CHAPTER 30: THE FUTURE

The military retinue departed the next day, leaving the assembled villagers with a few veiled threats and empty words of encouragement. Takeru spoke to the crowd next, mounting an ice platform of his own making to give some equally empty words of thanks to General Chun.

Takeru’s words meant little, but he had calculated the platform’s placement carefully. To the government officials, it meant nothing. The villagers of Takayubi and the surrounding areas, however, knew that this was the place where Matsuda Takeru the First had faced Yukino Izumi a thousand years ago. This was the place where the founder of their society had declared a new order.

“Now to some announcements,” he said when he had finished addressing the military officials. “Beginning tomorrow, this village will be implementing some new practices that will be essential to our survival. Today, all food is to be brought to the Matsuda compound, all building material brought to Kotetsu Katashi’s shack. No exceptions.”

“Are these your orders or the Empire’s?” someone asked brazenly.

“These are my orders,” Takeru said. “I have promised General Chun that, on his return, we would have the village fully rebuilt. That process begins today. You will all assemble here tomorrow morning for further instructions. Glory to Kaigen,” he finished. “Long live the Emperor.”

“Long live the Emperor,” the village returned without enthusiasm.

Misaki and Setsuko oversaw the collection of the food while Takeru went over plans with Kotetsu Katashi and Kwang Tae-min. It was evening by the time Misaki went to Takeru’s study.

“We’ve collected all the food in one place,” she told him. With any other group of people, Misaki would have suspected families or individuals of withholding supplies, but not here.

“Good,” Takeru said. “I’m going to need you and Setsuko to go through the supplies and give me a complete inventory of everything we have.”

“Alright.”

“I need the inventory divided into items that must be consumed within the week, within the month, and those that will keep until the ice melts.”

“Yes, sir.”

The task took Misaki and Setsuko the rest of the day, and they had to finish by lantern light, rocking the babies to sleep as they reviewed their last count.

“You’re sure this is complete and accurate?” Takeru asked when Misaki brought him the results in his study.

“Yes.” Misaki had checked carefully.

“Good.”

“I also brought you some tea.”

“Good,” he said, though he didn’t really seem to hear her. His eyes were already flicking over the inventory, though judging by the circles beneath them, he needed the caffeine.

“I’ll just leave it right...” Misaki had to search the desk for a moment before she found a surface space that wasn’t covered in lists and notes. “Right here.”

She was already partway to the door when there was a stiff, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And could you close the door? The wind is noisy and I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Um...” Misaki looked at the door, which was no more than a few clinging splinters after Takeru had broken it down... after she had attacked him and sealed him inside the room.

“Oh—” Takeru blinked, looking uncharacteristically flustered. “Never mind.”

“I’m sorry,” Misaki said because she felt that she should.

Takeru shook his head. “I’m the one who kicked it down.” Looking away from her, he tossed back his cup of hot tea with the same desperation with which his brother used to down sake. “Go. Get some sleep.”

“Yes, sir,” Misaki murmured and withdrew to the bedroom.

Mamoru no longer invaded her dreams, but that night, she found that sleep wouldn’t come. The room felt... too hot? That couldn’t be right. It was winter. Slinging an arm out, she found the futon empty beside her. Still? Getting up, she arranged her kimono around her to make sure she was decent and then padded down the hall. Lantern light spilled out of Takeru’s study to lap gently at the wood floor of the hallway.

“You’re still awake?” she murmured, stepping into the doorway.

“I’m still busy,” Takeru returned, not looking up from his desk. His desk had accumulated several more layers of kayiri—each sheaf crammed with some combination of text, diagrams, and equations.

His eyes flicked from one page to another with the feverish speed and ferocity of a warrior’s sword flashing from one kill to another. She had always thought of her husband’s angular face as something ageless and pristine, but here in the lantern light, he truly looked like a man in his forties.

“Leave me,” he said shortly. “I’m concentrating.”

Misaki was tempted to obey. That was what she would have done, back when she was still telling herself that her husband wasn’t her responsibility.

“You have to speak in front of your people tomorrow,” she reminded him. “Do you really want to do that on no sleep?”

Takeru’s resting face was cross enough without frightening circles around his eyes. If he didn’t sleep, she worried he might just scare the remaining population of Takayubi off the mountainside. He looked up at her, haggard, his eyes narrowed, and for a moment she was sure he was about to snap at her not to question him.

“I don’t want to do it without a plan in place,” he said evenly. “You can understand that, can’t you?”

Misaki nodded. Then she reached out and slid a hand over his shoulders and down his back, passing over the four-diamond Matsuda insignia and the coiled muscle beneath. He stiffened for a moment, his shoulders drawing back as if to shrug the hand off. Then he seemed to reconsider and stilled under the touch. Was he always this tense? This cold? Like cables of freezing steel wrapped in human skin... She pressed fingers into a pressure point.

For a moment, it was no more effective than trying to push her fingers into solid stone. Then she sent a pulse of jiya through her fingertips and smiled as she felt the smallest measure of tension leave his shoulders.

“Is there anything I can help with?” she asked.

“Are you very good with numbers?”

“No,” she said honestly.

“Mmm.” He frowned. “In that case, I’ll have Kwang look over my work in the morning.”

He rolled his shoulders, nudging Misaki’s hand back. She took the small movement as rejection and was about to withdraw when Takeru reached across the desk and picked up a few sheets of kayiri.

“Look over this for me.”

Misaki took the kayiri from him and was surprised to find that these pages did not bear numbers, but columns upon columns of words. Takeru’s brushwork was as elegant and flawless as any calligrapher’s, but many lines had been crossed out and rewritten.

“My brother... was good at inspiring others,” Takeru explained. “I’ve never been good with people the way he was. If I don’t plan the words, I won’t know what to say.”

“And... you want me to...?”

“Look over it for me. You know people. Please?”

“Of course.” Misaki knelt at the desk opposite Takeru and started reading over the speech.

Takeru had the most space-efficient writing she had ever seen, substituting in compact Ranji for sprawling phonetic characters wherever possible. Embarrassingly, Misaki found it a bit difficult to read. While her spoken Kaigengua was much better than Takeru’s, he was clearly more versed in the use of ancient characters.

As dawn colored the sky, she handed the kayiri back to him.

“You think this is what I should say?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Then I will memorize it. I...” He looked down at the kayiri and paused. “You crossed this whole page out.” Confused, he leafed through the rest of the sheets. “You... crossed all of it out.”

“I did,” Misaki said. “Initially, I made notes and additions. Then I changed my mind.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t think you need to say any of this.”

“Well...” Takeru blinked, rubbed one eye with the heel of his hand, “Then... what—”

“Do you have a plan for them, Takeru-sama?”

“Yes.”

“A good one?”

“I think so.”

“Then that’s all that matters,” Misaki said firmly. “They’ve heard enough of ‘Glory to the Empire’ and empty words of comfort—not that yours weren’t beautiful. You don’t have to pretend to be your brother.”

“So... what am I supposed to tell them?”

“Your plan,” Misaki said. “No more, no less. You’re a koro, Takeru-sama; your actions will always speak louder than your words. Everyone in this village already knows how long you worked for the mayor, they know that you care about them, and they’ve witnessed your strength. All they need to know now is that everything is going to be alright.”

She looked up as she picked up the sound of Izumo crying from down the hall.

“I should go take care of that.” She stood to leave, but paused, staring down at her husband. Without thinking, she leaned in and kissed him on the head—right on the crease between his brows.

“What?” He looked up in confusion—

And she kissed him on the mouth. He didn’t pull away, so she slid her fingers into his hair, gripped the back of his neck, and pressed him closer.

His mouth was as icy as the rest of him, but somehow, the kiss wasn’t hard. It didn’t grate. In that freezing cold kiss, Misaki found a subtlety she had never known in her husband. He was not a single slab of rigid ice. Beneath the frozen mountain, there was the swell of tides. Beneath the snow, there was the bubbling of the Kumono spring and the rivers it sent racing beneath the ice and deep underground. Beneath the shiver of pines, their roots reached like fingers into the soil to grasp at the spring-warmed core of the mountain.

No pop and hiss of steam here, no flame to set the darkness jumping in aimless excitement. But where there was light, there was always room for shadow. Entwined with the snow-white light of Takeru’s cold, she found herself seeping in and rooting deep.

When she broke the kiss Takeru was quiet, but he no longer looked confused. He seemed to understand what it had meant.

“I look forward to your plan,” she said and hurried off to take care of Izumo.

As the people gathered before the ice platform to hear Takeru, Misaki and Setsuko sought out Hyori and stood beside her. The younger woman, now visibly pregnant, looked as though she had gotten about as much sleep as Takeru.

“Morning, Hyori-chan.”

“Oh.” Hyori blinked at Misaki with hollow eyes, ringed with darkness. “M-morning.”

“How are you feeling?” Misaki asked.

“Fine,” Hyori said shakily. “I’m feeling fine. Thank you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hyori,” Setsuko said more bluntly. “Your face has as much color in it as this snow, and your eyes look like a raccoon’s.”

“You don’t have to put it like that, Setsuko,” Misaki said.

“It’s okay.” Hyori grimaced, her lip trembling. “I know I’ve gotten ugly.”

“Hey, hey!” That is not what I said!” Setsuko protested.

“You called me a raccoon.”

“Yeah. The cutest little raccoon that ever lived.” Setsuko pinched Hyori’s cheek—the little of it there was to pinch. “Obviously.”

“Oh, Setsuko,” Misaki sighed.

“Have you been eating?” Setsuko asked Hyori, prodding the hollow in her cheek.

“I.... haven’t been very hungry.” Hyori had fisted her hands in the sleeves of her kimono to conceal the fact that they were shaking.

“Hyori-chan, you have to eat,” Misaki said.

“You’ll have lunch with us today,” Setsuko declared brightly.

“That’s alright, Setsuko-san. I don’t—”

“We insist,” Misaki said, just as Takeru mounted the platform and cleared his throat.

“People of Takayubi.” While his voice was monotone as ever, it came out clear and strong. “Good morning. I have called all of you here because I have devised a plan to ensure our survival.” He hadn’t brought any of his notes with him. He didn’t need to. The man could keep numbers in his head like a computer.

“Please, listen closely, as we will all have to adhere to this plan strictly if we hope to survive the coming months. Thanks to the tireless efforts of my wife and sister-in-law, I have inventoried and rationed all the food we currently have in the village. In addition to what we have here, our neighbors have agreed to contribute a generous amount of rice, fresh fish, and produce each month for as long as we need it. According to my calculations, this supply will support the entire village and a limited number of volunteer visitors for the next eleven months, until Sokolokalo of 5370.

“Food distribution and preparation will be overseen by my wife, Misaki, and whomever she appoints to assist her. All requests for extra food must be processed through her.”

Misaki eyed the crowd nervously, but no one objected. They trusted her. The realization created a warm feeling in her chest as Takeru continued.

“I want everyone to understand that from this day moving forward, I am considering all outside contributions of food and labor to be borrowed not donated.”

“What?” a few voices said.

“What does that mean, Matsuda-dono?”

“It means,” Takeru said calmly, “that we will be paying these good people back for their service in the future. I recognize that all of you are busy recovering and rebuilding at the moment, but we are not going to stay this way. I expect each family to have found a reliable source of income within the next eleven months.”

“How?” someone demanded.

“We’re all housewives,” one of the Ikeno women pointed out. “How are we supposed to get the money to support a family, let alone pay the volunteers back for everything they’ve done?”

“Thank you for asking, Ikeno-san,” Takeru said. “Your question brings me to the next part of my plan. I recognize that we don’t seem to have much at the moment, but there is one resource that we have overlooked.”

“What is that, Matsuda-dono?” one of the Ginkawa men asked.

“The pine forests,” Takeru said. Most of the ancient forest that surrounded the western village had been leveled by the tornado, with the rest of it severely damaged. The desolation of the natural wonder was its own tragedy, though no one had given it much thought in the midst of so much human loss. After the villagers and volunteers had combed the fallen trees for bodies, no one had been back to the forest.

“All of you know that that forest has stood since the days of Yukino Hayase and Matsuda Takeru the First,” Takeru said. “Its roots go deeper than you might think, making it an integral part of this mountainside. The collapsed trees will need to be removed to allow regrowth if we wish to avoid landslides, soil degradation, and other dangerous ecological changes to our mountain. While this will require a tremendous amount of work, it also presents an opportunity for us to bring some much-needed money to Takayubi in the short term.

“Kotetsu Katashi has estimated that we can gather several thousand guli’s-worth of lumber from the fallen and damaged trees if we strip and treat the wood properly. Governor Lo has granted us a license to sell this lumber to building companies in the provincial capital in the spring. The rest of the supply will be set aside for our ongoing construction projects. Eventually, I intend to have everyone’s family home rebuilt, but our first project will be a simple school building to replace the Takayubi public elementary, middle, and high schools destroyed in the storm. Numu Kotetsu has drawn up blueprints, and construction will begin immediately.”

“What?” Someone said in confusion.

“Why would we build a school? We barely have enough houses to hold all of us.”

“We cannot allow our children to fall behind in their education,” Takeru said. “Also, the Takayubi public schools in the western village were a vital source of income for many families. The government may not be offering us direct aid, but they are required to pay the salaries of public school staff. Any citizens with the ability to read and teach the Empire standard curriculum may serve as teachers and administrative staff—including women.”

It was a good idea. Most of Takayubi’s population had enough education to read Kaigengua.

“For those who are not able to read as well, the school will require cleaning and maintenance staff, whose salaries will also be covered by the government. With everything proceeding according to Numu Kotetsu’s plan, the school should be constructed and open to students in two months—sooner if there are koronu willing to assist our numuwu. Provincial Governor Lo has agreed to keep Takayubi’s public school licenses active if we can have new facilities open for classes within that time. When the school building is finished, we will begin construction on a new village hall, which should open up at least four more government jobs.”

Looking up at Takeru, Misaki realized that she was holding Izumo rather tightly and biting her lip in nervousness. A single school and government office couldn’t employ a whole town, and many of Takayubi’s adult women were now single parents who didn’t have the time to work a proper job, but Takeru wasn’t finished.

“I would now like to address all those volunteers who have assisted us these past weeks. In addition to paying your generosity back in the future, I would like to extend an invitation to all of you to stay.”

Murmurs of confusion rippled through the crowd.

“I cannot offer monetary compensation at this time, but I am reopening the Matsuda dojo for training.”

That sent a second, more excited ripple of whispers and exclamations.

“If any men are willing to relocate to Takayubi to support their widowed female relatives here—or even bring their own families to settle here with them—I will train them.”

A few months ago, it would not have been an enticing offer. The sword seemed like an impractical, purely ceremonial pursuit in peacetime. But with the realization that Ranga could come knocking at their door any day and the Imperial army would do nothing to protect them, training with the greatest fighter on the Sword of Kaigen suddenly looked very appealing.

“Numu Kotetsu Katashi is also seeking partners and apprentices, if any craftsmen are interested in joining us here.” Another nearly irresistible offer. “Two fishing families have moved to the foot of the mountain to fish the waters here, but all of us know that Takayubi’s coast once supported over twenty fishing families—nyama to their souls.” Takeru inclined his head toward Setsuko. “I have spoken to my sister-in-law, who is the sole surviving member of one of those families, and to the Chibas from the neighboring areas. They have agreed that this coast should be open to any fishing people wishing to settle there. Any fishermen who move to the base of this mountain will have our aid in constructing a new home and anything else they might need to get started.”

“Respectfully, Matsuda-dono, what about aid from the Imperial army?”

“Well... that is irrelevant,” Takeru said. “As I have just explained, we won’t be needing it.”

The whole village seemed reenergized after Takeru spoke and eagerly went to work collecting lumber from the lower slopes to construct the new school building.

The notable exception was Hyori. While others had pushed through their grief, Hyori never seemed to have moved past the horrors of the attack. There was an emptiness in her eyes that left Misaki feeling haunted, as if her friend had died somewhere in that night of wind and bullets.

One night, Misaki woke to the sound of tiny bare feet on the tatami.

“Kaa-chan?” a voice said and she sat up to find Nagasa standing in the doorway.

“Naga-kun? What is it?”

“There’s a ghost outside.”

“What?” Misaki murmured, rubbing her eyes. Nagasa had gotten better at articulating his thoughts in the past month; that didn’t mean they always made sense, but it had been months since he had woken with a nightmare.

“There’s a ghost outside,” Nagasa repeated, eyes wide in the dark. “I can hear it.”

Beside Misaki, Takeru slept soundly. He had worked himself to such exhaustion that he wasn’t likely to wake unless the mountain started falling apart beneath them. Careful not to disturb him, Misaki slid out from under the covers and went to Nagasa.

“Come on, Naga-kun. Let’s get you back to—”

She paused as she caught the sound that had woken her son.

“Ghost,” Nagasa insisted solemnly.

The plaintive wail was distorted by the wind, but no mother could mistake it...

“That’s not a ghost, Naga-kun,” Misaki said. “That’s a baby.”

“A baby?”

“Yes.” The sound was coming from Hyori’s house. “Naga-kun, stay here. Get back in bed. Kaa-chan will be back soon.”

Misaki rushed to the genkan, put on her tabi, fastened them with quick fingers, and grabbed her coat on her way out. When she stepped out the front doors, she found Setsuko already standing outside.

“Misaki,” she said. “Did you hear—?”

“Yes,” Misaki said, finishing pulling her coat on over bedclothes. The infant’s cries were issuing from Hyori’s shack. “Do you think she’s already given birth? Isn’t it early?”

Setsuko was counting the months and weeks on her fingers, mouthing to herself in thought. “Yeah, a bit.” She perked up. “Maybe that’s a good sign. “You know… maybe…”

Maybe the baby was Dai’s.

Misaki nodded. “Let’s go.”

The Matsuda women were joined by Fuyuko, Fuyuhi, and a few men from the neighboring houses, who had awakened to the sound. The Mizumaki women carried lanterns, and Misaki noticed that two of the men—Ginkawa Aoki and the volunteer named Ameno Kentaro—had their swords. It seemed odd to bring weapons to check on a new mother and her baby, but there was something unsettling about that squalling. The shack’s walls creaked as the group gathered around the door.

“Hyori-chan?” Setsuko knocked eagerly. “May we come in?”

There was no response, only the frantically repetitive cries of the infant, uninterrupted, as though no one else was there.

“Yukino-san!” Ginkawa Aoki tried, a bit louder. “Are you in there?”

“Hyori!” Setsuko’s tone had grown more urgent. “Hyori, please answer us! Are you alright?”

“Apologies for the intrusion, Yukino-san,” Aoki said finally, “we’re coming in.” And he broke down the door.

Setsuko was the first to rush in, followed closely by Misaki and the Mizumaki women with their lanterns.

Hyori lay on her side atop one of Yukino Dai’s kimono that she had recovered from her old home, one hand curled into the fabric. Takenagi stuck through her body, its silvery blade protruding from her back.

She was dead.

“No! No!” Setsuko fell on Hyori’s body, sobbing, as Fuyuko crumpled to her knees in shock and Fuyuhi turned her face away. “Hyori, come on!” Setsuko begged, tears running down her cheeks. “Come on, sweetheart, open those pretty eyes. Hyori! No! No!”

Misaki didn’t go to the body. There were no tears left in her. She couldn’t explain it; somehow, she had known before they broke the door down that Hyori was gone. She had been gone for a long time.

“Misaki, do something!” Setsuko sobbed, cradling Hyori’s head in her lap. “Stop the bleeding!”

Misaki only shook her head. Even if Hyori’s heart had still been beating, there was no way to save a person from a wound like that. Hyori must have braced Takenagi against something and thrown her full weight onto the blade—a decisive end.

“I’m sorry, Setsuko,” Misaki whispered. “She’s gone.”

Stepping softly past Setsuko, Misaki went to the cradle, where the crying had not stopped. The baby was a girl, lying tangled in the blankets, her eyes screwed shut and her head thrown back as she bawled. She was the smallest infant Misaki had ever seen, but as her tiny hands moved, the air inside the shack stirred, brushing Misaki’s hair and sleeves.

Great Nami. No child, not even a Matsuda, manifested powers the day they were born. It was unheard of. Shaken, Misaki remembered the terrifying death fonya of Hyori’s rapist—so overwhelming it had thrown Misaki into the wall and destroyed the room.

“That is not Yukino-dono’s child,” Ameno Kentaro said in a fearful whisper. “It’s not one of ours.”

The baby was bleeding from a razor-thin cut on her neck that could only have come from a Kotetsu blade. With a chill, Misaki realized that Hyori must have held Takenagi to her baby’s throat... but she had not dealt the finishing cut. In the end, she hadn’t had it in her to kill her own child.

Ameno Kentaro’s hand went to his katana.

“No.” Misaki moved quickly around the cradle, placing herself in between the warrior and the infant.

“Move aside, Matsuda-dono.” Kentaro started to draw his sword.

Her blood rising, Misaki grabbed his arm and forcibly slammed the weapon back into its sheath.

“Don’t.”

Kentaro’s eyes widened at her strength. “M-Matsuda-dono...” He stared, uncomprehending, at the dainty hand clamped around his wrist. “Wh-what—”

“You will not harm this child,” Misaki hissed.

“It’s a fonyaka,” he protested, trying and failing to pull his arm from Misaki’s grip. “Look at that cut. Yukino herself was ready to kill it.”

“But she didn’t!” Misaki returned fiercely. “She held the blade and she made her choice. Her last decision in this world was that this child would live. Who are we to take that away from her?”

“But... it’s a Ranganese child—”

“It is Hyori’s child,” Misaki hissed, shoving him back, “which means that it belongs to all of us. You will step away.”

“Matsuda-dono,” Ginkawa Aoki started. “I don’t think—”

“Step away, Ginkawa-san.”

Leaning over the cradle, Misaki put a hand to the baby’s neck and healed the cut as best she could. Though thin, it was deep. Even with the best scabbing, it would almost certainly scar. When Misaki felt confident that the scab would hold, she carefully swaddled the tiny girl, stopping her squirming and the accompanying breeze.

“Matsuda-dono,” Aoki tried again. “I know you’re a woman and you’re subject to your maternal instincts, but we need to think about this rationally. That thing is a fonyaka.”

Ignoring Ginkawa’s protests, Misaki lifted the infant in her arms and held her close, stroking her soft head. She was so tiny, and both men still had their hands on their swords.

“You will want to leave now, gentlemen.”

“We’re not leaving, Matsuda-dono.”

“I think you are.”

“But—”

“The child needs to nurse,” Misaki said, and that shut them up.

Ginkawa Aoki, who had climbed over corpses in the dark and tourniqueted his comrade’s arm with the tie of his sword, looked at his feet in embarrassment. Ameno Kentaro had gone rather red in the cheeks.

“Get out,” she said, and this time neither of them protested.

In the end, Hyori’s baby wouldn’t take Misaki’s breast, but she did eventually stop crying. When morning came, Misaki took the newborn to the orphanage.

“You will raise her along with all the other children orphaned in the attack,” she told the finawu there. “I can’t take her in, but this child is under my protection. I don’t want to hear that any harm has come to her. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Matsuda-dono.”

Hyori was cremated the next day. The house, tainted by the unspeakable act of suicide, had to be burned down too. With that, the Yukinos of Takayubi were truly gone. The baby, after all, was not a Yukino.

Though they were not allowed to speak of it, everyone silently understood that the child had come in with the wind that had taken so much away. As she grew, it became apparent that she did not have a drop of jiya in her, though the air around her was always restless. It almost seemed like her mother’s grief had been born into her. Her eyes were huge, ancient, and haunted.

No one officially named her, but the village, in their whispers, called her Kazeko, Wind Child, for the terrible thing that had brought her into their midst. Perhaps that was the reason Takayubi tolerated her presence: she was walking memory. Bodies could be burned and buried. The blood of the dead could be washed from a blade. But this creature, with the eyes of Yukino Hyori and the power of a fonyaka, was irrefutable. They might fear and hate her, but she was living testament to everything the Empire had tried to erase.

As long she walked the Duna, no one could forget what had happened on the Sword of Kaigen.