CHAPTER 24: THE EMPIRE

More committed attempts than Takeru’s were made to talk the colonel out of the mass burning. Kwang Tae-min, Kazu, and the high-ranking Ameno representatives all begged him to stop as soon as they realized what was happening, but by that time, the flames had already turned most of the bodies to blackened husks. In a few waatinu, they would be nothing but ash.

Takeru was conspicuously missing when the colonel called the villagers and volunteers together and gave them the Emperor’s orders. There were protests. Even the most loyal and brainwashed Kaigenese citizens weren’t willing to sacrifice the dignity of their fallen loved ones without argument.

But all Colonel Song had to do was repeat, “This is the will of the Emperor. Surely, you don’t want to displease the Emperor,” until the protests dissolved into quiet tears.

With Takeru still gone, Kazu and the high-ranking volunteers from the Ameno and Ginkawa houses did their best to calm people and keep order. In Takeru’s absence, people even started turning to the women of his house for guidance.

That evening found Misaki and Setsuko surrounded by women who either wouldn’t bring their grievances to the men out of propriety or had been unsatisfied with their responses. The women clustered close in the temporary sleeping quarters that had been the Matsuda dojo.

The men—survivors and volunteers who didn’t have a nearby village to go home to at night—just barely managed to squeeze into the compound’s intact bedrooms and studies at night. The dojo was a sacred male space, but it was the only indoor chamber big enough to house all the women and children who had no roof to sleep under. Takeru had removed the shrine and the weapons rack.

Now every night, the dojo built to accommodate fifty sword students became a sleeping area for twenty-some women and all their children—and this evening, a place for them to hold their own assembly.

“How could they do this?” Mizumaki Fuyuko asked for what felt like the tenth time. “They burned our dead and now they won’t even let us remember them?”

“We can still remember them, Mizumaki-san,” Misaki tried for a comforting tone, but it was difficult to maintain a reassuring air when her words were so obviously empty. “We’ll always remember... We’re just not supposed to talk about the way they died.”

“That’s not remembering them,” Fuyuko’s mother, Fuyuhi, said angrily. “Not as they were. My husband and son, your son—” she turned to Misaki, “—and your husband—” to Setsuko, “—and yours—” to Hyori, “—all of our men were warriors. If we don’t remember the way they died, then we’re not remembering them for who they were.”

The women were quiet. No one could deny Mizumaki Fuyuhi’s words.

“And don’t try to tell me we can remember without speaking of what happened here,” the older woman said, smashing down Misaki’s pitifully weak response before it could even take shape on her lips. “A warrior’s legacy is essential to his soul. To deny what happened here—to ourselves or to anyone else—is the greatest disservice we could do our dead.”

“And that’s to say nothing of the defenseless who were killed,” added Mayumi, one of the few surviving Katakouris, “our fellow women, the numuwu, and finawu, and small children.” The archer’s widow was crying but the tears only seemed to make her voice stronger. “Are we supposed to deny what they suffered?”

For so many years, Misaki had looked down on these people for soaking up the Empire’s propaganda. For so many years, their small-minded ignorance had frustrated her. It was a strange experience—strange and sad—to watch a whole village full of people realize what she had a long time ago: that the Emperor was more of a selfish tyrant than a protective father.

In the face of the horrible revelation, the women of Takayubi were stronger than she would have anticipated. For all their softness and demureness, these noblewomen were well-educated, versed in Kaigenese poetry, history, and philosophy. They may have grown up in a culture of denial, but when the bloody truth stared them full in the face, they were more than capable of comprehending it. They were more than capable of anger. Misaki wished she knew how to calm that anger. If she had, she would have saved herself years of pain.

“It’s like the Empire doesn’t even care!” Mizumaki Fuyuhi’s voice rose as her eyes filled with tears. “How could they do this? How could you let them do this?” she demanded, turning her fury on Misaki. “Your house is supposed to protect us! Your husband vanishes as our dead are taken from us, and now you’re telling us to just forget—”

“Hey,” Setsuko cut the other woman off sharply. “You don’t need to speak to her that way.”

“She’s telling us to deny what happened to our families. She’s a coward—”

“Watch your mouth!” Setsuko shouted out and Mizumaki Fuyuhi wasn’t the only one who started. No one had ever heard Matsuda Setsuko, the cheery, simple fisherwoman take that tone with anyone. “I know you’re angry, but we’re all ladies here and you’d do well to watch your tone,” she said, proving that she could be just as imperious and commanding as any high-born koro. “Misaki is the wife of the head of this village. You’ll talk to her with respect.”

There was a stunned silence.

Then Fuyuhi inclined her head toward Setsuko. “Apologies, Matsuda-dono.”

“I don’t need your apology, Mizumaki,” Setsuko said. “I’m just a widowed fisherman’s daughter. Apologize to her.” She pointed to Misaki.

Mizumaki Fuyuhi bowed. “My apologies, Matsuda-dono.”

“The whole damn world seems to want us to die,” Setsuko said, ignoring the few women who cringed at her coarse language. “We can’t afford to start tearing each other down like a pack of rabid dogs. Now, if you knew what you were talking about, Misaki-sama would be the last person you’d be yelling at. She’s fought harder to defend this village than any of us.”

“It’s true,” Hyori said softly. It was the first she had spoken. “During the attack, Misaki-san came back for me, even though the bombs were already falling. When I was too weak to stand up, she carried me to the shelter. If she hadn’t come back for me, I would have died with my son.”

“Sorry... I didn’t realize that,” Fuyuhi said.

“She even tried to warn us,” Hyori said, “months ago before there was any news of storms, she tried to tell us the Ranganese might be coming—me and Setsuko-san. We didn’t listen.” Hyori was looking into her lap, eyes soft and sad. “Whatever she has to say, you should listen to her now.”

“So, you knew our Empire was feeding us lies?” Mayumi demanded. “You knew we were going to be attacked?”

“No,” Misaki said. “I only suspected.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” Mizumaki Fuyuhi asked.

Misaki took a breath and then replied, “For the same reason you’re not going to.”

“What?”

“The Empire might not be as strong as we thought it was, but it is dangerous. The Emperor may not retain the most competent military, but he does employ competent assassins. If we are outspoken about our disapproval, I worry that people will start to disappear.”

“But... the Emperor wouldn’t do that to us!” Katakouri Mayumi protested. “Our men protected his borders!”

“And then he had their bodies burned without rites,” Setsuko said. “I don’t think he cares about their service. I don’t think he cares about us at all.”

“Well, that’s not right!” Mayumi said while others exclaimed their agreement. “We need to do something. We need to stop them.”

Misaki shook her head. “Defying the Empire won’t change anything; it’ll just get us killed.”

“So, what can we do?” Mizumaki Fuyuko asked, and Misaki recognized the tremor in the girls’ voice... the unbearable shiver of rage giving way to helplessness. “What can we do for our dead? How can we do right by them?”

“We can live,” Misaki said. “We can keep Takayubi alive for them.”

It felt like such a pitiful offering.

“But...”

“Listen, Fuyuko-san,” Misaki said gently. “A few months ago, my son, Mamoru, came to me for guidance. The circumstances aren’t important, I suppose, but he had found out certain things about how the Empire had lied to us. He asked me how he could fight for an Empire he couldn’t trust.”

“And what did you say to him, Matsuda-dono?”

“I confess, I didn’t have a good answer to give him at first. But he was a smart boy—smarter than his mother, I think. The last time I spoke to him, he had decided that if enemies came to Takayubi, he would fight them no matter what. Whether the Emperor commanded it or not, whether he was remembered for it or not, he would fight to protect the people of this mountain and all the farmers and fishermen behind it. And that was what he did. He...”

Misaki paused, swallowing hard. She did not want to cry in front of these women, not when she was trying to give them strength. But they needed to know.

The daughters, wives, and mothers weren’t the only ones hanging on Misaki’s words. Hiroshi knelt nearby, listening with a desperate sort of intensity. No one had spoken to him about Mamoru’s death except to tell him that his older brother was not coming back. He was only five, after all. But he had already seen things—done things—no five-year-old should. Maybe he needed to hear. If he was going to take Mamoru’s place and chase his image, that image needed to have meaning. If he was going to move forward in the knowledge that he was a killer, that killing needed to have meaning. Every pair of eyes locked on Misaki was pained and straining. For all of them, all of this had to mean something.

“Mamoru died fighting, with multiple injuries, including missing teeth and a gut wound so deep it should have disabled him instantly. He stayed on his feet and fought.”

The tears she wouldn’t let herself cry were rolling down other women’s faces.

“Takayubi alone was important enough for him to fight through that much pain. I have to imagine that many of Mamoru’s fellow warriors—your husbands, fathers, brothers, and sons—felt the same way. Empire or none, I think many of them would have died to protect this mountain.”

She could see from the women’s faces that she had connected with them. They understood.

“They gave their lives protecting Takayubi,” Misaki continued, her voice stronger than she expected. “Now it’s time for us to protect it. That’s what we can do for them.”

“So... do nothing?” Mayumi said.

“Surviving isn’t nothing, Katakouri-san,” Setsuko said. “We’re going to survive.”

“How? Without government aid, we’ll never make it through the winter.”

Setsuko laughed. “Of course, we will, silly girl.”

“How can you be so sure?” Fuyuhi asked.

“Because I’ve done it before...” Setsuko took a moment to count on her fingers, “twenty-four times. Remember, before I married my Takashi-sama—nyama to his soul—I lived in the fishing village at the base of this mountain. There wasn’t a lot of food to go around some winters and you’d better believe my family’s shack had as many holes in it as we’ve got bullet-holes here, but we always managed somehow.”

“But... we’re not fisherwomen,” Fuyuko said.

“You’re right,” Setsuko said cheerfully. “You’re better bred than fisherwomen. You come from warrior stock, every one of you. The same blood that made your fathers, brothers, and sons such powerful fighters flows through your veins, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.” The women nodded hesitantly.

“Right.” Setsuko beamed. “So, if a bunch of low-bred fishermen can live through a Takayubi winter, it should be no problem for you ladies. I know you nobles aren’t used to lean times, and getting stepped on, and sleeping twelve-to-a-room, but you’re a tough bunch. You’ll all be fine.”

As Misaki watched hope slowly return to the room, she thought again that it was a bit of a shame that Takashi hadn’t traded places with Takeru. Setsuko would have made—was making—a wonderful head woman of the village. There weren’t many fisherwomen who could stand before a room full of noblewomen and command their loyalty.

“Thank the Gods for Setsuko,” Misaki sighed as she sat on the front deck with her brother that night. She was putting off going to bed, and conveniently, Kazu also seemed too restless to sleep, giving her someone to talk to.

“It wasn’t just Setsuko-san,” Kazu said. “I also heard a lot of people talking about how you inspired them and put them at ease.”

“Me?” Misaki said in surprise.

“You’re good with people, Nee-san.”

“I’m what?” Misaki laughed.

“You’re good at talking to people—lifting them up, breaking them down. You’ve always been good at that.”

Now that she thought about it, she realized that Kazu was right. Back in Ishihama and all through Daybreak, she had approached interactions with others confident that she would find the right words to say. Somewhere in Takeru’s frigid disregard and Matsuda Susumu’s abuse, she had lost that.

“I wish I had your skill,” Kazu sighed. “I wish I could have done more to reassure these people.”

“Well, it’s not your job,” Misaki pointed out. Honestly, it was Takeru’s, but he was still nowhere to be found.

“I’m just... still so shaken myself,” Kazu admitted. “I didn’t know the Empire would do this. You went to school overseas, Nee-san. Did you have any idea?”

“Not really,” Misaki said. “I mean, I knew our government wasn’t transparent—What government is?—but I never imagined anything like this... Maybe if I’d been paying more attention.”

“It doesn’t make sense to me. I thought the Emperor valued us, wanted us strong. What is going on?”

“I don’t know,” Misaki sighed. “There are obviously political forces at work here that we just can’t see.”

“Sure, but... Is there any political agenda that would justify this?” Kazu asked.

Misaki just shook her head. She had no answer.

“I feel sick.” Kazu grimaced. “Like my own father stabbed me in the back.”

“Kazu,” Misaki said. “If this is what’s happening in Ishihama, you have to go home.”

Kazu didn’t respond. He stared ahead, his jaw set, and Misaki could tell from the look on his face that he had been thinking the same thing all day but just hadn’t wanted to say it.

“You said your wife is afraid of storms,” Misaki said. “I’m sure she wishes you were with her.”

“But things are so much worse here, Nee-san,” Kazu protested. “Your people need help—”

“I know. I’m not going to argue that,” she said, “but this isn’t your responsibility.”

“And if this is what’s happening in Ishihama, what can I do?” Kazu clasped his hands in front of him and twisted them together, knuckles white. “I mean—it’s the Imperial army, Nee-san. What can I do?”

“You can be there for your people,” Misaki said. “You can lead. The families of Ishihama won’t blame you for what the Empire does. They’ll be thankful that you’re there, doing whatever you can.”

Kazu pressed his lips together, frowning. “You’re right, Nee-san,” he sighed finally. “You always are. If only you’d been my big brother—”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Misaki cut him off, “and neither does Tou-sama, if he’s still on about that. The work you’ve done here—the leadership you’ve shown—has been admirable.”

“Don’t tease, Nee-san. I was trying to pay you a compliment.”

“I was being serious,” Misaki said. “I wouldn’t want anyone else at the head of my old house.”

Kazu shook his head, eyeing his sister as though sure this was some kind of trap. “What—”

“You have something a lot of powerful theonites lack, including your own big sister.” She looked into his eyes. “You’re a good man, Tsusano-dono.” She used his title for the first time, without irony. “You really have become what Tou-sama was, something bigger than yourself. I may not understand it, but I’m very proud of you.”

Takeru was still not there the next morning when Misaki said goodbye to her brother.

“I’m leaving behind some of my men to look after you and your people,” Kazu said.

“Don’t they have families to get back to?” Misaki asked.

“Hakuyu-san isn’t married, and the two Umiiros volunteered.”

“Fine.” Misaki smiled. “It’s really not necessary—”

“But it is,” Kazu said seriously. “I need to make sure you’re taken care of.”

The first thing Kazu’s men ended up doing was sweeping the mountain in search of Takeru, who still had not returned at noon.

It was Misaki who eventually found him, in the snowy clearing above Kumono Academy. No one else had thought to look that far up the mountain. He perched near a ledge in his favored meditating position, down on one knee, head down, both palms pressed to the ground.

“Takeru-sama?” she said when she had gathered enough air into her aching lungs.

His jiya was so still, his body so cold, that he seemed like part of the snow. Misaki’s blood-sensitive jiya barely picked the inhumanly-faint heartbeat and blood flow. If not for the blue Matsuda haori, she might have missed him entirely.

“Takeru-sama,” she said more loudly.

A twitch of his shoulders—an unsettling flicker of motion in the picture of perfect stillness. Then, slowly, he straightened up. As his palms came away from the snow, his eyes opened and his nyama returned to normal, a proper human heartbeat and blood flow registering in Misaki’s senses.

“You know you’re not to bother me when I’m meditating,” he said.

“Is that what you’ve been doing this whole time?” Misaki fought to keep the anger out of her voice. “Meditating?”

“Yes,” Takeru said without even the suggestion of an apology in his voice.

“You’ve been up here for more than a day.”

Standing, he strode past Misaki and down the mountain without another word. Misaki’s fists clenched.

“We needed you, you know?” she shouted at the Matsuda insignia on his back. “Your people needed you!”

He just kept walking.