“But I’m not . . . I’m just a . . .”
“Yoritomo is childless. For all his rape and geisha, he has not sired a single heir. The line of Kazumitsu dies with him. Without a figurehead, the Tora clan and its government will splinter. One of the Kazumitsu Elite might have the strength to take control of the Tiger army if Yoritomo dies, but none of them is strong enough to seize power over the entire country. The Daimyo have their own troops, and each will resist any attempts by other zaibatsu to place their own man on the throne. There is no love lost between the clan lords, nor their generals.” He sighed again, seemed suddenly too old for his skin. “I know how their world works. I was part of it for forty years.”
“You’re talking about . . . you want to start a civil war?”
Daichi shook his head.
“I want chaos. Formlessness.”
Kaori spoke, her voice soft, a snatch of verse from the Book of Ten Thousand Days.
“Our prelude was Void. The vast possibility, before life drew breath.”
Daichi nodded his head.
“And within this void, the people of Shima will find their voice. We will show them how. Show them that their addiction to lotus is killing them, killing everything around them. Show them that the only power governments wield is the power given to them by the people. And now, they must take that power back.”
“I’m not a killer,” Yukiko said.
YOU KILL ONI.
That’s different, Buruu.
HOW?
Oni are demons. Hellspawn. We’re talking about a man of flesh and blood here. A real person.
RAPIST. SLAVER. LORDING OVER A DYING LAND, AND HE ITS MURDERER . . .
I am not killing anybody, Buruu!
Daichi watched her carefully, hands steepled under his chin.
“There is a place, and a time, for all endings to begin—”
“The Shōgun might be the most evil man in the world,” Yukiko glared across the fire, sudden anger flaring in her eyes, “but I’m no assassin. What the hells makes you think I’d kill someone for you?”
“Because I know what Yoritomo has done to you. You and the Black Fox.”
“Yoritomo never touched me, wha—”
“He killed your mother.”
A perfect, absolute silence. A stillness inside her, complete and untouchable, as her entire world fell away and tumbled down into the dark. Cold sickness in her belly, a lump of frozen lead in her throat, tongue cleaving to the roof of her mouth as lightning licked the sky, turning all to horrid, lurid white.
“What did you say?” A whisper, barely a breath.
“He killed your mother.” Daichi’s voice was flat. Dead. “Or rather, I killed your mother. Your pregnant mother. At Yoritomo’s command.”
“My mother isn’t dead. She left us when—”
“No.” Daichi shook his head. Palms upturned, calloused and scarred, stained to the bone. “She left this world. My hands. Yoritomo’s word. A warning to your father.”
Yukiko glanced from the old man to his daughter, saw awful truth gleaming between the tears in the woman’s eyes. Buruu was on his feet, growling, hackles rippling down his spine. A splinter of his rage broke through the rime of disbelief and Yukiko found her hand wrapped around her tantō. She could feel the wood grain beneath the lacquer, fingertips running over the faint undulations; a Braille mantra repeating over and over inside her head. She was on her feet before she knew it, one hand wrapped in Daichi’s collar, the other holding the knife to his throat.
“You’re lying,” she hissed. “You’re a liar.”
“I am many things.” Daichi met her stare, calm, accepting. “Assassin. Firestarter. Murderer of the innocent and the unborn.” He shook his head. “But never a liar, Yukiko-chan.”
She pressed her blade against Daichi’s flesh. He tore his uwagi open, exposing chest and abdomen, the awful scars left in the wake of his tattoos.
“Here.” He slapped his belly, the sound of flesh drumming against mahogany. “Strike here. I deserve no cut throat, no quick kill. A death by sepsis. A screaming, coward’s end. But before you strike, promise me you will give the same to Yoritomo. That is all I ask. Give us both everything we deserve.”
Kaori wore a look of horror, hands clenched at her sides, tears tracing the line of her scar. She dropped to her knees, pressed her forehead against the floor. Her voice was faint; tiny and pale and fragile.
“Please, Yukiko-chan, mercy. Mercy.”
KILL HIM.
Yukiko clenched her teeth, lips peeling back in a snarl, bubbling in the depths of her throat. Tears blurred her vision. Daichi was still as stone, unafraid, listening to the simmering grief threatening to spill over into a scream. Yukiko pressed the knife against his throat, blood welling under the blade’s edge and spilling down his chest.
Daichi stared into Yukiko’s eyes, his voice as hard as the steel in her hand.