by Travis Bughi
It wasn’t that she was afraid of him, and even if she was, that wouldn’t have caused her to go rigid. She’d faced terrifying opponents before and stayed calm then. The samurai had once been terrifying to her—what seemed like ages ago when they had been enemies—but that was no longer the case. A series of fortunate and unfortunate events had brought them together, and Emily found it odd how quickly she’d come to trust him. Fear was no longer a feeling she associated with Takeo, not even a little.
The reason she clenched was more readily explained as awe. Either that or it was the simple knowledge of what she faced. Takeo was not just better with the sword than her, he was better with the sword than any she’d ever met. He was calm and quick, agile and relentless. His age, no more than a year or two older than hers, should have been a sign of shallow experience, but that was not so. Despite being outweighed and far younger than any of the twenty vikings they traveled with, Takeo had yet to lose a bout with any of them. In fact, he’d even won a battle against two of them at the same time. To save their pride, the vikings agreed that Koll must have trained him in Savara and took to calling him ‘little dragon,’ saying that he appeared calm on the outside but had a fire that burned hot within him. Takeo had just smirked at that, but Emily had agreed.
Yes, Emily nodded to herself. It was definitely that which shook her normally solid core.
“What was rule one again?” Emily asked.
“Be calm,” Takeo said, his voice a prime example. “It was the first lesson my brother ever taught me, and perhaps the hardest to learn. Once mastered, though, it is never forgotten.”
Emily nodded, both in agreement and understanding. She rolled her wrist to loosen her joints, gave her knees a slight bend, and swung at Takeo. She held nothing back when she did this, and when he deflected it, she was already fast on the second swing, bringing the makeshift katana down again and again in a raining thunder of blows.
Takeo turned them all aside, and when she made a false step, he was on it in a heartbeat. In the time it took to blink, Emily’s stick flew into the air again, her hand stinging, while she tumbled sideways onto the ship’s deck. Her short hair scattered along her cheek, and she heard her stick strike the deck and begin to roll.
“Aye! That’s it, lass!” Matilda cried out from the helm.
The other vikings gave a brief cheer of encouragement, but Emily’s cheeks reddened. She’d been at this training for longer than a month now, and although she never expected to beat Takeo in her life, she had hoped to have more to show for it. She’d learned to shoot two arrows in a single week! Why couldn’t she master this swordplay, too? Despite holding nothing back, Takeo barely broke a sweat or moved at all to defeat her. In her mind, she’d done nothing worthy of cheering.
“Is there another rule?” Emily asked.
“I’m afraid not.” Takeo frowned. “And, honestly speaking, I think those rules are two rules too many.”
Emily pursed her lips and pushed to her feet. She looked around and saw one of the ten vikings circled around them had collected up her stick and was holding it out to her. There were heavy winds and, as such, heavy waves crashing against the ship’s starboard side that caused anything capable of rolling to do so. Emily took the stick and gave a half smile in thanks.
“You’re doing great, lass,” the viking said with a wink.
At any point in time, about half the crew took to watching Emily and Takeo spar. They weren’t bashful about their comments either, shouting praise, insults, and jokes aplenty. Emily didn’t find it distracting. She’d first learned to shoot a bow and fight with a knife among a similarly sized group, all eyes always watching her, and this proved to be no different.
“Doesn’t feel that way,” she muttered in reply.
“Nonsense!” the viking roared, and a heavy round of grunting agreement from the others followed. “You don’t see it, do you, lass? When you first started these lessons, Little Dragon didn’t even have to parry, you were such a klutz. He just dodged like a goblin, leaning this way and that. You’ve gotten faster now, stronger. He has to turn your blows aside each time. You could do with a bit of yelling—that’d be the viking way—but you’re making progress, lass.”
There was a concurring murmur from around the ship, and a slight blush touched her cheeks. She looked to Takeo, and he gave a nod.
“It’s true,” he said. “I shouldn’t say it. I was taught that confidence is the first step toward arrogance, but it’s true. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”
Emily felt the left side of her mouth curve up and walked back to spar with Takeo again. He would beat her, that she knew, but it wasn’t about winning. It was about learning. Juatwa was a land full of samurai, so every bout against Takeo was a chance for her to understand her opponents and survive the war she planned to join.
Sword fighting wasn’t the only thing she’d been studying over her short voyage. She’d also been practicing with her newfound bow and pesh-kabz dagger. The bow was cheaply made, conjured by a jinni in Savara to entice Emily into a trap, but it worked well enough. It was nothing compared to her treantwood bow, but that family heirloom was lost to the sea somewhere off Savara’s west coast. The vikings had a few arrows stored away somewhere among the few bows they kept for hunting (such weapons were considered cowardly to use in battle), but nothing was any better than what she already carried. She practiced with the arrows, testing her new bow’s lackluster power and range, trying to engrain its limits into her mind, so she wouldn’t miss her targets when the time came to use it.
For the pesh-kabz, she found it a more than adequate replacement for her amazon knife. It was a dagger common to Savara, something she’d swiped off a dead slaver, and its use came readily to her mind. She practiced with the dagger, too, against Takeo, just so she would know how best to fight a samurai with only a knife in hand. It only took a single fight to realize that knives were woefully poor matches to katanas. However, if that situation came, she’d rather know something than nothing.
On top of this, Emily learned of her destination. This was perhaps more important than anything else. Knowledge was both power and a resource she coveted with an unquenchable thirst. Juatwa was a land she’d rarely heard of back home. Its distance from the Great Plains, where she’d been born, was so far that people referred to Juatwa as the East. Before she’d set sail from Lucifan, she’d known nothing of the land except that it had an ancient warrior class that named themselves samurai.
Now, though, thanks to Takeo, she knew just a little bit more.
Juatwa was a land steeped in war. Perpetual conflict was inevitable, and only those in total isolation could expect any more than a decade of peace. There were so many battles that villagers had a separate, and often used, guide to farming in land soaked with the blood of the dead. The people did not live in harmony with the creatures of the land, either, as they did in Lucifan and the Great Plains. Like in the Forest of Angor, Juatwa’s inhabitants fought not only amongst themselves for land and power, but also against the native creatures.
The source of all this war was the way power and land were divided up in Juatwa. Similar to Savara, Juatwa was a land divided amongst competing warlords who called themselves daimyo. There were, at any point in time, about one hundred daimyo in Juatwa who each controlled small to moderate forces of samurai that were sworn to him or her. With these warriors, the daimyo could extract wealth and power from the villagers on their lands, fight off other daimyo, and protect their property from the various creatures of Juatwa. The daimyo allied with each other often, adding their samurai forces together for mutual benefit, though always one led the others. In these alliances, the daimyo at the top of this chain was called the shogun.
There were only three shogun left in Juatwa, a rare event, and each sought to dominate the others and finally bring an end to Juatwa’s era of war. It was a hopeful time for the commoner, a chance to usher in a dynasty of peace, but also a dangerous time. No shogun would bow to the others,
not with the chance of being lord over all Juatwa at their fingertips. That fate would be decided on the battlefield, earned by the sword, paid for in blood.
It was important for Emily to understand all of this because her entire reason for coming to Juatwa was a woman named Heliena, and she was married to a shogun.
“Tell me again of the other two shogun,” Emily asked Takeo as they went to spar again. “I can only ever remember Katsu.”
“I’m surprised you remember there are only two others,” Takeo replied with a smirk. “I’ve barely had a moment to myself without you asking me another question.”
Emily laughed and gave Takeo a testing jab with her stick. He parried it and gave her a return swing that she dodged.
“I know. I’m a pain, aren’t I?” Emily said with a smile and a teasing eye.
“Not at all, actually.” Takeo’s smirk broadened. “I like that you’re so eager to learn.”
His stick flashed toward her, and she barely had time to gasp and lean out of the way. The wood brushed her hair as it flew by her, and her heart raced.
“That was close,” Emily said, blinking.
Takeo shrugged. “I knew you could handle it. Now, the other two shogun. The first is Jiro Hanu. He’s the youngest of the shoguns, younger still than most daimyo. He’s only maybe half a decade older than me because he inherited the shogun title when his father was slain in combat. He lays claim to most of Juatwa’s southwest, which is a combination of marshes and forests. Last I heard, Jiro was going to be Katsu’s first target. Katsu will try to bleed him dry by using his komainu-mounted samurai to burn Jiro’s lands, slaughter his people, and spread out his forces. Despite having more samurai at his command, Katsu dislikes pitched fights where whole armies battle it out until one or the other is dead. He prefers to use his mobility and larger forces to fight a war of attrition because it is a game in which no one can match him. Katsu is the kind of man who will intentionally lose the battle if it means winning the war.
“I have strayed, though. My apologies. As for Jiro, I honestly don’t know much about him. I saw the man only once, with his father, when Katsu attempted to ally the Hanu family to him through marriage. I have no idea if Jiro has already knelt to Katsu or if he is made of sterner stuff.
“The other, assuming she’s still alive, is Xuan Nguyen, or the ‘Old Woman of the Mountain.’ She’s both ancient and venerable, and she controls Juatwa’s foothills in the northwest, just below the Khaz Mal Mountains. Just as her nickname implies, she’s as stubborn as she is cautious. She has outlived two husbands, and though she has the smallest force of samurai between Katsu and Jiro, Katsu reckons Xuan would be the most difficult to assail. The foothills can be treacherous, and Jiro’s lands are easier to reach. Katsu’s lands, in Juatwa’s east, are mostly grassy, green plains. He’ll use his komainu-mounted warriors to strike all across Jiro’s lands. It’s a common assumption that the young are brash, and if Jiro is such a man, he’s probably already met Katsu in battle and lost.”
Emily nodded as she absorbed all of this. She let her stick rest loosely in front of her, choosing not to spar while trying to listen. Such a distraction would be counterproductive, and her lack of activity had the added benefit of boring the vikings. The ten around them had dwindled to two now, and Emily gave them no more than a passing glance.
“You’re quick to assume Jiro would lose to Katsu,” Emily noted.
“I know Katsu,” Takeo said. “He didn’t become the most dominant daimyo though inheritance, like Jiro did. He used wealth, influence, and ruthless combat to gain his power. He has many advisers and is wise enough to listen to all of them. He’s vindictive, too, and keeps the other daimyo close to retain their loyalty. Even if he makes a mistake, I can’t imagine a situation where he’d be unprepared to handle it. Trust me, Emily, I fought for him alongside my brother both in the front lines and then later on directly below a few of his commanders. This will be the toughest fight yet for both you and me.”
“You make it sound impossible.”
“It only sounds that way because it hasn’t been done. Don’t worry, Emily. We’ll get Heliena and stop Katsu.”
Emily heard the confidence in Takeo’s voice and let it flow through her. She wanted to feel the way he made it sound, inevitable, like they were an unstoppable force of fate that could do no wrong. Perhaps he knew better and hid it for her, but she could not be sure. Failure was a drink she’d swallowed too often to forget, and knowing the odds against them did not help.
She decided she was tired of hearing about Juatwa. Her stick whistled as it swept through the air, and Takeo’s kimono fluttered as his wrist rotated to deflect her strike. Two more swings, a thrust, and Takeo’s stick finally retaliated. His first swing was wide, a distraction, and she dodged both that and the following swing, but his next thrust came too fast. Her leather vest took the brunt of it, but still the air was forced from her lungs, her teeth and hands clenched with pain, and her pride took another blow. She wondered again how this samurai had learned to be so deadly. The way he fought, with such conviction, was beyond enviable. She wanted to share that quality, and for that she would need to know his past.
He had not told her yet. She had asked once and was denied, but their situation had changed since then. Now they were only a day away from his homeland, and her thirst for knowledge had returned. She knew it would be a dark tale, perhaps even sad, but she had never shied from the truth.
“Takeo,” she said, “I think it’s time we exchanged stories. I need to know yours, and you need to know mine.”
Takeo pressed his lips together and looked down. Emily was surprised and hopeful at the hesitation. His last denial had been so curt that Emily had avoided bringing up the subject for months. It was time, though. They would be in Juatwa soon, fighting together against a common foe, and the more she understood about both him and their enemy, the better off they both would be. He needed to know about her, too. After all, he had joined her quest to go after Heliena, and he needed to know the woman for whose cause he might die. Emily could see curiosity in the way he lowered his wooden katana until it pressed into the ship like a cane. Around him, his kimono flowed in the wind, and his sandaled feet gave a faint shuffle.
“I do want to hear your story,” he said, just above a whisper.
She said nothing to this, but waited patiently, her eyes never leaving him. He paused and breathed deeply, but then met her gaze.
“Tonight,” he said. “Fair warning, though, my story is not as grand as Koll the Sturdy’s.”
Emily chuckled. “No one’s is.”
Chapter 2
They met that night out on the deck in the darkness of a crescent moon hidden by wispy clouds. It was not much cooler than it had been during the day, minus the sprays of ocean water as the ship crashed ever onwards towards its destination. Emily spotted Takeo waiting against the ship’s railing, his once-white clothing a shining beacon despite the dirt and stains it had acquired from a long journey. As drab as his looked, Emily’s own clothes weren’t far behind Takeo’s. Her leather vest and skirt, studded with metal plates as was traditional among amazons, were a sorry sight to see. She’d sewn up the cuts and brushed out the dirt with ocean water, but still the garb sung a song of better days under a warm jungle sun. Thankfully, neither she, Takeo, nor their clothing reeked like they once had in Savara.
As promised, Emily told her story first.
The beginning of her tale was short. She’d been born on the Great Plains, a land of endless rolling hills covered with nothing but yellow grass. As uneventful as it was draining, her life would have been hopelessly narrow had it not been for a trip to Lucifan when she was sixteen years old. There she’d met the five angels of Lucifan and her grandmother. The aforementioned, save for one angel, were all dead, either at the hands of Heliena or her allies. Heliena had almost killed Emily, too, but one of the angels, Quartus, had given his life for her. It was a sacrifice Emily didn’t fully understand, not even now, an
d all Quartus had asked was that she pursue a life of revenge.
Emily had sworn to go after Heliena, and the angel had given her a second chance.
So now, Emily took that as her only direction. She had given a promise, and as dark as the deed would be, Quartus had known something she had not and had given his immortal life for it. Emily would not betray that faith.
She would go to Juatwa and put an end to Heliena.
Takeo did not immediately disturb the silence that followed Emily’s tale. He let it drift into the wind, where it was lost to the sound of crashing waves.
“I like your story,” he said.
“Thank you,” Emily replied. “Do you mean that, even as unhappy and unfinished as it is?”
“I do, and it is not unhappy. You still have your family.”
Takeo brushed a flowing strand of hair away from his face. It had come loose from his queue and was determined to be an annoyance. Takeo’s hair was longer than Emily’s, growing past his shoulders, while she always cut hers to just a few inches below her ears. His was both straight and black, while hers was brown and wavy. He brushed a single strand away from his face, his fingers tracing the faint white scar on the left side of his cheek.
Emily had been there when Takeo had acquired that scar. It’d been gifted upon him by a rakshasa in Savara, and Emily had stitched up Takeo’s face herself. She thought she’d done a good job. The faint scar could have been much worse, particularly if it had become infected.
She had her own scar, too, a pitch-black one on her leg from where Heliena had tried to kill her with basilisk poison. Emily touched a hand to it now, feeling the rough and cold skin there. She always wondered why the scar never warmed like the rest of her body.
“Yes,” she finally spoke up, “I do still have my family. Both of my brothers and my parents are still alive, and I am thankful for that. Have I ever told you how sorry I am about yours?”