“Don’t defend him,” Yukiko hissed. “You know what he’s like. Sucking down that godsdamned weed every day of his life. Drinking himself blind. Maybe you should be on his back instead of riding mine every chance you get.”
“I do it because I care about you.” Kasumi parried a clumsy blow, cracked Yukiko across her left shin. “And I see what you do to him.”
Yukiko lashed out with her foot, leaped up and over the chi barrels to gain some breathing room, levelling the bokken at Kasumi’s head. She was panting, strands of black hair plastered to the film of sweat on her skin.
“My father gets everything he deserves.”
“He loves you, Yukiko.”
“He loves his drink.” She clawed the hair from the corners of her mouth. “He loves that godsdamned pipe. More than he loves me. And more than he loves you.”
Kasumi stopped short, chest heaving. The sword wavered in her hand.
“Believe it, Kasumi.” Yukiko pulled down her goggles so the older woman could see her eyes. “Believe it if you believe nothing else.”
She tossed the bokken down onto the deck. It rolled across the polished boards, came to rest at Kasumi’s feet, marking the end of the sparring session. Yukiko wiped the sweat from her brow on the sleeve of her uwagi, heart pounding, mouth dry as dust.
Kasumi’s voice was soft, almost a whisper. “Maybe you don’t know everything, Yukiko.”
“Maybe not.”
She shouldered past the older woman as she walked away.
“But I know enough.”
10 Alive and Breathing
The rain started at the end of the sixth day, vast black curtains swaying across their path and hissing on the deck. The wood became slippery, and the stink of burned chi layered over melting varnish saw Yukiko’s nausea return with a vengeance. Huddled in an oilskin among the barrels, she prayed the journey would end, sucking down gulps of fresh air and dreading the monsoon ahead.
Yamagata emerged from his cabin wearing a thick oilskin to protect him from the black rain. Masaru stood on the port side, leaning out into the abyss and staring at the clouds fuming on the horizon. The Child plowed through the toxic air, heading toward the tempest, the first foothills of the Iishi sailing away below them. Through the downpour, they could see the glow of Yama city flickering like a ghostlight in an ocean of growing gloom.
Akihito and Kasumi gathered at the railing beside Masaru, all clad in thick ponchos of protective rubber, the big man keeping one massive paw wrapped around the bars of the cage for balance. Yukiko drifted down from her nest at the prow to listen to their hushed voices.
“We’re heading into the storm?” Akihito ran one hand over his braids. “Where else do you think we’re going to find a thunder tiger?” Masaru scowled.
“The sky folk are uneasy,” Kasumi kept her voice low. “Being so near to the Iishi is bad enough. They say that sailing this close to the entrance of Yomi will tempt the Judges of the Hells, not to mention angering the Dark Mother. They whisper Yamagata is insane to lead them into the clutches of the Thunder God. They blame us, Masaru-sama. They say we’re mad.”
“They’re right.” Akihito shook his head. “Risking the whole damn ship and everyone aboard chasing a beast that doesn’t even exist. We don’t even know where to start looking.” He turned to his friend. “We should go to Yama, Masaru. Abandon this fool’s quest and the insane bastard who commands—”
Masaru spun, quick as a viper, wrapping his fist in the collar of the big man’s uwagi.
“We are the Shōgun’s men,” he hissed, teeth bared. “Sworn to his service, our lives pledged to his house. Would you dishonor that vow and yourself for fear of a little lightning?”
Akihito slapped Masaru’s hand away. “I might not rate a mention in the tavern songs, but I stood beside you when you slew the last nagaraja, brother. You think I’m afraid?” He puffed out his chest, long scars cutting across his flesh. “I know in truth what kind of man Shōgun Kaneda was. I know what kind of son he raised. This is a madman’s errand. We risk all for nothing! This ship. These men. Your daughter . . .”
“And what do you think we risk if we run?”
Masaru’s face was inches from Akihito’s, eyes flashing.
“Masaru-sama, Akihito, peace.” Kasumi shouldered between them, one hand on each man. “You are brothers in blood. Your anger dishonors you both.”
The men stared at each other, eyes as narrow as knife-edges, wind shrieking across the gap between them. Akihito was the first to relent, turning with a growl and stalking away. Masaru watched him go, fists unclenching, drawing his hand across the back of his mouth.
“Whether we find this thing or not means nothing.” His voice was flat, cold. “We are servants. Our Lord commands and we obey. That’s all there is.”
“As you say,” Kasumi nodded, avoiding his stare.