A thousand years ago, the Daughter painted the Wall of Flowers in all the colors she knew. But time and sunlight and rain washed them away, and now we were left with pallid blossoms clinging to the vine like drunken vagrants clinging to railings.
I had never been one of those who dreamed of seeing the Wall, and I knew it would no longer be as the stories told. Not with things the way they were. Not with the constant cloud in the North, not with babies being stillborn more often than not, not with all the blighted fields we saw on the way here.
No, I was not expecting the Wall to be glorious.
But the sight of it still struck me hard in the gut.
We arrived in the middle of the night again. Upon seeing us, the guards here raised their spears and called for us to halt.
“Who approaches the Wall?”
“O-Shizuka, Imperial Niece,” you said. Your voice was rough; we’d been traveling all day and you were saddle-sore. “Traveling with Barsalai Shefali Alsharyya, daughter of Oshiro Yuichi and Burqila Alshara.”
Tired though you were, you sat straight in the saddle. Any second now, you must’ve thought, they’d explode in gratitude. They’d lead us to the barracks. You’d give them an inspiring speech. All of us would ride out with the dawn and trample blackbloods beneath our feet.
But that was not what happened.
Instead, the guards called for reinforcements.
Instead, ten men surrounded us. Instead, the lead guard spoke with borrowed authority.
“His Majesty the Son of Heaven has decreed no one will enter the border village,” he says. “We are to detain you until His Serene Highness can send someone to retrieve you.”
You reached for your sword. “My uncle,” you said in a level voice, “is not here.”
“The eyes of Heaven see all, O-Shizuka-shon,” said the guard captain. The gold stitching on his armor distinguished him. Around his neck hung a bronze war mask carved in the shape of a snarling dog. “We cannot let you pass.”
“You can,” you said. “You simply choose not to.”
You waved a hand toward the gathered spears. As if you pulled their strings, the guards took several steps back. I laughed, softly, at the magic of your station.
“All of you will stand down,” you said. “Your captain and I are going to duel.”
The captain clenched his jaw. No sword hung at his hip. His spear was his only weapon. Before the troubles began, such a thing would’ve been unheard of. All warriors carried swords back then, as symbols of their station. Only the very rich and the very arrogant did so now.
Which meant you carried two: your mother’s Daybreak blade, and a short sword you kept just to show everyone how rich you were, how ready to duel. The last person to wear two swords in their belt was Minami Shiori.
You dismounted. I did, too, though I hated leaving my horse. A mounted Qorin is as much a threat as a naked blade.
“Do not look so frightened,” you said to the guard captain. You smirked. I think you did this on purpose. You just looked so comfortable in your own skin—your confidence exuding from you like heady perfume. “It is only a duel to first blood.”
“O-Shizuka-shon,” said the captain, “my orders are strict. You are not to pass.”
“It is the right of a Hokkaran warrior to challenge any other warrior to a duel,” you said, “so that their swords may write their arguments. For one thousand years, this has been the way of things. I call you to duel in full view of your squadron.”
The smile on your lips, Shizuka. You looked as if you and half a dozen of your handmaidens discovered him with his pants down on a cold day.
“If,” you said, your voice dripping with condescension, “you need to name a champion to fight in your stead, you are free to do so. I am sure there is at least one among you brave enough to face me.”
And indeed there were. Two or three of the guards called out—they’d be honored to duel you. But the guard captain’s face turned to stone. For a moment, he looked down at his feet; then back up to you. He spun his spear in his hands.
“Very well,” he said. “I see I cannot refuse you.”
“Wise man,” you said. “You cannot.”
I crossed my arms and waited. The guards formed a loose circle around us. You kicked off your shoes. On your tiptoes you stood, a dancer waiting for the music to start. Beneath Grandmother Sky’s dull gray eye, you sank into your favorite stance.
And you closed your eyes.
The guard captain circled you. He held his spear out in front of him. Reach, then, was his primary concern. As a cat pawing at a rat’s den was he, cautiously feeling you out.
Two minutes, five, ten. He wasn’t sure how to approach you, or if he even should. You were Imperial Blood, after all, and you stood with your eyes closed, waiting for his attack. What if you were trying to trick him?
“Captain,” called one of the men, “did you not kill one of the enemy? Did you stare it to death?”
I covered my mouth to stifle a laugh. Soon others joined in the jeering. I expected you to smile, but you did not; your face remained impassive as the sun.
At last the captain saw waiting was doing him no good. With a great, reverberating cry, he thrust at you, the point of his spear leaping forward. A fearsome strike, truth be told. Were I a common Hokkaran soldier and he my commander, his fighting spirit would’ve emboldened me.
But I was not a common Hokkaran soldier, and neither were you.
And where his cry was a hammer on iron, yours was the roaring forge.
Two strokes it took you. With the first, you chopped his spear in half. Between strokes you floated forward, your footsteps light as rain, quick as falling. Then, the second stroke: a cut across the bottom of his chin.
The guard captain tore a piece of cloth from his coat and stanched his wound. He was a proud man, but he was not a dumb one. A duel cleanly fought and cleanly lost.
He cleared his throat. “Beneath the eyes of gods and men,” he said, “I am defeated. Are you pleased with yourself, O-Shizuka-shon?”
“I am,” you said. I took a rag from our bags and handed it to you, that you might clean your sword. “I came to help you, Captain.”
His black eyes turned to coal. He looked to me, then back to you. “You brought a Qorin,” he said. “You should have brought an army, and you brought a single Qorin instead.”
Only I caught the stiffening of your spine at his comment. That is all right. Such a thing was only meant for me to see. For my part, I stood tall as I could, one hand on my horse.
Technically, you brought two Qorin with you.
“Her name is Barsalai Shefali,” you said. “And she is an army, thank you.”
I was not so sure I counted as an entire army. Four good archers, yes. But an entire army? You and your exaggerations.
You sheathed your sword. “It is between bells, Captain,” you said. “We will retire for the evening. You shall provide us room and board.”
“O-Shizuka-shon,” he said through gritted teeth. “We have barracks here.”