Chapter 4- waiting and washing
Natsuki helped the princess dress in silence that morning; their relationship had not started well. The younger maid curtly bowed on her way out of the door, muttering something about washing. She was concentrating as best she could on clearing her thoughts and raising her defenses, for the task she was to do could not be done with a weak resolution. She was going to kill the king of the allied clans; she neither knew nor particularly wanted to know what the reason was; yet yesterday had made her wonder. If the king was dead, then the Host Tribes were most likely to use the panic that followed to sow discord amongst their enemies, which would ultimately lead to victory in battle. On another note, the only plausible heir to the throne currently was Shizuru, but as a male of the direct Windbloom bloodline could only take the throne, Both She and her little Sister Mashiro would be useless. That meant that Shizuru would have to marry and produce and heir as quickly as possible… which inevitably let to her having to bed with the nearest man, as the phrase went.
However much remorse Natsuki felt, her face didn't show it. She was Kuga now; purposely bred to kill. Her mission was to murder the monarch and get out of here; nothing more, nothing less. Frivolous emotions would slow her down and ultimately make her uncertain, and this had to be locked away if not destroyed permanently.
And thus, Kuga the assassin focused once again on her current job; washing the royal panties.
--0--
Commander Tomoe slammed her fist down upon the crude wooden surface of her desk and let out an anguished and irate grunt. Nothing seemed to be going right for her today. She took her anger out on a duo of conveniently placed Orc guards at her doorway, summoning a huge fireball and thrusting it at them. As this made her feel no better and a little more tired, she placated herself by continuously pounding her fists against the already splintered surface of the table. When she couldn't be bothered to continue, she lazily plopped herself into her thorned throne and glanced around her chambers. She intensely disliked Orcs; but then again, she hated Trolls and Demons and Dark Elves and most of all, Tomoe hated Halflings. There were very few things that weren't subjected to the hate of Chief Shaman Battle-commander Tomoe, fearless champion of the Host.
One of her Troll underlings cautiously shuffled up to her and meekly began speaking about something along the lines of a visit from the Captain of the Dark Elf sentinels, but Tomoe idly shooed it away with a sweep of her hand and a gust of wind blew that poor troll out of the whole Den of Artai.
Now, the chief shaman was a very special type of being. She prided herself on being born between and ethereal and a demon, and had inherited strengths from both sides; this was how she had bent the Host tribes into submission under her.
A sudden drop in temperature alerted the commander to the presence of another higher being. Her watchful eyes snapped up and were met by an equally fierce gaze from a pair of luminescent verdant globes.
Damn, she shouldn't have been so quick to dismiss that messenger. She usually liked to prepare herself for their arrival, as truthfully, Tomoe was terrified of Dark Elves. And even more terrified of their Captain, Juliet Nao Zhang, who's glinting olive eyes had seen many ages of war.
"My, my, Commander Tomoe, what have we here? Having a little temper tantrum, are we?" She cooed in a mocking fashion, bringing her long, claw-like fingernails up to her mouth and chuckling darkly.
"No, of course not! Ahem, anyway, Captain Zhang, what brings you to my great den of Artai? Surely your kind does not want to join in our All Hallows Eve festivities?" Tomoe quickly regained her composure. She inconspicuously began a silent spell to repair the damage she had done to her desk, though she knew that however inconspicuous it was, even a low level magician would be able to sense it. Tomoe was a warrior; not a mage, and her magic was only combat related. If she chose to, Captain Nao could have cast a spell at a completely oblivious Tomoe and murdered her on the spot.
However, the Captain was smarter than that. She sized commander Tomoe up, reading her mana capabilities and noticing the glinting war medal on her plate armor. No, Nao Zhang wouldn't kill her now; she to useful a pawn in the Dark Elf Captain's twisted game of chess.
"My dear commander, may I introduce you to two of my new… friends?" Juliet questioned, motioning towards one of her attendants who was waiting at the deep crimson curtain of Tomoe's quarters. In stooped two gigantic creatures, the likes of which had only reached the commander's ears through legends and gossips.
"Very well recognized, Tomoe; this is Arak'nathal and his brother Tha'tzul, king and prince of the Spindræ. Me, being the considerate person I am, thought that you could use some slightly more…" she eyed the scorched Orcs smoldering next to her, "…Competent guards."
Tomoe innerly trembled. Two and a half meters tall, the lower body and legs of a humungous spider and the thorax of a twisted human resemblance, covered in the thick layer of dark fur, front pincers and claws clicking menacingly; these creatures were not here to guard Tomoe. No, they were here to… persuade her into following every single command that Nao Zhang saw appropriate. The commander was backed right into a figurative corner; it was either go along with whatever warped plans that Nao Zhang was formulating or become Spindra fodder.
"Now, Tomoe dearest, down to business. You see, I know of a certain band of gypsies, in which there is a very interesting individual whom I wish to… speak with…"
--0--
The slightly taller of the cloaked figures grunted; the sun was in her eyes. She surveyed the scenery around her, and saw nothing but scrubland. A sudden gust blew an abundance of reddish sand at her and she quickly shielded herself with her billowing traveling cloak. She looked over at her comrade to see if she was alright, and was relived that Aoi was unscathed.
"Tate! There's nothin' within at least three or four leagues!" She shouted back at the caravan, where Tate was busy reeling the mizzenmast in.
"That's great, Hallard! Now get back here with Aoi and help me furl this blasted mast!" was the rough reply.
The person named Hallard grabbed Aoi and hopped onto her sandship and, opening the flagstaff, quickly caught the wind and cruised back towards the caravan.
Caravan is really quite an inappropriate word for the beautiful craft that they lived upon. With four masts, it was more of a land-craft than a simple wheeled contraption reminiscent of before the War of Barren's plain.
Reeling in her boom hook and stepping hard on her mana pedal, Chie Hallard swept up her craft into the strong desert wind and landed graceful aboard the main deck of The Princess, or so Aoi had christened their stolen cruiser. She carefully let Aoi down and the dismissed the sandship to the storeroom, jumping up to help Tate with that mizzenmast.
In the great desolate war-torn desert that had been created after the war of barren's plain, many exiles and gypsies lived on the very edge of society; those whose races were not loyal to either the Allied nor the Host, those who chose to live in seclusion, and those who simply had nowhere to go.
Chie quickly tied her green bandana over her charcoal-coloured hair and wiped her sweaty, calloused hands on the sides of her breeches. Her eyes were slanted and an odd colour not uncommon amongst her people; she was a full-blooded Plainsrunner and liked it that way. Built a lot more stoicly and toughly than most females of other races, the spherical markings on her unclothed lower thighs were a dead giveaway as to her heritage. Growing up in harsh environment of Barren's Plain, her kind, originally humans, had adapted themselves by increasing their running and survival capacities.
The Plainsrunner glanced at her closest friends, Tate and Aoi. Tate was her younger half-brother, and had short spiking hair that was blonde at the top and dark brown underneath. This was because a few years ago, he had had a run in with a traveling group of sun priestesses, attempted to woo them, and angered one so much that she had permanently died his hair a humiliating yellow shade, which was very laughable for a Plainsrunner; dark hair was a sign of bravery and righteousness, whilst light hair was the contrary.
Aoi however, was a whole other kettle of fish. Beautiful and fragile with long flowing auburn hair, they had found her one cold night lying face down in the sand close to the border of The Allied Lands. She was kindhearted and feminine, the complete foil and antonym to the boyish Chie. She was human, yes, but Chie found that she lacked the lackluster boredom and sameness that most humans had.
This threesome was not the only life on the ship; there was also Mai, Mikoto and Takumi. Mai and Takumi were brother and sister, who had appeared from identifiably nowhere and happily joined the little band of gypsies. Mikoto had kind of come as a bonus, as she seemed eternally clinging to Mai's waist. Bouncy and over-exuberant, you could call her the ship's cat. Takumi, however, had a weak body and was constantly worried about by Mai. Together, they made up the motley crew of The Princess.
Mai's shoulder length mop of bright orange hair exploded from the galley with a joyful cry of 'repast!' and Chie and Tate forgot all about furling the mizzenmast, jumping down to the deck and racing towards where the cheery chef was holding a giant pot of broth, with Mikoto sitting on her shoulders with a pile of bowls balanced on her head. They looked quite a pair.
As they sat on some random space of deck that had been newly anointed the banquet table, all eyes customarily turned to Chie, who was expected to report on the day.
"Well, from what I can tell, we're about ten and two leagues short of the Host border, sailing easterly at an average speed of three ten knots per hour. We're currently heading for the town of Twyr, with the purpose of selling all those rarities we've amassed over the past couple of months," She explained, taking breaks to sip at her broth, "however, we have to be careful… a lot more careful than we were afore. Aoi has… a feeling." She turned to affirm this with Aoi, who nodded meekly. It was now law to follow Aoi's 'feelings' as they turned out to be correct every single time. She was the sole reason that the band of outlaws had evaded an extremely dangerous sandstorm, and she could always forecast the weather. Chie suggested to her that she may have been a druid before she lost her memory; but Aoi had disagreed. She had firmly stated that Druidism was an art that had always been left for elves and would stay that way.
"If we work through the night, we can be near enough to camp there at morn, and then go in to trade at dusk." It was an order, not a suggestion. All crewmembers scampered off to attend to their respected part of the ship, whilst Mai stooped to collect their bowls.
Mai stood there for a while, letting the breeze play through her short orange hair. She sighed at the waxing moon, thinking of a girl she had once known.
Reflected upon the shining edge of the pan she was carrying, a memory began to form and begin to tell a part of Mai's tale.
She just stood there and stared. Cold, lifeless green eyes pierced her from he shadowed interior of a cavernous hood, the only sign that the girl was even living. The human shivered at the sight of her, her palms sweaty with fear. This pawn, this weapon, was the same age as her; barely nine summers old. And yet, they differed so much. This girl was the moon; silent and fleeting, cold and alone in a velvety sea of stars, each a lost soul. And Mai was the sun, full of hope and exuberance, always watching over everyone.
"Anyway, Mai, I'd like you to meet your uncle, Sergay," her mother proclaimed, pointing to a young gentleman with blond hair and stately dress on. She sighed, unwilling to go through the formalities with this man again. Instead, she piped up rather loudly,
"Uncle, who is that girl with you?"
Sergay froze for a minute, turning around to the girl.
Nay, the spot where the girl had once been. By now, her fleeting existence in the entrance hall was over, and she had gone on to darker, danker places, where only she knew, where only she was safe.
A tap on her shoulder bought Mai out of her dream-like state and she glanced over to see Chie looking at the worriedly.
'It doesn't do well to dwell on the past, Mai…"
With a smile and a shrug, the cook plodded back over to the galley to begin washing up.
Chie ran her finger through her hair and sighed.
"Damn, I hate ex-priests, always lost in memories and visions…" she thought aloud. Taking a look up to the same moon that Mai had been so lost within a few moments earlier, Chie recalled the memory she had seen over the chef's shoulder. It was so strange- Aoi had been describing a premonition about the moon earlier- she had said that there would be a child of the moon; a beautiful, deadly, lonely child; this child would be the centre of the next Great War. Chie shuddered; the war of barren's plain had been horrific, especially for its inhabitants, like herself. The sand, which used to be a golden hue, was now crimson, an evil colour. Another war would quickly take away the little peace that she already had. She was known in both the host and allied clans; they would ask her to fight, maybe to spy, to provide trade; all sorts of things. But Chie didn't want that; she wanted to stay happy aboard her great ship with Aoi, Tate, Mai, Mikoto and Takumi.
A presence beside her alerted Chie to a new arrival.
"It doesn't do well to dwell on the past, Captain…" came the caring voice, so rarely heard these days. Takumi stood next to her, his hands gripping the banister at the side. He looked at her, and, truthfully, Chie's heart panged to look at a boy so broken. He had been one of those who had died in the war of Barren's plain; but Mai just couldn't bear to loose him, so she had begged the sun priestesses to save him; she had kept his rotting corpse for weeks.
They had agreed, though for a large price, and had spent three days and nights searching the skies for his soul, and had eventually found it. Once they had brought it back into his body, they had just left, leaving no help in their wake. But the problem was that Takumi's body just didn't work like it used to; it was weak and frail, so he could only walk slowly around the ship. However, he was a very empathic person, so he served as the crew's spiritual advisor, of sorts. Mai was very proud of him.
Chie turned fully to face him and stared into his eyes for a long time. It was often hard to fathom out his cryptic advice; Chie had given that guidance to Mai on reflex, but with Takumi it seemed that there was a deeper tone to what he was saying. That boy just scared Chie sometimes.
"Should you really be out here in this wind, Takumi? Mai will have your head…" Chie mused, ready to send the child back to his cabin and be rid of the heavy atmosphere that he often created.
"War is coming, Captain. There is nothing you can do to stop it, and nowhere you can run to avoid it. You will have a choice. And I suggest you take the right path." The boy's eyes misted over, and he fell to the ground, unconscious. A small metal object fell from his hand; Chie picked it up and looked at it curiously.
"Hmm? This is one of those tags… what is it doing here?" Chie turned it over in her hand; the mithril was oddly cold, even though it had been in Takumi's hand for at least a while. Once it warmed up, an inscription was visible, written in the old tongue. After staring at it for long enough, Chie chanced to read the word aloud. It rolled off her tongue like a block of ice, and the drums of battle seemed to echo around the desert.
Tsuki.
--0--
Tsuki – Moon
Ara, I am very good at foreshadowing, no?