Chapter Twenty-Two
“Stay back!” Noboro yelled at Turesobei. He drew Yomifano and yelled a fierce battle cry, rallying his men. Turesobei watched in horror as six of the guards fell. His stomach rose into his throat. He had never seen men die in violence before. And he knew these men. He had been traveling with them for weeks now.
Camouflaged zaboko warriors wearing masks and armed with swords and axes poured from the trees beyond the gorge. Another volley of arrows streamed over them. Four more Chonda guards went down. One was crushed when his wounded mount fell and rolled onto him. They wouldn’t be able to get off the bridge without fleeing back to the other side.
Before the ambushers reached the Chonda warriors, a final cloud of arrows rained down. Most thudded harmlessly into shields. One struck Noboro's denekon in the neck. The noble beast crumpled, but Noboro leapt clear, having to catch the bridge’s rope railing to keep from falling off.
Captain Fodoru and the remaining guards raced forward and joined Noboro. As they rode, the bridge shook violently, and Turesobei hunkered down and clutched his mount's reins. Together on the bridge, Noboro and the Chonda guards stood bravely against the charging assassins, who outnumbered them two to one, not counting the archers hidden amongst the trees.
Turesobei waited on the bridge, forty paces away from the fighting. As the bridge stabilized, he fumbled into his spell-pouch. After a few moments he found what he was looking for. He held the spell-strip high and chanted the activation command.
A dense fog seeped up from beneath the bridge, near where his father was standing. The combatants ignored it at first, but as it grew thicker, the assassins paused. Noboro understood what was happening. Jumping into the saddle of a denekon whose rider had fallen, Noboro rallied his men again and backed them up along the bridge.
Arrows began falling onto the bridge beyond them, to ward them away. Two zipped right past Turesobei. He backed up his mount. The fog-shrouded assassins pressed on against Noboro and his guards, who at least had a chance of escaping now.
But a chant arose from the tree line. Energies stirred, and a strong wind howled through the gorge, assailing Turesobei's fog. He channeled more of his energy into the spell, trying to hold it. But the fog cloud weakened and was then dispersed.
Turesobei was stunned. Another sorcerer had countered him.
The assassins screamed, “Naruwakiru!”
They charged Noboro, Captain Fodoru, and the remaining soldiers.
Turesobei was fatigued. He could do no more magic. His inner kenja was nearly depleted, having not yet fully recovered from the fight against the gitsukara. He drew Sumada and prepared to charge in and fight alongside his father.
He prepared to die. He knew that would be the result.
His father fought free for a moment. A crimson smear covered half of Noboro’s face. The blood was seeping from a wound near his scalp. He looked at Turesobei. Then he yelled in his most commanding voice.
“Get out of here!”
Turesobei paused, unsure of what he should do. Honor demanded that he fight with them. It also demanded that he obey his father.
“Go now!” yelled Noboro.
The intensity in Noboro's eyes, for that one moment before he rushed back in, swinging his sword against his enemies, forced Turesobei to obey. He didn't dare do anything else. Turesobei spun his mount around and rode as fast as he could.
The bridge jostled and swayed alarmingly as he thundered across it. His heart lurched every time he saw the gorge below.
Men screamed and died behind him. His father would soon be one of them.
For a moment, Turesobei heard a hum, almost a buzz.
Zwak!
An arrow struck the satchel on his back, pierced the diary, and punched through his armor. The razor-sharp arrowhead dug into his back, lodging only an inch from his spine.
For now, he felt only a dull ache.
He rode on with other arrows striking the bridge and whistling past him. Finally, the pain sharpened and raced across his back like pricking needles of flame. He winced and nearly passed out. His stomach knotted and his limbs began to tremble. He rode on, believing he could make it to the end. He was nearly halfway there now.
Suddenly, Iyei, his denekon, released a high-pitched roar and lurched out of control. The beast stumbled into the ropes that formed the side of the bridge. The crash propelled Turesobei from the saddle.
As he fell, Turesobei twisted and caught onto the edge of a bridge plank. He dangled over the steep gorge, trying to keep his grip. Blood seeped out onto the wood from a cut on one of his fingers. He looked for help, but the assassins were massed around the last two men standing.
Both of them were zaboko.
His heart sank.
A spatter of blood from the mouth of Iyei fell onto his face. The poor beast was dying, tangled in the ropes, with an arrow piercing its lungs.
Turesobei tried to reach up with his other arm, but that shoulder had gone numb from the arrow wound. His fingers slipped a little. He tried to swing a leg up to the bridge. He couldn't get his foot up high enough, though, and as it swung back down, the momentum was too much and he lost his grip entirely.
Screaming, Turesobei plummeted down toward the glistening river seventy feet below, his fall slowed a fraction by a protective charm in his armor. He struck hard into the cold water.
Chapter Twenty-Three
He awoke deep down in a dark murk, surrounded by a cloud of bubbles. The swirling murk grew darker for a moment, but he fought off unconsciousness. Dazed and hurting, weighted down by his armor and sword, he panicked and flailed his arms. He struggled for breath, as if someone had punched him in the stomach. Waves of pain lanced outward from the arrow still jutting from his back.
He clawed his way to the surface and sucked in a painful gulp of air. But the river swallowed him again. He couldn’t get his armor off. The arrow had pinned it to his back. And he refused to ditch Sumada. But he was tiring quickly. He wouldn’t be able to make it much longer.
Suddenly a strong hand latched onto his right arm and plucked him out of the water. His savior heaved and dragged him up onto a bamboo raft.
“Got you!” said a deep, husky voice.
An aging zaboko man leaned over him. He had a wide face, wrinkled and sunburned from years of exposure. A scar underlined his right eye. He smiled a toothy grin and brushed the wet, clinging hair from Turesobei's face.
“You're going to be all right, young lord. You're quite lucky. The arrow isn't buried all that deep.”
Turesobei mumbled weakly. He could barely open his jaw. “C-can you take it out?”
“Yes, my lord. No problem at all. I used to be a medic in the West Taganan Army.” The old man bowed. “My name's Onudaka.”
“Turesobei,” he groaned.
“Well met then, my lord.” Onudaka looked up toward the bridge. “I hope you didn't fall from up there.” Turesobei nodded. “Well, you're certainly blessed by the gods to be alive.”
Onudaka lifted a long wooden pole and thrust it down into the river. As Onudaka poled them to the riverbank, Turesobei remembered what was going on.
“I've got to get back up there…and help my father. We were attacked…they outnumbered us. I was hit and fell.”
“I can't defeat a squad of warriors on my own, my lord. And you’re not in any condition to fight them yourself.”
“They may leave him…could be wounded, dying.”
“Then we'll get up there as soon as possible, but scaling that cliff won't be easy.”
“No faster way?”
“Not that I know of, my lord.”
Turesobei thrust his head back against the raft in disgust.
“You just rest,” Onudaka said. “I'll get the arrow out of you and bind your wound.”
* * *
Turesobei awoke. He lay naked beneath a blanket. A bandage was wrapped around his torso. He hurt badly, and a foul taste remained in his mouth from the medicines Onudaka had given h
im. The arrow was gone, though he didn't remember Onudaka taking it out. He did remember drinking a nasty concoction that had made him incredibly sleepy.
Onudaka sat with a small piece of stone in his hands that he was shaping into a figurine. Many zaboko possessed a natural talent that let them magically and smoothly, though slowly, shape stone using only their hands.
Onudaka looked up and smiled. Behind him lay an iron-shod quarterstaff, a rugged backpack, a leather breastplate, and a short bow.
“You were amazingly fortunate, young lord. Not everyone who plummets into a river with an arrow in their back has an old medic come across them.”
“I don't feel lucky,” Turesobei grumbled. Everything ached, and his jaw was so stiff and swollen that he could barely talk. “My father could be dead.”
Lu Bei. The diary! The arrow had pierced it and then they had struck water. “Have you seen an old book, sir? It was in my satchel.”
Onudaka grabbed the satchel and brought it to Turesobei. “To get the arrow out, I had to pull the book off it first.”
Turesobei looked at the book. The pages were pierced, and soggy. The cover was warped. The book looked terrible. Worst of all, the runes didn’t light up under his touch. He thought about trying to summon Lu Bei, but he couldn’t do it with Onudaka here. And he probably didn’t have enough internal kenja.
He suspected Lu Bei was gone anyhow. He couldn’t imagine the fetch surviving that. For Lu Bei, an arrow through the diary was as good as an arrow through the chest.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” said Onudaka, “who is your father?”
“Chonda Noboro.”
Onudaka frowned. “Ah, I thought that would be the case. Seems we have something in common. My family name is Obu.”
Turesobei recognized the name instantly. “Sotenda?”
Onudaka nodded. “Yes, Obu Sotenda, leader of the Storm Dragon Cult, is my brother.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Turesobei reached for his sword.
“That's who attacked us,” Turesobei growled. “I heard them cry out Naruwakiru’s name when they charged.” With a surge of strength, he rose to his knees. “I shouldn't have trusted you.”
“Please, my lord, stay calm. I never said I was in league with them.”
“You said he's your brother.”
“Yes, but that doesn't mean we get along, does it?”
Turesobei glared at Onudaka suspiciously. “I guess not.”
“As it is, he is only my half-brother, and he's mentally unstable. He's determined to recover the Storm Dragon’s Heart no matter who he has to hurt in the process. From what I’ve heard, Sotenda has been obsessed with your father for some time now.”
Turesobei thought of his father. “Does he see visions of it? Do dreams about it plague him?”
“Why, yes, my lord, I believe so.”
Turesobei groaned. “It’s the same for my father. I think the heart itself is calling them. Nothing good will come of that.”
“No, I don't imagine so. There's got to be a good reason why it's locked up in a vault.”
“I'm sorry I didn't trust you, Onudaka. Thank you for helping me.”
“Nothing of it, my lord.” The old man stood and stretched. “That's enough chatting for now. Let's get some food in you. Then you can rest some more.”
Turesobei gritted his teeth. “I want to get back up to the bridge.”
“I know, but you're in no condition to go yet. You're not even well enough for me to carry you up.”
“You could do that?”
Onudaka chuckled. “Aye, young lord. You're tall but not so heavy. And I may be old but I'm still in good shape.”
“Then we'll go up after I have a short rest.”
“There's still your wound. These things take time to heal properly.”
Turesobei grabbed the sealed leather pouch that lay with his clothes. “I can speed things up.”
He pulled out one of his spell strips. Luckily, the seal had held and the ink hadn't smeared in the river. Onudaka eyed him curiously. Turesobei chanted and activated the strip. A warm, golden glow emanated from his kavaru and his hand. Slowly, the healing earth energies enveloped his arm, his shoulder, his torso, and his face. Torn muscles knitted back together. Pains dulled to aches. Skin healed over the wounds. The glow receded and then disappeared.
Onudaka whistled. “Wow! I saw your kavaru, of course, but I didn't know you were such a powerful wizard, my lord. You're so young.”
Turesobei smiled wanly. “I've studied wizardry nearly all my life.”
“It must be fabulous to wield magic! Useful too, I'd imagine.”
“Useful, yes. But it's not exciting, not really. Most of the work is dull, and what isn't is too dangerous for me to use.”
“Well, to someone who hasn't done magic all his life, it's quite interesting. Did you completely heal your injuries?”
“I sped up the natural healing process by about a week.”
“If I'd had that ability, my job certainly would have been easier all these years.”
Turesobei yawned. “Well, I'm afraid I couldn't have done much without you cleaning and binding the wound first. Healing an injury with magic will help you for a little while, but the magic won't hold without proper care.”
Turesobei wanted to stay awake, to scale the cliff and check on his father, to try to summon Lu Bei. But he admitted to himself that he couldn't manage any of those things.
“I have to sleep now, Onudaka, but afterward, we will scale the cliff.”
“As you wish, my lord.”
Turesobei stretched out on the ground. “One more thing. Stop calling me my lord. Just my name is fine.”
“Aye, lad. If that’s what you wish.”
* * *
The scent of catfish frying woke Turesobei. The morning sky had turned a bright blue, but it remained dark within the gorge. Turesobei devoured the breakfast awaiting him—fish, bread, and cheese—and thanked Onudaka. Then he demanded they scale the cliff despite any risk to himself. Onudaka reluctantly agreed.
The old man strapped climbing claws onto his hands and feet. A row of spikes jutted from his palms and toes. The spikes were attached to strips of wood held in place by leather wraps.
“In the old days,” he said, “when us zaboko could meld with stone, we'd just sink our hands into the rock and climb mountains like they were giant mounds of rice. But long before your people arrived, we stopped living in tune with nature and lost most of our abilities.”
“But the Keshuno didn't lose them.”
Onudaka scowled and shook his head. “It's a high price they pay, too, serving Makazi Keshuno. I’d not worship her for anything.” He pulled a section of rope from his pack. “Now, you're going to climb onto my back and hold on. I'll tie a rope around us both, in case you slip.”
“What about your supplies?”
“We're going to tie one end of a rope to my pack and carry the other end with us. When we get to the top, we'll pull the supplies up. Sound good to you?”
Turesobei nodded. “Let's go then.”
Onudaka eyed the rock face near them carefully. He shook his head and moved to another section. Then he tsked and moved on again. This continued for nearly half an hour before he finally said, “Aha! Found it.”
“Found what?”
“The best route up.”
“How can you tell the difference?”
Onudaka winked. “Magic, lad, pure and simple.” He laughed. “Truthfully, I happen to be something of a rock climber. I know what I’m doing and I’ve done it many times.”
Turesobei climbed onto Onudaka's back. The old man casually stepped up to the wall, found a handhold, and lifted himself onto the rock face. Another handhold then a toehold followed. Onudaka's fat fingers would dig into a crevice and his palm spikes would jab into the rock. Then, he would lift them up easily before setting new holds.
“Are you sure I'm not too heavy?” Turesobei asked, even though Onudaka see
med to be breathing normally.
“I usually carry my pack when I climb. I think it weighs more than you.”
“Oh.” Turesobei looked down and saw that they had already climbed at least twenty feet up. “Are you trying to stop your brother before he gets the heart?”
“Something like that.”
“How long have you followed him?”
“A year at least. Sotenda's not easy to track down. He keeps moving all the time, and I don't have much money for travel expenses. Once I found out where the vault is, I figured I would intercept him if I could. But I was delayed. It's not easy for a zaboko to leave his home in West Tagana and come up here.”
“I didn't think of that,” Turesobei said. “So you're not a freeman?”
“No.”
“So you’re a fugitive now.”
“Well, yes, technically I am. But I doubt anyone's noticed. If you serve enough time in the army, you earn a little more freedom for yourself. I've a pass to work as a traveling merchant. No one will think much if I don't come home and report back to my ward chief. I'm not worth enough for anyone to track down, either. It happens sometimes. It's young men and farmers disappearing from their lands that concerns the lords most.”
“I really don't know anything about how such things work. Many zaboko strive to reach our lands. None ever leave, though they can if they wish.”
“Well, that's a tribute to the Chonda clan, then. My ruling clan wasn't so fair. I don't regret being gone, and now that I am, I don't plan on ever going back.”
“You'd be welcome in our lands in Batsakun.”
“Thanks, lad. I'll remember that.”
Turesobei glanced down again, but then wished he hadn't. He found it easier to ignore the danger by chatting. “Onudaka, you said no one would miss you. Don't you have a family?”
“My parents are dead, and I never had time to start a family of my own. I was always on the move in the military.”
“How long have you been out of service?”
Storm Phase Series: Books 1-3 Page 12