The Dragon clanlord stood, began pacing the length of the table.
“The Guild intends to attack the Iishi forest. The Kagé stronghold. It is the rebellion’s blood they seek, not the Kitsune. They will give the Fox clan a chance to join the fold, on my life. They will offer the same to us. This machine, this Earthcrusher … it is the flag the Guild’s new nation is meant to rally behind.”
“Will we pledge allegiance, Father?”
A small frown darkened Haruka’s brow. “This Hiro … He holds the Phoenix Daimyo in his dungeons and their armies to ransom. I have met him, and there is nothing close to noble blood in his veins. When he was set to wed the Lady Aisha, at least he had thin claim to legitimacy. Now, he is little more than a puppet dancing to the Guild’s tune.”
Haruka turned to his samurai, fire in his eyes.
“I say this clan will not kneel before a mere boy-child. I say we would rather bleed the ground red than bow before a chi-monger’s marionette. I say we will crush this pretender into dust, or perish in the attempt.”
Reisu cleared his throat. “There are other rumors, Father. We heard them in our travels. Our clansmen to the south speak of horrors spreading from the Stain. Crawling from cracks in the earth. Talk of oni demons and creatures darker still—”
“We have no time for the babbling of superstitious peasants, my son. War is at our door. And will we rise to meet it?” Haruka turned to his men. “Will we stand with swords in hand? Does the blood of Dragons not flow in our veins? Are we not Ryu?”
“Hai!” A dozen shouts filled the room, Haruka’s counselors beating their fists upon the table or the iron at their breasts. As the shout faded, a new sound stepped in to fill the space between crashing wave and howling wind. A sound born of metal on hollow metal, rimed with frost. A sound that had only been heard once in Kawa city since Haruka was born; the day his father, Daimyo Sakai, had passed on to his heavenly reward.
The song of iron bells from the Dragon Tooth Straights.
The samurai looked amongst one another in confusion. Herald Daisuke ran to the bay windows, staring out to the distant watchtowers perched on the Dragon’s Teeth. Two long fangs of stone protruded from the mainland, forming a narrow pass into a natural harbor—the Bay of Ryu from which the old raiding fleets had once mustered. The towers were relics, manned only out of respect for the old ways. The chances of Kawa ever being invaded by sea nowadays …
Daisuke pressed one hand against the clouded beach glass, body stiffening.
The bells continued to peal.
Haruka frowned. “Daisuke-san, what do you see?”
“Guh,” the boy said. “Guh…”
The war council frowned amongst themselves, muttering darkly. The position of Herald was no job for a halfwit. Any one of them had sons who could have filled the— “Guh…” the boy said.
“Maker’s breath…” Haruka stalked across the Hall of Warriors, clapped one hand on his stuttering nephew’s shoulder, and looked out over the Bay of Ryu.
“Guh…” the boy said.
“Gods above,” Haruka breathed.
Ships. Dozens of them. Metal-clad and sailless, towering above the waves and moving in phalanx formation. The flagship at their head as big as a fortress—wedge-shaped, great thrashing wheels on its flanks, churning in black water. Lightning arced across rivet-studded hulls, decks littered with the lopsided dragonfly shapes of rotor-thopters, each one painted with twelve stars down their bows.
Haruka had served twenty years in the Morcheban campaigns, could read gaijin writing if he put his mind to it. He squinted through the spray and mists, making out the name of the flagship in the vanguard.
Ostrovska.
Haruka was a warrior born. A Daimyo forged in fire and blood, veteran of brutal massacres and glorious victories. And as he looked out to the iron-gray shapes slipping like blades into the Bay of Ryu, he felt an odd sensation in his chest. Something that hadn’t stirred in decades—not since he was a boy, standing on those cliffs and daring the storm to take him. It took him a moment to remember what it was …
Fear.
He turned to his council, eyes wide, lips flapping like laundry in the wind.
“Guh…” he said. “Guh…”
Herald Daisuke turned from the window, pale as cold ash. The boy drew his chainkatana in trembling hands, spoke with trembling voice.
“Gaijin,” he said.
PART TWO
GRIEF
“Be you my brave love?”
Her voice sweet as plum perfume. “Will you stay with me?”
Izanagi sighed; took his Lady in his arms, held her in the dark.
“Lie with me now, love.” Her breath, snow upon his cheek. “Make me warm again.”
She pressed with black lips, and in her kiss he tasted, Ashes on her tongue.
—from the Book of Ten Thousand Days
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