Scott McGough: Guardian, Saviors of Kamigawa

The ogre grinned again, raising a cold sweat on Toshi’s neck. He had seen Hidetsugu rampant in battle, swinging a spiked club in one hand and a dead foe in the other as he roared with laughter and spat sparks. Compared to his current expression, that wild mask of malevolence and bloodlust seemed like the warmth in a doting mother’s eyes.

“I won’t tell you that, Toshi,” Hidetsugu said. “But I will tell you that I have visited Oboro. Recently, in fact. Things there are currently quite to my liking. Care to see?”

“No,” Toshi said quickly. “I was just-”

But Hidetsugu scooped him up and tucked Toshi under his arm like a log for the fire. The ogre raised his other hand and snapped his fingers.

“Take us to Oboro,” he boomed. “I want Toshi to see how fares the city in the clouds.”

Toshi was unable to protest with his lungs compressed in Hidetsugu’s grip. Five yamabushi emerged from the darkness, including the two that had greeted Toshi at the gate. They linked hands and formed a circle around their master and his burden, and then the warrior-priests began to chant.

A series of circular platforms made of dull amber light formed between the floor and the highest exterior window. Toshi craned his eyes to follow the series of steps as it extended out the window and up into the evening sky.

The female yamabushi from the front gate bounded onto the first platform. She hopped like nimble spider from step to step, pausing after each landing to cushion the impact and gather her strength for the next jump. As soon as she cleared the window, another yamabushi started from the bottom.

When he went outside, Hidetsugu leaped. Toshi tried to yelp as the world twisted around him, but his lungs were still too shallow. The ogre’s grip tightened as he hit the first platform. Toshi gritted his teeth and concentrated on not being crushed.

Outside, the sky had cleared and the soratami city Oboro glowed gold in the setting sun. Through tear-clouded eyes, Toshi could see the amber platforms of light reaching up to the edge of the city itself. The first yamabushi was almost there; Toshi and Hidetsugu would soon catch up.

Toshi closed his eyes and said a quick prayer to his myojin. O Night , he thought. I am still your faithful servant, and true. But it may be awhile before I can complete the task you’ve set for me .

After a moment, he mentally added, You too, Michiko .

Helpless in the grip of his former oath-brother, Toshi wondered what he would find at the top of this peculiar staircase.

High over the gemstone streets of Oboro, Hidetsugu and his yamabushi ended their journey. The ogre still held Toshi tucked under his arm while his warriors formed and occupied platforms of light arranged in a wide semicircle. The streets below them converged into a wide public quadrangle, half of which lay draped in shadows from the towering spires and gleaming domes of the soratami capital.

“Oath-brother,” Toshi spat through clenched teeth, “if we have arrived, I prefer to stand on my own.”

Hidetsugu did not reply, but turned to inspect the arc of yamabushi curling around to his left. With a shrug, he loosened his grip so that Toshi fell to the platform.

Toshi paused while down on all fours to inspect his perch. The amber light felt as solid as stone, rough and cool to the touch, but it also pushed back against his hands as if surrounded by a layer of invisible springs. It was clearly sturdy, though he couldn’t actually touch it.

Toshi glanced down at the quadrangle as he rose. They were far too high for him to simply jump and hope for the best unless he landed among the shadows. One of the blessings he had taken from Night’s Reach was the ability to travel from shadow to shadow, so all he had to do was make contact with the silhouettes of the soratami buildings and he’d be free to go where he pleased.

Eyeing the distance he’d have to cover, Toshi decided to wait. Things would have to grow far more desperate before he pursued that particular option.

“So.” Toshi straightened his sword belt. “You’ve dragged me all the way up here to show me … this? I’ll say it again, oath-brother. It looks to me like the show’s long over and the crowd’s gone home.”

Indeed, there were no signs of people at all in Oboro. The streets were silent and still, and the buildings seemed empty, forgotten, and almost lonely in the gathering dusk.

“Wait for it.” Hidetsugu’s voice was low and calm. He did not take his eyes off the quadrangle. “You know how to wait, don’t you? It’s a skill worth practicing.”

The ochimusha crossed his arms and huffed. The longer this took, the more likely something horrible would happen. There was no way he could compel Hidetsugu to hurry, however, so he forced himself to relax and let the o-bakemono have his demonstration. One of the first lessons Toshi had learned about dealing with ogres was not to rush into things.

Toshi’s first glimpse of Hidetsugu had come almost a decade earlier, when the ochimusha was still an indentured reckoner working for Boss Uramon. The sallow-faced crime lord was one of Takenuma Swamp’s most powerful figures, and she had been trying to clear a new route for her black-market caravans. Along a crucial part of the route was Shinka, Hidetsugu’s home. The boss had sent messengers, gifts, and offers of friendship to Shinka, but none of her envoys ever returned. When she sent one of her toughest negotiators and a team of hatchet-men to force the issue, Hidetsugu sent their mangled bodies back in one large sack. He also sent a mocking note telling Uramon the missing heads were now decorating his pathway, and that she could come view them any time she liked.

Uramon was an even-tempered boss, but such insults are bad for business in Takenuma. Following time-honored criminal tradition, Uramon had organized her most dangerous thugs into revenge gangs called reckoners, whose job it was to make very public, very painful examples of anyone who crossed the boss. She assigned to her most reliable reckoners the task of chastising Hidetsugu.

The boss was no fool, and she was determined not to underestimate the ogre’s power, especially in his own stronghold. Toshi was part of the largest team of reckoners ever assembled for Uramon, almost thirty of the most experienced mages, strong-arm experts, and killers-for-hire Takenuma had to offer.

They were led by a heavyset assassin called One-Eye who wore a thick wooden eye patch. One-Eye was a notoriously indiscriminate killer, even in Takenuma. They said he had traded his eye for a cursed gem that would kill anyone who looked upon it, and he was quick to lift his eye patch and show the gem over the most minor disagreements.

One-Eye was the only man who could have led such a large group against such a target. He was part drill instructor, part brutal taskmaster who insisted the entire gang follow his lead and act like seasoned professionals. He even killed two of them before the job started to hammer his point home: he would not die because of someone else’s mistake.

They made the long trek to the Sokenzan Mountains quickly and quietly. When they reached Shinka, One-Eye positioned them all around the ogre’s hut where they could ambush him as he emerged.

It was Toshi’s bad luck that One-Eye simultaneously respected his skill with kanji magic and hated his smart mouth. Since One-Eye’s plan required someone to anger the ogre and lure him into the ambush, he sent Toshi. There was no one more suited to stand openly in front of Shinka and provoke the ogre until he attacked. And if the jaws of the trap didn’t slam shut fast enough, well, the bait could defend itself.

“So I’m bait?” Toshi complained.