by Rob J. Hayes
"He's alive," shouted one of the onlookers. "The fat man is alive."
"I thought Death's Echo did for him," said another.
"He's sat up. He's alive," a third voice shouted.
Chen worked his mouth a little. His tongue felt like swollen leather, thick and dry. He threw the little metal ball away and looked around for his keg. It was mostly empty, but he hoped it had enough left to quench his thirst.
"Do you remember who you are?" the boy asked.
"I am Iron Gut Chen." His voice was slow, and felt like gravel in his throat. "What happened?" He rolled onto his hands and knees and pushed unsteadily to his feet, then he stumbled over to his wine keg.
"You died," the boy said.
"Bah! Impossible." Chen scooped up his keg and shook it to find it almost empty. Then he raised it to his lips and drank deep. It tasted like week-old piss and he spat out the first mouthful. The man with the hooked swords set to laughing again. "This wine has fouled. Someone fetch me some more." He raised the keg to lips again and started to drink, ignoring the foul taste. He had drunk worse many times. He was Iron Gut, after all.
"What happened to his face?" another of the onlookers called out, staring aghast at Chen.
"My face?" Chen asked, dropping the keg and reaching a hand up to touch his skin. He found the left side of his face painful to the touch and soon realised he couldn't see his hand.
"You should probably know, the eye is gone." A muffled voice belonging to a man wrapped in bandages, only his own left eye showing and the gaze even paler than the boy's. He was carrying a strange weapon that looked like a fusion of metal and wood.
"Gone?" Chen poked at his left eye, prodded the melted flesh and wincing at the pain.
"Is it always like this when they come back?" the bandaged man asked.
"Yes," the boy said with a nod. "Whispering Blade fared quite well, but The Emerald Wind tried to run." He turned his attention back to Chen. "Please do not try to run from me."
"What is going on?" Chen shouted. "Someone bring me some wine." No one moved to obey him. He couldn't remember the last time people hadn't jumped at his orders in Ban Ping. Everyone knew Iron Gut Chen was not a man to be ignored.
The bandaged man took a couple of steps forward, his wooden shoes clacking on the flagstones. He bowed, his fist in hand, a sign of respect. "Iron Gut Chen, you died. I shot you in your left eye."
"What?" Chen roared and lurched forwards. He couldn't quite believe that he had died, but it was obvious his left eye was gone and the little bandaged fool in front of him was claiming responsibility. It was a claim he would pay for dearly.
The bandaged man stumbled backwards and tripped, letting out a loud cry as he fell on his arse. Chen closed the gap and reached for him.
"Don't touch me!" the man screamed. Chen noticed there was blood and worse staining the bandages. And there was fear in the man's single eye. Even white as snow, there was fear there. He paused.
The man with the hooked swords stood, his laughter finally stopped. "You lost, fat man. Be graceful about it," he said.
"I should have killed you," Chen said.
"You tried. And failed."
"I could try again. That technique won't save you."
The hooked-sword man grinned at him. "I'll take your other eye."
The Ipian woman shook her head. "Must you antagonise everyone we meet?" she said. Then she extended a hand to the little bandaged one still cringing away on the ground.
"I said don't touch me." He scuttled back out of her reach.
The boy approached again. "My name is Ein. I brought you back after you died and you are now bound to me."
Chen scratched at his chins. He was done with the fools, every one of them. The loss of an eye was a problem, but he had known many men with only one eye, and most seemed quite capable. Besides, it barely hurt as long as he didn't touch it. Most importantly, he was hungry and thirsty. The boy was still babbling something about a quest, but Chen ignored him. He picked up his mace and his parasol, and set off to find an inn with good food and strong wine.
Chen had a specific inn in mind. Townsfolk moved aside to let him pass, some grimacing and others wide eyed, and at least one of the little monks tried to stop him and ask if he needed healing. Chen waved the man away. He was sweating by the time he reached the inn, and a little confused to find its name had changed in the past few days. Nevertheless, he ducked in through the doorway and ordered wine and a plate of meat. He found a large table, dropped his mace on the floor, and slumped into one of the chairs grateful to be off his feet.
The boy and his three companions came through the door a short while later. They joined him at his table, all but the bandaged one, who chose a table nearby and stayed apart from them. Chen decided to ignore them. It seemed as if the fighting was over. Apparently, he had lost, and it had cost him an eye. That they were following him around now was just an inconvenience, but one he could live with as long as they didn't expect him to share any food.
"Iron Gut Chen, my name is Ein—"
Chen silenced the boy with a loud grunt just as his bottle of wine arrived. He ignored the little cup, too, and raised the bottle to his lips, wincing at the taste. "This wine is off too."
The man with the hooked swords leaned back in his chair and laughed again. He had smug eyes, and Chen disliked smug people. "One of the many joys of being only mostly alive," the man said. "Just wait until your food arrives."
The swordswoman chimed in, her voice barely a whisper but clear as water. "Please listen, Chen Lu," she said. "You died. If you don't believe us, have another poke at that eye socket, and tell me if you think a man could survive it. You died. Ein, here, has the power to bring people back. But in so doing he has bound you to him until you die again, or until he releases you. You can't fight it, believe me. If you go too far from him, that wound will reopen and you will die again."
Chen looked at the man with the hooked swords, but he was no longer so smug. He looked sullen now. The woman appeared to be serious, mad or not.
She glanced around then at all the others in the inn as if she had something to say that shouldn't be overheard. There seemed little chance of it, considering the general din. When she leaned forwards there was a deadly serious light in her eyes. "Ein has a quest, given to him by a shinigami. I say this so you will realise the seriousness of your situation. This is not some young boy's fantasy, nor idle desire. It is a quest given to him by a god of death. To kill the emperor."
Chen shrugged. "Which emperor?"
The man with the hooked sword snorted. "The emperor, you fat idiot," he said, throwing his hands in the air. "You've clearly been in Ban Ping too long. The emperor… of Ten Kings. Ruler of all Hosa. And general all round megalomaniac, if half the stories are true."
"They are," the boy said. "Half and more."
"And you need Iron Gut for this quest?"
The boy nodded.
"It isn't like you have a choice," said the smug man.
"You do have a choice," the Ipian woman said. "You have the choice to help us. To help Ein kill the emperor and earn a second chance at life. Or you can choose to stay here and die when we move on."
Chen nodded. "But why me?"
"Because you are Iron Gut Chen," the boy said, fixing him with a pale stare. "You survived the twelve poisons of creeping death. You wrestled Yaurong, the dire bear, to a draw. You held the gate at Fingsheng long enough for general Gow's army to arrive."
Chen grunted. "All true. Though I have put on some weight since those days."
"How can you tell?" the smug man said.
The food arrived and Chen corralled the plates towards him. He stood on no ceremony and wasted no time in shovelling food into his mouth, though the man was right about it tasting like dirt and ash. But Chen had grown up eating decaying rubbish from the streets. He'd been gut sick so many times, his stomach became immune to things that would have killed most men. His gut had become as iron, and his qi had become str
ong. Besides, he was hungry.
"To kill the Emperor of Ten Kings will require an assault on Wu palace itself," the woman said as she watched Chen eat. "We'll need many hands. Strong hands. Ein says there are few stronger than your own."
"There are none stronger than Iron Gut Chen," Chen mumbled around a mouthful. He pointed at the boy. "Food tastes this way because of you? Because of what you did to me?"
The boy was fiddling with his red scarf. "I brought you back from death. Food tastes that way because you are only mostly alive. Sorry."
"And if we do this thing. You will make the food taste good again?"
The boy nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. You have died, but I promise a second chance at life if you help me. It will also be a feat talked about for as long as people talk. Everyone will know how Iron Gut Chen helped kill the Emperor of Ten Kings. Everyone will know of your strength and your iron gut."
Chen bobbed his head. "Then I will help. I would kill ten of these Ten King emperors for a good meal."
The smug man rubbed his hands together. "Wonderful. And now we have a fat man on board," he said, and reached for the wine, but Chen quickly pulled the bottle away from him. "Not that he really had a choice. None of us do. Except you." He turned to the bandaged fellow. "What shall we do about you?"
The bandaged man cocked his head. "There is nothing you can do."
"I can't bring you back," Ein said. "Not so soon after bringing back Chen Lu. I need time to rest. You can't die yet."
The man's bandages twitched around his mouth. Chen guessed he might be smiling underneath, but it was impossible to tell. "But that is why I have come to serve you. I cannot choose the time of my death. It is happening, even now."
The Ipian woman leaned forward. "What is wrong with you?" the woman asked.
"I have advanced necrosis. The chirugeons called it leprosy."
The smug man's chair scraped across the wooden floor as he moved farther away from the diseased man.
"I am dying, day by day, bit by bit. So much of me is lost already. But the stars told me you would come. They told me you would have the ability to bring the dead back. I do not want to die, Ein. Or at least, I do not want to stay dead."
The boy frowned. "I need time to rest."
The leper bowed his head. "I will serve you until I cannot. Until the last of me rots away.
The smug one groaned again. "Wonderful. A fat man and a leper with a gun. This is why I hate Ban Ping."
Chapter 16
The next day the monks came. Just as Zhihao had predicted, not that Itami or the boy ever bothered listening to him. They didn't come in ones or twos, but in a swarm of coloured robes, sharp steel, and demands. First they demanded that Zhihao and the others leave the inn peacefully. Then they demanded to know why Death's Echo, a champion of the people, was among a group of common brawlers. It was really quite frustrating that not a one of them remembered Zhihao Cheng, the young boy who ran away from the order to become one of the greatest bandits Hosa had ever known. Iron Gut seemed equally annoyed that the monks claimed never to have heard of him. He shouted about his iron gut, and all he had done for the people of Ban Ping, but the monks were resolute on the matter. Eventually the monks announced their final demand. For the crime of brawling in the streets and disrupting the peace of Ban Ping, they were banished from the city for no less than one year. As far as punishments went it was actually quite lenient. Zhihao had heard of hands being cut off for such crimes in some other cities. But the monks were nothing if not a benevolent bunch of star-worshipping arses.
Itami bowed a lot, apologised even more, and made promises of a swift departure. Zhihao might have argued, but he'd had enough of Ban Ping since the moment Ein had mentioned it. So he shut his mouth, rested his hands on his sword hilts, and followed along behind Whispering Blade. The monks escorted them all the way to the eastern city limits; they were taking no chances with them and for good reason.
With the morning sun warming their faces, Iron Gut put up his parasol and shaded himself. The big yellow ball wasn't particularly hot, which made it all the stranger, but the fat man hid behind his paper shield as though his face might melt in the light. He poked at the gooey hole in his face, and looked none too happy about it. Citizens making their way into Ban Ping stepped aside to let them pass. They were an odd bunch: a young boy with a death-like stare, a handsome bandit, a dour swordswoman, a fat man with a with a parasol in one hand and a wooden keg under his arm, and a short rifleman covered in bandages.
The road east led onward in a haze of sun and dust that seemed to turn the world orange. Just like on the western side of Ban Ping, there were carts and carriages and travellers on foot, dozens of beggars trudging into the city and monks handing out bowls of rice. Iron Gut regularly complained he was hungry and often stopped to drink from the keg he carried with him, though the wine tasted foul. Buffalo roamed around the north, with shepherds watching the beasts to deter poachers. Not that it would work. Back in Flaming Fist's company, they would regularly steal such beasts for a good meal at night. Occasionally they'd have to rough up the shepherd, but unless they fought back Flaming Fist wouldn't allow the men to kill him. Fist used to say 'Bandits needed farmers to feed them, and farmers needed bandits so they had something to complain about.'
It was closing in on midday before anyone spoke a word that wasn't a complaint about hunger or a greeting to fellow travellers of the road. The silence bothered Zhihao. It left him alone with his own thoughts and they more often than not turned to self-reflection, which in turn led to self-recrimination. Itami was right to call him a coward. He'd let her fight Flaming Fist alone because he wasn't sure who would win. Sides were best chosen when the outcome was certain. He'd run from Yanmei without so much as looking at her, lest he have to admit something to himself that he simply wasn't capable of.
"So where are we going?" Zhihao asked with false cheer. He told his mind to be quiet and ignored its attempts to continue pointing out his flaws.
"According to you," Iron Gut squeaked, "the palace of Wu." Iron Gut giggled, which set all of his flesh jiggling. Zhihao grimaced and looked away in disgust.
"Our final destination, yes. But the boy isn't done recruiting just yet, are you?" Zhihao caught up with Ein and then drifted back again when the boy looked at him.
Ein pointed north-east. "Past the bamboo forest lies Sun Valley."
A raspy laugh from behind sounded wet and painful, and ended in a cough. Zhihao saw a fresh red stain on Roi Astara's bandages, right where his mouth should be. "A place where masters learn open hand wushu. Sun Valley produces two things: grape wine and heroes."
"Grape wine?" Iron Gut smacked his lips noisily. "I would like to try that. Is it far different to rice wine?"
"Yes," Itami said quietly. "It is sweeter, and fruity."
Zhihao laughed. "Not that you can taste it, fat man. None of us can. Except the leper."
Out of the corner of his eye, Zhihao saw Roi Astara shake his head. "My sense of taste has long since decayed. I don't remember the last time I tasted anything. You think you are unfortunate because you are only mostly alive, that everything you put in your mouth tastes like ash and dirt? You are still more alive than I. Even filth would taste better than no taste at all."
"Well, that's depressing," Zhihao said. He'd not actually considered that the leper might be closer to death than any of them. "How did you get it? The leprosy thing?"
"I died."
"Well, who hasn't?" Zhihao laughed to cover his despair. They had all died, that was how Ein had bound them to himself. He could still just about remember something about being dead. Perhaps it was an echo of the afterlife, whatever that might be. Zhihao remembered light, so much of it darkness couldn't exist, and so bright it hurt. Only there was no pain. He shook his head to clear the confusing thoughts and questioned the leper further before they could all lapse back into uncomfortable silence.
"I went to Long when I was younger," Roi Astara rasped. "To see the shrines
built into the mountain. There are hundreds of them. It was beautiful. Some worship the stars, others worship old gods all but forgotten. Some are dedicated to foreign gods from Nash or Cochran, but most are for Hosan and Ipian worship. Some even worship shinigami, the lords of death. I saw statues of them, bare foot and hunched, grotesque things with squat bodies and huge faces." Roi Astara coughed and speckled his bandages with fresh blood. "Each of them has long ears and bulbous or hooked noses. Some have teeth, while others have fangs. They wear rags, barely covering their bodies, and greedy expressions. Shinigami are hungry for souls and guard their collections jealously. I have heard it said they fight from time to time, and that is why some of the shrines are little more than wrecks with broken statues. Overgrown and untended."
Zhihao interrupted the story. "You said you've met one, boy. What did it look like?"
Ein said nothing, his bare feet dragging in the dust of the road. After a while Zhihao turned back to the leper. "So you died?"
"I was praying at the feet of one of the shinigami and someone strangled me from behind. I believe I was made into an offering by one of the priests. I was younger and not strong enough to fight back. Yes, I died."
Iron Gut waded into the conversation with his high voice. "Are you certain? It is quite common for people to stop strangulation before the victim is actually dead."
"Common?" Zhihao asked.
"So I've heard," Iron Gut replied.
"Not speaking from experience then?"
The fat man turned a smile on Zhihao. He looked almost demonic, shaded by his yellow paper parasol. "How is your neck, Green Breeze?"
Zhihao glared. "The Emerald Wind. And my neck is just fine, Lead Belly. Thank you for asking." He gave the fat man a mocking bow, but Iron Gut just turned back to the road and laughed a high-pitched belly laugh.
When the two of them had stopped arguing, Roi Astara continue. "I died. But one of the keepers who tends to the shrines found me and brought me back." Zhihao saw Ein glance backwards at the words. "The traditional way. With care and medicine, and knowledge of the human body. But I was dead too long. Rot set into my body. Over time blood began to well beneath my nails and they pulled free, and some of my teeth fell out. My hair came away in clumps and my skin browned and peeled like fish left too long over the fire." He stopped and held up his left hand. "So far I have lost only one finger." His hands were bandaged, completely wrapped, but it was clear he was missing the index finger on his left hand. Zhihao looked away in distaste. "But the chirurgeons have assured me it is the first of many. My body rots, decaying while I still inhabit it. You may be only mostly alive, but I am mostly dead."