Her eyes flooded with tears and she bowed her head, waves of raven black spilling forward to cover her face. Her hand was trembling, and he squeezed it tight, heedless of the pain.
“Don’t cry,” he pleaded. “Don’t cry, Yukiko.”
“Will you do something for me?” she whispered.
“Anything.”
“Will you hold me?”
“… I’d like that.”
She crawled onto the bed, careful of his injuries, resting her head against his shoulder. The burns on his arms, the torn cable plugs in his chest, the iron-thrower wound in his thigh, all of it faded away as he lifted his hand, smoothed her hair from her face, closing his eyes.
“Would you do something for me?” he asked.
“Anything.”
“Wake me up. If I start to dream.”
“What if you dream of this? Of us?”
“I won’t. I never do.”
“Maybe one day?”
“One day.”
She sighed from the depths of her, her tension melting in his arms. He lay there, listening to her breathing slow, her body against him, his arms around her. Leaning down, he kissed her brow; a long, silent moment, skin to skin, eyes closed, breathing her in.
She sighed, the shadow of a smile on her lips, pressing tighter against him.
“I love you, Yukiko,” he whispered in the dark.
And in the dark, she whispered back.
“I love you too.”
*
How do, Mockingbird?
Buruu sat perched on the rooftop of the Kitsune fortress, staring over the ruined city. He’d heard the boy climbing up, swift and sure, now crouching on the eave beside him. A thin carrion bird, looking over the leavings of a day’s war. The wind was a howling, open mouth, teeth of frost, and the boy pulled his cloak tighter, eyes narrowed against the chill.
COLD OUT HERE, MONKEY-CHILD. YOU WILL CATCH YOUR DEATH.
Only if I chase it.
Buruu rested his head on his forelegs, sighed deep. The remainder of his pack were scattered across the rooftops, Shai curled up against a chimney close by. The snores and fitful growls of the few remaining bucks shivered the cedarwood tiles beneath them.
HOW IS YOUR SISTER?
Bleeding. Real bad. Yours?
He could feel her in the distance, asleep in Kin’s arms. The thought filled him with a smile, momentarily banishing the dread he felt when he considered what lay before them.
SHE SLEEPS.
She still pondering her legendary charge? Down into the hellgate and whatever lies beyond? Fixing to be another story for the ages?
SHE WILL HAVE TROUBLE WITH THAT. UNLESS SHE GROWS WINGS.
Not keen on the idea of her ending?
TO FLY HER AND HER UNBORN CHILDREN INTO YOMI? AFTER ALL I HAVE BEEN THROUGH TO KEEP HER SAFE? YOU WOULD BE AS MAD AS THE ENDSINGER TO THINK IT SO, MONKEY-CHILD.
Yoshi nodded, spit through his teeth out into the darkness. They sat in silence for a few moments more, flakes of black snow curling in the air between them.
You were right, you know. What you said about revenge.
YOU KILLED THEM, THEN. YOUR FOES IN KIGEN.
Doubtless.
AND WHAT IS DIFFERENT?
Not a thing.
I TOLD YOU. ALL THINGS FADE WITH THE SEASONS. PAIN IS NO DIFFERENT. ALL THINGS DIMINISH WITH TIME.
Time isn’t something we have a barrel of anymore, Mockingbird.
WHY ARE YOU HERE, MONKEY-CHILD?
Need a ride.
WHERE?
Out to the deadlands.
WHY?
Test a theory.
WHAT THEORY?
Never tell a story when you can put on a show.
The boy stood with a lopsided smile, brushed his palms on his hakama legs.
Come on. Let’s fly.
*
Yoshi slipped off Buruu’s back, snow crunching as his boots hit earth. The stench of blood and iron hung thick in the air. The fires of the gaijin encampment were a flickering glow in the eastern foothills, distant drums underscoring the thunder’s tune. Drawing close to the deadlands pit, Yoshi swore he could hear singing: a broken clockwork rhythm eating itself and spilling metal crumbs from a blacktooth grin. The stink of burned hair stabbed his nostrils, the oily haze hanging over the tortured earth barely rippling despite the howling gale.
PUT ON YOUR SHOW, THEN. AND LET US BE AWAY.
Yoshi pulled up his kerchief, wincing at the nagging ache of his severed ear.
Patience, Mockingbird. Not exactly sure how to play this tune.
WHY ARE WE HERE? WHAT IS YOUR MIND?
Purifiers in Kigen. They were burning folks at the Stones, even up until a few days ago. I don’t know what forced them out of the chapterhouse, but they were conducting their purity testing in the open. Not exactly in plain sight, mind, but I had eyes to see it.
AND WHAT DID THEY TEST?
Yoshi pulled his cloak around him, shoulders hunched against the wind.
Some old fellow. Bled him and dripped the gravy into an iron box.
WHAT WAS INSIDE IT?
Yoshi nodded to the deadlands.
Looked like ashes. Except when this old fellow got bled on them, the ashes popped their cork. All violent, like. Split the box apart. And what I saw spilling out wasn’t ashes anymore.
I AM WEARY OF BEING THE AUDIENCE IN YOUR SHOW. SPIT IT OUT, BOY.
It was dirt. Just regular dirt.