Vicious, unrelenting flames blazed throughout the town, lighting up the night as though it were midday. The heat and acrid plumes of smoke were so oppressive even the moon had taken cover behind a shroud of black clouds. There was screaming and shouting all around. The terrible noises of women being violated and men tortured, of children and animals dying.
Wujun had taken Kentai’s hand at one point and couldn’t bear to let go. He shut his eyes against the terrible onslaught but could not erase the sounds. If he lived to be a hundred, he would never forget the horror of this night. More than once he tried to stop, wanting to help, wanting to stop the suffering, but Soki and Kentai both urged him on. It was a hard lesson that made his stomach queasy and his heart ache; there was nothing they could do for these people.
The three of them were not skilled enough to take on an entire army alone. Even the town’s meager militia was nowhere to be seen. Either they had already been routed or they had fled their posts, leaving the citizens of Tiguri to their gruesome, agonizing fate. Wujun would likely never know either.
They turned a corner and came face to face with the savagery of Tzulan’s army. Bloody entrails were spread out over the doors of every house on the street, while severed heads were mounted on iron stakes, their eyes unseeing and mouths gaping in grotesque, slack expressions of terror. The metal rods were arranged so families were kept together according to where they had lived.
It was the realization that not all the victims were adults that hit Wujun the hardest. The entire scene was unreal. He didn’t want to believe humans were capable of such senseless carnage and for what? What sort of madness could possess a man and make him slaughter and dismember other living people? His whole body shuddered, and he had to look down at his feet.
“Fucking sick bastards…” Kentai’s voice was strained and hushed. “I think this is where the town officials lived… Tzulan’s men know how to send a fucking message…”
Wujun squeezed the other man’s hand. He wanted to leave but feared if he opened his mouth he might not hold his stomach’s contents down.
Soki had lingered behind. A second later, Wujun found out why. She had gone back to a burning building on the last street and made a makeshift torch. Now, as she walked by the houses, she set them all ablaze, ensuring the disfigured remains would be caught in the inferno.
Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.
Kentai grunted at her efforts, but said only, “Let’s go. The cottage is nearby.”
The reminder of the cottage sent an icy jolt of fear through Wujun that quickened his heartbeat and set his mind to racing fretfully. Kentai had mentioned it was a target. He could imagine all the people he knew, torn to pieces and spread out over the once beautiful grounds. His gut churned and hot tears of panic stung his eyes. His heart was pounding out of control, threatening to burst from his chest.
No! Goratsu!
Forgetting everything else, Wujun broke into a sprint. He had to leave the horror of the street, had to reach the cottage so he could make sure everyone there was safe. The only other thought resonating in his head was that the last thing he’d said to Goratsu was spoken in anger.
I didn’t mean it. Not at all! Oh, Goratsu, please be okay! Please be waiting for me with that stern expression! You can even lecture me! Just please be okay!
He ignored Soki and Kentai yelling behind him, urging him to stay with them. When it was clear he wasn’t listening, they exchanged a glance, the swordsman let out a curse, and then they dashed up the street after him.
Wujun remained oblivious to them. He was in a world all his own as he bolted the last distance to the cottage. He could see it on the hill, the smoke billowing in the inky, cloudy sky. His heart sank, his emotions twisting into guilt and regret.
It’s not too late! It can’t be too late! Oh no, this is all my fault!
His blood turned to ice in his veins, his limbs aching with the effort of sprinting, of moving, of simply breathing. The raw emptiness and lashing agony were new sensations for him. A stark, cruel contrast to the delightful high of being kissed for the first time. He had finally found happiness and purpose in the world and all of that was crashing down around him.
It felt as though his head were spinning. His feet hit the path leading up to the house, and finally, his pace faltered. The gate had been blown apart, remnants scattered about, some still burning. The wooden fragments drew his gaze further along to the old tree he had used to sneak out. It was now blazing, the flames scorching the aged wood until it was charred and black. As he watched, one of its heavier branches splintered off and crashed to the ground, scattering ashes and embers across the darkened grass.
Despite the emotional upheaval, Wujun didn’t collapse. His knees shook and his stomach lurched threateningly, but all of his physical training kept him under control. He saw tenebrous shapes moving near the front door of the house and he rushed forward again, hoping they were survivors.
He pictured one of them was Goratsu, clothing singed, hair mussed, and that frazzled frown on his face whenever things weren’t to his standards. That’s who he would find waiting for him and when he did, he’d endure the lecture that was sure to follow as though it were the robin’s first song in spring.
Reality dashed the image to pieces.
Wujun found Goratsu, but he was not one of the figures standing by the door. His body, bloodied and lifeless, was staked to it.