(7)

Dakunaito completely ignored the old woman and the couple customers she had in the store as he strode right past them all and for the double-gated hall at the back.

The hall served as a buffer against the heat of the forge beyond, so that at no point was the store proper opened directly to it. It didn’t decrease the way the heat of the cavern, itself, punched him in the face, though. As he moved out of the second door and began to descend the stone stairs, he found himself unconsciously timing his steps to the punctuations of the familiar hammering.

He had expected a week or more in Earth time before his little project produced any results. Though time flowed much more slowly here than on the human plane, when it was only a couple Earth days before a messenger came for him, he had expected a request for supplies funding.

He had no shame in admitting to himself that he was flabbergasted by disbelief when he learned she had completed his commission in a little under two weeks of demon realm time. Perhaps the old hag hadn’t been overselling her granddaughter’s skills after all.

Well, now was the moment of truth. Or a few moments from now, perhaps. He again found himself fascinated by the single-minded focus Narhia had for her craft. Every hammer blow was precise and he was fairly certain one could set a clock by the steady tension and release of her arm.

Nevertheless, he was not here to be a spectator to labor, and it would prove much harder to be impressed by her if her rushed work turned out shoddy. With that reminder, he moved so that he would be within her field of view.

The blows ceased instantly. Even in mid strike, she halted the hammer’s forward momentum cold. Her head rotated toward him first, as if her eyes needed to gauge him to determine what he wanted before the rest of her body could be bothered to separate from her work.

Then the blade was moved to the oil bath like the previous visit, and again, she bowed and said, “M’lord.”

Again, that was where her traditional manners ended as she promptly turned her back on him and made her way over to a section of the wall lined with shelves of assorted projects. From there, she pulled a case of black wood with bronze latches.

As she made her way back to him, he decided he should criticize her assumptive ways. “I did not say I was here to pick up my commission.”

But as always, she brushed it off. “You did not need to say it. You received a message that it was ready and you came. You would not have come away from your training sword for any other reason.”

It nettled him that she kept calling it a training sword. Of course, she was technically correct. The claymore he favored was unnecessarily heavy, originally intended to help increase the strength of a student practicing swings. It allowed him to continue to train, his one true love in life, even when fighting, as well as increasing the mass behind its blows. It was further augmented so that when magic was fed into it, it would grow heavier still.

Nevertheless, it was his primary weapon of choice. The way she addressed it made it sound as if he were a mere whelp. He had made up his mind to object, only to realize she was right, he wouldn’t have come away from his training for any other reason. Her perceptiveness was nearly as annoying as her brass tongue.

She had not waited for his answer, either, undoing the latches to open it up for his review. The inside of the case was lined with a black fur with the texture of velvet and three insets, which each held a band. There was a larger band in the middle top, with two smaller ones to the bottom left and right.It would be like a display case for a necklace and matching earrings if the two smaller bands weren’t so large, obviously a woman’s bracelets.

If so, that would make the larger band about the right size to be a choker or collar. All three pieces were identical in design, a nearly complete golden circle. Across the entire circumference ran a strip of crystalline that resembled grandidierite, or perhaps a particularly luminous blue diamond or aquamarine, that seemed to glow with its own inner fire in the light of the cavern.

He had not seen evangelium and hordestadt weaponry often, and he could clearly see why it was unpopular even among those with the power to use it. There were those who weren’t really strong enough to fully utilize it who chose it just to display their opulence, or fashioned themselves as ironically holy. For the less fringe tastes, however, many would find them far too bright for their dreary world.

Even as these were, he nearly felt the urge to avert his eyes. Instead, he pointed to the larger piece. “Is that part of the weapons?”

“No.” Her answer seemed as flat as it was ready.

He would have again arched an eyebrow if he had them. “Then why is it there?”

“Your apprentice is a witch that knows no spells,” she explained, making it obvious she hadn’t dropped her assumptions. “This means that she will also be incapable of transforming, their primary means of defense, and will require demonic armor. This will use her energies to reinforce her body accordingly.”

His eyes flashed red. Had this been an attempt to take him for more money after all? “I will not pay for what I did not order.”

“I did not expect you to.”

Her deadpan answer took the wind out of his sails. After a moment of measuring her with his stare, he repeated his earlier question, albeit with different intention. “Then why is it there?”

This time, her answer was not so quick to come, and she slowly let the case shut. “Grandmama has often said that I am not good at communicating with others,” she confessed, without the brass sting of her usual exchanges. “She says I am too honest for honest business.”

But she shook her head, ebony braid trailing the motion. “I don’t really understand any of that. If you do not wish your apprentice to use the collar, do not give it to her. I will not alter the fee for the bracelets. My only desire was to express my dedication to my work in the only way I know how. It is contrary to my nature to settle for good enough.”

The embers of his eyes increased in intensity again, though not from malice. If this naga were, indeed, manipulating him, she was a foe beyond his ken.

* * *

It was Friday morning, and she and Haru were making their way to school. Regardless of the schedule for who she was with at the end of the day, Haru was insistent on walking to school with her brunette friend in the mornings. She insisted that it was a time-honored tradition and would not see it violated any further than the first three days already had.

At least it didn’t feel like an escort. Haru didn’t make her feel like she had a security detail like Natsumi, or reminded her about the danger she was in by jumping at shadows like Ran. The first had walked her home after the meeting, and insisted on walking ahead of her at all times and checking every intersection before allowing the brunette to cross. The latter, poor Ran, had been such a bundle of nerves yesterday that she felt more like she needed to be protecting the timid thing than the other way around.

It hadn’t been fruitless, though. Both walks had given her greater insight into the girls. Natsumi was intense in all aspects of her life, she was gathering, and thrived in conflict where she could release all of that energy. A lack of it left her bitter and tempestuous, and she’d start lashing out at her in a reflexive search for it.

Refusing to provide it had continued to make the redhead uncomfortable, and she couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take her to realize that was a kind of conflict, too.

Ran, on the other hand, was her complete opposite. She wanted nothing more than to withdraw from all conflict and just glide through life isolated from having to take any independent action that could result in failure or discomfort.

She got the impression the gunmetal girl also hated that state, however, and viewed herself as a spineless coward. Even the mention of Natsumi would brighten her eyes, indicating a strong idolization of the redhead. Bringing up other members produced no reaction quite as strong, though she had a lot of respect for Reina and her ability to take command and speak in front of crowds with such decisiveness.

Haru, on the other hand, just walked beside her and made conversation. When the talking would start to get to be too much, she’d retract without having to be told, and for a while, they would just enjoy the scenery until it was natural to start back up again.

Haru talked about things they had done in the past that things brought to mind, and they would share laughter over things that were new to her and old memories to the blonde. She’d tell her who people were that they saw on the way and how they’d interacted in the past so she wouldn’t feel like she was talking to strangers.

All in all, even if the topics were old, the blonde never made them feel like she was filling her in on information she was expected to know or made her feel like she had to give the right response to fit into Haru’s perception of her. If anything, Haru was excited and amused when she expressed disbelief or surprise at something attributed to her, which always seemed to make the punchline funnier for both of them.

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Walking to school in the morning with Haru, she was realizing, was quickly becoming the part of the day she felt most like herself, most like she could be herself. No expectations, no shoes to fill, just a lifetime of stories for both of them to relive. This was only the second day she had walked with Haru, and she was already seeing why she’d fight to protect her.

“So,” Haru asked eventually, “have you gotten your groceries for the weekend yet?”

The blonde probably knew the answer before it came from the blinking, blank expression on her face. “I’m supposed to get groceries?”

Haru covered her mouth with a gasp. “Oh! I guess it hasn’t come up with your parents since it’s just expected, sorry, I should have thought of it sooner!”

She held up a finger to motion toward an important detail. “Your parents are away from home every weekend. It’s for your dad’s work, but they use it as a chance for a night to themselves. That means you’re in charge of the house, and you like using it to cook your own meal for you and your little brother. When your sister was still at home, she’d only do leftovers, so you wanted to do something more.”

“Oh,” she comprehended, “so I’m just picking up what I need for one meal?”

“Yeah, breakfast is usually just cereal, and Yoshi goes out with friends during the day, so it’s just the one meal.” After a moment, the blonde gasped again. “Wait! Oh no! I didn’t even think of that!”

That worried her, and she turned toward Haru with wide, startled eyes. “What?! What’s wrong?!”

And Haru turned to her and looked sincerely concerned about the horrible possibility. “You … you can cook, can’t you?”

The wide eyes collapsed into a blank, dumb stare for several long moments, and she was unable to come up with a response. That had been her reaction to such a possibility? She’d briefly thought something horrible had happened, like she’d left the stove on or had a puppy in a refrigerator.

Haru didn’t seem to dwell on it, however, and promptly began smiling again. “Oh well, I’m walking home with you today, so we can stop by the store and make a trip out of it!”

The discussion shifted then into what to make, what foods the brunette thought she liked and some of the things Haru knew Nariko liked to make. Apparently, Riko was at a level where she was competent at basic dishes and some baking, so the things she had liked to make were usually abundant in rice and simple in seasoning.

The brunette was starting to move into whether or not Haru thought it would be a good idea to try something more western, or if it would be too unexpected by those who knew her.

Both girls stopped mid-sentence along a road that wasn’t supposed to be empty. Though she’d only felt the sensation twice before, she didn’t need Haru to tell her what it was and reflexively put herself in front of the blonde.

“Did you forget that you are not the one able to transform?” An increasingly familiar black demi-giant stepped around the corner ahead of them.

“Da-kun!”

“I’m telling you, he hates it when you call him that.” The brunette turned her attention back to the demon. “And maybe I just don’t want her nose breaking again. She was quite distraught over it last time.”

Behind her, Haru reflexively grabbed her nose, but Dakunaito growled in complete lack of amusement. “Quippy, they called it,” he muttered. “A little dog’s yap is more apt.”

When he started toward them, Haru pushed past her as light began to gather around her. “Stay away from her, Da--”

The sentence never finished. The demon held a hand toward the blonde as a field enveloped her and hauled her off of her feet, then he made a motion away from him and she went flying across the road into the wall of a flower shop.

She started toward Haru’s collapsed form on impulse, but Dakunaito’s words stopped her.

“Don’t worry, her nose should be fine.”

Left with little other option, she turned back to face him. “Okay, I had that coming,” she admitted, though she stayed ready to move to the best of her ability if his mood changed again. “I’m guessing you didn’t want her transformation to alert the others there was trouble.”

He took several more steps toward her, she took another away. “Been taking remedial lessons, have you?”

“Just something you always seem to be complaining about.”

He grunted at that point. “It bought me time, nothing more. They can tell when a demon has entered your plane of existence, but can’t tell the difference between spying and an ambush until fighting actually breaks out. The longer we all remain in one place, the more suspicious they will become.”

“If you’re not here for a fight and you’ve not come for your answers yet,” she concluded, “then what do you want?”

Instead of answering immediately, he eyed the way she was standing a little longer. “You have drawn such conclusions, yet you stand there like a warrior ready to do battle.”

“We’ve met twice, Dakunaito,” she pointed out, “and both times, you made it clear I’m on borrowed time. If I don’t know your intent, the only thing I can do is be as ready as I can for the worst.”

“You failed at that when you took Flare Witch as a bodyguard.”

From across the street, the still-crumpled blonde raised a wavering arm. “I’m still conscious,” she complained groggily. “I can hear you!”

“Then don’t complain about it from the sidewalk,” the brunette called back before addressing the demon in front of her once again. “We figured just having me not alone would be enough to discourage targeting me directly.”

Another grunt, more recognition that she answered than any meaningful communication. “And now?”

She considered her answer for a moment. “Now, I’m figuring you haven’t answered my question yet.”

“The strong get to demand answers,” he replied, his voice deepening in command. “The weak earn them. Present your wrists to me.”

The demand caught her off-guard, throwing her into stunned silence for a moment. “Uh, sorry, did you say my wrists?”

“Now!”

The shout made her flinch a little at its suddenness, but she still didn’t immediately comply. She watched him for a moment, debating her situation and what was likely to follow. And then she held out her arms before her, fists toward the demon.

It was his turn to stare at her. He shook his head in disapproval. “Why would you do that? You don’t know what I intend. I could bind you, rip your limbs off of you, abduct you. Your foolishness could destroy you.”

“I’m not offering them to just any demon,” she explained her reasoning. “I’m offering them to you.”

“The demon that desires your death more than any other.”

“No, you desire Thunder Witch’s death,” she countered readily. “You already see me as a different person from her, which means I fall under your honor’s rules for a noncombatant.

”If you bound me, you would not attack me. If you took my limbs, you would ensure I did not die. If you abducted me, my life would not be in danger from you. If I ran from you, however, you would strike me down for cowardice. If I refused to cooperate, you would beat me as a fool until I complied for mercy or the other witches arrived.”

She shook her still-outstretched wrists for emphasis. “If I comply and it’s not out of cowardice, you wouldn’t strike me down without putting a sword in my hand first, am I on the mark?”

He growled in deeper irritation than she expected, but with a motion, pulled two golden circles from his side that hadn’t been there before, as if he had pulled them from some hidden pocket within his cloak. He grabbed both of her forearms at once easily within his other hand and twisted them up above her to get to them before slapping one circle over each wrist, then tossed her aside to the dirt just off the sidewalk.

As the demon turned to walk away, it was actually Haru who called out to him. “Wait! Da-kun! What did you do to her?”

His eyes flared at the name, and his hand clenched around his sword, but he turned back to the brunette who was examining the devices. “I put a sword in her hand,” he growled, the word choice deliberate. “If she can figure out how to use it.” And then he was gone.

As soon as they were alone again, she hurried across the street toward the flower shop to help the blonde back to her feet, getting Haru’s arm over her shoulder. “Haru, are you alright?”

“I hate fighting Da-kun,” she gasped out. “Give me a breather. There.” She pointed to a bench along the way, and they made their way over.

Once they sat down, the brunette looked back to the flower shop, where there was a suspiciously shaped indent. “Witches really are hardy, huh?”

“Not unless we’re transformed,” the blonde corrected tenderly, obviously still in some degree of pain, “but you’d be amazed what you can survive when it doesn’t kill you outright. Pretty sure the impact broke my spine for a little bit. My toes are going to be tingling till lunch …”

“… Does that happen a lot?”

Haru rolled her eyes. “If this turns into another terrible fighter lecture, can it at least wait until I can stand?”

“I mean, you are,” she admitted, really wondering if the girls ever actually practiced this stuff, or made a habit of running in on untrained instinct, though she tried to say it more in jest than in insult, “but I was asking out of worry. You sound both remarkably sure of what you broke and very unconcerned by it.”

“Oh, I get it,” the blonde drawled, a mischievous light overshadowing the pain on her face for a moment. “You hear broken back and think, oh no, end of the world! You still don’t get it, you still think you’re human.”

She arched an eyebrow at that, not sure if she was getting set up for a prank or not. “Witches aren’t human?”

Haru leaned back against the bench, letting her body stop supporting itself for a bit. “Well, to be honest, we probably are, but the differences between us and a regular, run of the mill human are pretty crazy, especially once we awaken. Like your ribs. I don’t think for a moment you were exaggerating the first night of school when you said they were in pieces. Maybe you thought you were exaggerating; after all, who walks home with a belly full of rib splinters?

”The answer is, we do. In that breather you had, your body pulled itself together enough that you were just in pain instead of in pieces. By the time you had a good night’s rest and woke up in the morning, no doctor in the world would have found any indication you’d broken a single bone in your entire life, much less half your rib cage.”

She thought about that for a moment, reflected back on her first aware night in this life. “When it doesn’t kill you outright, huh?”

“Yeah,” Haru nodded. “Nobody ever died from a broken back, as far as I know. Worst it gets is the cause of the cause. I’m not going to lie, there was a little bit there I’m sure I was paralyzed, but with a few moments of rest, I’ll be able to walk on to school. Breather recoveries aren’t super powerful, though. What I really need is a solid nap, but then I’d be late for school. Compared to those, just resting is super slow and can be pretty uncomfortable.”

The blonde let her head roll to the side slightly to give her friend a stare. “Fair warning, don’t slap me in the back unless you want to be carrying me the rest of the way. The breather recovery seems more just for getting us back on our feet so we don’t get run through or something.”

“Hrmm …” She looked back to the dent. “Still, pretty crazy, like you said.”

“Hehe,” the blonde chuckled as she reached in to pat her own chest. “You keep forgetting what a greenhorn you are in all of this. Don’t worry, your upperclassman witch will make sure you know everything you need to know! You’ll know how much you can take and what you can survive!”

“And when to hold your nose.”

“Hey!” Haru’s squawk drove her to turn on the bench a little, a good sign, not that she noticed. “Stop bringing up my nose, already!”

She grinned back at the wind being taken out of the boisterous girl’s sails. “Can’t be helped, I’ve got less than a week’s worth of material to draw on.”

Apparently, Haru puffed her cheeks when she pouted. “Yeah, well, you’re running out of time you can use that as an excuse!”

“All the more reason to use it as long as I can.”

She pouted a bit longer, then finally leaned back again as she muttered, “Da-kun called you a yapping little dog …”

Haru sighed, however, and held her hands out without turning her torso. “Here, let me see what he put on you.”

When the brunette put the braceleted wrists in her hands, the blonde turned them over, running her fingers over the surfaces. “It’s so smooth …” Light followed the trailing of her fingertips against the material, but whatever she was looking for, she soon shook her head.

“Sorry, Riko, I don’t really know what I’m looking at here. All I can really say is that my purification arts aren’t picking up any curses on it, but I can’t imagine a world where it’s that easy. We should have Sarasa and Reina look them over after school. Reina’s purification magic is much stronger than mine, and I’m sure Sarasa will know what these things are.”

She nodded in agreement. “Speaking of, how’s the spine?”

“Better. I should be able to walk now. We should get going. Miss Sada will give me a pass if I need it, but people ask fewer questions if we’re not late in the first place.”