War priest the complete.., p.66
War Priest: The Complete Series, page 66
“I’ll get to that, disciple.”
“We can get some robes for ourselves,” Istvan began to say, and just as he was starting to turn away, he stopped. Against his will, his head began to swivel back to Hojo.
Arik glanced at Hojo. It seemed like the master illusionist had quit breathing, his eyes fixated on Istvan, the bottom of his face still covered by the wooden bird beak.
Chimaura… Arik thought once Istvan began to nod.
“Yes, we will aid you in your escape.”
Arik looked over to Nyoko, who had shied away from Hojo, the quiet woman now focused on the tips of her leather boots.
She knows.
“And that, disciple, is why you don’t argue with an illusionist,” Meosa said so only Arik could hear.
“We will provide support.” This voice belonged to Basha, who was still seated with his skeletal spine against the tree, his big femur club on the ground next to him. “And then my debt to you will be paid.”
“That it will,” Hojo told the gashadokuro. “And I appreciate the fact you’ve come this far.”
“Back to Sukitoma after, hmmm?” Meosa asked Basha.
“Me? Likely so. I hope there aren’t too many tourists around the lake when I return.”
Meosa laughed, and as he did, Istvan snapped out of his Chimauric spell. “So we will know when we see fire, right?”
Hojo placed a hand on the northern man’s muscled shoulder and patted it. “That’s right. That’s when you will know.” He shifted his focus to Arik. “You asked about Nobunaga and Sengum Minamoto. Yes, they are there.”
“Kogu?”
“No, unfortunately not. before I left, I learned that Nobunaga will be gathering at the first camp not long from now to speak with some of his elite guards. This is when we will strike.”
“Strike Nobunaga?”
Even though this was precisely what Arik had signed up for, this fact struck him at that moment. This is what it all boils down to, he reminded himself. This is why you have the Whispering Sword.
Arik cleared his throat. “And what about Sengum Minamoto? Will he be there?”
“No, the false shinobi are at the third installation, the third camp, to the northeast. I have been especially careful gathering sparrows around there, but I’ve not been spotted. I would know if I’d been spotted.”
Tayaura approached, now in her Crimsonian garb. Aside from the clothing, Arik noticed something different about her. Hojo’s daughter looked more like a man, and it was only after she adjusted the front of her robes that he saw that she had wrapped her sanjaku cloth tightly around her chest to conceal her breasts.
Tayaura helped Hojo balance the staff across his shoulders, five bird cages on each side. “We will see you soon,” was all Hojo told Istvan, Yoko, and Basha before they set off.
****
Once they were away from Istvan and Nyoko, their forms covered in shadows from the foliage, Tayaura spoke to her father.
“How should we attack?”
“You should only attack once the fires start. The kami that is with Nobunaga may be able to put some of the fires out, but I expect once the explosions begin, that there will be no way for it to stop the destruction.”
“We have to be extra careful,” said Meosa, now invisible and floating somewhere off to Arik’s left by the sound of his voice. “If Enenra notices me, she will sound the alarm, and I will have to fight her.”
“Do you think you can beat her?” Arik asked.
“That remains to be seen. And if the two of us are fighting, that means I won’t be able to protect you as much as I would like.”
“That’s kind of you, but I’m ready.” Arik swallowed hard.
“Famous last words, my boy.”
Hojo spoke. “As much as you may want to confront him before, wait until the fire comes to strike Nobunaga down. Imagine if you could get your revenge without ever even being noticed, your blade quietly cutting through the confusion and piercing his heart. Shadow-child, you will do all the talking, if any is necessary, to get into the first camp itself, to be part of the audience around Nobunaga. As you know, I will have to hold back to release the sparrows. Once they are on fire…”
Tayaura nodded. “Yes, Father. Will you go for Sengum Minamoto alone?”
Hojo grunted a response. “I will. Do not follow after me. As much as you want to believe this is between you and him, it is between Sengum and me. Once the sparrows are released, and I see that the two of you have done what needs to be done, I will find Sengum. Mark my words.”
“I can’t let you do that alone.”
Hojo stopped, and slowly turned to his daughter, careful of the bird cages. “You don’t have a choice. Escape with the disciple, and wait for me at the meeting place.”
“The meeting place?”
“Where you made camp. If I don’t come within a day, go on without me.”
“As… as you wish, Father,” Tayaura finally said, the female illusionist bowing her head as much as her square hat would let her.
****
Arik and Tayaura parted ways with Hojo, who would use a different entrance, which according to him would be the best location to release the flaming sparrows. As the disciple continued to follow Tayaura to the first camp, he realized that he was starting to have as much faith in her as he did her father, even with what she had done back at his academy. He knew that with the training she had received that they would be able to get inside, and that she would instruct him in what to do once they arrived.
There was one question that he had, however, something that had been on his mind since Hojo had first mentioned it.
“What is Hidden Warrior Sickness, exactly?” Arik asked, just as they were about to reach the merchants and other services outside the walls of the first camp. There were wooly kayno lined up now, indicating that more supplies were being transported in, each of their loads covered by thick canvas marked with what Arik supposed were fake Jadean government flags.
“Hidden Warrior Sickness?” Tayaura turned, and Arik could see through the slit on the front of her square hat that her eyes had narrowed on him. “You already know what it is.”
“He’s only mentioned it to me briefly, mostly focusing on a place that all illusionists hope to go, some province.”
“‘A province that no one has ever been to, a place they do not know, or strangers or friends, where they can buy things with gold and silver they don’t have, eat food that no one has provided for them, get drunk without drinking alcohol, and study any art in the world. It is a place that is both nowhere and everywhere, a place that they cannot go because they are already there, where they can freely disguise themselves as whatever they would like, and sleep out in the open without shelter. A place where they can cure sadness, a province that simply exists because of the fact that it doesn’t exist.’ I’ve heard the poem many times, disciple.”
“That’s a poem?” Meosa asked.
“And what does it mean?”
“Like I said, you already know what it means, disciple. You tell me what it means.”
“Does it mean that using Chimaura too much can… can distort one’s concept of a person and a place? Distort who they are or maybe who they were, eventually driving someone mad even though they aren’t crazy—something like that?”
Tayaura nodded. “Actually, that’s pretty close. I’m assuming my father has told you about using Chimaura and likely emphasizing that its usage should be a last resort. It is not like the other aspects of chi, and according to Hidden Warriors of the past, it has a breaking point. I believe, or I should say that we believe, that there is a breaking point because of how powerful Chimaura actually is. With it, you can do a number of remarkable and wondrous things. It is also the chi style that works best when paired with the other two.”
“Three.”
“Yokaura? That isn’t one that is studied.”
Arik thought of the feats he had seen Hojo perform, from changing facial features to controlling other people’s minds. He also remembered when the master illusionist had replicated himself, and how he usually seemed to be a step ahead, unless it came to dealing with other illusionists.
“Do you need a longer explanation or can we continue?”
“So Chimaura is what drives Hidden Warrior Sickness, which is a mental ailment. And Hojo believes he is suffering from it.”
“He is clearly suffering from it, my boy,” Meosa said, making his presence known. “Have you not seen the twitching? Have you not seen his general demeanor or the pallor of his skin? Have you not heard the things he murmurs about?”
“Don’t give into his madness, kami,” Tayaura said, defiance in her voice. “My father is fine. He has convinced himself that Hidden Warrior Sickness is killing him. But I don’t believe it. I have met and studied with masters that are much older than him, at least when I was younger I did.”
“So you think he’s making it up?” Arik asked.
“No.” Tayaura grew quiet for a moment. “He certainly has noticed some signs of it, but I think he is far from the point of no return. I’ve answered enough of your questions for now. Let me handle things once we get to the gate.”
.Chapter Eight.
“In healing others, you are actually healing yourself.”
–Master Nongrat Eldegai in his book A Healing Mind, Third Edition, Ezochi Revivaura Books, Year 1336, Page 71.
There was one person Arik could channel as they approached the front gate of the first camp. He had trained with the man, and he had seen firsthand the sense of pride that the combat veteran carried in his body posture, a true sense of pride and certainty. Shoulders back, confidence in the way that he held himself, chin tilted up slightly beneath his square hat as if he were daring for someone to challenge him, the disciple felt a pang of regret as he tried his best to mirror the late Akamatsu.
And it worked.
Neither Arik nor Tayaura needed to say anything to the guards at the front, the two sentries letting them pass with little more than a grunt. The female illusionist also carried herself in a different way, not as light on her feet as she had been previously. Even though she didn’t have that large of a frame, she walked as if she were over seven feet tall, defiance in her eyes, certainty in her gait.
“Would you look at the two of you,” Meosa whispered to Arik, the sudden appearance of his voice jarring the disciple as they came to a horse stable. “If being rebels doesn’t pan out, you could always sign up to be Crimsonian blades. Kidding, disciple. But listen, now that I have your attention, there’s another thing we need to discuss. Once we get closer to Nobunaga, I will have to shrink to my smallest form. This means it may take me a moment to spring into action if, and more likely, when things start up. I just want you to be aware of that.”
Arik nodded as the two came around a series of pallets with rations on them. He could see siege weapons beyond, men and women in Crimsonian clothing checking them, those with the square hats and other interesting headgear either patrolling or standing guard. Where was Nobunaga? Where was the speech set to take place?
Arik’s question was answered once he looked to the west to see that a stage had been erected, Crimsonian blades starting to gather around it. The blades all stood at attention, weapons sheathed, left arms down at their side and their right behind their backs. They carried a multitude of weapons, from a pair of swords like they used in Mogra to great axes. False shinobi began to conjure as well, the mercenaries standing around in black masks like the ones they had worn when they attacked the Academy.
“Ah, I believe we have found our crowd,” Meosa said as Arik and Tayaura turned in the direction of the gathering blades.
Arik and Tayaura found a place several rows back from the stage, the female illusionist instinctively making sure that they were in range for Arik to use his weapon. A building beside the stage served as an area for Nobunaga and his counsel to wait until the time came to speak, one without a frontward-facing access point.
There was no murmuring from the crowd, the silence only broken by a few sparrows that flew overhead.
Arik spotted a bird monger, not Hojo, the thin man using a long stick with the net on it to swipe one of the birds out of the air. His eyes darted from the bird monger to one of the thatched roofs. If what Hojo was planning worked, it would be genius-level strategy.
More soldiers and sellswords took their places behind Arik and Tayaura, to the point that the disciple was sure there were over several hundred people now awaiting to hear what Nobunaga had to say.
The crowd continued to grow over the next fifteen minutes, Arik not at all surprised to see two familiar faces finally emerge from a set of crimson curtains and take their place on the left side of the stage.
It was strange to think that he had once fought both of them, the woman on the right with two blades that were not as long as traditional swords, a haori cape draped over her shoulders, the cape white with blooming butterflies. Her long dark hair was braided into two ponytails and tied off at the back of her head with a blue ribbon.
Arik didn’t know her name, but he recalled what it had been like to fight the woman at the tournament in Mogra, how he had ultimately defeated her, and how Nobunaga had spared her life. There was something more lethal about her now, something about her face as she scanned the crowd that told Arik she had changed since they’d last met.
He also knew the man standing next to her, Tatum, whom Arik had once battled in a warrior pilgrimage in Iga, the same man who had ultimately won the tournament in the South. On his head was a square hat with vertical markings weaved into it. Rather than the sleeveless robes that he had worn previously, the Crimsonian man was now dressed in full crimson regalia. As he had worn before, Tatum donned a veil of perforated gray material beneath his mask, which hung past his chin.
The Mask of the Fallen knew what was about to happen. Arik saw a red line connect to Tatum’s neck, another to the unnamed Crimsonian woman’s stomach.
Arik could have sworn he’d heard a faint voice at the back of his head tell him it was ready, but by this point, a new person had joined Tatum and the Crimsonian woman on the stage. Arik recognized this man as one of Master Altai’s students, the same student who had later killed the man at Nobunaga’s instruction.
Like Tatum, Sonjin also wore crimson robes, but rather than vertical lines on his square hat, the eye openings were rimmed in red. He took his place behind the other two, Sonjin resting his hands on the grip of both his swords in case he needed to draw them in a flash.
Sengum Minamoto pressed through the curtain, his appearance taking Arik by surprise. The Hidden Warrior was now in a black conical hat similar to Hojo’s, a jagged slit cut into the front. He was joined by three false shinobi, each in black and robes, their faces obscured by masks similar to Arik’s, but certainly not enchanted.
Arik noticed Tayaura tense up beside him, a hint of electricity in the air between them. Did she know more about Thunderaura than she was letting on?
“Remember what Hojo said,” Arik whispered to her, not certain if the female illusionist heard him at that moment.
“If she tries anything I will stop her, disciple,” Meosa said. “I respect her father enough to honor his death wish.”
“Death wish?”
“Hojo will die here if he confronts Sengum Minamoto. Mark my words.”
Hearing Hojo’s name mentioned in the same sentence as death caused a dip in his spirit and confidence. Arik didn’t want Hojo to die, or succumb to any sickness he may or may not have had. “What… what makes you say that?” Arik whispered, even quieter now.
“Something that Sukitoma said in passing. He told Hojo that he would know when the time was right, and I believe he is referring to what is about to happen here. That old crystal kami can be quite prescient; if I had listened to him five hundred years ago, I likely wouldn’t have ended up trapped in the cave. But that is neither here nor there, my boy. Someone else is coming.”
Now it was Arik’s turn to tense up as he saw Master Guri Yarna, the head priest at the Academy of Healing Arts in two sets of robes, orange over white, the hood over his head decorated with golden flowers. He took a place at the back of the stage, his hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe.
The final man to step out was the shortest of all of them, Nobunaga, with black hair and a long mustache that was now braided and decorated with crimson beads. Like Master Guri Yarna, Nobunaga wore several sets of robes, but the bulk beneath his clothing told Arik that there was armor as well. This didn’t stop the Mask of the Fallen from locating a kill point, Arik watching as a red string of energy connected to the left side of his torso.
After a long, calculated pause, the Crimsonian warlord came to the front of the stage and brought a fist across his chest. The blades in the crowd did the same, Arik quickly copying the gesture in unison.
Come on, Hojo, Arik thought, his eyes darting to the sky, hoping to see flaming sparrows. Come on…
He had the perfect shot at Nobunaga, but he couldn’t take it.
****
Nobunaga offered his blades, and the other mercenaries that had gathered, a sinister smile that bordered on a scowl. Everyone in the vicinity grew quiet, and remained this way for what felt like ages before the warlord finally spoke.
