Part 12 (1/2)

By morning, naturally, I had come to my senses.

It was interesting to learn that I was still capable of such pa.s.sion, of such fire, of such a staggeringly naive belief in ephemera like justice and fairness, that I was capable of feeling--even for a few moments--as if I wanted to do something personally to maintain such things.

Except I wasn't.

It wasn't that I was afraid of dying. Once I had very much been, so much so that it had informed every single thing I did. But during my experiences in Wuin, I had come to something of an ”understanding,” for want of a better term, in dealing with my own mortality. My innate cowardice had caused me to grab on to life so desperately that it had placed a stranglehold on every other aspect of my existence. Wuin had loosened that stranglehold somewhat.

However, there was still enough of the stubborn b.a.s.t.a.r.d in me that I was not prepared to simply throw my life away. That was the province of heroes. Heroes, as near as I could determine, fell into two categories. Either they had so little regard for their own lives that they didn't care if they died, so long as it was in some heroic fas.h.i.+on. Or else they were so convinced of their own superiority and innate righteousness that they were certain they would overcome whatever challenge lay before them and live tolaugh over the corpses of their enemies.

For my part, I had seen far too many heroes come to unfortunate ends, usually with very surprised expressions on their dying faces. So I had no interest in rus.h.i.+ng headlong into a potentail lethal situation simply for something as pointless as vengeance.

Still, I had been utterly sincere when I'd spoken of seeking revenge in the name of Ali. One of the ways I had survived as long as I had was that I was something of a master of deception. The number of people I had fooled, lied to, outfoxed, outwitted, flimflammed, and cheated was practically legion.

Apparently, not being satisfied with fooling others, I had taken up the ultimate challenge: fooling myself.

And temporarily, I had succeeded. I had convinced myself that I was ready to go charging into the fray, to seek out the b.i.t.c.hes who had killed my teacher and make them pay.

That resolve had lasted for as long as it had taken me to stare long and hard at the ceiling of my hut as the rainstorm, with renewed energy, splattered away on the roof, and realize just how close I had come to being killed by that one woman. And that was just one of them. And I'd been d.a.m.ned lucky. If I went after the Anais Ninjas, I would not only be pressing my luck, I would practically be shoving it through the ground.

Depression swept over me. Depression over my innate weakness, depression over my inability to overcome it. I really, truly wanted to do something to avenge myself upon Ali's a.s.sailants. But simple vengeance had never been sufficient motivation for me to embark on any endeavor, especially if it required putting my own meager existence on the line.

The problem was, I had just made a great show of talking about vengeance to two of the Chins. I had valiantly declared that I was going to dispose of the Anais Ninjas. I had spoken great words. The problem with great words is that they have a habit of spreading. That night, mine spread faster than syphilis at a prost.i.tute convention. Despite the increasing lateness of the hour, despite the foul weather, various members of the village kept showing up the entire night. Each time, the ritual was exactly the same. They would politely knock, come in upon my permission, smile, and bow deeply. Then they'd leave. One after another, sometimes in groups of threes and fours.

They didn't need to say anything. I knew why they were coming by, and they knew I knew. They were mutely thanking me for taking it upon myself to defend the honor of the village and achieve vengeance for the demise of Chinpan Ali.

Which left me wondering what the h.e.l.l I was supposed to do next.

I couldn't just pretend that I hadn't said anything about it. I couldn't back out. They would all think me a coward. Not that I was normally especially worried over what people thought about me, but I couldn't quite bring myself to be dismissive of what the good people of Hosbiyu considered me. I liked them too much. They'd been too good to me.

I had spent my life letting myself down. I was used to it. The thought of letting them down, however, was too much.

Besides, they might be so annoyed that they'd turn against me and I'd wake up one morning to find myself buried out in the wheat field.

By the time the rain stopped and the morning sun rose, I knew I had to leave the village. I had, however, already hit upon a plan. It was not one of my more elaborate schemes, but that was perfectly fine. In this situation, simpler was probably superior.

Hosbiyu was a small, isolated village. In all the time I had been there, such a thing as ”news” was nonexistent. None of the villagers ever left town, except for Cleft Chin, who would, every so often, haul the excess wheat to a larger city and exchange it for supplies that were not readily handy. Other than that, the people of Hosbiyu were more or less self-sufficient and knew nothing of what transpired beyond their boundaries.

Which meant that they'd have no idea if I was successful in my quest or not beyond what I told them.

Faced with a problematic situation, I realized upon further consideration that instead I had a win/win scenario on my hands.

I would pack my few belongings and depart. Granted, smuggling out Chinpan Ali's sword was going to be a bit of a challenge, but I was up to it. Once I left, I would simply wander about for as long as seemed a reasonable time. Who knew? Perhaps I would happen upon a situation that was superior to the one I'd initially stumbled into. But if I didn't, then when enough time had pa.s.sed, I would return to Hosbiyu and simply tell the people that I'd done exactly what I'd set out to do. I'd certainly have more than enough time to come up with a good story as to how I'd accomplished it.

I'd make sure it was filled with much derring-do, adventure, and even a bit of tragedy. I'd give myself a sweet young thing who would die pitifully at the eleventh hour trying to save her great love--me, of course. And I'd include an evil villainess who wasn't at all what she appeared. G.o.ds knew I had enough experience with that. And at the end, I would survive all the challenges and leave everyone else in the dust, annihilated. Chinpan Ali would be avenged, and honor would be right.

Even as I mentally congratulated myself, I was appalled at the glee I found in devising a way to bamboozle these people.

It made me wonder how anyone ever felt good about themselves.

I mean, I certainly never did. Oh, on rare occasions there were brief moments of happiness and a sense of self-worth, but such times usually meant that someone was suffering and I was benefiting from it.

At which point, I would loathe myself all the more.

Was I really that different from everyone else in the world? Did they truly toddle through life, filled with good thoughts and an innate sense of their own wonderfulness, and never stare directly into their dark side and recoil from it? Was anyone truly happy? Or were they simply more skilled than I at putting a false face upon their own self-contempt and misery?

After all, virtually everyone I'd ever encountered until coming to Chinpan had been something of a right b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Were they happier than I?

Was anyone? And if so, how did they manage it? Was it that I was entirely too self-aware, or that they were simply oblivious?

I mean, as much as I despised myself, there were so many, so d.a.m.ned many who were so much worse. At least, I liked to tell myself that. Were they eaten up with the same self-doubts, frustration, and loathing as I? Was the concept of human happiness mere myth? Was the only difference between me andthe rest of those I'd encountered that I was the one-eyed man in the proverbial land of the blind? And if so, when the h.e.l.l did I get to be king?

Well... what about the people of Hosbiyu, I wondered. They were decent people. They felt consistently good about themselves. What were they doing differently? Was it something in the food?

Something in the air? Philosophies, religion?

Or was it that they weren't actually all that superior after all? There was always that possibility.

Consider the joy with which they had greeted the news that I was going to seek vengeance for the death of Ali. Perhaps they were so cheered because they burned with as much dark need for retribution as anyone else.

Yes. That was probably it. Despite their outer trappings of righteousness and goodness, deep down they were as sc.u.mmy as anyone else, including me. And cowardly. They were cowardly, too, hanging back and letting me attend to the job of vengeance.

The thought should have made me happy. Instead it made me more depressed and more filled with self-loathing than ever before.

It was nice to know there were some things on which I could count.

There was a knock at the door and I looked up. Cleft Chin was standing there, scowling at me, as he was wont to do. I realized he was the only member of the village who had not come by to bow to me and mutely express appreciation for my self-inflicted adventure of vengeance.

He wasn't bowing.

He continued to scowl.

I got to my feet. ”Problem?” I inquired.

He didn't step in. It was as if he thought he would be contaminated if he set foot into the place.

Instead his face darkened and he growled, ”I know you.”

”Yessss,” I said slowly. ”Yes, I should think you...”

”I have been watching you,” continued Cleft Chin. ”I know your type. I know how you think.”

”Oh, do you?” I was on my guard. ”And how do I think, precisely?”

”You think beyond matters of mere vengeance. You do nothing unless there is some personal gain for you.”

Well, I had to admit, the fellow was rather savvy for a farmer in the middle of no d.a.m.ned place at all.

He'd certainly read me well enough. Still, I wasn't about to say, Well done you, fellow, you've got me pegged. Instead I simply replied, ”Really. And what personal gain would I derive from seeking out Ali's murderers?”