by Travis Bughi
But Emily’s hands would not move. They held the letters but made no motion to rip them apart. She stared at them, eyes unblinking, and then shoved them back into her clothing.
“I made you a promise,” she said to a betrayed amazon who was too far away to hear.
Takeo watched with eyes ever calm and controlled, resting his wrists on his knees and his head against the tree. Every time Emily glanced at him, the fiery metal in her heart took another dash of water that doused the heat but strengthened the blade. He swallowed her anger, and she saw that it was because he was just as hungry for revenge as her. She plopped down in front of him and stared into his eyes.
“He’s a bastard,” she said.
“We’ll get him,” he responded.
“He’s on the other side of the world, he rules a city now, and he’s immortal. Do you mean it?”
“I mean it.”
He gave her a single nod and opened his arms. She fell into them without hesitation and put her back to his chest. He didn’t attempt to enclose her.
Sleep did not come, though. The ninjas finished their rest a few hours later, and Emily rose restless instead of weary. When they traveled on in silence, Emily was glad for it. She was certain they’d heard her rant, but they made no comment and showed no interest. As promised, they came upon Lord Jiro’s encampment not long after that. Emily heard the sounds before her eyes saw anything. The forest was getting dense, and the sound of axes chopping into tree trunks sailed on the wind to her ears.
They were halted by sentries outside the camp, a younger and older man dressed in padded leather armor and armed with long spears. The pair called out to the group, and One produced a writ of passage signed by Lord Jiro himself. She had expected something sealed by the lord, but a handwritten message was enough to make Emily raise an eyebrow and glance at Takeo. If he was surprised, though, he did not show it, and their group received a gracious bow of apology before the younger sentry promptly escorted them into the encampment.
They passed the axe men next, felling trees left and right as they shouted out warnings whenever another timber came crashing down. A massacre of stumps and fallen columns lay at their backs with even more men hacking the remains into logs. Just beyond this battlefield, Emily and her companions came upon the edge of a manmade clearing and saw the entirety of the camp.
Rows upon rows upon rows of white tents and more people in one place than she’d seen since Lucifan greeted her eyes. Hundreds of smoke trails, white with the moisture of the fresh wood they burned, rose up to choke the otherwise clear skies above. The ground was a dark brown, having been beaten flat, and not a single piece of green grass or moss remained alive. Everywhere, and seemingly from all directions, rivers of bodies flowed through the camp on errands Emily could hardly contemplate. Beside every tent was a rack of armor and weapons, and beside every rack was a wielder either sharpening or testing a weapon. The thunder of numerous voices filled the air, audible over the creaking of falling trees that marked the inevitable expansion of the already grand encampment. Emily squinted at the other side of the camp, which was nothing but a blur in the distance with little, elongated dots shuffling against white backgrounds. Just beyond that, more trees were falling, and Emily stared slack-jawed at the scale of it all. She might have gone on staring, too, but then the wind kicked up and blew a putrid stench straight into her nostrils. It was so horrid that she gagged, and Takeo gave her an apologetic shrug.
“What is that smell?” she choked out through a cough.
The sentry laughed. “That’d be the smell of Katsu’s doom: men, oni, akki, and komainu.”
And I thought pirates smelled bad, she thought. It just rained, too.
“How many soldiers?” Takeo asked. “Tens of thousands, at least? Am I right?”
“Couldn’t say, sir. I don’t do the counting; I just watch the edge and stick the pointy end of my spear where they tell me.”
“They’re lucky to have you,” Emily said.
The sentry smiled and led the way into the camp, and Emily covered her mouth before she followed. It didn’t do any good. The smell was so heavy that it clung to her skin and burned her throat, and she was thankful her stomach was too empty to throw anything up.
They were led into the maze of white tents and through the bodies shuffling about. Emily continued to stare in awe as the workings of thousands of soldiers streamed by her at a rapid pace. She saw samurai dueling, sharpening katanas, or braiding their queues. Many took one look at Takeo’s cut hair and shot him loathing looks that could have killed a lesser individual. A rare few looked closely at him, and a wave of recognition flickered across their eyes. These watched him with a level of interest that would have piqued Emily’s jealousy under different circumstances. There were normal soldiers, too, men who weren’t samurai, but would fight and die all the same, like the sentry who escorted them. They carried no katanas, and their hair was short, but they took notice of Takeo and Emily with equal interest.
More than once, Emily saw a samurai who was female, and she couldn’t help but feel a wave of relief. They were rare, and they paid her no more mind than a quick flick of their eyes, but Emily watched them with a bit of longing. It made her think of her time among the amazons, especially Adelpha, when the warriors surrounding her could be as friendly as they were fierce. Looking around Jiro’s army, dressed in her leather skirt with only a bow and knife as weapons, Emily became painfully aware of just how much of an outsider she was in this land.
How many wars have they fought?
That thought remained unexplored as they came to a sudden stop before a tent. Emily bumped into Takeo and blinked at the sentry in confusion. The tent he’d stopped outside of was no larger than any of the other tents, but it was marked with two samurai guards standing watch outside. They were dressed elegantly in full suits of armor made of a material Emily could not immediately place. It looked like a cross between leather and metal, dyed red and black and polished until the light reflected off of it. One of the samurai took the writ of passage from the sentry, disappeared inside for a moment, and then returned.
“The sentry will show you to the Treasurer for your payment,” the guard said to One and Two. “As for you, Takeo, you may enter. We’ll send your woman to your tent.”
Emily’s mind blurred when the guard spoke. She didn’t know what to think about first: the fact that the ninjas had been paid to deliver them or that the guard thought her nothing more than Takeo’s woman. A glance over her shoulder revealed that the ninjas were already leaving, so her mind defaulted to taking offense at the guard’s words. Before she could raise her voice in anger, though, Takeo shook his head and intervened.
“You have it wrong,” he said to the samurai. “I’m her man. She stays with me.”
The two guards exchanged a glance, neither one offering a reply. One of them swallowed and began a slow turn toward the tent, his armor creaking as he moved.
“It’s alright,” came a strong voice from behind the tent’s flaps. “Send them in.”
The guards bowed and held out their hands. Takeo removed his katana and placed it in the hand of one, and Emily unsheathed her dagger and handed over her bow and arrows to the other. The guards nodded their thanks and pulled the flaps back, making a wide but slightly shallow entrance, and Takeo and Emily entered side by side but had to duck. The stench outside was beat back by a smell of incense in the air.
Inside were three men and one woman, all seated with knees on the ground while they leaned back on their heels. Takeo immediately went to the ground and bowed low, and Emily followed suit before she got a good look at any of them. Emily watched out of the corner of her eye as Takeo put his forehead to the ground, and she did so, too, thankful there was no grass to get in her nose or eyes.
“Rise, Takeo,” the same voice said, though Emily could not see to whom it belonged, “and you, too.”
“Thank you, Lord,” Takeo said and raised up so he sat on his knees like the others.
“Thank you,” Emily mumbled and lifted up as well, “Lord.”
She saw them now and took a good look. They were all dressed rather similarly, in lavish kimonos of strong colors and elegant designs laced with gold-flecked lines. The woman had lips painted red in a perpetual pout, aging lines that ran from her eyes all the way down her exposed neck, and hair swirled up into a conical mountain on top of her head. She looked only a little younger than Emily’s grandmother had been.
Two of the men were of a similar age to each other, but both were a decade or so younger than the lady. They had hard faces and stiff jaws, though they did not look related in the slightest. One had a milky white eye and a long, grey-streaked beard while the other had extremely bushy eyebrows and a bald head. Between these three sat a younger man who couldn’t have been much older than Takeo.
The younger man had a full beard that did little to hide his youthful features. His eyes were a woody hazel; his skin looked smooth. Despite his beard, the hair on top of his head was trimmed short enough to be drawn up into a single knot on the top of his head. His kimono was fiery red, pulled open just enough to show thin tendrils of chest hair curling out into the air. His height was difficult to estimate because he was sitting, but his legs appeared shorter than those of his companions. Altogether, Emily’s first impression was that he was handsome, but this might have been a misinterpretation born of the fact that, out of the four strangers, he was the only one who gave them a friendly smile.
“Welcome, Takeo Okamoto,” the younger man said in the strong voice Emily had heard before. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Thank you, Lord Jiro.” Takeo bowed low again, and Emily mimicked him. “It is an honor you remember me.”
“I remember your brother, actually,” Jiro said, touching the hairs on his chin in a manner that seemed thoughtful. “Katsu always had him close at hand when speaking to my father, but I remember seeing you not too far away during that last consultation. Your reputation was just beginning to flourish then, if I’m not mistaken.”
Takeo nodded. “Your memory is accurate, Lord, and I’d like to say that I’m glad your father did not take the offer.”
Jiro smiled with one corner of his mouth turning higher than the other. Emily thought it made him appear rough.
“My father never wanted me to gain power through marriage,” Jiro said. “Had Katsu a daughter, it might have happened anyway, but my father thought Katsu’s offer of his niece was rather insulting, even if she was beautiful. He was adamant that every Hanu earn his reputation in combat and that no human deserved to rule if they did not shed blood with their own warriors.”
“He must have hated Katsu, then, Lord,” Takeo replied.
“Hated? No, I wouldn’t say hated. He certainly didn’t respect Katsu, though. My father always led his warriors directly into combat while Katsu rarely visits a battlefield. In my humble opinion, that is why I am sitting here instead of my father, finishing the war he so desperately wanted to have.”
The older of the two other men, the one with a bald head, took his eyes off of Takeo to give Jiro an elongated stare. Jiro touched his chin hairs again and met the old man’s stare.
“Yes, Uncle. Yes,” Jiro mumbled. “Time, there is never time. Takeo, please tell me you’ve come to make my purchase worthwhile. Why did Katsu banish you and report you dead?”
Takeo repeated the story he’d told the old ninja, starting with his trip to Lucifan and ending with their return to Juatwa. He included Emily in the story a tad more this time, though he still left out her involvement with the angels. Lord Jiro scratched his beard throughout the story, but the other three accompanying him remained motionless.
“I was always curious what his plans were for Lucifan,” Jiro mused. “Katsu would be one to count the battle over before it began. It’s a shame you don’t know much more, Takeo. I was hoping to hear of a fracture in Katsu’s alliance, perhaps a falling out with some of his daimyo.”
“I’m sorry, my lord.” Takeo bowed. “I’ve heard of nothing since Katsu returned to Juatwa. All I can say is that my companion here, Emily, and I are eager to join your cause. I want to see Katsu defeated, Lord.”
“Well then, young man,” the bald man huffed, “it seems you’ve arrived just in time. I trust that cut hair of yours was just a precaution, I hope? Can we depend on you in battle?”
“I’m a ronin only in name.” Takeo kept his head bowed. “I’m still a samurai at heart, and I live to serve.”
The old woman huffed, too, and waved a hand. She exchanged a look with Jiro and stiffened her upper lip.
“He knows the words well enough,” she said. “I’ll trust the legends of his sword weren’t bought and paid for, judging by how poorly he dresses. I see no point in letting others die in his place. Put him to the test, and the sellsword, too.”
“Takeo,” Lord Jiro said, voice suddenly stronger and louder, “allow me to introduce you to my mother, the Lady Ki Hanu. I use ‘lady’ loosely, of course. My father often said he sought battle as refuge from my mother’s tongue.”
The bald man huffed again, and Emily began to think he was coughing to cover laughter, but he went silent and swallowed when Ki gave him a hard stare. The other older man, the one with the milky white eye, had yet to shift his attention from Takeo, and Emily regarded him now with a bit more interest.
The man sat in such a way as to appear uncomfortable—his shoulders straight as his back and his jaw pushed into his throat so much that, even with his lips closed, Emily could see his overbite. His bad eye twitched, and his hands looked gnarled and calloused as he rested them on his knees. His good eye was a dull grey, and as Emily stared over at the man, it flicked to meet her gaze. Emily’s heart skipped, but she did not look away. They held a stiff gaze, and Emily began to worry that she was being disrespectful. She saw Takeo out of the corner of her eye, head still bowed, and broke her gaze with the man to follow Takeo’s lead.
Better not to say anything at all, she reminded herself.
“Jiro,” the bald man said, then added after a pause, “my lord.”
“Yes, Uncle, yes.” Jiro sighed. “Takeo, you speak of battle. As my uncle said, your timing is impeccable. I trust you took note that I’m not alone in this self-made valley?”
“I took note,” Takeo replied.
“How many soldiers would you guess are out there?”
Takeo thought a moment and licked his lips. “Twenty thousand, my lord?”
“Close. You can’t see them all. I’ve got more than a few regiments just beyond the trees to the north. There’s actually thirty thousand, ten thousand of which are samurai and several hundred of which are akki led by ten oni. The rest are conscripts, but there is strength in numbers, and most of those villagers out there have been fighting this war for so long that they are nearly as good as any samurai.”
The numbers flew into Emily’s ears but meant little to her. She tried to contemplate them, but she had no idea what thirty thousand people looked like—or even a single thousand for that matter. The camp was large, and she had seen a huge crowd traveling about, but still she did not know what to think. Was thirty thousand enough? What was thirty thousand in Juatwa? A wave, or a drop in the bucket? The answer either way scared her. She was just one girl.
“I mean to bring Katsu to battle,” Lord Jiro continued. “I’ve had enough of his komainu troops raiding my villages and weakening my holds. It’s a game he’s very good at, and I lack the mobility to play it well. So, I’ve mustered as many soldiers as I can, and I’m baiting Katsu to come and destroy me for good.”
“I don’t think he will, my lord,” Takeo said. “Katsu avoids such large battles on principle. There are too many risks with far too heavy costs. Even if he wins, the number of casualties on his side might be so great he could lose power. From what I’ve seen, most daimyo tend to avoid such battles, actually. I’ve never fought in a battle where either side had more than ten thousand.”
“Nei
ther have I,” Lord Jiro said. “And you are right about the risk. However, you are wrong about Katsu. He’s not only taken the bait and mustered his armies—a good forty thousand—he’s already arrived. We’re in negotiations with him on where the battle will take place.”
Emily blinked rapidly. Did she hear right?
“Forty thousand?” she blurted out. “Negotiations? Oh! Damn it! Sorry, sorry, my lord.”
She bowed low, putting her forehead to the ground and blushing. She heard a huff from the old man, dripping with disapproval, and a flash of warmth pulsed through her body.
These are not angels or amazon queens, she reminded herself. Treat them like minotaurs.
“Who did you say this one was, Takeo?” Lord Jiro asked.
“Emily Stout, my lord,” Takeo replied. “She is an amazon.”
“An amazon,” Lord Jiro repeated. “I’ve heard the stories. Emily, hm? Well, Emily, my mother here once told me a story that you women hunt komainu-sized prey as a rite of passage. Is that true? You can rise.”
Emily rose and wiped her forehead. Her embarrassment had caused a thin layer of sweat to form and the dirt to cling to it. Now she imagined herself with a dirty forehead, which only fed her insecurity. As if being addressed by a man who commanded thirty thousand warriors wasn’t enough, she had to go and make herself look stupid.
“It’s true,” Emily said. “They’re called manticores, and we stalk and kill them while they sleep. I’ve never done it, though. I left them before I could, Lord.”
“Why did you leave?” the woman asked.
“Katsu’s wife, Heliena,” Emily said. “She killed my grandmother and tried to kill me. I’ve been following her ever since.”
Lord Jiro, his uncle, and his mother exchanged wide-eyed stares, and the man with the milky white eye lifted his chin with a subtle, deep breath.
“I see now,” the man said in a cracked voice, speaking for the first time. “That’s what I wanted to hear. It would seem Takeo has a similar taste in women as my lord’s father. I’ll take them, my lord, and make good use of them.”