As I watch the shields close in, it reminds me of the very scene that incited this plan.

  When Acromner and our war with Verdan ended, the Adachi forces marched back to the clan. Even though we technically killed far more Verdanians than they killed us, we lost the major battles. I think Adachi blamed Catolica for those losses.

  Still, despite that loss, despite the somber looks of those dull-eyed warriors, I remember the distinct, ear-grating tune of one particular individual.

  Daichi.

  Frog eyed, smug-faced, cruel fingered Daichi. He was directing a band of elites carrying a palanquin. At least, I thought it was a palanquin when I first spotted it from the rooftop of our home. But no.

  It was a cage.

  Within the cage, a large pale thing whimpered. I thought it looked like a skinned mountain croc—so malnourished was it that the spine peaked through the skin like a hide. However, it was a human. Face down, ass up, hands tied behind legs, knees pinched together, eyes weeping for mercy—I turned away on instinct.

  It was a woman.

  Not my mother, like I thought for a frightening (albeit irrational) moment. But evidently, some prisoner of war lay in that destitute cage.

  I searched the regiment for any signs of Mother, but many of our clan were still marching up the path to Adachi. The cooks and other… “utilitarian supporters” were located often at the rear end of the force. So it would be a while till I caught sight of her.

  “Lo and behold the great Angel of Verdan,” Daichi intoned, standing on a small stone platform above the gathering crowd of Adachi housewives and children, all trying to find their husbands. He cleared his throat quite a few times until the women quieted down, all noticing now the person in the cage. “Recognize she who scorched our armies with fire and razed Catolica’s idiotic armies with mountain traps. Everyone, please, clap for her!”

  Fiercely, his hands came together, clapping out as if he was heralding some famous theater performance.

  No one followed suit at first. Then, the soldiers began to clap—some even started whooping and cheering. Slowly and wisely, everyone else began clapping too.

  Daichi’s laughter lilted over the crowd. I pushed my way through to the front, anxiety demanding me to face what came.

  Abruptly, Daichi’s laughter ceased. His clapping stopped. Given his track record, it was a miracle he had the patience to last five seconds before yelling. Evidence of his good mood really.

  “QUIET!”

  Everyone’s clapping ceased. He huffed with the effort of shouting before taking a deep breath and plastering on that same, slightly manic smile.

  “Now, everyone please follow me and bear witness the reward we absolutely must bestow upon this great hero.”

  I heard her whimper and choke something back. A shudder ran through my frail little body, mind thinking about all the injustices she faced on the road. I was no stranger to violence—bullies frequently beat me for my status as a whore’s son.

  Plus, I’d seen the bruises on my mother’s body; I’d heard her cries at night.

  If I saw those same bruises now, heard those cries now, felt those bumps run along her back like small blue-black hills of pain… my inner black sun would scorch Katal itself. But back then, it just made me afraid. I could say it was because I was a child, yet, I know that is a paltry excuse. I was merely a coward. Weak. So weak that I had to rely on others for comfort.

  About a thousand people gathered in that crowd, all encircling those four cage bearers, Daichi, and his Angel of Verdan. They walked past the Judgement Rink, in which Hikaru, the one Elder left behind to look after the clan, waited. When Daichi passed without so much as a glance at Hikaru, the other Elder balled his fists and stood from his cushion, stomping towards Daichi. The crowd parted for him as he approached.

  “Daichi!” Hikaru spat. He looked between the smug Elder and his whimpering quarry. Then he leaned close and hissed, not so quietly: “this is not what we agreed to.”

  Daichi didn’t even look his way. “I don’t make agreements with cowards.”

  “Cowards!?!? Is that what we have come to? I was assigned this duty.”

  “So was I,” Daichi growled back, finally deigning to glare upon Hikaru. “But you don’t see me accepting that assignment.”

  “You know nothing of duty.”

  “And you know nothing of war. For you see, this thing is my spoil. And I do with my spoils whatever I please.”

  “It is barbaric, Daichi,” a new voice cut in. From the midst of the soldiers, as he always seemed to appear from, came Kai. His war cape billowed behind him and his iron bracelets clinked with every step he took. The second youngest Elder was lanky, tall, lean and hollow-cheeked. His very presence commanded respect.

  Well, it commanded respect from everyone except Daichi, who merely sniffed upon the Elder’s intrusion.

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  “You argue against me now Kai? Shocking. Wasn’t it you who told me, oh so generously, ‘do as you please.’”

  Kai shrugged. “I meant it then. The prisoner is yours, by writ of capture.”

  “Then there is no issue to speak of, yes?”

  “Let me ask you this Daichi: what, in your eyes, is true strength?”

  Both Daichi and Hikaru rolled their eyes at this.

  “Spare the lecture Kai—”

  “True strength, Daichi, is literal. Equivalent to raw power. We had a bigger alliance, we had more power. Yet, we lost. Do you know why?”

  “This conversation can be saved for a council meeting,” Hikaru hissed once more. His eyes flitted infinitely across all the various faces that peeked their way to the edge of the crowd.

  “Why should they not hear this? It is an apt lesson for all of us,” Kai continued, extending his hands out invitingly, as if pulling the crowd to him. They obliged. I did as well, unthinking, for it was rare that anyone saw Kai speak so openly. “While we may have been superior in true strength, our enemy was superior in false strength. Reputation, trickery, strategem—all factors that made them outclass and outwit our Catolican allies. Despite Masaru and I managing to win against them on multiple smaller fronts, they won all the major battles against our Northwestern ally. As a result, we lost. Simple as that.”

  “So you use Catolica as a scapegoat? How crude. You, who preach on and on about the old ways—you have not the slightest inclination towards honor yourself, Kai,” Daichi said.

  “No, you misunderstand. The loss is my folly. But, it is our lesson. We must now stop gathering true strength and we must turn our efforts to building false strength. That includes re-pu-ta-tion. And what is the easiest way to lose reputation?” He stepped right up to Daichi. Face impassive. “By marauding our enemy’s darling hero like a common whore.”

  Whispers of agreement rang through the crowd. Daichi’s face bristled.

  Kai leaned in to whisper something in his ear. What it might’ve been, no one heard. Nor tried too—for another presence demanded our attention.

  A cold wind flowed through the crowd. The temperature dropped. The mountains themselves seemed to close around Adachi, and many bowed their heads in fear of the presence that waded through their numbers.

  For as wide of a berth they gave Hikaru, Daichi, and Kai, when Head Elder Renji came, the people of Adachi parted like the frothing edges of the Freidis River.

  “Elder Renji,” Kai said, immediately dropping to his knees. The other two Elders followed. “What say you on this matter—”

  “Kai,” Renji began. His low baritone voice rumbled through the earth. “You pontificate better than you wage war.”

  Kai’s face twitched ever-so slightly, while a wide grin cut Daichi’s maw.

  Renji circled the three kneeling Elders, coming next to the cage and observing the whimpering Angel of Verdan. “You promised me you’d win all my wars Kai. Yet, you have lost the very first one assigned to you.”

  “My deepest apologies Head Elder—”

  “While you proved capable at command, you failed to adapt to Acromner. Failed to sufficiently make up for our Catolican allies and their… misfortune.”

  Renji touched a hand to the woman. She rattled the cage as she shrunk away, hands going to her face, covering her eyes. She looked more like a pale homunculus than any human being.

  Renji withdrew his hand and rubbed his fingers together, as if dusting off her skin.

  “You have no say over what Daichi does here and now. You are correct in the matter of building this so-called ‘false strength.’ But do not deny him the prize which he has so rightfully earned.”

  “Of course, Head Elder.”

  “Daichi?”

  The cruel man beamed at Renji like a proud student. “Yes, Head Elder?”

  “Do as you please.”

  …

  Daichi proceeded to lead the crowd towards a small pit he had dug long ago. In that pit, two half iron bell-shaped containers lay opposite of one another, with cranks attached to the surface. After a small test of the cranks, it seemed that they would close upon the leveraging of both switches, albeit with lots of effort.

  The cage was promptly opened. And everyone watched in abject horror as Daichi dragged the woman out by her hair and flung her into the pit.

  Some part of her back cracked upon hitting the bottom. She screamed and writhed. Her body, as starved as it was, was still far too big for the hole. A tangle of limbs was all that she became. Her screaming grated on our ears. And it only increased in the coming days, as Daichi ordered us to place all our trash, from here on out, into the pit. All our broken wood, our burnt food, our fucking feces—all of it would go into the pit, with her. Stuffing her in. Cramming her in. If anyone refused to do this, he would know. And he claimed he would throw them into the pit next. Of course, everyone obliged to this madness.

  And each day, the levers would be pulled once.

  And the iron bell-like containers would smush everything a little closer together.

  And she did not die for many days, for she had our rotting food to feed upon.

  But the stench grew worse.

  And her screams turned shrill and hoarse.

  And each day, many curious passersbys would wander over and just stare into the pit.

  Until even the most morbid of folk could no longer stomach the sight of her.

  She died on the thirteenth day. But I kept visiting until the twelfth. I don’t know why. Maybe it was some childhood foolishness. Morose kinship.

  Maybe I thought that, one day, given my status, I too would be lying scrunched and marionetted in that craggy hole.

  On that twelfth day, I gathered enough courage to sneak some fresh bread in. When I threw it down at her, the roll simply bounced off her face. She tried reaching for it with a crooked hand. It was too far.

  She looked upon me with the most accusatory gaze I had ever seen. As if to say, ‘you did this to me.’

  And though I loathed that gaze then…

  I can only hope that’s the gaze the Lady is setting upon me now.