The ghost in the trees, p.5
The Ghost in the Trees, page 5
Marsvin gulped. “Then I’ll see them both soon.”
9
For the true master, the sword is an extension of the body. Treat it like an appendage in battle and an organ in peace.
- Essential Works of Zenno, Warrior Monk
In the opulent guest suite of the mayor’s mansion, Itansha stepped away from Mother, mouth agape. “A triple tribute from Rattomachi?”
Artwork scrolls lined the walls, both in the traditional style and the new style imported by Lord Castyr. The room’s size made Itansha feel even smaller than Mother’s words.
Mother didn’t turn. Instead, she began another letter. Two messengers, marmots, stood at either side of her wide mahogany desk with gold trim.
“Lord Castyr’s annual tax is only three months away, Mother. You’ve doomed them.”
She rested her brush in the inkwell, and Itansha’s neck hairs stood on end.
“Doomed them, Itansha?” She rose, white floral dress flowing. It lacked the combat modifications Meiyo’s had but otherwise was the same style. “A Ghost evaded you, Itansha. Your father staked his reputation by trusting you to lead a small shipment, not even a whole caravan. He’ll be accused of incompetence. His rank will be stripped. Lord Castyr might decide my advice is less trustworthy.” Mother’s words dripped like venom. “You’ve ruined our family. I wouldn’t worry so much about dooming a gaggle of peasant farmers and fishers.”
Her tone faltered. “Besides, there are threats pressing on Kinoumi you can’t begin to imagine.”
Itansha hung his head and squinted at his hindpaws. Swords clanged outside—Father and Meiyo were sparring.
Without him. Again.
“Even Meiyo’s future may be endangered by your recklessness. You were trained by your father, promoted by your mother, and tested by your sister. Your failure reflects on us all. If a gift to Lord Castyr accompanies news of your failure, perhaps we can recover.”
He’d read reports of Rattomachi. Legends and rumors called it the Ghost Village, but all hard evidence pointed to the village being a collection of simple workers. The Ghost who sabotaged him could’ve been from anywhere. Itansha furrowed his brow.
Images of an entire village suffering because of his actions flashed in his mind.
A punishment based on legends and gossip. None of this was fair. He curled and stiffened his tail a few times. It didn’t lower his anxiety, no matter how tight he twisted it.
“Could we send my inheritance instead?”
Mother’s expression softened. She waved her gray tail, dismissing her messengers.
She walked to Itansha and stood on the balls of her hindpaws to reach up and rub his shaved head. “So tall now. You’ll rival your father soon.” Mother exhaled and her eyebrows lost their edge. “Itansha, I am proud you think of that sacrifice as atonement. Understand, if we send our money, we look like sniveling hindpaw kissers. I am not buying forgiveness but showing our worth.”
“But the village—”
“Them or us, child. I choose family. This may draw out the Ghost who sabotaged you as well.” She retreated to the desk.
“If I catch the Ghost, can that substitute a tribute?”
“Ghosts can’t be trusted. Capture would be impressive, but Castyr needs laborers and material. An unreliable informant is neither.” She readied her brush for another letter.
Itansha gripped his sword. “What if I catch the Ghost and the information proves valuable?”
“Then it wasn’t a real Ghost in the first place, Itansha. You’d have to kill it.”
The word “it” rang as much as “kill.” Itansha took a deep breath and shuddered. Father preached respect for enemies. This wasn’t the Warrior’s Way.
Mother furrowed her brows. “This reality bothers you?”
Reality or hypocrisy? Itansha wondered. “The Ghost led me to the ruins last night. If something valuable’s there, or a clue we could use against the Ghost, could that satisfy instead?”
She exhaled and turned. “Itansha, if you wish to be as good at the blade as your sister or father, you need to accept the reality of battle and war. Rodents die. Every enemy you slay increases your own chances of survival and your lord’s. If your lord requires you to kill, you do not question or look for alternatives. Such is an Ironheart’s life. Do not pretend to understand the burdens of ruling and leadership.” Mother removed her brush and called for the messengers. “We depart for the citadel after dinner. You’ll sleep on the boat. Your father told you about the cheese?”
He gulped. “Yes.” Itansha bowed according to custom, even though Mother couldn’t see him. While she didn’t want him visiting the ruins, she didn’t forbid him either. His left shoulder carried the weight of his family’s honor, and his right carried the well-being of the village of strangers.
Meiyo wouldn’t join if he asked—Father would forbid it. Any of Father’s retainers would verify before loaning him a steed. So Itansha trekked the coastal road, alone except for his failures, chomping on stray acorns and nuts. A wall of trees loomed on his left, foamy waves from the bay on his right, and Kipoto’s sprawling streets behind him. He kicked at a loose rock, watching it roll.
Whoever that Ghost was last night must’ve been a flying squirrel. Whoever it was moved quite gracefully.
Itansha would never be able to follow on the same branches—he’d just come crashing down under his own weight. And getting too close in combat allowed the Ghost to create smoke. If he were younger, he’d have guessed magic, but that couldn’t be true.
A mix of chemicals and powders seemed more likely. All the stories and legends must be exaggerations, like sorcerers or monsters. Ridiculous. An old Ironheart treatise said to find logic in the fantastical, yet Father and Mother swore the Ghosts were conjurers—evil spirits given flesh and fur.
After two hours, he reached the ruins in the forest. Conical stone buildings made a wide circle adjacent to the saltwater lake. A trio of Gnaverwoods blocked sight of the main road. The stone cones, if they had openings and were hollow, could have fit a small family, but they looked solid from the outside, not to mention ancient. Gnarled roots long ago overturned what may have been a path between the cones.
His hindpaw caught a small divot in the ground, breaking his stride and startling him. Surveying the area, he saw dozens of similar holes.
Itansha’s heart twisted into his stomach, and he cursed his luck. After a night of failure, he’d wasted a day. Right as he prepared to kick one of the stone cones, a rustle broke his concentration.
Silent, he turned toward the noise. A long, brown tail twitched.
A flying squirrel’s tail.
His heart stopped.
This stranger stood at the same height as last night’s Ghost. The only difference lay in the color of clothing. Paw on his sword, ready to strike, Itansha drew the blade as silently as possible.
Not quiet enough. The stranger turned.
Dark feminine eyes widened above the facemask.
After a quick glance at his sword, she brandished a trowel, like she’d been digging and didn’t have a real weapon. Itansha advanced but wasn’t sure how to adjust his stance. He hadn’t trained for defense against a dinky shovel. She held it like a weapon but didn’t use any appropriate stances for a dagger, and Itansha couldn’t adjust.
She lunged.
10
Tools, body, words, time
All of these become weapons
In the paws of Ghosts
No time to calculate. In one motion, Risu unsheathed her trowel-knife and lunged at the Ironheart. The same squirrel from last night, here in the ruins next to the saltwater lake where she left her fake campsite.
He staggered, unsheathing his stupid ornate short sword.
Another lunge.
He grunted and slid out of her way. “Are you from Rattomachi?”
Determined not to flinch at her town’s name, she rotated her knife and stabbed upwards. He dodged again, and she swept his ankles with her tail. He parried with his own.
Her throat tightened—she might be in trouble.
A clop-clop-clop echoed in the distance. Marsvin and Udon. Aw, musky husks, Risu thought. They moved too quickly. She had nothing to pass off as valuable and was stuck tussling with this loser.
Worse still, Marsvin had a veteran Ironheart escorting him, as well as the mercenaries.
The young Ironheart must’ve read her expression through her facemask. “I ask again, Ghost, are you from Rattomachi?”
If this jerk hadn’t spotted her, they wouldn’t be in this mess. He was the reason she failed. Risu withdrew a smoke bomb, but a quick tail slap knocked it from her grasp. Thudding to the ground and rolling, it poofed a cloud a few yards away, not enough to cover her.
Not bad, huskteeth. This Ironheart wasn’t an awful fighter. He might’ve been cute without that dumb haircut.
It was as if he analyzed last night’s skirmish—so Risu needed new tricks.
The clop-clop-clop grew louder, and a trio of wagons and armored boots followed. She retreated, reaching into her coat again. His eyes fixed on her concealed paw.
Using her tail as a spring to launch herself, Risu threw her poisoned dart, connecting at his shoulder.
Instead of crumpling asleep, he wheeled on her and rotated his sword defensively. “Wait, Ghost. I can save your village.” His voice dropped, and his speech slurred. “I can help.” His sword slipped, and he slumped to the ground.
“Wait, what?” Risu’s stomach and heart exchanged places, and she curled her tail. Against her better judgment, she knelt beside him and hoisted him by the shoulders. She shook him and slapped his face.
Nothing.
“Husk it all.”
A familiar booming voice surprised her. “Ghost.”
Risu had wasted too much time, and the veteran Ironheart loomed.
Marsvin stammered but was cut off.
One mercenary indicated the boy in Risu’s arms with his warspear. “Sir, isn’t that Itansha? Captain Kanzei’s kid?”
“Yes,” the veteran said. “And the Ghost murdered him.”
Risu glanced at Marsvin, pleading with her eyes to take the hint and run.
Marsvin stood there, slack-jawed and frozen, like the world’s dumbest sapling.
The armored Ironheart, massive sword drawn, advanced on her. “Step away from your victim, Ghost. Don’t cast your magic. If you try anything, the boy and the blacksmith die.”
At the order, the marmot on the left grabbed Marsvin by the neck and threw him to the ground, aiming his pike at the base of Marsvin’s head. One porcupine pointed a warspear at the wagon holding Mr. Tsuru.
Risu’s mind raced. She couldn’t convince this ogre of a gopher that the boy was only asleep.
The veteran advanced, sword forward. “Flying squirrel, by the looks of you. We saw a pawful of flying squirrels in Rattomachi. So, the legends are true after all.”
Marsvin lifted his head out of the dirt. “Don’t hurt her!”
Risu cringed and debated asking Marsvin if he wanted to tell everyone her name as well. Total husk-for-brains moment.
The Ironheart chuckled. “Thank you, son. That was the confirmation I needed.” He pointed his sword at Risu. “Ghost, surrender, and I’ll spare them.”
Risu scanned the conical stone structures and the trees. She had plenty of escape methods, yet they’d endanger Marsvin and Mr. Tsuru. Rattomachi would be doomed. If she put up a fight, she couldn’t possibly save both from the mercenaries, and these ruffians wouldn’t hesitate to hurt someone defenseless. Even if she fought this Ironheart, her scorpionsting darts and knife couldn’t pierce his armor.
Risu didn’t bother masking her voice. “How about this, wrinkle-whiskers?” The other mercenaries shifted and exchanged glances. The Ironheart tightened the grip on his sword. “Can you hear me under your stupid helmet? I challenge you to single combat. Unless you’re afraid. You can even keep wearing that metal suit if you’re scared.”
“Nonsense,” he said, stiffening.
Risu peered over the Ironheart’s armored shoulder at the mercenaries. “Did you know your boss is a coward? Afraid to fight a little girl?”
He closed, hairs away from grazing her with the tip of his long sword. “Don’t insult me, monster.”
“Then accept my challenge and dismiss your rodents.”
With a snarl, he lunged.
Risu dodged in the direction of the saltwater lake. If she knocked him into it, he’d be useless. Or if these soldiers would abandon him, she’d have a chance. Maybe they believed the lie about the treasure.
The Ironheart roared and raced toward her again. This would be like sparring with Futoi after his growth spurt—tall, slow, but heavy enough to do permanent damage.
She sprang and clung to a tree branch above, paws digging into the bark. A swift chill of wind signaled he’d removed fur from her leg. A hot sting followed. “Wild swing, old timer.” She hoped none of her blood got on his sword. A bleeding enemy wasn’t as intimidating.
He grunted and adjusted his grip. “You’re not honoring the duel, Ghost. I’ll kill them both.”
Risu gulped, then called the mercenaries. “Gentlerodents, I have a proposition for you. The promised treasure in exchange for my friend and the blacksmith.”
“Fools,” the Ironheart yelled. “Don’t listen to her. She’ll summon something.”
Risu laughed for effect. “Summon a spirit or an animal? Why bother when there’s already a scared chicken in front of me? I don’t need any Ghost magic.”
The mercenaries exchanged glances. Risu took a quick breath and jumped off the branch, landing on the Ironheart’s shoulder pads. With her tail, she spun his helmet and jumped, knocking him off-balance.
Two mercenaries covered their mouths, obstructing their chuckles.
She called out again. “You’ve seen his disgrace. Do you want to be known for that? Want that passed around taverns? He should’ve retired years ago. Pick a new leader. More importantly,” she dropped her voice an octave, “do you want to join him?”
The Ironheart grunted, and when he reached for his helmet, Risu grabbed his long sword—heavier than she’d expected. Throwing it into the branches wouldn’t work, but the saltwater lake appeared promising.
All the mercenaries were laughing.
“Insolent!” The Ironheart removed his helmet, revealing a shaved head. He unsheathed his shorter sword and charged.
With her free paw, she reached into her coat. Panting, she tossed a smoke bomb at the ground when he was within striking distance. He stumbled and coughed. She released the pilfered sword, skipped forward, grabbed a poison dart, and emerged through the smoke. She threw the dart at his exposed neck. Risu landed as he doubled over, coughed, and fell face-first into the dirt.
She called to the mercenaries. “I didn’t kill him; he’s napping. How about you let my friends go, and you can take his weapons and armor for yourselves? They look expensive. If not,” she changed her tone to a singsong, “every maiden on the island will hear about his embarrassment soon enough. You might as well distance yourself from his reputation.”
The mercenaries stared at each other. One marmot approached, pike at his side. “How can we trust you?”
Marsvin stepped forward. “She’s honest. We just want our friend’s dad.”
She ground her teeth and mentally promised to smack him. “Look, take his armor and the wagons after you release my friend. Go past Kipoto, abandon the wagons, and go anywhere except the citadel. Sell off his gear and live like nobles for a year or live a comfortable life for ten. Or reenlist for Lord Castyr with different names.”
One porcupine set his warspear down and approached, paws open. “What will you do to Itansha?”
Risu looked over her shoulders to see the junior Ironheart. “He’s a child of nobles, right? I’m sure they’d be awful grateful if you brought him back. You could even help yourself to any treasure in the ruins if you find the hiding spot.”
The mercenaries exchanged more glances and nods. The two with weapons pointed at Marsvin, Mr. Tsuru backed away, and one helped Marsvin stand.
The closer marmot squinted. “So, what’s the story?”
Risu stepped away from the crumpled Ironheart. “Whatever you want. But if any harm comes to Rattomachi or the other villages, I’ll find you.”
Mr. Tsuru hobbled out, and Risu and Marsvin helped him mount Udon. They let him ride ahead back to town alone.
Marsvin’s lips parted, but Risu held up a paw, indicating the mercenaries close behind.
Breathing for calm, Risu reminded herself Marsvin didn’t realize he gave away valuable information. He was probably scared. She should say something nice.
After the mercenaries were out of earshot, Risu slapped Marsvin across the cheek with enough force to turn his head.
11
Former friend reject
Treachery in Sea of Trees
Words: sharpened warspears
Risu’s paw throbbed from the slap. “Nobody is safe, huskhead.” She scoffed. “Don’t you realize? They know about me. My family’s in danger.”
Marsvin raised his paws to protect himself. “I tried to help. That’s all I wanted.”
“You wanted to impress Hagane.”
He sank his head into his shoulders. “I had to do something, Risu. I wanted to help you. And I wasn’t just thinking about Hagane. It’s my village, too.”
