Testing the wizard's patience no further, the giant retrieved his axe and concealed himself from Scarfell's sight.
"What do you want?" asked Kat. “What would a wizard want with me?”
"Enough of the pleasantries, then,” he replied. “You and that man are trespassing on my property. These woods belong to me. And there will be a penalty for this lack of respect."
"We don't mean any harm," I interrupted. "How do you know us?"
"I know all that goes on here," he answered. "I know all about you, samurai. The only man to ever fight his way out of hellfire. The only one to escape the flames. Your name is synonymous with slaughter. I thought it would take a hundred of my bogs to surround you."
Amused, the wizard inspected the butchered pieces underneath him. "Should have brought two hundred."
Fought his way out of hellfire, I heard, adding newer pieces to my sketchy profile. At this point, I decided to stand, and as I did, I caught sight of something suspicious in the trees. There, loitering in a slim gap between trunks, was a stag or pony. This animal was not shuffling aimlessly, but watching us with considering eyes and an intelligent brain behind them. "What the…"
The stag was forgotten as my attention returned to Kat, who in an outburst of hot-blooded frustration, swung his swords into Scarfell. The frail wizard was somehow too fast for even Kat's steel. He disappeared in that haze of brilliant red, then reappeared quite unexpectedly behind me, pressing a knife against my swallowing Adam’s apple. Strength left me, and for the first time, Kat expressed genuine surprise on his face. "Drop him, sorcerer!" he exclaimed, furious. "Drop him now!"
Scarfell cackled through a mouth of broken teeth and fetid breath. "How well you can defend yourself, samurai," he said, "but not this pathetic man!"
The scene pleased Grutas immensely; the beast hooted along with the rest of the bogs.
"Now," Scarfell added, with some calm, "you will drop your swords, Kat.”
“If I don’t?”
“If you don’t,” he tittered, “then I rip this boy’s voice out!"
I squawked from the piercing blade and Kat grudgingly, hatefully, threw down his swords, appearing equally disappointed in me as he was with himself. Scarfell then removed the knife from my throat and forced my face to the dirt, clogging my airways with filth.
"Enough!" yelled Kat, and thankfully, the wizard relinquished. Weaponless, Kat stood at the mercy of this old man, but was unafraid. "The bird was your doing," he growled. “Your…magic.”
"It was, samurai, of course it was. Observing your progress through my woodland, I decided to have my little fun with you. I wanted to see the Kat in action. And may I say what a magnificent specimen you are still; your reputation is thoroughly deserved."
Leaving me spitting out dollops of muck, Scarfell stood, master of all he surveyed and said, "You are travelling to the Macros, and to that king, are you not?"
"King?" I blurted out, and quickly paid the price for talking out of turn. With his bony heel, Scarfell kicked me in the cheek. Dazed, my sight blurred and my head plopped unconscious to the mud.
6. Who Killed Madam A?
It was a long time before I opened my eyes. When I did, I was laying on a hard mattress with a drilling ache on the bridge on my nose. I slouched up in heavy clothes and that throat full of sickly mucus. "Ugh…"
Vaguely aware of my surroundings, this was a wonky shack, a cold and putrid pigsty. The stench of manure seemed encased in the walls as if an ingredient in the wood; it was gag inducing, and it covered the floor like a greasy carpet. I rose from the bed, and setting my boots in it, moved toward a window smeared over with the same shit. I wiped it clean with a sleeve and beams of fresh sunlight came through the glass, revealing Kat crouched in the corner. "Where are we?" I asked, too sore to be surprised.
He joined me at the window, smudged another circle clean, and then gazed outside, the sun revealing his troubled face. "We are in a village at the foot of Macro Mountains," he said. "A modest place whose residents will bring us no harm. They have agreed to have us here, and you will be grateful for their hospitality."
"Course," I muttered, hardly grateful for this kind of filthy generosity; however, I was eager to explore more of this modest village in the Distinct Earth.
"How long are we staying?" I asked, scratching the sleep from my eyes. With no response, I left the window and a powerful spell sent me staggering back to bed. “Think the last few days have…caught up with me."
Feeling Kat's eyes on the side of my face, I whispered the word wizard as I lay back down. We had both survived that old man and his swine army. I figured Kat must have done something very special with that katana to get us out alive. How many more bog men did he slay? Tiny little miracles, Daniel, scattered everywhere.
"Your swordsmanship was impressive, Kat. Amazing, actually. I've never seen anything like that. How did you get so…good?"
There was a deep melancholy about the samurai, and an elderly man's frailness. Right now he did not seem capable of the feats I'd seen. Perhaps the last few days had caught up with him, too? He stroked fat fingers over the thin swords, those inanimate objects the only friends he’d ever had.
"The sword is a brush," he said, soberly. "After four hundred years, the art of killing is more than mastered."
I decided not to pry further on our escape. Details were best left to the imagination. It was difficult to remove all the thoughts from my mind though, especially of the wizard. Scarfell was the name. I could almost see his craggy face smeared on the shitty walls here. The more he prayed on my mind, the more Scarfell and Kat seemed to melt together. Two men so dead in the eyes, yet so full of fire.
"The wizard," I said, sitting up again. "Before he hit me, he mentioned something about a king? Do you remember?"
"King Bludgeon," said Kat. "Lives high in the Macros. He is to train you."
"Train? For what?"
"Everything!" he complained. "You must be skilled in various forms of combat before you see any Fortress. I have my instructions."
Would this afterlife ever stop throwing up surprises? Combat training with a king inside a mountain? What next, I wondered, for wonder was all I could do. "King Blugdan," I said dreamily to myself.
"Bludgeon!" corrected Kat, with a ready temper. "A great honor!"
"I'm sure. And how long will training with this Bludgeon last?"
Kat's profound sigh at the window was like a tired spirit leaving his body. "As long as it takes…" he grumbled.
"One last thing, Kat, one last thing. Scarfell, he said something about you — the only man ever to fight his way out of Hell. Is that true?"
"No more of wizards!" he yelled, driving his fist through the window. Light immediately filled the shack, illuminating a swarthy floor and new blood over Kat's knuckles. He stormed off into the village, nearly pulling the door from its hinges on his way.
Stunned, I did not follow. No stranger to losing my temper, I didn't take it personally. I was grateful to have Kat now, that was an honor too, and I should not pick at the man's brain for niggling details. Despite my layers of clothing, the frost still bit. I crept out of bed to warm myself with exercise when one of the villagers, without knocking, entered the shack and fixed the door behind her.
"Oh, be seated sir!" she said, escorting me back to bed. "You've overtired yourself. It's expected. Yes, that's what's happened." Dressed in a frumpy frock, her age was hard to tell. The engraved lines of her face suggested a hard worker, and far from an attractive one. "Can't be up and about, sir! Here…" she passed me a clear glass of what appeared to be water. "A sip and sleep will make you right. Drink."
My mother taught me never to accept anything from strangers, but thirst taught me differently. I drank her water, parched my crusty lips, and washed down some of the scum lining my throat. "Thank you very much. I'm Danny, Daniel Fox."