanity will end,” I said. “They are killing themselves inexorably. Think about—”

  “I do not think! I act!” Her harsh voice made me grip the sword’s black hilt harder. Perfectly shaped eyebrows drew together as she spoke and then returned to normal.

  She was already considering the return. As much as she was a fearless woman, a cold and skilled warrior, she also had compassion.

  “That’s why I choose you.”

  Tomoe sighed. “I sometimes forget that nothing is permanent,” she said, looking at the tea bowl. “All my life I’ve known only war. It was hard raising a child. Here I have known what family is, and I have to leave it all to raise my sword once again.”

  It wasn’t fair, but as I said to Azazel, there was no fairness. There was necessity.

  “What will my duty be?” she asked.

  “To do what you do best. To show your unwavering strength, to wear honesty on the tip of your sword, to shine resolve in the darkness of fear and insecurity. To be yourself.”

  Disgusting sycophant, Chuck whispered in my head.

  Tomoe weighed my words, but if I hit her ego, she didn’t show it.

  “I’ve proved my worth to whom matters.” Her eyes twinkled. She punched the table, making the bowl shake. “But it shall be an honor to ride again on Earth in search of new glory.”

  The world was very different from her time and I didn’t think she would fight on a horse anymore. I decided to keep some details aside.

  Tomoe rose like a feather carried by a whisper. She disappeared up a staircase at the back. I got to my feet.

  Now what? Chuck asked.

  “She might be saying goodbye.”

  And I waited.

  “Do you know what frustrates me to this day?” Tomoe had come back. I spun toward her, caught off guard. She wielded a katana sheathed in a remarkable scabbard. Beautiful and intricate abstract lines ran over it. A masterwork, carefully carved.

  Tomoe stopped a few feet from me with an amused expression. It was a scary face. It resembled the silent interval between lightning and thunder.

  “Not having faced a worthy last opponent. A final duel to the death to bring me some life. To test my skills against someone who dances my dance. To let out my last breath as my warm blood drips over the cold edge of a sword. To have an honorable warrior’s death, not an incapable old woman’s one.”

  The onna-musha sidestepped like a panther, her bare feet seeming to float. Each step was a gentle kiss on the floor.

  She unsheathed her katana and tossed the scabbard aside.

  Chuck shivered with excitement. I held him with both hands.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Tomoe continued. “My fulfillment comes not only from the time I lived as a man, warring and killing. I’m proud of my feminine side. I abandoned the art of war to carry my child and take care of him. I would do it again as many times as necessary.” Her threatening features would make a beautiful painting. “But I deserve one last fight.”

  She pointed the katana at me. It was a splendid piece. The wavy design inside the blade gleamed from top to bottom. The guard, above the hilt, was round, small. An exquisite weapon that exuded a gentle but deadly aura. Quiet but acute, like a heart attack during sleep.

  That steel was sharp too. I felt it could slash even words in half. The very air would separate as it passed by it. But it was just a feeling. For that was the ultimate katana and it wouldn’t cut anything its wielder didn’t want.

  Its name was Masamune.

  Tomoe dual-handed it. She ran toward me.

  To the song of the flutes our swords danced.<
br />
  Tomoe’s strikes hurt to the bone, or whatever I had, whenever I blocked them. She didn’t waste movements; even her looks had a purpose. She tried to end the fight with each new assault.

  I pulled back to think of some strategy and noted the small tea table. I threw it toward Tomoe to distract her. She kicked the table back, hitting my chest and knocking me over.

  “Not even in death I shall have a decent opponent.”

  I got up showing my teeth. Ifrit’s wound burned my collarbone after the impact of the table.

  She raised the katana above her head and slid a foot forward.

  I tried to pierce her belly with a quick cut, taking advantage of the opening, but she slammed down Masamune over Chuck, making my arms shake. She attacked upwards, surprising me, and I protected myself anyway I could. Her strike grazed my blade. I threw myself to the ground and rolled to the right.

  Tomoe was water. Sometimes drop, sometimes ocean, but always fluid. It was not just physical strength. It was mental strength, steady as a current that adapts to any path.

  Just like Azazel, I needed to be fire. A fire so strong it would make her evaporate.

  Chuck vibrated in my hands. What a fight! What a fight! he said. You will die and I shall be free once again. Accept your fate, insolent beast!

  I twisted the sword to the left, lowering it to my thighs. Tomoe pointed her katana at me at chest level.

  She took a quick, soft step forward, letting out a powerful shout. She struck hard at my weapon, and that was what I wanted.

  I shouted back and dodged left. Before our weapons clashed, I forced Chuck up, toward her hands.

  Her mouth opened and her eyes widened. She abandoned the warrior’s expression for a discomposed one.

  The flutes hushed.

  I heard steel hit the hardwood floor as Masamune fell. Tomoe’s hands still grasped the handle.

  She kneeled down and turned her head to me. I kneeled beside her and, in one swift motion, jammed Chuck in her belly.