“You ask a lot of questions, Yukiko-chan. They can be dangerous things so far from home.”
Buruu growled; a low rumble full of menace. Yukiko met the older woman’s stare coolly.
“There are all sorts of dangerous things around here.”
Kaori’s eyes flickered to Buruu, now rising to his feet. The thunder tiger stared at her the way an avalanche stares at a butterfly.
“As you say.” The woman gave a small bow, palm covering her fist. “Get some sleep. We will talk more in the morning.”
Kaori turned away, her feet making barely a sound, the bridge unmoving beneath her. Yukiko watched until she disappeared among the shadows, eyes narrowed.
I do not like this, Buruu.
20 Mythology
Yukiko was awoken late the next day by the arashitora’s voice in her head, warning her of approaching footsteps. She had dreamed of flying above the mountains, high and free, thermals cupping her wings and bidding her higher until the whole world lay on display beneath her claws. She knew it was Buruu’s dream. She wondered if he sometimes dreamed of the boy with the sea-green eyes.
The footsteps belonged to Isao and a girl around Yukiko’s age, who peeked in the door and introduced herself as Eiko in a small, shy voice. Isao had brought Buruu a brace of fresh trout, and the arashitora began tearing the flesh with relish. The boy bid Yukiko good eve ning and handed her a pair of old polarized goggles, explaining that the sun was still bright enough to burn her eyes if she ventured beyond the forest shade. The glass was scratched, the leather strap so timeworn that it felt like sandpaper under her fingertips.
Eiko offered a bowl of nigirizushi and fresh, fat plums; Yukiko had missed both breakfast and lunch, but it was not yet time for dinner. Giving genuine thanks, she began wolfing down the food, asking Eiko’s background between mouthfuls.
“I have lived here six years,” replied the girl, watching Buruu with unashamed wonder. “My family moved here when we could no longer afford inochi, and our fields began to turn to deadlands without the fertilizer.”
“Why would the Guild let your fields run to ruin?” Yukiko mumbled around a mouthful of plum. “Why charge so much that your family couldn’t afford inochi? That just means less lotus next year.”
“It’s not the Guild, it’s the clan Daimyo,” Isao explained. “Their soldiers run the farmers off the land before the deadening gets too bad. They drain money from the farmers’ pockets by charging land taxes, ensuring the little man hasn’t got enough coin left over to afford fertilizer. Then they kick him off his land under the guise of environmental protectionism: ‘If you can’t afford to preserve the soil, then we will.’ It’s all about consolidation of power. Taking the land away from the common people.”
“But who works the fields once the farmers have been kicked off?” “Slaves,” Eiko shrugged. “Why do you think the zaibatsu support the war? Most nobles run their fields almost entirely under slave power now. Every shipload of gaijin from the warzone is more cheap labor. Labor you can starve, sweating the skin off their bones until they drop. Then you just buy another shipload with spoils you make from the war. Gaijin aren’t people. What do the Daimyo or noble-borncare?”
WHAT IS DAIMYO?
The leaders of the clans. Powerful military Lords.
LIKE SHōGUN.
Well, the Tiger Daimyo also claims the title of Shōgun. The other three Daimyo—Fox, Dragon and Phoenix—all swear allegiance to him.
“They’ve got bigger problems, anyway,” Isao was saying. “Inochi can only delay soil-death for so long. Covering the earth with that sludge will buy you a handful of years. A de cade or two at most. And now land is running out. They’ve razed all the scrubland, ‘reclaimed’ the swamps, clear-felled every forest. We’re standing in the last wilderness left in all Shima. The only reason the shreddermen haven’t levelled it is because of superstition and the fact that some genius discovered it’s more profitable to enslave gaijin instead.” The boy counted off on his fingers. “You get more land to seed overseas, cheap slave labor back home, the market on a war-footing, and an enemy for the common people to hate.” Isao made a face. “The nameless, round-eye barbarian, rather than the barbarian sitting on the country’s throne.”
Yukiko shook her head, thoughts tumbling inside her skull.
They’re speaking sedition. The Iron Samurai would execute their whole family for talking this way back in Kigen.
THIS IS NOT A SCAB.