War priest the complete.., p.58
War Priest: The Complete Series, page 58
“Just one more thing,” Arik told Meosa as he began looking for a stone with which he would do the deed. He found one and lifted it with both hands, feeling its weight.
“I cannot watch this,” Meosa said.
“I’ll be able to fix it.”
Arik got down on one knee and used another stone to prop his left leg up.
With a deep breath out he used both hands to bring the rock down onto his knee, instantly feeling the break, the flashbacks to similar injuries he had given himself at the Academy of Healing Arts leaving as quickly as they came. He tossed the rock to the side and ignored the Revivaura all around him, as if the chi itself sensed that he needed help.
Arik got to one foot and used his sheathed sword as a splint, wrapping it around his leg with the sanjaku cloth. To anyone that saw him, it would look like he had found a scabbard and used it to set his leg.
“That should do it,” he said, breathing through the pain until he got used to it. A crutch would help, and as Arik slowly limped toward the city, he found a branch thick enough that it would help him stabilize his weight.
“I knew we were going to take this to the extreme, disciple, but…”
“Hojo said to practice,” Arik said, a hint of bitterness to his voice. While he halfway agreed with Meosa’s earlier argument about avoiding any family conflict between the two illusionists, he still felt left out. It was human nature, really, even if Arik knew it was best for him to hone his craft over the next week.
Walking with his makeshift crutch and his broken kneecap doubled the time it took for Arik to reach the ancient city gates, which matched the same color of the rock that surrounded Iga. He recalled that the warrior pilgrimages were mostly hosted in one quadrant of the city, in locations specifically designed for audiences to watch a combat that took place. The disciple turned in that direction, keeping his head down, his face mostly covered.
When he did look up, Arik tried to find signs that the Crimson Realm had moved into the city, yet all he saw were Jadean flags and people that didn’t have the same hardened looks and strange hats as the desert dwellers of the south, still a foreign environment for him, but more similar to the north.
A grunting wooly kayno caught his attention, its owner trying to move the stubborn beast by pulling at a rope hooked to a ring through its snout. Arik could smell the pack animal, a scent soon replaced by the sickly sweet smell of an open-air butcher, carcasses buzzing with flies, attached to wooden rods that were dug into the ground.
“Wonderful, isn’t it? I’ve always enjoyed the sights and sounds of civilization, not to mention the smells,” Meosa said so that only Arik could hear him.
They needed money, and Arik wasn’t the type to steal it.
He thought about what Hojo and he had done outside of Moonagwa, how the two of them had put on a show. He wasn’t really dressed for that kind of occasion, even if he had Meosa to make it seem as if Arik was performing water magic. He could always find an odd job, but his current disguise would limit what he would physically be able to do.
The more Arik thought of it, the more he realized that he had likely gone with an incorrect disguise. Even if Meosa had teased him, going as some sort of noble would have at least allowed him to get credit somewhere, or take a job to earn room and board for the night.
“This spot will do,” Meosa said, Arik seeing that they had come to a crossroads between the area of the city where there were warrior pilgrimages and the market they had just passed.
“Do for what?”
“Put your hand out, disciple. This is how we are going to get money.”
“You actually want me to beg?”
“Are you too good to ask for a handout? Watch and learn.” Meosa changed his voice and began calling out to the people around them: “Please, I beg of you, a wooly kayno crushed my pathetic knee. I was merely trying to milk it while it was sleeping. Help me!”
Is he making a mockery of this? Arik thought, his face distorting.
“Keep your head down, disciple,” Meosa hissed at Arik before going with the same story, this time elaborating even further. Soon, people began stopping in front of Arik, rummaging around for coins and flicking them in his direction. As they did, Meosa’s story grew more absurd:
“I am a nobleman from Avarga, I swear, but a poor wooly kayno milking fool who lost all of his money to a wool seamstress! This is a crime of fashion, I mean passion! Milking is not to be done with one’s lips! Wooly kayno are not pillowers!”
Some of Meosa’s statement drew chuckles, others drew angry quips. Meosa heckled right back at anyone who dared aim their forked tongue at the aqueous kami. Arik collected the money every time it came, and soon, his pockets were filled with coins. He even had a few of the bills they used in the Jade Realm.
“See?” Meosa told him. “I told you I would get us some money.”
“I don’t know how I feel about begging…”
“Bah! Get over yourself. It was that, or rob someone.”
“We could have offered to do chores or something.”
“In your condition? Surely you know how foolish you sound.”
Arik turned toward the pilgrimage district, and merged back into the crowd around them: “I’m just saying: we should have gone for a different disguise.”
“And what? Spend the rest of the afternoon scrubbing someone’s floor? No, that is beneath us! This is exactly what we needed to do, disciple. And now, we need to double or triple what we have. No, let’s quadruple it.”
“How?”
“Gambling, my boy. I obviously know some of the card games they play in the Jade Realm. If I don’t, you can ask for the rules and people will see you as an easy target. But they won’t know about me. We will win and then move on before someone gets suspicious. Tavern to tavern. By nightfall, we will have enough money for a fancy hotel, and we will find one with a private entrance. After you have changed your appearance, of course. Finally, tomorrow we will enact the second part of the plan, which is your combat training. Although, we may need to go back to gamble from time to time just to increase our funds.”
Arik was beyond the point that he was going to argue with Meosa’s logic. It made sense, and it would be utilizing what Hojo had taught him to some degree as well. In the end, it was still deception, and there was nothing wrong with him using Meosa to not only further his disguises, but aid him in deceiving the people around him.
With this in mind, Arik offered Meosa a firm nod as they continued to the crowd. “Lead the way.”
“Are you sure? I was certain you would put up more of a protest.”
“No protest from me. Let’s make the best of this minor infiltration.”
Arik felt a watery hand slap him on the back. “That’s the spirit, disciple. I’ll make a decent young man out of you yet!”
Part Three
.Chapter One.
“Awake early if you desire another man’s life or land. Better yet, never go to sleep in the first place.”
–Combat Master Rai Dalanzad from his battle treaty The Three Rings, Third Edition, Yoshimura Books, Year 1429, Page 185.
Arik Dacre threw his arms out and fell backward onto the bed, laughing. The room was unlike any he had ever stayed in, with vaulted ceilings, a bed large enough for several people, and a lush separate sitting area partitioned off by a waist-high wall. There was also a tub, one that Meosa was sloshing around in.
Arik had already cleaned up as well, the disciple healed from his earlier knee injury and glad to have fresh robes and a warm bath for once. All that was left was an evening meal, one that would come any minute now.
“I could get used to this,” Arik said, his hands now behind his head. “I really could.”
“Yeah, you could.” Meosa laughed. “And would you look at all that money?”
There was barely enough room in his satchel to carry the money, not with his shinobi tools, Coro Pache’s book, and Mask of the Fallen inside. This was why the sen was now on a side table in the sitting area, Arik planning to sort it out later. They had earned quite a bit, the duo going to several taverns and tripling their money each time.
“We could just do this, you know. Spend the rest of your life growing richer and richer. Imagine it with me, disciple. An estate in Katano for winter, a flat in Avarga for the spring. We could spend the summers in Moonagwa, or at a quaint little beach house in Katano. Yes. Yes! Maybe we would even buy a place here in Iga for the fall festivals. They are great, you know. And harvest season here is something else. All the food flows through Iga, the old saying goes, as it heads west and south. Or at least it used to.”
“We probably shouldn’t…”
“I know, I know. Revenge mission, rescue your sister, meet up with the supposed illusionist and his dimwitted daughter. I’m just saying, it is something to consider. With enough money, it doesn’t matter if the three realms go to war. You understand that, right? This is the problem with the human world. With enough money, nothing matters.”
“No, I don’t feel that way.”
“Bah. I figured you would say something like that. Not that I can blame you, considering what happened to your family. But there is something to be said about the currencies that humans give value to. And I would say that there is even a sum that you could use to buy back your sister.”
Arik sat up, not liking where this conversation was going.
“What? Don’t look at me like that. Hear me out, my boy! First, we earn more money. Then you present yourself to Nobunaga as a man who has gained riches relatively quickly— all that information can be faked, you know— and then, we use the audience you get with him to not only kill the warlord, but retrieve your sister, and keep our money in the end. Wouldn’t that be the Hidden Warrior way? You are a fledging young shinobi, are you do not?”
A knock at the door cut the conversation short. Arik answered it to find a man and a woman who worked at the hotel. The two brought several platters of food into the room, placed it on a table in the center and quickly left.
“You probably shouldn’t have all that cash out when the helpers are present,” Meosa told Arik, his voice in his ear again.
Arik ignored the kami as the hotel employees began arranging the platters of food. He hadn’t actually chosen what was ordered for him, the disciple simply letting Meosa speak to the staff downstairs. He regretted it once he saw everything they had brought. He was hungry, sure, but it was enough food for twelve men, everything from roasted pig to pots of boiling soup and various breads and cheeses.
“I don’t need this much food,” Arik said once the waitstaff was gone.
“Then don’t eat it. I don’t care,” Meosa said, who was instantly back in the tub, splashing around. “I wanted you to feel what it was like to be royalty. It was something that I used to experience quite a bit, you know. The finer things in life, disciple. They are the finer things for a reason, and once you have tasted them…” His water form slouched a bit. “Well, I believe that is the worst part of it.”
“What is?” Arik asked as he began picking at some of the meat and cheese.
“Once you have tasted it, you definitely know what you are lacking once it all dries up. You think this is luxury? You should have seen me back then, disciple. I almost wish you had seen me, honestly, so you would realize how much I have been roughing it with you and the supposed illusionist. Not to mention the time I spent in that wretched cave.”
“Sorry things have been hard for you.”
“I can’t tell if you’re being sincere or not.”
Arik walked to the other side of the room and stepped out onto the balcony, the evening air greeting him as he continued to pick at his plate. They weren’t far from where he had started begging, Arik now seeing through the light of a few lanterns that there were other beggars there—a woman with her child, a man.
He finished eating and went back inside.
“Ready for more?”
“I need you to deliver this food to some people.”
“Come again?”
“There’s a family down there, begging. Bring this food down to them.”
“So food just magically appears from the sky? Is that what you are suggesting?” Meosa shook out his water form. “We are supposed to be in disguise, disciple. Disguise!”
“Then I will call the hotel staff. They can deliver it.”
“Now, you are thinking. Don’t make me do things that would reveal us to someone who may be watching, and certainly don’t make me do things that a peasant could do in my place. While the supposed illusionist and the shinobi-ess may be the last of their kind, Sengum Minamoto is proof that not only are there others like them, but likely some that he himself has trained. What I’m saying is that someone may be watching, especially as close as we are to this supply line.”
“You aren’t wrong.”
Meosa laughed. “I’m rarely wrong. I’ve been at this for a while, disciple. Never forget that. Now, finish what you are going to eat, and then donate the rest to the poor.”
“I think… I will go down there myself and make sure they don’t have any injuries.”
“Why did I feel like you would say something like that?” Meosa splashed around yet again. “Absolutely not.”
“I’ll cover my face.”
“No, disciple. I understand that you want to help, but that is taking it too far. A rich nobleman taking pity on the paupers outside his window is one thing, but sneaking out and healing people may lead to our discovery. So no, that is where I draw the line. If you try to do it, I will make it so that you can’t leave this room.”
Arik sat down on one of the couches and looked at all of the food, the smells coming to him. “Fine, I’ll eat a little more, and then have the help staff take it away. And I won’t go out and heal people. Happy?”
Meosa splashed around again. “I suppose you could say I’m happy to see that, for once, you can be reasoned with. Now, stop interrupting my bath. I’m trying to relax over here.”
****
Arik couldn’t remember the last time he slept so well, the disciple waking up the next morning completely refreshed and ready to begin his training. Meosa had detailed his plans with him the previous night, Arik figuring it would be worth a shot. If the man he hoped would train him wasn’t available, he could try to find someone else.
The last time Arik had come to Iga, he had taken part in four warrior pilgrimages.
One had been against a Crimson swordsman named Tatum, whom Arik had later encountered in the Mogra tournament, and who now likely worked for Nobunaga. There had been Nyoko, a female axe-bearer from the mountains of the Jade Realm, and Istvan, clearly from the Onyx Realm, who seemed to have had some capacity for healing due to the fire hammer that he used which constantly burned him.
Finally there had been Akamatsu, a retired Crimsonian blade in his sixties.
This was whom Meosa had suggested Arik find, the disciple recalling that Akamatsu had mentioned once they had finished that there may be a time in which they train again. Arik also recalled that the combat master had insisted upon using wooden weapons, which wouldn’t quite suit what he hoped to learn from the Whispering Sword. But it was at least a start, and perhaps the seasoned warrior would consider training him with real weapons.
Arik ate some of the dried meat from the previous night for his morning meal, the disciple not wanting to have too much in his stomach once the training began. He no longer wore a disguise as he left the room, Arik not wanting anything to encumber him once he found Akamatsu.
As he stepped into the hallway, Arik noticed that the door across from him was propped open, the disciple seeing a man he had just been thinking of, Istvan, seated before a plate of food. Hunched over, Istvan was shirtless with a haori cape draped over his shoulders, his head completely shaven, no eyebrows, and no facial hair.
He looked up at Arik.
“I remember him,” Meosa said so only Arik could hear.
“I didn’t know you were staying here,” Istvan said in a jovial way, his voice deep and kind. Arik had never spoken to him before. He didn’t expect there to be a comical tone behind his words, the Onyxian man now with a big grin on his face.
Arik recalled what it had been like fighting against him, the heat of his weapon. He saw Istvan’s hammer as well, which was on the ground, its white-leather gripped handle jutting up into the air. His eyes jumped from the weapon to Istvan himself, the burn scars on his arms and chest visible.
“Istvan, right?”
“Last I checked. And you? I never did get your name.”
“Arik Dacre.”
“You’re from the north?”
“I am.”
“And you are here on pilgrimage again?”
Arik nodded, realizing that he needed to be careful not to reveal too much.
“That’s good to hear. Not enough Northerners here in Iga, I’ll tell you that. There’ve been a horde of Crimsonians recently,” Istvan said, the smile on his face dropping into a thin line. “They are up to something. A few have offered challenges but most just seem to be passing through. Good challenges, I’d say, but none that my hammer can’t handle.” Istvan laughed at a joke that didn’t quite land. “It always feels good to legally kill a Crimsonian. Between you and me, of course.”
