Hrist[ALT]
Battlemaiden Hrist
Chapter 5
Memento in the Mountains
James was wrong in his estimation of the distance to the base of Mt. Mortar. It would be two days before he arrived with Kim at the bottom of the misty mountain, heads craned back as they tried to glimpse the path through the mountains. Twilight had fallen, and that prompted the Pokemon trainer to nod toward the safety of the trees, “Well, we made it, but it’d be best if we made camp near the edge of the forest and started out tomorrow. We’re not making very good time, but safety is more important, I think.”
“Are you sure that you want to make camp near the forest?” Kim asked warily. “The Mightyena packs will be there, and you never know about the Gengar. It might be better to camp closer to the mountain.”
James seemed to digest that for a moment, then shook his head, “I’d rather not sleep out in the open. There’ll be Pokemon in the forest sure, but out here, there’ll be vagrants and who knows what else. There might be Ursaring in these mountains.”
Kim hesitated for a moment, not wanting to give into a Pokemon trainer that she still didn’t especially like, but finally she decided that James’s reasoning was sound and relented, “Fine, we’ll camp in the forest, but put your Pokemon away. I don’t want their scent attracting any hunters during the night.”
She felt a brief surge of nasty triumph as James shrugged and pulled his black Pokeball from his belt, “Suit yourself; return Umbreon.”
Umbreon gave a brief, protesting cry as a red beam lanced from the Pokeball and converted it to energy, then snapped back into the device like a careless rubber band. Deactivating the Pokeball, he returned it to his best and nodded toward the forest, “After you, Kim.”
Kim threw him a dirty look, but started from the mountain without comment, James just behind. They made the short trip back to the edge of the forest in silence, a situation not uncommon over the course of their brief journey together. James had plowed straight through the forest path over the past two days, only rarely stopping for a break to nibble on his supplies and ration out food to Kim and his Pokemon. He had occasionally spoke to the omnipresent Umbreon at his side, but he had spared few words for Kim.
She got the impression that he had rarely spoken with other humans over the course of the last ten years, instead reserving conversation for his Pokemon and possibly himself. She imagined him plowing through Shinou, Kanto and Orre, his head down and his face set in the same expression of uneasy concentration. That image probably wasn’t far from the truth.
Once the pair reached a suitable clearing at the edge of the forest, James dropped the gear with a grunt, “Do me a favor and get the cooking supplies out of my pack. I’m going to find some fire wood.”
Flicking on a flashlight, he quickly vanished into the brush, leaving Kim to fumble through his pack for the cooking utensils. Muttering quietly, she dug out the spare flashlight and quickly found a packet of powdered soup, but the ladle was nowhere to be found. After rummaging a little further, her hand closed on something that felt a little like the leather binding around one of the village ladle handles. She pulled it out of the pack with a quick tug, then let out a sharp, involuntary gasp as she saw what it was.
She was holding a dagger with a short, but nevertheless dangerously sharp blade encased in an ornate, ebony scabbard. A crimson Gyarados twisted about on the knife’s leather-bound handle, its teeth bared in a ferocious grimace. What looked like a small pendant depicting the scales of a dragon surrounding a Pokeball hung from dagger’s handle by a silver chain, the blade itself was flawless silver with a wicked edge and a blood channel that parted the dagger down the middle. Kim hadn’t been out of Eben Village in many years, but she had traveled enough to recognize it as a dagger belonging to one of the nearby assassin’s guilds, the sort that had emerged as a dangerous regional power in the aftermath of the bells.
Heart pounding in her ears, she replaced the dagger and quickly arranged the cooking supplies, only barely finishing by the time James returned with an armful of fire wood. She kept her head down and said nothing as he dumped it in an untidy heap on the ground and set to building a fire pit.
Kim steeled herself for a tense confrontation, but to her surprise, James quickly relieved her of that burden by raising the subject himself, “You’re probably wondering about the dagger in my pack.”
Somewhat disarmed by his unexpected words, Kim could only nod. James smiled as he finished building the fire pit and pulled out his lighter. As usual, very little of that smile made it to his eyes, “It used to belong to a member of the Red Dragon Clan, one of the assassin’s guilds in Orre. I keep it with me as a reminder that old Masamune is still out there, and I have a job to do.”
“How did you end up with the dagger?”
“I’d rather not go into that tonight. It’s a long story.”
James backed away as one of the dry twigs he had gathered caught and quickly spread, the fuel burning and the flames steadily rising. He sat staring at the fire, deep in thought, as Kate opened up her canteen and filled one of their pots with water. Tearing open the soup packet, she stirred the powder into the water and moved it over the fire, “Hope you like dry potato soup. I can add some leeks and carrots if you’d like.”
“Yeah, that would be great, thanks.”
Kate set to cutting up a carrot, her eyes turning up to the trainer as she did, “So what are you thinking about now?”
“Oh, just something that I saw the other day,” James shook his head. “I think that it’s a Pokemon, and I’m pretty sure that it’s been following me since I left Orre. I’ve seen it at least three times, twice in Kanto and once here in Johto.”
“What kind of Pokemon is it?”
“I don’t know,” James lied. “I’ve never seen anything like it before. And it always moves so fast that I can only catch a glimpse of it. I’m pretty sure that it’s the same Pokemon though. I recognize the coloring.”
Kim thought about that for a moment as she held the soup over the fire and stirred the contents with a wooden spoon, “Well, maybe you’re meant to catch it, Mr. Pokemon Trainer. Have you ever considered that?”
“Yeah I’ve thought about that,” James admitted. “But like I’ve said, I’ve only ever caught a glimpse. Not enough time to even think about ordering an attack, really.”
“I guess,” Kim said as she finished stirring the stew, adding a dash of salt and pepper before ladling it into two bowls and offering one to James. “Now eat your soup before it gets cold. There’s more in the pot if you want second helpings.”
James laughed and took the bowl, “Thanks Mom, I appreciate it.”
Kim waved the ladle threateningly, laughing a little despite herself, “Don’t get smart with me. I’ve got a ladle, and I know how to use it.”
They dug into their potato and leek soup with a vengeance as the last of the sunlight drew back over the horizon and vanished. In Eben Village, they would be lighting their candles again the darkness. Here at the base of Mt. Mortar, James doused the fire and they curled up in their respective sleeping bags to drop off to sleep, the fire guttering away to nothing as the moon rose high into the night sky.
James received the dagger the day he made his first Pokemon capture. He had been a smallish eleven-year-old with a mop of scruffy black hair then, earning him the affectionate nickname “scrub” among his peers. Two weeks before, he had received the binding tattoo of clan membership along with his first Pokemon. Now he stood on the Orre Plateau overlooking the barren scrubland, bouncing a Pokemon thoughtfully in his hand.
Something stirred in the wind, and he turned to see a Pidgeotto light on the skeleton of a tree that poked stubbornly from the sand. When it saw James, it cooed and flapped its wings in challenge.
“You want a battle, Pidgeotto?” James smirked. “Well, that’s why I’m here. Okay Cyndaquil, come on out!”
He threw the Pokeball with a grunt, and it burst open to reveal the fire mouse, which squeaked. James deftly caught the Pokeball on its return and minimized it, “This is our first real battle, Cyndaquil, so do your best. Start out with a tackle attack!”
Cyndaquil squeaked, and James was pleased to see the flame on its back roar immediately to life. Seemingly non-plussed by this display of power, Pidgeotto quickly launched itself from the tree and struck Cyndaquil hard as it tried to run up to a tackle, leaving the Pokemon to squeal in pain as it swept back into the air.
James grimaced sympathetically, then pointed at the Pidgeotto, “Shake it off and use your fire spin like we practiced, Cyndaquil!”
Cyndaquil recovered its feet and seemed to be getting ready to loose a gout of fire, but the Pidgeotto struck fast, forcing the Pokemon to dodge with a squeak. The bird rounded about in the sky for another cry, squawking furiously, but this time James was ready, “Smokescreen Cyndaquil, quick!”
The Pidgeotto suddenly found itself in a haze of choking black smoke, unable to spot its prey. It wheezed and hit the ground with a thump, then flapped awkwardly to its feet and tried to use a whirlwind attack to blow away the smoke. Seeing his opportunity, James shouted, “Now’s your chance Cyndaquil, tackle it!”
James yanked an empty Pokeball from his belt as Cyndaquil charged and hit the Pidgeotto with a satisfying crack, stunning the bird further. The Pokeball soared through the air and opened to strike the bird with a pencil-thin line of red light, converting the Pokemon to energy and drawing it into the trap within. It hit the ground with a thud, shuddered three times, then beeped and was still.
James stood stock still for a moment, quivering, lost in the moment. Then he cried out in triumph and ran forward, cradling Cyndaquil under one arm while holding Pidgeotto’s Pokeball in the other, “We did it, Cyndaquil! We did it! Our first capture!”
Cyndaquil squeaked happily, and the pair danced around in circles for a moment before a heavy hand fell on his James’s shoulder. He turned to find himself in the shadow of an older man with a stern, lined face, a cascade of white hair slipping down to his shoulders, his eyes twinkling. Masamune Miyai smiled approvingly, “Nice capture, kid.”
James thought he would burst with pride at the rare praise, “Did you see everything? Did you see that move with the smokescreen?”
“Yes, I saw everything,” Miyai said kindly. As he spoke, he kneeled and pulled a dagger from his jacket, the same dagger that Kim would find in James’s pack 11 years later. “I’m proud of you, kid, it won’t be long before you’re running missions with Kanya and the rest of the clan.”
“You think so?”
“Yes, I think so,” Miyai nodded. “So I want you to have this. It’s the initiate blade, carried by every member of our clan. Take it, honor it, and never lose it. You are part of this clan, son of the Red Dragon’s first family.”
He offered the blade to James, who took it into both hands, eyes wide and shining with pride. Miyai stood, smiling, hands in his pockets as James admired his new weapon. His reverie was broken by a tap on his shoulder. He turned to address the newcomer, a man sharp cheekbones and narrow eyes, “Masamune, Kanya is on the line for you. The mission is successful.”
Masamune immediately seized the mobile phone from the man’s hands and turned, “Thank you, Kuro. Hello Kanya, did you get it?”
As Masamune stepped away from the group to have his conversation with Kanya, Kuro wandered over to James, who was still admiring his gift. He kneeled down and glanced over James’s shoulder, “Hey Akira, old Masamune finally gave you a knife, huh?’
James carefully slipped the dagger into his belt, then beckoned Cyndaquil to his shoulder, “Yeah, he did. Do you have one too?”
“Course I do, everybody has one,” Kuro said, reaching to his belt to show James his own dagger. “I shouldn’t be surprised that you got one so fast, you being Masamune’s favorite son and all. Anyway, congratulations, huh? Come on back to the house with me, and we’ll celebrate with some sake. I think Masamune will be on the phone for a while.”
James nodded, and the pair started back to the compound, chatting happily, excited about the events of the day. As he walked, James Chambers believed that he would always be Akira Miyai, loyal son of the Red Dragon clan and child of Masamune Takeshi Miyai. One day soon, he would be fighting alongside his brothers, ready to die in the name of the crimson Gyarados that served as their clan’s standard.
But fate has a funny way of reigning in on our strongest expectations and our dearest wishes. Just two years later, he would lie burning with the town of Loam, latest victim of the father he loved so much.
Memento in the Mountains
James was wrong in his estimation of the distance to the base of Mt. Mortar. It would be two days before he arrived with Kim at the bottom of the misty mountain, heads craned back as they tried to glimpse the path through the mountains. Twilight had fallen, and that prompted the Pokemon trainer to nod toward the safety of the trees, “Well, we made it, but it’d be best if we made camp near the edge of the forest and started out tomorrow. We’re not making very good time, but safety is more important, I think.”
“Are you sure that you want to make camp near the forest?” Kim asked warily. “The Mightyena packs will be there, and you never know about the Gengar. It might be better to camp closer to the mountain.”
James seemed to digest that for a moment, then shook his head, “I’d rather not sleep out in the open. There’ll be Pokemon in the forest sure, but out here, there’ll be vagrants and who knows what else. There might be Ursaring in these mountains.”
Kim hesitated for a moment, not wanting to give into a Pokemon trainer that she still didn’t especially like, but finally she decided that James’s reasoning was sound and relented, “Fine, we’ll camp in the forest, but put your Pokemon away. I don’t want their scent attracting any hunters during the night.”
She felt a brief surge of nasty triumph as James shrugged and pulled his black Pokeball from his belt, “Suit yourself; return Umbreon.”
Umbreon gave a brief, protesting cry as a red beam lanced from the Pokeball and converted it to energy, then snapped back into the device like a careless rubber band. Deactivating the Pokeball, he returned it to his best and nodded toward the forest, “After you, Kim.”
Kim threw him a dirty look, but started from the mountain without comment, James just behind. They made the short trip back to the edge of the forest in silence, a situation not uncommon over the course of their brief journey together. James had plowed straight through the forest path over the past two days, only rarely stopping for a break to nibble on his supplies and ration out food to Kim and his Pokemon. He had occasionally spoke to the omnipresent Umbreon at his side, but he had spared few words for Kim.
She got the impression that he had rarely spoken with other humans over the course of the last ten years, instead reserving conversation for his Pokemon and possibly himself. She imagined him plowing through Shinou, Kanto and Orre, his head down and his face set in the same expression of uneasy concentration. That image probably wasn’t far from the truth.
Once the pair reached a suitable clearing at the edge of the forest, James dropped the gear with a grunt, “Do me a favor and get the cooking supplies out of my pack. I’m going to find some fire wood.”
Flicking on a flashlight, he quickly vanished into the brush, leaving Kim to fumble through his pack for the cooking utensils. Muttering quietly, she dug out the spare flashlight and quickly found a packet of powdered soup, but the ladle was nowhere to be found. After rummaging a little further, her hand closed on something that felt a little like the leather binding around one of the village ladle handles. She pulled it out of the pack with a quick tug, then let out a sharp, involuntary gasp as she saw what it was.
She was holding a dagger with a short, but nevertheless dangerously sharp blade encased in an ornate, ebony scabbard. A crimson Gyarados twisted about on the knife’s leather-bound handle, its teeth bared in a ferocious grimace. What looked like a small pendant depicting the scales of a dragon surrounding a Pokeball hung from dagger’s handle by a silver chain, the blade itself was flawless silver with a wicked edge and a blood channel that parted the dagger down the middle. Kim hadn’t been out of Eben Village in many years, but she had traveled enough to recognize it as a dagger belonging to one of the nearby assassin’s guilds, the sort that had emerged as a dangerous regional power in the aftermath of the bells.
Heart pounding in her ears, she replaced the dagger and quickly arranged the cooking supplies, only barely finishing by the time James returned with an armful of fire wood. She kept her head down and said nothing as he dumped it in an untidy heap on the ground and set to building a fire pit.
Kim steeled herself for a tense confrontation, but to her surprise, James quickly relieved her of that burden by raising the subject himself, “You’re probably wondering about the dagger in my pack.”
Somewhat disarmed by his unexpected words, Kim could only nod. James smiled as he finished building the fire pit and pulled out his lighter. As usual, very little of that smile made it to his eyes, “It used to belong to a member of the Red Dragon Clan, one of the assassin’s guilds in Orre. I keep it with me as a reminder that old Masamune is still out there, and I have a job to do.”
“How did you end up with the dagger?”
“I’d rather not go into that tonight. It’s a long story.”
James backed away as one of the dry twigs he had gathered caught and quickly spread, the fuel burning and the flames steadily rising. He sat staring at the fire, deep in thought, as Kate opened up her canteen and filled one of their pots with water. Tearing open the soup packet, she stirred the powder into the water and moved it over the fire, “Hope you like dry potato soup. I can add some leeks and carrots if you’d like.”
“Yeah, that would be great, thanks.”
Kate set to cutting up a carrot, her eyes turning up to the trainer as she did, “So what are you thinking about now?”
“Oh, just something that I saw the other day,” James shook his head. “I think that it’s a Pokemon, and I’m pretty sure that it’s been following me since I left Orre. I’ve seen it at least three times, twice in Kanto and once here in Johto.”
“What kind of Pokemon is it?”
“I don’t know,” James lied. “I’ve never seen anything like it before. And it always moves so fast that I can only catch a glimpse of it. I’m pretty sure that it’s the same Pokemon though. I recognize the coloring.”
Kim thought about that for a moment as she held the soup over the fire and stirred the contents with a wooden spoon, “Well, maybe you’re meant to catch it, Mr. Pokemon Trainer. Have you ever considered that?”
“Yeah I’ve thought about that,” James admitted. “But like I’ve said, I’ve only ever caught a glimpse. Not enough time to even think about ordering an attack, really.”
“I guess,” Kim said as she finished stirring the stew, adding a dash of salt and pepper before ladling it into two bowls and offering one to James. “Now eat your soup before it gets cold. There’s more in the pot if you want second helpings.”
James laughed and took the bowl, “Thanks Mom, I appreciate it.”
Kim waved the ladle threateningly, laughing a little despite herself, “Don’t get smart with me. I’ve got a ladle, and I know how to use it.”
They dug into their potato and leek soup with a vengeance as the last of the sunlight drew back over the horizon and vanished. In Eben Village, they would be lighting their candles again the darkness. Here at the base of Mt. Mortar, James doused the fire and they curled up in their respective sleeping bags to drop off to sleep, the fire guttering away to nothing as the moon rose high into the night sky.
2
What Kim didn’t know, was that the dagger tucked away in his pack had not been taken from the body of a dead Red Dragon member, as she thought, but had in fact always belonged to James. An ornate Gyarados tattoo spiraled up from his thigh to his calf, and much like the terrible scars he bore on his chest, the tattoo would bind him forever to the Red Dragon Clan and Masamune Miyai.James received the dagger the day he made his first Pokemon capture. He had been a smallish eleven-year-old with a mop of scruffy black hair then, earning him the affectionate nickname “scrub” among his peers. Two weeks before, he had received the binding tattoo of clan membership along with his first Pokemon. Now he stood on the Orre Plateau overlooking the barren scrubland, bouncing a Pokemon thoughtfully in his hand.
Something stirred in the wind, and he turned to see a Pidgeotto light on the skeleton of a tree that poked stubbornly from the sand. When it saw James, it cooed and flapped its wings in challenge.
“You want a battle, Pidgeotto?” James smirked. “Well, that’s why I’m here. Okay Cyndaquil, come on out!”
He threw the Pokeball with a grunt, and it burst open to reveal the fire mouse, which squeaked. James deftly caught the Pokeball on its return and minimized it, “This is our first real battle, Cyndaquil, so do your best. Start out with a tackle attack!”
Cyndaquil squeaked, and James was pleased to see the flame on its back roar immediately to life. Seemingly non-plussed by this display of power, Pidgeotto quickly launched itself from the tree and struck Cyndaquil hard as it tried to run up to a tackle, leaving the Pokemon to squeal in pain as it swept back into the air.
James grimaced sympathetically, then pointed at the Pidgeotto, “Shake it off and use your fire spin like we practiced, Cyndaquil!”
Cyndaquil recovered its feet and seemed to be getting ready to loose a gout of fire, but the Pidgeotto struck fast, forcing the Pokemon to dodge with a squeak. The bird rounded about in the sky for another cry, squawking furiously, but this time James was ready, “Smokescreen Cyndaquil, quick!”
The Pidgeotto suddenly found itself in a haze of choking black smoke, unable to spot its prey. It wheezed and hit the ground with a thump, then flapped awkwardly to its feet and tried to use a whirlwind attack to blow away the smoke. Seeing his opportunity, James shouted, “Now’s your chance Cyndaquil, tackle it!”
James yanked an empty Pokeball from his belt as Cyndaquil charged and hit the Pidgeotto with a satisfying crack, stunning the bird further. The Pokeball soared through the air and opened to strike the bird with a pencil-thin line of red light, converting the Pokemon to energy and drawing it into the trap within. It hit the ground with a thud, shuddered three times, then beeped and was still.
James stood stock still for a moment, quivering, lost in the moment. Then he cried out in triumph and ran forward, cradling Cyndaquil under one arm while holding Pidgeotto’s Pokeball in the other, “We did it, Cyndaquil! We did it! Our first capture!”
Cyndaquil squeaked happily, and the pair danced around in circles for a moment before a heavy hand fell on his James’s shoulder. He turned to find himself in the shadow of an older man with a stern, lined face, a cascade of white hair slipping down to his shoulders, his eyes twinkling. Masamune Miyai smiled approvingly, “Nice capture, kid.”
James thought he would burst with pride at the rare praise, “Did you see everything? Did you see that move with the smokescreen?”
“Yes, I saw everything,” Miyai said kindly. As he spoke, he kneeled and pulled a dagger from his jacket, the same dagger that Kim would find in James’s pack 11 years later. “I’m proud of you, kid, it won’t be long before you’re running missions with Kanya and the rest of the clan.”
“You think so?”
“Yes, I think so,” Miyai nodded. “So I want you to have this. It’s the initiate blade, carried by every member of our clan. Take it, honor it, and never lose it. You are part of this clan, son of the Red Dragon’s first family.”
He offered the blade to James, who took it into both hands, eyes wide and shining with pride. Miyai stood, smiling, hands in his pockets as James admired his new weapon. His reverie was broken by a tap on his shoulder. He turned to address the newcomer, a man sharp cheekbones and narrow eyes, “Masamune, Kanya is on the line for you. The mission is successful.”
Masamune immediately seized the mobile phone from the man’s hands and turned, “Thank you, Kuro. Hello Kanya, did you get it?”
As Masamune stepped away from the group to have his conversation with Kanya, Kuro wandered over to James, who was still admiring his gift. He kneeled down and glanced over James’s shoulder, “Hey Akira, old Masamune finally gave you a knife, huh?’
James carefully slipped the dagger into his belt, then beckoned Cyndaquil to his shoulder, “Yeah, he did. Do you have one too?”
“Course I do, everybody has one,” Kuro said, reaching to his belt to show James his own dagger. “I shouldn’t be surprised that you got one so fast, you being Masamune’s favorite son and all. Anyway, congratulations, huh? Come on back to the house with me, and we’ll celebrate with some sake. I think Masamune will be on the phone for a while.”
James nodded, and the pair started back to the compound, chatting happily, excited about the events of the day. As he walked, James Chambers believed that he would always be Akira Miyai, loyal son of the Red Dragon clan and child of Masamune Takeshi Miyai. One day soon, he would be fighting alongside his brothers, ready to die in the name of the crimson Gyarados that served as their clan’s standard.
But fate has a funny way of reigning in on our strongest expectations and our dearest wishes. Just two years later, he would lie burning with the town of Loam, latest victim of the father he loved so much.