Reborn (4 page)

“So when exactly did you decide that decision was yours to make?” There was no anger in Azek’s voice, just blunt, honest curiosity.

“You asked for my help. You’re the one who laid this burden on my shoulders, even gave me a title I never asked for. A title that,” Morcel dropped his eyes down to the sand, “quite frankly, means nothing to me.” A long silence passed before he continued. “Neither metals, ribbons, or shiny armor make a warrior.” He raised his eyebrows. “A pretty corpse, perhaps.” Azek just shook his head as a hint of a smile crossed his lips. “I know you’ve seen your share of battle, my friend, that you have watched your allies fall at your feet while it’s all you can do to keep yourself alive.” That fragile smile on Azek’s face melted away like snow, replaced by a hard, stony expression.

Morcel continued, “You watched as men, who once thought themselves brave, fled like startled birds once the killing began, and to be honest with you...I feel no shame towards them. They are simply not warriors, and were placed in a position in which they couldn’t possibly succeed.” He paused again, staring out at nothing, silently reliving the many horrors that would haunt him the rest of his days. “When I stand shoulder to shoulder with my chosen brothers, I need to know they will stand firm even in the face of certain death. There can be no doubt. Uncertainty is just another distraction I can do without. I don’t need to tell you that a split second of hesitation can be the difference between living and dying. Anyone not capable of laughing at death is simply better off away from the battlefield, and more importantly...away from me.”

Azek rubbed the two-day stubble growing on his chin, calmly digesting every word as he considered the big man’s point of view. He clasped his hands behind him, then slowly turned away. He gazed up at the white, billowy clouds standing out boldly against the dark blue sky, a sky that seemed to promise more warmth than what was being provided. “I see,” Azek said at length. “I fear I might have misjudged you, my friend.”

“You still find my forward thinking to be cold? My tactics cruel?”

“No,” Azek said calmly, still facing away, his hands planted firmly on his hips. “I’ve seen my share of battle, seen human suffering no sane man was ever meant to lay eyes upon. I know full well what happens to a man when his mind breaks from the horrors of war. When uncontrollable terror floods their bodies, to the point where they feel death itself would be far more merciful than the constant anticipation of it.” He spun on his heels in one clean motion. “And do you know what I think of these poor, unfortunate souls?” Morcel said nothing, just listened calmly while staring into the dark eyes of a hawk—a wise hawk who had paid his dues in blood and sweat throughout the years. “Their bodies can stop an arrow just as easily as mine.”

Morcel’s face betrayed his usual calm as his bright green eyes opened just a tad wider— a gesture that nearly represented a scream, by the usual standards of his always-hidden emotions. “I’m not sure what you’re saying.”

“Tell me, friend, just how many heroes do you expect find on a battlefield?” Azek asked. “Do you really expect to weed out every single soldier that doesn’t meet your god-like standards? Men who have already presented themselves willingly and pledged their lives to our cause?” He gazed upward as a flock of blackbirds soared overhead. The grizzled veteran watched silently as the arrowhead formation moved across the sky, before disappearing from sight. “Men who have already chosen death,” he muttered absently.

“So you think my standards are too high and I should lend my precious time to just any man, woman, or child capable of holding a blade?”

Azek sighed, then clasped a hand over his friend’s shoulder. “I’m saying you can’t save everyone. When the dust settles and the screams have gone silent, most of these men will be dead. It is likely the two of us will have fallen as well, my friend; I don’t need to tell you that.” He inched his face up close to Morcel’s. “These men have already chosen their fates. Let them have their honor.” He pulled back, dark eyes hard as stone. “You asked me if I thought you were too cold. The truth is...you’re too soft. If you don’t have the stomach to send these boys to their deaths, I’ll find someone who will.”

* * *

Zhou tossed and turned beneath his dark blue silk sheets. Assorted pillows lay about the spacious red-walled room. The larger ones were used as floor pillows when
entertaining
his less-than- willing servants, usually several at once. However, the smaller ones scattered across the thick black and white checkered carpet had been randomly thrown about during his dream-filled sleep—another restless, terror-filled sleep the egocentric being was unaccustomed to.

Of course, most of the pillows were ruined now, caked with dry blood, while others had absorbed just enough to still be damp from the night before. The poor servant’s body parts were scattered about the room; a leg in the corner, an arm draped over one pillow, and her head laying face up were about all that remained. Through the matted black hair wrapped around her face, dark eyes stared up in a frozen portrait of horror. Ironically, her fate had been rather merciful, compared to some. In this case, Zhou’s usual sexual abuse had ended in an abrupt fit of rage, tearing the poor girl to pieces in a matter of seconds. Yet, death had come quickly, which was a merciful end to a tormented existence.

With a sudden jolt, the young brute sat up. Covered with sweat and panting, his blue eyes darted around the room, reassuring himself of his surroundings. With a growl, he kicked back the sheets before swinging his thick legs over the side. He looked over to the silver oval mirror bordered with a red swirling pattern. With bloodshot eyes and sunken-in cheekbones, Zhou could hardly recognize the reflection gazing back.

Sleepless nights had been the norm for a few weeks now. Shaken up after his failed raid on the Takeri Clan, Zhou simply couldn’t get the details out of his head, that surreal scene that haunted his sleep nightly. That unnatural being had come bearing down on him like a cat stalking a mouse, his primal animal instincts taking over, screaming for him to flee, promising him he was overmatched in every way possible.
What was that thing? Where did it come from, and why is it here
?

The light rapping at his door made him jump, breaking him from his dark thoughts. It was no more than a courtesy knock that was quickly followed by the expected intrusion. Morita drifted through the doorway, her movements slow and graceful as her hips swayed with each step. Her yellow eyes followed the dotted path of coagulated blood, fanning out to the various wet splatters and remains thrown about the room. The redhead rolled her eyes, as if catching a mischievous child with his hands in a cookie pot. “I see we’ll be replacing yet another servant,” she moaned. “I would hope this little distraction was worth it to you.”

“Don’t concern yourself with my affairs, dear sister,” he growled, flexing his muscles as he stretched toward the ceiling. “At least my hungers can be satisfied with one or two, unlike yourself.”

She opened her mouth in protest but slowly closed it again, thinking better of it. There simply wasn’t much she could say in her defense. No matter, there were far more pressing concerns on her mind. After clearing her throat, she said, “I see you’re still having trouble sleeping, dear brother.” He looked away, not wanting to have this conversation again. “Tell me, does this sort of thing make you feel small? Does it make you feel like less of a man?” she said mockingly with a forced frown and fattened lower lip.

“Enough!” he barked, leaping to his feet. “If I ever see that thing face to face again, I’ll–”

“You’ll what? Run for your life...again? Hide behind your small contingent of useless men as they fall one at a time, like dry grass in a storm?” With a low, rolling growl he dropped to the floor, his whole body vibrating as his eyes began to take on a reddish glow. “Calm yourself, brother. It’s not me you want to fight,” she said smoothly. After a few heavy breaths, the reddish glow began to relinquish, but that did little to hide his lingering anger.

“I trust there is some hidden motive behind your intrusion,” he growled while rising back to his feet. “I warn you. I have no tolerance for your games today. If you have something to say then say it.”

She feigned a hurt look, pressing the back of her hand against her forehead. “You wound me, dear brother. Why must a friendly visit from me always result in suspicion on your part? Really, your constant trepidation is not very becoming.”

The rage growing in his eyes warned she better not push her taunting any farther. “Loosen your tongue or I’ll wear it as a necklace,” Zhou growled menacingly.

“Very well then,” she sang, twirling about, making a dismissive gesture with her hand. “If you find you’d like to know a bit more about that adolescent that sent you running away like a scared rabbit, feel free to find me.” Two steps were as far as she got.

“Wait,” he pleaded with an outstretched hand, reaching toward her back. She wasn’t looking at him, but found his desperate tone most gratifying. “What did you find? Tell me who or what that thing was.”

Satisfied with his reaction, she turned back slowly, her full, red lips puckered into a rosebud. “I don’t have all the details just yet,” she admitted reluctantly. “Hashiki has been researching just who this ghost actually is.” She paused a moment, clearly no longer in the mood to ridicule her brother, her tone becoming much more serious now. “It seems Hashiki’s been having trouble getting a lock on that thing. It’s like the ghost is somehow...protected. In this unusual case, it seems the old ways have proven to be a bit more...fruitful.”

“And what exactly does that mean?” her brother asked suspiciously.

Morita’s eyes flashed with sudden excitement. “This ancient being has been mentioned multiple times before. All scrying attempts have failed, so Hashiki has been spending his time in Father’s private library. Tales of this ancient being have already been documented multiple times throughout history. This pattern has repeated itself in even the most ancient books and scrolls.”

Deep lines of confusion creased Zhou’s forehead. “I don’t understand. What exactly are you saying?”

The excitement slowly faded from the redhead’s eyes, and was now replaced with mild concern. “Dear brother, do you believe in...prophecies?”

Chapter 3

Light cots with thin bedrolls lay about the room, each barely able to hold two. Covered with thin pillows and even thinner blankets, they provided minimal comfort, but were better than nothing through the frigid nights. Their daily routine had been much the same for quite some time now. Meals were served three times a day while they remained confined to the rickety shack assembled from crumbly wooden planks. The meals were almost always the same: rice, tea, and an assortment of vegetables. Kicking down a wall or tearing open the paper sliding door would have proven a simple enough task, an idea Jacob had suggested multiple times.

Nima’s daily visits helped to settle them in a bit. She assured them daily that they were not really prisoners here, regardless of how all this seemed, and today’s visit would be no different than any other. A light clicking sound rattled off the walls before the light paper door slid open. The dark-haired girl peeked in wearing her mischievous smile. “Good morning everyone,” she said in her usual lighthearted tone. “I trust you all slept well.”

“As well as you can in the freezing cold with a paper-thin bedroll fit for a dog,” snapped Jacob as he sat up and kicked back the worn covers, exposing Athel in the process. “And I assume you’ve brought us the same cold rice we’ve been having every day since...well...forever. And furthermore–”

Eric cut him off midsentence with a raised hand and a sharp look. Jacob’s eyes met his friend’s for only an instant before drifting back down to Athel, who was snoring away peacefully.

Eric rose from the floor, his full height suddenly vary apparent as he gazed at Nima from across the room. His dark eyes held her fast as he moved methodically toward her with a delicate grace that belonged to a warrior half his size. She twitched impulsively, as if being woken from a dream when realizing he was right on top of her. She found it difficult to look away as he looked down at her, arms hanging passively at his sides. “I know we are not familiar with the ways of your people, but we’ve done everything asked of us.” Eric leaned in a bit closer as the nervous woman rocked back on her heels. “How much longer must we wait?”

Nima nervously sidestepped him and worked her way to the center of the room. She pressed her foot against the wooden floor several times, then slid it around in circles, as if checking for soft spots. With the obvious stalling tactic complete and her lost nerve regained, she turned back to face Eric. Jade now clung to his arm, while her head rested against his broad shoulder. “I understand your impatience, but you must see this from our point of view.” Nima cleared her throat. “There has been much to do since the...incident. Many arrangements had to be made.”

“Such as...” said Jacob impatiently, more than a little fed up with being kept in the dark.

“Such as burning our dead and consoling their families!” Nima snapped, her dark eyes ablaze. Jacob instantly looked away, mortified by his own insensitivity. “Don’t think for an instant that your perceived lack of comfort compares with what we’ve suffered since the sea threw you onto our door step and somehow made you all our responsibility.” Nima closed her eyes and looked up to the ceiling while rubbing circles around her temples, then whispered into the air, “My responsibility.”