by Travis Bughi
Spurts of black blood shot out from the other side of the oni’s neck, and its last roar gurgled at the end. The oni grabbed the shafts and yanked them out, then roared again as Takeo bounded forward to put two more slices into its bare legs. The moment the oni put its hands back to its club, Emily released her last two arrows, again into its neck, and Takeo hacked down into its knee.
The oni roared and stumbled, falling on the injured knee into a shallow pool of black sludge. The soil was so soaked with blood now that it had become a small marsh. The creature snarled at Emily, and Takeo raised his katana for another blow, but a swift jab from one of the oni’s akki-sized fists struck him instead, flinging him off his feet. Takeo doubled over in the air and then crashed to the ground several paces away.
The oni looked at Takeo’s collapsed body, a hunger in its gaze, but then locked eyes with Emily and stood up. Emily’s knees weakened under that look, her heart pounding in her chest. She reached for her knife, but thankfully the oni grumbled and charged off into the woods. It stumbled heavily, making harsh thuds with every step, but it still moved admirably fast for a creature so wounded. Emily held still while she watched it leave. She waited until it was out of sight to breathe a sigh of relief and, when she could no longer hear its thundering footsteps, released her knife and ran to Takeo.
“Takeo!” she yelled, touching a hand to his face. “Takeo! Are you okay? Are you hurt? Can you hear me?”
He was lying on the ground, crumpled over, hand gripping his katana tightly. As Emily’s fingers slipped into his hair, his eyes fluttered open.
“The houses,” he groaned.
She glanced at the burning buildings around them. The heat from the spiraling inferno was intense, but the two of them were in no danger. She shushed Takeo and put a hand to his chest, checking for injury. He winced and reached a hand up to grab hers, but she ignored his protests, parted his kimono, and touched his skin where the oni had hit. Her heart was racing, and her eyes burned, and although the fires raged around them, she could think of nothing other than Takeo’s wellbeing.
To her relief, she found no blood, only tender skin and a quickened heartbeat. She sighed.
“The houses,” Takeo repeated, voice strong enough to speak clearly this time. “There are people in them. Tell them it’s okay to come out. Hurry, before the fire spreads. I’m fine, really.”
Emily nodded and ran to the first small home that still stood. The smoke from the surrounding fires was clouding the village now, and Emily covered her mouth and nose until she reached the doorway. When she looked inside, she saw nothing at first—no people or even furniture, except for a single table that reached only as high as her knees.
“Anyone here?” she shouted. “It’s safe to come out! The oni is gone!”
She stayed for a moment, looking around, and was just about to leave when a hidden door in the floor cracked open. From beneath it, a set of beady eyes locked onto hers, and Emily waved with her hand.
“Hurry!” she called out. “There’s fire!”
The door was flung open, exposing a cellar beneath the home. Inside was a family of five: an older man and woman, two young girls, and a boy a few years younger than Emily. Emily was surprised to see so many hidden away with fires all around. Then she thought of the apparent dangers of Juatwa and questioned the logic no more.
“Come on!” she commanded.
The family piled out of the home and into the sunlight. Emily moved to the next house.
* * *
Altogether, there were thirty survivors. Three quarters of them were from the village Emily and Takeo had just saved, and the rest were from Takeo’s old village on the coast. The villagers were comprised entirely of the old, the young, or the otherwise incapable of fighting. All the able-bodied souls had been conscripted into the war, leaving both villages precariously short of defenders. The oni and akki had ambushed the first village, set some of the people to flee, and then followed them to the next village. Takeo mused that, had Emily and he not put an end to their war band, they likely would have continued that strategy for days.
After the fires had been contained or extinguished, Takeo began to search through the crowd for his friends. He seemed unconcerned with disguising himself, though he never said his name, and Emily guessed that he had been away so long that perhaps no one recognized him anymore. They might know his name, but it would be a rare soul here who would recognize his face.
She waited off to the side, out of the way of everything. The villagers were busy cleaning up their homes, clearing away debris, collecting the dead, putting away scattered possessions, and tending to each other’s wounds. As much as Emily could tell, they seemed remarkably calm about it, too. They lined their dead up in ritual manner while tossing the akki into a disheveled pile; their faces were controlled and collected, like Takeo’s, showing only the faintest evidence of pain.
But a few could not keep such reserve. One woman wailed like a banshee as she clutched the body of a small child, and the others did nothing to stop her. Another group—a family, by looks of it, of one man and two children—huddled around the body of a woman. They wept softly and clutched each other as the man repeated over and over that everything would be okay. Emily tried her best not to stare. She was accustomed to death—it and she were old acquaintances, actually—and yet found it difficult to detach herself from the tragedy around her. Not much churned her stomach more than unjust murder, and that was exactly what had happened here. Takeo had called it war, but if he was right, then she had never known true war.
The oni and akki had taken nothing: not a morsel of food, not a drop of water, not an article of clothing, not even a prisoner. They’d burned the villages and slayed the inhabitants outright. It wasn’t like vikings attacking and looting from pirates. It wasn’t like the mindless killing done by banshees who, themselves nothing more than shadows, thought nothing of the lives they took. The slaughter of this village was brutal, calculated, and as far as Emily could see, senseless.
As she watched the families silently mourn the fallen, she couldn’t help but clench her teeth and hands. It made her think of her own losses. Her grandmother, Chara, murdered before Emily’s very eyes because Heliena needed someone to blame for her own mother’s death. The angels of Lucifan, who wanted nothing more than for all to prosper—all but two killed by Heliena and her allies in the name of profit, power, and tyranny. Takeo’s brother, Okamoto, also killed by Heliena, for no other reason than to hide her identity. Even Takeo had suffered, having been banished for sparing Emily’s life, for being kind, for showing mercy, for wanting justice. Emily pressed her eyes closed at the thought of it all. She couldn’t take anymore. She couldn’t let her thoughts go on like this. She silenced her fury with a deep breath, yet it lingered like a slumbering beast, waiting to be unleashed.
To distract herself, she began to cut arrows. Juatwa was full of thin branches perfect for this, and she released her anger in strong strokes down each one she had collected. Next, she found feathers—pixiu feathers, according to the villagers— and set about fletching the arrows. When they were ready, she would find more oni and akki to put them into. Only one needed to be saved for Heliena.
As she lined her new arrows up, points down into the dirt, Takeo reappeared from the crowd with a new companion at his side: a woman no older than him. She was surprisingly tall, perhaps a hand taller than Takeo, yet Emily found it difficult to notice with the way she carried herself. Straight black hair cascaded down around her bowed head like tree vines. She approached on bare feet, but wore a rich, blue gown, embroidered with gold stitches, that clung tightly to her body. Though the clinging fabric revealed few curves, her skin made up for that with a warm glow and soft appearance. Her exposed ankles were stained with mud, and the dress had been slit up to the thigh on the left side. Takeo supported the woman as they approached, and Emily saw that she was favoring that left side.
Emily stood up when they reached her and then helped Takeo lower th
e woman to a seated position. The woman stared at Emily the entire time with light brown eyes that appeared soft and fearful. Once seated, she mumbled a ‘thank you’ to which Emily mumbled a ‘you’re welcome.’ They both looked to Takeo.
“Right,” he said, breaking the silence. “Mako, this is Emily Stout. She’s . . . a friend. Emily, this is Mako Tamura. She’s my brother’s widow.”
Chapter 6
For privacy, they found an unused home. Its roof, having been close to the flames, was charred and partially collapsed on the west side. The sun peaked high above the trees outside and brightened the room with a glow that Emily thought most unwelcome. This was a time for mourning, not warmth and sunshine. She pondered where the family was, but did not ask. Emily wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. Takeo took a seat in the middle of the floor, crossing his legs and sitting with a straight back. Mako stooped to her knees and sat back on her heels. She kept her head bowed, as if shamed, and let her hair obscure her face. Emily stayed standing, off to the side, leaning against a wall. She continued to cut arrows. She had a feeling she’d need all of them.
For a while, no one said anything. Takeo watched Mako with studious eyes, while Mako avoided his gaze by scanning every inch of the floor. The silence was almost painful, with only the noise of her knife cutting long strands of wood intruding, but Emily endured it. From outside, the faint sounds of graves being dug came sharply to her ears. She paused, sighed, and then went back to carving.
“They told me you were dead,” Mako spoke up, “you and Okamoto.”
Her voice was so soft Emily almost missed her first words. She stopped cutting.
“Okamoto is dead,” Takeo answered, “and so am I if anyone asks.”
A tear splattered on the wooden floor beneath Mako’s head. It fell so softly that Emily nearly missed it. Then another fell, and another.
“It’s true, then,” Mako said, voice growing softer and more broken. “He’s gone.”
Takeo glanced at Emily, who met the stare. There was pain in his eyes, and she gave him what she hoped to be a consoling look. Emily had not lost a brother, but she could imagine the torment that would cause her. Mako wept quietly, letting the tears roll steadily and slowly to the floor.
“I never wanted to believe it,” Mako continued. “The only thing they ever sent was a letter saying you were both dead. I thought maybe you two were just lost or something. I couldn’t believe he was truly dead. I didn’t want to. I couldn’t. But . . . if . . . you. . .”
Mako’s frail voice broke up and trailed off. Emily listened as best she could from across the room, wishing she had moved closer beforehand. It wouldn’t be good to do so now; Emily worried that any movement would frighten the poor girl. Neither did Takeo move to console her. He waited patiently, letting Mako’s tears well up and patter to the floor undisturbed.
“I’m sorry,” Mako said to Takeo. “I . . . I should not be so weak.”
“It’s okay,” Takeo replied, his voice a shade softer than it had been before. “He meant a lot to me, too.”
“I still remember when he came back for me,” Mako said. “Katsu would have granted him anyone else, I know that. He could have had someone with land, or title, or honor, but he chose me. I thought he’d forgotten me when you two left for war. You were gone for so long, fought so much. I barely recognized you when you returned; but Okamoto, he was the same, and he chose me.”
Mako paused to wipe her eyes, dragging dark stains of black makeup across her eyes and smearing it on her wrist. She looked at it, seemingly horrified by what she saw, and then blinked rapidly.
“My brother loved you,” Takeo said.
“Yes, he did,” Mako replied, “and I loved him. I wish he had not left after we were married. I wanted to give him a child.”
“He would have loved that.”
Emily could not be sure, but something told her Takeo had just lied. If so, Mako didn’t catch it. She gasped and closed her eyes, wiping away more tears. They flowed so easily for her. Emily watched, completely absorbed. The sight of so many tears was not a common thing to her. Emily’s mother rarely, if ever, cried—at least not until her son had fled from home—and Emily was cut from the same cloth, able to hold back tears, even when those close to her fell. She had never questioned why. Just as her mother had revealed there were more ways than one to show love, so did Emily learn there were more ways than one to show sorrow.
As Mako cried, Emily closed her mouth, which had dropped open at some point during the exchange, and took that moment to sit down and rest against the wall. Mako caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. Her gaze, so soft before, had hardened now—almost normal, but still akin to a frightened animal.
“Who is she?” she asked Takeo.
“I told you this is Emily,” Takeo repeated. “She’s an amazon.”
Mako’s eyes fluttered in surprise, and her lips parted.
“An amazon,” she said, voice still broken. “Are you truly?”
A sudden apprehension filled Emily as the focus was shifted to her. She was not overly fond of attention, even positive attention, and the way Mako looked at her now was making her uncomfortable. It was something between hope and disbelief, and Emily shifted and stuttered a moment before answering.
“Yes,” she finally got out, “I am.”
Mako’s mouth dropped open further, and her eyes opened wider. The fear that was in them before dissipated, and she glanced to Takeo before looking back to Emily.
“I’ve only heard about your kind in stories,” Mako said. “No wonder you two were able to drive the oni off. I could scarcely believe it until I saw the arrows in the akki. I knew it was you, with the bow, who shot them, but I didn’t think . . . an amazon. Wow.”
Emily watched the look of awe come over Mako’s face and couldn’t help but remember that same look on her younger brother when last they were in Lucifan. Actually, back then, that look had probably been on Emily’s face, too. Now, here she was on the receiving end, and that very thought nearly made her smile. She fought it down, though. She did not want to be misunderstood.
“Is it true amazons—I mean, you—can shoot a bow blindfolded and still hit your target?” Mako asked.
“I’ve never tried,” Emily answered, feeling a little lost for words.
“Takeo, how did you meet her?” Mako pressed on. “Aren’t amazons from the far west? My mother told me stories about—oh . . . Mother . . . Father.”
Mako’s awe shattered into tears—this time not so quietly. She choked on her anguish, a lone moan escaping her clenched lips, and she gasped for breath. Takeo scooted forward to rest a hand on her shoulder.
“Mako, Mako,” he said softly. “Listen, I need you to tell me what happened here. I can’t help if you don’t tell me.”
Mako continued to pour tears into her palms, and while Takeo squeezed her shoulder, she took deep breaths, shuddering after each gasp of air until she could regain her composure. When she drew her hands away, the black makeup around her eyes had smeared down to her cheeks. She brushed her hand against the stains, wiping away tears and smudging the black further across her hands.
“Yes, I know,” she said. “It was in the morning. They came at dawn.”
Her sentences were short as she struggled to breathe, fighting back more tears. Takeo took his hand away slowly but stayed close. Her eyes were averted again, staring into the wooden planks, and Emily watched with her knife paused mid-stroke down a future arrow shaft.
“I was getting ready to meet a suitor,” Mako said, voice growing calmer with every word. “Father insisted I remarry quickly, and he’d already sent out letters to those I’d declined for Okamoto. I had on my dress, my makeup; the table was set. Father had on his finest kimono, and mother even powdered up. It was all I could do not to cry and ruin it all.
“I . . . I don’t know how we didn’t see them coming. There should have been a gong, or some other kind of warning. You know, Takeo. You know how we’ve pr
epared. Someone should have seen them, or heard them, or something. No one did, though. I didn’t hear a warning. I heard screams.”
Mako’s eyes started to water again. Her red cheeks were puffy, and her lips began to tremble. Takeo waited, patient as always, and Emily followed his example. Still as stone, she waited, hardly moving to breathe as Mako walked the fine lines of her emotions.
“I watched Father die,” she said, voice choked, “and then Mother. We were at the end of the village . . . so many dead. Mother told me to run before the oni . . . oh . . . Mother. . .”
Mako shuddered and paused. After a long blink, she seemed to have passed the worst of it.
“So I ran, just like they told me. My dress ripped, but I didn’t care. I could barely see through my tears. I was so frightened, Takeo. I was more scared than any time when I was a child hiding from komainu. I could hear them behind me, laughing and yelling as they chased me. I couldn’t think. I just ran to the next village, like I was told to do, like we’ve all been told to do. I didn’t think about them following me. I didn’t realize I was leading them! Oh, Takeo! I’ve done this, haven’t I? All those people out there? They’re dead because of me, aren’t they? I didn’t think about it until now. I didn’t realize . . . I didn’t know . . . Oh, why didn’t I know? Takeo . . . I . . . I—”
“Mako,” Takeo interrupted.
But it was too late. Mako collapsed into a pile of pity. Fresh tears appeared, and she buried her face into her hands once more as her body folded in on itself and began rocking. Takeo lifted his hand to touch her shoulder again but then thought better, folded his hands, and sighed.
“Mako,” he whispered. “Please, I know this is hard for you. I need you to be strong now. Think of Okamoto. What would he do?”
“He . . .” Mako took in a sputtering gasp of air before sobbing again. “He would be . . . be strong.”
“Yes, he would,” Takeo repeated. “I need you do that for me now, okay? Emily and I, we can’t stay here. We have to go. I know it sounds crazy, but we’ve come to put an end to this war, and I need your help to do it.”