“If you require assistance—”
“You have your own duties, Commander. But I believe my presence here renders at least one of your personnel redundant. Perhaps he would be kind enough to assist me during my stay?” Kensai turned his eyes to the end of the line. “If you can spare the time, Kin-san?”
“It would be my honor to serve you, Second Bloom.”
“No doubt.” Kensai hobbled to Kin’s side, breath rasping, rain beating on their skins like a thousand metal drums. Like the pulse racing in Kin’s chest.
Kensai placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, as if he required the support.
“Lead on, Kin-san.”
Head high, Kin turned to the gaping hatchway and led Kensai inside.
*
He hadn’t coughed for fourteen minutes and eleven seconds.
The count ticked over in Daichi’s head, moment by moment, dry tongue catching on chapped lips. Every breath was edged with dull pain, black spreading across his lungs. A rag tied around his face was his only filter, but the air in the sky-ship’s belly was probably cleaner than abovedeck, and for that at least, he was thankful to his captors.
Strange how a week of agony could make you thankful for the smallest mercy.
When he’d agreed to help Kin get aboard the Earthcrusher, he’d consigned himself to death. But he hadn’t known the shape it would take. Seeing it coalesce before him, imagining the tortures the First Bloom might put him through for his amusement …
He willed himself still. Closed his eyes and thought of Kaori. The life she might have when all this was said and done.
The engine’s hum dropped an octave, propellers slowing their pace. Daichi lifted his head, listening to the heavy tread above, the rasping of faint metallic voices. And there in the hold’s gloom, he felt them—that now familiar absence of presence, that deepening darkness filled with the sorrow of flowers without sunlight.
“It is time,” said the first Inquisitor.
“I am ready,” Daichi whispered.
Laughter then, laced with something cold and not entirely human.
“No. You are not.”
The laughter died quickly, as Daichi hoped he might.
“No one ever is.”
34
SLUMBER’S END
… You have a son?
Buruu watched Yukiko, head tilted, studying her expression. Eyes wide as a full moon. Pale as the foam on the breakers below. Amazement scribed in every line and curve of the features he knew so well.
YOU SOUND SURPRISED.
Of course I’m surprised!
AND WHY?
Gods, I don’t know. You just don’t … You don’t seem the father type.
AND WHAT DOES THAT SEEMING LOOK LIKE?
Hells, I don’t know. Lotus pipes and gambling habits?
YUKIKO, I HAVE A MATE. WHY WOULD I NOT HAVE CUBS?
I suppose … You always struck me as so young. You don’t seem much older than I am.
He glanced to the small swelling at her midriff beneath the banded iron.
IF I HAD EYEBROWS, THEY’D BE HEADED SKYWARD RIGHT NOW.
All right, all right. Good point, well made.
ONE PLUS ONE EVENTUALLY EQUALS THREE.
His name is Rhaii?
YES. IT MEANS “HOPE.”
How old was he when you left Everstorm?
A HANDFUL OF MONTHS.
Buruu looked south, spying Shai winging her way back across the waves, a small, white shape beside her.
HE WILL NOT REMEMBER ME.
Yukiko put her arms around his neck, squeezed tight.
He may not remember. But he’ll love you. You’re his father.
“FATHER” IS JUST ANOTHER WORD FOR “STRANGER,” TO THOSE WHO GROW UP WITHOUT ONE.
He felt sadness in her then, her hand straying to her belly’s warmth, hanging her head as the rain dripped through the curtains of her hair. And he closed his eyes, cursed himself for a fool, so clumsy and fumbling and unused to human ways.
RAIJIN SAVE ME, I AM SORRY. THAT WAS NOT WHAT I MEANT …
It is what you meant. And it’s true. I know what it is to grow up without a parent.
ALL THAT MATTERS IS THEY GROW IN A PLACE OF LOVE. ONE OR TWO SUNS MAKES NO DIFFERENCE. ONLY THAT THERE IS LIGHT.
She looked to the figures flying toward them. And in a moment, all the sorrow and heartache and worry melted from her face, lit with such a smile that it seemed Lady Amaterasu had come out from behind the clouds.
He’s so beautiful …
He saw him then, a little bundle of fresh feathers and fur, still downy and gray in patches; infancy yet unshed. But though the winds were fierce as tigers, though he was probably too young to make the flight, on he came, tiny wings pounding with all the fury of Raijin’s drums.
His contribution to the future of the arashitora race.
His little Rhaii.
His Hope.
My gods, Buruu, he looks just like you …
Shai came in to land, talons sparking on the sheer granite. She turned to watch her son, and Buruu curled his wing about her, heart filled with pride. The little figure struggled on, tossed about like a kite in the storm. But still he flew, brave as dragons, finally extending cub-sharp claws into a stumbling, tumbling landing that flipped him end over end and brought him to rest at his father’s feet.