[Story] No Tomorrow, by Shawn Carman

[Goju Kaze]

No Tomorrow
By Shawn Carman

Daigotsu Manobu moved slowly and quietly through the twisting, narrow streets. Occasionally his wide, armored shoulders would grind against the ancient stone walls that loomed close on either side, but he was cautious, and it never made more than a slight whisper as he moved. Why these accursed creatures had made their cities so difficult to traverse, he could only imagine. It would not be enough to stop him from hunting his prey, however. He was a predator. Nothing would deny him his game.
There was a scrabbling sound from around the next corner, the sound of claws on stone. It was a sound he had come to know well during the weeks and months he had been trapped in this miserable, festering mockery of a city. He signaled to the two men following him to be wary, then readied his obsidian blade and continued around the corner.
As he suspected, a lone Nezumi scout. From the looks of it, the creature was scavenging for food. It held a tattered, soiled bag in its paws, stuffing something into it even as Manobu watched. The Lost warrior almost sighed with disappointment. He had hoped for a warrior, or even a hunting party. This one would be no challenge. Still, it would be one less of the troublesome rats that somehow thwarted his every attempt to expel them. And perhaps he could learn something from this one. Anything was possible. After all, before Fu Leng destroyed their civilization they had built this strange place.
Manobu drew a smaller blade from his armor and prepared to throw it, but the Nezumi whirled in his direction in a sudden flurry of movement. He wasn’t entirely sure, but it appeared the thing drew something from its bag and hurled it at him. It struck him squarely in the face and exploded in a puff of powder, stinging his eyes and blinding him. He roared in outrage and hurled the smaller blade where the rat had been only seconds before, but heard it clatter away on the stones. Behind him, he heard a grunt of surprise and more sounds of the familiar scrabbling, followed by the clashing of weapons and armor. The rats had blinded him, then attacked the two men following him.
The Obsidian Magistrate wiped ineffectively at his eyes, overwhelmed with rage. Growling deep in his throat, he lunged forward blindly, letting the sounds of battle direct him and trusting in the Ninth Kami’s guidance. He glanced off the walls twice, the echoes confusing him, before colliding with something wet and solid. His target writhed and squirmed, but he did not release it. He felt teeth and claws battering his armor, and something struck his back with considerable force, but not enough to get through the armor. He smashed the rat in the face with his mempo repeatedly until it quit moving for a moment. Taking advantage of the creature’s disorientation, he struggled to his knees and twisted his blade in its chest. It squealed once, then died.
Manobu rose to his feet, cursing aloud at the sound of clawed feet scurrying away. He ripped his mempo off his injured face and dabbed water into his eyes from a water flask until his vision returned. The Nezumi he had killed lay sprawled on the path, its face twisted in pain and surprise. His two men lay near it. One had been killed instantly when the rats attacked, judging from the single wound to his throat. The other was almost torn apart, overwhelmed by the Nezumi ambush. It was disgraceful. He prayed to Lords Akuma and Yakamo for vengeance, for he knew they would offer no forgiveness.
Burning with a quiet rage over the disastrous failure his outing had become, Manobu picked up the dead rat and draped it over his shoulders. Then he seized each dead man by the collar, dragging the corpses back to the camp with extraordinary strength.
There was no sense in being wasteful, after all.

•

The remaining Obsidian Magistrates saw Manobu before he drew close to their outpost. Indeed, they had chosen the building exactly for that purpose; it was virtually impossible for anyone to draw close to it without being noticed well in advance. For whatever reason, it stood alone in the center of a large plaza, despite that the rest of the city was packed as tightly as any Manobu had ever seen.
The stone door slid open as Manobu approached. It had once been wood, but that had long since rotted away. He and his men had replaced it with a collapsed section of wall. Together, they could move it, but it was unlikely that the rats would be able to do so without alerting those within. Takima, Manobu’s second in command, stepped out into the street. “What happened, commander?” he asked, yellow eyes searching the plaza for any sign of pursuit.
“Ambush,” he answered simply. He threw the corpses of his men into the middle of the room even as he entered the large, empty chamber. “Take what you can salvage off them,” he said. “I will clean the rat’s corpse. Perhaps this one will have some clue as to where the others are hiding.”
The remaining men glanced at one another uneasily. “What would you have us do with the bodies?” one asked. “Animate them for guard duty?”
“No,” Manobu sneered. “You know exactly what to do.”
There was silence as Manobu placed the rat’s body on a low table he had improvised for just such a purpose. He reverently withdrew the small bag of tools he kept on hand for such things and unwrapped the assortment of blades. The sharpened steel tips gleamed even in the pale light. He breathed a quiet sigh of contentment as he drew out the first blade. There was nothing quite so soothing to a troubled mind as art. One of the men cleared their throat behind him, drawing an irritable glare over his shoulder. “What?” he demanded.
It was Takima. Of all the men Manobu had commanded, only Takima had never seemed to fear him. He despised the man for that even as he respected him. “These were our comrades, Manobu-sama,” the gunso said quietly. “Your men. Fellow magistrates. I understand the need, but this isn’t right. At the very least they should be given the opportunity to serve Fu Leng as undead.”
“I did not ask you how you felt, Takima,” the commander returned, a cruel edge to his voice. “I did not ask because I do not care. We are trapped here, and will make do as best we can in the name of our Dark Lord. If we hope to keep the demon under control, then we will make whatever sacrifices are necessary.” He leaned in closer. “Whatever sacrifices,” he hissed. “Do you understand me?”
Takima did not waver. “Why do we not unleash it?” he asked. “Why not use it to our advantage? It knows this city far better than we ever could. It could seek out the Nezumi and destroy them without effort, and then the city would be ours.”
“Do not question me,” Manobu insisted, his voice stronger. “A thousand years. A thousand years can drive anything mad. I will not risk it. And I will not allow anything to take my prey from me. The rats are mine!” With that, he turned back to his work. A moment later, he heard the rustling sounds of armor being separated from clothing.

•

Tr-ch’da and the others slipped quietly through the narrow tunnels that crisscrossed the city, moving quickly in the unlikely event they were followed. The tunnels were new, or at least newer than the city, which was ancient beyond all remembering. Tr-ch’da wasn’t sure what had made the tunnels. No Nezumi had clawed these, that was certain, but it didn’t matter. He and his pack had been using them for several changes of the moon and never encountered anything large enough to be a threat. They might as well use of them, especially since the Lost couldn’t get into them anyway.
The group finally emerged from the tunnels into their makeshift warren. It was a large chamber, much like the cave where Tr-ch’da and many of the other Crippled Bone had been reared from pups. This one, however, had once been the basement of a large building that had collapsed long ago. There was no way to access the warren from the surface, only through the tunnels. The pack leader dropped the sack he was carrying and shook his fur violently. The puff of dust would make him light-headed if he breathed it for too long.
A familiar form approached in the dim light. “Tr-ch’da!” the Nezumi squeaked in a happy tone. “You back!”
“Dak-rik?” Tr-ch’da asked. “You back too? Are gone a long time. We think you are dead.”
“No,” the scout answered. “Make it all the way back to Crippled Bone, just like you say.” He stopped and looked at the group of rats emerging from the tunnel. “You hunt?”
“Yes.”
A frightened ripple crossed Dak-rik’s fur. “You see him?”
Tr-ch’da nodded. “M’atch-tek’ch,” he said solemnly. “Tomorrow’s Bushi. Try to kill him, but his hide too thick.” The pack leader shook his head in sorrow. “Kill two dark men, though!” He hold-hold something aloft. “Took sword!”
Many Nezumi chittered in appreciation, but Dak-rik did not seem impressed. “Everyone come back?” he asked quietly.
“No,” Tr-ch’da said mournfully. “M’atch-tek’ch kill one scout. H’k’tir.”
The same Nezumi that had celebrated the victory now lowered their heads for a moment. It was a strange gesture they had learned from humans, but it was one that Tr-ch’da had felt suitable, and his pack had picked it up from him. “H’k’tir fight hard,” he told them. “He make me proud to be Crippled Bone. Remember him and tell stories so that pups will always know his Name!” The others nodded in agreement, and for a moment Tr-ch’da felt better about the fight. He turned back to Dak-rik. “You talk to chief?” he said eagerly.
The smaller Nezumi nodded. “He make me tell him all about city. He very excited.”
Tr-ch’da’s tail twitched with happiness. “He sending many warriors, yes? Help us take city from M’atch-tek’ch?”
“No,” Dak-rik said sadly. “Big fight going on with Tsuno. Chief say something about a dream chief from old days. I not understand, but he says too much fighting to send more warriors.”
Tr-ch’da gnashed his teeth in fury. “He not send anyone?”
“No,” the other replied. “And he tell me bring you home. He need you and your pack.”
“What?” the pack leader demanded. “He abandon memories?” He threw the new sword to the ground in a rage, where it clattered across the room noisily. “He must see city! He understand! This more important than anything else! Not even Rememberers know things found here!”
“He say sorry,” Dak-rik offered apologetically. “No other way.”
“We find Crab!” Tr-ch’da said defiantly. “Crab find city very interesting! Safe from darkness here. Memory keep darkness away! Crab use what we find in city to attack City of the Lost!”
Dak-rik shook his head again. “Bad things happen with Crab,” he said mournfully. “Bear-Crab come back.”
“Bear-Crab?” Tr-ch’da demanded. “What that?”
“Big-big chieftain from Yesterday,” Dak-rik said. “Back from dreams! Many Crab think he Transcendent, want to leave Kuon-Crab to follow him.” He shook his head again. “Sad day for Crab. Two chieftains too many for one tribe. Forever-Racing-Tomorrow.”
Tr-ch’da clicked his tongue sadly. Once, the Forever-Racing-Tomorrow tribe had been the largest tribe since the old days. But it had grown too large, and the leaders began to disagree more and more. Eventually, Forever-Racing-Tomorrow had broken into different, smaller tribes. That had been the closest the Nezumi people had ever come to restoring the One Tribe, and it was unlikely any other Nezumi could bring them together.
That was why the city was so important. It was something that the Nezumi could believe in. Something that could bring the tribes together. If there was a strong enough leader, the One Tribe might truly be reborn. Tr-ch’da was not foolish enough to believe he was such a leader, but somewhere there had to be one, as his chieftain always said. And he would not stop fighting for this city. He would not abandon the One Tribe, even if everyone else did. “No go back,” he said finally. “I stay, protect this city.” He turned to face the others. “Any who want to go home can go. I no want warriors who always think about somewhere else.”
There was silence throughout the room for several minutes, but not a single Nezumi moved an inch toward the tunnel. Dak-rik shook his head sadly. “No go against Chief Te’tik’kir,” he said quietly. “Break all the laws.”
“Laws protect Nezumi people, remind us of who we are,” Tr-ch’da said. He threw his arms open wide. “This is who we are, what we forget many yesterdays ago. This is our law. We no can abandon it.”

•

Manobu emerged from the shadowed alleyways and made his way back to the barracks. More than once, he had ventured out alone into the night and made a kill, bringing the Nezumi one at a time back to his work room. Eventually, he would obtain all of their hides for his collection. Sooner or later, one of them would know something he needed to hear. In those precious few moments of pain just before their deaths, Manobu had learned many things from the creatures. Unfortunately, his reputation as the Ratslayer had become such that the creatures fought fiercely, requiring that he kill them rather than question them. It was troublesome, but he would find a way around it. Perhaps the Chuda would be able to summon their dead spirits from wherever it was dead Ratlings went. Tonight, he was more annoyed than anything else. He had found nothing. The creatures were being careful now. Perhaps they believed they had taken his measure. He would soon show them how wrong they were.
The command building was dark, causing Manobu to frown. His men had retreated to the barracks, contained within a smaller attached building, and had apparently not left a sentry. Careless, and potentially fatal. Most of them underestimated the Nezumi, but Manobu did not. Perhaps it was time to demonstrate exactly who was in command here. Takima should have known better. Now he would suffer for his insolence.
Manobu entered the building and moved silently across the room, his blade in hand. He could barely see, but he knew were everything was. It was not until the door to the barracks was thrown open and Takima stood before him holding one of the strange Nezumi lanterns that it occurred to him something was amiss. “What is this?” he demanded. “Why have you not posted a sentry?”
“Forgive me, commander,” Takima said quietly, “but I have no choice but to relieve you of command.”
Manobu was speechless. “You what?” he demanded, almost laughing. “You?”
The gunso nodded. “I have no choice, commander. Your obsession for hunting the Nezumi is blinding you to the severity of our situation.”
“You dare speak this way to me?” Manobu said, his voice growing to a shout. “I will crush your bones into dust!”
Something moved in the darkness behind him. Manobu’s instincts took over and he hurled himself to the side just as something massive struck the ground where he had been only seconds before. Chips of stone peppered his armor. “No, demon!” Takima shouted. “This is not what we agreed upon!”
“Demon?” Manobu coughed on the stone dust. “What have you done?”
A voice that rumbled like waves on the rocks answered. “He has only done what any clear-thinking servant of Fu Leng would,” it said. “Unfortunately for you, you are only an obsessed fool.”
Manobu froze in his tracks as the much larger form loomed in the shadows. “You can speak?” he finally said.
“Of course I can speak,” the oni answered. “Do you think any mindless animal could have survived being trapped in this nightmare for over a thousand years? I sustained myself with thoughts of revenge and careful planning. I miscalculated how long until the ritual would fade and the city would reappear, else I would have escaped long ago.”
“Ritual?” Manobu said. “What are you talking about?”
The oni laughed. It was a bitter sound. “You believe you know much of the Nezumi? You know nothing. I was present at the twilight of their vast empire. I was among those unleashed upon their cities. And I was the only survivor when they sacrificed this place to destroy me and the others.”
“What manner of ritual?” Manobu asked, intrigued.
“The Nezumi shamans were powerful,” the oni said. “When their kings realized the city was lost, they commanded the shamans to steal its name. The city was forgotten in an instant. All who had dwelled within it forgot it ever existed. Those who served Fu Leng forgot it. Even the earth itself forgot, and swallowed it into nothingness. But I did not forget, for I was trapped here. I knew the day would come when the ritual faded away, as all things do, and the city would return to Ningen-do. Now that day has come, and I am free once more.”
“I have claimed this city for Daigotsu!” Manobu declared.
“Daigotsu, yes,” the oni answered. “Takima has told me much of your Dark Lord. If what he claims is true, then he is the true heir to Fu Leng, and I will serve him willingly.” It sneered in the darkness. “Unlike you.”
“No one questions my loyalty!” Manobu rose and assumed a fighting stance. “I will not be slandered!”
The demon moved faster than the human eye could follow. Its tail crashed into Manobu’s side and threw him into the stone wall with a sound like thunder. Manobu gasped at the exquisite pain, but could not move. The demon was upon him in an instant. “Your loyalty is a shame,” it said, its fetid breath washing over him, “I am Suiteiru no Oni! I suffered in bondage for one thousand years with no thought save how best to serve my Kami! Your own lord has been ousted from his throne, yet you play games here, weaving carpets from the flesh of dead rats.”
“Daigotsu’s exile is temporary,” Manobu managed through the pain.
“Indeed,” the oni replied, “but while he suffers you hunt these pathetic creatures, never recognizing the value of the gift you hold for him. Did you never realize this place is a mere three days travel from the City of the Lost, yet still hidden from the Bloodspeakers’ eyes? Did you even contemplate the city’s strategic value? Or were you too busy playing with your dead flesh.” The oni rose, looming over Manobu’s body and clicking the talons of one hand together slowly. “What fate is deserved by such an incompetent traitor?”
“Please, Suiteiru-sama, do not kill him,” Takima said. “He does not deserve to lead but he is a competent warrior. He has served Fu Leng and Daigotsu well in the past.”
“Oh?” Suiteiru said. He looked down at Manobu for confirmation.
“What Takima says is true,” Manobu replied quickly. “Grant me mercy and I will prove myself anew.”
“Oh, there is no need to prove yourself, Manobu,” Suiteiru said in an even voice. “I believe Takima-san. On his behalf I shall grant you the rarest gift our Dark Kami offers.”
“And what is that?” Manobu asked eagerly.
“Mercy,” the oni replied, and with a swift motion buried its claw in Manobu’s throat.

•

The warrens were silent. The others had retired to their nests for well-deserved rest, but Tr-ch’da could not rest. Thoughts of Dak’rik’s words raced through his mind. How could the Crippled Bone be so blind? He had never known Te’tik’kir to be anything but wise and cautious. To cast something like this away… it was a decision so ridiculous it must have been made by a human. Despite the dark nature of his thoughts, that made Tr-ch’da snicker.
“What?” came a whisper in the night. “Who’s there?”
“Shh,” Tr-ch’da insisted. “It me, Dak-rik.”
There was a rustling sound, then the other Nezumi appeared at his side. “Why you awake? You guarding?”
“No need,” Tr-ch’da said. “Dark men no find us here. Not even Ratslayer.”
Again, Dak-rik shuddered at the sound of his name. “That one bad-bad. Tomorrow have its hand on him.”
“No,” the pack leader said. “He just dark man like others. Smarter, though. Faster too. Just a man. Puff-dust blinded him.”
“It did?”
Tr-ch’da nodded. “One day soon I kill him. Then city ours.”
Dak-rik shook his head. “So you want be chief, then?”
“What?” Tr-ch’da said. “No! Why you think that?”
The smaller Nezumi shook his whiskers. “You know better than Tek’tik’kir, yes?”
The leader frowned. “He just not understand. He never seen city.”
“Tek’tik’kir always wise,” Dak-kir observed solemnly. “Oldest Nezumi ever live. He know much.”
“He never seen city,” Tr-ch’da repeated. “He understand if he did.”
“And you never seen dream chieftain,” Dak-rik said. “You no know about Tsuno and old Nezumi, not like Tek’tik’kir. You not know them, he not know city. So I guess it just whoever wisest, then.” He looked up at his friend questioningly. “You wisest?”
Tr-ch’da ground his teeth noisily, deep in thought. He considered it for several minutes. “No,” he finally answered. “I no wiser than Tek’tik’kir.”
“Maybe chief need you help kill Tsuno and bad-Nezumi,” Dak-rik said. “Then he send whole tribe to take city.” His noise twitched uncertainly. “Maybe he even make you new chieftain when he go to Yesterday.”
Tr-ch’da looked at his friend questioningly. “Me no wise enough to be chief.”
Dak-rik gestured to the warren and the city above it. “You no act that way.”
Tr-ch’da sat in the darkness for a long time, saying nothing and looking all around them. There was a simple wisdom in his friend’s words. He had been so obsessed that he had put aside common sense, becoming caught up in something like a human. That was no way for a Nezumi warrior to live.
“Okay,” he finally said. “We leave in morning. Dark men have city.” He bared his teeth menacingly. “But only for now.”
Dak-rik wriggled with glee to hear his friend say such a thing, and began to say something in return, but he never had the chance.
The cracked, uneven stones that made up the warren’s floor exploded upward with the force of a thousand storms. Huge chunks of stone showered the room. One connected heavily with Dak-rik’s chest, causing him to fall lifeless only inches from Tr-ch’da. The Nezumi scrambled to his feet, unconsciously wiping his fur where his friend’s blood had touched him.
“I bring you greetings, primitive descendants of my captors!” a voice roared. A massive demon crawled up through the gaping hole in the floor. “Greetings, and farewell!” The thing swung its tail and crushed a warrior who had leapt to attack it. The broken body flew into the shadows of a tunnel.
Tr-ch’da raced away from the demon and grabbed the sword he had taken from the dead human. He turned back to face his enemy, but even in the seconds it had taken him to retrieve his weapon, four more Nezumi had fallen. “I have spent many years imagining this moment,” the demon shouted with a dark laugh. “Even after all that, it is so much sweeter than I dreamed!” The beast swept the room with its tail again, killing everything it touched. Spears and blades shattered on its thick hide. The creature’s voice became more manic and frenzied by the moment. “Tomorrow has come, Nezumi!”
Instinct took over. Tr-ch’da grabbed a bag he had filled with interesting things he had found within the city, and he ran for the farthest tunnel. “Run!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “Run-run back to Crippled Bone!” He only hoped the others could hear him, and that they could escape.
“Yes, run!” the demon laughed. “Tell your chieftain that Tomorrow has returned!”
The demon’s haunting laughter echoed through the tunnels as Tr-ch’da fled from the city as fast as he could.