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Those Who Walk the Flame Road - Part 3 Chapter 4 - Heat Haze

  

Those Who Walk the Flame Road

(Book 12 of the Guardian of the Spirit Series)

Author: Uehashi Nahoko
Translator: Ainikki the Archivist
 
Part 3 - Ruffian
Chapter 4 - Heat Haze

    Hugo returned to Tomuran’s restaurant and his living quarters with his head down, lost in thought. There was a drowsing waiter near the door that Hugo recognized as one of the young men who’d helped him sneak Oru Zan from the restaurant.

    The waiter noticed Hugo’s troubled expression and sat up. He, too, was frowning.

     “What’s wrong?” Hugo asked. “Did something happen?”

    The waiter put a finger to his lips, encouraging Hugo to speak quietly or not at all. “A… government official… came to the restaurant.”

    “Government official? Why?”

    “To ask about what happened yesterday,” the waiter said.

    “Are you sure it was a government official? Were they Yogoese or Talsh? Were they a guard or a soldier?”

    “I’m sure. The official was Yogoese, and not a soldier.”

    “Did he question you?”

    “No; he’s still here. He only got here a little while ago. I heard he was looking for you and Toran.”

    Toran was the restaurant’s youngest waiter: the one Hugo had traded duties with. “Where is Toran?” he asked.

    The waiter didn’t answer, so Hugo turned around and headed toward the restaurant proper.  He moved swiftly through the restaurant’s hallways and saw several men standing in the Uma Room where Oru Zan had eaten the night before. The owner of the restaurant was there, along with two men who looked very much like members of the Yogoese government. Hugo recognized their uniforms; they were peacekeeping officials. They worked closely with the Talsh guards now, but their primary job role was what it had always been: to keep the lower city safe from crime and violence.

     Hugo had seen some of these officials walking the streets before, but this would be his first time meeting them in person. The group of men noticed Hugo approaching and faced him.

    “Ah, Hugo! Good, good. We’ve been looking for you.” The owner of the restaurant beckoned Hugo forward.  He smiled kindly. There didn’t appear to be anything amiss. “These fine gentlemen heard about the little disturbance here last night. They were hoping to ask you a few questions.”

    Hugo looked at the peacekeeping officials. One was an older man, but the other didn’t look to be much older than Hugo was himself. The older man was around forty or so; he had a sharp stare. Hugo felt like the man was looking right through him.

    “This is not the only waiter who was present during the incident,” the older peacekeeper said imperiously. “Find the other waiter and bring him to us as well.”

    Hugo decided that he didn’t like the older peacekeeping official, even if he was Yogoese. Anyone who spoke with such disrespect for others wasn’t worthy of respect himself.

    “There is no need to call the other waiter,” Hugo said.

    The older peacekeeper looked Hugo up and down. “What do you mean by that, young man?”

    “The other waiter was following my instructions. You won’t learn anything from him that I can’t tell you. Ask your questions, and I’ll tell you everything you wish to know.”

    The peacekeeper’s eyes narrowed. “What I see is that you refuse to cooperate with our investigation. You and the other waiter will be brought to our office for questioning.” He turned to the owner of the restaurant. “Along with anyone else involved in the incident. I take it that won’t be an issue, sir?”

    The restaurant owner nodded. The younger peacekeeping official pulled a length of rope that he carried in pouch on his back and made to tie Hugo’s hands behind his back.

    “Sirs, is that really necessary?” the owner of the restaurant said in a tone of alarm. “No one was harmed last night, after all. My waiters aren’t dangerous people.”

    The older peacekeeper shoved his finger into the restaurant owner’s shoulder, making him wince. “Know your place. I am the one who decides whether bonds are necessary, not you.”

    Hugo already didn’t like the peacekeeping official, but now his generalized dislike kindled into anger.

    The restaurant owner also appeared angry. “Any disrespect you show to my employees shows disrespect to me as well,” he said. “I am the one who bears the responsibility for what happened here yesterday, not my waiters.”

    “No, sir,” Hugo said quietly. “This is my fault. I’ll go with them.”

    The expression on the restaurant owner’s face was pained, but he nodded. He was an intelligent man who had used the Talsh presence in the city to his advantage; he knew that it was unwise to oppose the officials. It was galling to be talked down to, but Hugo and the restaurant owner both knew that it would be better for a single person to take the fall for what had happened rather than having the entire restaurant fold under government scrutiny.

    Hugo was brought to the peacekeeping officials’ main office and kept in custody for more than a day. They started by questioning him, but he got the sense he wasn’t saying what they wanted him to say; after a while, he was beaten, whipped and deprived of water. He could put the blame on Karl, since he’d seen the cook put some kind of strange substance in Oru Zan’s food, but then the restaurant would be in trouble. He could tell the officials what he knew of Oru Zan—the torture would probably stop if he did—but then he would have to reveal more about himself, too. Hugo didn’t see any easy way out of this situation.

    He decided to tell a little bit of a lie, but most of the truth. He said that he’d seen the customer in the restaurant being tracked by Talsh soldiers, and that he felt obligated to the customer for saving him and a friend from some dangerous criminals in the street a few weeks before. He’d decided to help the customer get outside without being seen, just in case his suspicions about the Talsh soldiers were right. He now considered his debt to the customer repaid, and he had no idea who he was. That was Hugo’s story.

     The peacekeeping officials started asking more detailed questions. From them, Hugo guessed that more of the waiters and the restaurant owner had also been questioned about the incident. Since the waiters knew nothing about the man, either, what they said corroborated Hugo's version of events.

    Hugo was left alone for a day or so after the officials hit another dead end. The next morning, Talsh soldiers arrived at the government office to interrogate Hugo further. Hugo recognized one of them as the soldier who had given Karl the packet of spices—or poison—that Karl had mixed into Oru Zan’s soup.

    The Talsh soldier asked no questions. He received an abbreviated report from the Yogoese peacekeeping officials with an expression of disinterest, then gave orders to have Hugo released into his custody and transferred to a Talsh prison. Then the soldier punched Hugo in the gut with all the force of his frustration behind it.

    Hugo’s bonds were loosed. He collapsed to the floor, catching his head on his arms. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness were the faces of the imperious Yogoese peacekeeper and the enraged Talsh soldier.


    Hugo drifted back to consciousness slowly. There was blood on his face from the torture and he was filthy, but his hands were free, and he was outside. It seemed like someone had dumped him unceremoniously in the lower city, expecting him to die.

    Some of the passersby noticed Hugo moving and stopped. Some asked if they could help him, but Hugo refused help. He stumbled to his feet and started walking. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but if he kept walking, he was sure to end up somewhere.

    It was a warm day, but not hot: it felt like a day at the very start of summer. The sunlight was intensely bright; Hugo watched his black shadow move with him as he walked and tried not to think of it as a moving bruise. The only think keeping Hugo on his feet was rage: rage at what had been done to him, and maybe his friends as well.

    The Talsh ordered this. That’s why…

    Hugo had limited experience with the Yogoese government before Talsh rule, but he knew that torture wasn’t common. The Yogoese officials who had caused him to be tortured were just as bad as Talsh, but to Hugo, it was like Talsh had corrupted his homeland in yet another way. The Yogoese peacekeeping officials were meant to protect the Yogoese people, but they were only interested in what the Talsh wanted now.

    The Talsh could capture anyone and torture them without even having good reason. That seemed wrong to Hugo on a fundamental level, but he also understood that the Yogoese officials weren’t necessarily safe from Talsh torture, either. They cooperated so that they wouldn’t be harmed in turn.

    When did the Yogoese people become such cowards? Hugo fumed. His vision swam with tears. He wiped his eyes and gritted his teeth so that he would stop crying. He put one foot in front of the other, still not sure of where he was going. People passed him by, speaking lightly to one another. Many Yogoese people were sitting outside on tables eating lunch, enjoying the bright, sunny day.

    Hugo hated them all. He wished that the city had been completely destroyed, along with them—along with him. They deserved to die in agony for their spinelessness. Wasn’t that what destruction was? Utter annihilation, leaving nothing left?

    But no. Hugo’s homeland was alien to him now, but everyone else lived their lives like nothing had happened. Some cosmetic changes were evident in clothing, food, and currency, but for the most part everything looked the same as it used to. Didn’t people remember the battle? Didn’t they care?

    His head ached like the bones of his skull were pressing together. He groaned in pain and forced himself to keep walking. Hugo had no desire to return to Tomuran’s restaurant; it might be dangerous to the restaurant owner and other waiters if he did. He couldn’t stay with Ryuan and Yoar either; he didn’t want them or anyone else to see him this way.

    It’s not real, Hugo thought. This city… it’s not real anymore. It’s just a mirage. A shimmering image in the summer heat.

    The only thing that felt real to Hugo was his bruise-dark shadow. He extended his hands into his shadow, and it felt cool and soothing.

    Hugo couldn’t keep walking for much longer. His stomach was empty, but he still felt nauseous. He crouched down in the shadow of a wall, hugging his gut. He was grateful for the shade. A few people looked at him strangely, but no one called out to him. Maybe they assumed he’d gotten into a fight, because of his injuries. No one wanted trouble.

    Sitting was a great relief. Hugo closed his eyes and waited for his nausea and dizziness to pass, then looked around.  

    Where am I?

    There was a wooden fence across the street; it surrounded a candy store that was close to Mar’s tavern. He saw a stone well through a gap in the fence. There was an old woman washing root vegetables next to the well. She looked vaguely familiar, but Hugo couldn’t remember where he’d seen her before…

    No: he did remember. The old woman was Shigan’s wife—Shigan, the chef at Mar’s tavern who had praised Hugo for the way he washed potatoes. Hugo had heard that he’d stopped working the previous autumn because of his worsening health.

    Shigan’s wife gathered up her washed vegetables in a basket, stood up and disappeared behind the wooden fence.

    Hugo tottered to his feet and crossed the street. He peered in at the candy store through the gap in the fence. This was the lower city, so buildings were all kind of squeezed together; housing for the poor was built on multiple levels. He was looking into the store’s rear garden: the well was there, of course, and there were barrels of supplies lined up along the back of the building. Now that Shigan’s wife had gone inside, there was no one else out here. The sun was going down. Hugo guessed that she’d been sent out to finish washing the vegetables and bring in water for the evening.

    Hugo pushed through the gap in the fence and collapsed in front of the well. He pulled up the bucket hanging there and cupped water in both hands, gulping it down. After he’d drunk his fill, he washed his face and hands thoroughly. His head felt remarkably clear.

    A man called out to Hugo. Hugo turned and saw him standing on a raised porch on the first floor of a building that probably housed three or four families. It was Shigan, the old, red-cheeked chef. He was much thinner than Hugo remembered.

    “Mr. Shigan.” Hugo moved away from the well. Shigan gestured for him to come closer.

    As Hugo approached, Shigan’s expression changed from one of surprise to one of concern. “Were you in a fight?” he asked.

    Hugo’s lips trembled. He tried to smile to reassure Shigan, but he didn’t have that in him. Shigan’s complexion was sallow and his skin was hanging off him, making him look even thinner than he was. He sat down on the edge of the porch and asked Hugo to sit as well.

    Hugo sat. They were near the window of the house. Hugo smelled something cooking inside and heard the rolling boil of water. “What is that?” Hugo asked. “There’s a spice I don’t know.”

    “I’m sorry I can’t give you any.” Shigan smiled faintly. “It’s medicine for my sickness. It’ll help my liver. I used to drink too much—far too much.”

    Shigan didn’t say anything else. He and Hugo sat on the porch in companionable silence. Hugo was briefly overwhelmed by physical exhaustion and nearly pitched forward. He looked to Shigan and said, “Um, I’m sorry, but could I lie down here for a little while? I promise I’ll be gone in the morning.”

    Shigan nodded. “Sleep there as long as you want. I’m not about to kick you out, kid.”

    Hugo blinked, surprised. He wanted to thank Shigan, but the words wouldn't come out. He stretched out on the wooden porch and was instantly asleep.


    Hugo awoke the next morning with a start. He didn’t remember where he was. He sprang to his feet and felt his injured body protest at the sudden movement. A blanket fell from his chest as he stood up. It was light outside, but he couldn’t see the sun; it could be early morning or close to noon for all he knew.

    Because it was light out, Hugo was able to orient himself after a few moments. This was Shigan’s porch. Shigan had allowed him to sleep here.

    Suddenly, Hugo heard a woman’s voice coming from the building behind him. “You said fourteen lunch boxes, to be delivered the day after tomorrow? All right; please write your address down here, sir.”

    It seemed that this place didn’t just sell candy anymore. Hugo didn’t remember this place selling meals, but maybe that had changed with Shigan’s semi-retirement.

    A man said something in response, but his words were muffled through the wall.

    “Ah, the Kamuran estate! I know it well.” For whatever reason, the voice of Shigan’s wife was perfectly clear. “We appreciate your business.”

    Hugo frowned. The name Kamuran was familiar to him. They were another warrior family, though they were only middle-ranked nobility and therefore not selected to be the Mikado’s Shields. His heart beat faster. She said they had an estate… the Kamurans are still alive?!

    Had all the middle-ranking nobles been spared during the Talsh attack on the city? Hugo wasn’t sure. He didn’t know many of those families by name or by reputation, but he supposed that it was possible. He knew that most of the nobles who weren’t from military families hadn’t been killed, but he hadn’t heard much of anything about other military families of lesser rank than his own. Had the Kamurans all been conscripted into the Talsh army, like the other survivors he’d heard about?

    Maybe. Hugo thought that he knew everything about the lower city, but perhaps he was mistaken. He hadn’t dug too deeply into the fates of other warrior families because doing so made him think of his own losses. He knew now that the Kamurans still had their estate, and it was possible that a few of them were still living freely, as they had before. He wouldn’t know anything else for sure unless he investigated.

    Did he want to know? Hugo looked down at the sunlight shining on Shigan’s wooden porch and thought for a while. He was too hurt and exhausted to consider investigating anything right now. He stretched out again and went to sleep.

    Shigan and his wife didn’t disturb Hugo’s sleep. They also fed him when he woke up, food as well as medicine. After eating, he found that he could think clearly again. Movement was becoming easier. There was no more blood in his waste.

    During his brief convalescence, Hugo had the opportunity to observe Shigan and his wife working together. They helped feed the neighborhood as well as people who came into the store to make orders. A young woman who lived nearby sometimes came over to help them with difficult physical work that Shigan and his wife couldn’t do easily themselves.

    “I can’t do much anymore,” Shigan told Hugo with a disappointed sigh. “I observe the cooking and taste-test, but that’s about it. My wife handles the orders and the running of the store. I’m glad to have her; I wish I could match her.” He chuckled.

    Shigan drank a medicinal tea a few times a day. Hugo always heard water boiling inside the store around lunchtime in preparation for Shigan’s tea. He and Hugo would sit out on the porch in the afternoon and talk.

    “I’m old and have no son to inherit; I’m far too old to get one now. I can’t open my own restaurant, either; the Talsh taxes would crush me instantly.”

    The young woman who assisted Shigan and his wife was sweeping the interior rooms. Hugo heard her broom swishing across the wooden floors.

    “I’m nothing but a burden now,” Shigan said.

    Hugo bowed his head, then squeezed Shigan’s shoulder.

    The day was cool and partly cloudy. Sometimes the sun cut through the cloud cover. The wind was strong enough to push Hugo’s hair over his shoulders.

    “I wasted my life.” Shigan closed his eyes, then opened them. He took a sip of his medicinal tea. “But it’s not too late for you.”

    Hugo tensed.

    Shigan set his teacup down on the porch. “From what I’ve seen of you, you’re not limited at all in your capabilities. You could do anything you wanted. Ever thought about opening a shop of your own?”

    Hugo remained silent. He’d never considered owning or operating any kind of business. He had no experience with something like that. His life in the lower city hadn’t been easy; he’d essentially jumped from job to job and place to place based on necessity and safety. Owning a store or a restaurant meant that he’d be conspicuous and would have to stay in one place for a long time. Neither of those qualities appealed to Hugo.

    Hugo got up. The blanket that Shigan had loaned him was in his lap. Hugo folded it neatly and left the porch. He turned to face Shigan and said, “Thanks for your help. I’ll do my best to repay you someday, if I can.”

    Hugo spun on his heel and walked away from Shigan’s store without looking back.


    There were seven or eight kids in the street, talking and kicking stones to ease their boredom. Hugo passed by them like a wraith, barely seeing them and not paying attention to them at all. He understood very well why he’d never considered putting down roots in the lower city: he still had the sense that it wasn’t real. It was just a mirage seen through the summer heat. The real city—the one he knew from his childhood—had melted into that mirage. It was gone forever. Hugo couldn’t stay in a place that wasn’t real to him.

    Strangely, Hugo was able to recognize that this place was real to other people. The youngest children he’d just passed by probably didn’t even know that the world used to be different. He couldn’t blame them for choosing to live their lives here, but Hugo had long since lost the place where he belonged.

    The night of the battle was all death and fire, the but city had recovered from that. Hugo couldn’t recover—his family and friends were all dead. At first, he’d thought that everyone was the same as him and that the city would never rebuild, but he’d been wrong. After a brief period of transition, life in the lower city went on as it always had.

    Why? Hugo asked himself. Isn’t that wrong? Shouldn’t people remember what happened?

    Even if the danger of battle was past, many people had lost family members and friends just like him. There should be some kind of permanent, obvious change, but there was none that Hugo could see. That was why he couldn’t shake the idea of this place as a mirage. The flames of war destroyed the city he knew, leaving an echo or a reflection behind that was almost indistinguishable from the real thing.

    Kamuran estate still existed.

    Hugo stopped walking. He remembered Shigan’s wife taking an order for Kamuran estate. He clung to that detail because he had thought that all the Yogoese warrior families were gone… but it was possible that the Kamurans were still alive. Still real.

     Hugo was walking along a main thoroughfare that led to the Imperial Palace. He didn’t know exactly where the Kamuran estate was, but all of the middle nobility lived on the same street—and all noble residences were close to the palace, anyway. If he wanted to look for the estate, this wasn’t a bad place to start.

    Should I look for them? The mere thought sent a shiver of fear up Hugo’s spine. To find the Kamuran estate, he would have to pass the burned-out estates of the high nobility that the Talsh had destroyed. He might have to pass his own ruined house. He took a deep, steadying breath, then made his decision.

    Hugo turned off the main street toward the nobles’ quarter, walking swiftly.


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