Faces of Betrayal

by Daniele Cella

  “You’re good, yes?” Jiro asked under his breath when they turned a corner, bypassing an old woman who rarely left her porch.

  The woman’s eyes constantly scanned the darkness, strangely empty despite being lucid. Every now and then she’d emit a shrill cackle into the darkness.

  “Fine,” Rakesh returned, his tone hushed.

  Jiro grinned, his teeth gleaming under a glowing orb as they crossed a main street, leaving the heady stench of refuse behind.

  “Good.”

  A small market operated ahead, the calls of those attempting to barter their pathetic wares ringing through the night. The end of this cycle would come soon enough – for those still attempting to hold onto the patterns of daily life instead of giving into the vague existence of just moving through Iskawan. Jiro and Rakesh wandered through the market, pretending to be interested in the meager wares set out on crooked tables.

  Someone laughed. A tinkling sound followed.

  Rakesh had to slow his pace as Jiro’s eyes trailed over a table filled with rare glass beads. The owner scowled, leaning close to his treasures.

  “A tunic for those?” Jiro asked, then strode away laughing at his own strange humor that no one but him seemed to understand.

  Rakesh glanced over his shoulder, saw the man snarl, and hurried after his friend.

  “I don’t know about this venture, Jiro,” Rakesh murmured, shuddering. “Maybe we should wait and do it another time.”

  A heavy feeling seemed to exist throughout Iskawan tonight, he thought. Tonight seemed deeper and more complex than most nights, as if the darkness here could permeate his cold bones just like the seemingly eternal mists.

  Jiro didn’t break stride. If anything, he moved faster.

  Rakesh hurried to keep up.

  “When else would you do it?” Jiro asked. His face had fallen into hard, flinty lines.

  “Tomorrow?”

  “You’ll lose courage. Besides, what if he moves the box? No, it must be tonight.”

  A current of shame moved through Rakesh. Hadn’t this been his idea after all? He couldn’t back out now. No – he didn’t want to back out now. Not when the tantalizing promise of freedom lay ahead.

  “Yes. Yes, you’re right. I, uh, lost my head for a moment in the mist. You know how it is.”

  “Courage, Rakesh. This could be our great moment.”

  Finally, the outside of The Hangman’s house loomed in the great darkness inside Iskawan. The glowing orbs closer to the main part of Iskawan didn’t extend this far, leaving passing fairy lights and the distant, feeble glow from the lights on the main road to illuminate the building’s exterior.

  Rakesh pointed to a dilapidated shack that sat across the street from The Hangman’s place.

  The friends snuck inside. Enough boards existed to hide their presence, but not to keep a person seeking refuge alive.

  Yet no one would want to live this close to The Hangman.

  “We wait,” Jiro murmured. “For the cycle to close.”

  The subtle movement and calls from the streets slowly died down. Both Rakesh and Jiro kept their gazes glued to the outside of The Hangman’s house, as if they could will him to never return again. The lack of any movement, sound, or fairy lights surely meant he had left the premises again or was sleeping inside.

  Rakesh felt a surge of hope. Perhaps this was their night, and the Sacred Triad smiled down on them.

  “Now,” Rakesh said, when the overwhelming stillness of Iskawan seemed to pull him to his feet. “Now is the deepest moment of the night.”

  Jiro stood, scrambling up after him.

  Like wraiths, they slipped across the street, gliding into the night behind The Hangman’s house. A series of old pipes, once connected, ran across the back of The Hangman’s house. Gathering all of his courage, Rakesh grabbed the first one he countered and hauled himself up.

  Jiro followed behind, surprisingly spry. No one in Iskawan held much weight on their bodies, as if the darkness had sucked all their substance from them. Still, Jiro appeared to have more strength than Rakesh expected from his skeletal frame.

  Once on the rooftop, Rakesh crouched. The shoddy shingles felt gritty and cool on the bottom of his bare feet. He pointed out three holes, but only one big enough for them to slide through.

  Jiro grinned his acceptance. Rakesh moved first.

  The edges of the hole seemed to swallow his body, pulling him farther into the building’s top story. The edges dug into his skin, but he ignored the pain and continued through. With a quiet thud, he landed on the floor in the darkness. Jiro did the same, making the same muffled sound.

  Then total silence. The silence of The Hangman’s house surrounded them.

  Both paused, waiting.

  Was The Hangman home? Did he hear them enter?

  At first, Rakesh couldn’t hear anything but the steady thrum of his own heartbeat in his ears. Slowly it faded, pulsing into quiet. When no shadow sprang out to attack them and no gravelly voice called for their death, Rakesh relaxed.

  Jiro reached over, tapping him on the arm and pointing to the other side of the room where two fairy lights buzzed, alighting amongst the rafters and shedding just enough light for the two intruders to make out the vague shape of things. They stood on the top floor.

  A table with four legs – a rarity. Its hard wood hadn’t even given into the rot and decay that plagued the rest of the wooden artifacts in Iskawan. Even the glass windowpanes remained whole, none broken or cracked.

  There were no adornments or curtains in the room, just a bed on the ground, a wardrobe on the far side of the room, and an assortment of things made of iron that hung along one wall. Rakesh spotted a pair of manacles, a long iron tongue, and the glint of a sword, and shuddered. The two of them descended slowly from the top floor, down a rickety set of stairs. No signs of life permeated the bottom floor. Once there, Rakesh breathed a sigh of relief. Escape from the bottom would be far easier.

  The box had to be there.

  Jiro drifted across the room, picking at this and that as he went. Rakesh moved off to the right, toward a wooden chest beneath the window. He lifted the lid carefully, testing the old hinges. They emitted a slight groan as he slipped his hand inside.

  At first, he felt silk. His heart pounded. There was enough fabric in this chest alone to get him down the wall, for certain!

  The temptation to pull the fabric free almost overcame him, but he stuffed it away. Losing focus would only jeopardize his greater mission.

  Rakesh carefully moved his hand through the rest of the chest. He encountered hard, iron-like things. There were sharp, razor-like lances, and a metal ball with spikes sticking out of every available space. Weapons, for sure. Torture devices, no doubt.

  Rakesh quickly retracted his hand and backed away.

  Jiro appeared at his side, moving as quietly as a fairy-fire. His eyes glowed as he clasped Rakesh by the shoulder.

  The wooden box, the object of their quest, rested in Jiro’s hands.

  Rakesh sucked in a sharp breath. Emphatically nodding to indicate his recognition of the object, he reached out to touch it. His fingers rubbed along the edge of the rough wood.

  Possibly, just possibly, it housed his destiny inside.

  Jiro put a finger under the lid and pried it open.

  The door to The Hangman’s house slammed open. Rakesh reared back, a scream in his throat. Jiro jumped, rattling the box.

  Standing in the doorway, silhouetted by dim light from the fairy-fires buzzing outside, was The Hangman. His bald head, massive shoulders, and bulging arms seemed to enter Rakesh’s very soul.

  “Miserable wretches,” The Hangman boomed. “You think you can pull off anything in Iskawan that I wouldn’t know about? You’re fools. Then again, all of you here are fools. You’re half-Vakum yourself, choosing to wander in this darkness.” He gave a bark of his laughter, his expression twisted in a snarl. “And now you’re going to regret trying to make a fool out of me.”<
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  Rakesh felt his captivity all at once. One moment he was staring at The Hangman, the next he was face-to-face with three other men. They seized him and shoved him into the ground by several pairs of hands. He tried to stand and scramble away, but a sharp kick to the ribs sent him reeling. He collapsed just as a fist found his back, jarring the hope out of him. His entire body rattled with the blow.

  Nausea welled up in his stomach, hot and fast. He seemed to become the pain. A blow to the jaw. A crack at his ribs.

  “Stop.”

  The Hangman’s rolling voice again filled the room. His aides ceased, leaving Rakesh in a heap on the floor.

  Rakesh peered out through one swelling eye. He spied Jiro also on the ground, half-conscious and moaning. His lip was bleeding, spilling bright crimson droplets onto his chin.

  “The Hangman is not a man you should cross,” The Hangman sang, stepping forward.

  The glint of a metal weapon sparkled in the darkness. He tapped it against his open palm. Rakesh started at it, attempting to regain his scattered, pulsing thoughts.

  A sword.

  “I think, in order for you to anticipate what is coming for you, you should have a little . . . preview of what I will bring to those who cross me. My hope is always that you can teach the next generation of idiots what not to do, but no one in Iskawan ever really learns, do they?”

  Jiro choked back a shriek when The Hangman leaned down to caress the side of his face with his fingertips.

  “Simple, stupid idiots. The Hangman will teach you the ways of Iskawan. Too bad you won’t live through it to be a better citizen, eh? I think we’ll start with your ear.”

  As fast as a flash of lightning, The Hangman turned, grabbed Rakesh’s ankle, and jerked him close. Rakesh bit back a scream. Spears of pain, hot as lances, bolted through his body as he slid across the floor, colliding with Jiro. Sweat broke out across Rakesh’s brow and trickled down the sides of his face. He prayed a silent, desperate prayer to the Triad.

  The Hangman’s teeth gleamed bright right above him, his teeth sickly yellow in the dim fairy lights. He grabbed Rakesh’s hand, squeezing it until the joints popped.

  “You don’t need that finger, do you?”

  Rakesh met The Hangman’s steely, cold gaze. A thousand replies spun through his mind. Desperate thoughts.

  He wasn’t fighting for his freedom for himself.

  The Hangman grabbed him by the neck with one hand and hauled him to his feet.

  “Let the fun begin.”

  Ren

  Ren woke up to a new day with a rock in her stomach. The city of An Wan sprawled like a skirt outside the palace, offering the scent of smoked fish and the occasional call of an early vendor. Ren was standing at her window, but saw none of what lay outside.

  Prince Isao’s face kept running through her mind. His slightly flushed cheeks. Downcast eyes. She didn’t need him to say it.

  He was as unhappy about this arranged marriage as she.

  A sound in the hallway drew her away from her thoughts, but still she peered at the window, only able to see the melancholy reflection of her own eyes.

  Would she ever be happy again?

  Ren turned to leave her reflection, the long trails of her red silk dress stretching out behind her. Her hair, brushed by her servants until it shone, danced around her shoulders. Her maid had braided a few segments into petite plaits and draped them in an elegant pattern around the crown of her head. The heavy pull of a golden nine-tailed fox pin decorated her hair, scratching occasionally at her ear. The weight of it already threatened to give her a headache, but she had said nothing when her maid had pinned it into place and had left almost an hour ago, leaving her to her thoughts.

  A knock at the door drew Ren from her downward spiral of thought. She startled, glancing up.

  Her mother stepped into the room, as lovely as ever in an elegant wrap of blue silk with patterns of umber and crimson. Subtly etched in the designs was a depiction of the Nari nine-tailed fox.

  “Ren? Come, darling. It’s time. You are a lovely bride.”

  Her mother reached out, taking Ren’s icy fingers in hers, and gave them a gentle squeeze. Ren tried to smile.

  "Thank you, Mother."

  Together, they walked into the hallway, where Danjuro waited. His eyes darted over Ren, and he nodded in approval.

  "Lovely."

  Ren said nothing more as she and her parents glided down the hall in silence. Every step seemed to echo in Ren's ears, as if it took her one step away from the person she truly loved, and one closer to her fate. The maze of the imperial palace seemed to stretch into eternity as they navigated the hallways, but Danjuro guided them without fail.

  They turned a corner, and Ren pulled in a breath.

  The imperial chapel loomed ahead, packed with people sitting on benches on either side of a path outside. Amphorae filled the air, sprinkling colored bubbles above the flower-lined path leading to the altar. The air was thick with the perfume of fresh flower blossoms.

  Ren’s parents stepped away from her, lingering at the back of the chapel as Ren continued on to the path. Her body seemed to move of its own accord.

  Baran, the High Priest, stood at the top of the room near the altar, where the representative of the Triad always remained. Strands of soft, white hair ringed an almost bald head. He had solemn hazel eyes and a stern expression. Quiet murmurs whispered through the hushed crowd as Ren passed them on her way to the altar.

  "Lovely."

  "A beautiful bride."

  "Fitting wife."

  She didn't hear them over the pounding of her own heart. As she closed in on Baran, she caught a movement from the corner of her eye. Isao stepped toward the priest from the side of the room, and moved forward, matching her pace. They arrived together, completing the symbolism of two people from different parts of life coming together.

  Baran held both hands over his head. "The wedding ceremony shall begin."

  He intoned deeply in the ancient mystic language, his words a guttural sing-song that flowed like water. It washed through the chapel and over those in attendance, and Ren feared the chant would take her heart with her.

  Her thoughts wandered, although she vaguely tracked the ceremony in the back recesses of her mind. She murmured when appropriate, and gave her hand to Isao halfway through the ceremony. But when she felt ice-cold fingers, she startled, and became fully conscious of the ceremony’s goings-on.

  At least she didn't have to look in Isao’s eyes to know how he felt, she thought.

  "Ren of the Nari Clan and Isao of the Hiwan Clan, I unite you and your people in marriage."

  The finality of the words resounded through Ren like the vibrations of a gong. Ren sucked in a sharp breath, certain her heart would shatter at any moment. When the new couple turned to face the chapel, a happy cry rippled through the room. Fireworks flew through the air in orange and red spirals, exploding just before the rafters of the chapel with a spray of sparks. White doves scattered, released from cages at the very front of the room. The birds flapped past Ren, their movement past stirring strands of her hair. Bells began to ring, and in the distance, a subtle cry arose from the streets of the imperial city.

  Isao leaned in close.

  "We will walk together," he murmured. "The Path of the Sun and Moon will be quick, I think."

  She nodded once.

  Those attending stood with warm smiles as the newlyweds passed, heading down the flower-lined path and back into the castle. Once there, Isao navigated his bride through a short passageway before they entered the streets of the city together.

  A wild raucous of cheers from those standing on the sides of the streets met them. Isao pasted a smile on his face, and Ren attempted to appear happy too. Her hand grew clammy resting on top of Isao's, but he said nothing as he led her into the path cleared for them. They turned to the right first, heading onto the prepared road that would lead them in a circuit around An Wan.

  "Ren," Isao mu
rmured under his breath, keeping his gaze straight. "You are a lovely bride."

  His voice trembled a little, as if he had to force the words out.

  Ren blinked. "Thank you."

  The highly trained Karu unit waited outside, lining the street in a parade of honor. Emerald and gold tunics fluttered off their shoulders. The symbol of a winged lion filled their chests, wooden clogs, and the ceremonial hat that resembled a lions mane. Ren flinched when the first Karu soldier bent at the waist as she passed, murmuring, “I swear to serve you to the death.”

  “Who are they?” she whispered to Isao.”

  “The Karu. It is an honorary rank to those with exceptional willpower and skill with their special bushi sword. They are charged with defending the heart of the imperial city.”

  Ren bowed her head to the closest Karu soldier and continued on.

  Ren and Isao moved through the city without another word, smiling, nodding, and waving to the revelers in the street. Ren's stomach felt as if it was boiling and bubbling inside her, but she tried to disregard it.

  When they completed the circuit around the city on the path, the leaders of the Nari and Hiwan Clans greeted them near the chapel again.

  "Congratulations," Saemon said, his voice ringing down the hall. "You make a beautiful couple. Now that your trip on the Path of the Sun and Moon has been completed and the Imperial city has met the lovely Ren, you are expected at the feast in your honor in the great hall."

  Ren's mother reached out to squeeze her hand.

  Ren bowed to her new father-in-law, and with Isao at her side, followed him down the stone corridor and toward the celebration of her new life.

  Saemon

  "It is my utmost joy to present to the newlyweds what must surely be the greatest gift of all: Dhul powder."