Hiro stepped closer, his face inches from Kin’s own. The engines’ hum was a crackling static between them, tinged with the stink of chi, the promise of black rain.
“I wonder what you will be, when all this is said and done,” Hiro murmured. “When she and I and everyone else in this drama is dead. When there’s no one but farmers scratching in dying soil and puppets on zaibatsu thrones and the Guild standing triumphant as the earth shakes louder by the day. I wonder if you’ll taste blood every time you breathe.”
“I wonder something also…”
“Indeed?”
“I wonder why you hate her so much.”
“Do you forget my Shōgun lies murdered by her hand?” Hiro spat. “This is about honor. Such a notion might seem quaint to one like you, but this is the life of a samurai.”
“I know all that,” Kin said. “How you all think dying gloriously will somehow make things better. But I’d think instead of spending so much of yourself hating her, you’d be giving her thanks. All of you. Right before you plunge the blades into your bellies.”
“Thanks?” Hiro was incredulous. “What madness is this?”
“You’re a warrior, and she’s given you war. You seek your death, and she’s given you something to die for. So why do you think you hate her so much?”
“It makes no difference—”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect you didn’t actually want to die for the Imperium, Hiro-san. Maybe you’d rather go on living. Find someone to actually love. Raise a family? Scratch out a life in some quiet corner and find your happiness where you may. Maybe that would be better than dying for an empire that’s already close to dead.”
The pair stared at each other, inches and miles apart. A long moment passed in thunderous silence, every second drawing them closer to their final chapter.
“But where’s the glory in that?”
Kin walked away, clomping across the rolling deck in a cloud of smoke, leaving the Lord of Tigers alone with his parting words. Mind alight with the mechabacus hymn, the knowledge of what could have been, if only.
If only …
Thinking and saying nothing.
Nothing at all.
14
SMOKING AND SCREAMING
Yukiko stood in the dungeons beneath Five Flowers Palace, but in her head she was back in Kigen jail, Hiro by her side, walking to the cell where her father sat imprisoned. Her hand drifted to the tantō at her waist, her mind to the arashitora circling above.
Just a wordless touch; a squeeze of an old friend’s hand to let him know you’re there. Yukiko felt Buruu’s warmth inside her head, static electricity crawling along his feathers. The ache to be up there with him was almost physical. She wondered how toxic the black rain would be this close to the Iishi, how badly it would burn them if they were caught in the downpour.
Be careful, brother. The rains here are not like the Everstorm or the mountains.
THE WATER IS WETTER?
They’re poisonous. Black as night. They burn your skin if you stay in them too long. Even metal melts under them after a few years.
I PROMISE TO COME IN WHEN IT RAINS, MOTHER.
She smiled despite herself, lingering in the warmth of his mind. Ahead, she could see the silhouette of the Kitsune general in his ō-yoroi, a hand-cranked tungsten lantern held high. Misaki walked beside her, Michi behind, followed by four samurai in their ancient armor.
The rest of the group had stayed behind in the Daimyo’s dining hall. Yukiko had asked Akihito if he wished to accompany her into the dungeon, and the big man had looked like she’d punched him in the stomach. She knew immediately he was thinking of Kasumi; the way she’d died in Kigen jail during her father’s rescue. She’d given the big man a hug, told him to finish his dinner. He’d hugged her back, hard enough to make her ribs ache.
The dungeon corridors were cramped, pocked with rusted iron doors. Yukiko could sense the tumble of lives down here in the Kenning; hundreds of rats fighting amidst the rotten straw and sunless rooms. Dozens of Guildsmen locked in the dark, black bread and dirty water for solace. She knew they were her enemies—that if the situation were reversed, she’d be subjected to far worse before they dragged her out to the Burning Stones. But still, her stomach turned at the memory of her father’s suffering in Yoritomo’s dungeons. What Daichi might be suffering right now, if he still lived. A part of her wondered why these Guildsmen had to suffer the same.
I feel sorry for them, Buruu. How many really knew what they were doing? How many acted out of blind obedience, or because they were raised that way?
DO NOT BE ASHAMED OF YOUR PITY. IT SEPARATES YOU FROM THEM.
I’m not. But I still feel like shit.
WE ALL MUST LIVE WITH CHOICE AND CONSEQUENCE.
Speaking of which, is Kaiah up there with you?
SOMEWHERE.
Is she talking to you yet?
… NO.
One day you’re going to have to tell me that story, Buruu.
ONE DAY.
Soon, I hope.
A HOPE I DO NOT SHARE.