Pursuit: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Lillim Callina Chronicles Book 4) (13 page)

“You think you’ve won,” Masataka said, his voice strangled. He raised himself and pulled back his fist.

“No,” I said as his pain washed over me like a wave of sorrow. It sucked me in, dragged me down, and smashed into me. I tried to close my eyes, tried to ward it off as he fell forward on top of me, crushing me with his weight. His head hit the dirt next to my cheek, and I could feel his breath hot on my neck. “I think we’ve both lost,” I spat as everything turned scarlet, and I was sucked into his memory.

Chapter 12

“Dirge is dead,” Masataka murmured. His voice was so low that he made almost no sound at all. “She’s dead… dead…”

I looked around. Sconces burned along the grey stone walls, casting dancing shadows across the slate floor. Huge crimson curtains were pulled down over immense windows so that no outside light entered the room. What little furniture there was, a couple chairs and an old desk, were all misshapen angles and scarred wood. I wasn’t actually in his memory, so it wasn’t necessarily all real. This was Masataka’s hell, and as I watched him rock back and forth in the middle of the floor, I wasn’t quite sure what to do.

The problem with using Shikuhakku was that it forced those hit by the rain to relive their worst memories and greatest fears… and it forced me into those memories along with them. Excluding the Queen of the Hot and Bright, I’ve only used Shikuhakku one other time. When I was a young girl and Masataka tried to stab me through the chest. I had used it on him… I’d seen this memory before.

Masataka took a deep breath, his fingers curling around the twin blades of Shirajirashii, digging into their hilts. In an instant, his entire reason for existing had evaporated. In an instant, the woman he had followed was gone.

“She’s dead…” he said the words aloud to give them a substance that seemed unattainable. “She’s dead…” he said it once more, his voice only an empty shell.

He was unshaven, though that didn’t mean much since he didn’t need to shave very much anyway. He was haggard, his gaunt cheeks sucked inward against the bone, teal eyes dulled by dried tears and accrued minerals.

I knelt down next to him as his thoughts filled my head. Across from him there was a ceremonial plaque, it was to be displayed on the statue they were erecting. Until it was completed it was supposed to be placed in the main hall, but he had neglected to put it up. He had neglected to put it up because she was dead.

“I want to tell someone. Let everyone know what happened, what she did for them,” he said. “But everyone who cared knows and even some who don’t care know.” He shook his head and looked down at the swords in his hands. “I’d have thought more people would be upset, but again it seemed I was wrong… Wrong like always, wrong like my family told me I was when I decided to train under Dirge Meilan.”

His father’s note of condolence sat on the floor next to him crumpled into a ball. It bore the royal seal, the emblem of the Mawara clan. It was a simple letter, meant to serve no other purpose than to serve a purpose.

“Why,” he sputtered. “Why’d you have to leave me here, alone without you?”

Things were turned around. Things were not as they should be. Other people should have died, more people should have died. All around them, people walked and in their walking and talking and living, they served as an ever present reminder to everything she had given her life.

“If I could, I’d slaughtered them all to bring you back,” he muttered. “That you are gone so they could live is not right, not fair.”

He sighed, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes and looked upward at the ceiling. Wooden planks fastened to a wooden frame and covered with plaster filled his vision.

There were a million ways to go he had been told, and this was a war. “A war,” he said mimicking his brother, Mitsoumi, “by definition involves casualties, if not of lives, then of hearts and souls. A war involves the end of the world as it is known. For a new phoenix to be born, the old one must die to allow its ashes to form. Sometimes it is better, sometimes it is worse. Sometimes it does nothing more than show you how much everything is the same only it hurts a whole hell of a lot more. Sometimes… sometimes, there is no sometimes at all.”

Shirajirashii was heavy in his hands. The blade had, inexplicably, been recovered after the blast by Joshua. Now he had them, only he did not know why. He only knew that he could not forgive the weapons.

How could he forgive them? They had let her die. How could he forgive himself? He had let her die. He could not forgive those responsible for Dirge’s death, he could never. If he let go for even a single second, she would be forgotten. He could not forget her, and at the same time, he could not avenge her. Mounting a war against demons and their master was impossible. It had been impossible for the legendary Dirge Meilan, how could he do it?

“You could do anything, Masataka. I know you have a strange infatuation with joining those underdogs, but with her gone, you can now truly shine. You could become a Hyas Tyee. Masataka, your position with Dirge makes you a shoe-in to lead her squad. In some ways, I envy you, little brother.”

Those were the words spoken by his older brother, Mitsoumi. They were etched into his brain with the red hot poker of the tongue. He remembered his angry, tear-filled response declaring that he would give it all up in a heartbeat to have her back again. But, Mitsoumi was right. There were many things he must do now.

He must make it so that her soul could rest in peace and that meant only one thing.

He must track down Jiroushou Manaka and make him pay.

He must end the sick cycle that had surrounded her life. If that meant he had to kill a lot of people, then so be it. If it meant he had to abandon his duties as a Dioscuri, then so be it.

“Masataka!” Warthor’s voice snapped him from his revelation, and he looked up. Warthor was standing in the open doorway.

“You,” he said.

“Yes, me,” Warthor said.

“What are you doing here?” Masataka asked, standing and walking over to the door.

“Getting you,” Warthor replied with a shrug.

“For what end?” Masataka asked, eyebrows knitting together.

“I have a proposition for you.”

“I’m not interested,” Masataka replied, moving to shut the door. There was a sharp jerk as the door halted its movement, and Warthor stepped into the cozy entree way of the Royal Mawara Clan.

“What aren’t you uninterested in?” Warthor asked, one hand rubbing his chin.

A loud sigh escaped Masataka’s lips before he spoke. “In being a Hyas Tyee. I don’t want Dirge’s spot.”

Laughter exploded from Warthor. Tears rolled down his face, and he fell to his knees, holding up a hand as though to say
give me a minute.

“What’s so funny?” Masataka asked curiously.

“The idea of you being a Hyas Tyee. To think… you…” More laughter.

“So…” Masataka tested the waters carefully, dipping his toe in as if not only unsure of the temperature but whether or not there were sharks as well. “Why wouldn’t I be a good Hyas Tyee?” Masataka shook his head. “And what do you want anyway?”

“Someone like you could never become a Hyas Tyee. You’re much too… pathetic. Do you think Dirge would sit here bemoaning your death or would she go out there and do her duty? You just sit in this house all day whining. A Hyas Tyee wouldn’t do that. A Hyas Tyee would be out there doing something,” Warthor said, turning his eyes on Masataka.

Masataka tightened his fists, rage swirling about him. Had he really betrayed Dirge by lamenting her death? What would she have done in a similar situation? If anything, from the moment she learned she was dying, she seemed to think her own loss of life was nothing more than the passing of the tides.

“Someone needs to remember her, Warthor,” Masataka snapped.

“People do remember her, Masataka. That’s why they are building a statue out there.” Warthor’s voice was strangely soft as he turned and looked out the window. “The city is in rubble. The outskirts are gone. Even if Manaka was actually killed, his army is out there. There’s lots of things the Dioscuri should be doing, but instead, they are building a statue for her.”

“It’s not enough,” Masataka said, reaching out and grabbing Warthor by the arm. He spun the taller man until they were facing each other. “They should be doing more! They should be bringing her back!”

“You can’t bring someone back,” Warthor said, inclining his head so that he could look at Masataka’s hand. “Dirge wouldn’t want that anyway. She made me promise not to bring her back when she died.”

“So what?” Masataka said, shoving Warthor. “I
need
her back. I know you have a way. You must tell me what it is. You must help me.”

“I cannot do that,” Warthor said, reaching out and awkwardly patting Masataka on the head.

“Then why are you here?” Masataka snapped, pushing Warthor’s hand away and glaring at him.

“We might be able to manage something.” Warthor looked away, staring out the window for a long time before speaking. “But there’s a problem.”

“So what’s the problem,” Masataka asked.

“You need to die,” Warthor replied, not turning around. “There needs to be a sacrifice, a royal sacrifice.”

“Okay,” Masataka replied so quickly that it nearly made my heart stop. Then Masataka turned his head toward me and narrowed his eyes. Recognition filled him as he glared at me.

“And then I got you!” Masataka screamed. “I was supposed to get Dirge back, but somehow I got you!” His voice was so loud in my face that I could barely comprehend what was going on. The scene shattered around us like fine china, splintering into haphazard fragments.

He was back on top of me, which was stupid. Instead of getting away and say… stabbing him in the face, I’d gotten distracted by the vision in his head. Now, his Vajra was glowing so brightly that I had to look away from him, shielding my eyes with my hand. The damn thing must have warded off the effects early.

He hoisted himself up, looming over me. The hatred in his eyes made me shudder. “I
wanted
her back, and I got you! What good are you to me?” he shouted, his teal eyes blazing.

That’s when it clicked. Masataka had been in love with Dirge. Joshua had loved Dirge, and consequently, tried dating me. While not the healthiest of relationships, it at least made sense. Masataka… Masataka had gone the other way, replacing his love with hatred.

“I’m sorry, Masataka. I didn’t want you either,” I snapped, swallowing the lump in my throat as I stared up at him. “And I didn’t ask you to do what you did.”

His face twisted in fury. A guttural snarl escaped his lips as he bared his teeth. “I didn’t do it for you, Lillim.” He spat, and a thick gob of saliva hit me in the face. It dribbled down my cheek, warm and slimy. “You think you can just replace her?”

My hand lashed out, smacking him hard across the face. His head snapped back, but before I could wriggle out from beneath him, he dropped all his weight down on top of me, pinning me to the ground. Blood dribbled down his chin, and he smiled, teeth a macabre canvas. “Ouch,” he whispered, and his voice was strained, half-angry, half… I’m not sure.

He reached out and grabbed my face with his right hand. His Vajra swarmed out over my head in an instant, cutting off not only my air supple, but my vision as well. I tried to scream but the sound was cut off in a staccato burst as I flailed against him.

He stood then, dragging me to my feet by my face. My lungs felt like they were going to burst as I reached out, seizing his wrist with my fingers and tried to tear him away. It was no use. I might as well have been trying to chop down a redwood with a fire poker.

“I’d ask you how it feels to die, Lillim,” Masataka said, raising me into the air so that my feet came off the ground. “But somehow, I think you probably have a good idea what that feels like.”

I lashed out with my knee, catching him hard in the stomach. An “oomph” exploded out of him as I tumbled to the ground. I hit hard on my shoulder as I rolled backward, tears streaming from my eyes as I sucked in a breath that was more molten lead than oxygen. My ragged throat screamed as I reached down and grabbed my katana, Isis, and flung the blade at him as hard as I could.

Isis burst through Masataka’s chest in a macabre spray that covered me in hot, sticky blood. He stumbled backward, one hand gripping the blade as he fell to his knees. His eyes widened in shock. His mouth opened and closed, like a fish out of water. His hands ran up his chest, feeling the blade. His fingers closed around it as he shut his eyes. I shoved him, and he hit the ground with a thud, still gripping the blade of my katana.

“Bitch,” he coughed, face twisted in rage as I knelt down next to him and gripped the hilt of the katana protruding from his chest. Blood was gushing out of him. If I pulled the blade free now, he’d bleed out before anyone could save him.

“It’s okay,” I said, and my voice was cold and empty as I stared into his eyes. They were already starting to fade, and the urge to turn away from him was so overwhelming that I almost did. But I couldn’t do that, I owed it to him to watch him die. After all, I had killed him. “It will be over in a second.”

“No!” Mitsoumi’s voice was so loud that it made me turn and look at him. He was sprinting across the battlefield so fast that it would only be a moment until he reached us. I turned back to Masataka, and he grinned at me.

“Do it,” Masataka pleaded. “Please.” Tears were forming around his eyes, sliding down his cheeks and soaking into the still damp earth. “I want you to do it.”

I shut my eyes and took a deep breath. “Okay,” I said and started to jerk the blade free of him when something grabbed me by the ponytail. My bloody hands slipped off the hilt of the katana as I was flung backward like a ragdoll. I hit the ground in a sprawl and scrambled onto my feet. Mitsoumi was kneeling over his brother, back to me.

“Someone come help,” Mitsoumi cried as a tremor roiled through the crowd. A cacophony of sound exploded from the Dioscuri as people surged forward. They rushed by me, ignoring me, to tend to the fallen Masataka. I turned away.