The Broken Shinbone
by Shawn Carman
T’tok’chuk scratched his nose and shook his
whiskers vigorously, the crumbs of his meal tumbling to the ground. He stooped
on one knee, picking up a few of the bigger crumbs and quickly tucking them in
his mouth. The others of his tribe glanced up at him curiously, but their
curiosity wasn’t great enough to distract them from their meals. Humans had
many foods, some good and some terrible, but bread was among his favorites. Soft and filling with a wonderful smell. So
good. Sometimes the farmers left bags of bread and rice in the fields,
gifts for the Nezumi so that they would leave their crops untouched and keep
goblins away. Seemed a fair trade to T’tok’chuk. Anything for bread.
His
hunger sated, T’tok’chuk turned his attention to
other matters. His ears twitched anxiously. There was something on the wind,
some sound just beyond his hearing, an odd shiver in
his fur that he couldn’t control. His uncanny knack for danger had made him the
greatest scout of the Broken Shinbone tribe. After the old chief didn’t listen
to his warnings and disappeared on the hunt, T’tok’chuk
was the unanimous choice to replace him. Nezumi liked cautious leaders.
Cautious leaders kept their tribe alive. He rose from his hiding place amid the
tall grass and made to leave. He waved away several warriors who rose to follow
him, and they gratefully returned to their bread.
T’tok’chuk scurried from the grass and traveled west, his
ears twitching constantly. There was a sound nearby, one he had come to know
too well. It was the sound of battle. His good mood was gone now. If there were
humans fighting, the tribe would have to leave. The human tribes were huge, and
few humans had any love for Nezumi. The Broken Shinbone could not hope to stand
against a human army. No, it was best to keep clear of the humans.
The
chieftain sniffed unhappily at the thought. Humans were very strange creatures,
so unpredictable. The ones who worked the fields seemed courteous and kind.
They made that mysterious, wonderful bread. The ones with the swords and the
armor seemed so angry. They were warriors, but not like Nezumi warriors. Nezumi
warriors fought only to feed the tribe, or to defend the pups. Humans… who knew
why they fought? T’tok’chuk did not care, as long as
they left him and his tribe alone.
T’tok’chuk grew more cautious as the sounds of battle grew
closer. He crept from one patch of grass to the next, darting in between the
low hills and shallow depressions in an attempt to reach the source. Finally,
he scurried into a thick patch of grass atop a rise, and peered down at the
source of the strange noises.
There
were a small number of humans bunched together in an open plain. They wore the
heavy, clumsy armor that the human warriors liked. There were many more humans laying on the ground. T’tok’chuk
noted that wearing all that heavy armor hadn’t helped those humans very much.
It
was the humans’ opponents, however, that instantly captured the Nezumi’s attention. They were huge, hulking creatures,
beasts that he had not seen since his tribe had left the Dark-Dark Lands many
yesterdays ago. T’tok’chuk growled involuntarily at
the sight of them, his tail flicking from side to side. The Broken Shinbone had
once been two tribes, the Broken Dagger and the Wailing Night. The two tribes
had long been rivals, stealing food and tools from one another in the night.
Ogres - beasts like those now killing the humans – had attacked both tribes and
slaughtered many brave warriors. The ones who lived banded
together to form a new tribe. A new name was chosen so that the new
tribe would not share the curses and enmities that followed the old names. The
Broken Shinbone would remember Yesterday, and race against Tomorrow.
There
was a rustling and a familiar scent from behind the chieftain. His warriors had
cautiously followed him despite his warning. He felt both irritated that they
had disobeyed and proud that they had sought to protect him. T’tok’chuk looked back at them and hissed, ears flattened
tight against his skull. They knew the warning, and instantly dropped to the
ground, creeping forward without a sound. They peered down at the conflict,
which was going increasingly poorly for the humans. Each visibly tensed at the
sight of the ogres. T’tok’chuk knew many of them had
lost loved ones to creatures like those. While they watched, one ogre scooped
up a dead human and tore him in half, hurling a chunk of the corpse at the dead
man’s comrades and knocking two of them to the ground. One rose quickly. The
other did not rise at all.
“What
we do?” one warrior asked. His paws clutched his spear tightly, and T’tok’chuk knew what he wanted. The chieftain wanted it as
well. The Nezumi did not normally seek combat, but this was different. These were
ogres, and the memories of the dead demanded justice.
“We
fight!” T’tok’chuk growled.
Many
of his warriors looked at T’tok’chuk with excitement,
but some were clearly hesitant. “You sure?” one asked. “Four
strong-beasts a hard fight. And what about humans?
What if they fight us?”
The
chieftain pointed at the dwindling number of humans. “If
humans not stupid, they help-help us.”
“Humans
not stupid?” one warrior said. “That seem unlikely. Chieftain you sure?”
“Humans
dumb, yes, but not about this,” T’tok’chuk. “Think of
farmers. Farmers give us bread to keep goblins away, yes? We help samurai keep
ogres away. Samurai rule the farmers! Think what friends they will be!”
“Wonder
what kind of bread samurai make?” one warrior said, licking his whiskers in
anticipation.
“If
we want to know, better kill ogres before no samurai left!”
The
warriors of the Broken Shinbone rushed into the battle with incredible speed.
The ogres did not detect their stealthy approach. The ten agile Nezumi fell on
one of the four beasts in an instant, and it fell to the ground with a
resounding crash and a confused moan. A Nezumi spear jutted out from the back
of its head, its point buried in the earth beneath. The warrior who lost his
spear did not pause, but grabbed a human spear from the ground and kept pace
with his tribemates.
The
battle lasted only a few moments. The Nezumi encircled a second ogre and killed
it quickly, cutting its legs from beneath it then swarming over its fallen
body, slashing with blades, claws, and spears. The three surviving humans took
the opportunity to dispatch another of the ogres, its leader taking its head
with a mighty leaping strike. The last ogre looked about in confused terror,
holding its club ready to strike. An arrow took it in the shoulder, then human samurai and Nezumi warriors swarmed it from
either side. It was over. Three Nezumi had been injured, but not badly. Only a
few weapons had been lost. It was a good fight, but now T’tok’chuk
stared cautiously at the three surviving humans.
One
stepped forward, his bright sword gleaming with ogre blood. “Stay back,
beasts,” he hissed. “We did not bow to the ogres, we
will not surrender to you.” Humans could be very rude.
“What
he say, chieftain?” asked one of the warriors; T’tok’chuk
was the only one of his tribe who spoke the human tongue.
“He
says he is stupid,” T’tok’chuk said in the Nezumi
language, keeping a careful eye on the human leader. “Keep weapons down, maybe
he become less stupid.”
“We
do not want fight-fight with you,” T’tok’chuk said,
his Rokugani awkward and halting. “Broken Shinbone tribe hate
ogres. Kill every ogre we can. Humans share in our victory. Proud to
stand with human samurai, they be strong like Nezumi!”
He lifted his spear and offered a shrill cry of triumph, which his warriors
answered enthusiastically.
The
other two humans seemed happy with their battle cry, for they smiled and
laughed. The leader, though… he only looked at T’tok’chuk
quietly, thinking. T’tok’chuk imagined that he could
see the human’s whiskers twitching.
“Have
you fought other creatures such as these?” he asked. “Creatures
of the Shadowlands? You know their ways?”
T’tok’chuk only frowned and held out his arms so they might
better see the armor he wore. It was light, not like the human armor, crafted
from the skulls and hides of fallen goblins and other beasts. “I am T’tok’chuk, Chieftain of the Broken Shinbone,” he said.
“Creatures who walk in shadow die to our spears. I am called Goblin Hunter.”
“Interesting.” The human rubbed his chin. “I am Matsu Gohei, a… chieftain… of the Lion Clan. I am called the
Butcher.”
“Two
names, like me,” T’tok’chuk said. “One given and one
earned, yes? A good omen among Nezumi.”
“My
own… tribe… is threatened by many creatures such as these,” the Butcher continued.
“Perhaps if your warriors were interested in aiding us, I might provide you
with weapons and food.”
T’tok’chuk’s whiskers twitched. “Two things we ask,” he
said.
“Go
on,” Gohei said.
“Many
humans hate Nezumi, hunt us like beasts,” T’tok’chuk
said. “Broken Shinbone want to not be hunted.”
“I
assure you no humans will threaten you under my protection,” the Butcher said
with a smirk. “What is your second condition?”
T’tok’chuk glanced back at the warriors. He could see his
indecision mirrored in their expressions. He wanted to know many things about
humans, but would it be worth the risk? He wasn’t sure.
He
looked back at Gohei, squaring his shoulders proudly
as he had seen the humans often do. He spoke in a confident, severe tone that
would brook no dispute.
“We
want bread,” he said. “Lots of bread.”
Matsu
Gohei grinned like a demon.
*
The Butcher stared at T’tok’chuk in disbelief. “What do you mean, you cannot go?”
The
chieftain squirmed uncomfortably. “Sorry-sorry, Gohei-sama. Nezumi cannot go into the sand. Too hot. Females have pups soon. Litters no live in the
burning land. It is a cursed place, forbidden to us. Many
things there, things that walk but should be dead. Shamans whisper that
Nezumi angered these things once, and they wait for us there.”
The
Lion frowned. He glanced back down the path to where the other humans waited.
The Butcher and his Lion warriors were going to be scouts for some other
humans, the ones that wore black and red. T’tok’chuk
did not understand why, but the other humans were supposed to go into the hot
land and never come back. The Butcher was supposed to come back. It didn’t make
much sense. But then, they were humans.
“Your
mates will have their children soon, you say,” the Butcher said.
T’tok’chuk frowned. Hadn’t he just explained? “Yes.”
The
Butcher nodded. “Well, that is good. The Broken Shinbone thrives. I am pleased
that I could help your tribe build its Name.”
T’tok’chuk grinned. The Butcher was not like most other
humans. He watched. He listened. T’tok’chuk had
learned much about humans, but the Butcher had learned much about Nezumi as
well.
“I am still very disappointed that you and
your warriors cannot come with me,” he continued. “Surely a tribe as strong as
yours can brave whatever curses lay beyond the mountains.”
The
chieftain bowed his head. “These things, we fear since before Heaven fell,” he
insisted. “If Nezumi cannot face the sands even with the mighty armies of
Yesterday, even strongest tribe of today have no hope…
but humans will be safe. These things, they do not know you. They do not seek
you. Butcher will survive, if he is careful.”
“I
understand,” Gohei said with a nod. “Then I will be
careful, and I will return. It will not be long. You must wait here, and return
to our forests. The other humans will not accept you as I have. You know that.
I am the only one you can trust.”
“Yes,”
T’tok’chuk said mournfully. “They no understand. No
one understand like great Butcher Gohei.”
“That’s
right,” Gohei agreed. “But I will come back for you.
I will be back and protect you from the others, so long as you remain my
faithful friends. And there will be bread for all the pups.”
“Yes,”
the chieftain said, more enthusiastically. “We friends with Gohei.”
“Good,”
the human smiled. He glanced to the north and rubbed his chin for a moment.
“There are more humans to the north, but not many. They are called the Badger
Clan, and their warren was crushed by a mighty demon. It is possible that dark
things still live in these mountains. The Broken Shinbone must stay hidden from
them, and kill any that find you, for the Badger samurai who survive have been
driven mad by what they have seen. Only that way will you remain safe until I
return.”
T’tok’chuk gnashed his teeth. “Broken Shinbone kill any who threaten us. We send them to Tomorrow,
fight as the Butcher taught us.”
“Then
I wish you good fortune, my friend,” Gohei said in
the Nezumi tongue. “May Tomorrow never catch you.”
“Carry
the Fortunes, Butcher-sama,” T’tok’chuk
replied in Rokugani.
The
human bowed a final time and rode off down the road toward where the others
waited. T’tok’chuk watched his friend quietly. Gohei had learned much about the Nezumi since that battle
long ago. The human had a sense of Name, an inner strength that shone only in
the bravest of Nezumi. T’tok’chuk worried for his
friend; he could sense the dark things that lurked beyond, in the sands, and
hoped that his friend would be safe from them.
But
in his heart, T’tok’chuk knew he would never see Gohei alive again.
*
Mirumoto Mareshi
paused atop a flat boulder, taking a long drink from his water bottle. He wiped
his face with the back of his hand, staring at the tower that loomed in the
distance. Identical towers were barely visible to the northeast and northwest,
spaced just far enough apart that the protection they offered the Dragon lands
was unbroken.
The
Northern Towers of Flame had been constructed shortly after the Dragon-Phoenix
war some six years ago. There were seven of them, evenly spaced across a wide
section of empty mountains that separated Rokugan and the Dragon lands from the
mountainous wastes to the north. The Towers and those within them had been
built as a defense against the Dark Oracle of Fire, now exiled beyond the
borders of Rokugan. Though the Oracle could not return, the Dragon were not
foolish enough to leave their borders exposed to any minions he might send
against them. When the report had come from the commander of the fifth tower, Mareshi had immediately been dispatched to investigate.
It
was another two hours’ walk to tower’s base. Distance was deceptive in these
lands, and Mareshi idly wondered exactly how far the
other towers were. They were visible on the horizon, but he imagined it would
take at least a day’s walk to reach either. Magic, perhaps,
but most likely a trick of geography.
A
lone samurai was visible outside the barracks at the tower’s base. He was
practicing a vicious series of kata around a wooden
target dummy. It appeared to be the Iron Blossom, a fierce, frenzied stance,
but it had been modified to adopt a stance more appropriate for dueling. Fire kami swirled all about the man, their forms hazy and
indistinct but still visible to Mareshi. It was his
unique gift. “Greetings,” he called out to the other Dragon. “I seek Mirumoto
Hirohisa, commander of the Fifth Tower.”
The
bushi stopped and picked up a cloth to wipe his face.
“I am Hirohisa.”
Mareshi bowed. “I am Mirumoto Mareshi.”
Hirohisa
frowned. “The half-breed?”
“Excellent.”
Mareshi smiled. “You are familiar with my ancestry,
then. It can be quite a chore to explain. Fortunately for me, that is not
necessary this time.”
The
tower captain sheathed his sword and threw the rag down. “I just insulted your
parents. Do you not care?”
“I
am what I am,” he replied, turning his back to Hirohisa as he circled the
target dummy. “My father was a human hero of the Clan Wars, though some of my
clan bear him ill will. My mother was a defender of
the Naga race, allies of the Son of Heaven himself.
Thus I surely am a half-breed. I call myself such proudly, for I am unique
among all the people of Rokugan. I take no offense. However, if insult was your
intent, then realize that you have insulted the personal emissary of Kitsuki Iweko, lady of the Kitsuki, on personal business for Lord Satsu himself.”
Still standing in a relaxed pose with his back to the commander, he drew his
blades and fell into a kenjutsu stance. Mareshi moved in a complex series of deft sword strokes,
quicker than the eye could follow. When his kata was
complete, he turned and sheathed his blades again.
“It
is I who should apologize for ignorantly misreading your words, if insult was
your intent,” Mareshi said, turning with a polite
smile. The target dummy fell in three pieces. “Was it, Hirohisa-san?”
The
captain blinked in surprise for a moment, then bowed. “No, my lord, insult was
not my intent,” he said in a hushed voice. “Please pardon my brusque demeanor.
Duty here can make one… unpleasant, and sometimes I misspeak.”
“Well,
if you are so noble that you can forgive me for my ignorance then I can only
follow your example and forgive you for yours.” Mareshi
glanced at the tower’s peak, far above them. “I must see the Fire of Purity,
and speak to the shugenja stationed here. Lead me.”
“Of
course,” Hirohisa answered. “This way.”
The
Towers of Flame were massive constructs, built to withstand any hardship
including earthquake and siege. The buildings built into the base were large
enough to station a hundred soldiers, though the detail here was not so large as that. It was not an ideal arrangement, but thus
far it had been successful. The Towers’ true purpose, however, was revealed in
the uppermost chamber.
“Shinko,”
Hirohisa said as they entered the chamber. “Someone is here in response to your
report.”
A
young shugenja bearing the Tamori mon
sat in the lotus position on the floor before a large brazier in the chamber’s
center. The tower was open on each side, with a waist-high stone railing
preventing any unpleasant accidents. The young woman looked up at Mareshi and smiled primly. “Forgive me if I do not rise. I
must remain in communion with the spirits, but it is an honor to meet you, Son
of Mara.”
“Of
course,” Mareshi nodded. He did not miss how she slighted
his father by only honoring his mother, but did not belabor it. Mareshi could see the spirits, invisible to human eyes,
flickering around the Fire of Purity in a wild and chaotic dance. They were
powerful indeed, yet serene in their own way. “Will speaking with me disrupt
your concentration?”
“No,”
Shinko answered. “You have come regarding the recent activity?” she continued,
looking up at him. Her eyes were a brilliant emerald green, a rarity among the
Dragon Clan. “What do you know of the Towers and the Fire?”
Mareshi crouched to stare at a swirling kami,
captivated by its beauty. “The Towers were constructed after the Dark Oracle of
Fire was banished from Rokugan by Tamori Shaitung and
her allies,” he answered. His voice seemed far away, even to his ears. “With
the Master of Air’s aid, they created the Fires of Purity, which burn in each
tower. When the Dark Oracle’s corrupting influence is near, the fires flicker
and wane, alerting the soldiers stationed here.”
Shinko
nodded. “Yes. The first two years after Chosai was
banished, his minions attempted to infiltrate Dragon lands many times. Their
sabotage and treachery caused much damage until the Towers were completed.
Since then, they have attacked rarely, never truly relenting. Only the Fifth
Tower has remained virtually untouched.”
“Unusual,”
Mareshi observed. “I understand that the Fourth Tower
has endured a great number of attacks since the vigil began. Why
would Chosai’s forces attack one and not another?”
“We
do not know,” Shinjo admitted. “This tower alone has never suffered an attack,
and thus with the Dragon Clan’s recent concerns it now bears a lighter guard
detail than the others.”
“That
seems dangerous,” Mareshi replied. “It is not above
an Oracle’s patience to wait three years for such an opportunity.”
“I
agree,” Shinko answered. “Yet I have served here for nearly three years, and
seen nothing. The flame does wane and flicker, just as the others do. In the
other Towers, such activity immediately prefaces an attack. Here, it appears to
signify nothing. The soldiers march, the kami search,
but we find no signs of the Oracle.”
Mareshi tore his attention from the Fire to look at Shinko
curiously. “If this has been happening for so long, as you say, then why have
you suddenly become concerned?”
Shinko
shifted uncomfortably, glancing up at Hirohisa. “Our new commander is somewhat…
eager to engage Chosai’s forces,” she finally said.
“He does not feel that exile is enough, that Chosai
must be defeated and bound as Iuchiban once was. He has sent scouts farther
north than our orders mandate.”
“Such
is his decision to make,” Mareshi said, though he
clearly did not agree with the reasoning.
“Recently
his scouts found something,” Shinko added. “Something that
requires the attention of a Mirumoto. Thus I contacted the Lady Kitsuki, and requested she dispatch a samurai she trusted.
“Show
me,” Mareshi said, turning to the commander.
“At
once my lord,” Hirohisa replied, bowing with exaggerated courtesy.
Hirohisa
led Mareshi to a ragged outbuilding. It had the look
of eta quarters, the home of ditchdiggers,
leatherworkers, and other members of the lowest of peasant castes. Unlike most eta quarters, this was guarded by two heavily armed
samurai. Hirohisa shouted a quick command and a bandy-legged old man in poor
clothing scampered out of the building bearing a box covered by a thick cloth.
He set the box on the earth before them and then moved away, keeping his eyes
fixed on the earth. With a severe grimace, Hirohisa cast the cloth aside. The
box appeared to contain the bones from a human arm, separated from the body at
the shoulder and ending with a complete hand. Accompanying it was a broken
sword hilt, not of Rokugani manufacture.
“Interesting,”
he said quietly.
Hirohisa
scoffed. “Disgusting, I would call it. Our shugenja claimed that it was
magical.”
“The hilt or the bones?” Mareshi
asked.
“All
of it,” Hirohisa said grimly. “It is fused as one piece, my lord.”
Mareshi did not respond. He was busy studying the bones.
The energy contained within them was unusual. It appeared as though spirits of
fire had been bound within the bones, or at least within the body of whatever
unfortunate soul had once owned them. It was similar in many respects to the
process by which one would create a nemurani, or a
fetish like those made by the Asahina. In a person, however, it would be
excruciatingly painful. “What manner of men serve the
Dark Oracle?”
“I
cannot say for certain, having never faced them,” Hirohisa answered. “I have
spoken to the other tower captains, however. They are Yobanjin madmen, by all
accounts. They scream the entire time they face our soldiers. It is said that
their breath is like wind of a volcano, and that they seem to have no fear of
death. We have taken no prisoners, for when captured…” Hirohisa looked
uncomfortable. “They burn to death.”
Mareshi rose. “These men are bound to Chosai’s
will by hideous magics. I did not think even a Dark
Oracle capable of such a thing.” Mareshi picked up
his travel sack. “I will return in three days. If the Kitsuki
arrive, please tell them that I ask them to wait until I return before
traveling north. In the meantime, let no one touch this and keep it far from
the tower.”
“North? Where are you going?”
Mareshi gestured to the bones. “To find
those who kill Chosai’s men before they reach us.”
He answered. He glanced once more at the indentations on the wrist bones. They
were most unusual, but he felt certain he knew what they were.
Teeth
marks.
•
It
took longer than Mareshi had expected to find his prey.
It had been arrogant of him to assume that it would be easy, he supposed. The
creatures had most likely been hidden in the mountains for at least as long as
the Towers had been in existence, and they knew the landscape well. He had seen
tracks, however, and quickly surmised that the Dragon’s unseen allies were Ratlings.
Privately,
Mareshi was exhilarated at the notion of encountering
Nezumi. His mother’s people had mixed feelings toward the creatures. Long ago,
before the Naga’s Great Sleep, the Ratlings had been simple animals. They served as pets,
guardians, and even food. The Naga awoke to find that
the Nezumi had built and lost a mighty empire in their absence, and now stood
against their mutual enemies, the Shadowlands. Some Naga
continued to view the Nezumi as animals, denying the truth. Others felt a sense
of shame for not realizing the Nezumi’s potential
long ago. A handful, like his mother, embraced their new allies and sought
forgiveness for enslaving them long ago. Mareshi had
inherited much of his mother’s attitudes, and was curious about meeting these
strange creatures for the first time.
The
Nezumi hid their trails well, but persistence inevitably led him to what he
sought. Mareshi chose his hiding place carefully. The
Nezumi were excellent hunters, and he had no desire to become their prey. He
perched carefully between two large boulders, observing them from a distance.
The
Nezumi had made their home in a series of small caves within a mountain ravine.
Unless one knew where to look, they would never be found. Judging from the
debris scattered along the ravine floor, Mareshi
estimated they had been here for some time. Scraps of white bone also stood out
prominently among the stones. He idly wondered how many of Chosai’s
henchmen these creatures had killed.
A
low hissing came from behind him. Mareshi froze
instantly, then slowly moved his hands onto the stones beside him. “I do not
come to harm you,” he said softly. “I only came because I was curious. I wished
to see the brave warriors who kill the Dragon Clan’s enemies.”
The
creature replied something unintelligible in reply. Another hissed something
back. He felt a spear blade against the back of his neck.
“I
bring a gift,” he said, in the Naga tongue.
The
spear remained in place for a moment then pulled away. He heard the two Nezumi chitter nervously to one another, then
heard the rapid scrabbling sound of one running off to summon help. The other
Nezumi circled around in front of him and gestured with one paw, inviting Mareshi to stand. It was a small creature, covered with
deep brown fur and garbed in armor crafted of leather and bone. It kept its
spear ready and watched him with deep suspicion.
A
moment later, a series of squeaks and squeals emanated from the ravines, and Mareshi could see the forms of many Nezumi scattering into
the caves. Once the others were gone, a full dozen Nezumi of varying colors
emerged from the ravine, many bearing weapons. They surrounded Mareshi, their teeth bared and weapons held at the ready.
For the first time, he wondered if he would survive this encounter.
A
Nezumi with black fur streaked through with gray, clad in a tattered leather
cloak, stepped forward to stare at Mareshi strangely.
“Who is samurai who speaks like a snake?” it demanded in harshly accented
Rokugani.
“I
am Mareshi, a samurai the Dragon Clan,” he answered.
“What you do here?” he demanded. “Why come to
Shinbone Warren?”
Mareshi bowed deeply. “I come to thank you, great
chieftain. We Dragon did not know the mighty Shinbone tribe lived within these
mountains, but you have helped us. We thank you for it.”
“Helped?
How helped?”
Mareshi pointed to the Yobanjin blades several warriors
carried, and to the bone fragments littering the landscape. “These strangers,
the ones who smell of fire and smoke, are our enemies. They seek to hurt the
Dragon. By killing them, you save the lives of our tribe.” He slowly drew his
travel pack and offered it to the Nezumi. “I bring you gifts.”
The
Nezumi took the bag quickly and retreated a step,
rifling through the bag for a moment before handing it off to a warrior. “You
smell bad. Dangerous. Like Skurtrfoo,
like snake.”
Mareshi frowned. “Your odor is not pleasing to me, either,
chieftain,” Mareshi said. “Let us judge one another
by our actions, not our noses.”
The
Nezumi chief’s whiskers twitched, then it laughed a low, barking laugh. “Human funny.” The chief accepted a small roll handed to him
by an excited warrior. “Human bring bread. You have
Broken Shinbone’s attention.”
“How
did your tribe come to be in these mountains?” Mareshi
asked.
The
chieftain drew up to his full height. “I Set’tch’chet,
Rememberer and chieftain of Broken Shinbone, pup of
mighty hero, T’tok’chuk, who was taken by Tomorrow
many Yesterday ago. After great human War where Heaven
fell a second time, father come to mountains with
friend, the great Butcher-sama. Chieftain
promise to wait for Butcher-sama to come back.
We still wait. Butcher come back from cursed sands one day, and see Broken
Shinbone good friends. Butcher-sama tell Broken Shinbone to hide, to guard against dark things.
So we do. We know Butcher-sama will never return… but
this is home now.”
Mareshi’s frown deepened. He knew nothing of a butcher,
although the name seemed somehow familiar. It was impossible to tell from the Nezumi’s story exactly how long ago any of this was
happened, and probably futile to attempt to untangle the tale. The important
fact remained, this was an opportunity to gain new
allies in the fight against Chosai. He must not
squander it.
“If
Butcher-sama will not return, perhaps your tribe
needs new friends,” Mareshi said. “I would like to be
your friend, mighty Set’tch’chet.”
Set’tch’chet scratched his whiskers. “Maybe yes, maybe no,”
he said after a moment. “We talk, we eat, then we see.
Maybe you have much to offer us.” After a moment, he added. “Maybe we have much
to offer you.”
“I
think that I would like that, Set’tch’chet-san,” Mareshi replied.