“Yes,” Kai said. “The symbol of our family. Out of everyone here, only we two have no choice of what we wear. We are the heirs of our father. Wear our family’s colors, Sen. Yora – our uncle – he would have wanted that.”
Sen said nothing.
His sister took a breath, a sigh. “I’m not…” She started again. “Well. Neither of us was ready for this, I think. But we’re all doing the best we can.”
She brought her hands to her mouth, uncertain, and for a moment Sen saw the human beneath the warpaint: Kai, shifting, hesitating by the armor and the bows. “Sen,” she said. As if asking for permission.
This will take time.
“All right,” he said.
This is my family. My true family. It’s time to come home.
“You’re not an outcast anymore,” Kai whispered beside him. “Remember that. You will always belong here, Sen. Always. You’re my brother.”
Someone murmured from without: Kai was needed.
“Anyway. I’ll see you, Hoshiakari,” she said, and left.
Sen stayed a while, wondering what he should do, and only after several moments did he realize Saito had remained, lingering, by the entrance. “The other suit of armor,” Saito began, carefully. “The Kitano armor. What would you like me to do with it?”
Sen thought of the high hills of Kitano, the Blue Woods that blanketed the mountains. He thought of the cold northern winters, the brighter summers, the meadows rising, feathered, light with grass; he thought of the simple trails along the Godspath. He thought of Rui.
“If she makes it back,” he said. “Rui. Can you… can you give it to her? And if not… Send it back to Kitano. And tell them… tell them I’m sorry.”
Dawn broke with a sound of cracking ice over the valley, and with it, the army began to move. Kai wanted Sen in the commanders’ group. They would march west, before the enemy could reinforce its home-countries, and take the roads between Tose and Kiseda. There were reports of a Keishi army going south to the old capital of Naruji. Tokuon had plans to move his forces to the slopes of Mount Sengen, and bring the battle there. Things were happening now, faster and faster: the Keishi lay ahead of them, their enemies had gathered their strength.
Sen hoped he had the courage to keep up.
He stopped to watch the army get under way.Thousands of people, he thought,each one a human spirit with hopes and dreams of their own.He wondered about the families of these people, where they’d come from, what their lives had been. The world, it seemed, was always bigger than he knew.
He waited at the edge of the procession, with the new horse they’d given him, a huge warbred named Ikezuki, the Moon-on-the-Water, who sniffed and whinnied in the snow.
Rui was dead, they’d told him.
Still, he waited. Still, he clung to hope.
“Come on, Rui,” he whispered.
Sen hoped to catch a glimpse of his friend among the Jibashiri, but saw only Myorin’s people, and a thousand faces he didn’t know.
“Hoshiakari!” Saito and Ohori were waiting for him at the crossroads ahead. “You’ll be left behind! Hurry up!”
It was no use. Finally, Sen turned his horse and moved to join the others. He felt the bead jewel at his neck. He took one last look across the roadside, where the force was moving out. A wide, low field covered with late-fallen snow, the highway, and at the crossroads, a single plum tree.
I know you’re out there, Rui.Find me.
They called his name again. He was needed now, at the front of the column. It was his place. But he lingered in the icy morning, feeling the wind at the tips of his fingers and something deeper calling in his heart.
He waited until he couldn’t wait any longer.
Then he turned away.
CHAPTERFIFTY
Rui
The sound of a waxwing drifted lightly through the window. The girl rolled onto her side, feeling the rough-spun wool over her body, the cooling caresses of the breeze against her shoulder. She lay awake until the sun had finished coming up, and saw two birds beyond the frame. It wouldn’t be long before the day turned whole and shining, and crisp with winter, bright and cold, with light too sharp for tired eyes.
