As always, thank you for reading. Since this is a serial, I knew that I would never have everything planned out before I started posting it. Even still, the ideas have continued to come and the God Wars Saga is getting more and more expansive.
To simplify this before there are too many posts, I moved to a new naming convention. While it makes post titles a bit long, I think ultimately it will lead to more clarity. Check out the series homepage for a little more background information.
Don’t remember what happened last time? The previous part can be read here:
Enjoy the continuation of Natsuhiko’s story!
The men shoved Natsuhiko to his knees. Despite the early morning, the villagers gathered in the small square. His robes scraped against the dirt. The murmurs of the crowd grew as they saw his younger siblings dragged in front of them.
“Hachirō please!” his mother begged. “Not the children. I will take the brands.”
The old man shook his head. “They are guilty, too.. The gods will punish us if there are any traitors in our midst. You saw the waters. They will come again.”
Natsuhiko was first in line. Flames licked the bars of the brazier. One man heated the iron rod in the fire.
“It’s alright,” Natsuhiko said. Routa whimpered behind him. “It’s going to be fine.”
He searched the crowd for Kagome, but he couldn’t find her.
Hachirō walked to the brazier, taking the iron rod from the other man. He pulled it out of the fire. It glowed a bright orange, the surrounding air deforming with the heat.
The brand itself was a twisted metal representation of the character for the word ‘traitor.’
Hachirō addressed the crowd. Natsuhiko didn’t hear what he said. He stared at the brand. He knew that he couldn’t scream. It would make Routa and Saya even more afraid.
He turned, catching his mother’s crying eyes. She still yelled, pleading with Hachirō. The old man mumbled an apology as he approached Natsuhiko.
“Take the stick, boy,” Hachirō said. Two men came on either side, holding him by the shoulders. One man grabbed his chin and lifted his head. Hachirō stuck the stick between Natsuhiko’s teeth.
He inhaled, his heart pounding so fast he could hear it. The bark was rough on his tongue. As the brand approached the right side of his neck, he closed his eyes.
Nastsuhiko couldn’t help but call out, a muffled, guttural sound erupting from his throat. His canine teeth bit into the wood of the stick. The men’s hands bore into his shoulders. Pain seared through the skin of his neck. Tears poured from his eyes, blurring the scene around him.
Hachirō only held the brand to his skin for a moment, but it felt like an eternity.
He spat the stick on the ground, doubling over as the men tried to hold him up. His mother’s cries rose over the mumbling of the crowd. Soon, Saya and Routa’s sobs reached his ears.
He tried to turn, sucking in air between his teeth. Sweat and tears mixed on his face. The pain radiated around his entire neck, the cool morning air stinging the skin.
“It’s…okay…” he managed through his teeth. He tried to smile. “It’ll only be for a second, Routa. Then, you’ll be fine.”
His brother’s eyes were wide and red. His lips trembled. “O-onīchan…I don’t want—I don’t want—!” His voice broke as Hachirō approached him.
The heat sizzled around the iron rod. Hachirō looked down at Routa, something like pity in his eyes.
The pain wasn’t tolerable. Natsuhiko’s entire body shook. The only thing keeping him conscious was Routa’s cries. He watched Hachirō through his tears. Natsuhiko saw the boar of the forest. Its crusted eyes and flaring tusks charged at him. It came closer and closer.
A woman’s laugh.
“Kill him.”
Natsuhiko snapped. He jumped to his feet, sending the top of his skull into Hachirō’s chin. A wicked crack burst through the air and the old man fell back, dropping the brand on his own stomach.
Hachirō cried out in pain, blood pouring from his toothless gap. He threw the brand off of his stomach, gasping for air.
For a moment, everyone was too stunned to move. Only one person in Natsuhiko’s lifetime had ever received the brand before. And absolutely no one dared to question the elders. Their village was one of peace.
Natsuhiko had just shattered that.
“Good boy.”
The men finally came to their senses, running to help Hachirō. Natsuhiko turned to his family, trying to yell at them to run, but something hard connected with his cheek. He slammed into the ground, his vision spinning.
“How dare—!” The man’s voice cut off.
Even in this state, Natsuhiko heard it.
The waters were coming.
No one had time to flee. They were already upon the town square, tearing through without relent. The waters swallowed the gurgled screams of the villagers and broke the wood of houses. Natsuhiko lifted his head. His mother tried to run with Saya and Routa, but the waters surged too quickly.
Natsuhiko could do nothing other than offer a small bit of thanks before the waves cascaded over him. He was happy that no one else had received the brand.
He gulped for air. The skin of his neck throbbed and oozed. Blood trickled down from his elbow, mixing with water around his hands. He tried to steady himself, gripping the grass beneath his fingertips.
The waters had spat him out a far distance from the village. He had almost lost consciousness in the surge when his hand had caught a piece of driftwood. Natsuhiko had managed to scramble onto the wooden board. He had floated for a while before he jumped to a tree that jutted from a nearby hill.
His breath slowly returned to normal, and with the help of the tree, he stood. He turned towards the village—or where the village had been. The black flow of water continued to surge. He did not know if any of the other villagers or his family had survived.
Natsuhiko pushed himself up the hill. He climbed, trying to reach the point where he could see more of the landscape. His wet clothes pulled against his skin as he walked. Then he looked, squinting through the pain that radiated from his neck.
He didn’t recognize the landscape at first. The waters spread like veins through the hilled area, filling the low pockets of land. The tops of hills and trees crested through the surge. He couldn’t tell exactly where the village had been. Yet, what he saw next tore his attention away from the waters.
The forest, once a dark, green mass in the distance, was now bright. It glowed purple in the morning mist. The greenery replaced with the drooping shape of wisteria.
Natsuhiko shook his head, trying to blink the image away. It remained.
He stumbled farther up the hill, distancing himself from the small valley where the waters had filled. He needed to circle back around towards the village. He needed to find his family.
As he pressed on, dread filled his stomach. The roofs of houses barely protruded from the depths, their form lost to a sea that never should have been. From his perch on the hill, he thought he saw the flat roof of the bath house buried several meters below the surface.
Soon, he came to the dip of the hill. The land curved back down into the water. The only path was to his right—down the opposite way and away from the forest. He scanned the nearby hilltops. In the distance, he saw a few figures scrambling up them. It wasn’t anyone he recognized, but the hollow gaping in his stomach ceased just a bit. He clung to the fact that he could not see all the spots of land that protruded from the water. There was hope that his family had escaped up them.
Most of the hills, however, were completely surrounded by water.
He gingerly touched the brand on his neck, wincing as the bloodied ooze came away on his fingertips. The closest village was about a half-day’s travel away. He wouldn’t be able to search for survivors on his own, but if he could gather help, perhaps he could still save some lives.
He pulled off his wet shirt, tying it around his neck. The cool cloth stung his wound, but he paid it little mind. He imagined his family—his mother, Routa, Saya. Even Kagome. He imagined them safe on the top of the hill.
So, he ran.
He dashed down the hill. The land on the other side of the valley stretched far to the mountains in the distance. The main road cut through the fields of rice as a hot wind blew. Hanging high above, the sun’s ray beat down on him.
Natsuhiko’s body pleaded. His bare feet scraped against dirt and rocks, the air cutting sharply into his lungs. By mid morning, the fatigue and his injuries forced him to stop. His head and wound throbbed. He rested his hands on his knees. A road sign signaled that he was about another hour from the village.
A lone farmhouse sat on the edge of a nearby rice field. He hesitated, wondering if he could rest there for a bit before continuing. Yet, he knew he couldn’t stop. Natsuhiko looked down the long road, trying to gather the strength to continue.
Then, the door to the farmhouse opened. A man and a woman stepped out into the mid-morning. The man wore dark robes, his face shadow by the straw hat on his head. The woman said something to him and then he dashed away. Natsuhiko stared in awe at his speed, and the long sword that hung from his belt.
The woman watched him leave and then turned to go back inside. She stopped when she noticed Natsuhiko.
She sighed and then approached him. Her white robe swayed in the wind. She carried no weapons on her.
“You’re from that village,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
Natsuhiko struggled to stand, but managed a nod. “Please, you have to help me. There are still survivors, but they are stranded by the waters.”
The woman looked towards the hills. She reached out an arm, slipping it behind Natsuhiko’s back. She ushered him towards the farmhouse. “I sent Ren to fetch help. We tried to reach the village, but we were too late.”
Natsuhiko pushed himself along. “You tried to reach the village? You knew this was going to happen?”
The woman grimaced. “Not exactly. But we knew something was going to happen. I saw it.”
They entered the farmhouse. There was nothing inside besides a small hearth and a table. The woman set Natsuhiko down on the floor. He leaned against the wood, his breath still ragged.
“You saw it?” he managed.
The woman nodded. “I’ve been seeing the vision for weeks. I just couldn’t tell exactly where it was.”
The vision. “You’re a Sage.” Natsuhiko had never met one in real life before.
“And you’re a traitor, apparently.” She bent down in front of him, pulling the shirt from his neck.
He winced in pain. “I was just trying to save my family. I wanted to leave with them. We thought the waters might come again.”
“So you were branded a traitor?” the woman mumbled. She turned, kneeling in front of the hearth. She held two fingers up before her, and smoke soon floated from the dark wood. Then, fire.
Natsuhiko watched in awe.
“We need to clean that brand before it gets infected. You’ll have it your whole life, but at least you won’t be dead.” She hooked a pot of water above the fire. “I’m Shingi, by the way.”
“Natsuhiko,” he said. Now that he had stopped, he realized how much pain he was actually in. He pushed himself straight against the wall. “The man you sent to fetch help. How quick can he be? I don’t think we have much time before—”
Shingi chuckled. “You saw him run. He’ll be back with news shortly.” She looked at him then, eyes set. “We will try to save as many people as we can.”
Natsuhiko would have blushed under her gaze had he felt better. She seemed no older than him. Her hair the color of crow’s feathers. Now, her eyes were dark. But when she used her powers, they glowed. Just as the rumors said.
Shingi’s eyes had flared silver when she lit the fire.
He let her tend to his wound, trying not to call out in pain. Her face lingered close to his, and the scent of fresh grass, like that covered in morning dew, filled his lungs.
“Do you know what’s going on?” he asked eventually. “Why did the waters come? Why did the forest change to wisteria?”
Shingi rinsed the bloodied rag in a small bowl of water. “I don’t think it’s any fault of your own, but there’s currently a war going on. And your village just happened to be right in the middle of it.”
“A war?”
Shingi nodded. “A war among the gods.”
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