by Isamu Fukui
“Why?” Tack demanded as a few more silhouettes dropped to the ground.
“I didn’t think that it would come to this,” Zyid said quietly. “And in any case, when the sun rises, I think it will reveal that the Educators are no longer in control of this City. The Truancy will be in a position to take over.”
“Is that all you care about?” Tack snarled. “At this rate, there won’t be anything to take over.”
“I’m not infallible,” Zyid said.
“You’re supposed to be a leader!” Tack shouted over a burst of fresh screams.
“You don’t know what it’s like to lead, do you, Tack?” Zyid said, suddenly sounding angry. “Do you think I can just wave my hand and make things happen the way I want?”
“No, but you sure as hell waved your hand and sent people who believed in you off to die, destroying the very thing they’re trying to save!” Tack shouted.
“And could you have done better?” Zyid challenged.
“I probably could have!” Tack roared. “You’ve been a complete failure!”
Without warning, Zyid drew his sword to slash at Tack. Tack swiftly leaped backwards, snarling furiously as he drew his own sword, his face a mask of outrage.
“Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I am unfit to lead the Truancy,” Zyid said in a deadly voice as he advanced upon Tack. “The thought has often occurred to me before.
“To tell you the truth, Tack…” Zyid thrust his sword at Tack’s head, forcing him to leap aside.
“… this has all become tiring for me.…” Zyid swept his sword sideways at Tack before he could recover. “… It’s almost as if leading drains the very life from me…,” Zyid said as Tack ducked low to avoid the attack.
“… If you want to shoulder my burden…” Zyid slashed downwards at Tack, who skillfully parried the blow.
“… if you can do better at leadership…”
Tack leaped to his feet and cautiously backed up into the street.
“… then come and take it from me!” Zyid shouted.
Zyid lunged at Tack with such ferocity that Tack stumbled backwards. Zyid’s sword clipped a button off the front of his uniform. Zyid aimed slash after slash at Tack, forcing him farther backwards into the street. Tack attempted to parry only once, and the sheer force of Zyid’s attack shook his sword so hard that his hands ached. Tack had never before seen Zyid as wild as he was then, lit by the distant flames. Strands of hair from the Truancy leader’s ponytail had come loose. His nostrils were flared and his eyes were wide and bloodshot. But while his blows were monstrously strong, Zyid no longer moved with his customary grace and accuracy, but with all the elegance and refinement of a tank.
He’ll wear himself out in no time at this rate, Tack realized as Zyid’s sword swept past an inch from his face, clipping strands of brown hair. He’s serious. He wants to die.
Fresh gunshots rang out, and Tack looked down to see that bullets had struck the asphalt that they now stood upon. That moment of distraction was enough for Zyid, who struck with every bit of force he possessed. With no time to dodge, Tack raised his sword to block the blow, bracing himself. The force of the attack slammed Tack’s blade aside completely. Before Zyid could take advantage of the opening, Tack turned and sprinted towards the park, bullets nipping at his heels.
But if he wanted to die, Tack wondered as Zyid pursued him through the open gates to the park, then why didn’t he just let me shoot him down?
He must have a purpose, Tack decided, leaping over a low fence to run across a sea of short, wavy green tendrils, with the gentle glow of the nearest street lamp reflecting off their lush surface. But what?
And then a strange, dark suspicion took root inside Tack’s gut. Spinning around suddenly, Tack swung his sword at the pursuing shadow. Zyid halted just in time, the sleeves of his windbreaker billowing forward as he eyed Tack warily.
“You planned this all along,” Tack said.
Silence. No trace of anger or madness now remained on Zyid’s face. Instead, the soft light of the lamp revealed something that looked oddly like pride.
“You wanted me to take your place all along,” Tack said, now understanding why Zyid had kept him close all that time. “You planned this.”
“Very good, Tack,” Zyid said. “You have an intuition befitting a leader.”
“You bastard,” Tack snarled. “If you wanted to quit so bad, why did you drag me into this?”
“You dragged yourself into this, Tack,” Zyid said. “You want to kill me. What do you think will happen if you succeed? The Truancy will find itself leaderless, and will look naturally to my second in command for guidance.”
“Which was Noni, until you made me it!” Tack shouted.
“Would you really wish that upon Noni?” Zyid asked quietly.
Tack scowled. Zyid knew his weaknesses.
“No,” Tack said grudgingly. “I wouldn’t.”
“I wouldn’t either,” Zyid said. “I love the Truancy, Tack, as I know that you do as well. If through my own death I might escape and leave behind an able replacement, free from blinding hatred, then so be it.”
“Don’t try acting noble,” Tack snapped. “You just want out. You’re being selfish.”
“That’s one way to look at it, Tack,” Zyid agreed. “But you must admit that even if that were wholly true, I’ve played my cards well.”
“What do you mean?” Tack demanded cautiously.
“There are three ways you can go from here,” Zyid explained quietly. “You might die at my hands, and your death will be the latest to rest on my conscience. You might kill me, and abandon the Truancy to whatever fate awaits it. Or, if you care about the Truancy—which you do—you will kill me and lead the Truancy to victory.”
Tack would not have been so infuriated if Zyid had been wrong, but try as he might, he couldn’t discover any fourth option. It was unspeakably frustrating, to be in the power of one he hated, even as he was poised to kill him.
“Is it really that bad?” Tack asked quietly.
“Come and find out,” Zyid suggested, slinging his sword over his shoulder.
Tack looked up at the sky, and saw with some trepidation that the darkness was beginning to lift. The pure, infinite blackness that had seemed to reach down to choke the City itself was giving way to a twilit midnight blue, rendering the skies distant and unthreatening once more. Bringing his eyes back down to Zyid, Tack gripped his sword tighter than he ever had before, and then held it evenly in front of him. For a brief moment, both Truants were completely still, motionless silhouettes against the omnipresent light of the street lamp.
And then, as one, they lunged. His windbreaker billowing behind him, Zyid arced his sword at Tack’s neck. Tack swung his blade up to meet the attack, and both swords crashed together only to be knocked apart by the force of the impact. A moment later, Zyid and Tack slammed into each other and fell to the ground, both of their swords but none of their momentum having been deflected. Neither Truant was willing to show any sign of weariness or injury, and both of them were back on their feet in an instant.
Tack struck first, swinging his sword diagonally at Zyid’s chest. Zyid parried the blow neatly, then lashed out with his hand to grasp Tack’s shoulder, shoving him sideways and off-balance. Tack swiftly recovered and ducked to avoid a slash aimed at his head, then backed up to evade a subsequent thrust. Feeling his back press up against something, Tack looked up to realize that they were now directly under the boughs of a tree. Zyid slashed at Tack again, but Tack quickly flipped himself around to the other side of the tree trunk, and felt a certain amount of satisfaction as he heard Zyid’s sword bite into the wood. As Zyid withdrew his blade from the tree and rounded the trunk to get at Tack, Tack slashed upwards, severing a branch right above Zyid’s head.
As Zyid ducked to avoid the falling branch, Tack quickly grasped a sturdier one and hoisted himself up to stand atop it. Zyid came at him again, aiming at his legs. Tack knocked Zyid’s sword aside with
his own, then slashed upwards again, slicing through more branches and leaves. Prepared this time, Zyid leaped forward to dodge the falling limbs and aimed a swift slash at Tack’s unprotected back. Seeing the danger, Tack instantly leaped to the ground, and Zyid’s sword again buried itself in wood.
As Zyid worked to retrieve his sword, Tack staggered forward, finding himself at the edge of a broad knee-high flower patch. The faint light of the street lamps couldn’t do the colorful petals justice, but even under the circumstances Tack couldn’t help but pause to admire the delicate texture, the subdued though distinct whites, reds, yellows, and purples. A rich, familiarly seductive fragrance hung in the air, and for a moment Tack almost forgot what he was doing.
And then the grass behind him rustled in agitation, and Tack spun around to see Zyid rushing at him, sword over his head in preparation for an attack. Tack planted his feet firmly in the ground and braced himself, swinging his sword in a half circle as Zyid brought his blade vertically down upon Tack. Tack’s maneuver managed to sweep both his and Zyid’s swords into a deadlock, pointed diagonally at the ground. Zyid, however, was first to seize the advantage, snapping a kick to Tack’s thigh. Tack staggered backwards into the flower patch, and Zyid followed up with a horizontal slash.
As Zyid’s sword passed above Tack’s head, he fell amidst the flowers and all of a sudden he was surrounded by sweet scents and lush petals. Even the breeze created in the wake of Zyid’s slash seemed to gently caress Tack, to lull him to inertness. But then survival instinct kicked in, and as Zyid’s sword swept down at him, Tack rolled aside, crushing the flowers beneath him as Zyid’s blade severed the petals he’d admired a moment ago, casting them into the air. Tack sprang to his feet and swung his sword at Zyid, who raised his blade to parry the attack. Knowing that he had to, and yet regretting every moment of it, Tack swiftly slashed again, aiming at Zyid’s legs. Zyid leaped deeper into the flower patch to avoid the attack, and as Tack’s sword swept by, the tops of flowers fell to the ground as neatly as if they had been cut by a lawn mower.
As Zyid and Tack continued to fight, the air soon became filled with gently fluttering petals. Flashes of color would occasionally become visible to the two Truants as petals were struck by the lamplight, but these moments were fleeting, and appreciation for such beauty had long since become second to their appreciation for battle, and though both of them breathed heavily and deeply of the perfumed air, neither of them gave a thought about its source.
Finally, having beaten a destructive path through the delicate flowers, Tack found himself backed up against a fence. As Zyid slashed at him again, Tack brought his sword around to engage in a deadlock, and then pivoted on one foot to swing his other around to plant a forceful kick in Zyid’s belly. Zyid staggered backwards into a cluster of thorny roses, and Tack seized his opportunity, quickly turning to scale the fence. As he dropped onto the other side, he found himself at one end of an immense rectangular area paved with gray stone and lined with bright street lamps. Various paths led away from the area, and at the other end of it Tack could see a wide opening leading out into the streets, with massive buildings that looked less ominous than they had all night as the skies steadily lightened. But most noticeable of all was the massive large rectangular fountain that ran the length of the area, jets of water forming liquid arches across its surface, light reflecting off of the rippling surface and foamy spray.
Without hesitation, and without fully knowing why, Tack leaped into the fountain with a splash, and quickly found the water to be ankle deep, as his boots and socks were instantly soaked. The bottom of the fountain was littered with coins that passersby had cast aside in exchange for good luck. As Tack waded through the water, he heard a loud splash behind him, and turned to face Zyid. Tack held his sword at the ready, and Zyid ran forward to oblige him, splashing and disturbing the surface of the water with each step.
Zyid’s sword was held at his side, its tip slicing a trail through the water as he ran. As he drew close to Tack, Zyid swung his sword upwards, drops of water falling from the blade as it swept towards Tack’s neck. Tack took a step backwards into the wet spray of a watery jet and parried the attack. Tack then swung his sword around through the jet, water momentarily crashing against its surface as it passed through. Zyid ducked the blow, but was splashed by drops falling from Tack’s blade. Zyid thrust his sword forward, and Tack leaped backwards with a splash, Zyid’s blade cutting through the resulting spray.
Zyid plunged through the jet of water and emerged, shaking his head to dislodge flecks of water. Tack backed up into another jet, and kicked the surface of the fountain, splashing more water into Zyid’s face. Zyid never stopped charging, even as he shut his eyes against the wet spray. Zyid’s sword arced through the jet of water and towards Tack, who parried the blow so that both blades met in the midst of the powerful torrent, spraying the both of them thoroughly.
Feeling the sogginess begin to weigh down on his uniform, Tack backed up steadily and wiped his face to clear his eyes as water trickled down his drenched brown hair. Zyid took a moment to follow suit, and then lunged forward swiftly, drops of water now splaying off of his billowing windbreaker. Tack swung his sword up at Zyid, passing through the water of the fountain as it did. The drops it sent into the air splattered against Zyid’s windbreaker, but the Truancy leader splashed aside to avoid the blow, then swung his own blade at Tack’s waist. Tack fell backwards into the fountain as Zyid’s blade scattered drops into the air above him. Zyid seized his chance and swung his sword down upon Tack, who suddenly remembered something Edward had done against him.
Tack jerked his foot up suddenly, splashing water into Zyid’s eyes as his sword sank into the sole of Tack’s drenched boot. Rising to his feet, Tack turned and dashed to the end of the fountain, leaping through a last jet of water to land upon the dry pavement. Suddenly faced with the exit to the park, Tack found that he recognized where they were and, more important, what lay nearby. As he heard Zyid plunge after him, an ironic smile came to Tack’s lips.
“Catch me if you can!” Tack shouted, breaking into a run.
Zyid said nothing, which Tack suspected to mean that Zyid understood exactly where he was going. Still, the squishy footsteps behind him that refused to relent told Tack all that he needed to know; Zyid was following. Tack ran as if passing through a memory. He spotted the once-lively pizza shop that he had eaten at with Suzie so often, now boarded up and empty. He ran down a sidewalk so familiar that he recognized each patch of cement. And as he looked up to the steadily lightening blue of the sky, he felt as though even the air was familiar to him.
As they rounded a corner, Tack saw it: his old school. The street was empty of all cars and people, and the school itself seemed dark and abandoned. They passed a patch of street that was irreparably scorched, and Tack grimly remembered the first time he had met Zyid, when the both of them had stood upon that scorched spot, the sole witnesses to Suzie’s death. With thoughts of how far he had come dominating his conscience, Tack reached the doors to his old school and was pleased to find them unlocked. Swinging them open, he plunged through them, hearing Zyid close behind him.
Tack immediately ran to the stairwell and dashed up the steps two at a time, hearing Zyid’s chasing footsteps like an echo to his own. Coming upon the third floor, Tack pushed the stairwell doors open and emerged into a dark hallway, a set of large windows barring the way to the bare roof of a room below. Without hesitation, Tack seized a desk lying on one side of the hallway and hurled it against the window. Tack leaped through the resulting opening even as the glass flew through the air, feeling gashes being cut across his skin by the sharp shards.
Standing atop the small roof, Tack spun around and swept his sword at the hole in the window just as Zyid came plunging through it. Zyid ducked his head and rolled as he hit the ground, rising gracefully to his feet away from Tack. Tack let him do so, watching impassively all the while.
“Your old school?” Zyid asked as he rubbed
his back.
“Yeah, this is the one,” Tack said casually, as if talking with a close friend. “What do you think?”
“I never thought I’d enter any school again,” Zyid admitted as he eyed Tack warily.
“Well, where better to end this than here?” Tack asked, laughing.
“It’s as good as any other,” Zyid conceded, raising his sword. “So, let’s finish it.”
“Let’s.”
Tack lunged forward, and swung his sword around to meet Zyid. Their blades clashed again, and for a moment it looked like they would be engaged in yet another deadlock. Then Zyid twisted his sword around in a circle, shaking Tack’s blade off and scratching Tack’s hand. Tack dropped his sword in surprise, and Zyid quickly kicked it backwards. Tack backed up a respectful distance as Zyid moved to stand by his sword, which had skidded close to the edge of the roof. Zyid trapped the blade beneath his boot, and then looked at Tack disappointedly.
“Perhaps I was wrong,” Zyid said quietly. “How can you lead the living if you cannot even avenge the dead?”
Tack shut his eyes as a surge of anger threatened to overwhelm him. Remembering tedious hours of concentrating and sorting through salt, pepper, and sugar, Tack forced himself to focus, and he quickly felt his anger fade away.
Tack didn’t remember breaking into a run; he only knew that he did. Unarmed, with blood running down one arm, he charged at Zyid, who now stood stoically as the object of all the controlled hatred that Tack could muster. He saw Zyid bring his sword back to strike, and he kept running, fearless now, even of death. He saw Zyid swing his sword around at his head, and Tack reached out with both of his flattened hands, trapping the blade between them even as it swung through the air. As he held tightly on to that sword, in that split second before he reached Zyid, he saw, for the first time, fear in Zyid’s black eyes.
We must act without mercy.
And then Tack realized then that he wasn’t really Tack the student, who had died with his sister, nor was he Tack the confused miscreant, but rather Takan the Truant. The Truant raised his leg and kicked Zyid squarely in the chest, releasing the sword as he did. There was a moment of shock as Zyid realized the position he had put himself in, and then suddenly peaceful acceptance swept over his face. His windbreaker billowed around him as he was knocked from the edge of the roof where he had placed himself precariously, and he outstretched his hand towards the new Truancy leader as if in blessing … and then he fell.