CHAPTER VI—RAGE AND LIES
Rokura growled like a feral dog, snarling and clawing at the paving stones, her nails scritching and scratching that put marks over the stones.
Shinjiro gasped. “Rōkura!”
Ryuunosuke sighed heavily as she sauntered over to the wild-eyed oni, bored that her playtime was over. While she strode up to Rokura, Oku, the lizardman blinked. “Waaaiit,” he hissed. ‘I—want to be the one to—“
Ryu stabbed down with her sword into the girl’s back, making her cry out and growl as the crowd gasped with surprise.
Her Samurai companion screamed. “NO! RŌKURA! STOP IT!”
“Hnnngh!” Rōkura wheezed, squirming on the grass as a sharp fiery pain coursed up her back that travelled all the way up into her shoulders and down her left leg.
“That’s strange,” said Ryu with a frown. “Why isn’t she dead yet?”
With a sound of frustration, Oku waved his scaly hand. “Perhaps… you didn’t—place your strike well.”
“Finish her!” commanded Fujiwarai as he watched with contempt, ready for this charade to be over with.
“Hmph,” scoffed Ryu as she pulled out her sword, then in a flurry of strikes, stabbed the oni half a dozen times, the sound of her sword piercing flesh, a sickening metallic sliceslicesliveslicesliceslice while Shinjiro’s heart nearly burst with sudden fear. He ground his teeth and managed to push himself to one knee with a snarling grunt, using his sword as a brace against the stones.
Breathing heavily, he lifted his head, his eyes a hot mess as every part of his body ached and burned from the pummeling he had gotten from Oku and Kenshi. He moved to confront the swordswoman, lifting his sword. She arced her leg and her bare foot went across Shinjiro’s face with such force that he flailed to the ground at Rōkura’s feet, his sword clattering loudly against the paving stones.
Everyone laughed.
“Now I finish… the samurai,” snorted Oku.
“Fine,” Ryu conceded as she glanced down at the man she had just knocked unconscious. With her sword forgotten, sticking out of the oni’s back, she crossed her arms, waiting for the lizardman to do his work.
Vision hot and read, and that pain coursing through her body, Rōkura screamed from deep inside her throat, a new power and will coursing through her so strongly that the sword sticking out of her back was almost forgotten.
She pushed herself to her feet.
Watching the oni rise after being stabbed so many times, Fujiwarai gasped and took two steps back from those luminous aqua-blue eyes rimmed in red fury. “I don’t understand it—she should be dead!”
The crowd gasped and everyone started shouting with astonishment, their arms outstretched as they pointed and shrieked with awed delight.
A crack of lightning flashed overhead.
With eyes wide, Ryu watched the oni turn, her sword protruding out of the girl’s back. Ryu’s surprise was so strong, that she hesitated for a moment.
The small man with the icy blue eyes and golden hair stood observing from several paces away. He laughed. “And now it begins.” He tossed the satchel containing the focusing crystal and the tome, and then jumped, his body materializing into a new shape— golden furred cat!
An intense frustration came over Fujiwarai. “The crystal!”
“Mine,” said Kenshi calmly, and he jumped from the veranda, flipped frontwards, and using his momentum, called out, “Blade of Inexorability!” He struck the ground with such force that the paving stones split and the dirt underneath them parted into a trough.
Everything shook and a thunderous rumble groaned from underneath the ground. The cat yowled, catching the satchel in its teeth. Hans the cat smiled with slit eyes. “Power does me‘ot trump speed!” He scurried out of the gardens.
Kenshi glanced after the shape shifter and recognized his failure. “Hmm.”
“Useless,” growled Fujiwarai.
Turning, Kenshi put his eyes on the oni girl, who stood shaking and quivering, her back arched like a feral beast and her fingers curled, claws deadly sharp. “What are you waiting for, Ryu?” he asked, pointing his sword. “Finish her.”
“Nnngaahh!” croaked Oku in hissing tones only a lizardman could make. “Finnne.” Stepping over the unconscious samurai, knowing he could kill that man in a moment, he lurched behind the oni girl with his staff, spun it in the air above his head with the intent of severing her head from her body and—
With blinding speed, the oni turned and struck.
Everything shook and Oku’s vision distorted, his eyes bulged and his tongue flopped out of his mouth. Grip weakening on his pike shaft, he managed to glance down as an indescribable injury that sent torrents of pain throughout his entire body.
A woman in the crowd screamed and then everyone started yelling and screaming with realized horror of what had just happened, a collective storm of terror and panic that, like a torrential rain, must move some place for safety. Everyone ran, sprinted, lurched and fell over one another. Women lifted their kimonos, some were bowled over. Party goers and performers alike, scampered across the grounds in their haste to get away, too terror struck to bother righting themselves so they could run normally.
From a distance, the collective screams and the falling tables resembled the sounds of a massacre of civilians during wartime. Except the massacre hadn’t started.
Not yet.
While the manor grounds were a flurry of fleeing guests, Ryu’s mouth hung open as the oni girl pulled her fist back through the hole she put into Oku’s chest, the blood and the gore dripping from her arm and fingers.
Cold rain began to fall upon them.
“Whaaat?!” cried Fujiwarai. “How is this…” No!—not possible!
Kenshi looked on, confused momentarily by the sheer strength of the oni they had killed two nights prior. Her sheer speed was unfathomable, and her strength! “She—“
Thunder rumbled across the sky, lighting the black clouds into a luminescent blue high above them. “She just punched a hole through Oku!” cried Ryu as she pointed at the dead lizardman who was still standing. Then, like a dead sapling hewn from a forest floor, he fell over stiffly next to the swordsman on the ground.
Heedless of the screaming guests, of the senseless words exchanged between the others surrounding her, Rōkura glanced down at her fist covered in blood and bits of viscera. Her chest rose and fell. Everything shimmered and blurred, her vision not her own as red and black tendrils swirled about on the edges, leaving little tails that hemmed everything into little pinpricks.
The blood.
The smell.
It was in-vvvvigorating!
There was… something… in her back.
Breathing heavily as her heart started hammering inside her chest, Ryu watched as the growling and groaning oni reached behind herself. She grasped Ryu’s sword and pulled it free, snarling like a feral beast.
The sword clattered loudly over the paving stones and Ryu’s heart lurched anew with the sharp noise that cut a path of fear through her while she watched the wounds she had put in the oni’s back by her own hand, knit and renegerate.
With his eyes wide, Kenshi lifted his blade defensively as the oni’s hate-stare landed upon Fujiwarai. His breath was shallow, his intensity great, and his worry higher than anything he had felt in years. She will attack the Administrator!
Shinjiro groaned as he turned his head, the cold rain of the storm covering his body. He shivered, trying to see what was happening though his hair. “Rōkura?” he asked, believing her to be standing not three paces in front of him.
With the Administrator before her—the very man who had sunk his blade into her chest—into her heart, Rōkura’s intensity increased tenfold, her hate burned hotter than fire, and her strength was such that she suddenly pushed off the ground with such speed that her feet cracked the paving stones.
Sinking her claws into Fujiwarai’s chest, she pushed him into the air as she jumped. His face tightening, Fujiwarai didn’t even have time to groan from the pain as they crashed through the front wall of his manor with Rōkura atop him, then through the second inner wall. Bodies lurched, feet stamped and screamed abounded all around them.
Kenshi blinked, realizing he missed his target as he had tried to cut through the oni in the midst of her path to get to the Administrator, his arms still extended and his blade tinkling softly from the impact of the falling rain.
It was then that a full realization came over him, and for the first time in a long time, the master swordsman was afraid.
And stunned.
Fujirwarai’s head had snapped forward like he had fallen down a flight of stairs, his chin cracking into his chest half a dozen times before they even landed to the floor. Rōkura howled a toothy snarl full of rage and hate and pent up need to kill—need for blood and revenge.
With mindless feral rage, she clawed at his chest, the momentary flicker of fear upon his eyes a glorious need that she consumed like magical wine as she ripped through his skin and bones and organs with her claws, digging through him with her primal rage and powerful arms.
While he had only realized what had happened for a moment, the look of pure terror upon Fujiwarai’s face had been seared into the mind of the oni.
She tore her gaze up to the ceiling and howled, before continuing anew and with increased vigor, slicing and ripping through the corpse that had been Fujiwarai, now a red ruin of splintered bones and gristle, her rage impossible to quench.
Heart lurching, Kenshi yanked his eyes to the front of the manor, a shuttering gasp of fear coming into his lungs, a sound that surprised even his own ears. “Fuji—Fujiwarai!” He took two steps forward when a strong grip surrounded his upper arm.
“Kenshi!” yelped Ryu. “NO!”
He looked down at her and tried to speak as the girl—she was no girl—she was a demon! Howled a terrible cry of hate and feral need to murder just as thunder struck, lighting the grounds.
Screaming erupted inside the manor, renewed and full of terror. Kenshi realized the oni girl must have been massacring Fujiwarai’s guests.
“Come, Kenshi!” pleased Ryuunosuke. She tugged on his arm. “We can get away while she kills the guests!”
“Hnngh!”
Kenshi turned around as the samurai got up. He had forgotten about that man altogether, and even now cared not a whit that he stood there with Oku’s spear in his hand. “What…” he said, “What is she?”
Shaking his head to get his bearings, Shinjiro blinked the cold rain out of his eyes and an ache in his back took him so strongly he nearly fell over. “Agh!”
Kenshi strode up to him, and Shinjiro’s eyes widened. The master swordsman took him by both shoulders, shook him, causing his aches to renew themselves. “Tell me!” he demanded. “What. IS SHE?!”
“I..” he glanced up, wondering what Kenshi was talking about. “What is happening?”
Snarling, Kenshi pushed Shinjiro away and he stumbled backward dumbly, then he cut his gaze back to the manor, the cold rain covering him completely, his long hair went, his sparkling robes reflecting the light flashing through the skies.
Ryu pattered in front of him on quick feet, picked up her blade. The tip scraped against the stones loudly as she turned and fled toward the front gates. Kenshi watched her go as thundering footsteps approached.
Ten men in Fujiwarai-house tabards arrived, their swords and spears in hand. “What has happened?” the guards asked as they glanced about, gasping and pointing at the body of Oku, a warrior they knew to outclass all of them by no small amount.
It seems… our judgment is upon us. I never thought this day would come. And now… And now it has. Kenshi smiled bitterly, then flourished his sword.
With determination to face that monster, he strode forward. He was a sword master. He had never fled from a single enemy. And now his master was dead. If he fled—he would be the talk of the kingdom and beyond.
“The master swordsman Kenshi Yatamonu ran away—did you hear?”
“NO!” he growled, striding forward unsteadily.
The guards fanned out, but they were useless—no help at all. Not that Kenshi wanted help. They would all die—meat for that monster!
Chest heaving, each breath was a shuttering reminder of his own fear as his heart thumped inside his chest like a drum, inside his ears. There was a noise to his left, broken glass.
With a gasp, her turned, his sword raised high in his hand for defense.
A keening woman pushed a piece of broken wall off herself. Shaking and babbling incoherently, she crawled toward the broken section of wall. Kenshi ignored her and pushed through the house toward the second section of broken wall.
“GaaaaahhhHiiieeeeee!” a man cried, his voice high-pitched, filled with terror and pain. Kenshi sucked in a short quick lungful of air and stepped through the broken rubble.
When his eyes came upon what was left of Fujiwarai, he swallowed, felt like he had to retch. The only thing he could be sure of, was the Administrator’s silken kimono, which was indistinguishable from the red mass of pulp and blood and viscera mixed with pieces of dried mud and paint.
Kenshi had to look away as he stepped across the body toward another hole ripped through the washi paper shoji slider.
When he came through, he found a puddle of blood soaking through the tatami mats. This blood did not belong to Fujiwarai. It trailed ahead, and he followed it, like clues to a map where he would find his vindication, for his fear shamed him.
A body.
Dead. A man, his arm torn off completely.
Why hadn’t he seen the arm before?
There it was—on the other side of the chamber, tossed, like a chunk of meat.
His grip felt weak on his sword hilt, and Kenshi squeezed tightly, as hard as he could, to keep from shaking.
Something rumbled in the chambers ahead.
A woman screamed.
Kenshi pushed forward toward that scream.
Meanwhile, outside in the font gardens, Shinjiro glanced about, using the spear he had picked up from the destroyed and ruined body of the lizardman Oku, he ambled forward while the guards picked about through the destruction.
One of them came up to him. “Do you know what happened here?”
“I…”
The guard waiting a moment, then touched him on the shoulder sympathetically, believing him to be part of the Administrators retinue. He moved off with the others as they fanned out in search of the screaming guests, who were now yelling and crying from multiple areas of the house and grounds.
Shinjiro took pause as lightning lit the sky. The cold rain had begun to soak into his bones, and without a shirt, the rains were quite cold. He shivered while looking up at the lamplight above him, hugging the haft of the spear for support.
“Rōkura…” he breathed. “What have you done?” Striding forward, he went after Kenshi, who had left them there to confront the oni girl. When Shinjiro saw the Administrator, he cringed, his stomach suddenly heaving.
He retched atop dust and debris strewn tatami mats. Oh my gods—Rōkura! Glancing up toward the ceiling, someone thumped about overhead, but it was probably one of the guests, running from his hiding place. “Rōkura?” he called.
“Here! There’s another!” a man called. “Come here—we need your help!”
“Fine a healer.”
“These are all dead.
Realization, slow and sluggish, dawned on Shinjiro, and he realized the full extent of what had, and was continuing to happen in the manner and in the grounds. So far, he had only seen Oku’s destroyed body, and that of the ruin of Fuiwarai—but the guards moved about even then, looking for survivors.
“Come! This way. We’ll get you to safety.”
A woman bawled.
In another direction a man spoke the the guards in a panic, his words scrambled and unintelligible.
“This one’s fine, but he’s in shock.”
“Who did this?”
“The captain is still looking.”
Shinjiro had no need to venture further into the house. He knew… He knew it all. Turning, he let out a long breath, his own fear and terror a slow coming thing that filled him like a vat to overflowing.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
The swordsman’s fear was not for his own safety. His revulsion was completely. “How could you…?”
Swallowing thickly, he turned around and stepped over the rubble as he went back into the front gardens. His gaze was searching for the front gate. He wished to leave—to be done of this place.
To be done with Rōkura.
I should have trusted my feelings. I knew there was something off about her. She is a demon! They summoned her—the Administrator and his cohort of Hokorash worshipers.
He realized what a coward he was being. “Oh gods.”
Turning, he ran back into the manor looking for survivors.
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Ogai-sama sat upon a throne in the dark chamber. The pallid red pillars alighted with the flash of lightning, along with the side of his face. The Deity sat back, his eyes glowing with celestial light and knowledge far beyond that of any mortal.
With his elbow on the armrest and his cheek firmly pressed to his fist, he moved his foot with amusement, his smile barely visible to Hans Bellefeuille as he swirled purple wine within a clear glass.
“Ah,” Ogai-sama said. “You have it.”
With self-satisfaction, Hans said, “Yes, my lord.” He plucked his hand into the satchel and brought out the massive red ruby. It was cut and faceted and it glinted darkly in the low-light of the throne chamber.
As a flash of lightening ripped through the sky, it flared with red brilliance.
Ogai lifted his head from his fist and laughed. “Very well done, Hans.”
He bowed to his patron deity. “Thank you, Ogai-sama.”
“What of the girl?”
“Oh…” Hans mused slowly. “She’s tearing people to pieces right now. You have her to thank for the stone, my lord.”
With a laugh, Ogai leaned forward and snapped his fingers. The stone in Hans’ palm flicked out of existence. “Make sure she isn’t captured.”
Wordlessly, Hans nodded to the deity.
“After she is satisfied with the deaths, inform me. We have work to do.”
“Yes, Ogai-sama,” Hans said with a bow.
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“Oh god, please!” whined the Administrator’s aide. “Oh god, please. Hokorash!” He ran, lurching with every step as he through his shoulder and hip into his awkward and tired gait.
He ran through the grass on the hills, through the rain, the look upon his face one of wide eyes and terror. As he continued whining for his patron deity to save him with every step up the hill, he thought for just a moment as the sea and the surrounding mountains came into view, that he might escape.
With a smile greedy and hopeful for life, he took stock of his surroundings as the wind blew the sea grasses and trees. The storm was powerful, and it was just beginning. Turning, he glanced back at the manor.
The lights were still twinkling from the bottom of the hill. Surely he would be safe out here?
Something rustled behind a clump of sea grass and the aide glanced up with a gasp. “Whose there?! I said whose there! Come out!”
Those footsteps, fast and heavy, thumped through the grass and the sanding substrate. They came from his right.
They came from his left—ThumpThumpThumpThumpThey—no, they were over there! “Come out!” They moved about all over the place as he whirled, whining and wheezing with fear.
A stream of snot came out of his nose and fell over his chin.
ThumpThumpThumpThump
“Gah!”
He fell over on the grass, glanced about.
Nothing.
His chest heaved in and out.
But there was nothing, save for the blow of the wind and the thunder overhead—the cold rain on his face. His mouth was salty.
The administrator wiped the back of his fast with his fist, and just as his heart began to settle, something came from above the mound next to him—a black silhouette with glowing aqua-blue eyes.
Trying to speak, he reached toward that figure, his heart hammering and his eyes watering hotly. Words didn’t come out, what did, was a high keen.
“EeeeeeaaAAHHHhhhh!”
Kenshi glanced up past the dead bodies lying in the grass. They had been wrecked, torn and shredded. One of them was missing its head, slash marks and teeth marks covering the flesh.
The dunes.
He ran, pushing his legs forward as he held his sword up high beside his torso, ready to fight. The run up this large dune didn’t tire him in the least. Kenshi was a master swordsman, high level—capable and as dangerous as the greatest adventurers in the land.
Famed for his sword skills, he had become one of Fujiwarai’s bodyguards after the Administrator had watched him win a brutal and blood competition. He cared not for the deaths he inflicted, and when the Administrator took him on, he cared not for Hokorash.
He never did.
But now…
The master swordsman knew that his evil deeds were coming to their end, as the countless innocents that he had killed, for money… for fame… for his lord…
Revenge.
We killed her. Killed her parents…
ThumpThumpThumpThumpThump
Tracking those sounds with his eyes,, Kenshi readied himself for his last duel as the oni surrounded him—her footsteps coming closer as they spanned a circuitous route around him.
“You can come out,” he said calmly. “I will fight you.”
Silence extended.
The grasses rustled.
Thunder rumbled and the skies lit up, revealing the oni standing far closer to him than he would have thought, her aura gone.
She opened her eyes, and he thought for just a moment, that those hate-filled irises of glowing aqua-blue, were sane.
They were not.
Mouth opening, he hadn’t realized until now, how sharp the girl’s teeth were—or had her teeth changed upon entering this demonic form.
It didn’t matter.
“Attack me.”
The oni’s back arched as she howled through the storm, her black hair whipping in the wind. Her horns and her claws were monstrous—longer in this form.
“Fight me, demon.”
Hissing, the oni kicked her bare feet and lurched over the grass. Kenshi turned his shoulders and brought his sword down, fully expecting to—
The oni howled and hissed, turning around him as she entangled her arm with the crook of his and tore her hand into his back.
“Hngh!” Kenshi gasped, his eyes widened and his grip on his blade lessening.
No!—I must keep… my sword.
Trying to look at the oni as she writhed her hand through the hole in his back, Kenshi wheezed. He had struck her—he had managed to land a blow upon the monster.
He smiled. That is… enough…
What happened next, he didn’t know, because all faded to black as his body was thrown through the air. The corpse of the master swordsman Kenshi Yatamonu fell into the grass and sand.
It was left there to be found by the guards of Fujiwarai’s estate.
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Distracted upon the dunes, the angry oni howled through the night, and stamped off into the forest of dunes, her energy spent, her power dwindling, and Rōkura’s consciousness returning.
She stumbled through the wet sand to the top of another dune near the seashore. The sound of the crashing waves was a comfort as her eyes blurred hotly, her throat was thick and closed.
She sniffed loudly, wiped her nose with back of her hand, unclear as to why she was crying. Had something happened? The last she remembered was being stabbed by Ryu—Shinjiro was on the ground. They were going to kill him.
Oh no!
Shinjiro—are you all right?
She turned in the direction she thought the manor of Administrator Fujiwarai was in and, with a heavy sigh, the last of her energy left her, and her muscles slackened.
Rōkura fell over into the sand face-first, her eyes closed and her power utterly spent after her night of Oni-Rage-filled terror.
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The bright yellow of the morning sunrise brightened the overcast skies, though on the horizon a lovely blue was forming behind the bright yellow of the peaking sun and its rays.
Hans Bellefeuille spotted Kirai—Rōkura’s sword, and smiled. She hadn’t even needed it—not with her Oni Rage and Overpowered abilities.
Though he was pleased, a grimness hung over Hans that he preferred not to show upon his face. The guards were hard at work as the City Guard had joined them. They were business doing administration tasks while wagons of survivors were drawn away.
The small golden-haired men bent and picked up the sword when a stumbling man without a shirt, came into his peripheral view. Without looking at the swordsman, he said, “Hard night, Steel Swinger?”
Hans glanced at the sword and drew his gloved hands across the malicious blade. Rōkura didn’t know it, but this sword had magical powers—powers Ogai-sama had inferred with one of his flippant remarks.
Had she forgotten?
Finally he glanced up to look at Shinjiro, who wasn’t paying him any heed. “And the scabbard is nowhere to be found,” he complained. “Does Rōkura not know what she had here? Oh come now, even you should have something to say about that, Steel Swinger—being a samurai and all, your reverence for the sanctity of a good blade should be absolute.”
Shinjiro was sitting down on the edge of a garden trough with beautiful entablature. Behind him green plants grew where closed flower buds awaited the sun’s warm rays.
He looked at Hans, his eyes unamused. The dark circles and the slackness off his gaze, one of barely intentional severity.
“Hmm,” Hans noised. “I see.”
There was a long pause between them, then finally Shinjiro stood up, wandered past Hans. He watched the samurai all the time, waiting for him to say something as he picked up his sword and sheathed it where his scabbard still remained inside his sash.
The poor fool is still in his underclothes. “If you want something to wear, I brought your clothes with me. They are over there.”
Shinjiro picked up his robes, and then strode toward the front gates as the guards and the City Watch remained to do final tasks at the manor.
“What do I tell Rōkura?” he called to the samurai.
Shinjiro turned to look Hans in the eye. Hot anger took him—and sorrow. The poor girl didn’t realize she was entangled with snakes—the worst kind. Evil, malicious gods at war with each other often used mortals for their own gain.
He would not be a part of their evil schemes, and yet, Rōkura would. She had chosen her path—resurrection. Revenge. Death.
“Tell her…”
The slow-minded fool seemed to be thinking it over. “Yes?” prompted Hans with a sly cat-like smile.
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Bright light filtered through her red-pink eyelids, and Rōkura opened her eyes—recoiling with a grimace. The heat of the morning sun was warming her body and the sand all around her.
She stood up and a throbbing in the back of her head made itself abundantly known. She groaned. Sea birds squawked and mewed overhead as others waddled across the sand, fighting and pecking at each other.
“Constantly fighting.”
She turned her head toward Hans with a quick jerk and was presently regretting it. She grunted, putting her hand to her forehead.
“The birds, I mean,” he said. “They claim a bit of turf—build their nests, and defend their territory from intruders.”
Shading her eyes, she tried look at hands, but he was backlit from the sun, and she squinted, unable to make out his sea-blue eyes. What is he talking about?
“If they don’t, their enemies move in and eat their young.” He bent down next to her and put a finger under her chin to give her a looksee. “Ever must we fight to secure the things we care about, Oni-san. Here—take this and drink them.”
Something clinked softly as he reached into the pocket of his trousers. What he brought forth were two glass vials, corked with stoppers. One contained a bright red liquid, the other a dark blue.
“Are these…”
“Potions,” he said. “Drink them.”
She unstopped the red one and drank it down. It was sweet, made her more alert and energetic. Then she drank down the blue one, which made her feel strangely refreshed and cool.
Hans smiled. “Feel better?”
She nodded, touched the back of her head where the throbbing had been. It was gone, completely. Now more alert, Rōkura got up off the sand and brushed her hands and backside. “How long have I been out here?”
“Oh…” Hans mused. “The better part of last night and most of the morning. It’s almost midday, yet.”
She nodded. “Mm.”
“Well,” he said cheerily. “Let’s not waste any time here, Oni-san. We have a lot of work to do if we are to finish what we started.”
What we started… the words rang in her ears as images of the previous night surfaced. She remembered everything, at least up until she had bit her hand. The rest… there were bits and pieces, most of it very hazy—and yet she could remember more of last night than the previous two times she had gone into her Oni Rage state.
Rōkura had had questions.
Many questions.
It filled her with guilt, asking the one that she did first. “Administrator Fujiwarai?” she asked, remember scant little after she had bit her hand. She remembered… screaming. Rearing.
Blood.
“Very dead, Oni-san.”
She nodded. “And what about Shinjiro—is he all right?”
Hans glanced away, and that gesture filled her with a small dread. But then he said, “Oh—he’s quite well. I saw him this morning.”
There was something else she remembered from the night before.
The screams.
Did I… Did I kill those people? Swallowing, she hesitated, conflicted between her lust for revenge, and her horror and sorrow for being the one responsible for all those deaths. How could she do such a thing?
Rōkura knew she had—and yet, she wanted to leave doubt, for the answer she believed Hans would give her, might break her.
Turning to look at her, he dusted off his hands and smiled broadly, putting on a good show for the oni girl—who, Hans knew, if she asked about the murders last night, he would artfully attempt to dodge, and yet, would probably fail.
Inwardly he sighed. I don’t feel like babysitting a blubbering monster. Hells—I’m the damned monster, for going along with it—for encouraging her to do it. “Are you ready to travel, dear Oni-san?”
“Yes, as long as Fujiwarai is dead. You made sure? Should we go to the manor and—“
“Oh no—I mean…” He pushed up his glasses. Failing already, you fool. Do better. Ogai-sama expects it of you. “I was there this morning. I am certain the Administrator got what he deserved—and his subordinates as well.” In truth, Kenshi had died with a hole in his back, much like Oku, however the one called Ryuunosuke had escaped. No matter. She was inconsequential.
“All right,” she said. “But where are we going, Hans? Where do now?”
“What?” he asked, taken aback. “You do not believe you have attained your revenge? Not that easily, do you?”
Rōkura blinked. “There are more? More of them who were involved?”
With a laugh, Hans said, “My dear girl—I’m afraid there were quite a few worshipers of Hokorash at your sacrifice. Some of them came from far and wide. These men…” he gestured vaguely. “They were only the lower-level players involved. This is much farther reaching than you believe.”
“I… I didn’t know that, Hans.”
“Yes, well—not to worry. I am at your side, send to you by Ogai-sama himself! I will see you properly guided upon your path of revenge, Oni-san.”
It was true—Administrator Fujiwarai was a rather low level player in it all. Truly, he had held the knife to Rōkura’s heart, had been responsible for conducting the sacrificial right of her royal parents, but the others involved were just as culpable, if not more so—and every single one of them was stained with the sacrifice of her family’s royal blood. However—if Ogai-sama requires that we silence the lights of a few others on the side, well, there’s no harm in that, right? She did agree to serve him in exchange for his help.
“Hans?” asked Rōkura. “Are you all right?”
“Ah!” he said, snapping back to focus. “Quite, dear Oni-san. I was just thinking about our next steps. We will go back the port farther up the coast and book passage to the capital, I think.”
Rōkura’s eyes widened. She had wanted to go to the capital, had considered it, and yet let the eventually fall to whether or not her revenge would take her there. And now it seemed it would.
She couldn’t suppress a smile.
“Well,” Hans said lightly, “I am quite happy to see you smiling, Rōkura. It tells much about your mental state.”
“Mm,” she nodded. “But about that, Hans. Did Ogai-sama take too many of my memories when he… when I…?”
“Hmm,” he mused. “It is not for me to say, Rōkura.”
“Oh,” she said, feeling somewhat crestfallen.
“But”—she brightened—“if he did, then he did so for your own protection. Do not worry. In time, more of your memories will return, or will be returned to you. All in good time, and not before its time.” He put a gloved hand over her bare shoulder and looked up at her with sympathy, the way a parent might look at his child. “You went through a harrowing experience—too many memories at once, could shattered your mental state. And we wouldn’t want that. Right?”
She nodded.
“I think we can be very happy at the results you have achieved,” he said. “You remember your parents’ names, yes?”
With a gasp, Rōkura flicked her gaze down to his icy-blue eyes. “It was you!”
“Indeed.”
“Do you have more of my memories—“
“Now Rōkura,” he interrupted, “what did I just tell you about your memories?”
Crossing her arms and feeling a bit sulky, she glanced to the side. “I know what you said.”
“And the answer is no—I do not have more of your memories.” He put his hands on both of her shoulders. “Look at me.”
She did.
“We must trust that Ogai-sama has a plan—for the both of us, but especially for you. All right?”
He was right. Of course he was. Hans was an intelligent supporter and servant of Ogai-sama, and it had been Ogai who resurrected her in the first place, gave Rōkura her powers. “Okay, Hans. I trust you.”
He smiled, feeling a slice of guilt. “Thank you, Oni-san.” As the moment lingered and the birds cried in defense of their nests as they battles each other throughout the dunes and over the beach, he smiled again. “Now let’s get out of here. The sun is about to burn my jacket off.”
She laughed, following the small golden-haired man toward the beach and the harder sand. He pointed to something sticking up out of the sand.
“My sword!”
“I picked it up for you on way here.”
She trudged up the sand and snatched it up. Turning, she thanked Hans with a smile, though in the back of her conscience—she knew she was a monster now, a good and truly evil monster, responsible for the horror of the night that had cut and clawed and tore its way through Fujiwarai’s estate party.
Swallowing thickly, she strapped her sword to her waste, a sickly feeling inside her stomach.
“Are you quite all right?” asked Hans. “Do you need more potions?”
“What—no. I’m fine. Are we going to the port?”
With a nod, he said, “Just so, Oni-san.” While he led her across the sand, he wondered if she remembered the events of last night. Dear gods—I hope not.
Wiping the back of her face, Rōkura decided that she would never taste blood again. Not if I can help it.
Never again…
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Yasu and and Roshi ran to catch up to Shinjiro.
“Where are you going?!” Roshi snapped, through his teeth, feeling a hot flash of annoyance at his young friend for whatever impetuous foolery he was up to now. Breathing heavily, he struggled to keep up. “I do not have the stamina you do—and I certainly don’t keep green potions under these robes, you fool!”
“I am sorry,” Shinjiro said, turning and stopping for just a moment. “I have to get to the port. My friend is leaving, and I thought…”
“Wait,” Yasu said, raising a hand. “Explain everything so we understand.”
“There is no time!” Shinjiro said, fumbling with the coins from his pouch. “Oh no…” he moaned, realizing he probably didn’t have enough for passage. Hans, you bastard! How could you do this to me?! Actually,
I should have expected as much from that sly cat-faced fiend. I’m a fool.
“All right,” groaned Roshi. “I have some coin on me”
“Thank the kami!” cried Shinjiro, his heart racing fast. “Yasu,” he said, “please look after my mother.”
He nodded. “I will. You know I will, but when will you be back?”
“Here,” Roshi complained, and slapped the coins into Shinjiro’s palm. Then he pointed an aggressive finger, his grey hair making him seem rather fatherly-looking as two old ladies stopped to watch their “altercation.” “And you better write to us when you get to wherever you’re going with an explanation for all this.”
“I swear it,” Shinjiro said with a nod. He swallowed as Roshi scowled at him.
What he wasn’t suspected was that the older man would put his palm across his shoulder and shove him so that he faced the road that wound up the hill obscuring the port below. “Go!”
He turned, smiled. “Arigatou.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Roshi said with a flippant wave of his hand.
When Shinjiro ran, his robes billowing and his sandals slapping against the street stones, Roshi smiled. “I don’t know where he’s going, but I hope he succeeds.”
“I hope it’s nothing bad,” Yasu said as she looked to the older man. He saw the two old ladies smiling. “His brother and father are proud, I see.”
“Nani?” asked Roshi as she cocked his head. He pointed to himself and the two old ladies nodded and went on their way.
Yasu laughed.
“Stop that, or I’ll smack you.”
He continued laughing.
While Shinjiro’s friends and comrades in arms horsed about in the street, he ran, cresting the hill with a determined look in his eyes. He wasn’t going to let Rōkura become their pawn—he wasn’t going to let her go down this path of evil—and he sure as the hells wasn’t going to let her leave Momori Kazō without him!
The dark blue waters of the sea sparkled and he smiled.
While the samurai ran to the docks, the ship that Rōkura and Hans had boarded at short noticed, had already rowed out to deeper water. The sea air was cool and crisp, and Rōkura felt determined, and deeply saddened.
She still couldn’t believe that Shinjiro had chosen to part company with her, and after everything that had happened. As Hans had told her, Shinjiro had said, “Tell her… tell her that I don’t want to see her in Momori Kazō again. I’ll overlook what you did this time—but next time, I won’t be so lenient to a criminal of the Daimyo’s province.”
“Did he truly say that Hans?!”
He had sighed sympathetically, reinforcing the armor of his lie. “It saddens me to tell you this, Rōkura, but yes, he did.”
She looked down, saddened and gut-punched from the revelation. And she had thought that maybe they had begun to form a friendship, despite so little that had passed between them.
Shinjiro had helped her after all, chose to believe she hadn’t killed those people on the summit—chose to believe she wasn’t a cold-blooded killer—even though now she was. It made sense that he would turn his back on her. I don’t deserve the company of good people. “Hans?”
“Yes?”
“I—“ Her voices hitched. “I need to be alone for a moment.”
He nodded. “Of course.”
And with that, the small man excused himself as Rōkura had taken a walk. Now, after a long time, she milled about the deck as the crew scurried about the ship. Other passengers were on the deck in the sunlight, talking, laughing. Living their lives.
Hans had seen what she did, how Rōkura had glanced over the side, nearly pitching her poor self over as she emptied her stomach over the banister and into the sea. Nothing escapes me, little oni. He sighed heavily. Poor fool girl.
Sighing again, he realized he had made a mistake. In choosing later that it was best to be rid of the samurai—she doesn’t need him pricking her conscience—he had accidentally let slip their plans.
“Tch!”
He could only hope Shinjiro wouldn’t follow.
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When he got to the port, he asked about to find the departure manifests, and realized that the ship that had gone out to sea before he had arrived, was indeed the ship Rōkura was on.
His hopes fell and he cursed with frustration. How had he been such a fool? Why? He regarded the sparkling waters, the people on the docks, the workers loading crates, and the cry of the birds.
A lovely day.
Remembering the early morning, he put a hand over his mouth and and shoved it down his chin with impatience.
“Tell her…”
“Yes?” Hans had said.
The samurai had every reason to break contact with Rōkura—to see Daimyo Hino—and to play a part in her arrest and capture! But why do I want to help her?
“Tell her I’ll be along shortly. There are some family matters I must attend to if I’m to travel with you.”
“Why—take all the time in the world,” Hans had said lightly. “We won’t be leaving port for the capital for a while, yet.”
Shinjiro hoped what Hans had said was true. He realized People were staring at him, and as a desperation took hold of the samurai, he scowled with complete determination to get to the destination where that ship was headed. Were Rōkura would be.
Even if it killed him.
“Hans… when I get my hands on you, I’m going to break your skinny neck.”
While Shinjiro watched the ship disappear behind the horizon, Rōkura glanced across the waters, to Momori Kazō for the last time, and smiled faintly. At least one good thing had come of last night.
Masako… Sujin.
My parents.