The flames lent the pale, sleek feathers on his head and chest a strange sheen; a luminosity that was almost metallic. His shoulders were broad, thick with muscle, and the feathers there rose like hackles on a hound when he grew angry. The patterns of black in the snow-white fur on his hindquarters were like words, written in some savage tongue she couldn’t quite comprehend. Strangely enough, it was his tail, not his face that was the most expressive part of his body. It moved in long, lazy arcs when he was content, lashed from side to side like a bullwhip when he was enraged, hung poised and slightly curled when he was stalking through the dark. Though he was half eagle, she’d noticed he moved mostly like a big cat: lithe and sinuous, an undercurrent of cunning in every fluid motion.
“We have enough food to start moving.” Her voice skipped across rough stone walls. “We can strike out for the cliff tomorrow. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to see where we are once we get to the top.”
He blinked at her, saying nothing. She realized that he couldn’t understand her when she spoke aloud; her voice was a series of squeals and barks in his ears. She repeated the sentence into his mind, the liquidity of thought overcoming the barrier of flesh and bone between them.
When we climb the cliff tomorrow, we should be able to see where we are. WE ARE HERE. WHAT ELSE MATTERS?
Yukiko took a few moments to answer.
I need to get home.
He snorted, preening his crippled wings with the elegant hook of his beak.
Its tip was white like his fur, running through gray into a deep black encircling his eyes. The cool breeze rustled the feathers of his brow.
DO NOT UNDERSTAND YOU MONKEYS.
Meaning what?
THIS IS GOOD PLACE. FOOD HERE. WARM. DRY. SAFE. WHY DO YOU RUSH BACK TO YOUR SCAB?
My father. My friends. They could be dead for all I know. If they got away, they’d head back to Kigen. I need to find out if they’re all right.
YOUR PACK.
The beast nodded, the gesture all too human.
PACK I UNDERSTAND.
Where is yours?
. . . NORTH. AMONG THE STORMS.
His eyes gleamed, honey shot through with shards of molten silver. Why did you come here?
TO SEE WHAT YOU HAD DONE. THE OLD ONES WARNED ME. SAID THERE WAS NO LIFE LEFT IN SHIMA. DID NOT LISTEN. FOOLISH.
I don’t listen to my father either.
Yukiko smiled.
THE ONE WHO MAIMED ME.
Her smile died, and she was surprised to find herself leaping to Masaru’s defense.
He’s a good man. He was only doing what he was commanded.
COMMANDED BY WHO?
The Shōgun. The leader of Shima.
DESPOILER LORD COMMANDED YOU HUNT ME. WHY?
He wanted you for himself. To ride you, like the Stormdancers in the old tales.
NO MAN WILL RIDE ME. THAT GIFT IS EARNED. YOUR RACE IS NO LONGER WORTHY. ARASHITORA DESPISE YOU.
Not all of us are evil.
LOOK AROUND. GAME DEAD, RIVERS BLACK, LAND CHOKED WITH WEED. SKIES BLEEDING, RED AS BLOOD. FOR WHAT?
I don’t—
YOUR KIND ARE BLIND. YOU SEE ONLY THE NOW, NEVER THE WILL BE.
Buruu glared, the embers setting his eyes aglow.
BUT SOON YOU WILL. WHEN ALL IS GONE, WHEN THERE ARE SO MANY MONKEY-CHILDREN THAT YOU MURDER FOR A SCRAP OF LAND, A DROP OF CLEAN WATER, THEN YOU WILL SEE.
Yukiko pictured the recruitment posters slapped over the walls of Kigen city, the factories churning out weapons for the war machine, the constant updates about the gaijin conflict streaming across the wireless.
It’s already happening, she realized.
AFTER THE LAST FISH IS CAUGHT. AFTER THE LAST RIVER POISONED. THEN YOU WILL KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE DONE. AND BY THEN IT WILL BE TOO LATE.
The arashitora shook his head, began sharpening his claws against the stone floor; iron-hard curves against sparkling granite. Yukiko found it hard to argue with him. Her mind had swum with uneasy questions for years, born in the gaudy opulence of the Shōgun’s court, festering in the crowded streets beneath Kigen’s poisoned sky. But even if Buruu was right, what could one person do about it? The world was so big. How could one girl make a difference? She could spend her whole life shouting from the rooftops, and nobody would listen. A common man doesn’t care about dying birds or changing weather. He cares only for the food on his family’s table, the clothes on his children’s backs.
Are we any different? These rabbits died to feed our hunger. We killed them because we think our lives are more important than theirs.
She thought of her father, the blood of a hundred beasts on his hands. For all his faults, she knew if Masaru had to pollute a thousand rivers, exterminate a thousand species to keep her safe, he would. Realization struck, a grubby bulb turning on in her head and shining light in a dusty corner she’d always ignored.
She was all he had left.
Everything he had done, he’d done for her. The months away from home. The move to Kigen. The hunt. Clipping Buruu’s wings.
“One day you will understand, Yukiko. One day you will see that we must sometimes sacrifice for the sake of something greater.”
She frowned, pushing the tears down into the tips of her toes.
He hadn’t been talking about the Empire, or his honor.
He was talking about me.
Buruu stared, saying nothing. He stretched out along the floor, lifted his wing to offer shelter, but she remained motionless. With something approaching a shrug, he nestled his head beneath his shoulder, closed his eyes and sighed.