Find Me, page 13
Ayame rose and went to him. “What did you tell me, my lord?”
“Meet me under the wisteria,” he whispered.
“Right.”
She tipped his chin up, and his eyes were closed. She glided her hand down his face and neck, finding the red ring hanging to the right of his heart.
“I’m immortal, yet Moonlight is my home. You are my chosen and I love no other. If you want to go to Hissing Blade, I’m coming with you. Then we’ll both go die together. No doubt, it will be bad. I’ve killed Locks. Perhaps he’ll boil us alive.
“But I’d rather that you fight, my lord, for us, for our home, and for those who love you. You can’t believe they’re better off without you. Don’t leave them at the mercy of the prince, he has none.”
“You’ve killed Locks?” Amber eyes opened and a single eyebrow arched up.
“Yes, I stabbed him right here.” She touched his chin. “Then I stuffed his corpse in the in-between.”
Hissing Blade would never find him, and she wouldn’t have been implicated had she not claimed he went to the police station. Next time, she’d know better than to stick her neck out for an enemy soldier. They served a monster; they shouldn’t be surprised to get eaten by a demon.
“What for?” he asked.
“Because he hurt you.” She ran her finger over the bruised line on his neck.
“You’re something else,” he whispered.
“I know. I’m a goddess. A lesser one, but still…”
A year ago, it would have been an outlandish claim. A moon ago, he would have questioned her still, but the last handful of days had shaken his confidence in the world. A dark diviner slaughtered his finest warriors, and he’d seen demons in the glass mirrors. Besides, there had never been any explanation as to where he’d gone for seasons, and how he’d returned. Deep inside, he knew. She saw him resist, but not much before giving in. This would make the conversation about what the prince was easier, but that was for later. Now, she just wanted him.
She kissed him and he picked her up, fire igniting in the cold of the night. Like the first time they’d been together, in the bathhouse behind Moonlight, he wasn’t making love to her but sharing his grief and hurt with her, unsaddling his burden. When he moved inside her, he surrendered to her. He gave her himself to keep, and that was good because she loved him far more than he did himself. He was safer with her.
When he was done, he lay on top of her.
It was after they untangled so Ayame could reheat the soup that they realized he’d torn his wound open and was bleeding again. She sutured the gash, and he complained much.
Ayame took the fish out of his bowl so he could drink the soup without bothering his throat too much.
His eyes rested on her belly. “Do you suppose it’s a girl or a boy?”
“I don’t know. We’ll see soon enough,” she said, sipping soup. She didn’t feel nauseous. It was rather good. “My cooking improved.”
“If you say so.” He smirked, then looked up at the ceiling. “We’re going to freeze if I don’t patch that. The weather might not lighten up for a few days.”
“Leave it for the night,” she said, but as stubborn as he was, he went out.
Ayame added wood to the fire. Then, as she was falling asleep, she could hear him humming on the roof, and smiled.
fourteen
I’m Leaving
The blizzard took three days to pass. Kyuzo-dono spent most of that time sleeping, the color returning to him eventually.
On the second day, Puff left to investigate if there was a shrine nearby and returned as a frozen fox. After he’d shivered by the fire for some hours, he turned into a tiny figurine of himself. Ayame wrapped him in a warm cloth and placed him in her satchel.
On the third day, the snow was knee deep, and on the fourth morning, Kyuzo-dono saddled Ayame’s horse for her. Crystal clear skies overhead like a summer morning, the light glittered on the white cloaked terrain, making it nearly blinding.
They were going home. It was Kyuzo-dono’s hope that the oncoming war would be delayed till spring, due to weather circumstances, giving him time to prepare.
Trying to saddle Ayame’s horse, Kyuzo-dono fiddled with the girth a couple of times before tying it to his liking.
“Having trouble, my lord?” she teased.
“It’s been decades since I had any practice,” was his answer.
“Must be nice being a lord.” She’d been trying to lift his spirit, which seemed to be working as he turned and smirked. That expression suited him. Her lord wore haughtiness well because it was rightly earned, but rarely displayed.
Both horses perked up, craning their necks in the same direction—the naked hills to the south. Lord Kyuzo squinted that way, cupping his hand over his eyes. Hissed curses followed.
“What is it?” Ayame didn’t see anything.
“Riders.” He tapped his ear. “Satsuma, hopefully. Mount, Ayame.” He boosted her up to the saddle and set her feet in the stirrups as if it was her first time. “Here.” He handed her the reins. “Let me see what they want, but if it doesn’t go well, you leave, all right? Isamu doesn’t run women down.”
Ayame hesitated.
“You will leave, all right?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Lord Kyuzo mounted but waited. He didn’t try outrunning what appeared to be about two dozen riders once they crested over the hills.
Recalling the friendliness of the bear-like lord, Ayame was relieved to see the purple banner of the Satsuma, although the white centipede crest still disturbed her. “Why a bug?” she asked her lord as they waited for the bujin.
“Most of their forces are ashigaru, foot soldiers,” he said. “It’s the clan of a thousand feet, that’s why the centipede.”
Lord Isamu rode up like the wind for such a large man, and his steed circled to stop, spraying snow in all directions. Lord Kyuzo wiped his sleeve as he casually waited for Isamu to settle.
“Morning, Isamu-dono,” he said. A riding crop in one hand and the reins wrapped in his other, he didn’t reach for his blade.
“You’re on my land, Kyuzo.” The lord’s helmet had a silver centipede displayed like a rearing horse. His warriors lined up behind him but didn’t attempt to encircle them, which would have been perceived as hostile.
“Just passing through, Isamu. I had some trouble in Sunlit City, as you’ve no doubt heard. I’m trying to go home, that’s all.”
“I don’t think so, Kyuzo.” Isamu’s eyes burned like coals and a sense of dread began tightening around Ayame, but she stayed out of the interaction. It simply wasn’t her place.
“Why is that?” Kyuzo-dono asked.
“I have an imperial decree declaring you as an enemy, Kyuzo. It says you killed Emperor Blue Dragon and Prince Coral Moon.”
“News travels fast,” Kyuzo-dono said, “and lies even faster.”
“You deny it, then?”
“Of course, I do, Isamu. Why would I slay my emperor? Blue Dragon was going to announce Sora as his heir. He might as well put me on the throne.” His voice steady, Lord Kyuzo sneered.
“That’s what I heard also.” Isamu closed the few yards of distance and approached Lord Kyuzo, their mounts whinnying at each other. “Kyuzo, we’ve known each other for what, well over four decades? Our fathers were allies and we’ve had peace between us. I wouldn’t consider you a friend for warlords have none, but tell me man to man… What happened to my boy?”
“Regretfully, I wasn’t there.” Lord Kyuzo flicked his gaze to Ayame, which made Isamu follow. “What happened in Ikidomari, Priestess? What do you know of Shin’s passing?” He gave her a nod.
“After Kyuzo-dono left with the emperor, Prince Hissing Blade and Prince Locks attacked. They had the Ryu police with them, and some sentry as well. Sora started the fire to protect the bujin from the demon spirits Hissing Blade summoned. The men fought valiantly, lost, but died gloriously.”
“Glory?” Lord Isamu roared. “Have you seen what glory did to my boy?”
Bujins die, Ayame wanted to snap because that was what she’d decided to believe—otherwise the grief was too much and there was no time for it. Yet, she thought better of it. Lord Isamu was angry, his face raw with emotions. He wanted not to grieve but to point the blame and kill—vengeance, the warrior way.
“I did see, my lord.” Ayame lowered her gaze, as not to be confrontational. If Isamu didn’t like what she had to say, there were two dozen warriors waiting for his order, and despite what she’d told Kyuzo-dono, she wasn’t leaving. “A demon killed Shin of Satsuma. It ate him, my lord. But I don’t believe that detracts from the young warrior’s bravery. To the contrary, in my humble opinion, his courage to face insurmountable odds with his blade drawn was commendable.”
“My boy died well, then?” Lord Isamu choked with a softness in his throat.
“He did, my lord.”
She heard him tut and at the same time she felt his burning gaze move on from her. She flicked her eyes up to see the lord twist in his saddle toward Kyuzo-dono. One hand on his hip and the other holding his reins, the lord didn’t reach for any weapons. His men waited still.
“The Ryu must take me for a fool feeding me that crock of shit.” Shaking his head, he was speaking to Kyuzo-dono. “The Ono slayed my boy, they say. I go there to take his remains to his mother and find him in half. Awful sight, Kyuzo. I’ve seen a man mauled by a bear and this was worse.”
“My condolences.” Lord Kyuzo gave a courtesy bow from his saddle. “I suppose I lost my boy as well.” A shadow fell over his face.
“Sora?” Isamu asked. “He’s lost his sight, but not his life, not yet anyway. I have him.”
Lord Kyuzo breathed, and years as it seemed, shed off him. Ayame hadn’t realized how burdened he’d been. Then, as they trotted through the snow at a leisurely pace with the sun on their backs, Lord Kyuzo gestured for her to come ride beside him.
The lords bantered, perhaps to relieve the building tension of upcoming events. Lord Isamu was willfully diverging from imperial orders to arrest or kill Kyuzo-dono on sight—no small matter. At the moment though, the large man seemed pleased with himself, boasting about how easily his warriors cut down the Ryu police whom he referred to as ‘bamboo men’ to seize Sora, not to mention his daring escape from the capital, all under the cover of the night, nonetheless.
Chronicle of Nara, the annual publication with a list of the clans and their rankings, named over a hundred lineages, crests, and lords, but there were only five warlords, five great houses: Ishii, Ono, Shimura, Satsuma, and Goho.
Although the Ryu were the first and the greatest clan, their warlord was an emperor. The Shimura, who made the list for being of ancient noble blood rather than a powerhouse, were decimated, so Ayame crossed them off her mental notes as she rode alongside her lord, the Satsuma bujin behind them.
Yohei’s short but violent reign had made an enemy of the Ono and now Lord Kyuzo would pay for it. Their heir Kenshi may be dead, but if she recalled correctly, that clan had more than twenty vassals—double the number of Ishii lords, which she knew was eleven exactly.
“My lord,” Ayame mused out loud, her breath steaming. Although sunny, it was still winter, and snow crunched under the horses’ hooves and sprayed outward like the wake of a large boat. Because she hadn’t specified which lord, both men looked at her. “Is Ono very large?” she asked.
“In size, yes,” was her lord’s answer.
“The clan Ono is much like their late lord Dai,” Isamu said. “He sure was a big fellow, but most of that was fluff.”
Ayame recalled the large man who couldn’t ride a horse and was pulled by an oxen carriage. “They are many, but don’t fight well?” she asked to clarify.
“For generations, the Ono recruited merchants and well-to-do peasants,” Kyuzo-dono explained. “Expansion through peace, they called it. He bestowed titles of nobility in return for the pledge of land. It’s usually the other way around, Ayame. Warlords,” he tapped himself, “gain territory in war, as the name suggests, and we award our bujin lands for their service and bravery. But Ono made merchants bujin by taking their pledge of land.” He laughed, finding the idea ludicrous.
“The Ono warrior caste is not made of warriors is what Kyuzo is saying,” Isamu reiterated. “They may be many, but what that’s worth, we shall see. Your lord here is very old-fashioned. He’s heavy-handed with cavalry, which limits his size, obviously.” Grinning, Isamu reached over from his horse to nudge Lord Kyuzo. “The Satsuma favor infantry tactics. The ashigaru are easy to recruit, easy to train, and aren’t nearly as costly to maintain as mounted bujin. In battle you need both, of course, which is why Kyuzo and I work together well. In the past, we’ve had several campaigns together. One against the Goho, nee?”
“Yeah,” Kyuzo-dono answered.
“Goho.” Isamu shook his head.
“The southern rebels, my lord?” Ayame asked.
“Damn, that’s a large clan, nee, Kyuzo? What do they have, fifty somewhat vassals?” Isamu said.
“Everyone who opposes the Ryu rides under their banner, so it may be more now,” Lord Kyuzo said. “Blue Dragon’s levies weren’t all that popular.”
“What would you know? The Ishii are exempt from taxes.”
“I’d wager that’s no longer the case.”
Isamu laughed from the gut, coughing out phlegm. “Fell from grace, haven’t you, Kyuzo? From the clouds above our heads all the way down into the underworld.” He whistled for falling effect. “‘Scourge of the earth’, Hissing Blade called you. Your head is worth much, nee? Perhaps I shall hand deliver it to the prince and get a tax exemption myself.”
It was some hours’ ride to Hotarubi, the heart of the Satsuma province, and Lord Isamu’s fortress, Enju, was visible on the naked peak to the north. The road from the town to the fortress was swept and fenced with bamboo like the snow tunnels of Hoshinoya.
The townspeople bowed to their lord as the entourage passed by and the behemoth gates of the fortress were open once they reached the top.
Sora was on the lord’s tier of the layered fortress, under physician’s care and not taking many visitors. Ayame didn’t request to see him once Lord Kyuzo spoke to him and came back saddened.
‘He’s angry and bitter,’ he’d said. ‘It’s better we give him time to heal.’
For the next few days, Ayame made a home of the mountaintop fortress and the view of brown stone walls outside the windows. The courtyard hadn’t livened any since she saw it last, and her spirit sagged, missing home, the open valley of cherry trees, and the evergreen mountains to the north.
Lord Kyuzo was gone most of the day. Once she intruded on his meeting with Lord Isamu and his vassals. All men pausing their speaking to frown at her, it’d been clear that was no place for a woman. So she left and hadn’t tried looking for her lord again. When he came, he came, but much was on his mind which he didn’t share with her.
Business at Enju was conducted to the sound of a copper gong struck with a wooden hammer. A ring for morning meal, a ring for lunch, a ring for dinner. The wooden clappers were for the bujin, marking training hours and change of shifts, she surmised, and the servants moved to their own tune as well.
Out of place, Ayame had nothing to do but eat, rest, and take a stroll in the sightless courtyard. She sometimes looked up at Sora’s windows, but they were always closed.
She wanted to know when they would be going home, but considering all including the weather, she wasn’t certain that they should travel at all. Lord Kyuzo had processed the news of their child and her truth rather quickly, but she wondered if he was digressing as his demeanor grew cold and unreadable.
On the fifth night, he didn’t come at all. It was well past dawn when Ayame heard the door slide on its track and pretended to be asleep. She was upset that he may be drunk and spent the night womanizing Lord Isamu’s many courtesans. He’d killed his emperor for her, but that was before she claimed to be carrying a child from a man who couldn’t sire one and topped it off with how she was a spirit. A human mind had a way of whittling down information into a shape it wanted to see. She wouldn’t put it past any man to simply think her mad at best, and a liar at worst.
He moved about the room, shuffling things Ayame couldn’t see. Then she felt his warmth as he came to sit by her mat.
“Ayame.” His throat healing, the lord’s voice had returned to its gentle tone and the rasp that made it deeper. Sometimes when he mumbled sleepily, it reminded her of a purring cat. “Ayame, may I speak with you?” He stroked her crown, and his fingers gliding through her short but unruly locks felt pleasant on her scalp, and she crooned.
“Yeah?” she turned. Single eye open, she didn’t abandon her sleeping theatrics.
“I have to leave.”
“What!” She sat up and threw off the quilt. “What do you mean?”
“Will you listen first?” he asked.
She nodded.
“When bujin take on a perilous mission such as traveling to the Sunlit City, they write a letter home to be delivered if they don’t come back.” He placed his hand on a stack of letters by him, making Ayame realize he’d taken out the contents of his saddlebag. “These are the letters of those who died in Ikidomari. You will keep them safe till we go home. This, however,” he extended her an envelope with the Ishii seal, “you will give to Goodnight when he comes, which should be within the next two moons.”
“Two moons!” Ayame exclaimed. She calmed herself and tried to listen, but he was telling her he’d be gone longer than that.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can, but I can’t say when that is.” He sighed. Then, for the first time, he placed a hand on her belly. “It swells.”
“It does. I’m coming with you.”
He retrieved his hand. “Cannot, Ayame. I indulge you when I can, but this is not it.” Not always, but sometimes, he had finality in his tone… as if he was speaking to his bujin.
“Where are you going?”
“Kagemori.”
“Meet me under the wisteria,” he whispered.
“Right.”
She tipped his chin up, and his eyes were closed. She glided her hand down his face and neck, finding the red ring hanging to the right of his heart.
“I’m immortal, yet Moonlight is my home. You are my chosen and I love no other. If you want to go to Hissing Blade, I’m coming with you. Then we’ll both go die together. No doubt, it will be bad. I’ve killed Locks. Perhaps he’ll boil us alive.
“But I’d rather that you fight, my lord, for us, for our home, and for those who love you. You can’t believe they’re better off without you. Don’t leave them at the mercy of the prince, he has none.”
“You’ve killed Locks?” Amber eyes opened and a single eyebrow arched up.
“Yes, I stabbed him right here.” She touched his chin. “Then I stuffed his corpse in the in-between.”
Hissing Blade would never find him, and she wouldn’t have been implicated had she not claimed he went to the police station. Next time, she’d know better than to stick her neck out for an enemy soldier. They served a monster; they shouldn’t be surprised to get eaten by a demon.
“What for?” he asked.
“Because he hurt you.” She ran her finger over the bruised line on his neck.
“You’re something else,” he whispered.
“I know. I’m a goddess. A lesser one, but still…”
A year ago, it would have been an outlandish claim. A moon ago, he would have questioned her still, but the last handful of days had shaken his confidence in the world. A dark diviner slaughtered his finest warriors, and he’d seen demons in the glass mirrors. Besides, there had never been any explanation as to where he’d gone for seasons, and how he’d returned. Deep inside, he knew. She saw him resist, but not much before giving in. This would make the conversation about what the prince was easier, but that was for later. Now, she just wanted him.
She kissed him and he picked her up, fire igniting in the cold of the night. Like the first time they’d been together, in the bathhouse behind Moonlight, he wasn’t making love to her but sharing his grief and hurt with her, unsaddling his burden. When he moved inside her, he surrendered to her. He gave her himself to keep, and that was good because she loved him far more than he did himself. He was safer with her.
When he was done, he lay on top of her.
It was after they untangled so Ayame could reheat the soup that they realized he’d torn his wound open and was bleeding again. She sutured the gash, and he complained much.
Ayame took the fish out of his bowl so he could drink the soup without bothering his throat too much.
His eyes rested on her belly. “Do you suppose it’s a girl or a boy?”
“I don’t know. We’ll see soon enough,” she said, sipping soup. She didn’t feel nauseous. It was rather good. “My cooking improved.”
“If you say so.” He smirked, then looked up at the ceiling. “We’re going to freeze if I don’t patch that. The weather might not lighten up for a few days.”
“Leave it for the night,” she said, but as stubborn as he was, he went out.
Ayame added wood to the fire. Then, as she was falling asleep, she could hear him humming on the roof, and smiled.
fourteen
I’m Leaving
The blizzard took three days to pass. Kyuzo-dono spent most of that time sleeping, the color returning to him eventually.
On the second day, Puff left to investigate if there was a shrine nearby and returned as a frozen fox. After he’d shivered by the fire for some hours, he turned into a tiny figurine of himself. Ayame wrapped him in a warm cloth and placed him in her satchel.
On the third day, the snow was knee deep, and on the fourth morning, Kyuzo-dono saddled Ayame’s horse for her. Crystal clear skies overhead like a summer morning, the light glittered on the white cloaked terrain, making it nearly blinding.
They were going home. It was Kyuzo-dono’s hope that the oncoming war would be delayed till spring, due to weather circumstances, giving him time to prepare.
Trying to saddle Ayame’s horse, Kyuzo-dono fiddled with the girth a couple of times before tying it to his liking.
“Having trouble, my lord?” she teased.
“It’s been decades since I had any practice,” was his answer.
“Must be nice being a lord.” She’d been trying to lift his spirit, which seemed to be working as he turned and smirked. That expression suited him. Her lord wore haughtiness well because it was rightly earned, but rarely displayed.
Both horses perked up, craning their necks in the same direction—the naked hills to the south. Lord Kyuzo squinted that way, cupping his hand over his eyes. Hissed curses followed.
“What is it?” Ayame didn’t see anything.
“Riders.” He tapped his ear. “Satsuma, hopefully. Mount, Ayame.” He boosted her up to the saddle and set her feet in the stirrups as if it was her first time. “Here.” He handed her the reins. “Let me see what they want, but if it doesn’t go well, you leave, all right? Isamu doesn’t run women down.”
Ayame hesitated.
“You will leave, all right?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Lord Kyuzo mounted but waited. He didn’t try outrunning what appeared to be about two dozen riders once they crested over the hills.
Recalling the friendliness of the bear-like lord, Ayame was relieved to see the purple banner of the Satsuma, although the white centipede crest still disturbed her. “Why a bug?” she asked her lord as they waited for the bujin.
“Most of their forces are ashigaru, foot soldiers,” he said. “It’s the clan of a thousand feet, that’s why the centipede.”
Lord Isamu rode up like the wind for such a large man, and his steed circled to stop, spraying snow in all directions. Lord Kyuzo wiped his sleeve as he casually waited for Isamu to settle.
“Morning, Isamu-dono,” he said. A riding crop in one hand and the reins wrapped in his other, he didn’t reach for his blade.
“You’re on my land, Kyuzo.” The lord’s helmet had a silver centipede displayed like a rearing horse. His warriors lined up behind him but didn’t attempt to encircle them, which would have been perceived as hostile.
“Just passing through, Isamu. I had some trouble in Sunlit City, as you’ve no doubt heard. I’m trying to go home, that’s all.”
“I don’t think so, Kyuzo.” Isamu’s eyes burned like coals and a sense of dread began tightening around Ayame, but she stayed out of the interaction. It simply wasn’t her place.
“Why is that?” Kyuzo-dono asked.
“I have an imperial decree declaring you as an enemy, Kyuzo. It says you killed Emperor Blue Dragon and Prince Coral Moon.”
“News travels fast,” Kyuzo-dono said, “and lies even faster.”
“You deny it, then?”
“Of course, I do, Isamu. Why would I slay my emperor? Blue Dragon was going to announce Sora as his heir. He might as well put me on the throne.” His voice steady, Lord Kyuzo sneered.
“That’s what I heard also.” Isamu closed the few yards of distance and approached Lord Kyuzo, their mounts whinnying at each other. “Kyuzo, we’ve known each other for what, well over four decades? Our fathers were allies and we’ve had peace between us. I wouldn’t consider you a friend for warlords have none, but tell me man to man… What happened to my boy?”
“Regretfully, I wasn’t there.” Lord Kyuzo flicked his gaze to Ayame, which made Isamu follow. “What happened in Ikidomari, Priestess? What do you know of Shin’s passing?” He gave her a nod.
“After Kyuzo-dono left with the emperor, Prince Hissing Blade and Prince Locks attacked. They had the Ryu police with them, and some sentry as well. Sora started the fire to protect the bujin from the demon spirits Hissing Blade summoned. The men fought valiantly, lost, but died gloriously.”
“Glory?” Lord Isamu roared. “Have you seen what glory did to my boy?”
Bujins die, Ayame wanted to snap because that was what she’d decided to believe—otherwise the grief was too much and there was no time for it. Yet, she thought better of it. Lord Isamu was angry, his face raw with emotions. He wanted not to grieve but to point the blame and kill—vengeance, the warrior way.
“I did see, my lord.” Ayame lowered her gaze, as not to be confrontational. If Isamu didn’t like what she had to say, there were two dozen warriors waiting for his order, and despite what she’d told Kyuzo-dono, she wasn’t leaving. “A demon killed Shin of Satsuma. It ate him, my lord. But I don’t believe that detracts from the young warrior’s bravery. To the contrary, in my humble opinion, his courage to face insurmountable odds with his blade drawn was commendable.”
“My boy died well, then?” Lord Isamu choked with a softness in his throat.
“He did, my lord.”
She heard him tut and at the same time she felt his burning gaze move on from her. She flicked her eyes up to see the lord twist in his saddle toward Kyuzo-dono. One hand on his hip and the other holding his reins, the lord didn’t reach for any weapons. His men waited still.
“The Ryu must take me for a fool feeding me that crock of shit.” Shaking his head, he was speaking to Kyuzo-dono. “The Ono slayed my boy, they say. I go there to take his remains to his mother and find him in half. Awful sight, Kyuzo. I’ve seen a man mauled by a bear and this was worse.”
“My condolences.” Lord Kyuzo gave a courtesy bow from his saddle. “I suppose I lost my boy as well.” A shadow fell over his face.
“Sora?” Isamu asked. “He’s lost his sight, but not his life, not yet anyway. I have him.”
Lord Kyuzo breathed, and years as it seemed, shed off him. Ayame hadn’t realized how burdened he’d been. Then, as they trotted through the snow at a leisurely pace with the sun on their backs, Lord Kyuzo gestured for her to come ride beside him.
The lords bantered, perhaps to relieve the building tension of upcoming events. Lord Isamu was willfully diverging from imperial orders to arrest or kill Kyuzo-dono on sight—no small matter. At the moment though, the large man seemed pleased with himself, boasting about how easily his warriors cut down the Ryu police whom he referred to as ‘bamboo men’ to seize Sora, not to mention his daring escape from the capital, all under the cover of the night, nonetheless.
Chronicle of Nara, the annual publication with a list of the clans and their rankings, named over a hundred lineages, crests, and lords, but there were only five warlords, five great houses: Ishii, Ono, Shimura, Satsuma, and Goho.
Although the Ryu were the first and the greatest clan, their warlord was an emperor. The Shimura, who made the list for being of ancient noble blood rather than a powerhouse, were decimated, so Ayame crossed them off her mental notes as she rode alongside her lord, the Satsuma bujin behind them.
Yohei’s short but violent reign had made an enemy of the Ono and now Lord Kyuzo would pay for it. Their heir Kenshi may be dead, but if she recalled correctly, that clan had more than twenty vassals—double the number of Ishii lords, which she knew was eleven exactly.
“My lord,” Ayame mused out loud, her breath steaming. Although sunny, it was still winter, and snow crunched under the horses’ hooves and sprayed outward like the wake of a large boat. Because she hadn’t specified which lord, both men looked at her. “Is Ono very large?” she asked.
“In size, yes,” was her lord’s answer.
“The clan Ono is much like their late lord Dai,” Isamu said. “He sure was a big fellow, but most of that was fluff.”
Ayame recalled the large man who couldn’t ride a horse and was pulled by an oxen carriage. “They are many, but don’t fight well?” she asked to clarify.
“For generations, the Ono recruited merchants and well-to-do peasants,” Kyuzo-dono explained. “Expansion through peace, they called it. He bestowed titles of nobility in return for the pledge of land. It’s usually the other way around, Ayame. Warlords,” he tapped himself, “gain territory in war, as the name suggests, and we award our bujin lands for their service and bravery. But Ono made merchants bujin by taking their pledge of land.” He laughed, finding the idea ludicrous.
“The Ono warrior caste is not made of warriors is what Kyuzo is saying,” Isamu reiterated. “They may be many, but what that’s worth, we shall see. Your lord here is very old-fashioned. He’s heavy-handed with cavalry, which limits his size, obviously.” Grinning, Isamu reached over from his horse to nudge Lord Kyuzo. “The Satsuma favor infantry tactics. The ashigaru are easy to recruit, easy to train, and aren’t nearly as costly to maintain as mounted bujin. In battle you need both, of course, which is why Kyuzo and I work together well. In the past, we’ve had several campaigns together. One against the Goho, nee?”
“Yeah,” Kyuzo-dono answered.
“Goho.” Isamu shook his head.
“The southern rebels, my lord?” Ayame asked.
“Damn, that’s a large clan, nee, Kyuzo? What do they have, fifty somewhat vassals?” Isamu said.
“Everyone who opposes the Ryu rides under their banner, so it may be more now,” Lord Kyuzo said. “Blue Dragon’s levies weren’t all that popular.”
“What would you know? The Ishii are exempt from taxes.”
“I’d wager that’s no longer the case.”
Isamu laughed from the gut, coughing out phlegm. “Fell from grace, haven’t you, Kyuzo? From the clouds above our heads all the way down into the underworld.” He whistled for falling effect. “‘Scourge of the earth’, Hissing Blade called you. Your head is worth much, nee? Perhaps I shall hand deliver it to the prince and get a tax exemption myself.”
It was some hours’ ride to Hotarubi, the heart of the Satsuma province, and Lord Isamu’s fortress, Enju, was visible on the naked peak to the north. The road from the town to the fortress was swept and fenced with bamboo like the snow tunnels of Hoshinoya.
The townspeople bowed to their lord as the entourage passed by and the behemoth gates of the fortress were open once they reached the top.
Sora was on the lord’s tier of the layered fortress, under physician’s care and not taking many visitors. Ayame didn’t request to see him once Lord Kyuzo spoke to him and came back saddened.
‘He’s angry and bitter,’ he’d said. ‘It’s better we give him time to heal.’
For the next few days, Ayame made a home of the mountaintop fortress and the view of brown stone walls outside the windows. The courtyard hadn’t livened any since she saw it last, and her spirit sagged, missing home, the open valley of cherry trees, and the evergreen mountains to the north.
Lord Kyuzo was gone most of the day. Once she intruded on his meeting with Lord Isamu and his vassals. All men pausing their speaking to frown at her, it’d been clear that was no place for a woman. So she left and hadn’t tried looking for her lord again. When he came, he came, but much was on his mind which he didn’t share with her.
Business at Enju was conducted to the sound of a copper gong struck with a wooden hammer. A ring for morning meal, a ring for lunch, a ring for dinner. The wooden clappers were for the bujin, marking training hours and change of shifts, she surmised, and the servants moved to their own tune as well.
Out of place, Ayame had nothing to do but eat, rest, and take a stroll in the sightless courtyard. She sometimes looked up at Sora’s windows, but they were always closed.
She wanted to know when they would be going home, but considering all including the weather, she wasn’t certain that they should travel at all. Lord Kyuzo had processed the news of their child and her truth rather quickly, but she wondered if he was digressing as his demeanor grew cold and unreadable.
On the fifth night, he didn’t come at all. It was well past dawn when Ayame heard the door slide on its track and pretended to be asleep. She was upset that he may be drunk and spent the night womanizing Lord Isamu’s many courtesans. He’d killed his emperor for her, but that was before she claimed to be carrying a child from a man who couldn’t sire one and topped it off with how she was a spirit. A human mind had a way of whittling down information into a shape it wanted to see. She wouldn’t put it past any man to simply think her mad at best, and a liar at worst.
He moved about the room, shuffling things Ayame couldn’t see. Then she felt his warmth as he came to sit by her mat.
“Ayame.” His throat healing, the lord’s voice had returned to its gentle tone and the rasp that made it deeper. Sometimes when he mumbled sleepily, it reminded her of a purring cat. “Ayame, may I speak with you?” He stroked her crown, and his fingers gliding through her short but unruly locks felt pleasant on her scalp, and she crooned.
“Yeah?” she turned. Single eye open, she didn’t abandon her sleeping theatrics.
“I have to leave.”
“What!” She sat up and threw off the quilt. “What do you mean?”
“Will you listen first?” he asked.
She nodded.
“When bujin take on a perilous mission such as traveling to the Sunlit City, they write a letter home to be delivered if they don’t come back.” He placed his hand on a stack of letters by him, making Ayame realize he’d taken out the contents of his saddlebag. “These are the letters of those who died in Ikidomari. You will keep them safe till we go home. This, however,” he extended her an envelope with the Ishii seal, “you will give to Goodnight when he comes, which should be within the next two moons.”
“Two moons!” Ayame exclaimed. She calmed herself and tried to listen, but he was telling her he’d be gone longer than that.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can, but I can’t say when that is.” He sighed. Then, for the first time, he placed a hand on her belly. “It swells.”
“It does. I’m coming with you.”
He retrieved his hand. “Cannot, Ayame. I indulge you when I can, but this is not it.” Not always, but sometimes, he had finality in his tone… as if he was speaking to his bujin.
“Where are you going?”
“Kagemori.”
