Fury

    “Burn it. Just fucking burn it.”

     The Commander turned his cold, inky eyes to the HeadHunters. They were here. He raged within. He and his HeadHunters were standing in Mina’s cabin, surrounded by evidence of a hurried departure. She’d betrayed the Angemal… but why?

     That damned Legend, Keisuke though, drowning in anger and frustration.

     “We’ll move HQ to this location for tonight, but I don’t want that cabin standing. Burn it. Burn everything in it.”

     The Commander had heard of Mina’s reclusive attachment to her home. Well, now it would be destroyed. I will catch you. Keisuke was famous not only for his tactical marvels, but also for his use of psychological warfare. He’d learned long ago to trust his rage. Yes, the cabin would have made a more comfortable headquarters, but razing it to the ground would show that she had no hope of returning. Her life would settle into the ashes as well, and her future would belong to Keisuke alone.

     He turned away from the cabin. Earlier that day, when some of the HeadHunters reported that they’d been unable to find any more evidence of movement, he’d become overwhelmed by the urge to see Mina’s place for himself. While he was used to having hunches, he’d never felt like this. It was unlike him to focus so much on one idea. Intuition was important in this line of work, but he’d never treated it with such intensity. To his fury, he realized that he should have listened to that earlier burn which told him that the fugitives were there.

     He wandered the back of the property for a bit. Dusk was falling now. They’d have to wait until tomorrow before checking for trails away from the cabin. The Commander doubted they’d find much. This Harata was turning out to be more resourceful than anyone had originally predicted. Killing him would be the finest moment of Keisuke’s life.

     Unlike that day…

     The Commander had another reason for wanting the cabin burned down. That Sabian bitch had been keeping his father’s head mounted on the wall as a trophy.

     Takaeyama was the Champion of the Cordura. That was about all the others were able to glean from him. They had no idea where he came from, what he’d been doing sitting alone in the middle of the forest, or what was ailing him. Chieko would chatter away at him aimlessly, occasionally injecting simple questions, most of which Takaeyama would evade. He didn’t seem to mind her bright, incessant talk. In fact, he didn’t seem to mind or even notice much. Each day, he would simply walk in the direction he was pointed in, either blankly staring, or looking at the ground. He neither ate nor slept, a fact that was driving Harata to distraction.

     Camp was becoming a less stressful affair, as there had been no sign of the HeadHunters since they’d left Mina’s cabin. Everyone but Kat and Takaeyama took turns sitting watch, and meals had become less strained, as the Champions, no longer in fear of being discovered, would chat idly before going to bed.

     One night, two days after Chi had discovered Takaeyama, Harata sat talking to Blue and Mina. Ayame sat with them, simply listening, as she was oft to do. She rarely spoke with the other Champions, though she would freely converse with Harata if the two were alone. Chieko was gabbing away at Takaeyama, who seemed not to notice she was there. Kat was curled up in a ball, probably already asleep.

     Harata heaved a sigh and looked in the direction of the animated Chieko and her motionless companion.

     “What do you think is wrong with him?” The Clanless asked in frustration.

     “He hasn’t been cursed, I checked for that,” Blue answered.

     “My best guess is trauma,” offered Mina. “It’s not that uncommon. He might have witnessed or experienced something that was too much for him, causing him to withdraw. Of course, we haven’t known him long. It could be that he’s always been weird like this.”

     “The Cordurans are a mysterious Clan,” Blue said softly, “not all that they appear to be. While they fill roles as instructors and the like, it’s rumored that only they know what they truly are. Something might be causing this problem that we’ll never understand.”

      “Understand or not, we can’t let him go on like this. One of these days, he's just going to drop dead.”

     “Honestly, I don’t think he cares much about that,” Mina said in a gloomy voice.

     “Well, I care. If he fizzles out and kicks it before we complete the Task…” Harata trailed off.

     “The human body’s a lot tougher than people give it credit for,” Mina stated.

     “Be that as it may, one of us is going to have to find out what his deal is. You know, spend a lot of time with him, act as a friend, a confidant.”

     “Chieko seems to have taken a shine to him,” Blue put in.

     “Yeah, but… I was hoping you would do it.” Harata looked intensely at Blue. “Chi doesn’t have any experience or training in dealing with this sort of thing. You know what you’re doing. It’s what your Clan does, isn’t it?”

     “Some of us,” Blue answered evenly. The frustration and disappointment that welled within him was driven away before it could swim from his core to his face. His expression remained the same calm mask as always.

     “I need you to do it. We can’t have him going on like this. I’m sure we’ll all need our wits about us when it comes down to completing the Task… and I really don’t want to think about what will happen if he dies.”

     “Of course,” Blue answered. After all, it wasn’t Harata’s fault that he didn’t realize what he was asking. Blue tried not to think of his haunting dreams, but visions of Pandemonium swam before his eyes. I will lose my soul to this Task, he thought in silence. But why?

     Once again, the Commander was bent over a map. It was dawn; a slight mist hung over the mountains. Keisuke had conflicting feelings about this time of day. It held so much potential, yet he always felt paused on the brink of failure. The scent of the air this morning frustrated him. He wished he were a wolf- it would be so easy to simply sniff out his prey on the breeze.

     He couldn’t help thinking about what he’d seen in the cabin, now nothing more than a wet pile of ash and timber. If he closed his eyes, he could clearly picture opening the office door, coming face to face with what was left of the father he was sure he’d never see again. The rush of memories the sight had bought was not welcome. Keisuke laughed there in the office, but the bitterness he felt was overwhelming. It pained him to recall his family’s fall from grace.

     The Kurokawas had once been a powerful part of their Clan, shining examples of all the things the Angemal valued. They could trace their ancestry all the way back to the uprising that went on to shape the course of modern history. Keisuke was now the last of them.

     He’d grown up in a small home with his parents and older brother. The picturesque stone house, with its peaked red roof, stood on a good deal of land passed down for generations. His father had been a general, and his mother in reconnaissance until she had retired to look after her sons. Keisuke’s older brother, Haku, seemed in every way his opposite. While all of the Kurokawas had dark hair and eyes, Haku and his father had duskier complexions, Keisuke and his mother were pale as ghosts. Haku resembled his father, large and strapping, deliberate in motion, and with an open readable expression.

     Keisuke, pale and slight of build, was overshadowed by his brother in every way. Haku’s success at the Academy seemed so easy, while Keisuke practiced hand-to-hand combat every day and was awake long into the night studying tactical maneuvers. Both of the boys graduated at the head of his class from the most strenuous, well-respected military academy in Diasminion. By the time Keisuke graduated, Haku was already an officer.

     Then came the beginning of the end. A few years after Keisuke’s graduation, Haku’s troop was ambushed and slaughtered in the Otherlands. What was left of him was scraped up and returned to his parents. Keisuke could remember the funeral clearly- the stifling smell of incense, the old Night’s Herald with graying temples who’d presided. He could remember his mother as she stared emptily at everything and his father’s face void of color. He remembered himself without emotion, the only one who didn’t seem to feel the loss.

     It was what happened after that, however, which caused Keisuke to tremble with rage and shame. His father- the general, son of the Kurokawas, his father- became a pacifist. There was no greater sin in all the world to the Angemal than to turn your back on the glory of war. Though he would never be forgiven, had he simply faded away, the remainder of his family might have been spared. But no, Keisuke’s father, blind with grief for his fallen son, would have his last stand.

     Keisuke had tried to stop him. They’d both returned to the Otherlands, fighting the same uprising that had taken Haku’s life. There, General Kurokawa, in a fit of madness, had single-handedly tried to put an end to the fighting. He’d come across Keisuke, whose regiment was fighting the same battle. Son faced father, and all seemed frozen for a moment.

     “I know what you’re going to do,” Keisuke had said, “and I’m not going to let you.”

     “Get out of the way,” his father had growled. His dark eyes were glazed.

     “No. I’ll kill you if I have to.”

     “You never did understand anything about Honor,” his father had said with a mixture of resignation and disgust. In a flash, he’d forced Keisuke to the ground. With all his might, he drove a long thin knife through the center of Keisuke’s left hand, trapping him as the blade buried itself in the dirt below. Without another word, the general stalked off to stop the battle, leaving his bleeding son behind.

     Keisuke struggled to free himself, but by the time he’d finally wrenched the knife free of the ground, his father had been captured in his futile attempt. The younger Kurokawa’s comrades stood around him, unsure of what to say, staring at his wounded hand. He was taken to a nearby medical unit, while his raving father was led away in shackles. Keisuke could recall the shame he’d felt at nearly passing out, and the wide-eyed, red-haired Decameron girl who’d treated him.

     His father’s court-martial was brief, and he was sentenced, of course, to death. The day of the execution many people came to watch, but none so intently as Keisuke, who stared into his condemned father’s eyes. When the axe fell, both pairs of dark, depthless eyes were still locked on one another. After a moment or two, Keisuke blinked and turned away.

     The final disgrace in the fall of his house came two weeks later. Keisuke had returned from a brief meeting regarding his becoming a HeadHunter to find his mother had drowned herself. Suicide, considered an act of cowardice, was an unforgivable offence to the Code. Once again, the buzz of shame fell around the Kurokawa name. However, this would be the last time.

     Keisuke, bathed in dawn light, looked down at the scar in the palm of his hand. He’d rebuilt his family’s Honor and reclaimed their good name. It hadn’t been an easy road.

     His attention returned to the map. One city seemed to shine from the page like a beacon. He’d ignored his intuition once with disastrous results. It was once too many.

     “Tell the men to pack up,” he said to Tachi. “We’re moving to Kitaka’en.”