by Travis Bughi
And he still hadn’t figured out how to bring down a single fortress.
Takeo sat in his tent in quiet shock, trying over and over to process the magnitude of Qadir’s plot. To set so many ninjas loose upon all of Takeo’s allies so soon, with so much coordination, should have been impossible. The cost alone should have been inconceivable. The only explanation was that Qing had been right; the ninjas did fear Takeo’s rise, so much so that they worked for a minimal fee, maybe even for free. And Qadir would have had little trouble convincing every daimyo under Nguyen rule to empty their coffers for this cause. It would have been a simple choice. It was either do this and maybe win, or don’t and surely die.
The more Takeo thought about it, the worse it got. Qadir’s plan and its ultimate success seemed inevitable. It should have been obvious. Of course, Takeo was the strongest on the battlefield, so it was wise to avoid him there. Takeo’s weakest point was on the political landscape, where his power ties were tenuous at best, or coerced at worst. Why had Takeo so willingly assumed that nothing would change while he was away, fighting this battle? Why had he believed, wholeheartedly, that the crippled, twice-beaten rakshasa would storm out to meet Takeo on the battlefield, head-to-head where the ronin had always prevailed?
Takeo lowered his head into his hands and dug his fingers into his skin, pushing until the pain numbed the shame of his idiocy.
Even then, he still couldn’t believe it. Death by inaction. To think that Takeo might have to turn and flea without winning so much as a single skirmish did more than baffle him. It ate at the fabric of his sanity.
“And if he’d killed me,” Takeo whispered to himself, shaking his head. “If those oni had turned on me and made me a corpse, he’d have taken all of Juatwa in a single stroke. No one would have stayed tied to Zhenzhen after I’d been killed. I made sure of that. Now here I am, about to be defeated, and what will that do? What a fool I am. I’ve dug my own grave. Didn’t I say this exact thing about Qadir once upon a time? That to beat the rakshasa, you can’t play their game. You have to kick the board over. He did that to me. I should have known I wasn’t the only one to figure that out.”
Takeo’s arm brushed the handle of his sword, shooting unwelcome fire upon the pity that welled within him. He ripped the sword free and flung it to the ground in front of him. As it rolled across the rug before coming to a stop, the metal let loose a dull thud, which was quite audible over the grave silence that permeated the camp outside.
One glance at it and he remembered. It seemed ages ago that he’d rejected Tokhta’s offer, between sitting at Kuniko’s side and then hearing message after message that his army would deteriorate before his very eyes. Yet now he remembered. His sword—his soul—for the Nguyen fortress.
“In an hour’s time,” the oni had promised.
Takeo swallowed down a dry throat.
Immediately he wanted to call for help. This wasn’t a decision he should make alone, yet who was available?
Gavin was gone. After hearing nothing about his family, the knight, fearing the worst, had less requested and more demanded to go home. Takeo had granted him permission, and Gavin had been gone for hours now.
Emy couldn’t be trusted, not by a long shot. Takeo had burned that bridge with ogre blood.
Nicholas was rarely helpful in times like these. He usually wallowed in his own worries and gave little thought to the long-term consequences of one’s actions. That’s how vikings lived and died, and they certainly didn’t take into account how an individual’s actions might affect an entire people.
Though annoying and oddly confused about the line between lust and love, Qing was calculating enough to give good advice, but she was too far away to be consulted in time.
Kuniko was unconscious, or otherwise in a state of fever-induced delirium.
And everyone else was dead.
“I,” Takeo stuttered, digging his nails deeper into his skull, “I can’t be considering this. I can’t.”
Yet he was. The Nguyen fortress for an enchanted sword and a loyal oni army. Qadir’s head, the oldest Nguyen brother’s head, and a crystal-clear message that nothing would stop him. Once Lord Oiu was the oldest living Nguyen, there would be no other leader left to follow. He’d take Zhenzhen’s hand in marriage, gain that lordly title, and then his word would be law. Anyone opposing him would be considered a rebel against their true lord, and Takeo could swiftly isolate and exterminate that person and their entire family. All their lands and wealth would be considered spoils of war, and Takeo would grant them to those who helped him quell the uprising—just as Lord Ichiro had done.
What ninja would dare disobey him then? A few captives might die, sure, but what would the daimyo do then? Oppose Takeo and lose more family? Not a chance, not once this war was over and Takeo could scour the land and cleanse any foolish ninja clans from existence. Then all in Juatwa—no, the world—would know that destiny had arrived.
But the cost. The implication. That had to be weighed.
Takeo would lose his sword, the one item that assured his continued life and tipped the scales in his favor. So long as he was armed and awake, assassination was unlikely and death on the battlefield neigh impossible. He could comfortably sit behind his promise to give command to any who could best him, and thus always attract the strongest warriors to his cause.
Then again, what was the point of having an enchanted sword that couldn’t deliver the victory Takeo needed? Even if Aiguo could sneak Takeo into the fortress, and Takeo did assassinate Qadir and the older Nguyen brother, what difference would that make in a week? At least two fortresses would still stand, and the other brothers would be unreachable.
But working with oni? Submitting to oni? It was submission, Takeo knew. Their insistence that he would be their lord was only binding in this life. What came next, he had no idea or any indication that he should care. However, that did not stop him from understanding that he would be trading infinite servitude for temporary power. Everything in his gut told him only a fool would accept such an arrangement. Yet hadn’t he done so already? Wasn’t his soul bargained to another? And what good was his soul, anyway? So tainted and poisoned and broken. He hated his soul, his whole being, and all the failures that his existence had wrought. His life was nothing but pain, and it would continue to be so, for all eternity. That was the entire point of his goal, so that no one else would have to live the life that had been forced upon him.
So, what was one more contract on such a useless thing in exchange for everything else?
However, Takeo would lose more than his soul. He’d lose Gavin for sure, and Nicholas, too. And they wouldn’t just abandon him like they planned to, no. Gavin would outright oppose him again. No knight with a heart like Gavin’s would stand by while a lord of demons waged war on the world, but what choice did Takeo have?
He could wait, as Aiguo had implied. He could retreat to the south, reassemble what forces he had, and lash out. Another shogun might rear his head. Oiu might reconsider his position. A thousand things could happen, really, and for all Takeo knew, it could be a decade or more before he won—if we won. Because with defeat, so came the loss in reputation, and that was all Takeo had going for him. He’d be forced to marry Zhenzhen then, not to reign victorious, but just to stay in the game. Worse, he wouldn’t be able to kill her as he intended. He’d have to stay with her, bed her, listen to her, and give her more time than Emily had ever gotten from him.
And what would he say then? That he gave up his chance at victory, at peace, at a unity worthy of Emily’s memory, and for what? For the reluctant tolerance of an ex-knight and a wayward viking? For a fancy sword that kept him alive just one day longer? For a forced marriage to his rapist?
And in the end, Qadir would go on living while all those who died would have done so for nothing. All who were lost would count for nothing because the ronin had turned into a coward at the last moment.
They would say that he could not do what needed to be done.
Takeo’s hands steadied. He retracted his nails from his skin and looked at his sword, lying inert before him. Calm, cold confidence washed over him, and he knew what he had to do—what he would do.
He grabbed the blade, sheathed it, and left the tent.
Chapter 14
Takeo walked rather than rode back to the trees. He went alone, needing nothing more than a short command to keep his temporary guards stationed at the camp’s edge. He did not fear an ambush, or that is to say, he didn’t fear dying in one. His spirits were so low that he thought death at the hands of a dozen oni would be a welcome sight. After all, what choice would he have? If the oni had changed their minds at the last second, then Takeo was hopeless, and he’d rather die to assassination than live in the shame of defeat. Perhaps he’d be remembered as a martyr rather than a pretender.
He didn’t mind going in broad daylight with the warm afternoon sun beating down on him. Doubtless his lone venture would attract attention, but so what? There was nothing secret between him and Qadir any longer. The rakshasa had played his hand, and it would be clear to the beast’s clever mind that Aiguo had turned traitor, what with the ronin still alive.
Takeo didn’t even mind going alone. Gavin had gone off to find his family. Nicholas and the Pranav boy couldn’t be found soon enough. Aiguo was gone, or unable to be found, but that didn’t surprise Takeo, nor did he care. Aiguo and his forgetful face would always be a pain to locate unless he wanted to be found. Perhaps he’d gone back to Qadir to grovel for forgiveness? That wouldn’t change Takeo’s situation. He hadn’t even bothered to check on Emy before he left.
Takeo just didn’t care anymore.
All those people and all their stupid, distracting lives would cease to matter very, very soon. Takeo would put his future in oni hands. It would be like trying to stab an enemy by holding a knife by the blade.
“There’s no going back from this,” he whispered to himself, feeling his heartbeat slow as he paced through the tall grass. “Not for anyone.”
Takeo entered the treeline, and there his eyes caught flashes of red among the brown-green flora. Tokhta was sitting among the woods, and as the wind’s strength broke against the trees, the oni’s heavy breathing could be heard. Takeo paced to the creature, his feet snapping dead twigs as he walked.
“Well then,” Tokhta murmured, eyes closed and trunk-like arms folded across his massive chest. “That was fast. I didn't expect you back until tomorrow, or perhaps the day after.”
Takeo took in the oni with a new perspective. He’d always examined them as one would an enemy, or a pest, looking for weaknesses and faults. Now he looked at Tokhta as a general would look at a soldier, measuring capability.
In many ways, oni could come off as large, red ogres, just as ogres could be seen as large, purple vikings. While Krunk had been a head or two taller than Nicholas, Tokhta had been a head or two taller than Krunk. And with that increased height came increased mass, for oni were bulky and wide, insinuating a strength that either rivaled or surpassed that of a minotaur. Horns protruding from their head, jagged teeth and canines, and hands that ended in red claws helped complete their look as some strange predator caught between an animal and humanoid form.
As to what they could do with this form, Takeo was all too familiar.
Although they appeared lazy and slow, oni were capable of great bursts of speed. Wielding those massive kanabo clubs, an oni had an effective reach in combat unlike any other opponent Takeo had faced besides a hydra. Being immortal, they were absurdly hard to kill, and even then, that was only temporary. An oni wasn’t killed, per se, only banished until it could find a way back from whatever plane of existence it spawned from.
Takeo had seen an oni take an arrow in the neck and walk away. He’d seen one take a hammer blow to the skull and be nothing more than annoyed. He’d seen them kill a dozen men with one swing, ram a komainu to the ground, and a half dozen other feats unthinkable for anything but these anointed effigies of brutality.
To see the havoc a couple dozen of them could do as a concentrated force? As a human, Takeo feared to see it. As a general, he longed for it.
“Qadir’s attack was more coordinated than I ever could have imagined,” Takeo replied. “His planning was so meticulous that each attack carried out across the land was done so at just the right time for every message to find me on the same day. Qadir made sure that I’d have no time to counter any of his plans, and he also made sure I felt the weight of every attack all at once. But it wasn’t just me he was after. This will shatter the army’s morale. If you’d carried out your part of the deal and killed me, the entire Hanu force would have disintegrated overnight when the remaining generals received those messages.
“Even if I mounted one final assault on the fortress, my men would be so distraught that I don’t doubt all but the strongest would break and run, assuming they didn’t desert before the fight. Afterwards, the sheer cost would be so substantial that I’d lose the war, despite reigning victorious over the fortresses—if I won at all.”
“Ah, the fragility of the human body and spirit. And you think akki are unreliable.”
“They are,” Takeo bit back. “Don’t compare my kind to those things. At least humans only give up when they have good reason.”
“Like you’re doing now?”
Takeo balked and his next words caught in his throat. Tokhta’s lips twisted up in a smile, spilling out jagged teeth the length of Takeo’s forearm.
“Before we begin,” the oni continued, “I’d be curious to know what broke you. You were so vehemently opposed to my offer, yet you seem so defeated now. I can’t help but feel there’s more to this than Qadir’s plan. I’ve seen you defeated before, Takeo, seen your anger and resourcefulness in those desolate times. The cloud of failure that hangs over you now is new. It looks self-imposed.”
Takeo didn’t have the strength to fight that observation. He hung his head and let his shoulders droop just a hair lower. His insides felt hollowed out, a great void consuming his heart and mind in the vain attempt to block out the pain. Not a shred of happiness could be found in this moment.
“It hurts you, doesn’t it?” Tokhta said with his smile. “To ask for help? To admit that you can’t do it alone? I’ve noticed you aren’t used to bargaining. It’s either serve or be served in your mind. If you are given an order by a superior, you obey without question, and when you lead, you expect the same. Bartering doesn’t suit you. You’ll make a great emperor.”
The praise hurt more than any insult could. To hear an oni vouch for him drove a spike into Takeo’s mind, and his head bowed low with the weight of his shame. When next he spoke, it was as much to himself as it was to Tokhta.
“Some men can’t avoid destiny,” he said. “The course of their entire lives is determined before they’re born, and the only way out is to die. That’s what Nobu did. Unfortunately, I’m not that strong.
“You see, I could give up. It would be so easy. I have no lands that would be burned upon my defeat or family that would be put to the sword to end my lineage. If I left Juatwa, it’s unlikely anyone would follow me. Admittedly, a number of peasants and soldiers would be disappointed in the decision, but what of it? They’ll have long forgotten about me by this time next year, assuming another war or famine doesn’t strike first. Even my friends, those closest to me, would be relieved to see me put this all aside.
“Yet I can’t do it. If I do that, then everyone died for nothing. Emily died for nothing. And people will continue to die for nothing. This war will end, sure, but another will take its place. Then the suffering will never stop, and I can’t let that happen.
“Before I strangled Lord Yoshida in front of Nobu’s corpse, he asked me why I did this to myself. Why place so much burden on my shoulders? Who made me the chosen one? I never replied, but I know the answer now: I did.”
Takeo raised his head and drew his sword. He held it in both hands, vertically an inch from his nose, an
d closed his eyes. The flames spread through his skin and into his veins, filling his body with power and raw energy. So much potential, so much might—just not enough.
Useless, he thought, and cast it to the ground.
His body went cold as ash.
“Let’s get this over with,” Takeo said. “I want command of the oni, all of them, without question. I want the Nguyen fortress crushed in humiliating defeat. You want my soul. Take it. I never liked that jinni anyway.”
“This will be the deal, yes.”
“So, what do you need? My word?”
Tokhta breathed deep.
“The bond requires a bit more than that,” he replied. “You may have cast your sword down too early. It must be covered in your blood, given willingly.”
“Well that won’t work,” Takeo said. “That blade won’t cut me.”
“Truly?” Tokhta said, cocking an eyebrow.
“Yes. I’m not sure if that was the jinni’s intention or an unintended side effect. Who knows, perhaps it was protection against just this sort of deal? But not to worry, I still bleed.”
Takeo drew a dagger and ran the blade through the palm of his left hand, eyes fluttering through the pain. Then he held his hand out and squeezed until red droplets were wrung out, dripping onto the Karaoshi sword with quiet splatters. Unlike all other blood that touched this sword, his did not burn when it touched the blade.
“That will do,” Tokhta said.
Takeo drew his hand back and released the pressure. The thin wound did not stop bleeding, but the flow slowed. He pressed it to his clothes. In silence, following the oni’s lead, the two of them waited.
Takeo wasn’t sure what was going to happen next, until his feet started to tingle. But then the feeling intensified, and he realized it wasn’t him. The ground shook, growing in strength. The sensation grew rapidly until the trees rumbled and the wood cracked. Takeo had to widen his stance to keep from falling over. He resisted backing away only because he couldn’t identify the source. Tokhta stood firm as always, ignoring how the entire world was thundering until the ground split.