A Brother and a Father

The next attack hit just as hard.

Arata ducked to the side of Turushno’s sword and the force of it shattered the wall behind him. So close, he could finally see Turushno’s face underneath the hat. An exposed bone jaw, rough features above, his hair braided at the sides. The eyes were just as black as Shinutcha’s. They no longer looked at him, instead locked on the corridor inside.

A sharp kick broke the crack in the wall open wide enough for Turushno to step through. Blue flames sprung up from a tinderbox in his hand and he let the embers flow through his fingers onto the tatami floor. “Save what thou holds dear, huntsman.” He growled as he walked towards Shinutcha’s room.

Arata’s mind raced to the mementos of his family, all of them kindling if the flames spread too far. And yet if he tried to save them, Turushno would take Shinutcha. His mind pulled himself in two directions, his training as a witch hunter towards Turushno and his memories of his family to their belongings. Only one option would give both of them what they wanted.

With a breath rumbling across his palate, he took hold of the paintings, the letters, the cushions, throwing all into the safety of his garden. Turushno could have his family, Arata would keep his.

“No, I shall not go with thee!” Shinutcha’s scream echoed through the house. The smash of furniture followed after like a thundercrack, the lightning hidden. Arata still hadn’t finished fireproofing his belongings in sand and Shinutcha’s cries were so close. They’re family, of course they would have disputes. But he couldn’t think of one time Chiyo screamed at him like that: not in protest, in fear.

Instincts took hold and Arata found himself running. Turushno turned with only a second to spare. Arata had seen the way Turushno raised his sword a hundred times in his head. He countered low, following the swing of the blade, and Crowsbane slashed through his leather wraps. The impact dug deep into the witch's thigh.

They were outside the witch circle, so the pain hit him razor sharp, ashen spittle spraying through his teeth. Arata swung again but Turushno was prepared and deflected with a flick of his wider blade. They traded blows, the air thick with steel clashes, both catching cuts and scrapes where they misjudged a parry or a block. Only one was losing ground: Turushno.

Arata kept up the pressure, if the witch didn’t have a chance to pull the demon fire with his free hand, that meant Arata had a chance of surviving. Turushno stepped back again, forced to block a strike he had no chance of parrying. The wall behind him would limit movement, limited movement would limit his defence, limited defence meant Arata could cut his legs out from beneath him. He was never given the chance.

Turushno kicked off the wall mid-block and threw Arata onto his back foot, threatening to tip him over if he didn’t recover fast. The witch came at him faster than his size seemed capable of, pressing Arata back into the fire. He wasn't wearing his witch hunter outfit, the flames would catch on his clothes, but he didn't have a choice. It was that or be cut in two.

One more sword clash and he would lose all posture, falling to the burning floor. He was glad when the hook wrapped around Turushno’s forearms, no matter who it came from. Nagami stood in the doorway and yanked on the rope. The sword slid past Arata’s face, lodging itself in the wood instead. She arrived too quickly, before even the firebells—she had been following him.

Arata slashed at Turushno’s other leg. He was vulnerable, bound, but still fast. Crowsbane only cut through leather wraps as the witch dashed towards Nagami to get slack in the rope. It worked, he slipped his hands through, and then had one free. The flames leapt wild.

Turushno became blanketed in blue, neither could approach, and Arata couldn’t retreat, pinned on the far side of the wall by fire. He had to cut his way out. Crowsbane stayed low to slice through fire and he stepped through its trail in a dash for the witch. Turushno had already turned back towards him. What neither of them expected was for Nagami to appear on his opposite side. Both witch hunters swung at once. Turushno could only block one; he chose Arata. Nagami’s sword cut into his left arm—straight to the bone—but they needed it all the way through.

By now the firebells were ringing in full force and Turushno looked up to the ceiling. Arata had seen this before. “Get back!” His shout scarcely carried the seething of flames around them. He jumped away just in time. Demon fire exploded from beneath the witch, the thatch roof bursting into reeds as he pierced through. They couldn’t let him escape. Now was the time to be a witch hunter, to protect this town.

Arata aimed for the hole that Turushno had made in the wall. He rolled onto the sand outside, hoping it would extinguish any flames on his clothes. Nagami stumbled out beside him, doing the same. Turushno landed up the street, one arm holding his sword, another keeping his hat to his head. A witch hunter was waiting for him, one that he had already burned before.

“Remember me?” Sawatari drew her katana and the two swords met with a crack that rang as loud as bells in the night. Turushno was out of large flames, only embers that clung to his wraps, and must have been exhausted from the fighting so far. Sawatari saw the opportunity and struck again, twisting Turushno’s sword back and forth in his hands to block.

He saw an opening and slammed an elbow into Sawatari’s side. The ribs cracked like a building's collapse but she ignored it. Panicked now, Turushno looked for an exit. More witch hunters were on the way and if Sawatari kept him pinned, that would be a fight even he would struggle to walk away from. She slashed at his thigh, he sheared flesh off her forearm.

Arata was a dash away when Turushno flicked a cinder into Sawatari’s face as part of a block and she breathed at the wrong moment. They all realised it. Her actions and breath became out of sync and Turushno grabbed the half-second advantage by the throat. He lashed out a kick, Sawatari tried to block but her sword just bounced off the thick wrappings. It connected at her hip, dug in, and sent her sprawling, folded on the ground like shed robes. Turushno stooped down above her.

Out of all of the places to grab her, he held her by the scars. His hand wrapped around her cheekbone and cranium, pulling her aloft by the head. Embers in his hand glowed brighter, brighter, then brighter still as charcoal cracks ran across her face.

Sawatari screamed. There was no demon fire to dull the pain. The girl who wanted to go to Edo, the woman forced to lead the witch hunters, her entire head burst into flames like a human candle. She tried to stab his ribs with her sword, only scraped graphite skin each time, until her grip faltered and it fell to the ground.

Arata could barely see Turushno through the tears. His back was exposed, he was vulnerable, and he fell into the pattern of movements he had practiced so many times at Kurogane’s workshop. He came in low, feinted right, and as Turushno turned, struck on the left.

Like he planned, the witch stumbled backwards, dropping Sawatari to the ground, whilst Arata surged up, another slash coming in quick. Turushno tried to raise his hand to grab hold of Arata’s head, but he saw through it and wound the blade in tight. Turushno’s index finger severed clean off and the rest of the blade dug into his forearm.

Arata tried to pull the blade out, to finish the witch off, but it was in too deep, and Turushno knew it. He tensed his arm, refusing to let it go, and reached with his wounded hand to grab Arata’s wrist. The skin cracked black underneath. He tried to pull away, letting go of Crowsbane, but his grip was too firm. The charcoal scabs spread from his wrist to his hand and he felt the crawling heat reach into his bones.

“No! No!” He felt himself shout as if the witch would listen, and kicked at his legs. It was like a mountain. By the time they heard other witch hunters shouting, Arata hand was brittle ash. Turushno finally let go and brushed a burning finger against pouches of peat around his waist.

“Tend to Shinutcha for me, I beseech thee.” The whisper faded into smoke. Turushno was gone.

Arata sat with Sawatari as the flames died down. Shinutcha must have controlled them, sparing most of the house. They faded like his friend, her breathing laboured, harsh with ash in her throat, then struggling, before it finally stilled. He looked to the sky, unaware of the crowd around him. Tears stung in his eyes but he kept them open, even as they ran down his cheeks. Right now, he wanted to remember this, the way the stars appeared and vanished with each passing cloud. Like the life of a witch hunter. Sawatari might not have taken her vengeance, but he could.