Chapter 6: Before the Waking (06)

Yui lay at the foot of the boulder, motionless, one arm bent beneath her.

The morning light fell through the broken canopy in thin, dusty beams. The forest seemed to hold its breath around her.

Then a rope snapped taut overhead.

Akiro came swinging out of the trees in a long, low arc, his sword clasped in both hands. The scorpion's great body filled his vision, its black armor glistening, its tail twitching with fury. He did not slow down. He swung in behind the creature, aimed for the soft, vulnerable place at the back of its neck, and drove both blades in with all his weight.

The scorpion screamed.

It was a high, tearing sound, and it shook the leaves from the branches. The beast jerked backward, thrashing, and Akiro was flung loose like a stone from a sling. He spun through the air, twisted, and with a desperate flick of his wrist whipped a second rope around a nearby trunk. The cord went tight. He swung down in a wide curve and hit the ground running, boots skidding across the mud.

On the other side of the clearing, Yuto was already moving.

He came in from the front, low and fast, his sword drawn back. The scorpion's head was bowed in pain, its throat exposed. The soft underside, Hayato had said. Strike the soft underside.

Yuto leaped and drove the blade at the scorpion's throat with everything he had.

The steel struck. And bounced.

A shriek of metal on armor rang through the forest. The blade skidded aside, leaving only a pale scratch on the black plates. The hide was too thick. The beast had changed too much.

Yuto's eyes went wide. "It's not—"

The scorpion's tail came around from behind and struck him across the ribs.

He flew backward, tumbling, and his hands scrabbled for the rope at his belt. He caught hold of it and pulled, but the branches caught him first. He crashed through a tangle of limbs and fell heavily to the ground, groaning, leaves raining down around him.

And through all of it, a low hum had begun to rise.

Hayato was on his feet.

He stood among the splintered ruins of the tree that had nearly killed him, his face pale and streaked with blood, his armor cracked down one side. He lowered the great sword, pointing its tip toward the earth. Purple light bled out of the metal. Particles curled up from the blade like smoke, crackling, brightening, until the whole edge glowed violet.

He ran.

He did not run at the front, where the scorpion was looking. He circled behind it, boots pounding, the sword dragging a trail of purple sparks through the air. The scorpion's attention was elsewhere. It never saw him coming.

Hayato leaped. He swung the blade up and down in a great, bright arc and drove it into the creature's back.

The sword went in. All the way. Purple light flared around the wound.

The scorpion convulsed, shrieking, slamming its body from side to side. Hayato wrenched his blade free in a spray of dark blood and swung again, adding a second deep gash across the first.

But the tail was waiting.

It came down hard on his chest. He was thrown to the ground in front of the creature, and before he could even roll, the scorpion's great pincers rose over him, wide open, ready to close.

A shape struck him from the side.

Haruto hit Hayato like a falling wall, shoving him clear just as the pincers slammed shut on empty air. Hayato rolled across the dirt and came up coughing. He tried to rise.

Haruto did not look back at him. He raised his spear, and blue light spilled from its tip, pale and cold, curling around the shaft in thin spirals. He tightened his grip, took two running steps, and drove the point straight into the scorpion's throat.

The spear sank in. Partway.

And stopped.

The scorpion's flesh closed around the blade, and the spear jammed there, trembling. Haruto pulled. It would not come free. He wrapped both hands around the shaft and hung from it with his full weight, boots dangling above the ground, heaving at it.

"Come on," he hissed. "Come on—"

One pincer swept upward.

It closed around his arm and cut. There was no sound for an instant, only the sight of it. Then the Spear Warrior fell to the earth, and his scream filled the clearing, raw and wild.

The scorpion reared above him, its other pincer rising to finish it.

"No!"

Akiro was already in motion. He swung the hooked end of his rope out in a long, hard throw, and the hook caught on the scorpion's leg. He braced his feet and heaved back with all his strength.

The beast stumbled. Its great pincer came down a hand's breadth from the fallen man's head, crashing into the dirt, and Akiro fell backward from the force of the pull, gasping.

The scorpion lifted both arms high above its head.

It screamed again, a wild, victorious sound that rolled across the forest, and the whole world seemed to shake with it—

—and Akiro woke up.

Pale morning light filtered through the paper screens. The ceiling beams were dark and quiet. His heart was racing. His hands clenched the blanket so tightly that his fingers ached.

He lay still for a few seconds, breathing.

Then he sat up and dragged a hand through his hair. The scream still echoed somewhere behind his eyes.

From the next room he could hear the soft clink of dishes.

He dressed and stepped out into the hall. The smell of rice and grilled fish drifted from the kitchen. His mother sat at the low table with a cup of tea, and the other seat was empty.

"Where's Grandfather?" Akiro asked.

"At the temple," she said. "A friend of his lives there. He goes to see him often." She nodded toward the opposite seat. "Sit. Eat something."

He sat.

He ate.

The village was awake when Akiro walked out.

Shopkeepers were raising their shutters.

Women carried baskets of laundry.

Somewhere a rooster was complaining about the cold. At the end of the lane, on a low hill, stood the temple, its dark roof just visible over the trees.

Akiro walked toward it. He had meant to find his grandfather there.

But halfway up the stone steps, he caught sight of a familiar figure already coming down, robes swaying, back straight as a post. His grandfather had finished his visit.

Akiro turned around.

He walked back down through the village, and when he reached the pond, he stopped.

He picked up the staff from where it leaned against a tree, the same wooden staff his grandfather had pressed into his hands the day before. The wood was smooth and worn and heavy with old use. He stood at the water's edge, planted his feet, and began to practice.

He spun it. It wobbled. He steadied it and spun it again. He seized it mid-turn and drove it forward, and it flew wide of the stone he had chosen as a target.

He tried again. And again.

A little crowd had gathered at the edge of the road, village children, small and wide-eyed, watching in silence. A small boy pointed. A girl whispered something behind her hand. Akiro pretended not to notice and kept going.

"Akiro! My boy!"

The voice rolled across the pond. Akiro lowered the staff and turned.

His grandfather was walking toward him down the road. Beside him walked another old man, thinner and slightly bent, with a short gray beard and the quiet, still look of a monk. His robes were plain, and he walked with his hands tucked in his sleeves.

"Come, come," Kenzo said, when they reached him. "Meet someone. This is the Temple Master, Takayanagi Genichiro. We have been friends since we were children."

Akiro bowed deeply. "It's an honor to meet you, sir."

"The honor is mine." Genichiro smiled. His eyes, small and bright, studied Akiro the way a craftsman studies a piece of wood.

"We have a great deal of practice to do today, my boy," Grandfather said.

"I was already practicing," Akiro said. "I can see that." Genichiro's gaze drifted toward the staff in Akiro's hand. "If you ever feel that your grandfather is not teaching you properly, come and find me. He learned everything he knows from me."

Kenzo folded his arms and grunted, though the corners of his mouth were twitching. "Yes, yes, I learned from you. But I'm not so bad now myself."

"I didn't say you were bad."

"You implied it."

"I said nothing of the kind." Genichiro turned back to Akiro with a wry glance. "This boy has something in him that you never had, Kenzo. Something better."

"What?" Kenzo demanded. "He is my grandson. He has my blood. Of course he has what I have."

"No. He is better than you."

"Hmph." But Kenzo was grinning now.

"Fine. Fine."

Akiro stood between the two of them and gave a small smile, just enough to let the Temple Master, Genichiro see it. It was not entirely false. It was a start.

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