Seichi roared. “Isawyou, poet, I saw what you did in the attack. Or rather, what youdidn’tdo. You’ll speak for this!”
“Follow your conscience, Seichi.”
The younger man spat at his feet.
“Lord!” Stout Onoe Genichi came running. “Lord poet. Come.”
Yaeko, it seemed, had found something in the manse. She came out, holding a slim paper marked with calligraphy, from among the ruin.
“I know it,” she said, mutely. “I know this poem…”
Yora stopped now. Seeing her. His heart went cold.
“This is the Gekko’in’s,” she said.
Yora stepped forward. “Let me see it.”
Those familiar words:Watching the moon above…
“Let me see it.”
“Stop.”
Seichi had followed him through the entry-gate. He stood taller than Yora, wider in the shoulder, but Yora was certain he could still move faster than the boy if he had to.
“Give it here.”
“It’s nothing,” Yora began, but Seichi’s eyes flared.
“Give it to me,” he said quietly. “If you would be so kind.Yaeko.”
She did.
Seichi pulled the sheet from Yaeko’s hand, gave a little laugh when he realized what it meant. “Gekko’in,” he said. “Oh, you’ve been sloppy, girl.”
“Listen to me,” Yora said, but Seichi silenced him with a smirk.
“You were part of this.” A demand.
“How dare you.”
Seichi laughed again. “Well, we’ll find out. We’ll see.”
“You are not in charge here, Seichi!” Yora said.
Seichi flicked his head back, an impish smile on his face and another laugh halfway through his chest. “Am I not? Well… neither will you be, lord.” He stepped close, staring into Yora’s eyes. “My old teacher. I’ll make sure of that.”
Yora moved away.
He remembered when Seichi was just a boy, learning to hold a bow, to loose an arrow at twenty paces.Such a promising child. What happened?When Seichi was sixteen or seventeen, he changed. He lost the baby fat that defined his youth and led to countless days of teasing from the other children. He grew tall, taller than the others, and lean, and mean.
What happened to you, Seichi?What happened to that little boy he knew? Who painted flowers, who told him how much he loved to sing?You had a good voice, Yora thought.I used to listen when we rode out to the fields, you wanted to race horses to see who’d get to the top.He would sing every song to which he knew the words, and many that he didn’t, humming the melody and smiling with his teeth.
What happened to the boy I knew? When did little Seichi become Keishi the Arrow, always seeking blood?
What hurt lies inside you, child? What should I have seen?
Yora felt impossibly old.
