Chapter 6- The Deepest cut

The deepest cut

 

            I sat in front of the game. I examined every square inch of the field, studying every possible transaction from terrain to terrain. In the mountains, I was protected by sheer rock. A good army could hold off enemy invasion. I had easy control of the northern regions of the board.

But, it prevented conquest. My game pieces would not be able to move through the plains, for they’d leave my castle with too little protection. My armies would be too far spread to protect each other. Father’s tendency to use the forest as a base would allow him to move all his armies north, without having to worry about mine, for he would know exactly where my pieces would go.

I’d have to develop a tactic that would allow my use of the powerful stronghold, and allow my pieces to attack. Looking closely at the board, I noticed extremely faint lines crossing the board, creating boxes in nice, straight columns and rows. I took a look at my game pieces. The fit exactly inside the boxes. I assumed that this would mean that all game pieces must move with the boxes from one to the other. Considering the game was strategically, with two players, it was safe to believe the game was turn-based.

I picked up my general. I held him close to my eye, examining the detailed artistry of the piece. It was a very detailed figure. I could see tiny dips and scales in the general’s armor. The man held his sword on his right hip. His left hand was resting on the hilt. As I examined the piece, it suddenly struck me. I was looking at a miniature version of Father. The game piece had the exact same armor that was in the armory. I recognized Angerem’s hilt, and knew that Angel Dust was hidden within her scabbard.

I stood up and walked around the living room. Father had been given these game pieces by his father. I thought to myself how odd it was, that grandfather had made the very same pieces that I was using. I went back to the figures and studied them all. I picked up a swordsman and studied him.

I gasped. It was a miniature version of the statue of the tall woman in Kokuja Village. Looking at the others, I noticed they, too, were mini versions of the other statues. I looked at the flag bearer. Again, it was a person I recognized. A still Tobi looked at me. His flag was held from the very same staff he used; I knew very well how he always held his left hand right above a knot in the wood. It was the only knot in the staff.

I picked up my Calvary pieces. Two of the pieces were people I knew. Maryl and Susan rode the horses, both bent close to their beasts. Maryl had heavy armor on her tiny body, but Susan had a large spear in her left hand. The third horseman was someone I didn’t know.

The very last piece was the king, the Emperor. He was a withered man. I could see that he was hollow-cheeked, with thin bones. Even in this tiny version of the man, I could tell that his skin was supposed to be stretched taunt over the long, thin bones. This man could have been handsome in his youth; I could see that clearly. In his right hand, he held a scroll, as if he was reading from it. In his left, a pendant on a long and delicate chain that hung between his fingers. I could tell it was highly detailed, but due to the object’s size, I could not see the details.

I got up and paced around the room, pondering what it meant that the game pieces were of real people, people I knew. They all had some connection to Father. Maryl, Susan, Tobi… They all knew Father. The statues were erected in the village they lived in, so they must have been important to the residents of that village. Then there was the Emperor and the third horseman. They were the only ones I didn’t know. Who were they? What did this mean? Was I not being told something?

With a sigh of frustration, I gathered the game pieces and ran to my room. Once in, I placed the pieces on the dresser, nearest to the opened window. I grabbed an ankle length coat from my closet. Reaching into the back of it, I grabbed Rubraesule and strapped him vertically to my back, the hilt sticking over my head, his sheath extending to my ankles. Dancer was much taller than me, but I put my coat on over him, the collar up to try to hide him as much as possible. Once I was ready, I leaped out my window and headed for the dirt road that connected Kokuja and the industrial city of Suchīruburīdingu, the City of Bleeding Steel.

 

I sometimes had to escape and walk down this road, the only road even remotely close to our forest home. The wind always blew from Kokuja to Suchīruburīdingu, for which I was thankful. If the winds turned, they would carry the scent of molten metal, smog, thousands of humans and animals, and the thick scent of machines. But, tonight the wind blew strong from the Black Lizard Village, blowing away the dreaded scents of progress.

I was alone for the better part of my walk, until a heavy smell rushed down the winds. It was a combination of unwashed human flesh, alcohol, excrement and other bodily fluids. Voices soon followed, signaling a very large group of travelers. I could hear much laughter, shouting and many fights, which would quickly dissolve.

I moved to the side of the road, making sure to give this band of travelers enough room on the wide dirt path to continue. As their voices came closer, and they noticed me, I continued my walk not paying them any mind.

“What’s this? A young girl all on her own? What should we do, Butao?” said one man in the very large group, his words slurred due to a large intake of spirits, I thought as I smelled him come up behind me.

“I don’t know, maybe we should ‘take care of her,’ eh, guys? Show her a good time? Come here, sweetie, I’ll show you a good time,” said a very large, fatty man as he grabbed me roughly by my waist. This was met by many men, and even some women, laughing. As his hands groped my stomach and moved upwards I squirmed and bucked away from him. I heard him shout as Rubraesule’s hilt bashed into his red face. I winced as it hit my head as well. “My lip! That b***h split my lip!”

“What’s wrong, Butao? One little babe too much for you? Maybe she’d prefer my company?” said the first man. He stumbled forward, and I brought my palm up, connecting it hard with his nose. It was a mistake; I hadn’t meant to put so much force behind it. But the damage had been done. The drunken man fell, blood streaming from his nose. His eyes soon went flat, and he no longer had need of breath. I had killed him.

The fat man, Butao, laughed and kicked his friend, unaware of the truth. “’What’s wrong, Dugar, one little babe too much for you?’ Dugar! Hey, get up… Dugar?” He knelt down and shook the dead man. His shaking, fat fingers pressed against the man neck. “He’s dead… Dugar’s dead…,” Butao looked at me. “You killed him. You killed my brother!”

The group circled around me, closing off any exits. “I’ll make you pay… I’ll get you!” He stood up and stumbled forward, forcing my coat off of me, knocking me onto the ground. A woman behind me gasped. “Look at that! The b***h is a swordswoman!”

“No, she probably stole that. No swordsman would want to hide their blade. Grech, take that. We can sell it.” said a large man.

“Yes father.” The lithe woman leaned towards me, stretching out to take Dancer.

“Don’t touch him!” I shouted, spinning around and bringing my hand across the knot that tied Rubraesule in place. The large weapon fell into my hand and I drew him quickly from the sheath. The circle around me jumped back as Red Dancer swung a wide arc. The one called Butao fell backwards onto his large rear.

I held the nearly two meter long sword with one hand, pointing the tip at the woman’s, Grech, throat. The group watched me warily, the father looking at me. I heard the men behind me move, and swung Rubraesule at them. His cold tip bit into a young man’s cheek.

“Don’t… Don’t kill me!”

“Just let me go in peace. And I’ll spare all of you.”

"Don't make me laugh-" the father stopped short, as a loud, low whistling cut through the air, coming from the direction of  Suchīruburīdingu. We all stopped and stared as a newcomer arrived.

This man, for it was clear he was a man by his immense height and bulk, wore traditional styled armor, a solid black color, with every edge painted with a line of gold. He wore a mask, with a demon's face. It was red, with big cheeks and curved teeth that jutted up over the teeth, and down below the chin. A straw hat sat on the helmet, partially pulled down in the front, over the eyes. He carried a medicine box on his back, a large wooden antique in prime condition. At his side, a huge sheath, one that I knew held a sword that was as long, if not longer, than Rubraesule.

He walked in a perfectly straight line, whistling. I doubted he even knew we were present. At first, the bandits parted before him, stunned silent by this relic of the traditional swordsman era. The man's own white hair created the mane behind the mask, something peculiar, even among swordsmen. Then, as he continued, one of the women broke the respectful silence.

"Who the hell do you think you are?!" she shouted.

The man stopped walking, the wooden sandals making a clicking sound as he did. Before I could blink, he had drawn his blade, which had in truth been two long blades in one sheath, one in each end, and had gone to the woman and ran her clean through the heart with the left blade, and severed her head with the right. I blinked, and in the silence, you could hear the man exhale a breath, as everyone held theirs.

Then, the young man on at the edge of my sword whimpered. I could just hear the noise, for my back was to him. I was looking at the mysterious newcomer, and suddenly he was gone. I heard a squelching noise behind me, and felt warm, heavy liquid land on my sleeve and my back. I never even saw the swordsman move, let alone get behind me and kill the young man.

As a group, the bandits jumped, some shouting in fear at the might of this strange man who towered over everyone. As they took their steps, I saw a blur of movement go among them all, and then stop behind the father of the bandits. One after the other, the rogues fell, holes gorged through their chests and backs and their heads severed. The father had made it the farthest, having moved to where I stood. I couldn't even breathe, or move Rubraesule. I was frozen in fear as this demon slaughtered the band.

"Please... Spare me..." The man said, staring at me, knowing the demonic swordsman was right behind him. I saw his eyes go wide as the front of his shirt tore out. He looked down at the red sword emerging from his sternum, and I looked at the tip that had stopped to the right of my ear, having very nearly killed me with the serrated blade. With a sick sucking noise, the blade withdrew.

The bandit leader collapsed, falling down and landing on my foot. I continue staring directly ahead, and come eye to eye with the mask. The demon's eyes are closed, and thick black lines run vertically along the lids, the painting appearing to have sown the eyes closed. The demon kneels before me and drops the medicine box off his shoulders, the thick ropes that he used as straps slipping off his massive shoulders. Without a word, he turns to the box and opens it, drawing forth a cloth and a bottle. Something falls and he fumbles around for it, but then gives up and drips some liquid from the bottle onto to the swords, the wipes down the blades.

I stood motionless, my arm starting to ache from holding Rubraesule straight for so long. I use the breathing method Father taught me, one that was completely silent and in time with the breath of others, but resulted in very little oxygen coming into the body. I stared, still frightened by the demon.

He replaced the rag and bottle, closed the box, sheathed his swords with some difficulty, tied them to his hip, pulled the straps of the box on, and then held the sword handle, so that the two swords curved upwards over his head. As he started to walk down the dirt path in a straight line, his wooden shoes making a tap-tatta-tap noise, he started to whistle.

Once he was out of sight, I dropped Rubraesule and collapsed around the carnage. The father's body was still warm, and his blood had pooled around my feet. I dragged my sword to the side path, and then grabbed the bottle that had fallen from the man's medicine box. It was a glass container, hexagonal bottom, with a thinner middle than bottom or top, but after the thin piece, it became circular at the top. A paper taped to the bottom merely stated: "Ragonba Medicine. Take daily." Then, on the top, it had the same message made into the glass. In Brail.

Author's Note

Sorry this is so long. But, it has alot of important information to plot. I hope I didn't give too much away. Rangonba shall return!