Chapter Ten: The Puppeteer

Without any instruction from me, but just by observing what had happened, the Nuniya warriors were busy tying up their master. They knew he was in the wrong. No one argued. They just worked quietly, their faces stiff and ashamed, the old Master glowering at the knots being pulled tight around his arms.

Biga came and knelt beside me and said, “Master, can I call you Master? Are you our Master? You know the O-Form,” even in his lost eyes.

I smiled and said, “Biga, stand. Stand up. No need to kneel to me. I’m no master. But, the storm is not yet over.”

When I said this, it was loud, and all the villagers and the other warriors could hear, and they thought I was threatening them. They thought I meant that I wanted to beat them up, so everyone got into a fighting stance. You could almost feel the air pulling tight, even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

I raised my hands, showing empty palms, and grinned, “Ah, ah, ah, relax. If I wanted to fight all of you, I’d have started with those who still owe me lunch. Fighting on an empty stomach is a real crime, you know!”
Some nervous laughter trickled through the crowd.
I glanced around, “Besides, if you all look at me like that, you’ll turn me into a scarecrow. Please, at least let me keep my dignity.”
Then, shaking my head, “Trust me, you all look more ready for a wedding dance than a fight. I won’t spoil your moves.”

Before the laughter had died away, a strange chill crept onto the stage. The three warriors who had carried the Second Master after he collapsed suddenly leapt up onto the boards. Their skin seemed darker, the whites of their eyes showing clear and cold, and they moved like shadows caught by a sudden wind. They did not speak, but their bodies were tense, their movements sharp, and the power that surged from them was fierce, as much as the red-haired one had used before.

I watched them come, realizing right away—this was not their own will. These warriors were being controlled, their every limb pulled by a master even older than them all. The Second Master, whose true power was puppeteering, even in his old age, slower than a Nuniya but much faster than any normal man, was hidden behind their eyes. No one had ever seen him do this. Only the red-haired one and the First Master knew his true strength.

I braced myself, knowing I could not use the O-Form—these men were not using dark arts, just held in the grip of another. My mind began to search for a way to break the strings without shattering the puppets.

All the while, the Master, now all tied up, began to scoff and say statements, irritating and boring, his words tumbling out louder each time he tried to wriggle free.

“Look at this circus. Are you a fighter or a clown? You spend more time talking than winning. In my time, warriors would have finished this by now—now, you’re all playing like children with sticks!”
He sniffed, “If you’re the new master, then I hope you at least know how to cook. Someone needs to feed all these hungry faces after their losses.”
He shook his head, “Tied up by my own students. If only my father could see this day. What a disgrace!”

This time I was smiling again, calm as if I was just watching the clouds. I called out, “Master, don’t worry, at least you’re tied up and not trying to dance. That’s the only thing that would scare this crowd.”
I grinned, “You say you want a real fight? I hope you’re comfortable down there, because you’re going to be there a long time.”
I shrugged, “And if you’re hungry, maybe someone will toss you a peanut—if you promise to stop complaining.”

The puppeteered warriors circled, the crowd held its breath, and I knew the storm truly was not yet over.