Chapter I (1)- Rescue

Kizu found himself stuck in a tree. The moss he’d been foraging for was successfully clasped in his fist. It was a nice tawny color, perfect for brewing a hyper buoyancy potion. Not perfect for getting him out of a tree, unfortunately. Cicadas clicked and sang all around him, almost like they were laughing.

Then Kizu spotted his savior. Mort, an owl monkey, pounced onto a nearby branch and cocked his head at him. The white markings along Mort’s cheeks made his face a constant grin. As if the little night monkey was always laughing at some private joke.

“Come on, then,” Kizu said, sighing. “Show me the way down.”

Mort purred, then hopped onto his shoulder and scampered down his leg, showing Kizu where to place his weight on the tree. Slowly, the two of them clambered down.

“I know you could have gotten me the moss yourself,” Kizu replied to the owl monkey’s next humming purr. He jumped the final couple meters down to the dirt. “But I’ll get fat and lazy like the crone if I let you do everything for me. And I know the last thing you want is to be bonded to someone like her. I’m looking out for both of us by foraging for myself.”

Mort appeared skeptical, but he perched himself on Kizu’s shoulder and didn’t prod him further.

The nights were finally getting a little longer again, and the air carried a nice cool northern breeze through the jungle. While autumn might not really exist down in the basin, the start of the season still offered a bit of a reprieve from the summer heat and fought back some of the humidity.

Moonlight just barely pierced through the canopy above the hut. As they approached, Kizu felt something a bit off about the air. He stopped. Mort mirrored his unease and leapt off his shoulder to begin scouting the area around them.

A flash of intense white light burst from the trees and knocked Kizu off his feet. He clutched at his eyes, completely blinded by the blast. His eyes burned, like smoldering coals in his sockets. He breathed shakily in and out, doing his best to remain calm.

They were under attack.

Immediately, his mind flew through the possibilities. A test from the crone? Rival witches assaulting the hut? Some sort of creature from the jungle? He dismissed each of these possibilities as soon as they came to mind. While she viewed him as expendable, the crone wouldn’t have jeopardized Mort’s eyes for a simple test. Rival witches would have been more subtle than this, far more likely to plant a cursed doll under his bed or hex the river where he washed the dishes - something they could deny if found out. And there wasn’t a single monster in the bestiary that could get through the crone’s wards.

Kizu rolled over onto his stomach and groped around for a hiding place. He needed to hide, recover his sight, and assess the situation.

“Boy, what are you doing here?” a man’s voice demanded. A calloused hand grabbed Kizu by the arm and yanked him into a sitting position. A man’s voice, to match a man’s hand. A deep baritone. The sound of it was completely foreign to him. “Did the crone bring you here? Are there other survivors? Speak.”

“The illusion got him,” another person cut in. A woman’s voice this time. “Someone grab the rejuvenator.”

“Mort,” Kizu said. He blinked his eyes rapidly, panicking at the continual blindness. The world remained less than a blur. “My familiar. Where is he?”

“We don’t have time for this,” the man said, dropping Kizu’s arm. “Fuabe, Jiso, circle around back. I’ll enter through the front. Taroe, watch the boy until it’s done. We can’t let her slip away.”

Kizu could hear them shuffling around in the underbrush. Keeping his eyes closed and attempting to calm himself, he reached out to Mort. Through their bond, he felt the owl monkey a few arm-spans away in a patch of tall grass. Slowly, Kizu crawled toward him.

“Kid,” a man said. His voice sounded like gravel grinding on stone. “Lay back. Just relax.” He flipped Kizu over and placed a knee on his chest. With one hand holding his head down, the man used the other to wipe a thumb over Kizu’s eyelids. A searing pain erupted from his touch, as if the coals in his sockets had fanned to open flames. Kizu struggled against him, but the man’s weight was too much. Kizu could only lay there, pinned and writhing, while the pain scorched his irises.

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Finally, Kizu managed to blink his eyes open. A bearded man frowned down at him. Fleas sprang from around the man’s dirty clothes and unkempt hair.

“My eyes melted,” Kizu said stupidly, brushing his lids tenderly with a finger. He regretted the decision immediately. His eyes teared up with irritation.

“Just feels that way. A quick rejuvenation to get you back on your feet. We don’t have the time and I don’t have the patience to sit here for hours waiting for your sight to return.”

“My monkey!” Kizu scrambled to his hands and knees and reached into the undergrowth. The poor owl monkey shuddered under his touch. Kizu felt the creature’s pain reflecting in his soul.

“A familiar?” The man sighed. “Phenomenal. Give him to me.”

The rugged man gestured briefly, and, with a green glow, Mort went limp in his hand.

“Mort!” Kizu yelled, snatching the monkey back from the man. “What did you do to him!?”

“Check your bond. He’s asleep, like boys your age are supposed to be at this time of night. I need to go through the rejuvenation process, and it will be a lot easier on both of you if he doesn’t feel the pain. Unless you’d like to experience that a second time?”

Kizu reached for the bond and felt it. Mort slept painlessly. Privately, he scolded himself for not realizing it before the man spoke the words.

“Who are you?” Kizu asked him.

“Taroe, of the Elites. And you, kid? Who are you and what are you doing out here? What’s your relation to the crone who lives in that hut?”

“She brought me out here.”

“How long ago?”

“Over ten years ago.”

Taroe blinked at him, as if not understanding the words. “Ten years? How did you survive for ten years in the Hon Basin?”

“Survive? She raised me.” Albeit not well. But he decided now wasn’t the time to dive into details.

“A witch with a maternal streak. Raising a boy. Never thought I’d see the day, especially from this one.” The man spoke over Kizu’s head, not to him. Then he shook himself, accentuating his disbelief.

Kizu didn’t respond, cradling Mort in his arms. The little monkey slept peacefully. Numbly, he wondered if Taroe had influenced the monkey’s dreams when he put him to sleep.

Three people filed out of the hut, each of them wearing crisp black uniforms. Different objects decorated each of their belts, from wands to bags of marbles to shriveled heads.

In glowing chains, the crone stood in the center of them. She smiled down her crooked nose at Kizu, her green hair swaying in the breeze in wet strands. She opened her mouth and mimed words. Then tilted her head back in what Kirzu recognized would normally be a husky cackle. Nothing. Someone had muted her.

The man in the front had an ugly nose like a tapir. He strode up to Kizu and eyed him with displeasure.

“What did you find out about him?”

“The crone captured him years ago. And get this - she’s been raising him out here as her own!”

“A witch raising a boy? Impossible. Get the truth out of him. Use an elixir if you need to.”

“I’m telling the truth,” Kizu said, irritated at being ignored. “What are you doing to the crone? Where are you taking her?”

“Don’t worry,” the ugly-nosed man said. “The bad woman won’t hurt you anymore. We’re going to lock her up and toss out the key. Now, what’s your name?”

“Kaga Kizu.”

The man’s eyes widened, and a smile touched his lips. He looked over at Taroe. Something passed between them.

“Well, now we’re getting somewhere,” he said to Taroe. “The Lost Division’s going to throw a fit when we tell them what we’ve stumbled on. They’ll never live this down.” He laughed in rhythmic, throaty bursts. It sounded like an animal with a fishbone caught in its throat.

Confused, Kizu watched the two so-called Elites standing beside the crone. He weighed his options. Mort was out of commission, so for the time being he slipped the monkey into his satchel for safety. Getting to the witch and removing the chains seemed impossible. If he charged them, though, he might be able to take them by surprise and break their grip on the chains. Then maybe the crone could scamper away and free herself.

He settled on the rushed plan. Readying himself, he took a deep breath and prepared to make a break for her.

Pop.

The crone and her escort jumped out of sight. Gone like they had never been. The only sign that they had been there at all was a patch of tall grass slightly more matted down than the rest.

“I’m placing you in charge of the boy,” the ugly man was saying to Taroe. “If he’s who he claims to be, then you might earn yourself a promotion. Now get back to base and contact the Kaga’s.”

“And you, sir?”

“I need to search the place for contraband. Anything unstable, I’ll dispose of without endangering anyone else. Everything else will be locked up in evidence. I’ll make contact if I need anything else.”

Taroe’s hand clamped down on Kizu’s shoulder. “This won’t be comfortable, kid.”

And with that, Kizu’s world lurched and shifted, leaving the hut behind. After ten years, his home, once again, was stolen from him. And Taroe was right. The shift was not comfortable.