A shuddering moan, all along her spine, dread rising with the puke in her throat. A thrumming pulse. A crushing weight. Which way? Gods, which way?
Swim!
Kicking blindly in the dark, struggling toward the light. Except there was no light. No air in her lungs. And even if she did make it through, even if she did light a fire in the Guild’s heart and burn it all to cinders, would it change a single thing? Would it bring back all the things she’d lost? Burn away the hate inside her? The rage at what she’d been and become?
Swim!
Would it bring her peace?
SWIM!
Would any of it make any difference at all?
*
Akihito leaned on his warclub crutch, staring across the valley at the Tora army lumbering into motion. The Earthcrusher had vomited an enormous plume of exhaust into the air, but hadn’t actually moved an inch. After everything—all the talk and prayers and risk—it looked like the rebel plan was working. The big man found his face decorated with a broad smile.
The Guild sky-fleet charged headlong toward the Kitsune ships amassed over Yama. The shreddermen pounded across the open ground, carrying mighty metal boardwalks to bridge the Amatsu. Legions of bushimen moved like a glittering, scarlet flood behind. But the army had no siege towers, no battering rams, and without the Earthcrusher to clear the way, they were in for hard times when they reached the walls. Any second now, the behemoth would blow, vaporizing anything nearby.
But still, some of the Tora fleet would survive. The ships were better armed than the Kitsune ironclads—they needed something to equal the scales. And not for the first time that day, Akihito found himself searching the clouds, ears straining for the thunder of beating wings.
Yukiko, where the hells are you?
Hana’s uncle Aleksandar stood a few paces away, Piotr beside him. The big man glanced toward the tent, Kaiah sitting outside and preening. The thunder tiger seemed alert but calm, and he knew she’d react at the first murmur of Hana’s distress. But still, he couldn’t help the anxiety stealing his spit, unspooling like ice-cold worms in his belly.
“How long does this ritual take?” he asked.
The gaijin commander raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down. “Why do you ask?”
“They could probably use a stormdancer soon.” Akihito pointed to the sky-fleet. “Besides, I’m worried about her. That’s allowed, isn’t it?”
“I admire my blood’s courage,” the gaijin said. “And that of her friends. And I know she will fight for her people this day, her friends beside her. But you should know, much will change after the ritual.”
“What do you mean?”
“Hana will not be the same. No matter what happens this day, you should prepare yourself for a parting. When this war is done, my niece will return with us to Morcheba, to serve her House and the Goddess as is her duty.”
“What?” Akihito frowned. “Have you spoken to her about this?”
“What is there to speak of?”
“Maybe she doesn’t want to go to Morcheba…”
“What she wants is not entirely relevant. All Zryachniye—”
“Izanagi’s balls, it’s not relevant. That girl has been through the hells. All her life, she’s never had a choice. And now she’s had all these doors opened, all these riddles answered, you’re going to take any choice she has away? She trusts you, Aleksandar. And for that girl, trust—”
A harsh cry, guttural and fierce; a tumbling nonsense Akihito had no chance of translating. He saw one of the Sacred Sisters stalking toward them, Guild faces beaten flat against her shoulders, sharpened teeth bared. Kaiah was on her feet, growl building in her throat. Akihito hefted his warclub, limped forward, eyes on the thunder tiger.
“Hana?” he called.
“Akihito-san.” Piotr was looking at him, horrified. “What you do?”
“What?” He glanced at the gaijin, at the woman stalking toward him, scarred face twisted in fury. “What did I do? What the hells are you saying?”
“What you do?” Piotr asked again, voice rising.
Kaiah turned toward him, hackles rippling as she roared. The woman with the lightning scars shouted again, the Kapitán hissed and seized Akihito’s arm. The big man cursed, shoved Aleksandar away. Kaiah was bounding toward him, gaijin soldiers were drawing weapons, outrage etched on every face. Piotr grabbed his arm, eyes wide and bright with panic.
“Akihito-san, run you.”
He heard Hana cry out. The Sacred Sister shouting again, pointing. He shook Piotr off, stalking toward the holy woman, warclub raised high.
“What did you do to her?”
“No!” Piotr yelled. “No, run you!”
“What the hells did you do?” he growled. “If you’ve touched a hair on her head—”
The woman stepping toward him.
A blade, long and cruel and sickle-shaped.
Piotr shouting warning.
Kaiah’s roar.
Hana’s scream.
A blur of leather and brass, the priestess stepping close, whirling, braids flailing as she came. The sun finally cresting the horizon, a bright spray of blinding red, a soft hissing as the blade passed clean through his throat.