Faces of Betrayal

by Daniele Cella

  She stuck the knife into the soft, rotting layer of a nearby tree. It went in at a smooth angle. Renji stared at it, his fingers twitching. She met his gaze.

  “They’ll only feel pain for a short time,” Hadjia promised.

  “I am not one-hit-Hadjia,” he fretted. “What if the knife misses?”

  “You don’t have to be Hadjia. Make the Mother proud, and that is enough,” Kaneko said.

  For some reason, Kaneko’s words made Renji’s shoulders relax back.

  “He is outside, around the front of the house, and sitting down,” Kaneko said. “Now, Renji, is your chance to prove your worth to Mother and the Red Moon School.”

  He drew in a deep breath through his nose, palmed his knife, and stood. As soon as he left the safety of the dense woods, Kaneko and Hadjia crouched next to each other, watching from its depths. With their slight bodies, short-cropped hair, and slender frames, they could have been mistaken for sisters. The only difference between them was that Hadjia had dark eyes, while Kaneko’s were blue.

  “Think he can do it?” Kaneko asked.

  “He must.”

  They watched from the tree line, following Renji’s quiet progression along the side of the house. From inside, the tinny clatter of pots and pans rang through the air. A little girl said something and then shrieked with laughter. Only shadows shifted through the windows in the faltering twilight. Renji peered around the corner of the house. The man hadn’t moved. He rested in a chair, staring out, his back to them.

  This would be almost too simple.

  After taking a long breath, Renji sprang into action. The man’s head jerked up, and he only had time to register Renji’s presence before the knife, with a sharp crack, slammed into his neck with terrifying force.

  The man’s limbs flailed as he gurgled. Renji drove the knife deeper without a sound before pulling the weapon from the wound and forcing the man to the ground. The man’s flailing eventually slowed, subsiding into mere twitches. The wound spilled crimson blood, flowing down his chest with bubbling gurgles. Renji didn’t even take time to clean his knife before disappearing inside the home.

  Kaneko and Hadjia slipped out of the forest, moving silently along the ground until they made it to the door. Ignoring the man’s body, they too darted inside.

  From the looks of it, Renji had already neutralized the woman. She lay glassy-eyed and gasping for air on a dirt floor.

  A shadow disappeared into the back. Kaneko nodded to Renji. Hadjia followed him. A little cry drew them toward the disappearing shadow. They pursued the sound and stumbled upon Renji standing in the middle of a small room littered with toys belonging to a small child. On the floor lay a doll. The little girl reached for it, her eyes wide and filled with tears. Her lip quivered. Renji hesitated, blood dripping down his blade and over his knuckles.

  With a guttural cry, he drew his arm back and advanced. Kaneko reached out, grabbing his shoulder. She shook her head once.

  “No.” She gestured to the little girl, who shrank away into the corner. “She is too young. Still innocent.”

  The little girl’s tremors increased. Her entire body shook as she stepped farther into the corner, trying to fit her little body in the awkward space. The metallic smell of blood filled the room, easing Hadjia’s nerves. It was the smell of accomplishment, approval. She glanced at the droplets of blood littering the floor and lifted her eyes to Renji, who trembled almost as much as the little girl.

  “Well done,” Hadjia said. “Mother will be pleased.”

  The fear left his eyes. He blinked. “The woman?”

  “Gone.”

  Kaneko pulled him back, thwarting his advance toward the little girl. “Leave the girl to her nightmare. We must return and report to Mother that you have passed your Mukatan. Come, Renji. Leave this behind you. There is nothing here for you now.”

  He passed through the doorway leading out first, his shoulders falling back. Kaneko followed. Hadjia, who was last, glanced back to see the little girl. She was standing there, a thumb in her mouth, and a tear trailing down her face.

  Ren

  The land of Anpu unfurled like the tender wings of a butterfly.

  Equally elegant and dignified-looking on all sides, it lay in quiet repose. Bubbling brooks cut through the verdant hills, giving way to an occasional mountain and rift. Across the lush landscape, past the mountains, lay the capital city of Nagon. The palace of Alka Qun, constructed from sheets of precious marble and glittering azure balak crystals, jutted high into the sky. The rare, delicate gems spiraled up the outer facade of the palace, making it shimmer in the bright daylight.

  A well-trodden cobblestone road began at the palace and branched out in perfect lines, breezing past classy buildings made from precious stone and flanged roofs. A stream drifted through the middle of town, singing a low song as it rolled. Boughs, heavy with fresh fruit, proliferated from rooftop gardens. Ivy bounded over the walls, trailing along latticed woodworks and engulfing the buildings in curtains of emerald.

  But no place exhibited the same elegance as the grand interior of the Alka Qun palace, where artisans, poets, and musicians had lined the halls with their work, songs and words.

  Paintings decorated nearly every wall. Music played all hours of the day. And before dinner, poets recited lyrical words, bringing harmony to the table and the ruling family.

  Inside the sprawling dining room, a crowd of six milled around a table bursting with food, drink, and crystal. Food abounded on a side table. There were rice balls flecked with mushrooms and deep sea bass that gently simmered in herb-infused butter. Cabbage leaves stuffed with purple rice released a heady scent that permeated the air.

  Voices rose and fell in between quiet bursts of laughter.

  “We will have power,” said Danjuro, the ruler of the Nari nation, while speaking to Raizen, his younger brother. “The marriage between Ren and Isao is the only way for the Nari Clan to finally lead as we were meant to do. It will usher in our time. We will prevail.”

  “Agreed brother,” said Raizen. “While you are gone, I will take care of everything here. It’s in good hands.”

  “I trust you with my land, my people, and my palace.”

  Danjuro’s coppery hair shone in the light, giving way to stern features and a deep red beard. He sat near the entrance of the dining hall, his back so straight it didn’t touch the chair. Servants bustled in and out of the hall carrying new platters of fresh food. Flutes warmed up in the background, trilling a gentle, easy song, like the winding of a breeze.

  Next to Danjuro sat his wife, Yishi Milwan. She had an attentive expression as she listened to the hushed conversations around her. Her wrap, a deep burgundy color, patterned with swirls of embroidered gold foxes, shone in the light. Her creamy skin was flawless, and her eyes were always smiling.

  “It will take more than a marriage to create Nari supremacy, Father,” came a voice from down the table. Azuma, the oldest son of the ruling family, lifted a goblet and sipped it before he leaned forward over the table. “It’s not a matter of marriage, but of taking our rightful place as the leaders of an empire. And action! No clan can maintain its rule without being willing to fight and sacrifice for it.”

  “We will act as we must when the time comes, but for now, let us turn our attention to my beloved daughter Ren,” Danjuro replied. “She is moving into a new life. We must ensure that she is comfortable and happy—and will remain so for the duration of her marriage.”

  Azuma frowned, his sharp features a faint echo of his father’s. The skin around his cerulean eyes crinkled. He leaned back, his thin red hair brushing his shoulders in fine strands. Next to him sat Yuna, the eldest daughter of the house of Nari, her red hair cropped long, her lithe figure folded into a relaxed sitting position. She spoke little, and smiled coldly at those passing.

  Amid the chaos, the ruling family’s youngest daughter Ren sat at the table near her mother. She was peering down at her plate.

  Scales had
drifted off her fish, littering the wooden circle of her plate with glitter. She used her slender eating sticks to push them around until they formed a delicate circle. Despite the tempting meal, she felt no hunger pangs, only a tightness in her belly that wrapped itself all the way to her heart with a heavy heat.

  A commotion at the main doors drew her gaze. A man with a oily goatee shaped into a curl and a head of jet black hair stepped into the room. Heavy green eyes peered out of a regal face: a perfect match for the luxurious court robes encasing his broad shoulders. A silk sash tied the robe closed. Glitters of color winked off his fingers. Precious stones. Ren’s gaze narrowed. Bramen Qin. She knew of no one else with such ease and confidence. He strode across the room and the buzzing conversation halted. He paused next to Danjuro, hands held up in a placating gesture.

  “My apologies,” he said with a charming smile. “To disrupt such a jovial atmosphere.”

  As soon as the conversation resumed, he bent at the waist, whispered something to Danjuro—who nodded—and then straightened. Without another word, he disappeared. Ren watched him go, bemused.

  Her uncle Raizen reached for a pitcher of wine and poured it into his goblet. “I wonder what kind of atmosphere the imperial capital holds, considering an important celebration like this,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” Danjuro asked.

  “Since the Emperor Saemon has issued his anti-clerical edict, the people lost their enthusiasm. You cannot simply remove religion, the way he attempted with his Tege. The people desire to believe in something.”

  Danjuro bit his bottom lip, eyes narrowed.

  Yishi spoke up from across the table. “The removal of the Blessed Saran and her five chosen priestesses may have shaken the people’s faith. Despite their presence and divination practices I doubt people have lost the desire to worship them, even if they do communicate directly with the Triad.”

  The five priestesses. The Five Fingers, Ren thought. Memories of the days when she was a child and the old handmaid Chyo made her memorize the rhyme of the five fingers, a tribute to the five servants of the Saran. An odd rhyme.

  “I agree with my wife,” Danjuro said. He placed a heavy hand on his slender wife’s shoulders with an affectionate smile. “We, like all the other nations of the Empire, have had to adapt ourselves to Saemon’s rules. That doesn’t mean we have lost faith.”

  Ren shuddered. Could anyone have faith in dark days such as these?

  From close to Ren, Azuma adjusted the collar of his tunic with a tug of a finger. “I hate Saemon, but the women-only clergy always bothered me. At least we are finally freed of that tyranny.”

  Full of spite behind those words. Ren thought.

  “Don’t be insolent Azuma!” Danjuro snapped. “The Blessed Saran represented the will of the Triad on earth.”

  “It’s rumored that one of the Fingers is still active and leads a minority loyal to the old traditions,” Raizen said with a sip of his wine. “Don’t be surprised if it’s true.”

  Azuma snorted. “Rumors.”

  “Who will be consecrate the marriage between Isao and Ren if not the Saran?” Raizen asked.

  “The elderly man Baran. Saemon granted him as Imperial High Priest years ago,” Danjuro said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

  Ren didn’t take her eyes off the flaky, white fish on her plate. Their words slipped in and out of her mind in a mind-numbing train. When would such a face celebration end?

  “Forgive my interruption and any perceived rudeness,” Yuna said, a goblet raised in the air. “But I believe that all these words divert our attention from the real reason of this meeting. We wish a marvelous wedding and an exciting life for our Ren. To Ren!”

  Danjuro smiled at her. “You’re right, my daughter. You’re always wise.”

  “Ren, you must tell us,” Yuna said, fingering the crystals on her goblet. “Are you excited for the wedding? You’ll be a married woman soon.”

  Ren glanced up. “Of course,” she said immediately. “I am happy to bring peace and power to the Nari Clan.”

  Danjuro grunted, nodding in approval in her direction. Azuma frowned, the lines on his forehead deepening. Yuna gave her a small, yet genuinely loving smile in response.

  Observing these expressions, Ren relaxed.

  They hadn’t detected the tightness in her tone, she thought. Or, if they had, it didn’t bother them enough to comment on it.

  Perhaps heartbreak had no political weight.

  “Are you sad to be leaving home?” Yuna asked.

  “Of course. Alka Qun is my home.”

  “You may still visit,” Azuma snorted. “It’s not as if you’re going somewhere to die.”

  Yuna fell silent.

  Ren stood up, her throat tightening. Their cold indifference made her stomach roll. “Excuse me. I have finished eating.”

  When her parents nodded their permission, she stepped away from the table, walking sedately into the hall. The servants acknowledged her with low bows, their wraps tucked in neat lines without a wrinkle visible.

  Ren moved down the immaculate hall, which was beautiful and befitting her dress choice. The stunning architecture and pristine decorations—all without a hint of dust—flanked her as she walked with dainty steps.

  She stepped inside her bedroom and shut the door firmly behind her.

  Late that night, Ren stared into the high canopy of her bed, eyes wide, thoughts spinning like mad, unable to get them to stop. Yuna’s voice echoed through her restless mind: Are you sad to leave home?

  No, Ren thought. No.

  An open window sent the sheer drapes fluttering, and blew a cooling wind across her cheeks.

  Ren watched the drapes move forward and back, envying them their freedom.

  She slid out of bed. When she stepped up to the window, she closed her eyes. She pulled in a deep, slow breath, trying to inhale the quiet and peace that lay beyond her window.

  Outside, the prolific gardens of the Nari palace winked in the growing light. The flash of a quiet water fountain drew her gaze lower. She hesitated, then stepped to the side, opened the balcony doors and, without another sound, slipped down the marble steps that led from the balcony to the garden.

  The beginning of dawn tainted the edge of the sky in a soft pink light, morphing into soft tones of orange at the edges of the horizon. A deep weariness settled into Ren’s mind, one that had little to do with having had no sleep.

  The moment Ren stepped off the final stair, she was surrounded with flowers. An abundance of leaves and blooms formed thick walls on either side of her, enclosing her in a tapestry of beautiful foliage. Ren noted some of the flowers’ soft pink petals were tinged with red on the tips, as if they were bloodied.

  A leaf twirled gently, drifting down past her shoulder. White petals as long as her hand lay open to the dawning sunlight. Ren breathed in the peace of the gardens as she shuffled forward, eyes trailing along the curtains of ivy overhead that hid the fading stars.

  Ahead of her tinkled another water fountain, its interior sculpted into a nine-tailed fox with gleaming fur and a blithe smile. Water, glistening in the pre-dawn stillness, flowed over its back and slid down its tails into the basin.

  Ren let her thoughts wander past the garden, through the castle, and into the wild unknown of her future. Marriage to a stranger. No control over her destiny. Ensure protection of the Nari Clan. She let the thoughts roam, each one a lotus blossom touching the top of a pond and sending widening ripples off into the unknown.

  Just when Ren felt that her head could release itself of no more thoughts, that her heart could clench no harder with lingering doubt and anxiety, a gentle sound caught her ear. She turned, glancing through drapes of dull blue petals to see Yuna.

  Ren’s sister stood under an archway of twisted branches, her short red hair sticking out in the dim darkness and strangely bright in such a subdued place. Ren was about to call out, but stopped. Then she held her breath.

  A masked person
was standing next to Yuna. Ren could just discern the long nose on the twisted, wooden mask sticking in the air between the two. The unknown person wore a crimson robe that swathed the shoulders and chest, and fell the ground in long lines.

  Ren stepped behind a hedge cut in a rectangular shape, and waited. She strained to hear, but couldn’t make out any words, just the low, quiet cadence of Yuna’s voice. She heard nothing from the stranger, who set both a roll of paper and a key in Yuna’s open and outstretched palm.

  Yuna closed her fingers around them with a slow nod. The masked figure disappeared, and Yuna slipped off into the shadows.

  Ren caught her breath, then followed her sister. What could Yuna have been doing at this early time?

  Her curiosity was too great. She had to ask.

  Yuna stepped into the covered hall that led back into the palace. By the time Ren was close enough to open her mouth to call out to her, Yuna had already disappeared around a corner.

  Ren sped up, half-trotting through the darkness before she slowed. She calmed her wild strands of hair, then straightened her dress.

  Yes, Yuna had disappeared, but there was really only one place for her to go….

  Ren let her feet guide her to Yuna’s room. She rounded the corner just as the door to the room closed.

  Acting on instinct once again, Ren knelt to peer through the door’s keyhole. She watched as Yuna set aside the key and paper into a small, intricately carved, wooden coffer.

  Instead of knocking to ask her sister whom she had met in the strange mask, Ren bit her bottom lip. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to know whom Yuna had been speaking to so early in the morning.

  Yuna spun around and headed into the adjacent washroom. Ren straightened, paused for two heartbeats, and then gripped the cold metal of the doorknob and twisted it. She pushed the door open.

  Ren glanced around the room and, seeing no one, dashed quietly to the coffer, nearly tripping on a woven rug in her haste. Swiftly she knelt in front of the mysterious, yet beautiful wooden box.