Storm Phase – 17
In this epic fantasy, a young wizard with a mysterious destiny, a cat-girl ninja, and a diary that turns into a bat-like creature journey through worlds of monsters and mayhem.
Kahenan folded his umbrella and set it to the side. “I did not see anyone.”
“I requested heightened security.”
“I noticed.” Kahenan’s gaze raked the garden. “You are paranoid, my son. Close the wall. I will light the hearth fire and heat some water.”
Noboro pulled the folding wall shut then joined Kahenan in the center of the pavilion. Watching their silhouettes through the paper panels, Turesobei boosted his auditory enhancement spell and moved in closer to the pavilion, choosing a spot between two overgrown azaleas. From here, he would be well hidden, even on a clear night.
“You would be paranoid, too,” Noboro said, “if you had been carrying that key for a month.”
Kahenan hung an iron teapot over the hearth set into the floor in the pavilion's center. “Boro, I honestly never believed you would find it. Those of wisdom among the zaboko take extreme care with their artifacts, especially those that are potentially dangerous.”
“People sometimes forget dangers that should be remembered,” Noboro said as he paced around the hearth. “I wasn’t the only person looking for the key. I was one among many.”
“That is not good news,” Kahenan said. “Why so much interest in it now?”
“There was a book about the storm dragon published widely in Tagama three years ago, written by a man named Obu Sotenda.”
Of the four baojen nations within Okoro, Tagama, which lay to the south, was the largest and most powerful. Batsakun, the smallest and weakest, was constantly under threat from its southern neighbor. Gendin Province, home of the Chonda Clan, was one of the thirteen provinces within Batsakun, each ruled by a single clan and its king, all of whom owed allegiance to the High King who ruled in Batsa.
“The book stirred up a lot of new interest in the storm dragon legends,” Noboro continued. “And then, rather conveniently, the key emerged for the first time in centuries, from the vault of a recently closed shrine in southwest Tagama.”
Turesobei’s bestiaries were filled with descriptions of dragons of all manner, including those of storm, but he couldn’t recall ever having read a legend about a prominent storm dragon.
“When the shrine’s artifacts were being relocated, word got out from some of the laborers about the contents of the vault. I recognized the key from a description that was circulating through the wine houses. Of course, I wasn’t the only one. I simply got to it first.”
Kahenan knelt at a small table and set out two cups. “Are you off to open the vault now?”
“I am.”
“I was afraid you would say that.”
“I must, Father. You know that.”
“Well, if you must, take your son with you.”
Turesobei’s heart lurched with excitement, but was crushed by the tone of his father's reply.
“You’ve got to be joking!”
“Do I ever joke?” Kahenan challenged. “The boy needs a break.”
“Then give him one.”
Kahenan placed tea leaves in both cups. “He needs to spend time with his father.”
Noboro sighed. “We're so different.”
“Not nearly as much as you think.”
“The boy is too like his mother, and she grates on my nerves.”
“I am not,” Turesobei grumbled.
“He is young and headstrong,” Kahenan said, “but teenagers are like that. And he has far more in common with you than her. The fact that you believe otherwise proves that you do not know him.”
“Perhaps you should take him on a trip,” Noboro suggested.
“Some of us have responsibilities to the clan, unless you have forgotten that I am the High Wizard and that we are nearly at war with the Gawo Clan and that it is our turn to guard the Kochio Pass.”
The Gawo, rulers of Mikaso Province, were the nearest neighbors to the Chonda, and they had been warring with them off and on since even before the baojen left Tengba Ren to come to Okoro. The High King of Batsakun did his best to prevent war between the provinces under him, but he wasn’t always successful.
The Kochio Pass was the only land route between Batsakun and Tagama through which an army could pass. Every province within Batsakun contributed warriors to defend the pass, with a different province contributing more men on certain years. The Chonda always contributed extra men anyway because their province lay on the border of the Kochio Pass, so this year’s burden was heavy, which made them more vulnerable to the Gawo than normal.
While Noboro stalked around the pavilion muttering and shaking his head in frustration, Turesobei quietly chanted, “Please take me with you. Please take me with you.”
The water boiled, and Kahenan slowly poured it into the cups. “Son, do not let your relationship with him end up like ours. Turesobei deserves better than that.”
Noboro knelt at the table and grunted a reply.
“I know he is different, not at all like a regular son, and that makes him strange to you,” Kahenan said. “But he cannot help that. He is special and unique, and most parents would feel tenfold blessed to have him.”
Turesobei nearly bit off his tongue trying to keep quiet. Strange and not like a regular son? What the heck did that mean?!
“I know, I know,” Noboro said. “And I do love him.”
“Did you notice how excited he was to see you and how crushed he was when you told him you weren’t staying?” Kahenan sipped his tea and released the long sigh he always made after the first sip. “I was not a good father to you, Noboro. Do not repeat my mistakes.”
Noboro stared down into his cup. Turesobei could imagine his father's lips quavering with warring emotions and ideas. “It's going to be dangerous. Probably deadly.”
“He has to face danger eventually,” Kahenan said. “Besides, he can handle himself. I am certain of that.”
His heart jumped. Kahenan thought he could handle himself!
Noboro released a deep breath. “Will King Ugara allow it?”
Ugara was the head of their clan and the governor of Ekaran Province.
“He trusts my judgment, especially when it comes to Turesobei.”
“His mother will not approve,” Noboro said.
“His mother does not like anything the two of us do. Never has, and never will. But she will get over it. Besides, she needs to accept that Turesobei will soon be an adult.”
“Fine then,” Noboro said in a grudging tone. “I'll give the boy a chance, if you think it's wise, but he'd best carry his weight and not get me into more trouble.”
Turesobei almost yelled out, “I won't!”
“He is sixteen, not seven,” Kahenan said. “And I have trained him personally for ten years. I promise you he can take care of himself. He is a better student than I ever was, and not as reckless either. Obviously, he is a far greater talent. And you are going to need someone who knows magic.”
Turesobei was astounded. He couldn't imagine his grandfather not being a better student. Or *obviously* less talented! Kahenan rarely praised his abilities. To hear him say these things was almost beyond imagining.
“If you say so,” Noboro said. “I certainly didn't have your trust when I was sixteen.”
“For good reason.”
They stared at each other for a moment, then they both laughed.
“Hah! That's true enough!” Noboro said. After Kahenan's laughter quieted, he continued. “It really is going to be dangerous. I'm being followed — by more than just another treasure hunter.”
“Or a jealous husband?” Kahenan asked.
“Gods! I hope I haven't attracted another one of those.” He chuckled. “Though it’s certainly possible.”
Jealous husbands?! Turesobei didn't know what to think about that revelation.
Kahenan tsked and shook his head. “Turesobei can take care of himself and will be of great help. You probably should take a few extra guards along, though.”
“I stole the key from a Keshuno spy who had stolen it from the new shrine,” Noboro said. “So I may have Keshuno agents after me as well as storm dragon cultists. Perhaps a few treasure hunters, too. I came home for your advice and a dozen trustworthy soldiers.”
Kesh was a harsh region deep in the mountainous wastes of southern Okoro. The never subjugated tribes of zaboko who lived there were zealously devoted to their dragon goddess, Makazi Keshuno, who had marked them with scarlet stripes on their skin and gifted them with strange powers. That the Keshuno were involved made Turesobei doubt, though only for a moment, whether he wanted to go.
“Ah.” Kahenan drained his cup and set it onto the table. For a few minutes he stroked his braided beard. “I think Turesobei can handle it, even if there are Keshuno involved. But that does indicate significant danger. If you think it is too risky, then perhaps you can take him along on the next adventure.”
Noboro groaned. “No, you're right, I need to spend some time with the boy. And I do need a wizard, and one I can trust, too. I was going to ask you who I should hire.”
“Hire no one for this, Boro. I do not know a single wizard, even another one from our own clan, that you could trust with such an object of power. And the clan cannot spare the extras we have. You will need to take trustworthy warriors with you, though I don’t know how you will convince King Ugara to spare any.”
Noboro finished his tea and thumped the cup onto the table. “I will find a way.”
Kahenan gathered the cups, rinsed them, and put them away. “Once you have the heart, what then?”
“I'll bring it here and add it to our collection of artifacts,” Noboro answered. “Do not tell me you can’t make use of such a powerful object.”
“As I have told you many times, not all items of power are useful,” Kahenan said. “Often they are more trouble than they are worth, especially those zaboko in origin. The wisest course would be to simply keep the key here and guard it.”
Noboro laughed. “You know I have to get into the vault and see the heart. I've worked on this for too long. Besides, it would be better for us to guard the heart itself now that everyone is interested and knows it is real. Someone who can open the vault without the key may soon find its resting place. And Keshuno magic may be able to open the vault where yours failed.”
Kahenan pulled a scroll from within his robes and handed it to Noboro. Their discussion dropped to whispers. Now, even with his spell active, all Turesobei could hear was the crashing of rainfall.
As he crept closer to the pavilion so he could hear better, an odd shadow between two large hydrangeas caught his eye. Squinting, he peered through the rain, but he couldn’t make out what it was. Easing closer to get a better look, his right foot sloshed into a deep puddle.
The shadow turned toward him.
Purplish eyes within a deep hood locked onto him, and a hand flashed toward him. Training kicking in, Turesobei dove to the ground, and a blade whistled through the air above him. He rolled to his feet and drew the dagger he kept in a sheathe on his belt.
Something tiny and sharp struck his neck. He flinched and staggered backward.
Numbness spreading rapidly through him, he lumbered two steps toward his assailant then paused and swayed in place as vertigo plunged through him. The knife slipped from his hand, and he slumped to the ground.
A figure in a black bodysuit, like those worn by qengai assassins, stalked toward him. Purple eyes… pale face… a curved dagger…
He had been poisoned, and these might be the last moments of his life.
“Assassin!” he cried out. “Sound… the… alarm…”
His shout was hardly more than an unintelligible slur, but it was enough. His assailant hissed a curse then turned and ran.
With clumsy fingers, he found the dart, and after three failed attempts, he managed to jerk it free. As everything went dark, he envisioned the rune for the *spell of summer healing* and stammered through the casting phrase, his voice growing weaker with each word. It was the best he could do.
His last sensations were the comforting presence of his kavaru and the voices of a thousand forgotten friends.
To Be Continued…