Find Me, page 7
After Eclipse, who’d been left behind in Moonlight, Robin was the largest of the warriors. Perhaps the boy expected Kyuzo-dono to be big, but the lord’s grandiose stature had little to do with his physical height. In that regard, he was shorter than half his bujin, including the delicate Sora.
Amused with the youth, Robin said, “Yes?”
“For my father.”
The boy lunged, something in his hand as he’d led with it, but Robin swatted his thrust and punched him in the mouth. The boy tumbled and rolled around on the ground. When he spat, teeth came out in the blood. He tried to rise, but his legs gave out, and his bujin carried him off.
“That’s Dai’s son, I suppose,” Lord Kyuzo said, gazing after them. “He’s younger than I thought.”
“Bastard pricked me,” Robin said, frowning at the cut on his hand.
“With what?” Jester went to inspect Robin’s wound. “Looks superficial. I reckon you’ll live.”
Lord Kyuzo stepped into the guest house and the bujin followed, laughing about the whole thing. On her way to the door, Ayame stepped on a thing and looked down. A little throwing knife on the ground: slick, half the size of a dagger, and no handle to make it bulky. Rather, a piece of cloth was wrapped around it. The fresh blood on it said that was what Kenshi cut Robin with.
Ayame frowned, noticing the surrounding snow melting. She wanted to pick it up and inspect it, but thought better of it and kicked it aside.
Master Grey was passed out inside, snoring on the floor with a pungent odor of wine.
Puff was laid up by the brazier with his belly up. “He came with a young woman. They mated and I believe she stole his coin purse after he became inebriated.”
Only Ayame and Sora heard the fox, and they both had the same reaction to ‘mated’.
“Oh, stop it. He deserves to be happy,” Ayame said, laughing because Sora couldn’t stop crinkling his nose. “You’ll be old one day.” And Wraith too, Ayame thought, but didn’t say.
She wouldn’t age, but her lord would. But no matter his years, he would always be beautiful. Such a thought warmed Ayame’s heart for a beat before sadness set in that her ‘always’ was four years. After that, she’d leave and never return. She had to fix the in-between. She’d taken that up as a cause, but her hand couldn’t help gliding down to her belly.
eight
Sora’s Dream
Ayame joined Sora and Wraith when they said they were going to a bookshop. The ink and paper had been with Keelback, lost when the Hashimoto attacked. Sora was going to purchase writing utensils. Wraith accompanied because of the Ono threat, and Ayame made herself a third wheel because she was looking for books. The city bookshops must have a greater selection than the country town of Hoshinoya. She enjoyed tales of scandalous affairs and Misaki’s collection of such encounters written by a woman who went by Z was incomplete. Ayame had read most of them, the last one being the tragic love story of a disgraced bujin turned bandit and a teahouse girl—he got killed by the police and the girl died of a broken heart.
The merchant street was a lively place of colorful signage piled atop one another, hanging from wooden houses crunched together. The shopkeepers swept the snow outside their doors and the stroll was pleasant. One shop sold only fox and cat figures, shelves and shelves full of them, and Ayame was glad Puff hadn’t joined. He liked junk, as if he could carry it.
From a shop of bells, Ayame picked up a little silver ball. The tiny thing jingled endearingly, and when she asked the shopkeeper what it was for, the old man said, “It’s a cat bell, Priestess. You put it on a collar of the feline so it can’t sneak up on birds or other small creatures.”
Frowning, Ayame returned the bell. That seemed cruel. “How does the cat eat, then?” she asked.
“You feed your cat. It’s for pets.”
After he explained what a pet was, it made sense, and Ayame purchased one. But she had to stuff a scrap of paper through its slot because otherwise she was tinkling when she walked. Her already loud and peasant-like steps didn’t need a cat bell’s help. She thought to put a collar and bell on Puff and laughed, imagining how furious he’d be.
Out of nowhere, a vile odor slapped Ayame in the face, perhaps old fish or spilled guts. She gagged with a hand over her mouth and ran away to get upwind from the stench.
“Are you all right?” Sora came when she was bent down the alley, hands on her knees and still gagging.
“You didn’t smell that?” she asked, getting up.
“Yeah, it’s a large city. They have food from different regions.” He shrugged. “Come on, the bookshop is right there.”
“Food? Someone eats that?” Ayame said, grudgingly following Sora into the shop, but her mood lifted as she found heaps of new books—Misaki would be impressed.
Sora purchased rice paper, ink, and a writing brush. Ayame spent more money than she had and made Sora settle the rest.
“Lord Sora, will you carry the nuisance for her?” Wraith asked as Ayame struggled with her piles of books, tottering after the men through the market street. “Kyuzo-dono will be upset if we let her carry it, and I need my sword hand free.”
“Oh, sure,” Sora said, but he hired a rickshaw instead and sent the driver to the Ishii guest house with the books. He would have liked to send Ayame as well, but Wraith insisted that she not travel alone.
As the sun began dipping low and they were still some distance from Ikidomari, Ayame and Sora had noodles at a little shop while Wraith stayed outside.
The windows were left open to vent out the cooking smell as Ayame and Sora shared a table by such a window, Wraith visible across the street.
“He didn’t want to eat?” Ayame asked, settling onto a strangely tall stool. The hygiene of sitting on the floor in public places in Sunlit City had been explained to her.
“He can’t carry his longsword inside and he didn’t want to leave it by the door. He’s serious like that,” Sora said, flipping through pages with pictures of food. The pictures had also been explained to Ayame: the hierarchy wasn’t so defined in the capital and a lot of peasants visited noodle shops and most of them couldn’t read.
When the attendant came, Sora ordered for her as well. He asked for wine and drank alone when Ayame politely refused.
“Is it all right that we’re leaving so suddenly?” she asked as a dozen bujin from some clan passed by the window. “Why did we come all this way, anyway?” The loss of three remained on her mind. Jay, who laughed like a bird chirping, had been one of the first Ishii she’d met, and she’d grown to like him much as he’d been a gentle fellow. It didn’t seem right that his ashes were buried on Hashimoto hills for nothing.
“Father thought my pardon may have been revoked because of Yohei and Naomi’s scheme. But such a letter never reached the emperor.” He grimaced tasting the wine, perhaps from the lack of quality, but continued to drink regardless.
“You met with the emperor earlier, didn’t you?”
“He spoke with Father. I may as well have been furniture. I don’t understand why the emperor summoned me. I despise the palace and his family. The feeling is mutual, as far as I know.”
“What did the emperor speak with Kyuzo-dono about?” Ayame didn’t care. She was simply holding a conversation while they waited for their noodles.
“Southern campaign.” Sora sneered in disgust. “He’s starting another war. As his legacy, the emperor wants to unify Nara. He wanted to know if Father would ride with him. It’s a false posture. If Father doesn’t comply, he’ll be disgraced, such and such… I really do loathe him,” Sora said openly, and perhaps too loudly.
Ayame hushed him, but now she was upset as well. What war? Did that mean Kyuzo-dono was leaving?
“How long do you think such a campaign would last?” she asked the worst possible person, the only Ishii bujin to not have seen battle.
“Who knows.” Sora dug through his satchel and produced leaves of paper, brush, and an inkwell. “I should start drafting the letter. I’m not as good as Lord Koba used to be.”
“What do you know about the Goho?” she asked, but Sora’s attention was on his letter, mumbling as he crossed something out and started over with a fresh sheet.
Locks was the prince with golden hair and a foul mouth, the one who’d provoked Lord Kyuzo. Hissing Blade’s hair was as black as his obsidian sash, and he’d had a red tint to his brown eyes. There were three Ryu princes, Hissing Blade being the eldest.
“Who’s the third prince?” she asked.
“Coral Moon,” answered Sora mindlessly. “From eldest to the youngest, the Ryu brothers are Blue Dragon, Hissing Blade, Coral Moon, and the youngest is Golden Locks.”
“This morning, at the marquee, was Prince Coral Moon wearing white?” she asked, thinking of the tall man with the longest sword she’d seen.
“Yes, he always wears white. Pure of heart, and all…” he muttered.
Ayame peeked at Sora’s writing. His calligraphy was beautiful. With his lips pursed, he was thinking, so she let him complete the sentence before speaking again.
“Is he a good man?” she asked after Sora was done and blowing the paper to dry the ink.
“Prince Coral Moon? He’s not ‘good’ per se, but unlike Hissing Blade and Locks, he’s friendly with the Ishii. Father likes him because he’s a famous warrior and a forthright man. He’ll most likely be the general of the southern campaign,” Sora said.
Their noodles came, and the conversation shifted to Sora’s future. He was a kind soul who didn’t suffer from the venomous sting of ambition. Lord Kyuzo had promised him some land and a castle, away from the Ishii heartland to comply with the terms of his pardon, and the young lord was content with it.
“Wraith is retiring,” he said, his gaze on the bujin across the street giving a beggar child a coin. “He started when he was fifteen and served Honorable Father for two decades. He wants to be done and will be recommending Jester to replace him. He’s going to tell Father once we get back to Moonlight.”
“Goodnight will be pleased to be passed over,” Ayame said.
“He’s too impulsive, Ayame, and with Father’s temper, it’s not a good mix.” That was true. “Anyway, I’m leaving with Wraith. He wants to start a martial arts school, and I think it’s a superb idea.”
“What about his father? Isn’t he a lord?” Ayame asked.
“Yes, but serving Lord Akira and serving Lord Kyuzo are the same thing. Hosoya is an Ishii vassal house. He doesn’t want war, at least for a while. But I have an inkling we may be back in a few years as he grows tired of farming and teaching indolent children.” Sora smiled.
“It’s a good dream,” Ayame said. “Good luck telling your father, though.”
“I need your help in breaking the news.” He reached over the table and took her hand, his smile brightening. He had some Kyuzo-dono in him, especially how light his eyes were, and Ayame thought it must have come from Lady Tamaki. “Once we get back to Moonlight, I need you to tell him about myself and Wraith. He deals with things better when it comes from you, less angry and less murderous. Please?”
The amount of news Ayame would have to break once in Moonlight was piling up, but she nodded. Sora was so happy.
“What about Hiro?” she had to ask.
“He can come with. We’re just friends.”
Oh, she doubted that, at least from Hiro’s perspective. But such was life. He’d had his fair shot, Ayame supposed, but the thought of the fallen Ryu brought the tale of his father to mind. She shook her head to clear it and enjoyed Sora delighting in the warm light instead.
“The world is such a beautiful place, isn’t it, Ayame?” he asked.
She followed his gaze and found Wraith running away from a band of beggar children. The one he’d given a coin to had returned with a mob. They laughed, watching the bujin deal with humans he couldn’t punch, slice, or shoot an arrow through—he was quite bad at it.
“Every day, each moment, is a sight to behold, isn’t it, Ayame?”
“I believe you shouldn’t have drunk all that wine on an empty stomach. Eat your noodles, Lord Sora,” she scolded, but how handsome of a man he was didn’t fully escape her as the evening light fell on his profile and his eyes looked so much like her lord’s. It was definitely from his mother, and Ayame assumed Lady Tamaki had been a jaw dropping beauty—enough to trip an emperor on his back.
Yet in the end, Hissing Blade won out, didn’t he? It made Blue Dragon a fool, someone whose judgment couldn’t be depended on wholly. But affairs of the mortal throne weren’t Ayame’s business. She had far more pressing issues. She mistakenly took a sip of wine, thinking it was a teacup, then spat it back out.
Back at the guest house, Sora handed the letter to Lord Kyuzo to approve, but he just waved in exasperation and told Sora to press his seal and send it with one of the bujin.
“Ring, you’re fast. You go,” Lord Kyuzo said. “When you come back, we leave.”
In winter, the sun set at Rooster Hour in Yukiyama, but here in Sunlit City, there was still some light at the approach of Dog Hour. The sky was murky though, promising bad weather throughout the night.
Lord Kyuzo was preoccupied, discussing with Wraith which route to take back to Yukiyama to avoid Hashimoto territory. The detour would extend their travel by an entire week, and the lord was concerned about the roads approaching Yukiyama being passable. He was in a hurry to return home, a sentiment shared by all.
Master Grey played Igo with Sora as Puff spectated, often dishing insults only Sora could hear. The fox had grown comfortable enough with Sora to be frequently calling him ‘stupid’. It was payback for burning his fur, Ayame supposed.
They were having dinner at the guest house, the bujin seated in a row along a long table. Ayame was stealing a look at the map Lord Kyuzo was frowning at, when a shape stood up at the corner. She assumed it was one of the men, but the way Puff exhaled, “Ayame,” made her look—a death god.
“Sora,” Ayame called, flicking a look at the shinigami when Sora turned to her.
Sora kept an eye on it as the death god strolled around, tilting its head at the bujin, sniffing Wraith. Then not finding who it was looking for, it stepped out. Sora and Ayame exchanged a glance of relief and returned to what each had been doing. Although death gods were common in such a large city and just during their trip to the bookshop Ayame had seen at least a dozen, spotting one in the room had unnerved her.
Ayame stepped out for fresh air when Hiro and Master Grey decided to smoke opioids and found Robin sitting on the ground some feet from the door. The large man’s chest heaved with labored breaths, and his face was ashen. More than that, the shinigami waited beside him. That alone didn’t determine his fate. It just meant the death god sensed someone ill—a plain sight to see.
“Robin, what’s wrong?” Ayame went to him.
“Nothing, Priestess, just need air.” He looked up, but it wasn’t nothing.
Recalling how the throwing knife had melted the snow, Ayame hollered, “Master Grey!”
Instead of the master, Monarch came over. He’d been on his way out.
“Help me get him inside. He’s not well,” Ayame said, crouching and taking one of Robin’s arms over her shoulder.
Monarch took the other arm but wrinkled his nose. “Ay, Robin-san, take a bath.”
Then, the odor hit Ayame as well. Robin reeked of sewage, and Ayame glanced down to see if he’d soiled himself. He hadn’t.
“Master Grey!” Ayame shrieked with anger as they three staggered to get up, struggling with Robin’s great size. “Master Grey!”
Kyuzo-dono burst out, his eyes wide, then saw Robin and took over for Ayame.
“He’s been poisoned by the Ono brat. Help him!” she yelled after them.
She picked up something Robin dropped on the snow, and it was a little wooden horse—toys soldiers whittled for their children when they were on the road.
“Go away.” She swatted at the shinigami, but it gave her no mind, and followed the men into the guest house.
nine
The Great Clown
They cleared the tables from the dining room and laid Robin on a mat. When they opened his robe, Ayame gasped. His flesh was black as if charred, and the dark skin split in parts as swollen green flesh, rotted, protruded. She covered her face and ran out.
She sat on the ground by the door, the toy horse in her hand, and could hear the men speaking inside the guesthouse.
“Shidekobushi, poison of the black magnolia.” Master Grey’s voice was somber. “The tree is extremely rare, extinct in most provinces… I can’t make the antidote without the plant.”
“Fetch an imperial physician,” Lord Kyuzo snapped. “And bring me the Ono boy. He must have the antidote.”
The bujin rushed out the door to do the lord’s bidding. They split and ran off in different directions, some in search of a physician, and others looking for vengeance.
Having delivered the letter to the palace, Ring returned, then ran off to help find the physician. But no matter how many wise old men with black square hats they brought, some under the threat of death, none could name the poison, never mind the antidote.
Last of the bad news, Lightning brought. Ono Kenshi had died from his own poison—perhaps he’d cut his own hand when he attacked Robin, mistaking him for Lord Kyuzo. His bujin had left his corpse to rot in the bedroom of the guest house the Ono had been staying at and fled.
Deep in the night, snow began falling, but the Ikidomari remained a ghost alley. The clans were celebrating at the palace making a loud noise, light exploding in the sky.
“It’s called firework.” Hiro came out and stood beside Ayame. “Splendid display, isn’t it?”
Ayame had been sitting on a little stool outside the door. She looked up at Hiro and found his face tipped to the sky bursting with colors. The light refracted on the snow and it looked as if they were inside a rainbow.
