Guardian, Saviors of Kamigawa

CHAPTER 2

High over the gemstone streets of Oboro, Hidetsugu and his yamabushi ended their journey. The ogre still held Toshi tucked under his arm while his warriors formed and occupied platforms of light arranged in a wide semicircle. The streets below them converged into a wide public quadrangle, half of which lay draped in shadows from the towering spires and gleaming domes of the soratami capital.

“Oath-brother,” Toshi spat through clenched teeth, “if we have arrived, I prefer to stand on my own.”

Hidetsugu did not reply, but turned to inspect the arc of yamabushi curling around to his left. With a shrug, he loosened his grip so that Toshi fell to the platform.

Toshi paused while down on all fours to inspect his perch. The amber light felt as solid as stone, rough and cool to the touch, but it also pushed back against his hands as if surrounded by a layer of invisible springs. It was clearly sturdy, though he couldn’t actually touch it.

Toshi glanced down at the quadrangle as he rose. They were far too high for him to simply jump and hope for the best unless he landed among the shadows. One of the blessings he had taken from Night’s Reach was the ability to travel from shadow to shadow, so all he had to do was make contact with the silhouettes of the soratami buildings and he’d be free to go where he pleased.

Eyeing the distance he’d have to cover, Toshi decided to wait. Things would have to grow far more desperate before he pursued that particular option.

“So.” Toshi straightened his sword belt. “You’ve dragged me all the way up here to show me … this? I’ll say it again, oath-brother. It looks to me like the show’s long over and the crowd’s gone home.”

Indeed, there were no signs of people at all in Oboro. The streets were silent and still, and the buildings seemed empty, forgotten, and almost lonely in the gathering dusk.

“Wait for it.” Hidetsugu’s voice was low and calm. He did not take his eyes off the quadrangle. “You know how to wait, don’t you? It’s a skill worth practicing.”

The ochimusha crossed his arms and huffed. The longer this took, the more likely something horrible would happen. There was no way he could compel Hidetsugu to hurry, however, so he forced himself to relax and let the o-bakemono have his demonstration. One of the first lessons Toshi had learned about dealing with ogres was not to rush into things.

Toshi’s first glimpse of Hidetsugu had come almost a decade earlier, when the ochimusha was still an indentured reckoner working for Boss Uramon. The sallow-faced crime lord was one of Takenuma Swamp’s most powerful figures, and she had been trying to clear a new route for her black-market caravans. Along a crucial part of the route was Shinka, Hidetsugu’s home. The boss had sent messengers, gifts, and offers of friendship to Shinka, but none of her envoys ever returned. When she sent one of her toughest negotiators and a team of hatchet-men to force the issue, Hidetsugu sent their mangled bodies back in one large sack. He also sent a mocking note telling Uramon the missing heads were now decorating his pathway, and that she could come view them any time she liked.

Uramon was an even-tempered boss, but such insults are bad for business in Takenuma. Following time-honored criminal tradition, Uramon had organized her most dangerous thugs into revenge gangs called reckoners, whose job it was to make very public, very painful examples of anyone who crossed the boss. She assigned to her most reliable reckoners the task of chastising Hidetsugu.

The boss was no fool, and she was determined not to underestimate the ogre’s power, especially in his own stronghold. Toshi was part of the largest team of reckoners ever assembled for Uramon, almost thirty of the most experienced mages, strong-arm experts, and killers-for-hire Takenuma had to offer.

They were led by a heavyset assassin called One-Eye who wore a thick wooden eye patch. One-Eye was a notoriously indiscriminate killer, even in Takenuma. They said he had traded his eye for a cursed gem that would kill anyone who looked upon it, and he was quick to lift his eye patch and show the gem over the most minor disagreements.

One-Eye was the only man who could have led such a large group against such a target. He was part drill instructor, part brutal taskmaster who insisted the entire gang follow his lead and act like seasoned professionals. He even killed two of them before the job started to hammer his point home: he would not die because of someone else’s mistake.

They made the long trek to the Sokenzan Mountains quickly and quietly. When they reached Shinka, One-Eye positioned them all around the ogre’s hut where they could ambush him as he emerged.

It was Toshi’s bad luck that One-Eye simultaneously respected his skill with kanji magic and hated his smart mouth. Since One-Eye’s plan required someone to anger the ogre and lure him into the ambush, he sent Toshi. There was no one more suited to stand openly in front of Shinka and provoke the ogre until he attacked. And if the jaws of the trap didn’t slam shut fast enough, well, the bait could defend itself.

“So I’m bait?” Toshi complained.

One-Eye was trying to signal two of the more monstrous reckoners that they were out of position. Preoccupied with keeping the poisonous acuba and nightmarish, grasping gaki in check until the attack began, the assassin hardly noticed Toshi.

“You’re a kanji mage, right? You’ve got paper and ink. If he comes too close, make one of those characters that freezes people solid and throw it in his face.”

“That’s no good. All-purpose stuff like that won’t work on something as powerful as-”

The burly assassin’s hand twitched toward his eye patch, but he stopped halfway and made a fist instead. “Get down there and bait the ogre.” One-Eye crossed his arms. “Why else do you think I brought you?”

So Toshi marched up to the hut’s door and stood, just out of view for anyone inside. As One-Eye quickly made the rounds and prepared everyone for the all-out attack, Toshi did take out a thin roll of parchment and a small ink bottle with a built-in brush. These were the basic tools of kanji magic, used in the art of infusing symbols with magic and willpower. Toshi had been beyond ink-and-paper casting for months, but he kept his true abilities hidden while he worked for Uramon. If the boss knew all that he could do, she’d just make him do it on command with no benefit to him.

Toshi pretended to fumble with the scroll, but instead of the paralysis kanji that One-Eye had suggested, Toshi carefully eased his sword an inch out of its scabbard and ran his index finger along the blade. Dripping crimson, he quickly traced quite a different symbol across his own face. When it was complete, the mark crackled like water on a hot pan and let out a puff of red smoke.

Feeling slightly more confident, Toshi then used the ink to draw One-Eye’s paralysis kanji on the roll of parchment and tore it off. He didn’t expect it would work-didn’t even expect to get a chance to use it-but it couldn’t actually hurt. One-Eye was competent and he had some of Uramon’s toughest muscle ready to go. The ambush might succeed, and if it did, Toshi wanted to be able to say he’d done his part.

His own blood drying on his face, Toshi stood and listened to his heart pound as he waited for the signal and the wild melee that would surely follow.

“There,” Hidetsugu said. The sun had almost set behind Oboro’s highest tower. The ogre pointed down, into the corner of the field of sapphire paving stones.

Toshi looked. “I don’t see …” His voice trailed off as a small, whirling cloud of black smoke formed on the edge of the lengthening shadows. The tiny cyclone expanded, then dispersed into a drab cloud dotted with orange sparks. Even from a distance Toshi could see monstrous, humanoid forms shambling inside the cloud.

The first oni stepped out onto the quadrangle, hissing like a furious cat. It was roughly the same size and shape as a man, but its frame was larger, broader, and heavier. Its hide was thick and leathery, angry red in color, and its muscles bulged grotesquely whenever it moved.

Its face was a skull-like mask of naked bones, blistered calluses, and jutting teeth. Two savage, red eyes gleamed in the dim light, with a third blinking its vertical lids higher up in the center of its forehead. Two long, jagged horns swept up from its forehead and curved back over its crown, and bony spikes erupted from its knees and elbows. Something dark and oily dripped from its sharp claws, searing through the matted fur that covered its waist, hips, and legs. As it emerged completely into the light its barbed tail swished menacingly through the air.

Most disturbingly, the oni wore skillfully carved rings on some of its fingers and sported ceremonial bindings that ran up both forearms. It also wore a handcrafted necklace that was strung alternately with unidentifiable red orbs and human finger bones, which Toshi recognized all too well.

The oni emerged from the cloud of smoke into the last bright rays of sun. There was something awful and alien about the way it moved, and as more humanoid demons formed and shambled into the quadrangle, Toshi realized what it was.

Their bodies looked human, but their outlines stretched and bulged like a thick, boiling liquid. Their arms stretched farther than their bones should have allowed, and their legs expanded and collapsed like a partially blocked hose. Though they moved quickly and smoothly across the quad, it was as if each bone, each finger, forearm, vertebrae, and thigh were not attached to its neighbors. Instead, each steel-hard bone floated free inside a sinewy cushion of muscle, bound tight by the oni’s tough crimson hide.

Toshi’s guess was vindicated when the first oni sprang onto the nearest wall. He had seen soratami float on magical clouds, mighty birds that soared under the power of their own wings, and spirits who sailed on the wind itself. Some, like Hidetsugu’s yamabushi, made prodigious, magically assisted leaps to take the high ground whenever they chose.

Watching the first oni scale up the walls of Oboro like a suction-toed lizard, Toshi knew that it was not magic or air that kept the monster moving upward; it was sheer muscle power. The oni dug fingers and toes deeply into the stone wall, repositioning each individual bone to exert however much pressure was required. The oni would spring, dig into the wall, gather its strength, and then spring again. It all happened so quickly that it seemed like one continuous, fluid motion instead of a brutal tug-of-war between the oni’s muscles and the forces of gravity. In fact, if he didn’t concentrate so hard, the oni slithering up the quadrangle walls almost resembled misshapen drops of red rain flowing up the wall, back to the sky.

“While the All-Consuming feasts on the academy,” Hidetsugu sneered, “these lesser oni prey upon Oboro. And in many ways,” the ogre paused to nod down at Toshi, “you made this possible. Watch now, and enjoy the view.”

Toshi was about to speak when the first soratami rose up over the quadrangle. They were tall, lean, willowy creatures with silver-white skin and indistinct features. Their faces were all uniformly thin, pinched, and stoic, their long ears wrapped or pinned tight around their heads. There were almost a dozen in all, each bearing katanas, each borne up by a small white cloud that completely enveloped their feet. Among all the tribes of Kamigawa, the soratami were feared and respected as warriors and scholars, and some even considered them semi-divine beings. Before he had been thrown into conflict with them, Toshi himself had been awed by their reputation from afar and by their presence up close. He didn’t like the soratami, but he knew to take them seriously.

Counting up the numbers as the oni and soratami converged on each other, Toshi noted, “Your demons are outnumbered two-to-one, Hidetsugu. Against the moonfolk, I wouldn’t choose those odds.”

“That’s because you’re a soft little human who still bleats and moans to the kami for protection,” the ogre replied without taking his eyes off the impending battle. “Ogres and oni are made of sterner stuff. Be silent and watch.”

Toshi swallowed his next thoughts and watched. From the sky, the largest and fiercest soratami warrior descended like a bird of prey. From below, the first oni clamored up the wall, its sharp-toothed jaw distended and dripping caustic foam.

The soratami drew his sword. The oni widened its jaws. Above them both, Toshi winced, anticipating the terrible meeting of these two savage forces.

One-Eye gave the signal. All around the entrance to Shinka, monsters prepared to pounce, mages prepared to cast, and hatchet-men drew their weapons. It was time to reckon with Hidetsugu.

One-Eye gestured impatiently at Toshi, who nodded. The ochimusha turned to face the entrance to the ogre’s hut, the paralysis kanji clutched in his hand. The other character on his face still tingled, but it had not yet dried.

“Hoy,” Toshi called. “You there, in the hut. O-bakemono! Boss Uramon demands satisfaction.”

Though a dull buzzing roar continued unabated, no new sounds came from inside Shinka. Toshi waited, and before One-Eye could prod him with another gesture, he shouted again.

“Ogre!” Toshi cupped his hands around his mouth. “You hung Uramon’s last party in your garden. Now she will use your hide for a rug in her dining hall. Her reckoners are here to burn Shinka down around your ears and defile the ashes.”

The wind shifted. Toshi caught a foul, smoky smell wafting from inside the hut. He could not see through the darkness inside, but he felt something massive moving closer to him. And was that a low, sinister chuckle he heard? The ochimusha swallowed.

“Last chance,” he shouted. “Face us and fall with as much honor as you have left. There will be none once you die. Face us, or cower there in the dark until we drag you out for Uramon’s justice.”

The chuckle was unmistakable this time. Toshi wasn’t sure there was an ogre inside the hut, but whatever was in there was amused by what it heard. Toshi shrugged. He knew he was not doing his best work as a provocateur, and he was sure One-Eye would make him suffer for it. Until he had some sort of idea how formidable the o-bakemono was, however, Toshi had no intention of singling himself out for special attention any more than he had to.

Two red eyes suddenly shined from the entrance to Shinka. Toshi stood rock-still as Hidetsugu squeezed out of the hut, hauling his burly body forward with his massive arms alone. Once his hips cleared the doorway, Hidetsugu drew his legs under him and rose to his full height.

He wore a simple wrap around his waist and carried a thick, studded tetsubo club. His wild, red eyes were crinkled in something like mirth, and his long, pointed tongue flashed eagerly across his terrible teeth. Hidetsugu opened his arms wide, exposing his broad, muscular chest, and roared defiant laughter.

The ogre’s size and confidence momentarily startled the assembled reckoners, including One-Eye. The assassin recovered quickly and shouted for the attack to begin.

Toshi blinked as the reckoners began to chant and charge. When he opened his eyes, Hidetsugu was standing directly in front of him.

The ogre’s violent joy swept over Toshi like a hot wind. Hidetsugu was smiling down at Toshi, his lips spread wide over interlocking teeth. He squinted slightly, scanning the mark on the ochimusha’s face.

“Hah!” Hidetsugu laughed. He reached forward with a finger as thick as Toshi’s wrist and playfully nudged the kanji mage.

Toshi blinked again, and when he opened his eyes the ogre was gone. The space between himself and the entrance to Shinka was completely empty. If he’d wanted to, he could have taken refuge inside the ogre’s own hut.

Instead, Toshi stood completely still. He didn’t know if he was able to move and he didn’t want to be embarrassed by trying and failing. His heart pounded and cold sweat stuck his linen shirt to his back.

Behind him, he heard screams intermingled with wet, ripping sounds. Though his life probably depended on doing so, Toshi could not bring himself to turn and see how the ambush was progressing.

The soratami made only one mistake in engaging the lead oni: he delivered a mortal blow as his first attack.

The moonfolk’s gleaming sword sliced down through the top of the oni’s head, bisecting its third eye and cleaving the demon’s skull from crown to nose. Driven by momentum and malice, the oni’s body pressed forward, bringing its shattered face into contact with the soratami’s chest and throat. Reflexively, the dead oni’s teeth clamped shut around the warrior’s windpipe. Its grasping claws ripped through the soratami’s torso and then punched through his back. For a moment, the combatants hung in midair with the oni’s body stuck clean through the soratami’s like a living spear. Then the entire grisly mess fell tumbling to the quadrangle below.

It was a study in the contrasts of combat. The soratami were disciplined, graceful, even elegant with their gleaming blades and razor-sharp throwing spikes. The oni were no less fast or powerful, but they were wild, savage, and unrestrained in their bloodlust. For the first few moments of the brutal skirmish Toshi thought the sides seemed evenly matched, even with the soratami’s superior numbers.

The tide quickly turned in favor of the oni, however. The demons could still fight after losing an arm, a leg, or as their leader had proved, their head. Maimed or mortally wounded, the oni continued to attack, to tear at the soratami with their teeth, claws, and horns.

The soratami, on the other hand, felt the impact of their wounds far more keenly. When the moonfolk suffered a deep wound or a broken bone, they hesitated, even faltered. They seemed as pained by the fact that they had been wounded as they did by the wounds themselves. Toshi saw one warrior die with an oni’s horns punched clean through his back, and as the twin points of bone erupted from his chest, the soratami looked down at them with distaste. Toshi looked twice to confirm what he saw, and yes, the moonfolk’s expression was not one of pain or shock, but of outrage. How dare such base creatures draw blood from one of the moon’s favored children?

To a warrior, the soratami were more focused, more disciplined, and more efficient than the oni. But the oni were creatures born of chaos and they did not fight in single combat. Instead, they bounded, slithered, and leaped from enemy to enemy, ripping a throat here and plucking an eye there. They seemed completely unfocused on anything but spilling as much soratami blood as possible, but as the battle progressed their tactics proved superior. When the last soratami retreated into the sky on their cloud platforms, there were an identical number of oni in the quadrangle. Hidetsugu’s demons had lost over half their number since the battle started, but they had inflicted far worse on the soratami defenders.

Now unchallenged, the remaining oni moved across the sapphire paving stones, out of the quadrangle and onto the streets of Oboro. Toshi had very limited experience with oni and hoped to keep it that way, but he knew that these feral brutes would continue to kill whatever they found until they themselves were dispatched.

“You see, Toshi?” Hidetsugu’s face was alight with joyful malevolence. “There is no need to rush Kobo’s reckoning. While the All-Consuming feasts on Minamo’s secrets, we are teaching Oboro the true meaning of terror. They cannot stop us. They cannot resist us. They cannot retreat, and they cannot avoid us. Soon the entire city will be full of oni.”

The ogre scooped up Toshi in one hand, bringing the ochimusha close to his broad, flat head. “Then and only then will our work here be done.”

Toshi struggled in Hidetsugu’s grip. “You’ve made your point, oath-brother. But I am becoming very tired of being hoisted and toted like a jug of wine.”

The ogre’s fingers relaxed, but he did not let Toshi down. “You raise an interesting point, my friend. After our long history together, you think I owe you more respect.”

Toshi drew as deep a breath as he could; one could never be sure when Hidetsugu would decide to clench his fist again.

“Yes, oath-brother,” he said. “I think you owe me a bit more consideration, at least.”

The ogre’s lip twitched, showing Toshi a flash of gleaming sharp fang.

“Do I, now?” Hidetsugu’s voice was barely above a growl. “Perhaps I do. Perhaps we should both remember what it is we owe each other.”

Toshi fought to remain calm. Around them on platforms of amber light, the yamabushi waited for their master’s orders. Below, savage nightmares stalked the streets of the soratami capital.

And in the center of it all, the founding members of the hyozan reckoners held each other’s eyes without blinking.