His mother beside him, warm and radiant. His brothers, Esh and Drahk, watching on. And circling above, their father. Mighty Skaa. The greatest arashitora alive. Khan of Everstorm.
Yukiko watched the memories in Buruu’s mind, like a child watching a shadow pantomime. She felt his fear as he looked into the drop yawning at his feet—sharp fangs of black rock and frothing seas filled with hungry sea dragons. She felt him tremble.
You were son of the Khan?
ONE OF THREE.
That makes you a prince …
WE ARE NOT LIKE YOU. RULE IS NOT PASSED, IT IS TAKEN. ANY MAY CHALLENGE. WHO CLAIMS KHAN IS KHAN.
But the Khan is the strongest arashitora alive. And the strongest female will choose him. So his sons will be strong too, right?
STRONG IN SOME WAYS.
Buruu sighed.
WEAK IN OTHERS.
She watched from the cusp of memory as little Buruu pushed his fear down and dropped into the void. The wind snapped like starving wolves, threatening to dash him into the mountainside. The thunder was deafening, the Storm God’s fury almost too much to endure. But he spread his wings wide as his father had told him to do, and he felt the air spirits beneath him, bidding him higher. He beat his wings, felt himself rise, elation and terror spilling out over his limits and filling the air. A roar of triumph. The first roar of their newest packmate.
The pack answered, young and old, thunder bellowing over all. A great day. A proud day. They were so few. Clinging to existence so tenuously, choked almost to extinction by Shima’s poisoned skies. The toxins had ended most of the great yōkai—only those with the means and will to flee had survived the rise of the Lotus Guild. The phoenix had lay down and died of heartache as the skies filled with tar. The dragons had swum north as the oceans turned red.
The thunder tigers had departed at the behest of the last Khan of Shima. But still, they were not many. Even when the Khan’s law ended ritual deathmatches for mating rights, proclaimed it unthinkable for an arashitora to kill another arashitora, they were slow to breed. Any day a cub first took to the wing was a momentous one; one step closer to crawling back from extinction’s brink.
Buruu sailed skyward, pounding the wind with his little wings. He struggled toward the clouds, muscles straining almost to tearing. But at last he drew level, fell into place behind his father, calling out again to the packmates assembled below. Their answer filled him with pride.
The Khan was the last to answer, but also the loudest. And he looked back at Buruu with unveiled pride and the special love a parent always holds for their youngest child.
I am proud of you, he called. My Roahh.
Yukiko frowned, ran her fingers through Buruu’s fur.
“Roahh”?
THAT WAS MY NAME. ONCE. IT MEANS “TRIUMPH” IN OUR TONGUE.
Her voice was soft in his mind. Uncertain.
Would you rather I called you that? The name your father gave you?
Buruu hung his head.
THERE IS NO MEANING IN IT ANYMORE.
She released her hold, stepped away so she could look him in the eye. He saw no judgment, felt no dread in her chest. It didn’t matter to her—the telling of this tale or what he’d done. All that mattered was that he was hers and she was his. Staring through the windows of her soul, he knew she’d forgive him anything. Everything.
Save perhaps if he left her alone again.
The Daimyo’s palace trembled, thunder reminding him of the Earthcrusher’s footsteps, even now trudging toward Kitsune-jō. His sigh was lost beneath the fury overhead.
THE REST WOULD BE BETTER TOLD AS WE FLY. WE MUST TRAVEL SWIFT IF WE ARE TO RETURN FROM EVERSTORM IN TIME. PRESUMING WE RETURN AT ALL.
Elation filled her, a fierce joy that brought tears to her eyes.
You’ll take me with you?
TO THE HELLS AND BACK, IF YOU BID IT.
I should tell Michi and the others. And I should pack. Give me half an hour.
I WOULD GIVE YOU THE SUN AND THE MOON, YUKIKO. I WOULD GIVE YOU UNENDING JOY AND DAYS OF PEACE AND BLUE SKIES TO LAUGH AND SING BENEATH. BUT THESE ARE NOT MINE TO GIVE.
Just give me you. You’re all I need.
YOU HAVE ME. ALWAYS.
Her hug was fierce as monsoon winds. They stood together, his wings folding about her with their broken, insect song, and the storm seemed to hush as if holding its breath. One last quiet moment. One deep inhale before the plunge. He closed his eyes. Felt her warmth, the warmth of the little ones inside her. His family now. His everything.
And then the storm fell again, her arms slipping away from his neck as she turned and dashed back into the palace, hair flowing behind her like black water. And he stood beneath the eaves, watching dark rain spilling in endless falls over the gutters, staining the withered leaves in the garden gray. Raijin’s drums were no comfort. The stormsong, no lullaby. He looked at what lay ahead, what he must do and where he must go.
WHO CLAIMS KHAN IS KHAN.
He blinked up at the clouds, lightning in his eyes.
FATHER, FORGIVE ME.
22
SEVERED