“One man survived the destruction of Takaiyama. A simple fisherman, who returned from the deep sea to find nothing left of his home. He traveled long and hard roads for one hundred and one days, arriving at the court of Emperor Tenma Chitose just before the grand festival of Lord Izanagi’s feast day.
“His clothes were rags, and he was mad with grief, and the Emperor’s guards refused him entry to the palace, for the celebration feast was already underway. Yet great Kitsune no Akira, who was in Kigen at the Emperor’s invitation, heard of the man’s plight through the whispers of the swallows in the Emperor’s garden. With the humility of a true samurai, the Stormdancer covered the fisherman with his robe, and bid him sit in his place at the Emperor’s table and eat in his stead. Then Kitsune no Akira leaped astride his thunder tiger, the mighty Raikou, whose voice was a storm, wings crackling with Raijin song. And they flew faster than the wind to the lair where great Boukyaku lay.”
The boy blinked.
“What is Raijin song, sama?”
“Arashitora are the children of the Thunder God, Raijin, young sama.” A gentle smile. “It is the sound of their wings you hear when the clouds clash and the storms roll.”
Saito took the pipe from Masaru’s hand, fished a small leather pouch from inside his uwagi and repacked the bowl with a fresh blob of resin. Yukiko looked at the smudges on the tips of the lotus-fiend’s gray fingers; the same blue-black hue that stained her father’s.
Saito lit the pipe on the lantern’s flame, and the fire swelled in Masaru’s bloodshot eyes, setting them ablaze.
“The battle was as fierce as any the world had seen. Thunder cracked the sky, and great waves crashed on the mainland’s shores, sweeping away entire villages as if they were twig and tinder. The people held their breath, for as great a warrior as Kitsune no Akira was, never had there been a foe as deadly as Boukyaku. His teeth were swords, and his roar, an earthquake.
“But at last, the Stormdancer returned, his armor broken and his flesh torn by poisoned fangs, and the mighty thunder tiger Raikou carried the bleeding heart of Boukyaku in his claws. Kitsune no Akira returned to the Emperor’s feast, and presented the heart to the fisherman with a low bow. When asked by the Emperor what he required in thanks for his mighty deed, Kitsune no Akira told the entire feast that they should always remember the name of Takaiyama, so that the Dragon of Forgetting would remain forever defeated. Then he knelt in his appointed place at table, toasted the Emperor’s health, and fell dead of the dragon poison in his veins.”
“All praise.” Benjiro covered his fist and bowed, then reached for the lotus pipe.
“All praise,” Saito nodded, sucking down one more lungful before passing it over.
The cabin boy blinked, looked at Yukiko. “Is all that true?”
“It’s what they say.” Her eyes were still fixed on her father. “But who knows whether or not he really existed.”
Masaru looked up, finally met her stare. “Of course he existed.”
Yukiko kept speaking to the cabin boy, as if her father had not made a sound. “It could have been an earthquake that sucked Takaiyama below the waves. Men blaming dragons or gods for their own misfortune, as they often do, even when the fault lies at their own two feet.” She glanced at Masaru’s toes. “Kitsune no Akira could just be a parable. A warning for us to give honor to the dead by remembering their names.” She shrugged at the boy. “Who knows?”
“I know.” Masaru squinted at her with bleary, bloodshot eyes. “I know.”
Yukiko stared back at him. Slurred words and a soft stare, that stupefied, slack-jawed look slinking over his face and turning his skin to gray. An anesthetic, numbing the pain of well-deserved loss.
A crutch for a weak and broken man.
She licked her lips, stood slowly to her feet.
“I’ll tell you what I know.” She looked back and forth between the cloudwalkers. “I know you shouldn’t be offering the pipe to a twelve-year-old boy. I know you shouldn’t mock him for being ignorant, while you sit there sucking that filth into your lungs.” She fixed her father in her stare. “And I know all lotus-fiends are liars.”
She covered her fist, gave a small bow to the cabin boy.
“Goodnight, young sama.”
She turned her back and went in search of sleep.