CHAPTER 22: THE SOLDIERS

The Imperial troops had not come alone. As in Ishihama, they had Yammanka soldiers with them. It had been a long time since Misaki had seen Yammankalu—or any non-Kaigenese people for that matter. For some residents of Takayubi, the sight of a foreigner was a complete novelty. Women and children gathered to gawk and murmur, though they hovered a careful distance from the Yammanka lines as if worried the fire-wielding soldiers might spontaneously combust.

“I didn’t know they’d be so tall,” one woman marveled.

“They’re beautiful,” another woman sighed. “Such dark skin! Like in the movies!”

“And their hair looks so... fluffy,” Mizumaki Fuyuko added, scrunching up her nose. “Do you think I could get one of them to let me touch it?”

“Don’t be stupid, Fuyu-chan,” another teenage girl said. “It would burn your fingers off.”

Fuyuko cocked her head. “I thought they had to be on fire to do that.”

“No. I’m pretty sure the fire is inside them, under their skin, like we’ve got blood inside us.”

“And—wait a dinma—are those women?” Mizumaki Fuyuko gaped as if that was somehow more outlandish than the idea of people with fire for blood.

“They can’t be,” her mother said dismissively. “They have spears.”

“They’ve also got breasts, Mizumaki-san,” Setsuko said in amusement. “I’m pretty sure they’re women.”

“Nonsense. Women can’t—”

“Look!” Setsuko said, seemingly delighted at the opportunity to scandalize her already traumatized neighbors. “That one has really big breasts!” She pointed to a nearby Yammanka.

The soldier in question looked toward the chattering Kaigenese women and rolled her eyes with a long-suffering sigh. Being stationed in Kaigen had to be a tiring experience for a female soldier. Misaki was ready to feel sorry for her until she saw the patterns on the woman’s uniform—pilot patterns. This woman and the tajakalu standing around her were responsible for bombing Takayubi to pieces.

In the darkness and confusion of the previous night’s airstrike, it had been impossible to tell which country the planes belonged to, but it didn’t surprise Misaki that the Yammankalu had responded faster than the Imperial army. Yamma had military bases scattered across the Kaigenese Empire, and they were famously quick to respond to crises. Still, it was unsettling that the Emperor would allow foreign planes to rain bombs on his own land.

“They all look rather upset,” one woman commented, looking down the line of Yammanka soldiers.

“They’re tajakalu,” Misaki said. “It’s the middle of winter and they’re up here on a freezing mountain.”

The dark-skinned tajakalu shivered in their bogolan uniforms, looking determined but deeply miserable in the shin-deep snow. At least they hadn’t shown up in forty-year-old uniforms, which was more than Misaki could say of the Kaigenese troops. They wore the same blue and tan hanboks they had since the Keleba.

The first person to address Takeru was a stocky Kaigenese officer with a bit of a belly, who introduced himself as Colonel Song. He was accompanied by a Kaigenese jaseli wearing the robes of a military translator, which annoyed Misaki slightly. How uneducated did these men think they were?

“I’m told you’re the head of the village?” Colonel Song said in Kaigengua.

“Yes, sir,” Takeru answered slowly, the Imperial standard more awkward on his tongue than his native Shirojima Dialect, “as of some time yesterday evening.”

“Really?” Colonel Song raised his eyebrows. “Yesterday?” Misaki didn’t care for the note of condescension in his voice. “Can you explain to me how that came to be?”

“The mayor is presumed dead, as we have not yet found many survivors from the western village where he lived. I was his accountant, administrative assistant, and the person responsible for running his office whenever he had to report to provincial headquarters. So, for the time being, I will assume his responsibilities until he is found or replaced. My brother, the head of the resident ruling warrior house, was confirmed dead a few waatinu before you arrived, so I take his place as the leading—”

“I see,” Colonel Song said, evidently growing bored with Takeru’s slow, over-pronounced Kaigengua. “So, these people will all answer to you?”

“Those who live here in Takayubi, sir, yes.”

“You can keep them under control?”

Misaki didn’t like how Song referred to them as if they were a troublesome herd of livestock. She liked it less when Takeru responded with an unhesitating, “Yes, sir.”

“Very good. The first thing I am going to need is for your people to bring all the bodies to the remains of the settlement southwest of this village.”

“You mean the blacksmith village?”

“Oh, is that what it was?” Colonel Song said, with an amused quirk of his mouth that made Misaki want to punch the teeth out of it. “Then, yes, the uh... blacksmith village. Our Yammanka allies have begun to set up their equipment there.”

“Their... equipment?” Takeru repeated slowly.

“Their equipment,” the translator said in Shirojima Dialect and Takeru favored him with a cold look.

“The Yammankalu are conducting an important forensic investigation for our Emperor,” Song said. “You and everyone in this village are to give them your full cooperation.”

“Of course, General,” Takeru said, though this was the first order that seemed to give him pause.

The Yammankalu might have been Kaigen’s allies since the Keleba, but they were still foreigners, and villages as ancient and isolated as Takayubi didn’t take well to foreigners interfering in their affairs. This was a village where the mere presence of Kaigenese outsiders like the Kwangs could cause a stir.

“I understand you’ve been having your people transport bodies to this building?”

“Only the bodies of our own,” Takeru said, “those with friends and family who need to lay them to rest. We’ve been waiting for finawu to arrive from the neighboring mountain to administer the proper rites.”

“I understand,” Colonel Song said, “but we will need all the bodies brought to the Yammankalu at your blacksmith village—Kaigenese and Ranganese.”

There was a pause. “You... what?” Takeru said blankly.

The translator, who was either extremely determined to condescend or just extremely bad at his job, piped up, “The colonel said, ‘all the bodies, Kaigenese and Ranganese.’”

Takeru was still staring at Song. “I don’t understand.”

“You will direct your people to bring the bodies of every person killed during the attack to the Yammankalu. That includes the bodies they mistakenly brought here.” He jerked his head toward Mamoru’s covered corpse. “In cases where only pieces of a body remain, they will need whatever can be recovered.”

Misaki didn’t blame Takeru for standing in shock.

“Have I said something confusing to you, Matsuda?”

“You want me to take the dead from their grieving families?” Takeru’s voice was as emotionless as ever, but more than that, it was empty.

“This is the will of the Emperor.”

“I apologize, sir. I just...” Takeru had started to stumble over the Kaigengua he rarely used. “I don’t understand.”

“The colonel says ‘This is the will of the—’”

“Are you stupid?” Misaki snapped at the translator. “He clearly knows the phrase ‘will of the Emperor.’ We have a TV.” Getting a chance to use her fluent Kaigengua after so many years of speaking Dialect should have been a pleasant experience, but she found herself baring her teeth around the syllables. “Learn to read the situation, you moron.”

All three men stopped, staring at her.

Oh Misaki, you idiot.

“Chou, you may go,” Song said after a moment. As the embarrassed translator bowed and took his leave, the colonel turned to Takeru. “You said you could control this village. Would you mind controlling your wife?”

“Yes, sir. I apologize.” Takeru said, placing himself between Misaki and the colonel. “She is suffering from shock and a mild concussion.”

“I’m sure all of you have suffered greatly, but take comfort knowing it is all in service of the Empire.”

“Of course.”

“Now that we understand each other, I’ll have my soldiers start collecting the bodies.” Misaki felt her world splinter as the colonel turned toward Mamoru and put a hand on him. “We’ll start with this one.”

“That’s Mamoru,” Takeru said as Colonel Song motioned some of his men forward. “That’s my son.” There was no protest in his tone, but there was something. Misaki had to believe there was something. There was no way he could allow this…

“Very good then. We’ll start with your son.”

“Yes, sir.” Takeru bent and took the sheathed sword from beside Mamoru, just as the soldiers lifted the body. “Glory to Kaigen. Long live the Emperor.”

Rage pulsed through Misaki, driving her forward. “No,” she growled through gritted teeth, “You can’t—”

Kazu moved shockingly fast, catching her around the waist before Takeru or the soldiers seemed to have noticed her advancing.

“Nee-san, don’t!” he hissed hauling her back.

“Let go!” Misaki lunged to break free, but Kazu’s grip held, jolting her back again. Nami, when had her little brother gotten so strong? “They can’t do this! They can’t—”

Takeru’s jiya slammed down over hers, a freezing shockwave through her blood and bone marrow. Her husband hadn’t touched her—he had barely even moved—but the impact left her stunned. It was common knowledge that a strong theonite could force his power over that of a weaker one, neutralizing it, but Misaki had never come up against jiya so devastatingly stronger than her own.

“Matsuda-dono!” Kazu’s voice said very far away, sounding startled and a little horrified.

Dimly, Misaki felt her husband’s nyama, so much colder than her brother’s, push in between her and Kazu, enveloping her like the waters of a frigid lake closing over her head. The sensation left her so dazed that she didn’t register what was happening until Takeru’s cold hands were guiding her onto her knees on singed tatami. She was inside the compound, in the room where Kotetsu Katashi was resting.

The blacksmith’s children and her own huddled together on the nearby futon.

“He can’t come back,” Atsushi was struggling to explain to a crying Nagasa and his own younger siblings.

“Why not?” his little sister, Naoko, demanded.

“People don’t come back from the Laaxara. I mean—they do sometimes, but...” Atsushi shuddered, pulling Naoko closer. “Not in a good way. They don’t come back as... them. They’re something different, something bad.”

“My brother is not bad,” Nagasa said.

“No, he’s not,” Atsushi agreed, “or—he wasn’t. That’s why we’re not going to see him again.”

“It’s good that you were at least able to keep his sword, Matsuda-dono,” Katashi was saying to Takeru.

“It would have been wasteful not to,” Takeru said. “It’s an excellent weapon.”

“It is a hero’s weapon, Matsuda-dono,” the swordsmith said. “It should be kept in your family for future generations to wield and admire. Its name should be repeated proudly alongside the likes of Kurokouri and Kumokei.”

“My son’s sword doesn’t have a name.”

“Of course it does, Matsuda-dono,” Kotetsu said in his singularly gentle, rumbling voice. “It gave its maker and wielder to earn it. That is Mamoriken,” he nodded to the sword, “the Protector.”

For a moment, something almost like an emotion flickered across Takeru’s features. Almost. Misaki wondered why trying to find emotion on that man’s face felt like trying to grab the thread of a spider web, like trying to remember a dream...

“Thank you, Kotetsu Kama.” Takeru bowed.

Before he left the room, he paused where Misaki knelt and crouched down to her level to whisper, “Your behavior has been disgraceful. You will rest here in silence until you are able to conduct yourself in a respectable manner. Do you understand?”

“Of course, sir,” Misaki slurred, mocking Takeru’s low voice and Shirojima accent. “Glory to Kaigen. Long live the Emperor.”

If he was going to kill her, he might as well do it now. After all, it seemed that the loss of his closest family members meant precisely nothing to him. But he didn’t raise a hand to her. He simply pressed one down on her shoulder, as if to confirm that she would stay.

“You are not well,” he said. “Rest.”

Then he left, as he had the day of Misaki’s first miscarriage, as he always did. She watched him go, wishing he had hit her.

CHAPTER 23: THE RIPTIDE

The Yammankalu did not let any civilians near their tents for the next two days. Misaki tried to speak to one of the Yammanka soldiers, hoping he would be more helpful than Colonel Song and his imbecile translator. To his credit, the tajaka was significantly friendlier and more respectful than the colonel, but she still couldn’t get much out of him.

“I’m sorry, Koroyaa,” he repeated each time she tried to ask what they were doing with the bodies. “I can’t tell you any specifics at this time.”

Yammankalu tended to stand closer to one another than Kaigenese during conversation. This allowed Misaki to stand just close enough to the man to sense his heartbeat—the heat wasn’t unwelcome either.

“We are here to help you,” he said earnestly. “I swear it on the Falleke. If our work here is successful, it will prevent any further attacks on this village and others.”

His pulse remained steady, meaning he was either honest or a very good liar.

The impulsive spy in her considered sneaking into the encampment. Tajakalu were irritatingly difficult to sneak past in the night, due to the fact that their first response to any strange sound was to flame up and illuminate the space. Misaki was very good at moving quietly, of course, and she could easily bring her body to the same temperature as the snow, erasing any heat signature a tajaka might detect, but there were almost certainly Imperial jijakalu in the camp as well, who might sense her jiya.

After running through several scenarios in her head, Misaki looked down at Izumo sleeping in her arms and wondered what in the realms she had been thinking. It was the selfish, thrill-seeking girl, Sirawu, who risked lives to sate her curiosity. Hadn’t she explained to Mamoru how despicable and naïve that girl had been? Hadn’t she learned better? This wasn’t the Livingston adventure story where her actions had no consequences. Here, her children could die.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured toward the encampment and bundled little Izumo closer to rest her cheek on his soft head. “Kaa-chan wouldn’t do that to you. Not again.”

She retreated back up the mountain without another look back at the Yammanka tents, but her curiosity didn’t abate. That night, she saw Mamoru’s body when she closed her eyes and sleep wouldn’t come. Dawn found her on a ridge overlooking the remains of the blacksmith village. The mist obscured nearly all of the encampment far below, but the wavering light of flames in the quiet blue of the mountainside suggested that the tajakalu had been at work through the night. Snow crunched softly beneath tabi and Misaki felt her brother come to stand on the ridge beside her.

“Good morning, Tsusano-dono,” she said, not taking her eyes from the firelight gradually growing sharper as the mists thinned. Takeru had insisted that she use Kazu’s ‘proper title,’ though it still felt funny on her lips. An amused breath at her shoulder told her that Kazu felt the same way.

“Morning, Matsuda-dono,” he returned. “Your ladyship couldn’t sleep?”

“Your lordship can’t mind his own business?” Misaki was still annoyed with him for holding her back from Colonel Song. She knew she shouldn’t be—he had been the prudent one in that situation—but she was.

Kazu laughed. “I don’t know why I thought you’d be nicer to me when I became the head of the house.”

“Neither do I,” Misaki said lightly. “What a silly thing to think.”

“Are you always going to be this mean to me?”

“Until I die.”

“Misaki-nee-san... are you alright?”

“What am I supposed to say to that, Kazu-kun? I’ve just lost my son.”

“Sorry. Of course, you’re not—I wasn’t talking about that. I meant...” Kazu paused for a moment, clearly unsure if he should elaborate. He swallowed. “Is everything alright... with your husband?”

“Excuse me?” Misaki raised her eyebrows, honestly surprised at her brother’s forwardness.

“Is he... has he been good to you?”

“Don’t be stupid, Kazu.”

“What?”

“A smart koro needs to consider his position before he goes and asks a question like that.”

Kazu stared at her, uncomprehending. “My position?”

“Say I did complain about my husband? Say I told you he was evil incarnate, possessed by a demon, and you were compelled to defend me in combat. How do you think that would go?”

“I...”

“Could you win?” Misaki asked. “If the answer is ‘no,’ you might consider keeping your mouth shut.”

“I’m a pretty good fighter,” Kazu protested, sounding endearingly as he had when he was ten.

“You’re a very good fighter,” she said, “and a lousy tactician.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“A good tactician knows when he’s outmatched.”

Kazu gave her a sour look. “I see why Tou-sama still misses you so much. You two sound exactly alike. Could it hurt to have a little confidence in me?”

“Alright.” Misaki folded her arms, willing to bite if it meant a chance at shifting the topic of conversation. “Inspire me, Tsusano-dono. What’s your master tactical plan? Hypothetically, if you had to face a Whispering Blade, what would you do? You haven’t even brought a proper sword of your own.” It hadn’t escaped her notice that Kazu carried only the giant Anryuu, forgoing the regular-sized backup katana a Tsusano leader usually carried.

“I have my Riptide,” Kazu said defensively, reaching back to pat the forearm-length handle of Anryuu.

“Ah yes,” Misaki said, affecting a mockingly dramatic tone, “Mighty Anryuu, the Undertaker, Sinker of Ships.”

The ancestral sword was a weapon of ridiculous size, so big it could only be carried across a Tsusano patriarch’s back, fixed in place with a broad leather strap so it didn’t bump and drag along the ground. According to legend, it had been forged by Ishino smiths for the war hero, Tsusano Raiden, a contemporary of Matsuda Takeru the First. Raiden was said to have stood over two stories tall, allowing him to wade into the sea and cleave whole ships in half with his Stormblade. Misaki had always found this particular legend amusing, considering the modest stature of modern Tsusanos, but it did provide an explanation as to why anyone would forge such a ludicrously large sword.

Misaki envied her younger brother for many things, but learning to wield the Riptide had never been one of them. Her shoulders and forearms burned just thinking about trying to maneuver such a massive weapon.

Like laymen couldn’t understand why master Matsudas trained with steel swords, many couldn’t understand why the Tsusanos trained with the Riptide. If a man could slice and spin with Anryuu in hand, he was unstoppable with a regular sword. It was a simple matter of conditioning for maximum speed and strength, much like training with weights on one’s wrists and ankles. Anryuu was a glorified training tool. Though the Ishihama smiths kept its blade sharp, wielding it an actual fight was folly.

“Don’t tell me you expect to be dueling anyone with that monstrosity?”

Kazu shrugged. “It worked well enough on the Ranganese.”

“What?” Misaki’s eyes widened. “Kazu, it’s not good for a Lord to make up stories.”

“I’m not making it up,” he said in genuine annoyance.

“But that’s impossible,” Misaki said. “I fought the Ranganese too. Even the rank and file soldiers weren’t exactly slow. I know you’re strong, but no one could wield such a heavy weapon fast enough to fight those fonyakalu.”

“Tou-sama could,” Kazu said. “You know that, Nee-san. You’ve seen him do the Stormblade katas.”

“Yeah...” Of course, she had. She remembered kneeling a safe distance away as her father sliced and spun through the ancient sword forms composed by Tsusano ancestors specifically for the use of the Riptide. As a child, she had viewed her father as a god and hadn’t questioned the fact that he could swing a sword as heavy as a grown man as if it weighed nothing at all.

“But... he’s Tou-sama,” Misaki said, “and he was younger then.”

“Right,” Kazu said. “I forgot you haven’t seen him in a while. Did you know that now, in his sixties, he still moves just as fast as he used to? He can still use Anryuu—I mean, not just lift it, but wield it faster than a twenty-something wields a normal sword.”

“What? How?” Misaki asked, stunned.

“That’s what I always wondered,” Kazu said. “I’ve been asking him about it for years, but he’d never give me a straight answer, just vague platitudes about willpower... He said that, in order to wield Anryuu, ‘a man must be bigger than himself,’ which never really made sense to me. He said I might understand when I grew up. Then, when the Ranganese attacked, suddenly it made sense. I fought them, Nee-san. I fought them with Anryuu.”

“Seriously?” Misaki exclaimed. “Your arms must be wrought steel!” She had been impressed by her brother’s strength when he held her back from Song and his soldiers. But to wield the Riptide in battle...

“It’s not in the arms,” Kazu said, flexing his fingers. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about it, actually.”

“To me?” Misaki said in surprise.

“Well... everything was so chaotic after the attack. I didn’t get a chance to discuss it with Tou-sama. I figured, you’re the only other person who might understand.”

Misaki’s only intention in bringing up Anryuu had been to divert Kazu’s attention from Takeru. Now that it had worked, he had her genuinely interested. Still, there was propriety to be upheld, so she forced herself to click her tongue reproachfully.

“Kazu-kun, you know I don’t do that anymore. I’m a mother and a housewife.”

“Of course.” Kazu gave her an exasperated smirk. “So, you won’t mind if I do this.” He poked Misaki in the arm, right on one of her deep cuts.

“Ow!” She snatched the arm back and held it protectively to her chest, glaring at her brother. “Point taken. What is this amazing revelation you need to brag about?”

“I know better than to brag to you, Nee-san. There isn’t a technique in my arsenal you hadn’t already figured out when you were seven. If you fought to defend the people you love, I’m sure you’ve experienced it too.”

Misaki only stared at him blankly. “Experienced what? Super strength? Ascension to godhood? Can’t say that I have.”

“Really?” Kazu looked surprised. “But Setsuko-nee-san told me you fought off a whole horde of Ranganese—including elite soldiers—without having practiced with the sword in years. How did you do it?”

“Sloppily.” Misaki held up her fan-sliced arms. “As you can see. How did you do it?”

“It started with a mistake,” Kazu said, “just me being too impulsive, like always. When the first Ranganese came up over the cliff, I let my adrenaline run away with me and went ahead of the rest of the men. I didn’t realize there would be so many, and I got myself surrounded. Right away, a fonyaka—one of those monsters in black—hit my sword arm, sending my normal-sized katana flying and breaking my wrist. It should have been over then. I should have died...”

“But?” Misaki prompted.

“But my family wife and children hadn’t gotten to safety yet. The men were still scattered, disorganized. I realized that if I let myself fall there that Ishihama would fall with me. I felt my jiya rise like it never had before. Not broader, but deeper, stronger inside me. I unsheathed Anryuu and suddenly, I just wasn’t hurt anymore. The sword’s weight didn’t matter anymore. I was faster than I ever had been, faster than any of the Ranganese. I did things that a man just can’t do—cut through five fonyakalu in one stroke, punched one so hard my fist came out of his back. One of my men got his leg pinned under a boulder the size of a small house, and I lifted it off him like it weighed nothing. It was like... the kind of thing that happens in legends.”

Misaki would have accused him of telling tall tales, but Kazu was a terrible liar, and he didn’t speak like he was bragging. Instead, he sounded awed, as if he himself could still barely believe the things he was recounting.

“How?” she said.

“Blood, Nee-san.” He turned to her with an excited look in his eyes. “We can manipulate blood. It’s so simple! When I used Anryuu against those fonyakalu, it wasn’t the work of my muscles. It was the blood in my veins—all of it, moving in direct response to my will.”

“What?”

“I think there’s a reason Anryuu is our ancestral sword,” Kazu said, “and it’s not because one of our ancestors was a giant demigod. I think that a fully realized Tsusano—and only a fully realized Tsusano—can wield it. We’re the only great house whose jiya can move our own blood. And apparently, at a high enough level, the force of that blood manipulation can overcome normal physical limitations.”

“Gods, Kazu,” Misaki breathed. “That’s incredible!”

So, that was how Tou-sama had always gotten his body to do the impossible, and continued to do so into his old age. He wasn’t just physically strong. He turned his blood into a direct extension of his will. With the flow of blood moving his body for him, his aging bones and muscles didn’t have to bear the strain.

“You’re so skilled, Nee-san,” Kazu said, staring at Misaki. “I’m surprised you didn’t figure this out years ago.”

“I’m not,” Misaki said.

What Kazu was describing was clearly a matter of willpower as much as skill, and willpower had never been her strong suit. Now it seemed that her little brother had gone and grown up while she still had the shallow jiya of a child. Sure, she could wield it more deftly than any child, but jiya was supposed to deepen as a person matured. Somewhere in her soul, Misaki was still a little girl.

“But you’ve always been so good with blood,” Kazu said in confusion.

“Little tricks of blood,” Misaki said, “claws and needles that require a lot of precision and barely any power. And it’s always other people’s blood,” she added, “not my own.” Misaki rarely turned her jiya inward. She didn’t much like thinking about what lay deep inside her. From what she could tell, it was twisted, evil, and best left untouched.

“Anyway,” Kazu said, “a week ago, I wouldn’t have dreamed of challenging a Whispering Blade. Now... I can’t explain it, but I’m something more now. I’m more than Tsusano Kazu.”

“And you’re sure that thing you did on the battlefield wasn’t just a fluke?” Misaki asked. “The result of an intense fighter’s high?”

“It wasn’t.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“My right arm is still broken. Have you noticed?”

“No,” Misaki said. “Not even when...” Not even when he physically restrained her back at the compound. “You’ve been compensating for the injury by manipulating your own blood?”

Kazu nodded. “Like Tou-sama compensates for his aging body. This power... I might not understand it completely, but I know that it comes from my will to protect the people I love. I could do it for you, Nee-san. I know it’s not my place, but I will protect you if you need it.”

She laughed to hide her sudden swell of emotion. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I know,” he said apologetically, “but I’m being serious.”

“You shouldn’t get involved in another lord’s marriage.”

“I know,” Kazu said resolutely, “but you say the word and I will.”

He held her gaze with an intensity somewhere between the expectant trust of a child and the resolve of a man. Her little brother still trusted her to know what was best—like Robin had, like Mamoru had…

Misaki looked at her feet. “My word isn’t worth much, Kazu-kun. I’m just a stupid woman.”

“Misaki.” Something in Kazu’s tone darkened. “He hasn’t hurt you?”

“No.” Not physically. Physical violence was something Misaki could cope with. It was something she understood.

She should have scolded her brother again, told him that what a lord did with his woman was his own business, but motherhood must have made her soft. She couldn’t find it in her to be short with Kazu when he looked at her with such open concern.

“You’ve grown up into a good man, Kazu-kun,” she said, “but part of being a great leader is understanding where your real responsibilities lie. Your concern is touching, but you have your own family and your own village to take care of now. Let your big sister take care of herself, ne?”

Kazu looked like he wanted to say more, but closed his mouth with a stiff nod. He really had grown up.

“And what about you?” Misaki asked. “I haven’t gotten a chance to ask after your wife and children. How are they?”

She watched with warmth and a bit of envy as her brother’s face lit up. The question set him babbling happily about his daughter’s high grades in school, his toddler’s first words, and the new baby that had arrived back in the summer.

“Kaida is so headstrong now that she’s getting older. Thank the Gods for Aicha and her infinite patience. I don’t know how I would ever wrangle all three of the little ones like she does. That woman is a saint.”

“Do you love her?” The question dropped from Misaki after building behind her lips for several dinmanu. Maybe it was an odd thing to ask, but she needed to know.

Kazu paused, nonplused. “What?”

“Your wife, Aicha. Do you love her?”

Kazu blinked. “I...” From the way his brow furrowed in thought, Misaki got the feeling it wasn’t a question anyone had ever asked him. “I do,” he said after a long moment.

“Did you just figure that out?” Misaki’s tone was joking, but her curiosity was genuine. “You’ve been married to the girl seven years now.”

“Well, it wasn’t right away,” Kazu said. “Obviously. We were practically strangers when we married. In the beginning, she was a source of worry for me, more than anything else. That first year, she was so homesick. She missed her family and their fields back in Hakudao. I grew up in the Arashiki, so I suppose I didn’t realize how unpleasant it would be to someone afraid of heights, and storms, and the ocean.”

“You were scared of the storms too, when you were little,” Misaki couldn’t help pointing out.

“But you always knew what to say to calm me down. Actually, remembering that—remembering the way you used to talk to me—was a big help, when I needed to comfort my wife.”

“Seriously?” Misaki said in surprise. She recalled being vaguely impatient with Kazu when he would cry.

“You were always patient… So, I was patient with her, and after a year or so, she turned out to be fine.”

“I’m impressed,” Misaki said. “Patience has never been your strong suit.”

Kazu shrugged. “Well, I knew our parents had chosen us specifically for each other. And Tou-sama and Kaa-san are so wise and good; I trusted in their judgment, and in the end, they were right about her.”

“Yeah?” Misaki cocked her head. Kazu had been married a long time now, but it was still strange trying to think of her little brother as a husband and father. Not that he would be bad in either capacity. It was just strange.

“Once Aicha stopped being scared we were all going to fall off the cliff side, she actually turned out to be a really calm person—smart too. She balances me when I’m...”

“Overexcited?” Misaki suggested.

“They really did make me a good match.”

“Hmm,” Misaki said thoughtfully.

“They thought they had made you a good match too,” Kazu said after a moment.

“Is that what they thought?” Misaki knew the bitterness had leached into her voice. She didn’t care.

“I remember when they were planning the marriage, while you were still away at Daybreak,” Kazu said. “Tou-sama went out of his way to find you the most powerful husband he could. The first thing he told the matchmakers was not to bother with any house weaker or lower-bred than our own. When they’d ask why, he’d say ‘Misaki is stronger and more skilled than most men. She won’t respect a weak man.’”

“I... didn’t know that.”

Misaki had never brought herself to talk to her parents about how they had arranged her marriage into the Matsuda family. There had been too much hurt there. She wanted to be able to love them, thank them, make them proud. That got harder when she thought about the fact that they had been shopping her around to men she didn’t know while she was still a girl in school, in love with someone else.

“I wasn’t involved in the process, of course,” Kazu said. “I was too young at the time, but I’ll admit now that I snuck around and listened in on a lot of it.”

“Of course, you did.” Misaki smiled.

“I remember, early on, there was talk of you marrying Matsuda Takashi.”

“What?” Misaki said in utter surprise.

It made sense, she supposed. A father with his daughter’s best interests at heart would try to marry her to a firstborn son. That way, her husband would inherit, securing her future.

“But Matsuda Susumu turned them down, huh?” Misaki said. Her father-in-law had complained so incessantly about her unclean Tsusano blood. Surely, he wouldn’t have wanted her to mix with his precious firstborn son.

“No,” Kazu said, looking at her in surprise. “Matsuda Susumu was very receptive. He offered Tou-sama a choice between his first and second son.”

“Really?” It had never occurred to Misaki that Susumu could have been in favor of her marrying into his family; he had always seemed to hate her so much. Then again, the man had seemed to hate everyone, including his own sons, so she supposed it wasn’t that strange. He probably would have been just as cold and disdainful toward any daughter-in-law.

“So... it was our father who chose Takeru?”

Kazu nodded. “Of course, initially, he and Kaa-san agreed that it would be best for you to marry the firstborn Matsuda. Then we traveled here to meet the whole Matsuda family, Matsuda Susumu introduced our parents to both his sons and after that Tou-sama changed his mind. He said... well...”

“What did he say?” Misaki asked, suddenly burning with curiosity.

“I—uh... I probably shouldn’t repeat it,” Kazu said apologetically, “out of respect for Matsuda Takashi’s spirit.”

“His spirit can take it,” Misaki said dismissively. “Tell me.”

Kazu sighed. “Kaa-san liked Takashi better. She and Tou-sama argued about it the whole way back. ‘Takashi is so handsome,’ Kaa-san kept gushing, ‘and such a powerful jijaka!’ Tou-sama seemed to think Takeru was actually the better fighter of the two. I don’t know how he figured—”

“Tou-sama was always perceptive about that kind of thing,” Misaki said, with a nod. “He was right. And that was it? He just boiled it down to a question of who was stronger?”

“I don’t think it was quite that simple. He also seemed to think Takeru was more level-headed and responsible. He said, ‘We can’t marry our smart girl to a big dumb flake.’”

Misaki felt a laugh burst from her and didn’t even care that it shot needles of pain through her lungs.

“But, Nee-san, you can’t ever tell anyone I told you this,” Kazu said, looking slightly panicked. “Promise—”

“Don’t worry, Tsusano-dono,” she laughed. “I won’t tattle.”

The smile faded from her face, but the pain lingered in her chest as she stared down at the daylight creeping through the mists. Her father had chosen Takeru for her... She didn’t know whether to feel touched or deeply, furiously hurt. Tou-sama had loved her, joked with her, taught her to use a sword. He was supposed to know her. He was supposed to be wise.

In the remains of the blacksmith village below, morning light revealed movement.

“And this is the same thing they did in Ishihama?” she asked as Kazu followed her gaze down to the encampment.

“I think so. Again, we never really got a look.”

“What do you think they’re doing?” Yammankalu moved between bogolan tents like ants, their activity indiscernible from this distance. “What do they need those bodies for?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s probably best not to question it.”

“It must be very important,” Misaki said a bit petulantly, “for them to expend all their energy on that rather than helping us rebuild or gather supplies.”

The Kaigenese and Yammanka troops had been in Takayubi for two days and so far, they had done nothing to deliver on the propaganda image of helpful soldiers handing out food and blankets. They hadn’t provided medical attention, food, or help repairing the damage their own bombs had caused. The only thing they seemed interested in was collecting all the bodies for the Yammankalu. A few soldiers had gathered up broken beams and slats from the houses, helping to clear the area, but nothing more.

“I’ve sent some of my men out to the surrounding villages to gather more supplies,” Kazu said, “and the Amenos sent one of their men to the mountain strongholds further inland to request aid from the Ginkawas. We heard from the fishermen that the main Ginkawa branch keeps large food stores for crises like these, so that should help keep your people fed for a while.”

“If they’re willing to help,” Misaki said.

“Of course, they’ll help,” Kazu said. “We’re all the blood of gods.”

Misaki didn’t share her brother’s confidence, but he turned out to be right. The next day, new banners crested the ridge bearing the silver river dragon of the Ginkawa family.

Centuries ago, the great houses of Shirojima—Matsuda, Tsusano, Ginkawa, Yukino—had fought bitterly for supremacy. It was strange that now they were all one people, struggling for survival against the Ranganese and an Empire that seemed determined to disregard the way of life they represented.

In the immediate aftermath of the attack, Misaki had not been very conscious of her brother-in-law’s absence, but it became more palpable as the days passed. Takashi may not have been perfectly equipped to manage the village in the aftermath of disaster, but he at least would have taken command of the situation. All Takeru ever offered the arriving volunteers was a coldly formal greeting and minimal instructions.

Takeru was in the middle of greeting a new group of volunteers when Mizumaki Fuyuko came running into their circle.

“Mizumaki-san,” Takeru said in surprise as the young woman fell to her knees in the snow before him. “What are you doing? We are in the middle of—”

“Matsuda-dono!” she gasped shrilly, so out of breath that for a moment, she could barely speak. “I’m sorry to interrupt. You need to come right away.”

“Come where?”

“The blacksmith village,” Fuyuko gasped. “The soldiers, th-they’re... You have to see what they’re doing!”

Takeru and the other men followed Fuyuko. Hastily tying Izumo to her back, Misaki followed as well. They came to the blacksmith village to find that the Yammankalu had cleared away their tents and dug a massive pit. The hole, while barely a bound deep, spanned the entirety of what had once been the blacksmith village. Into it, the soldiers had thrown the hundreds of bodies they had collected over the past few days—Ranganese and Kaigenese, warriors and civilians, all piled together.

Among the yellows and blacks, Matsuda blue was easy to pick out. Mamoru lay among a tangle of fonyaka corpses, his head resting against the shoulder of one of the butchered numuwu. A small child’s body lay across him, so badly burned that it was not identifiable as belonging to any kafo or family.

If the sight had not choked her with horror, Misaki would have had to admire the efficiency. Only the Yammanka military could move so much earth and so many human bodies in a few waatinu, and it was clearly something they had wanted to get finished as quickly as possible. The wave of villagers Mizumaki Fuyuko had brought down the mountain immediately began shouting in horror, demanding to know what the soldiers were doing.

The few remaining Yammankalu hurriedly packed up their equipment and left as the villagers descended. Evidently, they were finished in Takayubi now that their secret investigation had concluded and they had done the heavy lifting that Colonel Song’s Imperial troops were too weak and disorganized to do themselves.

“Colonel Song,” Takeru said, striding up to the smug man where he stood above the dirt in his pristine hanbok. “What is happening here?”

“If you would step back, Matsuda,” the colonel said, not seeming particularly interested in Takeru’s presence, “and tell your fellow villagers to return to their work. They do not need to see this.”

“I can’t,” Takeru said.

Colonel Song raised an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

“The bodies of their family members are down there,” Takeru said. “I can’t demand that they step back.”

The colonel gave Takeru a sour look, as if the Matsuda patriarch were a fly he had just found in his tea. “Fine,” he said and gave a signal to his soldiers. They moved forward and grabbed the crying women, forcibly hauling them back from the pit.

Nearby, one of the Ginkawa Aoki intervened, trying to pry a soldier off a screaming woman. The soldier struck him. Not a proper punch, but a backhanded slap—like one might strike a misbehaving child. The sound cut through the rising chaos, making everyone stop and stare for a moment in indignant disbelief. The Ginkawa man looked more shocked than anything else.

It was one of the women who spoke up first.

“How dare you?” she snarled at the soldier. “Do you know who he is? He fought to protect this empire! How dare you?”

Jiya rose among the villagers and their helpers. Hands on both sides went to swords.

“Disarm anyone who resists,” the colonel said coolly.

The vicious, irrational part of Misaki wanted Colonel Song to go ahead and try it. Let him see how his brainwashed excuses for soldiers fared against real fighters. These hundred-some Imperial soldiers would be lucky to survive an honest fight with the dozen Ameno and Ginkawa swordsmen before them. Gods help them if they faced Takeru or Kazu.

“Stand down!” Takeru commanded, his voice booming across the pit. “Ginkawa, Ameno, people of Takayubi, stand down!”

There was a moment of tense stillness.

Then, slowly, the grieving women and the volunteers stepped back, hands withdrew from sword handles and the swell of their collective jiya eased back like a retreating tide. Colonel Song raised his eyebrows, looking mildly impressed at how quickly they obeyed.

“You have not explained yourself, Colonel.” Takeru’s voice had taken on a dangerous edge. “What do you think you are doing here?”

“These bodies are going to be burned,” the colonel said as if it were perfectly normal to throw the corpses of fallen warriors into a pit like trash.

“All the bodies?”

“This is standard procedure, to prevent disease.”

It was only then that Misaki noticed the layer of boards and beams laid out beneath the bodies, at the bottom of the pit. The soldiers who had come around to take wood from the ruined houses hadn’t been helping clear Takayubi of debris; they had been gathering kindling.

“But the Kaigenese should be returned to their families for proper funeral rites,” Takeru said.

“This is the will of the Emperor. We need to keep your village clean.”

“I understand that,” Takeru said, “but surely you can at least let the grieving families have their relatives’ remains. I can assure you, they will be properly cremated straight away.”

“Sorry, Matsuda,” the man said gruffly. “It’s standard procedure.”

“Our son’s body is in there!” Misaki burst out, unable to hold her tongue any longer. Takeru had never even prayed over Mamoru. What kind of person burned a boy’s body without allowing his father to pray? “Yukino Dai is in there. You can’t—”

“Quiet, Misaki,” Takeru hissed. “General, I apologize for my wife’s behavior.”

“Don’t worry about it,” the colonel said with entirely fake sympathy. “She’s been through a lot.”

“But if these bodies are all going to be burned here, how are my people supposed to lay their dead to rest properly?” Takeru voiced the question screaming through Misaki’s mind. “We need to give them graves.”

“There aren’t going to be marked graves,” Colonel Song said, “and these are not your people, Matsuda. You and all these villagers belong to the Emperor.”

Misaki looked toward her husband, watched his hand clench. She didn’t know why she expected him to speak up against this insufferable man. He had taken worse from his father and brother without protest. He had taken the order to leave his son to die without protest.

“I meant no disrespect, General.” Takeru bowed his head. “I’m sure the Emperor has his reasons.”

The man’s mouth twisted in a condescending smile. “You’re a smart man, Matsuda. I think we’re going to work well together.”

Takeru nodded. Across the pit, the few remaining tajakalu were lighting torches for the Kaigenese soldiers.

“In the absence of the government-approved mayor, you agree to take responsibility for this village in the coming months?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Then you will see to it that these people understand one thing: no one is to speak of the Ranganese attack. If any outsider asks, the dead here were victims of another coastal storm.”

“They died in battle,” Takeru said.

“No.” Song nodded to his men and they threw their torches in, setting the pyre ablaze. “They died in a storm.”

Flames crept onto yellow fabric. As the crack and peel of burning flesh started to rise from the pile, Misaki finally understood. The bodies weren’t being destroyed to prevent disease. The Empire was burning all evidence of the attack.

“The Emperor knows of your sacrifice here, and he is thankful for your service. Surely, for such loyal subjects, that is enough.”

“Of course...” Takeru said, emotionless, “it is enough.”

“The Yammankalu leave this evening, and I move my men out tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Takeru looked at Song in surprise. “Are none of your troops staying to help us rebuild?”

“Sadly, the Emperor’s forces have a great deal to take care of at the moment. My superiors from the capital will be back in two months to see that everything is proceeding according to the Emperor’s will.”

“Can we expect aid then?” Takeru asked. His voice, of course, didn’t register any desperation, but their situation was truly desperate. It was the middle of winter and most of their people had no houses to stay in. Volunteers from the neighboring areas might be happy to help them for now, but Takayubi couldn’t rely on their generosity for the rest of the winter.

“Aid may be a possibility then.” Colonel Song crossed his arms. “We will see if everything is proceeding according to the Emperor’s will.” His meaning was clear: keep quiet and you may get the aid you need to survive. Be a good dog, and you may live.

Takeru was still for a moment, staring down at the flames as they climbed the pile of corpses toward Mamoru’s body.

“Excuse me,” he said after a moment. “I have some things I need to take care of.”

Turning on his heel, he swept away, leaving Misaki at the edge of the pit with Colonel Song, surrounded by the wailing sobs of Takayubi’s women.

“It really is a shame about your son,” the colonel said, “but I’m sure a good Kaigenese boy like him was more than happy to die for his Emperor. Surely, you’re proud that your family was able to serve the Empire.”

Misaki took a breath, ready to tell the colonel exactly what she thought of the Empire, but at that moment, Izumo shifted softly against her back, and she realized that she couldn’t. This man represented the Empire itself. If she insulted him, if he deemed her a traitor, he would be justified in putting her entire family to death. She would be single-handedly responsible for the end of the Matsuda and Tsusano lines, and all this suffering would have been for nothing.

Colonel Song turned a placidly expectant expression toward her as if daring her to say what was on her tongue. She clenched her teeth on the words. Pain flared in her chest from when the fan-wielder had tried to pull her soul from her body.

This is where Ranga started, she realized. With a breath held too long, with a people who couldn’t bear to answer to men like this any longer.

But Ranga had been bought with hundreds of thousands of lives, and Misaki couldn’t sacrifice any more. She closed her mouth and lowered her gaze to the rising fire.

“You’ve had a difficult few days, Matsuda,” the colonel said. “Maybe you shouldn’t watch this.”

“Mmm,” Misaki said without taking her eyes off the pyre. “Maybe I shouldn’t.”

She kept her eyes open and watched Mamoru burn. It was the only defiance she could afford.