Kirinna Main Thread [Kirinna]

[Isklanapura]

Tablet III: Oathbound

---

“Curious, isn’t she?” Zarika noted, looking at her hair in the bronze mirror as she combed it with a carapace brush. “She ran! I couldn’t believe it when the servants told me to open my eyes.”

“I’m not complaining. Made the bath more fun after we got rid of the servants too. We didn’t need to do that, though.”

Zarika scowled, “you’re such a pervert. Just because they’re trained to please and their goddess indulged them with passions doesn’t mean you need to indulge. One is enough for you, or by Ashareh I will put a gods-guided arrow right through your—”

“Yes, yes. I know,” Ahrnakir hissed back at her. “Never a moment of fun with you.”

“Focus.”

“Focus on what? What is there to focus on? You thinking about the love-cursed?”

“Ahrnakir,” Zarika raised her voice and a scolding tone. “We’re in the home of Ketzani, show respect for her gifts, or she and Ashareh will curse you.”

The thuggish man growled and sat down on the bed, taking to disrobing. He removed his tunic, leaving light to dance off his nude form, the Asharaean stretching through his liberation. Setting the tunic on his lap, he reached over to the bedside, where a bronze sword sat propped up against a mahogany casket, inlaid with gold and wooden reliefs. Taking the sword upon his tunic, his mind applied itself to careful care, searching for damages and places to clean.

“She doesn’t seem all that dangerous, or all that interesting. You’d think someone with a history like her own would be more notable—instead she was like a ghost.”

“The Sawari probably did that to her. She spent too much time with insects and in the hearts of their storm temples.”

“Get to the point behind all this, Zarika. What are you thinking? What are you getting at?”

“It’s just thoughts. Things I see with my gifts. Look at how low she holds herself, or how she recoils in terror, and how she seems to be afraid of women.”

“Aren’t you afraid of her, too?”

“Of course! To look into her eyes is to lose your mind! Her unfiltered gaze can tear your heart from your chest and hand it to her—and think of what happened. She can’t control her blessing. She doesn’t know how. And the way she wears her veils must mean the Sawari taught her not to control it, but to suppress it.”

“Suppress it? Then they raised her to be meek?”

“Don’t you think so? But then if that is the case, I am just as confused on why they let her go. Our masters are not meek people. Meek people do not wage passionate wars, battle for pleasure, and indulge in their sexual apetites at the Eshamatum”

“They defanged a tarantula! They practically neutered her and sent her back here to die. These aren’t the welcoming halls we walked when we were kids. Every corner there is a watching eye, every door there are Asharkar.”

“And that is what I mean! Doesn’t it all seem so curious? Why would Ketzani do this? Why would Ashareh send us here? Why would the Sawari remove her from Wari against the wishes of the great queen herself? Many things don’t make sense. It feels like I’m watching a wingless beetle running toward a cliff's edge. Why are these the way things are?”

“Zarika, Zarika,” Arhnakir called out her name twice. He waved his sword and set it against the casket, before standing and walking to be behind his beloved, massaging her shoulders. “These are the machinations of a world which is not our own. We are hunters, we are warriors—where the queen orders us, we go. We are here to pay homage and to move on, nothing more. Your eyes are gifted by Ashareh to see all detail, be it in the hunt or be it in people. Keep to your bow. We’re loyal to the land, eternal, but this is beyond our interests. When did demigods become enraptured in palatial intrigue?”

“When one was born to the queen, and is going to become our next master.”

There was a quiet between them, Zarika relaxing her shoulders as she set down her brush and let Ahrnakir set to work. She had an acute understanding of what he was doing—this sweetness was to disarm her. He’d do this even when they were but teenagers, and he’d tell her, you’re acting like an Isklana. But this was different. This felt like a justified interest, and it was one which left her with many questions that unnerved her. Those gods of Gwananki, those gods of the stormy mountains and her goddess of the hunt—what did they plot? Why did they conspire like this? Or perhaps these were mortal actions, written in destiny, but all actors were within her grasp. Ultimately, the root of it all came down to this palace after the war, and to the question most on her mind: why did they return her from Wari?

When all tales had been told to her, and she was made aware of the schemes in play, it all had seemed so simple. Their queen moved north, their queen moved east, their queen moved south, and all lands capitulated to her mastery and brought with them new Isklana or Asharaeans in the fringes of civilization under their control. It was all supposed to be simple. The war was over, the dream was being chased, and soon their kingdom would blossom as far as the horizon could reach. How was that dream to be chased when such oddities were afoot in the palace? The princess had returned, the Sawari acted enigmatic, and even the queen hadn’t seen them yet on their first day back! Why was the palace acting so backwards? Furthermore, as much as Asharkar were pleasing to the eye, there were oh so many of them. Had the war traumatized the queen so deeply, that even in peace there was war?

Sigh sighed and pushed back into Ahrnakir. On the bright side, things would become simple again. Perhaps he was right, and she was getting too caught on details and questions. This was a stop—a place to drink and make homage to the masters—before their trek led them north to the glories of nature once more. She longed for snowy mountains and hot pools of bubbling water. Then she would be back home, protecting the land, serving the queen, and forever with Ahrnakir at her side.

Suddenly, her ears perked up—great tufts of fur rotating and scanning as she heard footsteps down the corridor, beyond the door. At this hour, it wouldn’t be unheard of that soldiers might be on patrol. But these weren’t the clattering of Asharkars in bronze; the soft taps held the insectoid clicking that was instead so commonplace of the Isklana masters. Her beloved, clearly confused, looked over her shoulder and down upon her with perplexion.

“There’s an Isklana in the halls. Unarmored. The steps are coming nearer to here. I think a guest.”

“Now? The palace sleeps! Perhaps they see the light under the door?”

Not a moment later, his own ears perked up, and the two waited quietly as the taps reached the door, and a knock was heard.

“Divine guests, forgive me for any interruption,” a woman called out. Her voice wasn’t familiar, she had to be a servant.

“Enter into the doorway, come no further,” Zarika called back.

The wooden door opened, turning on bronze hinges, revealing an Isklana woman in servant attire. She bowed as she greeted them, and kept her head low.

“Forgive me, but the queen has asked me to come before you to thank you for your gift. She apologizes for not being able to see you this day, but in exchange, extends an invitation to you for a feast. It shall be held two days from now.”

“Her majesty said she would feast with us this night, did she not?”

“Once again, apologies, great mistress. The duties of the palace summoned her away. But please, in two days time, she invites you to remain so she can throw you a great feast of spectacle and exotic taste. She wishes to also take it as a chance to give you thanks.”

“How large of a feast? How many foods?” Ahrnakir asked, a bestial eagerness in him. The man was perpetually hungry.

“Is this an isolated feast or a party?” Zarika asked, authority carrying from her. “Be clear, and hide nothing.”

“Of course. Her majesty has already sent out word to ladies and lords within a day’s ride. The elite of Isklakata shall be in attendance as well. She wishes for it to be also an extension of her various victory celebrations. Surely there is understanding?”

Zarika nodded, “we’ll remain, as long as she so wishes, though our trek is north and we wish to leave the following day. Give her our regards when you see her again.”

The servant bowed once more, before departing from their room.

“See? Trouble finds us if we don’t see it out.”

“More like fortune,” Ahrnakir licked his lips. “A feast of such a size? That is far greater than what she’d promised before. Think of the foods we can eat! Ah, and think of the celebrations and the fighting and the drinking! How many warriors can I battle? Just imagine it, and be at ease! Think of the joys we will have.”

Zarika sighed and slumped into her chair. “Think of the trouble it will attract.”

[Aoyan]

Chapter 4
Fox and Cub

---

Toshiro opened his eyes slowly, banishing the world of sleep and dreams as reality flooded his mind once again. He scanned the forest and canopy to his front, his senses still awaking. His fingers wrapped around the sheath of his sword as they rapidly came to life. Everything was still—then he heard it again.

The giggling came from the side, in a voice all too familiar to him. He sat up, pulling himself along the baggage and tree he had used for bedding. Uncrossing his arms, he looked over.
Ame sat nearby, smiling. A dozen rabbits surrounded her, climbing onto her lap, poking her with their snouts. In her hands she held one, the animal calmly breathing under her touch. She giggled again.

Toshiro roused himself further—sending the rabbits scattering. He had found her like this before, but after a year and a half of traveling together, he had long since learned not to ask too many questions. She wouldn’t answer.

“Did I wake you, Toshi?”

“No.” she had. “It’s time we get moving.”

Toshiro gathered his meager belongings from around their small campsite, including Ame’s, into his packs. He strapped on his straw sunhat—the glass beads dangling from the brim jingling as he moved. After tucking his sword through the sash at his waist, he picked up the packs, and began instinctively brushing the fire coals about with his sandal.

“Do we have any fruit left?”

“No.”

The girl whined. “Not another starving day!”

“You wouldn’t be starving if you would eat meat like a normal person. Then I could trap your meals.”

Ame did not respond, but instead stood there pouting. I forget how young she is sometimes Toshiro reminded himself. He had seen her club grown men to death and take on fearsome creatures five times her size. Yet she wouldn’t eat the flesh of animals. That is the least strange thing about you, kid.

“I still have some beads of silver from our last work.” he admitted, turning from her.

“But you’ll give them all to the shrine!”

Toshiro did not respond, but began walking. He knew she’d be following behind, carrying nothing while he lugged everything around. It was an experience he was used to. Ever since our horse was killed.

The trek carried them through woods two li in distance before they came back onto the main roads. There, the packed dirt of the roadway carried them another three li through farmland—the farmers out in droves sinking rice shoots into flooded earth. Their journey was made in silence, as Toshiro liked it, and the only sound generated from them was their own footfall and the jingling of his hat beads. Such a noise drew minor attention. Toshiro kept his brim low. The straight-bladed sword at his belt always made people nervous, but the girl at his side seemed to bring them some comfort.

They marched to the tune of the farmer’s singing—alone on the roadway—winding through the hamlets on this part of the coastal plains. The sun was passing midday by the time they reached the foot of Mount Daikin, whose back faced the sea and whose front they would have to ascend. Toshiro swerved off the roadway and into a field, lining himself directly for the forest edge at the base of the mountain slope. Daikin was not a tall mountain—more of a very tall forested hill—but like most it was devoid of people or development. They would have to scale it.
As the two moved through the fields, Toshiro kept an ear keenly trained on Ame, who he had always watched to make sure she stole nothing. No matter her hunger, theft on a pilgrimage would be disastrous, cursing him in the eyes of the spirits and gods. Yet, there were other reasons he listened for her too—warning.

The slope began in earnest at the treeline of the mountain. There were no roads winding up, no paths. At one time a path may have led to the shrine—but that was ancient history. Toshiro began the ascent, packs strung around his back. Arms outstretched to tree trunks, he groped his way across rocks and logs for footholds. The forest floor was a mat of dead pine needles, but spring had come to bloom the world around them. Despite this, the mountain was quiet. Only the rustling of wind on the treetops above gave any ambience. The air was cool, shaded, but exertion heated Toshiro as he leapt from spot to spot. Ame kept up.

Eventually, as the sun began its plummet down the western sky, the two reached even ground where a space through the trees led to an obvious clearing ahead. Stone steps, cracked and overgrown, carried them upward—the only sign of people. At the mouth of the clearing, Ame stopped. “Go on to your master, Toshi.” she said.

Toshiro stepped into the clearing. Here the cedars grew tall, and the sea could be heard beyond them, shimmering blue in the cracks between the green. At the far end, half hidden in shade, slumped a wooden gate. It was painted white, tilted to one side, and along its two legs ran creeping vines. Branches wove around its crown. There was always a gate, usually many, at every shrine or temple in the land. They were painted in a bow of colors, but all served one purpose—passage for the gods and spirits. Just as the great gates built during the ages of the gods were. Gates that could send one across the earth instantly. Toshiro approached—the calm of the forest air turning silent as he neared.

Beneath the gate sat a simple stone dias, chipped and age worn. Toshiro removed his hat, bowed, lowered onto his knees in the grass, then bowed again. He inhaled—the mountain air clean and sweet. The sunlight on the gate shimmered, dappled by the swaying leaves, dancing to the rhythm of the sea beyond. Carefully, he removed from his belongings two sticks of incense, which he set carefully on the dias. A swift strike of a flint shard lit them instantly. Beneath them he poured a sheepskin pouch empty of its contents. Silver beads, each shaped like a circle with a tail, streamed forth like water. They glistened.

Toshiro lowered his head, clapped his hands once, and began to pray.
Master, your servant calls upon you here, in your sacred place, with offerings for your favor. Inoko-Gotai, Master of Fortune, accept the harvest of your divine patronage. Continue, as always, to guide your servant in his journeys and instill in him the valor which you are renown. In this, and as always, this servant asks only one gift—that in your power you hold the spirits of these departed.

Yanishi,
Shika,
Rokudan-ka-Konoe,
Toro,
Ekechi,
Mina…
The list continued.

Toshiro silently finished his prayer. It was the same prayer he always said, at every shrine, and every time. Sometimes his offerings were small, sometimes large. Sometimes the ceremony was elaborate, sometimes simple, but the prayer was always the same. Always as sincere. When he was done, he clapped once, opened his eyes, then stood. It was over. A 300 li journey completed for another year. The cycle continued. In another year, he would be back. Back to this shrine, his home shrine, to offer whatever he could to his great patron and master.

He turned. The world had not changed. No tangible difference could be felt, no shift in the air, no alteration in the sound. Everything was as it was. Had his god heard him? Was it ever listening? Toshiro could not say.
Placing his hat back on his head, he descended the stone stairs. On his way down he tripped, falling in poor luck when an arm reached out and pulled him up. A very strong arm. Ame stood, frowning.

“That was it?” she whined. “Three months travel for that? Last time you took into the night.”

“Not much to offer.”

“Except all our silver.” she grumbled, following him down. “Where now?”

“Nakajima.”

“How far?”

“One li.”

“And why?”

“To find work.” he tapped the bag strapped to his belt. It gave a metallic jingle. “And to find some food.”

Ame’s dourness changed—a perk erupting in her step. “You saved silver?”

“Enough. It’s our pilgrimage, after all. Inoko-Gotai is god of fortune and luck. I think that calls for some celebration don’t you think?”

“Yes, Toshi. I do think. Yes indeed.”

The girl began humming as they descended the mountain. As they went, there was a rustle in foliage, a single blur flashed across the corner of Toshiro’s vision. His hand reflexively went to the hilt of his sword, then—he paused. On the path ahead of them emerged a sleek white fox. The creature stopped, glanced at them with a vole hanging from its mouth, then jumped off into the brush.

Another year of good fortune, master.

---

Nakajima sat at the southern end of the great Tosado road, which carried one up the coast to Momoyama in the north and then to Kawanakami town. This made Nakajima a large settlement, a market settlement, and the port provided whatever the Tosado could not. The air here smelled of fish and sea salt, of sweat and dusted roads. It lacked the flowery elegance of a city like Momoyama, or the bold strength of the fortress town of Azichi, but Nakajima possessed commerce and a raw sense of growth. This pulled migrants and travelers like bees to flowers. Toshiro had been pulled too.

“We’re sure to find work here somewhere, Toshi.” Ame said as they entered the small city gate. The sun hung in its last quarter, casting the world in a golden evening glow which called the insects to their last serenade of the day. The gate street, like all Yan gate streets, was a wide boulevard running the length of the settlement. This one notably did not end at a lord’s manor, or another gate, but the port on the shore. What seemed like a thousand people milled about the thoroughfare. Merchant caravans pushed their way through the crowds—pack oxen lined with goods. The shops here were open faced, and sellers bellowed loudly about their goods. They’d never get away with that in another city. The activity before them was chaotic, base, and entirely unconcerned. Every person Toshiro studied was a commoner, all of them buying, selling, moving something, or otherwise strolling in the spring warmth. There were no palanquins to stand aside for, no long sleeved aristocrats to grovel to. Even the city guards seemed relaxed amidst the noise. This city was different.

The two travelers wandered, taking in the sights and sounds. It seemed everything could be found and bought. Toshiro had already noticed goods from the far west and Inari placed prominently on display. The two themselves drew a degree of their own attention. Toshiro was not the only armed warrior walking about. In fact, he had rarely seen so many wandering blades. Mercenaries, low retainers, and a few sen—he had noted each that passed by. But the little red pykke by his side? That drew gazes and whispers. It always had. Ame never seemed to notice the attention on her, and when he looked down, she was walking absentmindedly while brushing a rabbit held in her arms. Toshiro lowered his brows. Where did she get that?

“Put your friend down,” he said softly. “We have things to do.”

“There are dogs.”

His eyes went to the street corners and the dark places wedged between the squat but tightly packed buildings. There he could see shadows moving. He had never noticed them before. Ei, you’re slipping old man. No, not slipping, just.. Tired. You’ve been on the road for a full moon.
Toshiro rounded off onto a side street when he was blocked by a large gathering crowd. Here the street broke off into a small patch of park, where grass and trees were allowed to remain. Stalls were set up between the margins with goods, and pens with animals took advantage of the open land. The crowd took up most of the roadway, circling a tree. Toshiro turned to leave when he was stopped by a stranger.

“Ah sir, why don’t you listen to the monk ahead, neh? He says prayers and blessings even for the likes of corpse collectors and butchers.”

Toshiro thought for a moment, then nodded. His curiosity won over. What was the worst that could happen? His god was not a jealous one. He dragged Ame with him to the front of the crowd, where beneath the tree sat an old shriveled man in worn travel robes. The monk was bald, with a head far too large for his emaciated body, yet his broad expression defied the rest of him; he wore a permanent smile that matched the glimmer in his eyes.

Leaning against another tree, Toshiro listened.

“Beyond the realms of the living, the dead, the small gods and the large gods. Beyond the garden, or its creator, or wo. Beyond the fabric of existence, exists a plane created by Vemaya-to for the souls of the departed. Imagine this flame realm, where there are ponds and springs, and flowers in bloom all around. Beyond pain, and suffering, and death, and life, and all things.”
The monk’s voice was slow, clear, and sharp. “This Flame Realm of the Great Compassion King, is open for all who chant the mantras. Noble, and commoner. Blood and dirt workers, artists, merchantmen, whores. The highest born and the lowest born. Emperor and beggar. Yes, the Flame Realm—the perfected realm. To house the souls of the dead who chanted the mantras and followed the path, till suffering is ended in this world.”

Toshiro listened—but he had heard it all before. Heard about the god who was not a god, but a man, born far across the eastern sea though his monks had come from the west. This man, Vemaya as he was known, had been destined to live a perfect life, with all his ambitions and desires fulfilled, so that when his time had come, he had no sorrow in passing. Yet, instead, Vemaya forsook this destiny in exchange for a chance to live as the lowly—in pain and despair—so that he would die poor and wretched, but the knowledge of suffering gained would be its undoing. Through this, Vemaya sought to end suffering, for suffering was felt by both mortals and gods, and grant to all beings what he alone was to be given. In infinite compassion, Vemaya ascended to create the Flame realm on his death, for the souls of his followers to dwell in peace until this greatest of missions was completed.
Or so the monks had said over and over.

Toshiro turned and walked away. A hundred years ago, the Vemayans came from the west in their white robes and cowls, strange and stinking. Now there were temples across Aoyan, rivaling the shrines of the old gods, and countless monks chanting their prayers. Followers of the Lord of Compassion were found everywhere—from Momoyama to Nakajima, from the highest nobles to the most destitute farmers. But these temples were only found in Xian, not in Inari. Never Inari. Toshiro had known a few of the monks himself. They were all good men. The older ones usually traveled when they were not abbots themselves, and he had seen first hand the bridges and wells they built. But their god, or not-god, wasn’t for him. Their goal was noble, but his master had long swayed him.

His way was that of fox and fortune.

Pulling away from the crowd, Toshiro looked back to see Ame following. At some point she had let go of her rabbit.
“We need to find a hostel. It’ll be dark soon. Maybe some work there, probably some in the morning.” he said

“Can’t we just camp outside the city? In the woods? Like normal.”

Toshiro sighed. The girl had always preferred when they camped outdoors—alone.
He would rather a floor without rocks and twigs to sleep on. “No. You remember the rules?”

“No wandering. Stay near you at all times.Shout if I need help. No talking to strangers.” she said absentmindedly.

“Good.”
The girl probably didn’t need watched as closely as he thought. She had killed before, though rarely, and when she did it never seemed to bother her like it did others. Yet she was just one girl, and he was trying to teach her caution where a thousand things could happen. To be crafty, and fluid, and to squeeze out of traps. To conquer far above one’s own weight by being uncatchable.

“Good.” he repeated. “If we can’t find work where we stay, maybe we can be hired on as guards for one of these merchants moving north. That way we can move and get paid. But where to head next? Momoyama is probably the best bet for silver. But we don’t want to get caught up in the war parties. Any caravans moving north will take the Tosado, which will be swarming with men moving to the ports at season end.” he scratched his beard in thought. “Azichi isn’t much better. It is already swarming with warriors. Maybe we can cross the mountains into the Jinju plain. But where next?”

Toshiro was dragged away from his thoughts only by a sudden shade—like a cloud blocking the sun. Yet when he looked up, the evening sky was clear. He turned, knowing, to see Ame stopped in the roadway behind him. Her eyes were large, like moons, and the cat-like pupils wide and angular. Long fangs gleamed as her mouth rose in a half-snarl, half-smile. She quivered excitedly. “Destroy…” she whispered.

Toshiro instinctively reached for his blade, pulling the silvery length outward as he dashed low to the side of the nearest building. His eyes scanned upward, and around, watching—waiting. A few passerbys backed away, startled by this man drawing his blade in the street, but Toshiro did not care. He only followed his instincts, slinking along the shadow of the building eaves, ducking into the nearest alley as a black blur fast as an arrow. Yet he didn’t know what he was waiting for. Only that danger had been close. “Ame” he said in frustration, but when he looked over to the girl, her expression was normal again.

“Yes, Toshi?” she tilted her head.

Damn! Whatever it had been, it was gone. “Let’s go.” he said, standing carefully. His hand did not leave his sword though he sheathed it. “There’s something evil nearby.”

“Did I warn you again?”

“Yes.” he allowed the glass beads on his hat to jingle again. Pulling the girl carefully forward, he stepped into the middle of the street, making his way hastily down it. Her warnings—well, they weren’t meant to be warnings—had been one of the strange attributes that he kept her for. She didn’t know how it worked. Only that she could sense evil, whatever that meant, and that she craved its destruction. At first, the little Pykke had unsettled even him. It was a bloodlust that ran through her in those moments, tangible—one could feel it. Greater than any he had witnessed. But it had saved his life at least twice, and helped him on four hunts the past year. So he considered it a blessing.

It was a quarter li before Toshiro spotted an inn he found acceptable. It was a small place, tucked on a sideroad which though facing the main thoroughfare backed itself to a woodline. The front was an open bar, so that he could see who came and went and so that only a few people could gather at once. The upper floor housed rooms for rent, foretold by the mats painted on the sign planted along the roadside. It was one of those places hidden in plain view, completely invisible to those on the street. Nobody sat at the counter. Perfect

To his surprise, Toshiro could see that the inside was tidy and organized—if dusted. Like a lower Momoyama inn. A man behind the counter, wearing the simple robes and flopped hat of a merchant was lowering cloth curtains in the front.

“How much for a room?” Toshiro asked, sliding onto a seat. Ame followed. The man eyed the both of them, then flickered his gaze over Toshiro’s sword for only a moment.

“A silver.”

“For a fortnight? “

“For three nights.”

Toshiro growled. “That’s insane.”

“There’s a campaign coming, neh pal? Happen to be in a port city. Before long my place will be swarming with warriors. Lords will pay double. A bead for three nights. Unless you have something else to trade? I’ll let you stay for two moons for that sword of yours.”

“For a bead I can stay in Kawanakami proper for four nights.”

“Then maybe you should do that, pal.” he glanced over to Ame, who was swinging her legs under her chair. “I don’t usually let foreigners stay here.”

“She isn’t a foreigner.” Toshiro snapped.

“She isn’t Yan.”

“I speak Yan.” Ame chipped in.

“One bead, three nights.” the man repeated.

Toshiro opened his mouth to argue, but a series of shouts and screams interrupted him. He turned sharply. Across the way, across the main street, a crowd was gathering outside the gates of a squat building—the only Toshiro had seen with a fence around it. More screams came, screams of women, and the crowd swelled larger, with guardsmen rushing to the scene. Toshiro grumbled. “I’ll be back. Ame, stay here.”

---

Ame, of course, did not stay there. She instead waited till Toshi had jogged away and then flung his packs onto the counter with ease. “Watch these for me, kind sir.” she said to the innkeep. He was a nice man. She could sense these things.

The girl then left her chair and made her way across the street to all the commotion. There, a group of people stood anxiously in a circle just inside the doorway of some clay plastered walls. Before them was a tiny house, a manor really, befit with sporadic gardens where bamboo shot up in small clusters among the pathways. By its placement within the Nakajima cityscape, it was undoubtedly the house of a wealthy merchant and not an aristocrat. The people around Ame whispered, transfixed by what was going on. She turned to see one old woman in tears, a man with equally desperate eyes holding her. It did not take long to discern what was happening.

“I only want money!” a man shouted harshly from inside the house. “ A hundred silver and the girl lives! Pay up or she dies! If the family cannot pay, the community will have to! No guards! No guards! Pay if you want the girl back!”

Long winded, isn’t he? Ame thought. There was another voice underneath the man’s, a young woman’s, mostly sobbing—pleading for her life. Ame soon drowned them out in her mind. She was more interested in the people around her. Among the gathering came clumps of warriors, different from the city guardsmen who huddled to one side unsure of how to proceed. There was a different feeling about them, a cool confidence—they stood upright and relaxed. These men were like Toshi, devotees to some god or another. Ame had never seen so many of them as she did here in Nakajima. Not in one place. To one side, beyond the view of the manor windows, an older man with a bearded bulldog face caught her attention. He was kneeling while another man sheared off his white topknot. He looked at her and smiled with thin lips, then his eyes shifted to a nearby rooftop. Ame followed them. There she spotted Toshi vaulting up the side of a building. He had removed his hat, and was straining on the side beams.


He’s getting slow she thought, watching him scale upwards. He snagged a roof support with an arm, then swung like a weight from one to the other, hooking with his shoulders. He moved silently. Ame considered joining him for a moment. He had taught her how to climb, and her strength made it easy enough. But she couldn’t do it as quietly as he did—always grunting, grasping and kicking. So instead she remained on the ground, watching him push up onto the roof, careful not to break through the half-thatch. How did that old man notice him? Her brain strained. Nobody ever noticed him, only she. That was what made him deadly. Toshi had said so himself, and it was that same invisibility he had been trying to teach her. To be like a fox—fast, slender, tricky.

Toshiro made his way quickly along the central roofbeam, his sword sheathed in his hand. He looked like a shadow even in the daylight. A dark blur crawling along, hidden in and out by the world around him, revealing himself only in crucial moments. He leapt barefooted onto the manor roof. Ame knew he had made no sound. The bulldog face saw Toshi land too, for he stood, his hair now only stubble atop his head. Ame could now see him in totality. He was middle-height, but very broad. Old, but looked like he could carry an ox. Bulldog said something to the men nearby, and wrapped a long white shawl over his shoulder, donning a walking stick in one hand. Ame caught the glint of a knife blade tucked into the palm of his right hand. He hunched over and hurried towards the manor. Instantly, the bandit inside screamed.

“Who’s there! Stay away or I slit her throat!” his voice was cracked and desperate.

“Please, sir.” Bulldog said softly. “I am just an adherent of Vemaya-to. A monk sir.”

“Stay back!”

“Please, Let me speak to the girl, calm her fears, pray for her.”

“I will kill her!”

“Please sir, I bear no harm. Only to pray for the girl. I was teaching in the market earlier, surely you have heard. I just wish to speak to her… here, through the window.”

Ame could not see through the dark slots of the seals or the doorway, but she watched Bulldog stoop and raise his eyes, as if someone was looking at him. Toshi had made his way above the front eave, where he peaked over to stare directly at Ame. He furrowed his brows and frowned, then motioned downward. Ame, not knowing what he was asking for, simply nodded in affirmation. Toshi drew his blade.

“Sir—” Bulldog pleaded.

“You can pray from there! Any closer and it’s over!”

The girl screamed.

“Sir, please allow—”

Toshi vaulted over the lip of the roof, sliding into a slot above the door frame, slipping into what looked to be an impossibly small opening. In that exact moment, Bulldog rushed forward, smashing into the doorway with surprising speed—his knife glowing with fiery bronze reflecting sunlight. The door gave way instantly. In a breath, it was finished.

---

The girl was shaken, crying, but safe. Toshiro crossed his arms as he watched the stout stranger before him deal quietly with the family. He had been the one to rescue her, having appeared the moment Toshiro landed in the shadows of the room, rushing and overcoming the bandit like lightning. Ame’s words still haunted the back of his mind. “I knew you didn’t get him.” she had said. They stung a bit more than Toshiro would have liked, but his curiosity far outweighed his pride, and it was now mixed with some excitement. For the man who aided him could not have been an ordinary warrior, but must have been a shrine or temple warrior—jo or kyu sen.

Toshiro studied him. He was bald, and he had seen the white shawl wrapped around his shoulders. That led to the conclusion he must have been kyu-sen, a warrior monk of Vemaya-to, but Ame had only laughed at that idea and told him that it wasn’t real. She had seen him shaved moments before the rescue. So then what?. The man’s robes were fine, gray, with a brown overmantel. They were travel worn, and ragged, but very clean. The rest of him was unassuming, he bore the face and build of a laborer, but there was something about his eyes—the way they watched everything, seemed to look through the surface and to the core. Toshiro let him finish, then approached when the unfortunate family had finished their gratitude.

“Thank you for your assistance, sir.” Toshiro spoke first.

The man bowed. “It was nothing, so sorry, please forgive me soiling your effort, sir, I had seen you scale the buildings.”

Toshiro’s eyes flickered over him. Now that he was closer, there was an aura about him, something…calming. Assuring. Like the sun on a cool day. Toshiro was now certain.

“You are a shrine warrior.”

“As are you.”

A smile erupted across both men’s faces and they bowed sincerely to each other again.

“Toshiro of Inoko of Daikin.”

“Inouye of Tadan of Sayanashima”

“Oh.” Toshiro exclaimed in surprise. It all added up now. “Sayanashima? That’s Tadan’s main shrine, is it not?”

“Indeed.”

“You are something of a big name in our world then. To be a warrior for the main shrine of Aoyan’s great goddess.”

“My master has blessed me throughout my life. When I was called as a boy, and served the shrine then, there were six such warriors. Last summer there were three of us. I know not how many remain.”

Toshiro nodded knowingly. “Such is our way. Blessed would be an understatement. Sayanashima shrine is home to over 300 shrine maidens, neh?”

Inouye laughed. “Ah, but my master’s servant girls are off limits.” he winked mischievously. “Home to more than just that, though. It is a large place, sitting on an island not far from Momoyama. Have you ever been?”

Toshiro shook his head.

“Such is our life.”

It was then that Ame joined them. Hooking a hand onto the bottom of Toshiro’s robes, she stared up at Inouye. “You look like a dog.” she said innocently. Inouye cocked his head.

“Woof woof.”

She giggled, and he smiled, straight teeth flashing beneath uneven lips.

“Your daughter?” he asked.

Toshiro didn’t respond.

“Well, Toshiro-ka-Daikin. Why don’t you and the girl come stay at the inn I am at. It serves the fighting devotees of the gods. I don’t know where you are staying now, but prices are up, and I’ve never known a servant of Inoko to give up money willingly. This place houses our kind very cheaply, and sits on a spring. So you can bathe, and eat as well.”

“That sounds—”

“Great!” Ame interrupted. “I’ll get our stuff Toshi. I left it with the nice man.” she skipped off.

Toshiro sighed. “Better than a silver for three nights, I suppose.” he smiled, suddenly glad to be in the company of someone who understood again.

---

The three made their way down Nakajima’s main street, the sun just touching the rim of the horizon behind them. Toshiro and Inouye spent the whole time talking, recounting tales of their adventures. Of glorious victories, near defeats, and fallen comrades. Of boiling summers and frozen winters . Of monsters and magic. Of the gods they serve.

“Tell me,” Inouye said, turning around. “What is your name little girl?”

“Ame”

“Ah, Raincloud in Inari Yan.” Inouye said. “Tsugoski in Xian.”

I didn’t know that. Toshiro grumbled to himself, strangely disappointed. He had been born on Inari, it was true, but he had lived in Xian for a majority of his life. Traveled mostly in Xian too. But his disappointment was not with that. No. It had something to do with the girl, like he should have known that long ago. He brushed it off.

“Well, Ame.” Inouye continued. “Do you like ozu? Sweets?”

“Never had them. Toshi’s never bought me any.”

That made his disappointment bitterly worse. He watched Inouye draw out a copper bead from a small bag near his waste and hand it to Ame. “This’ll buy you whatever you want. Go wild.”

“Not too wild.” Toshi said, knowing he’d be ignored as the girl ran off towards the shops lining the street.

“Interesting girl.” Inouye said, almost absentmindedly. “So where did you get the pykke?”

His question caught Toshiro off guard, even though it was not said unkindly. “I found her.” his voice bit of finality.

Inouye was unphased. “Interesting girl,” he repeated. “Interesting, because there’s something about her. I felt it in the crowd, when she pushed her way through the people.”

“You don’t know half of it.”

“Oh?”

“She can…sense things. Dark things. Monsters mostly, though not all of them.”

“A great asset for a jo-sen, no?”

“So you’ve never heard of anything like that.”

Inouye sighed, shaking his head apologetically. “Nothing quite like that, no. But she isn’t Yan, Toshiro.The pykke of Inari have access to mysterious magics.”

“I suppose,” he admitted. “But, it gets worse. She can read. Yan, to be precise.”

Inouye stopped walking. He turned. “Now that IS strange. Magic is one thing, but, literacy!?” his tone was almost playful, yet there was truth to it. Only the aristocracy could read, and that gift was exclusive to the higher groups at that. It was their art, writing and reading, and from it sprouted all the great beauties of poetry and literature. Things that made the Yan who they were. Things cultivated by the ailur at the birth of civilization. Only temple script, used by the Vemayans, with its curling foreign letters stood an exception to this and that only recorded chants and holy works.

“Well what of her parents? Have you not searched for them?”

“I’ve asked her at least eight times about them, and each time she simply ignores me. Usually in silence, sometimes by talking past me.”

“Sounds like you have a handful to deal with in your companion.”

Toshiro grunted. “Sometimes she acts as if she’s only passed five winters. Others, she’s more like an adolescent. At times childish, innocent. Others—starkly clear and discerning. I don’t know her age, and can’t tell. Something else she ignores me on.”

Inouye laughed. “Lucky her usefulness to the life. Guess that is your payment for her abilities.”

She was useful. No question about that. It was why Toshiro kept her around. But she was just a girl, and at some point, he would have to see about leaving her somewhere. It was a question that haunted his nights, that he chipped at in the quiet moments of travel. Yet no solution presented itself. The best he could think of was shipping her to Inari, leaving her with a pykke tribe there. If he wasn’t killed in the attempt. Or dropping her off at a temple, where the Vemayans would take her in as another orphan. There, at least, he knew she’d be safe and warm.

It wasn’t long till she rejoined them, stuffed with honeyed ginger and moongrass pies and red bean tarts. She looked like she might be sick, so Toshiro took what bags she carried from her and went the rest of the way slowly and in silence. It was dark when they reached the inn.

To his surprise, the inn had been constructed in a warehouse—a former warehouse. One of the ones on the outskirts, further from the docks. The building was very broad, with a great thatch roof that must have taken ages to replace. Its silhouette took up the wide open space around it where goods and merchants needed room to move. The ocean sat just a few yards to the side, where it lapped against the stone and woodwork of the city edge. Inouye led them to the front, where a veranda had been built stretching from the building, curving, with a dozen tables. Lanterns hung in the low dark—creating a beacon of light, pulling attractively to anyone nearby to see them. Despite this, only a few men sat at the tables, all of them quiet. Toshiro nodded as he passed, but kept Ame close behind. Most of these men must have been his own kind, but his trust only went so far. Inouye was one thing. He was a warrior of Tadan, great mistress of the dawn, and from her main temple to boot. Practically a holy man, Toshiro still could hardly believe they had crossed paths as they did. He was as trustworthy a stranger as could be, but others were less savory, and caution was Toshiro’s color.

He allowed Inouye to alert the keep of their arrival and wants, and Toshiro surrendered the silver bead he had been reserving for the ludicrous cost of their stay—most of it going to donation. Any place to show favor to his own deserved the help. From there they ate, or at least Toshiro did, and were guided to the baths. Though there was not a spring nearby, one of the outskirt creeks of the city ran to the sea here, and the inn had screened off portions where patrons could bathe privately in the cool water. When they had finished, he sent Ame up to their room in the top floor to prepare for sleep and then crawled back down to bid Inouye a good rest. He found him sprawled in a chair, one leg resting on another, his curved sword laid gently on his chest. The warrior was fast asleep.
“Don’t worry, fox” the innkeep said from nearby. He was a very small, mouse-like man who bore the robes of a merchant. “I’ll keep watch over him. Not that he needs me too. Trust me, I’ve known him for years now. No one can get him in his sleep.”

Toshiro nodded, grateful, a hint of a smile crossing his face. He thanked the man deeply again, and bowed. Turning to leave, he noticed something left on the table in front of Inouye. Curious, he studied it. It was a broad set of plates, bamboo, tied together with string and open. There were marks, black, tied to each other by their form. Writing. Toshiro frowned, then a deep sinking overcame him. Like thick clouds covering the sun, his mood shifted dramatically, his stomach twisting. He went up to his room with ash in his mouth.

“Don’t unpack” he barked at Ame, who shied away from him and let him tuck into his sheets uninterrupted. When dawn crested, they left without a word.

[Amemnhat]

The Suites of the Vizier, Saa

Khabesh sighed as he looked over himself in the mirror. The thing was incredible, a new fire-gilded technique of glass and tin which was much clearer and more reflective than older speculum metal, almost alike a second world through a doorway. The glassmakers of Is, geniuses that they were, kept the details of their craft a jealously-held secret; the wealth and prestige they brought to their city was second to none, servicing the entire empire's desire for vanities as well as implements of practical value — flasks, lenses, and so on. This piece was very much in the first category, a pane twelve shesep across and sixteen tall gave him a broad view, lined by a trim of engraved gold decorated with ivory. Possibly the most expensive item in the Vizier's possession.

He dwelt a moment on the thought that this item was evident of the importance of Is, how much more difficult these might be to procure in Saa if his machinations to peaceably defuse tensions with the city's Nesut failed. Only time would tell on that account. For now, the Vizier patted down the linens of his blouse and colourful sashes, checked over his face, fussed with his hair. Finally satisfied, a final huff and he turned on his heel, pacing out of the dressing room and down the short hall to receive his guest this evening.

Here and there were a few servants of the Sma, draped in similar blouses but devoid of sashes beyond simple white ones looped over the left shoulder. They were his adherents, a small caste of bureaucrats and attendants under his personal authority. A pittance compared to the veritable army under the command of the Oracle, but he would have to make do. One of them glided towards the double doors that controlled access to his suite as he approached, and after he settled in place and gave him a nod, they were swung open to reveal his waiting guest — the High Mason.

Nebre was dressed finely, a classic-style network dress of dark faience which confidently left little to be imagined, contrasting on top of her olive skin. It was uniform apart from a traditional pectoral brooch of marble inlaid with royal lapis and carved in old symbology; the modest regalia of her up-jumped office. Black lipstick and eye shadow matched her short dark hair and piercing eyes. Evidently, Khabesh took a little too long taking the view in, as a tight smirk grew on her face before she moved first, strolling into the Vizier's suite and right past him. "Charmed, Khabesh."

Clearing his throat, he turned around and stepped after her, attempting to wave his arms towards the dining room, almost shepherding the architect. "How- ah, lovely it is to see you again, High Mason." He responded as he moved, "Thank you for accepting my invitation..."

Once the two had found their way to the table, Nebre took her own seat, and Khabesh sat opposite, feeling on the back foot already. "Of course!" The High Mason cheerfully replied, looking him up and down like she was appraising his worth in deben. "Any courtier in Ab would be a fool to refuse to dine with the Pharaoh's Vizier." She informed him matter-of-factly, making him purse his lips and nod as he glanced behind her to look for the cook. At least this was different to chiding him on the cost of maintaining pyramids.

"Interesting strategy regarding Is, I must admit." The High Mason got straight to talking shop, leaning back in her chair comfortably. Khabesh squinted a little, watching her closely. "You don't approve?" To the question, Nebre shrugged. "Perhaps it isn't how I would have handled it, but certainly preferable to sending in the chariotry. Of course, we won't know whether the threat of isolation will actually work, for a while." Khabesh nodded concedingly, but held his ground. "We will know soon enough. I may not have your perspective on the common people, but I know wealth. He'll be here for his share next year, of that I-oh, excellent." He interrupted himself as the servants began to produce their meal.

Quail roast in sesame oil and sprinkled with down-river herbs, lily seed bread, and a stew of mutton and vegetables. A meal fit for his status, to be sure. "Do you take shedeh?" Khabesh asked after her drink. "No, I prefer beer." Her answer again betrayed some of her crass commonisms, but a mug was produced for the High Mason in short order. "And as for our western strategy, I'm much less enthused..." Nebre commented, as she raised the porcelain up to sip.

Khabesh blinked once, before clearing his throat. "Ah yes, well, I quite agree. Nephthys was not dispatched on my advice." To that, Nebre furrowed her brow. "On whose, then?" Pausing to dip bread in stew and enjoy a taste before continuing, he came out with it. "That would be the Oracle." His tone grew a little sour, admitting the theological leader's undermining of his position. Nebre rolled her eyes, muttering something to herself quietly before joining the Vizier in trying the meal.

"Quite fascinating news back from the expedition though..." The architect honed in on the next talking point, not looking up from her dining implements. "The rumours of... other scouts, organized from Sawari land." The Vizier had indeed heard whispers, but got the feeling this was less a topic of conversation and more Nebre prying for information he'd heard that she had not. She never seemed to pause a moment when she knew what she was talking about. He nodded, but dismissed the subject. "Fascinating indeed, but so little is known about the situation on the ground. We'll all learn more when the expedition returns." He almost felt a shudder down his spine at the thought of having Commander Nephthys back at court, but such a thing would be inevitable.

Nebre shrugged, and the two returned to their meals for a while before Khabesh built the strength to make a verbal offensive on the subject that had been dwelling in his mind all day. "Ah, it just occurs to me now, High Mason, but while you're here... the High Place of Pearls?" She just about sighed as she leaned back from her meal, perhaps waiting for the subject to be broached. "Yes, your father's land dispute. How much did Heqa Amet seize? A thousand kha, two?"

"Three and a half." Khabesh answered bitterly. "And Emeqsa." The modest settlement on the lakeside was not just a productive source of pearls, but home of many go-to haunts Khabesh would escape to in his youth when avoiding the watchful eye of his father. "More than half the High Place's supposed allocation. Maintaining the same facilities without it must be driving him to destitution, quickly." The analytical response by the High Mason did little to relieve his sore feelings on the subject.

"I can not promise to restore your family's land, Khabesh. But I can have an inquiry held, inspect the Cadastral Obelisks properly. If it's true that the land is under your father, and not the High Place of Song, my duty will be to have the allocation respected." The Vizier nodded enthusiastically, setting down his fork. "Y-yes, that is all we seek! Our claim is sure! Thank you, Nebre." He offered earnestly, just about ready to write home victoriously.

"There's nothing to thank me for, yet. That isn't a favour, it's my job. However..." The High Mason's gaze drifted off along with her words, leaving Khabesh curious for a moment before she continued. "Speaking personally, Oracle Amesis seems quite intent on getting involved in temporal business. Were you so inclined to return the favour and take a... theological interest, there's a quite interesting heirophant new in Saa whom you might like to meet. Very interesting mind, turning a lot of heads in the church, so they say."

"Oh?" The Vizier raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," she continued, "I think you'd find him quite enlightening. Why don't I arrange for you to talk? Strictly on matters of personal faith, of course."

"Of course."

[Isklanapura]

Tablet III: Return to the Spine

---

“I hate it here,” she grumbled out, head tilted to the side and resting against a stone archway; eyes ever watchful of the greatness of the spine that unfolded from the heights of the palatial ziggurat. “I felt so much better at Wari. I loved being at Wari. Why couldn’t I stay? Even just a little longer…”

Ninkailis-ilum felt the grooming touch of Enkurus, his chitinous claws tracing along her horns, and dragging through her long hair. She refused to face her Sawari attendant, the giant having taken to staying by her side while Enhurran was sifting through royal storerooms to find a dress which might appeal to a teenage appetite—a feast was coming. Indeed, this was curious, as it was one of the few times she was totally alone with Enkurus. Nominally, Enhurran was by her side, or at least with the two of them. Enkurus always did the running around to take care of any work which might impede her comfort.

“Child of the goddess,” his voice was a wheezing growl, like a distant storm. “There is no return to Wari. We are now in the house of your two mothers.”

“And I’m abandoned by both,” Ninkailis-ilum snarled, digging her nails into the stone.

As she looked into the open air, the foliage beneath her rustled. From the jungle trees far below, a small swarm of hummingbird moths fluttered upward to her. She watched as their wings beat faster in speed than the cheetahs the Asharaeans hunted, or the royal dragonflies of the Gwanankid marshlands. They came to her, and in the command of the divine, perched upon her stone bench and upon her person. To many, it was a sign of the divine—for it was—but to her, it was a common occurrence at this point.

“You are not, and you know as such, my dear child. Ketzani reminds you of this, in her divine queenship of all, and sends you her servants so you might see.”

She reached out and pet one of the large insects in her hand, the beast itself being nearly as large. Within the dark eyes of the insect she saw nothing, only a hollow despair which seemed to eat away at her every day she was here. It hadn’t been so much as a month, and she was already this troubled. Why? Why won’t you at least send me dreams? Why don’t the diviners come to me with messages? Why isn’t there any word from you? I want answers. I want to know why you sent me away from Wari, and sent me back here. What am I supposed to do? I’ve been thrown into a dark cave, and now all I can do is feel around in the dark, with no hope to escape!

“At Wari I didn’t need to hide. At Wari I felt welcome. I felt comfortable.”

“Your goddess gave you a gift which does not afflict we of fallen Nanki, long may he be remembered. But you do not see forward, my dear child. You see only what likes at your feet. You see only your shadow.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Enkurus chittered, “what future did you have at Wari? We may have thought to have made you the greatest of all priestesses, or the first Isklana to be given the right to be a storm-warrior—but this was not to be. Long has Ketzani thrived as queen. Ketzani has written for you a destiny, and you must strive to meet it.”

“And what destiny is that? To wander from palace halls in veils and shrouds? To have people whisper behind me and speak about me as an object? My goddess gifted me with a power which only harms!”

“No!” Enkurus shrieked. “Stay your tongue, dear child. The goddess gave you a gift which is greater than any other in the land. In times behind, Nanki gifted our finest with the power of his storms, and divinely so. Ashareh gifted her two chosen wolf-kith the hunter’s prowess. What mountains can’t they move? What prey can escape them? These are the feats of physicality. These are the gifts of force. But Ketzani, having denied the Isklana for centuries, gas divined upon the land her first such gift: you. What standard do we have to understand the goddess? Let alone why she does not illuminate your path. This is grounds untread. Just as your mother leads us into the unknown, Ketzani quests you the same, but within the walls of the spine.”

“Then why was I sent to Wari if all it did was teach me to hide!” She shouted. “Why would my goddess send me away, only to call me back, after I’ve been made so comfortable with my gifts being unused?”

An anger possessed her, mixed with despair, heighted to such extremes through the affliction of her race. Like a warrior, she felt the gladiatorial rush and desire to main and slaughter; but like a scorned lover, she felt the heartache of collapse, and wished to fall in on herself like an ancient temple, and weep falls of brine. It was agonizing. She pulled on her horns, she clenched her fists, and she failed to sound so much as a groan. Ketzani’s servants hovered around her, ever watchful, the goddess observing her child. Though but a moment, the fit ended, and Ninkailis-ilum slumped against the stonework.

“What has she written for me? How am I supposed to become what she seeks if I can’t even discover how to use what she’s given me? I can’t even speak to the other demigods without needing to run!”

“The wolves, great and divine and proud as they are, would not have been of use to you, my dear child. I will not alleviate you with the sweetness of Enhurran. You are the first to walk your path, and all we who are not upon it can do is help give you strength to watch it. Who but the goddess knows where it leads? Who but the goddess can confidently guide you? The other demigods are of mighty gods, but none with the might of Ketzani, or gifts like what passions she’s bestowed upon you.”

“Even so, why doesn’t she speak to me? I’m blind right now. I need her help.” Ninkailis-ilum looked over at one of the hummingmoths, taking it into her hand with gentleness, and pleaded. “Ketzani, mother, please—even just a sign, or maybe a divination to Enkurdea. I’m so blind. Please give me a purpose I can reach! I’m strangled in my home, choked by the weight of the unknown. Please, hear my words as I speak to your messengers. Help me. Help your daughter.”

The moth paused, listened, but fluttered and flew off. As it fled, so did they all; leaving the princess and her attendant giant, looking over the lands cast in midday, once more alone. Did she hear me? Has she grown annoyed? What was she supposed to do? Why has she left me abandoned on this mission? All that Ninkailis-ilum could stomach was a sigh, before pushing herself away from the stone arch, and pulling the veil over her eyes once more.

“Patience, dear child. Life is long ahead of you. The answers rest in each day.”

“Every day I die a little without knowing my place. I just want to feel I belong. Even to myself.”

Tablet IV: Return to the Spine

---

When Ninkailis-ilum’s eyes opened, she resided somewhere she had never seen, somewhere she had never been, somewhere she would never grasp. Jungle trees of gold sprouted with leaves and vines of intricate emerald. The night sky was an endless expanse of stars, though each shone with a pink light, all of which were fixed upon her like eyes. The earth she trod upon was a garden, surrounded by high walls of stone inlaid with gold—the reliefs carved upon them moving in each scene, as though she were peering into some unknown world. Curiosity drew her toward the reliefs, her hands reaching out and brushing aside low hanging emerald gones which blossomed golden flowers. As she looked closer, she saw the reliefs were of a woman, shrouded in a veil, always on the move with two Sawari behind her.

Suddenly, all color, all light, all material of this garden vaporized. In a flash, it was gone, and Ninkailis-ilum stood alone in a great darkness, with only the pink stars above as company. Confused and frightened, she looked around her, greeted only by the void, and began to run. Further and further, she ran, with no sense of where, no sense of how far, no sense of how long. She ran, and as she looked upward, so did the pink stars above continue to watch her, unflinching and uncaring. It was fruitless.

Where am I? Where is the palace? Where is my room?

“Enhurran? Enkurus?” She cried out into the void, a whisper echoing like thunder through the vastness. “Zarika? Ahrnakir?” She paused for a time, her heart beating. “Mother?”

She looked around her, nothing but darkness and pink cosmos. To her left, there was nothing but the cascading darkness. To her right, the shadows unfolded as a great plain with no horizon and no boundary. Thoughts clouded, heart pounding, the princess backed further and further into the void. Her claws clicked against the ground, as though she was resting on stone, but she couldn’t feel any sensation. Backwards and backwards, Ninkailis-ilum retreated, until she felt something heavy behind her, and she had no further place to go.

Turning, Ninkailis-ilum scanned a golden statue, several times her height. Backing away from it, she saw the inlaid patterns of gold, and the shapes unfolded before her. It was a woman, endless in beauty, endless in perfection—the mother of all Isklana—the endless majesty of great Ketzani. Breath fled from Ninkailis-ilum’s chest, her heart skipping a beat as she staggered backwards. Graceless in her fear and panic, her footing failed her, and on shadows did the princess trip. Falling backwards, she looked up into the emerald eyes of the most beautiful woman in all the world. The eyes were looking back.

Golden cushions greeted her as she fell flat on her back. She grasped them, felt the fringe, the sensation of silks and insect feathering. Scrambling upon soft kisses of fabric, her eyes met mounds upon mounds of cushion and lavish fabric. Mounting and mounting, ever higher, she found herself at the foot of a great cushion inlaid with emerald patterns—most every kind of beast Ketzani had ever crafted woven into it lovingly. But with terror, as her eyes followed, she saw seated upon the great cushion, arms resting at her sides as she nursed a thin chillum, a woman resided. She was more beautiful than all the worlds—breathless and endless—eyes hidden by a golden veil, but her tanned flesh and godly sculpt revealed in glimpses that shone through robes of such divine craftsmanship, that no mortal hands could fathom to match. Compared to Ninkailis-ilum, the beauty of all the land, she was sixty times as magnificent, and her voluptuous and divine form towered over Ninkailis-ilum as a storm giant would.

“Come,” a female voice of sweetness and authority called—the tongue ancient, indecipherable, yet fully understood. Ninkailis-ilum, looking up at the golden veil, found herself slave to the will that called her. Two pink spheres were hidden behind the veil, commanding her, leading her to climb ever up the mound of golden cushions and into the lap of the titaness.

“Where am I?” Ninkailis-ilum asked, feeling the arms of the divine embrace her and pull her against the softness of the titaness’s chest. “What is this place?”

“Where all see me, and all forget. But not you,” the honeyed whispers answered.

“You’re her, aren’t you?” Awestruck, the Sharrwassatum asked. “I… I’ve never seen you like this before. You’ve never come to me in this form.”

“My daughter cries out in anguish. How could I watch my beloved flesh cry out in agony like this?” The goddess asked, pulling Ninkailis-ilum in closer, and bowing her own head down to kiss the princess on her forehead. “How you cry, with your eternally gifted eyes, and weep into my messengers. The nymphs sing of your woes, the wilds hear your pain, my court pleads for me to see you. Do you behold me, child?”

“Yes! I’m… I’m just blown away. You came. You… heard me?”

“I felt your sorrow and I felt your rage, and I watched as not even the children of my predecessor could bring you peace. You called me here, into the night. But my time is a flicker, and seldom will I come before you in this way.”

“Then these are my dreams? This is how you come before priests and priestesses?”

“Before them I come in many forms, as do all my gods—just as when we walk among you. I whisper what should be, what is written and what I desire. The diviners speak, and they know my will.”

“K-ketzani, I have so many questions—”

A soft finger pressed against her lips, and with sensual delicateness, traced them. “Hush, my daughter. Hush. Dreams are messages from the depths of the heart, from the depths of the divine, at times. But dreams are flickers. In moments, worlds build and fall. Speak to me of why you’ve called me, before cursed daylight claims you once more.”

“Why did you send me away from Wari? Why am I at the palace?”

“It is where your future lies, it is where my gifts to you will blossom. Destiny calls you, and that destiny is not in ancient Wari. Your destiny is written in Isklakata, and from there you must blossom.”

“But how? I don’t know what to do, Ketzani. Ever since you gave me this gift, I’ve been told to hide it. I don’t know what to do. All I can do is hurt or scare people.”

“I can’t tell you all you wish to know. Destiny is written by the gods, but mortals, and demigods, must attain them by their means. Those are the ways as they are set down. You were given your gift by me, and your fate, as it is written, with great cause. I shan’t meddle, or destiny will be dirtied.”

“But Ketzani, I’m blind! My teachers have told me to hide all my life, and now you’ve torn my hide away. I’m like a tarantula with no burrow! I’m like a hummingmoth with no wings! Please, mother, you have to give me something.”

Ninkailis-ilum clung to the goddess, eyes filling with tears, and flowing like the rivers which bled from Gwananki. “I’ve begged and begged and begged, my goddess! Please! Even before the palace, I never understood! I still don’t understand! Why did you give me this gift? How can I reach my destiny or discover it, if I have no hope on how to hone my gift? How can I be your actor, your agent, your daughter, if I don’t have the power to use what you’ve given me? I walk the halls and they call me cursed. My shadows sprout demons! Please, Ketzani. Don’t come to me now, only to abandon me again. Please, you’re all I have to cling to.”

Silence filled the void, the shrouded eyes of Ketzani upon the demigoddess. Reaching down to her chillum, the goddess sucked on the pink fumes, pink luminescence making the endless patterns and carvings upon the pipe glow, before she let out a sigh. Dizzying as it was, Ninkailis-ilum withstood the euphoric scents of the aphrodisiacal smoke, holding tight to Ketzani, desperate for aid.

“You are a river, ripe for breathing life into the land. You are like Gwananki, when it lay in ruins, and I walked the riverbanks and lakeside, seeing the ruins and the potential. You are like clay. Perhaps I’ve been too passive. Perhaps you require my aid.”

“You’ll help me?” Ninkailis-ilum looked up, eagerness in her heart.

“I’ll give you what you ask for: the key to your gift. There is no mortal who can show you the art of your strength, but there are mortals who can give you the tools to harness yourself. That is what I will give you. I will give you the teacher you so desperately need.”

The princess wept, a foreign smile upon her adolescent lips. Her heart soared with the beat of a hummingmoth, the fluttering of wings possessing her soul. “Thank you. Thank you, most merciful, most magnificent, most divine. Thank you, great queen. Thank you—”

Another plume of pink smoke burst forth, enveloping her. The Sharrwassatum coughed, her mind becoming more dizzying and hard to muster. It was as though she was falling asleep, and yet, it was as though she was rising. She looked up, and saw the pink gems which shone from behind the veil. She saw the face of a woman, so magnificent in her craft, that all her people, her Isklana, had been modeled in her perfect form.

“Stillness, my beloved. Stillness, and hush.”

“I… I have so much more to…” Vision flickered, eyelids fluttered, voice escaped her in a sigh. Struggling as she might, she was no match for the awakening, vision growing ever more fleeting.

“I am always watching you, child,” Ketzani said, a plume of smoke engulfing Ninkailis-ilum one last time. In a flicker of vision, she saw herself upon the cushions of a palace so divine it was beyond words. She saw the host of her gods, and the great Ashareh and the subject gods, gathered around, ever watchful with pink starlit eyes. Then, nothingness.

We’re always watching.

Tablet V: New Beginnings

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Greater than all oddities, so she reasoned and discussed with her confidants, was the age after war. Maikana-Ketzani was queen, now—forever splendorous in silken robes and decorated in gold and emerald—with divine authority behind her mastery of all the civilized world; yet despite this lofty title, it still felt foreign. When she closed her eyes, she saw the flaming stones and the howl of Asharkar, and the familiarity of a spear in her grip and rage in her heart. When she closed her eyes, she saw the crimson waters of the garden, and the hollow, soiled face of a bound sister. Nevertheless, her’s was an age of internal peace, and with the demigods of Ashareh in her home, there was no greater way to express this than through celebration.

The sound of flutes, lyres, lutes, drums and singing filled the evening air. Within her gardens, Maikana-Ketzani watched as noblemen and noblewomen rubbed shoulders with courtiers and honored warriors; the priestly of some Sawari even holding conversation with ever distance Asharkar. It was a peculiarity, one which she hadn’t truly fathomed even after assembling such a party. Here they were, some sixty to a hundred in all, though half she couldn’t name by memory; gathered together they all enjoyed the company of music and luxury within the very gardens she’d bid Shayakapak-Ketzani farewell.

Servants, ranging from state attendants to aphrodisiacal collar-bound pleasure slaves roamed the garden attending to the luxuries and wants of her attendants. As she stood at a stone wall, looking into the open space, she admired the laughter and chatter and in awkward calm. An Asharkar showed his prowess with a spear in one part of the garden, sparring with an Isklana guardsman, while in another there was an Isklana noblewoman enjoying a he-slave tending to pomegranate seeds placed about her succulent tanned flesh; yet for every luxury and lust of such a palatial gathering, all need only look up to the center of the garden, where a golden statue of Ketzani had been erected.

Sometimes, Maikana-Ketzani found herself watching people in excess. She found herself pondering, anxious, angry, and the calm having washed away—what are they saying? What are they plotting? Who are they? What assets do they possess? Where did they side during the war? Frantic thoughts of a stressed mind. Yet she need only look to her side, where Asharkar stood guard over her, vigilant as ever, as all wolves should be. An intensity surrounded her as she watched the celebrations, fading in and out of lucid fears.

I won the war. I brought peace. There is nothing to fear this day, but the dizziness of beer and the taste of succulent fruit.

Across the garden, her eyes spied her daughter, and a pit welled in her stomach. Ninkailis-ilum was, much as she, remaining at the outskirts of the celebrations. Asharkar did not stand by the side of the Sharrwassatum, for instead she had her Sawari attendants. Apparently she’d not wanted to attend, but courtly etiquette demanded that all royals be present, at the very least until great golden Ketzani had her fill of feast and offerings. Her eyes glanced upward, to the height of the walls which surrounded this courtyard garden. Two Asharkar walked leisurely on patrol. She’s safe regardless. I have lookouts, and I hardly need them. Even if I did, what one misses, the other will report. They have the horns.

Laughter stole her attention, the Kisharratum jerking her head down to focus on the sound; her horns rattling with the sound of her golden jewelry. Before her eyes, Ahrnakir, hero of the Durkaratum, was exercising the divine strength he had been entrusted with. He took a stone bench, by which two women sat, and gripped it with all his might. Raising it into the air, the women shouted with excitement, being held in the air while young men cheered in awe. He’s just the same as when I first met him, isn’t he? The Isklana women, seated upon the bench, held golden pitchers of chicha; pouring a stream down onto Ahrnakir, to which the hero caught the murky corn-beer in his open maw. Amused and distracted, Maikana-Ketzani watched as, from another setting in which Zarika had been showing off her bow, she dismissed herself. Harsh words followed as she approached Ahrnakir, the latter setting down the bench and laughing off his excessive joys.

He’d make a good Isklana. It’s almost a pity he was born a wolf. Then again, who are more noble than Durkaratum? Who are more trustworthy? Who make the finest warriors other than they who fight with animal strength but civilized discipline?

Maikana-Ketzani made a hand motion, her own Asharkar standing aside, as she stepped away from the covered shade of the small stone wall, and out into the courtyard. The music played, but as she walked toward the demigods, those around her quieted and bowed. With the wave of the hand, she made those in submission raise their heads, and resume their revelries. She saw their glances and fearful faces, and smiled with a deep satisfaction. I am mightiest in all the land. Ketzani guided me to crush my enemies. Bask in my might.

By the time she had reached Zarika and Ahrnakir, the two were caught off guard and unaware of her coming, so enthralled by one another they were. Zarika, midway in her scold, caught her breath, while Ahrnakir simply froze. Even demigods quake. Nevertheless, composure returned to them, and they bowed and showed reverence to their divinely appointed master.

“Please, you are my equals in all but rulership. Stand as such. Are you enjoying yourselves?”

Ahrnakir laughed, in the sort of haughty way youth does. “Music, drink, food and friends? The gods would stride in this garden had they the time. I only wish I had someone to fight.”

“That could be arranged,” Maikana-Ketzani purred.

“I don’t think that will be necessary, your majesty,” Zarika quickly cut in before Ahrnakir. “Thank you, it’s nice to socialize like this once in a while. It’s not our norm, but it’s good for us.”

“No doubt you prefer your wilds or the drunken brawls of Dur-Asharki?”

Zarika laughed lightly, “it’s more familiar. Ashareh does tend to edge us toward the wilds though. We’ve had good hunting ever since the war, too. Ketzani has given us good prey for the years since we’ve been away.”

“And you’ve given me fine gifts to show it. Again, I apologize I couldn’t properly see you two sooner. The duties of the palace are as intricate as what I went through on the field, but inverse. Ketzani has appointed me as supreme ruler, but now I’m waging war to keep a kingdom focused.”

“Focused?” Zarika asked.

“Of course. We have ambitions to aspire to, dreams to chase, enemies to crush and empire to build. We’ve already expanded our borders immensely, and who is to say how far we can reach? But my sister left me a realm which requires a lot of work within the old borders.”

“Is there anything you’d like us to do? I heard you send Urde-Saya to the north, to prepare the lands.”

Maikana-Ketzani grinned, but shrugged. What could I ask for? They already defend my realm passively. Who am I to point them at to maul? “You are demigods. You are hunters. You are warriors. You keep my lands clear of great monsters, and you keep the bonds between the Durkaratum and my court strong, thanks to your loyalty. Just continue to do so, and continue to keep Ashareh pleased with our realm.”

“Speaking of keeping connected with gods, I actually did want to ask you if you planned to expand to the oracle. The Myronans in the wolf-fire passage to the east, to be precise. Some of our boneseers have been wondering if they’re going to be connected to the oracle again.”

“In time, yes. Perhaps I will even dispatch you there to make sure we are welcome. The death goddess is close to our hearts, but if we’re going to claim her realms directly into the holdings of Ketzani, we should see if the oracle would ask anything of us. No?”

“Of course, your majesty. I’m sure we can find good hunts to offer on the way, too. When would you want us to do that?”

“Not for some time. There is more work to be done. An endless mountain of work, in fact. When the time comes, I will summon you for the task. Do you plan to return home after leaving the spine? Back to the hunt?”

“We plan to go north, to the springs of Chenguruk. One side of the kingdom to the other, and back again.”

Maikana-Ketzani nodded and smiled, how I wish I could be that free. But I’ve too many dreams to bring to life. Ketzani wishes it.

Sweet lips parted to resume the exchange, only to be interrupted by a low droning sound. Maikana-Ketzani turned, seeing that a small group of priests had arrived, bearing an offering of intricate gold held on a platform of carved wood. It was a small figurine of the raft ceremony, the Isklana depicted with emerald eyes as they rowed the raft. Many looked with awe, the queen glancing a look at the demigods and noticing their appreciation of the craftsmanship. Predatory purrs built in her breath—she had commissioned the work the other day, and already it had been perfected and made ready to offer.

As the music died down to make way for the priestly offering, Maikana-Ketzani turned her gaze upward. As the sun was setting, it was typical of these evening gatherings to give gold to the goddess as an offering—for she had protected them from the corrupting touch of daylight, and allowed their illuminated day to be without harm. A thanks for good fortune in day to day living. A thanks to survive one day and onto the next.

She wished she was up high in a moment like this, so that she could witness the sunset in full, which was hidden from the garden. Urcha-kaya had once told her during a sunset, before they’d wed, that whenever the sun turned to night, he defiantly set the horizon on fire as to try and fight off night. Like the first lord of day, sun gods were always proud and bratty—with too much authority, they corrupt and cause injustice. Thank Ketzani for keeping Inashti castrated and submissive, even in his bursts of anger.

Eyes fell to watch the priests recite their prayers, yet as she rested her gaze on the golden offering, and servants began to light cauldrons of perfumed oils for the evening, she found herself pausing. Upward, again, her eyes climbed to the sky. On patrol above them, she saw the silhouette of twelve Asharkarr. I didn’t order for more guards. Did the captain decide we need more security? Why are there more soldiers?

Her thoughts were caught in her throat. As she watched them, she saw as they paused in their step, and walked over to the wall. In that fading light, she could see their armor was not golden in color, but silver. Before she could ponder, terror took hold of her. Six silver soldiers drew from their sides swords. Six silver soldiers drew from their sides bows.

Silver. She loved that color, didn’t she?

Tablet V: Return to the Spine

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Golden howls filled the evening air, a crowd of startled screams soon drowning the lupine cries. Asharkar, walking amidst the crowd and the garden’s bloom like divine protectors were being struck down from the heavens—but not by any immortal hand. Instead, the hail of arrows came from the rapid marksmanship of six silver men, clad in lupine armor, leaning over the ledge of the tall walls that enclosed the garden in a courtyard. It was an ambush. It was an attack.

Ninkailis-ilum had hardly a notion of what was happening, her veiled eyes watching in terror as Asharkar fell, while other soldiers readily scattered for the covered areas along the edges. They didn’t know what was happening. They didn’t know what to do. Just as hurriedly, she saw as the golden soldiers who were nearest her mother, the Kisharratum far across the garden from her, rush ahead with shields up, forming a wall around Ketzani’s favorite. Arrows struck the wall, but the arrows failed to pierce the bronze shields which were razed, with spears turned outward. Her mother was safe, but the same couldn’t be said for others.

Isklana overseers and nobles were struck by arrows. Some lost a horn, or limped away with curses on their lips, and an arrow through their leg. Others, however, found an arrow lodged in their chest, or neck, or other soft tissues where the mortal grasp was weakest. Blood pooled, and the garden screamed. Ninkailis-ilum could feel panic befall her, veiled pink gems losing track of the slaughter. As arrows fell, six swordsmen climbed down the garden walls, and leapt onto the courtyard grounds. Immediately, sword met spear, as Asharkar battled their enigmatic silver-clad brothers.

An Asharkar with a spear thrust out aggressively at a swordsman, the silver-clad leaping back, before returning with ferocious strikes. Where the Asharkar had the strength in his singular jobs, be that in his palms or striking down from over his head, his opponent moved with a speed the golden-clad couldn’t match. Strike after strike, parrying and weaving and seeking advantage, the two fought as one of many pairs in the chaos. Sometimes Asharkar appeared to be on the verge of victory in their contests, Ketzani’s spirit having found them, but on the cusp of glory they were gracelessly cut down by the watchfulness of the arrows.

Somewhere within the palace, she heard the deep bellow of an Asharkar horn. Someone had escaped the ambush and fled into the palace, and immediately alerted the guards. This attack couldn’t go on much longer, the rest of the palace guard must’ve been rushing toward the garden already. If that was the case, then they’d only need to survive, and depend on the Asharkar to protect them.

With speed she’d never realized, Enkurus shifted his mass very suddenly to be in front of her—legs fanned out, jaws open, and giant mass serving as a shield. She heard several cracks, followed by wet thuds, while the beastly guardian groaned with agony, Enhurran, for her part, took hold of Ninkailis-ilum, and began to pull her further back against the lower courtyard wall in an effort to better shield her.

“Number?” Enhurran hissed in her Sawari tongue.

“Three. She is noticed. We are not warriors, we can not protect her.” Enkurus growled out. “Produce time, conceal her.”

Their discussion held, Ninkailis-ilum found herself smothered behind the fluffed mass of giant arthropods; Sawari guardians pressed against her to put their mass between her and any assailants. They didn’t have the weapons or technique to know how to use their giant size as a weapon. Thud and claw and fight as they could, even a giant was laid low when they didn’t know how to face a skilled warrior.

Ninkailis-ilum closed her eyes, clinging to the arthropoid fuzz which enveloped her. Ketzani, why are you doing this? What do you want from me? Are you trying to kill me? Please, save me from this nightmare, help me survive. Please write my fate as a favorable one. Please save my friends, my family, my subjects and myself. Help me.

Cowering as she did, a sudden pause in her heart overtook her. Electrified from her depths to her flesh, Ninkailis-ilum felt the panic flee from her body. Uncharacteristic impulse began to build in her, mixed with courage and divine guidance. She felt a puppet in her own body, as though invisible tethers possessed her. Massive walls of Sawari flesh separated her from the action, protecting her, yet seemingly on its own, she felt her body drop down to her knees, and begin to crawl out from under her guardians.

Clawing and ripping her dress as she did so, the princess popped out of the shelter of her guardians, to which both cried out in agonized panic. She could hear them calling after her, shrieking fiercely, but it was drowned out by a focus she’d never known before. Ninkailis-ilum stood away from cover, and found herself running into the courtyard itself, where slaughter unfolded. There, without reason, she saw a silver-clad assailant marching toward a lovely Isklana woman, dressed in sensual garb, with a sword intent on cutting out her life.

Divine force compelled her, Ninkailis-ilum rushing to the woman, her eyes watching as the silver-clad was drawing up his blade to strike the petrified woman. Crashing into him, the man grunted and shouted, the words unintelligible as he struggled against her. Battle was going on all around her, but she didn’t waver, and she didn’t notice. She felt Ketzani within her heart, and she felt the instincts of warmaking ensnare her movements. Pushing against him, the alien warrior stumbled back, before striking out with a clawed hand, and tearing the veil from her eyes. Pink gems glared out at the man, his own eyes behind a helm, as the two exchanged a look.

Overtaken, she watched as the man froze, and dropped his sword. He was possessed by a new spirit, falling to his knees and letting out agonized groans as he clawed at his helm. When he turned up his head once more, gaze meeting her own, she could see a pink light from within the helmet. She had ensnared him. She had enslaved him. Yet before she could do much else, an Asharkar rushed up from behind, and with a leap, struck through the man and his silver armor with a great bronze spear.

For a moment, she felt she had been saved, an Asharkar at last running to her aid. Hope faded, however, as arrows plunged deep into the warrior’s chest, head and shoulders. What once saved her, now was cut down. She moved to the side, instinct guiding her, only to find an arrow fell where she had stood but a moment earlier. They had seen her, and now they sought her blood as well. Divinely guided as she was, she was no match for the arrows which sought her.

Balance fled her, the air escaping her chest as something hit her and knocked her on her back. Ninkailis-ilum looked up, realizing the beauty she’d been compelled to save had tackled her to the ground, and was now sprawled out over her like a shield. Without thinking, the princess looked up into the eyes of the woman, who looked back down at her. Terror filled her heart, Ninkailis-ilum waiting to see her curse infect this poor woman as it had Faya-kapkani, or more recently the silver-clad warrior. But as she waited, she saw no pink glow spread into this woman.

She… She isn’t afflicted. She isn't falling to lust. She isn’t gone. She’s still here. She isn’t cursed.

Feet against the ground, the rapid running and marching of soldiers surrounded her. Looking only to the ground around her, fearing her curse touching any other, she watched as Isklana guards, not Asharkar, rushed to her aid and surrounded her with a shield wall and spears. Arrows struck the wall, but the bronze shields held, and the Isklana let out warlord chants, as some hidden captain in the ranks of the wall shouted commands.

“Look not to our mistress, but guard her with your life!”

Chants of affirmation, the wall locked around her.

Safe as she was, thankful for her guards, terrified of their looking upon her—all the feelings that swelled in her chest were muted compared to the unknown. Her eyes turned once more into the eyes of the woman atop her. Ninkailis-ilum reached up, and touched the woman’s face, as though she were a nymph, and recoiled when her fingers touched the flesh of her face and the ridge of her face plate. She’s real. She isn’t afflicted. She isn’t harmed by me. But how?

Drowning in questions, she opened her mouth to speak, only to hear a wolf howl of divine magnitude cry out in the courtyard. The pitch was fair, feminine but with the cutting ferocity of a predator. It was Zarika, the demigoddess fresh on the hunt.

Tablet IV: Oathbound

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Silver cloaked assailants—they weren’t many, but they were deadly when surprising the Asharkar. Zarika had seen several slain already, be it by arrows or by bladework that outmaneuvered the bronze spears. Nevertheless, with her bow in her hand, and her queen behind her, she took aim at an approaching silver wolf and released the bowstring. With a singing whistle, the arrow struck it’s mark, crushing the armor on the occupant in a spray of blood and shattered ribs. It was one dead, but there were more to go.

Zarika howled, her huntress eyes scanning the party in an instant, seeking out the lay of the land and the condition of the ambush. Three of the silver swordsmen were dead, and she could see a shield wall formed across the garden from her. That must be the princess. Why aren’t there any Asharkar with her? Those are just Isklana. Ahrnakir was busy fighting two of the silver wolves, but she could see in their cautious steps that the assailants were far inferior. The last swordsman was currently facing Asharkar spears, hemmed in by four, though with the support of arrows from above the Asharkar couldn’t decisively engage.

Bowstring pulled tight, Zarika took aim at one of the six bowmen above her. The string threatened to snap, but she didn’t care—so angered by the insult of this attack. We’re in the home of the gods, and you dare attack us? You dare attack our queen? Screaming, she released the bowstring, the arrow whistling once more, and finding its mark. An archer above stumbled and slumped over the side, before their dismembered body tumbled into the garden courtyard; a head spinning up into the air and disappearing out of sight.

Terror took the attackers, the bows turning on her. Ears swiveling, eyes scanning, breath shallow—divine gifts possessed her. Arrows shot by her, but she was too quick. At her feet, at her chest, at her arms, the arrows came as messengers of death, but no such arrow met their mark. Running, bow held tight, she looked at the courtyard wall that led upward—a towering distance, thirty feet or greater in measure. She looked to the crevices in the perfect stonework, and she looked to the reliefs and carvings which covered the garden walls with stories of glory and divinity. One foot ahead of her, she sprang forward, lupine claws out, and threw herself against the wall.

Clinging to the arm of a king, she pulled herself up, finding the carving of a god’s horned cap. She found her foot on the cutting of an arrow in the wall, and pushed further and further upward. People, stars, giant insects—the artisanship of the Isklana was her ladder to carnage. The bowmen were still trying to hit her, but so pressed against the wall their aim had worsened. When one threatened to hit her, she would leap to another cropping, continuing to scale the wall. There was no force which could stop her—she was a wolf on the hunt, eyes bloodshot with the rage of Ashareh. She sprang up onto the wall, the five archers stunned and petrified as they looked on at her. The demigoddess didn’t wait for them.

Pulling the bowstring, she let fly an arrow, tearing the arm off an archer far to the back. He would bleed to death, it was one of the five down. The others retaliated, letting their arrows sing as they ran further and further back along the stretch of wall. Divine eyes guided her, the arrows whizzing by her, the distance between her and the archers closing. Nevertheless, mortality warned her, an arrow which whizzed by grazing her neck with a painful friction. She was in a killing range now, and one misstep could mean her life. Her arrows flew once more, another one hitting the chest of an archer and reducing him to a crumpled corpse. Four now remained.

The gap continued to close, arrows flying, Zarika weaving between the hungry jaws of death. When her arrows flew, an archer would collapse dead. One struck a man in the neck, tearing the flesh so perfectly, it had left a hole while his head bobbed up and down, unable to support the silver helmet which it held. Another arrow she took the liberty of loosing as one threatened her person. The arrow flew, splitting a destructive bolt in two, before lodging itself in the socket of a man. Six, then five, then four, then three, then two—until finally—but one archer remained.

She had seen men face her and truly collapse in the gaze of a demigod. During the war, a man had met her on the battlefield, shield in hand, sword of copper, and yet his face told of his terror. His lip had quivered against his faceplate, the horns seemed like they would shake off his head, and she’d even seen the stonework of the city underfoot him become wet with urine. It was a mercy to kill men like that, during the war. They had betrayed their queen, far above any usual punishment of their masters alone, and therefore paid an equal price. A coward like that, without the rage and passion of her Isklana masters, was no Isklana at all. But her foe now was Asharaean, and in an instance, she could see the reckless, beastial nature of her kind before her.

The last man, the final archer, took in his hands two arrows, holding them tightly, before lowering his body down with a wagging lupine tail. Zarika could hear the low growling, and could see his eyes, she knew they’d be filled with rage. Like a spring, the man leapt forward, arrows out and ready to stab her, leaping up as to rely on the downward pull of mother Kirinna for extra force when he’d pierce her. Yet, the piercing never happened. Zarika slid beneath him, the two, for a moment frozen in time, sharing their gaze—he in the air above, and she along the stonework below. Her bowstring pulled back, and before he knew what happened, the arrow had already slain him. Valiant, and foolish, her adversary collapsed behind her, slain as they all had been.

Rushing to the edge of the wall, she peered down and spied the action below. The swordsman hemmed in by Asharkar now lay dead with three spears still struck inside him, and where Ahrnakir had been facing two, he was now merely cleaning his blade. When she emerged, the Asharkar below looked up to her, and raised their spears, cheering for their victory. The guards which had been sent for, not long prior, also rushed into the courtyard now. If their enemy hadn’t failed by this point, their doom was surely spelled. For his part, Ahrnakir let out a howl, to which the other defenders followed—save for the Isklana guards.

She wanted to howl, to join the cheering men, but instead she found herself gripping her bow tightly. They tried to take the life of our Esharr. They tried to take the life of our Sharrwassatum. How did they get in? How did they get up here? Where did they come from? A myriad of questions swelled around her, but she couldn’t find an answer in any shadow she checked.

The shield wall around Ninkailis-ilum was beginning to fan out, maintaining their circle, backs turned toward her, while Zarika watched the princess shakily stand with a cloth wrapped around her eyes. A woman she’d never seen, dressed like someone at the Eshamatum of high esteem, guided the princess toward her Sawari attendants who trundled toward her. Zarika turned her gaze again, this time toward the queen. The Asharkar around her maintained two fanned out walls of shield and spear, waiting, watching, fearful. Yet as she looked down from the wall, her eyes met that of her queen. Maikana-Ketzani looked crazed—a profound shock written over her face.

Great Ashareh, what future has Ketzani written for us now…

[Aoyan]

Chapter 5

---

Iron Lady circled above them, free and graceful, riding the wind currents like a kite. She let out a pleased cry, a shrill thing that Lord Zoku had taken for pleasure at sailing the last spring gusts before the rains. Iron Lady. She had been given that name because many great falcons had been given that name by many great men, and because she was blue-gray in the daylight, as if a cloak of dusted iron feathers drew her figure.

Zoku watched her from horseback, as keen as she watched the world below her, knowing that one day she would take one of the currents to the skies and never return. The thought saddened him. She was his prized bird, he had raised her from a chick.. For now, for this day, she remained above him—gliding above the party of hunters, waiting. Zoku led his horse through the meadowlands, Lord Ishii and their small retinue right behind. They hunted the mountains just outside Kawanakami, where the forests and fields proved lush with game. As it had to be, for the nobles of the capital needed hunting grounds, and so the mountains for a hundred li in each direction were reserved for their use only. It was the sole spot in the realm where the commonfolk were forbidden to take game, so the lowborn of Kawanakami town ate only fish flesh from the rivers.

There were other reasons that the commoners did not venture up here. For Kawanakami had been built in the shadow of Mount Tola, and the slopes and surrounding forests were under the guard of a powerful mountain spirit, Tolakobo, who was said to banish demons and monsters from his domain. Mountain spirits were fearsome things, red-faced and wrathful, and few dared risk their anger, so the people preferred one as a protector than an enemy. Zoku preferred neither, for he doubted the reality of the tale. Instead, he had gone through the traditional motions of petitioning the court to allow the hunting, which had always been done through the high priest, so that an offering could be made to the spirit and the trip be left in peace. That morning, Lord Haka had proved irritating as ever, and nearly refused the grant. Zoku dreamed of strangling the fool, watching life leave his laughing blue eyes, but now all that frustration had drained from him. He had regained his tranquility, as he so often had, letting his birds soar.

“Beautiful morning, neh?” Ishii spoke up behind him.

It was, and Zoku slowed his horse to let his hunting companion ride alongside him. They pushed leisurely through mountain meadows of gold rush and silver grass. To all sides sat ancient forests of beech and cedar, and like in all places outside the cities and villages, if one were to sit in the stillness there—something would come to watch. This morning, beaters had long been at work flushing the game from the undergrowth, and when he listened, Zoku could hear their calls to each other on the air.

“Yes.” Zoku finally replied. He tasted the air. “The calm. The rains will be upon us in less than a fortnight.”
“Then the campaign. You leave the capital tomorrow?”

“Of course.” Zoku turned, studying his partner.. Ishii wore gray hunting silks to match Zoku’s brown. Both men sported a trail hat, like a spearhead leaf bent down the spine, which concealed the face when one looked away. Ishii’s attention was on his bird—a massive marsh eagle, which jerked its hooded head nervously. The two hunters had to be flown separately, least they combat each other, and that was a fight Zoku was not sure Iron Lady would lose. The eagle was as powerful as they came, bulky, strong, but slow. A weak man had no hope of flying her. Yet Iron Lady was nimble, graceful, and a true killer. She lusted in the hunt, Zoku knew, and other birds were her natural prey. He laughed inwardly. “I need to prepare my forces. Azichi requires time to manage, and I am to take my grandson with me this year. It should be a good campaign, but, his Radiance’s wish to have all Inari in five years is troubling.”

Ishii’s face lit up, his eagle shifting at something unseen on his arm. He reached over and steadied it with a gentle hand. “You think so? I also, Zoku-go. We are to do in five what our father’s could not do in a hundred.”

“Yes. We will need a strong leader to do it.” Zoku said. “I suppose that is why his Radiance wants to make this new general position. You covet it, don’t you?”

Ishii froze. High above, Iron Lady called down a cry as her gaze honed in on an area between forest and field where a beater was underbrush. Something was going to move. “Why did you invite me to this hunt, Zoku-go? To play games? To scheme like the court is nothing but a plaything?” his tone had grown icy, suddenly far removed from that of the previous night.

Zoku laughed. “No, Lord Stone. No. I invited you simply to enjoy the mountain air and some company before war comes. I have no time or patience for games. There are many in the court who treat it like a toy, certainly. A few of them are foxes, yet others weasels, and the majority rats. Filled with low cunning and treacherous temperaments. I simply speak what I see. Why would you not desire the new position? As court constable you are as close to a singular commander as we have, and your ancestry is deserving of a much higher position than you hold.”

Ishii balked, then thought long before responding. “In truth, yes. Though it is not the specifics I care for, nor what you believe. Only that I have been close to the Willow Emperor since childhood, and I have been raised in the Hollyhock Court. I know this country and its people as well as anyone, and I am senior among the peers. I could do so much more for us if I held greater command. So much more good. Lord Wisteria sits in his silken halls at Momoyama, believing himself above everyone else. Even you were subject to his horrible etiquette, Zoku-go.”

“Indeed.”
“And you, well, I mean no disrespect, but you sit atop the great fortress at Azichi. I believe you mean well, Zoku-go, I do. But it is hard to accurately see the needs of the realm from so high up. Much easier down in the swamps. That is why I want the position.”

“Noble.” Zoku said, stroking his trimmed mustache. “Yes. I believe you may be the most honorable man in the modern court, Ishii-go. Yet I fear honor will not be enough to crush the Hairy Ones and take Inari. Not by far. Yet I agree with you. Yes. I agree.”

“Then will you help me, Zoku-go? Help me strengthen our realm?”

Zoku turned to speak when their conversation was interrupted. Iron Lady let out a cry of excitement. A beater had pushed a grouse from a patch of silver grass, and the animal stumbled in panic out into the open. Zoku brought his horse to a halt with a horse press of his sandals to her flank. This was the moment he had been waiting for all morning. Iron Lady spotted her query instantly, and shot upward like an arrow to gain height, then leveled off. She hovered for a moment, gliding upon the upper currents, her eyes searching hungrily for her victim. Then, when she had spotted it, her shadow narrowed. The stoop.

The grouse, vaguely aware of the mortal danger dashed towards a copse of brush and tree, desperately seeking shelter. It shouted cries of surprise as it jostled across the ground, focused on the beater that had chased it out, oblivious to the real threat high above. Iron Lady aimed.

The falcon dived, slimming as it cut through the air, faster than anything produced by the gods for the mortal world. Like a blue-gray dart, she hurdled towards the earth quicker than a blink and instantly she slid above her prey, talons outstretched. The grouse slid towards the trees, aware that safety lay only a few feet away. A shadow passed over, and it was too late.. A storm of feathers and cries flew up as Iron Lady latched onto the bird. As quickly as it began, it had ended, and Zoku rode gleefully over to the sight. He dismounted, grasping the lure in his hand as he sauntered over to her. The falcon was ripping as fresh blood poured red and crimson, drunk eagerly by the earth. “Here beauty.” Zoku said, dangling the lure. Obediently, Iron Lady quelled her bloodlust and hopped off her kill triumphantly. She chittered in satisfaction, then slid low to the ground, watching her master. Zoku lowered himself and dangled the lure again. “Here beauty” his voice was soft, gentle, just as she had been trained on. The bird walked to him, then grasped onto his arm.

Zoku took the long bronze blade of his hunting knife and sliced a morsel from the grouse, feeding it to his sterling weapon with pride. She was his favorite bird.
“I will help you, Ishii-go.” he said. “But I fear you will not be enough to tame Inari. My house may only be the second son descendents of Emperor Soyu, but I am master of Azichi, and I have the greatest experience on the field under my belt. I have also paid in blood for our gains in Inari. With all due respect, it would be better for me to lead our forces on the islands.”

He watched as Ishii sidestepped his mare hesitantly. The eagle on his arm again startled at something and this time the white-bearded lord was less gentle in calming it. “Would that not defeat the purpose, Zoku-go?”

“No.” Iron Lady leaped from his arm, taking wing before Zoku could stop her. The falcon ascended rapidly, her desire for the kill unsatiated. Zoku grumbled, but Ishii was too attentive to the conversation at hand to notice his turn had been lost. “No, it will not.” Zoku continued, swinging himself onto his horse.

“How?” Ishii asked suspiciously.

Zoku did not answer immediately, instead turning in irritation to watch his falcon climb the currents. She did not often misbehave, and there was a sinking feeling in his chest that this might be the time she finally flew off into the horizon. How he dreaded that moment. Yet he reminded himself that such was inevitable, as inevitable as life and death, and that tranquility could only be won in the moment. He sighed, his face shifting from frustration back to lackadaisical calm.
“For one, Ishii-go, is it not our duty to his Radiance to see his vision complete? I am best suited to command our troops on Inari, and we will need that to achieve the ambition. Secondly, since your goal is the noble one of improving the realm, your own glory is irrelevant, yet you still need position. I am minister of the left by fortune of the gods—and my daughter—I require no more rank or glory. If position and closeness to his Radiance is the key to your plans, then why not marry Prince Mei to an Ishii? So much easier than this command nonsense. You still have a daughter, do you not?”

Ishii watched him closely, then a shadow passed over his face. It grew long, solemn, old. “Yes,” he replied. “Just the one.”

Zoku knew this already. He had known that Ishii’s family, including his wife and sons, had been killed by an outbreak of the white pox. All except his youngest daughter.

“Then marry her to Prince Mei. She will become consort of the first rank when he ascends, your position will then be like that of Katsuya’s, and close enough while his Radiance yet lives. Yes, so much easier than command.”

“I had not considered that before, Zoku-go. My daughter is… a widow, older than the crown prince by eight or so winters. She never leaves Myobu. Are you sure that would even be an auspicious match?”
“Why not? I see no better match. Ancient house to the shining gem of the court, no? None of my grandchildren are old enough. Lord Wisteria may have someone up his sleeve, no doubt he does, but a pox on another Katsuya sitting as minister of the right. I will sponsor the match, promote it when speaking with his Radiance. I see no better fit, and it achieves your plans. In return, I ask only that your forces support my own on the islands.”

Ishii studied him, ruminating over what was being suggested to him. Taking much longer than Zoku would have liked. Yet the time passed in distraction as he looked upward again to see Iron Lady above them—much to his eternal relief. She glided above, as good falcons do, watching again for another morsel.

“A fair offer, no?” Zoku asked again, pressing his horse closer to Ishii.

“I—”

Their talks were again interrupted by the hunt. Iron Lady let out a burst of short, sharp kaks which resonated with warning and venom. Zoku’s watch shot upward. The falcon cried again, angrier than the last, and he saw it. Above the treetops before them flew a fat silver-backed hawk. The bird was seemingly oblivious to the others in the area, and glided low. It watched the earth. Zoku grasped his lure tightly, contemplating a run to retrieve his falcon, but he knew by her warnings that Iron Lady would not obey. A bead of sweat formed at his brow in the spring sun, and he could do nothing but watch.

The hawk was twice and a half the size of the falcon, wide of wing and gray around. Despite the sound, it still took no notice of the smaller bird, which now had decided her course and shot upward again. Dashing towards the sun, Iron Lady positioned herself high above, just as she had always done. She found the hawk cruising below, and then narrowed her wings. Stooping. Just as with the grouse, she slimmed and dashed downward at incredible speed. All around to witness were transfixed.

Like a god of the wind, the small falcon pounced upon the hawk with fury, knocking it with a horrible thud. The hawk screeched, lost balance in the air as feathers and blood shot up, then tumbled trying to regain flight. Iron Lady curved upward again, preparing for another dive. The hawk did not turn to fight, but instead dashed away as quickly as it could manage—screaming all the while. Ishii and the watching beaters clapped in awe. Zoku pulled his lure, waving it in the air as frantically as he could, knowing the falcon would seek the kill above all else. He could not stomach to risk her, not like this. Iron Lady saw him, but remained at her height, kaking her rage frantically. Then, as her training set in, she let the hawk fly away—shaken— and then floated downward onto the ground. She chirped as Zoku retrieved her, this time sliding her hood firmly over her head. He wanted to let her gorge herself on the grouse for her show this day, but the selfishness in him won over his pride and he secured her to his arm.

Ishii rode up beside him, eagle on his arm. “What you suggest is a fair and just deal, Zoku-go. I see no reason why we should not pursue it.”

“Excellent.” Zoku said. “Then we have an alliance.”

Ishii’s marsh eagle began beating its great wings, having reached the height of its tantrum during the battle between Iron Lady and the hawk. It screamed and lifted Ishii’s arm upward with great weight. Ishii grunted and quickly slipped its hood off, releasing the talon straps now that Zoku’s falcon had been secured. The eagle pushed up into the air, finally free, gusting into the sky with a roar of wind beneath its feathers.

That eagle never came back.

[The Parathylgonial Sea]

TALES FROM THE PARATHYLGONIAL SEA PART IV

The Beast from Nightmares

Location: Hesperorneo, Parathylgonia

---

The gentle melody of rain colliding with the burgundy-red jungle soil grew increasingly irritating for the soldiers, especially so given that they had spent the last several days deep within the heart of the remote central rainforests of Hesperorneo without any reliable shelter, or fresh, dry clothes. Dehan's chosen men were presumed to be the hardiest there was throughout the entirety of the Empire, they were men built to withstand even the most violent of thunderstorms, the thickest of forests, and the fiercest of jungle beasts that stalked their every step. In the opening days of their journey to track and locate the hidden Qenurthial settlements, they had lived up to their reputation as the champions they were purported to be. They sung the signature chants of the Empire's military, eagerly slayed the jungle creatures they consumed for their evening meals, and bantered and joked with one another like they were back at the barracks, and not in the heart of a jungle known for its high kill rate. Now that the jungle had unleashed all its power upon their weary souls, however, they regularly debated their ability to conquer and tame the untouched wilderness of Central Hesperorneo like they had at the start of their journey.

"Did I recruit you men from an orphanage? Or did I not choose you because you are the toughest soldiers around. Traders traverse these jungles every day without whining about it. If they can do it, so can you!" Dehan shouted to his exhausted crew. It was his job to be the source of inspiration for his men, he'd never declare defeat, not even on the verge of death, but he had to admit, the jungles were not for the fainthearted, they were taking its toll even on his soul of iron.

"You said we'd only be a few days, I had promised my family a swift return, and now I had to tell them it will be weeks! Assuming I am fortunate enough to even make it out of here alive." One of the soldiers had responded to him. Akhteno, he believed his name was, he had trouble remembering names.

"Sometimes, as a soldier, we are put in unexpected predicaments. We should be prepared for that. If you want to be a part of the Empire's most elite of men, then you must know you will not be able to adhere to a strict schedule at all times."

"You said this was only a resupply to a trader's outpost. If that is all this is, then why haven't we been following established routes? And where are the supplies?" Another soldier inquired.

"Listen, men. I think it's time I tell you why we're really here." He knew it was only a matter of time before he must tell his men the truth for why they've travelled as far as they have into Hesperorneo's secretive interior, there was never a path forward without honesty. Not that Prince was ever one to enjoy to keep secrets, especially from fellow soldiers, but he was given little options. If he told them his true intentions, then there was little chance he could find enough members to complete his quest, a quest the Empress had practically demanded of him.

"It's true, I'm afraid. We are not here to resupply any outpost. You're here because your Empress has a special task for you, for me, for all of us. A task she will reward you with handsomely, if you're tough enough to survive, that is."

"And what's that? And why couldn't you tell us before we came here?" The same soldier replied.

"We're here to track and subdue Hesperorneo's most mysterious of beasts,. The last thing standing between the Empire and total subjugation of Hesperorneo, is the Qenurthial. We track them, locate them, and then, and if they refuse to bend to our will, we unleash the full might the Empire is capable of upon them. Like all barbarians, they must be put in their place. That is our job to do, and may the gods grant us the strength to fulfill it." Drehan sighed, taking a moment to release the restlessness that stirred inside him. "I would have told you the truth sooner, but I feared your anxiety about the Qenurthial would get the best of your rational judgement. "

"You want us.... to subdue something we don't even know exists? And even if they are real, how do you expect the few of us to be compared with the entire might of the Empire? We are strong men, but we are nothing without the full backing of the crown."

"Give yourselves some credit. You are capable, that's why I chose you. Besides, we are not here to singlehandedly win a war behalf of the Empire, we are to find the Qenurthial, and make first contact. It is a multistaged process."

"It doesn't feel like you chose us, it feels like you deceived us."

"This task is not a curse, in fact, it is a blessing. You should be grateful that I 'deceived' you. For you are fortunate enough to be the select few who will be part of a new dawn for the Empire. They will write legends about the men who bravely journeyed deep within the forbidden heart of Hesperorneo, and stood face to face with the savage beasts who lurk these forests."

"Assuming they're even out here."

"Have a little faith. Look to our ultimate ancestor. If Syr relented as he crossed the great eastern deserts, then we would have no great empire to fight for. This is nothing compared to the journey he made."

"So you lied to us, and you expect to us to continue to blindly obey you? Why should we do that?"

"Well, you're free to turn around and head home, it's a few days in that direction." Dehan raised his hand and pointed north. "Now, there's not much I can, or rather I am willing to do to stop you from leaving. You can head north, without a guide, for no compensation for your efforts. Or you could stay, claim your reward, which I promise, will be quite substantial, and do the job the Empire asks of you, like a true soldier."

There were more than a few disgruntled men that made their displeasure known to the group after that, but even though Drehan gave them the illusion of choice, there was no other viable option other than to follow him, to leave without their only guide meant certain death. One cannot survive as a soldier for long without being smart enough to know how to make sound decisions. Now that most of the talking had begun to settle down, and his crew had unleashed their frustrations, the sounds of tropical birds singing and calling began to fill the forest floor as they made their further into the dense jungle. The resident flying creatures of Hesperorneo were not particularly gruesome, at least not ones Drehan had seen. Drawing back on previous escapades to the jungle island, however, somewhere he had yet to encounter it was all too probable some winged monster flew within the skies, ready to pounce upon their unsuspecting souls. Not that the possibility even frightened him anymore. There was enough very real creatures here that desired nothing more than to tear him and his men limb from limb and drink the blood from their dismembered corpses that even if they existed, it was only one more beast to add to the many that wished to consume the flesh still clinging to their bones. Maybe that's why he was sure the Qenurthial were real, even if he had never gotten the opportunity to actually verify their existence. There was a seemingly countless number of monsters within these forests, one of them just had to be the Qenurthial. Even if they weren't exactly as described, there had to be something adjacent to their description.

"You know, this island, it's beautiful. I've never seen plants so... pretty." Akhteno said, interrupting the relative silence.

"Don't get to close to the 'pretty' plants. Like everything out here, they would like to eat you." Drehan said.

"What? Man-eating plants? Are you serious?" He said in shock.

"Aye, quite so. Seen it myself. The prettiest flowers will swallow you whole if you give them the chance to. It's the red ones in particular you gotta watch out for."

"You really should have prepared us more before we came here."

"There's simply no place in the Empire that can prepare you for this wretched hell. The only way is to experience it for yourself."

He felt a twinge of guilt for bringing men he genuinely cared for to land so dangerous. The stakes were too high, and the he had the Empress' hand in marriage on the line. His rationale for doing what he did was, at least to his standards- completely justified. Yet that did little to subside the feeling that was always at the back of his mind. In his few travels here, he had always seen at least one person fall victim to Hesperorneo's many hazards. Whether it was the rough, mountainous terrain that meant one broken bone or twisted ankle left you stranded and left for dead, the nightmarish, man-eating beasts that were willing to go toe to toe with even the most muscled of men, or the diseases that only those who travel deep within the island's thick rainforests ever seemed to be afflicted with, there was always someone who perished before they could return home. Maybe that was just life. Death is always lurking behind us, ready to claim its next casualty. Any soldier should know there is risks involved on any mission. Perhaps not to the extent they had originally believed, but nevertheless they should be aware that a little danger is simply a part of the life of a soldier, so then why did the guilt remain? Maybe, he ultimately did feel wrong for deceiving them here. It would be wishful thinking to assume that all of those whom wouldn't have agreed to journey to Hesperorneo had they known the full truth would be fortunate enough to all make it out alive. Someone's blood will be on hands, he thought. The only question was: whose?

"While we're talking about what's dangerous, don't eat anything you're not familiar with. You can never be sure what is and isn't poisonous."

"What if we've never eaten anything here before?" An inquisitive soldier responded with.

"Then ask me."

As they journeyed further to the island's heart, the plants got larger, more plentiful, obscuring their path forward along the jungle river. Drehan had never been this far inland before. Any assumption on an item's potential edibility, would have to be guesswork. However, he had no desire to let his crew know he was only making guesses. Better to spare them the anxiety, he thought.

"We should have brought a boat. We could've traveled via the river, it'd be a lot faster, and a lot less demanding of us." An unidentified soldier had said, like he was the only person smart enough to know what boats were. These were brutes who knew how to kill, and do it well, not seasoned philosophers, Drehan supposed.

"If we had used a boat, the rapids would have destroyed it long before we got this far, we'd drown, and then we'd be dead. Please, leave the logistics to me. That is my job, after all."

The silence had returned. For some, perhaps silence is the result of an uncomfortable awkwardness, like a camel in the jungle, some things, and some people, just cannot function together. For them, however, there was security in the quietness. It was, in its own way, a method to signal their cohesion as a unit. If there was nothing to say, then there was nothing to correct. The bonds between them may be unspoken, but they were as strong as iron.

The dense jungle would eventually give way to an isolated clearing trapped between two halves of treacherous forest, Dehan immediately noticed the oddity. I was almost too convenient. Hesperorneo is not a place that would grant mercy to even starving children on the verge of death, let alone seasoned veterans like themselves. This was no gift to them, Dehan felt it in his gut.

"This seems like a decent place to make camp for the night. It's almost nightfall, we shouldn't let a good spot to rest go by. Especially a place that's dry."

Dehan said nothing in response. Every shadow in Hesperorneo contained hidden dangers, he had a duty to ensure the clearing was not a concealed threat in disguise. He may sound like a deeply paranoid man for inspecting the safety of a simple clearing in the forest, but in Hesperorneo, paranoia was a virtue. No one died on this island hell by being too cautious.

"I'm not sure yet. We might be too exposed here."

"What's the problem? Who could we possibly be 'exposed' to?"

"Well, one can never be sure when the Qenurthial will strike. Maybe it's them who's been searching for us."

"We've spent days out here and have seen no sign of them. I think the odds are in our favour for just one night."

"I won't rest here unless I know it's absolutely safe. You haven't seen what I've seen. Your worst nightmares will look like daydreams compared to the sleeping beasts of Hesperorneo."

In the corner of Dehan's eye, a cluster of ivory-white markings found themselves tucked slightly beneath the dirt. Upon first glance, he had presumed they were just the roots of some strange, exotic tree he hadn't yet encountered in the relatively unexplored jungles of Central Hesperorneo. Despite his knowledge of native flora being rather limited, he was experienced enough to know it would be the wiser choice to err on the side of caution and inspect the mystery substance trapped underneath the soil. "Caution is a virtue" he had to remind himself. He crouched down, and attempted to grasp the unidentified material in his hands, it quickly became apparent that it was not firmly placed within the earth, rather buried lightly below a thin layer of dirt that sparingly shielded its exposed exterior. He attempted to release it from the clutches of the soil, as he lifted it from the ground, he quickly realized that he was correct to assume that it was not some root, as it was completely detached from anything that potentially lie below the ground. Dehan gave the mystery object a swift examination, to procrastinate was not a virtue in these jungles. It did not take him long to identify the ivory-tinted substance, however, it was obvious that these were the bones of some animal that had died here. Dehan didn't immediately think much of it. It wasn't unusual or particularly frightening to find deceased animals in the wilderness, given enough time one will find plenty. For just a moment, Dehan relaxed. Maybe he was just being paranoid. That feeling would not last, as it didn't take much time for Dehan's focus to change to the glimmering objects scattered in the dirt adjacent to where he found the bones. He grasped them in his hands, giving it a quick inspection. Dehan was certainly no expert on the local fauna, but he was smart enough to know these were scales, rather large scales. Suddenly, it became clear to him that this was no ordinary clearing.

"We need to get out of here, now." He said, the urgency clear in his voice.

"What's the problem?" A soldier inquired.

"This is not some clearing, it's someone's lair, and we probably do not want to find out whose. Unless, that is, you want to camp inside some beast's stomach. If that is not in your plans, however, I suggest we leave, immediately."

"Why do you think that? It can't be true literally everything out here is dangerous."

"Look at the ground. See these bones? See those scales? This is nothing but a dinner plate for some cursed creation of Brygundai. I have no plans to stay here. We are to leave, and you are to obey me. There are no more debates about it."

His men didn't inquire any further after that. Good soldiers know when to shut up, and when to question their leadership, Dehan was grateful they were smart enough to know this was not an appropriate time to do the latter. It's not like he enjoyed causing his men any discomfort, they've had their fair share since they arrived here days ago. Sometimes, however, the best option is the one that causes the most pain.

"We'll find somewhere else to make camp. Something will come up before nightfall."

Dehan did not look forward to further trekking through the jungle. The sun's light was already fading increasingly. Even in normal circumstances, it was difficult to navigate the dense bush underneath the canopy of the trees that shielded the sun from wholly reaching the forest floor. Now that it was beginning to set below the horizon, their travels had become all the more troublesome. The repetitiveness of pushing aside the leaves and foilage of jungle plants obsuring their path, the mud weighing down his leather shoes for days on end, the constant threat of some wretched beast ready to drag him away and slaughter him far from home without the means to adequately defend himself, was taking a toll on his psyche. It's not that he was a man without resiliency, it's that he was not a fool either. He knew that it would be the biggest accomplishment of his nearly three decades of life if he made it out of these hellish forests with him and his crew alive. The thought weighed on him immensely.

"I guess I'll scratch 'trader' off my list of post-military professions. Can't say I want to ever come back here." One of the men said, interrupting the silence.

"It's not that bad, the pay's good, and you're not always in Hesperorneo." Dehan responded.

"I wonder how they get people to come back here? Hell, if it was to me we'd abandon this horrible island already. Not sure why the Empire even wants it so much."

"It has a lot of things rich people like. There's your answer." Some soldier from the back shouted out.

"Hey, Dehan, didn't you came back here? What could possibly have made you do that?" Another soldier replied.

"I told you, the Empress has a mission. She knew I was the best there is, so she chose me."

"Yeah, but, why did you agree? We were decieved, you willingly accepted. Don't think there's much that could've made me want to return here."

"She made me a pretty good promise. It was not something a wise man could refuse."

"Wait, you actually spoke to the Empress? Was she as bad as they say?"

"Bad? Is there something I should've known about her? Before I came here I spent years fighting barbarians in Odzenapoleo. Didn't catch much about the ruckus of her succession out there."

"You don't know?"

"Know about what? She was a little.... grumpy, let's say. Other than that, she didn't seem unusual, at least for the standards of the recent emperors."

"They say the Emperor did not die of natural causes, and that she killed him so she could take the throne for herself. And then she had to kidnap her sister and locked her away somewhere hidden so she wouldn't usurp her rule."

"Sounds like tales. People always like to make stuff up."

"Maybe, but why did her sister mysteriously disappear after the Emperor died? Gotta say, it's a little suspicious."

"Don't know, don't care. I'm here to do a job, and when it's done, it'll be me she marries."

"You're going to be emperor then? So that's why you agreed."

"Let's wait until we make it out of her alive to speak in assurances."

Before any conversation could continue, Dehan noticed footprints branding the mud. Four claws, approximately three times the size of his foot, he quickly realize these footprints were not made by any human, or any other innocent creature for that matter. Their size, the massive clawmarks, all gave away the animal that left their trace etched in the mud was certainly not something to be trifled with. He waved at his men to signal their attention, and raised a finger to his lips, indicating their continued silence. Their pace became significanlty rushed, those footprints were fresh, and he did not want to make any encounters with the local wildlife out here. As quietly as his feet would allow him to, he glided through the forest floor.

"What is that?" An unidentified soldier shouted from behind him. Dehan's first instincts were to chastise the man that dare to speak when they were in the presence of danger that was immense as they were currently in, upon turning around, he could see the creature that caused the soldier to break the ordered silence for himself, and then he knew, that the man would get all the chastising he needed. A reptilian beast the size of an elephant towerd over him, fangs as long as swords protruded from its mouth, fins coloured in red and blue adorned with spikes stuck out from its back. He quickly realized their attempts at silence were ultimately fruitless, the beast had already been stalking them the moment they entered the clearing. He briefly pondered how something so big could possibly be so quiet. Before that thought could be completed however, the monster grabbed the soldier with its mouth, the screams from the man were terrifying, something that would haunt Dehan's nightmares until the day his soul left his body, he knew it in that precise moment. There was not much time to consider his future nightmares, though, and he jumped into action.

"There's one of him, and ten of us. I ask you to be the brave soldiers I believe you are, and grab your swords, and kill this damn thing."

Drehan released his sword from its clutches, and dove towards the beast of nightmares, swiftly making his way closer in a vain attempt to save a member of his crew, that he likely knew, was already dead. The creature swiped its front arms in the air in an attempt to knock Drehan to the ground, Drehan dodged the attack by sliding underneath the scaly limb and using the momentum to drive himself foward. While the beast was staggered from the thwarted bid at subduing him, he plunged his sword into its side, causing a high-pitched squeal from the beast. Despite causing the reptilian monster noticeable pain, the soldier remained in its mouth, Dehan twisted the sword firmly within its belly, trying to do something, anything, to rescue the man trapped between its jagged teeth. It had no effect, and the beast was able to strike him with its arm, leaving him face down in the mud. Though fortunately for Dehan, the beast from hell would get little relief, as the soldiers had finally mustered the courage to face the monster head-on, as they shouted in anticipation for their upcoming battle. The bonds as strong as iron could not be broken so easily.

The soldiers surrounded the beast as it attempted to escape between the gaps in their formation. As a unit, we were formidable, the most frightening of jungle beasts could be no match for them at their strongest. As Dehan rose from the earth, the soldiers plunged their swords into its flesh, the beast was now visibly distressed, its roars and screams permeating through the forest floor. Eventually, the beast relented, and dropped the soldier from its grasp, knocking a few soldiers over as it fled into the bush. Dehan had no time to celebrate the victory, however. hH rushed over to the wounded man, and held him in his clutches. Blood plastered his face, his breath ragged and irregular.

"What do we do?" A soldier asked, standing over him.

Drehan didn't respond, not because he was too occupied with attending to the injured soldier, but because he had no answer. What could he say? Only the gods could heal a person as wounded as the man before him.

"I...I...I, don't know." The words struggling to slip off his tongue.

Drehan could tell the soldier was trying to speak, but the blood trapped in his mouth prevented any intelligible words. His hair, face, clothes, were all drenched in the blood the creature spilled from his body, covering Drehan in his blood as held him in hands. He remained silent, only staring into eyes, he didn't have the heart to make false promises, the man would die in this jungle, and never get the opportunity to see his loved ones ever again. He knew someone's blood would end up on his hands, he was not prepared for that to be literal. The soldier's life escaped his body, and the only thing Drehan had to be grateful for? He did not have to leave a dying man alone.

[Aoyan]

Chapter 6

---

Baekye stood waiting for his guest in the center of the open, yet petite complex—the stone ways and manicured grounds before him. Kummi was an inherently quiet place, half-sacred, half-aristocratic, and certainly ancient. The spot had stood here in infinite importance before the Deluge, before the Usurper sparked the war among the gods. It had probably stood here a thousand years before that, though the buildings had undoubtedly not. They said the structures that stood here now were built by the Ailur more than six centuries ago, but Baekye had always found it curious even when he was a boy that those structures looked more Yan than Ailur.

This morning, those buildings were alive with the silent workings of the priesthood. Well, none of them were real priests. They served no gods or spirits, but they did serve the oracle, and so it was that in their iconic straight robes of white and black reed hats with tall tops and wide brims did men and women both prepare the grounds as they did every day. Baekye, as head priest, would not allow them to make a fuss about the visitor from the capital. He never did, even though visitors were a rare and exciting prospect. He watched as one girl pruned the limbs of a cherry, stripping the dazzling white streamers from its branches in preparation for the coming storms. Old man Tanaka, who had been old even when Baekye was a boy, chipped away meticulously with shears at the yard grass. Yet another boy brushed the window shutters on the nearby building with fresh lacquer. None of them acted any different than they had any other day. Such was their blessing—to be here, the lucky few separated from hunger, war, and politics.

They would not risk their position by defiance, a position most of them had gained as children. For while slavery had never existed in Aoyan in law, it was not unheard for children to be bought and sold. In the case of the people at Kummi, most of them had been left, Baekje among them. Chosen among many because they possessed supposed powers, or because they were diligent, or simply for unknown reasons. So many had been left, and so many were pushed out to orphanages or monasteries, but a few… those few had been chosen by the oracle, and one did not consult the oracle often. Baekje knew then, that it must be that all men were slaves to fate.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the arrival of an enclosed palanquin, pulled directly into the yard by servants who set it down gently onto the stoneway. From it emerged two figures—the first a man, the second a woman. Both of them wore mismatched patterns that worked together despite the fact. The man was adorned in a short summer overshirt and airy pants though the midyear sweats had not yet come. The woman however bore layers of heavy cloth, as if she was chilled by the morning air. A square of thin silk formed a mask over her face, but the man’s identity was clear by his smiling blue eyes.
“Lord Haka” Baekye bowed. Haka sauntered over to him with his horseman stride. The woman followed, hands clasped in front of her and small of step—gentle and delicate, like a flower. Haka returned all formalities and spoke.

“High priest. His Radiance thanks you for the invitation to the oracle, naturally, he is unable to leave the capital but—”

“But he sends you in his stead.” Baekye said, all too familiar with the procedure. The emperor never came to the oracle himself. Maybe it had been different in an age before any living man could recall, but now this was the order of things. His Radiance prefers the counsel of Ailur soothsayers Beakye thought scornfully. There were dozens of so-called sages with pointed ears. Each could foretell the future according to none but themselves. Yet the oracle was different. Everyone knew it. What was spoken by her was natural law, destined, irrevocable. Even emperors were forced to listen when she called.

As Lord Haka was the Heartvine Court’s chief priest, the highest priest in the realm, that duty always fell to him—though the lord had never personally seen the oracle before. He was no stranger to Baekye, but he did not recognize the girl.

“This,” Haka began. There was a glimmer in his eyes, the birth of a smile on his lips. “Is my daughter, Amaya.”

As if he can read minds.

The girl bowed, softly bending her knees. When she rose, her head tilted, letting locks of straight raven hair that came down to her jaw tilt with it. She did not speak, her mask covering all expression.

“An honor as always, lord priest and Amaya-ka. If you will follow me, the oracle has been awaiting arrival from the capital for some days now. She is… very eager.”

“Oh?”

Baekye didn’t respond, instead leading them through the grounds of the oracle site. He ignored the workers now, and they ignored him. The complexes at Kummi sat on flat ground, dotted with trees and orchards, except for a single slope where the land dipped down into a broad bowel of equally flat field. There was where they could find the oracle. As the group crested the ridge, the home of the seer became immediately apparent. It was not a building, not in the traditional sense, but a large earthen mound. The mound was circular on one side, and thinned into a neck that then fanned out sharply into the entrance, like the shape of a bell or the hole for a key. It stood taller than any of the wood-wrought buildings of the area by thrice. The whole thing was covered in a layer of grass, blending it with the rest of the earth.

Baekye led them down the slope of the hill and then across the treeless clearing. The priests had not adorned the home of the oracle with any frills or lavishments—she did not want it that way. Instead it stood as it had practically since it had been built an untold amount of ages ago. A few great boulders lay tossed across the grasses, but beyond this there was nothing but open land and the mound.

The group reached the entrance to the oracle—a cut slot in the ground at the base of the mound’s flared mouth, where dark stone steps lead down and in. Baekye motioned the guards aside and stepped down into the darkness. Here there was no light, neither from the sun nor lamps, and shadow claimed its dominion as quickly as any conqueror could. “Watch yourself.” he reminded, feeling his reed shoes bite onto the soil covered flooring. The way was simple. The mound consisted in its interior of a single large hallway, which pierced towards the center of the roundel at the end. The air had become cool and damp immediately, heralding their descent into a different world. Moisture clung to everything, and the dark was so complete, there was nothing to see. Yet Baekye knew that on the solstices, slots carved into the rock just so let sunlight illuminate the interior for a few minutes. That was how he knew his way so clearly—experience took him only so far.

As a boy, he hated this place with all his being. He dreaded it, had nightmares about it, yet this was the home of his master, the sole source of all his life’s privileges. The dread had long since faded, but even as a man grown and wise, the silence and pitch black wet of the mound still clung to his nerves like the cold. “Please, Haka-go, Amaya-ka, follow my voice straight ahead.” he said, reaching a hand behind him as a guide. It was only a minute or two before they came into the great chamber, but it felt like they had passed eons.
Baekye swore time passed differently once inside.

Once inside the center, the world opened up. Eyes adjusted to the black, but sunlight streamed weakly from unseen slots. Sight returned bleakley for everyone. The space was large, but not entirely open. Walls slick with moss and water curved around the center. Stone slabs portioned off sections but lay in ruin. To the far sides rested treasures of gold, covered in a blanket of dust and age, rotting in the damp. One’s breath misted in the cool. Baekye took them a few feet towards the center, where a pool of water sat still and dead at the foot of a raised stone box. A sinking feeling overtook the room, and even Baekye, who had done this once a year, could not help but want to flee. He could hear Haka calling upon the gods for protection quietly under his breath. Something moved.

It was enough to bring them near breaking, but Baekye fell to his knees and bowed. “Mistress,” he said, loudly. “It is your servant, bringing to you a representative from Tadan’s people.”

The movement increased, now clearly coming from the pool before them. The water rustled, awoken, unsettled. Baekye motioned forward, watching, and it was then that Haka passed his position onto the girl. The reasons for this were hidden to Baekye, who watched in surprise. It almost worried him, but he accepted the decision silently. Amaya stepped forward, her mask hiding all fear, all feeling. She knelt beside the pool. Moments later the water parted, there, just in front of her, and two yellow eyes peered up from the black. “Hello.” Amaya said, speaking for the first time. Her voice was gentle, feminine, but quivering.

The eyes studied her, unmoving slit pupils watched from below, surrounded by sickly moons that sat above the water. Then, after an eternity, the head rose up. Slick globes of damp hair framed an unfamiliar, alien face. The skin was green-gray, smooth, waterlogged. The nose flat, with two tiny nostrils flaring softly at the base. Monstrous as it seemed, it took Amaya only a few moments to clue in. “You’re a child!” she gasped. Baekye stifled a laugh.

“Not quite.” Baekye said. “Our mistress is certainly older than we could fathom. There has been an oracle here at Kummi for as long as Yan have dwelled the coast. Very likely before that.”

The creature did not speak, but looked up—round, almost beak-like mouth drawn into a tight line. She sat there, watching, studying. Then, a thin hand of elongated fingers reached out of the water and was offered forward. Amaya shifted nervously.

“Take her hand.” Baekye encouraged. “It is alright, it is what she wants.”

He watched as the girl put her own hand forward. The oracle reached up and grasped it. At first slowly, almost hesitantly, then fully, the gray slickness embracing Amaya’s soft pink skin. Baekye knew that feeling all too well—cold, moist, slimy. But it was a good sign, always a good sign. Then the oracle spoke.

Instantly Amaya lurched forward, then back, jerked this way and that, but did not speak. A trance overtook her. Baekye whipped his head back to Haka, who smiled, and nodded in assurance. He had never seen something like this happen, and his heart sank, unsure what the girl was doing. Unsure what these people, this clan of magicians and tricksters, might be up to. Surely, they would not harm his mistress? But the oracle spoke as if she noticed nothing.

It was a raspy, harsh, otherworldly voice, tinged with the lightness of a female’s tone.
“Tadan child.” she said, her mouth moving gently in the shadow. “Child of the fox, child of the sun. Call you, call you. Call you. Call youuu. Something stirs in places unseen. Destiny calls for all who walk an untested world.”

The oracle paused, then pushed back in the water nervously, still grasping the Haka girl’s hand. “He comes.” she said. Amaya screamed.

Lord Haka jumped forward, but Baekye stopped him, equally frightened but loyal to a fault. He could not let any harm befall his master. “What is happening?!” Haka bellowed.

“I don’t know, lord. But please remain calm.”

The screaming stopped. The oracle let her grasp go, sliding back further, then scanned the room with her eyes curiously. Amaya fell to one side, panting. Baekye pushed himself down, resting his forehead to the ground. “Thank you, mistress.” he said, letting the words echo through the chamber. The oracle watched him, then submerged beneath the depths. The water stilled.

Lord Haka rushed to his daughter, taking her in his arms, holding her upright. “I’m fine.” she said, voice weak. “But I’ll need help leaving.”

The girl’s father took no time lifting her up, propping one of her arms around his shoulder. Baekye stood. “Follow me, lord.” he said, leading them out by the hall they descended. The going was quick, and once they reached out of the steps, Baekye breathed and shuddered. He did so every time. The door down was truly the gate between two worlds, and this was the world of the living. The world of sunlight, and warmth. Birds, trees, grasses. People. A few more breaths and his tranquility returned. With it, his attention went to the girl, who was now standing on her own.

“Are you well, Lady?” he still could not see her face for the mask, wondering how it was she could see at all.

“Yes, thank you, I am fine.” she glanced about. “I will have much to report to his Radiance I should think. Much to report.”

---

The blood soaked the grit of the dirt path. First it was a stream of red, flowing, spreading, chasing the invisible canyons in the dust. Then it was a thick pool of black, drying and dying. Some cried, a few wailed, yet most simply stood quiet. Toshiro looked, eyes watery moons, mouth ajar. The most terrible feeling ripped at his stomach—the worst he would ever feel. He was too sick to wretch, too shocked to move. In the back of his mind, the tiniest spark of flame beckoned him to run, that danger lurked closer than it had ever come. That may have been the first time Lord Inoko called to him, but he was too young to understand. Too young to understand anything. He was even too young to sob, yet he was not too young to do so now—returning to that street in Azichi town.

“Toshi.” a voice called to him. “Toshi.”

He whirled, the world a blur. “Toshi.”

Toshiro opened his eyes. Instantly he recognized the rough carrying of the cart, the passing landscape, the glow of dusk. He grunted.
“Must you always wake me?” he asked, growling.

“You were crying.” Ame said, unphased.

A flash of anger overcame him, but he suppressed it, stirring from the viel of sleep. He breathed deeply, then spoke. “Ame, you need to let me rest.”

“I’ve been thinking.” she said, pausing to find her words. Toshiro watched her. The pykke sat on the edge of their cart, the one they paid for—in silver—to let them hitch a ride northward from Nakajima. The merchant who drove it wisely avoided the Tosando, a move Toshiro greatly appreciated, and had been on the move for a full day now. Ame swung her legs underneath the lip as she watched the sunset. She had her blue-black hair brushed over one eye, the tightly tied puff-tails on both sides hanging loosely down. Toshiro thought it looked more dull blue than black in the dusklight, and paired with her red skin, was a striking coloring. Her features were smooth, yet refined. Muscle toned her arms and legs, yet they remained soft, womanlike. Yellow cat’s eyes scanned the horizon, drinking in the fire. She was a beautiful girl for her age, whatever age that was, and a headache already pounced at Toshiro’s temples, anticipating the trouble he’d have in the distant future when—he stopped himself.

Enough of that! he reprimanded his own mind. You are NOT the girl’s father. You barely know her. Simply a stroke of good luck for her on the road.
He had to be honest with himself. He wouldn’t hide it any longer, ignore it. Something had to be done. Maybe he really should follow the armies east and return her to wherever she came from.

“I’ve been thinking,” she continued. “So what if the old man could read? He was one of your people. You need friends, Toshi.”

Toshiro leaned his head back and scoffed, trying to find as comfortable a resting position as possible. He kept his arms crossed, just as they were when he was awoken—his sword tucked up through them. “Not noble ones.” he said.

“So what if he was noble, huh? That doesn’t matter. You would have never known and then you’d still like him.”

“You don’t understand.”

“No, you don’t understand!” her fist pounded the side of the cart, her mouth bunching into a petulant knot.. Toshiro narrowed his eyes. He’d never seen a tantrum before. “I can tell he was a good man.” she continued. “I sense these things. He was a warrior of your dawn goddess, after all. Doesn’t that mark him among the most gallant?”

“You’re too young to get it.” Toshiro closed his eyes. “I was younger than you when I came to understand the world. You will in time too.” he could hear his own voice soften. “You will in time.”

“I know more than you think, Toshiro.”

He opened his eyes. She was staring at him, her expression unreadable. “You believe you’ve never met a noble who was good?”

“Never.”

“What about that old man, on the road south, with his troops? The one with the mountain on his banner, the one we fought with?”

“That man,” Toshi said bitterly. “Will cause the death of thousands, Ame. Remember this. Now be quiet so I can get some sleep. All this questioning. I liked you better when you were innocent. This…older you is obnoxious.”

That ended it, but only for time before Ame pounded loudly on the wood to signal a stop to the merchant. He rolled the cart to the side, then appeared moments later.

“I need to stretch my legs.” Ame said, hopping down.

“You ought to hurry, little miss. Next village is, oh, Yoshino I think and it will be dark soon. Have just a ways before shelter and I won’t drive in the dark.”

The merchant was a short lean man, smelling of the earth. His clothing was shabby, old, and he watched everything like a hawk with his scrunched face. When he spoke, a broken tooth left a black gap in the upper row. Toshiro did not trust him, but he didn’t trust anyone. Yet the man had taken their silver easily and caused no trouble nor asked any questions. He likely needed the silver, for his goods consisted only of some old silk and a dozen bags of rice. Only his horse seemed well kept.

“And you, master sword?” he asked Toshiro, undoubtedly thinking him some man of importance. “I’d take your chance now before it is gone.”

Toshiro grunted, then relented, stepping off the cart with tired legs. He followed Ame slowly as she walked off away from the roadway. She’d stop him if need be. But instead she simply took them a short distance through the trees that lined the path. The route the merchant took was a singular road, dirt only with all the bumps and holes it could muster. For some reason, he considered it safer than the main roads, for routes such as this only snaked through impoverished hamlets. It was true that the only thing they had to look at was trees, more trees, the occasional mountain hill, and a spattering of thatch covered village roofs. One such village sat tucked into a pine cluster to the left, the stilted houses hidden except for their angled tops. Ame stepped into one of their open planting fields and then froze.

At first Toshiro took it for a sudden chill. But her shaking grew more violent and rapid so quickly that he couldn’t miss it. In an instant the girl could hardly stand for the tremors.
“Toshi…” she whispered in an all too familiar tone. “kill...”

Like light pouring through a window just opened, the silvery flash of Toshiro’s blade caught the setting sun as it flew from its scabbard. Its point searched alongside Toshiro for the threat but there was nothing. Only the wind, the birds, the spring greenery. Yet Ame stood shaking. Toshiro carefully came up to her—one ear and eye open to any danger. The girl stood there, her mouth open, bearing her sharp incisors. This time, something was different. She not only shook more intensely, more extreme, but the usual excitement was not upon her. She relished in the warnings she gave, like a child about to set upon a hoard of sweets. But that was not there. Instead, a deep, guttural growl left her throat. “Destroy!”

Toshiro followed her gaze. How did I miss that! there, right in front of him in the field, was a massive splotch of blackened earth. Inside that splotch were gauges—long streaks of ripped earth where deeper charing took place. The whole site spanned nearly two hovels wide, and yet he only now noticed it. The rice shoots and grass on the outside was burned, ashed white, but the land inside the gauges had been turned into cinder and glass. Toshiro had never seen anything like it, never heard of anything like it. There was no smell, where fire or burning left the scent of embers in the air. No smoke. It must have been old, but it looked fresh. He’d have thought the farmers did it, burned something, if it were not for the pykke who snarled at the spot. Stepping closer was not in his playbook.

“Ame” he said, trying to pull her out. “Ame.”

He grasped her linen top, but she did not move. She only shook, frothing at the mouth, eyes full of a fury he had not witnessed. They were transfixed. “Ame!”

“Kill! Kill!”

“Ame!” he yelled. She did not move, did not deign to notice him. Finally, he grasped her around the waist and lifted her up, carrying her weight the distance back to the cart. When he set her upon the wood, her expression had changed, the shaking stopped. Now she looked only tired. A guilt at the harshness of his earlier words hit him like an arrow to a breastplate. That was an odd thing, but he pushed through, concern overriding it. “Ame, are you okay?”

“Toshi?” she said, eyes sleepy.

“You must not remember,” he said. “Good. Merchant!” he called.

The man stepped up to him, rubbing grime off his hands with a cloth. “Master sword? Are you ready to get going?”

“Yes, we need to leave, now.”

The urgency in Toshiro’s voice caused a shift on the merchant's face. His usual smile disappeared. “Yes, right away.”

The cart got rolling. Watching the dying sun, Ame drifting into sleep, Toshiro noticed a flash of brilliant color in the sky. A thousand hues filled his vision at once, nearly overwhelming him. So bright that the land beneath became black, turned into shadow, burned into char. The only thing he could see, the only thing in the world, was an endless stream of dancing color—translucent, viscous, swallowing the heavens. He was gripped, a sudden burst of emotion overtaking him, yet where he should have felt awe, something else charged forward in his chest. Fear.

The aurora went as quickly as it came, trapped in that singular moment of blazing existence. Toshiro dropped back against the cart. That night, they were kept awake by Ame’s endless screaming.

---

Rain torrented in crystal sheets. Ai, the Indigo Lady, in her silks of red watched from the covered eave of a pavilion. She did not need to look to see the hulking figure approach from her side. “They are upon us already.” she said wistfully. “The rains.”

“But you always loved the rains, Ai-ka”

“Fate has a cruelty to it, turning the things we love into symbols of what we fear. How the mother wolf cries when the first hunt takes her pups away.”

“You have never been one to cry.”

She turned to face him at last. Katsuya Toriichi was by far the largest man she or anyone else had ever seen. Like a storm giant, he towered over the likes of even Aka, barrel-chested and stronger than an ox. He was still bald as a monk, just as he had been half a decade ago, with only an amber moustache curling at the points above his mouth. Even in the damp did his cheeks flush red from drinking far more than any Yan man should.

“Droplets fall from pines,
On the shores of Sayanashima,
Their splash echoes the past.”
Ai started.

Toriichi responded with a bow.
“Sleeping in snows of time,
Back beyond the drifts I gaze,
Dreaming of the sun when I awaken.”

Ai smiled and nodded. They were old poems versed by men now long dead, but they were sincere. It had been over six winters since she last saw the man standing before her—this heir to the Katsuya clan, Lord Wisteria’s eldest son, and her father’s retainer. Today, like almost all days, he wore an old overcoat of Azichi blue and the fading of the linen reminded her of the one time she had sighted him in his true colors. That day, in Momoyama, in the company of his father, Toriichi had dawned the violet of his house. The way he glimmered and glittered from the sea of jewels about him, the shining of the fine silks, the smell of his citrus perfume—it always flooded her mind when she watched him wear the false humility of her own family. He was not a Zoku, no matter if he had been with them since sixteen, and she was thankful for it.

“Please watch over him, Tori-na.” Ai asked. The quiver in her voice surprised her, betraying her usual calm.

“Of course I will!” he bellowed, a sudden burst of laughter filling the soaked air. “Ai-ka, you mustn’t worry. I will guard my nephew with my life. That is my duty, as his uncle, to your lord father, and to you.”

Ai paused, letting the sound of the torrent drum against the wooden roof above them. “He will come around, you know—Ie. I suspect his time out there will endear him more to you.”

Toriichi smiled. “If it makes no difference to you Ai-ka, it doesn’t matter how he sees me. He is my nephew, just as Akira is. Just as Princess Kaya, and Princes Shoto and Sume. Blood or no blood, it makes no difference.”

He still loves me. Ai thought, smiling sadly. Even after all these years.
It read in his words, his voice, but most of all in his eyes. He had felt that way for as long as she could remember, but even as a girl her father had larger ambitions for her marriage bed. Though ambitions could hardly get larger than the heir to Momoyama. It was different for everyone else—most noble men had mistresses atop their official wives, and countless court ladies had lovers in the shade. But as wife to the emperor, Ai was untouchable, and she was not so sure things would be different if she wasn’t.

She pondered if Toriichi would have given up his courtesans for her in a different world, a different life. Somehow, she thought not.

“When do you depart?” she asked.

“Tomorrow. I ride back to Azichi in the morning. Then, when the rains stop, I will return to grab Ie. He and I will stay in Momoyama for a few days before sailing out to meet your father in Inari.”
“Some time in your home will be good for you.”

“I should think so. Allow me to observe the damages, see what the storms have done this year to my father’s city.”

Ah, the storms. What was known inland as the rains was the manifestation of great storms that ravaged the coast before summer. Typhoon. In the capital they were drenched, and in the Ailur plains west of the mountain they were drizzled, but on the coast and the islands they were ravaged. Each year huge swaths of city and farmland were blown away by winds and water, and yet again each year the Yan rebuilt as quickly as the storms took. It was their specialty, their trick to survival. A thousand houses it was said could be risen again by the time the autumn colors came, and so it was. Not storm, nor fire, nor quake could keep a Yan city down and Ai knew it was well, for one needed defense against all those things and more.

She smiled and nodded again, but their time alone was interrupted by the appearance of Lady Shikibu, who came running down the gallery as fast as her dignity would take her. She was bundled in layers of lavender robes, yet she was drenched only by her own tears and not the rain.

“Please keep him safe, Tori-na.” she wailed, throwing herself at her brother.

“Shiki!” Toriichi’s laughter grew greater as his sister pounded his chest with two robbed hands. Her wails and sputterings had become incomprehensible.

All this over my own son. Ai said to herself. No. Over the emperor’s son. Still, maybe the old saying was true—grief is a burden lighter carried with others. Worry and fear, however, those could not be lessened with company. For she knew one fact more clearly than anyone—that war was not a game.

---

Clack! Clack! The sound of the stones against the wood grain resounded in the morning air. Aka held the polished white chip between her middle and index finger, waiting for her prey to make the next in a thousand mistakes. Once Prince Mei had, she placed the stone onto the spot she had planned thirty moves ago. Clack!

Akira looked up at her from across the board. “Tsu.” he said nonchalantly.

“Su.” she corrected him.

“Tsu.”

“Su.” Again.

“Tsu.”

“S—S—S—Su.”

“Ts—Ts—”

“Su.”

“Tsu.” Prince Ie pitched in confidently, nodding his head from his lounged seat behind his brother.

“Just stick to Aka.” she said, tired already.

“One day we will get it.”

“You’ve only had two decades.”
In truth, it wasn’t their fault. Few Yan could speak her true name—they didn’t have the right sounds in their tongue, and whenever one did through work form the right sound, it lacked all the nuance of ailur names. Thus they had always dubbed her “Aka”, after the red silk socks she sometimes wore to stoke them in one of her many games. For red socks were only worn by courtesans at work, and usually men at that. She took amusement in the fact her name had been derived from a symbol of the pillow world.

Aka turned her attention back to the game, where she and Akira hawked over the board beneath them. It was filled with round white and red stone—her own set—meeting at the cross sections of painted lines. The goal was to surround both your opponents pieces, and the empty space, capturing swathes of the board. The game itself was called, uncreatively, stones and had been introduced to the court through the ailur, who in turn claimed it to have stemmed from the great lost city of Ailos. Some even said the god Wisdom crafted it himself, for it was a game of the mind and of strategy. No matter the creator, it was played across the noble halls of the Yan, though often by ladies, and because no luck was involved, it meant that Aka was nearly unstoppable.
She had never been beaten in her years at the palace, though a few ailur guests had come close.

Akira was simply no match, but he was one of the few that would play her these days. She admired those that would try after so many defeats. Another mistake she thought to herself as he committed his next move. She yawned, fanning herself gently, watching Ie sharpen arrows behind his brother. The man checked his bow, then checked again. It would only be a few days before he departed the palace for the war. Perhaps now is my time to attack. A grin broke across her lips. The real game.

Aka lowered her fan and then faked another yawn, blinking hard afterwards. Prince Mei fell into it as easily as he lost at stones.

“Is my playing boring you, Aka-ka?” he asked, never looking up from the board.

“Oh! So sorry, Mei-na. I’m simply in the mood for another type of entertainment.”

The prince’s eyes shot up from the game board, violet and glistening. They narrowed. Suspicious? Good. she laughed inwardly. Without giving some kind of hint, her games would be no fun at all.

“You do not say ‘So, sorry’, Aka. That is a Yan phrase. What do you want?”

“You wound me, prince. Truly. Not even an ‘Aka-ka’ or na. Tsk. I was just thinking...” she paused and looked to the side bashfully, letting a string of hair roll over her shoulder. Akira had stopped studying the board and watched her like a deer watches for danger at the cracking of a twig. Her real prey wasn’t paying much attention.
“Here I am, completely alone and secluded with two strong, dashing young men. I sure hope nothing scandalous takes place. I don’t know if I could resist.”

Akira’s mouth instantly tightened as the caution on his face gave way to non-amusement. The brother however shot up from his equipment like his arrows. He reacted exactly how she knew he would, flushed red with suggestion and anger. A shrill cry escaped her lips uncontrollably as she cackled.

“You’ve changed.” Ie grumbled, hastily throwing his things together.

“Oh no, Prince Foscan. Old Aka never changes. I was about your age when your grandfather was born and exactly the same. It is you humans that change. I’d have said the same thing if you were boys again, and you’d have paid me no mind. But you are not boys any longer, and my words strike you so.”

She watched him storm away. Akira watched her for a moment, then smiled.
“That is a cruel trick to play, witch.”

“Oh?” you think I’m done playing? “Well, my, now that the big bad scary bear is gone, why don’t you tell me, little bird, about what happened with the girl?”
Suspicion returned as quickly as it left on Akira’s face. He flushed, realizing he was sitting in her web the entire time. One quick glance at the board told her their stones game had ended, and now she was tightening the strings on her real game.

“What girl?” he asked.

“Don’t play stupid with me. Oboshi’s daughter. The Lady of the Twilight Skies.”

“Oh, people are still talking about that? Shame what happened to her. She was quite the striking calligrapher, sadly no one seemed to notice.”

“Except you.”

Akira looked to the floor, shame and perhaps sadness filling his eyes as the soft bangs of his hair hung down.

“Oh yes,” Aka continued. “I chased your guard dog off, now you will give me what I want. Do not think you can hide from me Akira-na. I raised the both of you, practically your wet nurse. I raised your father the same way. This court of hollyhocks is mine as much as yours and you are a terrible secret keeper.” she smiled, her voice turning warm for the first time.

“What exactly do you want to know, Aka-na?”

“About the night she died. You already know I exorcized that hovel you were using. And why did you not come to me when it happened? Why did you hide?”

“I—”

“A girl died, Prince Mei. Dead. You were there, and yet you said nothing.”

“I didn’t know what to do.” his voice sank, and so did her heart with it.

For all the praise they shower upon you, Akira, for all the flowers you visit like a bee in the spring, you are still just a boy. A busy little bee who knows not the dragonflies hovering nearby. My little bee. Aka lowered her fan, sighing. Shining Mei indeed. This court of fools, building up a boy like that.

“Tell me what happened.” she repeated, softer.

“Well..” it took him a long time to start. “It began like most other mornings, just at the wake of dawn. Before anyone would come looking for us. I had roused and opened the balcony door to let in the morning air. Nothing seemed…unordinary. We had stayed there nearly every night for the past fortnight. I was studying the dew on a clump of black bamboo when she woke next to me. Before I could even turn around I heard her gasp and felt her grasp my arm trembling. It was then that I noticed the creature.”

“And the girl?”

“She..froze. I held her close to me, shielding her, praying aloud to the great goddess, but… she just shook harder, and harder, not saying a word, transfixed until she was like the torrents of Mizuchi strait—jerking her body wildly. And then…”

Aka noticed the jeweled bead of a teardrop race across the boy’s eyelid. “Then she passed into the world of the dead. Just like that, that quickly. With her leaving, the spirit vanished too. I vaulted out, frightening the one maidservant she trusted our liaison with. That girl carried her body outside. From there, the first and only person I told was Ie, who came armed with a sword and smashed into the building. The specter did not appear for him. Nor anyone else. The rest is nothing but tears and shadow.”

Aka leaned back, thinking. “So the blue demon did not attack with tooth or claw, only slayed this girl in a different way? And it did not attack you…”

“Blue demon?” Akira asked. “I recall no such sight, Aka-na. The killer was a ghost, a spirit. It appeared as a floating robe that hovered over us. To think such a thing could be so menacing.”

Aka jumped to her feet instantly, fan flashing white and red. She gave no courtesy to the prince as she dashed away across the yard, her pegged clogs slowing her down. She rid herself of them.
That bitch!

[The Parathylgonial Sea]

TALES FROM THE PARATHYLGONIAL SEA PART VI

The Trials of Hesperorneo

Location: Hesperorneo, Parathylgonia.

---

Fresh rainfall softly trickled towards the ground along the fanning leaves of the tropical plants of Central Hesperorneo. To the dismay of the soldiers, just as the leaves absorbed the rains, so did their clothes, their skin, and their shoes, leaving the crew yearning for the dry heat of the western deserts. The tropical monsoons would never stop for long enough for a single thing in this wretched jungle to not be permanently drenched in a warm coat of moisture. Perhaps in hindsight, it was not a wise decision to travel during the wet season, Dehan supposed.

"If there's anything out here worth searching for, we'll know soon. We're in the heart of Qenurthial territory, I can feel it." Dehan said, he knew he had to at least attempt to boost the spirits of the battered and broken soldiers.

"The only territory we're in the heart of is death. We should accept the Qenurthial are nothing but legends, before we all die out here." A soldier replied.

After an encounter with the local wildlife left a member of their crew dead, their morale had hit another low. Dehan wanted to be angry, he wanted to scream and shout at them for succumbing to the elements so easily, and letting an... unfortunate event derail their carefully crafted mission. This was Hesperorneo, not a stroll through some exotic palatial gardens. There was always the risk of death, that is the nature of being a soldier. If they could not handle the possibility of such a tragedy, then perhaps they were not cut out to be a part of the mighty army of the Empire. Yet, not even he had the strength to muster himself to care anymore. Maybe it was rather negligent of him to be so passive in such dire circumstances, maybe even on the verge of defeat he should be the leader that was expected of him, still he couldn't bring himself to bother with it.

"If there's a monster you can think of, it's out here. It's just a matter of finding it. We must press on, until we complete our mission." Despite his morale being withered to shreds, he never desired for this test of his will to be all for naught. To have half his crew dead, his body starved and bruised, and to have to wrangle the inevitable scorn of the Empress herself, all with nothing to show for his efforts, was not the kind of reward he was seeking. Spending the rest of his existence in Mariughel counting the days for his father, the man that sent him away to beaten and whipped when he was a nothing but a boy barely seven years out of the womb, was not the future he yearned for. Given the chance, he would slay his father upon his throne for what he had done to him as a mere child. If he could curry favour with the Empress, maybe he would get that opportunity after all.

"I'll give you that one. There are beasts out here I never thought were possible."

Dehan had to regularly remind himself why he came to these jungles in the first place. It wasn't to exact revenge on those that wronged him, well, not revenge entirely at least. Nor was it just for a chance to lay with the Empress and spend the rest of his days as the Emperor. Not that that didn't have its perks, only it was far from his sole motivation. Rather, his pursuit of the Qenurthial was fueled by his continual dissatisfaction with whatever his current circumstances may be. Whether it was being a soldier, a commander, a leader, or even a prince. Ever since the day he was cast away as a child, there was always something within his soul that sought more, for a life beyond his current standings. Perhaps he was only just an ambitious man, he certainly wasn't alone in that regard, or maybe it was something more divine, like the gods wanted more from him, as though his purpose was always meant to be something greater. It's what he felt in his soul, and he saw no reason to suppress his true feelings.

"It's almost midday, we can take a rest for a few minutes." Dehan said. His muscles were practically speaking to him, begging him for relief.

Though his bones ached, and his body cried for nourishment, it wasn't like his suffering was exceptional. His ancestors trekked across deserts as vast as the widest oceans just for the ability to live another day, this journey was only a stroll in the forest compared to their struggle. If he could locate the Qenurthial, find proof of their existence, he would be the envy of the Empire, a hero mothers will tell their children about. The man who subjugated the untameable, an emperor of legends. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for, the opportunity for a final satisfaction.

"So, what do we do if we actually find the Qenurthial? Do we fight them? Don't think we're in much position to do that." A soldier inquired while they rested.

"All ten of us? That was never the plan. We just make contact, find a way to communicate with them, and then, if things do not go well, we can bring in a much larger force to subdue them. If we can locate where they live, that is. No point of wasting the lives of many talented soldiers without a good reason to."

"What if they don't like us? After spending the last few weeks of my life in this green hell, I cannot say there's much here that wouldn't like to kill us if they got the chance."

"Well, may we pray to the gods that that does not happen."

"Don't think the mightiest of the gods could reach Hesperorneo if they tried, if history has been any indication."

The soldier in all likelihood had the correct interpretation of their current circumstances, they were on their own from now on, their bonds of iron would be put to the test, were they truly as strong as he presumed them to be? Or were they really just bonds of glass? They had survived their first trial, there would be more to come.

"If we're lucky, maybe we'll make it to the other end of Hesperorneo, on the other side of the island where the jungle meets the sea. There'll be a trader outpost, or settlement, or something there surely, we can resupply, recuperate, maybe even get a dry night's sleep."

"You're just saying that so we move faster." A soldier responded.

"Maybe, or maybe I'm being completely honest. No time for debate unfortunately, we gotta keep moving. Up we go, rest time's over."

"Already?"

"Well, if you want to find out if we can really make it to the coast, we should get going now, before we have to camp another night in this green hell."

His men groaned at that, he had little sympathy to offer them. Their job was certainly not an easy one, but it was one the Empire demanded. Besides, if they lived to make it bake to the warm clutches of Parathylgonia, he'd make sure they got their due- and more.

Dehan turned behind him to make sure all his men were accounted for, he noticed one of his soldiers remained seated. If there was anything he did not appreciate from his crew, it was disobedience. There was not a soul here that yearned for relief, yet they all persisted, sans one.

"Why have not stood like the rest us? Do you wish to weigh the entire group down because you can't follow clear orders?"

No, not at all. I'm just very sore." The soldier said, his voice noticeably strained.

"We're all sore. My muscles despise me for putting them through such labour, yet I stand, yet all of your brethren are standing as well, and you still remain seated. There is no relief for the weak. You must get up, now."

"Okay, I will. I apologize for any delay."

The soldier eventually stood, though his movements were wobbly and ungraceful. Not exactly the signature of someone in prime health. It was far from unheard for even the healthiest of men to fall ill in Hesperorneo, Dehan would keep an eye on the weary soldier.

"Are you.... all right? If you lie to me, I will find out."

"Yeah, yeah. Just sore, as I said."

Dehan gave him a quick glance. There was nothing obvious to suggest that he had any illness other than the soreness they all felt. If there was anything worth worrying about, however, it wouldn't be long before the symptoms became much more apparent. In the few times he had traveled to Hesperorneo previously, it was normal for someone in the group to fall ill. It wasn't always something worth fearing, however. Only the tough travel to Hesperorneo in the first place. But here, more sinister ailments lurk, and they can take down even the toughest. Purple fever was considered the worst of all. He'd have to keep an eye out for any potential symptoms, before it progressed to its final phase. That was not something he ever desired to witness for himself.

"All right then, let's get moving."

The remainder of the day, that same soldier spent their time lagging behind the rest of them. Dehan noticed the straying soldier with an increasing sense of awareness. It wasn't proof of anything nefarious by itself, Dehan thought, maybe it truly was just some extra soreness compared to the other soldiers. Or maybe, something more menacing was at play. "Caution is a virtue." Is the mantra of Hesperorneo, Dehan knew it all too well. Mystanyo, the name bestowed upon the soldier, was not a man he considered to be lacking in resiliency. No one could make it this far into the jungles of Hesperorneo as a man without substantial capabilities. After all, he was chosen to come alongside Dehan specifically because of his brute strength. If he was slowing his stride, the odds were in favour or another cause beyond simple soreness for his slow pace.

"Halt." Dehan shouted, the soldiers pausing their movement almost instantaneously. He walked over to Mystanyo, who had finally caught up with the rest of the group.

"Mystanyo, remove your jacket."

"Why?"

"Your role is not to question, it is to obey. Now, do as I say, and remove your jacket."

Mystanyo did as requested, and removed his jacket, revealing a chest covered in deep bruises and cuts. The namesake symptom of purple fever.

"How'd you get all these bruises?"

"I don't know, probably after spending all this time in jungle without a healer. Is there something wrong with having some bruises?"

Dehan didn't answer that, not immediately, at least. He didn't want to frighten the soldier unless he had damn good reason to believe he was beyond saving. He would not abandon his men so easily. It was all too probable he was not even aware what purple fever was.

"No, I suppose not. Let's keep moving."

"So what was the point of that? Why did you interrupt our travels just to make me remove my jacket? Our rest could only last a few minutes, yet you had time to the time to look at my chest for no obvious reason? Surely, there must be more to it than that. Or what is it? Been without the comfort of a woman for a few days and now you're open to expanding your horizons?" Mystanyo inquired from him. Catching the commander off guard. The soldiers laughed at the offhand remark.

"You like to make jokes, do you? There's nothing funny out here when you're living upon the verge of death. Maybe it would be wiser to be more restrained rather than trying to poke fun at the person your life depends on. Besides, I have an Empress to look forward to. Meanwhile, the only thing you have to look forward to is getting kicked out of brothels and begging for attention from common street whores."

"What? I'm not pretty enough for you, Commander? You'd be the first emperor I'd heard of who didn't have a little fun on the side. Not like they're notoriously choosy in the past either."

"Quit this nonsense. If you really must know why I asked you to remove your jacket, it's because you've been quite obviously unwell, and those bruises could be a sign of a grave illness from which there is no possible recovery. But, perhaps it's just your mind that's infected after all."

"What do you mean? I feel fine."

"You've been lagging behind us since we sat down hours ago. If you're really fine, then we shall see if that is true soon enough."

"I'll be sure to disappoint you, I am going nowhere. Can't get rid of temptation that easy."

"That's enough. We are to travel in silence from now on. Until I say otherwise." They continued onward. Dehan took no pleasure in being so uptight, however, it is hard to be anything else when nearly every second requires careful planning to thwart the jungles' attempts at taking their lives. He knew was being irritable, there was simply too much stress for Dehan to battle its grasp on his mind.

Mystanyo never did catch up with the remainder of the group. At times, Dehan wondered how he was able to follow their footsteps without losing the path they had been travelling. He was torn between abandoning the soldier as a necessary, but nevertheless tragic action to the benefit of the group as a whole, or purposefully slowing his pace, so he would have the opportunity to locate them without the potential danger of leaving a soldier stranded. He didn't want a weaker member of the group to weigh them all down, nor did he want to let a person get lost, and surely perish in the jungles unless there was no other option. If the bonds were truly as resilient as he hoped, then perhaps there shouldn't be much thought to it. There wasn't much time to ponder that question any further, however. Another night was setting upon the rainforests of Hesperorneo, and they would have to spend it in its wretched jungles on at least one more occasion.

"Here seems like as good of a spot as any to spend the night. You can rest now."

The men practically collapsed of exhaustion, not seeming too concerned to rest upon the wet, muddy forest floor, staining their already torn and disheveled clothes with the brown dirt covering the ground. Not that he was too bothered with it either, it's wasn't as though there was any nearby palaces to sleep in, certainly not in these jungles. Mystanyo had caught up with them now, his breaths heavy and loud.

"Tired?"

"Yeah. A little."

"You can rest now, we're making camp."

Mystanyo slumped against a tree, just taking the moment to regain his bearings, for what would inevitably be a short night. Dehan sat next to him. He had felt pity for him, but there was not amount of pity that save him if his worst fears came true.

"Feeling all right?"

"Do I not look all right?"

"No, quite frankly. Don't think anyone out here is all right to begin with anymore."

The soldier said nothing, just parting his gaze away from his eyes.

"I didn't mean to frighten you earlier. It's my job to ensure their safety, my safety, and your safety too. I can't afford to let my gut slide. If I suspect something's wrong, I have to inquire about it. I'd be a bad commander if I didn't."

"I know." Were the only words he let slip off his tongue. Silence filled the air around them.

"Well, I'll leave you to your rest. I'm sure you could use it."

"Don't think I'm feeling good after all." Mystanyo said. Dehan knew he couldn't leave the soldier by his lonesome after those words.

"What is it you think is wrong?"

"Everything. My head, my muscles, my heart. It all aches." Mystanyo lunged for his hand, and placed it to his bare chest.

"Am I supposed to notice what's wrong?" Dehan couldn't find anything strange, other than the act itself.

"It feels strange." The soldier didn't elaborate further.

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

Mystanyo didn't respond, but he had a look on his face, a look Dehan didn't recognize, like he was thinking something over through his head. Suddenly, the soldier lunged forward, and caught Dehan by surprise. Uniting their lips together.

"What was that?"

Mystanyo said nothing, only rolling to his side, turning his back, facing away from Dehan.

"You can't just do what you did and expect no conversation about it." Still, he did not flinch. Dehan rushed to the other side, trying to force a discussion if he had to. Those plans were quickly halted once he located his face. Thick, black liquid poured from his mouth, his eyes were unmoving and hollow, like there was no soul behind them. His eyelids surrounded by dark, bruised skin.

"What is going on? What is wrong?" Dehan frantically lunged forward, towards the soldier. Mystanyo began coughing violently, spewing more black liquid from the depths of his mouth. The coughing alerted the other soldiers, interrupting whatever rest they had been able to obtain.

"What the hell is wrong with him?" One of the soldiers inquired.

"I... I don't know." Dehan had never witnessed the sickness before him. This did not look like purple fever, it looked like something else entirely.

Mystanyo's release of the strange, thick, black substance never relented even for a moment. It didn't seem like blood, but what else could it be? Dehan thought. His body was becoming stiff, like his muscles were locked in place, even as the black liqued continued its relentless assault.

"What happened?"

"I don't know, he was just lying there, I was trying to talk to him, and the next thing I notice something black is coming from his mouth." They didn't need to know the full truth, at least Dehan had no desire to tell it.

"What do we do?"

A good question, Dehan thought. What was there even to do? He was not a sorcerer, and that is what would be required to save the dying soldier. Dehan didn't even bother responding. To utter the words "I don't know" even once was not an activity he took pleasure in, thrice he was not going to let happen. Most of the soldiers surrounded Mystanyo, trying to aid him in whatever way they could. Dehan knew it was ultimately fruitless, there was nothing they could do, no matter how strong their will was.

"You must stop, leave him be. I command it."

"He's sick, we can't just let him die."

"We don't have a choice in the matter! If Hesperorneo wants to claim its next victim, there's not a damn thing we can do to stop it. Have you not seen enough evidence of that by now?"

"We must try. What else would the gods want us to do?"

"They would not want us to sacrifice our strength for a hopeless cause."

"I will not let him die."

"You will do as I say, and you will shut up and obey it, like the good soldier you are all supposed to be. Lie down, and get the rest you've been begging for since you came to this jungle from hell. That's an order" Dehan shouted at them with all the force his lungs could gather. He was angry, and it was not an emotion he felt often, certainly not like he felt now.

They were quiet after that. Maybe he was being unnecessarily cruel. Scratch that, he was being unnecessarily cruel. They had their hearts in the right place, and he shamed them for it. His men had been through a trial of their will that could snap their mind like it was no stronger than a branch plucked from a tree, and he was only making it even more difficult for them than it already was.

"I know this is tough, but as a soldier, you must know when your brethren are worth saving, and when it is a hopeless effort. We can't waste our strength, It will lead to all of our demise if we are not more responsible. This not easy, I understand that. The pain you're feeling when another of your fellow soldiers falls victim to the jungles, I know it all too well, this is not my first endeavour in the rainforests. But you must rest, save whatever strength you have left in you." He tried a more charitable approach with the soldiers, maybe he could get them to see reason. He wasn't a coldhearted person that had lost all of his empathy, rather he was increasingly numb to death after spending as much time on the front lines as he did. A few more years as a soldier and the rest of them would soon share the feeling.

"Just let us say our goodbyes."

"I will not stand in your way."

Dehan sat next to Mystanyo, he didn't even know if there was any life left within him, but he felt like he needed to. Like it's what the soldier would want him to do.

"I don't know if you can hear me, or if you're even still alive, but I have to tell you, I don't think there's anything wrong with your heart." Dehan said, the sincerity of his words entirely genuine.

Mystanyo was silent. If he was even still alive. The other soldiers surrounded them, as they began to rest against the adjacent trees. He fought with himself to stay conscious, to be there when he passed. It was a losing battle.

...

Dehan fell asleep against the tree, the sunlight of dawn crept through the forest trees, awakening him from his slumber. As he woke, he grasped Mystanyo's cold arm, there was no resistance, like the person so full of life was now nothing but a doll. He checked to see if he was still breathing, there was nothing. His eyes were closed, the black substance pouring from his mouth had dried, forming a streak from his chin down to his neck. There was no doubt, Mystanyo had perished during the night. Dehan's dreams were filled with the mystery Mystanyo sparked within him just before his departure from the earthly realm. Had his sudden act of romance been the result of a delusional man losing his mind while the life from his body withered before him? Or was it the last attempt to take what he wanted while he still could? It was a question he knew he'd never get the answer to. Sometimes, in life, one has to accept that resolution is a gift and not an inevitable reality. We must all find a way to obtain closure without resolution, this was one of those times. Dead men don't care about our curiosity.

[Aoyan]

Chapter 7

Departure

---

Lord Ishii swatted his horse with a reed crop to keep it moving on the trail. I know. he soothed gently. All newcomers fear the Ametakye. Animals were no different, and this horse fought him the moment they descended along the Ansado and the air had grown from thin to thick. Now that they were on the main path, the horse fought harder, foolishly unaware that it must remain on the raised earth and log roadway or risk death, and Ishii in that moment wished his old mare had not taken mortal on spring grass outside Azichi. He released her into the void himself.

"Let me help you, sire." Pigeon came up beside him on foot, grasping the reins. Ishii nodded in thanks and then relaxed, breathing in the cool mist. He was home.

They called it the Ametakye—a vast expanse of swamp and marsh that cut between the west and east. Here great willows replaced forests of beech and pine, and western cedars sunk beneath endless pools of water and hung moss in imitation. The air was thick and cool even in the height of summer, where a mist blanketed the horizon most days, and everything smelled of water and vine. It often choked outsiders. No birdsong was heard here beyond that of storks and ducks, but a constant play by frogs and toads was staged day and night. It was home.

The road ahead of them was a raised thing. Beaten dirt pressed into a bridge, where rotting planks formed a spine down the center. To either side was an endless lake of water, speckled by marsh lilies, toad-disks, and algae. Only three men abreast could travel down this route, or one cart, and if you fell off the side, Ishii knew sink traps could pull you under. It was the only real road in the entire swampland—leading straight to his seat and capital at Myobu and it cut through the heart of the territory snaking west by northwest. To his left, he could see the silhouette of the southern mountains towering above the mist—blue and distant. His ancestors had marched up those heights and been repulsed by hated rivals. Perhaps one day, clan Ishii would scale them again.

Pigeon dragged his master’s horse along, unphased by the stark scenes around them. To the side a host of storks and cranes pecked at fish beneath the surface. There was a splash as a fat catter leaped from below at insects in the air. A fist-sized dragonfly flexed its wings on the ancient bark of a roadside willow. Ishii smiled. It was alien to the rest of the realm, and that was what made clan Ishii strong. These swamps had onced sheltered the ailur, in the early times, but it had loved them not and they had been rooted out with spear and sword. Ishii doubted if his kin would ever be pushed out of here.

As they moved deeper, they began to pass villages. Here, the Yan built on stilts and boards, made floating islands that attached to spits of land to rest their houses on. The rice they grew reached twice or thrice the height of a man from top to bottom and shot above the water in forests. Half of clan Ishii’s men were marsh Yan, and they were just as much at home with sailing skiffs than they were wielding pikes. He watched as the spare baggage slid by on dozens of boats, carried to Myobu faster than the column could march. Somewhere above, a marsh eagle cried, reminding him of the bird he lost above Kawanakami town.

It took the column three quarters of a day to reach Myobu on foot. The town sprung out at you on the road, and you saw its first circlet of walls long before you spotted any buildings. Myobu was a plain place, resembling an overgrown village than it did any of the other cities of the blue-green coast. It was built entirely of unvarnished wood and thatch and you would find no silken ladies or perfumed lords, only honest folk about their business. If Myobu hadn’t acted as the central hub for the swampland, Ishii was sure no city would exist here, and it was only by the grace and might of his clan that any wealth streamed into this place at all.

Its one defining feature blinded you on the approach, and continued to do so after—the walls. Myobu was surrounded by circles of wooden palisades, five major and eighteen minor in total, that ringed around and through each other to form the defense. Each had cut slots where skiffs slid in and out unopposed, but the walls meant you could block the one and only road, and no army could starve out the defenders as it was impossible to stop the boats from hauling in supplies. The only way to capture it was an assault, and that made Myobu as strong as the mountain on Ishii’s banners. As strong as stone.

As the column approached, a single shell horn shrieked and the open gates of the city were cleared to let the long train of soldiers and courtiers through—their lord at the front. Ishii took them straight into the heart of Myobu, to the central market, where he dismounted with the aid of Pigeon.

“Much work to do, neh?” he said, glancing about at the people. Everyone in the market stood quiet, bowing to his presence. Almost everyone. In the corner, near the far entry, a group of Vemayan monks stood, weapons in hand. Kyusen. Their white cowls were wrapped around their heads, hiding everything but their eyes. They shuffled off when Ishii turned his attention to them. Pah! Ishii thought, not bothering to let their bad manners provoke him.
His domain was not known to be a bastion of the lord of compassion. The old gods were worshiped here, the gods of nature and things, and not the foreign gods of Inari either. This was Tadan’s land, as all Aoyan was, and though the Vemayans were allowed to come and go as they wished—they held little sway over the court of Myobu.

Ishii instead put his energy back towards his men. Pigeon bowed as soon as he turned back to him.
“Sire, if you will excuse me to complete my duties?”

“Hmm? Oh. Very well. You truly have much to do in the coming days, neh?

“Yes sire.”
Pigeon raised from his bow. He watched Ishii with those droopy eyes that always looked tired.
It was a deception, as Ishii knew. He had once seen Kaze go three days with no rest while they hunted in the middle of the swampland, and now the man had far too much work ahead of them. They had only the rains to prepare for the coming campaign, and that meant levy all the farmers from the entire domain. It meant equipping them. It meant gathering the summer rice supply to feed the army. Myobu was still for now, but within half a day it would begin to awaken. Forges would start belching smoke, workers would be put to a million tasks, and an untold number of skiffs would sail in and out bringing men and supplies.

“I will grant you leave, but do I wish I had you for the coming battle.”

“Sire?”

Ishii looked toward the slight rise—the hill where his estate sat near the side of the city.

“With my daughter.” he whispered.

---

The seat of Ishii domain was a simple complex—three halls placed upon the only rise for li, nestled in a grove of willow. It had been built in a style from three centuries ago, and Ishii still spent a fortune replacing the roof thatch in the marsh damp. The main hall, where his residence was, sat flanked by the other two. In one lived his top retainers and his guard. In the other were more rooms for his household, but it and his main hall had long sat empty, where the white pox had turned this place into a land of spirits. Yet, it was his home, and the remaining house of his only living child.

Ishii found her nestled on one of the open verandas, stuck to her brush and the large silken sheet she painted on. He approached quietly, peering over her shoulder. There frogs leaped beneath the branches of a flowering tree, frozen above their pond of time. The only blessing the gods have given you, dear Kioko. The hand of a master.

Somehow, he thought she had heard his thoughts, as she turned from her seat to see him. A face of slight surprise turned into a tired smile.
Ishii Kioko was a woman nearing her third decade of life. The youngest of Ishii’s five children, she was a square faced girl with broad brown eyes to match. She was not an ugly woman, but no real beauty either. Her only defining feature was the mop of pale golden hair that she had tied into a flat knot atop her head. Dawn-kissed some called it. Others muttered sun-cursed beneath their breath. It was a strange thing that happened on very rare occasions to Yan children. In a sea of a million shades of black and sable, a hundred dark browns, and a handful of near blues, some were lucky—or misfortunate enough—to bear locks of gold and wan. Kioko had brandished hers since the day she was born, and so she had been named. Ishii smiled back at her. He knew it had been her misfortune.

“Painting frogs again, Pollywog-na?” he asked, using her childhood nickname.

“You missed the crane I brushed two nights ago.”

Ishii sat against one of the railings of the deck, watching as his daughter continued her work. You’re growing older, dear. he mused to himself. Age is setting upon you, as it is me, and soon the dusk of my life will set. he took a deep inhale of the marsh mist. The croaking of frogs surrounded them and in the cool, he blinked slowly. I can feel it. The void. Calling me. Your brothers, and your mother, they beckon me in my sleep. And you, Kioko-na, you’ve lived a lifetime full of sorrow already. I cannot leave you alone in a world so cruel. One of my brothers will take the clan mantle, and to you I will give the best I can conjure. Even if it strikes your heart.

“I would have seen it fly had you come to the capital with me.” he said.

Kioko stopped, her brush hovering over the paper, but she did not turn. A dark air overcame her, any joy snuffed out.
“Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s the truth. I know court is the last place you’d ever want to visit, Pollywog. But in less than a moon I will be departing again, this time for the entirety of summer. This campaign will be my last, I think. I might not return.”

“I do not wish to have this conversation.”

“I’m nearing the end of my life Kioko. But you have many, many winters left for yours. You’ve been widowed for nine years now, nearly a decade, and it's time for you to find some happiness beyond this swamp, beyond Myobu. Beyond your brushed worlds, so that you have something when I am gone.”

“I said I do not wish to have this conversation.” there was a bite to her voice now, quivering at the end of her speech.

“Listen at least, and consider what I have to say. Just this one time. For me? As a true wish?”
The woman’s head shot around, her brown moon eyes set firmly into his. They burned with anger, bordering on hatred, and the flames were cooled only by the forming tears at her inner corners. Silence was her consent.

“I’ve begun arranging a suitable match for you.” Ishii said bluntly—hoping speed would lessen the blow.

“With some old noble for your own gains?” she could hardly keep her voice strong.

“No.” Ishii said, “I still consider your own happiness. I let you marry for love once, because you were my youngest, and because of the love I held for the man you chose. Now, I will do the choosing, but I will give you the opportunity to go in your own wisdom, and to that I will not cart you off to someone I think you cannot love.”

“Then who?”

“A young man, younger than you. The greatest match any could conceive of. The crown prince.”

She glared at him for a long time, no shift in her eyes or on her face gave away anything. An impenetrable curtain had washed over her, and Ishii knew it was to block him. “Please, consider it, neh Kioko-na” he gentled his voice, trying to muster all the deep love he held for her up into his aura, so that she might understand—this was likely the greatest opportunity ever presented to her.

“No.” she whispered.

Ishii’s brow furrowed and he could feel his mouth involuntarily sag as a sinking overtook his being. Then, anger struck.
“Spirits curse that, woman!” he roared. “Ran has been dead for nine years! Nine! He was a son to me! I grieve for him as much as you, and yet he would want you to move on. To be happy! The gods have cursed in many ways, least of which is by birthing you as a woman, but you will know your place and do your duty as one!”

His shouts were interrupted only by the quiet sobbing that echoed from the woman now bent over her painting. He could not see his daughter’s face, he had not seen her turn from him. Only the shaking of her robbed shoulders presented themselves. The ink from her pot coursed along the knotted woodgrain of the floor where she had spilled it in black torrents.

“I hate them.” she whispered in between tears. “I hate them all. They ruined my life, my love. Killed him, not the barley eaters. Not those evil little imps in the east. They. I hate them more than anything. I hate them, and I hate the gods. And—”

Ishii waited, listening, burning for when the words would come. And I hate you. But they never did, and that broke him, for the girl he had raised stopped suddenly in her terror and sat up with a ghostly resolve. Then, before he could even spring to action, a flurry of brown and gray silk flew through the air as she leapt from the veranda.

The fall was not enough to kill her, no. Only to hurt her, perhaps maime her if she landed badly. Perhaps she knew that. Perhaps not. Ishii’s hand reached for her, grasping the air at silk and cloth and despair. Grasping for anything to latch onto, anything, but finding only the cruel uncaring emptiness.
He didn’t even have the time to cry out.

Then, a warm wind rushed across the marshland and in an instant a black blur intercepted the falling body like the breeze catches a leaf.. There was a twirl as the two impacted, a softness taken into motion, and then Pigeon was there holding the girl. Ishii watched from above.

“Kaze, let me go!” Kioko screamed. The old warrior blinked and raised an eyebrow. Then he whispered something in her ear that calmed her anger. Now only realization remained and even Ishii could see the gentle shaking at Kioko’s shoulders from above. Pigeon turned, Kioko still in his arms. It was only then, the way he stood, that the man’s small stature became so apparent—dwarfed by the willows, and the height, and the woman in his embrace. He bowed.

“Kaze!” Ishii yelled down, then changed his tone. “Take my daughter to her room.”

“Yes, sire.”

Ishii watched them leave, a million thoughts screaming in his mind. His hands gripped the railing so tightly that the splinters in the ancient wood drank readily at the blood they drew.

---

Chants mixed silver with the steam, melding into a swirling column of mist and prayers that ascended through the garden canopy towards the heavens. Aka watched it, transfixed on the blue beyond, then her eyes came down upon her master. The emperor rested against the edge of the spring, body half submerged into the crystalline waters—entirely nude.

That was a funny thing, she thought. The Yan had no shame about nakedness. The bare body did nothing to excite their senses, nor bring about embarrassment. So strange. They were a people who saw sensuality in the color of socks, or the brushing of hair, or in handwriting. Desire could be sparked by the glint of a smile behind a fan. The greatest shame by poorly chosen words to an equal. They piled layers upon layers onto themselves for fashion, but the stripped figure did nothing to move them whatsoever. Strange, she thought again. But she had lived among them for so long, she couldn’t help but feel the same.

So it was that Emperor Yanagi lounged in the spring surrounded by the four of them, eyes shut and brow furrowed. Sweat glistened on his face, and occasionally he moved in the water. The monk sitting over him was a thin man, as they always were, donned in brown and white. He was Lord Katsuya’s head monk, on loan to the court from Momoyama, and the Vemayan sutras he recited were unknown to Aka.

The other two with them, sitting on the opposite side of the pool, were Lord Haka and one of his daughters. Amaya was it? Aka asked herself. Yes. she opened her fan, studying them. The girl couldn’t have been older than twenty winters. She was a pretty thing, soft in the way Haka women usually weren’t, but still sharing in their raven dignity. Her blue eyes rested gently towards the ground, waiting for her moment to speak. The expression of her father, however, couldn’t have been more different.

As head priest of the realm, it was widely known and expected that Lord Haka would have held little patience for Vemayans interfering with the spiritual life of the court. In truth, Aka knew, he had once held boundless patience. But the dark clouds swimming above the Hollyhock Court had only served to agitate him. His usual smile was not matched by his eyes, and the foxes running down his robes served only as a challenge. One leg rocked up and down where he sat impatiently. The monk did not seem to notice.

Aka simply contented herself to wait an eternity if she must, and watched the rocks grow. Vemaya or Tadan, it made no difference to her. A thousand gods both foreign and familiar could be called upon, and whichever set her master’s mind at ease would be the one she permitted to dwell within the palace. That was the way of things, and to her relief, the emperor had gotten a week’s worth of rest despite the onset of a chill. So she let the ceremony continue uninterrupted of her antics until the monk was done.
It did not take an eternity.

“Three of you come to me with ill winds.” Yanagi spoke, eyes still closed. “As emperor of the Yan, it is my duty to dispel them. But I do not speak to the gods, nor do I know the path of Vemaya. Only Aka-na knows the ways of heaven and earth, not I. So it must be that you will speak, and I will listen, and your counsel will become my law.”
Yanagi opened his eyes and pushed himself up against the edge of the spring. “Aka-na, you may start. Please tell me your concerns again so that Haka-go may understand them.”

“Yes, Radiance.” Aka bowed. “You see, I recently exorcized a spirit from the palace grounds. One that managed to kill a woman. On sixth street no less. The first instance of such in many, many decades. Of course, Lord Haka knows all of this. But what is more is that there were two spirits, as I relied to his Radiance, and through my own methods I have come to discover that the second of the two was the killer and not the first that I dispelled.

This is troubling. For the first was clearly a demon, and the second claimed to be the spirit of a deceased person. Yet the first had not killed, and the second had. I do not know how either managed to escape my barrier of charms I set around the palace many winters ago. Nor do I understand the strange turn of events that a demon had not killed, not been even seen until I removed it, and yet a ghost had. A ghost, mind you, that lied to me about such to begin with.”

Aka fanned herself harder. None of it made any sense, and it ran circles around her mind. But she did not fret. Eventually she would gain all the pieces to the puzzle, and crack it. Such was the way of heaven and earth.
Lord Haka bowed to the emperor, signaling his wish to speak, and Yanagi motioned forward. “Speak, Haka-go. All of you, speak freely.”

“Aka-ka, so sorry, but did you not have this second spirit removed by way of cleansing?”

“Yes.” she paused. “But this spirit had lied to me, and I did not detect it. When I had discovered the truth, I returned to its haunt and found nothing. Something tells me it has not truly moved on.”

Haka’s leg did not stop shaking. “Troubling indeed, Aka-ka. I will see what I can discover through spiritual means on my end for you.”

“Thank you very much, Haka-go.”

“But,” he paused, a look of concern washed over him and for the first time Aka did not see him smile. “I have heard little from the gods in some time. They seem… silent. As if they aren’t there, as if their attention is somewhere else.” a distant look overcame his eyes, as if he was seeing something far away. “And yet, the spirits of the world shake. I can feel it in the air. I can taste it in the water. The world has awakened, but to what I have no clue.”

The emperor stirred from his seat in the spring. “What do you mean ‘the world has awakened’, Haka-ka-Kiyomori?”

“Radiance, I mean that the spirits of the land grow active. Restless. Everywhere I turn, spiritual energy is heightened. Every forest, every ruin, every rock and stone—all teeme. Monsters and great beasts stalk the land like I have never seen before. Men of ambition and talent make their way out of the woodwork from far off villages and city streets. Yet the gods grow quiet? I believe, Radiance, that Aka-ka’s problem, your problem, and this growing tension with the spirits is related.”

“Oh? And how might that be?”

Haka turned to his daughter, who shifted in her knelt position. Now everyone’s attention was on the girl and her youth wilted against it. Yanagi beckoned forward. “Ah, Amaya-ka. Come forth child, I’m afraid I am aging and cannot see you well. Please, recount to us the story you are here to tell—your encounter with the oracle.”

“Yes, Radiance.” she said, bowing. Aka smiled, covering it with her fan. I can remember when I was like that, half a century ago. A young girl, about her age too, suddenly swept into the highest halls for ten thousand li because they had taken an interest in me.
That had been under Emperor Ryu, Yanagi’s father, and on her very first day she had completely embarrassed herself by wearing those damnable red socks to court, unaware of their meaning and entirely because they matched her silks. She could speak only Inari Yan—poorly at that—and knew nothing about the sea of humans who looked upon her with masked eyes and powdered faces. Ah, Su. A sea of emotion surprised her. It had taken decades and Ryu’s graceful humor for that memory to stop turning her red at the cheeks, and instead laugh with nostalgia. Somehow, she feared Amaya’s audience with the emperor now would not be so trivial.

“What do you wish to know, Radiance?” Amaya asked, tilting her head just slightly as she talked.

“All of it Amaya-ka. Your father tells me it was you who received the oracle’s message. That you are particularly attuned to the winds, and that you had a nervous attack.”

“Y—yes, Radiance. Haka-go instructed me to speak with the oracle because I have a connection that I do not understand with the world of nature. More so than my siblings. And—and I think that has allowed her to show me what she wanted to show me.” The girl paused.

“Go on then, child. Tell me what it was she showed you.”

“Well…” she looked to her father, who nodded his head in affirmation. “Well, the oracle first told me things. Which is apparently what she always does. ‘Something stirs in places unseen. Destiny calls for those who walk an untested world.’ Yes. I believe those were her words.”

“Hmpf. Not very cryptic this time” Aka burst in. “Something stirs unseen indeed. We already know that, as Haka-go has made abundantly clear. Destiny? Who speaks of destiny but heroic fools?”

Yanagi quickly shot her a glance—the first time he had addressed her lack of manners and she quickly fell back into line, disarmed by the unexpected chastisement.

“Yes, Aka-ka. I agree in some ways. But that was not all that was said.” Amaya continued. “She said one last thing to me. The most troubling of all. ‘He comes’. That is what she said. He comes.”

Yanagi shot forward from his seat, pushing through the water to the otherside of the spring. “He? Who comes, Amaya-ka?”

“I don’t know, Radiance. I don’t know. But it was after the oracle said that, that she showed me.” Amaya looked down towards the pool. As she continued, a glaze came over her eyes, just like her father. But if Lord Haka was looking at something very far away in his thoughts, Amaya was there. “I saw… fire. Great fire. Formed of a million colors, more colors and lights than I could conceive of. The flames thick and liquid. It engulfed my vision, my everything, the whole world. I could not look in awe, but cried to turn from it though I was trapped. For every color shading the flame burned a different shade of hate.” her voice grew very quiet, quivering. “Then… I heard a voice. A voice I have never heard before. A voice that held no love for me, or anyone, and it considered me an intruder—that I was not supposed to be there, witnessing what I was. Then the fire advanced, growing impossibly bright and hot, and came upon me like a target. I…I..I burned. I could feel it burn me. Sear flesh, and bone, and soul in the greatest heat ever forged. Heat born from light.”

The distance in her eyes faded, and her head shot back up. “That was all, Radiance. Next thing I knew, I was outside the home of the oracle. They say I screamed and fainted, but I recall none of that.”

A deathly silence overtook the garden. The very shadows of the trees and bushes seemed to grow long, the clouds covered the morning sunlight, and no one said anything for some time.
“Lord of Compassion!” the Vemayan priest was the first to break the silence, speaking for the first time. “Protect these people.”
Aka’s attention returned to her master and it was only then that she noticed all color had left him. Emperor Yanagi sat in the water of his personal spring—very pale. It was he who spoke next. “No. No.” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “As emperor of the Yan, descendent of Mikoto-ka-Meika-gotai, it is my duty to act. I know nothing of the events undertaking us, but the oracle does not lie and has never been wrong. Nor do I disbelieve the testimony given by Amaya-ka. I know what thoughts swim through your heads at this moment, I know the darkest of them, and I can assure you that those thoughts are not accurate. Still, it must be that we should reach the bottom of this quandary. Yes. Aka-ka.” Yanagi turned his attention to her.

“Yes, Radiance?”

“I task you with discovering the truth surrounding our troubles here in the court. To discover the truth surrounding this rogue spirit of yours, and if it has any connection to outside events.”

“The spirit did speak of a ‘master’, Radiance. A master she claimed was controlling the demon. I have no idea if this is relevant or not, but I will endeavor to complete your wishes.”

Yanagi nodded. “Haka-go. To you, as head priest of the realm, I command you to continue communing with the gods and spirits, and report to me what they say from beyond. They know something we do not, and we must discover what is hiding in the void.”

“Yes, Radiance.”

“Amaya-ka.”

“Yes? …Radiance.”

“Get some rest, child.” Yanagi attempted to force a smile, but he could only manage raising the corners of his lips. “We may have use for your abilities in the coming times.”

Yanagi stood, the water splashing around him. “Guard!” he shouted and instantly a man ran forward from somewhere off in the garden, unseen and unheard until now. He bowed upon the ground. “Fetch me Goroda Kayubusa.” he turned to the others. “I have decided something else as a result of this conversation. In order to better understand the events before us, we need to better understand the world beyond the court’s influences. Our attention has always looked eastward, but the border Yan often know more about what comes to pass in distant lands. It was once said that a second great ailur empire laid to the west, was it not Aka-na?”

“Yes.”

“If anyone can provide insight on our troubles, it is the ailur. Of course, such talk may be little more than myth, but regardless, I think it is time we come to understand just what sits beyond the sunset horizon, neh? Knowledge…” his eyes flittered over to Aka. “Wisdom. Wisdom will be our tool against whatever might be coming. In this, I, Yanagi-ka-Meika, do order an expedition of footmen westward to the lands of our unruly peoples and beyond alongside the orders I have given you all today. Now, if you will excuse me, I need rest.”

Aka rose and bowed, then quietly followed the others out of the garden and through the residence until they were beyond into the courts. There she stopped and became lost in her thoughts once again. This was not how she expected her summer to begin.

---

Akira found his brother exactly where he expected to find him—brooding in the dark of night under the four moons. The gazebo he haunted sat on the western wing of the inner palace at the end of a long gallery, built to view the maples that watched over it. On a clear autumn day in the past, one could find the boys with their mothers here, or the emperor reading a poem, or Aka-ka in contemplation. Its red cedar boards dripped with an intimacy of the imperial house, of memories now passed, and laughter echoed just behind the cricket song. Sometimes, courtiers came to the surrounding cloisters to gawk, but tonight there was no one. Only the two men, the trees, and the moons.

“You know, I envy you.” Akira said, approaching. Ie had stashed himself into the darkest shadow to be found, just on the outer peak of the circle where the moonlight could not reach, and without attention one could pass by without knowing he was there. “Getting to leave the palace. I’ve not done that since we were younger, and only to very specific places.”

Ie only turned his attention when Akira sat directly beside him.
“Leaving for war.”

“Leaving for war as a prince.”

“War is war.”

“Very astute.”
Akira smiled, but where he expected the same to break through his brother’s resistance—it did not. Instead, the man younger by two years scowled in the dark. When a beam of light did catch his features, it lit the side of his face and beard, revealing the image of a hollowed man far older than the boy behind it. Akira frowned too, and they sat in silence for a long time before he spoke again.

“I wonder what Inari looks like.”

“Same as it does here.”

“But it is not here, and yet you do not wish to go?”

“I have no hate for the court.”

“No… but we are kind of like caged birds, don’t you think?

“A caged bird forced to fly is still a caged bird.”

Akira watched him for a moment. They had always made an odd set for siblings. When standing they were of near equal height, Prince Mei being a pinch taller, and both were willowy men—befitting sons for the Willow Emperor. But while one could mistake Akira for a woman until close, there was no mistaking Ie of the same, and stature was where all similarities ended beyond the black of their hair. People had long noticed, comparing them in a thousand ways. Akira was the sun, Ie the moons. Akira the brilliance of day, Ie the dark of night. Akira gold to his brother’s silver. Prince Mei to Prince Foscan—one shining because he is brilliant, the other shining because he was compared to brilliance.

For that, Akira was truly sorry. He had always eclipsed this man—this man he held love for more than anyone. But he had learned very early on that there was little he could do to rectify this, and he had learned very early on that he did not need to rectify it. For while the grovelers of the court felt compelled to gawk at the obvious, all but he, even father, missed the fact that day needs the cool of night. And somehow, Akira was certain that fact would become clearer than any sacred pool.

“If you truly do not wish to go, then don’t.”

Ie scoffed. “As if I can just so easily disobey father. Not like you would understand that idea. Because you will be emperor, because you are who you are, he has become entirely blind to all the transgressions you make against the perfect image he wants. Everybody ignores the mistakes you make. Sometimes it is me cleaning them up. Like with your latest ‘love’. There is nothing but duty for me.”

“Ah, I see. You see this as a punishment. But what could it possibly be punishment for?”

“Punishment for being born second. For having a fortune that renders me redundant. For being the son of a Zoku lady and not a Katsuya. Punished with potential death in a far off land while upholding our house honor.”

Akira paused. The warm wind rustled the emerald leaves above them, their color turned blue by the shade and stars. Who told you anything like that? he thought. It was true that his own mother was the favorite of their father’s four wives, but Lady Ai was a very close second, and perhaps a more trusted advisor. Mother can sooth father’s troubles, provide him all the warmth and softness a man needs. But Lady Ai has an iron bite that a ruler needs too.. It was for that reason, and the fact she had shown him no coldness as a child, that Akira held no resentment in his heart for the woman who was not his parent by blood. Yet his brother’s words echoed in his mind, troubling him, but he tucked them away for the moment.

“I don’t think this is a punishment at all, Ie-na. Quite the opposite, surely. Whether father sees it or not, I think the gods are giving you a chance at something truly great.”

Ie peered at him, his eyes narrowing, guarding against the magic of their relationship. He did that often, not wanting to be convinced out of a position he took. Sometimes, the attempt only entrenched him, like a mule who had decided it walked far enough.
“Oh?”

“Yes. You see, though I have never seen cruelty from you, I think war would suit you just fine. I could never gain any face from it. All the mud, and blood, and marching. I would surely embarrass myself beyond repair. But you, well, you are much stronger than me Ie-na. Why do you think you are the one cleaning my messes? Because I am incapable of doing so. War? That’s nothing. You stood firm against Aka on my behalf!”

“Fortunate she did not turn me into a black-masked dog for that.”

“Ah, but then you could really fly away!”

Ie’s face was stone, solid, unmoving from its scowl. Then—he laughed. Akira followed him and he let the winds change color before speaking again.
“It is unfortunate you and I were born the descendents of a great magician queen who brought our people under one court. Then we wouldn’t have to do all this ‘duty’ work and save face all the time.”

“Wait a moment. Mikoto-ka-Meika-gotai was no magician queen. She was a great warrior, uniting the Yan through bronze and iron.”

“No, no, no. That’s not right.”

“That’s what grandfather told me. So sorry, but you are incorrect.”

“Grandfather told me she was a great priestess and magician, Ie.”

“You were five.”

“Well you were three!”

Laughter again filled the empty courtyards in the warmth of dawning summer.
“But it is true.” Akira continued. “Then we could be whatever we want, rather than be forced to be crown prince and prince of the Yan. But we cannot change that now. Instead, Ie, I really feel it is important for you to be in this campaign. Something deep within my soul screams it.”

“Mine too.”

Akira whirled his head around. “Then why fight it?”

“Because I am afraid of the change that might come.”

They sat there for a long time, first in silence, then in talk, listening to the crickets play. But eventually Akira stood.

“You should really get some rest. It is your last night, and you have a very long journey ahead of you.”

“They’ll carry me by palanquin all the way to Momoyama, and swim with one on their backs if I ask for it.” Ie said, lightly.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.

“I know.” Ie followed his brother up. “I suppose I should sleep. Just so I can say goodbye to everyone in the morning. You won’t see me again until the rice turns gold and the autumn coat paints the trees. Not until these maples burn orange and red.”

“That, I know.” Akira whispered. Then, the two hugged tightly. The scent of Ie’s perfume—cut and aged pine, like the new floors of a temple—filled Akira’s senses as he embraced his brother. “Until the autumn colors,” he said. “I will see you then, Foscan.”

[Tiburr]

The Battle of Midellus from the Tiburrian perspective

Summer of 603 AH


On the northern frontier of the Kingdom of Tiburr, two armies clashed near the small village of Midellus. The northern barbarians had marched through the night into the territories of Tiburr before stumbling upon the combined camp of the Tiburrian-Tyrrhuscan army. The coalition army was encamped at the horseshoe of a riverbend. The northern army approached from the northwest through a small forest. Upon the sighting of both armies, Legatus Junius Basilus, commander of the Tiburrian army immediately set about deploying his army north of the river bend. Caputis-Fetum Versni, the commander of the allied Tyrrhuscan army, deployed to the Tiburrian right. Warlord Reltas, the commander of the northern host, deployed his forces in the shadow of a hill that overlooked the nearby village of Midellus.

With the sounding of horns, the Tiburrian army was marched to the northwest in an attempt to encircle the barbarian host of men. The Tyrrhuscans marched forward to near skirmish range, but did not engage with the barbarian host. Near the Tyrrhuscan line, two Tiburrian chariots awaited the signal to charge the reforming northern army. In the chaos of the northern armies movement, slingers were sent forward to harass the advancing Tyrrhuscan army. The charioteers, who were operating under their own discretion, charged forth in order to capitalize on the undefended slingers.

The slingers, in a panic, immediately turned back towards their own lines in a desperate attempt to escape the chariots. The crash of the chariots into reptile bone and flesh was bloody. As the slingers were ripped apart, their panicked comrades ran to the safety of the now alert northern pikemen. Those that remained of the decimated slinger units limped back to their own lines, choosing to live over their commanders orders. On the Tyrrhuscan right, archers began to skirmish with one another, with the mercenary northman archers outshooting the Tyrrhuscan archers.

To the left, the main body of Tiburrians got set to engage with an emerging contingent of northern swordsmen. As the northern swords advanced, scores of arrows were fired by the highly trained Tiburrian archers into the advancing swords. As the swordsmen drew near, hounds of war were unleashed by their masters, crashing into the front line of the advancing northern swordsmen. Arrows continued to fly overhead, into the scaled men that were unsupported by their own archers.

On the Tyrrhuscan front, the heavy spears of Caletra were sent forward to shock the axemen rabble that stood before them. The northern axemen stood their ground. The Tyrrhuscan archers, realizing that skirmishing with the superior northern archers was hopeless, began to fire into the lines of scaled pikemen. Northern slingers were repositioned on the adjacent hill and began to rain down fire upon the Tyrrhuscan lines below them.

The Tiburrian front began to take shape, as the northern army began to march its elite spears into battle. Behind them, more scaled swordsmen. Legatus Basilus ordered the spear-pike line of Tiburrians forward to take the place of the warhounds should they fail. Tiburrian archers continued their onslaught of arrows down upon the scaled swordsmen. On the right, Tyrrhuscan armored swordsmen began to push their way up the hill before being crashed into by scaled spearmen. The swordsmen and spearmen were deadlocked in deadly combat. As the Tiburrian line on the left advanced, northern elites descended upon the flanks of the pike infantry in an attempt to rout them but the Tiburrian spearmen positioned on the flanks stood firm.

With the charge of additional scaled swordsmen on the Tiburrian flank, illy trained Tiburrian light swordsmen were rushed into the fray to plug any gaps that may be created and prevent the northern swordsmen from rushing through. Light swordsmen valiantly gave their lives in an attempt to stop the scaled elites from reaching into the backfield of the Tiburrian army. In the center, Tiburrian veteran swordsmen charged into the light pikes of the scaled army. Tiburrian heavy spearmen circled the field, waiting for an opening to join in the melee. The northmen quickly filled the center gap with axemen in a desperate attempt to keep the prowling chariots from penetrating into the backline of the northman army.

The sound of horns pierced the air and with it followed the northern pikemen charging into the halted Tyrrhuscan pike line. The Tyyrhuscans quickly filled the gap with their own pikes and began to engage in brutal phalanx warfare. With the openings filled, the charioteers, frustrated by their lack of participation to this point charged into the nearest lines to them, crashing into scaled flesh and bone with great effect. The melee continued on all parts of the line, but solemn news soon reached the Tiburrian commander. The Tyrrhuscan line was beginning to waive under the onslaught of northern attacks.

The warhounds, who viciously attacked the advancing scaled swordsmen, faltered and fled the field. The Tiburrian pikemen raced forward to finish the jobs of the hounds. The scaled swordsmen began to waive under the constant barrage of arrows and jabs from pike and spear alike. In the phalanx skirmish, pikemen from both sides began to break and flee during the chaotic battle. As northern swordsmen on the Tiburrian flank began to break and run, their comrades quickly moved to plug the gap in a desperate attempt to hold the northern line together. This had little success, as the Tiburrian heavy swordsmen systematically cut the defending pikemen to pieces. The worn down and exhausted scaled swordsmen began to crumble under the constant barrage of arrows and the steady advance of Tiburrian pikemen.

Just as the northman center collapsed, Legatus Basilus was informed that his Tyyrhuscan allies had crumbled and were beginning to flee the field. Basilus had only moments to decide on continuing the attack, or attempting to parley with the northern warlord. In an instant, he was decided. Parley to save the lives of many.

A runner was sent to Warlord Reltas with a note wishing for the mutual withdrawal of both armies. Warlord Reltas sent his reply and in a flash, the two sides dipped their banners and marched to their own respective camps.
Combined, the coalition forces took 3,104 casualties. The northern dead numbered 2,352 casualties.

[Aoyan]

Chapter 8
Land of the Gods

---

Ayai ran, becoming the winds that pushed the clouds. Her laughter was the humm of the cicadas, her joy the heat of the sun. The long ribbons of sleeve that trailed behind her rustled like the branches of the forest, and her sweat from play would form the river rapids—for summer had come at last to the Tribe of the Owl. Glorious summer, Ayai’s ninth or tenth, and the season was already paying its many promises. A golden evening had set upon her village, the only home she ever knew, and what seemed like a hundred of her people milled about at tasks in contentment while she was free to play and chase and run till her legs gave out. That was exactly what she intended to do.

Her friends were ahead of her, already passing through the causeway between the elder’s hut and Iktaq garden. Sahpo being older, and a boy, was already the span of two fields to the front and leading them all and Ayai thought it a bit unfair she was now catching up. She didn’t care. There would be many evenings to catch up. Instead, she stopped her mad chase to observe the life around her.

Kaiyomoko village was what they called this place, or so she was told. She only ever knew it as home, and sometimes as Owl village, for there were only two villages in the tribe and the other was a tree village she had seen only once when father had taken her. Besides, hers had the queen, and that was all that mattered. So Kaiyomoko, or Owl village, or home, it did not matter. This expanse of small thatched cottages nestled in the meadow of a forest was hers and she was going to rule it for the summer until autumn came to reset everything again.

Ayai wandered between the buildings, catching her breath, searching for nothing in particular. The spaces between them were large, and grassy, and there was no particular pattern to how the houses were set up, except that garden plots had to be marked by fences and it was bad to climb over one unless the owner let you. She had gotten scolded for that.

She made her way towards the places where people were gathering, keeping her sleeves in front of her so they did not drag. In the field nearby, she spotted the older children now nearing adulthood. There her sister was playing the throat-singing game, competing with another girl who had her arms locked around her sister’s shoulders as she did the same. No doubt they were trying to impress the boys. Ayai rolled her eyes.
Instead, she turned toward her house. There father sat on the porch, legs outstretched with a sewing board set above him. He pulled the threads of a shirt skillfully through each other. One of the ears atop his head twitched and turned towards her. Without looking up, he called.
“Ayaipe, come here.”
She hurried over to him.

“Did you know that tomorrow the queen’s herd will be moved through?”

Ayai gasped. “No.”
She loved watching the queen’s herd. Only a few times a year would the great mass of elk and deer be pushed through the village on their way to grassing grounds by the tribe herdsmen. She could see them now—strong, proud, bespeckled with summer or winter coats. They were the deer in which hides of great value came, of which meat for the starving times was offered, of which the warriors of the tribe rode into battle against enemies. They were sacred and it was their spirits alongside the ancestors and the spirits of nature which guarded the tribe. She loved them, and on more than one night did she dream of becoming tribe herdswoman herself.

Her father laughed for reasons she did not know, but she paid him hardly any mind when her senses pulled her towards the next alluring scene. Ayai stumbled towards the large expanse at the center of the village, where the cooking pits were laid. There, dozens of women were at work on this or that. Part of the ground here was soaked red, the other black, and some untouched grass ran between. Fires roared from the ground, licking at pots and pans and rods of copper. This was a place that sometimes scared small children, but Ayai had never been scared. Water pooled in her mouth.

Mother was standing at the edge, near a table, and she noticed her almost immediately. “Oh you again!” she said, wiping her hands on her cloth. “Haven’t you bothered us enough? Maybe the moonlight will come and take you away tonight for being bad, or this wooden spoon will do for it.”

“But mama, I’ve been playing with my friends all day. I’ve not bothered you, not one bit.” Ayai said quickly, half-knowing she was safe, half-panicked all the same.

“Oh? In that case, maybe you instead need something for that running wolf spirit.”
Her mother turned and then in an instant held out three blood sausages. Ayai took them quickly, hardly holding herself back. They were her favorite, and though they had blood sausages, and stew, and kampchka all year round, each season had its own flavor. “Thank you, mama.”

The other women were watching now, and they laughed at the scene before them, but just like father, their words were blocked out by Ayai’s next adventure. Now, having seen all she wanted to see, she decided it was time to catch her friends. She made her way through the village and to the outskirts, towards the beach, munching on her food as she went.
Now where have you gone too? she wondered. Sahpo would have taken them all the way to the beach, she decided, and maybe she’d find them in the water getting their fur wet.

It took her some time to navigate the edge forest, but eventually Ayai could hear the slow sloshing of the waves against the shore. Here the pines and shrubs grew thick, and she pushed through them with her sleeved hands as she went. Her ears perked, searching for signs of her friends. But she heard nothing. Only the crashing of the waves and a gull or two. Let me see if they are swimming.
Ayai peeked out at the beach from the shade of a bush, pushing through the leaves that crowned her face. The beach was empty. Nothing but rocks and sand, but that was not what filled her vision. Instead her eyes latched onto the horizon, out across the sea. There on the waves she saw…monsters?

No. Canoes!. Yet these were unlike any canoes she had seen. Canoes were slender, fast, for a few men to fish and sail. These were hulking things. Great wooden boxes, like turtles, that filled the skyline for as far as she could see. A dozen, tens of dozens, hundreds of them smashed through the waves heading towards the south. So many. Even at the distance she could see a forest of colored pennants streaming from the decks.
Ayai watched, moon eyes transfixed on the sight. Her nose twitched—an unfamiliar scent overwhelming it. The smell of people blood.

---

Inari did not look like the mainland—at least not quit. Ie could see that it held the same kinds of trees, the same color, the same rocks. Yet where Aoyan had been a smattering of islands and shore speckled with cities and towns and hamlets, Inari was nothing but rugged coast and forest. Gone were the li upon li of farmland that sat under the slopes of guarding mountains. Here the mountains came to you at the sea, and only a thick blanket of trees and growth wrapped their base. Occasionally he could spot a building or two, usually fishing huts or the remains of beach activity, but even as these sightings became more frequent the further south they went—the landscape hardly changed. He wondered if this was what his home had looked like in the days before his people, in the days before the ailur even.

That was not all. No, the strangest thing was not the appearance of Inari—but its aura. Even from the deck he could feel it. It sang. A wildness seeped with energy, colored in the hues of the gods. Ancient black beeches and cedars and pines swayed in the wind calling to him. The shadow beneath them watched, a million eyes that could see everything. They knew his name, and they knew his heart.

He shuddered. It did not surprise him that this was the place where men like the Haka had come from. Where fox gods roamed, and where bat-like imps and true imps waged battle against the settlements of his people. Whatever it was he felt, the others on deck felt it too, for everyone was now gazing towards the shore of that mystic land.

“First time seeing Inari, Foscan-ka?”

Ie turned to see the ship master standing next to him. He was a silver-haired brawler in an orange overcoat who had been hired on contract out of Momoyama. Rumor among his crew had been that he was a pirate in his youth, but Ie doubted he’d transport troops if that had been true. He had a habit of whittling at wood chips and he was doing so now.

“Yes. Though I take it is not yours?”

“Eh. I see her every couple of months running goods. But most of this crew is green and so they’re like you. Fresh maidens to the isles.”

The ship master had been the only man to look casually at the looming horizon. Ie could see the experience in his stance and hear it in his words. He had a penchant for stories, and he told of the huge storms that raged in the northern Mizuchi strait. Of great typhoon during the rainy season, and how they had just missed them. He had pointed to island upon island and named this or that, spoke of the Yan at each harbor, of the sights upon each bump of land. When they had passed the empty islands of Mizunoura, the ship master recounted how centuries ago the Yan had raided them for brides and malebrides, and how they were haunted by birds the size of houses and horned demons that lurked in the interior. His life upon these waters was as clear as the day was, and Ie suddenly felt foolish for even asking about his time on Inari.

“But I can’t blame you,” he continued. “I was tranced the first time too.”

“So you felt it as well?”

“Still do. It puts you off at first, but with a little time, it starts to pull you. One of the many reasons I still ferry. I can’t seem to leave her. I think if you push the little blood-drinking buggers back far enough, I might just settle down there. Start a farm in some distant hamlet. Leave the wretched sea behind, curse the dead god who made her and praise the new ones that rule it.” he paused, chucking the carved wedge of wood into the water below. “Though Momoyama has its charms.”

It was then that Katsuya Toriichi joined them on deck wearing the blue of Azichi. The ship master hopped to foot at once and bowed. “Katsuya-go” he said respectfully. Toriichi returned the bow, still towering over everyone else even when curled over. He smiled, gave a cordial greeting, then waved the ship master off before taking his spot next to the prince.

“When we reach Nawarisano, we will link with your grandfather. Then we march on his command.” he stopped and then rested against the ship’s railing, looking out to sea. He seemed unphased by the islands. “It won’t be easy at that point, nephew. We’ve been traveling at a relaxed pace thus far. Once we assemble under Lord Zoku’s banners, we take the pace he wants. If he wants us to march for four days without stopping, we will do that. Even if you are a prince of the Hollyhock Court. If he wants us to move slowly, a yard every few days, we will do that too.”

“Surely he wouldn’t risk harm to his grandson or a prince by pushing us too hard.”

A dark cloud overcame Toriichi’s face. It lasted only a moment, and though he tried to hide it, he wore his heart like a mask. Then it shifted and he smiled broadly. “Not to worry, my master is beholden to the other lords anyways, so we’re certain to take our time. On the other hand—”

“What?”

“There’s been talk, among the retainers, that Lord Zoku has made a pact with Ishii-ka-Yorimasha. That they’ve made an alliance. I believe Zoku-go will use it to take command of our forces on Inari.”

“Really?” Ie beamed with pride. His grandfather had always held a magic over him. Lord Zoku was the head of a family that Ie had been compared to his entire life. Good or bad, whatever trait others had painted the prince with from their own minds—it was because he was a Zoku And what pride that had been. Lord Zoku was respected, and considered both wise and strong beyond measure. He ruled from the greatest fortress in the land, commanded the toughest warriors, and instilled the sternest law. He was not weak and decadent like his brother’s grandfather, Lord Katsuya. Lord Zoku was strong and that was all Ie ever wanted to be.

Toriichi nodded, but he did not retain the same exuberance at the news, then he turned pointing. “There,” he said as they rounded a headland. Instantly you could see it. “Nawarisano!”

The city was smaller than Ie had expected. At least three quarters less than the breadth of Momoyama. It was a mass of dark, sea-bleached wood hugging the coast and surrounded on three sides by ancient pines. Only to the east had the inhabitants cleared the land for rice paddies, and that area was watched over by a hill fort perched atop a rock outcrop on the bay. No walls protected the city from the outside—there had been no threat from land in at least a hundred years. This place, so unassuming, had been the working capital of all Yan colonization on Inari and for that it held a mystique even from here. It did not clash with the land around it, but instead had become a part of it. It would have to become more, for no matter how large it might grow, it would never seem enough to take all the shipping that floated in its harbor with pennants streaming.

---

“Lift! Lift!” the crack of the whip cried out. Sannyoaino pulled upward with all his strength and slowly, with the might of twenty men, the wooden beam rose from the beach into the air—up and over until it sat on his shoulders. Then, like a weight threatening to crush them, the pewa marched in a line with their haul into the waves.
Today was a poor day for dock work. The sea had been unrelenting—it had been for days—and the waves crashed within seconds of each other against the shore. Even the ships that now swarmed the harbor like bees to the hive had to be bolted with iron weights to the shore—a task paid for in blood. As all tasks were here.

Sannyoaino breathed as he carried the beam with his comrades, trying to ignore the great burning that scorched his muscles. To ignore the strain that echoed death should he bow to it, should any of them bow to it. He knew the cedar pole they hauled would kill them faster than the sea beneath them, faster than the overseer’s blade, and once they had pulled this one in place, another twenty just as unloving awaited them. It was nearly too much. It had always been nearly too much, and so many men had died for it.

Yet he knew he was lucky. For he was a small man. Only just large enough to be spared for work. Yet he was so small his father had named him Ponni ,small tree, and though it was the name he preferred, he was more than just a small man. He was also a spy. Sannyoaino. Man who thinks. Spy, slave, the craftiest of the Spider Tribe. He was all these things and more, but today, as with most days, it was his position as slave that took precedent.

The twenty pewa brought the beam to the spot where they would lay it, knowing that just above another team waiting to begin the pushing and drilling where the cedar trunk would become a post. Then, waiting for the overseer's command, they encountered nothing but silence.

“Osage!” The voice was loud, booming, but it was not that of their driver. Sann looked up towards the dock. The demon standing atop it was tall, thin, but imposing. His armor gleamed in the midday sun as burnished fire, bedecked in wisteria leaves, and a mask hid his face beneath a conical hat. “Osage!” he shouted again. It took Sann a long time before it clicked with him.

”Move!”

The command was not directed towards the log haulers, but everyone on the docks.
“Osage ka Katsuya-go kowaresinu!”

Sann paused, thinking. He parsed the words in his brain, connecting and reconnecting, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. As a boy, he had learned Inari Yan first by eavesdropping on farmers from the dark of the brush, then by Yan who were more like men than monsters. This man’s words and voice were different, accented, but he was able to piece it together.
“Make way for Lord Wisteria!”

It was only then that reality came crashing back and the log became too much to bear. A man in the front dropped first, and in panic the entire group cast the beam aside less it crushed them under the waves. The log now blessedly free from their shoulders drifted aside gently—something so malicious castrated by the power of the sea.

The group dashed to the shore, half expecting whips to come flying. But they never came. For the overseers had turned their attention to the man on the docks and his shouting. Immediately, the pewa working above them had greater instincts and detected the tension in the air, rushing down the dock despite the screams of their own drivers. Now, a crowd was forming on the beach—a mixture of skittish slaves and equally aprehensive Yan. Sann spotted looming danger as a party consisting of three armed men and a woman in rough silk came pushing through the crowd. He slunk back behind his comrades in bondage, but kept his ears and eyes open.

“Make way for Lord Wisteria!”
Now other men, less bejeweled in armor came down the causeway and began pushing people aside. When they reached the shore crowd, the woman and her entourage stepped out and forward. Sann moved closer, darting between people, hugging their shadows. Like a spider he skittered across the sand, hidden to the attentions of all the onlookers. He could not hear what was being said, but knew the two groups were talking. Then, in an instant he froze. A sword blade flew. He jumped back. They all did. But no strike came for their heads this time. Instead it bit deeply and cleanly into the man standing before the woman. Had he been wearing armor, he might have lived, but the iron ate his flesh in an instant and from chest to groin he was cut. The woman allowed him to fall, grasping horrifically at the mass that was only a moment ago inside him. She let the screams go far longer than Sann would have ever wished, and then, she slid her blade through the man’s neck.

“Very bad manners. Very bad manners indeed.” she said, passing her dripping weapon off to one of her guards. Instantly they were dragging the body away, a streak of red running through the sand, and just as quickly the armored giant on the docks came barreling down like a god of storm.
“Hey!! That was my man you—”

Sann waited for it, the inevitable bitch. But such a word was never shrieked, because a man on horseback came off a ship and down the dock as quickly as he could. He was the most brilliant sight by far, armored from head to foot in corded bronze and new style armor. Where color could be found, there were flashes of gem greens, and whites, and golds, and a million shades of violet. He trotted over to the blood stain, then bowed.

“So sorry, Lady Nawara. But that man was a soldier of my nephew, Haroka-go.”

The woman, Nawara-go, bowed politely, then spoke. “Lord Katsuya, your nephew’s man had very bad manners. So sorry, but I could not let him go unpunished. Stupid man, he was very impolite.”

The man on horseback looked down at the armored giant, then, shaking, the man fell to his knees and bowed. “Please accept my apology, Lady Nawara. I am ashamed one of my retainers offended you.”

Sann could hear the trembling, the rolling hatred in the voice that sat just behind the shield of his words. No politeness could hide that, he thought, then he inched closer to the front of the crowd.

“Your apology is accepted, Haroka-go. Please accept my apology for the death. It was very impolite for me to cause a scene, neh?”

“No, lady. He died on my orders, thus the fault lies with me.”

“Very well. Please excuse my part in this.”

The man bowed again, and then was sent off by his master on horseback. Lord Wisteria—as they called him—let the mood linger, then glanced around at the crowd before him. He watched, then set his eyes directly on Sann. Even in the shade of the helmet, Sann could see two violet eyes watching him—studying him. He looked down, as if afraid. It had taken all his strength, all his might to hide the fact they had not broken him. They had not broken any of them. No pewa toiled and bleed under the whip truly broken, only trapped. That was something their slavers had never figured out. After what seemed like an eternity, the lord looked away.

“Why do you have barley-eaters chained in your city, Lady?” he asked. “We do not keep slaves.”

“Why should I not have them chained, Katsuya-go? Why not use them for work? Better they than us, neh?”

“You should have simply killed them when you captured them.”

“So sorry, but do you rule Nawarisano Domain?” she clicked her tongue in distaste. “Plenty die every day in the work shifts. I rather use them while they last. Do what you want in Momoyama, but here on Inari things are different.”

The lord had dismounted at that point, and instead of responding his view turned towards the docks, where a long stream of men came marching in violet cloth, long spears in hand. There had to be hundreds upon hundreds descending from the boats.

“I hope you can accommodate all the troops and supplies coming through your port and city, Nawara-go. This will be just the starting line for the campaign.”

“Accommodate? Why should I do that? Because of this ‘campaign’? My lord, we have been on campaign every day for the past hundred years here. As far as I am aware, I have not seen a single bead of silver from the court in Kawanakami. Quite the opposite. So please tell me why I should accommodate anyone. Your armies are free to pass through, that is all I can allow.”

Lord Wisteria sighed. “Very well, I will pay for the lodging and logistics of my troops while they are here in the city. I will also pay for the lesser lords who cannot afford to do so themselves. That sounds reasonable, neh?”

“Very.”

“You make enemies openly, Lady.”

“Oh, Katsuya-go, what are these threats but scarecrows to the real enemy at our borders, no? You are such a charm to deal with as always, unlike other men. There is, however, one stipulation.”

“Yes?”

“Keep your stinking monks out of my city. I don’t wish to see or hear any of your chanting monkeys, understood? But I’m told you have brought many young women of war talent with you. Yes. I would very much like to see them. I’m sure they are lovely.”

Sann pushed back slowly through the throngs of slaves, careful to be unnoticed. I’ve got to escape! he told himself. Now was the time. After nearly a year of bondage, after so many near deaths, now his efforts would be rewarded if he could just get out and report to his people what was happening in the lands of the invaders.
But how?

Sann looked up, lost in the machinations of his mind. Wondering how he would pull away, how he would survive until he could break from his chains. He could be killed at any moment. He could be killed even for the events of today—they had dropped their pole after all. How? How to escape? It was only then he noticed the blanket above. What had been a clear summer sky moments ago was now overcast in sickly gray. His ears twitched, rotating. The leaves of the shore pines shook gently. He turned watching the waves lap hard and fast over and over just as they had been for days. Out on the horizon, beyond the dozens upon dozens of ships still streaming into the bay, he thought he saw a glimmer of hope—a momentary flash where ancient gods called to him. Then he felt it. A single raindrop ran down the fur alongside his nose.

That was how he would escape.

[Aoyan]

Chapter 9

---

Aka was not prepared for what awaited her that summer morning. It began like always, dawning only a few weeks after the court said their goodbyes to an imperial son and the same breadth of time since her meeting with the emperor on the oracle’s mumblings. This morning she had started late, well past sunrise, and she hardly had time to dress before a gaggle of court women came for her.

“Aka-ka, Aka-ka!” they had called excitedly from outside her quarters. “Aka-ka, you must come out!”

She had debated not answering. None dared enter the lone storied building she called her abode. Not even the young women, who were the only ones fond of her besides the royal family. Fear gripped them too much. On most days, even the small court outside remained empty, many bypassing it all together when traveling between the palace walls. It let her work and live in peace and solitude, though this morning they had been relentless—she caved.

“Yes, yes, quiet down. What do you want?” she had found five of them standing at her doorway. Two of them daughters of various lords in their twentieth winters, the other three small children, all aristocratic girls younger than eight. Their sparkling moon eyes reminded her that fathers and brothers were gone now—some never to return—and her mood instantly rose for their benefit.

“Aka-ka, surprise for you!” said little Omi-ka-Noribisu. The child hopped up and down and it was only when one of the older girls rushed to quiet her that she was restrained. The game had already been given up.

“A surprise, huh?” her fan flashed out of a sleeve. “Kind of like this?”
With a shake, a butterfly built of ribbon and flame erupted from the tip. “Go, chase!”

The younger girls gladly bent to her command, rushing after her illusion with glee and giggles, though their heavy silk robes and wooden sandals only took them so far and so fast. Aka smiled before turning her attention to the older women. They bowed bashfully.

“So sorry mistress, if you would please, his Radiance the emperor wishes to see you in the Hall of Eternal Harmony. But you must take the side way, not through the main courts.”

“Oh?” Aka asked, sensing a trap. “And why exactly should I not go the main way?”
What is it you don’t wish me to see?

“How about because it is a humble command, Aka-na?” the voice came from across the courtyard. Lady Ai approached from the entrance—a pillar of elegance that put even the younger ladies to shame. Discerning eyes scanned everyone beneath pinned bangs and slender brows. Golden koi on her crimson robes seemed to swim as she walked, and everyone bowed respectfully as she approached. “Aka-na” she repeated, softly. “My husband wishes to see you in his audience hall at once. By the sideways, please.”

“May I ask if there are lords in attendance with his Radiance?”

“There are not. Only my husband and his son are there now.”

Aka relaxed. Certainly, whatever trap sat for her remained—but it was a harmless one and far beneath her ability to deal with. She was in no position to defy Lady Ai, let alone the emperor and she let herself sink back into a calm that had colored her whole life. A calm taught to her by a very old ailur at a very young age in the depths of the Inari wilderness. A calm she had noticed slipping more and more the recent moons with the strange events befalling the palace. A calm she had to regain—that of heaven and earth.

“Very well, mistress. I will go at once.”

“Good.” another bow, and Lady Ai was off. Aka watched her leave, pondering on what might have been running through her mind. Did she miss her son? Certainly she must, but if Lady Ai grieved for the absence of her only child, she did not show it. Lady Shikibu had shed all the tears needed for the both of them and now all that was left was a steely mask on the woman who had come second always in the events of the court. Something told her that inner strength, that coldness hiding just behind the slender features, would make all the difference one day.

It took Aka little time to reach the Hall of Eternal Harmony, where the emperor held his court. It was a building she was very familiar with, and she slipped into a sideway not under watch or guard. She could have investigated the main courts without notice—none would have seen her—but decided to play the game anyways. If it was just the emperor and Prince Mei that awaited her in the audience hall, then she had no reason not to play games of her own. Approaching the entrance alone, she burst into the room with a fluster of energy, plucking a jumble of discordant cords on an instrument to announce herself before tossing it aside.
She twirled on the wooden peg of her clog. “It is I, Aka the beautiful!”

Then—she stopped. The man standing before the emperor turned, dressed as no Yan was dressed. His shirt was trim, as were his trousers; not an area of loose cloth was to be found on the dark blue wool. At his side hung a long and slender sword, and black slippers adorned his feet where sandals ought to have normally been. Dark hair was pulled up into a simple bun on the top of his head, tied off with a ribbon that matched the rest of his ensemble and when he smiled—that was when she noticed the pointed ears at the side of his head.

“Aka” Emperor Yanagi was the first to speak. “Meet our guest.”

The ailur greeted her, not as a Yan, but bowing only with raised fists. She returned the courtesy as the Yan would—shocked by what she was seeing. Ailur were not completely rare in the court. She had seen three attempt employment in her fifty years here, but none had snuck up on her like this. Suddenly, she was embarrassed for the first time in what seemed like centuries.

“Jin Loshui, student of the School of the Ministers, at the service of your court madam.”

“What is your other name?” Aka asked coldly. Caution overtook her. She was not used to being caught off guard.

“Madam? My surname is Jin, descended from a house of Heyuan province.”

“No, your other name. Your Yan name. They cannot pronounce your real name.”

“Ah” he smiled again. “They’ve called me ‘Rohi’ for as long as I can recall.”

The man, Rohi, paused—giving her time to study him closely. He was middle aged, she reckoned, perhaps her age or slightly older. He had a round face with very high cheekbones and a flat nose. Two mustachios hung long and straight off his lips, and she knew that in an ailur context he would not have been considered ugly. He chuckled again.
“Gue qu, yua shi kore ka paiyao daa.”
When I heard about the ailur here, I never knew she’d be so striking.

“Sorry?”

“Oh” a look of disappointment clouded him. “Pardon me. I assumed you spoke some of the old tongue. I was only remarking that you cut a fine image, madam. Though you certainly have adopted Yan clothing custom.”

“Yes…” her eyes went to the emperor and Akira, who sat in their spots watching with fascination and curiosity. He speaks Yan she griped to herself. Of course he does, Su. We all do. I can’t speak past him.
“And what exactly is the purpose of your visit, sir?”

“Rohi is seeking to advise me on matters of state” Yanagi answered. “He is known for studying the old texts of your empire and being very wise in the management of people in nations. That is what they say anyways.”

“You do me too much honor, sire. As I mentioned, I am a student of the School of Ministers, formerly employed in the service of Lord Hiragi, now seeking to aid the high court here.”

“I know of your school, sir,” she snapped. “So that is why you are here? To be employed? And what of having me slink about side paths? Was it to hide your traveling carts, your possessions, so you could surprise me? Huh?

“Aka!” Yanagi interrupted sternly. “You are showing very bad manners in my hall.”

She cringed. That had been the first time she had earned any true reprimand from him since he had ascended the throne. Calm yourself, Su. Don’t let something so trivial unravel you.
She could not say exactly why she felt so irritated. Certainly there was a dislike for games such as this. Her embarrassment played into it too. But there was something else, something deeper. An unease that ate away at her, that screamed for the defensive, that told her barriers and caution were the only way. It was not this man specifically, but something else. A foreboding.

Then she felt something, something more tangible. Something she could identify, and panic set in. My wards! It was a tugging, instant pull, like when one heard an animal scratching at a door. Something is trying to break past my barrier!

She didn’t have time to explain. No doubt this would make her master angrier than he had ever been at her. Angrier than his father had ever been. But she had to leave, to run, to see what it was—to fight if necessary.

“So sorry,” she blurted out and threw a half bow. “I must go urgently.”

Before anyone could stop her, she dashed out of the hall and towards the spot—somewhere on the northwestern edge of the palace.

---

There was no birdsong to this forest. That was the first thing Aka noticed as she approached the spot that cried out in the daylight.
It sat on the treeline to the northwest, near where sixth street met ninth, just beyond the outer wall of the inner courts. Here no humans built or lived—only let the side path reach around in quiet solitude. A good spot to infiltrate Aka thought. Secluded, backed by wilderness. But where are you?

Now that she was close, she could visibly see her ward charm vibrating. To anyone but her they’d have missed it, but the small jar of sweet vinegar she had hung from a tree branch so many years ago gave off an aura of her own magic that her eyes could pick up. It buzzed with irritation.

Aka approached carefully. The world was quiet, too quiet, and only the wind in the trees gave off any sound.
“I know you’re still here.” she said aloud. “You cannot hide from me, whoever you are.”

Why are you hiding? Do you fear my power? The jar still buzzed.

She could feel nothing. Just as it had been only a few moon cycles prior with the killer spirits. That angered her. Normally, she could detect the supernatural with ease. A cursed hairbrush, a spirit passing by, the lair of a ghost in an abandoned shack. That was child’s play, learned before she was even a woman from a witch far greater in might than her own. Even the Yan priests could do it, though they possessed no magic of their own, and anyone attuned with heaven and earth could do the same tenfold. Yet there was nothing. Only the silence and her panicked charm. She stilled it with a gentle hand—the inked character had worn away over the years. She’d have to replace that.

“Whoever you are” she began again, this time louder and sterner. “You must know a sorceress protects this place. You have hit my ward and failed to breach it. You will find the same at any point in which you try to enter. There is no hope for you to dwell here, so you should leave before things go poorly for you.”

Still nothing. Yet the birds did not return. The whole world held its breath, and she was struggling to connect with the energy of existence here. That irritated her most of all. She had never struggled to attune herself with heaven and earth—that which is beyond the beyond. Yet suddenly, she found herself like a child again, learning the very basics of a long dead craft in a world that scared her from a woman who frightened her even more. Alone, hopeless, missing her home and family. Abandoned far far away so that she might live and try with all her might to do the impossible. With time she had, and had continued to do so forever after. Until now.

There were spells and rituals that could drag entities out of hiding, or increase one’s awareness. But Aka did not attempt them. She did not trust the outcomes in her agitated state, nor was she certain she could recall them on the spot. Besides, the last moons since the first incident had been peaceful. Emperor Yanagi had slept soundly, no reports of odd incidences or sightings. Nothing but the oracle at Kummi’s words and the forebodings of the Haka Clan had indicated anything more would take place.
She decided to walk back to the inner courts defeated.

Whatever had tried to enter, it had failed, and she’d know again the next time it tried. That was all she could rely on. What are you good for, Su? she chided herself. Certainly not sorcery. It was true that she rarely had to use her skills towards a task. Fifty winters at the palace had been fifty winters raising royal brats, advising emperors, entertaining children, tricking lords, and gaining hate and admiration in bounds—but using very little real magic.

One cannot escape the winds of change. She had grown too relaxed, even shirking on her duty to investigate the troubling things that were happening. No more. Today she had lost face in front of her emperor and gained nothing but frustration for it. That was steep enough price to pay for realization. Now, she would begin her work. But it will take time she reminded herself. Lots of time. I have much preparation to do, a lot of refreshing on the basics it seems. She was not afraid of work, but it would take her a while. Probably most of the summer.

As she approached one of the back gates into the palace proper she turned and gazed back at the forested mountain hills. Whatever was going on, whoever may be behind it—they had truly pissed her off. A smirk grew on her ruby colored lips. Good. Like forming a ladder trap in a game of stones. You’ve made a mistake.

---

Typhoon. The word echoed in the dark. Ie could not see into his chambers for the shadow—only the sound of the pounding torrent on the fortress roof accompanied him. He had spent his two days in Nawarisano in this chamber, in the dark, taken sick to his sheets with an illness that could not be named. It had descended on him quickly, within an hour of landfall. Perhaps as revenge for avoiding the sickness that came with a man’s first time at sea.
This disease had been heralded by his first sight of the pewa—the enemy.

These barley-eaters, these hairy ones, were not living creatures. Instead they had sat off the eastern port tied to great crosses of wood, where their small bodies had been shredded by the gulls and by the sea. The blood, which could be seen even from the docks, had turned black with the air and clung to grizzled bones and fur. Like a splotch of ink dropped onto a painting those crosses had clashed with the blazing green of the summer behind them, so that his mind had not realized what it witnessed until he was closer.

The second wave—when his stomach had broke and his legs buckled—had been when he witnessed a man die. Cut down and open by Lady Nawara’s blade only twelve paces away. That sight had haunted him, the screams worse, and he had wretched four times since and broke a sweat twice as many times in the summer heat. No matter how hard he tried, he could not escape it. What had that man felt? What if that had been him, or worse—grandfather, father, brother? The only relief had come when that word echoed again. Only, it was not in his mind. This time his ears awoke to the shouting.

“Typhoon!”

Ie stirred, not fast enough to rise before the doors to his room slid open violently. Katsuya Toriichi filled the doorway, a giant among Narasawa Fortress’ frames. “Foscan-go” he said. Ever since landing, he had switched to formal language. “So sorry, but we must leave. Now.”

“I’m sick, Toriichi. Please.”

“There’s no time. We have to get to higher ground. The camps are moving inland, we’re going to the shrine of Tadan on the nearby hill. It is safest there.”

It was then that Ie could hear more shouts from the hallways. Frantic demanding voices cried out “Typhoon! Typhoon!”

Typhoon? His mind raced. But we came after the rains? The season of storms should have ended. Yet it did begin raining on that first day and had not ceased since. Ie pulled himself up slowly, tired muscles aching. He had grown weaker from lack of food, confined to the dark of his room. Sweat pooled on his face, and sensing the urgency Toriichi came forward and hooked him under the arm.
“We must go nephew.”

The two made their way through the winding halls of the fortress, slipping through this corner or that. Narawa was a small place, made of stark wooden and very little comforts. It lacked any and all refinement, placed upon its seamount as a jumble of high walls and steep stairs. The place held a memory of defense with an iron grip, yet it had never been attacked in its near century long history. Instead, its purpose now was to impose upon the surrounding landscape like a dark sentinel. To tell invaders, and those beneath its walls, that hope died there.

When they had reached an exit, Toriichi pushed open one of the thick gates that sealed the inside. Instantly the winds and water smashed into the hall, coating the two and the people following them out. The outside howled, far louder to the open ear than from under the roof. In that howling, one could hear the roar of the gods.

Ie shielded his eyes, but it did not help. All he could see was the outline of the inner bailey and an enclosing gray mist of flying sea.
‘“This way.” Toriichi led him into the maelstrom.

Just beyond the flying waves, under the canopy of a stall near the wall, several black outlines huddled in remote dryness. Lord Katsuya, Lady Narawa, and a handful of the other important lords stationed in the fortress stood together against the onslaught.

“Katsuya-ka, Foscan-go.” Lady Narawa said as they approached. She could hardly be heard over the wind and wave. “We have to get across to the mainland. Across the bridge.”

Ie looked out. In the cutting mist swung the rope bridge that connected the seamount to the shore. It was a well-kept bridge, but even now it tossed and jerked as unseen power pushed against it. Below the ocean churned and reached up in great laps, having rushed over the beaches and far into the town. The risk it would reach up and take them all was too high to stay on the mount. It was for that reason only that he went forward with the group to cross.

At first the task seemed impossible. No one could stand on that bridge as it was thrown about. Instantly they would be swallowed by the sea, and he contemplated crying out. But he knew he would not be heard, so he stayed behind Toriichi as they stepped up onto the stairs of the crossing.One of Lady Narawa’s retainers led them, with her following right behind confidently. Lord Katsuya came next, with Toriichi and Ie behind. At first it seemed what Ie feared would be what took place, but as the swell of men and women stepped up onto the slick planks and grasped the rope sides—their weight brought the bridge down despite the ravings of the gods.

“Go quickly! Do not hesitate!” Lady Narawa shouted.

One foot at a time brought them forward. It was hard to think, hard to breath, and Ie’s weak stomach sat in his chest from the rise and falls of the bridge. Many people screamed, especially servant women, as the bridge was pulled up and down. Somehow, despite the crippling fear, a desire to survive had brought everyone to the center safely. Ie could see the twisting pines and maple near the gateway to the bridge on the shore now. He did not allow his heart to soar with hope yet. How could it when wracked by such fear. The ocean cried for it below.
“Almost there!” someone called out. “Watch your step!”

Then it happened.
As if a trickster spirit had heard the wind rushed forward, grabbing the bridge and pulling it upward as quickly as it ever had. Ie’s hand gripped the rope hard enough to burn and he held on as they were tossed about. He watched it happen. Half a yard ahead of Toriichi, a cluster of wet planks snapped at their corner with the swell. They took shadows with them and Ie heard the giant in front of him scream.
“Father!”

Lord Katsuya’s legs went first, swept into the void of the break by the torrent. Then Lady Narawa and the man to her front were shoved to the other side by the backlash. The retainer went right over the ropes, tumbling like a stone below. He was gone without a sound, but Lady Nawara swung over and landed with a thud between the rope breaks, grasping at a plank and a support. The line behind them bulked and stopped, terrified.

In a flash—there was no time to think. No time to fear. Ie pressed forward hand-over-hand on the ropes, pushing past the frozen Toriichi. His sandaled feet grasped for the tightest hold on impossibly wet wood that they could get, speedily vaulting from piece to piece. He let his mind blank and within moments he had reached Lord Katsuya, who was in a similar spot as Lady Narawa.
“Help!” he cried.

Ie reached down, oblivious to the misted death circling around him. With one arm swung around the rope bridge, he hooked Lord Wisteria under another arm and anchored himself so that the man could reach further forward and drag himself onto the bridge. Somehow they were not both thrown out to oblivion.

Lord Katsuya stumbled his knees onto the wood, panting.
“Help me!” another voice cried. Lady Narawa.

Ie looked over his shoulder to see the woman still grasping where she was only a few eyeblinks before. He watched her for what seemed like an eternity, but could have only been an instance. A shadow fell over his pale face in that moment—dark eyes scanning the helpless woman before him. His mind flew back to the man she had unceremoniously disemboweled. To her rude demeanor and seeming distaste for those around her. She was not an ugly woman, though older, yet he could hardly stand the sight of her. How easy it would be for him to give one sandaled shove, one press to any of her hands. How easy.
He stepped forward.

Then a hulking figure came up beside him. As if he could feel the thickness in the air, Toriichi reached down and pulled the woman up effortlessly, robbing Ie of his chance to do anything.
“We must keep going!” he said. “Only a few steps more to go!”

Finally, like a ray of the sun piercing through the blanket of sickly gray, they stepped off of the bridge onto land. When all had crossed and been done, they had lost only one to the sea. The shaken but alive Narawa led them past sweeping pools of water that washed over the lowlands across a ridge that skirted the eastern side of the town. From there, Ie could hear the panicked resound of bells and gongs and thought that among the ear-shattering storm he could detect the chanting of priests. The temple must not be far. Yet he wondered how farther he could go.

The cold bit deep towards his bones despite the summer. Every breath took in water, and he feared a man could drown on land. The strength of the wind pushed him forward like a spindly tree, and he tripped and staggered almost with each step.

Eventually, as they went higher even slightly, the effects of the sea were diminished, and in the hidden daylight they got a sweeping view of the town. Lord Wisteria paused to look out. Nawarisano was practically gone.

Where tall buildings of dark, sun-baked wood had once stood, now only a small sea swept out over. Ie shivered and could feel his stomach churn again. How many people might be dead below? His heart hoped they had fled inland in time, but his mind brooded against the idea. What was worse, the thirty dozen ships of the harbor were in the process of being tossed like pebbles by the strength of forces beyond mortals.

“My fleet.” Katsuya whispered. There was an age in his voice now, and Ie was surprised he had caught his words at all. The lord of Momoyama stood there watching for a long time, even as scores of people passed him to reach the temple. Toriichi stood behind him from a distance, watching his father with saddened eyes. Ie could not help but let his heart sink. Lord Katsuya had never been unfriendly to him, though Ie felt no real attachment to the man. He was not his grandfather—his own grandfather had not even arrived from the mainland yet. But Lord Wisteria was the grandfather of his beloved brother, and for that, he felt this man’s fortunes and sorrows were in a way that of someone he cared for more deeply than the rest.

Eventually, Lord Katsuya turned and carried on with the others towards safety.

The temple sat on a hill clustered among trees which blocked the wind from ripping at the roof tiles. Once inside, Ie could even smell the burning of incense through the scent of rippling storm. As the crowd gathered in the open court, the head priest came out and ushered everyone into the main hall. There, they were finally out of the rain and into dryness, beneath the gaze of a wooden icon of Tadan. The goddess of the dawn watched with still eyes towards the east where the sun rose each morning, seemingly absent in the midst of the wreckage. Ie contemplated if this was but a fraction of what the Deluge had been like.

“What the hell is a typhoon doing past the rains!” Lady Narawa had found her voice to speak again. “Did the gods not warn you of this at all! What the hell do I keep you for!”
As always, she chose to roar at someone with it. This time the victim was the head priest in his trailing robes.

“So sorry, mistress, but no. Storms just after the season aren’t so uncommon as to be strange, neh?”

“My city has been hit by three typhoons in total this year, priest. This by far the worst of them. Perhaps the worst in a hundred years! It will take us all summer to get the town back together. I had to flee my own fortress, and all this in the middle of a cursed campaign!”

Ie watched as she clenched her fists tightly. He was thankful she was not armed.

“You’re going to do what I give my patronage for, Yoritoshi!” she said to the priest, who was now groveling with a low bow. “Sacrifice one of your maidens to appease the gods of the sea, neh? That might lessen this storm.”

“As you wish, mistress.”

Lord Katsuya stepped forward. “Hold on, so sorry, but we need not do that Narawa-go. The storm has already reached land. It will dissolve by nightfall, surely. They always break against mountains.”

“Sacrifice?” Ie thought aloud. He could feel the same sweat that clamped him in the dark of his room return. Toriichi came up beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder.
“They… do that on rare occasions.” he said.

“We don’t sacrifice people in the shrines of the high court!”

“Yes, but, the less refined domains sometimes do.”

Ie rushed forward.
“Narawa-go, I am in agreement with Lord Katsuya. That would be an unnecessary burden.”

When he looked up at her from his formal bow, he saw eyes burning with disgust.
“Do either of you rule my domain?” she said. “A pup and a—” she paused. “Excuse me, so sorry. I have lost my manners in the stress. Katsuya-go, Foscan-go, I am afraid I cannot heed your advice. I am losing my town, my people, and my property to this surprise curse. If the sacrifice of one shrine maiden will help cease the destruction, it is a price I am willing to pay.”

Ie fell to his knees and touched his head to the floor. This was the only maneuver he could think of in the tension.”Please, as a prince of the court, I humbly ask you to reconsider.”

To his surprise, Lord Katsuya followed him immediately after, and because their lord had done it, all the Katsuya men in the room did the same. Now, Ie knew, Narawa was trapped. To disregard the pleas of so many people, let alone a prince and the minister of right—would be nearly unthinkable. It would bring her a great loss of face. There was a long silence.

“No..” she growled. “So sorry, but no. The lives of my people must come before the considerations of anything else.”

She turned and barked at the priest. “Bring me the girl, I will push her into the waves myself.”

Ie shrunk in his summer robes, his shoulders lowering with his soul. His eyes trailed up the flowing wood of Tadan’s dress and to her unmoving face. Suddenly, he thought back to his moment on the bridge. He wanted nothing more than to be back home.

---

“Taocano, look” Sann pointed through the pelting rain to the two guardsmen huddled against the storm. The pewa were lying prone in an open field, being drenched in mud and muck as the storm raged overhead. “They’re focused on staying dry.”

This had been the Yan’s concept of safety for their slaves—placed up high so most would survive, but given no shelter so that the weak would wither and die. Had they no need for them, Sann was certain they’d have tied them all the posts as the storm came in, but because the town would need rebuilt, they were more generous than usual and had taken them to higher land than in the past.

“You think now's our chance, Sann?” Tao asked. His face was only inches away and his cracked nose sniffed the drowned air as they spoke.

“No, not yet” Sann replied. Oh Taocano. he said to himself. Not the brightest of the pewa are you?
Sann studied him in the gray of the storm. He was an older pewa, with long white streaks to his slate brown fur. Tao had been of the Wolf Tribe—caught hunting too close to a Yan village near the borderlands. They had tied him in a net and lamed him with spears before turning him over to Narawa troops. The permanent limp meant they expected him to die quickly as a slave, but he had endured. Sann had never seen a man endure through so much as Tao. They had once tied him to a post and lashed him sixty times—the pewa laughing maniacally through it all. Sann was sure he would die after that too, yet here he was. Slow witted, gruff, and undeniably mad—he was Sann’s best friend during their time in bondage.

“Soon, Tao. Soon.” he reassured him. Watching, he couldn’t help but smirk. There were only two guardsmen on this side of the field. Two guardsmen and at least fifty pewa on this side alone. Their captors had tried to keep them all together, and the result was a mass of wet fur clumps clinging to the ground—three hundred in total. Three hundred slaves and only a handful of guards. Sann had planned from the first raindrop for this storm to be his escape, but now—now they had made it easy. For reasons unknown to him, they did not post the usual muscle to keep the slaves in check.

Ahead he could recognize one of the guards. Hota. The name was poison on his tongue. A thick lug of a brute who had driven them mercilessly for months. He was a barrel-chested Yan with thick ropes for arms, and just as stupid as he was strong. His cruelty was a baser sort, a bestial kind that struck fear in many men. Where people like Lady Narawa were predatory in their intellect and all the more evil for it, Hota did not understand the difference between good and evil. If he was told to kill, he killed. If he was told to beat, he beat. Sann was certain if he was told to jump from a cliff he would do that too—unaware of danger to himself. Good, Sann thought. Hota will make this even more easy.

The waiting had not been long. Though the storm had made everything miserable and time fly slower than ever, it had only been half an hour before Hota left his spot underneath a tree to check on something somewhere else. Sann watched him move, seemingly unaffected by the rain and the wet. That left, for a moment, only a single guard on their side of the mass. He was someone Sann had never seen before, some soldier adorned in violet robes. He must have been one of the men off the boats chosen to bolster the usual drivers. Unlucky you.

“Tao.” Sann whispered. “Hota is walking away.”

Taocano scrunched his nose. “Is it time?”

“I think so. Are you ready?”

Tao laughed—loudly. Sann stood, at first slowly, but then openly, becoming a shadowy beacon of drenched fur and cloth in the middle of a molding mass of people. It took the guard a long time to see him in the mist, and even longer to react. That gave Sann all the time he needed to start pushing up the rows, poking and prodding as he went. What had been a lone pewa standing in an endless sea of them rolled into a wave of people rising up from the mud. Just as he had planned. They had all—all been let in on the escape plan. There was no risk in doing so, though he had not revealed himself as the formulator behind it. Not a single pewa, not one, would have ever given it up to the Yan. Why would they? Why would anyone aid the monsters that slaughtered them like animals? That worked their bodies till they broke apart and then cast them aside to rot? That burned their homes, their villages, and took their land?

No, no, not one of them would have ever done it. For not one of them was ever broken.

“Attack!”

As if one, the great mass of men rushed forward in a frenzy towards the treeline with its lone watchman. The violet colored soldier braced his spear at once and then, screaming, fled from the horde that descended on him. He was not fast enough.
The pewa washed over him, a few kicking and scratching, biting and clawing, ripping at human flesh until they wrenched his weapon from him. Now the entire watchforce had been alert, and the smarter among them had rushed forward with weapons to block the escape. An alarm gong resounded.

Sann ran, not bothering to join the group that attacked the other guardsman. His goal was not revenge, not yet, but escape. He was Sannyoaino of the spider tribe—spy for the spider tribe. Not soldier. Not assassin. He was one who thinks. His weapon was cleverness, his edge wit, and that had won him and his brethren freedom this day. Freedom after so long. It had all been easy, too easy. No chance had come like this before. There had been storms, and there had been skeleton crews of slavers. But not together, not like this. The rain and wind kept the Yan from using their bows, from which no man had hope of escape. It kept them from clear sight and sound, from being able to surround them, from being able to stop them.

He wanted to raise his arms, to let the wind catch the skin underneath and fill it with cold ocean air. To fly. They had all wanted to fly—fly to freedom, and now they could at least reach that place.
Sann dashed forward, careful to not trample or be trampled by the others. He checked to see if Taocano had stayed with him and the older man had, running alongside him. Together, they made their way towards the treeline, reaching it moments later. Now, the enemy had caught on to the gravity of what was transpiring and more troops had shuttled up the hill from the camp just below with their pikes. Now it was becoming dangerous to fight and those who had attacked their oppressors were turning to flee while they had the chance. It was too late for the drivers now. They had made it. Sann had made it.

There in the forestry was a thicket of blackberry and honeysuckle, interwoven by thornvine and so coarse that it was impossible even for a man to push through. That would buy them all the time in the world, and nearly everyone else had realized that too. At the base were plenty of openings just large enough for a pewa, but too small for a human to crouch through. Sann leaped forward, picking his route and leading Tao through it.

“We’re there, Tao!” he let himself shout—the words riding the winds. “We’re there, to freedom!”

“Yes, Sann! Freedom!”

Sann could hear his friend laughing behind him. His heart raced—just a little further. He half crouched, half slid into the opening and let his lungs swallow the air on the other side. Air that meant everything in the world to him. He turned, reached back, and grabbed Tao’s hand as his friend began his push through the thorns.

Then a thick rope of an arm reached in as well and grabbed the old pewa by the body, tugging. A flurry of horrible screams—chiropterid cries—deafened the world around as the brush around them was shaken violently in the fight.

“EEEEEK! EEEK! EEEK! EEEEK!

Sann tugged in panic just as quickly and a voice burned in his mind through the screeches.
“No, don't, little bird.”

It was the droll, monotone voice of Hota. The same voice, saying the same stupid things it always said while it commited murder. Sann fought for what seemed like an eternity, but it had only been a moment, then through the cries he heard a calm, almost bored Hota call out “spear.”

The screeches stopped. Sann pulled and the opposing force let go. Tao came through the brush—but Sann had dragged his whole weight. Time frozen. The scores of free pewa around them became nothing but a background blur. Sann looked down at the body of his friend. Taocano had been run through in the back by his heart, and a sickening rattle was escaping through his throat. He could not endure this time.

“Oh, Tao.” Sann sank to his knees, cradling his friend. The old pewa’s eyes glazed a murky blue, desperation leaving them. and his soaked body dropped limp in the rain. “Oh, Tao.”

Sannyoaino, born Ponni of the Spider Tribe, sat with his dead friend on the other side of the thicket for a long time. He held him there, hugging the wet fur that no longer contained any life.
“You are running with the spirits now, old friend.” he whispered. “No longer laim, you will race with the wolves and leap with the elk. I will see you again. In the spirit lights of winter, and in the shadow of the summer leaves. Farewell, Taocano of the Wolf Tribe.”

When he finally stood, Sann could hardly bring himself to leave the body where it was. He wanted nothing more than to take it with him. To wrap the arms around his shoulders and carry his friend back home where he belonged. But he could not. He knew he could not. He was not strong enough to take him all the way and so in the most horrific decision he ever had to make—he left him there and began his trek north.

Today many of my people have been set free from their misery. he said to himself. But we lost many as well, and in our triumph, we should not forget that this is not the end. Not the victory, but only the beginning.

He wondered as he walked further and further through the dark of the woods—if it was not all the price the gods demanded for his cleverness.

[Aoyan]

Chapter 10

---

Up and up the six persimmons floated, hovering in the stillness of the shadow, illuminated only by lantern light. Aka held them with a lax wrist just above her writing table—rotating them, watching their forms, divining by the contrast between them. The incense wafted around the scene—dragontree and yaoshin oak. Aka, sorceress of the Hollyhock Court, studied the levitating fruit, trying to recall the exactness of the ritual, looking for even the slightest sign.

“And this is supposed to show me a curse?” she could hear herself saying four decades ago. Such a young, naive girl of eleven winters—far from home, far from danger.

“Yes, child” the voice of her master answered. Baba, the old witch of the wood—an ailur older and more powerful than any she had seen or had yet to see. A woman who had terrified her more than the demons and ghosts she talked about, more than dark gods, and though her father had whisked her off to those distant and mysterious islands to escape the carnage—it had taken her three seasons to feel safe in her new home.

Ah, Baba. Aka reminisced. If only you could see me failing now, my teacher.

“Curses are very powerful things, child.” she had said in that first lesson. “They are born of the most intense hate, fueled by sacrifices most are unwilling to make. But to those who desire revenge more than life, it can be done.”

“So what do we do?”

“We do nothing.”

That had confused her more than anything else, and it had been the hardest of all the hundreds of teachings she had learned. Yet Aka knew it was the core, the center, the absolute first step to all her power. To the essence of her school. Action through inaction.

“Watch the fruit. They react as all things do, to bends in the flow. To disruptions to heaven and earth. But there are no true disruptions. Nothing can be unnatural. Everything that is, is everything that will be. Everything that will be, is everything that is. Curse, blessing, demons or gods. Existence is beholden to existence.”

In her mind Aka could see the old woman twist the persimmons in the daylight. She didn’t even look at them—paid no attention to the incense she was burning, or the rest of the ritual. She simply gazed off towards the cave they lurked in front of. ”Do you see anything? she had asked.

Aka had not seen. She had not seen for a very long time. Then—it clicked. The shadow, the skin of the fruit, the way they floated in relation to each other. It became as stark as black brush on white paper.
“Yes, yes, I see it!"

“Good. Good. There is a very powerful curse on this cave, indeed.”

“But how did you know without looking?”

In the depths of memory the old ailur turned to her—something dark stirring across her wrinkled face. “Because I put the curse on this cave eighty years ago, girl. Think. Use your head.”

Aka had come to learn that the old woman had done far more than that. She shuddered. Returning to the present, Aka spent some more time watching, but detected nothing. There’s only one thing left to do if you won’t show me. She stood, pulling the fruit through the air with her and journeyed over to her hearth. With a tap of the fan at her belt, the earthen hole in the center of her floor ignited into flame and in it she cast her six persimmons. The orange-red fruit took to the heat and the flames began to char and crack the skin. Aka opened her fan, half red and half white illuminated in the firelight.
“Bu!” she spoke, her voice deepening beyond possibility. And—nothing. All that remained was cooking fruit, the juices beginning to pop and splutter. So no curse then.

No curse… That eliminated one of her main ideas as to the events of the palace. Then she chastised herself. Really? A curse? That was the best you could think of, Su? It’d take enormous magic to put a curse on the entirety of the palace. And it is the entirety is it not? Not just the emperor, but the complex. How could a curse even bring forth a demon, a hostile spirit, and nightmares all at once?

Yet deep down she knew a curse could do all those things and more. It made the most sense. She had a motive and a culprit in the spirit—even if things were not yet clear. But there was no curse and the last thing she wanted to admit was that she was already running out of ideas.

Aka was pulled away from her thoughts by a knock on her doorpost.
“Yes?” she answered it, opening the door to find a serving girl bowing on her porch.

“So sorry to disturb you, mistress. I bring a message from Master Rohi. He says he wishes to invite you to his residence to apologize for his lack of etiquette personally. ‘If it pleases you’, he added.”

I had forgotten about him.
“Oh very well, I suppose I should go.”

And go she should. After her own bad manners, in front of the emperor no less, it would have been unthinkable for her to disregard such an invitation—no matter how much she wished to.
“Where did they post the fool again?”

“In the western lilly plaza, mistress.”

“Very well, off you go.”

Aka shut her door, sighing. Who knows, he is ailur. I might learn something.

---

Aka had found the western lilly plaza empty in full summer glory. A cool breeze stifled the heat and as she made her way across to the building she knew as her invitor’s residence, a wall of scents hit her. No, that can’t be. she said to herself. They were all too familiar, from days very long past.

Aka approached the sliding screen that marked the entrance to most Yan buildings, but before she could knock, she heard voices trailing from the side. Curious, she looped around and peaked around the corner of the building to the back. There, on a grassy space between the courtyard wall and the back patio, were four ailur women attending to pots and pans over an open fire.

“Ah. I am very delighted you decided to accept my invitation.” a voice came from behind her. Aka turned. Rohi stood just outside his door, bowing an ailur bow, still wearing ailur cloth.

“Yes.” Aka said, suspicion filling her voice. “I decided it was owed.”

“Please, come in.” he motioned with an outstretched arm towards his open door. Aka followed, slipping off her wooden clogs at the doorway as was polite, but she noted Rohi kept his felt shoes on as he entered. He led her out of the entry hall and into his parlor. When she saw what awaited them, her eyes nearly popped out of her skull.

Tables upon tables of food were arranged in an auspicious pattern before it. The aroma—that which was just as strong outside—smashed into her. “Ailur food?” she said aloud in wonder.

“Please, sit and eat madam.”

Aka made her way to the spot designated for her and sat. It took all her willpower to move with refinement and eloquence—to keep her manners and not tear into the feast. Her eyes made up for what her mouth could not do and scanned every one of the many dishes set out. There was fowl, and beef, and pork, and venison—all coated in sauces of sweetness and spice together. Orange, ginger, sesame, and pepper infused into everything. Honeyed cicadas sat in a bowl to her side, and thick buckwheat noodles piled with shallots in dishes. What rice existed had been burnished in oil. Thick slices of leek and bean paste swam in the broth of soups, and her vision even spotted baked mooncakes. Cakes!.

“I haven’t had true ailur food in… well, decades.” she said.

“I thought it a small token to make up for offending you the other day. I know you have only eaten Yan food for some time—all they eat is white rice, and fish, and pickled vegetables. I figured it was one way to apologize for what happened. Please, don’t hold back for me.”

Aka obliged happily.

When she had finished savoring every bite and cooling the burning desire for the food in front of her, she spoke. “You need not apologize, sir.” she set her eating sticks down on the table. “It is I who did the offending.”

Rohi waved her away. “Nonsense, madam. Just know it was not my idea nor intention to surprise you. I was simply told that they would like you to meet me and would send for you.”

Aka shifted her eyes to the side. “Don’t worry. I am more than sure it was purely the idea of those boys.”

“All the same, please. Accept my apology.”

“Accepted.”

“I must say, I never got your name, madam.”

“I am called Aka, but, you already knew that.”

“Yes, but it is rude not to hear it from the source. I must ask, if you will permit, to know your other name. Your ailur name. You know mine.”

“Oh…” Aka paused. “ I was born Boyang Su-Yin, of Zinzhu province.”

“Su of Zinzhu.” he repeated.

“Quite.”

“Or Aka of Jinju Plain.”

Aka smiled. “Your Yan is very good.”

“I’m afraid not as much as I’d like. It seems I embarrassed myself on the very first meeting with the Yan emperor. I got the form of ‘Radiance’ wrong.”

“Don’t fret.” Aka opened her fan and began cooling herself. “On my very first day, I wore the socks of a prostitute.”

Rohi’s eyes widened. “Really? No, that could not have happened.”

She laughed and he followed. “It certainly did. Not only that, but I could hardly speak mainlander Yan. I had no clue what I was doing. I thought I had it all down. When I was eleven, my father sent me to Inari under the care of a woman there to escape the massacres under Emperor Yuru. I could speak Inari Yan well enough, alright, but I had no clue there was a difference between Yan spoken here and there. Prostitutes didn’t wear red socks on Inari!” her laughter had become uproarious.

“My, that is hard to beat, yes. Let’s see. Well, I must admit, I thought the Crown Prince was a woman when I first looked upon him. It wasn’t until he spoke that I realized it was a man.”

“He is very beautiful, isn’t he?” Aka sat up straight, a smile crossing her lips. “By Yan standards.”

“By Yan standards.” Rohi affirmed. His eyes smiled when his mouth did not. “You are very Yan in custom, Su of Zinzhu.”

“Oh?” she paused. “I beg to differ. Certainly I have adapted to fit into their world, but nothing extreme.”

Puzzled, the ailur cocked his head. “Nothing extreme? You no longer have eyebrows.”

Aka looked up, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ears. “I have eyebrows! They’re… brushed on. Perhaps when one lives among them for so long, they begin to adopt their habits. What about you then? How have you managed to hold onto the old ways for so long? Even your servants are ailur.”

“Ah. I was not born in the realm of the Yan, but northward, in the Harvest Plain. Where the memory of our empire still lives more strongly, and the gowrei and jorum that inhabit there still defer to our authority.”

“One day very soon they will own the harvest plain too.”

A frown crossed his face. “I know.” That thought seemed to bother him, so he sat quietly for a moment before switching the subject. “Since they employ you as a magician, you are clearly a woman of scholarly pursuits. That means only one thing among our people—you must belong to one of the hundred philosophical schools of old.”

“One hundred schools, one thousand masters’ I believe that was the old adage. Yes. I was trained in the arts of one of them. A very old one.”

“Which one, might I ask? Again you hold the advantage knowing mine first.”

Aka smiled confidently, waving her fan slowly. Her eyes narrowed, wondering if he would be able to follow.
“The school of push and pull.”

Rohi’s eyes widened, then he added. “Of hard and soft.”

“Of light and dark.”

“Of black and white.”

“Of heaven and earth.”

---

Ie stood in the wreckage, watching in the mist with the others along the beach of the remaining dock. Nawarisano had all been but wiped from the earth. While the islet fortress had remained untouched but for its lower walls, the rest of the city smoldered only as a heap of torn lumber and stagnant pools of water. Ie’s worst fears had come true as well, he had learned, and many of the city’s inhabitants had not made it out when the storm hit. Lady Narawa seemed unconcerned.

That was probably because her city would be risen again in a season or two. Ie himself had seen it when a fire consumed half of Kawanakami when he was a child. Yan cities were impossible to truly destroy. They rose and fell and then rose again. It was in their design—ever present was threat from fire, or storm, or earthquake.

Narawa’s main irritant was the loss of her slaves, which had risen and fled in the chaos of the torrent.Everyone else seemed unphased—Katsuya and all the lords who rode with him, Toriichi, the Inari lords who mustered from the north—their attention was on the mist-blanketed sea. For even now they could all hear the chanting of the rowers they could not see. Then like the completion of an ancient prophecy it happened. The mist was parted a long distance from the shore by the front of a mass. A mass like a mountain, larger than Narawa fortress, sliced with its black prow through the fog. The visage of a war god, fangs upturned, peered beneath a wooden prow, and the shadow of moving buildings came through the silver screen. Then the breeze carried off its mask and Ie could see the behemoth in full. It was a ship, he knew, larger than any ship ever made by mortals.

But it was more than a ship. It was a floating settlement pulled by hundreds upon hundreds of oarsmen—a quarter li of carved and seasoned wood, tiles, defense works, and sails. A juggernaut. It could act as an anchor, an island, that when sitting in the middle of a fleet or alone was practically undefeatable. Built by his grandfather, the Emperor Ryu, the Pekora meant that Tandan’s people would forever rule the waves. Yet the breathtaking work of power was not here to fight. Their opponents had no real ships, no desire to clash on the waves. Instead, it anchored far into the bay, for it was too large to slot into Nawarisano’s harbor, and from behind it came the true reason it was here. To lead the second bulk of Yan transports to Inari.

Ie watched excitedly as the first and greatest of the coming ships passed the towering sails of the Pekora and swerved toward landfall. From that ship’s decks he could see streaming banners of Azichi blue. Grandfather.. he remarked to himself. Finally. From behind came even more ships, dozens upon dozens, blocking the horizon, rivaling Katsuya’s first landfall. They flew a million streamers in Azichi blue, Ishii gray, Nakajima green, and a hundred others, and suddenly the violet clad armada that lay strewn about in heaps seemed dwarfed by arriving masses. Ie turned to look at Lord Katsuya, whose face was hidden by the shadow of his helm.

Perhaps he looked defeated in that darkness? Perhaps he was angry? After all, it was his youngest son, Toriichi’s brother, that captained the Pekora, and that man had chosen to lead this fleet and not his father’s into the campaign—though Katsuya’s force nearly equaled what was coming now by itself. What was worse, by coming when he did—by being first to make landfall on Inari, Katsuya had unwittingly ensured that only his troops and those of his allies were hit by the unexpected typhoon. Had that been punishment from the gods for something unknown to the rest of them? Ie was not sure, but at that moment, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for the grandfather of his beloved brother. Yet he knew, this had only been good for his own grandfather.

It took some time for Lord Zoku to dock his galley on the sole surviving pier amongst the destruction. The coast had become unsafe for ships, where wreckage floated on the water, making navigation a maze of hazards. With some effort, they were able to bring in the lord’s ship and turned the rest of the transports to unload their thousands of men on a nearby beachhead. Ie watched with bated breath as the gangway of his grandfather’s ship descended down onto the dock with a thud. The first through had not been Lord Zoku however, but a small, old, hunched man who grasped his longsword in one hand rather than wear it on his belt. This man walked strongly, despite his age, and wore white-yellow hair up into a tail behind him. He came off the ship and swaggered straight through to the center cluster of lords.

“Ie-na!” he bellowed. A cocky smile ran beneath his white mustachios and above the triangular point of hair on his chin. Prince Foscan bowed courteously. “Tetsukoba-ka.” Then the aged man ran a hand through the prince’s hair as if he was but a child before turning to greet the others—formally. Ie watched with amused eyes. Tetsukoba Moritoshi, his grandfather’s chief retainer. He was a hero from a past age, highly respected, sterner than stone—Ie had known him most of his life.

“Narawa-go, please accept the greetings and gratitude of my master for allowing him to use your harbors.” Moritoshi bowed.

“Tetsukoba-ka, can the great Lord Zoku not greet me himself? Why send his underlings?”

Moritoshi raised,—the brown silk of his overcoat straightening where his belt missed his sword. “My master will be here in person very shortly, lady. He always sends me ashore first.”

Ie could tell by the eyes that the two, Moritoshi and Narawa—man and woman—hated each other, and that only endeared him to his grandfather’s man and side. For he too hated that woman more than anyone. He relaxed his shoulders and breathed a sigh of relief. Finally people he liked had arrived. Men he was comfortable around. It was then that he wished he had traveled with the Azichi camp from the onset.

Moritoshi studied their surroundings, scanning the wreckage of the beach and the leveling of the city before turning his attention to Lord Katsuya, who ignored his condolences about the fleet and only responded with a polite nod of his head.

“Toriichi-ka” Moritoshi was now in front of them again, only then acknowledging the giant standing next to the prince. “I hope you guarded Ie-ka well during the storm, and did not muck anything up, you lug.”

Katsuya Toriichi bowed and did not rise to the insult. Instead, he caved. “I did my best, sire. I only hope that was enough.”

“We shall see. Zoku-go will want a full report from you of the events since you left Kawanakami by this evening. I, as well. Be very detailed, Toriichi. Leave nothing out, neh?”

“Yes, sire.”

“Good.”

Ie zoned out of the two men’s conversation and instead watched the flotilla in the harbor, circling around and past the juggernaut anchored in the bay. It was only then that he noticed a second ship threading through the driftwood and approaching the otherside of the dock. This galley was smaller, but bearing banners of Ishii gray. It slid gracefully alongside its partner, the men on deck lowering the gangplank from the top and not from the hull as others had. Ie studied them. They were different, in some slight ways, to the men of other sailing crews. Their looped hair was old in fashion, and the armor of the soldiers on deck was also outdated—overlapping iron plates forming a dress that covered from head to shin. Men had not worn armor such as that since his father was a child. The first to descend was a white bearded man in hunting gear, followed by men with arms. Ie recognized him as Lord Ishii and it was only after he had come ashore and had his full greetings that a figure came from the Zoku boat on horseback. The silhouette of his grandfather in campaign dress was noticed immediately.

Lord Zoku resembled a demon. Two bronze horns sprouted from his helmet, reaching into the sky and culminating as spikes two feet above him. His armor sat somewhere in between Katsuya’s and the Ishii men, but he sported a brown and cream overcoat where tigers roamed bamboo on the sides. Nothing but his trousers was thread of silk, and none of it bore the blue his men wore. His charger—short and strong—bore cord reigns of bright orange-red and that was the only color that popped from his figure. All the same, he seemed greater and taller than any of the lords that stood on the beach.

The horse stepped confidently forward onto the dock and carried its rider onto the beach. The Azichi men bowed deeply at the presence of their master, and the Ishii men oddly did the same. That forced Lord Wisteria and the entirety of his camp to acknowledge the single rider before them with equal reverence. Only Lady Narawa and her few retainers stayed upright, leaving a beach full of bowing people. Ie watched from the side. He recalled what Toriichi had said on the sailing over—that others thought his grandfather would take command of the whole campaign—and in that moment he realized somehow Lord Zoku had done just that before he ever set foot onto Inari. Pride and admiration hit him as hard as the summer sun and he silently thanked the gods for being the son of Zoku Ai and not Katsuya Shikibu.

Zoku sat upright atop his head, his left hand on the reigns, the right rested against his hip in an arch. Ie noticed a smile, ever so slight, at the edge of his lips. Then his eyes shot over to Moritoshi, who fingered his sword scabbard and Ie realized the tension in the air. Lady Narawa stood seething. Zoku moved upward towards her but she spoke before he could.

“There’s no room in my city for your men, Lord Cat. The storm you missed has destroyed it.”

“I can see that lady, thank you. But we will not be staying in Nawarisano. No, within two days we will be departing for the frontier.”

“Good! I don’t have the supplies. None at all. Katsuya’s men have already halved my granary in just three days. Who is going to pay for all this? The Court? I certainly can’t—” Lady Narawa continued talking up to the mounted man before her, but he paid her no mind. Instead, his head turned to the others.

“Katsuya-go, Ishii-go, my friends! Let us and your esteemed companions dally no longer. We have a campaign to win!”
With that, Zoku spurred onward into the city, leaving Lady Narawa rambling after him. The men of the beach surged forward, following, and Ie couldn’t help but move with them, the bitter taste of previous days leaving his mood.

---

Queen Aga of the Owls sat on her throne of carved whale bone and cedar—a giant in a hall full of ants. Like a mountain she lorded over her domain, raised on her dias above a reverent court. Her sleeves cascaded off the rests like waterfalls, where elk ran freely amongst northern stars of spun gold and amber thread. The light of the fire lamps beside her radiated like the sun off her image, reflected in the bronze of her earrings and necklaces.. Somewhere above, in the twirling branches of the trees that ran the back wall, rested Chanja, her pet owl, which watched silently with unwavering eyes.

Princess Buniqkunipe, daughter who is like a sweet kiss, studied her mother from the side. The queen on this day looked a little older—a little more tired than she had yesterday. The others couldn’t see it, she knew. They only saw the authority, the regality, the strong mask. But Buni did see it. Mother’s honeyed fur had begun to dull with the years. Her ears had started to droop at the tips. Her nose ran dry and cracked. Yet it was not all these things she watched with nervousness, but how unkindly mother’s eyes watched the ragged stranger before her.

“Tell me again, Ponni of the Spider Tribe, why you have come to disturb my halls with your presence?”

“Great Queen Aga, I have traveled far from the yoke of bondage to report before you with the most grave and urgent news possible.”

“And what news would that be?”

“That the men of the dawn amass on the shores with troops and arms, great queen.”

The silence in the room grew harsher, more stern—unloving tinted with fear. Only the soft hoots of Chanja resounded in the quiet. Buni watched the man, this “Ponni”, as he awaited her mother’s response. He was tattered. Filthy. A reeking mass of matted fur, and mud, and twigs, with a skeletal body draped by torn and loose cloth. Had he not ever stopped to bathe on his journey? The beard of his face was long and pointed as beards got, yet his eyes were as strong and solid as her mother’s. Despite his appearance, there was an aura about him that set him apart, and she wondered if that wasn’t a sign of something greater.

“Nonsense.” It was not mother who spoke first, but one of her elders. Yanpiq, the shaman. “I know of this man, highness. They call him ‘Sannyoaino’, because he is so clever. He is a wanderer, a trickster, a spy. He can’t possibly be trusted.”

“A spy, is it?” Aga leaned forward in her seat. “So, Ponni the spider, my shaman says we cannot trust you and he is someone I trust. Our people have rules and customs regarding guests, but spies are different. Yes, very different. Why is it that we should not toss you into the river, or worse, for your tricks? Last snowfall, your tribe raided my herd and made off with 50 elk at cost of five of our warriors. How can I possibly take what you say to heart?”

“My queen,” again, it was not the stranger who spoke first but another of the owls. This time, the voice was muffled by a wooden mask as the spear wielding warrior at Aga’s side stepped forward. Hennauke. “This could be a lure to drag more of our fighters away so that greater gains can be made by the enemy. I suggest we bind his eyes and nose so that he cannot report all that he has witnessed.”

Buni’s ears twitched and folded. Hennauke meant well, she knew. He was captain of her mother’s guard—braver than any wolf tribe in battle—and the latest consideration to become the queen’s 18th consort. Yet, he didn’t always think things through. None of them seemed to be thinking it through.

“Yes, I agree,” Queen Aga continued. “So what say you, ‘Sannyoaino’? My council has decided your tricks and lies must be prevented. I think we will bind you, at least, until I decide what to do with you further.”

To his credit, the stranger did not bulk. Instead he stayed in place, staring straight at the queen. “I say no man or woman here has seen what I have seen, great queen, though there will in time be some who have. There were owls among us in the slave crews, just as there were spiders, wolves, and bears. They will make their way back—those that survive.”

“Then I will await that day.” Aga leaned forward. “But you, you must be prevented from harming us. For that you will be bound. Hennauke, see to it! And no more of this nonsense about the children of dawn until what this man claims comes to pass. I will not have my tribe in a panic over the deceit of a spider.”

“I must be allowed to continue!” Ponni stepped forward. Buni could hear a hint of panic in his voice for the first time. “I must report all that is happening to the others. Every town, every village, my own people.”

“Enough! How dare you speak without my warrant! I’m done with your—” Aga stopped, her eyes fluttering over to Buni as she scurried to the throne through the back of the audience. The princess of the owls made her way up the side of her mother’s steps to next to the throne from which the aging woman commanded all things large and small. The wrath that inhabited this place had cooled—it could never be directed towards the girl who was like a sweet kiss. She had known that, and used it all her life—Queen Aga’s one and only child.

“Mother,” she whispered. “I think he is telling the truth.”

The queen did not respond. She could not respond. Only glance aside with a look that said “not now”, but Buni continued. “If he is telling the truth, we have to let him go. We can prove it now, mama. Do you not remember the little girl half a moon ago? She said she saw canoes on the sea, did she not?”

Mother turned and with a motion of her sleeved hand, waved. “Where is the child that told stories of great canoes on the waves? Bring her before me at once.”

“It was Ayai, daughter of Kinput, who reported the canoes.” the shaman Yanpiq answered.

“Well? Bring me this girl.”

It did not take long. Most of the adults had watched from the audience in the hall. It was not everyday an event warranted the attention of the queen, and a bedraggled stranger bringing whispers of war—true or false—was certainly one of them. Children were often left to play just outside the hall, and it was from there that the little girl with tidings of oddities at sea had been plucked.

Buni watched the girl’s father bring her before the throne. She could not have been more than eight or nine winters in age and she fidgeted nervously, averting her gaze from the queen before her. All children were like this. Little storms of awe and terror whenever they found themselves before the tribal throne. Even the boldest of them became shy in this position, and Queen Aga had done much to earn a godlike status among them.

“Tell me of the canoes, child, and be quick.”

“Well there was the canoes and they were very big and I was playing with my friends and Sahpo went to the beach and there were monsters but they were canoes and—”

Aga’s frown deepened in the moment the girl took for breath. Buni winced, not because of the child, but because of how her mother could be. The girl must have noticed, or realized something was wrong, and under the weight and pressure of a hundred watching eyes did the only thing her instinct thought it could do—she began to wail uncontrollably.

“Somebody take this kit out of here! Kinput, you tell me what happened.” Aga demanded.

It was only after the girl’s mother carried her away—Buni’s heart sinking—that her father began to recount the story.

“Great queen, my daughter claims to have seen many huge canoes out to sea. As dense in number as trees in the forest, with great swathes of colored banners that covered the sky. They did not sound like pewa canoes to me, nor pykke craft, nor ailur boats.”

“Did you see them?”

“No, great queen.”

“Did any other child claim to see them?”

“Not that we know of.”

Queen Aga sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. The silence in the hall grew unbearable and the weight of the world seemed to fall upon it. Even the shadows seemed darker, heavier, more foreboding as fear slowly crept upon the audience.

“Let him go.” Aga whispered.

“Great queen?”

“Let the spider go.” there was a tint of sorrow in Aga’s voice, and when she slumped in her throne, she looked older than she ever had. “And send runners to all nearby villages. Call the tribal horns, I must meet with the other rulers. War has returned to our shores.”

Immediately, despite themselves, chatter filled the hall as people panicked amongst each other. Buni did not know how to respond. She had been a child the last time fighting with the westerners had broken out, and that had only lasted a summer and hardly involved any Owls. She tried to stop fear from gripping her too.

“Silence!” Aga suddenly shot up, shouting. “Hennauke, get these people out of here! This must all be done in haste.” her eyes shifted to the lone man standing tall in the center of the room. “And you, we will not forget this spider. Take your leave before I change my mind. I do not wish to see you again.”

The man turned, without a word of thanks or formality, and strode out in triumph. If anyone could have ever called such a thing triumph.

---

“Toriichi.”

“Yes, lord?”

“Why did you stop my grandson from letting Lady Narawa die?”

The question was unexpected—a complete surprise and it disarmed Toriichi as he sat before his master in the dim of the room. “Lord?”

“Why did you save Lady Narawa when the prince had decided to let her fall? Is that not what you said happened in your report? Did he not report the same to you, Tetsukoba-ka?”

“Yes.”

Toriichi bowed. It was only he, Lord Zoku, and Tetsukoba Moritoshi in the room, assembled to hear his official recounting of the events since his departure from the capital with Prince Foscan. It was, in all ways, a private audience. “That is what I said sire, yes. Forgive me. I simply do not understand the nature of your question.”

“Then try harder, Katsuya.”

“Yes, I—I saw that Prince Ie was not going to help Narawa-go up when she was tossed over the bridge. I don’t know how I saw it, through all the water and storm. But after he had saved Lord Katsuya in the span of a few heartbeats, I could tell. Tell by the way he was standing. Tell by his face in the dark. So I rushed forward and pulled her up myself.”

“I did not ask you to tell me again. I asked why you helped Lady Narawa when he decided against it.”

“Lord—I, well, because I could not let the lady die.”

“I see.”

Lord Zoku shifted in his seat, where they all sat cross-legged on the hard floor. The light of lanterns filled the corners of the room. This was a small house, one of the few standing on the outskirts of the city, and it was already night when they had retired to it. When morn came, the orders were that the army be marched out of Nawarisano and northward towards the frontier. Zoku began to fan himself leisurely.

“These are serious accusations you are leveling against my grandson, Katsuya-ka. Very serious, and against a prince at that.”

“Yes, lord. Forgive me. But if I was not certain, I would have said so. My duty was to report everything.”

“It is. This is to remain between us three. No one else is to ever hear of this, understand?”

Toriichi bowed.

“And Toriichi. You are not to move against the judgment of my grandson again.”

Another shock. There was a sudden sternness in Lord Zoku’s voice, and Toriichi peered through the shadow to read his master’s face. It had not changed. He had served Lord Zoku for almost two decades now, and had dreamed of him being his father-in-law. In that time, a time when he could remember the man much younger, much stronger—he had never learned to read his mind. He could not do so now.

“Am I understood, Katsuya-ka?”

“Yes, sire. Perfectly.”

“Good.”

It was only then, when Zoku had clearly finished his interrogation, that Moritoshi spoke. “Shame you did not let Narawa die, Katsuya.” the older man said, twirling the end of one of his moustachios. His long sword rested in his lap. “She is a very stupid woman. More so than usual for women. There is nothing more dangerous—not even a tiger posed behind you, neh?”

“Yes.” Lord Zoku said, fanning away. Then, his expression changed—a lightness, a smile. Like a mask in the theater he loved to play in so much. “But I think it very good you saved Lady Narawa, Katsuya-ka. Yes. Very good. She may prove more useful to us than we could know.”

[Aoyan]

Chapter 11

---

45 pairs of sandals, five horses, ten hide leggings, and four ken of provisions. That had been the morning count made by Goroda Kayubusa-ka-Obo. The same count he made yesterday, and the day before. The exact same count he had made the morning he had set off from the capital—620 li ago. Rising from his stoop at the edge of their camp, Kayubusa looked back on the handful of men rousing in the morning calm. He stroked his thick moustache, pulling a few hairs with a finger. The count continued. Three men lost, fifteen remaining, two desertions. Grunting, Kayubusa turned back to watch the edge of camp. A moon and a half’s journey always had to be bought in life—this time he had paid a good price.

Leaning against a red barked tree, Kayubusa waited in the deep shadow of needle-tipped leaves. Like a shield, the dark held him from the view of the western sun, yet sweat still gathered on his shoulders. Damn this heat. Like a statue, he waited, and waited. Dawn turned to early morning and in that wait he watched the surrounding country with eagle’s eyes. So far into the west had brought them all to an alien world. First to the lands of the Border Yan, those familiar people who spoke his language, oft wore his clothes, but did not belong to Mikoto-ka-Meika’s court., Then beyond, to places only Vemayans and merchants wondered. To places where Yan was not spoken, and people lived in hovels of wood. Places where ailur once dwelled but lived no more. Places where the seasons halted and the ever burning sun disk bore upon them.

When they had gone as far west as the horizon, beyond the places anyone spoke Yan, they had gone even further, and within a fortnight had crossed hill and vale where the oaks and beeches turned into redwood and jungle. The air there had grown thick with moisture, so they had to oil their blades and pack their armor in dry linens. Then, it was over yet more mountains where strange colored birds and spotted tigers lurked in the brush. Kayubusa had seen Zheng Vi, and he figured they must have stepped into its western edges. Few people had been seen there, but the merchant trails were clear, and eventually the jungle dark gave away to blinding plains. It was here, four days into the open that they camped—clustered discreetly among a stand of trees.

Kayubusa lowered himself near his watch, grasping a clump of the yellow grass of this land. It was dry, bristle-like, and the entire area was covered with it. What had been an open plain was dotted with stands and strands of twisting trees which formed conical helmets of tough leaves above them like crowns against the sun. Boulders of gray slate dotted the landscape, hidden among weaving thickets of yet more grass that had grown taller than men stood. The soil was dry here too, yet he had seen great meandering rivers push their way through with muddied waters. So different were they from the quick alpine streams of his homeland—which had nourished the unending rice fields of the coast—that these places were home to massive monsters and hidden dangers. His men would not step near them despite the heat.

Reaching into his bow quiver, he withdrew a finger-sized ingot of silver. There, on the face, was stamped the image of a hollyhock. He turned it in his hand, letting the symbol catch the light cutting through the shadow like fire flashing across autumn kindling. Forged in Kawanakami. Taken off a merchant ten li from this place. How had Yan silver come all this way? They had found more too—beads in the sacred shape in the packs of donkey trains, all along the pathway. The merchants had traded for them at the border, or in Jinju Plain—giving hard and softwoods for silver and iron. He had never known Yan goods to have made it so far west. Narrowing his eyes, he was glad to have ordered their hollyhock banner down from the campsites so they may camp hidden from prying eyes.

“Captain, the camp is packed and ready to move.” he heard a voice report behind him. Kayubusa did not turn. “Good, standby for our scout.” he replied, eyes moving up towards the sun. It was approaching the sacred hour. They had always begun moving before it. Watching a pack of striped horses four yards to his front, Kayabusa did not shift from his lean. Like Yan horses he thought. Only shorter, stockier, without the flowing manes. Clearly not meant for riding. I wonder if they aren’t kin, somehow.

“Captain?” the same voice.

“Hmm?”

“Everyone is prepared to move.”

“Standby for our scout.” Kayubusa repeated. The sun continued its climb into the sky, slowly. He remained leaning, watching out into the grasslands. Mindlessly checking bow string, fingering the wood-bamboo mixture of the handle, checking for heat cracks. Wondering if they should move south where it was said cities sat on a sapphire coast, or further west. Had the emperor not ordered him to gain information? Was that not his mission? Certainly they had dominated the roadways during their journey, stopping caravans, investigating settlements—but knowledge was what they were after. Kayubusa would not fail that mission. The Willow Emperor had given it to him personally, and he was descended from ancient clan Obo. His ancestors were watching. He would not be the upturned stone in a lineage of great renown.

Watching the fiery disk of day move further into the cloudless blue, he made his decision. Straightening himself, he said his farewells to the scout who had lead them forward this far into the west, and stepped out of the shadow. It was only then that his eye caught something—a form, almost shapeless, and nearly as silent. It moved like ink among the shadows next to him, and his hand gripped the silken cord of his sword handle. An iron blade, silver-polished, flew up from its sheath silently and then stopped.

“Goroda-ka?” a female voice whispered from the dark.

“Yes? Jin?” Kayubusa exhaled, his hand lifting from his blade hilt.

“Jin, reporting.”
The shadow slinked from the dark, and the figure of a willow woman appeared. She looked at him with squinted eyes, where just above sweat streaked through her painted eyebrows. A frown sat permanently on her face, framed by inky hair that fell down in straight sheets. Her hand lifted off her the swamp-blue wrap of her own handle, and her tattooed arms fell to her side.

“Jin.” Kayubusa allowed himself to breathe again. “You snuck up on me. We are moving out now, what is your report?” A smile cracked at his face, something he couldn’t control, but it was turned just as quickly by his scout’s own expression. Tired eyes ran over the camp like a tiger’s, then, she stepped forward and spoke.

“Captain, do you think that old man who ditched us two weeks back survived? The one who could level all of us in a fight?”

“Him? The josen from Sayanashima? He survived alright. Oh yes, it would take more than the wilderness to kill that one. Why?”

“Because, it’d be good to have him with us now. There’s a fort up the road. With troops.”

---

Inouye reached down into the black soil, running his fingers through the coarse grain. When he pulled a clump upward, soot streaked his flesh, and a press of his hand sent it scattered on the wind.. Charred to ash.

From his vantage on the hill, Inouye could see over the sea of destruction. In the valley below, there was a forest’s grave. Where towering oaks and swathes of black juniper once blocked even the rays of the sun from the earth, now all that remained was splinters and dust. What trunks remained were tossed about like straws on the wind, and a layer of soot covered the ground in every nook. Inouye could only compare it to coastal forests after a bad typhoon, only this was hundreds of li inland, and instead of water, the maelstrom had been of flame. He began his descent into the wreckage.

The world was quiet, too quiet, and the older man was free to explore alone and unopposed—there were no living things here. He could sense that. Where creatures of the forest had once dwelled in untouched nature, now only silence remained. No humans had been to this place, though many had fled from it. The destruction had spread for li upon li in every direction—he had walked through. This was only the heart.

While he may have been the only living thing around, he was not alone in counting the dead, for strewn about the remains of nature sat a hundred pockets of corpses. Like flecks of dust caught in light, they shimmered in the morning sun—golden and gleaming. Inouye approached, crouching on his haunches to study the nearest. These were not men. Nor were they ailur, pykke, pewa, or any of the other races of being that dotted the earth. He had never seen beings like this.

The corpse he studied gleamed like all the rest, and up close, he could see why—its flesh had been wrought like metal. It shared a color with his blade, though less lustrous, and a carefully hand placed on the destroyed chest told him that it was indeed bronze. Warm to the touch. The bodies radiated heat, though they must have been dead for many moons. How strange.

Inouye moved from one to the other, studying. Most of the metal men had been plain in look—husks of bronze-like skin and little else. But a few, a select few, sometimes larger than the others, bore decoration on their bodies like intricate carving. They seemed so—familiar. As if Inouye had encountered these beings before, had been witnessing something he had witnessed a thousand times. Yet he knew that was not true. Standing, he turned his head upward to the sun which now sat firm in the morning sky.

Is this what you wanted me to see, mistress? he asked in his mind. This is why you called me so far west? He knew she would not answer him outright. That was not how the gods worked. In foreign lands, it was said, people claimed to see and speak to their gods directly. Yet that was not how it worked on the blue-green coast of heroes. There, in his homeland, very few indeed could claim to have ever heard a god’s voice. Let alone to have seen one. People could see ghosts, spirits, demons, and any number of supernatural entities that stalked the land. Yet gods, well, they were divine.

As for his mistress, like all the Yan gods, Inouye had interacted with her. He had done so many, many times. In his mind’s eye, he could see her statue amongst the beauty of Sayanashima now. Tadan, goddess of the dawn, standing more than five stories of masterfully carved cedar in the great shrine—her arms outstretched to bring the dawn, her freshly painted face stoic and unmoving, her golden hair cascading down past the small of her back. Yes, Her’s was a visage he was intimately familiar with, though he had never seen it in divine blood. And more so, he had felt her presence a hundred times over. In the dark of the night, where monsters lurked, and the cold was bone-shattering—the first streak of gold to pierce the heavens of the horizon was her sacred work. No man doubted the great queen of the Yan gods when in those moments, her light banished the chill and spread glistening fire across the land warmer than any kiss. From the east she rose to watch over her people, day in and day out. Inouye, into the depths of his soul, had always been eternally grateful to be among her shrine’s warriors.

And now she had pulled him out into the wilderness for reasons unknown to him. Like a seed planted in the back of the mind, her call was usually subtle. A creeping feeling, not strong at first, but one that could not be ignored with time. Inouye had learned to recognize it immediately, and that was why he walked with Goroda Kayubusa’s exploration party until his master had called him elsewhere. But why? he asked himself. Why show him this splotch of blackened destruction? Then, as he looked upon the mangled bodies of bronze men, realization hit him like a wave against a dock during typhoon. Sweat collected at his shaven temples. Suddenly, the light of the sun began to bear on him, heating him beyond comfort. While the jungles of Zheng Vi were not so many li to the south, it was far hotter now than it had ever been during his journey. He pulled at his robes. The shining of the metal corpses was no longer a novelty, but sinister.

Inouye jerked his head, facing eastward. He was being called again. It couldn’t be. he screamed to himself. Surely, it couldn’t be that, mistress?! Yet no spoken response came. Only an irresistible pull to head eastward again, back towards home. Back and to…Kummi.

---

Toshiro leaped and bound across wooded path and fallen logs—slinking under branches and foot. His ears and eyes scanned the surrounding pines, straining at every rustle, every shadow. His query was near. He could not rely on Ame’s warnings, for the village magistrate said this was a natural beast, and for five silver beads it must have been tougher than the local militia alone. Or it simply frightened them. Yet as a job it defeated repairing thatch or carting lumber and for that reason alone Toshiro took it eagerly.

If it was an animal he hunted, animals could be found. His nose scrunched in the summer air, filling with the green-soaked smell of the woodland. He dashed this way and that, moving quick instead of careful—for the villagers had just chased it into the wilderness this morning. One hand on his sword, he could feel the warmth of nearing conflict. But where? Where was it lurking? Reveal yourself.

Up and around a rock face he jumped. There! Movement just ahead. The iron streak of fire flashed as his longsword drew. What was it? A centipede? Something from Zheng Vi? The creations of a witch? He could not tell, for he saw—

“Found it!” Ame stood on a boulder in front of him, back turned.

Toshiro stopped in his tracks, stood upright, and then sheathed his blade. Creeping up behind her, he could see the girl standing with her arms folded, like a mini lord domineering over her subjects. He heard no noise, no struggle or signs of attack. There was no rancid smell, or sense of danger. Only the girl waiting her moment for him to arrive.

“Come look.” she said.

Toshiro climbed the boulder, wishing he could keep one hand on his hilt. When he peaked the corner, his eyes scanned below to a crevice shorn into the rock, forming a ditch between four stone walls. Inside, huddled tightly with arms around legs, sat..a person?

“Oh, hello there!”

Toshiro stared in silence for far longer than he should have. Two large lid-less black eyes peered up at him from underneath the brim of a straw hat. Feathers bristled against a moving beak, from which the words came strangely. The face of a bird—an owl, gray-white in coloration—watched back at him. But the clothed humanoid body beneath it betrayed the avian features. This thing, this being huddled tightly in the rock crevice like a child who had been hurt hugs themself.

“..Hello.” Toshiro said. He glanced over to Ame, who’s smile seeped with a smug delight. She’s not shaking. She didn’t seem bothered at all. Her great club remained slung over her back, and her arms crossed to her front, where she glanced down at the hiding creature with widened cat-eyes.

“Um, you’re not here to harm me, I hope.” The owl-person said from below.

“Are you evil?” Ame pitched. “I must destroy evil.”

“I…I don’t think so.”

“Good. I can tell. In that case, I’m Ame! And this is Tosh—”

Toshiro shoved the girl with the flat of his hand, sending the pykke stumbling with a yelp. She lost her balance, then regained it, then lost it again, falling backward. Twisting, she grasped at the rock midair with her hand, swinging on a cleft in the boulder. She’s getting better Toshiro nodded, but Ame still smashed into a pile of dried needles on the forest floor when all was said and done. Before she could cause him further trouble, Toshiro stood and removed the sword from his belt, holding it in one hand. He crouched down to one knee, peering down at the creature in the hole.

“You’re… not a monster, are you?” he scratched his temple with the round of his hilt.

“Me? Oh, seasons no. Certainly not, but I seem to have given people around here quite a scare.”

“And that is why you’re hiding here?” Toshiro sighed, looking off into the distance. Only the summer birds and Ame’s tantrum below made any sound. “How about you come out and we can talk. I don’t like people where I can’t see what they have.”

“I suppose I don’t have a choice?”

Toshiro shook his head. It took the owl-man a long while to come out—first stumbling out from his hiding spot cautiously, then finally lowering themself off the boulder and standing on flat land. Toshiro eyed him up and down, noting the taloned legs where shoes were forgone. Beyond this, they had dressed like any farmer might, though the cut of their robes was not Yan in style. That said nothing of the holes and dirt. When Toshiro moved, they flinched.

“Quite a scare’ is an understatement. The people in the nearby village think you’re some kind of monster.”

“They chased me into the woods, so I gathered I had that kind of effect.”

“But you aren’t a monster, you are…?”

“Oh, a person of the sky-barge. Or, descended from them anyways. One of Season’s people. Surely, you are aware of us?”

“Never heard of you, so sorry.”

“I know, I know!” Ame circled them, interested more in rocks and the moss attached to them than she was watching the stranger. Toshiro pursed his mouth, then continued. “So what are you doing here?”

“Well, to be precise, looking for work or land. Yes. You see I am from the Harvest Plain, and it looks like there might be famine this year. See, this is the first famine I would have ever seen, and my village can’t survive without the crop. We don’t know what to do in times like that, not even the ailur know what to make of it, and they know everything. So I have come to find security for my family before autumn.”

Toshiro scratched his beard, then folded his arms before taking a seat on a nearby rock. Stretching his legs out, he kept his sword on his lap. “That’s going to be tough.”

“Why?”

“Because the village who you have riled up has agreed to pay me five silver beads to kill you.”

The owl-person stepped back with a taloned foot. “Oh, Oh! I—I will give you what I have. It—it isn’t much, but, but—”

“You don’t have anything I would want.”

Toshiro could see the man tremble. Somehow, the alienness of his unblinking eyes betrayed a familiarity he had seen before in both creatures in men. Feathers tightened and raised, and the slump of the owl-man’s back suggested he was about to run. “S-s-so are you going to do it?”

Toshiro looked at Ame. “What do you think, kid?”

The girl was poking at worms she had dug up from the black soil with a stick, crouched over and fixated. The puffed tails of her hair swayed when she shook her head..

“We only kill evil things.” Toshiro said. His arms stayed folded.

The owl-man had backed himself against the boulders he had taken refuge in. He had no weapons, no defense, and Toshiro wondered how he had made it so far without trouble.

“But you can’t stay here. Aoyan is no place for outsiders. The villagers already want you dead, and you’ve done nothing but scare them. There are far worse here than frightened farmers.”

“But—but, my family.”

“We’re no stranger to famines here. Not everyone dies in them. You can’t even be certain when one will happen, no matter what soothsayers say. It is safer in your homeland, even with famine, than it would be here. There is no room for foreigners in this land. Trust me on this. You need to go back.”

“All that time learning your tongue, all the walking, for nothing…”
The owl-man dipped his head low, his beak moving the words but his tone quavering. The jet pools of his eyes portrayed no emotion, no change, yet Toshiro wondered if the god that smithed them had ever allowed them to cry. He would have witnessed it then if ever.

“Is there not some other way? Some place we could go? What if we hid, lived in the wilderness, the mountains?”

“No.” Toshiro frowned. “No place under the watch of the go is safe. Go back.”

Adjusting his side-bag, the foreigner stood quiet for a long time, then after an eternity turned and began walking away.

“I will tell the villagers I could not find you. That you had fled far from here and that I doubt you will return. That way, there are no lies.”

“We should lie anyway.” Ame pipped in.
Toshiro paid her no mind.

“I—Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The avian continued his pace onward, back to wherever he came—shoulders slumped, steps weary. An air of defeat hung over him, choking the surrounding forest. Lord Inoko, protect that man. Toshiro walked over to where Ame had begun constructing a tent from her now broken prod. Looming over her, he looked back towards where the stranger had walked off. The forestry had enveloped him now, completely erasing him from view. He’d have never made it here. Not even our people can make it. His list of names surfaced in his mind. Yanishi, Shika, Toro, Mina… He buried it back down despite its looming cries. Toshiro looked back at the little pykke girl playing with dried needles—at times so childlike, and others so serious. No place for foreigners…

“Ame” he grunted. “Let’s go.”

“Where to, Toshi?”

“Eastward.”

---

Emperor Yanagi sat upright on his varanda, pooled in his robes against the summer swelter. Aka smiled. It was good to see him in health again—the nightmares having gone, the premonitions vanished. There had been no further attacks on her wards, nor ill bodeings within the palace, and despite the blaze of early summer, the Willow Emperor above all seemed collected, calm, and relaxed. He reminded her of his father in that moment—the Emperor Ryu. His strength is returning.

“So,” Yanagi spoke, cooling himself with a fan. “Aka-na, I’ve heard you and Master Rohi have made peace.”

“Yes,” her eyes scanned over to the ailur sitting across from her. Aka smiled cordially, and bowed, making sure to follow the height of etiquette. “We’ve come to an understanding.”

“That is so good.” Lady Shikibu cut in, never looking up from her stitches. The Lavender Lady sat next to her husband, alongside her compatriot, Lady Ai. It was just the five of them on that varanda, and above the cicadas blared. Aka took more note of who was absent than those in attendance. “Yes, I think it very good, Aka-na, that you should have another of your kind to talk to.”

“Thank you, Lady.”

Yanagi leaned forward. “I agree with my wife’s sentiment, but more importantly to me, I cannot have two of my advisors in disharmony. Particularly not when things seem… tranquil again.”

“Lady Aka has been nothing but helpful and willing in bridging our miscommunication, Radiance. Please consider the hiccup of our first meeting smoothed and let it trouble you no further.”

“That is splendid, Master Rohi. For I have many troubles yet.”

Yanagi spoke for quite some time after that, mostly pleasantries and court happenings with his wives, but Aka had been looking elsewhere—to a near corner, the gap between two honeysuckle trunks. There in glistening dewed silver hung a jumbled blanket of silk. At first it was still, quiet, then—movement in the corner, and she could see it. A small webspinner, golden, with its black skull-like splotch resonating in the pull of its back. The spider’s slender needles weaved with the same suspended fluidity that stones did when they skipped across water. Then it stopped, and waited. That spider would wait all day. A true teacher.

Aka leaned over the banister to get a closer look. Here it was, hidden in the shadow to escape the Yan summer—a true master of heaven and earth. A creature that would wait, and wait, until its desire had been delivered to it. Then, with no work on its own, it had won as was destined.

“Aka…” Yanagi’s voice pierced her concentration.

“Yes, Radiance?”

“Has there been any other disturbances with your charms lately?”

“No.”

“Hmm. Haka-go has reported little from the gods. Though he writes that the oracle apparently has another message for me.”

“When does she not?” Aka fanned herself. “Probably to report the famine we already know is coming.”

“Perhaps. But I think it best we listen again. Haka Amaya returned with disturbing news last time. I cannot afford to ignore the oracle’s warnings at this point.” Yanagi looked up, into the sky. “Peaceful summer. Violent autumn, I fear.”

“If you so desire, Radiance. But fortune-telling is an old trick that so many claim excellence at.”

“Indeed. What do you think, Master Rohi?”

“A sage ruler begins his first step by knowing one and knowing all. Information is the gateway to all power and authority, sire. Lady Aka seems skeptical of this oracle, but even I know of its reputation. If one rejects the aid of someone when they offer useless, but harmless information, that same individual will not offer their aid again when they hold something valuable. Listen to this oracle, and utilize what they say if appropriate. Listening is free.”

“It is settled then. Now, let me get to the crux of our meeting before my poor wives die of boredom and heat. Amongst all this talk of looming trouble and palatial discord, I fear I have as of late ignored the thing most important to me. You all may have noticed a usual bright spot is currently not in attendance this afternoon. That is because he is the subject I wish to discuss.

Ever since his talent and beauty had become known to the court, many lords and prestigious men have offered up matches for Crown Prince Mei. Though so many noble, upright, and shining women of great names have been suggested, I have held off from making a match for my eldest son until the day I saw it best fit to decide on one. That is this day. For this reason, I have brought you here to hear your advice and thoughts on the suggestion laid before me.”

Aka awoke from her daze and leaned forward. A match? For Akira? It was a discussion destined any day now, as the princes grew older and older. Yet it had seemed to everyone that the Willow Emperor would content himself to wait an eternity before marrying off his sons. Both of the eldest princes had passed nearly a decade from when matches were usually decided upon, and paired with the emperor’s blindness to his eldest son's clandestine activities, Aka wondered if Yanagi had not decided to let Akira decide for himself upon ascension.
“Must be some match!”

“Indeed, Aka-na.” Yanagi smiled, a softness overcoming his expression. “I am surprised I had not truly considered it myself before.”

“Oh, and who suggested this match?” Ai asked.

“Surprisingly, your father.”

Ai cocked an eyebrow, a quiver twitched at the edge of her rubied lips. When she went to speak, freshly blackened teeth glossened, then she stopped. The Indigo Lady took one deep inhale, then continued. “And who could my father have possibly suggested for Prince Mei?”

“A lady of good birth and high lineage. Lord Zoku wrote to me, expressing that it is his opinion that none other than Ishii Kioko should be Prince Mei’s first consort.”

“Ishii Kioko?”

“You do not approve, Ai-na?”

“Pah! Ishii Kioko is a widow. More importantly, she’s old. Why did Lord Ishii not suggest this himself if he thought it auspicious? It’s his daughter. Why would my father need to be involved?”

“Ah, but Ai-na, you do not know my friend like I do. Ishii would never suggest his own family for the honor unless someone else did. Yet moreso, I think he protects that girl fiercely.”

“Indeed, husband. So fiercely I don’t even remember what she looks like. She hasn’t been to court in years.”

Aka did recall what the girl looked like. It was a privilege few shared—to be old enough to have witnessed the current court as children, and to have seen their children grow too. She knew she would see their children’s grandchildren grow before her days grew dim. “I recall that one well, Ai-ka. I believe she was one of so few to bear pale locks in imitation of your great goddess.”

So many noble ladies had come in and out of the Hollyhock Court. Every lord’s daughter, large and small. Hundreds of them, beyond three generations, and as the pointy-eared curiosity capable of making shadows dance on walls and animals of flame leap—Aka had met them all. Many she scared, a few she captivated, and yet fewer still had wished to be like her. But Ishii Kioko had stuck not in her memory because of reaction, but because of that captivating coloring. That golden hair, which did not occur among the ailur of the east, but only among the Yan where it was both adored and accursed.
“She had a rough time at court, I believe, after her husband came back from his first campaign, and especially after his death.”

“I don’t recall her husband either.” Ai said.

“He was the blinded one.”

The emperor motioned for silence with the raise of his hand, then he looked towards Rohi. “What do you say, Master Rohi? From a rulership standpoint, the first marriage of the crown prince must be important, neh?”

“Yes, sire. I would say it is critical here in the Yan realms, due to how your families work. I must admit unfamiliarity with the intricacies of the individuals in question, but I have taken the time to learn about your court in as much detail as possible. It is my understanding that Lords Katsuya, Zoku, and Ishii stand at the top of the hierarchy with their court positions. Katsuya and Zoku are both ministers of right and left respectively, positions earned by marriage. This clearly means whoever earns the spot as the crown prince’s first wife will bestow the highest position on that lady’s family, particularly if she becomes mother to the next crown prince. Is that not so?”

“It is.”

“Then in my opinion, this should be an opportunity to curve the dynamics of the most powerful peers. With all due respect to your Radiance, and their personages, of course. Of the three great lords, Ishii is the weakest in both physical power and position. For this reason, I believe a match between Prince Mei and this Ishii Kioko is the wisest among the possibilities surrounding the top ministers. A raised Clan Ishii can then check any potential abuses by Katsuya or Zoku. Forgive my bluntness, Radiance, it is a matter of my schooling, but in short—Ishii can then be used to curb the power of two men who already wield the tiger’s share of influence.”

“I see. Yes, thank you for your input, Master Rohi. Thank you all. However, there is one voice who matters the most to me in the question and I have waited till the end to let her speak her mind. Shiki-na” Yanagi turned, laying a robbed hand on the veranda next to the Lavender Lady. “Akira is our son.”

Katsuya Shikibu had long since stopped her needlework, having watched the discourse with widened eyes. Aka could not tell if the pale of her face was the powder or something else. But she did not let the floweriness of her voice falter when she did speak. “Well—so sorry, this is rather sudden. I did not expect—well, I usually defer to Ai-na’s opinion on these things. Yes, Ai-na is so very wise, yet—I know Lord Ishii is your friend, and Ishii Kioko was a proper lady the last I saw her so many years ago, but she is a widow. Yes. And quite old—Akira is so very young still, yes. So sorry.”

Lady Shikibu reached up and placed a robbed hand on her cheek. Without blinking, her silks caught a single glistening jewel that had pooled from the corner of her eye. “So sorry.” she said again. “I must be weak from the summer. Yet Ishii Kioko is a fine girl. I’m sure my own father has his mind on a match for Akira, perhaps from amongst his cousins, neh? Yet Master Rohi is so very wise too, and I do think it proper that a woman like Ishii Kioko marry my son.”

“Then how about this,” Yanagi slowed her by moving his hand from the wood of the deck to her leg. “We bring Ishii Kioko to the court, and we see what happens.” he breathed in the humid air. “I understand Shiki. Yet something tells me this is fate. Perhaps Great Tadan is sending me a message. That this is the match to be. If the two are inauspicious, or Kioko-ka does not meet your standards, then I will look elsewhere for a bride, hmm? Let her come, and under the court of my ancestors, prove herself worthy.”

“Yes, that is very wise, husband. Yes, I think that should do. So sorry.”

“Ai-na?”

“Well, yes I suppose that should work. The gods will show soon enough if such is meant to be. But I differ to Shiki-ka on this, always. It is her son.”

“Our son,. Ai-na. Yes. You are the boy’s mother as much as I.”

Aka watched the proceedings silently. This day was always meant to come, to be. That was heaven and earth. Yet, she did not like it. All the fruits of this summer had long ripened and rotted, it seemed. She wanted to speak, to ask about the boy’s will. But she knew this to be futile, and she knew it to be foolish. Akira already expressed himself with partners. What was an official marriage to him? What was an official marriage when so many Yan had lovers and mistresses and liaisons? To question a match made for names was not the Yan way, nor was it the ailur way, and she had escaped any similar fate by virtue of outcast to some far away wilderness—across sea and mountain where her only company was the tune of the cosmos and one old woman. It still did not sit with her silently. Akira, the busy bee who was to be caged with so few flowers. To that, Aka closed her fan and remained quiet.

“Though on the subject of my sons,” Yanagi said, turning his full attention to Lady Ai. “I wonder how ours is doing right now.”

---

“I cannot agree” Lord Ishii had found himself saying. “So sorry, Zoku-go, but we cannot travel into the hinterland together.”

“Oh? And why not?”

“Because you burn Pewa villages, and I do not. We do not agree on methods.”

Ishii looked down at the bamboo slat map before them, where crude ink marked Zoku’s proposed path as a combined army into enemy territory. And for many other reasons.

“Surely you would have no qualms burning Barley-Eater villages after what they did to your son-in-law, Ishii-go?” Lord Katsuya asked from across the map. Ishii looked up, and waved a silver-silked arm dismissively.

“That is unimportant. Moving them off the land is all that is necessary, neh? No reason to butcher them when they can be pushed out.”

Katsuya scoffed, and Ishii wondered why he of all people had to be in attendance. Was the alliance not between himself and Lord Zoku? He saw no reason for Lord Wisteria to be there, and because he was, it had turned from a meeting between two lords who had found common cause into a coalescence of all the campaigning forces on the islands. His only relief was that he had to stomach only one upstart flower. For though many other lords were watching under the summer sun just beyond the line of his retainers, only the three of them sat within earshot of each other. Looking beyond the brilliant violet of Katsuya’s robes, he could see the linen sheet-walls of the military camp ripple in the wind. The calm of the day betrayed the scene he knew to lay beyond them—thousands of tents straddling the landscape. The largest assembly of Yan warriors in living memory.

“It is also against precedent. We have never all marched as one before. It is custom that each lord takes his own retainers and army whatever direction he wishes.”

“Perhaps it is custom for us to only take four li a campaign too.” Katsuya said. “So sorry, but I must agree with Zoku-go on this. It is wiser to act as one.”

“My warriors cannot earn any glory fighting another lord’s battle! What will their ancestors think? It is not custom.”

“So sorry, Ishii-go, my line is not as ancient as your own, but I cannot imagine my father built such a city as Momoyama on custom alone. I suppose the same cannot be said for the likes of Myobu of the swamps. What will our ancestors think looking upon us now, indeed.”

Ishii grew hot, stinging, his fingers wrapping tightly around each other in the shadow of his sleeves. Katsuya’s glittering whites and purples burned his eyes in that moment—warm, painful and sickening when all he wished to see was the cool grays and blues of Ishii and Zoku. He growled. “Are you calling the standing of my clan into question, Katsuya??

“That is Katsuya-ka-Momoyama-gokan to you, sir. I am Minister of the Right for the Hollyhock Court of Kawanakami, and I find your tone is extremely rude.”
Katsuya looked down at him following his long nose. Suddenly, he leaned forward, violet eyes matching Ishii’s glare. They flashed with a cold intensity, and Ishii could spot a few white hairs in the man’s square beard that had not been there previously. It was a look other men, in other times, had given him. There was no mistaking it. Before he could wash the shock from his face, his hands were already reaching towards his side where a blade would have hung. Then, there was movement in the background. Retainers—both Violets and Grays—began to shift where they sat. Within five heartbeats blood would have poured, had it not been for Lord Zoku, who like an actor on center stage threw out his arms and bellowed “Friends!”

Zoku stood and played the role of a servant, reaching over and guiding the two back to their seats. He laughed. “Please, this is not so critical. Sit, please. Cool off my friends, the summer heat always makes emotions run high.”

“You are correct, Zoku-go. Please accept my deepest apologies. I have entirely forgotten my manners.” Katsuya bowed to him first. Then he turned to Ishii without saying a word. Ishii grit his teeth, pressing hard with his jaw, then accepted the apology wordlessly.

“If Ishii-go so desires to follow the traditional route this campaign, I will not stop him” Zoku said, shifting his black pupils back and forth. “But Lord Wisteria has already agreed to my plan, and so have many others. Even Lady Narawa sees some merit in it. I, of course, will respect the wishes of my friend, but truth be told I thought we had established an understanding in regards to his Radiance’s desire to finish this Inari business as quickly as possible. Perhaps our disagreement reaches other places as well.

Ishii froze. “You—you are correct, Zoku-go. You and I are in agreeance when it comes to this, I just—”

“Now, now. No need to apologize. I will accept your opinion on us marching together. ”

“No” Ishii blurted. The frantic cry at the back of his words surprised even him. “We have been in agreement. Please forgive me. My opinion was hasty and very wrong. What is such small disagreement between friends, neh? Let us follow your plan, as it was discussed. Please, I insist, pay me no mind.”

Zoku shifted back, outstretching his legs on the backless bench that was a Yan field chair. He shifted his jaw as in thought, then nodded. “Very well, Ishii-go. Then it is settled.”

---

Ie skipped stones off the ground as he meandered in the sunset. To his right sat the camp of his grandfather—hundreds of blue tents stretching off through four great fields. Here, where he walked, ran a cluster of pines and cedar that separated them from Katsuya’s camp. Up ahead was the corner where the camps of Zoku, Katsuya, Ishii, and Lord Sashibana met. That was his objective in the evening meandering.

A cool air had set in to smother the heat, and the sun was casting its last paint of oranges and pinks in the western sky. The direction of home. He wished he could have sailed that sky westward to Kawanakami. To the palace, to father, brother, and mother. Wished as if the wind could have picked him up and carried him there, that it was navigable, like the typhoon that struck so recently. Only instead of smashing him to pieces like it had so many others, it would have carried him to freedom. Ie supposed one had never done that.

So he was left alone, with the buzz of cicadas from the tree next to him. The same sound they heard in that western paradise, only he was locked from it. Stuck in a purgatory where he could hear the same noises, smell the same smells, but stand in the shadow of death. Alive, but not living.

It was not that the Azichi men were dangerous. Quite the opposite—they seemed to adore him. But not in the way adoration was shown back home. These men were different, rejuvenating. They lived roughly and sparsely and he was expected to follow alongside them in every way. He had eaten nothing but a bowl of rice and vegetables for the past four days, except when he was on duty and he was given game meat alongside his meal. This had been the same for every man, from Lord Zoku down to the poorest farmer. Yet he had heard that Lord Katsuya had imported ailur wine, and summer oranges, and maple sweets from Momoyama—having hunted fifty quail for his retainers alone. Such rumors only served to forge the loyalty the Azichi men felt for his grandfather, for where bitterness and envy should have sat; only iron and strength dwelled.

Akira was right his mind wandered back to the night before his departure. He wouldn’t be able to make it in the army. But I don’t mind this part of it. That had given him a sudden rush of strength. He stood straighter, a pleasurable tingling activating along his spine. To think, better than Akira at something! For that, he respected and loved his grandfather even more. There was something to such a life, even if he wished he was not in this distant corner of the realm. But the killing—he would never gain a stomach for.

Having made his way to the junction between the camps, there had already been a crowd gathering from all sides witnessing something. Ie thought about avoiding whatever it was, apt to keep away from all but other Blues, but he was spotted by Tetsukoba and Toriichi who watched from the front and then waved him over.

“Foscan-ka!” Tetsukoba shouted to him. The old hero had his long sword tucked up between his folded arms. “Come.”

Toriichi stood next to him, taller than anyone else in the crowd—a veritable giant that could not be missed. “Nephew.” he bowed as Ie approached. It was only when Ie pushed through the crowd to them that he could see what everyone was looking out. There, in an open space where they had built riding pits was a fight on horseback between three people. One of them—the clear victory—was instantly recognized as a woman.

She spurred her warhorse around the pit, holding her iron glaive outward under her arm. As she rode, her full black hair waved behind her, tied only together by some silken string. The opponents—two armored men—swerved around her. One held a mace, and the other a blunted spear. Ie could not see their faces from the masks, but it was clear they were from different camps. The mace bearer attacked first, rushing forward with his horse. He swung downward from his right to her left where the glaive could not reach but the woman simply swung it upward, over her shoulder, and heeled her horse to the side. With expert training, the animal sidestepped showing no panic and the man’s wooden weapon collided with the shaft of her polearm. She swung upwards, bracing the pole with her left hand and in an instant her attacker was dehorsed in the grass.

The second man did not rush so quickly into a fight, but instead sat watching. She matched him, and they watched each other for what seemed like an eternity, moving their horses in a dance of circling. Ie watched, attention transfixed as if he was watching the dawn. The woman was smiling. Though he could see trails of sweat streak across her face powder, it was clear from her grin that she enjoyed the fight. Then, the man moved. With a cry he spurred his horse forward.

“MOMOYAMAAAA!” he roared.

His spear lunged, and the woman’s glaive met it. Wood planked against wood and warhorse neighs cried out with the struggle of their riders. Now the two fighters were side-by-side. The woman’s horse bucked up and she tilted forward. The man was stronger, pushing downward as his opponent lurched. Yet she was not thrown, and though she could not overcome his strength, she let him deflect her glaive blade downward and bring the butt of her pole—directly into his bottom jaw.

There was a cry, a stagger, and then the two riders separated. The man’s horse trotted away calmly, but its master was frozen. At first he sat upright, his helmet ajar. Then he leaned sideways, back, and tittered on the fall. Instantly Violets from the crowd hopped the fence and rushed for him.
Desperate yelps of “Haroka-go! surged from them as they rushed the defeated warrior. Only he did not fall, but pulled himself with great effort up in the saddle. The woman, now panting from the evening heat and fired muscles, dismounted her own horse and Ie could see she was short.

“Amazing, isn’t she?” a voice said from beside him. Ie glanced over to see, to his immense surprise, another woman. This one, however, was clad in violet and blacks on her summer overcoat which sheltered iron plates. A white shawl covered over her robes. She could not have been much younger than he. Ie did not look towards her again, but instead shifted closer towards the men.

Everyone’s attention went back to the warriors. The sparring clearly over, the woman raised her glaive in triumph and let out an “Azichi!”

The Blues in the crowd followed. “Azichi! Azichi! Azichi!”

“Who… is she, Toriichi?” Ie asked. He had never seen this woman before. In fact he was certain she was the only woman he had ever seen amongst the Blues.

“Jozo Yae, the latest retainer your grandfather picked up last winter.” the Katsuya giant glanced over, watching Lord Haroka with a keen eye. The defeated warrior was leaning against his horse, with retainers buzzing like flies. His balance was still off. “Excuse me, Tetsukoba-ka” Toriichi bowed. “I should attend to my cousin.”

“Very well.” Tetsukoba said. He placed a foot on one of the rail posts that separated the riding grounds from the camp paths and leaned in. “More like your grandfather’s latest lover.”

Ie paused. Lover? A sickly, queer tingle overcame him. The woman basking in the last rays of evening glow, surrounded by the dust and horsesweat of her battles, could not have been many years older than himself. Yet his grandfather was in his fifth decade, and already had five living wives. Seven in total if one counted the dead—among whom was his own grandmother. A cool distate washed over him. It was quiet thing, one he was intimately familiar with. It was a part of him, a color of his soul, that he despised in of itself but could not separate himself from. Ie had tried to kill it before, many times, all throughout his budding years. But it could not be silenced. It was who he was and yet, despite his hatred for it, he also riveled in it. Because it had been the one thing to understand the whole of him.

Akira would not have felt this way. Why should he begrudge anyone, least of all his grandfather, for simply living life. Lord Zoku always had a soft spot for women. So did his brother. Why resent that? Ie could not say, but he let it simmer in the crickets for a while before speaking again.

“Tetsukoba-ka,” he whispered. “When do we leave here?”

“Ah, about that Ie-ka. Zoku-go has seen it fit that we march in the morning. You will want to get your rest, lad. It’s going to be a long trek to Haka lands.”

---

Princess Buniqkunipe watched her mother close her eyes and lean back into the bundled fur of her chair. The queen’s chambers were not a large space. Instead, they were a room no larger than that found in the houses of common Pewa, tucked in the back of the palace where a broad grassy knoll met the woodline of the village. It was the intricate carvings and figures of the room that marked it as the abode of royalty. Buni gazed upon them as she had done a million times. Most of them were of Pewa creation. Elk roamed the baseboards, so lively she could hear their calls in the winter chill. Owls flew the rafter beams over unseen currents. Forests of pines dotted the walls. Masks of spirits, and people, hung in clusters at each corner. Teeth from bears and wolves jingled on leather cords.

But some of the decorations—the most precious—were not Pewa. They had been taken, in conquest it was said by ancestors past from the arrogant ailur. These carvings, including those on her mother’s chair, showed things she had never seen in the flesh. Huge cats with stripes that battled among bamboo strands. Birds made of flame. Snakes which grew arms and could fly. Perhaps these things dwelled across the waters, from where the enemy came. Perhaps they never lived at all. Buni could not say, but they always drew her in, knowing one day those treasures would be hers. But there was one thing that pulled her eyes like none other. It was a shadowy thing, in the corner of the room, where on dark moonless nights it sulked like a giant in the blackness. It had scared her as a child. A metal man, or metal in the shape of a man—a suit of armor, old and timeworn. It had been constructed of orange colored plates, which had in turn been wrapped in colored cord that had long since lost its luster.

The mask on the face bore holes for eyes and a broken tuft of hair above the open mouth. Great tusks of horn stretched out and upward, like fangs. Yet the monster who had worn it roared no more. His name had been lost to time, some human lord or another, killed so long ago not even mother could recall who it had been. Yet the armor had always sat there, and no matter how many of the dawn children they killed—it never gained a match.

“That damn spider.” Queen Aga muttered. Her eyes remained closed, and she was being attended to by Huenchek—her favorite consort and fifth of the eighteen. “Why must they always meddle? I will have my revenge on them, by the spirits, I will.”

“Mother now is not the time for revenge” Buni said absentmindedly. The empty eyes of that armor seemed to follow her, hold her.

“And why not? Dear child, that Ponni has challenged our entire tribe. How dare a spider enter the nest of an owl with its trickery and stories. Not after their last raid.”

“But the children of the dawn, mother. The great enemy. You heard what he said, heard what the village child said. You yourself said war had returned to our shores.”

“I know what I said, child. So young you are, my daughter who is like a sweet kiss. This is like any other ‘war’. The dawn children will come, burn a few villages, perhaps move the border, then retire by autumn.”

“Then why call the tribal horns? Why meet with the other tribes? You would not involve yourself with spiders, or wolves, or bears, trouts, or even distant seals if you did not think something grave.”

“Tradition, Buni. Tradition. Something you will come to understand when you are queen, or before, moons willing. You were but a babe the last time the westerners came. You simply do not understand because you do not have the experience I do. Now please, mother is tired.”

It had been true. Buniqkunipe had been only five winters old when the last war had happened between the children of the dawn and the Pewa. That war had, like all wars, lasted only a summer and it was said that only a few human armies had ravaged the coastline before retreating back to their homes. Yet, the air had changed. From the moment Sannyoaino had entered the hall, she could feel it from the summer sun. Something sinister stirred. Buni’s eyes latched onto the armor again, onto the eyes. She tried to avoid its gaze, darting her attention around the room—trying, failing to put her attention on something else. The carved elk, the bristling pines of the baseboards. The empty eyes beckoned her back, seering into her when they were out of vision. She met them. In the darkness, she could almost see them—the inky eyes of the beast behind, almost hidden by the brim of the helmet. Almost. The muscles of her brow tightened and she strained to look closer. In the stillness, she could make out the whites. Dark pupils watched her, belonging to a man who had been turned to nothing but bones in an unknown field. Whatever watched her, beast, human, it was unloving. She strained harder, her vision pulsing, then—it blinked.

“Mother!” Buni jumped.

Queen Aga jolted in her seat. Her head twisted and she flashed a look of rage. Her mouth contorted, showing the tips of her incisors and Buni was certain she was about the yell. But the anger faded as quickly as it came, and she brushed Huenchek off. “Leave us.”

Meanwhile, the armor had not moved. Princess Buni’s lungs clawed at the air and her robbed hand gripped her chest. There was nothing. Nothing but an empty helmet.

“What is it?” Queen Aga asked, leaning over.

“I’m scared.”

The tears came violently—rapid like the mountain streams. They surprised Buni as much as they did her mother, and despite what the princess tried, she could not stop the shaking. Instantly, as if she had taken flight like their ancestors under the moon, Queen Aga floated on a sea of furs standing over her daughter. Buni looked up, ashamed, to see the honey colored face of a woman she had not seen in a long time. Not the face of Queen Aga, or the face of the one called mother, but the face of her mother. A face that had been lost to age; that of the great Owl Queen, and the woman who bore her. Where irritation had built a home, only a softness remained.

:”Oh, my daughter.” Aga whispered. Her robes and furs draped over the terrified girl sitting on the floor. “We are all scared, in some way. But you mustn’t let it take you, that fear. For we have weathered this storm for centuries, and for centuries more it will come to break upon our islands. You must be strong. Only the strong mountains part the clouds, my Buniqkunipe.”

“It is different this time,” she cried. “I can feel it, it is different.”

“It will feel different every time, child. Trust me. Every war will seem like the last. Then peace washes over like the changing of the trees. Please be strong, Bunipe. We must appear strong. And do not fear. Even if the humans come inland, it will take them a full moon and a half before they will make it here. They move slower than the rock turtles.”

Queen Aga brushed her hand against the fur of her daughter's face and smiled. It was a sad smile, but it did not betray anything to the eyes of her daughter. “And what if they do come, mother?”

“Then I will tell the council that the enemy comes in force, and we shall meet them as owl, wolf, spider, bear, and all the others. We shall never submit. We are Pewa. The spirits of our ancestors, and the spirits of the land are with us. Tooth and claw, my daughter. Tooth and claw.”

Buni nodded, letting her tears dry on her mother’s sleeve before looking out into the daylight of the knoll that the queen called her own. Green summer grass baked in the sun and bristling pines soaked the sky. The feeling remained. Something was different. Was it truly because this was the first real war she may witness? Princess Buni could not say, but she was certain as she watched, that the sunlight burned with a malice she had never seen before.

[Aoyan]

Chapter 12
Traveling

---

Inari was magic. Ie had witnessed it fully the night before, when Toriichi had stirred him from his rest in the dark.

“So sorry nephew, but you will want to see this.” he had said, and dragged the prince out of his lone tent into the humid night where grandfather and the others were waiting on the edge of a nearby hill. There, when standing on the crest, he could see it without any assistance. Lights. Hundreds of them—in a river of gold that streaked across the blackness like a painting. They were distant, he could tell, distant and yet somehow close. As if one could walk towards them, and yet not get any closer.

“What are they?” he had asked, and Tetsukoba Moritoshi had answered.

“Foxes. Either a wedding, or on pilgrimage for Inoko-gotai.”

“Foxes?”

Ie could see that the stream of fire flowing across the vale glowed and breathed, like lanterns, and the individual balls of light bobbed gently in the night air. They were not eerie, but inviting, almost calling to him to come closer.

“What will we do?” he asked.

Lord Zoku spoke up this time. “Nothing. “

“It is important not to disturb them.” Tetsukoba said. “Get too close, and one will possess you. They are tricksters, those beasts, serving a tricky god. Then they will devour your years for their own youth.”

“We wait an hour after the sacred time.” Zoku commanded. “Then we move out. It will be a late start, but caution predates haste on Inari. Toriichi, Please alert the other lords of our delayed departure.”

Ie could still hear his grandfather speaking, though he rode in silence ten horsemen ahead. Where Lord Zoku did not speak, his appearance roared brightly. Leading the troop train of thousands down the dirt roadways of Inari, Lord Zoku sported his demon-horn helmet alongside bronze armor that glinted under silk wrapping. More striking, perhaps the greatest eye catch, was the orange-red wrappings of his horse, which glowed like flame against the dark greens of the surrounding paddy and woodland. Ie would have been transfixed by that, had it not been for the soft whispering of the land around him. Here he witnessed gnarled beeches, ancient cedars, and blankets of blackberry and honeysuckle. The mountains, just as they did in his homeland, wore shaggy coats of timber and leaf, but all together they hummed a different rhythm. It was still as he had felt it when first spotting the islands—the same, yet different.

The farmers they had passed who attended to their fields of summer growth did not seem affected. The magic here did not affect them, but it did not contrast them either. It was as if Yan were built for it, though they could not control it, and he could see how strange folk like the Haka had come to be. Ie, in his riding, has pondered if Xian had not been stripped of this same magic like humanity had so long ago. Inari represented how things had been, and even he found that alluring beyond statement.

Breaking rank, he decided to move closer to his grandfather at the head of the train. Though a majority of the campaigning lords had chosen to march together, there was too much to move down a single roadway, and so the largest parties had broken up and chosen paths adjacent to—but behind—the Azichi troop. Ie could see one of them just across a divider of rice paddies. There, underneath the ridge of a mountain, moved a horde of Grays under Ishii streamers. Now was the only chance he had since arriving to truly be beside his grandfather in relative private, so he spurred his mount onward and ignored the glares of the retainers he passed.

Lord Zoku noticed him almost immediately. "Foscan-ka."

"Grandfather."

"Can I help you in some way?"

"No. So sorry. Just thought I would enjoy the summer day with a stroll alongside family."

"You should not have broken rank, Ie."

"Oh? And why not? I am a prince of the Hollyhock Court. Does my rank not permit me to ride where I please?"

The two were side-by-side now, and Ie could feel the dagger-glares of his grandfather's guard behind him. Morning had seen sun, and now an overcast of small rain clouds interspersed the heat and shine pleasantly. Shade overtook them.

Shade also covered Lord Zoku's eyes under the brim of his helm and Ie could not decipher his thoughts when he looked over. But then a smile broke his tanned face and Zoku laughed. "Yes, very well said, Ie-na."

"So where are we headed, grandfather?"

"Haka territory. Near the frontier."

" I know that, but why?”

“Because Haka Kiyomori’s younger brother sits in their ancestral home, and he’s willing to quarter us for free. Plus I need his summer grain supply for our troops—which he is also willing to give me. For free.”

Ie did not need to pick up the slant in his grandfather’s voice. He knew immediately the part that was most important to Lord Zoku. The part that truly mattered. When Ie had been a kid, he could recall how every new year Lord Katsuya had given his brother five silver beads as a gift. Jealous, he had looked to his own grandfather for the same. Year in and year out he waited, but the money never came. No gift ever came, and his disappointment grew greater. Then, when he was but a tad older, he had asked his grandfather why Akira received gifts and he did not. The reply was something Ie could never forget. “What have you done for me?”

So it was that Ie had washed his mother’s entire wardroom thrice over that year, and had cleaned Zoku’s horse each time he rode into the capital. In the end his grandfather had given him two copper beads as a reward. That was the year he learned a child prince had no real use for money.

“Haka does this because… he supports you?”

Lord Zoku chuckled. “No. Truthfully he despises me. But he does support the court, and that means supporting the campaign. He would not have done it if Katsuya did not march with us. But I don’t think his older brother would approve. No. Lord Haka has always had a soft spot for keeping troops out of Inari. That man convenes with the gods and yet he is still one of the biggest fools in the realm.”

“Then how long are we staying?”

“No longer than we have to. A few days at most. However long it takes me to drain his granaries. Why? Are you eager for real campaigning?”

Ie looked away, trying to think of the words to hide what stirred in his mind. In that moment, he focused on the countryside. The paddies and fields had begun to fill with villagers from the surrounding area, all out to watch the passing troops. Across the valley, he could see the Ishii column stretching back into the horizon and keeping pace.

“I am eager to complete our duty.”

“Some of this is not for you. I heard about your sudden sickness before I arrived from the mainland.”

Ie’s heart sank and his chest tightened. “Toriichi told you?”

“Yes. But only I know the why. Toriichi did not convey that. My vision extends much further than wherever Katsuya Toriichi lumbers, Ie-na. That is alright, though—that you don’t have the stomach for some of this.”

“Really?”

Lord Zoku looked over, his expression motionless, his eyes hidden. Then he reached out and put a gloved hand on Ie’s back. “It is good you are not exactly like me, or your father, or anyone else. There is a strength in that, yes, if you obtain all the necessary skills. Let me tell you a story. Your great-grandfather, my father, loved killing. Yet he was not a cruel man. Not cruel, like your father’s grandfather. No. But he was astoundingly brave—the wildest man to perhaps ever live. ‘The Tiger of Azichi’, they called him. Zoku Morichika, the tiger.

When he was a young man, he leaped from the walls of Azichi fortress on a simple dare. He fell the distance of…about six of those farmhouses atop each other. Needless to say it turned out better for you and for me that he was not killed on the landing.”

“Indeed.”

“Only three of my children ended up with that spirit in them, and only two of those children remain. Your uncle Suru is young, only about five years older than you. But your mother is something else entirely. Zatake does not have that edge to him, but he is also a useless lout. My point is, sometimes, the things we think we should have are not the best bronze for our armor.”

Ie did not respond, only riding in quiet and letting the music of nature fill in for their speech. Lord Zoku did not seem to mind and the moment passed between them in tranquility.

“Now,” he went to say “you should—”

Ie pulled his horse to a stop as the retainers behind him rushed forward from the sides to block their lord from what sat ahead.

Misshapen masses of legs and hair decorated the road, shifting and crawling about. At first glance it was like one massive monster, but within a few moments, it broke into five. They were spiders, the size of large dogs—but they alone weren't the oddity which halted their advance. Towering over the monsters were two man-sized figures wearing exotic garb and thatch capes; their legs misshapen and monstrous and head adorned with beetle antlers. In their hands they carried long wooden rods, and slung over their chests were misshapen horns made from some unknown beast.

Time seemed to pause as the two parties looked at one another, the men in the road with their spiders seeming to be taken aback when they saw just how truly numerous the Yan were. Breaking the moment, one of the men slammed the wooden rod into the dirt ground and began beating and rubbing over it with a second rod to create a drumming and rhythmic banging. Almost immediately, the spiders which lined the road ahead of them crawled over one another to form a barricade against the Yan. With their legs raised up, each spider let out a hiss which rang shrill in the air.

Shouting at his companion in that alien tongue, the second man reached for the horn and let out a cry which rolled over the trees like multiple horns. Bellowing and bellowing, the two men held their ground in an anxious panic, calling out into the unknown for some unseen salvation.

Lord Zoku spurred his mount a few steps forward inquisitively, but became boxed in by his own guard. Somehow, Ie had found himself wedged between his grandfather and the forward retainers, though he was unarmed. What is that?. Had this been another one of Inari’s dangerous wonders? He could not say, but the defense around his grandfather and the hissing of the great insects screamed caution. Before anyone could make any further move, Tetsukoba Moritoshi was there—standing on foot in front of the entire column. The lone forward defense, with his killing sword in hand, the old warrior let out one rally to break the spell of shock and awe.

“Azichi!”

---

Carapace howls carried through the trees and high in the air overhead. Urde-Saya could recognize the sound immediately—a horn from the deep jungle. The handlers who’d been scouting ahead must’ve run into trouble. He looked back over his men, a small train behind him, and motioned for the Asharkar to run ahead and toward the horn. Running past him, Urde-Saya picked up the pace; and in a great rushing of leaves and snapping woods, the rest of his troop followed as the sound grew louder and louder. Further out of the woods, further toward the horns, he could even hear a faint hissing from the tarantulas.

There was a breach in the foliage, the shining of flickering light between leaves. Barreling forward in their full panoply, the Asharkar slashed nature's bounty aside, and Urde-Saya burst forth into the open day. Immediately he saw the tarantula handlers, two in all, the other three in his party still straggling along at the back of the marching order; but as he smiled and glanced over at the quarry that his people opposed, his heart immediately sank. There hadn't been any exaggeration in the scout’s words: by all measure what he was looking at was an army of dayspawn. As far as he could see on this road, there were lines after lines of armed dayspawn. In a moment of realization, he turned back to his own men, who froze one after another as they saw their shared adversary.

Watching the Yan, he saw as men with killing blades began to drift toward them like predatory beasts. He’d come here seeking monsters born of bronze, only to find beasts born of day.

Ketzani, almighty queen. We’re so dead.

Turning back to his men, Urde-Saya began to bark and shout strings of scattered commands. Asharkar marched to form two lines of five on either side of the hissing spiders, the remaining handlers rushing to stand behind their kinsmen and their beasts; all the while the ragtag band of soldiers compressed into a loose gang of spears and hook-blades that stared down the dayspawn with wide eyes.

What the hell am I supposed to do? I wanted to treat with these men, but their army is staring us down with killing eyes!

“Gishmaka-Yari! Get up front with the Asharkar, and be ready. If a bunch of humans are going to play the butcher, I am going to be damned if I stand aside and let it happen.”

“You don’t want to make a play for the woods? We’d have a better chance.”

“If we run into the woods and a battle ensues, those little midgets might show up and compound our issues. These dayspawn are many, but we’re better disciplined.”

Gishmaka-Yari looked to Urde-Saya, to the Asharkar, and then to the remainder of their men. She lingered on that last point, before looking back at him with a grimace.

“Maybe the Asharkar, but I don’t like our chances outside of them. Bronze only holds so long before breaking.”

“Then get up front and keep the line together, and fight if the dayspawn come after us. I’ll figure out a way out of this mess. Just be ready.”

Gishmaka-Yari nodded, “yes, sir.”

Without hesitation she ran up ahead to stand with the Asharkar, joining the rank of shields which had locked together with spears at the ready held high. She’d do what she was ordered, but this was looking trickier than dealing with the wheel-peoples in the north. At least there they had open country and some level of control. They understood the land, they could predict the threat, they knew the enemy. Now they were in dayspawn lands, surrounded by angry tree midgets and assailed by horrid weather. He should’ve waited and levied three-hundred soldiers before rushing off to find Umikara. Urde-Saya had been too hasty, too anxious, too stressed that any time without chasing was time in which she’d slip away forever. Time in which he might not reclaim her. Now he might not have the opportunity at all.

A hand touched his shoulder, and he turned and gazed into Kittaneh’s four eyes. She blinked, and placed a hand on his other shoulder, trying to drag him to his senses. Yet his heart still pounded. How could they flee? How could they fight? They were so many hundreds, maybe thousands, more than his own band. If they gave chase even remotely, they couldn’t possibly escape.

“Lordship, the scent of fear is most foul on you—nay?”

“Spare me your prattling playfulness,” he scowled at her. “I have a battle to sort out. I have a date with your mistress I’m trying to steer clear of!”

She nodded, “then perhaps you might come with me for but a moment?”

“Come with you—woman, have you not looked up and over the wolves? There is an army with their eyes on us! How am I supposed to negotiate with spawn who are ready to kill and probably can’t even speak in our tongue?”

“Hush, hero. Hush. Come with me. You are fast, and you are noble. Let’s walk toward them, as emissaries, and should they try to bring us down we will simply run away to your bronze wolves. Acceptable, nay?”

He didn’t have much of a moment to protest. With incredible strength, he felt the grip of the priestess take hold of his arm, pulling him until he kept pace, the two pushing their way out of the small swarm of Isklana. With a wave, the thumping of the rhythm sticks and the hissing of tarantulas came to an end, filling the air with ambient stillness. Gentle steps and hands seen, the two were slow and methodical in each foot put forward. A dangerous game was being played. He could only pray that the dayspawn, as wretched as they were, had some sense of parlay.

---

Lord Zoku-ka-Azichi-gokan sat on horseback surrounded by a sea of his own retainers as an ever growing party of strangers amassed on the road ahead of him. First it had been the bugs and odd looking fellows who appeared to be their masters. Then it was a larger group of the same type, followed by a swarm of armed men which immediately set about blocking the roadway. These men—these soldiers—appeared like the beastfolk of Inari though he had never seen their type, and he wondered if he had not wandered into some half-timbered Barley-eater trap.

What I would give to be like my falcons, like Iron Lady. Then he could have soared high and watched from above, unhindered by the army of fools around him that blocked his view. Within heartbeats the opposing force had arrayed in a battle formation, and he noted the canid men bore longspears. That was strange. No Pewa ever fought with a pike. What was stranger still, was that even his aged eyes could see the glistening bronze in the summer heat. Though their bronze had not been cord wrapped like his own. Zoku frowned. Who can work bronze but the smiths of Kawanakami?

He instinctively tapped his horse forward ever more—curiosity overwhelming. But he was brought back by the blocking mass of his grandson, who sat watching weaponless but resolute. Lord Zoku grimaced. Just ahead Moritoshi was already rallying the fighters to his side, matching pace though there was much ground between the two parties. Yet, Zoku could see something the others likely missed—these opponents were not like their enemies had traditionally been. Pewa would have attacked by now, killing and being killed. These strangers fought like Yan—in formation, and such appeared tighter than any pikeline he had witnessed out of his own men. But there was more. They seemed—hesitant. At least the strangers just to the back and sides, who he could hear chittering in an alien tongue over the cicadas. They did not expect us.

A conch horn from his own line bellowed out behind him, followed by another further down, and another and soon there were conch shells blaring from across the valley in the Ishii column. He knew scouts beyond the western ridge would hear and then Katsuya’s horns would be alerting too, and the chain would follow across heaven and earth until the entire campaign descended on what? Two dozen men? He had a decision to make.

“Tetsukoba-ka, please sheath your weapon.”

Moritoshi did not turn, but kept his focus blade-sharp on the adversary. “So sorry, but I cannot.”

Zoku did not get a chance to reprimand his chief retainer before the opposing line broke and allowed a party of two to walk forward. They were slow at first—a man and a cloaked something—and Lord Zoku noticed the sudden stillness of both parties which watched with bated breath. Growling, he pushed his horse forward, shoving past Ie, making sure to touch his grandson in reassurance before more forcefully parting the other retainers to his front. Lady Yae moved to come with him, but despite her beauty, he kept her back too before joining Moritoshi in the open road.

“Tetsukoba-ka, I order you to sheath your sword.”

Moritoshi looked up at him, his fingers flexing on the blade hilt. A look of defiance shadowed the old hero's face, but then submission. Good.

“Yes, lord. But I insist on remaining by your side.”

“Very well.” Zoku conceded. “Those two walking closer—I think they mean to talk.”

“Alilaki, wiraka-inti,” the horned man shouted out from where he stopped. “Hamat, wiraka-inti. Nakar Urde-Saya, karrad sha karri, karrad sha Isklanapuri, karrad sha Sukutayri, karrad sha kayapachi. Ninakam sha tikami!”

There appeared to be a glare briefly leveled at the man by his otherworldly companion, the two briefly sharing hushed words before she in kind stepped forward and presented herself with a bow. Four eyes locked on the Yan, and a sharp row of teeth beamed back at them from behind feral lips. She cleared her throat and spared one final glance at the man, before her attention returned squarely to the Yan. Looking between the men, she seemed to immediately pick up on the importance of Zoku, her gaze shifting ever so slightly to focus upon him. Sniffing the air, she hummed to herself, an audible contemplation. It was all oddly theatrical, unnatural to the stress and anxiety of armies on the brink of clashing. Perfectly calm, and perfectly at peace, she spoke.

Word after word, unintelligible gibberish which lacked consistency from sentence to sentence. As she spoke, even her companion looked perplexed, casting a raised eyebrow at the woman. One moment her words carried on much like his had, and then the next it was as though a whole new tongue scattered forth from her. To any scholarly mind, it was evident she was a polyglot of some sort—but the languages she uttered bore little likeness to one another. Utterance after utterance, endlessly seeking that most basic connection, she searched for a tongue by which to reach the Yan most closely; assuming any such tongue existed worlds apart.

Lord Zoku did not respond at first. Instead he studied the two in front of him. The man was like the other strangers—alien, ugly, and unlike any other being he had seen. That was interesting in its own right, but the other was something else entirely. She was bestial, like an animal, though certainly a deformed one. Yet that did not put him off. No, she was the kind of thing the horde of farmers behind him would call a monster and hunt down like any other predator. But to him, there was an aura about her. The way she held a total calm—like an anchor in a storm; completely tying those around her to a tether. There was something familiar to it, as if he had experienced it before. Ah. It came to him. Like the sorceress. Yes. Like Aka. This was a creature who could sit and watch the rocks grow. Yet, there was also something different to her, something different when compared to the aura of Aka. If the court sorceress radiated crimson, this being was like a dark purple—related, but different. Colored with something else.

Lord Zoku could not say what that was, but it gripped his attention. He smiled inwardly. The ways of that ailur had been his life’s secret to unlock and wield. What had been said in the meantime, however, entirely escaped him.

“What?” he asked, knowing he could not reach them.

The priestess paused, hearing something in his tone that uttered confusion. Looking back to her companion, alien words were exchanged, the man clearly looking frustrated. With a brief bickering between them, yet it was mostly one-sided, the man stepped forward and pointed to himself. Repeating his string of foreign ramblings, he continually motioned to himself. Urde-Saya. Urde-Saya. Urde-Saya. Then, pointing directly at Zoku, his face ever turning to an irritated frown, he stood in wait. Yet the wait wasn’t long, the priestess snatching his hand from the air and forcing it to his side. The two exchanged muted words once more, the man impatiently crossing his arms and motioning for her to begin her to continue. Alien as he was, the barbarian was simultaneously an obvious leader and almost completely lacking in Yan discipline. His emotions guided every action, his tones dancing in irritated words.

Clearing her throat, the priestess tried her hand once more, looking at Zoku. Cycling through her tongues, there was suddenly a spark of distant familiarity as she uttered her last sentence. Nothing comprehensible, but something which wasn’t alien. Something ancient, but not fully lost to those wise enough to reach into antediluvian days. Perhaps marked as a failure by her comrade, there at least appeared to be some sense in her patient repetition. Seeing perhaps the slightest glimmer in Zoku, the most minuscule shift in posture or response, the beastly woman refocused her words into long strings of the familiar, yet hidden, dialect. Answers beyond a small threshold. Yet it wasn’t a matter long for contemplation.

Clutching his spear, the barbarian lord growled lightly at his priestess. “Mitawi mana. Umikara liali esh. Esh.

Kneeling before Zoku, the barbarian took his spear and began to draw in the dirt. The pictures were beyond crude, but not unintelligible. Figures around squat buildings, yet there were also random images such as what seemed to be a wheel above the buildings. Then, dragging the stick through the dirt, he drew what appeared to be a figure with great claws inside of a circle, before drawing legs attached to that very circle, and little figures at the feet of such an object. Looking up at Zoku, he appeared to be looking for some sign of understanding. The validation of communication well spent.

“What incomprehensible gibberish, lord.” Tetsukoba Moritoshi spat. Lord Zoku did not answer his friend, but instead kept his attention on the group before him. He shifted his eyes from the roadway drawings, to the man who wished to convey them, then over to the creature the man traveled with and back again. He wore his theater face—ten breaths deep, ten shallow—for he had realized only moments before that the creature possessed strange magics and that her four pupils read where Yan eyes could not see. What to do. he asked himself frantically. I can’t understand you. By Tadan, what are you trying to tell me? I’m running out of time!

It was then that his concentration was broken as a gray rider rode up onto his entourage from the bordering paddy. “Report!”
A Violet rider was right on his tail. Zoku groaned inwardly. A headache began to throb at his temples, and a nerve behind his right eye sparked with pain.

“Report!” the Gray shouted again. “Lord Ishii asks on the halt, Zoku-go. Do you need his assistance?”

The Violet rider just as quickly bowed and asked the same question before Zoku could see more riders coming from the distance—Narawa greens, Sashibana yellows, and a plethora more to come the longer time ticked away. More conch trumpeting sounded, and he knew any opportunity was forfeit.

“Move.” he whispered—just loud enough for Tetsukoba to hear him. The old hero then did the rest on his own, motioning the foreigners aside as dramatically as he could. “Move!” he bellowed. “Make way. M-O-V-E.”

Lord Zoku spurred his horse slowly, but surely onward to further push the point, and though the animal neighed in apprehension, Zoku held no fear—only annoyance. There was no danger. Moritoshi was as fast on the draw as lightning in storm-filled skies, and if a fight did ensue, Lord Zoku only had to prod his mount backwards and a sea of retainers would be upon his enemies. Past that—they had an army to contend with. But these people did not wish to fight. He had discerned that long ago, instead, he only lamented that he could not squeeze from them all that they held behind their alien faces.

---

Savages. That was what these dayspawn were. They were beneath even the barbarians on the fringes of the kingdom. Savages was all that could be said of these men in their fancy outfits and riding their sickly looking monstrosities like a wolf would. Kitanneh had spoken in a hundred tongues to bridge the distance between the civilized world and the light-blighted one these animals had called home, and nothing had done it. Then when the task became his to master, and all Urde-Saya could think to do was draw in the dirt, the little beasts had dared to command him away! Yet what was to be done? I have some weary warband, and they have an army. Ketzani, what am I supposed to do with this? Why send me to this land where cursed men don’t speak our sacred tongues? He had moved his men to the roadside, irritated and unnerved, but nothing more could be done. At the very least his people were safe, but if survival was all the gods could spare him, the situation was grim.

“Look at them. What is even the point of an army here? Who are they going to fight? The tree imps?” Urde-Saya scoffed. “Give me half these men in number and I’d show them real menace. I have half a mind to rob them at nightfall.”

“Sir?” Gishmaka-Yari looked at him, taking the jest a little too seriously.

“Forget it. For a moment there though I really thought Kitanneh would reach them. I guess even death has her limits.”

“Among mortals. But what do you want us to do now? We came, we saw, we gained nothing.”

“We’ll just have to go back to wandering.” He threw his hands in the air. “By the gods! Just unbelievable. I bet the midget gods are conspiring against us.”

Scowling, he turned his head and saw a scout emerge from the foliage—one of the stragglers he’d ordered be waited on. Most immediately, the scout ran to Gishmaka-Yari, and when his report was done, she looked back at him puzzled. Once more the report was repeated, before she more confidently turned him away. The scout rejoined the men, sitting and watching as the army of dayspawn continued to file on by. Raising an eyebrow, Urde-Saya motioned for his commander to share the word. She was hesitant for a moment, before leaning in so that the exchange would be kept just as private as when the scout came.

“He found something. There’s a dead bronze man.”

He paused. “Dead? You’re certain?”

“They say they found him on a trail moving to the shore, but then the tracks cut violently back north. Whatever the bronze men ran into, they decided it wasn’t worth their time and are on a northern trek.”

Considering, Urde-Saya looked to the many men which marched by.

“North. Our path leads north. This road, here, leads north. How old was the body?”

“Gods alone know that. I doubt death could be sensed from a statue either.”

“Sending Kitanneh wouldn’t do much good then. No time anyways.” Grinding his teeth, he continued to watch the dayspawn march on. Not much left to go, soon it will be clear again.”

“Lordship?”

“Alright. Get the men together. We'll follow along the road through the tree line. If the midgets show up we can run to the road. Let’s follow these dayspawn a while, see how far north this road moves us. We can jump on and off of it to escape rough terrain, and maybe catch up to the bronze bastards doing so. They’re slicing trees, we’re walking roads and roadsides. Have scouts posted around for signs, and make sure we keep distance between us and those savages. Understand?”

She nodded, “when do we move?”

“Now, Gishmaka-Yari. We move now.”

---

Lord Zoku continued leading his column for a long while past the roadblock, having sent not only the messengers from his allies packing, but also Ie whom he ordered back into position with all the gentle force that he could. Only Moritoshi followed beside him now, keeping foot pace with the horse of his master.

“Truly a bizarre encounter, neh? I wonder who they were. I have never seen their sort on Inari.” Tetsukoba said, breaking the silence after some time.

“Yes.” Zoku said, not looking down towards him. “Yes. Very strange. I wished I had the court sorceress with us for that.”

“Why, lord?”

“Because,” Zoku continued. “I think that animal woman spoke ailur.”

---

"Ame, wake up. Ame." Toshiro prodded the sleeping pykke next to him, trying not to frighten her in the void of night. "Ame."

She grunted.

"Get up. We have to move, I hear something."

"Toshi..?"

He had tried to whisper—to be imperceivable—but the girl needed to rise quickly. Ame rubbed her eyes with weak hands, then snapped her head in alert and stood.

"What is it?" She asked. Toshiro did not answer, but crouched low in the darkness to listen. His ears strained, waiting for the tiniest burst of sound—the softest noise that could warn him of approaching danger. But only cricket songs resounded outside their lean-to. Where he waited for movement, only the beating of his own heart could be heard. There was nothing. Had he been imagining things? Had the power of night invaded his thoughts and turned caution against him? Toshiro was unsure, but then—he heard it.
Voices.

They were distant, and Toshiro was surprised he could hear them at all among the clamor of a summer night. But they were clear, and though he could not make out what was being said, he could tell there were many people. Without a word, he shifted his hand to grab his sword from the ground and headed for the moonlit slot that formed the mouth of their shelter. Ame followed instinctively.

Stepping out into the night was akin to moving into daylight from the abyss. It was a full moon for the largest of the four, In, and the land was cascaded in a silvery whiteness that mixed blue to allow one vision far further than normal nights. Toshiro could see In above through the canopy—large and close, beautifully radiant in a white glow. The third moon, its near constant companion, Tsa flashed an orange this night, and further to the horizon he could see little Mu draped in a violet cloak. Yet none of them compared to the fullness of In, and though Toshiro’s eyes had long adjusted to the dark, he let Ame lead him with her nocturnal instincts. Together, the two inched closer to the talking, where Toshiro stepped like a fox through brush—silent on the breeze.

It was only a short walk away from where they camped that the forestry opened to rice fields. Toshiro had always camped them off the main roads, but close enough to people where monsters were less likely to prowl. The two of them together could not form a defense. Even with Ame’s warnings and fortune from his god, Toshiro had to rest each night to keep his strength, and the girl could not be put on watch either. It was for this reason that they kept to village outskirts when in the field, distant to the pathways—a trick he had formulated when he had traveled alone. He’d never been discovered, and though it was safer, Ame had always wanted to be even further from people than that.

“I can see them, Toshi.” Ame whispered ahead. He could see them too. Through the last thicket of the forest, Toshiro could see the red blazon of lantern light in the forward blue. He slinked past Ame and crouched next to a tree at the border of wood and field. In the middle of the paddy amassed dozens of people—black figures illuminated by the lantern light against their faces. They were farmers, from the adjacent village no doubt, and they were watching a woman in white robes sprinkle water across the field. The droplets, silver beads that flew through the air and cascaded down like rain, caught the moonlight and glistened. Above, In was clear and watching.

“What are they doing?” Ame whispered from behind.

“I don’t know, wait…” Toshiro strained. Though the opposing woodline was little more than a black silhouette, he could see something nestled into the pines. The object that the mass was heading towards. When he saw the white spirit gate and discerned the tiny house beyond, it clicked instantly.
“They’re performing a ceremony. Looks like there’s a shrine next to the paddy. It must be to the lady on the big moon.”

Ina they called her. A goddess from Inari that had come to the mainland centuries ago with the other Inari gods and joined with the pantheon of the old court to form the full roster of natural divinity. Toshiro could remember her facets well, for she was the mother of his own master. “They must be trying to ward off the coming famine.”

Ina had not just been the goddess of the largest moon, but she was also known to lord over great harvests and the fertility of fields, where her powers often supplanted that of the original rice spirits who now bowed to her domain.

“Let’s go Ame. We need to move campsites.”

Toshiro turned, only to find Ame caressing a rabbit in her arms while poking another with her foot. “Sssshhhh” she whispered down to it. “We have to be quiet.”

He frowned. “Ame, let’s go.”

“Toshiro, I want to watch.”

“There’s no time. We need to move.”

“I’m staying. It’s important.”

“Ame, I’m not doing this. We have a long journey tomorrow. We need to sleep.”

“Toshiro,” the girl's voice had turned to ice—serious and somber. “This is not an option. I must stay. Sleep here if you will, or go on without me.”

The josen paused, half-heartedly considering going back without the girl, but that was snuffed as quickly as it came and grumbling he slunk himself down against the tree trunk. Something told him he could not win this fight, so with bitterness in his mouth, he closed his eyes and hoped to nod off. Eventually sleep found him.

When he next awoke, it was still night. Sleepily, he rose to find Ame missing. In a flash he shot forward and began his search. His heart burned and a sinking panic overtook him when it was then jerked upward in painful relief as he caught Ame walking across the now empty paddy. Toshiro stooped and watched quietly.

The girl was now a distance away, but clearly visible in the light of the three moons which had shifted their positions in the heavens. Toshiro could not make out exactly what she was doing, only that she was walking away from him and he half considered darting out after her, but something instead told him to simply wait and watch. It became clear in time that the girl was working her way towards the shrine. Once she had reached it, Toshiro could see her place flowers on the altar of the small house-like sanctuary, just as he had witnessed the farmers do earlier in the night. Curious, Toshiro leaned in further. The pykke stood in front of the shrine for a long time, motionless, head lowered. She’s mimicking what the villagers did.

Ame spent what seemed like an eternity there, doing whatever it was she had wanted to do, before turning back to rejoin him. Toshiro positioned himself back as he had been, unwilling to let the girl know he had awoken, and feigned sleep when she eventually found her way back.

“Toshi…” she prodded at him. “Toshi, wake up.”

He opened his eyes.

“Let’s go.” she said. “But Toshi, I don’t think we should be going east now. Let’s go west.”

“Ame, we can’t.”

“Why not?”

He did not have the spirit to tell her. “We need to go east, Ame.”

“Please?”

“We have to go east.”

He watched as the expression on the girl’s face slumped. There was a sudden sadness there, as moonlight and shadow danced across her foreign features. Then her cat’s eyes darted away from him. “Okay.” she said. Then a yawn came. She’s too tired to fight me. But I doubt this is the last I’ll hear of it.. Toshiro had long learned when Ame was going to be trouble with something, and all her usual signs had begun to manifest. But for tonight, she accepted defeat. Does she know? his mind wandered. Can she sense it out of me?

Standing with a stretch, Toshiro nodded back towards their shelter. “Alright. Let’s get you some sleep. I don’t think we’ll be found tonight. But don’t you complain tomorrow. We’re walking all day.”

To his surprise, she simply nodded. “Okay.”

There was something there. He noticed it. A—gloom. But he too had found himself too worn to fight or explore, so he simply walked back with the girl to their lean-to. There would always be tomorrow. At least, until they reached Inari.

---

On a clear day one could look up and see the snow capped peak of Mount Tola looming over Kawanakami town. Even in the blaze of summer it remained white and glistening, and it was such a sight that Akira transfixed on from his post under the eave of the western gazebo. He sighed. Such a warm day. And to think I dismissed Lady Korage so I could watch a mountain alone.

Akira’s eyes fluttered across the green of the maples—entirely unready for watching, and his mind was taken back by the scent soaked cedar of the gazebo to the night a moon ago when he bid his younger brother farewell.
But it is a beautiful mountain. Perhaps I should compose a poem?

Yet the words did not come to him. Instead, he contemplated if there were any such mountains on Inari. Sacred mountains. Beautiful mountains, with great gods who could protect cities like this one. If there were, Ie surely would recount them. Though—surely not in poem. His brother had no talent with words, no sophistication, no artistry. It'd be a very bad poem indeed. Yes. Quite dreadful. He smiled. Perhaps a dreadful poem was what he needed.

No one could have given him that. Lady Korage was a fine wordsmith, and equally beautiful, and she had given him just enough trouble in the chase to interest him. But her handwriting was no equal to Lady Oboshi's and the memory of the ghost-slain girl saddened him. Akira sighed again.

"Oh maples." He lamented, resting his head on a hand as sheets of jet hair fell down the railing side. "How long till your brilliant hues herald a colored heart?"

“And what color might that be?” a voice asked from the side. Akira turned to see father strolling down the gallery, for once unattended by servants or courtiers.

“Blue, I should think,” he replied. “Perhaps gold.”

“Ah” the emperor said, taking a seat next to his eldest son. “Inseparable, like sun and moons.”

“Hmmm?”

The Willow Emperor did not respond, but instead sat and watched the surrounding courts for a while. Looking up at the shimmering green of the maples nearby, he spoke. “To think I have spent so many autumn days in this spot. I suppose it has become your spot, as much as mine, and your mother’s. It will belong to you after I am gone.”

“It is inauspicious to talk of such, father.”

“But it is true. ’As the leaves fall from the tree, so our days must pass us by.” Yanagi sighed. Those words had been the finishing line from a poem—the greatest ever written by the Yan, and Akira knew it well. The emperor continued. “The curse of mortality, or the blessing. I will not dwell here forever, neither will you. But for an eternity, this will be our spot. I can see you now, you and your brother, running in the grass just over there. Chasing each other. I would be sitting here, your mother and Lady Ai stitching next to me. A cool autumn wind on the warmth of day.”

“You should not talk like that. In fact, I do not approve of such talk, father.” Akira grimaced. He studied the emperor, who seemed to be peering off into the court, absent from his body. Father did not look weak. In fact, he looked stronger than he had in a long time. There had been whispers that Aka-ka had banished all the bewitching of the previous moons, and for that Akira had been eternally grateful. Whatever the old witch did, it must be working. “Why are you saying these things?”

“Oh, I’m only reminiscing, Mei-na. You will too, with age. It’s something all old people do.”

“You are not old, father.”

Yanagi smiled. “Ah, but look at you. Look at you! You’ve become the prince everyone claimed you would. Adept at all arts, all manners, all grace. I could not have asked for better, and if the gods would not punish me for hubris, I would say you may make the greatest emperor to ever reign since the days of our ancestor, Mikoto-ka-Meika. My only regret is that my father could not see you in the realm of the living. He had an eye for greatness far sharper than my own.”

Akira smiled and bowed. “You honor me, father.” He had been used to such praise, even from his own father. Yet, he could not say it was entirely unmoving when it was given by this man of all men. “But, truthfully, you are frightening me. You speak as if the twilight of your life has come when it is hardly even evening.”

“Fear not, Akira-na. I am only reminded of my life by this gazebo. This happiest of spots in the palace. But I do have something to discuss with you, if you will allow me to disturb the harmony of your day.”

“Of course.”

The emperor did not start immediately, but waited a bit in quiet—studying the trees, before speaking again. “You have grown so much, my son, and are the eldest of my children. Truthfully, my greatest treasure. Your position, granted by the gods, is one that comes with many expectations and responsibilities, all of which you are familiar with and know.”

Akira paused. Squinting, he already knew what father was about to say, but he wondered if the emperor expected the right response.

“ One of those responsibilities is, of course, marriage—”

“Who is it?”

“Ishii Kioko.”

“Hmmm.” Akira slid open his fan, cooling himself in the growing heat. “I do not remember her. And what did mother say?”

“We have come to an arrangement.”

“Ishii Kioko..” he let the name hang on his thoughts. “Very well.”

“If she is not satisfactory, then she will not be your bride.”

“I have to marry at some point, father. Even if it is just for formalities. Why should I not marry the daughter of your friend, hmm? It’s not like court marriages mean much.”

“Not to one of your age, son, but the older you get you realize marriages mean everything in the world.”

Akira had understood the intricacies of it all. It was through marriages that clans rose and fell. The entire history of his house had been one long list of this match and that match. The governance of the court had universally been cast to the fathers of the imperial brides, and it was always an indicator in who held the most power. Four centuries ago, each consort had born the name Obo. Two centuries ago, every minister of the left had worn the name of Ishii. Now it was clan Katsuya’s turn under his grandfather for glory. It was the ultimate expression of court politics—who wedded who and bore what children. Yet Akira could simply not find it in himself to care.

He had always found it a droll and tiring game—politics. Utterly unsuitable to his tastes. He had always cared more about the freedom of court games. Gossip, intrigue, diliances: things that bore no real weight and were as transient as the seasons. Leave the serious and somberness for my brother. he thought. When I am emperor, the court will flourish and forget the dreadful woes of ambition..

Sitting there, he knew that duty would have to be fulfilled. The realm needed governance, and it needed good governance. He did not plan to be an idle emperor—quite the opposite. Yet duty did not have to bleed into pleasure. Akira had watched that sour his brother. He had watched that cage him in the palace alongside his siblings. He had watched it grant old men the authority to jockey over whose sleeves were longer. It did not matter to him if a marriage meant a coat of gray or violet or blue hung over the ministry. He would be emperor—and alone would rule Tadan’s people.

“Well, you certainly did not fight likeI expected,” Yanagi said. “When my father first brought the question to bear—I was much younger than you—I told him that I would accept none other than your mother as my bride.”

The emperor inhaled deeply. “Yes, I had decided very early on that the only woman I wanted was Katsuya Shikibu. Your mother was the most graceful woman in the entire court at that time. Young, exceedingly beautiful, with the greatest sense of fashion and the best handwriting. She didn’t clique with the other court girls, which made her more alluring to me. Of course, her lineage made things easier, and being the crown prince never hurt anyone’s chances.”

Father winked and laughed. “But, Ai-ka, she was forced upon me only a few years later. My father wanted to reign in Zoku Morichika, who grew more belligerent with time. Preferring to use him as a tool, my father arranged the marriage and so it was. I was not altogether pleased with the events, Shiki was all I felt I needed at the time. But, as the years passed, Ai-ka became my most important advisor—a post she retains to this day. You see, Mei-na, marriages can be very important indeed. I do not seek to ignore your own desires.”

“So sorry, but I can’t say any woman has caught my eye like mother had with you. So I am open to possibilities.”

“Well, Ishii Kioko will get her chance to charm you. I sent a summons to her this morning. Her father does not know yet, but I am sure he will be ecstatic to know of my plans.”

“Then I will await her arrival.”

Akira sat back and leaned on the railing of the gazebo. Looking up into the sky, he saw the midday sun burning in deep blue and in his spare thoughts it dawned on him—he was late to a boating excursion.

[Aoyan]

Chapter 13

---

The ride to Haka town had spanned four nights and three days, and by the end had left Ie so saddle sore he could hardly walk. The Azichi column had reached the town first, as had been designed, and by noon that day a forest of blue tents had set up on the hilled ridge east of the town. When Ie had first set eyes upon the homeland of the Haka—those strange Inari magicians—it had dazzled him like so many other things on these islands. Here a lake pooled between ridges as a blue gem upon a crown of green, and sprouting from its center a great island held the wooden structure of Haka town. Bridges like veins strung across the waters to the center, but in the Inari wilderness all things were vaster than they seemed. Just as the farms of his home mountains were built, here too did paddies cut into the hillsides where the land was too rough for the broad, flat farms of the coast. Their calm betrayed the fact the frontier sat only a li to the north.

It was that same calm—that viel, as if time had stopped when closing—that had spurred Ie out of his guest quarters in the town manor and out to explore. That day, grandfather had gone out to the hills surrounding the town with his falcons. ”We will depart in three days.” he had promised that morning. ”The other lords must be given their chance to group with us. When we leave, we enter enemy land.”. Toriichi had then urged him to rest and enjoy the last peace, for war sat just on the horizon. “You will not even be able to ride.” he had said. “The horses are to be reserved for scouts, messengers, and battles. It will be on foot for all but the lords. Not even a prince can be allowed to ride.”

But Ie did not mind. He would have been content, in that moment, to never have sat a horse again. The ache buckled his knees, and even as he went, he nursed a cane to keep upright. For a man who had loved riding as a child on those few times he was allowed outside the palace, it seemed wrong and unfair that the world should so painfully take that from him too. He walked on.

Though curiosity pulled him, he had not gone far from the boundaries of the Haka manor, which nestled in woodland not on the island-settlement, but north of it. He did not need to wander far—Haka town itself had little sway to him. The Inari Yan were, to his surprise, more or less like those from the capital. They had worn strange clothing, and spoke with that difficult accent—the same list Kiyomori had to his voice—but they did not feel like people to come from a land so steeped in magic. Instead, the forest Ie found himself in had been the thing to draw his attention. It was only a short walk into the woodland just northwest of the manor, and he had gotten only a few steps down the obvious paths before he began to notice the oddities of where he stood.

At first, Ie had chalked it all up to Inari. The same force that seemed to surround everything, and spoke louder the further from people you got. But quickly it came to him that this place was different. His footsteps, brought by the dragging of his legs, disappeared in sound only a few feet in front of him. There was no birdsong here. Only the wind in the branches above called out. Thick, black, winding cedars and laurels watched him from above, choking the sunlight where emerald moss clung in the cool air to the spots it could reach. His foot caught a stone, something hard, porous, and sharp. Tripping, his grunt too was swallowed up by the earth as quickly as it came. No sound seemed capable of escaping here, and now that he was close, he could see the forest floor was a small world of mountains and vales—mounds of pocked rock rose and fell where the tree roots wound in and out of small caverns. Each breath turned to white mist in front of him, and the water of the rock divots gleaned like ice. Ie wanted to turn around—the loneliness of this forest shielded it like an invisible fog. Yet it sang to him. A silent, dead, quiet song. So he continued.

The path was clearly marked, beaten down by footfall from an unknown area. The red-brown dirt of Inari clashed with the sable rock around it, almost unnaturally, and Ie was careful not to trip again. His inner thighs screamed, but he was being pulled by something just in front—unseen, but felt. It only took a few minutes before his eye caught something above him in the trees. The trunk he studied had been like any other, standing tall and straight alongside the path. But the density had begun to fade here, and the trunks stood apart and more alone. Yet when his vision snaked up to above him, he came face to face with the hallowed eyes of a human skull.

Jumping back, Ie did not yell. But he did watch, carefully. The skull watched him too, knowing, but unmoving—embedded and sharing the color of the tree bark, it had been as if grown alongside it. He looked over. Other trees too had skulls, and other bones poked out in places for some, almost unseen among the trunk. Ie turned to go, to flee, when a voice hit him.

“Don’t get lost.”

Ie yelped. Steeling himself, he looked up expecting to see the skull peering down in animated life. But it did not move. None of them did, and the only living thing looking from above was a large raven. The bird cocked its head to one side as Ie studied it. He raised an eyebrow in disbelief and wonderment, waiting for the bird to speak, when the voice came again.

“No, that raven is not talking to you.”

The words were mocking, but the tone was matter-of-fact. It was only then that Ie noticed him—a man—reclined on the smoothed and carved wood of what was once a log. How did I miss him?

It did not take Ie long to puzzle out who he was looking at. The man could not have been much older, or younger, than he. His raven hair fell down just below his jaw in layers, where the back was tied into a large and loose batching. Blue irises watched from slendered eyes, and they popped in a flamboyance similar to that of the man’s mismatched summer patterns. In his hand he held a long iron blade, which he was wiping gently with the linen of a cloth. His glare was absolute.

Ie adjusted himself—his heart slammed in his chest. The jolt was not the only cause for the beating. Suddenly his mouth ran dry, and he knew words would trip as quickly as they came. He was tempted to run, just as he had been, now only for a different reason. If only I was Akira. he thought. He knows how to talk to people.

“Oh, and try not to yell. You are disturbing the dead.”

Ie’s face twisted. “ That is Foscan-go, to you.”

The man’s eyes did not move, nor did he stop the slow work on his blade. He simply raised an eyebrow as if to convey an uninterested surprise and just as quickly Ie regretted losing his composure. Yet shame retreated to sit at the back of his mind, where it would not leave, and his eyes fluttered to the dark sockets of the skull above him. “Who… are they?”

The man glanced up. “That one is my great-great-grandmother.”

“And the others?” The answer was obvious.

“Those of my clan who have passed.”

So it’s a cemetery. Ie said to himself, looking around. A Haka graveyard.

“As I said, don’t get lost. The forest is hea—”

“Are you Lord Haka’s son?”

The two spoke at nearly the same time, with Ie winning out. The man paused, then a smile crossed his face. His eyes did not move. “Yes. Haka-ka-Kiyomori is my father. Though I have not seen him in some time.”

Ie stepped forward, and the man shifted on his seat to make room. In that moment, he was glad blush did not show upon him, and he doubly wished he had been his brother and not himself. For reasons unknown to him, he accepted the offer of a seat—though the tightness in his muscles ached.

He had little need to ask about the man’s father. It was clear looking at him that the High Priest of the Court was his parent. They shared a face shape, and slender eyes. That was not accounting for the Haka coloring, or the ocean pools that watched him approach. But there was someone else there. The man’s mother perhaps. His nose was less flat and more slender than his father’s, his skin less sunkissed. There was an undeniable softness, somehow hidden in sharp facial lines, that Lord Haka never had. If Haka Kiyomori was akin to a mountain top, this man was like the grassy vale beneath. Or the waterfall that rippled to the base. Ie had no reason why such a comparison entered his mind—only that it was true. He could not call the man he looked at womanly, but the etched stone of his features was different and undeniably beautiful.
He had forgotten all about his saddle pain.

“I—I don’t think I have ever seen you at the court, sir. At least, you were not there last spring.”

“That is because I have never been to court.”

“What? But there were so many Haka during the summit.”

“Yes, all of my siblings, and my cousins. Anyone bearing the name Haka followed my father to Kawanakami. Except for me. As my father’s heir, it is apparently my duty to remain in our homeland, learning to read the wind.”

“Ah.” Ie smiled. “I know how you feel. This is my first trip outside the palace beyond our retreat outside the capital. My first trip—ever.”

That steely eyed look returned to the man beside him. “You are a prince?”

Ie paused. That’s right. He just said he’d never been outside Inari. How could he know my name? The shame of his tone earlier returned and he shrank a bit where he sat. “Yes. Forgive my rudeness earlier, and now. I am Ie, son of Yanagi-ka-Meika, the emperor. They have titled me Prince Foscan.”

“Foscan. Like the evergolds.” he leaned back further in his seat, sliding the iron blade he was working on back in its sheath. Ie had to be careful not to stare too long. “I am Haka Mizumi.”

Mizumi? Ie thought. That is a girl’s name. Yet he did not laugh, instead, the question left as quickly as it came and his attention was stolen by movement above them. When he peered up, the branches rustling in the breeze were covered in an unkindness of ravens. The birds watched them curiously, aligned in neat rows, where sable eyes and beaks tilted in unknowable contemplation.

“Uh…” Ie swallowed.

“They won’t hurt you.” Mizumi said. “They’re only here to watch.”

“Noted.” Ie looked around him at the forest nervously. Sunlight breached the canopy above them and streamed down to the black-green floor in summer heat. Deeper in, his sight faltered and he was met with nothing but the emerald carpet of trees and bushes. Somewhere, the tapping of a woodpecker broke the quiet in reverberation.

“The forest is opening up to you, Foscan-ka.” Mizumi said. His relaxed demeanor never faltered and that moved like wildfire to lessen Ie’s own tension.

“What exactly is this place?” Ie asked. “Why do our voices not echo? Why is sound drowned the moment it leaves the source?”

“This? This is a spirit forest. There are such dotted across Inari. Are there not any on the mainland?”

“I—I’m not sure.”

“They’re usually found on the slopes of volcanoes.” Mizumi said. “Most of them are from the War in the Heavens, when fonts of flame erupted from the earth. It’s why the rocks here are black and hollow. Most of these forests are terribly haunted. This one—I at least know the ghosts of.”

“Is that why you…bury…your dead here?”

“Why should we not? In this way we join the spirits and the gods, among the wilds, where all things originate and end.”

“All my ancestors are in mausoleums, dotted across temples and shrines. Across the country.”

“A difference in opinion, I’m afraid.”

Ie went to speak, having forgotten all about the tightness in his muscles or chest, but the two were interrupted by the emergence of another man into the woods. This time, there was no missing the towering form that came up the path toward them. Toriichi.
Yet he was followed by another, a man Ie also recognized instantly with a falcon strapped to his arm—grandfather. They paid no attention to the skeletons watching from above.

Toriichi was the first to speak. “Ie-ka, I’ve been searching for you.”

Ie stood, but it was to Lord Zoku who he placed his attention. “Grandfather. What do you need?”

Lord Zoku only spared a passing glance past Ie’s shoulder at the Haka man beside him, then he scanned over to Toriichi who stood ignored in the roadway. “Foscan-ka,” he said. “I hope you’re enjoying your rest after yesterday’s travels.”

“Quite, grandfather.”

Zoku smiled. “Then I have something for you to do.”

Instantly, Ie’s enthusiasm sank and he groaned inwardly. Grandfather seemed to read his face and that only increased the aged lord’s amusement. “You can ride, can you not Ie-ka?”

Toriichi butted in before Ie could get a response. “My lord, perhaps giving Prince Foscan some extra time is in order? It was a long ride from Nawarisano, and I promised his mother—”

“I can ride.” Ie said. He was not sure he could. But he would try, and that was better than the embarrassment that would come from declining. “What do you need me to do?”

Lord Zoku nodded. “Good.” the falcon on his arm chirped nervously, blinded by the hood, and the disorientating aura of the forest seemed to return with the arrival of the others. Mizumi did not move. “What I need is actually very simple, Ie-ka. I want you to ride out with a group from several of the other camps and survey just beyond the border. It should take no more than the day, and I am only doing it as a courtesy. Think of it as our first bit of cooperation. You are to represent me.”

Ie beamed. Represent Lord Zoku? he thought. His mind swirled. Did his grandfather really trust him enough with that? “Very well, thank you grandfather.”

“Zoku-go.” Lord Zoku chided gently. “Since you care so much, Katsuya, you can go with him.”
With that, he was off with his bird down the trail.

Toriichi’s expression sagged. “You don’t have to push yourself if it can be avoided.”

“I’m fine, Toriichi.” Ie groweld. How dare you cause me to lose face in front of people. anger swelled in him. But Toriichi simply nodded his head. Before he could speak again, Lord Zoku’s voice pierced the cloud of quiet from the trail. “Let’s go, Katsuya.” he barked, and with it Toriichi was off.

Turning, Ie bowed to Mizumi who was now standing. “I guess… this is goodbye for now.”

“Not quite.” Mizumi stretched leisurely. “I might as well go with you. Not like I have anything else to do, and an eye needs to be kept on you mainlanders, no matter what my uncle says.”

“Really? Then I can get you a horse, if you need one.”

“Eh,” Mizumi grimaced. “No horses. I can walk. I’m used to it.”

“Are you sure?” How could he ever keep up? That shouldn’t be possible.

“Quite. I will rejoin you near the party. For now, I must prepare, as should you.”

“Yes. It was good to meet you, Mizumi-ka.”

The man did not respond. No flicker of anything moved across his slender eyes. Only that he nodded, and then disappeared into the forest without another word.

---

Clack. Aka set her white stone tightly on the board to her front. Master Rohi moved next, taking only a moment to decide where he would put his piece in the maze of red and white roundels. The sheen of the stone gloss caught the dim daylight, and the snapping of the pieces sparked against the mid-summer rain that swept the courtyard beyond the veranda. It was almost soothing.

Aka had to admit that her opponent was not a bad player. In fact, he was better than any of the Yan seemed to be. Yet she did not think he could beat her this time, and so she allowed herself respite to enjoy the coolness brought by the storm. Ah, calm and tranquility. She sighed. For once.

Then, as if the gods were to punish her for her presumption, Rohi raised up .”You cannot move there.” he said.

“What? Yes I can.” Aka cooed. Inwardly she had been jolted by the sudden intensity. The piece in question had been a stone placed in the center of a red cluster, killing it in the process with no immediate benefit. This would have opened a repetition fight between the two players—a rare if not unknown strategy to Aka. But Rohi did not relent.

“You cannot kill your own stones. That is not a part of the allowed rules.”

“It most certainly is. I’ve done it many times over many games.”

Rohi raised an exacerbated eyebrow, as if he was unsure exactly what he was witnessing. Then, he grinned. “Do you wish me to get my ruleset, Madam? It is even brushed in old Xianese.”

“No, sir. I have my own, which I can retrieve for you and cite rules I have known my entire life.”

“And where might you have gotten this ruleset?”

“It was gifted to me by the Emperor Ryu. Yanagi’s father.”

“Ah,” Rohi said. He took a quick gulp of the wine that sat in a small ceramic cup inked with blues and blacks. “There is our issue. You are playing by Yan rules, not ailur ones.”

“Ailur ones?” Aka pipped. “It’s our game. They are all ailur rules. Who cares if you suicide your own piece.”

“This is a game of strategy, in which the pieces represent all manner of utilities. Generals in the old empire used the game to great effect in learning the ways of war. Suiciding a piece is equivalent to sacrificing your own troops. You cannot do it.”

Aka scoffed. She could feel heat rushing to her cheeks, and it took willpower to not smack the stupid grin off Rohi’s face. “Ah. Who cares about sacrificing your own troops? If they achieve a result, then they have proved their heroism.”

“That… is a very Yan mindset.”

Aka snapped. “Wisdom damn you!

Rohi blinked.

“You have accused me of that thrice now!” she threw a stone out into the muddy courtyard. “Yan Mindset?’ How very rich, coming from one of your school. The school of thought that espoused starving peasants in the tens of thousands if it meant survival of the state! Do these ears mean nothing to you?!”

Rohi shrank in his robes, entirely surprised by the onslaught from the woman across from him. The corners of his mouth sank, and it was clear to even Aka in her rage that he moved to hide the inner wound she was inflicting.

“I apologize, madam.” he said as soon as she was done. “I see I was in the wrong to offend you, especially over a simple game. One, of which, I am clearly losing—no matter the rules. Please, accept my deepest apology. I entirely overstepped my manners.”

There was a long silence, where the only sounds were the beating of the rain and the long drops of water from the ends of the rafters. Aka did not respond, only leaning back in her seat and looking away. If she had not been seething against herself, she may not have noticed Haka-ka-Kiyomori enter the courtyard nearby. Rohi turned his attention to him too.

The high priest had brought in a horse from outside, where he wrapped the held reins to a post near the gate door before brushing off water from the beast’s snout with his hand. The rain piled off his straw rain cap, and the straw overcoat that covered his shoulders, and Aka noted how he wore all black silks on a day like this. It did not take him long to cross the mud and to the gazebo from which they sheltered.

“Summer rains,” he said smiling. The Inari twang resounded with the distant thunder. “Brings serenity.”

Aka rolled her eyes. Have I not dealt with enough fools today? Suddenly, the afternoon had become disastrous, and she was already too tired to mingle words in her own mind. Yet Lord Haka paid her no mind, instead bowing to Rohi as the ailur returned his own formal greeting, before slipping his soaked clogs off at the entryway.

“May I come in?” Haka asked.

“Of course, Lord.”

“We are playing a game, if you don’t mind.”

Haka stooped down next to the board of his haunches, then pointed—studying it. “Yes. I can see that. One in which you are winning as always, Aka-ka.”

Standing, he fingered a fan at his belt. “I need to speak to Aka-ka on some important matters. Do you mind if I rudely pause your leisure for a moment, Master Rohi?”

“No, lord.” the ailur shuffled back. “In fact, I think this would be a perfect opportunity to pause for the benefit of both players.”

Rohi stood, bowed, then shuffled away sheepishly. He did not bother to pack his things, leaving even his wine unfinished in its cup. Haka immediately replaced him, sitting in the exact same spot, smiling as always. “For the benefit of both players,” he said.

“So you heard all of that?’

“That?’ he blinked, then, craning his neck—he nodded. “It was heard in Nakajima.”

Aka laughed. “My, well, I suppose I have been a bit monstrous as of late.”

“That cannot be helped.” Haka studied the board before him. “You are under much stress, like pine branches under the burden of snow. It seems my position cannot be helped either.” he casually placed a red stone into the game.

“Why have you come to talk to me, Haka-go?”

“I wish to know what progress you have made for our liege. My own has been frustratingly muddled. The gods have not deemed it fit to speak to me again. Yet I can feel them moving around in nature. The summer heat, the nighttime crickets, this storm. They move, act, but say nothing to me.”

Fanning herself slowly, Aka lowered her eyebrows. “So you want to know what I’ve been doing?”

“Why not? We both swore to solve this mystery. That makes us a team—the priest and the sorceress. Spring and Autumn.”

“I personally do not think it is any of your business.” Aka snapped her fan shut. “I’m..sorry. If you wish to know what I have decided on the matter. I have decided to do—nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Quite. It is the way of Heaven and Earth. Action through inaction.”

“I do not think—” Haka cleared his throat. “I do not think that is the right decision, Aka-ka.”

“And why not? The court is at peace. The emperor is well. All seems in harmony.”

“That is a facade. It is that very harmony that worries me. The intensity of the world—it beckons. Like a bag stuffed with rice, it will burst at any moment. Is your killer spirit not still rogue? Have you solved that question yet, Aka-ka?”

“Excuse me, but I do not tell you how to do your job, Haka-go. I do not advise you how to speak with foxes, or find the gods in a pool of water. So you should not tell me how to wait and watch.”

Haka studied her for a long time. Then, his eyes smiled where his mouth did not. “Very well, Aka-ka. Have it your way. But pray to your passed god that your wisdom is not faltering. As for me, I will continue to watch the world very carefully indeed. Something is coming. It was seen by my daughter. It is written in the clouds, on the air. You wait, you watch the rocks grow, and hope they do not rise and move in the process.”
He stood. “Good day.”

Hmpf. Aka watched him leave, blowing damp coolness over her face with her fan. She leisurely reached over and placed a white stone on the board in response to his only move. I will do so, Haka-ka-Kiyomori-ka-Inari. Like the spider, I will wait. Wait and watch.

---

Lord Zoku, Lord of Azichi and the Ansando, Lord of the Three Provinces and Minister of the Left tread the steep mountain path—alone. He had set out before noon, when the sun was still low, and only after he had dispatched his party for the scouting expedition beyond the border. His morning had been filled with retainers, and attendants, and allies and he had thought nothing more than on the moment they would melt away and leave him as he was now. In isolation. His only company—the birch and pine.

He had been waiting for this day since the first footfall on Inari’s soil. For when he would ascend the rough-hewn gravel of this mount, right outside Haka town, and he could not deny the ritualism of the day. At dawn he was up, and then he ate a sparse meal of rice and fresh vegetables, then it was to work. He did not bed Lady Yae that morning, nor would he do so that night. Nor would he meal with Tetsukoba, or allow himself an ounce of disturbance or joy. The mountain air smelled too green for that.

Making his way up the last bend near the summit, he stopped for a final time to catch his breath. Age had caught up with him quicker than he had wanted. But that is the way of things. he mused. The climb did not have to be fast, nor rough. The day was his to spend. Yet he had already come the breadth of it, and he could see even from his pause the hint of blue banner just ahead marking the spot. Finding the strength—renewed—he pressed the remaining few paces towards his goal.

When Lord Zoku reached the place he had dreamed of since the first sailing, he sat himself tiredly on a flat rock nearby and looked over. There a tall stone slate sat, anchored with another base of stone and etched with writing onto the face. The words were muddled by the shadow of the leaves.

Lord Zoku did not need to read them. He had never read them, in actuality. Instead, he simply watched, and sighed. The colors of time flooded his mind like ink spilled on paper.

Zoku Yoshiban had died a very brave, and very stupid death. Yes, very stupid. As all bravery was. As all death was. And Yet Lord Zoku could still see his eldest son in the eye of time—tall, handsome, pale skinned like none of the Zoku were. Thin of brow and dark of eye and strong. He had been noble too—noble and gallant—but with a fighting edge that only he shared with his full-sister Ai. Zoku Yoshiban had been the glimmering jewel of the court. A warrior without equal, a courtier without challenge. Yet he had thrown that all away. Killed, by the Barley-Eaters, in a senseless campaign.

That death had wilted the Hollyhocks, so beloved had Yoshiban been in the capital and at home. It had been the first time Prince Foscan was faced with death, and he wailed as a child at the news. Then, his brother had hit him, and he wailed harder so that his own grieving mother had to cart him away from the gathering. Lord Zoku smiled.

“Yoshi…” he whispered hoarsely. “You should see your nephew now.”

Lord Zoku sat there for a long time, watching the clouds pass by in the distant blue. Cicadas hummed in the trees, and the heat was suppressed by the beauty of the day. “I’ve been meaning to take you off this mountain, son.” he said. “Though I know you love the mountains. You should be in the ones near home.”

A stillness sat in the air, and Lord Zoku scrunched his eyebrows. He pondered if he should leave, but he knew this might be his last time upon this summit, and he was choked in indecision to his own surprise. Somehow, he pushed the words out. “I cannot forgive you for leaving me with Zatake.” he whispered. It was a trailing, struggling, rasping thing. But once he had started, like water breaking through rocks, it poured out. “Your half-brother is useless. And Suru is too reckless. Why did you leave? You were to be my heir—everything I was not. But you threw that all away, you fool. Nothing is greater than life!”

Lord Zoku found himself standing, grasping at his silks with tightened fists. Then he paused, and relaxed, looking towards the stele hidden in the shadow of the leaves. “Yoshi, this will be the last time you look out towards the frontier. In the next moon, we will have pushed the Barley-Eaters further than they have been pushed in the last century. I know that means nothing to you, in the void. That was your other mistake, my son, one I could not teach out of you. You never learned to hate. Hate, like me. If you had, you may have lived.”

Lord Zoku turned to leave, his sandal fall crunching on the gravel of the pathway. Then—he stopped. Turning, Zoku gave one last glance towards the marker. “Tell your mother I forgive her,” he said. “She was a good wife, too good, having given me my best children.”

On his descent, the mountain air had become wet and cool.

---

Ie groaned under the strain of the saddle. The pain was almost too much, and a sickly torrent whirled in his stomach, threatening to topple him and erupt. He had tried to keep his mind distracted. If he could master that, perhaps his body would kneel, and so he hyper focused on what was being said to him. Toriichi rode along, at the head of the small party of horsemen that made up the Azichi scouts. And he had pointed to everything—the dwindling hamlets, the clearing that marked the frontier, the tree marks that were made by the enemy. Most intrancing of all had been the very distant tip of white that hung in the sky. Like the strumming chip of a lute, sharp and triangular, it poked out from among rolling green.

“Mount Haino.” Toriichi said. “About 25 li to the north.”

“That far?” Ie gasped.

“It is a very tall mountain, like Mount Tola. But it stands alone, completely surrounded by its valley. That is only its peak there.”

What gods created that? Ie pondered, trying to push down the twisting in his gut. He should not have agreed to ride.

As if Toriichi could read his mind, he continued. “They say a god of fire dwells within the mountain’s depths. Worshiped by the imps of Inari first, and now revered by all, even the Barley-Eaters. Occasionally, the mountain will belch smoke and the spirit within will stir. Apparently, the god awoke three hundred years ago and roared fire onto the slope, darkening the sky for a whole winter across the islands.”

Tadan, protect us. Ie whispered to himself. It was more a call for relief from the ride than one for protection against supposed mountain spirits. Still, he let his mind wander on the story as best he could.

“That is what they say anyway.” Toriichi paused. Then, looking over, his brow stooped and his moustache lowered signifying a frown. “Do you wish to pause, Foscan-go?”

“I’m…fine, Toriichi.” Ie said.

But the Katsuya behemoth dragged his horse to a stop anyway, and the horsemen behind them followed. “We will rest here.”

They pulled off the roadway and into a nearby meadow, where the horses could grass and the riders break. Ie did not have the energy to protest, nor did he particularly want to. Instead he climbed off his mount with a groan and sat in the shade without complaint. Silvergrass and clover surrounded them, and Ie watched the bees hop from flower to flower as he tried to cool down. Across the roadway grew a few great foscan amongst strands of azalea and beech, with their shimmering evergolden leaves and white trunks. He smiled. The tree for which he was named.

Looking back, he felt foolish. The land past the frontier looked and felt as any other, like the rest of Inari. Mostly like home too. Yet he had thought it would be different. Different how he could not say, but there was no indication they had gone past the point in which his people permanently lived. There was no marker. No feeling. No sign. Only an empty clearing near some pathway trees and suddenly they were beyond the law of his father. Glancing over he could see the others standing next to their mounts. There is one difference. he thought. Everyone is much more alert.

One man—Tosaru-ka—the sergeant, fingered the quiver of his bow anxiously. The others were a bit more relaxed, and even Toriichi sipped water from his deerskin as he watched out into the distance. Yet the tensity never left, and no matter how much Ie wanted to, he would not allow himself to settle too much. It all made the shadows of the forest darker, more sinister, and his ears twitched at every sound.

The party could not have stopped for long before they were interrupted by rummaging in the bush. Tosaru was the first to respond, knocking an arrow and shouting out into the open air.

“Who is that!? Reveal yourself!”

Ie jolted up—as quickly as his legs would allow, and sheltered next to his mount. He watched Toriichi silently withdraw the great bronze mace from his saddle bag as the others rushed hands to weaponry. Glancing about over his saddle, one hand carefully on the body of his own bow, Ie could see nothing but the wilderness and the swaying of the breeze.

“Reveal yourself! Final warning!” Tosaru bellowed. Yet there was nothing. Then the sound came again, and the voice that responded had been to their surprise—in Yan.

“We are friendly.” the voice came from the forest next to them, from darkness that could not be seen. That voice. It is familiar. Ie thought. Then he witnessed why. Emerging from the edge, Haka Mizumi morphed into the light, bearing only the sword he had cleaned earlier.
How did he catch up with us on foot?

There was more movement, and following the treeline up, Ie could now see the figures up above in the tree limbs, watching the party from below. More Haka.

“Do you know you are being followed, Ie-ka?” Mizumi asked, walking up to him.

“Only by you.”

The Haka man came around the side, keeping his distance. Ie raised an eyebrow, but he watched as the man jumped when his horse snorted at the approach. A smile cracked at his lips. He’s… afraid of horses.

“They were about two li back on our approach. Probably one li now, if they mean to catch you.” Mizumi said.

“So sorry, Haka-ka,” Toriichi responded. “If you mean the strange beast folk, we are already aware they are following us. They’ve been doing it since we met them on the road near, oh, Hakoye or so.”

“And you did not tell my uncle?”

Toriichi shrugged. “So sorry. But, Lord Ishii knows, and Katsuya also. I cannot comment on why your uncle was not alerted to them, but we have decided to wait and see what they intend. I was hoping you knew who they were.”

“I have never seen such. Yes, they are completely foreign to me. Nor has my brother Izumo.” he looked back towards the treeline before continuing. “But I don’t like them. They scare away the foxes and the ravens. And they are afraid of the trees. They keep very wearily away from the shadows.”

“Be that as it may,” Toriichi said. “They have not been hostile to us. Lord Zoku’s express permission was to let them come, if they so wished.”

“I got a good look at them,” Ie chimed in. “When they first appeared. I’ve never heard of anything like them, and they have many people in their party. They even have bronze, though I don’t know how or from where. As well as the largest spiders I have ever seen. Though nobody told me they were following us.” he shot a glare at Toriichi.

“Ah.” Mizumi’s eyes narrowed. “That is something else. They have an aura about them—the spirits recoil where they walk. They are always looking up, but I do not think they saw us when we approached. They are half-frightened, half-bold. I do not think they are off this land, I am almost certain of it. But my father is not here for us to know for sure, nor do any of my siblings but Amaya share his abilities, and she is also not back from the mainland.”

“Katsuya-ka,” Tosaru bowed. “Do you wish for me to send men to halt their progress or check where they are?” he turned, snapping his fingers at two of the riders who shot up like arrows to mount, only for Toriichi to shake his head.

“No thank you, Tosaru-ka. But our lord’s orders were very clear. We are to leave them be. Instead, we should get moving towards the rendezvous. We are nearly there, and if we start now, we will make it by evefall.”

With that, Tosaru bowed and alongside the others hopped onto their rides and began towards the roadway. Toriichi and Ie followed. “I will see you with the party, Mizumi-ka?” Ie asked.

The man nodded.

“And you are sure you don’t wish to take a horse? I can give you mine if we are so close.”

“If you wish me to ride, Ie-ka, you must first be able to walk.”

Ie peered down at him from atop his mount—then laughed. “Fair fair. I will remember that. Until then.”

With that, the Haka disappeared as quickly as they came and the Azichi troop resumed their ride northward.

---

The area where the scouting group met was a clearing much greater than the ones between here and Haka town. At some point, the roadway faded off and instead the Azichi men followed what Toriichi had said was a Barley-Eater footpath. It was only now that Ie realized just how wild the country was growing. All of Inari was rugged, but he had witnessed meandering Yan homesteads and holdfasts outside of Nawarisano. Even if those had dwindled as they neared Haka town, he could be certain there were people by untended paddy up until they had reached the lake settlement. Now—now there seemed to be nothing.

Yet Toriichi assured him that less than half a day’s ride northward and they would begin to encounter Barley-Eater grain plots and a village or two. That had sent Ie watching and listening carefully as the skies above darkened toward dusk, but he had also wanted to see if he could pick up on Mizumi following behind them. He had heard nothing.

Now, the land had been cascaded in the cool blue of evening, and already cricket songs had arrived to the beating of cicadas that marked the everywhere. Quick bolts of yellow light flashed warm in the air, and Ie watched contentedly as the fireflies of summer began their nightly dance in the sky as they approached.

Up ahead, a cluster of three dozen Yan gathered in the clearing, where banners of Katsuya violet and Narawa green were raised in footcamps for the gathering. The sudden presence of people gave Ie a surge of relief, and he would have almost missed the strange gouges in the ground if it wasn’t for the contrast of ripped dirt on grass. He slowed his horse with heels.
What is that? Ie leaned down at it.

“Something wrong, Ie-ka?” Toriichi asked riding next to him. Then—he saw them too. “Uh.. strange tracks.”

“Tracks?”

Toriichi nodded. “They trail off over there, into the woodline. Look, others from that direction.”

“Almost like a cart.”

“Yes…” Toriichi said suspiciously. He stroked one of his curved moustache ends. “But it tore up too much soil to be a cart. More like a plow.”

“That is strange. Maybe one of the other party’s knows.”

“Indeed.” Toriichi said, spurring his horse forward. It was then that the other recognized them, and an archer on the periphery raised up a hand in warning.

“Katsuya Toriichi and Foscan Ie to represent Lord Zoku-ka-Azichi-gokan!” Toriichi roared across the dim air. The archer lowered his hand, but another man in the camp shouted back.

“Are you trying to get us killed, Katsuya!?”

Toriichi sputtered, then bit his tongue. Ie followed him into the gathering wordlessly, only straightening his back as best he could. He was representing his grandfather after all, and he had even donned an Azichi blue overcoat to mark the fact.

“If volume is such a danger,” Toriichi began. “Then maybe someone should have stopped a few of the parties from raising colors. They can see the violet of my father in Myobu, and as for Lady Narawa, well, at least they won’t see her green until they overran us.”

The man he confronted choked, anger flashing across his face, but few dared risk a fight with a man as large as Katusya Toriichi. “Now then,” he continued. “Is everyone else here?”

Ie took that moment to look around at the faces while he could. He recognized a few people—namely Lady Narawa’s steward, Kamichi, and a few of Lord Katsuya’s retainers. But colors were much easier to note. There he could see those that were less witnessed in the main camps. Sashibana yellows mingled with Nakajima greens and Okiyurozu oranges. There was a splash of Goroda golds, Joseki reds, and of course—Ishii grays. For that last color, only two men stood present. The first was a droopy faced man who watched on quietly from the sidelines. Ie felt he had seen him before at court too, but the tall youth beside him with bright eyes and a calm smile was entirely new. Unlike so many of the others, that man had brown hair he kept tied into a small tail and let the rest reach his back. What was more interesting still—was the white cloak that hung off his shoulders.

A Vemayan? In Lord Ishii’s service? Ie did not have much time to think about it, for his vision caught the Haka troop watching from the nearest edge of the clearing. They alerted the watch from afar of their presence, but they did not join the others.

“Yes.” Kamichi was saying to Toriichi. “That is everyone we are expecting. You were the last group.”

“Then have we decided on a fire? We have provisions for the night, though we can go without them for the duration of the excursion.”

Ie had already begun dismounting when the words hit him. For the night?
“Toriichi,” he asked. “Zoku-go said we should be done before the day's end. I’m not stupid. I knew we’d be here longer when evening set, but a whole night was not what he promised me.”

“Yes, well, about that…” Toriichi began, but he never had the time to finish that sentence, for at the edge of the watch a guttural cry went up.

“REIBO!!”
We’re under attack!!

[Aoyan]

Chapter 14

---

Never had a day gone by that Urde-Saya reconsidered the steps that brought him to this cold, miserable land. When he closed his eyes he saw the descent of the cage. In the darkness he saw the bronze men leap from the arms and slay the temple gods. In that flickering despair he saw Umikara whisked away from her place and her home, all due to his failure. This land, this place where dayspawn roamed and imps ruled trunks and hovels, was a punishment the gods had imposed upon him for failing to catch his prey before they passed from one world to another.

Walking through the dusk, following the trail of their enemies, and the shadow of the dayspawn, Urde-Saya and his motley band marched. Bronze and copper clanking while woods and grass were trampled beneath their feet. They’d been more careful about making a sound before, as always there was the distant noise of rhythmic thudding coming from the dayspawn march—but eventually caution was thrown to the wind when it was evident they would never be able to hear his men over their own thunderous walk. Ever onward. There was nothing else to be done. Nothing else to do. Somewhere on this strip of land where water lay on both sides, his goddess was captive and bound in divine bondage.

“What I’d give for even a sense of how much further we need to walk this cursed path,” he scowled. “We should capture some of those imps and get them to work for us as scouts.”

“How do you suppose we’d persuade them?” Asked Gishmaka-Yari.

“By the gods, now isn’t that the real question? Maybe offer them scraps for their bellies or gold for their gods? You’d think they’d be smitten to see the first civilized peoples in all their lives and would naturally yield to us.”

“Barbarians work in strange ways. All the world is an arena, lordship.”

“And an arena we know best. But quite frankly, I’d like to carry on my adventures nearer to home. Not in this place.”

“Ketzani wills it, you know.”

“Naturally. I love my goddess as much as she loves me, but by the gods does Ketzani enjoy her games far too much.”

“Perhaps she will reward you in some way? If Ketzani doesn’t, Umikara certainly shall.”

“The only reward I want from our gods are many wives to adorn my palace, and a chance to take a break from all my wandering. By the great gods, I just want to return home with women and spoils. I want to tend to my land behind the walls of my jungle estate. I want to rest.”

“And you call the gods demanding? Even if they pardon you, our Kisharratum will certainly keep you put to work. She has a world to conquer, after all.”

“She needs younger heroes. I want to till a field, not explore some midget infested woodland.”

The march stopped, Urde-Saya bumping into the soldier in front of him. Leaning his head out, he could see the Asharaeans at the led of the column were frozen. Some of them removed their helmets, their ears swiveling and searching, while others sniffed the air—mutters in their grassland tongue drifting between one another. Suddenly, all of them jerked their heads in the same direction, their hairs standing and ears swiveling like ceramic bowls. Silence.

“We hear something,” one of them whispered back over the column.

“What is it?”

“It’s… Someone is shouting a word, I think. I hear yelling. It’s faint. There’s trouble in the air. That scent of war.”

“Is it the dayspawn?”

“It has to be,” Gishmaka-Yari interjected.

“They have an army with them. An army.”

“If something is bringing that to a standstill…”

“Bronze men,” Urde-Saya grinned. “Run! Hold your weapons close and run! Asharkar, shields ready, lead the charge! Run like animals you wolf-kin! If the blighted men found our prey, then we need to reclaim Umikara while they’re busy! Move!”

---

“We’re under attack!!” The cry broke the heavens.

Katsuya Toriichi turned his head in the direction of the call—his hand already sliding the iron mace from its holster on his mount. He expected to see a wave of Barley-Eaters upon them, firing from treetops or storming towards their position. Panic had not yet grasped its hold within him, and he would bury it anyways, but what his eyes met produced a staggered surprise he did not see coming.

“What is that?” he found himself whispering. The others around him stood just as shocked. Mouths gapped, Yan remained motionless, and even he hesitated in withdrawing his weapon from its hold. They lost precious time.

Further in the meadow descended a storm, a monster, a…contraption—like an ailur trinket, made of moving joints and rotating pieces, and brought to life by an unknown spirit. It was a bronze thing, a ball, like the linen kind children stuffed with rice chaff and used to play. Yet it was mounted upon six legs that resembled the legs of horses, and around the spherical body ran a ring from which arms sprouted and wielded terrible weapons. All the worse, it was massive, as tall as the trees—and fast.

The two watchmen on that side of the field did not attempt to stop it. Instead they turned and fled, rushing across the grass as quickly as their legs could carry them. The earth trembled, and though the bronze monstrosity walked, it left gouges in the soil that recalled the tracks seen just outside the camp only moments before.

The camp stirred from its stupor.

“Azichi to me!” Toriichi bellowed. The other Yan, though of different lords and ranks, coalesced just as quickly together into the bulk of the camp. Here they had some protection. Great boardshields of rattan and oak had been erected as a perimeter, as all Yan encampments had, and already archers were taking their spots behind their divots. Toriichi took the moment to turn and account for his men. First his eyes went to the horsemen, who remained mounted and watched from behind. Then his mind swung back in time, to a promise made, and he turned over the other shoulder to find Ie.

The youth stood, pale and sober, but had already removed his coat and tucked a sword into the front of his belt.
“Ie, come next to me.” Toriichi said. The boy nodded, but withdrew his warbow from his mount before coming up. Ie stuped, fingers twisting around an arrow at the nock, and he peered down range at what was coming. As he came close, Toriichi watched his hands. A deep, hard shake overtook them and it traveled up his arms into his shoulders, which flexed against it. Toriichi frowned. Yet the boy's face stayed stern and focused.

“We’ll chase it off” he said in assurance, a fake smile crossing his lips. Ie only nodded quietly. But then the scream was heard.

Looking back, the two watchmen ran for their lives, dropping their equipment in their panic. One was too slow, a Violet Toriichi did not recognize, and he was overrun by the predator, whose metal arms came down swiftly. Blade touched dwarfed flesh and in an instant—a reddened instant—it was over. Toriichi squinted, but it was all the Yan needed to ignite flame beneath them as the smell of death soaked the air. They rallied, and not even the sight of other foes—man-things which came in a small pack from behind the lumbering bronze sphere—could break their spirits.

“To battle!” someone yelled, and the Yan responded together in a cry of defiance.

---

Ie breathed as the shouts began around him. His muscles tightened, and every other moment they shook, racking his entire body in painful tension. Yet his mind spent its time focused, swatting at a growing sense of fear that seeped around the edges of his thoughts. Like a wolf waiting to strike, only focus could act a spear to keep it at bay. All was not finished though, for now his stomach twisted and gripped horridly like it had in Nawarisano. Another man dead.

But what had been a violent typhoon now only rumbled as an angry storm, and he had been able to mostly ignore it, attuning instead to the nature around him. Somehow, he carved out a prayer for Great Tadan in the deluge and steeled himself for focus. Gripping an arrow, trying to account for his shaking, he raised his bow up in the way all Yan archers did. With an inhale, he calmed himself enough to recall the training of a lifetime, and recount the philosophy behind all Yan archery. One shot, one life he said to himself, and mentally poured his soul into the arrow sitting on his string.

He pulled downward with his arms, bringing his great bow from above him back to his front, and when his arrow reached the height of his cheek, he released his draw—released his life. In full glory it flew, bright, and towards death, as he let out the call of firing.

“YOSH!”

The warbow arched, twung, and the string snapped, racing along his arm tight enough to flay skin. Silently, his arrow shot across heaven and earth as a black rod, straight towards the spot he aimed for. It hit, smashing into the crashing monster the huddled toward them—right where he wanted it to. Exactly where he wanted it. Yet, the arrow snapped. Life turned to death, beauty to ash, and the foe had not been slowed. Then the other archers began their own assaults. Cries of YOSH! and YOOOOOOOOSH! flooded the air with their arrows which descended as hard bolts against the opponent. Nobody had any better luck than he had, but Ie watched the firing continue in earnest.

Damn! he could feel the shaking return, the lightness in his legs that seduced him towards flight. What do we do if we can’t shoot it? Will blades even work? How do we normally fight these things?

Ie looked around him. The Yan did not appear frightened. Instead, the opposite appeared true. Many watched with smiles upon their faces, waiting, with bow or with blade. Those who did not, such as Toriichi, watched sternly and braced for impact. But they all kept together behind the barricade. Only the Haka, who had stayed on the forest edge, could not be found within the encampment. Instead, when Ie looked out to their position—they were gone.

---

The howls of battle were so eerie and familiar in this dusky light. Urde-Saya could remember the scents and smells of filth and carnage wafting through the humid jungle air, or hanging in the clouds which rolled over the mountains. This was akin to that filth, only it carried the scents of a whole different breed being butchered. In no uncertain part, the dayspawn were fighting—they needed only to ensure it was the bronze men, and to find if Umikara was with them.

A breach in the treeline was up ahead, and the sound was growing louder. As one force they still marched without hesitation, the Asharkar preparing themselves with raised shields, while the rest of them packed together to be hidden by the screen of bronze. In a thunderous snapping of branches and smashing of earth, they burst from the darkness and into the dusk; Urde-Saya looking with awe at the onslaught which unfolded before him. Archers and swordsmen crashing against the great wobbling sphere and its many legs, the machine crunching of bronze men in battle; sure enough it was the enemy—but Urde-Saya had little interest in the dayspawn. Bows and arrows against the lightning of bronze beasts.

“Formation! Take Formation! Tie down that monstrosity!”

With spears out in a short phalanx, a small moving wall of Asharkar marched from the dusky woods and toward the battle unfolding. It seemed impossible to him to think they could kill one of these walking cauldrons. He’d only seen tracks of it, the bronze men alone being his prey back in Isklanapura. This abomination was well beyond any walking statue. It was a glittering engine of deathly bronze, which scythed through men like maize stalks. Nevertheless, it didn’t matter how many of these dayspawn were killed by the thing. What mattered was tying it down long enough to discover if Umikara was nearby—or if they had hid her somewhere.

“Gishmaka-Yari, keep the Asharkar on that thing and make sure the men keep to their positions.”

She motioned an affirmative, and rushed off toward the front lines. Urde-Saya turned his attention to the tarantula handlers—his own breed—and looked them up and down. They’d be useless against a machine like this, but not against men on the ground. He then turned to the cuttlefishers in his group. These were the men he needed on him, with their hook swords and unsteady presences. They would know the goddess faster than he would.

“Don’t bring a tarantula near that thing, just find bronze men and kill them. You fisherfolk, come with me! We need to find our goddess! We need to bring her home!”

His small party in hand, Urde-Saya began his circle of the outskirts of battle, eyes peeled for a goddess in wait. She had to be here somewhere. She had to be in the custody of the bronze men. This has to be the end of the journey—this has to end here! We can’t go on much longer!

---

Nothing! Ie whispered breathlessly/ The arrows are doing nothing!

He had watched three swift volleys crash towards the bronze giant—arrows shattered on impact. His own shots had, to his surprise, found their marks as eagerly as they would have on a clear day, but it had made no difference. Each bolt was as ice against stone—pointless. Yet the Yan kept firing.

What do we do? his mind screamed. He had put a lifetime of work into his bow, a lifetime into each arrow, and had been rewarded with nothing. What do we do if we can’t shoot it?
Trying not to panic, not to succumb to the fear that gnawed the edges of his mind, Ie glanced at the forces before him. They were getting closer.

What to do.. then it came to him. Like a quiet whisper, like the banishment of morning fog. Not an answer, but an idea. Looking at the gleaming footmen behind the monstrosity, he raised his bow above his head and loosed another shot. This time, the arrow flew true as all the others, but when it found its mark on the faceless plate that formed the bronze head—the creature stopped. The arrow lodged itself squarely, straight through metal, and the man fell like a statue to the ground. We can hit the men! Our arrows can harm the soldiers!

The other must have come to the same conclusion as he did, for the arrow fire, deadly as it was accurate, poured on the opposing footpads like rain and it was time for death to call upon the enemy. Yet despite the killing, their foe loomed, having crossed field and the Yan braced for impact. In the back a shell horn blew, and one of the fired arrows arced upward instead of towards a target. This arrow let out a cry, a piercing whistle that shook the air around it. The gods were being called to witness.

Like the tide, the Yan spirit swelled in that moment, and rising up even the most stern had been taken by a bloodlust. Ie watched in awe as Toriichi donned a sudden smile, and raising his great bronze mace with both hands, bellowed out a defiant “Momoyama!”

The first foe stood little chance as he surged over the camp barrier. Toriichi was on him at that moment, and with a swing that rippled the air, bronze collided with bronze in a resonant thud. A metal ball flew—not a ball, but a head—and behind it a body dropped. Standing there, a demon of size, taller than even the ailur and bald like a monk was a man Ie had always measured to be a coward. A man who loved his mother but had not been loved in return. A man who was not his uncle, but lorded to be.

A man Ie had been wrong about on the first account, for he had seen that man kill another. But his victim had not been a man. A being, but not a man. For it bore no face, nor blood in its veins. Skin of metal replaced tender flesh, and Ie could see they wore helmets with small demon horns and clothing far too short for the chill. These were not men, and glancing about him, Ie could see the same spirit of wrath overcome the others. That gave him strength, he discovered. It must have been the Yan way, and he was not killing men.

Stable, he fired another shot off into the masses before he wondered if he need draw the blade at his stomach. But before Ie could contemplate joining the fray, others had dashed past him. First it had been others, spear armed and ready. Then just as quickly came the two Ishii men. Like lightning they dashed into the fray. First the smaller man, light on his feet and fast, then the tall youth behind him. The Vemayan, with his white cloak, brandished a great sword half the length of his body and burning with crimson bronze. Together, the two threw themselves in where the foe flooded near Toriichi.

Arrows too continued to fly, but not from the attacked camp. Instead these arrows came from behind the opposing line, from the shadow of the trees, and Ie pulled at air with his lungs. The Haka. he realized, suddenly glad they had not fled.

But now he could not get off a shot of his own. Body and blood blocked the path of his arrow, and so he took a moment to withdraw. Toriichi, suddenly aware, swerved back at him. “Run Ie! To the horses!”

Run? anger flashed across his heart. Why would he run? Who did Toriichi think he was? I will not run, Katsuya. he bit the inner side of his lip. Turning, he climbed onto a platform erected for chairs to get a height advantage, and looking out over the field he saw them.

At first he mistook them for reinforcing Yan, but just as quickly the bronze mass and fur could be spotted even from a distance. They stood in formation, at the edge of the sidewood, looking onto the chaos. The beastmen from the roadway. Following us just as Mizumi said. But are they friendly or hostile? his mind swam.

He would not get his answer now, for he could also see the wave of more bronze soldiers hurtling towards them. so many. It was clear now how outnumbered they were, even with the beastmen beside them. Yet the Yan line did not seem to falter, though the metal among them increased by the second. It was not the troopers that worried him, but the great bronze monster. For it was now that he realized the death it carried with it.

Sweeping with blades the size of hovels, it first crashed into Lord Joseki’s troops—the red of their uniform masking the red of the blood—and then cleaved into Sashibana ranks. The men on the ground seemed to have little effect, and it was then that Ie saw true Yan mortality. Men died in droves. It’s coming right for us]/i] he thought. [i]We have to move. I don’t know how to stop it!

“Toriichi!” he cried. “We need to retreat!”
He hated himself for saying that word. Retreat. But he cried anyway, desperation overtaking him. Toriichi did not hear. “Toriichi!”

He could see the Katsuya giant among the throng. The Yan had clustered together, careful not to be overrun, trying to pit man to man. The bronze soldiers did not die easily. Many lay on the ground still moving despite their wounds. The same was true of his countrymen too. One man stabbed from below with a spear—a red stump remaining where his right leg had been. Another limped away slowly, oblivious to his surroundings. One of Okiyurozu’s retainers staunched the gash in his arm with his teeth while swiping at two foes with his freehand. A chunk had been cleaved off his head, where matted hair swung in the wind. He had died roaring.

The storms came back to Ie’s stomach, where he threatened to topple over and empty its contents. Not now he cried. I can’t be sick. But he did not see it abating. The screams had become awful.

“Toriichi!!”

The Katsuya giant was now alone. A red pool swelled at his side among the Azichi blue, but he did not seem weakened. Instead he took stance with his mace against three attackers. They closed in. Desperation buckled Ie’s legs, and it was as if the soreness in his thighs would take their final revenge.

Then the Vemayan was among them. A blade like fire twirled in the air with broad strokes. Ie was not sure how metal cut metal—but it did, and bronze died as easily as flesh. Then another blade was added, stirling and stark—that of the smaller Ishii man. Then a third—polished, watery iron. Ie thought it looked familiar as he tumbled towards the earth.

A hand reached out for him and grasped at stumbling cloth. Ie grasped for his blade, or his knife, but it was a human hand—a warm hand—that pulled him up. Standing on failed legs, Ie recognized the face of Mizumi staring blankly back at him. In his right hand had been the third sword, the sword he had watched him polish that morning.

“Get up. We aren’t finished.”

Ie nodded, and then flinched as a cleaver came swinging towards his head. In the rush of the air he could feel the power, the strength. These metal men were like stone, unmovable, and Ie gasped at just how mighty they were. But the blade did not reach near him again, for though he stumbled at his belt for a knife, Mizumi was on the foe. The cleaver came down, but this time it was caught by Haka’s sword, leveled to the side so that his opponent’s blow was deflected in a slide down the length of the edge. With a single stroke, Mizumi twirled his sword around and down through the face and neck of his enemy. The metal squeal and spark was horrendous, but he remained the victor.

“Move, Foscan!”

Dashing, Ie made his way painfully to Toriichi, who now stood safe. He could tell the man’s breathing had deepened, but if the wound at his side pained him, he made no show of it.
“Those of us here need to rally.” he said, but Ie could see the truth. The progress they had made on their side of the encampment was not shared by the other. There—the great metal monster with its grotesque horse legs trampled through men. The bronze soldiers there followed up, and Ie could see bright flashes of light erupting from tubes. The wounded and fighting men they consumed screamed and ceased their resistance.

Ie reached down to his quiver. I have to shoot them But his hand grasped nothing. He had run out of arrows. Just as quickly, the Vemayan was off into the fray again alongside his companion, and the two Ishii retainers cut a path through the metal men. He must have realized the gravity too, for he darted towards the flashes. Weaving between foes, sword flashing, Ie could see his white cloak dance on the wind. The living ball stood in his way now, but the youth did not stop. Instead, he dashed under the moving legs, like quicksilver, and worked his way back. The flashing tubes had little time to react before he was upon them.

Ie caught his mouth open, and felt a twinge of shame. He must be around my age. But he can fight like that? Amazing. Incredible. Even Mizumi had killed foes before Ie ever got a weapon from his belt. All he had managed to do was watch, and shoot. And to think my archery had any value.

Steeling himself, he rubbed a hand against his forehead to move the sweat. It was only then that he realized he held no breath and so stood helplessly to catch it. I need to move. Come on, the others can fight. Why can’t you? but deep down he knew his involvement made little difference. Night was falling quickly.

---

Hope was already a feeble flame when he entered this battlefield, but now it had dulled into embers. As the chaos unfolded around him, Urde-Saya searched high and low for any sign of the goddess—but she was nowhere to be found on this battlefield. Worse yet, as he ran loops and looked over his men and the dayspawn engaging the enemy, it appeared that there were more bronze men than those he had chased. The possibilities were endless, but the implications were truly haunting.

How many lands have these monsters infested? How many are still wandering the wilds of my home? How many wander the lands of other kingdoms in hiding? What is it all for? Who is behind this?

“Keep looking! You men, keep looking!”

Their hook swords in hand, the fisherfolk continued to circle and avoid the fighting—but a deep rage was building inside Urde-Saya. This land was cursed. It was a foul, barbarian hell which he had been banished to by the gods until Umikara was found. The longer she was hidden, the longer these monster withheld her, the longer not only did the cuttlefishers lament, but Urde-Saya too suffered. All that called to him was the idea of returning home, but he couldn’t do so without the goddess in his arms.

These bastard beasts!

Clutching his spear, he began to march toward his soldiers who formed a series of lines behind the Asharkar shields. They were busying themselves with bronze men—but now and again the wobbling cauldron would threaten to come their way, and they would scatter like insects before clumping up once more. Looking at the dayspawn, he could see they were also fearful of this glittering engine of annihilation. Much as a lord was the heart of his army, this titan was the pillar by which the bronze abominations drew forth their greatest strength. They could pick apart the men, but so long as this walking ball stood, it was futile.

“Gishmaka-Yari!”

A head turned inside the formation. He could see a bloodied cut over her cheek as he approached. Taking hold of her face, he looked it over, reached down into the ground, and smeared dirt over the wound as they would in the jungle. She winced, but didn’t question.

“You’ve kept my men alive, that’s a good sign. I’d say the gods are with us, but Ketzani wouldn’t dare step foot into such a foul land.”

“We can’t keep this up, lordship. Did you find Umikara?”

“I found nothing. I’ve told the others to keep looking, but it’ll be useless—I know it. This fight has to be a distraction or an accident. It has to be! She isn’t here, which means they’ve made off with her somewhere else.”

“Then we should retreat. Save ourselves and our men. The dayspawn can handle this problem.”

“Them? You’d trust this victory to dayspawn? Nevermind that they’re blighted children—think of ourselves! We could run, but what will we do if we run into that walking cauldron on our own? Do you think we could kill it so easily if we’re alone? What allies are going to help us out in the wilds if not now?”

“You can’t seriously mean to kill it. Our Asharkar have bronze—but the rest of us have copper and soft armor. It’ll cleave through us like a butcher.”

“Only so long as it stands. If we can hack it apart, if we can get where it can’t reach, we can open it as a wasp would and feast on the innards. Look there at how it walks! Look when it chases the dayspawn on equine stilts! It’s a clumsy killer, we just need to get beneath it and break it at the joints like you would with any man or beast.”

The whistles of arrows distracted him as he watched the wooden shafts crack and scatter against the bronze hull. He couldn’t tell where the eyes on this thing were, but evidently it was single-minded and drawn to battle. If it remained pressed on the dayspawn, then it was his opening.

“Asharkar! Follow me! When I knock this beast down, the rest of you will follow!”

With a brave band of grassland-bred warriors by his side, his spear clutched in his hand, Urde-Saya charged into the thick of battle. Never once did his eyes leave the awkward sight of that clumsy titan. He watched as it hacked and slashed and bent to one side to pulverize the earth with slashing crashes. He watched as dayspawn fled and reformed—those strange narrow-eyed warriors of a blighted old god—but never once did they retreat. It was a worthy display of their race, but more importantly it was a distraction which opened the gates of opportunity to him.

Ducking under the legs of the behemoth, his Asharkar by his side, Urde-Saya looked around with frantic eyes. Narrowing his gaze upon the back of the bronze legs, the joint appeared to him as a strange sphere joining the two parts of equine bronze. With the butcher none the wiser, busying itself with slashing while he and his men danced beneath six crushing legs, he thrust his spear into the back of one leg. Instantly, the spear shattered, but the bronze tip dug into the moving joints and mechanisms before his eyes, the leg appearing to lock and jam. Following his lead, the Asharkar rushed to the other legs, one to each leg, trying to jam and buckle the cauldron to the ground—but not all was smooth.

Realizing the danger beneath, the machine jerked, smashing through some of the Asharkar beneath, and sending Urde-Saya leaping out from beneath. Looking up, he could see that two of his Asharkar were writhing on the ground—bones shattered and bronze broken—mighty warriors laid low. But the work was far from over. Feeling the strength of the divine in him, an era of bloodshed having stained his hands, Urde-Saya took hold of a fallen spear and rushed once more toward the beast.

Mindless, feral, his eyes blind with rage, the Isklana warlord crashed the spear into another joint. When it too shattered, he scrounged the ground for rocks, broken bits of sword and shield—anything which could jam the legs of this death machine. Undeterred and inspired by their fearless lord, the surviving Asharkar rushed back to his side and tore at the joins with spear and swords and bare hands on hot metal.

Lumbering and mighty, there was a shift of weight overhead, and the sound of metal snapping. Suddenly tipping, the metal sphere collided with the earth, two of the legs beneath it shattering at the knees. The ground leapt with earth and hissing, hot jets of mist bursting from beneath where the sphere tipped. The four remaining legs, jerking and clunky, wildly swung for the air, while machine arms and their swords slashed and violently sieged the void around the metal hulk. With shield raised, the Asharkar backed away, Urde-Saya shouting for his warband to come to his side. Awestruck and empowered, those standing by the wayside ran with weapons drawn, ready to put down the bronze menace.

Swords smashed into shields, hands took hold of bronze arms and tried their best to restrain slashing death. Spear tips and swords thrust into metal, crushing and jamming and smashing unseen guts of metal and hot mist. Axes and cooks crashed over and over upon the limbs, the Isklana and their lupine elite savagely swarming and pulling apart the sphere like a swarm of ants. Metal howled, people cheered—but alas, as the arms and legs were hacked away, and the cauldron lay misshapen and broken, the glittering annihilator died.

Panting and falling onto his back, Urde-Saya clutched his chest and felt ribs move in ways they never should. He gripped his arm, and felt bone in an awkward position. He looked down upon his hands and saw the burns and blood and torn flesh. Gishmaka-Yari was looking down at him, uttering something, shouting at others and pointing down at him. He wanted to tell her to shut up and celebrate, for victory should always be honored with beer and cheers, but a darkness flooded over his eyelids. With a sigh, his mind left him, and Urde-Saya fell into the hands of the dream goddess—but a last flicker of agony haunted his fatigued mind.

I failed, again.

---

There was an odd stillness after battle. Though the world was anything but actually still, nor quiet. The sounds of the dying were awful. Ie thought the sound of dead to be worse, and he swallowed hard at the ghastly buzz at the edge of his vision.
I survived. he said. I am alive. I survived my first battle. The notion did not help him. Somehow, the surviving seemed worse than the fighting, and for once he could no longer so easily quash the torrent swirling at the edge of his mind. His tremors had returned, and the summer night had grown distantly cold to him.

Toriichi, at least, was alive—and Haka Mizumi, alongside most of the people from his side of the camp. Even Tosaru had returned with the other Azichi horsemen. His spearpoint had been adorned with a faceless bronze head, such was the effect that it looked like a theater toy. Blood and sweat proved it all too sadly real.

Yet the success they experienced had not been shared by all. What had been three dozen Yan had dwindled to just a handful. They may have been ground to nothing had it not been for those alien faces, which marched onto the field like Yan, and had fought like Yan in spirit. They had accomplished what seemed impossible, and brought down the great metal monstrosity with great effort. It was said they, led by their leader, had attacked the joints in the metal as arrow and pike tip strike the joints in armor. Quite clever. Yes. Very. Ie remarked to himself, but the idea was not enough to distract him.

Instead he was brought back to reality by Toriichi, and who checked upon what wounds he might have before addressing himself. “It’s just a scratch.” he said, his moustache bouncing as he spoke. Ie could hardly make it out in the dark. “Do not worry about me, Ie-ka.”

But that could not have been said for so many others. The air grew rank and musty, thick with the smells of death, and Ie wondered if it would be like this every time. After every battle, and strained to see the glory that his people so hungrily sought in it. Those who had survived did so with minimal wounds, but many lay dying yet, and it was Kamichi that they found resting against the camp platform that Ie had stood on to get a better view.

Approaching, the Narawa steward coughed harshly. Ie could see he had been opened in his center, which he had managed to cover with his robes to Ie’s eternal gratitude. His leg had been cut along the outside of the knee and even the prince could tell that leg would never walk again. But it was the wound at his stomach that would kill him, and his head rolled in the dim as the two approached. Beads of sweat grew on his forehead, where skin as pale and clammy as wet paper clung tightly in the damp.

“Have any water, Katsuya?” the man croaked.

Toriichi bent down, reaching for his deerskin when Haka Mizumi joined them and held out his own water gourd. Kamichi accepted it greedily. “My gratitude.” he said, then coughed again. Each hack came with a groan of pain, and Ie struggled to watch. The man had been kindly during his stay in Nawarisano. Yet it was Toriichi that gripped his attention. For the second time that day, he wore a mask Ie had never seen off him.

Stern eyes watched from under a heavy brow, unblinking as they gazed upon the wounded elder. Those same eyes had almost always been laughing, sometimes drunk, always looking with love upon his mother. He had never seen them so distant, nor determined.

“I don’t wish to die, Katsuya.” Kamichi said, a quivering had taken his voice now. “I truly don’t.”

But Toriichi did not respond. His eyes never moved.

“Would you like a poem?” he asked after some time.

Kamichi spat—blood visible in the night where it landed in the grass. “No. My life has been like a tree in winter, destined not to bear fruit.”

Ie watched a sudden shade wash over the man’s face—a rage, and the old skin around his nose bunched in anger for a moment before misted beads dropped from the corners of his eyes. “Tell…tell my sons I will see them in the void. And send my head to Narawa-go, so that she may know I failed her with my death.”

Toriichi nodded and then wordlessly Ie watched him slide the knife at his belt from its hold with brutal dexterity. Kamichi did not seem to be paying attention and his breath had become labored. Ie’s heart froze. He tried to look away, to run with his vision, but he was not quick enough. The events of the day—finally—became too much and a lightness overtook the burden of his mind. He could see Toriichi move forward quickly and strongly, but light penetrated the corner of his vision for only a moment.

“Ie-ka!” Somebody yelled. Or, he thought someone may have.

The stars above swirled as they came into view before blackness overtook all.

---

“Why can’t we go west again?” Ame whined.

“We’ve been over this.” Toshiro growled. “There’s more money to be made in the east. Especially the eastern cities. We may… link up with the campaigns on Inari. They could use scouts, or monster slayers.”

“But I’m sure we can make money in the west too. Even if we don’t, I’ll withstand starving days. As many as we need. I promise.”

Toshiro stopped where he walked in the roadway. It had been three days since the night they had witnessed the farmers in their ceremony. They had not been disturbed since, and though Ame had not raised the question of their direction in that time, something was—off, about her. When Toshiro turned, she jumped.

“Why are you adamant about this?” he asked.

The pykke girl just looked up at him, silent, clasping hands in front of her, before she walked past. Her attention was turned to the countryside, which sat green and dusted in summer blaze. And it was as if he had never even asked her. I’ve never seen her this nervous. he thought.

“Ame, what aren’t you telling me?”

The girl kept walking.

“Ame!”

“Something…bad’s going to happen, Toshi.”

What? “How do you know?”

“I feel it.”

Toshiro could feel his mouth frown. “You feel it? Feel it?”
Walking up to her, Toshiro crouched on his haunches until he was face to face at her height. He took the girl’s fidgeting hands gently. “Ame,” he said. “Nothing bad is going to happen. Not if we…” Stay together? “Keep smart.”

A wave of guilt washed over him that was almost too much to bear, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to plant himself in the dirt of the roadway and rot under the sun. But the girl was not convinced, and she spoke further. “But what about that night, Toshi? With the lights in the sky. I think we should go west.”

“Ame,” suddenly he was ripped back to reality. Bolstered by his duty—by what he must do. She had only reminded him. “That night is exactly why we have to go east.”

To his relief, she did not ask for the connection. Instead, she stared off and blinked harshly. “Someone is coming,” she whispered.

Down on the side of the road came a stranger in white robes. Toshiro could see the sun reflected off his bald head. Tucking Ame behind him, Toshiro let the man approach cautiously.

“Good day” the Vemayan bowed. Toshiro only nodded. “Are you two travelers on the road?” he asked.

“Something like that.” Toshiro said.

The monk eyed the sword at his belt for only a moment, then smiled. “If you need rest, my kyu is just up the road. Beyond that copse of trees”

“Thank you, but—” Toshiro stopped. A dark idea overtook him. An idea he hated, like a revolting rival, that he had no choice but to acknowledge. “Thank you.”

Grasping Ame by the hand he dragged her along the roadway.

“Where are we going?”

“To find some work.”

---

The kyu had been hidden from the traveling eye, Toshiro had found. Tucked away into the tree skirt of a hill, only a narrow dirt path had cut through the farmland towards its eventual end, where a blanket of pines hid all but the sloped roof of the main hall from prying eyes. Toshiro had wondered if they had gotten lost, even as they entered the needle-strewn forestry and heard the first signs of the temple.

“Prayer gongs.” Toshiro whispered. The deep reverberations bounced and echoed in cool air, off tree trunks, and into oblivion. They were not the sharp resonant clangs of shrine bells, but they were similar in spirit. Sutras, he knew, would be chanted with them. But he heard no such thing on the wind.

Instead, he and Ame traveled up the pathway until they reached the first signs of habitation. It was a wall, leading to the first gateway, where stone lanterns sat overgrown with moss. When they reached it, Toshiro froze, and reached slowly for the hilt of his blade. For gazing upon them from the gate eave was a monstrous green face—fangs long and toothy. Two bulbous eyes followed them, unblinking, deep set beneath a clump of silky jet hair—like that of a human or horse—which reached down the gate front and hid any notion of the creature’s body.

“Oooh. Toshi, I don’t know what that is.”

He whirled. Ame watched curiously behind him, legs tucked between each other. She did not shake. She did not smile, nor bear her teeth. She only watched, uncertain. Well it’s not evil then. Whatever it is.

“Is it a monster?” Ame asked.

“I..I don’t know.”

The creature did not seem to mind their prattle. It did not move from its spot atop the gateway, nor did it make a noise. It only sat, and watched. Something about that reminded Toshiro of a cat or dog—the way it smiled with an open mouth. But like a statue, only the pupils gave any sign of life. Toshiro kept his hand on the blade of his hilt before approaching. Can’t take any risks.

So occupied with the demonic face before them, neither Toshiro nor the girl noticed the small bald-headed monk hunched next to the wall.

“He won’t hurt you.” the man said. He never looked up from his work clearing the wall foundation. “He simply guards the gateway. Most do not see him, and he frightens off those who seek to do harm.”

Toshiro grunted. “I’ve not seen anything like him before. What is he?”

“I don’t know.” the monk rose—a hook and a patch of twitterbells rested in hand. “He’s been here as long as I have. And that is a very long time.” The monk blinked, then his eyes opened as if he had truly just realized what he was looking at. “You’ve never seen anything like him before, you say? Tell me, are you a shrine warrior, Master Sword?”

“Yes.” Toshiro replied, and a flooding grin of broad teeth grew at the monk’s face. He was a plain looking man, Toshiro thought. Not tall, and not thin, but built like a laborer one would find in the cities. He was tanned too, as if he spent most of his day in the sun though his kyu was shaded. Dirty stubble covered his jaw, and the robes he wore spoke of garden work and moths. He was not like the usual monks Toshiro had seen. He sat somewhere between disguised peasant and student, and his aura was earthy.

“Ah, welcome then, friends. Yes. Welcome to Goyokota-kyu. Please, if you need a place to rest, my temple is open to you.” he threw out his arms, as if he was trying to encircle the entire forest. “I am the abbot, Chichiro. My temple is small, old, but a refuge for all who need a roof from the rains and food from hunger—followers of the nature gods and seekers alike.”

“Thank you.” Toshiro bowed. “We only need a night or two at most. I’m Toshiro.”

For once, he waited for Ame to introduce herself, and for once the girl said nothing. She stood looking up, blinking, sullen. “And this is Ame.” he finished.

“Ah. Splendid. Please, come, child, Toshiro-ka. If you can wait for the morning prayers to finish, I will have some provisions prepared for you. Follow me.”

[Aoyan]

Chapter 15

---

Lord Zoku watched his youngest grandson play in the waters of Lord Haka’s pond. The two year old splashed among the lilies and reeds, sending up shoots of water that caught crystal in the midday sun. His brother, Ezushi, fed ducks under the watch of his grandmother, while his father paced in the corner of the garden. Lord Zoku opened a fan, surrounded on all sides from his seat near the pond by his family. He smiled inwardly. As if these were my gardens at Azichi.

It brought him unending joy that there were no Haka to be found. That the garden was teeming with Zoku clansmen—even if it was smaller and wilder than any of the court gardens of the mainland, and even if his heir, Zatake, was sitting irritably close. The space could not compare to the facade hills and rivers of his Azichi court, or the wisteria forest of Momoyama, but it was a true Yan garden. Square and orderly, filled as a basin of stones and grass where trees and flowers were planted as a reflection of the natural world, this garden was being overgrown at the edges where the surrounding forestry had bled over the walls. Creepers, heartvine, and bloodwart weaved their way through the timber basins, and pines leaned to drop their cones in the galleries. Silver and moongrass overtook the pathways. So disorderly Zoku grimaced. Could that be on purpose? Some Haka crudeness? Or is it a result of uncaring? He could not say, but for this day, at least, the garden and estate may as well have been his. They had even let his warders fly his falcons in the solstice air.

“More wine, husband?” Lady Hisa asked, bowing.

“Yes.” he said, letting her fill his cup from her seat beside him with deft hands. He watched the woman ladle the liquid contentedly.
“It is a shame Lady Yae could not join us for the afternoon.”

“Lady Yae is needed in camp. This is an outing for the clan only.”

“But husband, she makes you so happy, neh? And she is such a pleasant girl, beautiful and strong—yes. Amazingly strong. Surely she has earned a spot at your side?”

Lord Zoku simply smiled and sipped at his cup. Ah, Hisa-na. How useful you are to me.

He could still see her at sixteen, when they first met. She had been beautiful then, and thin, and married to a retainer of his father. Four years his senior, she had become his first wife not so many winters after. Even now, that she was old, and fat, and he had not shared her bed for nearly a decade—she remained his favorite and most cherished counselor. He could not help but appreciate the paulownia blossoms of her dress.

“And you, Zatake-ka? More wine?” Hisa asked.

“Yes. Please.”

Zoku watched the cup being poured for his eldest surviving son with distaste. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough? You’re six cups in before noon. This is work, not a feast.”

“Thank you, Hisa-ka.” Zatake said, gulping down his cup. Lord Zoku’s frown deepened. Zoku Zatake had been his second son, and now his heir. The middle aged man had always shown a penchant for indulgence; even as a child he would shirk his responsibilities and studies. Hawk-nosed and balding, with a square ring of beard on his chin and lip, he resembled little of his half-siblings, and surprisingly less of his full brother Suru. In time, Lord Zoku had hoped he could mold him, but those ambitions had faded like rock against storm—wounded with time.
“So sorry, Zoku-go.” Zatake continued. “But the wine has no effect, and besides, if this is work, then why is my brother allowed to sulk on the outskirts? Why is he not here awaiting this…savage we are to see, neh?” His voice was sharp, high, and nasally and it weaved like pincers at his father’s temples.

“Put the cup down.” Lord Zoku said behind gritted teeth . “I have already told you once.”

Zatake flushed red, a wide-eyed look of defiance flashing across his features. That same stupid look. The very same he had since he was a boy. How I would replace you with Suru, if he was not so young and so hotheaded. How I wish you had not come on campaign.

But Zatake did not speak, instead placing his cup softly upon the ground.
“Oh, but Zoku-go. This is a family occasion, neh?” Lady Hisa broke in. “Surely Zatake-ka can be granted some leeway and leisure. And the solstice is so lovely. Not too hot.”

“Even still. We have work to do. Look at how your mother watches your nephews near the pond, dutifully.” Zoku pointed with his fan at the reed-thin woman in a white shawl who towered over the toddlers in their play. “Kamaboko can enjoy the day and fulfill her role. As can your brother. Suru is standing guard until our guests arrive.”

“But father, if this is a family event, then where is my nephew, Prince Foscan? Why is he not with us?”

“Ie-ka is being punished for his disposition. It is shameful to faint from battle. For that, he will not be here.”

He watched Zatake swallow hard, then pick up his cup and drink from what liquid remained. Zoku moved to smack it from his hand, but just as quickly Hisa restored his tranquility. “Please do not be so harsh on your grandson, lord.” she said, refilling his own cup without asking. “Ie-ka is young, just a boy. Yes.”

“Suru is only three winters his senior. And he has seen four campaigns and killed five men.”

“Aye, yes, but Suru was raised in Azichi.”

Zoku grunted and scratched at his stomach—thinking. It was then a dragonfly flittered past and landed on the lip of his own cup. The ladies around him cooed. But Zoku did not have a chance to respond. Instead, his eyes caught Tetsukoba moving down the garden path between the bushes—sword in hand. He was followed by other Blues, but it was neither him nor his men that caught the lord’s attention. Instead, it was the ailur woman following quietly behind.

It is time.

“Kama-na” he bellowed across the garden. “Bring my grandchildren here.”

The woman obliged and she dragged the toddlers from their spot in the water up to the crowd that grew around the lord. “Oh” Zoku said, Ezushi approaching. “You can sit right next to me, Ezu-na.”

The boy, only six winters old, looked up beneath cut charcoal locks with a calm face, and hummed with a pleasure. Such a well-behaved child. Nothing like his father. “And your brother…” Lord Zoku lifted the toddler and placed him on his lap, letting him play with the second fan at his belt. “There. Now. The both of you will be good boys, huh? Yes. Now as to your father—Suru!”

The youth snapped to attention from his spot on the periphery and hurried over at his beckon. Top-knighted, dark skinned, and strong—Suru was vastly more Zoku than his brother. And the constant scowl he wore reminded Lord Zoku of his own father. The youth joined his equally young wife on the side of the congregation.

“Would you like me to make my leave, Husband? I can watch from the pavilion, away from the crowd.” Lady Hisa asked, standing.

Zoku reached over and pulled her down. “Nonsense, Hisa-na. You wanted to see the foreigners, did you not?”

Tetsukoba approached, then bowed. “Lord.” he turned, motioning the ailur forward, who then bowed from the knees. “This is Lady Tsuba. We, of course, cannot pronounce her real name, but she says she is familiar with Yan custom in Inari, and can speak our language as well as her native tongue.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, lord,” the ailur spoke. Her voice was a dignified one, sing-song in nature, but Lord Zoku could detect her hatred hiding behind the tone. Her face did not portray the same, instead reflecting only calm—like water. She was dressed in robes, not quite Yan, but not too foreign. She does know our tongue, and our customs too. Yes. She will do.
“I have lived here in Inari all my life, but I am deeply familiar with your people and customs. I was secretary to our village magistrate, and used to translate when the need arose. I…was told I would be returned to my village and that it would be unharmed, if I served satisfactorily.”

“Yes. I believe that can be honored, lady. Please, take a seat. We do not have much time and there are things I must discuss with you beforehand.'' He looked towards Tetsukoba. “Moritoshi-ka, let my guests in when they arrive. Afterwards, lock the gate. Do not let anyone enter the garden while I am busy. Not Haka men, not Katsuya men. Not our own men. Whoever is in, stays, whoever is out remains out.”

“As you wish, lord.” the elder warrior bowed again.

“Now, Lady Tsuba, as I was saying…”

---

Kitanneh was all he had to lead him into this den of barbarians. Despite the urgings of Gishmaka-Yari, the possibility that guards might upset the dayspawn worried Urde-Saya. A common enemy only ran so far, and he was certain that these blighted creatures had little sense of honor if they felt threatened. Deep down he knew she would ignore him—no doubt a small patrol of Asharkar would be sent to simply wait for him, and act if anything unseemly was heard. Otherwise, his wishes would be respected, and he would be alone. At the very least, with Kitanneh by his side, the divine forces of the huntress would be close to him and maybe shield him from any further harm.

He hobbled forward in his state of injury, the bandages coiling around him tightly, his wounds making his age feel ever more pronounced, despite not reaching an elder point in his life yet. The look and the atmosphere of the garden as Urde-Saya walked all was a blur to him. The guards, the locking of the gate behind him, the strangers before him—it all became muddled in his mind during this momentary lapse. A nagging sensation began to tell him the hard reality his future held. This adventure would be his last. He couldn’t take any more abuse by the time he returned him. He’d tell the Kisharratum to find a new hero for her deeds, and if she didn’t like that, he just might need to run away.

A nudge made him snap back into the moment. Kitanneh looked to him, and then back to the dayspawn before them. His four-pupiled eyes narrowed upon those before him, vaguely recognizing some of them, and others not at all. Urde-Saya knew they wanted an audience with him, according to what Kitanneh could gather earlier, but he couldn’t find much point. Even if the priestess was confident she could bridge the gap between a civilized Isklana tongue and a barbarian mind, such as these men had, his concerns lay elsewhere. If it weren’t for his injuries—and that of his men—he’d have marched his whole band back into the woods to continue the hunt for Umikara.

“Greet them,” he rasped out to Kitanneh faintly. “I don’t know when, or how, but wait for them to speak first. Then greet them with our shortened introductions. No need to drag our heels.”

Kitanneh nodded and looked to the hosts before them, her many eyes blinking and waiting.

In the end, it was a dayspawn to the side to speak first—no, not a dayspawn—an ailur.

“Please excuse me, but I have been informed one of you speaks the old tongue of Wisdom? I am Lady Qeizho, known now as Lady Tsuba, and I have been instructed to translate for Lord Zoku of Azichi and the Ansando, Lord of the Three Provinces, and Minister of the Left for the Hollyhock Court of the Blue-Green Coast, whom is the man that sits before you.

I know not of your kind, nor your origin, but I have been permitted to speak freely with you for a moment before we begin. Past that, I am only permitted to translate, directly, what is said by my lord, and your answers.”

“I am Kitanneh, priestess of the huntress, acolyte of Enkir,” the Myronan replied with delicate and ponderous tones. “I speak your tongue poorly, nay? Ah—but if you can understand me, then my lord will be pleased. Before you, and on the behalf of whom I speak, I present Lord Urde-Saya of Kayalis, son of Kalayis-banum, lord of Kayalis, hero of Parya, and recognized hero of the Isklana kingdom. On his behalf, I greet you, stranger. On the behalf of Isklanapura, and of my priesthood, I greet you doubly.”

Gently, she bowed, though it was awkward and strange to the eye. As her head bobbed down, it angled to always face the ailur with scrutinous eyes. As it raised back up, it angled into the relaxed posture it had before. Kitanneh then motioned to the dayspawn, and back again to Urde-Saya.

“My lord will have many questions—thus is the way of lords, nay? But I will ask on his behalf now: what do you wish of us? Why have you summoned us here?”

The ailur smiled, and bowed back. “Yes, I believe we can understand each other, though I must admit you speak the language of Wisdom in a dialect as strange to me as that tongue is old. But yes, I believe I can understand you as you seem to understand me.

Your questions will be answered in due time, but while my speech is short, we must come to a consensus. My lord has already accounted for your curiosity, and has instructed me to tell you that for every answer he gives you, he requires an answer to a question of his own. That is his generosity to you. You would do well to honor this. Likewise, you should speak directly to him, not to me, and you may only speak to me with his permission. When you address him, you should do so by name. You must add ‘-go’ to the end of his name, as that means ‘lord’, and is his right. Do not forget this.”

The woman swallowed hard and glanced down, before regaining her focus. Another smile inhabited her features, and her tone remained soft, but her words betrayed the idyll. “I—I am but a mere stranger to you. As you are to me. But I must plead with you, all of you, to be very careful and mind what you say and do. These people are very particular about such.” a quiver entered her voice now, and despite her calm posture, she struggled to hide it. “Do not let their silk and perfumes fool you. Nor the presence of women and children. These people are very dangerous. The fate of myself, and all those I have known in this life, hinges on my failure today. I will be held responsible for your transgressions.”

The dayspawn sitting at the center, in his threads of blue, glanced at her and spoke. He must have been the lord—by his presence and by the fact he appeared the most familiar of the bunch to Urde Saya.
“Kokore! Joda, yoshihotanke. Kimiyushi owari wari kayasunna rishi mayan to. Jene? Hishi yoshi. Kowaresinu, ja? Nanto!”

The ailur turned to him and bowed deeply, before chattering off in that barbarian tongue. They spoke for what seemed an eon—the human demanding, and the ailur conceding, before finally she turned again and addressed Urde-Saya. The quiver, the fear, was again gone from her voice, as if it never was.

“I have conveyed your greeting to my lord, and your question. He wishes me to tell you, that because your name is so unpronounceable, he will call you ‘Chichu-ka’, for the large spiders you herded on the roadway. ‘Chichu’ means spider, and ‘-ka’ means “sir/madam”. He does not mean you any disrespect.

As to your question, what my lord wishes from you is everything. Specifically, everything you know. He will allow you one more question, before he asks one of his own.”

Kitanneh turned to Urde-Saya, her eyes narrowed with a sense of concern. These dayspawn sounded by description, and by behavior, as rash as the Isklana that she was needed to mediate for. Two tidal forces were on the brink of crashing together, and she had no support system to temper it beyond her own careful words and those of her ailur counterpart. All the while, Urde-Saya simply stared at her, waiting for all that was said to be related to him. Gently she did so, though paused as she made her final notes.

“She says these people are dangerous, lordship. They are much like your kith, nay? Warlike and hungry to feed the huntress, say I.”

“And what else?”

“They will not call you by your name, they will instead call you…” she rolled the word around in her mouth silently for a moment. “Chichu-ka. That is the name. It is not too hard, after listening closely. It is like the first sign of his divinely departed eminence, Kisharrum-Chia-tupar-aplum, done in double.”

Urde-Saya grunted, “barbarians, they can’t even sound out the most simple of our tongue. Chia doubled. Chi-chu-ka. Very well. Anything else?”

She nodded, “from now on, when I speak, I shall speak to him—just as I expect she will speak to you. You must speak back to him as well when I finish relating his words to you, and my words to him. You understand? Good.”

Kitanneh let out a faint sigh, and fixed the totality of her attention upon Zoku. The preparations were complete, and the dialogue between mountains would begin. The words which slipped from her lips were no longer of her own design, but were that of Urde-Saya—yet always tempered to remove the vulgarities and offenses of that haughty man.

“If you’ve afforded us one last question before your own, I shall ask it, nay? Zoku-go, tell us where we are. I don’t mean this garden or this camp, but this land. My lordship must know this land so we may continue our mission.”

The dayspawn lord did not react immediately—only watching with single black pupils as his ailur translator set about her work. Then, after she had finished, he seemed to ponder her words for an equal length, before he motioned a robe-covered hand at the shawl woman and waved her off. The ailur did not bother to translate his words.

Only moments passed before she returned with a sheet of opaque material, thin with yellow staining, and a stick with hair attached to the end. It had been dipped in a black ichor, from which she held more in a small wooden tray. Zoku began his work at once, and when done, he had it set between the parties.

With the end of his closed fan, he reached out and pointed to the markings left on the sheet from his labor. They were—imprecise things—one long and curving. “This is the Blue-Green Coast,” he said. “Aoyan”. The others were small drops, grain-shaped and lumpy. “These are islands. The largest ones among them, Inari, with Mizuchi-ka inbetween.” a hand moved over the blankness to the eastern side. “Jinguria.”

The dayspawn reclined back, dipped his tool in the ichor, and then splashed a drop onto the largest of the islands. It landed near the bottom and to the center between the sides. “We are here. The largest island in Inari. This is a land of the gods.”

With that, he packed the stick back onto the same wooden tray from which the liquid sat, and he sat back into the crowd—the toddler returning to his lap.

“My lord” the ailur suddenly cut in. “Wishes to use one of his questions to know where your unknown country is, and how you came about this land. You may continue to ask questions, but this he wishes to know.”

With a pause, Kitanneh was thoughtful in her recounting to Urde-Saya. For a time, he enamored himself with the map presented to them. It was strange, being spread across a thin substance like the papyrus of the north, yet not quite. It was ink upon thin sheets, while Isklana knew the art of clay, stone and textile by contrast to demonstrate such art. Yet the map was worrying. After some deliberation, he gave her a response to the question.

“We are from a land known as Isklanapura. We have no notion of where our land is in respect to your own, and I have no map to give you as we don’t have any way to weave one in a timely manner. Our land is hotter and wetter than this land—this island—within… Ai-a-num.” Kitanneh seemed to struggle with the name, and so adapted it to the same Isklana-friendly title she had given to Urde-Saya. “Our land is a vast jungle which touches the banks of a great lake, the size of a sea, with mountains as far as one can see.

“We reached your land by means of an archway. My lord, Urde-Saya, was given mission to hunt down a great enemy and return what was stolen from us. We chased them to the remnants of ancient ruins, and passed through a mirror into a land unknown to us. On one side are the scorched heights of mountains surrounded by a sea of sand. One the other, we emerged from a tree that had grown around the archway. Interesting, nay? We wandered into this land, with no sense of where our own was. We know simply our mission, and then our eventual return home.”

Kitanneh turned to Urde-Saya, listening as the man grumbled out his inquiries.

“We wish to know what you know of our enemy. The bronze men and monster which we fought together. What do you know? Have you seen them with a prisoner in tow?”

Lord Zoku did not answer right away, this time taking even longer than he had before. Before he spoke again, he had the woman next to him pour a cup of liquid from a wooden ladle which he then had passed forward to Urde-Saya.

“My Lord wishes to ask the same questions of you.” the ailur translated. “You have yet to prove yourselves his friend and not his enemy, and this information would go far in that. He offers you this cup of wine.”

Urde-Saya growled out his utterance, but Kitanneh spoke like summer’s breeze. “His lordship answers as a gesture of… kindness. We know little, regrettably. We know that they have many shapes: one is men, another is a walking cauldron, and yet another has the power to… fly. We know they are vulnerable to mortal and immortal hands, but the former demands much, as these men are strong. We know they are as tough as bronze and as mindless as statues. My lordship asks again, what do you know? And have you seen a prisoner in tow with these bronze men.”

Again the Dayspawn lord was not quick to reply. He simply sat and watched—dark brown pupils, single and strange, darting from spot to spot. Urde-Saya wondered if there was not a simpleness to him after all. But their moment of thought was broken by the mumbling of another of the humans. This one was one of the grown men—the young one who always scowled, and his voice betrayed a certain anger that could be felt beyond the barbarian tongue.

Then, light the crack of storm, Lord Zoku was on him and barking. The man flushed immediately and pressed his head to the ground as the lord roared, but the submission did not stop the yelling. The accompanying women set about what must have been calming, but it seemed to do little. The ailur, however, maintained her same wooden and cordial composure throughout it all. She did not translate anything that had been said.

After a while, Lord Zoku sat back as he was, red and heaving, and barked out more. This time, the ailur did speak.

“My lord says that he does not know much more than you, and that he has, as of this moment, not seen any prisoner. That is all he is capable of conveying.”

Then, without warning, the ailur shifted and her attention sat flatly on Kitanneh. For once, she was not speaking past her, but to her.

“My lady, Lord Zoku wishes to know very much about you. My Lord says you remind him of someone. Someone who interests him very much. Yes, and he wishes to know where you learned to watch the rocks grow.”

She paused for a time and digested the question with curiosity. Not many truly asked about her, and it was no shame as far as she was concerned. Nevertheless, this barbarian was pondering, and there was certainly no danger posed by an answer. Home was far from this strange land, and even these strangers didn’t seem so foolish to try and sack it like an Isklana raider. She looked to Urde-Saya and saw him chewing his lip as he pondered, and decided to take her opportunity to answer.

“My home is a ruin amidst a humble jungle village; it’s a life I have always known and will always know. Even in this foreign land, my duties are performed for my home. There, and here, I serve the most ancient of heavens children. The huntress is a patient predator—such is the way of death.”

With that, Zoku laughed—the red had gone from his face, and his countenance had been as if he had forgotten all about the unexplainable incident just moments before.

“My lord says that they know a lot about death in these lands. Much. And much more about the impermanence of all things. Yes, that is very important. It is the source of all beauty. And that his suspicions were correct, you are a witch. A witch, just like the one you remind him of. He says there are not many witches left in this country. Not many at all, and that your powers go very far in this land of the gods.”

It was then that the dayspawn tapped his knee with a closed fan and bounced the toddler on his lap. “Kitanneh-ka… Kitanneh-ka… Kitanneh-ka…” he repeated. Each utterance was accented, with a heavy stoop at KitAH, but it was more or less correct. The children among the humans did not seem particularly frightened by the creatures before them.

“My lord says he will remember this. And as to his second reserved question, he says it shall go to his dear first wife, for her curiosities.”

Zoku turned, deferring attention to the lady next to him—the one who had poured all the liquid into cups, the fat one—and allowed her to bashfully bow. When she first spoke, she hid her mouth behind a fan, but after a while this lowered and revealed a mouth of teeth. They were small, blacked things, as if covered in some kind of ichor, but healthy looking for her apparent age. When she spoke it was a very soft, thin voice that came out.

“The Lady Hisa would like to ask Chichu-ka if the men of his country are very valiant.”

Kitanneh turned to Urde-Saya, immediately aware of the maggoty chest such a question opened. Nevertheless, she was but the lips of her lord, and the servant of the huntress. This fateful moment was in his hands now. With a grunt, she carefully uttered out her words to her lord.

“Strange are the lord barbarians—nay? They ask now about your kind, my lord. They wish to know how courageous your people are. How fierce.”

“Fiercer than they—bastard barbarians.”

“Temper your words, or we shall be feast for flies—nay? Tell me what you’d like me to say. But be mindful, my lord. These are not the loft golden halls of our homeland palaces and forts. These are proud men, every bit as much as you. Give them what they want, and they may give us what we need to find our lake maiden.”

In a strange way, her poetic bluntness managed to reach Urde-Saya. His face was annoyed at first, but he relented with a sigh and a passive scratching at his curled beard. Eventually, with the wave of his hand, he delicately composed a response. Even on his best behavior, she had to make amendments.

“His lordship is from a people of natural warriors, who hail from the highest mountains and the deepest jungles. They are Isklana, and they are known to be masters of war in our native lands. They fight for ever need and pleasure, and are not shy of the spear, the axe or the sling. My lordship himself is a hero from a great war between two incredible forces, and is the subject of many tales. His fame is why our mistress, queen of all our lands, has sent us here.”

There was a pause as she collected her thoughts. “It’s now the interest of my lord to ask what you’d like from us; and what we can have from you. He has asked what you know of our enemy, and if you have seen our treasure, but you know not of the bronze men or of our treasure. But you can help us by telling us of this lane in detail, provide us copies of your maps, and anything else we should know in your… unusual lands.”

“My lord has already made his wishes known—he desires from you everything. To know all that you know.”

The impossibility of what was asked did not seem to dawn on the ailur.
“I can assure you, there is time. My lord would not have asked it if it could not be so.”

Time or not, Urde-Saya did not budge, nor did any in his party. Kitanneh clicked her tongue, unsure for once at how to pose what had been said. The moment lingered and in the silence Lady Tsuba realized what was happening. Her cordial smile faltered and she turned, off que, and spoke for the first time freely to her master.

---

“No, lord, I do not believe they understand their situation.” Lady Tsuba said, bowing low and apologetically.

“Is it not your duty to make them understand, no?” Lord Zoku growled.

“Y—Yes, lord, but I do not think they grasp it. Perhaps it is my fault entirely, my translation. There must be some way to make them understand.”

“Oh, please do not blame Lady Tsuba, husband.” Hisa cooed from his side, pouring him another small cup of wine, which Zoku did not drink. “She is doing a splendid job as a translator, neh? It must be very hard for her to make out all their foreign sounds.”

“Yes.” Zoku brooded. “Tsuba-ka, tell me again what seems to be the problem.”

“I do not believe they understand what you mean by ‘everything’. They seem incapable of seeing the obvious, in that they are at your mercy and whim, and that they are unknown hostiles in the middle of a war. It is very rude of them to ask all these things of you, things that can so easily be given to your enemies. But I do not think they mean any disrespect by it.”

“What Yan man would not do the same?” Lady Hisa laughed. “Oh, but of course a civilized man would not do so out of stupidity, but stubbornness. Yes, I think these foreigners may be telling the truth of their nature. And this one is famous, much like my lord and my lord’s father. But who is to say if he is friend or foe?”

I can’t. Zoku thought, gripping the base of his fan tightly between two fingers. The sun was starting to heat him towards a sweat. They’ve not attacked us as of yet. The opposite, in fact. But all I know of their bronze men is what Toriichi can tell me, and what they tell me. And now all the other lords know of them and their foe, yet I wish to know more.

“I think we should kill them, father.” Zatake cut in, severing Lord Zoku’s thoughts like a blade to a neck. His voice proved equally painful. “They are clearly stupid brutes, yes, and dangerous to our campaign. So sorry, but they are also so ugly. The witch is monstrous, and the man near equally so.”

“Father, you must torture them first for their information.” Suru cried, his head never leaving its bowed position. “Forgive me for angering you, but it is imperative you do this.”

“Silence!”
The roar and the flying of his wine cup startled the child on his lap, and the toddler began to cry.
“Ezushi.” Zoku called softly as the women dotted around the child in haste. “Please take your brother with grandmama to see the ducks, and then afterwards I have some ozu for you.”

The child did as he asked, carefully taking his wailing brother by the hand and carting him off calmly.

Such an obedient child. Meanwhile I have an idiot and a hothead for my own sons. Was it my destiny that my grandchildren become all that my children could not?

“Who asked any of you to speak?” Zoku continued. “I am Go of Azichi, and I do not need the input of fools and brutes, sons of mine though they may be. Tsuba-ka, please tell my guests that I wish from them—”

A flash of orange caught the corner of his eye, and Lord Zoku peered past to see Tetsukoba marching towards him with speed. The old man bowed, apologized, and bowed again.

“So sorry my lord, but Lord Wisteria has sent a messenger to the gates. He wishes to speak with you, and your guests.”

Zoku froze. He knows already? Am I out of time? the wine on his tongue turned bitter, and the heat itched on his scalp like fire. Out of time, so soon. He exhaled slowly, and focused on a nearby rock column, attempting to watch them grow. Such is fate.

“Lady Tsuba, tell my guests I will provide what is prudent in the face of our war to aid them so long as they are not my enemies. Tetsukoba-ka, please escort my guests back to their camp. Do not let men of another visit them, and kill any who try to stop you. Do this task with your life if necessary."

“Yes, lord.”

“And Hisa-na.” he continued. “Please instruct the ladies of my house to pack their things. Tomorrow, we move past the frontier.”

And I think we will take a visit to this tree-gate of theirs.

---

The kyu was smaller than it looked from the outside—where the blanket of pine and hill hid its breadth as easily as it hid the walls. It was old too, Toshiro had noticed, old and compact. A central courtyard snaked between buildings where faded paint chipped at the eaves. Bleached wood formed all the pillars of the cloisters, and weeds sprouted among the walkways . To the east sat a well amongst strands of fruit trees and the sound of the chanting from the nearby hall tumbled from the beaconing of the gongs. The monks inside, no more than a dozen at most, were chanting the Ember Mantra and When the New Day Rises. Those had been the few Toshiro knew the names of from the itinerant monks he'd met on the trail. The others he did not know, and Chichiro shuffled them onto an opposing veranda where benches splayed for eating.

There he left them until after the prayers had been completed, and it was only after that the kyu—so desolate in the creaking of its wood, so empty in the air of its courts—came to life. A gaggle of monks descended from the hall out onto the eating flat, where Toshiro kept his distance with Ame to the side. Yet it was the horde of children, released from their godly bonds, that caught his attention. They swarmed over the fruit trees like ants, and they were only contained by the tall, blade-thin figure that trailed behind them. Even in her white cowl, Toshiro could tell instantly she was a woman, and he knew just as quickly she was not Yan.

Her face looked familiar enough, with skin the color of peach peel, but her eyes were too round—too much like a bead, too close to the fruit westerners called almond. Her height was greater than that of most men, greater than most people Toshiro had seen, and she reminded him of a slender crane in her Vemayan robes.

The children, however, were less graceful and filled ages anywhere from toddlers to early adolescents. Orphans all Toshiro’s heart paused in his chest. This was what he had been hoping against all desire for. It was a triumph without victory, a dread satisfaction, and the food brought to him by Chichiro lost all flavor despite his fast lasting three days.

He had not stopped at many kyus in his years on the trail, but the few he did visit had all lacked game or fish in their storehouses. This one was no exception, and he was brought instead a bowl of leek and radish broth full of buckwheat noodles, with plain rice on the side. Summer pickling and vinegar served to flavor everything, and there were a few additional vegetables offered with the rice, but Toshiro had figured that was all this particular kyu could afford its monks, and so he did not ask for anything else. Ame, of course, ate none of it and after he had quelled the strongest of the hunger pains he turned to her on the bench and motioned outward.

“Go get some fruit,” he grunted.

The girl did not move, instead she sat on the edge of her seat, kicking her legs up underneath the wood and back again. “Go get something to eat, Ame.” Toshiro said again.

“I’m fine, Toshi.” her voice was soft, like a whispering wind.

“You haven’t eaten in three days.”

“I’m fine.”


He did not argue with her further, and only after he had finished his own meal did he stand and push his way over to the orchard. There he reached for fire plums and white apples—the children scattering away from this invading stranger—when in an instant he stood alone among the trees but for the crane woman who had approached from the corner of his vision.

“Is the girl yours?”

Toshiro stepped back. Her voice was light, and floaty, and her Yan was ever so slightly off perfection—but for once he did not respond with a yes no matter how much he desired it.

The woman clicked her tongue and smiled. “Of course not. She is a child of moonlight and you the dawn. No matter. This is the best place for children like her.”

“And what kind of child is that?!” he snapped. Swallowing, he bowed. “So sorry, forgive my lack of manners.”

The woman simply smiled as she had, and nodded. “I have been around for a long time, Master Sword, and have come to see things very clearly with age. She need not fear much suffering here, under the shelter of Vemaya. We cannot say the same on the road.”

“Indeed.”

“Well, I will leave you then. I believe the abbot has something he wishes to discuss with you, and you with him.”

With that, she turned and took her attention back over the orphan pack which migrated deeper into the trees. Toshiro brought his armful of fruit over to the benches, thinking, and dropped them in front of Ame. The girl did not move to eat, and he knew she would not with him watching. Stubborn.

But without fail, Chichiro arrived only a moment later, bowing respectfully. “Master Sword, if I might have a word with you?”

“It’s about a job, isn’t it?”

The broad grin on the monk’s face faded, and he hunched over as if he was studying Toshiro’s sandals. “Yes. If I may be so bold to ask it of you.”

“Good.” Toshiro nodded. “Then we may talk.” he glanced over at Ame pouting on her bench. “In private, if we may abbot-ka?”

The monk nodded and led him away from the eating area. Ame hopped down to follow, but Toshiro held out a hand behind him. “No. Ame, you stay here. Go play with the other kids.”

“But—” he flashed her a look. A look he did not like to give, and she knew it was hopeless to argue. And so he watched only long enough to see her plop back onto the wood and rest her face in her hands on the table before he followed the abbot across the yards toward the main hall and what he assumed to have been a residence wing behind it. There the two entered into the shadow of the eaves, and through the oak doorways into a realm of dark. The hall was poorly lit, even by the windows near the doorway, and only a small hearth of candles illuminated the mass in the center.

The two only got a passing glance on their way through, but Toshiro could see by the dancing of the flames a figure of immense size sitting just beyond their grasp. Its legs were locked together, and its posture was relaxed, but great swathes of wooden flames shot up behind it as frozen aspirations for the tiny living things that breathed below. Vemaya-to Toshiro muttered to himself. Sitting here in the dark. Calm, tranquil, timeless. Painted only by flamelight in this old hall.

He admitted to himself there was a pull. This place has an air about it—half still, half alive, wholly sacred. It was far different from the jo, the shrines to the old gods. They rarely contained statues, though some of the greatest did, like at Sayanashima. Most of them were open, in the air, little boxes for altars where the god or spirit could dwell. They too felt as sacred, but there was a difference, and somehow, the shadows felt both joyous and sorrowful all at once.

Chichiro expertly navigated by the daylight of the cloister windows as he dragged Toshiro to his personal quarters. Once inside, Toshiro took a seat on the open floor where a straw mat sat just for the purpose. The abbot knelt opposite him, and the two took up an abundance of space where only a bed, a prayer table, and a case of bamboo-slot scrolls filled up the room.

“So what you wish to discuss is about the girl?” Chichiro spoke first.

“Yes.”

He nodded. “She can stay here, Master Sword. You have already seen all the orphans this kyu takes care of. One more will not burden us, and we would take her even if she did.”

“How do you know she is an orphan? Did that woman tell you?”

“Woman? Oh, Yuma, my—” he paused. “Our resident nun, yes. But no. You are traveling with a pykke girl, Master Sword, clearly you are not her father.”

“I have never known a kyu to house both monks and nuns, abbot-ka.” Toshiro noted. The abbot did not respond immediately, but when he did, he smiled with a closed lip for the first time.

“Our kyu does not have the manpower at the moment to worry itself with old and outdated ideas of separation. Yuma oversees the children better than any of the monks, and allows us to keep girls as well as boys. She will take care of the one you have brought to us too.”

Toshiro grunted. Careful to not let his thoughts show on his face, he could remember distinctly what Rokudan-ka-Konoe had told him about why kyus were segregated by sex. Relations between men and women, the old fox had said nonchalantly. Are want to bring as much suffering as they do pleasure. Or so the white robes say. So those that are truly dedicated to ending suffering on this earth avoid mixing with their counterparts.

Toshiro had found that odd even then, and he could still clearly see the man bouncing stones off autumn tree trunks with a Thud! Then the memories came flooding and he staunched them like tight silk on a bleeding wound. You were fast, master. he said to himself. But not even you could catch arrows in flight.

“So about this job?” Toshiro said briskly. “What is it you need from me?”

“Oh. Yes. Well, forgive me if I am wrong Master Sword, but I have always heard stories of josen slaying monsters with skill and ease…”

“Depends on the monster, and depends on the pay. Many of us are simply shrine guards, others play different roles. It depends on the god. Followers of Inoko will do it. Tadan too. Ashurmon if the beast is strong enough. Sometimes Tsuni, king of the moon Cho, will send his warriors off to fight. But I don’t know about the other lunar gods. Nor many of the others.”

“And what about you?”

A grin formed at the edge of Toshiro’s mouth. “I have experience.”

“Then can you help us with our own monster problem?”

“What about your kyusen? Why have they not done it themselves?”

“Have you seen any kyusen at this temple?”

Toshiro had not. In fact, he had not seen any of the armed followers of Vemaya for some time. All that dwelled in these creaking halls had been bald men and children, alongside a single nun.
“I can help,” he said. “But I have to know what it is first.”

“Well, forgive me, but I do not know what it is.”

“Then tell all you do know.”

Chichro glanced out the window, beads of sweat forming on his shaven head, before inhaling sharply. “I have been here at Goyokota since my youth. This place is very dear to me, I have seen it in both health and age, known almost every face who has come in and went out. But last spring something started to happen in the night—a creature—would descend from our mountain top. It could not harm those inside the walls, our gate guardian prevented it, or so we think. But it could attack those who lived in the neighboring villages. There used to be five villages ringing the mountain, now there is only one.

We first appealed to Lord Joseki, who owns these lands, but he must have been too preoccupied with preparing for the summer campaign to notice. Then he took all the men, leaving only the old, women, and children and the villages could not hope to defend even themselves. We had a sen from Nanbu Temple come all the way from Momiji, but he was gravely wounded from the fight and had to be carted to a kyu with greater healers.”

“Have you seen this creature?”

Chichiro shook his head. “No. I am not brave enough to venture beyond the walls at night, nor do I allow any in the temple. We lost two boys that way. But the villagers who have sought refuge here have described it. Only… their descriptions vary. Some say it bears the skin of an old man, hunched over and in gardening silks. Others say it is red and terrible. Yet others claim it to be a mountain spirit turned vengeful for Vemaya defiling its mountain—though we have been here since the time of my great-grandfather. I…I do not know what to tell them. I can only open my doors to those who come during the night. That is all.”

Toshiro leaned forward, thinking. “Doesn’t immediately strike me as this or that. Demons can disguise themselves as people, so too can spirits. That might match the rest if it could shift shapes. But I’m not sure I can deal with a demon, or a spirit, abbot-ka. I would do better if I could slice it with my sword.”

“It is a physical creature, I assure you.” a desperation had entered his voice, and though Toshiro was unsure, he nodded in affirmation and bid him to continue. “What exactly does it do to those it attacks?”

“Well, it is very strange Toshiro-ka. It does not maul them, but it does kill them. The boys we lost, and the corpses the villagers sometimes bring for funeral pyres—they are not damaged, but they are very pale. Especially for the freshly departed. A sickly blue.”

Toshiro scratched at his beard. Not mauled? he thought. Demons can kill in other ways, magic ways. Or so they say. His teacher would probably know what they were facing, and again the oceans of his mind threatened to spill over, but this time he let them only insofar as they might aid him. Well tell me, old fox? You’ve come to me twice now. What is it? but only silence answered, just as he knew it would. Then he called upon his master, Inoko-gotai, and asked for luck. And there too only silence. Then, he stopped scratching. Freshly pale. he rose his eyes from the floorboards upward as his heart skipped a beat.

“A vampire?”

Chichiro shrugged nervously.

Toshiro gulped. His mouth had run dry. “I—I don’t know if I can handle a vampire. It would be better if a josen of a moon god tackled this.” If they even could.

“Oh, will you try, Toshiro-ka? Will you?”

“I—this is a very strong type of demon. You are right that it is physical, but it is a very specific kind of monster. I know a man who slew one alone, but he is long dead now. Normally, it would take more than one josen, you see.”

Chichiro’s head dropped. A dimness overtook him—defeat—and it spread to the rest of the room like spilled ink on paper. Toshiro scratched at his beard, then caved. “I will try, abbot-ka. But I can’t promise any results, and I will first need to witness it before I can do anything. Not all vampires are the same, and many are unique.”

If I fall, he grimaced, at least Ame will have a home.

[Krensu]

An Unexpected Visitor
Written in collaboration with SoKarsa

---

A steady ocean breeze blew through Snip’s chestnut hair that distinct saltwater smell carried along the wind. Snip loved being at sea in the open air and enjoying a place of wonder and danger. Joined by his brother, Strig. The pair were fishing just off the coast near the mouth of the Bay of Tanjung. It was a beautiful day sunny without a cloud in the sky and the nets were brimming with all manner of fish they could sell at the market.

“Today’s looking like one of our best yet!” Strig announced filling another basket full of shiny olive-colored fish.

“That makes two baskets now? And we’re not even halfway done!” Snip shouted with glee.

The pair continued to check their nets. Emptying them of fish and relaying them for the next harvest. All in all the pair ended up with close to four baskets full of fish. Before setting out toward home the two stopped on the beach to have a quick lunch break. Strig scoured the beach looking for pieces of driftwood for a fire while Snip picked out a juicy snapper and began fileting it. Using a small copper knife snip expertly descaled and deboned the fish with precision. With skill honed by years of fishing, he cut the fish into thin strips and laid them out a broad leaf from a nearby fern. Snip threw the bones and scales into the ocean, thanked Lauti, God of the Open Sea, for their meal, and walked over to Strig’s small fire. They each then skewered a slice of fish and roasted them on the fire.

“What a nice day. Coming home with baskets full of fish and fair weather can’t be beaten.” Strig proclaimed brushing some of his brown hair from his face.

“I can’t argue with that” Snip bit into his fish. “I just hope we can make a good amount from our haul.”

“The sailors from those merchant ships have been coming with coin from the Queendom.” Strig looked up from the fire. “Our queendom now, I guess.”

“At least they’re like us’ Snip gestured towards his small brown horns. “We could’ve had those hairless freaks rule over us.” Snip referred to the few traders from the west that would occasionally stop at the harbor.

“What timing.” Strig pointed towards the horizon. “There’s some now.”

Snip squinted into the distance. It was a ship alright, but none he had seen before.

“That’s not them Strig.” Snip stood up to get a better look at the mysterious ship. “That’s someone new.” Snip said caution in his voice.

“Let’s head back home.”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

They abandoned their fire and what was left of the snapper. Eyeing the ship as they left the shore. The ship was built differently than any Krensu or Human ship. It had a curved stern that pointed toward the sky, and two large sails hanging diagonally from the mast. A third sale graced the bow. The ship was unique and it was heading right toward home.

—-----------
Mu’ta Suvi looked out from the bow of the ship towards the rising coastline, a new land for the Imperium to find trade partners. Sailors moved about the deck swiftly and calmly, several floating instead of running. She stretched her arms and readied herself for first contact with these new peoples as a city loomed in the distance. Several boxes were moved and readied to be taken to the dock for trading. Silks, spices, sugars, rare woods, and even a couple exotic animals.

The small city stood on a variety of stilts with relatively new docks sticking out into the bay. The So’Karsan vessel docked at one of the new docks and quickly lowered the gangplank to allow for ease of trade. First though Mu’ta Suvi would have to initiate first contact with the locals. She walked from the ship to the bottom of the gangplank, but did not set foot on the dock itself as she awaited the arrival of the natives. She knew not their language, or even what they would look like. This was perhaps the furthest the trade vessels had traveled from the homeland.

—-----------
Sify, the newly appointed harbor master of Bidor, watched as the strange ship approached the docks. Her head filled with thoughts on who sailed the ship and where it came from. It could be a new style from the humans to the West or something from the Aoyans in the Northeast stopping on the way. As the ship got closer the mystery only grew. Now she could faintly make out some of the sailors. She could tell they certainly weren’t Human or Ailur. She thought for a moment they could be Uthra, but then realized they wouldn’t be this far south. They had to be something new. She turned to her aide and asked him to get some guards from the local garrison just in case. She watched the ship dock as she waited for the garrison to arrive.

“They seem friendly at least.” She thought to herself making her way towards the dock.

By now all of the dock workers and those milling about had stopped what they were doing to observe the newcomers. Sify started to walk on the dock flanked by two guards that were always stationed at the harbor. They approached warily not knowing what the outsiders might bring. As they approached the ship released its gangplank and one of the sailors crossed but made sure to stop just before the dock. Now Sify could make out the outsider’s features plainly. They were strange with several tentacle-like appendages jutting from their back. They had the ears of Ailur but bluish skin; uncommon for a tropical climate. The figure’s attire suggested they held rank over the others.

Sify was now within feet of the captain of the ship. She stopped, taking in the captain and their crew. She stood there wordless both from fear and curiosity.

“Who are you?” She thought.

Mu’ta Suvi watched as the local population reacted to her presence. A group of them slowly approached from within town, two appeared to be armed, guards of some sort. They stopped in front of Mu’ta and spoke in a language she was marginally familiar with, she had heard it used in some ports, but shewas not an expert. She motioned for a translator to be brought. She then turned to the three in front of her, moved her right hand across her chest resting it just below her left shoulder and gave a bow.

“Ne zxiˈror ry Mu’ta Suvi.” She spoke, the language likely unfamiliar to those here as it was her native tongue but quickly a translator appeared and spoke.

“Name be Mu’ta Suvi.” The translator spoke pointing to the fist speaker, uncomfortable with the language, but trying his best.

“Ar iˈre zazˈxɶ son” Mu’ta continued, unaware of her translators lack of skill. She motioned to the docks and back to her own ship where crates were set at the ready.

“We trade here?” asked the translator, again trying his best but not quite achieving the skill that he desperately wanted. He looked to Mu’ta and smiled his best quickly speaking to her in their native language. “I think I was able to translate what you said to their language. It’s a difficult tongue.”

“Very good, here’s hoping they are open to trade and not violent to outsiders.” She spoke back to her translator and smiled at her opposites.

The outsiders' strange language was impossible to understand. It was a tongue that Sify had never heard before or anything close to it. Luckily they came with a translator albeit not the greatest. His translations were rough, and his pronunciation and accent were worse than that of a child, but the message was heard.

Witnessing the captain's body language Sify immediately recognized they were not here to fight and motioned to her guards to relax. Then the translator's simple yet rough-sounding question told Sify all she needed to know. Her neutral expression quickly changed to a smile.

“Of course! Come, come see our market!” Sify exclaimed with glee. “New traders bring new goods and new goods bring more coin” She thought to herself as she gestured the captain down the dock and towards the market.

Mu'ta and her translator quickly followed their now very welcoming host into the market to peruse various goods. The market was busy and Mu'ta could feel the eyes of various people upon them. Neronian must never have come this far, which was fair, for centuries they had hidden in a secret kingdom in the jungles if their island home, having just recently expanded outwards. Thankfully old memories from the before life granted many Neronian skills that would be useful in this new way of living. Trade would be the life blood of the Empire, and finding friendly traders like those here was a great start.

The number of goods available in the market was quite astounding, while they also sold spices, silks, and sugars they were of different kinds and of a variety of different tastes. Just trading in this could be useful, but they were looking for something more substantial. There home had little in the way of stone and construction materials, as such they were looking for similar items. After the tour they returned to the ship with their new contact leading the way. Mu'ta spoke to her aid who quickly translated.

"We want stone strong. We trade spice and animals." Mu'ta motioned to her crew and they began to unload boxes upon boxes of various spices and crates with various animals screeching onto the dock. The hope was too do a small trade to begin relations and go from there. Mu'ta was also quite aware that eventually this would mean priests would arrive at the port to preach the way of Wisdom. Such was the way of things.

Sify looked over the newly imported goods. Spices unlike any she’s seen or smelled before full of vibrant colors, and exotic animals almost as strange looking as her guests. In exchange, Sify offered the Neronians some of Krensu’s finest goods including her country's own species, as well as incense and a small box of mushrooms with hallucinogenic properties.

“Be careful with these.” She said handing the mushroom to the captain. Finally, Sify handed the captain a small but elegantly carved piece of ivory imported from the humans in the west. The piece contained an inscription blessing the holder with good fortune.

When the dockhands and sailors were finished loading and unloading goods Mu’ta returned to her ship after thanking Sify for her hospitality with a polite bow. The crew then retrieved the gank plank and raised the anchor setting sail for their next destination.

Sify hastily returned to the dock house and began writing a letter intended for the capital. She detailed the newcomers and the goods they brought with them explaining their strange language and appearance. She described the colorful spices and exotic animals they brought with them. She sent the letter with a courier hoping her discovery would lead to great things.

[Aoyan]

Chapter 16

---

Cool wetness overtook the vision of one eye, then it came again, and after he had finished, Akira studied the violet streak on his cloth.

The dark of his room masked the four figures within it, where lantern light touched the edges of their faces. Outside, the rain fell in sheets that drummed on the wood of his quarters. Summer frogs sang at pools in the blackness, and his open shutter let in gusts of humid wind. His reflection in the polished bronze of his mirror shimmered and swelled as he moved.

"Ei, yes, I tell you, it is so hard to find a proper woman these days." Okiyurozu Adachi was saying from his lounge over some letters. "Court ladies of our age lack all tact and refinement."

"Well said, Dachi-ka. Yes, very well said." Haroka Ginsai agreed. Akira could see his cousin's reflection nodding up and down in the mirror. "None of them can write, it seems. And all the good ones are too hard to persuade the hearts of."

Akira listened to the two as he removed the liner of his other eye. They had often sparked conversations like this—on one court lady or the other—and each time Akira had been more than happy to gossip alongside them. Yet tonight, as he looked out into the silver-specked void through his window, he lost all taste for it.

“What about Lady Yatori? She cuts a fine figure—very thin, very graceful, with a sad countenance. Her writing is mediocre, but her poetry is well felt.” It was Oboshi Hiratada who chipped in this time. The youth had been younger than the other men, and just added to Akira’s entourage of courtly retainers, and his inexperience showed fiercely.

“Poor breeding,” Ginsai answered. “And too skittish to boot. Yatori Kuwa would yelp at her own shadow. She is not a woman to lay down her life for her husband.”

“And her silks are very drab,” Adachi added. “Haha, yes, very drab indeed. Not a good match, Yatori. Good only for a liaison or two, I say. But she did write to me a few times, and I took what I could.” he waved a thin sheet of paper in the candlelight. That caused the others to break into laughter. “Ha, we should have wine, yes, I think so. What say you, Mei-ka?”

“No wine.”

“Ah…very well.” the youth returned to sprawling on the mat floor of the quarters, picking over letters. “Anyways, what say you, Haroka, on Sashibana-ka-Umejo?”

“Burlish.”

Another round of laughter.

Akira watched the glow of lantern light dance with form on his mirror once more. His mind drifted away from the conversation of his compatriots, off somewhere near yet very far. There was something about the air this night, warm as it was, that chilled him. He found honeyed pleasure to sit like ash on his tongue, and none of his usual enjoyments held much sway. He was not—dispirited—he realized. Only, something had changed within him. Somehow he was looking at the men behind him, and their troubles, in a different eye. Okiyurozu Adachi had been his closest friend at court, a retainer attached to him since adolescence. Haroka Ginsai was his relative on his mother’s side. The older man, Goroda Reinin, who sat quietly in the corner, had taught him all he would want to know of drink and pillowing, before any other. Even Oboshi Hiratada, as young and new as he was, tried very hard to please him. They were the prince’s men, his compatriots, and his confidants in the games of the court. Yet tonight they seemed to repulse him more than anything.

“Mei-ka,” a voice called for him. “Mei-ka.”

Akira’s head shot up, jerked from his thoughts. It was Adachi. “I was just saying, the only woman who shows any promise is Lady Korage.” he flashed a knowing smile. “As you well know, and I for one am at least pleased we have one suitable lady for the prince.”

“Lady Korage is…” he struggled to find the words. “Accomplished. Yes. But I fear she is only interested in the status I give her.”

“Ah, but my prince, is that not true of all women!” Again Adachi had the room in uproar. “Yes, I fear if the crop does not improve, I shall give women up entirely. Only in spirit, of course. I am no monk.”

“How right you are, Adachi-ka” Oboshi agreed. “It is just a shame none show any promise. Not one can write at all.”

“And good writing shows a deftness of hand that lends to other arts” Reinin spoke for the first time, flashing a gap-toothed grin that had Adachi and Ginsai gasping for breath. Oboshi shied back, flushed at the implication. So young. Akira thought. He is not old enough to carouse with these men.

“Yes…” Oboshi continued. “But none are accomplished writers. Not even my own sisters.”

Then the candles flickered in the room, and Akira found himself back in an abandoned manse on sixth street—back on a dewed morning, back holding the lifeless body of a woman he might have loved. And anger overtook him.

“You should not speak of your sisters so, sir!” he snapped, his robes rustling as he twirled on the floor. “Especially not with one so recently departed.”

“I—” the youth shrunk back in his clothing. “Yes, you are right, Prince Mei. Forgive me.”

“Then who would you say is a good match, eh? You’ve been quiet this entire time, cousin.” Ginsai asked.

“I cannot say who of the modern court is worthy. The women who stand out the brightest do so for advantage, the ones overlooked oft have qualities deserving of stature. I am only now awakening to what skills may be deemed auspicious in a woman, and few of the many I have known displayed them, I think. But it does not seem right, suddenly, for you to talk about them so.”

“No, no, no,” Adachi said. “So sorry, but you sound far too much like that brother of yours. This is not Akira-ka speaking. Perhaps you are ill.”

“And what exactly is that brother of mine to you, Adachi?”

It was then that he could see the smirks of the others fade. It was no secret that they and his brother had never gotten along. That was true for most of his friends, and for much of the court. Reinin he knew Ie to hate, and Adachi had always been indifferent at best, and bullying at worst, and so often Akira had let them gossip and jape when Ie was not around—careful to play neutral. But this night, of all nights, he wanted Adachi to speak his mind. Dared him too. And Adachi was never one to know when to stop.

“Ah, Mei-ka, Prince Foscan is one to hate the pleasantries of life, to be sure. Far too serious. And an odd bird at that, yes. He knows not even how to court women. One might think him fond only of men, but he entertains few friends. Yes, very odd, and that I think we can all agree is a weakness. So sorry, but you’ve never disagreed in the past.”

“My brother…” Akira’s voice has faded to a whisper in the candlelight. What is the point? he said to himself in the pause. They do not know my brother as I do. Few do, and I suppose that is Ie’s dilemma. Adachi, you fool, do you not know he could die out there?
“Is more akin to Azichi men.” he settled. “And is an imperial prince of the Hollyhock Court, and far above your measly ridicule, sir!”

The snap was hard and biting, and in an instant Adachi’s face went from indulgent self-satisfaction to shock. Where a smirk usually sat, his mouth twisted in unease, and he bore a stare as if he had been betrayed. I suppose it is a betrayal of a kind. He’s never had me speak to him so. The idiot.

“Well, Prince Mei does bear good points.” Oboshi spoke up. “Many fine ladies are overlooked, yes, and many so praised are not worthy of that which they receive.” The youth cleared his throat. “As for Prince Foscan, well, I do not really know the man. But he has never been unkind to me or my father. And who can know one like a brother, neh? I’m sure the sentiment that Mei-ka holds must be correct.”

Oboshi looked towards Akira with a beam—so quick and eager to please—but the heir to the realm did not grant him any grace. Instead, Akira turned away, back to the reflection of his mirror. Sycophants and braggards all. he grumbled. How little patience I have for you tonight.
“You may leave me,” he said. “I wish to retire as early as possible.”

Haroka Ginsai was already halfway up when the command came, and so was the only one to speak as the others made their haste. “As you wish, my prince. Forgive us for the offenses we may have rendered unto you.”

“As I may, cousin. As I may.”

Akira watched Ginsai’s shadow bow from the doorway—leaving him alone only with his thoughts. The prince then gazed out his window into the rainstorm and the black. He gazed for a long time, and at some point, in the gap between his thoughts he…saw…something. Something move. At first he figured it must be a person, but they carried no lantern, and no man could have tread a night like this without light. An animal? No. It did not seem like an animal. It was more like—a shimmer. Like he watched part of the blackness move in on itself and melt away. As if something darker than the darker stirred across his gateway of sight.

Sighing, he brushed it aside as his own tiredness, and so he closed his shutters and then extinguished the candles of his room, leaving nothing but the lullaby of the rain to whisk him asleep.

---

Conch horns blared bright in the daylight as the column passed the point that marked the frontier from Yan Inari. Ie reluctantly passed the reins of his horse over to Tosaru, who bowed gratefully. This was the point he lost her, as all others but the cavalry would their own. Only Lord Zoku would be permitted to mount—the rest would walk, princes included.

“Watch over her, sir” he said, bowing back. The mare had been with him since Kawanakami, and though he had not bothered to name her, she had served him well enough. For that, she was owed a gentle hand.

“Of course, Foscan-go.” Tosaru bowed again. “She will serve as my reserve, so that she may rest for most of the campaign.”

“Thank you, Tosaru-ka.”

Breathing, Ie turned to see Toriichi approaching. The man had his side wrapped in bandages, visible even under his armor, and he limped wherever he walked, but he was alive.

“So this is it, Toriichi.” he said. “We’ve crossed the frontier. We are really on campaign now.”

The Katsuya giant laughed, though it pained him. “Yes, Foscan-go. Yes.”

“It doesn’t feel any different to before, I must admit. Even after…I’ve seen combat.”

“It will, after a few days of marching. And because we’ve not joined the fighting.”

“There’s fighting? Already?”

Toriichi laughed again. This time some blood came up upon his lip. “There’s been fighting since last evenfall. Twelve li to the north, small bands of our warriors from various lords are fighting the barley-eaters across the frontier as we speak. Tetsukoba-ka is leading one band at the Crystal Rapids now. They say he slew a warchief of the Wolves already.”

“Why are we not with them!?” Ie’s heart sank. He wanted to cry, but he would not. Am I being punished this badly? For fainting?

“Ah, these attacks individually are unimportant.”

“How can they be? Is it not our duty to face and fight the enemy?”

Toriichi lowered his brow. “You… do not see what is occurring, Foscan-go?”

Ie wracked his mind around the question. His thoughts hurt, and he could not get past the swell of disappointment in the course of events. “What do you mean?”

“Well, these attacks aren’t real. They are pokes, like small jabs, at the enemy. To test his fervor and strength. You see, the go agreed to this plan. It is your grandfather’s plan, really, but Lord Katsuya will want the credit for it. In anycase, they are all tests, to see where the enemy is weakest and where he is strongest. Then, by nightfall, Lord Zoku intends to smash through with his strength at the weakest point.”

The explanation did not saite him. “I still think a prince should be with the fighting. If it is done by small bands, then there is less danger to my person. But grandfather wishes to punish me. I know that. He thinks I am a coward, even though I fought with the rest of you.”

“Listen to me, Ie.” Toriichi lowered himself so that they were eye to eye. He placed a hand on the prince’s shoulder, and for once Ie did not see any glimmer of amusement in the man’s eyes. “I made a promise to keep you safe. War is not a game, and despite all that you have now seen, you are still drunk on a sickness only our people suffer. Lord Zoku is… a difficult man to traverse, at times. He wants the best for you, but even still, do not think stupidly or rashly. Cowardice is when I man chooses not to fight when he should, and fights when he should not.”

“I do not need any advice from you” Ie snapped. “I only want a chance to prove myself.”

Toriichi watched him for a moment, then frowned. “I will…leave you to your thoughts then. Don’t rest too long, your grandfather will not be pleased if you fall behind.”

Ie blocked him out, brooding. The summer air shimmered and swelted, where the stench of men and horseflesh clung to dust kicked up by the moving columns. Another round of conch horns blared when he caught the sight of Mizumi approaching from the corner of his eye.

“Ah, Mizumi-ka” he chirped. His mood had shifted upward. “Want to march today with me? If you can, that is.”

Mizumi shook his head. “This is as far as I go.”

“You’re not going to fight?”

“We Haka do not fight the pewa. That is our understanding with them, so that we may live in harmony in this land of the gods.”

Ie bit the inside of his lip. That’s treasonous. he wanted to say. But he let it go and instead scrunched his mouth tightly. “I hope we see each other again.”

“Oh, I think we will Foscan-ka. Presuming you come back.”

Ie dug a sandaled toe into the dirt of the roadway beneath him. I should be more angry at him. he thought. But he did save me on the field, and…he’s too, well, beautiful for me to be angry at.

Where anger would not dwell, frustration had long taken a seat. Frustration at his grandfather’s disappointment, frustration at Toriichi’s nagging, frustration at the world. And now he could feel a burning in his loins, below the navel, just beneath where his belly met his waste and he thought about doing something stupid, and brash, and heavy, but he stopped himself before red swelled at his cheeks. Yet the visions came thick, and he did not think on the fact he had never been with another before, nor on the impossibility of it where he stood, and before long they went as quickly as they came, and he knew this would be the last he saw of Haka Mizumi for some time.

“I’ll come back,” he said. “I’m no coward, nor a fool, and somehow everyone seems to think so despite what I did.”

“Coward? No, I don’t think so. Fool? We shall see. But Ie, remember something for me, will you?”

“What?”

“He who lives—wins. Do make sure you come back, neh?”

Ie gulped, the muscles of his face softening. He nodded, and with it, he watched as Mizumi turned and disappeared into the dust of the march.

---

Light flooded into Akira’s vision like a burst of flame. He winced, tears flowing freely at the corners of his eyes, and when he moved he could feel the rustling of his silken bedding. Once his eyes had adjusted, he found himself sitting upright in his quarters—sunlight reaching through his ajar window. How early is it? his mind groaned, and he was tempted to lay back into the warmth and darkness. But his eyes caught rapid movement from outside and something whispered for him to awaken. So he did.

He had no sooner risen from his bed when a knock came at his door frame.

“One moment,” he replied. “I am hardly dressed for visitors.”

Looking down, he still wore the crimson and cream robes from his previous night outing and he could recall the conflict he fought with his friends. Yes. Hardly dressed at all. It would not do for anyone to see me. Not do one bit.

The knocking came again.
“You will have to come back later,” he replied. “After I have been composed.”

“Mei-ka.” a voice from the otherside called. He could recognize that pitch even after a hundred years. Aka. “You must open for me. It is Aka-ka. I must see you urgently.”

So urgent you must see me in such an undignified state? He opened his mouth to refuse her, but then paused. Listening, he could hear the birds beyond his walls—the summer breeze, cicadas buzzing among the branches. Eyes narrowing, he brushed down his robes and made them as presentable as day-old garments could be, then reached out with a single delicate hand to open the frame. Somehow, that hand did not shake.

Aka stood just beyond, taking up the opening with her height. She smiled at him, but it was not the mischievous smile of the court witch—the smile she always wore—but instead a soft, sad one. As if rain could be painted red and drawn in a line.

“May we come in?” she asked and motioned forward.

We? Akira stepped back so that the ailur could enter, and from behind her followed two other women. The first was Lady Ai, who looked pale and tired—weak. The only time Akira had ever seen her look weak. Then came his own mother, her face a ruin of paint and tears.

No. “My brother!” he gasped. He could feel his chest tightening, his breathing coming in rapid bursts, his blinking hard. He could not contain himself, and his legs felt like water beneath him. “What happened to Ie?!”

But Aka only tilted her head ponderously to the side. She smiled again, this time her eyes followed, and the ruby of her mouth quivered. Water too gathered in those eyes, and she shook her head in short strokes—like a mother to a child who was not understanding.

“What has happened to my brother?”

Lady Ai was the first to move. She did not speak, but oddly, she lowered herself down as elegantly as she could manage, and within an instant her robes were sprawled upon the floor and her face was lowered onto the matting. Then his mother mimicked her and the sound of her sobbing could finally be heard.

“Your brother is fine and well, Radiance.”

Finally, Aka herself fell in with the other women—though she did not bow quite as low.

Akira stepped back. His breathing froze, empty all together in his throat, and a cold lightness swam at his head. The world spun. It was as if all time had ceased in that moment, and he failed to collect his thoughts. When he finally came to, the only sound his ears could draw upon was the long, lone serenade of a cricket beyond his window.

“I see.”

He would not allow himself to cry—if such was even in him. It was not for lack of sorrow that his heart was held back, but because his mind went beyond grief—to duty. As Ie’s would.

For Akira, duty was a whirlwind that consumed his day—a melting of ceremony, ritual, and a thousand mournful faces. The late emperor had been much beloved, he knew, and the men and women of the court weeped greater than that of his own mother. But he could not remember much more beyond this. In fact, it was strange—this line of images. He tried to remember, to recall moments that had happened just hours before, but they resembled nothing more than ideas in his head. Watery pools of color that held no shape.

And now, somehow, Akira found himself on the throne in the Hall of Eternal Harmony, on his father’s throne, alone. Where is everyone? he thought. He could not recall how he got here, or why, but suddenly he felt as if another was there watching him. Yet he was alone. Suspicious, he went to stand, when a force compelled him back down.

His eyes traced the pedestals of the throne, down to the vast audience floor and back up again. When they returned, they landed squarely on the shimmering circular ringlet sitting right in front of him. Gold, he cocked his head. It’s…gold. The ringlet was no larger than his head, a trailing path of metal where glittering leaves linked end by end to each other, and where they met in height and triumph sat a mark carved in beauty. A sunrise.

Akira leaned closer. A rising sun. The dawn. Is this the work of great Tadan? He pondered. Yet, no matter the brilliance, no matter the dawn mark, something felt….off. No he decided. This mark is not hers/ and instantly he knew he was right, though he could not say how.

Again Akira felt a presence around, and though his watching revealed only himself in the throne hall, someone was there.

“Take it.” his mind urged toward the ringlet. They were his own thoughts, his own voice, that spoke—yet these were not his words.
“It’s yours, oh greatest of human kings. A shining crown for a shining emperor. It was made for you.”

Akira reached down with a pale hand, but stopped as he neared. Another voice, another of his voice, spoke behind the one pushing him forward. As if he could think two things at once, and that voice spoke of unbridled caution.
This is not the work of Tadan. It said to itself. My gods did not make this, nor did any at my court.

“It is a gift. a reply came back. “A gift from one beyond your gods, or your subjects. A gift made for you, great king. He who made it desires your patronage most strongly. Take it, and with you alone all things are to pass. Take it, and rise as he of untarnished brilliance.”

Akira’s fingertips brushed the gold—the metal was cold and hard to the touch, and the glimmering light from it brought no warmth to him. His hand flexed, curling, and went so hungrily to claim this gift when the second of his voices shot forward and to his front.

“Ie!” he cried aloud. His brother! That’s right! He remembered. His brother was coming home from far away Inari. And he would be here any moment. Eagerly, Akira sat back, leaving the crown resting on the floor.

Preparing himself for his brother’s return, he pondered if he should meet the man as emperor, or as sibling, and he decided that only both would do. Ah, where are our younger siblings? he asked himself. Shoto, Sume, Kaya. Where is mother, or Lady Ai? Did they not know Ie was returning? They should have been here. The entire court should have been here. A prince was returning from war. And yet, he was alone. No matter he thought. He will be here any moment.

And as if on command, the doors to his throne hall swung open, letting the brilliance of the summer sun beyond flood into the room. The figure before him was on horseback, and at once Akira could see that it was his brother. Ie was clad in armor, silk on bronze, and the cording had been done in Azichi blue and brown. In his right hand, he grasped a halberd, which he lowered downwards towards the ground from his mounted seat.

“Brother.” Akira said, smiling and tilting his head where his raven locks cascaded to the floor. Yet his smile twisted on his face. Something here was off too. Ie sat, motionless, and strong as stone. The man wore a scowl on his face—that same angry look others considered him so ugly for, and one side of it was covered entirely in shadow—black and terrible.

Somehow, Akira knew what was meant. Images of death flashed before him, of wars, and slaughter. Of the infighting between his ancestors. Of brothers against brothers. The blade of Ie’s halberd flashed in the sunlight, and suddenly the title of emperor weighed like a mountain upon Akira’s shoulders. He wants it. he thought. He means to kill me. For the title…for revenge.

“Take it” his other voice returned. “Take it. It can save you.”

Ie pushed his mount forward wordlessly.

“It is not meant for him. He is nothing. Take your gift, great king, and smite him.”

Akira scrambled for the crown.

“Kill him before he kills you!”

Grasping the metal, Akira lifted the crown from the ground. The golden leaves bit into his flesh, drawing crimson blood that rained down in fat droplets. They painted the matting of the hall. His eyes hovered madly on the object—his salvation, his weapon, his glory. All he needed was to slip it on, to live, and it would all be his. Then he glanced back up at his brother.

Ie loomed over him, dismounted and standing. Though the blaze of day illuminated everything around them, one half of Ie’s face still sat in darkness. It frightened Akira, and yet… had Ie always been this tall, this angry? He supposed it must have been so.

“Brother,” Akira said. “You wish to be emperor this badly?”

Ie did not respond.

“I…see. You will bury me as an emperor, won’t you?” Akira chuckled. Emperor Mei, emperor for less than a day. Once they might have found humor in that, poetry even.

“Kill him! He is a tiger! Do not let your destiny escape you!’”

“And, you will take care of my mother? She is no threat, and has been nothing but kind to you.”

The icy iron of the halberd pressed against his neck.

“There is a way out! his own thoughts cried. “He is not to be emperor. It is you! You are the one chosen for His purpose.”

Why should it be you, Ie? Why should I die for your greed and resentment? Why should my reign and glory be snuffed out, because I am and have always been better than you? Why should I suffer for your weakness?

Akira lifted the crown, but as he gazed up into his brother’s face, he could recall much. It came to him as a blur, a singular swift wind that passed over him. But in that he could recall his entire life with this man, and his love, and a coldness swept over him. None of this made any sense, he realized, and yet it made perfect sense, and he had one and only one decision to make. You or me.

Grasping for the words, he found them.
“I’m sorry, brother.”

Akira extended his neck, and dropped his crown. The metal bounced on the matting and rolled, the luster of it fading as it tumbled away.

“Take it….take it….take it…” his thoughts moaned. They grew more distant with each moment, and the voice which was his melted and became that of someone he did not know. “Take it…take it…”


His mind felt clear, like a sky after the clouds had gone, and that left only him and his brother. Ie raised his weapon. Akira looked up, one last time, at his brother and killer, and the rage on the man’s face had subsided. A new look dwelled within Ie’s expression, though the shadow remained over the one side. It was not resentment, or wrath, or vengeance—but determination. As if what he was about to do were no great crime, no crime at all, and in fact was a necessary action they had agreed upon. No malice remained, and Akira thought, for only an instance, that he was looking at his brother fully again.

Metal swung in an arc and a single chill ran through soft flesh.

Akira stared into darkness, his hand grasping soft silk. Through the fog of his mind, he could hear the creak of crickets outside, and when his eyes adjusted, he found himself laying in his room. The base of his bed had been soaked through in sweat, and when he rose from his rest, he found he could breathe again. Quietly, Akira moved in the darkness, and found everything as it had been when he fell to sleep. Everything except his window, which had been ajar in the deep night air.

---

Ame pouted in the dark of the room. Stupid Toshi. her mind cried. Don’t you know you need me out there?

How could he? He was but a man—and a stubborn one at that. And she had to admit, there was a bitterness at him leaving her behind. Why leave me? she had wanted to ask. He’d never done it before. She could handle herself, and though she was but a kit in the way of the fox, she was the stronger of the two. And much more besides.

“What’s your name?” a voice called from the dim, pulling her from her thoughts.

Ame shuffled uncomfortably, peeking over her knees to see the dirt covered face of a girl staring back at her. She could not have been more than six.

“Ame.” she chipped, then scooted further away. She did not like other children—that she had always known—and it was for reasons entirely beyond her understanding. Strangers were always interesting. And fun, and Toshi had even gotten mad a few times when she talked to them. That was how she knew talking to them was right. But children—she had never liked. No more than she liked sleeping in cities or villages, and she had never liked those things either.

“I’m Yona,” the girl said, crawling closer to her. “You’re pretty.”

Ame curled tighter into her sitting ball. “Go away.”

But the girl did not go away. Instead she stopped motionless and watched with black-moon eyes for the pykke to make her next move. They’re filthy Ame thought. All of them. There could not have been more than two dozen of them in total—children of every age—and they filled the nursery of the temple tightly in the candlelight. Shabby white rags clung to their bodies, and soot streaks and mud marks clashed against splotchy, tanned skin. Why did you leave me here, Toshi?

“I like your hair.” the girl—Yona—said.

Ame kicked with a foot, and when that did not send the child fleeing, she hissed—fangs gleaning and sharp.

“Scary!” The girl fell backward with a yelp and just as quickly Ame could see a black mass move from the corner of her eye.

“Hey, you leave my sister alone!”

It was a boy—fourteen winters or so in age—short and scrawny, and looking down at her through a mop of greasy black hair. “She only likes that you’re so clean.”

“I don’t care!” Ame growled. “Stay away from me!”

The boy watched her for a long time, and his look crawled along her skin and made her want to flee. After a while, he crouched near his sister and pulled from his tunic a ragged piece of radish he had hidden. “Why are you so clean anyways?” he asked through the side of his mouth. The anger had left his tone. “You some kind of lady?”

“She’s a princess.” Yona said, scrapping the vegetable with two tiny pock-marked teeth.

“Yeah, maybe.” her brother said, rubbing her hair. “Or a demon. The monks are always talking about demons—there’s one in the villages. What, with your weird cat eyes and red skin.”

“I’m not a demon!” Ame cried. “Or…a princess.”

“You’re right, you couldn’t be a princess, or a lady. People like that know who their mothers and fathers are, and this is the place you come when you don’t.”

“I know who my mother is.”

“Then where is she?”

“She’s—” Ame paused. “She’s…far away.”

“The monks are always talking about hell, even Nun-ka. They say hell is this world, but maybe hell is far away. Demons come from hell, don’t they? Maybe that’s where your mother is.”

“I’ll send you both to hell!” Ame shrieked, and kicked, and tugged at her hair tails. But she did not attack. She would not. These were just children—just orphans. She knew that much, even if it was a feeling in the back of her mind no more noticeable than the crickets outside. I can only destroy evil. Must destroy evil. Yet she was angry. Rabid, even, and she did not know the reason. Itt made her want to cry. Please, Toshi. Come get me.

“Maybe my sister’s a princess too.” the boy said, patting her head. The girl was still munching slowly on her radish. He did not seem to be talking to Ame directly, but more to himself—a distant stare had overtaken his eyes. “They say she’s sunblessed, with her hair and all.”

It was only then, when squinting, that Ame noticed the golden locks—matted and dirt-stained as they were—that descended off Yona’s head.

“Maybe she’s a princess of the sun,” he continued. “Maybe she’s not even my sister, and she will leave here one day, to go…wherever. Maybe wherever you’re from, as long as it's not hell.” he bent his head low and whispered—harsh and dry. “I hope that’s true.”

Ame burst into tears, the torrents coming hard and fast, and her chest heaved with all its might. Toshi!!!! her mind cried. Toshi!!!

And then a voice came, terrible and awesome all at once, and it came to her in the quietest whisper that crossed past her heart and silenced the entire world. It was a voice she knew, and a voice she feared and loved and had waited for. It dried her tears.

”Raincloud….Raincloud…” the voice called. The time is near.

Then she could see it—a blazing sun, horrible and monstrous and black as night. It lit the world upon fire and all melted before it. Except her.
Ame stood, watching, scowling, and it filled her with a resolve as hot as summer and warm as flame. In her ears rang the pounding of hammers and on her tongue sat the sweetness of rice, and she knew that she would swallow that sun and all like it. A hunger grew within her. Ame licked her lips. Destroy.

As quickly as she left, she returned, and the tears and wailing came with. Toshi, we must go west! she begged a man no longer there. Before it's too late. Before it starts!

Then the two came together—her crying self and her resolved self—and they clashed, one telling her to run, the other to stand, and she could not sort them. She never could sort them and when her thoughts muddled, she hated it more.

Please Toshi, she wailed. Come back for me!

---

Buniqkunipe of the Owls often soared in her sleep—far over the lands of her people—far over the islands of Inari. And though she never knew where she was going, she so often flew north towards the cold. Tonight, Buni did not fly at all.

Instead, her mind drifted in and out of slumber, where the black of her room shrouded her in summer warmth and the pelts of her bedding were not needed against the wind. Each time she awoke, she could hear the words of her mother from the previous day. “Tooth and claw, my daughter. Tooth and claw” and she wondered, in those lapses of sense, how true they were.

She had feared that the beast in the suit of armor, ghostly and unknowable, might come for her in the night. But tonight, of all nights, it did not haunt her. Had it been her foolishness all along? Was this war really to be like all the others? Mother certainly seemed to think so, and surely mother knew more than her. And the world—it felt calm. Crickets and leafgoats batted the humid air outside her room, roosting in the forest. Sinister sun had been replaced by four crescents in the deep night, and she wondered as she lay there, if the spirits of her ancestors were not on the hunt in the great dark. Perhaps that was why night terrors did not grip her.

War… her waking drifted. War…different…different…

She knew this war would be different.

The smell of the food—roast elk, and barley stew, and blood sausage filled her nose and it twitched rapidly. Queen Aga sat on her throne above the feast table, clad in winter furs. Her sleeves ran down the arms of the chair, and when she bent over, Buni could see the glistening golden fur of a woman far younger than when she had last seen her.

“Eat everyone.” she laughed—for once happy. “Eat! It’s the first great snow of winter!”

Buni reached down and lifted her skewer, the aroma of the foods causing her mouth to water. But…it’s summer her thoughts said, and instantly she dropped the eating stick.

“Eat!” Aga said. “Eat before the dawn comes. You must.”

Buni watched the others set about merrily on their feast. There were her mother’s consorts, only eleven of them, it seemed—from when she was younger. And special guests from the village, and an emissary from the Wolves. None of them seemed particularly worried, or scared, or saddened. It was winter.

But…there’s war. Buni’s mind drifted.

She had lost interest in the food entirely.

“Please, everyone, eat! Before dawn, while the moons are still high.

Buni did not care. Instead, she wilted comfortably in her seat. The nearby hearth fires warmed the hall greatly, and somehow she knew, they were like pelts of fur wrapped around her. She purred. So warm. And her eyes drooped in sleep, and at least this night of winter-summer, peace-war, she might sleep till sunrise.

Then, as she shut her eyes, a column of smoke from the cooking fires drifted across her nose. It was enticing at first, but then, as she sniffed, the scent of roasting meats turned acrid and gave way to that of wood and ash.

Buni opened her eyes to the dark of her room. Nothing had changed. The insects still sang. Her blankets, now wrapping her, still baked like a furnace. The black was silent. Yet, she could smell it. It was faint, but there. The stench of wood and ash.

Rousing herself up, Buni slid down from her loft to the floor. Something’s burning her heart raced. There’s a fire.

Was it in the palace? Mother’s room? The kitchens? It’s too faint she reasoned. It could not have been the palace. But something is burning.

Curious, Buni stumbled her way to her door and let in the night air. What had been but a sliver of scent in the dark of her room was a rushing stream outside, and even in the moonlight she could see the foggy haze that had set over the knoll outside her quarters. From across the way she watched Queen Aga open her own door and descend into the open with her sleeves brushing the grass.

“What’s going on?” Aga called. Buni wordlessly followed her down from the palace towards the front, where they could get a better view. Servants rushed outside, glancing about each way to find the source of the flame they all knew to exist. Yet no fire roared nearby.

When they reached around the front, they could see the whole of Kaiyomoko village. The villagers had come out of their homes in droves and stood watching in the grassy spaces between their houses in clumps. There’s no fire Buni thought. At least—not in the village.

Mother gasped first, then a serving woman. But Buni did not need the prompting to see it.

On the horizon the sun rose. Red, hot, and beating like a heart—the dawn came from a southern sky where thick black snakes coiled upward towards the stars above. It did not make noise, the dawn never made noise, but the calm of the night betrayed what must have been a terrible blaze. Had it been day, only the ashen serpents would have told of its position. Yet against the dark of night, all could see that this sun rose only across a small patch of hillock and vale.

Whispers and talk came among the villagers below and Queen Aga paced impatiently across the steps of the hall.
“Is that not around Kamiki Trout village?” she asked of those nearby. “How could they let a fire get so big, and to think so near to us! I want to know what is happening. Why have they sent no messenger to warn us about the blaze?”

“Perhaps it is a brush fire, great queen?” a serving girl suggested.

“Bah, of course not, idiot girl.” Aga snapped. “The summer has been green, if hot. If it was a brush fire, they would have sent a warning. And where is our warning?”

“Perhaps they are being raided.” Huenchek was beside her now, and though he was certainly not Buni’s father, she was still glad to see him about to comfort mother. “Did the Trouts not steal from a column of strange spider-folk?”

“Or its other pewa!” someone else added. “Could it be that the old ways have returned!”

That caused a general round of chaos among the watching attendants. The old ways, Buni knew, had been war before the pewa dwelt on Inari—before war had been made about elk and herd. Those ways, those wars, had been ones of extermination, when no being was spared. Men, women, and children all were slaughtered in those, and they had not been waged in centuries.

Buni’s heart dropped, and inside her came a grim acceptance of what she was witnessing.

“But who would raid the Trouts?”

“Perhaps the Spiders. If that Ponni had tricked them into moving their men to face the children of the dawn, then perhaps they struck while the warband was away.”

“Yes, it was definitely the Spiders. And now they’ve brought back the old ways!”

“Silence!” Queen Aga roared. “Will somebody tell me what is going on?!”

And as if the spirits heard her, Buni saw the dark shapes of men on elkback emerge from the woods surrounding the entrance to the village. In their haste they charged and though they were Owls, they scattered the villagers in their wake. Buni did not need them to tell her what she already knew. This war would be different.

“Run!” The shriek came hard and fast, pushed by the wave of panicking people. “Run!”

“What?” Queen Aga asked. It was Hennauke, the guard captain, who reached them first, spear in hand. His great elk bucked as he arrived and the blood that trickled from his face and mouth blotched darkly on the grass below.

“My queen, we must flee!” he coughed. “Please, take my hand, we must go. Now!”

“What is happening, Hennauke?” Aga cried. “Tell me what is happening or by the spirits—”

“The Yan!” he barked. “The children of the dawn have come. Kamiki village burns and its people are slaughtered!”

“That's…that’s not possible you damned man!” Aga swung a robed fist towards him, causing his elk to stumble away. “They cannot have come so far so quickly. That has never happened in our lifetime or my mother’s lifetime!”

Buni watched limply as the chaos unfolded around her. By now the horde of her tribesfolk had melted into a shattered route of running bodies. Mounted warriors leaped among them, calling shouts of doom and destruction. Elk brayed, children cried, and mothers screamed for help. “Men of the west are here!” came shouts. “Men of the dawn! Run! Run!”

“Hennauke…” Aga croaked. For the first time in living memory, Buni could detect a waiver in her mother’s tone. “I order you to fight.”

“We must go. Take my hand!”

“I—I order you to fight. To fight, unless I name you coward!”

“There’s thousands of them! They are coming here! Let’s go!”

“To fight!”

Hennauke took one long look at his queen—and grabbed her by the scruff of her robes to pull her onto his mount. “To fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight!” Aga screamed and kicked and clawed and bit. But she was too old, and he too strong, and he bucked his elk forward where it leaped off into the darkness. “My people!!!!” Aga cried and tears flowed.

“Mother!” Buni jumped—running. “Mother!” she was being left behind.

Then an unseen hand took her from behind too and her world spun as she was tossed upon the back of an elk. The masked warrior who nabbed her kicked his beast in the direction the queen had gone, and as the flight rocked her up and down, Buni could only watch as the nearing sun grew brighter and brighter under the watch of four crescent moons.

[Aoyan]

Chapter 17

---

Toshiro, josen of Daikin, servant of Inoko—god of fox and fortune—waited patiently in the open night. Crickets chirped, cicadas whirled, and he could hear frogs from the river in the valley roar up in chorus. To his back, somewhere, came the faint chanting of monks in the deep night prayer. His ears flexed.

It was amazing, at times, what he could pick up on when he stopped and waited. His perch had been a thick, white-barked foscan branch and his view had been over the entire valley. Even from a distance, he could make out the silver snake that was the Suwa river and the ghost villages running its banks. He had only to focus on the one in the center—its black-peaked mass of thatch roofs the only remaining habitation in the valley. That was where the last villagers lived, villagers he had seen flee to the kyu at sunset—women, children, and elders all.

But where is the monster his mind stretched. There had been nothing the entire night. No movement, no sound, no entities. Only nature and the darkness, where the moons Tsa, Cho, and Mu hung high in the sky. In was absent this night, and the diminished light cast long gauges of shadow in the valley. That was where his eyes watched.

But if it is truly a vampire he swallowed hard. I might not see it coming.

Or, at least, that was what he thought. He had never faced a vampire before. There had been only one man in his living memory who had accomplished such a feat—and that man was long dead. Rokudan-ka-Kanoe, he smiled. Fair tidings master. Wherever you are now. He could not help but see the old fox in his mind’s eye, still bouncing stones off tree trunks, or with a woman in one arm—thirty years his junior. Or yet still sliding between the rafters of a farm roof to get at a bird’s nest. Kanoe of the Six Steps, josen of Inoko-ka-Yura. The man that taught me all I know. My friend, my surrogate father, my betrayer.

He inhaled deeply and softly. May your strength be with me now. As my prayers with your spirit, you old bastard. Settling in, Toshiro let his mind refocus on the night. A light breeze had picked up, and tousled the leaves surrounding him. Good he thought. That will mask my breathing. He had been glad to find a foscan on the mount. The shimmering leaves—metallic evergold by day—would sparkle in the light of the three risen moons, and they would hide his silhouette and his sword blade when he drew. That had been a lesson old Rokudan had taught him too.

In that spot, Toshiro waited uncounted hours more. The moons chased each other high, but there seemed to be no end to this night, and in his focus, he found himself drifting off to the past and the future. Pay attention. he snapped at himself. Scan for movement, listen for the monster. You must do this, for the girl. The girl—Ame. For her. As your final prayer was given.

That prayer had been—strange—to him. He had given just before sunset, in a lonely corner of the kyu where a cedar sat gnarled and proud. It was the closest to a shrine he was going to get, and when he knelt, instead of his usual curt requests and offerings—his heart chose to ask for something different. “Inoko-gotai” he had called to his god. “Your servant requests in your infinite patronage that what fortune remains in his life, what luck you may bestow, go beyond to the girl Ame. So that she may grow and live forever in your watch, where you may abandon the one who calls upon you now if that be the price of this wish.”.

He could not say where the prayer had come from, nor if his god had heard it. But he knew he meant it, more than he had meant anything in the world, and it was then he knew he expected to die.

With a grunt, he shifted uncomfortably on his branch and suppressed a yawn. His vision drooped, then rose, then drooped again, and another yawn came that he could not stop. Shaking himself, he attempted to awaken, but he felt the heaviness in his chest sink and he knew he was falling asleep. Wake up. his mind yelled. Wake up! Then—his sight snapped on it.

It was soundless, whatever it was. But he could see it, just out of the corner of his sight, and it jolted him so heavily that the drowsiness vanished for only a moment. He could not say what it was, but it was a passing—a shadow. Something dark in a patch of darkness. Something blacker than the night. Something that ate light, so black it stood out as a shimmer against the shade.. Toshiro drew his blade.

His hand moved slowly, and the wood of his scabbard absorbed any sound the metal might have made. He only hoped the glittering leaves of his tree soaked too the glint of iron in moonlight. He watched, and waited, and did not breathe.

Yet nothing attacked. Nothing moved. It was as if nothing had ever been. Suspicion—and fear—gripped at his muscles and he dare not move for a long time. Then, after a while, he inched his head over the tree branch and saw nothing below him. He glanced to the side. Nothing there. Nothing to the other, or to his back, and when he shifted loudly on purpose, nothing reacted in attention or surprise.

I’m seeing things. he grunted. Because I was falling asleep. he yawned. Because I’m doing a damn poor job. his muscles relaxed. Because…because he could feel his eyelids drooping. Because… he could feel his sword slip from his grip and plummet to the floor below. Because… one eye shut, then the other, and then—nothing.

---

Toshiro awoke to the streaming sunlight—wooden rafters of a roof looming over him. He moved and his muscles ached in slumber. My sword! He could remember dropping it. Yet when he sat up in panic, he found the blade to have been sheathed and resting on a stand nearby. Somebody moved him to a room.

But as he lifted himself from under the heavy blankets of a bed, he realized, this was not a room he knew. The temple?, but no, it could not have been. This room was clean, surrounded by four paper walls where warm sunlight lit a side like lantern light and the floor sat tightly woven with straw matting. Outside birds chirped, and though he knew not where he was, there was a familiarity calling to him from the space. I’ve been here before. he thought. I know this room, well, but yet…

“Oh, you’re awake.” a voice called, soft and melodic.

“Yes.” Toshiro replied. He did not turn immediately, instead his eyes rested on the leather of his scabbard. I dropped you. In that tree.

“Where am—” he stopped. A chill ran over him, though it was warm, like sunlight and his body twitched at the discrepancy.

The person behind him—now leisurely picking up sheets from the corner of the room and humming to herself—was a woman. Not too tall, nor too short, she wore white linens and farmer’s robes—clean all the same, and lithe—where the skin of her arms and neck was exposed it ran red like clay. Blue-black hair came down into a single tail over her shoulder, and when she turned, yellow cat-eyes caught his own and smiled.

“Welcome back, love.” she said. “From the sounds of it you were having a terrible dream.”

“Dream? Who—” then as quickly as suspicion came, as swiftly as he knew this all to be wrong, it melted away, and all that was left in Toshiro’s mind was soft confusion.
“Dream?” he repeated, clearing his throat.

“Yes.” the woman said. “Something about vampires, and your master. Mostly just groaning.”
She tucked the now folded sheets into her arms and came over, where she leaned down softly. I know this woman. Toshiro said, and a feeling of warm love overcame him. Then she kissed his forehead, her soft, cool lips leaving a buzz on the spot she marked and she giggled.
“Ame was quite worried about you, even though she knows by now about these things. I told her ‘daddy will be alright. It’s just his nightmares.’ and sent her to the garden to collect squash for tonight's rice. She, of course, fought me the entire way. So spirited for her age, neh?”

“Ame?” he jumped up. “Ame is here?”

The woman, his wife tilted her head. The corner of her lips sagged in a frown and her brows furrowed. “Yes… in the garden, as I said. She won’t run off today, dear. Your daughter has been firmly caged with promises of sweets if she is good.”

“Of course,” he replied. That sounded right. “Yes, of course.”

“Are you feeling alright?”

“No,” Toshiro laughed, raising a hand to his head. Things still felt off, if somehow normal. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh” his wife frowned again. “I hope it is not summer sickness. Let me go brew you some medicine in the kitchen then. Come on, to the table.”

Toshiro stood, unsure if his legs would hold, and when they did, he was unsure the matting below would hold with them. But with each step, the room—the house—felt more real and familiar than it did the moment previous. He made his way past the door frame into a large parlor, which opened higher to wooden rafters and where the straw matting had been converted into wooden planks—sanded by time.
To one side the walls had been slid away, revealing the summer beyond, and to its opposite sat a cove from which the front door abutted. The room was warm, and open, and a single table of twisted oak sat at its heart. Toshiro limped his way over, stretching the muscles of his arms from sleep.

His wife walked past him and out of the open back, where she stepped off the veranda and made her way to a covered cooking square just beyond the yard. Toshiro waited, studying the hew of the table. He had known this table for years now—he knew that much. But as he ran his fingers over the smoothed crags in the face, it was as if he was touching it for the first time.

What is wrong with me? he questioned. This is my home. It’s been my home for years. Yet I feel so off—so foreign. I must be getting sick Yet he did not feel sick. Only as if he did not belong.

“Ah geez, pal, you sure are washed up.” a man said.

Toshiro was pulled from his thoughts, and sitting across from him at the table was—a fox.

Toshiro blinked hard, then blinked again.

“Yes, it’s me talking to you,” the fox said. “Listen, we don’t have a lot of time. You need to leave. Through that front door should do, so long as you have the right mindset.”

“Why should I leave!?” Toshiro protested instinctively. I really am getting sick. “This is my home.”

The fox sighed. “Is it? Surely even you feel the wrongness here.”

“Why should I listen to you—a plague demon, a vision, perhaps even a spirit. You, or my mind, could say anything.”

“Listen, bub, my master sent me to you because you asked and he delivered. I got to admit, I think you struck a chord with that prayer of yours. Most people want their fortune increased. It’s not everyday that comes up for sacrifice. In anycase, here I am, and out there you should go.”

Toshiro narrowed his eyes and ran his hand over the grain of the table. From beyond the opened doors of the veranda, he could see his wife under the roof of the kitchen, tending to a blaze beneath a pot. The fox paced around him.

“It’s not real, chief. This was all tailored for you.”

“So it’s… a dream?”

“Not quite. It’s more real than that, but it isn’t reality. This is a very dangerous place, Toshiro of Daikin, and my master beckons us to leave.”

“Dangerous? How?”

“I—don’t know myself, but if the big guy says it it is, well, it is. He’s been real uptight lately. Something big’s coming.” with a jerk, the fox hung its head low and glanced about. “Place gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

A talking fox? Toshiro thought, scratching his beard. I’m going to need that medicine quickly. Maybe I’m dying.

“How should going out my own front door let me ‘leave’, as you say?”

“Well, it's about intent, really. Any gateway will do, but you have to have it in your head to escape.”

Toshiro looked around. Nothing had changed. It all felt so mundane, but the uneasiness did not leave him, and now, a heat grew under his robes. Sickness sweats he thought. “Alright, I’ll try it.”

“Good choice.”

“I have no reason to believe you are even real. I think I’m in serious trouble, but, I suppose it couldn’t hurt to try—especially if that will dispel your illusion.”
Toshiro stood, and tried through all his mental fog to focus on an intent to escape. Even if the idea of escaping his own home seemed ludicrous as he considered it.

“I’ve got to warn you.” the fox said, brushing his leg. “This…isn’t gonna be easy.”

“What do you mean?”

“They will try to get you to stay. I don’t know how the hell you’ll withstand it, but my master believes in you, so I should as well.”

“Thanks for the confidence.”

“Well, you know, I try. Oh, and one more thing, if it should ever come up—tell them it was me, Kansone, who got you outta this mess.”

“Will do” Toshiro grumbled.

“Enduring fortune, bub.”

With that, the fox paced past and out the doorway he was only a short walk from crossing himself. He started and got close enough to reach a hand through when he was stopped. A hand graced his shoulder.

“Where are you going, love?” his wife asked as he turned.

“I’m…going outside, just for a second. For some fresh air.”

“You don’t need to do that. Come, sit back down. I have your medicine for you.”

“I will, just let me stand in the sun for only a moment. It’ll do me good, I think.”

The woman laughed. “No, no, no. It would be bad for your health, come sit, hurry.”

“Just for a second, please? Surely it won’t hurt me much. I just want the fresh air for a few breaths only. You can watch me from the doorway.”

Another laugh, but this time her face grew stern afterwards. “Toshiro, are you really going to give me such trouble?” she leaned upwards and kissed him on the cheek. “You’ve got to drink your medicine while it's still hot. Now, before it goes bad. Besides, Ame will be coming in at any moment and she’s very excited to see her father.”

His wife held out her hand. “I’ll help you over.”

Toshiro narrowed his eyes. So insistent. He turned to see if the fox had been waiting beyond the door, but saw nothing except the open air. A chill ran through him.
“Why do you not want me to go outside?” he asked bluntly. “What are you hiding?”

His wife’s expression dropped. A slight open to her mouth appeared in shock, and disappeared as quickly as it came. “Hiding? Oh, dear, love you are very sick indeed. Why would I hide anything from you? Outside? It’s only because it is very bad for you right now. You can go out after you finish your medicine, but you must drink it now. That’s all. Please, don’t make me cry, Toshiro. I’m so worried for you, love.”

Wordlessly, and with intent in his heart, Toshiro turned to step out the doorway.

His world spun, the house disappearing into a red sunset, where he now stood on a rock cliff surrounded by the breeze and junipers in summer coat.

“Don’t leave me, Toshiro.” the voice of his wife called. He turned, looking back, to see her standing there. The blue-black of her hair floated in the breeze, and she wore a thin dress of linen. Cat’s eyes watched him, and her young hands clung over her heart in desperation. “Please don’t go. I—I—I love you, Toshiro. I always have. Please, stay with me. You’re the only one I have, the only one I want.”

“I—” Toshiro paused. He wanted to go to her, he found. To embrace her. To love her. He knew this was what should happen, what would happen. He need only to do it. Yet, something pulled him in the opposite direction still. Something he had felt before. It was the tiniest flame beckoning him to—run. Yet he struggled to find it in the fog of his mind.
“I must go.”

“Don’t leave us, Toshiro. Please!” tears began to stream, yet he paid them no mind. Instead, seeking escape, he put another foot forward. Then another.

The red of sunset grew stronger and a voice in his thoughts came through. “You do not have to leave them. You can stay, and get everything you ever wanted.”

“Please, Toshiro, don’t leave us!” the woman cried.

But he could not be dissuaded.

Then he heard it.

“Daddy!”

He froze—though he could feel an inferno roar against his back. “Daddy!” the voice yelled in desperation. Ame.

What had been a red sunset had fanned itself into an intense conflagration, swallowing the world that had morphed itself back into the image of his home—ruined and kindled. Trapped beneath the fallen beams of a rafter, he could see the squirming shape of a girl he had known only for only a year—or was it his whole life?

Ame reached out with a hand and wailed in pain. “Daddy! Help me! Please!”

Toshiro bolted towards her. The flames had engulfed the wood and the heat even from the distance was enough to burn his skin. That pushed him further. How much pain was she in? Had her legs or back been broken? He did not know, but the primal instinct to save her overwhelmed him. His daughter. He ignored the great sting of the fire—the streaks of cinder kicked up by the burning house. He did not care what he had lost. Nor what damage he might do to himself. Only to save her.

“Daddy!” she cried, and then wails came. Great sobs of fear and sadness and Toshiro stopped. These cries, they were Ame’s at first, then a feeling stronger than the urge to save her overcame him. It was a cold chill, a call, a remembrance, and those same cries of despair coming from the trapped pykke morphed in his mind like a clear fire that could banish away the fog of his mind. It was like that same flame he had felt earlier, only louder, and suddenly he saw beyond the inferno of his dying home.

---

“Get the ball!” Echi yelled.

Toshiro watched his pig-faced neighbor point towards the bouncing deer-skin. “You lose if it touches Obuchi-ka’s house.”

Mina stopped and bent forward. The girl scowled—her already too narrow eyes shrinking into ratty lines. “That’s not the rules.” she scolded. “That’s not how you play.”

Echi snarled at her, unconvinced as he always was, and simply scratched at the matted knot atop his head. One of his fat fingers reached up and scratched dirt off his cheek. “Is now.”

“No—it isn’t.”

Toshiro watched them bicker. His new neighbors did that often, it seemed, and though there were ten children all together living on his street alone, it had always been Echi and Mina that did the bickering. Sometimes that led to fighting, but most of the time, Mina won because she was smarter than her plump counterpart. He was not sure what he thought about any of them.
They were not like his playmates in Inari.

These children were poor in a way country children were not and they were filthy, and bratty, and had no semblance of what the world was like beyond their hovel-lined street. Toshiro was not so sure he knew what the outside was like either. It had only been a winter since his father had moved them from the isles of his birth to the great city of Azichi deep into the mainland, but his memory at seven and a half winters old had already begun to fade. His gaze shifted upward to the looming fortress that could be seen from all parts of the city—its curved tiled roofs shimmering in the morning gray. Nearby a single smoke column twirled in the air from father’s forge.

“Toro’s got the ball” someone shouted, and Toshiro’s attention came back to the cluster of kids standing in the dirt of the road. They shifted to one side to resume their play and he followed. Positioning himself in his designated spot near the back, he waited for another to punt the chaff-stuffed skin up into the air where the two sides would battle for its height and position.

“Try not to lose it this time!” Mina yelled, but no one replied. Instead, the children dashed forward in a crazed mass when the ball went up. It flew upwards once—twice, dipped down into the mass again, and then flew once more. Floating across heads and kicks it bounced ever upward toward the knotted tree that marked the goal of Toshiro’s team. As the goal guardsman, he stood ready to ensure the point went to his side. The deerskin flew ever closer.

Yet he could see Echi coming from a mile away. As the ball floated forward, Toshiro rushed to snatch it before the larger boy could stop him. He felt the ball come down, bounce against his head with a thud, and then soar upward. Toro arrived to help him, but Echi barreled through and pushed the smaller kid to the ground. He’s going to take the ball. Toshiro’s mind cried. He’s going to knock me over and take the ball.

In desperation, Toshiro traced the descent of his target through the air, and in the moment Echi came for it—for him—he jumped and kicked with all his might. He knew that kick would not work, it had been too hard, too fast, but blind hope pushed it in the depths of his imagination to their goal before his enemy could steal it from him. Instead of their goal, the ball was flung into the street.

“The ball!” Toro yelled. “Someone’s coming!”

The deerskin flew, arched, and stopped halfway across its journey to the otherside. For where air should have been was instead the wood siding of a passing palanquin. The children froze. The ball landed squarely in the dirt, and instead of passing, the palanquin was pulled to a halt. On either side stood the porters, only interested in the commands to move or stop, and in the back walked a singular guardsman with a side blade attached to his hip. Yet there right in front sat their ball—motionless and cold in the dusted path.

No one said anything. Toshiro did not move to correct his mistake, instead, in the gray silence of the morning, it was Mina who darted out for their toy. He watched the squinty-faced girl approach the ball apprehensively, slowing as she neared the halted palanquin. The guard watched her like a hawk, but did not move as she drew closer. She reached the ball, bent down, and picked it up right as the shuttered window of the carriage drew open. Toshiro could see the man inside even with the shadow. His black minister’s hat bent forward, and an arm clad in Azichi blue leaned against the window seal. He was not a man Toshiro recognized—thin and sniveling and drawn in the face. But then again Toshiro was not sure he could recognize anyone who did not live on his street.

Mina cowared with the ball in hand. The man inside opened a fan and hid his skinny mouth, but Toshiro could tell he was talking while looking at the girl, though he could not hear the words. Mina did not move.

“It’s a street runt, lord.” The guard suddenly spoke up. Toshiro could hear his side of the conversation. “A ball, lord. Yes…Yes…There are more of them. Yes… quite insolent, yes. I understand.”

Toshiro and the other children watched, frozen, waiting for Mina to return with their ball. But the girl simply stood there, staring upward at the noble who looked down on her. The guard stepped forward, one hand reached down to his belt and gripped the hilt of his blade.

A voice called softly in the furthest reaches of Toshiro’s mind. A voice he could not understand Run.

The blade flew out, upward, and down toward the neck of the girl who grasped the deerskin ball.

Blood soaked the grit of the dirt path. First it was a stream of red, flowing, spreading, chasing the invisible canyons in the dust. Then it was a thick pool of black, drying and dying. Some cried, a few wailed, yet most simply stood quiet. Toshiro looked, eyes watery moons, mouth ajar. The most terrible feeling ripped at his stomach—the worst he would ever feel. He was too sick to wretch, too shocked to move. He was too young to understand. Too young to understand anything. He was even too young to sob, yet he was not too young to do so now—returning to that street in Azichi town. It was then, that first instance—that very moment—he had become Toshiro the Unlucky.

Light streamed into soaked eyes as Toshiro’s vision returned to him. He hung haphazardly on a white barked branch, facing downward in the blaze of summer morning. Birds chirped in the forest around him, and his eyesight revealed a long drop below to the ground. A single crystal jewel of a tear flew downward towards the forest floor and dazzled on its journey. It landed silently on a pad of golden leaves, where a long iron blade rested drawn in the dew.

---

Aka strummed the strings of her zither in rhythm and Master Rohi followed on his own lute. Together they played, as they had already been playing for an hour now, in the dim of his study. The sorceress had not been sure why she accepted the man’s invitation after their last argument, but she had done so anyway, and was now glad that she had.

The two played, the harmony of the end to The Last Emperor resonating among the wooden rafters. Aka plucked and the man followed, and she wished only in that moment that they had a fiddle player to accompany them, but she knew those did not exist outside of Jinju or the Harvest Plain. For a moment, she lost herself to the music—it was a sad piece, this one—one she did not play for her Yan patrons.

Somehow, tears managed to well in her heart for only a moment, missing the world of her childhood. The world of Wisdom’s people. A time seventy winters gone, a time six centuries past. When the music died, she composed herself, and spoke.

“Thank you.” she said. “I do not think I would have remembered how to play that one, if you had not reminded me, sir.”

“Don’t mention it.” Rohi laughed. “The gratitude is all mine in hearing such a wonderful player.”

Aka reached up and wiped a single moistened eyelid and laughed. “I must ask you, sir, how goes your sessions with his Radiance on matters of governance?”

Rohi paused, his smile fading. “If I am to be honest with you—not very well. His Radiance does not seem to be particularly inclined to agree with my suggestions.”

“Oh? In what way?”

“He does not see much need to worry or tend to the power imbalance between his court and that of his nobility. When I was first hired, I first set to work understanding the relationship between the aristocrats of this country and their monarch. My expectations were that the central court would have had some way to control and curb the power of the landed nobles—after all, it seemed to be that way during my last employment. Yet what I found was that almost all power invested into the court is through little more than ceremony, goodwill, and competition between the lords.”

“Yes, well, I suppose it was always that way to some degree. But you underestimate the power in that. The imperial line has remained, beyond inner dynastic disputes, unbroken since the founding of the country. I suspect it will remain so long after either of us have gone.”

“My concern is less in the safety of the imperial line as a concept, but in its manipulation. Has that not been a repeated theme throughout Yan history, madam? I have told his Radiance that the highest of his nobles are too strong individually. He agreed with my suggestion to use Ishii to curb Katsuya through marriage, but I suspect now that agreement was solely a matter of his friendship with the lord rather than the benefits to the realm’s stability. He listens little now, and agrees even less.”

“As I said—the state of things has been this way for many generations. Though I am not qualified to comment on it, truthfully. My school's philosophies on governance never did align with your own.”

“All the same, I am afraid his Radiance’s apathy will come to be regretted one day. I fear, with the way things seem now, that there will be much bloodshed on the horizon.” Rohi paused. “I hope I am wrong.”

Aka nodded understandingly and fingered a string of her zither—suddenly wishing she had not asked him. Bloodshed? Yes, the go are intense in their rivalries, but could things really change that drastically? She looked up at the other ailur. His eyes watched her and she could tell he wanted to say more.

“I must apologize again for the offenses I have committed against you in our discussions together.” Rohi continued.

“Don’t mention it.” she said. “I have forgiven them as quickly as they came, and my own outburst of anger are a fair trade for any damage you have done.”

Plucking at her cords, she played the beginning notes to Ailos, and suddenly a melancholy overcame her further.

“All the same, the fault is my own. The first instance was a mistake, but the second was folly. I simply am not so accustomed to the habits of this land, and it can be said that perhaps my ridicule takes the form of envy for one who has mastered the art of blending in among these invaders.”

Aka did not respond immediately. Instead she continued to pluck away further at the instrument in front of her. ting…ting..ting..drnggggg. “You were not entirely wrong, either.” she pushed a rebellious lock of chestnut hair back behind a pointed ear. “It has been so long since I was last among our people, I must appear so much like a stranger to them.”

“That is not for me to criticize.”

“No, but at times…I do wonder if I was wrong. Wrong to bend to them so easily.” her voice grew very soft and very small. “With each passing decade, I forget more and more that these lands were once our own. That these people are, as you say, invaders. That I was driven from my home as a child, threatened to be slaughtered by flame because I could control the magic that permeates our world. Driven by a man whose son and grandson I have spent my life serving. I forget that these hollyhocks grow in a field of dragon bones.”

Her voice had stilled to a whisper. “Perhaps I was wrong.”

“Madam—”

“Thank you, Master Rohi, for the playing and for the food. I think these are debts that I cannot repay you for.” Aka stood to leave, but Rohi jumped to his feet to intercept her.

“You know there are other places.” he said, and she paused. “It may be true that the Yan control Jinju Plain, and they will one day control the Harvest Plain too. But those are not all of Wisdom’s lands. Xian may be lost, but Wisdom’s empire was larger than just its eastern half.”

“So it was said.”

“So it is.” Rohi continued. “I have heard that in Momoyama, ailur from the far north come down to trade. Crude though they must be, and poor, I think they must live lifes infinitely freer from the yoke of human bondage.”

“Perhaps they do.”

“And to the west too. Ailur cities exist there, in the drylands, where the Eastern Empire set its fringes. Of course, beyond that, far to the west, where they say a great desert spans…”

“Is Wisdom’s Empire in the West.” Aka said. “Or, was. No Xianese ailur has contacted the western empire since the Breaking. Trust me, sir, I know my histories. I was read them before I could walk. The emperor in the east and the pharaoh in the west could communicate with each other—and with Ailos—instantly before the Deluge. But such magic died with Wisdom.”

“Ah, but I am not so sure any Xianese has ever tried, madam. The east may be lost alongside the eternal city, but there is still the western half of the jewel.”

“It has been six centuries,” Aka said bluntly. “I doubt the western empire remains either. Who is to say it was not also overrun by invading peoples. Afterall, they fought in the war just as we did.”

“But who says it was? We won’t know unless we find out for ourselves. That is our nature, to ask and to learn.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Rohi paused, placing his hands behind his back. He paced across his quarters. “I’m afraid that his Radiance has little use for my talents, and what you said earlier further confirms it. It appears to me that this court no longer, and never truly, needed my advice or insight. For this reason, I have decided to depart before summer’s end.”

“You’re leaving? So soon?”

Rohi nodded. “My time here has not been entirely unproductive. For one, it has opened my eyes to a fact I have denounced for much of my life—our homeland truly is lost. There is no stopping the invader, and before long, all Xianese will be under the rule of one foreign people or another. Because of this, I will be departing for somewhere far away. Outside Xian. Be that the north, or the west, or the further west. Somewhere Wisdom’s people are still free, even if they are uncultured.” he smiled. “I think you should come with me, madam. Join my small caravan of ailur and unchain yourself from this unhappy history. We could sorely use someone of your knowledge and talents.”

Aka did not allow any expression to cross her features except a cordial smile. She bowed to him. “Thank you for the offer, and again for what you have given me. I will consider your words.”

Rohi paused, his mouth opened to speak, but he made no sound and instead bowed back, allowing her to make her departure without further words.

[Aoyan]

Chapter 18

---

Lord Ishii roared with laughter in the shade of his tent.

“So we’ve broken through already, neh?”

“Yes, lord.” Pigeon reported. He was the senior among the retainers that lined the sides of the tent, and the most trusted, and for those reasons alone he was allowed to speak without being called upon. “Azichi men broke through just northward, at the Crystal Rapids, and Momoyama men broke west of the Takigehara. Narawa-go is following Lord Wisteria, and Joseki, Okiyurozu, and Sashibana are all three encamped to the east of us.”

“Good.” Lord Ishii shouted so that all his men could hear. “We will stay on the heels of Zoku-go and follow him through.”

The wind flapped the stone gray banners that formed the sides of the tent, beating them against the air in great wings that drummed to the sound of men and horses beyond. Yet even with the noise, Ishii could feel the sudden surprise and even dismay on the frozen faces of his men. “But…” he continued, “we will only follow him for a bit more. Then we will split off and go earn our glory elsewhere!”

As if some fire had set upon winter snow, he watched their countenance change from shock to relief. Do not worry, my warriors. he said to himself. I do not plan to be overshadowed by any lord. Not even my own ally. We will serve the emperor well and accomplish what we set out to do. All this will be done here, during my last campaign.

“In fact,” Ishii continued. “I think we will break off five or six li north of the rapids. What do you say, Kaze-ka?”

“I think that wise, lord,” Pigeon said. “But, nominally, it seems everyone wishes to convey agreement that we are following the Azichi camp through as had been discussed outside Nawarisano. Even if we are no longer together.”

“Yes, but I agreed only to follow Zoku-go into the hinterland as one. I did agree we would stay as one once there.” He can no longer trap me now that his Radiance has agreed to the marriage. That message came yesterday, and now Lord Cat, you have no tool from which to wrench my arm.

“I would agree, sire, but only because I think Zoku-go is unconcerned with maintaining his plan. It seems he does not want the attention of the other lords upon him. He is even claiming it was Lord Wisteria who got them all through.”

“Oh? That is unlike him.” What are you planning?

“It is uncharacteristic of a son of Zoku Morichika. I do not know any Azichi man who would pass off his own success to another. Yet I can not say what he is thinking, sire.”

“We will find out soon enough. For now, I am unconcerned. Is it true that Goroda men torched a village near the coast already?”

“Yes.”

Ishii grunted. “Shame that. Better to drive the barley-eaters off than waist men killing them.”

Watching his men, who all sat silently and cross-legged, Ishii proceeded with a custom he had always been known for.

“Well, we will put it up for a vote. Those who are in favor of splitting from the Azichi camp six li into the interior raise your hand.”

As he expected, all but two men signaled in support. The first was Kaze, who would go along with whatever he saw fit, and so never gave his vote when asked. The other was young Natsu, who watched silently and bright-eyed as he always had.

The youth was smiling—as he always did—and Ishii knew his lack of vote was not a matter of support or disagreement. Only that he looked up to Kaze a bit too strongly. For that Ishii could not blame him, but it was hard, even on a retainer so youthful and strong, to look past the white Vemayan cloak that adorned his iron armor. No matter. You are the one I wish to speak next.

“Then it is settled. We will split off. Now, you are all dismissed—except for Kaze and Natsu-ka.”

With that, his retainers and commanders stood and made their leave dutifully from his presence, leaving only the two to adorn his tent.

“Now that prying ears are gone, Natsu-ka, you do not agree with breaking off from Lord Zoku?”

“It is not a disagreement, sire. Only that it is righteous we follow our word.”

“And you do not believe me to be doing so by breaking off?”

The youth did not answer immediately, but tried to hide his glance at Kaze who gave him no expression. “Speak.” Ishii commanded.

“I do not.”

“Very well, you are entitled to that opinion, and I have allowed you to express it. Now I desire you to be equally honest on another topic. You two are the only warriors of my camp to have fought against what everyone is calling the ‘barley-eater machine’ and to have seen the animal men who wear bronze. I have heard your reports on the matter, but I wish to know more.

It is known now that Lord Zoku spoke with the foreigners who aided you in the battle, but that he did not allow anyone else to do so. Why do you think that is?”

Pigeon was naturally the first to reply. “I think it is simply a matter of information. Zoku-go likes to know things others don’t. It does not surprise me he kept these foreigners away from everyone else, but it is my opinion, lord, that they are unimportant in the long run. I have never seen their like before, nor do I think we will again.”

“So you do not think this is a matter worth fretting over?”

“No, sire. Not in comparison with the campaign, but young Natsu however—”

Has strong opinions. Yes, that is why I bid you to speak.

“Does not share the same view?” Ishii turned his attention to the youth, then bid him talk.

“I do not. It is my opinion, lord, that the campaign is minor in comparison to the events surrounding this strange battle.”

“Why?”

“It is known, of course, that I differ to Vemaya’s teachings and believe this campaign to be unnecessary. But as to not offend my lord, I will say little more on that point. However, my belief stems not from this position, but from what I saw during the fight.

In short—the opponents Kaze-ka and I faced were not ordinary men, nor the known races of these islands. They were men made of metal, and though my own bronze cut them down with speed, it did so at great strain and cost. That is to make no mention of the monstrosity that was eventually felled but did so much damage to our own ranks.”

“And why do you believe this is more important than our own campaign?”

“Because, lord, everyone is so apt to lay the blame on the barley-eaters, yet no veteran of our campaigns has claimed to have seen anything like this. I am new to Inari, but the barley-eaters I have witnessed did not seem to possess the knowledge to produce machines of this nature. What is more, neither are we. And men made of metal do not match any description of the peoples of this island. It stands to reason, in my view, that this anomaly requires greater investigation than it is being given even by Zoku-go. Especially since we were attacked directly, and none of that accounts that we were aided by foreigners in the fighting as well.

All of it is simply too bizarre to be inconsequential, and the folly in ignoring it must be compounded by the fact that such creatures of incredible might are seemingly opposed to us. Certainly, the answers to these questions must be more important than a single campaign.”

Ishii hummed in thought, adjusting himself on his bench-seat. The air on Inari was drier than that of his homeland, and so he found himself reaching constantly for the water gourd tucked with his baggage at the side of the tent.

“What do you think, Kaze-ka?”

“I do not agree, sire. Though Natsu is observant, and a fine retainer, this is his first time on Inari and I do not think that can be discounted in his opinion. I have discussed this with him before, and asked him not to bring it up with you. Nevertheless, while what he says is in general true, it is also true that we know nothing about the men we fought, nor fought with, and it appears that Lord Zoku knows a bit about one or the other, or both. Yet with this knowledge we can see he has not chosen to withdraw from the campaign, nor follow the beastmen into the wilds, nor do anything but what we were already set to do. The emperor has mandated this campaign, and he has mandated our success—it would be imprudent to focus on anything else. If the metalmen attack, we will fight them as we fight our enemies. If the beastmen attack, we will do the same to them.

If my lord’s goals are accurate in my mind—and I am sure they are—we can gain no advantage by pursuing the unknown, but only by participating in those things that will grant us recognition. The campaign.”

Ishii tapped his foot. “Yes. Yes, I agree. All the same, I think Natsu-ka has a quick mind, neh? Yet it also occurs to me that our warriors all expect to earn significant glory and progress on this campaign too. I do not think, as their lord, that I can rightly ignore their desires and go chasing ghosts when they have been promised this, Nor do I think we should break example when none of the other lords are pursuing these ideas either. Natsu-ka’s observations are valuable and noted, but I believe we will maintain our current course. Now, you two are dismissed. I must prepare for our further movement on the morrow.”

---

Toshiro made his way down the mountain in the morning sun. As he went, he had hoped the exercise would wear away the fog from his mind—but it did not. The world had long woken up around him, yet his thoughts still trailed back to the strangeness of his dreams. So real he said to himself. They had felt so real, more real than regular dreams felt, and even though he had relived that day in the street as a child more nights than he could count—he somehow was glad that nightmare had come to him. As if it was the one thing he knew to be real in a set of things only pretending so.

How had he fallen asleep? It was true he was getting older. Even now his joints and muscles ached at the sudden morning jog. The way his mind mulled over things, slower than it had been, was noticed too. But he had never fallen asleep before, not when he felt he was being attacked. I was being attacked, wasn’t I? Something had moved in the darkness, but he never saw what it was. The vampire? An animal? A person? He could not say. There had been no trace when he awoke. No tracks, or debris. Whatever it was—if it had been anything at all—left him and his blade unscathed.

I’m lucky to be alive. he realized. Perhaps I should thank the lunar gods for that—Ina, Tsuni, Yei, Gatsu. Or all the gods. Or my own god, Inoko-gotai. Then he could recall the fox. A talking fox at that, claiming to be sent from the god of fox and fortune. Yet that was just a dream. Or so he hoped.

He was still mulling over his thoughts when he reached the base of the mountain and came around to the entrance to the Goyokota-kyu. Yet, when he reached the gate, he was greeted by a party of men who turned in surprise at his arrival.

Chichiro, the abbot, was in the center of them, though Toshiro did not recognize the others. From the look on the abbots face, they were not men he wanted to know. There were four of them in total, each surrounding the abbot who was shorter than the rest. They wore the white cloaks of Vemayans, and all but one of them donned white cloaks over their faces. Toshiro could see the glint of iron scale underneath their robes, and the halberds in their hands already queued him in. Kyusen.

“Who are you?” the sole figure without armor asked. His tone was not friendly. Toshiro studied him before answering. He was a powerfully built man, for a monk, and a square beard of salt offset the shine of his bald scalp. His eyes were unfriendly too.

“This man is in my employ.” Chichiro said, his calm demeanor lost for the first time since Toshiro had met him. “He is here to deal with the monster. That is all.”

Toshiro stepped forward, but when he did so one of the warriors intercepted him, placing himself between the josen and the bearded monk. He grunted a warning.

“Please.” Chichiro begged. “You should go. I have nothing to offer you.”

“We will see.” the monk said snidely. “It’s in everyone’s best interests. Especially with your monster problem. My offer is fair. You should take it before I change my mind and an unfair offer comes around.”

“I’ve told you before. This temple is mine, and will remain mine, and the monster will be dealt with.”

The monk laughed. “Very well. I’ll remember that '' his eyes wandered over to Toshiro and he laughed again. “Good luck, Chichiro-ka, with that monster problem of yours.”

The men began to depart, but as they passed, Toshiro narrowly avoided a collision as one of the warriors leaned into him. There was a moment of surprise, and then a grunt of disapproval as he resumed passing. Still light on your feet Toshiro said to himself.

“So who were they?” he asked when they had disappeared down the road.

“Well the bearded one is Ryuyomi, abbot of Teruchi-kyu.”

“Another temple?”

“It’s the one just down the road. The one…most of our faithful went to. It’s larger than us by far, you see, and now he wants what’s left of us.”

“How does he plan to do that?”

“He wants to buy my temple. Says he will give me 500 silver for it.”

“That..” Toshiro gulped. “Is a very good offer, I think. You should take it.”

Chichiro glared at him.

“Yes, yes, you’ve been here all your life. You told me that already.”

“Precisely,” Chichiro said unamused. “Which is why I’m not selling. But he is using the threat of my monster problem as leverage against me. So please, if you will, tell me you were successful? You live, after all.”

Toshiro shook his head. “It didn’t appear to me.”

Chichiro gasped. “Didn’t appear to you? What do you mean? You couldn’t find it?”

“I couldn’t find it.”

“Then all is lost.”

“Not quite.” Toshiro said, stepping past the abbott and into the gateway of the temple. “I’m not done yet, abbot-ka, do not worry. I have another trick up my sleeve, but I’ll need a bit of help.”

“Yes, anything.”

Toshiro gritted his teeth. “No, there's nothing you can do. But I’ll need to bring someone with me.”

---

“I knew you’d come back for me, Toshi!” Ame said, walking beside him up the mountain road.

“Yep.” Toshiro grunted.

“What were you thinking, leaving me there?”

“Yep.”

“I bet you weren’t thinking at all, Toshi. Not one bit. You need me for jobs like this. What was the point anyways?”

“Ame—”

“I’m getting better at being a fox. Better at doing jobs, you didn’t need to leave me for this.”

“Ame—”
“I didn’t even like being there, with those kids. I’d much rather be out here with you. Now if only we’d go west.”

“Ame!”

The girl jumped.

Toshiro inhaled deeply, then composed himself before resuming their walk. “I need you to focus,” he said. “This is a very dangerous job. And you need to learn to be around other people.”

“Okay…”

Somehow, her tremble angered him even more. “Honestly,” he began. “It’s time for you to grow up. You can’t wander the woods forever. You will need to be around others—others your age.”

Ame did not respond. Instead the girl walked in silence alongside him. Not looking up, or around, only ahead. I should tell her. he thought. Get this sad story over with. ‘I’m leaving you here, Ame, because I am not your father. I wish you luck, I really do, but I’m leaving you here forever.

The idea made him sick, even if it was probably the right one, and he could not bring himself to do it in the setting sunlight. No. Best not to distract her. This will be a very dangerous job indeed. I don’t want her even with me, but it’s the only thing I can think of.

The two walked in stillness for a long time. Toshiro tried to take his running mind off the events before, off the ghosts that haunted him, but the breeze and the evening crickets could not do so. He regretted snapping at her. It’d only serve to distract her as well, and her pouting went on for longer than he could have wished.

As they neared the summit of the mountain, neared the spot where he had hid the night before, memories collected back on him and he could not stop himself from looking down at the girl beside him.

“Ame,” he whispered, almost hoping she would not hear. “Can I ask you a question? A question I need you to be honest with me on.”

“Okay.”

“Did—Did your mother look like you?”

Toshiro waited with held breath, almost wishing he could take the question back as soon as he had asked it. He did not expect the girl—who was usually far too secretive about her life before the past year—to actually answer. Ame looked at him, expressionless and impossible to read. Then, she answered.

“No.”

Air flew from Toshiro’s lungs like a cry and he breathed again. Instantly, his mind felt stilled, like water during the last dying ripples. A sadness hung there, one he could not name, yet with it came equal parts relief and for the first time that day as he stood there in the dying sun, looking down at this cat-eyed girl—he knew what was real and what wasn’t.

---

“Are you not excited, Mei-ka, for the eclipse?” Lady Korage asked, grasping Akira’s arm by wrapping her own around it. “I hear his Radiance, the emperor, has much planned in celebration.”

“Yes.” Akira replied. “My father seems quite taken with the idea of many festivities.” He smiled at her, but she had already been smiling at him throughout their stroll—teeth freshly blackened and lustrous.

Akira did not know exactly how to feel. On one hand, he knew this woman’s interest was as political as any could be, and yet she was the most attractive of the court ladies from both a physical and sensibility standpoint. A fact she knows, to be sure.

Their walk had taken them around the palace, through all the sidestreets and walkways that lined the central court, and though their entourage had consisted of a few retainers and friends, Korage had not been subtle in her attentions. The lock of her arm, and the way she swooned so close to him had already been close to scandalous, but Akira knew it to be the actions of a woman growing impatient.

She would be the most willing of flowers to tap into. he thought. I could certainly sway her tonight, if I wanted. But then his thoughts crossed over, if only for a moment, the lifeless body of a woman who had been taken in his very arms. And then doubly of his brother, far away, amongst the chaos of war—and all interest left him.

What am I doing here? he thought. I have no interest in this woman. Not anymore.

Such an admission felt like a betrayal even to himself, and he had expected to hear the voice of Adachi chastising him for undue meagerness. Or that of Goroda Reinin telling him to drink even when he did not thirst, and to pillow even if he was tired. Yet disinterest was what he felt, and though his compatriots had not spoken to him since his snapping a few nights back, he was for once glad they were not here to nudge him on. If only Ie were beside me now. he sighed. I think he would know what this all meant.

“What is wrong, Mei-ka?” Korage asked sweetly. Her voice shocked him back to their stroll—unpleasantly.

“Oh nothing.” he lied. “Only that I am thinking about what my father plans to do for the eclipse.”

“Oh, yes. I for one hope there will be a play. Perhaps afterwards, there will be lantern lighting, and we can sit in a boat out on the water, just above the koi. Can you imagine, Mei-ka, that boat in the dark?”

She flashed him a smile, this time in such a way that the red of her lips drew slyly and her brush-splotch eyebrows came downwards with the narrowing of her eyes. No, I cannot he admitted only to himself. “Yes, I do believe there will be a play. And lantern lighting. It is not very often we know of a summer eclipse, and my father will want to make this a particularly eventful time. He is feeling very invigorated by his returning health.”

“Oh. Yes, so sorry, I am very glad that his Radiance is feeling better.`` She could not hide the frustration at his response, no matter her training as a lady of the court.

It is not you, Korage-ka. It is not you, but me. He had to admit, her attempts were not particularly unfounded. She was a fine woman, and had committed no offense to him beyond her eagerness. That he could not blame her for either. But as he dwelled on that his thoughts fluttered to the talk with his father—to a girl he did not remember. The girl who had turned into a woman that he was to scan for marriage. A girl who was but the daughter of his father’s childhood friend and courtier. What was her name again? he asked, struggling. Ishii something. How could I have forgotten? I do wonder when she will arrive. I wonder…if she is someone who I could sit in such a boat with?

He had become lost in his mind again when his entourage turned a corner near one of the palace canals. Though Korage was attached to him, he led the precision with each step, and in the summer mug he did not expect the jolt of a body slamming into him.

“Mei-ka!” Korage yelled, but it was too late. He swerved on the back of his clog and hardly caught his balance. His first fear was going over into the water, but after a panicked rush he found himself standing upright again.

“Excuse me, sir.” a voice called down from below. Akira looked down in surprise at the figure of a woman kneeling on her haunches in apology. “I’m not familiar with the twists and turns of the palace yet.” she said, but did not look up at him.

Before he could respond, he was surrounded by his courtiers and Korage was clinging to him like ever. “Sir’?” she said. “You’re speaking to the crown prince, madam!”

But where Akira had expected a more formal and heartfelt apology to come, only silence followed. The woman kneeling before him looked up—revealing broad brown eyes set into a square face. Somehow, he felt a disgust in those eyes, but could not place it. Yet his gaze did not stay on them for long, for it shifted to the flat knot of pale gold tied to the top of her head. Dawn-kissed.

“No, the fault is entirely mine.” Akira said, snapping back. “I was lost in thought when I rounded that corner.”

“Even so,” Korage cut in. “What if you had fallen in the canal? This incident was entirely calamitous and inappropriate. Yes. Very poor manners, and to not address the prince properly.”

Yet Akira ignored the barking woman at his side. Instead he could not help but gaze down at the woman still kneeling to his front. She did not speak, clearly unphased by the onslaught of admonitions either. What she did do—was glare up at him. Her large eyes watched, unwavering, and somehow, Akira could feel they burned even more fiercely with hostility with each passing moment.

“Let me help you, madam.” he said, bending over. It was only then that he noticed the scattering of paper and brushes sent flying to the pavement stones. Spilled ink ruined the canal lining and had even scattered on the woman’s dress.

“I do not need your help.” she growled, moving for the first time. “Mei-ka.”

Akira retracted his hand reflexively. Who is this woman he thought, and his hands went back to their resting position in his sleeves. She’s wearing no real makeup. he noted. How incredibly odd. Even her robes, ruined as they may be, are on the plainer side. Yet she smells like the water.

“Well, then you will at least accept my apology, I hope.” he laughed, hoping to disarm the edge. Yet she was unaffected. “So sorry, but I do not believe I caught your n—”

The canal next to them exploded in great bursts of water and sound that sent everyone jumping in a mass of fright. Akira was pushed up by the scream of Lady Korage and he himself recoiled from the blasts which sent glittering sprays of crystal water into the summer air. He watched one man fall backwards, lucky to not hit his head, and another scramble away. Korage let go of his arm for the first time, and she twirled in freefall directly towards the edge. He did not have time to save her, yet he reached out anyways.

But the girl did not plummet into the water below. Instead, another hand held her by the back of her jacket with a touch so light it almost seemed ghostly. The figure, having appeared out of unseen places, pirouetted on a tall clog tooth and smiled.

“Worry not!” she cried. “I, Aka the Brave, will save you!” and then on the precipice she tossed a hand back towards the water and another torrent burst up in rainfall. Aka roared with laughter at the subsequent curses that flew her way. Prince Mei dusted himself off and relaxed the tense muscles that now ached at his shoulders.Another trick of hers he said, and then allowed himself to smile.

“Ok, Mei-na” Aka said bashfully. “I did not see you there. Your stroll happened to cross right into my fishing spot. Do you like my new technique?”

“I must say, Aka-na, that I doubt you have caught many fish with such.”

“Oh.” Aka said, then with a flip of her wrist she brought up another resounding blast, causing the others to back away from the walkway. “No, I must say you are right.” her attention shifted over to the blonde haired girl watching with a frown stuck to her face. “But it does look like I have caught a tadpole.”

The sorceress composed herself and when the mischievous grin had been replaced with a confident smirk, she made her way dignified to the girl glaring back at her. “Oh, Ishii Kioko-ka, please do not look at me like the stone of your name.”

The woman blinked, but did not respond. Akira’s heart stopped its beat. Ishii Kioko? his mind froze. This woman is my prospective bride. Suddenly, he felt what he knew Ie must have felt often but was so rare for him—a sense of unprepared embarrassment.

“Surely you remember me, Kioko-ka?” Aka said. “I am not so forgettable as most of the women here. Even if it has been so many winters since you last graced this court.”

“I remember.” Kioko croaked. “You are not so forgettable by half, witch.”

“Yes, of course not. I am as unforgettable as I am beautiful, girl, and I am a lot of both. Now, allow me to be the first to formally welcome you to the capital, and to the palace, and to this very meeting. It seems you are already becoming acquainted with others here.” Aka scanned them with hawk-like eyes before returning her attention to the ink-stained woman before her. “You have my sympathies, truly, and I hope with time this court of Hollyhocks grows warm to you again.”

“Yes, well, if you will excuse me—”

“I will.” Aka said. “But first, I believe Mei-na would be delighted to see to all your ruined painting supplies and clothing. Yes, I think he would very much like to replace them for you.”

“Of course.” Akira chipped in, ignoring the indignation of Lady Korage behind him. “I would be honored to see to those.”

The woman did not reply, instead, she carefully avoided looking in his direction, nodded, and then bowed before trotting away—the frown of her face was visible even in her hiding.

Akira himself could not help but frown. Is she always angry? he thought. I hope not. Yet, at the very least, he could admit he was interested in finding out. Even if he had studied her for only a moment..

---

Aka found her eyes adjusting to the dim of the room. Suddenly she felt lost, as if she was so absent during her walk through the halls of the palace that she forgot where she was going and where she was.

I’m near my quarters, aren’t I? No, that wasn’t right. These are my quarters. a thought filled the empty space in her mind, and though it did not seem correct either, she struggled to remember anything at all.

May as well turn around. But when she flipped she could see the room more clearly. It was a warm place, where dark red planks of wood formed the floor and walls. A delicately carved banister ran the length of the walls, and to one side a round bay window sheltered from the incoming sun by a curtain. What she knew to be her bed was no longer on the floor, as the briefest of recollections called it, but stood up on a frame fashioned to look like a tiger. Her writing desk, fit with chair and hearth, took up the other edge of the room, where all manner of utensils and vials sat—some still packed away in baggage she just remembered having.

I’ll have to pack the rest she moaned. When I leave.

Leave? these thoughts were not her own, but she could not work past them and somehow she felt inclined to accept what they were saying to her. Irritated, she stepped forward towards the doorway, passing a large rectangular mirror positioned just nearby. Aka froze and gasped at the woman looking back at her.

She was in all ways a stranger—though she knew the figure to be herself. Reaching up, she gently touched the side of her cheek to see if it was real and she found that it was. Her hair, normally long and straight and unbound had been woven into a long braid, stemming from a bunching on the back of her head where two golden pins shaped like two butterflies flew in ruby and emerald. Yet that was far from the most drastic and alien portion of her appearance. Where she could recall, faintly, applying the black ink of her eyebrows daily, now they sat natural and chestnut as the hair on her head—long and thin and finely plucked in beauty.

Gone were her baggy ministers clothes, her hat, her dangling charms of wood, and jasper, and silver. Now a dress of smooth silk replaced them, deep in verdant jade and chased by woven clouds of gold, where a long twisting dragon came up and around the contours of her body. The dress clung tightly, showing curves no one knew to be there. Wooden clogs no longer propped her up—she did not need the extra height. Now, soft felt slippers which pressed tightly on her bare feet worked in their place.

She looked—and felt—four decades younger than she could recall last. As if she had just come out of adolescence. Her eyes hurt from the glittering jewels and threads and adornments that complimented her blemishless skin, and all the while, she at once felt fine letting the points of her open and visible ears show to the world.

What is happening she laughed. This isn’t real. It can’t be real, I must be in a dream.

Yet things felt real—all of it—and she could not so easily dispel the illusion. Might as well continue on.

When she had finished gawking at her own appearance, she found the door to open as a single sliding piece of wood where opaque paper had been her norm forever. The outside of her room equally stunned her.

High ceilings reached up towards the heavens in polished wood, where pillars of height and power held them aloft. The hall was four times larger than what she was used to, wide, and lined on each side by windows which streamed in the light of sunset. Instantly, she knew she was not in Kawanakami anymore, though some of her mind promised this to be normal. If the structure itself did not do it—the people certainly would.

They were all…ailur! Tall, lithe, dignified, and pointed eared, each man and woman was dressed as she was—if less brilliantly. Their eyes came upon her respectfully as she came into the hall—like those simply noting her dress and looks. A few bowed, hands clasped to their front, in greeting. When they spoke, it was in the old tongue too.

As Aka made her way down the hall, one of the men halfway down joined her. He was dressed plainly in comparison—like Rohi had—and he wasted no time in speaking.

“Ah, Mistress Boyang, may I be the thousandth to welcome you. The emperor is ready for your audience now, if you will follow me.”

Mistress Boyang?! she gawked at such a name and title. But then again, this is a dream, I suppose.

“Where am I?” she found herself asking.

“The eastern wing of the palace” the man replied—he must have been some kind of servant, for he did not face her when he spoke. “But we are very close to the audience chamber. It is just a short walk past those doors.”

As they walked, Aka found the slippers uncomfortable and strange—she was not used to her feet so brazenly touching the ground, especially in public. It was then that she missed her clogs, even if they would not match anything else in this world.

To her fortune, the walk was blessedly short just as she was promised, and the pair only came through two additional halls before they found themselves in an open room, larger in height and size than even those she had come through. The ceiling here spanned what must have been fifteen or sixteen ailur in height and on one side she could see directly out into the world beyond.

This isn’t Kawanakami she affirmed breathlessly. Wherever it was, it was a city unlike any she had seen before. Her eyes scanned and they met only infinite rooftops, packed so tightly she could not see the ground. The horizon yielded no end, and even from the distance, where she could tell they were far above them, she knew they were not Yan houses.

“Mistress.” the servant politely pulled her back. “The audience hall is this way.”

And then they turned to face the massive gates sitting before them. Suddenly, Aka felt herself become nervous—just as she was the first time she faced an emperor—young, inexperienced, and entirely unprepared. Yet, it dawned on her only in that moment, that whoever waited beyond was not to be Emperor Ryu of Aoyan, or Emperor Yanagi, but someone of an entirely different caliber.

It took the servant pounding a gong near the side of the gateway, the instrument dwarfed by the size of the doors they served and upon its ring the gates, larger than any possible for a man to move opened as easily as the door to a toy box. Opened—by magic.

Whatever spell was used, Aka had no time to ponder it. Instead her senses were instantly overwhelmed in the most glorious sight she had ever seen.

The audience hall was more like a world within itself. It must have been forty times the size of the hall for the Hollyhock Court and forty-thousand times richer. A hundred people must have mingled about inside, and yet the space dwarfed all of them. To one side, though there were dozens of musicians, came the quiet playing of zithers, and fiddles, and lutes—all sound of which was dampened by the enormity of the air around them. No music, nor voices, nor shouting could escape this place, she realized, and all speech nearby was reduced to whispers. Yet whatever her eyes took in from the space, they were immediately forced onto the back wall by what must have been the grandest display in the entirety of Kirinna.

There, cast in gold thicker than three men laid aside, swirled the fluid winding form of a dragon which stretched for what seemed like a li from corner to corner. She knew it was to represent the dragon, their creator, Wisdom. And where the snake’s body wound upward towards the sky, the head came up, bent outward, and positioned itself over a throne set upon a hundred stairs where the seated could look out over all. There, with some effort, she could spot the blackened dot of a seated figure—so dominated by the fiery figure behind it that it was nearly missed despite its position in the center. Above the throne, and above the person, was a sparkling crystal ball—smoothed and dancing in a thousand rainbow colors—that was gripped in the mouth of the great serpent. Aka recognized it immediately.

The jewel of Wisdom her mind recalled. Gifted directly from Ailos. Meant to protect the emperor below it—and if he should rule without wisdom… she shuddered. The ball was large enough to crush the entirety of the throne below it if it should fall.

I’m… in the presence of THE emperor. Not of Aoyan—but of Xian. How had it not dawned on her before? This dream of hers, it took place in the past.

Before she could think much more, a voice boomed and echoed through the hall, brought on by what must have been some spell or another.

“Boyang Su-Yin of Zinzhu Province, Master of the School of Heaven and Earth, to grace the Emperor!”

Then a flurry of a thousand gongs and a thousand trumpets, all conjured somehow, heralded her name and the hundred denizens of the hall turned to watch her. Aka felt like she might collapse. It’s only a dream she reminded herself. Fix your composure.

A dream that feels so much like reality.

One step forward brought another, and then another, and before long she was scuttling towards the flame-bright wall past clusters of men and women, all watching as she passed. The servant from before led her and as they approached, she could feel just how tall the throne really was. Even as they stood below, it was difficult to see the figure seated upon high, but Aka could still make out his features.

The emperor did not look like the ones she was familiar with. He was aged, at least a century and a half old, though his hair was still brown. His skin was tanned and golden, unlike that of any human she knew, and his eyebrows so thick as to stick beyond his sunken temples. Much of his face was hidden by a curtain of beads that came down from the steeple of his crown, and the silk of his robes flowed down the steps like water and ink. His beard, one of the most striking features, grew down far past his legs in a banner that reached the fourth step below him. He leaned forward and spoke.

A voice as booming and ethereal as the one who announced her came out, again powered by what must have been magic, to allow all to hear a man otherwise so distant as to be inaudible.

“It has been a very long time since an accomplished student of your school has graced my halls, Mistress Boyang.”

“I—” Aka found that when she spoke, so too did her voice boom loud enough for all to hear. It nearly tripped her up. “I would not say I am so accomplished to be recognized by you, my emperor.”

Even through the waterfall of beads and distance, Aka could see the emperor smile.

“I think what talents and knowledge you may have will aid us greatly in the coming times all the same.” he said. “Tell me, Master Boyang, do you know exactly why I summoned you to the capital?”

“No, my emperor.”

The man paused, then with a click of his tongue he continued. “We have not heard from the Eternal City in half a year. Nor have I been in contact with the Western Empire. No spell or science seems to grant me the ability of it, and the physical messengers I sent have not returned. It is unlike either to go silent, and all signs are worrying. Dark clouds gather over the garden, Mistress. Every student of every school deems it fit to write ten-thousand suggestions on how to avoid calamity, or how to explain recent events, but none of them seem explanatory enough a solution. For this reason, I believe we need someone from your school.”

“I—don’t believe I follow, my emperor.”

“My own geomancers have produced nothing. My alchemists are of no use. My astronomers and cosmologists discover nothing. No one can read numbers, or words, or the water, or the air. No experiments produce results, nor philosophers provide answers. Our god is silent, as are other gods. I am worried, Mistress Boyang, I must admit. Nothing like this has happened before.”

Aka’s heart sank. She knew what era her mind had conjured up for this strange dream. It’s the Breaking. The war is about to begin.

“I will attempt to serve you as best I can, my emperor.”

The man smiled again. “I know you will. If you will excuse the brevity of our first meeting, I understand you have only just now arrived at the capital, and I will keep you no longer from rest and respite. You and I will speak on this again, say, tomorrow, in a more private capacity. For now, please help yourself to my palace and welcome to the capital, Master Boyang.”

“Thank you, my emperor.”

With that Aka turned, knowing when it was inappropriate to linger any longer and made her way back out down the path she came. As she walked, a melancholy overtook her. So this is the beginning of the end. she thought. or what my mind thinks it must have been like. What a strange dream.

Passing the great gates which shut behind her, she began to wonder when it would be that she woke up. A voice called out to her.

“Mistress Boyang” it said, and she turned to see two men approaching.

These were unlike the courtiers and scholars that flooded the place like pebbles on a riverbank. Instead, these men glowed by the polished bronze armor that bedecked their figures. Instantly she knew they were warriors, undoubtedly of extreme rank by the intricacies and bejewelment of their attire, and both of the men were strongly built. The first led the second, and she could see the difference in their themes at a glance. The first of the two was adorned in dragons—serpent scales of golden bronze forming blankets along his breastplate. His helmet, thickly plumed, also bore the visage of the same creature, and all his silks were reds and violets. The man beneath the armor was by no means less magnificent—handsome, strong, and bearded—even his height was greater than that of Aka’s by a head.

The second man was of a lesser brilliance, though greater than most men she had seen. His armor was rippled with bamboo and forest streams, but the animal that frolicked there was no less dangerous. Tigers Aka noted. His helmet too, like that of his partner, was shaped as a tiger’s maw. His trimmings and undershirts were of greens and jades and teals, and even though his face too was exceedingly handsome, none of it did much to conceal the scowl at which he so strongly held towards Aka. She did not pay it much mind.

“Mistress Boyang,” the dragon-clad warrior called again. “If you will, just a moment of your time.”

“Yes?” Aka replied, turning fully to face them.

“Sorry to disturb you, but my name is Cao Peiyuanqan—of Wisdom’s Eastern Army. The ‘Dragon General’, in fact.”
somehow, Aka understood the significance of the position. “And my associate…” he said, motioning. “Is Boyang Qer. You…share a name, it seems.”

“That we do.”

“In any case, I was wondering if we might have a word with you in private?”

“Oh!” she could feel heat rising to the surface of her face. Am I…blushing? she thought. It had been a very long time since she last did that. How can I be blushing in a dream? “Certainly, where did you have in mind, general?”

“Just the balcony should do.” he pointed to the open side Aka gazed out of earlier. She followed the two men out into the evening air, where the breeze was cool and pleasant. The sunset burned orange and pink and red in the sky, casting long shadows over the neverending city before her. She could not help but look and smile. So vast.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Cao asked.

“Hmm? Oh, yes, very.”

“A city filled with millions of people, and hundreds of thousands of scholars, students, and men of wisdom. Yet it compares like a pebble to gemstone when viewed next to Ailos.”

“I’m sure.” she said. If this was even what it was like. I wonder—if it was this calm on the eve of the end. Aka sighed. A sadness had come to overtake her again, this one stronger than any she had felt, and she wondered if tears might not gather at the corner of her eyes. It’s only what you think it may have been like, Su she chastised herself. Yet, she was looking into a world devoid of any but her own people. At a time, if fabricated, when her ancestors lived and thrived. Even if the brilliance of the setting sun beyond burned with a malice none of them could envision.

“So what was it you wished to discuss with me?”

“Well…” Cao paused. “To be honest it is quite embarrassing. You see, you will be speaking with the emperor in person very soon and…well, we were wondering if you could mention to him the state of the army—emphasizing its role in solving whatever it is he needs solved.”

“The army? Why would I need to do that?”

“Well…you see, even though I am the highest ranking commander in all the east, I do not get to speak with the emperor very often at all. In fact, I never have. But the state of our military desperately needs attention. Troop morale is low, supplies are faulty or late, pay is delayed. It has become increasingly difficult to fend off even minor barbarian strikes on the borderlands and yet everyone expects us to be ready to face…whatever it is that they feel is coming.”

“If it is so dire, just petition for it.”

“I have, yet, the reason I even have to plead with you is the same that I cannot make any progress—court politics. The capital is a den of serpents and rats, and they eat each other all the time, as much as it shames me to admit it. I’d like to clean it out one day, and restore wisdom here, but for now, I have to rely on strangers to get even the most basic of needs met.”

“I will…see what I can do, general.” Aka said.

“Thank you. Sincerely. Perhaps… we can discuss it a bit further, say, over a meal? I’d love to have you for dinner tomorrow, if that is agreeable.”

Aka smiled. “It is.” Why am I even agreeing? Why even talk? Why do I not just fly away over this mirage? It is my dream after all. Yet, when she willed her legs to fly, she found them firmly bound to the ground.

“Excellent. Then I will not keep you. Until we meet again, Mistress Boyang.” The general bowed, and Aka followed, only to turn and gaze out across the city once more.

So beautiful. she thought. The Empire of the East….when will I awaken from this slumber?

“You won’t.” a voice replied. Aka jumped, only to turn and see the tiger-clad man remained behind her. His scowl was stronger than ever.

“Can I help you, sir?’ she asked.

“Listen to me, granddaughter. This is not a dream.”

Aka stepped back. He can read my thoughts. “No? And how would you know?”

“Because neither of us are supposed to be here, least of all you.” he continued. “What you are seeing now, is the past. You are witnessing a day before your time, though tailored in a way to account for you.”

“So you are saying all of this is real.”

“It was, more or less.”

“Then how can you know that and speak to me so, and how am I here?”

“I am a remnant,” he said. “I was here, but now—only a piece of my soul remains. That is what is speaking to you now. One bitter, enduring piece. As for why you are here—I don’t know fully. Only that someone wants to keep you here very badly.”

Keep me here? “So you are suggesting that I can stay in this vision indefinitely.”

The man nodded.

“And how am I supposed to leave?” She could feel the seeds of panic begin to sprout within her.

“You only need the will and intent,” he said. “Your magic is strong. I believe this was supposed to feel more natural to you than it has. You were never supposed to view it as a dream, or as anything but reality. Whoever sent you here is doing a sloppy job.”

“Alright, then I wish to leave.”

“Then do so. Desire it, believe it, and walk away.”

Aka did as she was told, but before she made her first committed steps—hopeful that she could escape—it shamed her to look back one last time over the city of a bygone era. Oh my country. she thought. If only fate had gone differently for us all.

For just a moment, just a fleeting moment, she wondered what harm it would do to remain. To live out what days she had left, regardless of what it all meant, in this lone pool of memory. But then she recalled faces, nearly all of them marked with the smooth-ears and child-like years of a foreign peoples and she knew she could not—no matter what.

As she walked the world faded around her.

Aka found her eyes adjusting to the dark of the room. She was back—in her real quarters—in her real bedding upon the floor. Everything had been as she left it when she retired that night, except for one singular feature she knew to have been changed: her window creaked open upon its hinges in the shadow.

[Aoyan]

Chapter 19

---

Buniqkunipe had never known a home beyond Kaiyomoko village. She had never known a house beyond the palace. She had never known a room beyond the same she was born, nursed, and raised in. She had never known a place as intimately as she had Kaiyomoko. Every house, every garden, every nook, and alley, and secret she had been privy to. Every face she could recognize, and every name she could recall. Any who would call her princess deserved that much.

Now she could not say where her home was. Was it here, in Pekun Tree village—the last settlement of her tribe? Or was it on elkback, or sleigh, or footfall—forever running? Perhaps it lay with another tribe, a different peoples, or somewhere she could never imagine. The uncertainty did not comfort her. Nor did the disquiet of the people nearby.

Buni shielded herself from the rain and watched the somber sight of Pekun around her. The village, like all pewa tree villages, sat high above the earth—built of walkways and bridges and floating houses. One never had to touch the ground in places like this, and tree villages were always built where the forest was thickest and where the trees were oldest.

Today all of Pekun’s charm had melted with the rain. The lanterns, whose light she could recall to be so warm, hung not in the windows of the trunk-hugging roundhouses. There was no laughter, no strolling about. The smoke and soot that drowned the air was only driven back by the rains, but Buni knew summer rains were short and sweet—and it would not be very long before the sun came and burned it all away.

It won’t be very long before the Children of the Dawn come and burn the rest away too.

She wanted to cry, she had to admit. Desperate to cry even, but no tears could come. Where sadness was comforting because it could be dispelled, she found only uncaring shock to dwell. Princess Buni found she could feel little, but the shaking of her own limbs, and where she thought longing may sit, was enthroned fear. I was right. her mind whimpered. I was right. and how dearly she wished she had been wrong.

Mother did not fare better.
Of all the new emotions and lights in which Buni had seen her mother the past month, this had to be the rarest—and most sickening. Queen Aga of the Owls huddled beneath blankets just beside the door of the chieftains hut, only around the banister from where Buni sat. The woman was small, and frail, and old. I’ve never seen her look so old. The honey of her fur was bleached gray by the overcast, and dark shadows like the rings of a black-masked dog hung underneath her eyes. But it was what was inside those that frightened Buni the most. She’s given up.
She thought. She has no more fight left.

Where Buni could remember warmth, and strength, and love, sat only a bleak distant stare. They did not seem to mind the group of people talking around her. Neither did Buni, yet it was becoming impossible, as she sat beneath her deck-shield, to ignore the talk going on nearby.

“We cannot counterattack.” Hennauke was saying to the others.

The captain of her mother’s guard was not wearing his mask, revealing the matured yet scared face underneath. It was not a look she was used to. “There are too many of them amassed. “He continued. “It would take more than just our tribe to halt their advance. I can’t even raid their supply lines with the warriors I have.”

“Then how are we going to stop them?” Yunnoq, chief of Pekun, asked from his spot in the doorway of his home. “We’ve already lost Owl village, we cannot afford to lose mine. I’m not sure we will even have enough homes for all of you.”

“Perhaps they did not reach Kaiyomoko.” Yanpiq suggested. Somehow the elderly shaman had been one of the first to escape in the flight. “I’m not sure I even believe the Children of the Dawn burned Kamiki Trout village. Perhaps Hennauke’s eyes are failing him.”

That caused a guttural growl to escape from the old warrior. “The rains will halt them.” he snapped.

“The rains will dry.” Queen Aga croaked. Mother’s voice was harsh and dry—barely a whisper.

“But they will slow them, no?” Yunnoq added.

“They will slow them.” Hennauke agreed. “But our queen is correct. They will not buy us much time.”

Buni watched the warrior pace as a few of the Queen’s consorts joined them. She had never seen him indecisive. Never seen him uncertain. It was said, before she had been born, that this very Hennauke had kept a belt of wolf pelts to mark all the Wolves he had slain in battle. That he had once added a bearpaw to it, and joining that came six trout fins. And that his name was known in all of southern Inari, and perhaps beyond that. Now, all she saw was a tired old man rapping his fist on the wooden beams of a tree hut in frustration. “I don’t even know how many of my men are alive. Only half have come back, and my scouting party is still out.”

“Slowed by the rains too.” Huenchek joined them.

Hennauke only growled deeper.

“Captain.” Aga spoke for the second time that day. “Why did you not fight when I ordered you to?”

Everyone paused. The patter of the rains became deafening and the man at once ceased his slow pound on the post beam. Silence hung in the air as heavy as the water. Buni tried to turn her attention away—to watch the pathways below for people. All day small parties had been arriving for refuge, composed of those fleeing Kaimoyoko, and all day Buni had watched helplessly as only a drop in the ocean of people from her home revealed themselves safe and alive. No matter how hard she concentrated, she could not block out the rest of the talking.

“What did—do—you expect me to do, my queen? We were outnumbered, we were surprised, we have no support. We need time to regroup, reorganize, and respond. Time.”

“I ordered you to fight. Ordered.”

“Are you not listening to me?” Hennauke barked. “They were too strong. I know what I saw. Thousands of them descended on Kamiki at once.”

“I do not care!!” Aga roared. Buni jumped where she sat and the cold chill that ran through her brought pain to her chest. “Look what your running brought us! Now we have only a handful of my people to safety! For what!? For a few measly days?!”

“If I had fought we all would have died!”

“Better that way!” Mother was standing now, and baring her fangs. How odd it looked to see the smaller woman stand up to a man like Hennauke—queen or not. Huenchek came to calm her, but she shoved him away mercilessly. “We should have all died. All of us! If this is to be our fate, I would rather face my ancestors as an Owl, moons curse you! You insolent hare!”

Hennauke’s face changed—bared teeth retracted under open lips. His eyes widened, and anger retreated to prepare for the storm. Buni could see his mind racing beneath his ears. “What are you saying?” he cracked. Mother, don’t.

“Hennauke of the Owls” Aga’s voice was cold and thin. “I name you coward. As your queen, I strip you of all glory won in battle and before our ancestors—”

“Mother!” Buni jumped up.

“Before our ancestors—”

“Don’t!”

“Before…before…”
Tears came flowing again. “I will not marry you, you stupid man!”

Hennauke’s face went pale under his fur and even Buni could see the hurt and anger being tucked away in the man’s eyes. He stood upright from his lean and then walked off coldly.

Oh, mother.. Buni sighed.

“So what are we to do now?” Yunnoq asked—more than a little despondent at the turn of events.

Queen Aga did not answer him immediately, instead, she looked about at the faces of the people watching her as if for the first time. In that moment, Buni witnessed an uncountable number of thoughts and emotions flitter across her mother’s face and she was certain among those the strongest was despair. And then Aga’s gaze set upon her, and a change took place. After a long unreadable pause, mother finally whispered what had been sitting at the surface. “Tooth and claw.”

The others leaned in to hear her. “Tooth and claw.” she repeated. “We will fight tooth and claw.”

Buni could remember that first promise, made in the moment when her fears had just been that—haunting ghosts bereft of reality. Somehow, the promise felt stronger now. “We will do as already planned.” Aga continued. “The tribal council has been called, and it will meet, and it will be there that our strength is shown.”

---

Aka watched the caravan of ailur prepare to depart in the central avenue of the palace—headed wherever it was they had decided to go. They looked prim, in their rain hats and coats, and under the direction of Master Rohi they were busy covering the contents of their wagons in straw tarp. The sky above was overcast and gray, and it was a surprise they would not wait for the late summer sun to return. Aka did not join them.

Their leader did not look in her direction. He had said his goodbyes the day before, and all hope had vanished from his face when she informed him she would not be joining them on their journey—no matter how hard he had tried to hide it. He really thought I’d come. Aka thought, saddened Maybe in a different life.
She had asked him to wait until after the eclipse, so that he and his band could go out after the festivities. But Rohi was determined to set out on this day—this morning—and it showed in the vigor at which he drove his people to ready. They began their departure as she stood there.

“Why don’t you go with them?” a voice asked from behind her. She did not need to turn to know it was Akira. “Master Rohi clearly fancies you, and you’d be among your own people.”

Aka scoffed. “Yes, go with them to unknown lands, far away from everything I’ve ever known.” she laughed. There was no bite to her sarcasm, only certainty. “No. I’ve already done that once in my lifespan, a long time ago.”

“You could start a new life.” Akira said. “Are you not still young for your kind? A new life in a place where others do not view you with suspicion or hatred. There is a chance for happiness there, I think.”

Aka did not respond. A sad smile parted her lips as she watched the carts of ailur roll away down the courtyards. How could I? she thought. Abandon all that I have come to love? All the faces that mark my memory? Aka shook her head.
“Rohi is a fool who has yet to grasp a lesson so very few of our people grasp.” she said. “One I’m not sure even I accept. We must stop living in the past.”

“Still, it must be sad, neh?”

“Yes, very.” Aka could feel her focus grow in distance with the carts as they traveled onwards and away. “Very sad.” her voice had become a whisper. She was still not unsure if what she was saying was correct. You made your decision the moment he asked, Su. she reminded herself. Did you ever consider it seriously? she knew the answer had been, somehow, yes.

But then the memory of a young emperor who had warmly welcomed a frightened and foolish girl into his service came flooding into her vision, even when that girl could do little more than conjure the most basic of parlor tricks. And the memory of court ladies, intrigued and fascinated, content to watch her ply her trade came too, and the memory of moonlit nights, and blazing days. Of snowfalls, and rains, and sparkling autumns. Of lovers she had never touched, and sisters bearing different names. Strongest of all came the faces of sons—born not of her womb or from her blood—but hers, forever, by Heaven and Earth, and a hundred more faces came following after. Each she knew grew or would grow old beyond her years, and slip beyond the confines of her long life and each she knew bore only the marks of a people who had destroyed her own. In that, she had always known that no matter how serious her consideration, her answer to Rohi would have always and forever been—no.

“Is there a reason for your presence, Mei-na, or did you come to irritate me solely?’ she asked, careful to not let him hear the water in her voice.

“So sorry, but in fact, yes. I bring a message from Haka-ka-Kiyomori.”

Aka grumbled, the warmth in her chest suddenly vanishing. “What does that idiot priest want now?” she snapped. Today was not one for her moods.

“He asks for your plan in investigating the strange happenings of the year.”

Aka’s mood grew dimmer. “I’ve already told him. I plan to do nothing. Wait and watch. Just as my training commands me.”

“Ah, well, he knew you’d say that, and instructed me to ask if you would reconsider. Strongly reconsider, was his exact wording.”

“Why should I!? Has his Radiance had any more nightmares? No? Has any spirit or ghost or demon been spotted in the palace or capital? No? Then what action is necessary?! Who cares what the oracle at Kummi says—her ramblings can mean anything. Who knows what his daughter saw in her vision—such is the lot of Inari magicians. I’ve walked along the magic of the garden for longer than he has, and for a man who can do no magic, he sure has a time ordering around the likes of me!”

“I’m…just the messenger, Aka-na.”

“I know.” she sighed. But you have had strange dreams, haven’t you, Su?

She could recall her dream from a few nights before, where she had found herself in the old empire at the Breaking—or, what she thought it must have been like—and how her mind had told itself that it was not dreaming, but seeing things for how they were. Which is exactly something a mind would say. she thought. One strange dream was no cause for concern, she had decided, least of all a strange dream from her. And what about your open window her thoughts asked on their own. You’re certain it was not open when you laid down.
She had shrugged that off.

“Tell Kiyomori next time you see him, that I will speak with him in a few days—after the eclipse.”

“Very well, Aka-na.”

“I don’t need his seriousness spoiling the celebrations. Your father seems quite set on scale.”

“Yes, he does.”

The carts had become specks now, squeezed in by the gateways and courts they passed on their way out. The lanes of the palace, now becoming those of Kawanakami beyond, had narrowed, directing her vision to the column which was on the cusp of disappearing beyond her view. Aka sighed once again. Good luck, Jin Loshui of Heyuan, and fortune to all your people. I think you will need it.

---

Toshiro waited in his perch atop the foscan tree for the second time. Ame clung to the branch behind him. Dusk had come and passed and now night had settled in over the world. Cho hung dominant and waning crescent in the sky, Tsa and Mu floated below it just on the horizon line, and In still had not rejoined them. Bad night for a hunt Toshiro growled. Worse than last night even . Yet he had no choice. There was no other night.

Already visibility threatened to be low. Yet he had hoped the girl behind him would grant sight where there was none to be found. Ame was not paying attention.
The pykke lounged in her position, then flipped, strong as always, along the branch in a twirl. Around and then upside down she hung, like a bat, then swung herself back up—shaking the branch in a fit as she went.

“Ame!” Toshiro barked.

“Yes?”

“Focus. You’re giving away our cover.”

“Cover?” the girl asked. “Toshi, what are we hiding from?”

“The vampire…” he grumbled. Oh no, she’s lost it. A sinking feeling overcame him, and though he could not say for certain, he felt as if the girl had regressed into one of her deeply child-like states—and he regretted bringing her.

“The vampire? Toshi, if we’re looking for that, we need to be down there.” she pointed to the glistening shadowed specks of the empty villages on the distant river banks. “Not up here.”

Toshiro paused. The sound of crickets became deafening. What? How had he not considered it before? No, he had considered it, but the abbot had told him the beast descended from the mountaintop into the villages—and anyways, he never knew a monster to not pick up on the presence of a hunter and make its way to him. Unless it’s frightened.

But a vampire, he reckoned, would not be frightened. With reluctance, he decided the girl must be right.
“Climb down,” he commanded. “We’re going down into the villages.”

---

The moan of wind against the empty socket of a doorway called Toshiro’s name, and he paid it no mind. His eyes scanned from the shadow of an eave, where the darkness was strongest, and by instinct he crouched down toward the grass—haunches light and ready. The main thoroughfare of the street sat empty—a ghostly trail of dunn gray that he knew would glow silver if he had the full light of the moons above him. I wish In was out, his mind cried. Then I could see.

Ame crouched behind him, and he knew any time she turned her head, yellow-cats eyes would catch light in the darkness and flash like foxfire. “See anything?” she whispered inpatient. Toshiro did not respond.

The village consisted of a dozen or so hovels clustered around the roadway, where the bulk of habitation sat out in the farmsteads nearby. To their right was the Yura—broad and slow flowing where it started its source far into the southern mountains. To the left was a pine forest and ceaseless tracks of woodland. Even in the black, Toshiro could see the looming shadow of the mount they had just descended. “See anything?” Ame asked again.

“Quiet. You’re the one with the night eyes.”

“Maybe if we…got up higher?”

Toshiro did not talk back. Instead he grunted in frustration. We just came off the mountain but rather than yell, he paused. Let’s see what you’ve learned.

He turned to her and shrugged. Within moments, Ame had figured it out on her own and had begun climbing the wooden boarding of their covering house. Toshiro smiled. The girl gripped a beam hard, shimmying along the rafter. Using her immense strength, she held tight under the guard of the thatch, but she lacked his finesse, and she grunted as she moved outward towards the edge. With an effort—and considerable noise—Ame pulled herself up onto the enormous straw peak of the farmhouse. She crouched and slid her way across the impossibly angled thatch towards the far edge. Toshiro followed underneath—a black shadow among shadow, silent, unseeable.

Wherever the girl walked, he went just under, ever watchful for her to fall. But Ame did not, and once they reached the otherside together, she looked down from above at him. A shake of her head indicated that she saw nothing. Toshiro motioned forward and then moved. He was a blur among the lights of the moon—swift as a cat and just as low, he went from the shadow of one eave to another. Ame understood, standing and went to leap from one roof to the next. Yet when she pounced, her foot pressed down into the aged straw and she let out a cut yelp. Toshiro glared at her.

The pykke, holding her own mouth closed, stepped back, and instead climbed up the arc of the roof to the gabbled peak, where she used the single-piece ridge beam as a pathway. Starting from one end, the girl ran, wobbling side to side but did not fall. When she reached the opposing way, she jumped, and soaring through the air plummeted towards the other roof, where she grabbed the ridge beam with a thud. Toshiro smiled. She has potential. he remarked. But she’s still lacking balance, and speed, and above all—quiet.

The two moved like this from roof to roof—building to building—making their way through the village. It was a deserted place. Weeds had begun to grow along the baseways and cracks of the houses and gardens. The ricefields sat hollow and dry. There was no movement except the breeze and the river. Toshiro’s eyes narrowed. He could, as always, see better that he had sat in the shadow for a long time.

But he still could only make out shapes, or forms, in the dark spots and the lack of moonlight made his job that much more dangerous. Rokudan would not have hunted on a night like this. he thought. But I have no choice.

He kept his ears just as alert. The wind howled in the empty spots of the street, brought about only because there remained none to close the rafters and doorways. Yet beyond this he heard nothing else. No rustling, no stray cats, no talking. The cicadas did not chirp, nor crickets sing. No summer frogs, so abundant in paddies both abandoned and attended croaked or chorus. Nothing out of the ordinary his mind wandered. Nothing—no, wait. Those ARE the ordinary! a sweat broke at his temples. There’s no noise! None, but the wind…

“Ame.” he whispered harshly. “Ame”

“Yes?”

“Come down. There’s no…no…” then he heard it. “No—”
A bell jingled on the wind.

Toshiro crouched lower, pressing himself to the wall of the nearest building. Ame dropped down behind him, blessedly without a sound, and she too pressed herself close to the inky black. Toshiro’s ears pounded—waiting, watching, searching. Then he heard it a second time—the jingle of a bell, small and piercing.

He scanned. Yet he did not need to look far for the source for down the far end of the roadway came walking a figure. Toshiro did not move. His eyes strained, yet this figure walked in the moonpath, and the dim light of Cho and the full light of Tsa illuminated their figure in the beams.

It’s…a person. he realized. A monk.

He could see the Vemayan cowls even from a distance, and the walking stick held in one hand. The monk came ever closer, stuck in the middle of the roadway, and Toshiro debated shouting out for him. As the stranger got closer, Toshiro could see the man’s advanced age. He was a gnarl of an old man, wrinkled and haunched like the roots of a great tree, and he was covered with the red of his cowl. As if he was freezing even in the warmth of summer. The bell was attached to the top of his walking stick and jingled only ever so often. Toshiro remained hidden.

He’s holding onto that cowl tightly. he thought. the red is bright even in the darkness. Toshiro froze.

What sweat had gathered at his temples froze with his blood. Red.

He did not need to remember descriptions—then varying and contradictory—that Chichiro gave of the creature to realize the demon in front of him. Ame had already tapped into her magic. A low guttural growl escaped from the girl’s lips. “Destroy.”

Toshiro’s sword sung on its way out of the sheath—silent, flashing, beautiful. Within a heartbeat he was on foot, flying across the darkness from under each eave. Soundless he lept from foot to foot—a shadowy streak in the pits of black. Like quicksilver his blade flew and within moments he had made his way to the edge of the village and like a fox upon is prey he jumped out and directly atop the—

Toshiro landed out in the roadway. He lowered his sword, then glanced about. He found himself alone. A chill ran through him, and then the seeds of panic sprouted in his heart. Cricket song drowned the world outside. Frogs cried in the paddies. Cicadas whirled.

“Ame!” Toshiro yelled, but the girl was already next to him—haunched low. Fangs bore ghostly in the night air and she sniffed eagerly. “Kill…”

But it was as if nothing had happened. The world seemed unchanged. Yet as his guard stayed up, Toshiro watched the pykke below him hawkishly. She remained looking behind them. “Destroy eviiiiiiiiil” she hummed.

Ame’s eyes tracked in the darkness things Toshiro could not see and his own blade tip followed wherever her gaze went. First behind them, then to the forest, then to the front, and back to the forest. It’s moving his mind raced, awakened by the fire in his veins. He was ready. Moving, but unseen.

“Kill. Kill.” Ame snarled, and her attention turned to a house nearby. Toshiro did not turn immediately, instead facing the roadway in front of them. Trick it. he thought. Make it attack. Then you’ll be ready, and it visible. Or, at least, that was his hope.

His ear picked up on the faint crackling—the screech—almost indiscernible, that came from the dark of the house just beyond the doorway. Sweat ran down Toshiro’s face. Ame had not broken out of her spell, nor had she turned her attention from the doorway to the building, such was his relief. Looking—straining—out of the corner of his eye, Toshiro caught a flash of red in the door and as the sounds of the world froze again, all that remained was the song of his sword traveling its arc in the sky. His mind did not register the horrendous scream of the erupting beast from the building.

The next moments were a blur. Toshiro slid sideways, rolled, and scrambled for footing in the dust. The silvery iron of his sword, like water in the black, danced in arcs above him. Ame yelled somewhere—but not in a way that gave him pause. Then he was looking again. His heart beat in his throat, and his breath was dry and ragged.

The vampire loomed nearby—an ancient man in his red cawl, watching, the bell of his walker silent. He looks just like an old monk Toshiro thought. Beyond the extreme age. No wonder the villagers were taken so easily. If this is its form, then—

Toshiro charged. Fortune!

The beast watched him, jumped back, then—fled.

It’s…running from me? That was the end of Toshiro’s thoughts. He did not ask questions, nor did he have time to. Instead he followed, fast like lightning and just as thin, after the creature. It did not try to fade from his view again, and instead fled with incredible speed. Despite its form, the vampire kept pace away from him, and Toshiro was faced with the sight of a red cawl flying in the wind away from him. It’s taking me towards the temple.

The two danced across the race paddies in their race—the vampire in front and Toshiro right behind. He did not have time to consider anything else. Only that his sword should be beside him, and that his feet should nimble and that his prey could not get away.

When they had reached into the forest edge of the mount, Toshiro began to slow. I can’t keep up his mind cried. I’m going to lose him. Toshiro leapt up the road in the bounds, but he never got any closer. His breath had become ragged and the lungs in his chest burned. You’re getting too old for this. He wondered how Rokudan had managed it, but then again—he doubted that vampire had run.

The red in his vision grew more and more distant as they traveled. The temple was near now, and though he knew the creature would not venture near it, his mind raced at the possibilities. He had to guess right, for the red was smaller and smaller in the dimness of the forest. This might be his only chance.

The vampire stopped.

Something had leapt in front of it. Toshiro’s eyes strained as his chest pounded towards bursting. It came as a shadow of its own, but when it intercepted the beast from the side, he knew by its small size what it had been immediately.

Ame crouched low, bent on all fours. The girl looked less like the pykke child he knew her to be, and more like an animal in her pose. She had long ditched her mace, now blocking the monster defenselessly with only her body. All the same she snarled.

The vampire startled, bounced backward. Toshiro panicked. She has no weapon. She’s defenseless. His legs, though burning, forced him forward. Yet Ame did not show fear. Instead, her vertical pupils were locked firmly on her prey, and her fangs bore white. She growled. “Destroy.” And paced closer. The creature stepped back as she moved forward.

That’s…odd.

Then the vampire let out a shriek unlike any Toshiro had ever heard and within it he thought he recognized a familiar tone—fear.

Now’s my chance!

Toshiro’s blade flew forward in the night. The beast was trapped between him and the girl and it had no place to run, no time to flee. It decided it must fight.

Within a heartbeat, what Toshiro’s eyes recognized as the guise of an ancient monk transformed before him and the vampire’s figure shot upwards in towering height. The cloth of its cowl shifted, hardened, into crackling carapace joint—red and terrible. The body elongated and a thousand limbs sprouted forth from the sides. Spiraling upward, the serpentine shape of the centipede ended above the trees where the monk’s upper torso sat—joined by long dagger-like fangs.

Toshiro drove iron forward into flesh, sliding the blade between crimson plates. Thick ichor welled immediately, black and revolting. But he pushed harder, slicing upward as the wrangling body—four times his width in size—thrashed. The earth shook, and when the vampire whipped around to face him, the vile tail cut swathes of pines away in an instant. Its head loomed over Toshiro and its hissed—eyes red like fire. The vampire dived down in attack, smashing into the ground with such force that Toshiro was thrown off his feet.

A cloud of dust shot up in response, hiding his view but for a moment, and before it could return he was already rolling away for survival. Bouncing up on battered legs, Toshiro twirled his blade before him. When the dust had settled, he found his opponent not attacking, but turned. It’s more focused on the girl. his thoughts screamed, and the moment he realized his relative safety—he charged again.

His sword ran alongside the body of the vampire as he did, opening a long channel where black blood oozed along the length of the centipede body. Yet it still did not turn to attack him, no matter how many legs he hacked off. Instead, he watched cautiously at the small pykke child that now leapt toward it in fury—and it twisted away. Ame had no means to attack, or so it seemed, and as she followed the undulating figure through the tree line, her focus seemed singular—kill.

The girl latched herself onto a leg, arms gripping with power. Toshiro watched her fling herself upward and then with all her might start clawing up the back of the beast. The vampire screamed, and twisted. Forest crashed around them as the vampire—ever larger—thrashed about. Toshiro lost sight of Ame in the chaos, and found himself dodging rocks and logs and the monster itself in a death dance. His sword cut, iron wrenching flesh apart at every bite. Over and over his sliced and hacked, and when he was done, a lake of sable gunk had pooled where he fought. Yet it was not enough, not nearly enough, and the smashing grew worse.

Now it looked as if a storm had leveled a li of the forest and Toshiro found himself sheltering beneath treefall in hopes of avoiding flying debris. If it was focused on truly fighting he thought. I’d be dead. No doubt about it.

His heart raced, thinking of Ame surviving in the destruction. How could she? Yet he knew she was the sole reason the creature was not truly fighting. In fact, he was more certain now than ever—it was trying to escape. Escape her.

Toshiro jumped. In that moment the body of the centipede came down on his hiding spot, breaking the earth into chunks. It pounded angrily, and Toshiro found himself scattering away. The ground below was being beaten, like a drum, and he was afraid it would be torn apart by the strength. How do we get out of here? How do we kill it? his mind searched for answers. His sword was no use. I must have cut into it a thousand times across the length. Rivers of its blood coat the earth. It’s simply too strong for that. Think. Think! Or you and her will be dead.

Then it came to him. “Ame!” he screamed “Ame!”

He searched for her in between dodges. The girl was nowhere to be seen and he feared the worst, when he spotted her. The pykke was still latched onto the monster, riding with tooth and claw the convulsions and drawing streaks of black ichor along its length. “Ame!” he yelled, unsure if she could hear him over the chaos. “The temple!” he screamed as hard as his voice would let him. “Drive it towards the temple gate. The guardian!”

Toshiro could not tell if he words reached the girl, or if she was ever out of her feral state enough to hear him. Yet he continued to yell anyway. “Ame! The guardian!”

After some time—time he wasn’t sure they could spend, the girl began to make her way down the rolling form of the vampire—form hardly visible in the nighttime blackness. From there, Toshiro watched her coral the beast four hundred times her size forward and she drove it maddeningly in the direction of the temple.

Good. Toshiro ran after them. His only hope was that this plan worked, lest he put everyone in the temple in danger’s way.

Ame drove the vampire onward, with Toshiro following after. She was faster than him, somehow, that he could tell and she hardly ran like a bipedal being. Her straw dress had been shredded—that was apparent even in the dark—and her hair had been matted by dirt and blood. Yet onward she drove and the vampire fled.

When they approached the temple gateway, the monster attempted to turn, yet Ame was on it in an instant, like a dog cornering a fox. And it had no choice but to flee onward. As they approached the central gate, Toshiro could hear the chanting of the monks inside—knowing the people of the remaining village were hiding within the walls. There were screams as the vampire skittered closer into sight and Toshiro held his breath in desperation—hardly able to run after the night time of fighting. Yet Ame’s pursuit was relentless and she drove the vampire towards the outer threshold of the walls. As he had hoped, the gate guardian sat lazily—wide-eyed and gape-mouthed just as they had first found it—hardly seeming alive. Toshiro had no clue how the thing was supposed to protect the temple, but he trusted Chichiro’s word, and there had to be a reason the vampire had not attacked the monks or children inside.

Ame chased and the monster smashed towards the gateway. The guardian on top watched—waited—and then as the vampire ducked underneath the gateway Toshiro heard the most piercing roar of his career. In a blur the guardian jumped forward, a tassel of hair and wind. It twisted like a typhoon and pushed with as much strength. The forest shook and shivered and the vampire was grabbled like a mouse in the claws of an owl. Toshiro barely had time to witness it. The guardian flew, a streak of green in the dead of night, and within a heartbeat the two beasts were locked together in gore as they flew down the mountain. They covered the length of a li almost in an instant, and neither Toshiro nor Ame had any hope of keeping up with them.

---

The journey down the mountain in the dark had been a long one. Toshiro had stopped several times to rest and water. His muscles ached from the fight, and he found many cuts and scrapes adorning his body. Ame was in equally poor shape. The girl had been dusted in mud and dirt. Black blood—none of it hers—coated her hair and clothing. The straw of her skirt had been worn ragged and her shirt sat pulled and ripped. Friction burns covered her elbows and knees, but despite all the work, the girl had become quite cheerful the moment her stupor wore off.

“You think we got it, Toshi?” she asked as they walked.

“I hope so.” the josen replied. He had no way of knowing what took place after the two disappeared. But his exhaustion had been too heavy to follow in any speed, and he was unsure what aid he could render anyways. The lack of the guardian returning as they went worried him.

The path down the mountain had been rendered into a wasteland. Huge swathes of forest on both sides of the road had been leveled, and pines laid lines like the organized canes of giants to either side. Boulders large and small sat tossed across ripped and shredded earth. Toshiro was surprised neither he nor Ame got too seriously hurt. Satin ichor covered everything.

How could I have defeated it alone? Toshiro thought. I couldn’t have. There would have been no possibility. My only chance, and only help had been— he looked down at Ame. The girl was stroking the fur of a rabbit she held in her arms. Well, she was a lot of help.

Dawn was rising in the east by the time they reached the village again. The path of destruction made its way solemnly down into the settlement—where the corner house on the outskirts had been smashed directly through. The two found the bodies near the river, on the bank just outside the village center. At first Toshiro hardly recognized them—both the monsters had been severely bloodied. But the vampire laid motionless and dissected and Ame had declared it dead on a brief inspection. Such a ruling was confirmed by her demeanor, which never returned to the rabid state it held from before. The gate guardian sat dead too—a pile of hair and a motionless green face.

Its mouth was finally shut.

[Aoyan]

Chapter 20

---

Inouye of Sayanashima approached Kummi from the roadway. Rain fell in torrents, drowning the world in the last great summer storm, and it pulled at his thatch cape. The heavy thrumming of droplets against his conical hat deafened him to the world around him. Despite all the water falling from the heavens to cleanse the earth—he could still smell the smoke.

It was the scent of ash that laid heaviest on the land. It was distinct, even beyond the smell of the rain, the wet grass, and the soaked laurels. It was a black thing upon a blue world, and it stung his nose—acrid and sharp—though not unnatural. Inouye had known where the cinders had come from long before he stepped foot there. Such was the call he had received so many hundreds of li away, in the destroyed forest on the edge of Xian. Such was the call his goddess had impressed upon him, when the sun was high and hot, towards this place so once full of life. Before—before the bronze men came here too. He was almost certain the rains were the weeping of the gods.

It did not surprise him when he first spotted the ruins. Nor when his footfall stepped into mud mixed with the remains of wood. What had surprised him, as he explored the wreckage of Kummi in solitude—was the lack of bodies.

For all the priests that had inhabited this place, he had not found one living or dead among the destruction. Only that the whole complex, every building and wing, had been torched—leaving behind only the skeletal fingers of wood sticking into the sky from the bases like cruel spears. Spears for deities Inouye grunted. This was a warning.

That much had been clear. Great Tadan would not have sent him here, so far from what she already designed to show him, if it had not been important. So they silenced the oracle he clued in. Inouye reached down, picking up a ball of damp ash—pressing it into a ball in his palm. Silence the oracle for what purpose? To stop her warnings? But why not bodies? Did they drag them off? There’s no bronzemen either. Was there fighting at all?

He had not known the priesthood of Kummi to arm themselves, nor keep a ready supply of guards, but if there had been combat, he had not found any sign of it as he searched in the rainstorm. After some time, he made his way back towards the oracular mound itself.

Inouye had never been to Kummi before. He had never seen the buildings when they stood, nor met the priests in their famous reed hats. Josen, even those of Tadan, tended to avoid this place. No god or spirit dwelled here. But he had known the place to be ancient, standing even before the Yan had come, and his master had imported on his mind a certain sense of respectful reverence. He stepped only where needed.

The hill that made up the oracular mound sat alone in a broad field—hidden almost entirely by the driving sheets of rainfall. There was no decor surrounding it, nor did Inouye think there ever had been. Instead, he made his way across carefully, and found the entrance at the base of the keyhole shaped hill with relative ease. Stepping into the doorway of the oracle, blackness overwhelmed him. The rain stopped and only the dripping wetness of his hat and cloak remained. What little light existed from beyond the clouds outside was swallowed instantly in this place, and sound too found itself softened and muted. The roaring of the storm outside had been shrunk to a steady thrump.

Inouye pulled out the lantern from his belt and set to work lighting its oiled wick. When he got it lit, after great effort, the dark of the mound shied from the flame and he could tell this was a place that hated light and hated fire. Yet it would not hate him and now that he had his lantern, he could see that a long hallway stretched before him. Stone to either side, cold and humid to the touch, sat low and rough-hewn. Lichen grew just at the exit, where beams of sunlight could reach, but ended harshly where it began. These walls were old—older than the age of heroes, he knew, and he stepped carefully as he made his way down the corridor.

The journey only took Inouye a few minutes, but the path felt like he had been walking for an eternity. Even with lantern light, the shadow threatened to swallow everything entirely, and he was careful not to let a draft kill his flame. His goddess called him forward.

When he reached the central chamber, gray sunlight from beyond stretched in from unseen slots in the ceiling. He could now see much further. Immediately, he set about exploring the circular room with vigor. There had been no sign of the bronzemen. Great hordes of gold and treasures lined the sides, where they had remained for centuries upon centuries. What had been stone dividers had long since fallen and broken, but the center of the chamber had been filled with a great lake of water that even he could not cross. His mind urged him to kneel down.

He dipped his hand into the murky black. The oracle’s gone he realized. This was her place. Her realm.

Nothing moved in the silence. No ripples in the water, no clanging of treasure bowls. Everything was entirely still, quiet—dead. Inouye stood, aware of the magnitude that was his unprompted invasion of a sacred spot—aware, somehow, that he had been given permission from his goddess to do so. As far as she could grant him permission, and he set about what he could fulfilling the rest of his search.

He never found the oracle, living or dead, nor any signs of bronzemen or that anyone at all had ever been in the chamber at all. The only corpse in the entire area had been a man—or woman—placed in the stone slab at the top of the far dias. What remained there had been a few bones and a skull, so old as to have shrunk and withered, and he knew that person—whoever they had once been—rested here before the oracle called it home. Without any luck, Inouye made his return to the world of the living back through the hallway. Stepping out into the rain, he felt a familiar tingle brought about by the warmth of the sun. It was reaching him through the clouds, and in the light that turned the world a misty gray, he could feel it further. I’m being called onward. he knew. But where? That he was not sure, but his master beckoned, and so he would journey.

Making his way back past the remains of the oracular complex, he couldn’t help but feel the ghosts of the people who dwelled here. He did not know if they lived, but he did know that this had been the place of prophecy for at least six centuries and very likely beyond. And men of bronze came and silenced it. he narrowed his eyes in the downpour. Dark times ahead.

He would have to be a rising sun in a worsening storm.

---

Sunset was descending fast when Toshiro and Ame set off for the temple. They had awoken not long before, having spent the day resting in the abandoned village. There, on the riverbank, they had bathed the toil from the night before off their bodies and clothing. Ame had eaten from some fruit trees she found on the mountainside, and Toshiro had taken the time to see to his equipment and wounds. Somehow, the girl had minimal damage yet she had let him wrap her friction scuffs with bandages and she winced as the salve he had learned from old Rokudan burned at the scraps. They had slept in one of the farm houses

The body of the vampire had turned to dust with the morning sun, Toshiro had witnessed, and nothing remained from which to show the abbot. That of the gate guardian remained, however, and he had buried it on the mountain side where he thought it belonged. He had never buried a monster before. Chichiro isn’t going to be happy about that. He thought. I think I’m supposed to burn it, right? Since it guarded a Vemayan kyu. Unsure as to if monsters even held gods, he resolved himself to return and do it after returning to the temple, or having them come and do it.

“So where to next, Toshi?’ Ame chirped as they walked the trail forward. The forest around them abruptly shifted from full to ruins in an instant. In the rapidly dying light, Toshiro could see the battle scars from the night before, and he marveled at the sheer destruction to either side of the roadway. Thick blankets of crushed wood and stone littered the now open fields. He was trying to distract himself from Ame. “What do we get in payment for this job?” she asked, not noticing his distance.

It was then that he realized he had chosen to remain below—for one more day—just to prolong the inevitable. What the girl had taken as a leisurely pace in the summer heat, Toshiro had known in the back of his mind to be the last vestiges of an ending relationship and he wondered, as they walked, if he would have the courage to tell her in the last moments. If he could tell her—if he would do anything but drop her off, promise to come back, and just never return. A deep sinking came to his chest and he felt as if he was drowning in the last rays of the sun. No, his mind croaked. You have to tell her.

Ame did not seem to notice his lack of answers. Instead, she skipped along the roadway—tripped on a stone—then continued on skipping. Toshiro steeled himself for what may have been the toughest fight of his life. You should tell her now. Rip the blade from the wound. Don’t wait, you’ll never tell her then.

As darkness came upon them, he struggled to keep the tears from his eyes. Toshiro found it hard to breathe. Tell her now. Just say it. Just explain that she is being left here, because she cannot come with you. That here is safe, and you wish her all the luck in the world.

Each moment they walked in silence became agony—and bliss—and for once he could feel nature on all his senses more clearly than ever. The air was clean and pure, the ground hard, the breeze cool—each cricket chirp and cicada whirl was an echo of eternity. Every step he took, ever closer to the temple, was one of greater panic. He was running out of time, running out of time to make the choice, and more than once he felt like surrendering and simply deceiving the girl. It has to be done. Now, Toshiro, Now!

When he opened his mouth, he knew his voice would quiver. “Am—” he paused. The girl had stopped too, sniffing the air. An acrid trail crossed over his nose and choked out the sweet scent of summer grass. Smoke?

“Ame, stay here.” he said, then began jogging up the trail. For once, the pykke followed his command.

Toshiro could not think in the darkness, his mind running through a thousand possibilities—saved, if only for a moment, by curiosity and shock. It did not take him far before he could see the glow above the treetops and suddenly, he did not know what to feel.

Goyokota-kyu was a torch in the night of the countryside. Toshiro could see it from the treeline, and he did not have to get very close to feel the heat rising from the complex. The smell of cinder and char carried even further. It surprised him how loud a burning temple could be. The flame roared—subtle things that licked at rooftops and pillars—and only made sound in great mass. Wood and timbers popped under the heat, baking in the flame. Roof tiles fell and crashed and split, and the sound of failing supports brought the herald of entire rooftops falling. Yet it was the screams that bothered him most.

He could not see what was transpiring at first. His vision had been blocked by the immense columns of light and smoke in the night sky. But he could easily hear it. And as he neared, his worst fears had become all too real.

The roadway leading up to the gate was swarming with white-cowled warriors, each watching the conflagration unfold. Toshiro approached them stealthily, from the forestry, and he tried to remain unseen. There was no sign of Chichiro, or the nun, or any of the other monks. No signs of the children. But the screams from inside told not of people panicking for water—at least not all of them—and his bones froze at the idea that they were screams of bloodshed. He did not remain hidden for long.

Unable to hold back his curiosity and terror, Toshiro revealed himself on the roadway and approached casually. The warriors—kyusen—turned and bore their halberds at him. The lead man he recognized instantly as the one who tried to barrel through him the previous day.

“Ah, fox-ka” he laughed. “Come back from your mission, neh?”

Toshiro did not respond. “Why is the temple ablaze?” he asked, half-knowing the answer.

“Set ablaze.” the kyusen corrected with no love in his voice. “I think the old monk should have accepted our abbot-ka’s terms. There is, and never was, room for two temples so close together. At least then, he could have stayed.”

Toshiro swallowed hard.

“In anycase,” the kyusen continued. “We never could resolve this dispute. There was always a…thing, protecting this place, that we feared would kill our warriors. Until tonight.”

Toshiro shuddered, and he realized at once the immensity of his mistake. It nearly drove him mad. He could not muster the words in his dry throat to ask on the inhabitants. The gate guardian. I used it against the vampire. The kyusen reached up and scratched his face through cloth. Then—he motioned Toshiro away.
“This doesn’t concern you. So shove off, fox.”

Toshiro stammered back. He considered, only for an instance, intervening. But he could tell at a glance that there were too many warriors surrounding the complex, and he could tell that within the immense heat there were more. No amount of stealth would bring him to helping anyone, and as much as it pained him, he realized his only option was to go. The fire engulfed the world fiercely and his eyes burned looking at it.

Toshiro stumbled his way back through the darkness—the forest having become thick enough with smoke to choke out the moons and stars. He found Ame exactly where he left her. Somehow, he thought, she knows.

The girl did not say anything to him—did not ask any questions. Instead, her concerned look sat frozen in place as he approached her. He could only utter a harsh “we’re going east.” before he limped into the night. They were alone once again—Toshiro the Unlucky and Ame the Orphan.

---

Pewa flooded the grove in droves of traveling caravans. Princess Buniqkunipe of the Owls had never seen so many of her kind in one place. Not like this. In the span of half a week, the spot that she had known to be the meeting ground of the tribes had become massed with Pewa from across the islands. Now, under the watch of four full moons, they clambered into the trees to attend the meeting of the age.

The Owl camp had traveled for many nights to reach this place—and yet they were dwarfed by the parties of the others. First it had been the Wolves, who had come upon them on the road north. There the Wolves had descended past the sentries and surprised the Owls and their carts. For a brief moment, Buni could remember fearing for the lives of her remaining people—but the Wolves did not attack, and Queen Kipkiq of the Wolves had met with mother as monarch to monarch.

Then it had been the Spiders who had come upon the meeting ground two nights later—among them Sannyoaino, the man who had brought tidings of war. And then, nights later, the northerners began to arrive. First among them was the Bears, their chieftain, Tahkonanna, coming in atop a massive black bear at the head of his column. Then last amongst the northerners came the Seals, from the far frigid north—the homeland—where they still wore hooded jackets even among the summer heat and mushed dog sleds across the open fields. Buni had studied their strange clothing carefully though they kept shyly to themselves. Beyond that, hundreds of Trouts and Cranes streamed in from the coastlines of Inari, and Elks from the northern hinterlands, and as always these groups formed a mass larger than the other tribes combined.

Now, their leaders gathered in the trees surrounding the meeting ground. Buni watched, with dozens of other eyes, from the sidelines. The space in the center was an open grove, from which the sound carried to all sides when one spoke. To the top end sat the reason her people had long chosen this spot—a massive tree, five times the size of any other, which grew tall and reached for the stars above the canopy of the forest. It was the largest on Inari, she knew, and in its trunk was carved a gateway to another world. Even in the night, the other side of that gate burned brightly. Where on this side—her side—grass blanketed the ground, breezes shook the branches of trees, and fireflies illuminated the sky in sparks—on the other side sat an alien world. There, she could see, lay nothing but sand, like on the bank of a river. The daytime sun, now long gone from that of her world, burned blindingly and baked the boulders that were strewn across the ground. There was no life there, and only a shimmering pool of reflection like the surface of water separated the two worlds.

”The gate was built by the gods.” she could hear her mother saying, so many years ago. ”At a time before our people”

Even in the darkness, Buni could make out the strange carved lines that ran the length of the gateway, and how the gate color blended itself with the trunk of the tree, and she knew this spot to be sacred.

By the time her attention was taken off the gateway, the tribal meeting was about to begin. It was only then, surrounded on all sides by her people among the trees, that she noticed the first of the non-pewa. Below them, at the edge of the forest, sat a group of tall, lithe, graceful folk who she instantly recognized to be ailur. There were few of them, only seven in total, and the central figure sat upon a chair brought all this way for such a purpose. He kept his hands hidden deep within his robes. Across the way, she spotted another group—these people small, and almost indiscernible among the foliage. Pykke her mind filled for her. People of the great moon. Said, she knew, to predate her own kind in the garden by a large margin. Finally, her eyes—and ears—spotted the figures of zagatti which watched from just beyond the treeline.
Mother said nothing about outsiders. but she did not have time to contemplate it, for the meeting had begun.

As the one to call the horns, it was Queen Aga to be first to speak. Buni could see her mother near the center, on the second branch aligned with the other leaders. She hung upside down as was tradition.

“I will not mince words.” Aga began. “As I am very tired on this most sacred of nights. As many of you already are aware, I have called this meeting upon pewakind, for danger lurks from beyond the western horizon. The Children of the Dawn have returned to our shores, as they have for many summers past, yet this time I fear they mean to see us destroyed. I do not believe this battle is one between the border tribes and the Yan, but all of us. It is for this reason I have invited and allowed the other peoples of these islands to participate. They do so under my authority and right, as queen of the Tribe of the Owl. In this meeting, I pray to our ancestors and spirits, and to the moons, that you will see the need for unity against the invader. In that same manner, I will pass my speaking to great Queen Kipkiq, so that she may explain our plans.”

Buni turned her attention to the queen of the Wolves, who hung just one tree over from her mother. Kipkiq was a younger queen—blonder and more silvered than her mother—but she bore an air of ferocity and beauty that made her just as respected. Wolves, Buni knew, selected their monarchs, and Kipkiq wore the wolf headdress of her station proudly.
“Great Council.” she started. “I, Kipkiq of the Wolves, cast my lot with great Queen Aga of the Owls. For I have seen the wisdom in her words, and know the fires of her heart. The Children of the Dawn come, and upon Kamiki Trout Village they have descended and slaughtered. Likewise, my own warchief Aterui was slain in combat at the place known as Crystal Rapids by the invaders. These things I know with my eyes and with my heart, and for this, I will commit the Wolves to the aid of the Owls, and join warbands to defeat the enemy. In this I pray to our ancestors, and to the spirits of the land, that the rest join us. For this, I pass my speaking to great King Koshamain so that he may impart his mind.”

The crowds turned silent. King Koshamain of the Spiders sat on the other side of the gateway, covered in a blanket. Because it was said he could not easily walk, he could not easily hang, and instead he sat upright on his branch. With long black hair and white fur, he was a handsome man, only a little older than Kipkiq, and Buni knew him to hold a reputation of kindness. It took him a long time to speak.

“Esteemed leaders.” he bellowed. “I am deeply disturbed by the news brought to me from our sister tribes. It is undeniable that war returns to the shores of our islands, and in that I am greatly saddened. It is true that my own warriors have encountered bands of the enemy past the borderlands, and it is true that we have received reports of large movements—larger than is typical of these wars. Yet I am unconvinced that the nature of this fight is as dire as portrayed. It seems a huge sacrifice—and risk—to commit my warriors to a war that would leave us and our herds vulnerable to attack by other pewa. Our own Ponni was responsible for crying the first warnings of the war, and for this reason, I pass my speaking to him, so that he may share his tale.”

Sannyoaino sat on a branch much closer to the ground than the leaders of the tribes had, and he had to shout upwards to be heard. Blessedly, Buni did not think him so ragged or thin as when she last saw him.

“Great Council.” he cried. “I, Ponni of the Spider Tribe, bear witness to the Children of the Dawn and their war. Many of you here have decried me as spy, liar, and trickster; yet the news I have brought you had proven all too true.”

Buni could see the distaste burning in her mother’s eyes as the man spoke. Aga never was one to forget, no matter how right he had been. Buni was not so certain it wasn’t his rightness that made her hate him so.

“I have spent over a winter in captivity,” he continued. “In that time, I have seen the full breadth of what the Yan could show me. I have also seen their arrival. It must be said that I have witnessed over two hundredfold Yan warships in the harbor of Nawarisano by the end of my time there. In this way, I know that there must be thousands of westerners on our islands. Far more than any of our kind.”

A long silence hung over the gathered pewa, as if they were collectively considering his words. Then—panic set in. It started on one end of the clearing, and made its way across, and within a few heartbeats the gathered people were panicking. In their fashion, they began to beat their crossed arms in imitation of wings that were no longer there, and frightened EEEEEK EEEEK EEEKs rang out. The entire colony on the trees shook and it brought the branches bouncing violently. Buni sunk back, frightened as all the others were, and only through great effort did the tribal leaders calm the congregation down again. Sannyoaino only added “I pass my speaking.”

It was Tahkonanna of the Bears that picked it back up. “You expect us to believe and participate in a southern war?” he bellowed. “To sacrifice my warriors because southerners cannot fight their own battles. Pah!” he spat. “I have come a long way from the northern isle, and for what? This? We do not often participate in these wars against the western humans, nor do I plan to make a habit of it. You say Kamiki Trout village was burned, but who can say? Are there any Kamiki Trouts among us?”

No one answered.

“You see? I will not risk any Bears for a border war. I pass my speaking.”

It was the Seals who came next, and so they chittered amongst themselves before giving a verdict. Buni watched them, where they hung in their coats whose sealskin arms hung nearly to the forest floor. There was not one singular monarch or chief of the Seals, instead, they were ruled by a council of six elders from the largest villages—most of them male. One of them spoke for the whole of the group.

“We need more time to deliberate,” he said. “We pass our speaking.”

And so it went down the line of leaders until all had spoken or given an opinion. Many were yet undecided, and their hesitancy made Buni more nervous than any harsh words could. After some time—and much arguing—it was decided to let the outsiders speak. First, Buni knew, would be the ailur.

The small cluster of them down below in the meadow seemed out of place, with all but the central figure standing. Buni already knew who he was, or at least who he was supposed to be, but the woman that spoke for him continued on anyway.
“I announce the esteemed Governor-General of Xianese Inari, servant to his Majesty the Emperor of Wisdom’s Empire in the East, and rightful magistrate of these islands—the righteous, Governor Kui Guangluo.”

The woman, nor anyone else, needed a translator to speak. That was one of the magics of this place—this meadow near the gateway—where anything you said would be wrought instantly into the tongue of anyone listening, and so by virtue of this ancient spell, it had always been the meeting ground for the peoples of Inari.

“It appears to me” the seated man began—never losing his air of extreme arrogance. “That we are at the advantage of information. Of course, the government has long known of the arrival of the Yan armies, and in fact, we are aware about their organization and capabilities. As a show of good will, I will share with you the fact that one of my provincial secretaries has been in the Yan camp as a captive translator, and seen their level of sophistication. As always, they have aped the ailur of the mainland, and created armies far above the likes of you simple tribals.”

Another wave of wing-beating and EEEEKs spread through the pewa congregation—this time in anger and not fear. The ailur waited for it to die down before resuming. “We might be willing to help subjects in need against this intrusion. But that aid would only apply to lawful subjects, and not rebellious tribes that have, for centuries, yet to learn their place in the structure of this province.”

More beating, this time so intense as to pull the tops of the pines and cedars downward, spread throughout. Buni did not join them. So they won’t help. she thought, saddened. I guess I shouldn’t have dreamt so. She could see, by the looks of the other’s faces, that they held their hostility in check only by the spirit of the meeting, and that they would have easily battled ailur as they were to battle man—and she wondered if it had not been a mistake on mother’s part to invite the ailur here, to this meeting, when they would only stoke flames of ancient hatred.

Yet there was one other group that had yet to speak, and it was then, in the clamor that they sent forth the one who would do the talking for them. Buni gazed deep down into the meadow, where from a cluster of glowing yellow eyes in the tree line did a single figure step forward into the open. He was a small creature—smaller than most pewa, and the jet black of his skin morphed with the moonlight. Yet he seemed a giant among mortals when he stepped into the center of the clearing, and he held himself in the manner of the gods—whose pride was not born of the smallness of others but the largeness of self. His dress was twill and it wrapped around him and over his shoulder—checkered—and in his hands he gripped the hilt of a broadsword, almost as tall as he, whose iron point he rested gently against the earth. Vertical pupils scanned the trees above him, and his long moustache floated in the summer wind. The light of the fireflies illuminated his face.

“King Veratorix, High Chieftain of Inari by election, Gokan-pykkeka, Moonsinger, to address the tribal horns.” someone—a pewa—announced.

“I come before your council as a guest.” the pykke began. Even with the magic of the gateway, his accent was thick and hard to parse. “So I will avoid harsh words towards my hosts. I have heard the pleas of your great queens, and heard the words of your people who have faced the Dawnmen. Yes, I have heard these things, very sorry. Yes. And of these things you ask us to come down from our mountains, to fight.”

The pykke leaned forward on his sword, driving it further into the earth, as he looked upward towards the watching pewa. Buni could detect a sudden bite in his voice, and his long fangs gleaned in the moonlight. It seemed as if it was acting like a light upon him, bending to his will, guiding a radiance about his figure. “I will say this in the name of my people, and under the watch of our four moons. You ask of me to fight, and fight off another invader from our islands. These are our islands. We were here in the beginning, granted them by Father Moon, Mother Moon. Here before the pewa, before the people of the woods, even before the wretched elves. These are our islands, and for them we will fight. If we are to fight alongside you, or alone, so be it. But these will be our islands long after you are gone. Yes.”

The pewa did not clamor at his defiance, but instead only watched in silence as the pykke retired to his people—hidden in the darkness. Buni let out a baited breath. There, at least, was one group that was willing to help them. When the excitement had died down, the leaders again set about arguing and discussing with their people. The night grew long, and when it came time to speak verdicts Buni listened intently.

Mother led the vanguard, as she had the right to do, and of course was supported by Queen Kipkiq in deciding to fight. For the first time in Buni’s lifetime, Owls and Wolves were drawn together in coalition, and it was then that King Koshamain revealed his decision to join them—if reluctant—in their struggle against the Yan. Buni’s heart soared. Yet there had been little doubt of the border tribe’s willingness to defend their lands. Of the northerners, Buni discovered, there had been less enthusiasm for war. Most of the Bears under their chieftain had decided against war, unless of course they were attacked, except a small contingent under a singular village. Of the Seals, only two of six decided in favor of fighting, and the Elks would not fight at all. The Cranes were hesitant to send any warriors, and Buni knew they would not, and of the Trouts, every village gave a different answer. When all was said and done, Queen Aga had convinced only half the pewa in attendance to fight, with the addition of the Inari pykke. The ailur excused themselves in the middle of the conversing, and Buni was certain they came only to antagonize the others.

It was not the results she had hoped for. But it was something, and in the naive hope that this war would not carry for long—she hoped it would prove more than enough. As the council began to disband in the face of morning, she wondered frightfully, if the dawn would win this battle.

---

Aka smiled.

The eclipse was upon them, and the palace by night had transformed itself into a fairyland of lights. Though it had been the moons blocking the sun during the daytime that had marked the celestial event, the Yan were never ones to pass up placing importance on changes in the heavens. Nighttime was always preferred for festivals, for it was then that they could play with flame and light and lantern—and the small flashes of the fireflies in summer inspired them endlessly.

Tonight the palace was host to more than a hundred nobles—most of them small—for all the large ones had pilgrimed for the campaign, and this atop the hundred fold more than called the palace their residence. Aka could see them all in the gallery below, watching with attached eyes the play that transpired on the central dias of the court theater. It was a classic, she knew, The Tale of Chuji, about a young warrior who quests for the love of a girl in his village—only to commit so many mortal sins on his path as to be punished cruelly by the gods. Some tale for a night like this! Aka thought. It was not a happy one, nor with a happy ending, but the Yan had always loved this story—they always loved stories where a person gets the summation of their mistakes. And she knew deep down inside, they admired the heroism and detested the stupidity, and that there were other versions of the play, where the warrior—Chuji—atoned and conquered and won. This would not be one of those plays.

Aka looked down into the lantern lit stage below. The gods were convening—Daylight chief among them, not yet the villainous usurper—his actor adorned in a great mane of red, with silks of gold, and paint of sparkling white. She knew this would be the part Lord Zoku would have joined, as a trickster god in the background, if he had been in attendance. And later they would have seen him on the roadway, as a traveling merchant, offering stupid and foolhardy advice to the questing warrior. But he was not here to join them, nor were the others, and she gazed down into the audience to see Akira sitting next to his mother. Not with a lady she noted. How uncharacteristic.

Later, they would all go out into boats on the lake, where they would release five hundred floating lanterns into the water and they would watch the moons and stars. That would be when the dalliances would occur, if any were so bold, and she wondered if Akira would be scheming enough to invite Ishii Kioko out onto the water with him. Somehow, she thought not.

It did not matter to her. It was none of her business what the little bee had been up to recently, only that she was happy to see the court lively again, and in particular happy to see the Willow Emperor in good health. Yanagi sat where he always did—in the center of the front, his wives flanking him. He watched the play carefully, always stopping to comment here or there to the women beside him. At some point, he motioned over to Akira and the two laughed at words unheard. Aka watched them all for a while, content to bask in the warmth of the night, before she turned and decided to retire.

The alleys of the court were devoid of all life. The night, and the lack of people, made their pathways long and drawn and covered in shadow. Lanterns hung beneath wall eaves, casting light in such a way as to cover half the street only. Aka walked in the light half.

She was on third street when she paused to take in her surroundings. Let’s see, she orientated herself. My quarters are four courts down.
Aka had taken the long way, happy to stroll in the empty yards under the watch of four brightly lit moons, such was the mood in the court. She continued on, taking it slow in the cricket-clad darkness, careful not to trip on her clogs in the black. Summer was drawing closer to a close, and there would not be many nights so warm left within the year

The sorceress made it halfway down the stretched avenue that was the court’s third street when she stopped to admire the rustling branches of a willow overhanging the wall. The breeze carried the drooping petals back and forth in the warmth. Aka smiled, suddenly finding herself very tired.

Alright Su, she pushed herself. Let’s get you to bed.

Aka yawned. She could feel her eyelids drooping in the dark. Her mind wandered toward sleep. I am VERY tired. She could almost lay down right there in the road. There were, afterall, few guards in the court because the court had always been safe. Even in the dead of night. The witch's senses sputtered and her thoughts jumbled. Suddenly, she woke herself—the tiniest of ideas crossed the threshold of her mind.

The charms at her belt rustled as she moved. Aka turned to her side, where the shadow and the light met each other—drawn into a line of clashing worlds. Carefully, her hand reached down and pulled her fan from her belt. Her eyes were unwavering, the drowsiness banished entirely in shock. They focused on that line, watching the knife’s edge of light and dark for what seemed an eternity. Just as she began to relax again, her mood returning to the casualness of the night—the shadow of the edge moved.

Blackness folded in on blackness, and shadow morphed with shadow. It was only an instant, a singular beat missed by all but the most hawkish eye where the shadow encroached out into the light like a single fluid wave and then back in on itself. In that same instance Aka’s fan flashed open.

Bu!

Flame erupted from the mouth of the sorceress as a jet that pushed her backward. The creature shrieked horribly as it lunged forward to attack. Dagger-teeth grasped for her from the morphing shadow as all nearby light was pulled in. The monster doubled down away from the flame, and Aka was pushed upward onto the bronze roofing of the wall.

The sorceress did not pause. An intangible wind blew as her voice lowered in chant. Deep—deeper—impossibly deep, her fan raised open half-red, half-white. The mantra began. The monster swam in its own blackness, folding in on itself and having missed its chance—did not attack again. Instead it let out a singular, soul-piercing cry and fled. Aka gave chase.

The sorceress flew across the rooftops of the court, bare feet smashing onto cold bronze tiles in the night. Magic wind pushed her forward and she had little time to think. Ahead, she could see the shadow distorting as her prey fled, pushing across the features of the palace like liquid ink. Aka’s heart sank and a terrible feeling overcame her. She wanted to wretch. Oh no… she cried. You’ve made a terrible mistake, Su.

To her right she could see the inferno of light that was the theater grounds, and to her left the vast shadowed body of the city. She had to stop herself from keeling over. How? she asked. But the answer came clear to her in an instant. My barrier. The seals on my pots wore off. she had forgotten to replace them entirely.

So too did her mind recall her open window, and a thousand other connections that she had so stupidly—and brazenly ignored—came to light in the sudden chilled air. Lord Haka was right her mind nagged. And I have…failed.

She pushed her thoughts away and focused solely on the chase. The creature had slunk down onto the street below her—fifth by her own reckoning—and she followed it along the rooftops. Where are you taking me? Where are you running to?

It had to be that way, she knew. Now was the time for her to focus solely on the hunt, the fight, the objective. There was no room for anything else. No thoughts, no regret, no contemplation—only the singular task of catching what she pursues. She had to be reactive, heaven to earth.

The two figures flew across the palace in the blackness—silent, save for the pattering of Aka on the bronze rooftop. There was blessed few to hear, and as she came alongside her prey, she pushed herself ever closer—trying to get close enough to let out another burst of flame. Aka was ever mindful of catching something afire in the warm summer air.

They stayed in that state for a while, the creature like a darkened water stain among the night—flowing over walls, and rooftops, down streets and alleys, and Aka was amazed she managed to keep up. She could—would not let it escape.

Eventually, the monster poured out into the courtyard of the palace shrine, which abutted the back of the complex, on sixth street near the far end. Here the two-story building rose surrounded by its own walls and steps. The courtyard before it was empty, and she could see the monster flitter across by the light of the moons. There’s nowhere for you to run now.

As the sorceress descended into the court, she could see the shimmering shadow curl inward under the eaves and watched as it slipped up the steps. Careful and cautious, Aka made her way across soundlessly. She knew the creature to be dwelling in the upper corner of the shrine veranda—its darkest point, and her approach attempted not to startle it. She got just close enough to be beyond attack range when the monster bolted again. Slithering shadow bounced downward, almost onto her, and across the steps of the temple. She watched as its light-eating form cracked underneath the doorway. Aka ran after it, determined not to let it escape.

In fear it might escape out a back window, she charged up and threw open the doorway to the shrine. Aka—froze.

---

End of Act I

The inner shrine was a red ruin.

The alien woman stood, surrounded by others, gazing up at the statue of Tadan which sat motionless in the moonlight. Blood streaked the back walls and the floors, and Aka found the source of it immediately. Haka Kiyomori slouched in the corner of the shrine, his handsome face motionless—dead.

What remained of the shrine sanctuary was torn asunder. The woman at its center did not turn to look at Aka as her work was interrupted—instead she lorded over the others, who wrenched at the statue of the goddess with mirrors and pipes and unfamiliar tools. She was tall—very tall—taller than even Aka with her clogs, and her skin caught the moonlight gleaming. It must have been… metal, as was the case with the much smaller men that swarmed the statue—impossible as that seemed. Where the workers bore no faces but blank plates under their foreign helmets, the woman’s face was carved and angelic to look at—perfectly wrought in cold beauty.
Behind the metal woman, Aka could see the floating form of a violet robe twirling on unseen wind. Her heart skipped a beat.

“Where is Tadan?” the woman asked. Her voice crackled and popped like lightning, and sparks flew as her mouth moved. She spoke Yan, Aka realized—too shocked to react. The woman did not repeat her question. Instead, she turned, and when she did, Aka’s eyes slid down to the rising sun carved so finely above her breasts. The dawn.

Instantly the sorceress lifted her fan to attack, but in the same breath, the world in front of her erupted in flame. She didn’t have time to say her power word. Jump, Su, jump! the wall of fire drew closer. Jump, woman! Before you’re killed!

Aka’s legs moved at the last moment, pushing her backwards off the steps and into the dust of the courtyard. She landed hard on her arm and the stone underneath bruised it. The heat of the flame touched her as she flew—kissed the side of her face—and the smell of burning hair strands filled her senses. When she pushed herself up, groaning, the world around her had been transformed into a hell. The front of the shrine was gone—burned to cinders where a gaping hole now sat. Flames licked around the edge, hiding the inside from few. Behind her, the column of fire had reached out and smashed into the wall and entry of the court. Fire spread like ink across the rooftops. Aka looked back, dazed.

The metal woman stepped through the flames casually—a demon from a different age. Behind her floated the robes, and she looked down on the ailur with amusement.

“A Wisdomling?” her voice crackled—somehow still delicate and womanly. “Is this the sorceress?”

The robe floated as if in confirmation, then Aka heard a voice she had not heard since last spring. It flooded her mind, ethereal and meek sounding as always.
”Yes, Mistress.”

“Then should we kill her, hmmm?” The woman asked. There was a playfulness, smug and overbearing to her tone that never seemed to fade. A permanent smile sat on her metal lips. “What say you, Nikiyo-ka-Goroda, my little pet?”

”It is whatever you decide, Mistress. You are in command here—we are only to do your bidding.”

The metal woman looked down upon her, living eyes glistening in the light of fires and moons. Aka could sense no warmth or love in them. Only the most fleeting sense of superiority.
“No.” she laughed. “No. We will let her live. If only for entertainment. She must not be so dangerous as to be fooled by the likes of you, Goroda.”

”Yes, of course, Mistress.”

The metal woman cackled again. “How pathetic, you mortals. So easy to manipulate…so weak.”

”And what of the others?”

No! Aka's heart screamed. She could not move—could not think—and yet she knew at that moment she would give her life to protect the people of the palace. Whatever that sacrifice entailed. No!

“We will leave them.” the woman said. “I am only here for Tadan. Who seems to not be approachable.” She turned her attention back to the shrine, where the fire had spread the width of the building. Aka could not see inside, but the woman seemed to be thinking. “I don’t understand it, Goroda.” she said, more to herself than anyone else. “This worked easily in the lands of Ketzani. But here in the east…”

”I do not know Mistress. Your powers are so much greater than mine. But we will find Tadan, I am sure of it”

“Hmmpf.” the woman turned back, looking down at Aka. The rising sun on her chest reflected the firelight, and Aka knew, somehow, exactly what it meant. The shock was too much to bear. “Well, I think we will be off then.” the woman said. “But not before playing just a little more.”

Instantly, with a snap, a pillar of flame burst from her fingertips and came barreling down towards the sorceress. Aka willed it in all her might to move, and she rolled, stumbling over rocks as the flames came crashing down. They were so close as to burn her skin, and she leapt up with surprising speed to escape what remained. Finding herself pinned in the corner of the courtyard, where fire raged all around, she could hear the shrieks of laughter from her adversary. Aka watched about. The palace had to have been in ruin. In the distance, she could hear voices—human voices—screaming in panic, screaming alarms of fire and screaming for water from the canals. She coughed from the building smoke.

In the blackness around her swirled creatures, shadows moving into shadows, and metal men filled the court. She did not fear them, but her heart was in ruins. She had failed, and failed worse than any had seemingly failed before.

Watching as the pyre rose ever higher into the night, as each second brought about greater inferno, under the laughter of lightning and thunder, Aka did the only thing she could think to do—bear to do. She fled into the darkness.

[Aoyan]

Chapter 21

---

Akira examined the ruins of the western wing of the palace. The fires had taken everything but the skeleton of the sixth street wall. All that remained was the charred supports of cloisters and halls, of residences and courts, of barriers and gates, and above all—the ashen remains of the palatial shrines. So clear had been the destruction, that he could see all the way into the city. Fire had taken huge swathes of that too. So much lost.

He could remember, as a child, the fire that had broken out in the city. The blaze so large and hot as to turn night into day; it had taken out well over a quarter of Kawanakami—but it had not touched the palace. This inferno was different. It had started here, they all knew, and it had come on them swift and furious and had snaked its way all the way to the canal that abutted the central courtyard. They had found soot marks on the tiles of the Hall of Tranquility, and the throne had only been saved because Captain Okagi Murata of the guard had directed the dowsing efforts. There, using the abutting canal, they disassembled the wall and soaked the paving stones so that a great space stretched between the burning second street and the court. Then the fireteam had gone about disassembling the residences that stretched down and around, and despite the incredible speed at which they worked, the fire had still stretched across and torched the lower palace too. Only the southern gate had been saved.

Then, when they had snuffed out the heart of the blaze by morning, they had found the remains of the high priest among the ash of the shrine—the Haka having lost their lord and leader. That had made his mother weep, as it did even now, and added an air of grief to an already overwhelming somberness. Such was the mood as his family gathered to survey the damage and join in the clearing efforts.

Akira watched as the crews worked on the wreckage. They had already, in the span of half an hour, cleared more than a quarter of the western wall of second street.

“It will take into next summer to rebuild, I should think.” his mother had said—the tears clear in her voice. Katsuya Shikibu sat patiently next to her husband, the emperor, for once forgoing her silks of lilac and violet, and instead bearing silks of mourning white for Haka-ka-Kiyomori. Her complexion was only a bit paler. “Yes. Next summer at the earliest. Yes. Oh, how tragic.”

“Worry not, my lady. We will have the court rebuilt at record speed. By the middle of autumn. That I can promise you.” Okagi said. The captain stood upright and proud, though his face remained soot stained. This marked his twenty-eighth hour awake, and he showed no intentions of retiring anytime soon. Akira could see the pallor in the man’s eyes. He had become captain of the guard after Goroda Kayubusa’s journey west, and had taken his position to heart. Thus, the fire had been a failure of his duty—even if it was not held against him—and the heroics of saving what remained of the palace must have done little to wash away the feeling of personal negligence.

Middle of autumn? Akira thought. The idea saddened him. It won’t be finished by Ie’s return. He won’t even know until at least another moon.

The fact his brother would come home to a destroyed court was an outpour of sorrow he did not expect, and yet, it was the last of the things that impacted him. It was a small thing—a puddle in a world of lakes. Yet it was precisely that which brought the devastation home to him. He could recall how the night before his mind had been geared towards inviting Ishii Kioko out for boating—and how that endeavor had proved more difficult than he had anticipated. But now he had no energy to think about any of that. There was no room in his worries for trivial games of love or marriage. His one grief could only be the desecration of his home, and a desecration it was.

“Next autumn? No, I think not, Okagi-ka.” Lady Ai chimed in. The woman was amongst the workers, picking at the wreckage. This day, the mother of his brother wore a mourning white shawl over scarlet alongside a rounded-brim straw hat. She had been actively at her work for most of the morning. “It will take until next summer. Lady Shikibu is correct.”

“Perhaps we should move the capital.” a voice croaked.

All eyes turned to the small figure seated beside Lady Shikibu. Akira had never seen his father look so thin. Emperor Yanagi wore white like the others, which matched his sallow skin. The luster had left his being—all weight had disappeared from his cheeks. His arms and legs seemingly shrunk alongside the rest of his body. He looked sick. He looked defeated

“Nonsense!” Ai replied. The woman turned to them, black soot streaks covering her white robing. She dusted her hands on it further before stepping forward. Her tone—and face—were nearly scolding. “Sorry husband, but that will not do. We need only to rebuild.”

Akira studied the woman in front of them. Zoku Ai was a beautiful woman, even in her advancing age. Yet she was not beautiful in the way Yan women tried to be. Hers was a different beauty—wholly different from that of his mother’s—just as her personality was. Ai was beautiful like snow was beautiful, or stunning like well-polished iron, or tantalizing like winter air on the skin. Her spirit he knew to be just as severe and strong and with that she was a boundless asset to his father. That bite he found beautiful too.

Akira stopped himself. His mind fluttered back five or so winters ago, when there had been another of his father’s four wives among them. Shikan. The mother of his three youngest siblings. He had found her beautiful too—his taste all of sprouting adolescent then—and that taste had earned her a place in a temple far away, by her own conscience, and him a deep secret that only Ie was privy to.

“The gods have abandoned me.” father said. His voice was a weak whisper.

“Oh, you mustn’t say that, husband-na.” Shikibu said, grasping Yanagi with a robbed arm. “The gods would never abandon you. You are emperor, chosen ruler of Tadan’s people.”

“Shiki, our home is destroyed. The court is destroyed.” Yanagi coughed, covering his mouth with a sleeve. “It has been said the spirit of Mount Tola protected this place—this city—and so we moved the court here in the time before my grandfather’s grandfather. Yet it did not stop the nightmares, nor did it stop this.”

“It was only a fire.” Ai snapped. “Palaces have burnt down in the past, to rise anew.”

“And each time the capital was moved.”

“The flames only took half the palace. More damage is done by typhoon each year to the coastal cities. The capital burned, yes, but it wasn’t any worse than the last Kawanakami fire.”

“My nightmares have returned.” Yanagi’s eyes stilled, as if he was looking very far away then flittered upward. “Only this time conjured in life.”

Lady Ai did not seem to pay him any mind. “No, that will not do. Your lords have already decided against it, husband, and we can rebuild with simply a little work.” The woman had already resumed helping the porters clear the destruction.

For his part, Akira did not want to abandon the place. Certainly, his entire world had gone up in conflagration—but it was hard to argue against Lady Ai. Instead, her determination inspired him. This had been his birthplace, his home, and nearly the only world he had ever known. Something told him, this was a place meant for him. “No, father.” he blurted out, almost as quick to cover his mouth. All eyes turned to him. “Ai-ka is correct. We should not move the capital. We can, and will rebuild. Father, look, the gazebo under the maples still stands—even among all the ruin. Surely that is a sign that this is still our home.”

Yanagi did not respond. Instead the dark black pools of his eyes met the violet of his son’s and Akira knew in that moment—his father had given up. Can it really be that he’s broken? That easily? No…no, surely not.

Yet Akira had never seen his father look so frail. Not even when it was thought he might have suffered the white pox. Yanagi did not speak, but held his gaze for a long time, only to softly nod when time had run its course.

“Radiance, if I may be permitted to speak again.” Captain Okagi was bowing deeply. The emperor simply motioned with a robbed arm for him to continue. “We have something else to show you, something important to the safety of the court.”

“Very well.” Yanagi was almost inaudible.

With that, Okagi screamed a few commands and a group of porters scrambled off—only to return moments later with something wrapped in silks. Whatever it was, it was large, and they carried it in both hands between them. Akira immediately discerned the shape from its outline against the silk. It’s…a body.

When the men dropped the silks to unwrap them, Akira nearly looked away. He wasn’t certain he wanted to see what lay inside. Neither did Lady Shikibu, who averted her gaze, but when the silks hit the ground they did so with a resounding clang and not the thump of flesh.

Intrigued, all those standing by stopped their work and watched. Even father leaned over from his seat and the men set about unwrapping whatever they had laid down. It’s…metal!

Akira stepped closer. It had been a body, just as suspected—but it was no human corpse that lay sprawled upon the court cobbles. The creation before them was shaped like a man in all ways, even in decoration—but it bore no face, and its flesh was wrought entirely out of bronze. It was a doll of some kind, a life sized one, and it did not look Yan in make.

“What is this?” Yanagi asked. “Which smiths crafted such a thing?”

“Sire,” Okagi began. Akira could see the sweat gathering on his forehead underneath the summer blaze. “I have had all the smiths of Kawanakami interrogated. None claim to be the creator of this creature.”

“So sorry,” Ai interrupted. “But that is not possible, Okagi-ka.”

“Yes,” Shikibu added. “Yes, Ai-na is right. None can smith bronze but those of Kawanakami.”

“One of them must be lying.”

Okagi cleared his throat. “Yes, well, so sorry, but we have yet to find its maker. I doubt this creature came from the capital, bronze though it may be.”

“What do you mean by ‘creature’?” Yanagi asked. “You have used that word twice now, ‘creature’, to describe this statue. Why?”

“That is because, Radiance, I have reason to believe this was a living creature.”

Silence followed between all of them. Akira studied the bronze form sprawled before him. It did not look like anything that could have lived. It was entirely bronze, without exception, and at the joints he could see where the plates were allowed to move and overlap. Like a suit of armor. Yes, just like armor. Yet it was unlike any Yan armor he had ever seen. The helmet, attached to the head, resembled a demon with horns or tusks like that of a boar sticking out the front. Along its ridge sat a tuft of bronze hair, and the main body piece was solid—a breastplate in truth—but there was no cording, or plating. Only the singular piece to form the whole body. Akira could not imagine anyone wearing such a contraption.

“Why?”

“Because, Radiance, some of my men reported having seen such beings fleeing from the burning half of the palace. I did not believe it myself—but then four men in total testified to witnessing this, as well as ladies Wakitsu-ka-Obo and Sashibana-ka-Umejo, who claimed to have seen them from their windows in the night. Then we found this one laying on the outskirts of sixth street, near the forest edge, and I knew the reports to be true. Nobody knows what it is, nor do any doctors know what killed it.”

“And why does this involve the safety of the court?”

“We found a bronze sword alongside the body. That in itself would not bring much alarm, however, it is my opinion that this creature is involved in the fire. Allow me to explain, Radiance. Firstly, fires have never started inside the palace before. We believe, based on the damage, that this one must have started somewhere near the shrine—inside the court. Secondly, it is my belief that Lord Haka was the victim of murder, and not just that of the fires. I have asked city doctors to confirm this too, and despite the fire damage to his being, his bones bear the mark of blades. It must be that this monster is related both to the death of Haka-go, and to the blaze.”

Mother gasped, and Lady Ai’s frown deepened. Emperor Yanagi’s face sat frozen in surprise, and Akira watched his mouth twitch to call out a name he knew would not answer. Aka

There was no one, Akira knew. No one to help, no one to provide answers. The court had lost its high priest and its sorceress in a single night. They were faces so familiar to him as to be wrought before his eyes in warmth and life—yet they were now, in an instant, gone forever. Well one is gone forever his thoughts reminded him. Akira shuddered. No sign of the sorceress had been found at all. Her quarters sat pristine—untouched. They had scoured the ruins and border forests for a body, or for bones, or any remains. Yet none but those of Haka could be found. Furthermore, Prince Mei was certain the ailur would have combated the flames if she could. She’s either dead or missing. There were no other possibilities.

As if Lady Ai had come to the same conclusions, her voice broke the silence. “Where is the sorceress?”

No one knew the answer. Yet by asking, Ai had raised it from the minds of the others into open discussion.

“It is my humble opinion, as well as that of the city watch, that the witch has likely fled. We have found no remains that can be identified as belonging to an ailur. In my mind, it is likely the witch is the cause of—or connected to—the fire. She has fled to escape justice.”

“Aka the cause of the fire?” Ai raised an eyebrow. “I think not, captain.”

“But why run?” Shikibu asked. “Surely, she should have remained to help. This does not sound like the sorceress I know.

Akira frowned. His heart sunk in his chest. Would Aka betray us in some way? He could not imagine it. She had practically raised him—a nursemaid when his mother was far too occupied with the demands of the court. It had been true of his brother, and nearly of his father. Yet, there seemed to be little other explanation beyond her own death, which equally saddened him. The prince tried to keep his mind open, but he could not stop the doubt from seeping in. Torn, he noted Like between the jagged rocks and the open sea.

“Radiance, allow me to send a search party out for the ailur. We will bring her back to face your decision. Likewise, we can hunt her down and dispatch her there if you so desire.”

“That—” Akira stepped forward, speaking out of turn.

“That won’t be necessary, Okagi-ka.” Lady Ai finished for him. “I think it best if we let this business with the sorceress go. Although we should continue to search for any sign of her fate—but that decision is up to his Radiance.”

Akira held his breath, but Yanagi gave him no reprieve. The emperor did not answer nor speak, instead he sat watching where beads of sweat formed on his brow. The others continued on without him.

“Then at least allow me to see to increasing the defenses of the palace and its guard. Until we know what this dead bronze beast is, and until we know it was uninvolved, I think it prudent to consider this an attack for reasons unknown. Yes. That is my view as captain of the guard.”

After a while, only once all eyes had set upon him in anticipation, did Yanagi nod in agreement. The group sat in silence for a long time—Captain Okagi dismissed to pursue his duty—and it was only after Akira was allowed to trail off into the storm that were his thoughts when his father spoke again for a final time that morning.

“My court has become the haunt of ghosts.”

---

Lord Katsuya, Lord of Momoyama and the Seven Ports, Minister of the Right for the Hollyhock Court—could see the Azichi blue banner from his hilltop lookout. It was an ugly thing in his eyes, a stain on the otherwise perfected Inari landscape. He hated how it marred his vision from a distance. He hated how it was in front of them more.

There was much he could see from the small hill his retinue camped upon. To the west stretched the wilderness all the way to the coast, where the dying tails of smoke from the night before still lingered in the sky. Goroda work. To the east swelled the deepness of the Takigehara—that indomitable blue-green blanket of forest that could not be trailed. Beyond the Takigehara, along the descent of the Powaka River from its source in the mountains, sat the spot known as the Crystal Rapids. There, he knew, tumbled a waterfall at a fork in the trails, and there he knew Azichi men had broken through the first of the enemy defenses. Yes, first to break through. But you will not be first by the end.

Below him, Katsuya watched four columns of men advance across the open stretch of fields where at the far end he could see the enemy line. It was not a large force of pewa that opposed him—no more than half a warband or so—but they blocked the path of his main force and so it was that a few of his lines arranged for battle.

“Poor showing.” the man said as he came up beside Katsuya. “They will need work before they are a real army.”

Lord Wisteria did not need to turn to recognize the voice—argumentative and toned as it was—yet he did so out of respect.

Dazu—Sir Crane—stood with one leg raised on a stone, his arms crossed on the knee as he leered over the view. He’s not changed in a decade, Katsuya thought. No, no he has changed. There, on his cheek—that sharp crease. Still built like a bronzesmith after all these years. He always had been.

The chief retainer of Katsuya domain looked on the advancing men in contemplation. “Yes, much more work.”

Today, Dazu wore his violet and white overcoat open and hanging to the breeze—as he was apt to do. His jet hair was oiled back and tied, and the bald center was the newest reminder of his advancing age. Katsuya noticed too the strands of silver that pocked the dark beard which covered the man’s chin and jaw, leaving the upper lip shaven and bare. Yes. He has gotten older.

“I should think so, Dazu-ka.” Katsuya replied. “They’re Haroka men—untrained, true, but that is why they are fighting today. The Barley-Eaters ahead are not worth dedicating our seasoned men, and all fighting is experience. So sorry, but have you forgotten so soon that we have lost perhaps a third of our camp to the typhoon?”

“I have not forgotten” Dazu whispered dryly. “And yet we are still half-twice the size of the Azichi camp, and thrice that of any other.”

“All the more reason that we should use these pups then, neh?”

“All the more reason we should spare needless deaths, lord.” Dazu cupped his jaw with a hand in thought. “We will need every sword, every longspear, every bow—if we want to retain our advantage. One should not be so flagrant with the currency of life like a stinking merchant is with silver.”

“Inexperienced men will do us no good in battle—against Barley-Eaters or otherwise.”

“There are less bloodied ways to train men.”

Katsuya did not punish the challenge—soft as it was. Dazu was one of a handcount of men that could speak to him so brazenly. Such was a gift for his counsel, and his service. He could as easily serve another. Katsuya noted. He’d do just as well in Azichi, or Myobu, or Kawanakami. But he knew Dazu would never have joined any other retinue. He was a Momoyama man from the depths of his soul—even if he did not appear so. His father had served Katsuya’s own, and though separated by a decade and a half, the two had been acquainted, if not exactly friendly. In those days, Katsuya had found him far too dry of humor, too serious, too somber to be a companion. How time changes the color of leaves and of thoughts.

“We will let them fight, if only for a moment. We need some glory for the troops, if minor, to cool the sting of following Zoku into the frontier. And, so sorry, but a few losses now will prevent many more later. You are correct, Dazu-ka. Yes. We must utilize the advantage of life that we have, and so it shall be that our men must prove stronger than our rivals.”

“Do you still consider that swamprat, Lord Stone, your rival sire?”

Katsuya laughed, but before he could answer, the two men found their attention dragged to the happenings below. The advancing columns halted before the opposing treeline where a conch horn blast signaled their stop. There in the dark they knew—though they could not easily see—stalked a band of Barley-Eaters. Violet scouts had already seen the small war party from horseback earlier in the day, and the coming ambush was anticipated if not dissuaded. Katsuya had allowed his men to engage without his or Dazu-ka’s command, eager to see how they would do under their own officers and neither he nor his counterpart dressed for battle. The fight would take mere minutes.

The troop blocks stood in place, taking up a breadth of the field. Their violet silken banners flapped in the breeze, and from between them shot an arrow which whistled loudly in the air. Calling the gods and spirits to witness the fight. Just as quickly, as was custom, an armored man clad in iron stepped out of the line—his figure little more than a blurred shape from the distance. Yet even so, Katsuya could hear his words.

“I, Haroka-ka-Yorikoshi, son of Haroka-ka-Yoriyama, grandson of Haroka-ka-Takoyori and descendent of the peerless hero Haroka Korigama call upon all the gods, the spirits, and m ancestors to witness this battle. Send forth your greatest to face me!”

And then the arrows flew. They came in a solid mass from the darkness, and from the fields to the side, and slammed into the columns with feral force crafted only from the sharpness of their bone arrowheads. Katsuya shuddered. He knew the sharpness found in the barbs all too well, but he also knew that they had little effect on the man who stood in armor.

Haroka-ka-Yorikoshi, or his silhouette, lifted an arm that was little more than a thin line from the distance and covered the front of his face. Protecting his eyes Katsuya thought, for it was the eyes that were the weak point and the source of terrible death. Yes. Very terrible.

But the man who was a distant cousin did not fall to that death. Instead, as the arrows came in torrents, he charged forward with his men—spear raised. The common soldiery fell in swathes and Katsuya frowned. Far more killed already than I had expected.

“Tell me, Dazu-ka.” Katsuya began. “Should I consider Ishii-go my rival?”

“Not in the slightest, sire.”

Katsuya laughed again, temporarily pulled from the combat in the distance. “I agree. Lord Stone is loud, and proud, and as dense as his namesake. Yes. He is easy to taunt and rile, but like stone he and his ilk will sit and look strong, but they will not bite.”

“Yes, sire. But he does hold one card from which all his power is derived—his friendship with the emperor.”

“Be that as it may, Dazu-ka, I do not believe clan Ishii in all its strength can reach near enough to damage Momoyama. Should I start cracking stones we come across?”

“Better to kill all the camp cats, lord. Ishii-go has signed away all power in this campaign to the one who threatens our position the greatest.”

Katsuya paused—his eyes reflexively brushing past the Azichi blue banners on the far flung hilltop. Yes. Yes, precisely. You can see it too then? I fear a tiger in cat’s skin. See how we are all made to march “with” him. As if I was not minister of the right, as if my grandson was not heir to the throne, as if I was not the most powerful lord in the land—liege of the largest and wealthiest city ever constructed.

“You are correct, Dazu-ka. Very correct. But how do we go about targeting my true rival, then?”

“It is hard to say, lord. He has already asserted control of the campaign to this point, even if such is slipping. Yet he does not have everything secure. Many of the lords follow our own camp, and will go wherever you do. He is hated by many, and loved by few. We simply need something to push authority into our hands—slowly, if not immediately. Size of host is not enough.”

“Yes. But what?”

Dazu did not answer for a long time. Instead, the two spent their thinking time watching over the developing fight below. Now the Barley-Eaters could be seen—small bat-like imps which attacked the pike columns ferociously. To Katsuya’s relief, the formations were holding, though they had been mauled by projectiles. The Barley-Eater attack had been less successful, where the braced copper heads of the pikes made short work of any brave enough to charge. Yet the violets had already suffered badly where the sergeants and officers did the least of dying and most of the killing. Now, from the east, Katsuya could see the dust storm caused by his cavalry, which crashed onto the field from the flank within moments and pincered the small bands exactly where they had wanted them. Before long, he knew the slaughter would begin—though experience taught that most of the enemy would escape into the woodlines all the same.

“I say you should use the same strength that Ishii-go has, sire.” Dazu said, breaking their vigil.

“So sorry, but what do you mean?”

“I mean that you should use familiarity with the imperial house to your advantage.”

“I am already grandfather to the crown prince. I do not see how I can gain much more?”

“That is true, yes. We cannot weave back time, nor bring you closer to his Radiance. You have obtained the highest position and honor possible through marriage, but there is still more room to gain influence. In this very campaign, is there not a prince that rides with the armies?”

Katsuya paused, then nodded his head smiling. “Ah, I understand. Yes. You are very wise, Dazu-ka, and very useful. You have served me as well as any man. Yes. Such thoughts are the mark of a genius.”

“You honor me, sire.”

“Only if we can win.”

It was then that their conversation was interrupted—this time by the scrambling of guards behind them. Katsuya turned just as Dazu did and he heard the intruder before he saw her.

“Why have we stopped advancing?” Lady Narawa barked on her approach. “Your men are blocking my own on the roadway. Are we to let that cur Zoku lead every assault?”

Lord Katsuya watched the woman push through the crowd of his personal guard with a fury—her own men following closely behind. She donned battle armor, boxy and corded in Nawarisano green, and undoubtedly old but he knew it would be bronze underneath and block any blade blow that came across it. Her hair was allowed to wave freely, thick and inky, where no helmet covered her face.

“Well?” she screeched. “What is the reason, Lord Wisteria? Why have we stopped?”

“To fight” he replied calmly.

Lady Narawa stopped three arms length away, where his guards managed to break her resistance. They would not allow her any closer, Lady or not, and even Dazu had positioned himself between them. Katsuya nodded them aside and let her pass.

“To fight?” This?” she asked, stepping up beside him.

“Yes. As you can see there are enemies before us.”

“Hmpf. This? This is little more than a scraggly Barley-Eater warband. We could have easily marched through it—pushed it aside. My men kill more than this each moon!”

“It will soon be over. So sorry, but if you wish, you can march around.”

Narawa paused, knowing whose army was following whose, and knowing that going around would not be wise—politically or pragmatically. For her force was small, and Katsuya’s the largest, and to stand alone would cost her more in men and more in position than it was to ally with the powerful. Even if she hated it.

“Yes, well…I recall banning your monks in my lands, Lord Wisteria—and yet I am still assaulted by your hideous white cloaks wherever I go in your camp. Even some of your warrior women, lovely as they are, have fallen to your foreign religion. Such a shame, neh? This is a land of the gods, and your Violets bring little but the prattling of your filthy western fire worship.”

“If you object to the religion of my men, lady, you are free to go around.”

Katsuya watched Dazu and his men carefully. A vein had sprouted on the temple of his chief retainer. I do not see that often. Katsuya thought. His anger is so often subdued, as is befitting a man. Yet how could one take such insults lightly?

There were many things lesser peoples had levied against his men in the past. Jealousy of his rise knew no bound or form. Yet besides insults to their master, insults to their god were the one grievance his warriors could not look past. But they will. They will do it for me. And when I tell them to pounce, they will do that too—with joy.

“I just do not like that Lord Cat has been allowed to outpace us. It was bad enough you agreed to follow him to the frontier, Lord Wisteria. Now, I can see his banner on the far hill—in front of us! If I didn't know better, it would seem he is the leader of our entire campaign.”

“On that we can agree.”

“Pah! My father would not have allowed another to eclipse him so brazenly. The men of this age are ridiculous—more so than men usually are. Too much scheming and whispering, and very little bronze between them.”

Lord Katsuya watched Dazu straighten at the suggestion, arms crossed, and though the warrior did not rebuke the woman, his master could see the teeth grinding beneath the veneer.

“Again, Narawa-go, if you have criticisms that are unbearable then you are free to pass us by or follow another camp. So sorry, but perhaps Lord Zoku would be a better match than I.”

“No.” she bit. “No, he would not.”

“Oh? And why precisely do you despise him?”

“For one…he is too arrogant. Yes. Very arrogant. More so than men typically are. And he is ill-mannered and very shameless. I can not think of a more despicable lord in the realm. Nor can I think of a more despicable group of men than the Azichi camp itself. I will not follow them. Not even if I had to slit open my own belly to avoid such a fate.”

Katsuya smiled inwardly. Like a fly into a honey pitcher he thought. Right into my trap.

“Is that so? But there are very few Vemayans among the Azichi men. They’ve performed the best of the camps this campaign, and many of them are warriors of renown during their living lifetimes. Surely men such as Tetsukoba Moritoshi rank amongst the bravest of our lifetimes. Or the prince, his grandson. Did he not save me during the typhoon?”

Narawa spat. “Tetsukoba Moritoshi has earned his name in battle, that is true, but he is not the avatar of Ashurmon like everyone thinks. He is no better than any other Azichi man in manners or agreeability. No, more like a dog following the bones tossed by his lord into the muck. As for the prince. Well. He is an ugly boy, and though he may have saved you, could one say the same for me? No. That was your own son, Momoyama born, who did that. Then there was the disgrace after the shrine maid. Horrible. I am more than aware of the aura given to Azichi, with its great fortress, and I tell you I have always despised Lord Cat. I despised his father too—wild and uncontrollable as he was.”

“Those are men, yes, but the prince is surely just a boy.” Katsuya paused. He had to be careful not to let this woman know he took a particular interest in the prince—lest she stay silent—knowing he would not get a better chance. Prince Mei was too far away, and too sharp in adulthood, for him to squeeze knowledge from. Likewise, no one else who may know Prince Foscan would divulge to him willingly. “I think you may be punishing the grandson for the ill manners of the grandfather.”

She chuckled a dry, bitter response. “You think, Lord Wisteria? I tell you he is a very ugly boy. An odd man in equal measure. He is a loner, having stayed in his quarters during his entire stay at my court. He spoke to no one but Toriichi and a few of his traveling companions. I saw him only once or twice. Then there is what they say about him in his home palace. He is a loner there too, it seems, save for a few friends. Very odd and dislikable. Atop all his other ill-manners.”

“I see.” Katsuya said nonchalantly. “Well, then if you do insist on following me, you will have to wait until the way clears.”

“As it seems to be now.”

Out in the field, Katsuya could see the remnants of the battle—so brief as to be concluded within moments of the initial assault. His cavalry had run rough over the Barley-Eaters flank and as predicted they had melted into the woods and fields as quickly as they appeared. The right column had been mauled badly—he could make out the gathered corpses of the fallen on the edge of their reforming line and could see clearly the crew assigned to move them. The left had fared better and still maintained its pre-battle cohesion. The officer who had initiated the fight stood alive as he had expected but now even at a distance he could see the arrows that pierced the silk of his armored joints. He must be bleeding Katsuya thought, knowing all too well the sharp sting of arrows that wound their way through like serpents. You could not avoid them. And will resent the role of the horsemen. But they’ve gotten their victory, another to add to our small belt, and that is what matters. These men have now seen life and death.

“Dazu-ka, send a runner informing Haroka Yorikoshi that I will receive the heads of the enemy from his victory tonight.”

“Yes, sire.”

“And Narawa-go, if you would be honored to join me…”

But when Katsuya turned, the woman had already departed with her own warriors. No doubt to hasten the speed of her camp.

“Well, Dazu-ka, it looks like another sterling victory.”

“More men lost than is ideal.”

“Ah, but that is the smaller of the two we have been granted by Vemaya-to this day.”

“Then you have devised a plan.”

“Yes.”

Dazu grunted. “It will not be easy to sway the prince against his own grandfather.”

“No, but we can start at the base. It does not hurt to show one’s gratitude for an act well done. Prince Foscan did me a very good turn during the storm. If it was not for him, I may not have survived the bridge crossing. For that I am truly grateful and have decided we should host a feast in the princes’ honor. Yes. When the camps next convene.”

“But in this you must see the key to his lock.”

“Perhaps. But Narawa-go has provided some insight if little—just enough for me to bet. I am not an intimate of the prince, but I know my own grandson, and I know what they say at the court. In this, I have a basic understanding of the man, and I think I can crack him. We will start with this first step, then adjust. Like a dance, neh? A game, like stones.”

“Very well. I will make sure the arrangements are made within the camp for it. Should I send word to your lady wife for the funds?”

“Yes. She is already overseeing the rebuilding of Momoyama after this year’s storms. What is one more small expense? Money is little to me, or my house.”

“Of course, only—I hope your wisdom sees us through.”

“I as well, Dazu-ka. Yes. I as well. But this is just the first of the moves on the board. Yes. Just the first.” And if the soothsayer is to be trusted, perhaps it is the first move in my true rise. Beyond Minister of the Right. Yet, can it be true that Ishii—that imbecile—could outplay me? No. No I don’t see it, and yet it has been foretold. I must be very careful of him, as I am of Zoku. Very careful.

---

The paste turned brown-green as it mashed together under the river stone. Aka studied the concoction—it did not look as smooth as when ground under her jade pestles. But it will have to do.

Wincing, she applied what she could to all her scraps, burns, and cuts. The salve stung at first, then cooled, and she allowed herself a moment to rest. Nearby the river Kawa flowed gently and bubbled as it came up over its stones. The mountain air was cool and crisp, even on a summer morning, and her companion had been birdsong. The sounds of the city—just upstream and still visible—escaped her.

Aka had spent half that morning gathering the materials for her ointment. Yarrow, goldenrod, heartvine, mountain konnits, and silvergrass stalk all made their way into her hand for healing—infinitely easier when they could be taken from her stores. Now those stored ingredients and a hundred others were lost. Whether they were burned in the fire, or simply barred off after her departure, she could not say. Nor did she want to think much on it.

Her eyes trailed the floating form of a bumble bee as it hovered from the forest edge and landed on the flower of an unused goldenrod. Aka sighed. Her exhaustion was catching up with her. The lullying of the river nearby and the warmth of the dawned sunlight made her feel very tired. She had not slept all night.

Sitting there, she could remember the mad chase that had occurred in the darkness many hours before. Having escaped the blaze of the shrine yard, she had made her way down sixth street as fast as she could. In those moments, her thoughts had been on nothing but escape. Escaping the metal men, escaping the shadows, escaping the flames—escaping her failures. She had not noticed the bronze soldiers that were close behind, but she had managed to flee the palace without much difficulty. Then, when on the wooded outskirts of the north edge, she had caught sight of her pursuers for the first time. She had tried to flee from them too.

Making her way into the forest—the only route she knew how—she had stumbled her way through the night with little aid. A hundred branches cut at her clothing and face and a hundred rocks threatened to trip her. It felt as if the mountains had turned against her, as if the world had turned against her, and she had felt like it should. For what had she done but abandoned those she loved?

Fate. she had told herself while running. Heaven and Earth—the turning of destiny. And she found herself ready to give over to that which she drew all her power. Yet seventy winters of life had pushed her onward into the night anyways, and when she thought her legs would give out, it came to her—a memory of salvation.

”This ‘spell’ comes from our people in the north, girl.” Baba had told her from across the hearth.

“Lightning?” she had asked in awe. “You will show me how to control lightning?”

”You cannot control lightning no more than you can control fire. Nor can I show you how to do what the ailur of the great lake can do with it. Their magic is not for those of our lineage, child, but… I can show you how we can come to the same place. The magic of this world is like the rivers. It stems from one source, one source beyond the gods. A source one can only catch a shimmer of. From there it flows downwards, and breaks and bends, and what was one river becomes many. Yet they all flow to the ocean.”

“But—”

She could still see—feel—that fire crackle, grow hotter. Baba had looked at her from the growing shadow. ”Do not interrupt your teacher again, Su of Zhinzu”

The girl could only nod in fear.

”All magic is like the rivers, all coming from one place, reaching one place. You and I may be some of the few that can ride the main trunk, girl—but all others can channel the branches. It may look different, feel different, require different things, but the results can be the same.”

So it was that Aka had never channeled lightning—she had never been told she could—but it was that she had remembered the words of her teacher and in the black of that night, she chanted.

It had been like any other exorcism of ghosts or demons. She had tapped into the flow of the garden—the universe and done all that which she alone possessed among the philosophers of the age. Yet this time it was different. She could not say if it was desperation, or instinct, or a surrender to her fate but when she had called a voice answered. In the star-spatter of the summer sky clouds coalesced quicker than eyes could make of them and when her metal adversaries had caught up with her those clouds—as ephemeral as they were heavenly—shot down a single bolt of white hot fury.

The lightning slammed into the first of the bronzemen, passing in the blink of an eye. It was fast, sharp, and untraceable. Aka blinked to protect her vision from the glare but it did no good as the moment the bolt touched her enemy, it brushed the fingers of fate across her as well and she screamed. Eons passed in searing convulsion as she felt herself shocked to a husk. In that single heartbeat she was one with her powers, as was the soldier struck. Aka—her enemy—the lightning—the clouds—life—death—heaven and earth—they were one in the same. There was no beginning, no end, Aka died, Aka lived, and on and on. Then, when she felt her being could take it no more—when she was certain “she” would melt away— it stopped.

Finding herself facing the earth beneath her, sound came back only slowly. It was crickets and leafgoats that greeted the night, and not infinity. Breathing ragged, Aka looked up to see the soldiers gone—all but the unmarked shell of the one she struck.

With a shudder, Aka’s mind returned to her rest by the river and tucked the events of the night before away. So what now, Su?

It was only then that the true gravity of the situation engulfed her. She had lost her home, all her possessions, and the only family she had. I can’t return to the court. she thought. They might…hang me, or worse, burn me like Emperor Yuru did to witches. No, they wouldn’t do that, Su. Not Yanagi, or the boys. No, but if they think I am somehow responsible…

She knew she couldn’t bear to face them. Not now. Not if they still lived—

Aka’s mind stopped. She slumped back onto the rocks, finding herself facing the sky above and sprawled against the river shore. I’m so tired. she thought, and she was certain, if it was not for the exhaustion, that the tears would flow.

I’ll fix it. Somehow. I’ll fix everything. Just give me the chance. One chance. Anything. I’ll do something. I’ll use all my magic, all my wit. Anything. Anything to fix this.

She didn’t even know who she was pleading to. The gods? The Universe? Herself? Aka could not say.

Please. Just one chance. I’ll find and defeat them. Whoever they are. I'll protect the court. Just…just after some sleep.

After a time, the bubbling of the current beside her hushed her mind into silence and from it Aka slept.