Faces of Betrayal

by Daniele Cella

  Khalem lifted one eyebrow. "Then you know that the spiders corrupted their own souls using the evil magic of darkness."

  "Yes. Eventually they were destroyed by their own madness."

  "The Horat-Vu war was fought to defeat them. In the end, their own madness did that. After that, Iskawan was created for a city-prison. It houses the perpetrators of those who commit horrible sins."

  "And Wu? What had he done?"

  Khalem lifted his shoulders. "I don't know that. But as I said earlier, hatred can be born of envy. In this cause, Wu allowed his soul to be destroyed because he wasn't chosen by our sacred priestess."

  "Ah," Isao murmured. "I see."

  "Wu couldn't accept this. The Nari clan is very arrogant – always think they're better than everyone, especially as rulers. As if no one else can be intelligent or educated or wise or strong." He spat. "Pah. Fools. They make their own graves."

  Or ours, Isao thought.

  "When the Hiwan clan was chosen to be the Imperial Clan and command the Empire, the Naris only reluctantly accepted. They've never been happy about it since."

  Isao's mind spun back, recalling how all the Naris acted during the wedding celebration. Azuma had showed such hubris. Yuna had seemed strangely sneaky. But not Ren. Ren had been far too frightened. Naive, even. He'd seen no deception in her innocent eyes.

  "But Ren," he murmured. "She didn't appear like that at all."

  "She's different, my young Sheng. I knew it right away. A fish out of water, that one. Something about her isn't the same."

  "How did Wu react when the Hiwan clan was chosen?"

  Khalem's expression darkened. "Very insubordinate. During one of the hottest battles in the Valley of Ming, he ignored direct military orders and took matters into his own hands. His decision exposed the entire army to danger. Thanks to his choice, many men died. As a result, Saemon sentenced him to death." He snorted. "As he rightfully should have."

  Isao sucked in a sharp breath. "Steep punishment."

  Khalem's eyes showed no mercy. "Deserved. Wu invoked his rights and asked for a Dvanda."

  Celty chuckled from behind them. Isao glanced back, but her face had fallen back into a serene expression. She turned, brow furrowed. "Dvanda?" she asked.

  "A deadly duel between two clan members," Isao said. "Some may know it as the Duel of the Righteous. It's supposed to cleanse them in the eyes of the deities. Wu lost the duel to my father, I take it?" Isao asked.

  Khalem nodded. "Saemon won. Wu's brother – Danjuro, the current ruler of the Nari clan – had to watch his brother die. He couldn't fight back, as everything had proceeded according to the rules. The Nari clan repudiated Wu and swore loyalty to Saemon. Thankfully, the war ended, but apparently their hatred remained. From then on, the Naris have always hated us."

  Isao’s thoughts were troubled. So many people dead now, simply because of a lost duel stemming from one man's poor decision and lust for power.

  "That," Khalem said, "is when all of this mess really started."

  Khalem grabbed a nearby canteen and headed back to the lake, running his fingers down his horse’s flank as he passed.

  Isao stretched his neck, only to see Celty kneeling in the dirt, pine needles piled up around her knees and head tilted back toward the sun’s rays. Her hands danced, building on top of each other. Dirt clenched in each hand trickled out through her fingers as she swung her hands around and created interlocking circles with them.

  Isao stilled in place. For a moment, Celty's innocent gestures inspired thoughts in Isao of Ren.

  He shuffled closer, moving one careful step at a time, until he stood only a few steps away. He waited, arms folded, and leaned against a tree.

  Celty continued for several more minutes, murmuring under her breath as she moved her hands. The only words he could make out were Suryan and Jin. When she stopped, her eyes flew open, instantly locking on his.

  "I've heard those words before," he said. "During a funeral chant for Suryan. Have you lost someone close to you?"

  "The young boy back at the stables."

  "The one beneath the horse?"

  A pained expression wrinkled her brow, and she turned away. "Yes. He was my only friend. The only one who really cared. And he was innocent. Goro, his uncle, deserved that death and more, but not Jin. He died in your war."

  The word struck him right in the chest.

  "Watch your mouth, woman!" Khalem roared from only a few steps behind Isao. "He's royalty, you foolish – "

  "Khalem, please."

  Isao held up a hand, and Khalem sputtered to a stop.

  "Celty is a free woman now. Her words are dictated by her grief. Don’t make it worse. Allow her to mourn the tragic loss of her friend. Wasn't this one of my father's greatest teachings?"

  "Jin was innocent," Celty snapped at Khalem. "Young. Full of life. He was brave, too. He tried to protect me when Goro beat me. Which is more than some can boast."

  Khalem's expression soured, but Celty continued before he could say anything in his own defense. She held up her arms, highlighting the bruises and abrasions left there by the ropes.

  "Jin brought me water. He was different. And now, because he was too scared to leave, he's dead. I'm praying for his soul, that's all."

  Isao reached out to put a hand on her shoulder and comfort her, but she jerked away, teeth clenched.

  Khalem turned, muttering, and strode away.

  "It was my Yodon's fault," she hissed, rage infusing her voice. "He owned me. A slave owner. He owned me, a human. These are the kinds of things that happen to people who are slaves. People who are forced to do things just because nobles want them."

  Isao gently took one of her wrists in his hands, inspecting the marred skin there. It went far deeper than just bruising and scratching. Beneath the fresh injuries he could see scars from previous times.

  This hadn't been her first time tied up. Her life threatened. At the mercy of a slave owner, or worse.

  "Celty," he murmured, brushing the tip of his thumb across her wounds. Goosebumps rose on the girl’s skin. "I'm sorry this happened to you. It's wrong. I promise you that I will erase all forms of slavery when I am Sheng in the Empire."

  Her lips closed. She stared at him with a strangely open gaze, a slight wrinkle in between her fine eyebrows. She swallowed and pulled her hand free. Isao knelt down, ripping a piece of his robe off in a long strip.

  "Here," Isao said, gently wrapping the fabric around the still raw skin.

  Celty stepped back, but didn't withdraw her hand. Her intense gaze bore into him. Her breath hitched.

  The sound of clomping feet drew both of them away. Celty stepped back as Khalem approached with both horses saddled, and his jaw tight.

  "My young Sheng, it's time for us to get started again. We can use the afternoon hours to get through the worst of the day. Today will be very challenging, but we can hit the worst parts in the cool of the evening. It will help."

  Isao nodded, dropping Celty’s arm. "I understand. But one last question, Celty. You said that you had a bad feeling that something was going to happen. What does that mean?"

  Celty shrugged. "I perceived that something was wrong the past couple of days. I don't know how to explain it, I just . . . I knew that something bad was going to happen. Anyway, it's not hard to figure out. There were slaves that weren't really slaves on the auction block yesterday."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I know what slaves look like, and there were several that weren't common slaves. They were too healthy. Too strong. Too proud. They weren't submissive."

  Isao's nostrils flared. He nodded, forcing himself to remain calm in the face of his inner anguish. "I understand. The Nari and Ameyas must have snuck some of their own into the slaves as a means to get more of their soldiers into our city."

  "Despicable," Khalem muttered.

  "They will pay," Isao murmured, rage swelling within him. "The cowards."

  The late morning soon turned into
the afternoon.

  As soon as they started off, the slope became a steep pitch heavy with shale. When the horses stumbled, their legs were cut by the loose rocks.

  By afternoon, the horses were only able to stagger forward, so weary were the animals from the night before.

  Khalem stopped and slid off his horse. Sweat streaked down the sides of his face.

  "We must proceed on foot,” he decided. “The horses won't survive if we continue like this, and they're slowing us down. Grab the canteens and let them go. They're intelligent steeds. They'll make it back on their own."

  Celty grabbed one of the two canteens before Isao could carry both. The horses remained where they were, blowing out great breaths as the three of them started up the path.

  The rough terrain cut into Isao's shoes. He stumbled every other step, and had to grab onto shrubs and bushes to keep from falling back down the high-pitched slope. Even Khalem slowed, panting with every other step.

  "Your violet eyes," Isao said to Celty in between gasps, hoping to distract himself from the exertion. "They're unique. Where are you from?"

  "I don't know. My childhood was . . . I don't remember much. Just strange images with many women's faces and unusual bodies. They were…serpent-like?" She shook her head in confusion. "It doesn't make any sense. Maybe they're just some weird nightmare that I think actually happened. Anyway, some farmers found me outside of the small town of Jinx. I worked in the fields there until they sold me as a slave."

  "I'm sorry you don't know your family."

  Her face remained even, yet Isao couldn't help but wonder what lingered behind it.

  "Me too."

  They fell back into silence as they slowly wormed their way around a cliff face. Khalem stumbled on the shale every now and then, sending a fall of rocks down the mountain face.

  Isao fell deep into his thoughts, wondering about his father, the palace, and what would happen next.

  "Isao!"

  The guttural cry came seconds before Isao saw them: At least thirty people, hidden behind tribal masks with leering smiles, bulbous noses, and bright, frightening eyes. Simple leather skins and drapes of leaves adorned their bodies, and each gripped a club or wooden spear. Tattoos adorned their shoulders, arms and chests.

  A smaller, child-like person held up two rocks in clenched hands.

  Isao sucked in a sharp breath. Were the legends true? Did cannibals really haunt these treacherous slopes?

  Celty and Khalem edged closer to Isao, their expressions grim. The three of them backed up into each other for safety.

  Seconds later, the strangers started to shout in an odd, clicking kind of language. They held up their weapons, first waving them overhead, then poking them toward the small group before they pointed at a path that snaked up the mountain and far away.

  "They want us to follow them on that path. I think . . . maybe they want to take us to their chief, or something," Celty said.

  "How do you know that?" Khalem muttered.

  "I don't know. I just think…that they would have killed us by now if not."

  Khalem, instead of being afraid, appeared to think over what she said.

  Celty's hands rested at her side, seemingly at ease, but with her knuckles white with tension.

  Isao pulled in a deep breath. Could these people just kill them? He wanted to shout, but held it back. Yes, they could. And no one would know.

  A determination to live gave him strength. He swallowed back his fear with the realization that he was far, far from home and all whom he knew.

  Khalem sighed. "Fine. We'll follow."

  Celty offered both hands up, showing her wrists. The closest person grabbed them, tied a rope around her, and shoved her toward the path. She hid a grimace, but Isao saw pain flare in her bright eyes.

  Khalem and Isao were immediately disarmed by the other tribe members and tied at the wrists. They followed after Celty.

  Hot acid rose in Isao's throat as he followed the mask-wearing strangers up the mountain, toward the mouth of a dark, wide cave. Where he could see nothing inside.

  Yuna

  Morning sunlight streamed into the meeting hall the next morning, spilling over Yuna’s shoulders and warming them.

  Azuma stood next to her, a blank expression on his face. Like her, he’d woken up after only a few short hours of sleep, unable to succumb anymore. Then, once he arose, he polished his armor with a tightly set jaw and grim determination.

  She left him to his thoughts, certain that she could put nothing there that he wasn’t already thinking. She hid her satisfaction.

  What a beautiful day.

  The sound of someone walking across the tile floor broke the stillness in the room.

  Bramen Qin crossed the room, stopping in front of the two of them. There were heavy bags under his eyes. “You two look like hell,” he said.

  “So do you,” Yuna said with a wry smile.

  He returned it.

  “Did they come?” Azuma asked.

  Bramen motioned to his guard with a jerk of his head.

  Two lanky figures stepped into the room wearing dark brown tunics with collars. A linen cloth covered most of their faces, revealing only eyes beneath heavy brows. Long black hair flowed onto the slender shoulders of the woman on the left. The man, on the right, had brown shoulders and a scar connecting his unseeing eyes. Neither spoke.

  “They’re formidable,” Bramen said, “I’ll give you that. They’re from the Mavul Desert and belong to the Alqat caste.”

  “Legendary killers,” Yuna murmured. “But a good killer needs his sight, at least. The woman seems as if she could barely carry a heavy tray. I wouldn't even hire her as a servant in my palace. I don’t think they can do the job at the price they requested.”

  “I’ve heard stories,” Azuma murmured. “Stories about the Alqat that gave me nightmares when I was just a boy. If even half of them are true, they’re going to be formidable foes with . . . how do you say it? Special and unique qualities.”

  “Among which sight and strength clearly aren’t two of them.”

  Azuma shot her a hot glare, which she ignored.

  There wasn’t time for incompetence. Not at this stage. Isao had to die, or all their plans and work would be for naught.

  “Rumor says that behind that piece of cloth they hide demonic mouths. Or something worse,” Azuma drawled. “Would you like to find out?”

  Yuna sent him a heavy glare. “I don’t care what they’re hiding as long as they do the job. How do they work if they’re small and blind?” she asked. "Even Isao could defeat a woman so slender."

  Bramen waved a hand. The two assassins shifted, and the women directed her cold, glittering eyes at Yuna.

  She’d never met anyone as equally ruthless as her, but she could see some of her own relentless ability in this woman’s eyes. Perhaps the assassins had a little value.

  “Your target is Prince Isao,” Bramen said quietly, handing a familiar garment to the male assassin: Isao’s ceremonial robe worn during the wedding.

  The man pressed it to his nose, inhaling deeply. Once. Twice. He sniffed the length of the garment, then turned to his sister and nodded.

  The two of them backed away, hovering just near the door.

  “Fine. Give the job to them, Bramen,” Yuna said. “We’ll pay them what they want. If they don’t finish? Then they’ll wish for death as well.”

  Without another word, the assassins slipped out of the room, leaving nothing but a blanket of silence in their wake. Azuma tilted his head back and laughed maniacally, the sound expanding until it seemed to fill the whole room.

  "He's going to die," Azuma sang, his eyes glittering. "He’s going to fall apart. They're going to slaughter him and bring us his eyes as a gift."

  Hours later, a handful of guests with frightened, tear-stained faces stood before Yuna. She smiled at the owners with a weary but determined, expression.

  She pulled in a breath, thriving on it.

  "
You have our deepest promise," Yuna murmured to the guests gathered in the great hall of the Imperial palace. "Azuma, Bramen, and I will not rest until we can bring these traitorous murderers to responsibility. Let us all remember that we are strong together. If we work hard, we can defeat the Ameya clan."

  "We don't know who worked with the Ameyas!" someone called. "There could be traitors in our midst!"

  " I will find out, I promise you," Azuma promised. He kept one hand on his sword, sheathed at his side. His jaw was tense, his entire body rigid, as he stood next to her, exuding a brute strength.

  "We will demolish this plague, this evil," Yuna proclaimed. "We assure you that the Ameya will pay for what they have done." Her voice caught. She swallowed, blinking back tears. "They will not go free for murdering our beloved Emperor."

  Next to her, Azuma stiffened.

  "We support you, Yuna," said a man from the Mudra clan with eyes the color of coffee. Umber hair swept around his ears, dangled near his eyes. "We are grateful for your willingness to lead the Empire at this frightening time."

  "You have our trust and our blades."

  "We will fight."

  The murmured responses of those present, as predictable as sheep, sent power spiking through Yuna. She nodded in humble acceptance, thrilled to accept her new role. "I cannot tell you what it means to have your trust," she said, reaching out to hold the hand of an older, trembling woman from the Horalu clan. "We will conquer together."

  Giving their farewells, the group drifted toward the open doors. Most of the servants who had survived were worked feverishly in the background, carrying out the trunks and boxes of the guests, removing bodies from the courtyard, and carrying off any unclaimed corpses to the massive burial pit near the outer reaches of the city.

  Yuna and Azuma both remained immobile, standing like two pillars while the guests proceeded into the courtyard, where the surviving horses that would carry them back to their homes whinnied.

  Yuna pulled in a deep breath. "A reassuring morning," she murmured once she was certain no one could hear.