Savage Divinity

Stepping back, Mila placed her hands on her hips and surveyed her work. “Perfect,” she declared, giving Jester Wang a congratulatory thump on the shoulder. “Now you’re effectively unrecognizable, so all we have to do now is pick out a new name and we’re good to go.”

His head swaddled in bandages, the one-time Butcher Bay Bandit winced and nodded with less enthusiasm than Mila expected. “Err... Thank you kindly Lady Sumila,” he said, voice muffled from the wrappings. “But it’s a mite hard to breathe, on account of me nose and mouth being covered so tightly.”

Men, always complaining about the smallest things. “Deal with it,” she answered, waving away his concerns and tossing him the remaining bandages. “We can’t risk anyone recognizing you. You’re not the most famous bandit around but Zian and his retinue know you by sight.” Stupid Rain, why would he declare Jester Wang dead and then bring him here only a few weeks later? It was the height of foolishness.

“So am I supposed to wrap me face every day now? Won’t people notice after a few weeks?”

Ugh, so bothersome. Why was she left to clean up Rain’s mess? No one else seemed to care, waving away her concerns like they didn’t matter and telling her not to worry. “Make up an excuse. Maybe you swore an Oath to never uncover your face until you avenge your family, or you caught an exotic disease and your flesh is rotting off.” Glancing at Song for help, she found her new sister’s concentration wholly focused on her own matters and caring nothing for Mila’s troubles.

Ah, what a difference a week makes. Before, Song almost never strayed from Mila’s side and then only if ordered, but ever since becoming real sisters, it was like Song couldn’t get far enough away. Every morning she’d run off to sit in the courtyard by herself, finding excuses to avoid Mila like going to the market with Lin. She even said there was no need to wrap Jester Wang’s face in bandages, essentially telling Mila she was wasting her time. What happened to the devoted and dutiful Li Song, always happy to play a game of chess or brush Mila’s hair?

It’s not that she begrudged Song’s newfound independence, but she’d just gotten used to the cat-girl’s constant presence only to have her up and disappear for hours at a time. With Rain barely paying attention to her, she was left feeling neglected and unwanted waking up alone without Song or Sarankho there to greet her. If it weren’t for today’s spars and Rain asking for help on this errand, who knows if either of them would have the time to spare to keep Mila company.

Then again, it’s not like Rain was even spending time with her, too busy cuddling with Lin and putting together his little huts. It was for a good cause but he could at least spare the time to give her a smile or hold her hand or something. Was he mad because she beat him in today’s spar? It was his fault for leaving himself wide open, was she supposed to go easy on him because of his frail ego? Okay, so maybe she'd been too excited and hit him a tad harder than she should have, but she was so happy about finally beating Zian she forgot herself. Yes, Mama told her to take advantage of the matches to improve her martial skills, but just for today, she abandoned all restraint and went all out, only using five exchanges to defeat three opponents.

So satisfying. What number one talents in the North? Pei.

Grumbling inwardly, Mila watched as Song knelt at the door of the newly-erected ger to block Jimjam’s escape, the unhappy wildcat yowling up a storm as he rolled about the floor, unsuccessfully trying to dislodge his new cap. The largest of the wildcats, he was also the most feral, barely willing to tolerate a scarf around his neck much less an entire outfit. Song was nothing but patient, waiting in silence with her arms outstretched, inviting Jimjam in for a hug so she could dress him in his darling silk vest. Sweet Sarankho sat beside her, rubbing her head against Song’s shoulder while proudly displaying her lovely new outfit, a red and black cap with matching floral silk dress, complete with a neat ribbon bow on her back.

So adorable.

“Lady Sumila, I hate to complain but I’m gettin’ a little light-headed. I think mebbe the bandages are cuttin’ off the blood to me head and-”

“Don’t touch them,” she snapped, irritated at the interruption. “If you don’t want to wear the bandages then we can go with my first suggestion. I’m more than happy to beat you till your head swells up like a pig.” Honestly, a few minor discomforts and he whines like a petulant child, what sort of fearsome bandit was he? “You decide on a new name yet? If not, I’ll be happy to name you Wang Ba Dan.” It was a little vulgar to insult his parentage, but her patience for the whiny bandit was wearing thin.

“No, mercy please Lady Sumila. I’ll think of something meself, promise I will.”

A knock came at the door and Rain’s voice sounded out. “Hey, I finished up and brought Aurie like you asked.” Keeping a careful eye on Jimjam, Song opened the door behind her and Rain slipped in, Lin and Aurie close on his heels. Gasping in shock, Rain knelt down and hugged Sarankho, cooing with delight. “Too cute! I love it. Who’s a pretty kitty? You are, yes you.” Glancing at Jester Wang, Rain raised an eyebrow and asked, “What the hell’s with all the bandages? You look ridiculous, take them off.” Without even saying a word to Mila, he returned to cuddling Sarankho and laughing as Song dressed Aurie in his new clothes.

Maybe it was Rain ignoring her and dismissing her hard work out of hand, or maybe it was because Rain and Song looked like a perfect, beautiful couple, but something inside Mila broke. Instead of flaring up as she normally would, she swallowed her anger and glanced away, lamenting her poor fate. Stupid Rain, she was a fool to ever dream of having him come avenge her, losing to the arrogant jerk in record time. Well, if Rain didn’t care about anyone recognizing Jester Wang, then he could suffer the consequences himself.

Overlooking her foul mood, Rain asked, “Did you finish making what we needed?”

“Yes,” Song replied, leaving Mila wondering when they’d had the time to chat. Probably in the mornings when he swung by to visit Bataar, this lovely couple sharing words while Mila slept in her room. Who knew what else they shared? Hmph, she saw how Rain looked at Song during the spar, all wide-eyed and flustered by her beauty, suffering greatly for his distraction. He never looked at Mila like that, a terrible lecher and philanderer, never happy with what he had.

Turning to glare at Rain, her efforts continued to go unnoticed as he studied Jester Wang’s uncovered face. “Not bad,” he murmured, pulling out a jar of ointment from Song’s leather bag, the same stuff she used on her hair. “Here, massage this into the rat’s nest you call a beard. I know I told you to grow it out, but would it kill you to run a comb through it every now and then?”

“Sorry boss,” Jester Wang replied with a shrug, slathering a generous amount into his tangled beard. “Ain’t much call fer looking sharp in my line of work.”

“Former line of work,” Rain corrected, pulling out three more jars. “Things have changed. When you’re done, spread this on your skin. Keep both jars, use them every day, and let me know when you’re running low.” Tossing a conical, straw hat to the side, he added, “Wear it when you go out. You’re too tanned and leathery, this’ll whiten your skin and maybe even get rid of those wrinkles. I can never tell the age of Martial Practitioners. You look old enough to be forty, so you’re what... sixty years old?”

“Err... I’m twenty-eight boss.” Jester Wang’s sheepish declaration made Mila re-evaluate her opinion of the former bandit. If this was true then his talent wasn’t half bad, his strength comparable to a career soldier of the same age, though how he looked so weathered and aged was a mystery. Years of drinking and debauchery no doubt, combined with an utter lack of hygiene and poor diet.

Coughing to hide his disbelief, Rain continued with his instructions. After straightening his beard, lightening his skin, trimming and plucking his hair, removing three moles or cysts, and changing into a Sentinel’s uniform, Jester Wang looked like a whole new person. Though not the tallest man around, he still stood a head taller than Rain and more than twice as wide. With ruddy cheeks and close-cropped hair, he couldn’t be called handsome or even comely, but his dark, silky, neatly-trimmed, full-faced beard lent him an air of dignity, especially when he kept his brown eyes clear and focused. Though she’d seen the transformation take place with her own eyes, Mila could hardly believe this was the same Jester Wang and not his younger, distant, distant cousin.

Ordering him to stand at attention, Rain circled the former bandit for inspection, shaking his head all the while. “You’ve got an under bite but it’ll make for good practice fixing it yourself. You’ll need to develop a whole new set of habits too. No more slouching or slumping, pretend you have a rod jammed up your ass and act appropriately. Shoulders squared, head up, and eyes forward at all times, like someone with proper training. Fix your speech too, no more ‘ye’s, ‘yer’s, ‘fer’s, ‘ain’t’s and whatnot. In fact, no more contractions, speak in proper Common from here on out. If you can’t manage it then keep your mouth shut as much as possible. Assume you have no privacy and that someone is always watching, because someone will be. If you slip up, even in your sleep, I’ll use an actual rod to help you remember.”

Looking forlorn and overwhelmed, Jester Wang gave a sloppy salute and answered, “Got it boss, will do, but um... what about my name?”

“What about it?”

“Well, I can’t be going around callin’ meself... No, no wait, please lemme – let me start over.” Slapping his cheeks as Rain reached for a nearby bamboo cane, Jester Wang spoke slowly, enunciating each word with great care. “I can not keep using the same name, if we are trying to cover up my past.”

“Why not? Does anyone actually know your real name? What is it anyways?”

Straightening up, Jester Wang hesitated before breaking out into a smile. “Yer – You are right. I did not think about using my real name. Wang Bao, written ‘praise’, at your service boss.”

“Good.” Pursing his lips, Rain added, “You sound ridiculous. Fine, use contractions, but sparingly. When we get back, stick close to Mister Rustram and emulate his speech patterns and mannerisms. We want everyone’s first impression of you to be ‘educated and disciplined’. This way, even if Zian looks you right in the eyes, he’ll never suspect who you really are. Hiding in plain sight is the best way to go about it, those silly bandages will only bring attention to you.”

Puffing up her cheeks, Mila pelted Rain in the head with a discarded roll of ‘silly’ bandages. “Well sorry for trying to help. We’re not all accomplished liars and tricksters like you.”

Unable to restrain herself, Lin burst out into a fit of giggles. “I knew it,” she gasped between titters. “Those bandages were so sloppy it had to be Mi-Mi’s work.”

“Err, Wang Bao, go stow your axe with the other stuff. Keep it hidden and pretend you don’t have one until I come up with a different solution.” Once Wang Bao left, Rain ran over and wrapped his arms around Mila. Leaning in for a kiss, his lips landed behind Mila’s ear as she turned away, still mad but not mad enough to push him away. “Sorry my love,” he said, kissing her cheek. “I appreciate your hard work and efforts but I told you not to worry about it. I had it all planned out with Li Song.” Ignoring her ‘harrumph’, Rain continued, “I wanted to bring a healer to try and rearrange the bones in Wang Bao’s face, but Li Song convinced me it wasn’t necessary.”

“Those with power rarely pay attention to commoners,” Song said, straightening up Jimjam’s vest as he sulked at her side. Looking dapper in his new clothes and hat, there was a murderous look in his eyes as he suffered in silence. Poor sweetling, but he was too charming in his clothes, she couldn't bear to see him without them anymore.

Elbowing Rain aside, Mila sauntered over and sat with Jimjam, giving the sullen wildcat a vigorous head scratch. “You could have told me,” she grumbled, lacking any real ferocity. “Wasted my time and bandages...”

Both Rain and Song apologized, the former sliding in beside her as the latter stroked her hair with a rare smile. Unwilling to be left out, Lin crawled into Mila’s lap and laid against her chest with a satisfied sigh. “This is nice,” Lin said, snuggling in. “It’s been so long since we’ve all been alone together, one happy little family.”

Hesitant to get her hopes up, Mila asked, “Oh? There’s nothing else you need to take care of?”

“Don’t think so,” he said, holding her tight. "The kids are playing with the pups and bears while everyone else is getting settled into their new homes. There’s still time before we leave since we don’t want to get home before the guards change shifts. It’d be bad if someone noticed we’re coming back with a whole different group of workers. That's why I asked you along, so we could spend time together. I missed you this past week.”

Still uncertain, Mila leaned against him and Sent, “AND YOU'RE NOT MAD ABOUT LOSING TODAY'S SPARS?”

“A little late to worry about my pride, love.” His wry tone was evident even through Sending, his smile wide and radiant. “You’ve beaten me black and blue for years now, what’s one more loss? Besides, knowing my love is so strong fills me with pride. And shame, but mostly pride.”

His words put fire into her cheeks as she changed the subject, asking about his week. Soon, the four of them were all sitting together, chatting about their time apart. Rain’s description of new outfits made everyone laugh, suggesting they stitch the clothes to look like the body of a person, complete with a shirt, fake arms, and pants going over the wildcat’s front legs, all to give off the impression of a cat-headed person.

Her betrothed could be absurd and frivolous at times, but he had the most wonderful ideas.

Usually.

Sometimes.

Time passed too quickly for Mila’s tastes and they returned to the Bridge without any incidents, the guards barely giving Rain’s retinue a second glance. Once inside, they brought the wagons back to warehouses where Mama's people would unload them under the cloak of night. After sending Song and Lin away with the animals, Rain and Mila collected Diyako before making their way to Papa’s forge, where he sat in the dark, eagerly awaiting for their return. “Well?” he asked before greeting them, his good eye shining with greed. “You bring any of it lad?”

“Er... yea, but only a small piece. You’ll have to wait until after dark for the rest like we planned.” Reaching into his pouch, Rain pulled out a palm-sized Spiritual Heart and handed it over.

“Good, good, there’s a smart lad, giving me a taste of what I’ll be working with.” Chuckling, Papa pounded Rain on the back with too much force before snatching away the Spiritual Heart. A terrible habit, never properly gauging his prodigious strength, Mila made a note to bring it up in private. Poor Rain, the bruising wasn't too bad but what if he thought Papa didn’t like him?

Unperturbed, Rain reached back into his pouch and pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment, which he unfolded for everyone to see. “I also wanted to ask a few questions about my next weapon, and brought Diyako here to offer his opinion. See, I was thinking of doing something a little different.”

“Ah, I should’ve known,” Papa chuckled, shaking his head. “You never do anything proper, do you lad? All right, show me what wild notion you’ve dreamt up now.”

Peering at Rain’s drawings, Mila couldn’t make heads or tails of it. It appeared to be a hollow, cylindrical polearm with a smooth, rhomboid head. She could tell from his scribbles that being hollow was important, but she couldn’t fathom why, or why he wanted a blunted head. What’s more, Rain drew an enlarged cross section showing markings down the innards as well as an odd, spring and lever contraption based in the head, though its purpose was a mystery. Glancing at Papa for his reaction, she saw the same confusion reflected in his eyes.

Diyako was the first to speak up. “This that ranged weapon you were talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Yep. A rifle, named for the grooves on the internal surface of the tube here, to guide the projectile into a spiral like the flights on an arrow make it spin.” Animated and excited, Rain’s voice sped up as he explained his diagram. “We can’t use anything flammable as a propellant and I couldn't figure out how to gather or store air pressure, so I was ready to give up. Then it hit me: why not use Chi? See, for this weapon, the coiled spring is the Spiritual Weapon, the rest can be made out of regular steel or iron. The spring doesn’t have to be super strong, but obviously the stronger the better. Doesn’t matter how we set the spring, a winch, a lever, we can even push it down with a stick if need be, but the trigger has to lock the spring in place and there needs to be a groove for the projectile to rest in. Then, you load the projectile, take aim, pull the trigger, Amplify the spring, and bam. Out flies the projectile at ludicrous speeds.” Stopping to rein in his excitement, Rain shrugged and said, “Or you know, that’s the theory. It means my next Spiritual Weapon is gonna be a spring, and I don’t have any way to test it before crafting, but if it can fire projectiles at speeds of five or six hundred meters per second, then that’s a decent trade off, right? I mean, you only fire arrows at what? Half those speeds? Less? Anyways, do you think it’s worth trying? Also, is it possible to unbind a Spiritual Weapon? You know... in case this doesn’t work out, long term.”

After all his explanations, the only thing Mila learned was that she was looking at his weapon upside down. The rhomboid ‘head’ was actually the butt, with the actual head being the open end of the cylinder. Unsure of the answer herself, she looked to Papa for confirmation of her gut feeling.

She wasn’t left waiting long.

Shaking his head, Papa sighed and said, “Lad, you’re nuttier than a squirrel’s turds. You really want a spring as your next Spiritual Weapon? Be reasonable and ask for something proper, like a giant sword or something.”

Seeing Rain’s crestfallen expression, Mila took his hand and squeezed reassuringly. “It’s a... unique idea,” she said, unwilling to lie, “but if it doesn’t work, you’re stuck with it. Giving up a Spiritual Weapon is like chopping off a limb, only this limb won’t grow back even with Taduk’s help.” Not to mention the difficulty in destroying a Spiritual Weapon. Short of throwing it into an active volcano or some other such foolishness, they were near indestructible so long as the bonded user still lived. Something to do with the flow of Heavenly Energy moving between weapon and wielder, no one was really sure why. “Since you’re back now, why don’t we spend more time practising with the bow?”

Still reluctant to give up, Rain stared longingly at Mila. “Are you sure it won’t work? If you say so, then I’ll listen, but neither of you have given it any thought. Diyako and his people can make one out of regular materials to test the theory, but I wanted you two to take a look before committing time and effort.”

Sighing, Mila pursed her lips and glanced at his drawings once more. “Well...” she drawled, trying to buy time. “Your Amplified spring might work, but the timing would be... difficult at best. I think... it wouldn’t be so bad, if you made the... rifle? Part of a real weapon, like an axe or two-pronged trident. Instead of only a spring, you could make most of this out a Spiritual Heart. The trigger, bullet, and the butt don’t need to be included, but nothing else should be made of mundane materials.” Struck by inspiration, Mila grabbed a fresh sheet of parchment and prepared the ink, giving time for her thoughts to form into a coherent idea. With broad strokes, she drew her thoughts on how she would forge this Spiritual Weapon. It’d be tricky, more complicated than anything she’d done before, but it was possible.

Instead of crafting a hollow tube, it'd be better to use a mould to make half a cylinder. Then, she could set teeth on each side and use a spinning rod to leave a spiralled groove down the centre like Rain described. From there, it would be simplicity itself to place a coiled spring at the midpoint. The outer thickness of the tube would have to be adjusted to support an axe-blade at one end, making it difficult to leave an opening for the lever. How would she attach it? A latched hinge perhaps, to make it easier to replace the lever if it breaks. The butt would be easier, simple grooves to slide it in place was good enough. Then, she could fold the half-cylinder together and form the complete rifle, maybe holding it together with interlocking teeth. It was like Jorani’s rope weapon, technically made of a dozen long strands all attached at a single base, looking like a 12-spoke wheel when unfurled. Then, the maker coiled all 12 strands together to form a thick, flexible weapon. An Inspired piece of work, she found herself in awe of the craftsman who made it.

Frowning at her drawings, Mila shook her head. She could improve upon her design, she knew she could. Maybe shorten the tube and create a hand-axe instead of a pole-axe? A piece to practice her technique before making a bigger weapon. The spring would need to be tightly clamped to keep it from distorting out of place, but not too tight to slow it down. And no interlocking teeth, too complicated. And a latch would be too flimsy, this weapon needed to be sturdy to absorb the impact of an Amplified spring. Tossing the failed drawing aside, she reached for another piece of parchment and started anew.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Forgetting everything else around her, she immersed herself into creating Rain’s vision. She knew it was possible, or at least, her gut instinct was telling her so.

She just had to figure out how.

Chapter Meme