by Mark Swaine
“What was it?” smiles Xiaojian curiously.
“The most ridiculous thing I have ever laid eyes upon,” says Akio. “A rounded seeded piece of bread sliced in half. In between the two slices of bread, beheld a thick round slice of fried minced beef, a square slice of cheese, slices of fried wild boar, fried forest mushrooms and onions and a fried egg... with a strange thick and sweet tasting tomato juice, all served with slices of deep fried potatoes on the side,” says Akio, wetting his dry lips. “As foul-tasting as it sounds, believe me...” pauses Akio, to remember the Healer's name.
“Xiaojian,” says the Healer softly.
“...Xiaojian, that pile of grease was the best meal I have ever tasted in my life. We ate the same meal day and night until the snow thawed and winter passed. Upon my parents return, their son's had been replaced by two men who could no longer touch their knees, they was furious,” laughs Akio painfully. “My Father had Master Yoshio race us around the village whipping us with a cane to rid us of our large bellies, but Akitaka was so fat he couldn’t stop slipping on the ice,” gasps Akio wheezing hysterically.
Xiaojian begins to smile and eventually manages a genuine release of laughter before she subtly urges him to calm.
“He was my brother,” says Akio as his laughter subsides, “and I, I killed him this day,” he adds solemnly.
“Your brother did this to you?” asks Xiaojian, surprised.
“I was targeted; ‘tis the only rational explanation for my brother's appearance,” replies Akio.
“Your brother was a skilled warrior yes?” asks Xiaojian.
“Yes, one of the most skilled warriors to claim the Ishikawa name,” replies Akio.
“Were his strike but another inch to the left, you would be dead Akio,” says Xiaojian.
“What do you speak of?” asks Akio groggily.
“I believe your brother did not wish your death, I believe he missed purposely,” says Xiaojian encouragingly.
“If I had waited for the green fire that cured the infected, then he would still be alive today,” replies Akio.
“Or he would have died from his mortal wounds. Rest now, say no more,” urges Xiaojian.
“My name... is Akio Ishikawa, son of my father Akihiko Ishikawa, son of my mother Akiko Ishikawa, and brother to the bravest, honourable and funniest man I have ever known: Akitaka Ishikawa. No force in this or any other realm will take that from me. My name is Akio, but the people call me... Kamisori no Hikari,” whispers Akio, falling unconscious.
“Has he died?” asks Wenyi.
“No, he is sleeping,” says Xiaojian as she places her ear to his heart.
“Will he survive?” asks Wenyi.
“‘Tis up to him now, I have done all I can. Should you begin to feel faint, hail me and I shall remove the needle from your arm,” replies Xiaojian, kindly.
Xiaojian rushes off to aid her struggling Novice Healers as more and more wounded begin to fall through the entrance. Attending families suddenly scream as two wounded youngsters stumble through the door whilst holding each other up. One of the teens, a girl, stares ahead in shock whilst clasping her severed wrist bandaged in a red bandana. But it was not her they feared, but the other teen. The boy rises to his feet begging for aid as blood oozes from the many bite marks on his arms and shoulders. Fearing he will turn back into an undead slave at any second, the panicking families push him away and lash out in anger. Lu Ban drops to the floor from a solid punch to his jaw as the angry villagers deliver kicks and punches to his curled up body.
“Lu Ban,” shouts Xiaojian pushing her way through the crowd.
Furious at the violent beating Lu Ban is receiving, Xiaojian delivers her own brand of medicine as she busts noses and knocks out teeth before tossing each of them out of the Healing Hut. Xiaojian stands over Lu Ban defensively and looks at the surrounding people with a menacing glare, daring any meeting her eyes to make a move. Lu Ban crawls closer to Xiaojian's feet and wraps his arms around her legs.
“I have been bitten Xiaojian, many times! Please, do not let me turn into one of those... things, not again,” pleads Lu Ban.
Xiaojian crouches and forcibly removes his arms whilst aiding the boy to his feet.
“Were you struck by a green wave of fire during the attack?” asks Xiaojian.
“Yes, yes I was,” replies Lu Ban.
“Then you have been cleansed of all infection. I told all of you of this upon your arrival, the threat is over!” shouts Xiaojian, looking at the boy's attackers as they watch from the porch.
“Lu Ban, you are going to live, sit down. Who is your companion?” asks Xioajian, slowly waving her hand in front of her face.
“I know not, I found her lying by the side of the trail on my journey here,” replies Lu Ban.
“Where is your family Lu Ban?” asks Xiajian, looking at the slim cleaved stump on the girl's arm.
“Safe, I locked them in the store room,” replies Lu Ban.
“Why are you not with them?” asks Xiaojian carefully unravelling the sticky bandage of the girls wrist.
“I locked myself out by mistake,” replies Lu Ban sheepishly.
“This why they call you Bènzhuō de Mùjiang (the Clumsy Carpenter), Lu Ban,” says Xiaojian, with chagrin.
“I know,” says Lu Ban, in self stupidity, “what is wrong with her?” asks Lu Ban snapping his fingers in front of her.
“She is in shock,” replies Xiaojian.
Xiaojian takes her other hand and inspects her fingers and the texture of her skin whilst sniffing her palm.
“A musician, probably from the Míngjiào (Chirping) villages,” muses Xiaojian.
“Music is their livelihood,” says Lu Ban, sadly observing her severed wrist.
“What is your name?” asks Xiaojian gently.
The silent girl fails to answer and her blood-splashed face stares through Xiaojian, all too aware she will never play Guqin again.
“I am going to clean your wound and sear it with a hot blade to cease the bleeding,” says Xiaojian kindly but firmly.
“Her name is Ling Long Song,” says Mǎkè, leaning his hand against the wall.
“I know you!” exclaims Lu Ban.
“Many people do, my reputation as the number one Trader is well known through these parts,” repliesMǎkè.
“You are the one who sold me that useless contraption two years ago,” says Lu Ban irately.
“‘Tis not a useless contraption, you are merely useless at operating it. I have tested it myself,” says Mǎkè, showing him a cleaved scar on his leg.
“You know this girl?” asks Xiaojian, ceasing their bickering.
“Yes, I sell her precious items from time to time,” replies Mǎkè.
“Like the one you sold me,” replies Lu Ban.
“‘Tis not my fault you cannot handle a simple wood cutter,” replies Mǎkè.
“Silence, both of you. Mǎkè?” says Xiaojian.
“I know her Xiaojian, I trade dragon twine with her. Do not close her wound I can help,” insistsMǎkè.
“How can you help? You are no Healer,” says Xiaojian.
“No, but I can replace her missing hand with an even better one,” swearsMǎkè.
“You can do that, truly?” asks Ling Long Song breaking out of her trance.
“Give me one chance Ling, and I will craft you a hand that will play dragon steel Guqin louder than the greatest lightning storm you have ever heard,” growls Mǎkè, crouching beside her.
“Ling Long Song, I am sure Mǎkè means well, but we must close your wound and we must do it now,” says Xiaojian, sympathetically.
“Ling, you have seen what I can do,” says Mǎkè.
“So have I,” interrupts Lu Ban.
“Mǎkè, you are a gifted creator, but what you are stating is not possible. Stop presenting her with false hope,” says Xiaojian quietly to Mǎkè.
“I am telling you it is possible,” replies Mǎkè.
A Novice Healer rushes up to Xiaojian an
d whispers worriedly and quietly into her ear.
“Xiaojian, we are running low on supplies,” says the Novice Healer.
“Take all that is left from the crops, harvest everything you can,” replies Xiaojian.
“We already have, there are villagers outside still looking for more, but I tell you there are none,” says the New Healer, anxiously.
“I have supplies, I have enough herbs, medicine and bandages to last you a whole season, but it will take days to reach my home,” says Mǎkè.
“Where does your home reside,Mǎkè?” asks Xiaojian.
“One mile east of “Qiūjì Tiě” village, at the “Nínìng de Yīng” (Muddy Hawk) mountain range,” repliesMǎkè.
“The journey would take almost two weeks there and back, we need supplies now, by next sundown latest,” says Xiaojian.
“Tree,” whispers Akio.
“Xiaojian, the Samurai has spoken. He is awake!” shouts Wenyi.
Akio suddenly lunges out with his fist and grabs Wenyi's rat-pelted spaulder, pulling him close.
“Portal tree, Bonsai... will take you to “Qiūjì Tiě” village,” whispers Akio.
“What is he saying Wenyi?” asks Xiaojian, urgently.
“I do not know, his words not make any sense,” says Wenyi puzzled. “Something about a portal Bonsai tree,”
“Out of my way,” says Mǎkè urgently as he bounds to Akio's side.
“You know the locations of the Emperor's Bonsai portals, tell me,” says Mǎkè, urgently.
Akio whispers the location of the nearest Bonsai portal to Mǎkè, and tells him the nearest location where the tree will place him should he envisage it in his mind.
“The Qiūjì Tiě village?” says Mǎkè, squeezing his hand.
Akio nods affirmatively and Mǎkè nods gratefully before racing to the exit.
“Ling Long Song, are you coming?” asks Mǎkè with an outstretched hand.
Ling Long Song looks at Xiaojian who shakes her head disapprovingly, but she helps her to her feet regardless, knowing she has already made her decision.
“Go and sit on Húluóbo,” says Mǎkè, gently aiding her steps.
“Húluóbo?” asks Ling Long, faintly.
“The iron donkey waiting by the trail,” replies Mǎkè, pointing to an “eeking” metal mule with twitching ears. “I will return sometime after next sunrise, with everything you require,” promises Mǎkè to Xiaojian.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Back at the Gāo Fēng temple, Kamui Li feels agitated and frustrated as he wonders how many of his men are unaccounted for. Even though he’s regained a great number of his forces due to Yu-Huang's earlier outburst of power, he wonders what state their minds are in after being enslaved to the darkness for such a long period of time. Perhaps Xan Li better understands what is going through their troubled minds, for even though she wasn't directly infected by the darkness, who knows what nightmares she's had to suffer during her own imprisonment. Words seemed not to matter to her lately, and there was nothing he could say to snap her out of her disillusioned state. It's as if her senses still trick her into believing she will wake up in her long, sharp steel cell at any moment. But if the Onna-Bugeisha are to continue trusting in her leadership, she needs to wake up muses Kamui Li. Kamui Li knocks back the wine and taps out the used tobacco and grips the handrail with both hands before hanging his head. Kamui Li notices a maid smiling in thought in the corner of his eye whilst leaning on the balcony of Chung Denshi's chamber wing aa short distance away. Anming catches sight of Kamui Li and bows her head and Kamui Li returns the gesture whilst observing the landscape of grey clouds ahead. Kamui Li looks back at Anming, still smiling with her thoughts resting on a good man. Anming notices the glum Samurai and suddenly feels sorry for him and his great loss this day.
“Forgive me,” says Anming, “‘tis not right to smile so trivially after the great loss of your men who have fought and died this day,” says Anming humbly.
“Do not regret smiling kind maiden, somebody should,” replies Kamui Li civilly.
“You are the great and honourable Samurai, Kamui Li, are you not?” says Anming raising her voice over the howling wind.
“I am, and you are?” asks Kamui Li,
“Anming, a servant in the House of Ox,” replies the happy maiden. “Chung Denshi has told me many great things about you,”
“Chung Denshi?” says Kamui Li, questioning the cavalier reference of the Priest Minister.
“Minister Denshi,” says Anming, smiling embarrassingly.
“Minister Denshi is a complicated man,” says Kamui Li exhaustedly whilst leaning on the balcony.
“No,” says Anming easily, “his service to the Emperor and the people are his first and foremost priority,”
“As is mine. But Minister Denshi is a difficult man to read,” replies Kamui Li.
“Tis the foreign warriors, the Samurai that will aid the Brotherhood in achieving victory against the Darkness,” says Anming, quoting Chung Denshi.
“One can only hope,” says Kamui Li, doubtful of the Ministry's intervention, “is that what the people are saying?” asks Kamui Li kindly, indulging in her praise.
“No, that is what Chung Denshi is saying,” replies Anming. “Chung Denshi is your ally in the Brotherhood, and you need no other. I fear he plans to join your forces should the minions of darkness mount another attack on the city,” adds Anming, worriedly.
“Fear not, Chung Denshi can handle himself,” replies Kamui Li, recalling the Minister's Wind and Fire blades in whirling action. "Where is Minister Denshi now?”
“Attending a congregation in the archive hall,” replies Anming.
As the wind blows a few patters of rain onto the balcony, the two look up at the approaching clouds.
“Fortune smiles upon the city this night, the rain will aid in dousing the fires,” says Kamui Li.
“I will pray to Raijin for tears of wrath, farewell Master Samurai, I must attend to my duties,” says Anming earnestly.
Kamui Li returns the gesture and returns his room. Anming's words had relaxed his thoughts regarding Minister Denshi, for if he is indeed his ally, it might make handling the other unpredictable Priests easier to handle. Kamui Li falls back on the comfortable bed and watches the oncoming storm between the spaces of the flapping cowhide curtain. Relieved of the skies’ heavy content of rain instead of undead bodies, he imagines it almost safe to sleep, a luxury he hadn't indulged in since the outbreak in his homeland. Kamui Li remembers how his body felt before he was bestowed with the Curse of Immortality, and he still cannot sense any difference. But he had heard the stories, and he been warned, all who were chosen were warned of the dire toll the passing ages will have on the their souls, he just didn't believe it would actually happen, who would have though Emperor Kazuko had the means to gain such knowledge muses Kamui Li. But such things no longer matter, for the Emperor's new found power will surely destroy Hisako-Hisa and the Darkness inside of her. It may take seasons, years even. It may take a semicentennial; he cares not, with the Emperor by his side they would take it all back. Kamui Li dares to hope as he recalls the Emperor's outburst of power that had saved his people and kingdom. With such divine power beheld in such good hands, Kamui Li dares to dream of the day when Yu-Huang will fight by his side to liberate the Great Islands of Japan. As the heavy grey clouds rumble a deep gentle song making his eyes heavy, he smiles at the thought of the green tidal wave of fire cleansing his homeland.
The Samurai allows the softness of the pillow to sink around his head and he dares to hope that he will once again see his beloved Sumika. He hopes that wherever she is, she is safe and dreaming of him also. He allows his peaceful thoughts to carry him away and he imagines the day when they can return to their homeland together. He dreams of building a home and raising children with the woman he loves, and within seconds he drifts into a deep sleep as the patter of rain begins a hypnotising rhythm atop the deeply slanted roof tiles. Yu-Huang however, cannot slee
p, and cannot wait a day longer for his much sought after answers. Beyond the West Green Moors, home to the mighty and hulking bulls, bison and Oxen, a foot-worn pathway winds over the giant arches of green. Beyond the rising and dipping moors, the trail disappears into a thick brush of jungle where the roofs of a wide tiled multi-tiered tower structure can be seen as tiny collection of blocks dotted with flickering lights. Weathered Jade banners flap fiercely on high poles lining both sides of the trail. Winding over the isolated green hills, they guide those who might stray from the path and wind up as a gored run down trophy.