Heretic, Betrayers of Kamigawa: Kamigawa Cycle, Book II

by Scott McGough

“Your oni,” Toshi said. “It’s the Big Bad Oni of Chaos, right?”

  Hidetsugu’s nostrils flared. “Respect, oath-brother. He is called the All-Consuming Oni of Chaos.”

  “Chaos,” Toshi echoed. “What if I gave you the means to spread chaos? To drop a huge lump of it into the daimyo’s lap?”

  “If you could do that, I would want to hear more. Can you do that?”

  Toshi reached into his pack. “I can,” he said. “With this.”

  He drew out a plate-shaped object and held it out to Hidetsugu. It looked and felt like polished black stone, with a deep blue vein running across its face. The vein formed a kanji that glittered in the torchlight.

  Hidetsugu stared for a moment. “You,” he said at last, “are truly mad, Toshi Umezawa.”

  “I get that a lot, too.” He waggled the inscribed plate. “What’s your decision? All you need to do is take this to any one of a dozen spots along the border where the bandits and the daimyo’s troops are testing each other. Break the seal, and stand back.”

  Hidetsugu never took his eyes off the object in Toshi’s hand. “If I agree, that still leaves me the better part of a week to sit and wait. I cannot rely on my patience, Toshi, and neither can you.”

  “Never crossed my mind.” Toshi lowered the plate, flexing his arm to get the blood flowing again. The temperature in the alcove had begun to drop, and his fingers were tingling.

  “You said you had a score to settle with the Jukai Myojin as well. When you’ve placed this seal, gather your yamabushi and head into the forest. Amuse yourself among the orochibito snakefolk and tear a few pieces out of their kami. If it’s the one with the wooden mask of a woman’s face, tell her Toshi sends his regards.”

  Toshi did a quick calculation in his head. “Stay away from the academy until the moon begins to wax. It’s waning now and will be completely dark in few days. A few days after that, it’ll start to come back. Give me that much time at least. I’ll meet you on the edge of the waterfall and we can avenge Kobo together.”

  Toshi drew close to the ogre and lowered his voice, putting forth all the intensity at his command. “Do it,” he urged. “Do it because it’s good business. Do it because it means a more complete reckoning. Do it so I won’t have to point out that Kobo may have died on my watch, but it was you who insisted on sending him with me. We barely made it into the forest before we were jumped by a bunch of akki and bandits who were summoning their patron kami. Were you trying to test Kobo against their myojin, or was it just a happy coincidence?”

  Hidetsugu’s hand flashed out and clamped around Toshi’s chest. The ogre lifted him to his face, his eyes wild.

  “What I did was a mistake,” he growled, “but not the mistake that killed him. Nor was it as grave an error as what you just said to me.”

  “I am your oath-brother,” Toshi countered. “You won’t hurt me. Put me down.”

  Hidetsugu held him firmly, but he was not crushing Toshi. The ochimusha could breathe freely.

  The ogre dropped Toshi to the cavern floor as suddenly as he’d scooped him up. “If I take this thing—” he gestured to the plate in Toshi’s pack—“then you must accept something from me. A token similar to yours.”

  Toshi climbed back to his feet. “I’ll take all the help I can get. The quicker I finish, the quicker we get to the academy.”

  Hidetsugu stood and lumbered off into the dark recesses of the cavern. When he returned, he carried something in his clenched fist. The ogre sat once more against the wall and extended his hand to Toshi.

  Toshi cupped his palms, and Hidetsugu opened his fist. A single red mosaic tile dropped into Toshi’s hands.

  He peered in the dim light. “I can’t read it.”

  Hidetsugu grunted and clapped his hands. All around the alcove, torches sprang to light.

  Toshi looked around, the tile in his hands all but forgotten. The alcove was covered from floor to ceiling in a series of black and red tiles depicting an endless sea of razor-toothed mouths. They were disembodied, slavering, countless as they covered the walls like a swarm of bees. At the center of the longest wall, three huge and baleful eyes glared down, flanked on each side by a curved horn.

  The All-Consuming Oni of Chaos. Toshi had seen altars to this demonic presence in Hidetsugu’s home, but there was no altar here, just the overwhelming sensation of being surrounded and doomed at the center of this storm of voracious jaws.

  “Well?” Hidetsugu said. “Can you read it now?”

  Toshi glanced down. The red tile was inscribed with an elegant line drawing of a monstrous dog. It was armored and massive in the chest, thin and wasted at the rear. It had the characteristic three eyes and twin curved horns of an oni.

  “I’ve seen this before,” Toshi said. “This monster. Kobo summoned it to fight the akki myojin and its lesser kami.”

  “It is a minor oni, one of the dogs of bloodlust. Crack the tile when you need its help. Be sure you are the first thing it sees, for it will kill everything else in its range until the summoning charm wears off.”

  “How wide is its range?”

  “Farther than any man can run,” Hidetsugu said, “and it is much faster.”

  “I will accept your gift,” Toshi said, “if you will accept mine.” He indicated the plate-sized seal in his hand. “And if you will wait until the new moon waxes.”

  He held the seal out. Hidetsugu sat nodding for a moment then said, “Done.” He extended his upturned palm.

  Toshi dropped the cold black disk and tucked the red tile into his pack. “So we are agreed.”

  The ogre shaman nodded. “We are, but the countdown has begun. I advise you to conclude your business as quickly as you can, for there will be no academy to visit once I arrive.”

  Toshi glanced up at the walls and the omnipresent specter of Hidetsugu’s oni. He pictured the dead-eyed yamabushi elsewhere in the cavern. He looked up at Hidetsugu, a crouching mass of muscle and rage-fueled cruelty.

  He said a silent prayer to his myojin, not on his behalf or even for the academy’s but for a more simple gift. All over the world, it seemed time was running out.

  The sanzoku bandit king rode up the ridge overlooking the border between Towabara and the Sokenzan Mountains. Godo was a huge man, broad and powerful, but he seemed even larger and more formidable mounted atop his burly mountain yak. His huge bald head steamed in the cold, and his thin top-knot twisted in the breeze behind him. Three long spears sprouted from the back of his saddle, and a huge, spiked log on a chain thudded against the yak’s thick fur.

  Some said that Godo didn’t fight with the log but instead hurled it to his enemies as a weapon for them to use. Those that weren’t crushed by it exhausted themselves trying to lift it. The truth was, Godo could swing the heavy log like a stone in a sling with enough force to kill both horse and rider in one blow.

  He was more than forty years old and had been leading raids on the daimyo’s kingdom for over half his life. He was a member of the oldest mountain tribe, and his parents and grandparents had fought to keep Konda from turning the Sokenzan into another subjugated province. Let the foxes wax philosophic about living under a tyrant and the wizards rush to serve their new king. The people of the mountains were wild and rough, but they understood freedom.

  The mountains were still technically free, but they were isolated from the rest of Kamigawa’s tribes by distance as well as the daimyo’s edicts and the soldiers he stationed to keep the mountain tribes contained. Let them keep their wasteland, Konda was rumored to have said, for it is all they will ever have.

  Godo always smiled when he thought of Konda’s words. The daimyo’s army was superior to all of the bandit warriors combined—better trained, better equipped, and better fed. But even they had not been able to make Konda’s dire proclamation come true. Godo and his sanzoku had thrived for more than a decade on whatever they could raid from Konda’s territory. The daimyo’s subjects paid taxes for the privilege of eking out an existence on the bor
derlands; Godo and his followers simply rode in and took it.

  Their routes in and out of Towabara changed with the seasons, but Godo always managed to find a way. In the past few years, as the Kami War had escalated out of control, Konda’s diligence on the border had suffered. He simply didn’t have the numbers to cover the entire border, and his farmers couldn’t produce enough food to feed them if he did.

  Godo had spent the past few days riding the ridge, looking for the next winter route that would allow his men to slip inside Konda’s borders. There were almost no settlers left within easy reach, no working farms within striking distance. Their raids had to go ever deeper into Konda’s territory in order to find anything worth taking. Godo’s troops were in for a rough few months unless they could find enough stores to last until spring or else establish a reliable route in and out of Towabara.

  Now that he had reached an accord with the akki who lived in this region, he was free to scout locations his raiders could use as temporary bases. Weeks ago, he had sent his two best lieutenants—the Brothers Yamazaki, Seitaro and Shujiro—on a special mission deep into Konda’s territory. The plan had come to Godo in a dream, perhaps in response to his people’s prayers.

  The Myojin of Infinite Rage told him to send raiders to the heart of Eiganjo, where the daimyo’s tower stood. A successful raid on the tower would yield enough plunder to keep half of their tribe alive for the winter. It would also force Konda to direct more of his troops away from the border. Konda’s people would continue to suffer, which meant Konda himself would also suffer.

  Over the years, Godo’s hatred for Konda’s regime had become a constant, grinding ache. Despising Konda, harming Konda had become Godo’s religion, and his myojin was quick and generous with its blessings.

  Godo slowed the great yak and listened intently. The Sokenzan Range was a dangerous place, even for bandits. There were powerful entities to be consulted or appeased before he could lead his troops safely through this patch of rocky ground. The akki nation was the least of them, but even they were too troublesome to simply dismiss. And it was always treacherous negotiating passage through o-bakemono country. At least this time the ogre had offered to come to him.

  Satisfied he was not being followed, Godo prodded the yak. Together they crested the ridge, where Godo caught sight of the o-bakemono. It was rare to see Hidetsugu outside of his valley, but the shaman had gone wild lately, venturing into the Jukai on his own private raids. The day before, he had contacted Godo with an offer, a way to draw the daimyo’s troops into battle at a spot of Godo’s choosing. Hidetsugu well knew the problems faced by the sanzoku each winter, and he also knew that Godo would not be able to pass up such an opportunity.

  The warlord prodded his yak and rode down the ridge toward Hidetsugu. Like all sane creatures, he feared and respected the ogre’s power, but he had no reason to expect an attack. Their dealings had been few in number, but they were on good terms. If Hidetsugu wanted him dead, he would have used brute force, not guile.

  “Hail, warlord of the Sokenzan.” Hidetsugu was wearing a dusty red robe with metal plates across his shoulders and chest. He seemed calm, even thoughtful.

  Godo stiffened his back. “Hail, Hidetsugu of the o-bakemono.” Even from atop his steed, the towering bandit chief had to tilt his head back to address the ogre. “You have something to trade?”

  “I have something to give.” The ogre reached into a small pack on the ground beside him and drew out a black disk with blue markings.

  “Break this seal in a place where you want to catch Konda’s attention,” he said. “It will draw the daimyo’s troops and help you destroy them.”

  Godo looked closely at the disk, squinting his eyes under his thick brow. When he saw the markings clearly, his eyes opened wide. Beneath him, the yak snorted, reacting to his anxiety.

  “I refuse, noble ogre. That is the mark of the yuki-onna. I would never unleash something like that at ground level. I am surprised you even suggest it.”

  Hidetsugu smiled, displaying his curved teeth. “This is the spirit from the Heart of Frost. She has been compelled by a gifted kanji magician. The daimyo’s troops will see whomever they wish to rescue most. When they approach her, they will die.” He offered the disk. “The Heart of Frost is no longer cursed, but the curse itself goes on. You must choose where it will strike next, and wisely, so that your people will benefit.”

  Godo shook his head. “Too dangerous. How will I get rid of her once she’s released?”

  “You won’t need to. By her nature, she is tied to the land itself. You simply have to keep your tribe out of her new hunting ground, the way you kept them away from the Heart of Frost.”

  “So all I need to do is turn a perfectly safe patch of ground into a haunted killing field. Again, I refuse.”

  “Don’t be hasty,” Hidetsugu said. He leaned down, whispering conspiratorially. “This is a rare opportunity. Konda’s army has never been so small or so inexperienced. You can occupy a significant number of his border patrol with this single spell. You can station warriors on the edges of her territory and pick off any who make it through. In less than a month, the border will be as good as undefended.

  “Think how effective your secret assault on Eiganjo will be when combined with this gambit. Think how well your myojin will reward you. And if it pleases you,” he added, “think how grateful I will be if you accept my help.

  “Of course, I would be duty bound to help transport the yuki-onna back to her mountain once your victory had been achieved. There is no risk to you, great warlord, and much reward.”

  Godo stared at the ogre’s huge, leering face. He did not trust Hidetsugu, but he could see the wisdom of his words. Konda had never been so vulnerable. Staggered by the Kami War and new trouble on the border, an akki assault on his capital might topple him completely.

  “I have your word that you’ll help remove her?”

  “May Chaos take my eyes if I do not. Recall, bandit. I have no love for Konda, and the Sokenzan is my home, too.” The ogre’s wild eyes were inches away, and Godo’s head spun under Hidetsugu’s hot breath.

  “Come, mighty Godo. Release the cold beast, and let her run rampant. When she is gorged on your enemy, we will subdue her once more and march her back to the Heart of Frost. I can even guarantee that the same kanji mage who snared her will return to do it again.”

  Hidetsugu proffered the disk, holding it flat on his palm in front of Godo’s eyes. The warlord glanced at the ogre, then at the plate, then closed his eyes.

  “Done,” he said. He reached out and took the black seal with both hands.

  “You honor me.” Hidetsugu rose to his full height. “I will return to my valley. Send a rider if you need me. Remember to break the seal in a place where Konda’s troops will see the result. Then withdraw until you are sure how far her influence extends.”

  The ogre bowed, and turned to leave.

  “Hidetsugu!”

  Without turning, the o-bakemono stopped.

  “How far do you suppose she’ll wander?” Godo turned the disk over in his hands.

  Hidetsugu craned his head. “I do not know,” he said, “but if Konda sends enough men, it will be easy to tell.”

  Godo grinned. “I think I know just the spot.”

  Back in the confines of his cavern, Hidetsugu tossed off his metal plates and the red robe beneath them. He clapped his hands once, lighting every torch and brazier in the cavern.

  He strode across the floor, muttering and grumbling to himself. Near the shrine to his oni was a pile of jagged metal pieces and a gigantic spiked tetsubo club. Calmly, deliberately, Hidetsugu strapped the brass-colored plates onto his shoulders, elbows, and hips. He lifted the tetsubo and swung it viciously through the air in front of him. He nodded at the sound it made, pleased with the club’s heft and feel.

  His armor clanging as he walked, Hidetsugu strode to the center of his home and rested the tetsubo on the floor. He clapped his hands again and called
out, “Come to me, my children.”

  The sound of sandaled feet came from the far corner of the cavern. Eight cold-eyed yamabushi walked across the cavern in tight formation. When they reached Hidetsugu, they formed a semicircle around him and dropped to one knee.

  Hidetsugu appraised them like a horse trader. They were all lean, muscular, and graceful. They wore their fresh scars and burns without complaint. Their expressions differed—some were blank and inscrutable, some were dour and dangerous, and a few wore wide-eyed expressions of feral glee. All of their eyes were the same, however: cold, distant, and without the slightest spark of life.

  The o-bakemono nodded. He had trained them well.

  “You were trained to battle kami,” he said. “You were instructed in the ancient and secret arts of the yamabushi to defend your homes in these troubled times.

  “However, warriors should not wait for battle. They should march out and seek it. Your former masters were cowards, frightened to teach you anything that they themselves could not control. They are dead now, and I will complete your education.

  “Come with me now, destroyers of kami. We have bloody work to do.”

  Silent, the eight yamabushi stood as one and fell back into their ranks behind Hidetsugu. The ogre didn’t mind. He liked a good battle roar, but what his students lacked in volume, they made up for in determination.

  Hidetsugu grinned. Yes, indeed. He had trained them well.

  Godo and three of his lieutenants stood overlooking the northern border with Towabara. The foothills below were broken up by a series of natural rock formations and jagged piles of boulders. Beyond the stones was an expanse of dry, flat land, then a small rise to a hill covered in scrub grass. It was a dull and deserted place, but once it had been one of the most traveled routes between the mountains and Konda’s realm.

  Three mounted sentries from Konda’s cavalry sat on top of the hill opposite the bandits. They were not there to fight but to summon a larger body of troops if the sanzoku started to mass or tried to cross the border. Konda’s generals had grown conservative. They were not willing to start a fight, but they were ready to finish one.