Truancy

by Isamu Fukui

  “What are you doing, Umasi? You swore you would never kill anyone,” he muttered aloud, his words instantly lost to the rain.

  But if you don’t, how many others will die?

  “I survived my ordeal two years ago without becoming a murderer. Why start now?”

  Because only you can undo your own work.

  Umasi frowned. He had always regarded Edward as his greatest mistake, his most dangerous student. Umasi had been naïve when he had met the boy. He had ignored all the signs of ruthlessness, greed, and malevolence, only appreciating how brilliant Edward was. Umasi had been eager to teach, and Edward had been eager to learn, and so Umasi had unwittingly placed powerful weapons, originally intended for good, into dangerous hands. And now his mistakes were claiming lives, returning to punish him for his errors.

  Umasi pushed his legs to run faster, and felt his muscles start to burn even as his flesh was chilled by the unrelenting rain. Every death suffered at the hands of Edward would rest on Umasi’s conscience, when only Edward’s death should have. Edward had attacked him, the day that he left. Edward had learned all he needed, and coveting sole possession of that knowledge, he had tried to kill his mentor. Killing had never come easy for Umasi, and so he had spared Edward, content to believe that he would never see his monstrous pupil again. That day Umasi should have seen what Edward was. Umasi could have ended it then, he should have ended it then … but he didn’t.

  He had never been able to bring himself to kill.

  “But this time, I’ll set things right,” Umasi promised, with only the rain to witness his vow.

  As the sound of gunshots suddenly became audible over the relentless rain, Umasi clenched his fists, his knuckles growing white from gripping his sword so tightly. Raising his head up to the sky, he smiled ruefully at what he knew would come next, and all the while the rain continued to cascade down onto his face.

  * * *

  “Send two teams of six to either side. Use the parked cars as cover—seek to flank them at all costs,” Edward ordered, his brow creased in frustration. “Update me in case of any significant developments—otherwise I’m not to be disturbed.”

  His lieutenant, a boy whose badge declared that he’d been recruited from the eighth grade, nodded and left, his eyes wide in shock at all that had happened. Edward wasn’t exactly sure what the boy’s name was—he’d been called in only an hour ago to replace Edward’s old lieutenant, who had been, most tragically, shot as he tried to meet the Truants head-on.

  Edward shook his head and locked the door behind the boy. Right now Edward needed privacy to think. He’d have plenty of time to learn names later—at the moment there was a battle that wasn’t going to win itself. As a matter of fact, so far it was going against them. His Student Militiamen had been operating out of one of the Truancy’s abandoned warehouses when they’d been attacked without warning. So far the assault had only come from one direction, which happened to be the front. Edward honestly hadn’t been expecting such a crude attack from someone as crafty as Zyid was reputed to be. Edward had wondered idly if Zyid himself would show up to challenge him.

  Edward’s basic training programs had managed to produce a good number of Student Militiamen in a short period of time, sixty-seven of whom were under his direct command at the warehouse. However, the Truants were far more formidable than his inexperienced and hastily trained Militia—the previous day’s encounter at the library had convinced him of that—and their simple tactic was proving effective. They were throwing explosives, bullets, and lives at Edward like expendable ammunition. Edward had called for Educator reinforcements, but was sardonically informed that they had their own hands full and that he was a big boy who could take care of himself. Edward had vowed that the officer he’d talked to would pay when he ascended to the City Council.

  That had been a while ago, and now even Edward’s steady confidence was wavering as he looked over the list of casualties. So far seventeen had been killed or incapacitated, which was actually quite outstanding considering what they were up against. Still, seventeen losses were seventeen too many—morale was plummeting, and he only had fifty more lives to spend.

  Fifty-one, including my own.

  Edward brushed that thought aside. This battle was far from lost—indeed, he was certain that he could win it. He would survive this, help the Educators wipe out the rest of the Truants, and assume his rightful position among the leadership of the City. His current strategy was a sound one—if he could hit the attacking Truants from all sides, it would make his soldiers’ numbers appear larger than they were, and force the attackers to divert their attention while he prepared a more permanent solution. The Truancy warehouse still had stocks of various flammable liquids, and if he could figure out a way to safely deliver them to the Truancy lines, they could wreck havoc on the Truants that had barricaded themselves right in the middle of the street, rain notwithstanding.

  Edward took a deep, calming breath, and ran his fingers through his blond hair absentmindedly. This was manageable. It was difficult, no question, but Edward’s life had hardly been easy. Even with that comforting thought in mind, Edward shivered despite himself—something he quickly attributed to the cold draft that had made its way into the room. Rising to his feet, Edward was about to go examine some of the explosives when he heard something over the steady sound of rain.

  Edward paused. It sounded like footsteps, echoing throughout the walled-off portion of the warehouse that he’d claimed as his own. He spun around, peering into the gloom that masked the stacked crates and other paraphernalia. Edward grinned; if someone was snooping around, they’d certainly picked the wrong guy to disturb.

  What Edward heard next made his blood run cold.

  “I see you’ve come a long way, Ed.”

  The voice struck Edward like a lightning bolt. Shaking slightly, Edward found that he couldn’t move—the shock of hearing that voice that he’d all but forgotten simply overwhelmed him. Slowly, he found that control of his jaws returned to him.

  “M-Mr. Umasi?” He didn’t dare turn towards the sound of the other boy’s voice, afraid of his fears being confirmed.

  “Such formality, Edward!” The voice chuckled coldly. “And I thought we were friends. Please, plain ‘Umasi’ will do fine.”

  Edward felt some more of his shock wearing off. Turning abruptly, he faced his old mentor and shuddered despite himself. Umasi was just like he’d remembered, albeit completely soaked—plain khaki jeans, beige vest, mushroom-style haircut, and that pair of enigmatic sunglasses that argued against its owner having a soul. Edward’s former mentor leaned against a large wooden crate, arms crossed, completely relaxed, managing to look somehow majestic despite being dripping wet. Edward also noted that he carried a suspiciously white sword at his side. Ceramic, Edward realized. Just like the ones the Truancy was using.

  “You don’t look pleased to see me,” Umasi observed, not stirring an inch. “But me, on the other hand, I’m very glad to see you.”

  Edward ignored the cryptic statement.

  “How did you get in here?” Edward demanded, his voice quivering.

  Umasi’s lips curled into the vaguest of smiles.

  “I know you, Edward. You always considered yourself above others, so I knew you wouldn’t be fighting alongside those you lead. Even when battling to make an example, you’d take any excuse to work alone. Secure in your headquarters, you would choose a private space to work in, like this one.”

  Umasi looked around casually. “There was an old broken window in the back—surely you’ve noticed the draft in here? Scaling the exterior wall wasn’t particularly difficult, especially with your woefully unprepared militia focusing all of their attention elsewhere.”

  Edward managed a confident sneer, though inside he was churning with panic at his oversight. He had never dreamed that this particular ghost of his past would come out of hiding just to hunt him down. It was actually an honor, in a way, that Umasi had gone to such lengths
to find him. After all, the dripping sword at Umasi’s side could only mean one thing.…

  “You’ve joined up with the Truancy to take me down, eh?” Edward asked.

  Umasi regarded him coldly for a moment before responding.

  “No, Edward. I know what you want to hear, and you won’t hear it,” Umasi said slowly. “You’d gain a lot of self-satisfaction, I think, were I to confess that I allied with the Truancy because of you—that I’d considered you a threat.”

  “What? Are you saying that you don’t?” Edward shouted, anger replacing any traces of shock.

  “Yes, that’s exactly right.” Umasi smirked. “I’m not going to eliminate a threat—I am merely going to settle a grudge. You see, you rather offended me the day we parted ways. That was a mistake, and one that you repeated when you turned my methods towards the murder of other children for greedy, selfish reasons.”

  Umasi unfolded his arms, holding the sword steadily in his right hand.

  “I’m not here to kill you, Edward, not right away, at least,” Umasi declared, taking a confident step forward.

  “Is that right?” Edward demanded, taking a cautious step backwards. “You say that you don’t see me as a threat, but you will!”

  Edward grabbed the pistol from his desk and pointed it at Umasi. Umasi regarded the weapon carefully, and halted before speaking.

  “Before you die, Edward, I’ll have to humble you.”

  Umasi suddenly lunged, and Edward instinctively fired. The bullet buried itself firmly in the warehouse floor, as Umasi had, with almost inhuman agility, feinted to Edward’s left, landing as a blur behind some crates.

  “Hiding again, Umasi?” Edward laughed.

  “When your opponent is overly aggressive, your best offense is a good defense,” Umasi recited one of his old aphorisms.

  “Your silly words won’t save you, Umasi, not from bullets!” Edward shouted as he leaped, rolled, and brought himself into a crouch, aiming behind the crates where Umasi had been hiding just moments ago.

  “Do not seek out an elusive opponent—let him reveal himself to you,” Umasi suggested, his voice this time coming from far to the right.

  Edward growled and pointed his gun towards the source of the noise. He hadn’t noticed any sign of Umasi moving, but there was a clear trail of water that seemed to be leading right behind his own desk. Edward’s observations were not unanticipated; a second later, Umasi swiftly leaped and, with greater speed and grace, executed the same roll Edward had performed a moment ago, coming to a rest behind another crate as Edward fired and, predictably, missed.

  “You can’t keep this up forever.” Edward forced a laugh.

  This time Umasi’s response was different. Edward’s letter opener—which resembled half of a pointed scissor and had been thoughtlessly left on his desk—flew through the air, burying itself in Edward’s shoulder before he realized what was happening. For a moment Edward stared in disbelief at his right shoulder, and then he let out a roar of pain and outrage as he plucked the letter opener and cast it aside.

  “Nothing hurts a foe more than his own devices,” Umasi declared, smugness creeping into his voice.

  Edward tore off a strip of his shirt and applied a makeshift bandage onto the bleeding wound. Reckless fury taking a-hold of him, he charged at the crate Umasi was hidden behind like a truck bearing down on roadkill.

  Umasi, however, leaped on top of the crate and snapped a powerful kick to the charging Edward’s injured shoulder. Edward let out a scream of pain as his arm jerked to the right, and his third shot missed Umasi. Before Edward could recover, Umasi drew his sword back, then plunged it neatly into Edward’s uninjured shoulder. Another scream of agony echoed throughout the room, and Edward’s soldiers, finally realizing that something was wrong, began pounding at the locked door.

  “We don’t have much time, Edward,” Umasi said softly as he dropped behind Edward and deftly twisted his right hand to break his wrist. Edward screamed as the gun he had held fell to the floor.

  “Screw you!” Edward shouted, attempting to head butt Umasi, who easily dodged.

  “Language, Ed,” Umasi admonished as he grabbed hold of Edward and swept his legs out from under him.

  The banging and shouting at the door increased in intensity as Umasi applied a judiciously calculated kick to Edward’s groin, which produced an expected shriek. Bleeding from both shoulders and clutching his privates with his one good hand, Edward still managed a look of pure hatred as he glared at Umasi.

  “Are you going to kill me already, or do you have something else to prove?” Edward hissed.

  “I never had anything to prove, certainly not to you, at any rate,” Umasi said lightly, wiping his sword on Edward’s pants.

  “Then why come here without a gun?” Edward gasped as Umasi placed a dripping foot on Edward’s chest, applying just enough pressure to cause discomfort.

  “Like I said earlier, Edward,” Umasi mused. “I came here to humble you.”

  “Well, then you’ve succeeded; is that what you wanted to hear?” Edward spit. “Now kill me, or leave me alone!”

  “I’ll do the former, of course,” Umasi said quietly, causing Edward’s eyes to widen in genuine fear. “It’ll be quick. And probably less painful than this little encounter proved to be.”

  “No, wait…,” Edward protested feebly.

  “Yes?” Umasi inquired, shooting a glance at the door, which now seemed to be in danger of collapsing at any moment.

  “I … there’s so much … left for me to do,” Edward sputtered.

  “You must die so that others may live,” Umasi explained quietly.

  “I don’t want to die at the hands of a pacifist!” Edward hissed, some of his old venom seeping into his voice again.

  “I’m not your killer.” Umasi shook his head. “Remember, I once told you. Unbridled ambition leads to self-destruction.”

  “You’re giving me a headache,” Edward protested.

  “Then it’s time for me to put you out of your misery.” Umasi sighed. “Beforehand, I’d like to apologize. I always deplore ending lives, and yours is no exception.”

  Umasi removed his foot from Edward’s chest and brought him to his knees, grabbing his blond hair to bend his head forward.

  “There are other ways of curing a headache.” Edward gritted his teeth as he closed his eyes, awaiting the inevitable.

  “If something harmful is attached to you…” Umasi raised his sword.

  “… sever it,” Edward finished breathlessly.

  Umasi brought his sword down in one quick stroke, striking Edward’s neck at a joint. Edward’s head rolled across the floor, utterly lifeless. Blood splattered Umasi’s drenched clothes as he stood there, contemplating the magnitude of what he had done, of the life he had taken. Killing had never come easy for him. And yet kill he had. As water dripped down from his clothes and mingled with Edward’s blood, the pounding at the door brought him back to his senses.

  “You wouldn’t want anyone to see you like this,” Umasi murmured, swiftly taking a sheet from a corner of the room and draping it over Edward’s body. He glanced around the room, and his eyes fell upon a container of gasoline the Truancy had left behind. Moving quickly, Umasi seized the container and poured all of its contents over Edward’s covered body.

  Producing a lighter from his pocket, Umasi hung his head in a moment of briefest mourning, speaking only one word.

  “Farewell.”

  The lighter clicked on, and dropped onto the drenched sheet. Flames leaped up instantly, and Umasi turned away, telling himself that he had done the right thing. Knowing it was too late for second-guessing, and determined to save as many lives as he could, Umasi steeled himself for what would come next.

  Walking over to the door, Umasi flung it open and came face-to-face with a group of frightened Student Militia members. Some peered over his shoulder, staring at the fire, searching for their leader, though most simply stared at the soggy stranger before
them.

  “Edward is dead,” Umasi said wearily. “There is no longer any reason for you to be here. You can run home, you can join the Truancy, or you can stay and die. If you go outside now with your hands up, I’m sure that the Truancy will welcome you with open arms. If you flee, you might be able to hide with your family until this is all over. Either way, no other child needs to die tonight at the hands of another.”

  Umasi’s fellow children continued to stare at him, though none of them went for their weapons. He hadn’t expected them to, though he couldn’t help but feel slightly relieved nonetheless.

  “Go,” he ordered, this time adding a note of urgency to his voice. “Get out of here.”

  Snapping out of their stupor, the small crowd that had gathered outside the door began to disperse as the children ran to let their fellows know what was happening. Half an hour later, they had all safely left the warehouse, which had by then become a massive funeral pyre, with angry flames stabbing upwards into the night, defying the rain as a plume of smoke rose to join the clouds in the sky.

  Eventually, most that were present at that battle would come to forget the brilliant boy entombed in the smoldering wreckage. But for Umasi, the mistake known as Edward would always haunt his conscience. He had accepted this as a consequence at the same time he’d accepted the sword from Zyid, and now that his grim task was done, Umasi returned to his quiet stand, where he mixed for himself a particularly sour glass of lemonade.

  He drank unflinchingly, and there, alone in the darkness and the rain, he cried for the first time in years.

  Killing hadn’t come easy for him. And it never would.

  25

  NO REGRETS

  The morning after the battle with the Student Militia found much of the Truancy overcome by giddy disbelief. Few had dreamed that things could have possibly turned out as well as they had, and their greatest enemy seemingly vanishing in a fire that defied logical explanation seemed nothing short of miraculous. Truants who had been in the battle returned to the hideout to relate increasingly fantastical stories of how the Student Militia’s headquarters had spontaneously burst into flame, killing Edward and forcing the students to surrender. Explanations for the phenomenon had grown steadily wilder, to the point where it was suggested that the warehouse had been crisped by a series of righteous lightning bolts. No matter what they believed, however, one persistent and unanswered question rose to the forefront of the mind of every Truant.