The villagers are crowding around us now that Hiro's made his dramatic exit. They're staring at us, their eyes flitting between Murata and I. They must be waiting for an explanation, an answer. I don't blame them, but I don't know what to say. I don't know if anything I could say could satisfy after what just happened. Daisuke is dead, and Hiro jumped ship. If our best gunner has no confidence in us, then why should anyone else?
Murata gives me a sidelong glance before he speaks, and thank God he does, because I really do have nothing to say. "Daisuke didn't deserve to die. He was an honest, hardworking, friendly young man. You all know this," he says. "But he died fighting for his friends, his family, his home. In my time, I've known a lot of men who've said they're honorable, but there's no more honorable way to die than that. And if Hiro can't see that—if Hiro wants to try to outrun death, he can. You can run from death all you want, but the only way to beat it is to stand up, look it in the eye, and fight it," he says, turning towards me. "Today, we fought death—certain death—and we won. What happened to Daisuke is a tragedy—but what happened to the rest of us is a miracle. A week ago, we were farmers and craftsmen, but today, we are soldiers. We are all soldiers. We are survivors."
The villagers are nodding. I hope his words are touching them, but for me, they just run off, like water on a duck's back. My actions, my strategy, led to Daisuke dying. And while what he's saying is well-intentioned, and hopefully doing something to reel back anyone who is thinking of following Hiro out, I don't know if it's all entirely true. The thought that we need propaganda to keep people on our side sickens me.
"Harrison?" Felicia asks, bringing me back into reality. "Um, are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," I reply. It's a lie, and she knows it.
"If you're sure, I need you to help me with something," she says, waving me over to the crude field hospital—if you could call it that—set up around Ayane's shop. "Most of the soldiers who were hit with the guns… well, didn't make it." I swallow hard. It wasn't just Daisuke who died, and I know that. "But some of them survived. Mr. Murata said we should heal them, but—I'm sorry—I'm not sure what I should do to heal them, and I don't want to mess it up, so… oh my goodness. What I mean is, do you mind, uh, taking a look at them?"
I do my best to muster up a smile. Felicia must be feeling awful as well, I realize. I only had her get the staff to try to heal Daisuke, and she chose to save me instead. "Where are they?" I ask.
She leads me to one of Ieyasu's soldiers, a samurai, lying on the ground, his face frozen in a grimace. I kneel to get a better look at his leg wound—using a knife I picked up earlier, I cut away his clothes around it to get a better view.
"The hell are you doing?" he yells. He jerks his leg away, then curses in pain.
"Please, don't move," Felicia stutters. "I promise, we're trying to help."
"You did this to me, you bastards," he says. "With your—thing, whatever the fuck that was." Sad to say, but he's not wrong. But I can't just up and admit that. Whatever happened back there, it's over, and now we need to help him.
"Alright, fine," I say. I set down the knife and put my hands up. "I guess we'll leave you to bleed out, and if that doesn't kill you, get gangrene in that wound and…" I know I said we need to help him, but sometimes, to help people, you need to be a bit of a dick.
"Oh, gods! Just do what you're going to do, but just—just stop it from hurting so damn much!"
Felicia ignores him this time and looks at me. "With arrow wounds, the standard procedure is to remove the arrowhead and then use the healing staff. But I don't know if we should do that here…"
"You're doing what now?" the samurai asks, but I ignore him, following Felicia's lead.
"The damage from the bullet is probably more severe than an arrow, though," I say. "Do you think the healing staff could do it?"
"It's all we have, isn't it?" Felicia asks. "I've got to go get Sei."
"Who?"
"You know, the lady I work for. She's a healer too, but she was trained in the old-fashioned way, without staves or vulneraries. She's better at doing this type of thing than I am." Felicia turns and leaves, presumably to get Sei.
If we're going to be doing surgery, we probably need anesthetic. I find Ayane nearby, and ask her if she has any painkilling medicine. She retrieves a small bottle and joins me beside the wounded samurai, applying the tincture to the gunshot wound.
After a moment, Felicia returns with Sei. "I just knew people would get all injured in this ridiculous battle," the older woman says, shaking her head. "That's why I brought my instruments with me. Just in case I needed them!" She opens a small wooden case to reveal a set of old and crude, but recognizable, surgical implements—scalpels, forceps, scissors, clamps.
I'm glad she has the right tools and training for the job. But I don't know how out of practice she is—Sei looks to be in her seventies, and God knows what the retirement age is for healers in Hoshido! "When's the last time you used those?" I ask.
"Don't you know not to ask a woman her age? The nerve of youth…" she says.
I take another look at the wound, the blood caked all over his skin, the flesh torn and rent… and now I'm imagining Sei's instruments in there, which haven't been touched for decades. Yeah, that's just asking for a complex infection. We need an antiseptic, now!
"Wait!" I say to Sei.
"What?" she asks, annoyed. "Every second we delay, the more likely he is to die."
"We need to sterilize those tools," I reply. "I need…" Think, think… what the hell around here could we use to kill the germs? "That's it! Alcohol!"
"What are you babbling about?"
"If you don't want that wound to get infected, we need to clean off those tools, and his wound, with alcohol," I explain. "Where can I get liquor?"
"I'm confused, Harrison," Ayane says. "Why do we need to clean everything?"
"There are germs, everywhere. Microscopic, tiny, tiny living things that get into your body through an open wound, infect you, make you sick, and kill you." I remember my germ theory experiment with Rinkah, Kaze, and Sakura. I got lucky with drinking that water, but surgery is another story altogether. "We can kill those germs with alcohol. It's just like boiling water or cooking meat. Trust me on this! I know it's true! Just trust me!"
"That makes sense, and I don't really think it could hurt, to be fair." Ayane nods. "Sake shouldn't be too hard to find… there's still lots of people in the square. Ask them if they have it."
Sake's just fermented, though. I want something stronger—something distilled. The higher proof it is, the more germ-killing power we have.
Just then, Murata walks in. "I think I've calmed everyone down a bit," he says. "How's everything going over here?"
"Mr. Murata, maybe you can talk some sense into him," Sei says, pointing at me with the scalpel. "I was about to start healing this man, who's bleeding out, until you stopped me!"
"We have to do this! Just trust me on this, okay? I promise!"
"What's the matter?" Murata asks.
"Where can we find the strongest liquor in this village?" I ask. "I know it sounds weird, but we need it. The alcohol kills the germs and stops the wound from getting infected."
Murata just looks at me for a moment and blinks. "...I'm not sure I understand what you're getting at, but I'll trust that you know what you're doing," he says. "We can get sake easily, but stronger?" He places his hand on his chin. "...I think Sadao's still got that bottle of shochu that he loves to brag about."
"What's shochu?" I ask. I haven't heard of it before.
"It's like sake, but stronger, because they distill it. Hard to find stuff like that out here in the sticks," Murata says.
Jackpot. "That's what we need."
Convincing Sadao to give up his beloved booze is quite a task, of course. "You can't have it," he says flatly.
"It's to save a person's life!" I plead.
"It's my shochu. I decide what to do with it. And I'm not giving you a drop of it."
"Why not?"
"Do you know how expensive that bottle is? How rare it is out in the country? How I had to get it specially shipped here from the capital? I don't know if you get it, but shochu is a luxury for us common folk! And you're telling me you intend to pour it on some kid's cut, some kid who tried to kill us all? What the hell is wrong with you?"
Before I can say anything, Ayane walks up to him. "Listen here, Sadao," she says, her voice gaining an edge that I've never seen before. "I've had enough of this. Give us the shochu already. You know damn well that if it was you bleeding out there, you'd want us to spare no expense in treating you. So why can't you think about someone other than you and your liver for once in your life and give it to us?"
Sadao just grunts.
"You know what, fine," I say. "How much did that bottle cost you? I'll buy it from you."
He snorts. "You're ridiculous, kid."
"How much was it?" I repeat. It can't be that much, can it? I have that gold that Leo gave me...
"Twenty-five gold," he says. "It's probably worth more thanks to wartime shortages, though…"
"I'll pay you fifty for it." I think I got a hundred. Blowing half of what could be my only means of survival is tough, but honestly worth it if it'll prevent this guy from dying.
He looks at me, dumbstruck. "What's a kid like you doing with fifty gold?!"
"It doesn't matter! I'm going to go get it right now," I reply. "Ayane, you're in charge of him until I'm back." I start towards Murata's house. "Get the shochu and meet me here!"
It takes a minute or two for me to find my satchel and gather the gold pieces, counting out fifty on the way back. For the first time I notice the design on the Nohrian coins—the head King Garon's, and the reverse the royal Nohrian emblem. I haven't had to handle money before, so it never occurred to me. My gut sinks with dread as to if Sadao will accept Nohrian coins, but I don't have anything else.
Sadao's standing there with a bottle in his hands. I thrust the coins toward him confidently, but quietly hoping he won't notice. He gingerly sets down the shochu and looks at the coins.
"This is Nohrian gold!" he yells instantly. "This is an insult, boy!"
"It's fucking gold!" I fire back. "Twice as much as you paid for the damn thing. Take it or leave it."
After a moment, Sadao grunts his same disaffected grunt. "I suppose I could take it to one of those merchants and have it exchanged…"
"Good," I reply. He counts the coins and pockets them.
"You can take the shochu now."
"Thank you," I say. Sadao turns and walks off in a huff for some reason. "A pleasure doing business," I call after him, but he doesn't respond. I turn to Ayane, Felicia, and Sei. "Let's start now."
Ayane and Felicia clean the gunshot wound with the shochu, as the samurai hisses in pain. Apparently the anaesthetic wasn't that effective, but it should at least be taking the edge off. I shut my eyes and wince in sympathy, but I console myself quickly. His pain is necessary for him to survive—if he's not going to end up like all the others…
Sei cleans her tools with some more of the shochu. After a minute, she and Felicia work to remove the bullet. Though the soldier has gone from hissing to yelling and crying, the procedure only takes a minute. After that, Felicia uses the staff, and its pale glow fades as the samurai begins gasping for air. Sei bandages his healed leg.
"The damage was severe, but not irreversible. It will take a few extra days, maybe even a week or two, before he is fully recovered," she says.
Sei, Felicia, and Ayane tend to the remaining few survivors with gunshot wounds in a similar way, using the shochu to sterilize their wounds. After an hour or two, all of the wounded, both ours and the enemy's, are in stable condition, if not near completely recovered. They meet up with Murata and I again after their work is finished. "Good work," he says. "Thank you all."
I nod. "Thanks for trusting me."
"I don't know if I believe what you had to say yet," Sei says. "But I'll go along with it for now."
The three leave to tend to other patients, and Murata and I are alone for a moment. I notice that they've left me with the bottle of shochu. I pick it up for a moment and feel a little bit of liquid sloshing around inside it.
"Should I give this back to Sadao?" I wonder aloud.
"That asshole? No," Murata answers. "Come back to my house."
We do as he says, and he breaks out two small porcelain cups. "I haven't had shochu in years, and I need a drink after all that," he says as he pours the drinks. The liquid is clear. Murata takes his cup and lifts it high, and I do the same. "Let's get all the worth we can out of that fifty gold. Kanpai," he says. It hits me that that must be the Japanese—or, Old Hoshidan—toast.
"Kanpai," I repeat. I grin as an idea comes to me. "L'chaim."
"L'chaim," Murata repeats, getting the pronunciation pretty close (though lacking the ch sound), and takes a large drink from his cup. I experimentally take a sip from mine. The first thing I notice is the burn on my tongue, but it wasn't unexpected. That and the earthy aroma remind me of the single-malt Scotch my dad and grandfather were big fans of. At 18 and with one year of college under my belt I probably hadn't the sophisticated palate to appreciate that kind of stuff, but I definitely remember that distinctive taste, the warmness in my mouth. It's not entirely unpleasant… but maybe that's only because it's one damn thing in this world that I know I can expect.
I take another sip, and another, without putting down my glass, and before I know it I've finished the drink. I breathe in and out, my entire throat feeling warm thanks to the alcohol.
"Slow down, kid," he says. "It's not a race."
"Yeah, yeah, I know," I reply. "What does kanpai mean, by the way?"
"'Dry the glass,'" he says. "It's the traditional toast from the Old Language. What about yours. L'hi…"
"L'chaim," I reply, emphasizing the gutteral ch. "'To life.' That's the toast in the language of our religion." After a moment, I realize what I've done. "Though in light of recent events, it might've not been in the best taste…" I look down at my empty cup.
"I like it, actually," Murata says. "To life—how wonderful it is, and how tragic it is when it gets taken away. Daisuke died so we could live. We can't give up now. Doing that would throw away his sacrifice." I nod solemnly, still staring at the cup. After a moment, Murata gets up and heads to leave. "Come on, let's check how things are getting on back at the square. Things should be beginning to calm down."
Indeed, he is right. Things are calming down, as the last bits of darkness fade into the sky and people begin to head back to their homes for the night. The wounded have been taken care of for the time being, and are being watched by a group of volunteers. Daisuke's body, and those of Ieyasu's soldiers, were rather unceremoniously covered for the rest of the night, with a burial and makeshift funeral to follow tomorrow.
Despite the feeling of victory, there is a very palpable air of mourning. I half-expected Ayane, Murata, or even Reina to try to bring up something encouraging, but they don't, and I appreciate it. Daisuke's death is too raw, too fresh, to begin to try to recover from. It feels wrong trying to rationalize it away so quickly, just like when I killed that samurai.
No matter what I do, it feels wrong.
Am I the bad guy now?
I restlessly toss and turn, unable to sleep. I can't chalk this up to self-defense or accident or anything anymore, like I could with the Hoshidan samurai. I deliberately introduced gunpowder to a medieval civilization, and, worse, it worked. I am responsible for these deaths. Of course, my brain understands that it was ostensibly the right thing to do. Hoiyoto would've starved to death if I didn't intervene. But I can't shake the feeling that it was the wrong choice.
And now what? Ieyasu got away. No doubt Toyoshima's going to learn about how a bunch of peasants wrecked a trained platoon of soldiers, and want our tech for himself. That's why I'm so glad Taka stopped Hiro before he could leave with the gun. But either way, I've got a feeling they'll come back, with bigger numbers and stronger troops and a billion ways to make our lives hell. How can we overcome that? We'll have to redouble our war effort, so to speak. Make even more guns, improve their designs, train and drill and all those things.
But there's still only so much we can do. If Toyoshima comes at us with a thousand-man army, could we stand against it? That means each person—not every fighting-fit individual, every man, woman, or child—would need to incapacitate three highly trained, well-armed and armored soldiers. As much as we beat the odds today, and as much faith as I have in our technological superiority… the numbers don't lie. Reina said there were other villages facing the same situation. Assuming they haven't all submitted or been put to the torch, could we work together with them? Get an alliance, a league, an army of gun-toting peasants? That seems to be the way to fight Toyoshima, since the royal forces still have their hands tied against Nohr. A counter-revolution.
How can I be thinking about counter-revolutions and creating armies when people just died because of me! I'm despicable! I grit my teeth, and tears do well up in my eyes, but I'm not bawling nearly as much as earlier. I suppose that's a good thing, because in some respects I am a leader now. But I don't want to lose my morality. In some ways, it's quite scary that I'm not crying as much. Could I be desensitized to killing so quickly? Hiro's words echo in my mind. "Like a fucking game of shogi." This isn't a goddamn video game anymore. It never was. This is real. Maybe he's right. Maybe I don't realize it. Maybe I'm causing more harm than good.
But I made this bed, and by God, I intend to lie in it.
The funeral for Daisuke is short, but poignant. Almost all of the village, including our prisoners-of-war, assembles under a large, shady maple tree, though it isn't doing much good with the lousy, overcast weather. Murata starts with some words much to the same effect he did yesterday, and asks if any of the villagers want to come forward and offer stories or anecdotes of their own.
"He was always a kind and generous young man," an elderly woman says. "Since my husband passed and getting by was difficult, he would always offer me some of his best game. At a cost to himself, of course."
"Daisuke helped me find my way back when I got lost in the woods," a boy says.
"He was an expert hunter, but he was never cruel," another young man, who I recognize as one of Daisuke's fellow hunters. "Just by hunting with him, I learned to respect nature. Daisuke understood how it's beautiful and powerful better than anyone else I know."
I can't help but bite my lip. This man was such an influential part of this community. And what have I done? I took him away. I didn't do it, I try to tell myself. I didn't. But I certainly didn't fucking stop them.
Murata then does something rather irregular. He invites our prisoners to come forward and say things about their fallen comrades. "I know some of you may be upset and angry at our former enemies," he says. "But we've got to forget about whatever the bickering lords in their castles say and realize that we're all countrymen here. We're all Hoshidans." I'm not, I think instantly. "We're all people, and all people deserve a proper funeral."
We will be burying Daisuke with the fallen soldiers. Murata makes eye contact with me and a slight smile crawls across my face. Some part of me knew he'd be considerate enough to do such a thing. If there's one thing I've learned from my time in Hoshido and Nohr, it's that being respected as a human being goes a long way.
However, the crowd doesn't take it as well. Unsure, questioning murmurs circulate throughout while the prisoners in attendance—the ones who can walk—turn to this one soldier. His armor makes me think he's a samurai. He walks next to Murata, his gait with a slight limping unevenness to it. It's surely been caused by his injury, but he seems to be in the best shape of the bunch. That's probably why they had him walk in front.
"Thank you," he replies to Murata awkwardly. "Thank you for the chance to mourn our fellow soldiers. They died in service to their lord, and will soon be buried with dignity. Under the Bushido code, there is no greater honor that a soldier could ask for. The same is true of your man, Daisuke-"
"Bullshit!" someone cries out. Oh, God, I was worried this would happen. "Your fucking lord wanted us dead!"
"Yeah, how about that!" a woman agrees. "You didn't know Daisuke, so shut up, you murderers!"
"That's right!" another man calls out. "You can't talk about honor! You poisoned him! That's a coward's weapon!"
The crowd is getting more animated and rowdy by the second. If this gets out of hand, they'll hurt the prisoners, which is something I don't want. I've had a hard enough time with people dying on the battlefield. If someone dies when I've tried to show mercy… I can't let that happen!
"Stop, stop, stop!" I yell, rushing in between Murata, the soldier, and the encroaching mass with my arms outstretched. "Everybody, stop!"
The village quiets down. I hope they've learned to listen to me a little bit by now. Everybody's looking at me. It's just like when I tried to defend Felicia, explain my plan of guns, and everything else. Except instead of a rehearsed explanation or a hasty argument, the words just fall out of my mouth, spilling out faster than I realize what I'm saying.
"You know what? I admit it. This is my fault," I start. "This was all my stupid fucking plan. If we didn't fight, Daisuke wouldn't've died." I turn to face the samurai. "And your friends wouldn't've, either. And it sucks, you know? It really does. I hate it. I hate feeling like I'm responsible. But I'm also responsible for the fact that this village is going to survive, and that you're not working for those assholes anymore."
Suddenly, my train of thought anchors onto my line of thinking last night as I continue addressing the village. Maybe that grandiose planning was not in vain after all! "We're not alone in this fight. There are dozens of other villages in the same spot. Millions of Hoshidans in the same position. But we're not going to win by pointing fingers and blaming, or turning into angry mobs. We win by working together, just like we worked together to fight."
I turn once again to the soldiers. "You guys have a choice. You can join us—the people who treated you like human beings, who healed you, fed you, and let your mourn your dead. Or you can leave and go back to that asshole Ieyasu and Toyoshima and God-knows-who-else. But I'm going to tell you this: the side that oppresses its people never wins in the long run. It didn't work in Germany. It didn't work in Italy. It didn't work in Russia." Arguably, it did work in China, but I'm not going to tell them that. Either way, at this point they have no idea what the hell I'm talking about, as evidenced by their blank stares.
Murata coughs. I imagine he's trying to steer the conversation away from that, from their perspective, nonsensical direction. "I understand that you all may have some misgivings about accepting people who we fought against just yesterday, and the same goes for you as well," he says, turning to the soldiers. "It might've been just me, but I remember wanting to fight for a good cause when I was a soldier. Something more than just lines on a map. Something real. And now you have the chance to do it."
Reina pipes up as well. "Indeed, it sounds like treason to renounce your lord and join us. But we are fighting for Hoshido, for our country. And is there no nobler cause to fight than in defense of one's homeland, from enemies outside, or from within? I saw you fight yesterday, well and hard. I was impressed—it was thrilling! This village, and Hoshido as a whole, would be honored if you devoted your skills in service of them."
She looks to me and nods. I return the nod and take a deep breath, and I feel myself building to a climax. "It's not too late to fight for the right side. But if you pick up your sword again knowing that you're fighting for tyrants, then I think I speak for all of us here when I say we will have no reservation about cutting you down, gunning you down, or killing you with our bare hands if that's what it takes. And remember: tyrants never win." The last bit sounds stale, ripped straight from movies and TV shows, but you kind of need a corny speech to cheer up the downtrodden. It's the only thing I know how to do at this point. I can't dazzle them with brilliance, so I may as well baffle them with this bullshit.
The villagers are nodding, and a few are even cheering. "Yeah!" someone shouts. "Stick it to those blue-blooded bastards!"
"They're the real bad guys here!"
"The more people we have, the more of them we can nail!"
The crowd quiets as the samurai steps forward. He turns back to his comrades, who nod, then to Murata and I. "I—we—will join you," he announces. "Together, we'll fight to make Hoshido better for all of us."
Murata beams, as do I. "This is exactly what Daisuke—and your comrades, I'm sure—would have wanted," he says. "We will not let their deaths be in vain. We will press on!"
The villagers, and the soldiers—the army of Hoiyoto—cheer, though it quickly fades as the bittersweet reality of the situation sets in. We bury Daisuke and the soldiers as the sun sets in the sky, turning it beautiful shades of orange and violet that shimmer and glisten on the clouds.
Daisuke… the Hoshidan samurai… Corrin… Sakura… Xander… could any of you ever forgive me?
A/N: I am so, so sorry this took so long. It was awful. This is so overdue, and even despite it taking so long, I'm still not very happy with this chapter. But it's done, and I needed to get it out for you guys. I hope you're all not too upset with the dip in quality and extra time it took. It was bad enough with college work—especially taking two English classes this semester, one about writing and one literature class, my passion for writing has been a bit drained—but then my laptop broke and it's taking some time to get that sorted with Dell—but here is something.
In positive news, this fic has officially reached one year of age. This past year has been incredible thanks to you all. I doubt I would have continued writing it without the amazing support I've gotten from everyone here. And, on top of that, I'm beyond pleased to announce that Caellach Tiger Eye has created a TVTropes page, which you can find at
tvtropes pmwiki/pmwiki .php /Fanfic/Earthborne
(Remove the spaces!)
That's how you know you're one of the big boys, how you've made it. So I can't think him enough, and I encourage you all to check that out and contribute yourselves! I love hearing people's analysis of my work, it gives me new insights and perspectives on it, and having more voices contribute to that page would only help that more. So have at it!
Now, for a few shoutout answers -
Cyborg 2.0 - It's a combination of my own interest in historical chemistry (since the chemical industry definitely supports, and has supported since antiquity, the defense industry), the fact that I think a lot of Fire Emblem fans are purists and I like to throw a wrench in their gears, and just plain and simple "what-if"-ery.
Yaboioverthar - I've been thinking about how to dance around the issue of the child characters for a while, and at this point I'm thinking about leaving them out of the main plot arc entirely. It's just way too awkward.
Rainsfere - I didn't' mean for it to sound like Ieyasu knew about Harrison - I just imagined him seeing someone wearing Nohrian style clothes, wielding a Nohrian sword, and would assume that they're Nohrian in origin. I see now how you would get that impression, though.