*
He was waiting when she returned, slivers of curling cream piled around his feet. Sitting on a bench beneath the eaves, a wooden box in his hands. Buruu was watching him—those big, clumsy-looking fingers wringing elegant beauty from simple pine. His cornrows were fuzzed from the press of his pillow, flecks of sawdust caught in the resin-tipped spikes of his beard.
Yukiko smiled.
“Akihito.”
The big man looked up from his carving, put his knife away and brushed the shavings from his lap. He stood with a wince, one massive hand pressed to the wound that had never properly healed—the sword-blow he’d earned rescuing her father. Never complaining. Never questioning. As loyal as the day was long.
He looked her over, noting the overfull satchels across her shoulders.
“Leaving without saying good-bye, little fox?”
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Where are you going?”
“The Everstorm. Where the arashitora live. I’m going to ask them to help us.”
“Didn’t want to wake me, eh?”
A rueful smile. “Maybe I just didn’t want a lecture about how dangerous it would be. How you’re supposed to be looking after me now my father’s gone.”
“I think we’re past that, little fox.” The big man’s smile was sad. “After Masaru died, I spent every moment trying to get back to you. To make sure you were all right. He would have wanted it that way. But now I find you, I see you don’t need me at all.” A shrug. “I feel a fool for thinking you ever did.”
“Oh, Akihito…”
Yukiko hugged him, pressing her face into his chest. He squeezed her back; one of his terrific, bone-grinding embraces that made her feel enclosed at the center of the world.
“You’re such an idiot,” she murmured. “I’ll always need you.”
“You’re a woman now, little fox. A hero the whole nation looks up to.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t still need my friends. I love you, you big dunce.”
“I love you too.”
She stepped back, looked up into his eyes. “But my father is gone, Akihito. Kasumi too. The whole world is changing, but you’re trying to hold on to the way it was.”
He shrugged. “Other people is who I am. I’ve never been good at being alone.”
“You remember when I was a little girl? You’d visit the bamboo valley when my father came home? You taught Satoru and I how to swim, remember?”
“I remember,” he smiled.
“You’d stand in the middle of the river and get us to paddle out to you. And then you’d catch us in your arms.”
“The water was like glass.” He shook his head. “You could see clear to the bottom…”
“And in the summer after Satoru died, you took me down to the river and stood in the middle and told me to swim out to you. And so I climbed in and started swimming and you kept backing away. And at first I thought it was a game, but you kept backing off and I couldn’t catch you. And I started to cry and I thought I was going to drown. Do you remember what you said?”
“I said, ‘You’re big enough to stand up by yourself now.’”
Yukiko smiled. “And I put down my feet and felt the bottom beneath me, and when I stood, the water only came up to my chin.”
Tears shone in the big man’s eyes, lips pressed tight as he tried to hold them back.
“You’re big enough to stand up by yourself, Akihito,” Yukiko said. “You’ve never needed my father. Or me. Or anyone. If you could see the you that I see…” She shook her head. “You’re the strongest, bravest, kindest man I know.”
He hugged her again, lifting her off the floor in that massive, crushing embrace. Not saying a word. Not even breathing. And then slowly, reluctantly, he put her down and let her go.
“You be careful,” he said.
“Always,” she smiled.
The big man turned to the thunder tiger, watching them both with wide, amber eyes. The beast he’d helped to hunt and bring down, what seemed like a lifetime ago.
“And you look after them, godsdammit.”
Yukiko climbed up onto Buruu’s back. “He promises.”
“See you soon, little fox.”
“Not if we see you first.”
The creak of mighty wings, the roar of metal wind, and they were gone. Akihito looked down at all that remained—a single, snow-white feather lying on the damp boards, hacked in half by a madman’s hands.
He stared at the poisoned rain, the tortured garden. This little fortress men had carved of iron and stone, heedless of the damage they were doing, the lives they were taking, the price they would pay. Not so different from a Shōgun and his katana. This was the bed they’d all made.
He stood in the dark and watched the rain fall.
23
A THOUSAND RED SUNS