Kiur woke up with the urgent need to visit the bathroom and set it on fire—but his hands were bound to his back. His lips kissed the sand. With some difficulty, Kiur rolled to his back to sit up.
He was back in the dinky cell he was in last time, but now he was alone—well, sort of, his thoughts never left him.
His emotions riled him up. The confusion, anger, and disappointment drove him mad. Thrashing in his confines, Kiur kicked against the walls angrily and screamed. His magic was sealed, his hands tight, and everything he worked for was for nought.
“Why, why, why, WHY!” Kiur released a hot breath laced with fire—his magic couldn’t be fully bound. Despite that, Kiur reclined against the stone wall, trying to calm himself down. “I can’t believe I was so stupid.”
“Having another midlife crisis?” asked Gilgamesh, startling Kiur. “Relax, I’m here to help. Well, not to bust you out, but you get the gist.”
“Funny,” spit Kiur, struggling with his binds. “If you have more wisdom crackers to drop, then you can just go back from where you came.”
Gilgamesh whistled. “Harsh. What did I do to deserve this?”
“Oh, shut up,” Kiur sighed, exasperated. “Don’t you see I’m tired?”
“Not really, no.” The God-King poked Kiur. “If you were tired, you would recline in your confines fully, not still struggling with them.”
“Just get to the point!” Kiur yelled, throwing sand into Gilgamesh’s face with his foot.
“Ptoo,” Gilgamesh spit some out. “Let’s review the facts, shall we?” he sat down next to Kiur—Kiur scooted away. “You think the Reiszer betrayed you-”
“They did betray me!” shouted Kiur, bringing the earth rumbling underneath him. “I shouldn’t have, but I trusted them. It was the only way, but they turned on me. Just like Xander did-!”
Kiur held his gaze with Xander who suddenly stood at the door, flanked by Leif and Kochel. He nervously motioned for the Reiszer to stay back as he entered the cell. Xander sat down cross-legged before Kiur.
The silence was tangible. Kiur glared at him. Xander’s hands shivered as if he saw someone judging him for his past actions that went deeper than he wanted.
It was as if someone’s eyes assessed his entire being, evaluating all his wrongdoings.
“What do you want?” asked Kiur as if he talked to a stranger.
Xander tried to reach out but hesitated. “I’ve wanted to check on you… how are you?”
“Peachy.” Warm wind blew through the cracks of the cell. Kiur’s sun-bleached, golden hair danced in the wind. His garnet-red eyes seared at Xander. “Tell me why.”
A nervous laugh escaped Xander. He forced down the urge to sing the lyrics of a catchy song he had so desperately tried to forget. Were it Cylia, she would have already sung through it in a heartbeat.
Though Kiur was less enthused for joking banter. “Tell me why, Xander. Why did you do that?”
“He didn’t do squat,” spat one of the Reiszer. Xander and Kiur turned surprised at them.
“Kochel,” Leif held her back, “be quiet. It’s none of our business.”
“It’s very well our business,” she shouted, getting hushed by Xander and Leif. She pushed them back. “Listen, we couldn’t honour the agreement, but don’t hold it back on us because-”
“Are you gaslighting me!?” The tips of Kiur’s hair blazed—they wondered how much of his magic was actually being restrained. “None of us trusted you, but I brought my people to you in hopes of finding common ground. To escape, alive. YET YOU DID THIS TO US!”
The room shook from Kiur’s shouting. The Reiszer felt the piercing eyes of someone or something eerie inside the room. The floor felt slippery like mud. Its eyes judged their souls, condemning them to a future they would never see.
The only one not affected as strongly, was Xander. “Kiur, the situation has changed, drastically. We still want to value the agreement, but we’re under pressure. Trust me, I do what I can to mitigate the damage.”
The pressure didn't let up. “How should I believe you?”
“Just do it!” Xander begged, gripping Kiur’s shoulders. The heat from his skin stung through Xander’s gloves. “You have to listen to me closely. If not, you and your people will die.”
“We will die anyway when we return to your lands. If not the sun gets us all before that.”
“Please, Kiur,” Xander adjured. “Just relent to whatever is being said. Swallow your anger. Do whatever it takes, but keep your head level,” he whispered. “Turn down your heart. Kill your emotions about this, please.”
Leif and Kochel immediately pulled Xander back, alarming him to stand attention. His concern and pain vanished, replaced by the coldhearted calculus of a Reiszer. He buried his hands in his pockets as the door opened quietly, hiding his emotions.
A man loomed inside dressed entirely in black with gold and red accents. His outfit was similar to Tomoe’s, wearing a pair of wide, dark hakama pants, a gi and hands hidden in gloves. He wore a round jingasa hat and a golden mouth mask with snarling features, mengu. The hat and mask were broken in various parts, revealing a large scar on the left side reaching from his ear to his blind eye as the other glinted cautiously like blood.
His skin was pale brown. His right sleeve was torn and missing an arm. He rested the remaining arm limp on his Katana hanging from his hip, the tsuka-gashira—the butt-end of the sword—never failing to aim at someone.
“Come,” he said with a foreign accent but with the tone of a dead man. “The Master is asking for the polyglot.”
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Kiur was escorted out of his cell—the black warrior man in the front, Leif and Kochel with Xander in the back. Gilgamesh, to Kiur’s surprise, remained by his side. He yawned audibly but otherwise kept quiet as they walked through the hideout.
He spotted Reiszer soldiers outside—many more than before. Half of them Kiur recognised as Ragnar’s man, but the others looked more worn, tired from living, but kept their posture up. A white flag waved from the polearm of a Reiszer, adored by the black symbol of two kissing swallows with broad bamboo leaves bordering around them.
“Who are you?” asked Kiur. The warrior in front of Kiur stopped, his head turned with his blind eye.
“Are you asking for my name?” he asked.
“Yes?” Kiur said, confused.
The man nodded. “I'm Samuru, retainer of the Date Clan. How about you, polyglot?”
“Artor,” said Kiur, introducing himself with his family name, “but friends and family call me Kiur. Not here, though.”
Xander looked away when Kiur glanced back at him.
Samuru nodded and turned fully around. With a more careful look, Kiur saw that his one glowing red eye was devoid of any passion. He looked just as broken as the other soldiers, but still clung to his warrior spirit.
“Artor-san,” Samuru pronounced Kiur’s name with courtesy, bowing his head slightly. “You look like you have questions.”
“Clearly,” Kiur urged, not afraid to step closer to the cutting range of Samuru. “What do you want from us?”
“Nothing,” Samuru said, shaking his head. “I want… nothing.” He looked lazily with his blind eye around the corridor, regarding the breaking facades. Exhaling sharply, Samuru lazily adjusted his grip on his sword. “But my master… He wants to see you before he decides what to do with your people.”
“What will he do to them?” Kiur frowned at the retainer, who shrugged with what remained of his other arm.
“My master is not the kindest person. Trust me when I say, Artor-san, that you should play along with your friend’s scheme.” Samuru dipped his chin upward, revealing strangling marks on his throat. His red eye settled on Xander. “Ruthlessness here is key in dealing with a cold-blooded monster.”
—❂—
Kiur didn’t know what to expect when he said he would meet with a monster. He remembered the Asag that could split its jaw and brought the oasis to boil. Vicious Scorpion Men prowling and decimating Reiszer. Uridimmu hounds tracking victims for miles as they appear out of the shadows and disappear in daylight. Then there was the Ugallu daybreak demon that wouldn't die and a giant dragon, Usumgallu.
Kiur expected something of this calibre, but he forgot there was a different kind of monster with the Reiszer. Someone who hid his face just like Tomoe, and had just as much of a presence.
The man at the very end of the room, sitting on a large, rotten, wooden chair, was just like Tomoe, a Reiszer from the Western Edges, and a First Elite superior to Ragnar.
He was tall; almost two meters in height. His body was lanky and bony underneath the heavy white robes with black linen he dragged with him. The crest of two kissing swallows adored his torn, navy-blue haori jacket.
His steepled hands were long and thin, bandaged in gauze, but revealing his sharp and pointy fingertips blackened with soot or grime. A white mask with the depiction of a stag hid his face, painted on with black ink. Silver horns sprouted from the top of it and almost scraped the ceiling if he was not sitting.
His body froze when he spotted them. His green eyes widened behind the slits like a deer caught by a car's front light.
Kiur spotted Tabira and Ragnar flanking the man’s side. Ragnar had his arms crossed and his eyes closed, leaning back in his chair with one leg crossing the other. Tabira was gripping her legs, keeping her emotions in check with the guards behind her.
The man stood up, his antlers pricking at the ceiling. He spread his arms. “Ah, the augured polyglot. Welcome, Artor-san.”
Kiur immediately straightened his back. His blood ran cold. He felt like someone was rubbing sandpaper over his spine. The flame inside his chest was being brutally quenched.
The feeling seemed mutual as all the soldiers visibly shook in their places. Tabira flinched—even Ragnar, who tried to appear unfazed.
The Reiszer wore sandals with white socks. Each clacking step brought out a nervous gasp out of Kiur, his terror growing. The source of his fear towered before him, and he was smiling behind his mask.
The smell of blood permeated him. Kiur imagined a large stag standing before him, reminding him of Tomoe.
Reminding him of the loss of his brother.
“Don’t look away.” Gilgamesh gripped Kiur’s face, forcing his chin to meet the Reiszer. “He’s nothing. Before us, he’s nothing. His life will reduce to nothing but dust.”
A fog lifted from Kiur's mind. The fear dissipated. Squaring his shoulders, Kiur looked the Reiszer dead in the eye.
"Who am I dealing with?"
The Reiszer cocked his head. “Interesting.” He inclined his head and rested his hand on his chest. Kiur didn’t notice the little bells on the man’s horns until they sounded. “My name is Date Masahito, and I’m in dire need of your assistance, Artor-san.”
Kiur looked back at Xander whose expression was a mixture of controlled terror. His eyes motioned left, indicating towards Tabira. She looked hate-filled at Kiur and the Reiszer. Kiur knew what Date was asking of him.
“You want my communication skills, don’t you?”
The air instantly changed. They could smell flowers as Date’s mood swiftly moved from pressure to a delightful brunch break. Some even imagined daisies popping out and dancing over his head.
“Precisely, Artor-san.” Date tittered with his raspy voice. “You see, your compeers, especially that young mother-to-be over there, refuse to cooperate with me.” Date held Kiur by the shoulder, walking with him towards Ragnar and Tabira. “You know, I came here with my peers as observers.
“Ragnar here was under my wing when we raided the southern edges. You would know them as Jhangsi, no?”
Kiur knew this state, or rather, the stories about it. They were a country south of Navarre with extreme border frictions to everyone around it. As a former vassal to Hellas, it was later dubbed ‘Anarchy of Jhangsi’ due to its ever-shifting forms of government.
Navarre has diplomatic relations with them despite their instability for the past 200 years but said chaos is the reason they remain free since their liberation. Rimmed by mountains, and ruled by cutthroats and mercenaries with various races living inside, no one was virtually foolish enough to attack them.
But since he saw no one from Jhangsi at the camp meant only one thing.
“You failed the subjugation,” concluded Kiur. “And you remained stuck in the desert.”
Date’s eyes smiled. “Perceptive, aren’t we? My excellent attendant here,” he patted Ragnar’s shoulder, who flinched from the touch, “failed us. Not only did we fail to breach the borders, but he also lost those we did capture. But never mind that, your people are pretty disobedient here.”
Date’s eyes shifted closer to Kiur. The smile persisted. “You will help me keep them in check, won’t you?”
“Why would I?” Kiur blurted out and saw Date’s hand snap open the magic restraints on Kiur’s hands. Date crouched down so his face stared up at Kiur. The pressure returned.
“The answer is easy,” Date said, waving with his hand for Xander to come over. He refused and got urged over by Samuru. The Reiszer leader clamped his hand behind Xander’s neck. “You wouldn’t want to have anything happen to your friends and family, would you?”
Date’s hand tightened around Xander’s nape, clasping his spinal cord and making him hover over the ground with his lanky fingers. Kiur and the others visibly tensed up. Ragnar gripped his sword but stopped as Samuru was already next to him, stopping him with his sheathed Katana.
“I would have disposed of them already,” Date let go of Xander, who collapsed on the ground, holding his neck in pain, “but your friend convinced me otherwise. Tell me, was his effort in vain? Should we wrap it up?”
Date’s pointy finger poked Kiur’s forehead. “Or what will it be, Artor-san? Collaboration, or option two?”