Chapter Fifty-Six: In Asamaywa’s Shadow

Chapter Fifty-Six: In Asamaywa’s Shadow

Noburu shivered against the bitter lowland weather. He hugged himself, preserving his body heat, covering the holes in his tattered clothes and hiding the package he carried. He had warmer clothes hidden away, but Noburu didn’t dare wear them outside. Winter was when people got desperate, and if Noburu wanted to keep pretending he was the same as everyone else, he couldn’t afford to be seen as possessing too much wealth.

Not that he was wealthy. Noburu, like the majority of the slum-dwellers, was poor. Down here in the narrow streets winding between ramshackle buildings, if your coin purse were seen holding more than a few scraps of copper, it wouldn’t be long before a cutthroat or guard would follow you with less than honourable intentions.

Often, they were the same person.

It wasn’t a difference in wealth that discriminated Noburu from the rest of the slum. It was his spirit. The people down here had long since given up on a better life. They would beg, steal or otherwise take what they wanted, spend it all on cheap ale and then repeat the process day after day, all while cursing at the better-born who lived in the great city above them. They would tell tales of how one day they would become a lord-prospect, or find a job in some rich merchant’s estate, but deep down, they didn’t believe it. They didn’t have hope. They weren’t Noburu. They weren’t determined to better themselves.

He looked up, noticing today's low clouds obscured his view of Asamaywa above. Was someone up there, looking down at him right now? What thoughts crossed their mind upon seeing the slums clinging to the cliffs of the plateau? Maybe they ignored the view down, focusing instead on ships arriving at the dock or the lush farmland and wilderness beyond. After all, why would anyone gaze at Asamaywa’s shadow when brighter sights were available?

He caught the sound of men talking. Looking down, Noburu saw a group of guards mingling at the end of the street, between him and his route. Damn them! Down here, if you rolled a bad set of dice, a group of guards was no less dangerous than a gang. Noburu darted into an unfamiliar alley, hugging the package close. It wasn’t a package he could let the guards find.

His movements must have caught their eye, for he heard a command for him to stop. Noburu quickened his pace, turning the only corner to find the alley came to a dead end. It was too late to turn around; the guard's footsteps were entering the alley behind him. He looked around frantically for an escape. Tall wooden walls surrounded him. There wasn’t even a drainpipe to climb. Some gangs kept hidden ropes in the dead-end alleys, but if there was one, Noburu couldn’t find it.

Damn it! Damn them!

Noburu backed against the far wall, sliding down and pulling his feet in to shrink as much as possible. As the guards turned the corner, Noburu took a deep breath, activated his blessing, and slipped into the ghost world.

The world took on a reddish-brown, and an uncomfortable squeezing sensation began forming in his chest. Time slowed, and the guards hurrying after him now moved sluggishly. Their outlines were blurred, glowing slightly like all living things in this strange place. They called after him, but the sound was distant and muffled as if they were shouting over a great distance.

The alley's roughly-hewn wooden walls were now covered in ghostly purple vines. The guards couldn’t see the ethereal plant life, just as they couldn’t see Noburu. As they paced the alley, the vines pulled away from their presence. Some larger vines couldn’t move away and brushed against the guards’ faces. Despite this, the guards didn’t react.

You couldn’t feel the vines if you couldn’t see them. In some cases, Noburu had seen them pass right through another person. They were like ghosts, only loosely holding onto the physical world. For this reason, Noburu called this mysterious plane of existence the ghost world and the vines ghost vines.

“Where in the seven hells did he go!?” one of the guards called, his voice sounding lower than it should due to the slower passage of time. They fanned out and scoured the alley, finding nothing.

“Rope or a false wall, I reckon,” another guard said, kicking at some of the wooden panelling. “He’ll be far away by now.”

“Little rat scurried off. Leave ‘im!” A guard spat on the floor right next to where Noburu was hiding before turning and walking away. The guards left the alley. Noburu waited until the burning sensation in his chest forced him to exhale, pushing him out of the ghost world and back into reality.

In the ghost world, he could breathe if he had to, but it made him sick.

He gasped for breath. The smell of something burning filled the alley. Exhaustion racked his body. His stomach gnawed at him. He was ravenous. Something about his blessing used up his energy. Noburu reached into a pocket and pulled out a bit of leftover bread. He was going to give it to one of the children, but now he needed it more.

He took a moment to chew the bread and steady his breath. His ears remained sharp, prepared to use his blessing again if someone came into the alley. Fortunately, he wasn’t interrupted and soon got back on his feet, feeling his strength return. Stealthily approaching the alley’s opening, Noburu glanced around the corner. The guards had left.

Feeling relieved, he pressed on through the slums until he arrived at his destination. Before him stood a building that was sturdier than most: it featured a stone foundation, ironwood supports, double-planked walls, and fired clay tiles. When it was originally constructed, it must have appeared magnificent. However, now the walls bore poorly patched holes, and half of the roof depended on makeshift fixes to prevent the rain from getting in.

The orphanage stood at the end of the street, surrounded by a tall wall that created a safe play area for the children. It was Noburu’s residence, where he and his sister had spent most of their lives. After the owner died, he somehow became responsible for managing the orphanage. Although he didn't seek this duty, he felt there was nothing else he could do; the children depended on him for their hope.

He tapped out the agreed-upon pattern on the heavy door. “It’s me!” he shouted.

“Who’s ‘me’!?” a young boy’s voice responded.

“Me who won’t be able to give you this sugarfruit if you don’t let me in!”

Jubilant shouts sounded from beyond the door, and after some scrambling, the heavy iron bolts were pulled back and the door opened. A gaggle of children, wearing patchy clothing and with dirty faces, looked with eyes wide in anticipation. Those excited faces quickly turned into frowns as they saw no sign of the promised fruit.

“Liar!” Mira, one of the girls, shouted, pointing at him.

“Here,” Noburu said, fishing a small coin out of his pocket and flicking it to her. “Go to the market and bring back half a dozen. Don’t let them short-change you, okay?”

The children, four boys and two girls, cheered happily, racing out the doorway. “Stick together!” He called after them. “Bring one back for your sister!” Noburu hesitated for a moment before adding, “And one for me!” Normally, Noburu would do without the rare treat, but he wanted to get some energy back.

He watched them skip down the street, laughing joyfully. He stepped into the orphanage, shutting and locking the door behind him. He moved down the hallway before turning into the largest room in the building. There, he found Kiku, his younger sister and the only blood-related family left, piling kindling against the wall.

The room was originally the orphanage's dining room, but it had long since been converted to the everything-room. In this room, they ate, worked, played, and slept. The beds had been moved down here, while the dining table, once polished and shiny, now scratched and full of splinters, had been shoved against one side. This room held their stores of food and wood, material for their work, and anything else. At the end of the room, a clean area was maintained for cooking. The crystal-fuelled oven had long been dormant; instead, they had a gas stove they sparingly used.

This room had become the everything room due to the wood burner installed against one of the walls. By staying in one room, they could manage their meagre stockpiles of wood throughout the winter. During the cold months, the warmer you were, the less food you needed and the more you could work.

“Enough for winter?” Noburu said, gesturing to the stacked wood.

“Might need to buy a little more,” Kiku said, standing and facing him. She dusted her dirty knees. “But we can afford that if you stop buying the children sugarfruit.” Kiku tilted her head in disapproval. “What’s that?” she asked, eyes narrowing as she spotted the package.

Noburu took the package out, placing it gently on the table. “Clothes,” he said. “From Yoshiro.” He winced slightly, anticipating the argument. His sister examined the package, peeking inside.

“A disguise? You went to see Yoshiro?” she asked. When he nodded, she shook her head, gritting her teeth. “You don’t need to do this anymore! You don’t need to work for him!” Kiku grabbed Noburu’s hands, pulling them towards her. “What are you going to lose next time? A hand? You only have so many fingers!” She caressed his hands. His right hand was whole, but his left was missing the last two digits.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

“I can’t get over how good this is!”

“I could eat this for every meal for the rest of my life!”

“Shu, you’re going to spill it; slow down!”

“Remember to eat the flesh! Even the rind is good for you!”

Despite warnings to savour every bit, the sugarfruits were soon devoured. The juice drank, the flesh carved away with spoons, and the bitter rind was chewed and swallowed. Noburu himself found he was lost momentarily in the deliciousness of the meal. He did, however, stop himself from eating the rind, instead letting the children split it between themselves.

A touch of anger rose within him. Here, the children enjoyed even the bitter rind, eagerly arguing over who deserved the last scraps. How unfair was it that they had to find happiness in this while the better-born would feed the same scraps to their swine? What did that make them?

“We heard something in the market!” Chiho announced. “They say a human healer appeared in the city! They say she’s nobility! Maybe if we save money, we can write to her, and have her look at Kiku?” Chiho leaned over and hugged Kiku. “I bet her magic could make you better!”

“Oh, Chiho...” Kiku giggled, patting the child’s head. “I don’t think Greatlord Oshiro would sanction a human. All human healers belong to the church, thousands and thousands of kilometres away! Why would one leave the human continent and travel all the way here? The human gods wouldn’t allow it! Besides,” Kiku pumped a fist in the air. “We’re demons! We’re stronger and better than those weak humans! I’ll get better, don’t you worry!”

“Hurry up, then!” Chiho complained, “I want to play with you like we used to!”

“When we get older, we’ll find work on the farms!” exclaimed Riki, pointing to himself and Reo. “Then we’ll save loads of money and buy the treatment you need!”

“Mmm!” Shu nodded, following along with his siblings. “I’ll learn to knit the best hats! We’ll sell them all!”

“Yeah!”

“Let’s do it!”

“We’ll make Big Sister better!”

“You can count on us!”

Kiku laughed, but before she could respond, a loud thud sounded from the front door. Then another, and then another. The room became deathly quiet. No one spoke, and everyone looked at Noburu. The knocking wasn’t one of their pre-arranged patterns.

“I’ll go talk to him,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. “Wait here.”

He left the room and headed down the hallway. The thudding in the doorway continued until Noburu pulled the iron bolt across, partially opening the door to reveal a familiar face.

“Yasuji,” Noburu intoned, moving to block the guard’s sight through the doorway. “What brings you here?”

Yasuji eyed him with yellow eyes, one hand on his hip and the other on his shortsword. Guards in the slums typically didn’t carry firearms, although Noburu had once seen a captain with a rifle. Still, the guards were the only ones who could carry weapons openly, and they made sure you knew it.

“Saw the brats with a bit of copper. Buying food. Figured you gave it to them.” He clicked his fingers. “Come on, then. This month's late. Don’t give me any black speech about you not having it. I swear, little lord, I’ll turn this place upside down if I have to.” Yasuji spat on the floor, stepping up and putting a hand against the door, pushing it open. “Kiku in? Shall I give her my greetings?”

Noburu extended a foot to prevent the door from opening any wider. Yasuji had encountered Kiku only a few times, typically on the rare occasions she felt strong enough to stroll to the market. Noburu disliked what he saw in the guard’s eyes during those moments. He also hated the sound of her name on Yasuji’s tongue.

“Seeking to stop me doing my duty, little lord?” Yasuji revealed an ugly grin. The guard gripped the handle of his sword tighter, unsheathing it an inch. “Want to play?” Yasuji asked, his brow furrowing. “Or should I use my aura to tear this building down? Eh!?”

Noburu desperately wished to smash the guard’s face. He doubted the man was a genuine warrior. If he truly possessed aura, wouldn’t he work as a manor guard, enjoying a more comfortable position? Or maybe he was indeed telling the truth, serving his role down here as a form of punishment.

Noburu forced an apologetic expression on his face. “Certainly not, Yasuji. Kiku is running a fever, and I’d hate for you to catch her ailment. Here,” he said, pulling a small coin purse from his pocket. He jingled it lightly to get the guards' attention, then poured its contents into his palm and gave it to Yasuji. “That’s it,” Noburu remarked, showing the empty purse. “You could tear up the floorboards and not find a single chit or tak. We barely have enough to survive the winter.”

The guard snorted. “Yeah, right. Little lords like you always have more hidden away.” Noburu didn’t rise to the comment. On account of his and Kiku’s crimson eyes - redder than anyone else in the slums -Yasuji and the other guards had given him the nickname little lord. It was another thing that set Noburu apart from the rest of the slum dwellers. No matter how poor he presented or how destitute he really was, he would always be seen as having the taint of nobility in his bloodline.

Not that they were wrong.

“Anything else?” Noburu asked, trying to glare just enough to let the guard know he wasn’t welcome, but not too much as to rile him further.

“Don’t be late next month. If it weren’t for us, those brats wouldn’t be able to beg or sell their wares. That’s a privilege that we could take away at any time. Then, you’ll need to find some other way to pay...” The guard's mouth curled up into a disgusting leer, his eyes looking past Noburu into the hallway beyond. Noburu had no illusions about what the man might demand if they couldn’t afford the protection fee.

Over my dead body, Noburu thought.

“I’ll make sure to have it ready,” Noburu intoned with a fake smile. “See you soon, Yasuji.”

He shut the door, letting out a sigh of relief. Lately, Yasuji had been making an increasing number of comments about Kiku. Fortunately, his sister seldom ventured outside and would remain indoors throughout the winter. He hoped the guard would find someone else to harass.

Noburu wasn’t a fighter. He could hold his own if necessary, but he doubted his odds against Yasuji, even if that man exaggerated his aura abilities. After receiving his hundred denarii from Yoshiro’s job, he would take stock of the situation again. If Yasuji hadn’t moved on by then, then Noburu would hire a cutthroat to deal with the issue once and for all.

He would do anything to protect his sister, even if that meant stepping outside Asamaywa’s shadow and risking it all.