Wasabi's chest was heaving, his knuckles still stinging from the punch he had landed. Across from him, Ulfat was slowly rising from the dirt.
As Ulfat stepped forward, Wasabi's mind began to fracture. He looked at his friend's face the same face he had known since they were children but his brain wouldn't accept it. Every time he looked at Ulfat, a single word echoed in his skull like a funeral bell.
Monster. Monster. Monster.
"Why? Why are you betraying us, Ulfat? The Khan gave you everything! He made you a Keshik! Why are you throwing our lives into the fire?"
Ulfat didn't answer. He didn't move. He stood as still as a statue, his eyes reflecting the silver moonlight. He looked empty.
Wasabi lunged forward, grabbing Ulfat's shoulders and shaking him with desperation. "Stop it, Ulfat! Just stop! You don't need to do this! We can go to the Khan together. We can tell him the Ottomans forced you! He'll forgive you! Please... just be my friend again!"
Suddenly, Ulfat's hand moved. It wasn't a punch. It was a sharp, stinging slap across Wasabi's face. The force wasn't enough to hurt, but the sound was like a whip cracking in the silent night.
"WAKE UP!" Ulfat's voice exploded, loud and harsh, cutting through Wasabi's panic.
Wasabi recoiled as if he had been burned. The shock turned into a wave of fresh misery. Tears began to stream down his face, hot and fast. With a cry of frustration, he shoved Ulfat back. He pushed him with so much force that Ulfat tripped, falling backward into a patch of mud.
As Ulfat fell, his loose leather shoe caught on a jagged root and slipped off.
Wasabi froze. His anger vanished, replaced by a cold horror. In the moonlight, he saw Ulfat's bare foot. It wasn't the foot of a healthy teenager. It was a mess of purple bruises, raw skin, and dried blood. The skin was swollen and cracked, looking as though he had walked a hundred miles on broken glass.
It was painful to even look at. Wasabi realized then that Ulfat's genius wasn't magic it was paid for with agony. Every step Ulfat took to set his traps was a step taken in total pain.
Ulfat didn't complain. He didn't even wince. He slowly sat up, grabbed his shoe, and forced his mangled foot back into the leather. He stood up, taller than before, looking down at the crying boy in the mud.
"We were always friends, Wasabi," Ulfat said, his voice returning to that eerie, calm tone. "You were always happy to follow the path I made for us. Why is it different now? Because the path is covered in blood?"
Wasabi grabbed his own head, his fingers digging into his hair. He sank to his knees, his mouth opening in a wide, silent scream. He wanted to howl. He wanted to wake up the whole camp. He wanted to scream so loud that Uktai Khan would come out and end this nightmare.
But the sound that came out was tiny. It was a low wheeze that didn't even reach the next tent.
"Why?" Wasabi thought, " Why am I not screaming? Do I want to save the Khan... or am I trying to save the monster? Am I trying to save Ulfat?"
He realized with a terrifying clarity that he couldn't betray Ulfat. Even now, after everything, he couldn't watch his friend die.
Wasabi took a long, shuddering breath. He looked at the ground, his voice dead. "Okay... Ulfat I am... with... you."
He meant to say "I am with the Khan," but the words wouldn't come. His soul had chosen the traitor.
Ulfat nodded once. "Very well. Get some sleep, Wasabi. Tomorrow, we build a kingdom."
As Ulfat walked away into the dark, Wasabi stayed in the mud. His mind was a storm of confusion. What is the purpose of this? he asked himself. Why am I following a man who smiles at my enemies?
The Ottoman Sacrifice
Miles away, on the other side of the hill, the Ottoman camp was buzzing with a different kind of energy. An Ottoman leader stood before a line of young soldiers. These were the "weak" ones the boys who weren't strong enough, the men who were too old, the ones the Empire didn't want to feed anymore.
"Listen well!" the leader shouted, his voice full of fake inspiration. "Today is your first real war! The Mongols think they are strong, but they are tired! You have the chance to be heroes! You have the chance to win glory for the Sultan! You must win at all costs!"
The young soldiers cheered, their eyes bright with hope. They gripped their spears, thinking they were about to become legends.
The leader turned away, a dark smirk spreading across his face. He walked over to his high-ranking subordinates and whispered"The plan is simple. Today, we act to lose. We need these boys to charge in and die. Their blood will buy the Mongols' trust. It will make that boy Ulfat, look like a god."
He looked back at the excited,weak soldiers and thought:" Just make sure you don't die by the Mongol's hand before I get the chance to kill you myself. You are nothing but sheep for the slaughter."
The sun began to peek over the horizon, a deep, angry red. The Small Conflict was about to begin, and none of the soldiers knew that they were already dead written into a story by a boy with bruised feet and a heart of ice.