by Lance Wilson
“What is that sign?” Byrdi asks not sure it’s meaning
“It’s the symbol for the Kage Zaibatsu.” Simon says a hint of sorrow in his voice looking at the sign
“Zaibatsu?” Byrdi asks having never heard the clan name yet
“Old family businesses that own everything worth owning. The most powerful is the Kage Zaibatsu. That’s your friend, Kage.” Simon says now seeing the distain in Byrdi’s own eyes.
“They own all of this?” Byrdi says astounded that one could own a whole province.
“They do now.” Simon says and smiles at him. He has reached him, or rather the truth of all this has.
Byrdi nods and takes his leave of his friends and makes his way to the front of the railroad line. There he spots a line of severed heads on pikes, this is used as a symbol, a warning to those who continue to resist. He then pulls out his journal and pen. Then begins to write.
‘Today we entered Kansai Province. Here the local warlords have all been convinced to accept the emperor’s rule.’ he has to pause his writing as he comes upon a particularly wrenching sight. The villagers kneeling outside what used to be an eastern temple. The railroad tracks now cut straight through it leaving the two halves untouched but nothing left. To cut through a building built for the soul purpose of religion, he wonders what kind of men he has associated himself with. Shaking his head he bends his head back down and begins to write again. ‘Our destination is Yoshino, home of the rebel Bai Shi-zi. Protected by high mountain passes, it can be reached only during the summer months, and even then with great difficulty. The Army moves on. Ahead are towering mountains. A long march. And then a battle. A new enemy, but the same feeling I had in my guts at twenty-one, in the cornfield at Antietam—men will die here, today, and will I be among them?’
He finishes and tucks the book back where it belongs. He looks over his men. How many will make it through the pass, half, less, he cannot say he can only hope that this time the enemy is kind enough to finish him off as well. He’s done with all this.
It takes them only another day to reach the mountain pass. This times the army and its captains are sent forward before the railroad line. Fog. Obscures everything, Byrdi and Patroclus, are on horseback, waiting with Simon. General Yoshi and a few Salatar Commanders are mounted as well. The thousand strong Salatar Army is on foot they stand, rifles ready. Byrdi is getting that familiar feeling before every battle. He knows this is the calm before the storm, that when it hits it will hit like a tempest sent by god, and be over just as quickly as it started, and in the end only the crows will be happy, for they will feed on the dead.
“Ask him how they’ll come at us.” Byrdi whispers to Simon hoping Yoshi will know enough to perhaps turn the tide for there favor.
“They’ll come straight on. They will push forward and keep on attacking, and he adds that there is no Vulkoori word for “retreat.” Simon finishes his face as pale as a ghost, he is a priest, not a soldier, and he doesn’t belong here.
Byrdi prepares himself, they will come from the front, and he continually tells himself. A smile comes over him. There is no word for retreat, his smile widens. Finally, people who will make sure there job is done, he can die here, die here and join his fellow Hitori, join the fallen clan and forget that he was ever a slave to the Kainith elves after their conquering. Everyone waits in perfect silence. All are relaxed; it is Yoshi who is first to jump to a sudden alertness. He then whispers to Simon who takes a gulp and looks to Byrdi.
“He says they are coming” Simon says and looks around in fear.
Byrdi gazes into the thick fog ahead, see nothing. He does notices however that when Yoshi mentioned them that Patroclus began to look worried. Yoshi also notices Byrdi’s calm before the battle, this makes him smile. It is not often he gets to see another warrior of such peace; those who are often like this before a battle, calm and clear headed are often the ones to fear in the battle.
“Captain Byrdi, have you posted a rear guard to protect our supply train?” Patroclus says his voice a false calm.
“Yes.” Byrdi says almost irritated that he might think he would forget such a thing.
“Who is overseeing their deployment?” Patroclus says his voice quaking now.
“No one.” Byrdi says confused by the question, they will not need a commander in the rear, the fighting will happen here.
“Mr. Simon, you will accompany me to the rear. I want to be certain we are protected from any surprise assault.” Patroclus says and turns his horse in the direction of the rear.
“Yes. Of course.” Simon says grateful for the chance to get out of harms way.
Before Byrdi can respond, Patroclus leaves the front lines with Simon in tow. Bolvive watches as they head out of harm’s way and snarls, they are cowards; oh sure he can forgive Simon, Simon is not a fighting man and never should have been in the front. But Patroclus was there commander and should lead the men. Byrdi and Bolvive both hear Yoshi chuckle, they can tell that he wants to say something but without Simon he refrains since they wouldn’t understand him anyway.
“That son of a bitch.” Bolvive says his voice a growl like a hungry wolf.
“I’m going to kill him.” Byrdi says more then a simple threat, he means it, one day when he gets the chance he’s going to kill him.
Bolvive checks his two revolvers, these are weapons much like the rifles but shorter in stature and less damaging, they can be held in one hand and now have multiple chambers for multiple coins, less time to reload a coin. Byrdi watches as he goes on methodical clicking of the chambers as he checks his rounds. The area is silent and the clicking of the revolver is the only sound.
A light snow begins to fall and the silence begins to become almost unnerving. Byrdi continues to peer into the fog but there is nothing; he can see nothing, hear nothing, then a sound, distant as first but soon it begins to build. The steady rumble of horses, he can hear them slowly approaching, closer and closer. He can see that some of the Salatar soldiers are literally shaking in fear. Byrdi takes a deep breath and peers even harder into the fog. There is still nothing but the sound is closer then, like nothing, it stops. He can hear the other soldiers murmuring their prayers.
“Bolvive order the troops to assume staggered firing positions” Byrdi says calmly a leader has to be calm in this.
“Imperial Army, assume staggered firing positions.” Bolvive says calmly as well, he can tell by the steely coldness in Byrdi’s voice that this is something serious.
His order is quickly translated and the Salatar soldiers prepare to fire. One row kneeling and the other standing behind them. It is a strategy that Byrdi had seen the Kainith elves use with these new weapons and it seems to work. Byrdi watches as one of the Salatar soldiers faint from sheer tensions. Byrdi only chuckles he can understand, he has seen rookies do worse on their first battle.
Then a form appears through the fog, a ghostly figure on horseback like some sort of medieval monster. An elaborate horned helmet, sweeping Vulkoori armor make the form even more intimidating. All he can see is the eerie silhouette and nothing of the man. It is like something from a nightmare. But the nightmare is real and it continues as another appears, then another, and another. In almost no time he can see a hoard, easily 500 Vulkoori warriors slowly moving into position. The Salatar troops see this as well and it terrifies them. Many begin to murmur their prayers once more.
“Hold the line, hold the line” Bolvive quickly says to the troops calmly.
There is a terrible and beautiful moment of absolute stasis. Nothing moves, the Salatar soldiers wait, there fear gripping even tighter, the ghostly silhouettes wait, there presence like that of death itself. Nothing moves, all that can be heard is the breathing of the men, the breathing of the horses the silhouettes ride. Then like the flash of a storm it ends, the silence is split with the sounds of the Vulkoori war cry. Some
where a signal is given and the Vulkoori suddenly charge, emerging from the fog in a great wave, with all the force of a tsunami. The Vulkoori lash out with spear and sword Byrdi quickly give the order to fire the rifles. The Salatar troops fire then quickly begins to try and reload. Their single shot rifles. Others fumble when the order is given; giving in to fear they break and run. The battlefield becomes a place of panic and chaos.
“HOLD THE LINE” Byrdi shouts at all of them, they must not give into fear.
The order comes too late however and the Vulkoori are on them in seconds. The attack is one with intensity and ferocity that few have ever seen. Many of the Salatar soldiers try to escape, turning and running in a blind panic. But they are butchered run through and cut in half by Vulkoori spear wielding foot soldiers. The ferocious clouds of Vulkoori arrows, all fired by the mounted Vulkoori quickly mow down the soldiers that try to reload their rifles.
“Sound fall back, sound fall back” He shouts knowing that this was a bad idea and that the men are too new, too green. They would never stand a chance against a force like the Vulkoori.
The horn sounds the order and the army begins to retreat. But the Vulkoori will not allow this. A shout of the same war cry comes from behind them and Byrdi knows with absolution that they are surrounded. Their enemy has used the fog to control the way this battle would go. They were in position long before they even started. Byrdi quickly clears his head and begins to shout orders to the men, Bolvive is doing much the same but discipline is gone and the battlefield has fallen to the mentality that it is every man for himself. The battle swirls everywhere; fleeing soldiers are run through by spears or run down and trampled by horses. Each Vulkoori wears individual armor in vibrant colors, various flags of the Vulkoori, each with there own symbol moves through the battlefield.
Bolvive uses his revolvers, firing constantly until he is out of ammo, then in classic cavalry style he drops from his horse and pulls a repeating rifle, crouching and firing quickly. Byrdi however still refuses the new Kainith elf weapons and pulls a saber at his side.
He manages to parry the lethal blows as the Vulkoori hurtle past. But one Vulkoori, his armor all in black, comes at him on a collision course and slams right into him, sending both horse and rider to the ground. Byrdi scrambles to his feet, his saber nowhere to be found as another rider heads toward him carrying a lance. Byrdi manages to grab it and throw the rider to the ground, wrestling the lance from his grip and running him through.
In the midst of the battle we notice a peculiar thing. One Vulkoori is just sitting on his horse. Watching Byrdi. This Vulkoori wears a black mask. The masked Vulkoori watches Byrdi fight.
Byrdi now wields the lance to battle the horsemen as they sweep past. He spears one and then unseats another. When a third Vulkoori cuts his lance in half, Byrdi uses the remaining half as a club to take him down. The Masked Vulkoori continues to watch Byrdi. Byrdi’s tenacity is amazing. He continues to fight with heroic passion, refusing to give an inch, long after those around him have fled. Then a blaze of bright yellow, a Vulkoori in yellow armor galloping past, firing arrows steadily from horseback. His control and speed are astounding. The masked Vulkoori knows the armor; it is Yoritomo a handsome and younger Vulkoori. Yoritomo fires arrow upon arrow, the speed is breathtaking, then a second, both slam into Bolvive knocking him to the ground. Both were in the chest, it is a good assessment that he is dead.
The battle, meanwhile, has become a rout. Those Imperial soldiers who fight are easily cut down. Those who flee are run down like prey. Left alone, Byrdi finds himself confronted by Vulkoori foot soldiers carrying pikes. He turns to discover his retreat cut off by other Vulkoori wielding a single edge, slightly curved long swords But rather than give any quarter, Byrdi launches an attack. He kills one Vulkoori before he is run through, at the shoulder, by a lance. In agony, Byrdi snaps off the hilt of the lance, leaving its tip buried deep in his chest, and fights on. He manages to parry a blow, but the blow still catches him slightly and slices into his side. The next blow takes off a piece of his scalp. Blood flows down his faces and into his eyes. Ten Vulkoori now surrounds Byrdi. This mans heroic stand against certain death is of great interest to them. As they begin to close in, Byrdi whirls the lance around, a tattered battle-flag with Vulkoori Tiger insignia still dangling from the end.
The masked Vulkoori removes his mask. It is the Salatar man, whose dream of the tiger we glimpsed at the beginning of the story. His
Eyes wide in surprise, he watches his dream come to life, the blue-eyed tiger holding the dogs at bay. Everything seems to move in slow motion now as the masked Vulkoori watches it play out in front of him. Byrdi whirls the lance, as one Vulkoori, wearing blood red armor, advances. With a murderous smile, he draws his sword. Byrdi seems spent as he drops to one knee, swaying, on the brink of losing consciousness. But as the red Vulkoori, lets out a battle cry and propels himself forward for the death blow, Byrdi suddenly leaps up and propels the jagged wooden end of the broken lance into the unprotected throat of his attacker. As the Vulkoori falls, the rest of his comrades close in to cut Byrdi off. A harsh command stops them in their tracks. The Masked Vulkoori leaps from his horse. Everyone steps aside deferentially so that he might pass by without being jostled. He looks down at Byrdi, and then removes his battle helmet. It is Bai Shi-zi, the leader of the Vulkoori. He it an imposing man of about Byrdi’s years. Sensing that he is about to be killed, Byrdi pulls himself to his knees, and swings his saber at Bai Shi-zi. With blinding speed, Bai Shi-zi pulls his katana from its scabbard. Byrdi’s saber is snapped cleanly in two. Bai Shi-zi looks down at Byrdi. Bolvive appears behind Bai Shi-zi—limping toward him, cocking his rifle, urgently trying to save Byrdi. Ujio, the Vulkoori we saw earlier on the streets of Saddrith Mora, leaps to protect his Lord. His sword flashes and Bolvive is eviscerated. Byrdi watches in horror as Bolvive stands, pathetically trying to hold his guts in. Then he sinks to his knees. Bai Shi-zi turns, leaps back onto his horse and trots off.
Byrdi finally wrenches himself from under his horse. He crawls to Bolvive; blood pouring from his own injured back and shoulder. Tears pour down his cheek to see his old friend now dead. Byrdi looks up to see the battle is lost. The Salatar soldiers have fled, or are surrendering. He then sees one other thing that baffles him. General Yoshi is still on his horse, head down. He has not pulled his sword. He has not been hurt. Bai Shi-zi rides to Yoshi. A few serious words are exchanged. Bai Shi-zi bows his bead in respect, seems to agree to something. Both men climb from their horses. General Yoshi pulls out a small blade and hands it to Bai Shi-zi, who holds it out firmly. General Yoshi quickly and calmly pulls himself on to the blade, plunging it into his stomach, embracing Bai Shi-zi. It is seppuku, the traditional form of Vulkoori suicide. Byrdi watches, stunned. Then a terrible scream cuts through the battlefield. Byrdi sees Vulkoori calmly walking among the injured and captured Imperial soldiers. Killing them one by one with a single stroke. Byrdi looks over the slaughter, and then passes out, the blood loose from his wounds finally overcoming him. A Vulkoori soon stands over him ready to give him his deathblow. As the soldier raises his blade it is stopped as Bai Shi-zi shouts a fierce order. The Vulkoori looks confused at his general but knows better then to question his commander and only bows. He then moves on sparing Byrdi his death. When all is finished two of the Vulkoori pick up Byrdi and tie him to a horse.
With Byrdi, unconscious and tied to a horse. The mounted Vulkoori move up a treacherous mountain pass, disappearing into the soaring mountains of Yoshino. It does not take them long before they are at Bai Shi-zi’s village. Bai Shi-zi’s village is the other side to these mysterious islands. The side we have not yet seen. The gorgeous mountain scenery of Yoshino envelops the village. Snow-capped mountains soar in the distance. A valley below with rice fields. After the turmoil of Saddrith Mora, this place seems a bucolic paradise. Traditional, wooden Salatar architecture. Farming. The sense of harmony so remarkably abs
ent from the cities. Byrdi, barely conscious, hunches over his horse. He has lost a lot of blood. Bai Shi-zi leads his Vulkoori into the village. As he passes, every person in the village touches his or her forehead to the ground to show respect.
Most of these villagers have never seen a white face and gaze at Byrdi with curiosity. And suspicion. Bai Shi-zi dismounts in a large square, the rest of his men follow suit. A Vulkoori helps Byrdi painfully slide from his horse. Bai Shi-zi moves to the steps of the largest house. His officers fall into formation around him. Byrdi notes Ujio, the grim Vulkoori in jet-black armor who killed Bolvive, glaring at him coldly. Ujio walks forward and screams at Byrdi in Salatar. Byrdi doesn’t move. This only makes Ujio angrier. He paces back and forth like a caged panther spitting invective at Byrdi. Byrdi doesn’t move. He watches Ujio evenly. This takes incredible will, His wounds now so bad that he can barely stand. Suddenly Ujio draws his long sword, as it slashes through the air the blade sings, and stops less an inch away from Byrdi’s face. Byrdi doesn’t move. He has seen this kind of thing before; Ujio wishes him to flinch, to show fear, to show that he is better then this white devil. He won’t give him that pleasure. Ujio brings the cutting edge’ into contact with Byrdi’s check. Blood runs where even this feather-light touch cuts Byrdi’s skin. Byrdi doesn’t move. Ujio glares at him, then sheathes his sword and walks away.