OPENING THE WAY
CHAPTER TEN
They came out into a garden. At first Toshiki thought that they'd somehow managed to step outside, but high overhead, above the arching branches and the hazy sparkle of falling water, he could see the pallor of a distant ceiling. Everything was green and brown, shocking to the eyes after the grey corridors outside.
"Wow," Ren breathed.
The air was thick with the scent of flowers and growing things. Kazuki would like this, Toshiki thought, then wrenched himself back to reality. This could all be another of those holograms. In reality, they could be standing in the middle of an empty room.
But if he started thinking like that, he'd never even try to escape.
"There have to be maintenance entrances and exits to here," he said firmly, walking further into the room. The ground under his feet had the soft firmness of good soil. "It'd need expert upkeep. Look how big the place is. They're less likely to be observed than the main passages, and they might even go near the Beltline. Come on."
"Grandfather would have liked this place," Ren said quietly, in unconscious repetition of Toshiki's own thoughts. "He never left Mugenjou. But he would have liked this."
Toshiki touched her shoulder. "Come on. Right now, he'd want you safely out of here."
Ren choked on a bitter snort of laughter. "Out of here? Toshiki-san, maybe I can leave Babylon City, but how can I ever get "out of here"? Don't you know what I am?"
"Yes." He kept his tone level, sensing how near she was to hysterics. But he understood, he understood very well. Reality was what you made of it. "You're Kazuki's friend."
She swallowed, took a breath, swallowed again, then nodded. "Sorry. Yes. We have to get out of here."
"I'm afraid not," said a man's voice from behind them.
Ren flinched into the shelter of Toshiki's arm as she turned. The man standing near the door was familiar to her -- the fourth of the Kings, Masaki. He was smiling, just as he had always been in the days of VOLTS, and his heavy trenchcoat hung on his shoulders like a military uniform. "You'd make this a great deal easier if you just turn around now and go back, Toshiki-kun, Ren-kun," he noted, voice friendly and agreeable.
Toshiki's eyes were stormy with rage. "You -- that you should join them, Masaki --"
"Oh, spare me the dramatics," Masaki interrupted. "I haven't joined them. I have always been them. If we're going to point fingers, then you're the only traitor in this room."
Toshiki grew pale, and his jaw set firmly. "Ren," he said, almost absent-mindedly, "Run." He shoved her to one side, so that she fell to her hands and knees, and brought his hands up and together before gesturing towards Masaki as though he was hitting a drum open-palmed.
Masaki smiled, and light fluxed around him in a glowing semicircular shield. The air between the two shuddered and concussed, sending Ren tumbling across the grass again. She brought her arms up to shield her head, this isn't any worse than a standard workout, believe that, don't lose control, and came to a stop against the roots of a tree. They hurt.
Toshiki fell back a step, and circled round to the right, away from her. Light fell between the leaves of the trees above him, and dappled him in patterns of light and shade. "I don't understand," he snarled at Masaki. "Did Raitei mean nothing to you?"
Ren pulled herself to her feet, and edged to her left, keeping her head down, trying to make her movements inconspicuous. She couldn't run out on Toshiki, but he'd told her to run and he was in charge, but she couldn't leave him, but . . .
"He was who he was," Masaki said, and suddenly there was a flash, no, an explosion of light that was so bright it even drowned out shadows and left nothing but bright whiteness behind it.
She should have known he would do that. She'd seen him play those games with light before -- and why is it that something just stung my memory, something else about light -- but in any case she had to get away, she had to hope that Toshiki had dodged in time.
She had to make Toshiki's choice to fight worthwhile.
She could still hear. She could hear footsteps moving past her, towards Toshiki, and further away she could hear the sound of Toshiki's feet in water,there had been a stream there, I remember that, and branches creaking overhead.
"And," Masaki said, thoughtfully, "I've just had word that our primary targets are within range. We don't need you any more, Toshiki-kun."
The air hummed around him, growing like the buzz of an oncoming hurricane.
Her grandfather lying there dead and her powerless to save him.
"No," Ren whispered to herself, and aimed low, throwing herself forward blindly to tackle Masaki's legs. She felt his trenchcoat against her cheek as the concussion exploded above her, felt Masaki lose his balance and stagger, felt him wrench free, his foot take her in the chest and send her rolling again, but above it all there was a thunder of crashing and collapsing that she could only dimly correlate to the trees which had been standing above.
The noise stopped. She tried to catch her breath, brought herself up onto one knee.
Masaki's feet approached her. Her eyes stung, but now she could distinguish patterns of light and shadow, and he was a great looming darkness above her. "Well," he said pleasantly. "That was a waste of time on your part."
No voice from where Toshiki had been, no steps, only a slight creaking of settling timber and dripping of water.
"No," she murmured. "No."
"Don't worry," Masaki said, and he reached down to grasp her shoulder, pulling her to her feet, his hand like steel. "You're going to be part of something which will give your whole life meaning, Ren-kun. Who can ask for anything better?"
He hit her again, and there was darkness.
A phone clicked open. "Marassa?"
"Marassa."
"Ahh. How are things going?"
"Mixed. I have the disk, but I wasn't able to clean things up neatly. Apparently Shido isn't as bed-bound as we'd heard."
"Can they track you?"
"Not now. I'm almost at Mugenjou. I take it the way's prepared?"
"Of course. You should have a straight run through and up."
"And the targets inside the City?"
"Split as planned and travelling. We've turned Fudou loose, because he was getting uncontrollable, but we can keep him moving until we're ready to run the catch on that pair."
"And everything's set for me to deal with the transporters?"
"Oh yes. No names, I take it?"
"I don't want to mention his name till we're ready. We can't afford any little accidents."
"Sensible. The audio's picked up that all four of them are realising it was a trap."
"Oh well, we expected it sooner or later."
"Mm-hm. Oh, and . . . ah, just had a communication in. We've lost our spare host. I'm afraid we don't have the luxury of a replacement any more -- we've got to take the prime candidate alive. Unless you want to go back and pick up the girl Rena?"
"Her? No. I told you before, she went through the same process as Toshiki, but I'm not convinced she has the physical capacity to survive the stresses we require."
"Understood. I'll be waiting for you with the bodyguard, at the gate to the Beltline."
"Till then."
"I can't wait."
"Nor can I."
Kazuki walked forward, each step casual, poised, irreproachable. Toshiki's sash lay round his hips like a promise. "I think not," he said again, and turned to Sakura. "Sakura-kun, who would this person be?"
Sakura inclined her head to him, and while he was no longer her master, he could see the relief in her eyes at being able to cede leadership to him. "He states that his name is Saizou, Kazuki-sama," she answered, "and that he has some connection to the Fuuchoin School."
The threadmaster at the centre of the knot of enemies bristled and flung up his head like a young stallion. "I am heir to the Fuuchoin School!"
"Oh." Kazuki paused next to Sakura, Juubei at his back. He cast a quick glance down at Emishi, who lay sizzling gently in the remains of Sakura's shawl.
Emishi grinned up at him and gave him a wink and a thumbs up. Kazuki nodded back, and returned his attention to Saizou before Emishi could get more demonstrative.
"I challenge you!" Saizou declared, apparently unable to wait any longer. "Face me and determine who is the true Fuuchoin heir!"
Kazuki moved his head very slightly. The bells in his hair rustled. He looked at his opponent. The young man had the build and balance that he would expect from a Fuuchoin-trained fighter, and he looked to be the same age as Kazuki, but his hair was cut brusquely short, and his eyes and mouth were petulant and spoiled. "Why should I fight you?" he asked mildly. "You are too young to have been there when my family were killed." He could feel the ice seeping into his voice as he spoke, hear the coldness in the tones and inflections of his words. "Why should I sully my koto strings with someone as inexperienced and petty as you?"
"You . . . you . . ." Saizou sputtered. "How dare you insult me like this! I am the Fuuchoin heir! My father killed your parents and I will kill you!"
Kazuki's heart beat like thunder. Hush, he whispered to his fury, be still a little longer, be patient a little while, till I unleash you in a thousand whips. "Then show me your father," he replied. "And let me execute justice on him."
There was a ripple of obsequious laughter from the three other thread-users standing around Saizou. Saizou himself smirked. "The old man -- died. I have his place now. I rule now."
"Then you must pay for his sins," Kazuki murmured, and slid into motion.
Sakura and Juubei fanned out behind him, having been waiting for his signal to move. A spray of needles from Juubei had Saizou's minions jumping back, while Sakura spread her cloth between her hands and flung it out into a shield to cover the pair of them.
Kazuki knew that he could rely on them to deal with the lesser Black Thread users. Saizou, however, was his opponent.
"Fuuchoin offensive technique 27-1 -- Blades of living water!" he called, bringing the threads hissing from his fingers to slice across towards Saizou. A simple offensive move, and if he judged the other correctly, he'd counter with . . .
"Fuuchoin technique 15-3 -- Chrysalis!" Saizou replied, tossing the criss-cross pattern into the air in front of him so that Kazuki's strings rattled against it like raindrops. He turned, gesturing as he raked threads across the room towards Kazuki in turn. "Chrysalis to Flood!"
"Flood to Torrent!" Kazuki answered, diverting Saizou's blow and sending a streaming mass of threads at him.
"Torrent to Cyclone!" Saizou screamed. His forms were meticulously correct, and strong, very strong.
Kazuki replied with the Chrysalis again, and instead of an immediate response, paused to think. The other was good. Had matters been different, it would have been a pleasure to train with him or work against him. He knew the traditional Fuuchoin forms. He'd probably know the more exotic ones as well.
And had matters been different, it would even have been a pleasure to stand here all day and duel with the son of the man who killed his parents, the one who'd destroyed his life.
But there was more than that at stake; more than just his gratification or his revenge. There was Toshiki's life. If there was one thing that Mugenjou had taught him, that the burning of the Fuuchoin home had taught him, it was that the living mattered more than the dead.
"Cyclone to Tidal Wave!" Saizou shouted. Kazuki barely parried the blow. Threads ripped into the concrete and metal around him, tearing chunks out of the walls and floor, spattering gravel and steel fragments in a wide spray behind him. "Take that, Kazuki! I'm the Fuuchoin!"
"And you killed your own father to do it?" Kazuki guessed out loud. The other's tone when he had talked about his father's death made it all but certain. Family life among the Black Threads. No peace. No loyalty. Only this hunger for power.
Saizou laughed wildly. "He spent his life brooding about you because you escaped him. I mastered him and I'll master you as well!"
No loyalty, no cooperation . . . A half-formed image came rising into Kazuki's mind like a fish through water. The days of training with his father, of learning the linked attacks where two sets of threads could work together, assuming that the users completely trusted each other. Things that would surely never, never be practiced among people like this. "Blades of living water!" he called, resetting the pattern of his strings to the basic one that his father had shown him all those years ago, leaving those gaps for the other user to blend his own threads into the weaving, the gaps that would be seen only as lethal flaws by someone who had never learned the form . . .
Saizou took the bait. With a vicious smirk that turned his smiling face to something vile, he sent his black threads through the holes in the pattern so that they bit into Kazuki's flesh. Cloth ripped and blood ran.
Kazuki went down on one knee, but his hands were sure. "Water mingles with other water -- hand clasps hand!" he called, and he closed the pattern, taking control of both sets of threads.
"What --" Saizou began to say, and then his threads convulsed and snapped in his hands as Kazuki cracked them like whips. He screamed as blood spurted from between his fingers, and took a stumbling pace back. "No! No, you can't do that, that isn't Fuuchoin, stop!"
Kazuki took a deep shuddering breath. "Saizou-kun. What is the Black Thread connection to Mugenjou? Tell me that, and . . . things may be easier for you."
Saizou kept a firm hold of the threads in his hands, though his own blood was running down them now, marking them out in scarlet against the air. "I'll tell you this for nothing, Kazuki. The Black Thread users have served Babylon City for fifty years now. If we have a connection to Mugenjou, it's through them. And I'll tell you something else -- they were the ones who told us where to find you today and how to make you come to us."
Kazuki straightened to stand on his feet again. The pattern of threads hummed between him and Saizou with increasing tension. "And what did they ask for that favour, Saizou-kun?" he said with acid-fine gentleness.
"The boy Makubex," Saizou replied, and jerked with all his strength on the interwoven threads, so that they lashed and whipped through the air.
With a calm deliberation, Kazuki moved into the final step of the pattern. "Monsoon!" he called, and brought his hands down with the firm power of a master of the clan.
Saizou screamed in agony as his own threads snapped backwards through his hands, following the fine lines of muscle and bone. He released them, falling to his knees and clasping his hands to his chest, tears running from his eyes. "You -- damn you, Fuuchoin Kazuki, damn you . . ."
Juubei and Sakura stepped away from the last of Saizou's minions. "Kazuki-sama?" Juubei enquired, and Kazuki could hear the full question in his voice. Shall I finish it? Shall I dispose of him for you? Shall it be the full execution?
Kazuki shook his head. "Leave him to his servants, when they awake. I have cut his tendons. They will mend, but he will never be able to use threads again properly." He turned away from the screaming young man. "Come. Juubei. Sakura. Bring Emishi. Bring Kanou-kun -- I left him around the corner. We have work to do."