“Two li to the east of here is a river. You must’ve crossed it, coming up here. If you follow it to the northwest, where it meets the grand lake, you will find a cave. That is where the Yellow Scarves have hidden away.”
“You want them dead?” I said. I did not know how many there were. What a grand thing to ask a person, as a favor!
“I do,” she said, “but more important, I want my father’s war mask. You won’t miss it—it’s a laughing fox, very ornate. If you retrieve it for me, Barsalai, you will have my eternal devotion. Whatever you need of me, I will provide.”
Whatever I needed. She knew exactly what she was saying when she used those words.
“How many bandits?” I asked.
“Twice twenty,” she said. “But that cave is where they sleep. You can find them at night, and kill them without a fight.”
Forty of them—you Hokkarans hate saying “four.”
I could do it. I did not have a bow, but I did have a knife and my hands and my teeth. You had your sword. That was all we needed. Forty bandits. We could do it, if we went at night and killed them in their sleep.
You would not want to do it that way, though; I knew this in my bones. You’d want to walk in and challenge their leader. Unwise. Bandits are not beholden to dueling laws.
But I could find some plan that would be safer, something that would still challenge you.
I could be the hero Ren seemed to think I was.
“I will do it,” I said. “I will bring the mask to you.”
She bowed in thanks. “Good,” she said. “Then you should return to the one lucky enough to claim you. I am certain you are tired.”
“I do not tire,” I said. But I bowed to her, too, and when I mounted Alsha, I felt lighter than I had in weeks.
“My home is easy to find,” she called. “Look for the stables. I own five mares and one stallion.”
Hmm. Awful lot of horses for a Hokkaran woman.
You found me in the morning skinning the rabbit. When you emerged from the tent, you did your best to smile, as if everything were forgotten. You even came and sat next to me while I worked. As I cut into the little creature, you grew a bit paler. I remember, you scrunched your face, and that line across your nose came into being again.
You crossed your legs. “You will need a bow soon,” you said. “Perhaps we can buy one in the next town. It must be difficult to hunt with only a knife.”
In response, I wiggled my bloody hand. Sharp black nails gleamed in the sun. “Ten knives,” I said.
“Small knives,” you countered. Ah, there it was—a knowing smirk, a flicker of flame in your voice. “You cannot throw those.”
“I could cut them off,” I said.
You pursed your lips. “Do not dream of it. Your fingers are national treasures.”
“They’d grow back,” I said. I wiggled them again, this time right at your face.
You laughed and skittered away. “Barsalai Shefali, don’t you dare!”
Barsalai and Barsatoq—like two pine needles.
I grinned. Only when you broke down laughing, only when I was tickling you and you flailed like a four-year-old, did I stop. Our faces hot with joy, we held each other there, by the campfire. I lay on your chest, your fingers tracing strands of my hair. I listened to your heart beating, like hooves on dry ground.
“Shizuka,” I said.
“Yes, my love?”
“I went to the village last night,” I said.
You quirked a brow. “Did you?” you said. “Did you find anything?”
“I know where the bandits are,” I said.
And at this, you sat up. Your amber eyes sparkled. “Their hideout?” you said. “Do you know how many? Can we reach them before nightfall?”
I have always found it amusing when you leap at battles most would run from. At that moment, for instance, you already reached for your sword. We were alone in the woods, hours away from the bandits—but you were ready to slay them.
“Forty,” I said, “up the river.”
“Forty,” you repeated, never one for superstition. You rubbed your chin. “Difficult, but possible. Come. Let us plan. If we rid Shiseiki of these bandits, then the people will welcome us with open arms.”
We sat by the camp and drew pictures in the dirt. Our biggest obstacle, as you saw it, was being surrounded. If we could face them in small groups, we’d be victorious. Five, seven each; this was manageable. But how were we going to cut a group of forty into eight groups of five?
For this you had an answer.
We’d set eight fires.
I did not want to harm the forest. Fires spread quickly near dry tinder like this. Nearby villages might be harmed, to say nothing of the damage to the animals living in it.
“We have no time to divert the river,” you said. “That would be the thing to do—but two people and one admirable mare alone cannot do it. What else would draw them out?”
“I could,” I said.
You shook your head. “No, Shefali,” you said. “That is dumb and foolhardy, even by my standards. I forbid it.”
“We cannot light the fires,” I said.
“And we cannot use the river. What else, then, can we do?”
“I could kill things,” I said. “Throw them in. Be frightening. I am good at frightening now.”
Good at killing, good at scaring, good at hunting on all fours like an animal. I was good at many things—but nothing I’d liked before.
“Shefali,” you said, “you are good for more than that.”
I bit my tongue. You stared at your drawing in the dirt.
“We might as well ride,” you said. “The closer we come, the more likely it is we’ll see something we can use. It is a fool’s errand to make maps of a place we’ve never seen.”
That was all you had to say on the subject. Dejected, I climbed onto Alsha.
She’s right, you know, Alsha said to me. You are a fine rider, and you have excellent taste in sweets.
“You’d say so,” I muttered.
The ride to the bandit camp took us the better part of a day. Though I had demon blood coursing through my veins, though I could tear a man asunder with my bare hands, the sound of the river made me clutch my reins. So much water nearby, all rushing forward at once. If I waded in, I knew the waters would swallow me whole.
By the time we first spotted the Yellow Scarves, the Moon had begun her nightly ascent. Two guards stood on the riverbank. I spotted them before you did. With a raised hand, I stopped our advance and pointed them out.
A sharp metal tone hung in the air as you drew your sword. No. That would not work.
You wrinkled your nose, pointed at them with the tip of your sword.
I shook my head. I dismounted and came close enough to you to whisper. “Stay here,” I said. “I’ll follow them.”
You scowled. “Why?” you protested. “It is better to kill them now, so that we do not have to deal with them later.”
“Others would notice,” I said. Part of me bristled at this—I did not question your fool decisions; why were you questioning my sound ones? “Better to track, for now.”
You glanced at the patrol. For the most part, they avoided the road, weaving between the birch trees. One had a bow, the other a pike. How a bandit ended up with a bow is beyond me, but I resolved to take it from him regardless. With a bow in my hands, I’d feel more like my old self.