He stepped closer.
The monks gripped their weapons.
Kai’s heart thundered in her chest.
“Warrior rule will end in only the greatest sorrow of our people, poet,” Ryaku’in intoned. “Be wary of the evils of the myth, and remember the truth of the deed. Lord poet! Are you ready to call the Name? You knowyour history. You know what repercussions such sin-of-lies have left behind.”
“I know what you would say,” Yora began. “Tell me, what would you have instead? A tyrant who rules through his court like puppets, his playthings, and puts his own heirs on the throne?”
“Poet,” Ryaku’in said, but softer now, “this is not a war against such tyranny…That is the lie.This will be nothing but a war between those who stand for what has built this empire and made it rich in the past, with all the good and evil it has done – and those who stand against it. I only ask you now: be very, very careful of the evilsyouwill do, if somehow you replace the ones who reign above.”
“We have blood on our hands,” Yora said. “I don’t deny it. I fight so that we may find another way, a newer way, to make sure it never happens again.”
“But what,” Ryaku’in asked, “will happen when you find the only way to beat them is to use the toolstheyhave used? What then?”
“You use my own words, monk,” Yora said.
“Then you know them.”
“You supported Nioh,” Yora shouted. “Now you heel behind the Keishi? You, who called them the most corrupt?”
Ryaku’in waved a single, fat finger in the air. “The system does not break, lord poet. Don’t you understand? You may uproot it, you may think you’ve thrown it off, but soon, its seeds will spill upon your hands, and fly into your lungs, and stain you every time you wipe your brow. Soon, the only things you’ll see are the roots of it, that grow within your eyes. You know I speak the truth.”
“I have no choice,” Yora said at last. “I agreed with you, once. But the time has passed. It’s too late. Help us.”
“I will not.”
“Then we will run you down.” Yora’s hand moved to his sword.
Ryaku’in laughed. A short, sharp hack. “You really think you have a chance against them? After this? The combined might of the Keishi and the authority of the realm? You’re even more deranged than I thought.”
“You don’t have to do this, monk,” Yora said.
Ryaku’in squinted. “Listen. You hear it? The sound of all the gods who have come to your aid. Your great god of war.” He opened his hands, as if waiting for a rain to fall upon them. “They’re a little quiet, Yora.”
“Stand back,” Yora said.
To Kai’s surprise, Ryaku’in did. He looked angry, and sad, and whistledfor his monks to withdraw. “If war was what you wanted, poet, you have succeeded in that – and that alone. It will be the last success of your life.”
He stepped back. The monks parted and let them pass.
After realizing Ryaku’in would not support them, Yora and Nioh came up with a desperate plan: they would ride across the eastern bridge, to the Temple of the Far Earth, and then south, following the road toward the ancient city of Naruji. There they hoped to have more help, that somehow, Tokuon’s army would find a way to reach them.
Now the gates of the Onji temple were shut against the snow. The wind kicked in again, battering itself against Kai’s shoulder as she fought her way on, calling her name, calling for sanctuary from the river monks.
They’d ridden from the mountain temples so hard and so fast that Nioh fell from his horse and they had to help him up. The exhausted prince claimed he’d seen demons in the air, chasing after them, and when he’d fallen, he’d muttered, “It can’t be, it can’t be,” over and over again.
“My lord!” Getoh had shouted. “We must stop! We must rest here…” But Yora had urged them on; the river monks at the Onji temples were their final hope.
Now the main group stayed in the safety of the woods while Kai went forward to address the river temple. The wind blew frost into her eyes, and she stumbled. She staggered against the lashing cold, calling again to the river monks behind their walls.
“My name is Kai Gekko’in! I’m heir to the Gensei family! You sheltered my father once, before his death! Hold your arrows! My name is Kai Gekko’in! I seek shelter at the temple of the Onji River!”
She used to think she knew this thing, this fear inside her chest. She knew what it meant to be careful in the capital. She’d had to be careful her whole life. Careful, because Seikiyo had eyes everywhere. Because the cut-throat courtiers were always angling to get ahead. Because the stain of her father’s death was one that would not wash away. They weren’t sure if the river monks would even help them. They’d offered sanctuary to the Gensei once, years before, when her father fled the capital – just as she was doing now. But twenty years had passed and here she was, doing the same. The sharp-eyed monks at the gate peered down, mere shadows in their heavy cloaks. The wind shrieked, blisteringly cold; again she staggered from its push.
Only one chance, she thought. Don’t make any moves they’ll reactagainst. Announce early as possible, so they don’t loose their arrows at you. Now or never. They’d find the others, Nioh and his retainers, under Yora’s watch, in the woods where she’d left them, hiding. And Yora, who had urged her on, saying, “It will be all right.”
All right…Right up to the moment Seikiyo’s men come kicking down the door.
