Hello again. Chapter 3 is up. And I have some comments:
-Please don't credit me the creating of the world in this story. Noria empire and Yamidaria are based on some of the empires in Michelle's books. I have changed the setting and the rules, but the idea of the servants and light against dark is hers. Just want to make that's clear.
-For this chapter I want you to remember that there are practically three races in this story. Noranen, Yamidarians and lastly the nonblooded, who are just humans. They are called nonblooded because they posses no blood from either of the Servants. Noria's Light and Yamidarians' red fire could not harm the humans. Relatively, Noranen and Yamidarians live longer because of the immortal blood they have, but it had been diluted through many generations.
-The Servants of Darkness, namely Kenshin, consider the people of the blood tainted and holds them with disdain.
Enjoy this chapter, the end is the best part.
Chapter 3:
The news about Kaoru's mother reached the village days before their arrival.
Okita was waiting for her in the house she used to share with her mother. It was near dawn before he heard someone approaching. Okita was weary.
Kaoru had left as a child. She would now return as a warrior, an adult.
And her mother...Bright Lord, her mother.
"Kaoru?" he whispered as he moved hesitantly to the other room, holding a lamp aloft.
Lights touched the ceiling and flickered there as Kaoru stood by the entranceway.
"I've reached my Light, Okita," Kaoru said in a voice barely recognizable to Okita. "I'm an adult now."
It was not way he had imagined she would say it.
The lamp was deposited on the stairs as Okita took two steps forward.
Kaoru stepped back.
"I'm sorry, the journey was long," she did not meet his eyes, "I am sorry you had to wait, please excuse me."
"Kaoru..." Okita whispered.
She only shook her head and went quickly upstairs.
The next morning a ceremony of departure was performed to those lost to the Nightwalkers attack. The circle of the vaulted Great Hall was full. Adults stood on all sides, wearing their grays and their blacks and their sorrow equally. Okita stood beside Kaoru and cried all the tears that he knew she would not.
Kaoru stood in the front of the gathering. People made way for her, their expressions a mingling of bitter grief and sympathy.
Keria was given the warrior's departure; her coffin was surrounded by warrior-priests, arms held at ready.
Abikaro had asked Kaoru if she would like to stand. She had refused. If she had not had the strength to stand by her mother when her mother was alive, she had no right to stand by her corpse in any position of honour.
The High Priest presided over this departure, as he had done over all. But the words that were spoken by him flitted by Kaoru's ears without ever touching them. Everything was a dim, gray blur.
She approached the coffin once and looked at what remained of her mother in cold, stiff silence.
I will never forget you.
She did not touch the body.
After the ceremony many people, some that she recognized vaguely and some that she knew well, came up to her to offer her their sympathy. They couldn't know that each word they spoke cut her sharply.
Only the Okita seemed to understand, and for this one thing, Kaoru was grateful.
"Kaoru." Okita wiped his hands with a white rag although they'd been dry since the fourth time he'd done it.
Kaoru continued to wash the plate, each movement of the rag slow and methodical. Her eyes, wide and glassy, stared into the cooling water.
Okita wondered what she saw there. For many years they had known each other, they grew together. Not one day in all that time had prepared Okita for this silence, the wall of it cold and hard. Some warriors would have been proud of the stoic Noranen spirit that Kaoru showed. Okita hated it. Since she returned two weeks ago, she had shown him nothing else. They both waited for the initiation ceremony that would send them to the front lines.
He sensed that to Kaoru, the initiation ceremony could not come soon enough.
"Kaoru?"
"Yes, Okita?"
"If we've finished here, I think old Mai could use our help setting up in the circle for tomorrow." He placed the rag on the table.
"I—I have a lot of studying to do."
She always said so, as if he wasn't her age and knew what studying and training they had to do.
Why hasn't she cried? Okita shook his head in worry. It isn't natural. Then again, by all accounts neither was her mother's death.
He shook her head again. Soon he would go to the front lines and see for himself. What mattered now was bringing back his old friend, if it was possible.
"Study can wait. Abikaro won't be training today and old Mai is not as young as she used to be and could use the help."
They both knew it wasn't strictly true, but Kaoru nodded listlessly. She removed her apron and set it aside on a chair.
The circle was quiet at that time, the flagpoles naked in the evening breeze. Okita approached Mai's stall and set the boards up so he could greet the old woman. Kaoru trailed behind, a quiet ghost. Even her feet made no sound.
The old woman regarded her with eyes that bellied her age.
"Young lad, I need your help here," she said, "and you Kaoru, why don't you set the flag to fly?"
Kaoru looked mostly confused as Okita deposited the carefully curled flag into her vacant arms. "Now?"
"I am here," old Mai replied. "Might as well let people know it."
Kaoru looked around. "But you've nothing to sell."
"Kaoru, when you came three years ago, I'd nothing left to sell either. Times are hard"
Kaoru swallowed. "Oh, Mai—" Her eyes glimmered for a moment and Okita held his breath. Then Kaoru shook herself and bolted to the pole, her ravine ponytail flying behind her.
It had been close.
The ropes and pulleys of the pole were stiff; if not for Abikaro's training, Kaoru doubted she'd have had the strength to put up the flag on her own. She carefully tied the flag into place and, once she was sure it was secured, began to pull for all she was worth.
She stopped when something began to tug at her dress. The flag was at half height.
A young child, fist attached to her robes, looked up at her. "Is that old Mai's?"
"Yes," Kaoru said quietly.
"I've got something to show her." The young boy looked at his stomach. He had pale, gold hair that was already browning at the roots. His clothing, bright blue and red, marked him as the smith's son.
"What is that?" Without thinking, Kaoru lowered herself until their eyes were level. Talking with a child was better than thinking about her mother.
For a moment the boy looked suspicious. Then he nodded as if to himself and opened up his shirt. Curled against his ivory stomach was a small kitten, fast asleep.
"I got it off Kerris's mom," the boy whispered. "She says it's part of old Mag's litter. Says there were five." His brow puckered. "Don't know how five fit into old Mag's stomach."
The little white ball of fur shifted suddenly and the boy gritted his teeth. Between them he hissed, "He does it all the time. These little ones got claws."
Kaoru nodded slowly.
"You all right?"
"Yes." Her lips hardly moved.
Very gingerly, he shifted the kitten between his hands and held it out. "You want to hold him?"
"Could I?"
He nodded. "You're okay. Adaru is stupid; he almost strangled it. But you'll be fine." There was a world of trust in those words.
Kaoru took the kitten. It was warm and soft; it moved as she began to scratch its ears. It had a little, rough tongue that darted hesitantly out.
"He's pretty, isn't he?"
Kaoru nodded.
"Hey!" The voice was high. "Are you all right?"
She nodded dumbly. Then she began to cry. She lifted the kitten, felt its claws scrape her cheeks, and felt its tongue take her tears.
She heard the boy's footsteps, heard him shouting for old Mai, and heard Okita's low mumble—words that didn't mean anything to her. She didn't know why she was crying, but she held the kitten that much closer.
Hours later, Okita took her home. Kaoru leaned into her friend's shoulder in silence. She didn't speak about her mother's death, and he didn't ask, but they both felt better for the visit to the circle.
And very often, when Kaoru was tired or frightened or lonely, she returned to the circle, looking for the smith's son and his friends. And in time they came, to show her things and share with her their little secrets and complaints. And their trust grew to mean a lot to her, because she trusted herself so little.
It did not occur to her that, in human reckoning, she was a child too.
Although Kaoru was acknowledged from that point on as adult, it was a full month before she was granted the robes of her office at the ceremony of initiation.
Sagara, Second of the Light, visited her a day before the ceremony.
Kaoru was in the house of her mother, checking her pack for perhaps the tenth time that day.
"Child."
Kaoru turned to him.
No surprise was written on her face as she stared as his bright form by the door. Sagara was aware of the sensory changes that came with the Awakening. All Noranen had, by nature of blood, better hearing or sight than the nonblooded; it came from the parentage of Servants of the Bright Lord. Of all the people of Noria, Kaoru, as a result of the vast amount of power she harboured, should see the farthest and with the best degree of certainty; and she could hear even the most subtle of sounds.
"Lord," she smiled. And even though her smile was small, Sagara was relieved to feel a sense of peace about her which had not been there the last time he saw her.
It was a fragile peace, but it would do for now.
Sagara stepped into the house, his tall frame emitting light across the sparsely lit room. "You leave for the front tomorrow." It was not a question.
Kaoru tensed, sensing the underlying meaning of his words. "You don't think I am ready."
The smile that grazed Sagara's lips was sad. "No one is ever ready for war, child."
"I am not a child," Kaoru said. Her words were stubborn but spoken softly.
Sagar stopped then, closing his eyes again. How much can I tell you, child? For Kaoru was, truly, a child in the eyes of the eldest.
"Starting tomorrow your life will change. Can you not feel it? The changes about you."
Kaoru understood what he meant. He was referring to her sight and hearing.
"Yes," she said and Sagara could see a question rising.
"But?"
"But I am different," Kaoru said in hesitant voice, "Okita's senses has sharpened since his wakening too but not to the same degree, I see and hear furtherthan all my year mates, and," she stopped suddenly, "and I can see the surprise in Abikaro's eyes." and few things in this world could surprise her instructor.
"Kaoru," he moved closer and held her hands. His were warm and hers were shaking. "You are special," he led her to a chair and made get sit, but he remained standing. "You don't need anyone to tell you thus. But with great powers comes great responsibility, you will face great hardships."
"I know."
He shook his head ruefully.
"You will see death, child, and more; your gift, your talent, is the talent of your mother. You are a healer by birth and warrior by choice, but it is the healer that will often dominate. When you fight on the field, you will fight two battles: the one against the enemy, and the other against your need to ease the pain that will surround you."
At that time Kaoru did not comprehend, but her gift would be the cause of great victory and great sorrow.
"And because of your abilities all the responsibility of the field will be yours. Your friend and line-mate must remain with his unit, but you will belong to all. You will go where you are needed and will lend your power to all of your kin."
Confusion appeared on Kaoru's young face. "I am told I will join Abikaro's unit."
"You will until you are ready."
Kaoru nodded. Silent filled the small living room and it was Kaoru who broke it first.
"Lord, I am scared," she whispered, and her words took the Second by surprise. But before he could reply she continued, and if possible her next words shocked him more.
"I am scared that I won't live up to the hopes Noria and the Light," her eyes did not meet his, but were fixed down on her hands. "I know I am, of all the warriors in Noria, given this power for a reason, and I am scared to fail them. To fail you."
I wish I could tell you, child, I wish I could tell you for what you are burdened with powers that are almost equal to mine, but the details elude me, Lady Kamiya had not shared all she knew.
Sagara knelt by the chair and placed one hand on hers. "You will become the strongest single force that the Enemy would have to deal with. This I know."
Her blue eyes widened at this, but she nodded immediately.
"Kaoru, there is something I must say, something I heard from the First Lady of the Light."
Kaoru frowned. "Lady Kamiya?" She of course had never met the First of the Bright Lord. Lady Kamiya died fourteen years ago.
"Yes, she once told me: nothing is unalloyed. In everyone, even you, child, there is hatred, chaos, and some small measure of darkness. And likewise, the Yamidarians have their love, their order, and their light. It is peculiar and dim; it does not affect the whole—but never doubt that it is there. Try to see this when you walk in darkness. Try to forgive it, though you walk with light. "
There was some confusion in her eyes, but Kaoru said firmly. "I will prove true to my heritage."
"Yes, child, you will."
To the very end.
On the day of Kaoru's departure, many of the village children Kaoru had befriended came to say goodbye. They had grown attached to her in the last few weeks and it was reflected on the way they clung to her and wept. They were loath to let her go. Her touch had made their wounds heal, and made the injuries of their pets disappear.
Kaoru smiled gently and weaved peace around them, hugging them one by one and promising that she will see them again.
That promise she could not keep.
Kaoru lay back against her bedroll, forcefully massaging her sword arm. Dawn was hours away. She was tired—no, exhausted—but she'd gotten thoroughly accustomed to that state during her one year at the front. She'd almost gotten used to four small walls of canvas, to rain, heat, and insects as well.
The thin flap of canvas couldn't block out Abikaro's angry shouting. It was a wonder that at the end of day he had the voice left to berate the newer fighters. She smiled, remembering her own first days under his command. But the smile was half wince; many of his words still had the power to sting over time—even at a year distance.
The next few weeks looked to be peaceful ones—at least as peaceful as the front ever got.
She rolled over onto her stomach, letting the ache of the day settle into her back.
In a year, they had lost about thirty miles and gained back ten. In a year, the Second travelled out to the front another three times to stand against powers assembled that were too great for the half-blooded. And it wasn't enough.
Stop it, Kaoru, she told herself firmly.
Twice the unit had been forced to retreat, and only due to Abikaro's harsh and complete authority had the unit survived. It was only two battles, compared to any number won—but Abikaro had the highest success rate of anyone fighting on the front.
She closed her eyes.
The field is not the place to grieve for the dead.
But all of the dead returned to her. Yesterday she alone had prepared fifteen bodies, and each of the fifteen had been comrades. Ten were newly ranked. But two had been experienced warriors; it had been a vicious, bloody fight. The bodies would return to the holdings now that the battle was over, and there the living could mourn and mark their passage into the beyond. Kaoru tried to think instead of the lives that she had managed to save with her healing skill—a skill that had been trained to its height.
And now she had to leave.
Leave Okita.
Kaoru dreaded the day they would bring her friend a cold, white corpse. So far the injuries he sustained were shallow and would have healed without her helped.
What if he is gravely wounded while I am gone?
Kaoru shook her head frantically. This, she refused to even consider.
She sighed, Lord Sagara has warned her about this, but she never expected it would be this hard.
And Okita wasn't fairing any better. He had become gloomy in the last few days since her summons to the western frontlines arrived.
Even wrapped up in the shadows of such musing, she still did not fail to hear a lone horse as it approached the encampment.
Her hand was on her sword before she found her feet. She rolled out of her tent lightly, as she had no time to armour up, and began to move toward Abikaro's when she saw him emerge from it. He nodded at her, noting the readiness with which she approached him.
"I heard it as well," he replied, his own blade readied.
In a matter of minutes, so did everyone else that was there.
Kaoru heard the challenge of the watch, as the horse stopped its frenzied pace a moment. She also heard the watch let the rider by, and she relaxed—as much as she ever did.
Only when she saw for herself the shining circle upon gray surcoat did she sheathe her weapon.
The man looked vaguely familiar, his markings were of Cormont, the line that had the troops to spare to send to the south front.
When the horse came to a stop in front of Abikaro's tent, the man nearly fell off. Kaoru stepped forward immediately to steady him, letting a hint of her power out to ease his exhaustion.
"Captain," he said, inclining his head sharply—the salute of a near equal.
Abikaro returned it. "What news?" he asked grimly, ignoring the formality of rank and name.
The man handed Abikaro a sealed scroll.
Abikaro didn't read it immediately; he didn't need to.
"Shura!"
His second in command came apparently out of nowhere.
"Ready the unit; we're to march south tonight." He closed his eyes. "Have the initiates bury our dead before we leave; they won't be going home."
She nodded briskly and left to carry out his orders.
"Kaoru, see to the horse; find water and food for the messenger." He eyed the man's uniform and nodded. "Must you carry our reply ahead of the unit?"
"No."
"Rest, then. We march in two hours."
Kaoru nodded briskly and turned away shaking; no one in Noria's force could fail to recognize the seal that she had just caught a glimpse of.
All told, there were sixty able-bodied people who could respond to the urgent request of Sayo, the Fourth Servant of the Light.
It would be the first time for Kaoru to meet a female Servant of the Bright Lord. Female Servants did not usually fight, their empathic nature made it hard for them.
Times had changed.
Noria was desperate.
The messenger did not seem surprised that the number was low; it was not, perhaps, the numbers that he was counting on, but the persons themselves. One in particular, who, despite being only fifteen, was gaining a reputation in the battlefield. Abikaro was near-legendary. But Kaoru was something else.
Abikaro did not address his warriors, but this was common; he was accustomed to leading, and they were accustomed to trust that lead. Their lives depended on it.
Unlike warriors outside of the circle, however, they had the freedom to speak about it if words didn't interrupt their duty.
"Which part of the front do we march to?" Okita asked as he ducked below an overlying branch.
Kaoru was silent.
"Kaoru?"
"I'm still thinking."
She caught Okita's nod out of the corner of one eye.
Where was the Lady?
"Ermon Valley," she said at length. "I think we're going to Beryon."
"Isn't the Fourth there?"
She looked up; occasionally Okita could still surprise her. "Yes."
"It's bad, then."
"Okita, we'd hardly be on a forced march if it weren't." But the friendly exasperation that usually marked her conversations with Okita was missing.
It was the first time that either of them could remember a Servant sending for help.
Ermon Valley was a good twenty-seven miles away by the straightest path, and Abikaro pushed them all, setting a pace that they could follow at some cost. Words drifted away into silence and the occasional snap of dry twig beneath booted foot.
Ahead and behind Kaoru could see the faint blue glow that each line-member carried instead of a torch; the power of blood to light the path that must be travelled. She had seen it many times, but it never failed to strengthen her. Sixty people, each carrying an emblem of the Bright Lord and His Servants that nothing but Lady Death herself could dim, marched on toward morning.
They stopped once, taking no more than an hour to massage their legs and refresh themselves. Many of the unit insisted that they were fit to carry on, Kaoru among them. But it was Abikaro's command, and no one seriously considered disobeying it.
Still, it was obvious that Abikaro was worried; he was grim and silent, instead of grim and verbal. His mood lent an edge to his followers; and when they at last moved on, they, too, walked in the cloud of silence.
When they stopped for a second time, Abikaro called for Kaoru and Shura. Okita touched Kaoru's shoulder quickly as she left the ranks, and she caught his hand in a firm grip.
"I'll be okay," she whispered.
"You'd better."
She walked away to join her instructor and his second.
Abikaro nodded. "Do you hear anything?"
She shook her head.
"Good. How far have we travelled?"
"Twenty-six miles, sir." She thought for a moment. "And some hundred yards."
He smiled briefly. 'Very good. Lady Sayo has been fighting alongside three of our units and two of Beryon's, these past three days.
"Losses to our people have been high, but losses to the Yamidarians higher still."
Kaoru nodded; this was common enough on a field where either side rarely retreated.
"Yesterday, word came to her that a larger group—composed primarily of the nonblooded—were coming to Beryon to aid the Yamidarians"
The nonblooded. The familiar anger that she felt at this momentarily rippled across her face. How could the nonblooded join the enemy ranks? Was it not for their sake that so much of this fighting took place? And worse, far worse, the Noranen effectiveness against the nonblooded was poor unless excessive amounts of power could be called.
"The Lady believes that they will be led by the high priest of the Enemy with a number of his Swords. She has called in Tara's unit and Shorla's unit as well. We may not have arrived in good time.
"Be back in an hour and a half. If you aren't, we'll move on in defensive formation."
She nodded.
"If the numbers are too large, we will retreat."
She nodded again.
"Shura?"
"Ready as well, sir." She saluted, although a salute was, strictly speaking, unnecessary, Shura never failed to produce one.
They both took off.
Kaoru had been sent to scout before. Sometimes with Okita as backup, but more recently with Shura.
Kaoru was good at it.
She could move nearly silently; when she was at her best, Abikaro swore that only a Servant could possibly detect her presence—and then, by blood-power alone. It wasn't true, and they both knew it, but Kaoru treasured the compliment. It was one of maybe three that she had received from her captain.
Ahead, the forest waited to give them the cover they would need. Kaoru listened for a moment and then began to walk toward it, her feet no longer making the firm, hard step of the march. Indeed, to those watching her progress into darkness, it seemed that she must be almost dancing just a hair's breadth above the ground, her movements were that sure and that silent.
Shura followed a few feet behind, walking just as swiftly as Kaoru did, but much less gracefully. Both women kept their swords sheathed.
Nor did either speak. By signals that they had worked out before their first mission together, they allowed the other to know where they intended to move, how far and how fast. These signals—the way a hand brushed a shoulder or touched a cheek or arm—were second nature to them, and they moved quickly and confidently forward.
Only when the ground began to slope downward did Kaoru pause; they were at the peak of the valley now. Ermon Valley, or Beryon's valley as it had once been called, was the final resting place of an army, remembered in children's stories and in bardic verse.
Shura tapped her shoulder twice in quick succession; Kaoru signalled a stop. She tilted her head to one side, listening. Leaves rustled by; a breeze blew through shadowed trees. Ahead a small stream trickled past. Crickets, frogs, and the occasional dart of feet too small to be dangerous added their rhythm to the night.
But beyond these comforting sounds, something else moved. Something . . .
Kaoru shook her head, touching Shura's open palm with two fingers, then three. Shura nodded and they began to make their way down.
Ermon's Valley lay in wait.
She could almost hear the sounding of the horns, as described by the bards, and the charge of foot soldiers making their desperate last stand because they had nowhere to retreat. She could almost hear the whistle of the archers, and the twang of greatbows releasing a hail of arrows; could almost hear the clash of metal against metal, and the screams of the dying.
The clash and the screams . . .
She stopped suddenly in her tracks. Shura was good enough that she could mirror Kaoru's quick reaction. She pulled up, touched Kaoru's shoulder, and knew that it was shaking. But although she listened, she could not hear what Kaoru heard.
Trembling, Kaoru moved forward. Every step she took brought the noise closer.
Maybe, she thought, it's just imagination. Maybe I've been thinking on Beryon Valley too long.
Then Shura stopped, and Kaoru felt three fingertips across the back of her neck. Not imagination, no.
She nodded grimly.
Go back? Shura's fingers signalled.
Not yet, Kaoru's replied. Numbers.
She picked up her pace, knowing that she would lose the silence that she was known for, but knowing that it wouldn't make any difference.
Shura stopped only once more, and Kaoru waited as the older woman strung her bow and pulled an arrow from her quiver. Then they advanced again, seeking the source of the growing sound, moving this time with more caution toward those that might see than those that might hear.
They quickly reached the outer edge of the valley and, through the last of the trees, saw what they most feared seeing.
Ermon Field was on fire—and no normal fire, either.
Some five feet from the last of the trees, they knelt with their eyes above tall brush that tickled their cheeks. Neither noticed.
Backs of warriors lined the edge of the gray rocky fields that stretched out for some miles. Some were wounded; Kaoru feared mortally so from the quantity of blood. Links of chain showed through torn strips of gray—and glinting in blue light, Kaoru could see the circles.
It was obvious that they were fighting a defensive battle, but Kaoru couldn't name the position.
The attackers wore uniforms that Kaoru was also familiar with: the black of the Swords of Yamidari. Limned in red, they moved forward, striking their way into the retreating wall of Noranen.
Numbers? Shura signaled.
They were high. At best guess, Kaoru thought three hundred, maybe three hundred and twenty-five, at least two to one in enemy favour.
She considered the odds carefully and started to turn toward Shura when a flash of light caught her attention.
Not blue light, this, but white. She heard a chorus of screams, and for an instant saw the banner of Ermon unit outlined in the glow.
That light heralded the presence of Sayo of Noria, caught in the midst of enemy soldiers.
The import of greater numbers fell away as Kaoru responded to the call of the blood, light against the darkness. Raising her own arms high, she summoned almost all of her personal power. It shot upward in a flare of light that sent a ripple through the enemy, so bright was its call. It almost matched Lady Sayo's light.
Shura caught her arm as the last of the power left her. "What have you done? Our unit can't hope to win against these numbers. You've cut off a safe retreat!"
"What choice do we have?" Kaoru shouted over the clashing of swords and the crackle of magic. "Lady Sayo is cornered on the field!" In a single, clean motion she was on her feet, blade out and readied.
Shura released her and unsheathed her own sword. There was nothing to be gained now in argument—Abikaro would see the Light and he would know what it meant; he would lead the unit to the battle without further delay. She opened her mouth to order Kaoru to stay, then clamped it shut before the words had started to form.
Blood-call. Light-call. Damn you, Kaoru. Later she might remember how little choice the inexperienced had against a Light Servant's call—if she survived. Her sword came out as she watched Kaoru.
Already the power that had not gone into the flare gathered round the younger woman like a mantle. Shura had seen the flare—it was more than she herself could have called. And Kaoru still had the power to cloak herself so. The older woman shook her head.
Shura followed Kaoru onto the field, leaving the sparse shield wall of tangled growth and shadow behind her.
Kaoru raised her sword and ran to join Shorla's unit.
"Noria!" she cried, in a voice so loud that it might have been the call of the horns.
She fought like one frenzied. She had always been known for her speed, but no one, not even Abikaro, could have predicted just how devastating that speed could be.
Light flashed anew on the field, the Fourth's call. Kaoru began to cut a path toward it. She felt the way her sword swept cleanly through living—and dying—flesh, felt the pain that she caused come echoing to the part of her that was healer and not warrior. It was not as strong as the urgency that drove her to try to reach Light.
She whirled around to see those fighting by her side continue their retreat and she almost snarled.
"Lady!" she shouted, whirling her blade.
She heard another voice bark an order, and the unit continued to retreat.
She could not.
No warrior, no matter how good, can face five to one odds. And the good warrior values prudence.
Her thought, but Abikaro's words, as she saw Norians pull further back. She took a step toward them without dropping her defence, and Sayo's light flared again.
This time she could see the angry crackle of red that followed it.
The field seemed to melt away. She could see the Lady clearly; her brown hair matted with blood, she was bleeding from multiple wounds but still stood erect, facing her true adversaries: five men, dressed not in armour, but long, black robes, red arms stretched toward the Servant. The Lady's delicate form was surrounded by White Light and her tired green eyes shone.
She knew she should follow the defensive line of retreat. She knew it, but could not do it. Abikaro's voice faded into the whisper of an unimportant past as she raised her blade anew. Light danced down it, swirling in the marks of its maker and the blood of her enemies.
And she fought as she had never fought, stumbling over stones and bodies alike, the landscape unfamiliar. Fought as Sayo's light grew weaker, and weaker again. Fought as the sea of enemy troops, with their faint taint of darkness, closed in around her.
Here she learned the truth of Abikaro's words. The light armour she wore was no match for the blades that struck against her body, leaving their signature in her flesh. As soon as one man fell, another stepped in to take his place.
She cried out once in fury as the light of the Lady—the light of Noria—burned into the night sky. And once, in pain, as steel found her forearm. Her blade fell away from her as she dropped to her knees, automatically clutching the nearly severed limb.
Frantically she brought forth her power to try to still the bleeding, but even as the blue warmth touched her, she felt the point of a sword enter her back.
In agony, she staggered forward; saw another sword raised to strike.
No!
No!
Bright Lord!
The name echoed in her mind as she called it. Power flowed into her, a power so sudden and so brilliant, that even the nonblooded could see it.
The second sword never found its mark.
The pain within her retreated like a wave on the shore of her body. In its place came a gentle warmth that would not be denied. She opened her eyes and struggled to her knees even as the feeling built.
Bright Lord. She shut her eyes as the wound that marred her body began to close.
Her eyes snapped open as she stood once again, reborn in the fires of God, mortality overshadowed by the Light.
She could sense the presence of her unit as the ragged retreat of Shorla's unit suddenly halted. Such was the strength of her contact with God, that she could wake the sleeping fires in even the weakest of the Noria, where Sayo's power alone could not.
She called upon the white-fire, and it swept across the field like a wave, bringing succour to the Norians, and pain—or death—to the Yamidarians.
It wasn't enough. Over the screams she could hear the shouts of surprise melt into shouts of determination. The nonblooded were, indeed, upon the field of battle. They could see her power; they could feel the fan of warmth the Light provided—but it couldn't burn at a darkness that was not part of their blood.
Still she retrieved her sword and walked forward, wielding it as a brand of Light. It swung without hesitation, leaving an afterimage where it cut through the air.
An arrow struck her, and she removed it even as the wound began to close. Shorla's unit surged forward behind the path she had cut. She nodded and forgot them; at this moment there were only two things on the field that she was fully aware of: the Lady and the priests. And Sayo's light was waning beneath the storm of red.
"Lady!" Kaoru cried, and Sayo turned.
Her robes were red, the circle that adorned them only a broken line. Something struck her, and she staggered.
"Noria!" she shouted, but her voice was weak. Her light flared again, surrounding her body like a halo, or a shroud.
Kaoru began to run forward. The Lady fell to one knee, righted herself, and looked across at Kaoru, green eyes dimming in the ragged scars of her face.
"No!"
Even as she shouted, she saw the Lady's form begin to alter. She knew she couldn't reach her in time—all the power in the world couldn't give her that skill. And she knew the ward Sayo made with God; it was the same, measure for measure, as the one she herself had made.
But Sayo was not a healer; apart from the deceased Lady Kamiya, no servant possessed healing powers. The power that she called now could not be used to save her.
The power that gathered in her fallen body burned away what little life remained; and for an instant, no more, Sayo was as the First: an imperfect vessel for pure Light.
"Noria!" she cried anew.
And the very land rose up in response, breaking beneath the feet of the nonblooded to form the perfect grave.
Kaoru drew upon her own power then, drew it and aimed it outward at the priests. She was shaking with anger, and the anger gave her purpose; if her powers could not save the Lady, she could at least make the priests of the Enemy pay for this loss.
Her fire stretched out across the sky, a lethal, gleaming bridge.
It left her empty.
But that was enough to hear the screaming; enough to see the red wards splinter like glass beneath the sudden onslaught of the Bright Lord.
And when she finally turned away, the field was no longer a field—but it was silent.
Abikaro's unit arrived a few minutes later, to walk carefully across the newly turned earth, clearing away what little of the enemy force remained.
It was Abikaro himself who found his scout as she knelt beside the lifeless body of the Fourth of the Light. She had done what she could to lay her out in a semblance of rest or sleep, with grass as a pallet, stones as a pillow.
"Kaoru," he said, and she looked up. "There is still work to do yet; this is not the time for tears."
She shook her head, unable to stop them.
"What better time?" she asked, the warmth of tears sliding hopelessly down her cheeks. "I—"
"At the ceremony." His voice was grim. "If at all."
Shura came to stand beside him.
"I won't be back for the ceremonies." Kaoru's hand gripped Sayo's more tightly. "This is all the good-bye I get."
"Then do not waste it weeping. The Lady died a good death." He looked out at the field, saw the bodies, half buried in the teeth of the ground, broken by rock and rubble. "And she made our enemies pay."
Okita seemed to appear out of nowhere; he knelt beside Kaoru and slipped an awkward arm around her shoulder.
"Kaoru?"
She shook her head. "I tried. I tried, but I couldn't save her. I had so much power, Okita." She looked down at her hands. "I had so much power. But it wasn't enough."
Shura whispered something to Abikaro, and he looked down at Kaoru again, his expression softer.
"I see," he whispered back to his second. He shook his head and turned away. He remembered what Sagara had once told him, he remembered the amount of raw power that Kaoru could contain, and use, without destroying herself.
"The call of the blood, then." He turned back to Kaoru and touched her almost gently on the shoulder. "We assemble the units in an hour, Kaoru. Meet us then."
She didn't hear him, but Okita nodded quietly. Abikaro left them there together; he knew that Okita wouldn't be parted from his line-mate.
The dead were buried and given a haste ceremony in the open air of the field.
Ermon's Valley became the grave of two armies.
The next day Kaoru left for the West frontier, where the battle was most fierce. She said her goodbyes but to Okita and Abikaro she gave no easy farewell.
Two years passed, and Kaoru proved Sagara right. She became the single most powerful warrior the enemy ever faced.
Still it wasn't enough.
The Darkness was spreading.
The sounds of screaming filtered out into the cold stone halls and shattered against the beamed arches of the ceiling.
The priest frowned a moment and then schooled his face more carefully. How long will this go on? He turned, an impatient swirl of red-tinted black, and crossed his arms.
He did not speak aloud, however, or touch the closed door that stopped him from carrying his message to his Lord. He doubted whether God Himself would dare to interrupt the First of His Servants when he was feeding.
The screams stopped abruptly, but it gave the priest no hope; he could surmise, from their tenor, that they would begin again in a few minutes when the Lord was ready to resume.
Annoyed, he stalked down the hall to glance out of the one large window there. Beyond it, the city lay shadowed, and the moon was high. His reflection came back at him, the narrowed point of his jaw convoluted by colourless glass.
At least two hours had passed. Were the moon full, he might be able to make a better estimate; but were it full, his Lord would be more available.
Screams.
He walked back to the door, his hands clenching and unclenching. There was nowhere to sit, something the priest felt ambivalent about. Were there a chair, he might be tempted to take it.
No one sat in the presence of the First of Yamidari, not in his private quarters.
To still his annoyance, he caught the strangled web of screams and folded them into private fantasy. Although he knew well that the victim was one of the villagers they had taken two months ago, he spun a picture of a different body dying so slowly under the Servant's hunger—the new Light Warrior of God-cursed Noria.
If it were possible, he could almost regret the death of Lady Kamiya, the First of the Light. Even the Lady had not the effect the young woman managed to achieve.
Who could possibly imagine that the trait of healing, a lowly and insipid use of true power, could have such an effect? He almost reached for the report again, before he stilled his hands. He had verified the numbers himself.
It is the non-blooded among us.
For where the other warriors had routed the non-blooded who served with the Yamidarians, the girl used a different—and unpredictable—approach. She did not use her granted power to destroy or kill but rather to heal. To heal!
He looked down at his fists and forced his hands to relax.
Because of the girl, many of the humans' soldiers left the army. This was natural, although the priests and Swords made sure that any who were caught served God in one way when they would not serve Him properly on the field. What was unnatural was that they often chose treason instead of flight. They served her.
And she accepted them, although the Noranen had never before employed the non-blooded in their battles.
Another advantage lost.
He had not, himself, seen her on the field and was grateful for it; too many of the Yamudarians perished at her touch. This at least he understood; the white-fire ate away at the glory of the red. But still, some stories were circulating about some of her appearances on the field. After the victory, she usually wandered among the fallen, healing those that had dared to raise arms against her. Healing her enemies! And while the Swords and the priests could be counted on to see this as the infirmity that it was, it had a different effect on some of the non-blooded.
He wanted to spit, but refrained from doing so.
The screams showed no signs of abating, and he continued to wait.
The night was dark, not even the silvery light of moon marred the blackness.
It was glorious.
The First of the Dark stood by the open window of his highest tower room in his palace and looked down at the prostrated figure before him. He walked slowly towards him, his feet made no sound on the floor. He raised one booted foot and pressed it on the nape of the man's neck, pushing his face nearer to the stone floor.
"You dare to interrupt me."
"At your order, Lord." The man said. "I have ridden these past three weeks with news." He was wearing red robes, indicating his status as a priest. Only one of those dared to interrupt the First.
"And it could not wait?"
"If you wish it, although you asked that I report in person when I arrived."
"I see." He removed his foot and walked to the window. "You may rise."
The priest rose with as much dignity as he could master.
"The information?" The First, who was sometimes called Battousai said as he turned to stare at the red robed priest.
The priest wished he was kneeling again. Anything to escape the scrutiny of those golden eyes, which made a disturbing contrast to the red of the First's hair.
The high priest bowed instead. "The news is not mine; I was not present for it."
Kenshin narrowed his eyes dangerously. He did not like the tone that the priest chose to use. "And?"
"The army in the east is gone."
"Gone?" He crossed the room. Shadow curled around his silent feet. "Gone?"
The priest nodded. He had elected to present this news to the First Servant; too many of the priests had been destroyed in the last year as it was.
"How?"
"That girl of Kamiya Line took to the field, Stanthos's division made the mistake of wounding her fatally in some way that allowed her to touch the Bright Lord.
"Shortly after this, the command structure of the army was destroyed."
"White-fire."
The high priest nodded.
"The nonblooded?"
"They broke, for the most part. But again, we lost a number to the Norians, and not through their deaths."
"And our Swords cannot deal with one who is nearly a child?"
"It is an unusual case, my Lord. While the cursed girl does not choose to use the Bright Lord's power on the field proper, she will call it when mortal injury is done to her."
"This is unprecedented." Kenshin was angry.
"No, Lord. We have tried to make sense of it, with little luck. The Noranen are strange. But she is one of the healers of the line; they are few. The last one died some years ago—but you will recall that the Servant Enishi was sent against her. "
"Yes." He turned and looked out across his empire "Dismissed," he said, but softly.
The high priest did not linger; like any of the Yamidarians, he had no desire to remain in the presence of one whose power was greater than his own. He bowed and went out quickly.
"It has been long," the Servant said, his amber eyes flashed.
"Long." He raised one arm and shadow swirled around it like a dark mist. His skin grayed and paled until he no longer wore the semblance of a mortal. Amber eyes flashed in a face that knew no life.
"Lady Kamiya" he whispered. "First of the Light." The darkness about him grew blacker still. "At the expense of your own life, you tried to hide her from me, this vessel of the Bright Lord's power."
His power filled the room until no light existed within it at all. For a moment he could see the void again, the darkness of the all that existed before the coming of the world. And he could see Lady Kamiya, cloaked in a light that matched his darkness, calling a power that matched his power.
"We were well matched then. But you have squandered much for the tainted.
"I will take to the field against the girl-child.
"I will break her, Lady, and she will join you in the beyond. Only your full power had any chance against all that I can summon, and you chose to waste it for the sake of a mortal."
And then he began to concentrate, calling his power to search the continent for this girl. It was not easy; the Noranen had their own methods of guarding against this detection. Nor would his answer be quickly gained; but to the Servants, even the least of them, time was of no concern.
What a long chapter! I am sorry that Kenshin and Kaoru did not meet as promised but the chapter was very long.
Next chapter, the story will truly begin.