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FG, Chapter 99!
🕑 Added 2024-08-16 13:11:05 +0000 UTCQuick note: thanks to all Patrons for your support! To celebrate Fantasy General's 100th chapter, there'll be a bonus chapter tomorrow!
The rising of a new dawn over the South Arasaka jungles brought with it a new sense of purpose for the Pipers. There was business to be conducted before their great exodus to Marxon’s Empire was to begin.
Chief among them was the funeral of old Jin’an, Mari’s predecessor. Stern and fiercely rebellious, the woman was still a Yokun at heart and was to be buried according to the traditions of her people. A pyre was constructed from the broken branches of the trees nearby, and from the log supplies left by the Prince’s war camp. It was in the center of this camp, long after the smoke and screams of war had cleared, that the body of the old Matriarch was placed on top of the pyre and set alight by the holy fumes of Hakka.
A short sermon was provided by the Yokun archer Marcus had spoken to earlier—Takeshi. He opened his throat in a guttural song that leaped like a weighty leopard from his mouth, his tonsils producing a chime not unlike that created by tubular bells. Interspersed between such throaty gyrations were solemn words imparted by Mari and the other Pipers in the native Yokun tongue. Mari spoke of how Jin’an had been the first among them—taking the mantle of leadership upon herself and breaking the bonds of the enslaved in secret, right under the eyes of her Patriarch and the Gods she was defying. Others spoke of her bravery, wisdom, and counsel—it was clear from the teary eyes of all the species collected together here that the Yokun woman was second only to Mari in importance. Jin’an, they said, had lit the fires of hope in their hearts. Mari, they said, had taken such a fire and whipped it up into a blaze.
After the speeches, Marcus found himself moved. He wasn’t the only one. Mari stood beside him, hand interlinked with his, and allowed herself to shake only for him.
“What do the Yokun believe happens after death?” he decided to ask, not knowing how else to get her mind away from her grief.
Her answer came interrupted by her frequent, heavy breaths.
“Yokun faith holds that every death is presided over by both Gods of the Yokun pantheon. First, the Hakka blessed by Akira consumes the body, taking its strength and adding it to future generations. Next, the smoke from the corpse (called Menta-Shin—‘Black-Stair’) helps the spirit drift up to the arms of the Mother Goddess, Ming’ra, and the spirit rests with the mother. There’s a certain beauty to it, right? The Father helps the child on its way, the Mother opens her arms to receive them.”
Marcus nodded solemnly as he watched the spiraling smoke of the dead Matriarch climb high into the morning sky. “I can understand that. It’s less fanatical than I imagined.”
“There are parts of the Yokun culture that are worth remembering,” Mari said as she began to sag, coming to rest on his shoulder. “I was among their religious cult for over a year. I guess some of their beliefs rubbed off…after all…”
“Mari?”
She would have fallen if Marcus had not managed to hold her up, and only a few of the Pipers turned their heads to see their leader struck with such grief.
But, knowing her, Marcus could tell that there was more to it than that. She was overcome, that was all.
“I guess we’re both more human than we think,” he smiled down at her.
She looked at him with weary, drooping eyes.
“Take me to bed, Marc,” she said. “Your girl needs some time alone.”
…
“Who in the name of the shifting sands put you in charge?”
Marcus met the unbridled fury of Karliah in the small confines of the Pipers' command tent—something set up quickly in the wake of their expedition that was shaping up to be a logistical nightmare.
“You’re forgetting that this is the man who won us this battle, kitten,” Marvin said—resplendent in his new suit of pilfered Yokun Kherja battle armor. “And the man who saved your goddamn life.”
“Call me a kitten one more time,” the Tigran warned. “And I’ll smear that shiny new coat with your blood.”
“Enough!” Hialjia roared, her wounds miraculously healed in the space of only around eight hours. “Pale Matriarch Mari say her man is leader of expedition. Hialjia see him crush pathetic lizards. That good enough for her.”
The others spared a single look at the determined face of their resident Tauron—who could barely even fit her bulky, hairy mass into the tent without tearing it to shreds.
But Marcus nodded his thanks to her. Then, he began his briefing, pointing to the map Mari had given him before she retired to light her own candle for her fallen friend.
“Southern Thea,” he said, pointing at the bottom right-hand side of the map—where a tattered representation of the Arasaka and its surrounding plateaus and islands stood. “Mari tells me there are two paths to the human border. One, up North to the nearest coastline, dubbed ‘Victory Bay’ by the Yokun.”
“Nah,” Marvin shook his head. “Too hot. Right now, Nagoya’s Brother, the good Prince Yaresh, is having a naval scrap with Marxon’s army.”
“Likelihood of Marxon’s navy succeeding?”
“It’s not gonna happen,” Karliah sighed from the side, pointing to the isles opposite the shoreline. “The Yokun grip on the region is secured. Three of these isles function as naval bases and Keth-Tari staging zones.”
“Keth-Tari?”
“Screamer-Killers,” the Tigran explained. “Yokun aerial support. Few survive a bombardment from their mounts.”
Air power…I’m not dealing with pre-modern barbarians now, Marcus thought. This nation of lizards clearly has a sophisticated military-industrial complex, complete with developed ordnance and equipment, backed up by years of fighting in their natural habitat.
“Our next option would be a trek through the Eastern jungles,” Marcus said, drawing his attention to the location on the map.
“Aye lad, with the Yokun armies of Yaresh distracted, it looks like the best option. But…we’d still be open to attack.”
“The Southern jungles have bases of their own,” Karliah finished. “Not to mention Oshu tribes that still haven’t been conquered. Damn chameleons are slippery bastards.”
“But plantations are in south,” Hialjia grunted. “Brothers and sisters still in chains.”
“We can’t go saving everyone all at once, princess. The plan was to hook up with Marxon’s men, give them info on Yokun bases, and help them launch an attack into the region proper. Besides, we’ve got no tunnels down South.”
“Too long,” the Tauron moaned. “Brothers and Sisters die. Tigran die, Kari.”
Before the catwoman could shriek again, Marcus held up his Gloomravified hand.
“Maybe we don’t have to save them all,” he said. “But there’s manpower in those camps that we can use. And with their help, we might just be able to carve a path through the jungles and give the human Empire some much-needed extra troops for their war effort.”
Marvin cocked his eyebrows. “So, you’re saying…”
“I’m saying we go through the Southern flank,” Marcus said, tracing a path with his finger. “That way, we move towards our destination while putting pressure on the Yokun military. We use the jungles to our advantage, and execute a campaign of guerrilla warfare that will tear apart their plantations one by one on our way to the border. We burn them down to the Southern coast and then we head east, taking control of more as we go.”
The three Piper sergeants considered this. They hadn’t expected Mari’s man to have some bloodthirst of his own in him—especially since he was new to their cause. But what he was saying made sense. They could cleave their way through their enemies and add numbers to their dwindling forces.
“The Yokun will send another detachment after us,” Karliah murmured. “They’ll seek retribution.”
“But they’ll be sloppy,” Marcus put in. “I doubt they’ll employ their Hakka carts or Screamers against us, especially not with our royal hostage.”
“Hah!” Marvin shouted, clapping his hands like an old, bearded prospector. “The lad’s right! Nagoya is Patriarch Jingbao’s son, after all. Daddy won’t let his precious boy be lost to a stray Hakka bomb.”
“He’ll also not forgive those who have taken his son from him,” Karliah put in. “The Patriarch of the Blades isn’t gonna take this sitting down. If he catches us, it won’t be a return to enslavement. It’ll be torture and death—only when he’s done with us.”
“Then we’d better not fail,” Marcus smiled up at her. “Unless you’re scared of course, Karliah. You’re free to leave with your Sisters if you wish.”
Hialjia laughed as she watched the furry cheeks of her companion blush red.
“Hialjia likes Mari’s human man. He knows how to handle kitten.”
“Fine,” Karliah practically spat. “But I won’t let you waste the lives of my sisters, human. Let them die under your watch, and you’ll pay with your life.”
“I would expect nothing less, Karliah. The second I fail you and your people, you have permission to kill me yourself.”
“I don’t need your ‘permission’” the haughty Tigran growled, but it was little more than the desire to have the last word driving her. When Marcus bowed to them and left to grab Mari for the final preparations, she bowed back, low and respectful like the rest.
“…How come you let the Princess call you kitten and not me?”
Marcus dimly heard the Tigran’s response as he left the tent, a small smile of satisfaction on his face.
“Marvin, you try telling her not to.”
