Behind them, at the crest the hill, the drums began to pound.
Time passed. How long, he wasn’t sure. He staggered through the wreckage, feeling like he’d slipped into a dream. A dream of blood and snow. He blinked, saw shards of ice drift down.So gentle, he thought. He could barely walk.Am I dying?But no. He was cut and bleeding, but alive. It rushed through him, instant, an ecstatic flood:I’m alive.His hands were covered with cuts, his right arm numb and immobile, and every muscle in his body ached. But he was alive.
They were bringing him out of the field when he saw.
His horse. The mountain storm.
Kaminari’s entire lower half covered in blood, his last fading breaths crystalizing in the air.
“Oh, Kaminari.” Sen staggered to his knees, and wept. In a moment, his horse was dead.
“Hoshiakari,” Saito began. Sen barely responded. “Sen.”
Saito moved to him, but Sen threw him off. He sobbed, “Enough!” Saito called his name, but he wouldn’t hear it. “Enough.”
“You’ve tasted blood, then?”
That voice. A slow grate of stone.
Tokuon had returned, surrounded by his banners and his guard. Across the barley field, the temples were ablaze.
Sen sat, then, stunned, somehow hurting and numb at once. “We were too late.”
Tokuon spurred his horse. “Come. We have to get out of here before the rest of their army return.”
“Just wait,” Sen said, overwhelmed. “We have to help the…”
“Now, Hoshiakari!” The field was already clearing; Tokuon’s footmen were helping as many of the wounded as they could. Dead horses lined the field. Smoke rose to the west, where the Temple of the Far Earth burned.
Sen realized he was still holding the broken sword that Lady Iyo had given him.
“I,” he said. “I…”
“Sen,” Tokuon said again. “Yora’s dead. We have to go.”
“Then it’s up to us.” In an instant, the immensity of it hit. The ground shifted. He stumbled into Saito, who caught him just before he fell.
“Easy.” Saito’s voice came to him, low, so only he could hear. “You did well. Your body’s going to take a while to catch up with you.”
“Damn them,” Sen gasped. His whole body shook. Each breath brought a new tremor to his bones.
“Let me sit,” he said. “I – have to sit down.” Saito helped him to a seated position, but as he spat the last of someone else’s blood from his mouth, Saito placed a hand on his shoulder and began rubbing his back. The motion surprised Sen. But the smoothness of Saito’s hand across his armor was as reassuring for his spirit as anything else – the physical touch to remind him he was still here, still human. “They must not see you falter,” Saito whispered. Sen ground his hands into fists.
“I can’t,” he began. “I… can’t do this.”
“You must.”
Saito stared into his eyes, close enough that Sen could feel his breath, smell his sweat. “Saito… how many battles have you fought?”
“Too many. You will get better, but your body will do what it does. Youcannot be at war with your enemies as well as yourself. Let your body breathe. You’re still here.”
Sen’s legs were trembling. “I don’t know if I can stand up…”
“Sen. Every warrior here has seen blood spilled today. Some are wounded. Some may not last the night. But they must see their leader. They must see that you know what they’re going through, and will lead them out of this hell. Or your army will be lost before the last blood of this battle has been bled.
“No one expects you to be immune to this,” Saito told him, “but they are going through it too. So show them. Show them that you’ll stand. Show them that you’re with them, here, for ever. Because you’ve gone through this with them, too.”
“Right,” he said. “All right…”
