Bastion 2 - Chapter 41

We wrapped our dead comrades—Gui-ne and Se-nim—in bedsheets, then lay them gently in the cabin of the Golden Wing. My mother and siblings packed what they could in a rush. We didn’t know if hewould return with reinforcements.

“There’s still pieces that survived the blast,” Mae said only to me, and highlighted my vision with little blue lights. I followed her direction, collecting the fragments from my father—from Hiro Kumiho’s Mae.

The jagged edges were sharp, even through the pocket of my dobok, or maybe I was imagining it.

“Jiyong,” Mother’s voice pulled my attention back to the house.

She held Tuko—what was left of him, at least. I pulled the faithful battlebot into my arms. The belly had been ripped open, legs pulled from their sockets, and his long neck crushed.

I rolled him over and a panel dropped to the ashy ground. I picked the worn metal up and ran a finger over the engraved initials.

“Why?” I whispered.

Mother put a hand on my back. “We should move. He might return.”

I nodded, throwing the panel into the barren field of black around us.

Shin-soo helped me carry the wounded to the cabin of the Golden Wing, and then we were in the air. I trembled as I steered us toward Bastion. My mother and sisters tended to Hana, Bo, and Woong-ji as the boys whispered prayers over the dead.

The sun breached the horizon and I stared into it just to feel anything. My wide-open eyes burned, and I diverted my gaze back to the target; the wall.

Fragments of the other device stabbed into my chest and the image of my father’s body covered in lightning played over in my mind. I wished he hadn’t gotten it out in time. I wished he were dead.

Tears crept up to my eyes but I looked up, and blinked them away. I wouldn’t shed a single drop for him ever again. I sniffed, and looked back to the horizon.

I wondered what he’d felt when he’d realized who I was…

About as surprised as I’d felt when I’d heard his voice. As surprised as I’d felt when I’d destroyed my home. My mind’s eye filled with the ash on the air, the smoke, the charred smell of our ruined lives.

Sung-ki’s voice filled my head as I remembered his warning. “If you don’t know what you’re doing, don’t do it.”

My heart turned bitter as I looked at the spear leaned against the wall. How could this power exist? Who had been so ruthless—so evil—that they conceived this horror?

Mae’s voice was small in my head. “It can be used for good, when you’re in control.”

I frowned, sickened by the notion. ‘Using it for good is how it falls into the hands of an enemy like my father. The good are weak.’

“The good defeated your father tonight,” she retorted.

‘No. I hadn’t been good when I beat him. Jigu abhors me,’ I thought, the voice in my head dark with cynicism.

Mae was quiet, then whispered. “Jiyong, Jigu doesn’t exist.”

“She does!” I yelled and my mother jumped with a start.

The cabin was devoid of chatter for a moment, and I looked over my shoulder apologetically. They each had a look of sympathy. We had all just been through a lot, and they understood what I was feeling.

‘You think you know everything. You don’t.’ I thought with a sense of finality.

“I’m sorry,” Mae whispered.

I piloted the Golden Wing in hot, resentful silence. We cleared the kingdom wall with tenuous fear as cannons and ballista pointed up at us. None fired, and we continued to Bastion. Mae had documented all the actions Gui-ne had performed while piloting and fed them to me without comment.

We descended toward the empty spot on the lawn and set down with a hard jostle that buckled my knees. My body moved as if by instinct and I turned to help my sisters with the injured.

Bo was up and moving, mostly on her own, so I pulled Woong-ji up into my grip. Before I could step out of the Golden Wing, medical attendants jogged up to the opening with gurneys.

We loaded Woong-ji—who was still in critical condition—then Hana, and finally the dead. I sent my mother and siblings along with Sung-ki. They needed their nerves calmed and their injuries treated.

And I wanted to wait for the Grandmaster, alone.

I held the spear in my hands, twisting it over as I sat in the dry grass. Min-hwan approached in a flowing black robe, a grave look in his aged face. His brow was pinched in worry, and his lips—though obscured by his beard—were turned down.

My blood boiled at the audacity of Min-hwan to keep such a dangerous weapon in arms reach. What kind of man kept something like this? What kind of Bastion allowed it to exist?

I rose to my feet and held the spear out. “This is an abomination,” I declared in a wavering voice that exposed my anger.

“I’m sorry you had to discover the dark things this weapon is capable of,” he said softly, and bowed his head.

“It’s not just dark, it’s evil,” I growled the words from the pit of my stomach where Jigu’s agony sat like a stone.

He shook his head. “It is only as evil as its wielder.”

The words struck my heart. Was Ithe monster?

“No, dear boy,” Min-hwan said as he placed his hand on my shoulder. “You were desperate.”

A lump formed in my throat and I tasted ash. “I didn’t know it would kill them,” I whispered.

“How could you have known? You are not this tool’s master.”

“Then why was I given it?” I asked, outraged.

Min-hwan sighed again, as if summoning patience with his breath. “Would you have survived without it? Could you have succeeded without it?”

I swallowed hard and looked at the weapon. “No.”

“Then, you were adequately armed,” he reminded me of the very words I’d said to Bo.

He opened his hand for the spear, and I felt a moment of hesitation. I could destroy it. I could prevent this power from ever being abused again.

“Believe me when I say I’ve tried,” Min-hwan whispered. “This was formed with metal so strong it will not melt in the hottest flame. It will not break with a million strikes of a hammer. It does not rust, chip, or crack. The power is ancient, beyond us, and I have dedicated my life to protecting it from falling into the wrong hands.”

He motioned me forward and I placed the spear in his grasp. He turned, inviting me to walk with him to the main pagoda.

After a moment of quiet, he spoke. “Ko-nah and his mother have fled their home. The Wong dojang has been destroyed.”

“All the evidence destroyed,” I corrected him.

Min-hwan nodded. “It seems, at this juncture, that Ko-nah and his mother were the cohorts working with Hiro Kumiho. Wansil Wong is denying awareness of the situation.”

“How did I let Ko-nah get away with this?” I shook my head as I thought back to the moment in the hallway, likely minutes after he’s poisoned the water for the tea. How had I so easily forgotten that and moved on with my day?

How had he convinced Hana to calm down, and believe him? How had he convinced Tae-do that he would do his bidding—that he was afraid of him? He didn’t fear Tae-do, otherwise he would’ve warned him about the tea. No, he loathed Tae-do, and Ko-nah had been the puppet master all along.

He never wanted to impress wansil Wong. He wanted to hurt him.

I recalled the look of pure, sadistic excitement in his eyes when he knew he’d manipulated me into fighting Tae-do. Little did he know, he had caused the first domino to fall in the chain of events that foiled Hiro Kumiho’s plans. Yet still, he had convinced everyone around him he was harmless, and feeble.

He was the deadliest of all.

Min-hwan hummed in grim amusement. “Spies are in high demand in every kingdom. Ko-nah will fit in well at the renowned school in Kokyu.”

“So, he’s defected?” I asked with spite.

“We assume as much, yes.”

I had endured the trials of teaching his ungrateful hide, and this was how he repaid me—repaid Bastion? I had given him my time, effort, and genuine care. I had done everything I could.

I wanted to hate him, but there was nothing there when I thought of Ko-nah. No anger, no pain, or regret. I looked over to see Min-hwan glowing a soft lilac, extending the bubble of emotion leaching around me. He had stolen my hate.

Min-hwan smiled gently. “This is not a time to dwell on agony. Your family needs you, and you need rest.”

“And I need to feel,” I said flatly. “The blade isn’t forged in a comforting shelter. It is made in the inferno and sharpened with the hammer.”

Min-hwan stopped. “Is that all you are, Jiyong? A weapon?”

I blinked. “Isn’t that what a Bastion is?”

Min-hwan’s shoulders slumped. “No, my boy.”

He pulled me along through the halls to his office and led me inside. I sat down in his comfortable chair and melted into it. My body hurt. How had I not felt this before? I was exhausted, running on less than fumes, and starving.

Min-hwan patted my shoulder. “You’ve stopped the signal that commanded the malware, but that munje is still in everyone’s system. Sung-ki and Li Zigi have discovered a combination solution; a potion that will attach only to the invaders, and a cleansing cycle that leaves no waste behind. It’s a lengthy process, but I’m sure we can have everyone cleaned up in a few days.

“Rest for a while. I’ll return for you,” his voice was far away as I laid my head back.

I close my eyes what felt for a blink, only to find myself waking what must’ve been many hours later. The mid-day sun shone through the high windows behind Min-hwan’s desk. I sat up and found a bowl of meat and rice next to me on the table with a tall cup of water.

I went for the water first, chugging it back greedily. Then I pulled the bowl onto my lap and devoured the content in seconds. Satisfied, I sat back once more.

My family.

I jumped to my feet—a mistake—and held my stomach as I swallowed back my meal’s attempt at escape. I walked at a fast pace as I made my way to the alchemy room when I heard the ry boosted voice of Min-hwan coming from the dining hall.

I jogged that way, taking frequent breaks to hold down my food. Min-hwan’s voice was solemn as his words became audible. “—students who fought like Bastions, and died to save this school. May we honor them now with an expression of our zo.”

I reached the door and peered inside.

The dining room had been transformed into a makeshift infirmary; bedrolls laid out on the floor where the tables usually sat. Students sat crowded on the beds or between them, some leaned against the walls, arms crossed and faces red. The instructors all stood on the stage—except one. Woong-ji.

Fear twisted my stomach, and I suppressed the need to call out to Min-hwan. This was a moment of peace for the dead, and Woong-ji may be among them. I stepped inside, keeping my footfalls silent. The students and instructors held their hands out, palms up to the sky as black zo collected there. I knelt at the edge of the crowd and cycled zo like them.

Min-hwan’s voice rose from the front in a deep, melodic hymn. He sang ancient words to Jigu, asking her help in finding rest for the dead’s energy after departing the body. The instructors joined in, then the other students, and though I didn’t know all the words, I sang as well, following the melody.

Our zo munje pulled away as one to the front of the room. Min-hwan swooped his arms through the air as if he were collecting and shaping it—and he was. The black zo clumped into one, then split in two towering figures. The features of Gui-ne etched into the first cloud of zo, his moustache unmistakable. The appearance of Se-nim formed in the other, sporting a devilish grin even in death.

The figures of zo bowed as Min-hwan finished his song. Min-hwan bowed in returned and I dropped my head to the floor with the other students. The room hushed, and then the black fog fell apart, dissolving into the air.

“They will be immortalized in the Book of Bastions. We will never forget their sacrifice.”