The Little Bear by Kihin Ranno

Part Six: Inheritance

Machk took a few moments to collect himself before slipping into the ink-black darkness of Elysian’s night. He knew he only had a limited amount of time before Acel and Katsuo ceased tolerating Jasper’s orders to leave him be. Then it would only be a matter of minutes before the three realized he had fled. Jasper at least would know in an instant where he had gone, what he planned to do. If given the opportunity, Jasper would stop him and then he would never again get the chance to avenge his mother.

For fear of alerting the others to his desire to flee, Machk did not teleport immediately the stables. It would cost him precious time, but at least he had no need to return to his room. He had spent his childhood living in the wilderness; he knew how to live off the land. All he needed was Shilah beneath him and he would on his way.

Machk slipped through the night like a hunter stalking its prey. His footfalls did not betray him; no twigs broke beneath his step. He ran, a ghost in the gloom, and left the rest of the forest unaware of its haunting.

At last, Machk found himself at the stables. With just as much speed and care, he turned into the tack room. He looked around frantically for Shilah’s tack, but it was nowhere to be found. He moved to kick the wall but stopped just short of slamming it. It was his own fault for allowing the stable boys to put him away after learning about the king.

Unwilling to waste time looking for the misplaced tack, Machk gathered up another saddle and bridle and stuck a handful of treats in his pocket to convince Shilah to venture out at this late hour. Then Machk leapt out of the building and prepared to make his way down the long stable corridor.

Directly in the middle of the hall, standing beneath a flickering torch, was Aineas, staring right back at him.

Machk was caught. There was no denying what he meant to do. Aineas knew him as well as the prince or the other three; perhaps better. He would know that Kunzite’s body had not been retrieved, and he would know what Machk planned to do about it. After all, there were only so many reasons why someone would want to take a midnight ride.

Aineas leaned against the wooden rails, his arms akimbo. “I thought you might come here.”

Machk blinked. He knew Aineas and he were familiar, but he’d had no idea he was so predictable. “You waited for me?”

“Ever since I heard that we were short one guard,” Aineas murmured sadly. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the rough wood. “I knew he was not a good man. I did not know he was without honor.”

Machk’s fingers strained against the smooth brown leather of the saddle. “I did.”

Aineas nodded grimly. “Yes. You would know better than anyone, wouldn’t you?”

For a moment, Machk thought he simply meant the way Kunzite had treated him while he had been brought to Elysian. But there was something in his voice, some wary shade to his tone that gave Machk pause. Machk knew he was not the quickest of the four mentally, but it did not take him very long to come to the conclusion that only one thing would cause Aineas such strain.

“You knew.” His voice was like the aftermath of a blizzard when the icicles threatened to fall.

Aineas hunched his shoulders. “I did.”

“Then you should have known he was without honor.”

Aineas opened his eyes. Machk had never known him to be so sad. “I did know about your mother, Machk, but I only know what the soldiers say. They say she tried to kill Kunzite, that she fought against him and that he had no choice but to put her down. I don’t know if it’s the truth or a lie he told or the lies we tell ourselves so that we can obey him without going mad.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Machk insisted fiercely, torn between hating Aineas for keeping this secret and loving him for the reasons why he must have kept it.

“Maybe it doesn’t,” Aineas placated. “But I thought it would be better for you if I never said. I wasn’t sure if you knew, but on the off-chance you did, I decided to wait here. I was sure you would go after him if you could.”

Reminded of his quest, Machk realized how long they had been talking. He ought to have had Shilah saddled and ready to go by now. He narrowed his eyes and carefully set the tack aside. He began to roll up his sleeves. “We’ve always been friends, Aineas,” Machk murmured darkly, “and that’s why I’ll see to it that this doesn’t take long.”

Expecting Aineas to recoil in fear and horror, Machk did not know what to make of the situation when he gave a small smile. He looked over his shoulder and clicked his tongue three times. Then Shilah pushed his own door open with his nose. He was bridled and saddled with his own tack, and he leaned down to much happily on the sugar cube Aineas held out.

Machk swayed on his feet before staggering forward. It took him a moment to remember how to close his mouth. “I don’t understand.”

Aineas stepped forward and placed firm hands on Machk’s shoulders. Machk was almost taller than him now. “He killed your mother. Regardless of his reasons, that’s reason enough for you to want revenge. And yesterday, I would have stopped you. Yesterday, I would have counseled you not to forgive but to forget. I would have said regardless of his mistakes, he still has honor. He is still a loyal guard and friend for his king and that’s all he knows how to be.”

Aineas’s fingers dug in. “But now I know the kind of man Kunzite really is. He failed his king, and when it came time to join him in the hereafter, he chose to hide like a coward. If I were a stronger man, I might go after him myself. But I know I would not succeed, and even if I could, I can’t leave Rasia and the baby.

“But you’re still young Machk, and you’ve never killed. You will one day have to, I know. But killing a man in battle is not the same as a blood debt. In battle you can forget the faces and get lost in the screams and your own struggle not to slip in the mire. You know Kunzite. You will have to look him in the eye when you kill him. And you will bear a scar on your soul for the rest of your days. Can you accept this?”

Machk knew Aineas needed him to hesitate, but he didn’t even blink. “Yes.”

The grief in Aineas’s eyes made Machk’s chest tight. “Then may the blessings of the golden crystal be upon you.” He pulled Machk forward in a firm embrace, clapping him on the back sadly. They stood for a long moment, and just when Machk went to pull away, Aineas held on tighter.

“You will always be my first born.”

Then Aineas released him and strode off into the night, jogging away from the scene of his passive crime.

Machk did not take the moment he needed to collect himself. He simply moved to Shilah’s side, swung into the saddle, and then galloped away from Elysian and King Endymion’s palace. He rode hard into the forest, pushing Shilah in spite of the danger. They galloped along the well-worn paths, ducking under branches illuminated only by the moonlight. It felt like an eternity before Machk allowed Shilah to slow to a canter, then a trot, and finally a steady walk.

By that time, Machk’s face was finally dry.

-----

For three days, he hunted.

He retraced the route he knew King Endymion and the Four must have taken; it was the most direct route to the Southern Kingdom that intersected with enough fresh water sources. Machk maneuvered Shilah deftly through the worst of the underbrush, acting every bit the loving master to make up for how long they rode and how quickly. He knew just how hard to push before he exhausted Shilah to the point of collapse, and he knew just how short he could cut their breaks before pressing on again. He was a hard taskmaster, but Shilah knew him and loved him as a horse loves his master. He would serve as faithfully and as well as he could with the expectation that Machk would do everything to make it up to him once they got home.

Perhaps he would have been kinder had he been able to find some trace of Kunzite in the woods or on the road. He had to admit that he knew nothing of where Kunzite had come from, who he had been before he inherited the name and position he bore without honor. Machk had foolishly assumed that Kunzite had been from an urban area, that he would know nothing about the wilderness and how to make it a loving mistress rather than a harsh enemy. He realized now that his own prejudices had colored his ideas. He was paying for it dearly now.

He found no signs of footprints. He saw no scorched ground where camp had been made. He saw no disturbed wildlife, found no rotting carcass of a deer, saw no bush picked clean of buries. It was almost as if no man had ever set foot in these woods, but Machk knew that was not true. A path had been cut through long ago, and although now grass covered much of it, he could still make out the outlines of thousands of horses and men making their way through the trees.

He knew Kunzite had gone this way. He knew he was a better outdoorsman. He knew that he would find Kunzite eventually.

But every night, when Shilah finally whinnied in defeat and Machk agreed to rest for the evening, Machk would lay down, shield his eyes from those stars who had betrayed him so thoroughly, and he would wonder if he was worth anything alone and unaided by man or supernatural forces.

He would wonder, but he did not dare seek an answer.

-----

On the fourth day, Machk did not need to search anymore. Kunzite found him.

If this possibility had ever occurred to Machk, he would have expected to wake up with a knife to his throat, assuming he woke up at all. He would not have expected to find Kunzite sitting on a tree stump next to the fire that had died in the night, poking at the embers with his sword as if he belonged.

He also did not expect to find Kunzite looking as he did. In his mind, Machk had been unable to reconcile the reality of Kunzite spending nearly a whole week living off the land with his usual image of the man. Kunzite fought hard, but he had always been a fastidious man. Even when he trained Jasper, Machk could not remember ever seeing his braid begin to unravel, and although he perspired and his clothes wrinkled, something about the way he carried himself suggested that he was cleaner than he was.

But now Kunzite looked like one of the living dead. His clothes were filthy and his hair was good for nothing but a rat’s nest. Machk doubted that a comb would ever be able to smooth the tangles and knots in it now. He was covered from head to foot in bandages that obvious had not been changed, and each seemed as though it had been tied and retied. Upon closer inspection, Machk recognized the dirty white fabric as the kind that made the uniforms for the Four.

Kunzite had taken his bandages off the bodies of his fallen comrades.

With a growl, Machk sat up and called his sharpest knife forth. It wasn’t his preferred weapon, but based on his position, he didn’t have many options. He thrust it forward, keeping the shining blade between him and his enemy. He glowered at his unwanted companion, issuing a silent challenge in his eyes, waited.

Kunzite didn’t even look at him when he said, “I thought you would sleep the day away, lazy Westerner.”

“I find it hard to sleep with your stench.”

Kunzite went very still. Machk tensed, preparing to defend himself. Kunzite had never dealt with such challenges with anything but violence. If he threw himself at Machk in rage, a single upward thrust would do the job, and it would be finished.

But Kunzite did not attack. He did not even yell. All he said was, “Xenos is dead.”

Machk felt dizzy. “More have been lost than your demon horse.”

Kunzite grunted irritably. “I loved that horse.”

“You don’t love anything.”

“Don’t presume to know me,” Kunzite snapped. “Especially about what I can and can’t love.”

“I know you perfectly,” Machk snarled, slowly getting to his feet, the knife continually outstretched. “I know you’re a coward.” He smiled in satisfaction as Kunzite winced at the word. “I know you’re a murderer. I know you’re a traitor.”

With a howl of rage that seemed to rise from the depths of the Earth itself, Kunzite leapt to his feet, swinging his broadsword wide. In an instant, Machk vanished the knife and replaced it with a shield. Metal clashed against metal, and then Machk pushed into the sword as hard as he could.

It fell from Kunzite’s hand as if he’d barely gripped it at all. Machk stared as it clattered to the ground, a dull clang filling his ears when it struck the log. Then he turned back to Kunzite and watched him slump back to his seat, defeated before it even began.

“I’m not a traitor.”

Machk sputtered in fury and threw his own weapon to the ground. “The fact that you can even say that with a straight face is enough to make me wonder why the gods don’t strike you down. But the fact that you won’t even stand and fight to defend yourself?” He shook his head. “Pathetic.”

Kunzite looked at him, faintly amused. “You’re trying to goad me.”

“I’m trying to get revenge.”

“Because it’s not satisfying to kill me unless I fight back,” Kunzite guessed, poison in his bared teeth. “Because you won’t be able to live with yourself unless you’re sure I deserve it.”

Machk shook his head. “I know you deserve it. You killed my mother.”

Kunzite froze, his face twisting as if something were clawing at his insides. “How do you know that?”

Machk had always been determined to keep this from everyone but Endymion and his three friends. He had not even had the heart to tell Aineas about it for fear of the ale taking control of his tongue. But he showed no fear when he told Kunzite the secret he had held for the past seven years.

“My mother was a mystic,” Machk began in a creeping thunder voice. “She saw the future in the smoke. I see it in the stars, and they saw nothing for Isuza.”

Kunzite ran a hand down his face. “All these years. All these years, you knew what I had done.”

“Her blood is on your hands,” Machk said, his body beginning to quake.

“I never spilled her blood.”

His anger broke and he felt as if Zeus would cower at his wrath. “You killed her all the same!”

“I had to!” Kunzite wheezed desperately. “Don’t you see that I had to?”

“She was a woman,” Machk spat. “A powerful woman, but a woman nonetheless. She had her magic, but she could do nothing to stand against you. Aineas said there’s a rumor she attacked you, but how could she have? She was badly wounded! She could hardly stand! What threat could she have possibly been?”

“To me, nothing,” Kunzite said, his fingers clawing at the black cloud of wires falling from his head. “But to my master, she was a danger, and she had to be stopped.”

Machk wanted to kill him. His hands itched to close around Kunzite’s throat and twist his lying head around, but he could not. He had to make sense of his rambling before he laid a hand on the vicious liar. Then he would do away with the source of so much misery in his life and he could be at peace.

“What could she have done?” Machk asked miserably. “What could she have possibly done to undermine the King of Elysian?”

Kunzite looked at him, his dark eyes two stones in the center of his pale brown face. “She could have taken you.”

The words hit Machk like a kick to the chest, and he remembered the last time he had hugged his mother.

“You have to go far away from here until you feel safe. Then you find a family or an orphanage that will take you in. You tell no one who you are. Don’t even tell them your real name.”

“And then what?”

“And then you live, my darling. Then you live.”

Machk shook his head, freeing himself of the cobwebs of memory. “She was trying to protect me.”

“At the expense of the kingdom!” Kunzite shouted, coughing. “You say your mother was a seer. I’ll believe that. She was desperate to get you free of my master. She must have seen something she didn’t like, but no soldier’s fate is a pleasant one. She should have known that and honored your destiny.”

“I don’t care what she did or what she believed,” Machk ground out. “She was still my mother, and nothing you can say will make me forgive you for what happened.”

Machk stood panting, longing to make sense of Kunzite’s words. Lots of people didn’t agree with what King Endymion did – that much was made clear by how he died. But there were threats and there were those who would simply voice their dissent and keep to themselves. His mother had not been dangerous. His mother had not been a threat to anything except Kunzite’s pride.

Kunzite took a very deep breath and spoke again.

“I am not a superstitious man. I believe that fate can be changed. I believe that nothing is set in stone unless you let it lie, and even stone can be broken.” He paused, licking his chapped and bloody lips. “And that is why you’re important, Machk. Why you and Acel and Katsuo and especially Jasper are important.

“Your family are not the only seers that walk the Earth. You must know that for how else would we have found you? How else would we have known who was destined to follow in the footsteps of the Four? But when the time came to find out who the next Four were, our seer saw death and destruction in the future.

“She saw a sword of crystal and a sword of bone. She saw a red rose piercing the moon until it bled. She saw a storm that had eyes and teeth. She saw all of these things, and she said that Prince Endymion was at the center of it. That the next four would be instrumental in either preventing or leading the slaughter.

“You were too vital for us to lose Machk,” Kunzite wheezed. “Alone, you would not have been able to run away from us. But with Isuza’s help, we might have lost you. With her interference, she could have taken you and disappeared into the wild and we would have never seen you again.

“And then Endymion—”

“Shut up!” Machk screamed, shoving his fists against his ears hard enough to bruise.

For the first time in forever, Kunzite listened to another man. He simply waited while Machk stood there, trembling and denying.

“It doesn’t matter,” Machk finally concluded, his voice low and trodden down. “You had no right.”

“You’ll always believe that because she was your mother. Just like I’ll always believe I was right to protect my master’s son.”

Machk wanted to be angry. He wanted to cling to his temper and rail and scream until the stars sang with his fury. He wanted the gods of old to shrink from his wrath, and he wanted Kunzite to weep on his knees. He wanted all of this so badly he tasted blood in his mouth.

All he felt was hollow.

“You have to fight me,” Machk whispered at last. “I can’t kill you unless you fight me.”

Kunzite snorted. “Ordering a wounded man to pick up his sword to spare your conscience. And you think I’m the dishonorable man.”

“You’re still alive,” Machk reminded him through his teeth.

Kunzite’s dark eyes softened just a fraction, or so Machk thought, but he turned away before the boy could be sure.

“Jadeite and Zoisite were better than I was,” Kunzite admitted. “They led us to the forest. They were the first to draw their swords. And the first to fall on them.” He reached over and picked up his sword. He thrust the blade through the ground once more and rested his head on the hilt. He looked like he was offering a prayer to the Earth. “Nephrite and I were not so great.”

“But Nephrite did it,” Machk said, his chest swelling with pride that his predecessor had overcome cowardice in the end.

Kunzite glanced over his shoulder, cold as a mountain breeze. “He needed a push.”

And then there was the inhuman howl. There was the surge of blood. There was the sword in his hand and then in Kunzite’s chest before he had given it a second thought.

Machk stared at the blade, stared at the streams of blood slithering down the metal and the crimson stain blooming on the tunic. Machk drew it out, horrified at the squelching noise that filled the air.

Kunzite gingerly touched the wound, wheezing. “That was my gift to you, boy.”

Machk shook and fought to keep his knees locked. “What?”

“You always did have a temper,” Kunzite whispered. “And I always brought it out in you. Knew you’d never do it unless I really made you angry. Knew I’d ruined it once I told you about your mother.” He took a deep breath, but then coughed. Red bubbled at the corners of his mouth. “So I gave you a gift. Made it easier for you.”

“So you didn’t push Nephrite onto his blade?”

Kunzite’s eyes began to dull, and he smiled. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Machk saw nothing but white between Kunzite’s lids. His body slumped over and fell to the ground beside a blade dirtied by nothing but moss and mud. Silence reigned and Machk was alone with his misspent rage and the thoughts stacked up too thick in his head.

And then Machk sat down, the bloody sword resting between his legs. He did not move for a very long time.

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