9

  Eres Ieruri

  Kivaan ran lightly through the pre-dawn gloom, putting aside most of his caution with the knowledge that Tsukio had survived and had gone ahead of him. He did wonder if Tsukio was in any shape to render aid, for his last memory of the lad was him slumped against a tree motionless. Madari had said nothing either way about giving Tsukio healing of any sort, and so Kivaan grit his teeth against the ongoing fire in his back and pressed on, beseeching Jiaduni on behalf of his friend.

  The land changed from the relatively flat terrain of the forest, here and there interspersed with gullies and crevasses, into the gentle upward slope that indicated Kivaan was coming into the surrounds of the foothills. More rocks jutted up out of the nivaan needles, and the gullies became steeper and deeper. The trees grew in a more haphazard manner as their roots grasped for whatever purchase was possible in the rocky soil.

  Kivaan began to slow his pace now. He was nimble of foot, and a good judge of terrain, but he was coming close to the place Madari had pointed out, and was sure that someone of her ability must have judged it as being about what Tsukio was capable of in his condition. Not only did Kivaan want to ensure that Tsukio did not mistake him for an enemy, but he did not wish to stumble into an enemy trap.

  Jiaduni, I will not insult you by presuming to barter with you … please only guide my steps and let me not dishonour your name. Let me find the princess in time.

  The two foothills flanked Kivaan now, looming over him in the early morning gloom. He had left the territory of the truly monstrous nivaan trees behind, and he now made his way among rocky outcrops and over the fallen bodies of the nivaan trees that grew up for a time on the rocky slopes before falling over due to their own weight and inability to take deep root in bad soil.

  “Kivaan,” rasped a voice at last, breathing heavily and sounding weary.

  Kivaan sought and found the source of the voice in an instant. Tsukio was leaning heavily against a nearby column of shikyo, his face drawn and pulled into a grimace. His hair hung in sweaty strands in his eyes and he breathed out a sigh of relief to see Kivaan.

  “Did you rest well?” Tsukio asked with a crooked grin.

  “You are pushing yourself to your death and still think to make light of the situation,” Kivaan retorted. “What is your condition?”

  “I will live,” Tsukio said confidently. His face fell. “Alas, I cannot be of much more help. I need rest at the very least, but a physician would be ideal.” In the truly pragmatic nature of a warrior of Eres Zoru, he did not dwell a moment on Kivaan’s miraculous recovery or presence. Instead, he pointed on through the pass and then swept his hand up the side of the foothill closest to the Edge of the Blade. “They began to climb the spur here,” he rasped. “There is a path, likely used by the Hill Folk. The agents are either supremely confident in their own abilities or just as uninformed as the last group. I would never wish to fight the Hill Folk on their own land.”

  Kivaan put his hand on Tsukio’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “Tsukio … thank you. Now, you must retreat. You can barely stand, let alone fight. I will see this through.”

  Tsukio chuckled disparagingly to himself before turning his face up toward the stars, finally spread out above them, and still visible even in the early hours of the morning due to the lack of artificial light. His eyes roved for a long moment, and Kivaan wondered what fates he was seeking out, but at last, Tsukio smiled and nodded.

  “Very well,” he allowed. “Where would you have me retreat to?”

  “Shikyo,” Kivaan said without hesitation. “If I live, I will make for there with the princess. If I fall, you must tell the First Guardian what befell us. Tell him that White Towers dabbles with The Fiends.”

  Tsukio nodded slowly, his face aghast but not surprised. “It will be as you say,” he said with spirit. “Go in the way of Jiaduni. May his back be all you see.”

  “And you,” Kivaan nodded. “If we both hold to his Way, we shall meet again, whatever end befalls us.”

  With a final clap on the shoulder, Tsukio moved away, passing Kivaan and making his way back the way Kivaan had just come. Kivaan was relieved to see that his movements were not crippled, although they did seem severely fatigued. Determined to trust Tsukio’s words, Kivaan turned resolutely for his new path. Now he must go cautiously, as if enemies lurked behind every rock and tree. He paused for a moment to calm his mind, and then stepped onto his new course.

  The path was steep, and the footing bad. Kivaan passed several places where it looked as if someone had lost their footing and scrambled to regain it. It did not seem likely that the great charmer who had recaptured the princess and her handmaidens would make such blunders, and so Kivaan readied himself for the likelihood of reinforcements. It filled him with an unsettling anxiety to think it was the clumsy princess, and he tried not to think about how she might have been punished for those falls.

  On he climbed, moving from foothills onto the spur proper. Here grew a sparser variant of nivaan that managed to eke out a futile existence in the bad soil, and grew noticeably more stunted and gangly for it. Even so, the reaching branches and low hanging canopy made for good cover, although Kivaan knew full well that such cover worked both for and against him.

  The sun broke over the horizon as he came to a place of relatively flat land at the top of this stage of the spur. He recognised Oniwa at the same time as the big lad caught sight of him, and they both regarded each other with hard sets to their jaw as Kivaan closed the distance at a measured walk. Oniwa had been sitting upon a wide, flat, column of stone, almost as if waiting for him.

  “I thought it was Tsukio that followed,” Oniwa grunted, on edge.

  “It was,” replied Kivaan neutrally. “He was not fit to fight, however. I bid him retreat.”

  “You are unharmed?” asked Oniwa suspiciously.

  “Pierced in the back with a spear,” Kivaan returned with only mild venom. “But I was given unexpected aid, and here I am. Your presence is far more of a mystery than mine.”

  Oniwa looked angry, but it was directed at himself. “I have shamed myself and my people,” he spat, uncharacteristically overcome with emotion. “Fear seized me and I acted before I knew myself. Common sense would have advised that an enemy powerful enough to kill you would hunt me down and finish Jiriou and I in short order. Banding together was always our best course of action. I can do no more than die in your service.” Oniwa leaped off the rock and fell to both knees, lifting his chin to expose his throat, and holding out both hands with palms to the sky. “Use my life as you see fit. I will not falter again, whether you slay me here or bid me hunt down every last member of the Cult.”

  “I am in no place to receive the servitude of others,” Kivaan confessed. “If you would aid me in rescuing the princess and her handmaidens, I will gratefully accept. Am I correct in understanding that you have picked up their trail?”

  “I have,” Oniwa nodded, rising to his feet. “What do you intend to do?”

  “I intend to retrieve those taken by the intruders,” Kivaan replied. “If you will show me the way, I will consider any debt paid in full. This path is not for those with no allegiance to Jiaduni.”

  “I will lead you then,” Oniwa agreed, although he sounded disappointed.

  I know the feeling of being denied honourable death in battle as a way of paying for my shortcomings, Kivaan mused. But Madari was right … it is better – if harder – to make things right by staying alive than it is to pay with your life.

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  Oniwa set off at a brisk pace, his head low and his steps silent. Kivaan could see that his bow was strung and a great arrow notched loosely. The trail must be very fresh for Oniwa to be so ready for action.

  They continued on in silence as the sun rose over the faraway horizon. Somewhere over that horizon was the Bay of Separation, and beyond that, the islands from which his mother came. It had been only the previous day that he had been so sure he would be arriving in his father’s lands within the month, and now he had given up any pretence of knowing when he would end up anywhere. His only focus now was to free the princess from her abductors and return her to her father.

  “I smell fire,” warned Oniwa, his voice low. “I will go on ahead. Please wait for my call.”

  “Kitsugeha?”

  Oniwa nodded once and melted off the path to disappear among the rocks, shrubs, and gnarled trees. The rising sun would be at his back as he made his approach to any enemies. It was a reasonable position to be in, if somewhat nullified by the fact that they were pursuing their foes uphill. Kivaan was grateful that he did not need to pursue enemies uphill into the sun.

  He was not waiting for very long when he heard the piercing trio of calls used by a hunting bird of prey. As was customary, he waited for the follow up call, which would prove to be less accurate to the real creature than the initial shriek. The cry came again, and this time Kivaan understood that the fire was abandoned, and so he resumed his march. He still exercised some caution, however, not willing to completely trust in Oniwa’s contrition.

  Kivaan saw the columns of black smoke snaking their way lazily into the sky long before he came to the campsite. The smoke was black and sickly, as if something vile were being burned upon the fires. He could tell by looking at them that they must smell foul as well. Eight plumes coiled slowly up into the early morning, two of them decidedly fatter than the others.

  When Kivaan finally crested the last ridge before the campsite, it was a terrible scene that met him. The path meandered down a little ways onto a small plateau where the agents of The Cult had evidently made camp the evening before. Foul-smelling fires still smouldered in a wide circle around two larger fires in the middle of the campsite. Evil runes had been scorched into the grass and soil, and Kivaan recognised horrible curses upon those who did not espouse Raashim’s policies and worship. Most horrendous, however, were the steaming, black pikes that propped up a pair of limp figures above the two largest fires.

  Kivaan’s heart fell at the sight. The handmaidens had been brutally executed and left hanging as an example, impaled and propped up, each supported by four pikes with viciously forked heads designed to pierce and hold up their victims. The girls’ robes smouldered about them in tatters, and standing in front of them, staring disbelievingly up at them, was Jiriou. Oniwa stood at his side, equally shaken.

  The Chuho are destroyed, Kivaan assessed grimly. No sign of the princess. Why take her alive? Why do they want her?

  Jiriou turned slowly, glaring at him.

  “So you live!” he snapped.

  “As do you,” Kivaan replied calmly.

  “We have clearly been blessed by some fortune!” Jiriou sneered. He flung an arm out angrily towards the handmaidens. “And what of them?”

  “Have they not endured enough without your continued hostility?” asked Kivaan, shaking his head.

  “Evidently they could endure still more!” Jiriou spluttered indignantly. “Kivaan! Tell me! What should I believe about creatures that can be pierced like this and live?!”

  Kivaan’s gaze snapped back to the handmaidens, and he realised then that Jiriou was correct. They were indeed still alive, if barely. The pikes were imbued with some sort of terrible charm that had allowed their Chuho hide to be pierced and wounded, and the fell weapons must also be hampering their legendary healing capabilities. Smoke drifted idly from the mouth and nostrils of one of the handmaidens, and the other studied Kivaan through weary eyes that glowed with a smouldering rage as old as the Realms themselves.

  “Cut them down,” Kivaan ordered immediately.

  “I would not touch those black weapons if my life were dependant on it!” Jiriou seethed.

  “Is that your command, Knight Ascendant?” asked Oniwa seriously.

  “Be ready,” Kivaan amended. “I will cut them down. Catch them when they fall. These fires may be as foul as the weapons.”

  The Blade of Jiaduni exploded into his hands, and Kivaan flicked it out towards the pikes, cutting through all of them as if they were nothing but threads beneath a razor. It amazed Kivaan to see that he had not even needed to make contact with most of them. His intention had been understood by the blade, and it had reached out and enacted it. Jiriou and Oniwa snatched up the handmaidens as they fell, somehow managing not to lose their focus in the face of a weapon so casually devastating. Kivaan especially could not yet believe the undeserved power in his hand.

  Jiriou and Oniwa lay the handmaidens down gently upon the soft mountain grass. Oniwa volunteered his outer garment to shield one of the handmaiden’s near-nakedness, as her robes did not have the same resistance to the flame as she did herself. Under clear – if completely self-imposed – duress, Jiriou followed suit. Kivaan knelt at the girls’ side.

  “Are you able to speak?” he asked gently.

  The girl with the golden eyes remained silent, but the other hissed a plume of smoke through her teeth and locked eyes with Kivaan.

  “By the end of this day, I shall be able to do far more than speak,” she promised venomously. Then her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “We thought you dead.”

  “As did I,” Kivaan nodded. “It seems, however, there is more for all of us still to do.”

  The golden eyes closed peacefully, as if in thought. “We will rest here for the day and the coming night,” she decided, not deeming fit to elaborate further.

  “It is scarcely break of day and you wish to make camp?” asked Jiriou indignantly. “Truly, those who live at court have hard lives that they …”

  “Hush,” whispered the girl with the golden eyes, never so much as moving. Her voice was sweet and quiet, almost sleepy. Scarcely had the word left her mouth then Jiriou rolled over on his side, dead asleep.

  “What have you done to him?” demanded Oniwa, rising to his feet and backing away to Jiriou’s side.

  “He dreams pleasant dreams of making his father proud,” murmured the girl. “He will awaken before yoja ka.”

  Kivaan looked at the irritation stamped on Oniwa’s face, and wondered if it were due to the ramifications of the power on display before him, or the fact that he didn’t know when yoja ka would be. It was especially the habit of military fortifications of Eres Niwa and Yomian to differentiate when their watches began and how long they went for as a minor security measure against infiltration.

  “Do you truly believe that we can afford to spend so much time in idleness?” Kivaan asked frankly. They are certainly Chuho in both name and nature, he thoughts tersely. They seem cold and otherworldy, as if our concerns have no merit.

  “You need our allegiance to bring the Cult to battle,” golden eyes decided, still lying peacefully on her back, her face turned up towards the sky. Her unnerving eyes, however, did roll down to cast a sidelong glance at Kivaan. “We must heal from these injuries. You require our aid. Therefore, we must wait until tomorrow morning to continue our pursuit.” She spoke each word as if to an infant.

  “You were defeated once,” Oniwa growled. “What assurance do we have that you will be worthwhile allies this time?”

  “We were still recovering from the death shroud charm when they put us to their fell flame,” the girl like a sickly furnace snarled. She half moved to sit upright, but went deathly pale and fell back again, breathing hard. “This is maddening,” she hissed in an agony of both the body and spirit.

  “What can you eat to enhance your healing?” Kivaan asked. “I will send Oniwa hunting, which will gainfully employ his talents for some time at least. If we must wait here, it is better that we use the time constructively.”

  “Zosa,” murmured golden eyes. “Zosa will nurture our bodies best in this instance. And heshima to drive out the curse.”

  “Heshima is a poison,” Oniwa stated. “And where am I to find zosa at the top of a spur?”

  “Heshima is little more than a medicant to our kind,” the furnace sneered. “We are not so frail as you.”

  “That is a strange thing to say while unable to move and making demands,” Kivaan said gently. “Now … Oniwa. Please be about it. See if there are any mountain pools in which you might find zosa. If not, find what you can. And be sure to bring heshima.”

  “As you will, my Lord,” Oniwa nodded tersely, far less opposed to going on a pointless mission when it was Kivaan commanding it. The Chuho had clearly gotten deep under his skin.

  The big lad unstrung his mighty bow before setting off on his foraging errand, and was soon lost to both sight and hearing.

  “I would know the names of the handmaidens of Lady Tsuzumiyu,” Kivaan said then, going down on his knees beside them so he wasn’t towering over them.

  “Such a well-mannered knight,” the golden eyes smiled sleepily. She seemed to do everything sleepily. “I am Hajuyu. It is becoming my pleasure to work with you.”

  “Kageyu,” grumbled the furnace. “Do you often send your fellows off to do your work for you? Is that the sort of lord you are?”

  Kivaan chuckled. “Your names are apt. I look forward to working with you both.” And he stood tall once again, casting his gaze towards the slumbering remains of the wicked fires. Squaring his shoulders, he looked back to the two incapacitated girls and allowed himself a small smile. “I am no lord.”

  Eres Ieruri: translates to ‘The Way of Resistance’; in this context, it refers to a shift in personal life philosophy.

  Yoja ka: translates to “second watch”. The watches of Shikyo begin at sun-up, and last for two of our hours. Whether such time-stamps mean anything to a lad raised in the mountains is another matter entirely.

  Zosa: translates into ‘water spirit’, and is the general term for the fish-like aquatic creatures of their land.

  Heshima: translates into ‘death with spots’, and is a toadstool-like growth that is deadly to most creatures.

  Hajuyu: translates to ‘cursed tongue child’.

  Kageyu: translates to ‘shadow fire child’.