Hey people. It's been forever, hasn't it? I"m been rather stuck on my other stories. So, you guys got left in the cold. Sorry :). To make up for it, I'm putting this one together now! And I'll try to answer your questions...
Nami&Siegy: Are you sure you're not schizo? ;) Just kidding. Am writing more as we speak.
Mal: First off, I appreciate your reviews, and as you asked in a previous review, I caused mucho punishment to "Tornado Alley girl". However, about the religious parts... yes, you are a bastard. It wasn't meant to be funny! I'm serious on these subjects, people.
(Touches forehead) Oh, Lord.... Another stress headache....
Sabriel41: Before I say anything, welcome back! (trumpets and fanfare) And with that done.... thanks for the kudos! I like the part about the story doubling in goodness each time! (little voice in back: You like me! You really like me!) The idea for the last chapter just jumped up and kicked me in the ass. I personally think it's the last thing anyone expected (even myself), and so I count it as one of my Great Ideas! (note capitals!) Not that I have many Great Ideas to brag about.... in fact, this is the only one.... D'oh!
And as for the Wind God, it's actually a "reverse" griffin of sorts. The head is that of a lion, while the body is that of an eagle. A reversal of the classic griffin. I thought it was appropriately weird for my story.
Now, with that over, I pronounce it a much belated....
"SHOWTIME!"
Chapter 12
Misfortunes Mislead
Mansion of the Lions, Valencia, Spain. One day after battle there.
Raphael walked into the mansion, marveling at the great sad aura it emitted. If any place was fit to house the undead pirate captain who wielded the Soul Edge, this was it. He stepped carefully over the sharp chunks of fallen plaster and stone, dodging wooden timbers whose ends had become splintered spears. Even though no living creature abode in it, it was still a place of danger.
[ What happened here?] Raphael wondered, as he went past the lobby and entered the once grand hall that would have welcomed guests in better days. [ Who owned this place? Why did they let fall into such... disuse, and ruin? Why?....]
As Raphael stepped across the now faded, decaying carpet, he looked down and was greeted by a very nasty surprise. A monstrous eye lay flat, like some sack deprived of all it's contents, surrounded by drying pus and goo. The pupil seemed to stare endlessly at the ceiling, as if searching for salvation there, or some reprieve from it's dead state. Raphael saw but ignored the chunks of rock that surrounded it; in his surprise, he did not relate them to the eye.
" What is this?" Raphael asked aloud in the empty mansion, stepping forward to get a better look at this monstrosity. As he did so, he felt a twinge in his mind... but ignored it. Drawing his sword (the small "snick" it made when drawn seemed to reverberate throughout the house, echoing in the stillness), he used the tip to prod the eye. The eye, dead as dead could be, made no response. Raphael walked closer and kneeled down to inspect it with his bare hands. As he leaned over it, he felt another slight twinge in his mind, and without really realizing what he was doing, he put his hand on a great wound in the side of the eye. Pulling back on the ragged edge of that hole (a hole whose ends jutted outward, as if some great pressure inside them had burst free of it's constraints and flooded forth into the world) he peered inside. A small fragment of the Soul Edge gleamed dimly in the darkness.
" What is this?" Raphael whispered again.
" The Crying Dove", Inn in Valencia, Spain, half an hour later.
" One more time, sir. The three travelers who were here earlier. What did they look like?"
" One was a big guy, broad in the shoulders and fairly tall. Had long blond hair down to his shoulders, blue eyes. Carried a huge sword on his back. His voice sounded kind of funny, guttural like, like he was always trying to clear his throat or something."
" A German, then. Sounds like your average mercenary; I doubt he has any experience in... certain matters. Go on."
" The second was a woman, real tall and thin, with the weirdest hair. It was purple, seems like, and real thin too- almost like she'd gotten it shaved recently. Had a nasty scar on the top of her head. Shaped like a claw, I think. She carried a broadsword with her, and had a belt with lots of little vials on it. And let me tell you, she had a real attractive suit on her- barely covered what a man shouldn't see, if you catch my drift, heh heh. Gave my stableboys some bad fancies, I'd wager."
" What did her voice sound like?"
" Oh, that? Oh, it was real formal soundin'- British, I think."
" Hm. Indeed. The bottles make me think of an Alchemist, but the sword and dress indicate that she is probably a mercenary as well. Makes sense, to hire one of them. And the last man?"
" I' only remember him because I'd never heard that accent before. It was lilting, almost, like he was singing- but it had the strangest ups and downs. He didn't look like anybody I'd ever met- kinda squinty eyes, and his face was shaped different, too. Wore real bright red clothes, kinda loose fittin'. He had a big staff with him, and I remember one of 'em calling him "Monk". Don't know what that means, though."
" Hm. He's the one I'm most interested in. The other two are local- or from Europe, at the least- and neither sound like the kind of person I'm after. That last one though.... The accent you're describing is Chinese. He's from the Far East."
" You don't say! Why, I had a rarity under this roof an' didn't know it! I'll be damned!"
" That, my friend, is not my problem. Here's your cash."
" Thank you very much, guv'nor."
Roads heading out from Valencia, Spain. Same time.
Siegfried and Ivy walked on in awkward silence, neither knowing quite what to say to the other. Ivy had recovered quickly from her wound (Kilik's tea helping along the way) and she and Siegfried had set a course north, for lack of a better thing to do. Neither really knew what to do next, both having been rattled by the events at the Mansion of the Lions. They hadn't spoken a word to each other today, ever since leaving the Crying Dove a few hours ago. Kilik had left them then, stating he was heading east, where he hoped to catch a wagon train and go the famed ports of Arabia. There, with Alchemists and Psykes controlling the breezes, the fastest ships in the world waited. Kilik was going to try and enter China on one.
That morning had been strange, though. Kilik had walked up to both of them as they packed in silence, and placed his hands on both their shoulders. Confused, they'd both looked at him, he'd stared them both straight in the eyes for some time. Then he nodded, as if seeing something there, and said his goodbyes.
" You are a noble man, Siegfried," Kilik said, still holding on to Siegfried's shoulder, " and a good one. I don't know what lies in your past, but your eyes tell me it is something horrible. Put it behind you; you cannot go forward by focusing on what is past."
Turning his gaze to Ivy, he said, " You are a good person to, Ivy, maybe better than Siegfried is. He is noble, and good, but in you I sense a fierce streak of justice that Siegfried lacks. It is that same streak of justice in you that rails against what you learned in the Mansion." With that, Ivy had trembled- it was a small tremble, but noticeable still. " Yes, Ivy, I know. I know... about... your past.... but that makes me feel for you even more. In my country, we hold our ancestors in the greatest respect, treating them as our guardians in this life. But if we have an ignoble ancestor, we disown them and forget that they exist. To be forgotten thus by their descendants is the worst fate that could befall them. We do not let them affect our lives; who they were does not affect who we are. Remember that."
And so saying, the monk had turned and made the grandest exit that Siegfried had ever seen, an exit that was grand because of it's starkness. He'd simply left without another word, calmly walking out the door and out of their lives, leaving them with dumbfounded expressions on their faces. In a few minutes, they'd recovered and packed their things, but both had been shaken by the monk's words. He had zeroed in with perfect aim on both their problems, problems they'd neither discussed nor even mentioned in the monk's presence. Siegfried briefly wondered if he could read minds. He would make one hell of a preacher.
And now, several hours later, they were walking out of Valencia, doding road crews and trying not to talk of the "wolf in the room", as Siegfried's father liked to say. It was a common German term for a situation so huge that no one wanted to talk about it, and that was a pretty accurate summing up of what they were going through now. Siegfried wracked his brain for a conversation opener, and Kilik's grand exit gave him just the right subject to use; safe, neutral, and very funny. He fired his first shot.
" He knows how to make an exit, doesn't he?" Siegfried said, glancing at Ivy as he did so.
Ivy smiled, a small, guarded smile- but a smile nonetheless.
" Yes," she said, turning to look away from Siegfried even as she did so.
Siegfried walked on for a minute more, than said, " Hey."
Ivy said nothing, merely continuing to look at the ground beside the road.
" This changes nothing. I feel the same for you as I always did." Siegfried mentally winced at that last line. It seemed like a come on, and he desperately wanted to connect with this woman in a friendly, non-sexual manner. This was not the time to sound like a lovesick little boy. " We're still friends, Ivy."
She kept looking at the ground.
" I don't care who your father is. You're you. No one else. Not your father, not whatever other evil ancestors you may have," Siegfried said this last jocularly, trying everything he could to reach her, " just you. And I like you."
" Why did you save me?" Her voice was so low it was almost a whisper. " Why... did you not just... let me die?"
" Because it wouldn't have been right," Siegfried said truthfully. " I've fought beside you, Ivy. I've traveled over Europe with you. You're my friend. It's the least I could do, to help you in your crisis."
" Then you... don't find me... weak?"
" Not at all. Nobody could go through that and not suffer badly because of it. That you've remained functioning at all is an achievement in itself."
Ivy half-turned her head, looking at him from the corner of her eye. " So you don't blame me?"
" No. I don't."
They kept walking in silence for a little while longer, then Ivy said, " Thank you."
Siegfried smiled. " Just doing what's right. You're a friend, Ivy. What kind of man would I be if I didn't stand by my friends?"
Ivy smiled at that, a bittersweet smile, but leaning more towards sweet than bitter.
" Not a very good friend at all."
Plains surrounding remains of Town of the Wind God, south of present day Tajikistan. One day after fall of town.
Mitsurugi collapsed on the ground next to Yunsung, letting out a great sigh as he fell. Leaning against the small tree behind him, Mitsurugi unscrewed the cap of his small wineskin and took a small sip. Turning his head wearily to Yunsung, he lifted it up to him. Yunsung reached out and took it slowly, each movement painful after the exertions of last night and today. His skin ached and burned, as if it was still feeling the heat of the burning village, and his muscles were sore. Last night, the adrenaline in his body had prevented him from feeling anything, and he'd worked as tirelessly as any mule. Now, the adrenaline decaying in his bloodstream, he felt more weary than he could ever remember being. He took a small sip of the wine, not really tasting it, just feeling the wetness slide down his throat. He passed the skin back to Mitsurugi.
" Thanks," he said tiredly. " I needed that."
Mitsurugi surveyed the makeshift campsite the survivors had constructed. Most of the people were still in shock. The town was still burning, far off in the distance, and the smell of roasting flesh was carrying for miles. Yunsung had vomited several times during the night, as that smell reached him again and again, and the images of burning bodies... flaming souls.... as the images of villagers becoming living torches filled his mind again and again whenever that smell assaulted his nose. Mitsurugi, an old veteran of these things, had quickly ground up some pepper and spices in an old silk handkerchief, and given it to Yunsung to wrap about his face. It now hung over his nose, blotting out some of the smell, but Yunsung had the most horrid fantasies that he could taste it, as if the smell was not really a smell but a force, a force that was after him. Denied his nose, it had sought out his mouth, and now Yunsung did all he could to avoid talking or sighing or even opening his mouth at all. The few drinks of Mitsurugi's wineskin he'd taken had been the only times he'd opened his mouth at all since donning the handkerchief.
The sky was blotted out by smoke for a small portion about four miles in the distance, where the town was burning. At night, the flames had made the surrounding area visible for miles, a hellish thing that had driven some of the survivors mad with grief. Seeing their hometown burning was bad enough, but being unable to escape it even after an hour of fierce traveling had been far too much for many of them. Some had suicided during the night, cutting open their throats with sharp rocks, splinters of wood, anything they could find. Yunsung had spent an hour last night trying to talk an old woman out of killing both herself and her two grandchildren. He'd managed to convince her to put the rock down and gotten the children away, and he'd just been beginning to think he'd reached her when she'd let out a wild scream and thrown herself to the ground, splitting her forehead on the same rock she'd threatened to kill her grandchildren with. She'd bashed her own brains out right in front of them, and the shock and horror in the children's eyes had been too much for Yunsung to bear. He'd left after transferring the children to grieving relatives, unable to bear up any more himself. He'd cried a lot last night, even his fierce, callous soul unable to withstand such a shock to his system. Mitsurugi had found him last night, crying silently behind a small tree, and the old warrior had turned his head and patiently waited for Yunsung to finish. When the young Korean had wiped his face and dabbed his eyes with a shirt sleeve, Mitsurugi asked him to help set up a few tents that a survivor had managed to grab. There were about sixty tents, all told; there were many hundreds of people. Many ended up sleeping (or staying, anyway; few people slept last night) out in the open. They didn't care. Nothing seemed to matter so much anymore, now that their town was gone.
After the frantic flight out of the burning town, Yunsung had put Talim down and tried to help the survivors as best he could. Between attempts to talk others out of suicide (something he wasn't very well suited for, but he had been learning fast) and setting up the tents, he had worked almost all of last night. He had not slept since waking early yesterday morning before finding Talim. His weariness was nearly crushing him.
" This town is finished," Mitsurugi said, surveying the shell-shocked, stunned survivors. Many were badly burned. Those few who attempted sleep during the night found that the screams of the dying usually kept them awake. Some were so badly burned that they didn't even look human anymore. One little boy, formerly a beautiful blonde with sky blue eyes, had become a burned, wrecked monstrosity whose limbs had been reduced to ashes. He had a single leg, which merely flopped when he was moved because it's sinews had been hamstrung by a piece of falling timber. His entire body was a charred mess except for one half of his face, which remained mockingly whole. The single staring blue eye in it seemed to hold the sum and measure of the world's suffering in it. He'd died during the night, his body shutting down. Yunsung thought it a mercy.
Talim had not recovered. She was still in complete and total shock, leaning towards a coma, and Yunsung feared that she might never pull out of it.
[There are some tragedies we are not meant to suffer,] Yunsung thought, a great sadness filling him. [ There are just some things we cannot go through and remain whole.]
" The survivors... they'll probably spread out," Mitsurugi said, his eyes telling the long tale of his many hard years as he watched the shambling survivors walk about dazedly, " I don't think the neighboring towns will take them in. This was a miniority religion, and I'd be willing to bet not a peaceful one. Such things are never popular with their neighbors. They'll probably move north.... towards Russia and China. I don't think they'll be able to rebuild, though. I think they're doomed... to be a wandering people..." Mitsurugi shook his head. " If they're lucky, they'll end up as nomads, like the Gypsies of Europe. If they're not, they'll probably become slaves of some dictator somewhere. Maybe the Russian czars. Maybe the Chinese Emperor."
" What happened?" Yunsung asked, saying aloud the one question on the minds of every survivor here. " What made the village burn like that? An act of the gods?"
" I don't know," Mitsurugi said, " but I believe I have a way to find out. I saw an old.... acquaintance last night, when we first left the city. She seemed different, somehow... I have a feeling she had something to do with this. She went north. That way." Mitsurugi raised his arm and pointed down the long road where he'd last seen Taki, running to beat the devil, her feet barely touching the ground. " I'm going to follow her. Something like this... it's too big to ignore. Honor demands no less."
" I'm coming with you," Yunsung said, the fire of justice in him blazing strongly at Mitsurugi's words.
" I thought you might," Mitsurugi said. " You seem to be a good man." He put his head back against the tree and closed his eyes. " I'm going to rest for a while. Once I'm up, I'll pack and leave. There's nothing more we can do here. Finding out what has transpired here- behind the scenes- is the most important thing we can do for these people. I suggest you sleep as well. We will both need it."
He'd barely finished before Yunsung conked out. Mitsurugi opened his eyes and glanced at his companion, then made himself comfortable. He fell asleep soon afterward, mind whirling with unanswered questions and thoughts of an ambush long, long ago. And debts ages old and seconds new....
-R and R everybody!
Nami&Siegy: Are you sure you're not schizo? ;) Just kidding. Am writing more as we speak.
Mal: First off, I appreciate your reviews, and as you asked in a previous review, I caused mucho punishment to "Tornado Alley girl". However, about the religious parts... yes, you are a bastard. It wasn't meant to be funny! I'm serious on these subjects, people.
(Touches forehead) Oh, Lord.... Another stress headache....
Sabriel41: Before I say anything, welcome back! (trumpets and fanfare) And with that done.... thanks for the kudos! I like the part about the story doubling in goodness each time! (little voice in back: You like me! You really like me!) The idea for the last chapter just jumped up and kicked me in the ass. I personally think it's the last thing anyone expected (even myself), and so I count it as one of my Great Ideas! (note capitals!) Not that I have many Great Ideas to brag about.... in fact, this is the only one.... D'oh!
And as for the Wind God, it's actually a "reverse" griffin of sorts. The head is that of a lion, while the body is that of an eagle. A reversal of the classic griffin. I thought it was appropriately weird for my story.
Now, with that over, I pronounce it a much belated....
"SHOWTIME!"
Chapter 12
Misfortunes Mislead
Mansion of the Lions, Valencia, Spain. One day after battle there.
Raphael walked into the mansion, marveling at the great sad aura it emitted. If any place was fit to house the undead pirate captain who wielded the Soul Edge, this was it. He stepped carefully over the sharp chunks of fallen plaster and stone, dodging wooden timbers whose ends had become splintered spears. Even though no living creature abode in it, it was still a place of danger.
[ What happened here?] Raphael wondered, as he went past the lobby and entered the once grand hall that would have welcomed guests in better days. [ Who owned this place? Why did they let fall into such... disuse, and ruin? Why?....]
As Raphael stepped across the now faded, decaying carpet, he looked down and was greeted by a very nasty surprise. A monstrous eye lay flat, like some sack deprived of all it's contents, surrounded by drying pus and goo. The pupil seemed to stare endlessly at the ceiling, as if searching for salvation there, or some reprieve from it's dead state. Raphael saw but ignored the chunks of rock that surrounded it; in his surprise, he did not relate them to the eye.
" What is this?" Raphael asked aloud in the empty mansion, stepping forward to get a better look at this monstrosity. As he did so, he felt a twinge in his mind... but ignored it. Drawing his sword (the small "snick" it made when drawn seemed to reverberate throughout the house, echoing in the stillness), he used the tip to prod the eye. The eye, dead as dead could be, made no response. Raphael walked closer and kneeled down to inspect it with his bare hands. As he leaned over it, he felt another slight twinge in his mind, and without really realizing what he was doing, he put his hand on a great wound in the side of the eye. Pulling back on the ragged edge of that hole (a hole whose ends jutted outward, as if some great pressure inside them had burst free of it's constraints and flooded forth into the world) he peered inside. A small fragment of the Soul Edge gleamed dimly in the darkness.
" What is this?" Raphael whispered again.
" The Crying Dove", Inn in Valencia, Spain, half an hour later.
" One more time, sir. The three travelers who were here earlier. What did they look like?"
" One was a big guy, broad in the shoulders and fairly tall. Had long blond hair down to his shoulders, blue eyes. Carried a huge sword on his back. His voice sounded kind of funny, guttural like, like he was always trying to clear his throat or something."
" A German, then. Sounds like your average mercenary; I doubt he has any experience in... certain matters. Go on."
" The second was a woman, real tall and thin, with the weirdest hair. It was purple, seems like, and real thin too- almost like she'd gotten it shaved recently. Had a nasty scar on the top of her head. Shaped like a claw, I think. She carried a broadsword with her, and had a belt with lots of little vials on it. And let me tell you, she had a real attractive suit on her- barely covered what a man shouldn't see, if you catch my drift, heh heh. Gave my stableboys some bad fancies, I'd wager."
" What did her voice sound like?"
" Oh, that? Oh, it was real formal soundin'- British, I think."
" Hm. Indeed. The bottles make me think of an Alchemist, but the sword and dress indicate that she is probably a mercenary as well. Makes sense, to hire one of them. And the last man?"
" I' only remember him because I'd never heard that accent before. It was lilting, almost, like he was singing- but it had the strangest ups and downs. He didn't look like anybody I'd ever met- kinda squinty eyes, and his face was shaped different, too. Wore real bright red clothes, kinda loose fittin'. He had a big staff with him, and I remember one of 'em calling him "Monk". Don't know what that means, though."
" Hm. He's the one I'm most interested in. The other two are local- or from Europe, at the least- and neither sound like the kind of person I'm after. That last one though.... The accent you're describing is Chinese. He's from the Far East."
" You don't say! Why, I had a rarity under this roof an' didn't know it! I'll be damned!"
" That, my friend, is not my problem. Here's your cash."
" Thank you very much, guv'nor."
Roads heading out from Valencia, Spain. Same time.
Siegfried and Ivy walked on in awkward silence, neither knowing quite what to say to the other. Ivy had recovered quickly from her wound (Kilik's tea helping along the way) and she and Siegfried had set a course north, for lack of a better thing to do. Neither really knew what to do next, both having been rattled by the events at the Mansion of the Lions. They hadn't spoken a word to each other today, ever since leaving the Crying Dove a few hours ago. Kilik had left them then, stating he was heading east, where he hoped to catch a wagon train and go the famed ports of Arabia. There, with Alchemists and Psykes controlling the breezes, the fastest ships in the world waited. Kilik was going to try and enter China on one.
That morning had been strange, though. Kilik had walked up to both of them as they packed in silence, and placed his hands on both their shoulders. Confused, they'd both looked at him, he'd stared them both straight in the eyes for some time. Then he nodded, as if seeing something there, and said his goodbyes.
" You are a noble man, Siegfried," Kilik said, still holding on to Siegfried's shoulder, " and a good one. I don't know what lies in your past, but your eyes tell me it is something horrible. Put it behind you; you cannot go forward by focusing on what is past."
Turning his gaze to Ivy, he said, " You are a good person to, Ivy, maybe better than Siegfried is. He is noble, and good, but in you I sense a fierce streak of justice that Siegfried lacks. It is that same streak of justice in you that rails against what you learned in the Mansion." With that, Ivy had trembled- it was a small tremble, but noticeable still. " Yes, Ivy, I know. I know... about... your past.... but that makes me feel for you even more. In my country, we hold our ancestors in the greatest respect, treating them as our guardians in this life. But if we have an ignoble ancestor, we disown them and forget that they exist. To be forgotten thus by their descendants is the worst fate that could befall them. We do not let them affect our lives; who they were does not affect who we are. Remember that."
And so saying, the monk had turned and made the grandest exit that Siegfried had ever seen, an exit that was grand because of it's starkness. He'd simply left without another word, calmly walking out the door and out of their lives, leaving them with dumbfounded expressions on their faces. In a few minutes, they'd recovered and packed their things, but both had been shaken by the monk's words. He had zeroed in with perfect aim on both their problems, problems they'd neither discussed nor even mentioned in the monk's presence. Siegfried briefly wondered if he could read minds. He would make one hell of a preacher.
And now, several hours later, they were walking out of Valencia, doding road crews and trying not to talk of the "wolf in the room", as Siegfried's father liked to say. It was a common German term for a situation so huge that no one wanted to talk about it, and that was a pretty accurate summing up of what they were going through now. Siegfried wracked his brain for a conversation opener, and Kilik's grand exit gave him just the right subject to use; safe, neutral, and very funny. He fired his first shot.
" He knows how to make an exit, doesn't he?" Siegfried said, glancing at Ivy as he did so.
Ivy smiled, a small, guarded smile- but a smile nonetheless.
" Yes," she said, turning to look away from Siegfried even as she did so.
Siegfried walked on for a minute more, than said, " Hey."
Ivy said nothing, merely continuing to look at the ground beside the road.
" This changes nothing. I feel the same for you as I always did." Siegfried mentally winced at that last line. It seemed like a come on, and he desperately wanted to connect with this woman in a friendly, non-sexual manner. This was not the time to sound like a lovesick little boy. " We're still friends, Ivy."
She kept looking at the ground.
" I don't care who your father is. You're you. No one else. Not your father, not whatever other evil ancestors you may have," Siegfried said this last jocularly, trying everything he could to reach her, " just you. And I like you."
" Why did you save me?" Her voice was so low it was almost a whisper. " Why... did you not just... let me die?"
" Because it wouldn't have been right," Siegfried said truthfully. " I've fought beside you, Ivy. I've traveled over Europe with you. You're my friend. It's the least I could do, to help you in your crisis."
" Then you... don't find me... weak?"
" Not at all. Nobody could go through that and not suffer badly because of it. That you've remained functioning at all is an achievement in itself."
Ivy half-turned her head, looking at him from the corner of her eye. " So you don't blame me?"
" No. I don't."
They kept walking in silence for a little while longer, then Ivy said, " Thank you."
Siegfried smiled. " Just doing what's right. You're a friend, Ivy. What kind of man would I be if I didn't stand by my friends?"
Ivy smiled at that, a bittersweet smile, but leaning more towards sweet than bitter.
" Not a very good friend at all."
Plains surrounding remains of Town of the Wind God, south of present day Tajikistan. One day after fall of town.
Mitsurugi collapsed on the ground next to Yunsung, letting out a great sigh as he fell. Leaning against the small tree behind him, Mitsurugi unscrewed the cap of his small wineskin and took a small sip. Turning his head wearily to Yunsung, he lifted it up to him. Yunsung reached out and took it slowly, each movement painful after the exertions of last night and today. His skin ached and burned, as if it was still feeling the heat of the burning village, and his muscles were sore. Last night, the adrenaline in his body had prevented him from feeling anything, and he'd worked as tirelessly as any mule. Now, the adrenaline decaying in his bloodstream, he felt more weary than he could ever remember being. He took a small sip of the wine, not really tasting it, just feeling the wetness slide down his throat. He passed the skin back to Mitsurugi.
" Thanks," he said tiredly. " I needed that."
Mitsurugi surveyed the makeshift campsite the survivors had constructed. Most of the people were still in shock. The town was still burning, far off in the distance, and the smell of roasting flesh was carrying for miles. Yunsung had vomited several times during the night, as that smell reached him again and again, and the images of burning bodies... flaming souls.... as the images of villagers becoming living torches filled his mind again and again whenever that smell assaulted his nose. Mitsurugi, an old veteran of these things, had quickly ground up some pepper and spices in an old silk handkerchief, and given it to Yunsung to wrap about his face. It now hung over his nose, blotting out some of the smell, but Yunsung had the most horrid fantasies that he could taste it, as if the smell was not really a smell but a force, a force that was after him. Denied his nose, it had sought out his mouth, and now Yunsung did all he could to avoid talking or sighing or even opening his mouth at all. The few drinks of Mitsurugi's wineskin he'd taken had been the only times he'd opened his mouth at all since donning the handkerchief.
The sky was blotted out by smoke for a small portion about four miles in the distance, where the town was burning. At night, the flames had made the surrounding area visible for miles, a hellish thing that had driven some of the survivors mad with grief. Seeing their hometown burning was bad enough, but being unable to escape it even after an hour of fierce traveling had been far too much for many of them. Some had suicided during the night, cutting open their throats with sharp rocks, splinters of wood, anything they could find. Yunsung had spent an hour last night trying to talk an old woman out of killing both herself and her two grandchildren. He'd managed to convince her to put the rock down and gotten the children away, and he'd just been beginning to think he'd reached her when she'd let out a wild scream and thrown herself to the ground, splitting her forehead on the same rock she'd threatened to kill her grandchildren with. She'd bashed her own brains out right in front of them, and the shock and horror in the children's eyes had been too much for Yunsung to bear. He'd left after transferring the children to grieving relatives, unable to bear up any more himself. He'd cried a lot last night, even his fierce, callous soul unable to withstand such a shock to his system. Mitsurugi had found him last night, crying silently behind a small tree, and the old warrior had turned his head and patiently waited for Yunsung to finish. When the young Korean had wiped his face and dabbed his eyes with a shirt sleeve, Mitsurugi asked him to help set up a few tents that a survivor had managed to grab. There were about sixty tents, all told; there were many hundreds of people. Many ended up sleeping (or staying, anyway; few people slept last night) out in the open. They didn't care. Nothing seemed to matter so much anymore, now that their town was gone.
After the frantic flight out of the burning town, Yunsung had put Talim down and tried to help the survivors as best he could. Between attempts to talk others out of suicide (something he wasn't very well suited for, but he had been learning fast) and setting up the tents, he had worked almost all of last night. He had not slept since waking early yesterday morning before finding Talim. His weariness was nearly crushing him.
" This town is finished," Mitsurugi said, surveying the shell-shocked, stunned survivors. Many were badly burned. Those few who attempted sleep during the night found that the screams of the dying usually kept them awake. Some were so badly burned that they didn't even look human anymore. One little boy, formerly a beautiful blonde with sky blue eyes, had become a burned, wrecked monstrosity whose limbs had been reduced to ashes. He had a single leg, which merely flopped when he was moved because it's sinews had been hamstrung by a piece of falling timber. His entire body was a charred mess except for one half of his face, which remained mockingly whole. The single staring blue eye in it seemed to hold the sum and measure of the world's suffering in it. He'd died during the night, his body shutting down. Yunsung thought it a mercy.
Talim had not recovered. She was still in complete and total shock, leaning towards a coma, and Yunsung feared that she might never pull out of it.
[There are some tragedies we are not meant to suffer,] Yunsung thought, a great sadness filling him. [ There are just some things we cannot go through and remain whole.]
" The survivors... they'll probably spread out," Mitsurugi said, his eyes telling the long tale of his many hard years as he watched the shambling survivors walk about dazedly, " I don't think the neighboring towns will take them in. This was a miniority religion, and I'd be willing to bet not a peaceful one. Such things are never popular with their neighbors. They'll probably move north.... towards Russia and China. I don't think they'll be able to rebuild, though. I think they're doomed... to be a wandering people..." Mitsurugi shook his head. " If they're lucky, they'll end up as nomads, like the Gypsies of Europe. If they're not, they'll probably become slaves of some dictator somewhere. Maybe the Russian czars. Maybe the Chinese Emperor."
" What happened?" Yunsung asked, saying aloud the one question on the minds of every survivor here. " What made the village burn like that? An act of the gods?"
" I don't know," Mitsurugi said, " but I believe I have a way to find out. I saw an old.... acquaintance last night, when we first left the city. She seemed different, somehow... I have a feeling she had something to do with this. She went north. That way." Mitsurugi raised his arm and pointed down the long road where he'd last seen Taki, running to beat the devil, her feet barely touching the ground. " I'm going to follow her. Something like this... it's too big to ignore. Honor demands no less."
" I'm coming with you," Yunsung said, the fire of justice in him blazing strongly at Mitsurugi's words.
" I thought you might," Mitsurugi said. " You seem to be a good man." He put his head back against the tree and closed his eyes. " I'm going to rest for a while. Once I'm up, I'll pack and leave. There's nothing more we can do here. Finding out what has transpired here- behind the scenes- is the most important thing we can do for these people. I suggest you sleep as well. We will both need it."
He'd barely finished before Yunsung conked out. Mitsurugi opened his eyes and glanced at his companion, then made himself comfortable. He fell asleep soon afterward, mind whirling with unanswered questions and thoughts of an ambush long, long ago. And debts ages old and seconds new....
-R and R everybody!
