Kai
The noblewoman introduced herself as Chikae Ikariya, of the second rank, from the regent house, and councilor for retired-emperor Goshira. Pale, with a round face and high arching expression, Ikariya was a political creature, taller than Kai, and her long black hair almost reached the floor. She led Kai down the corridor, asking questions about Kai’s life. “You’re not a child anymore,” she said. “Naturally, you must search to add to your line.” She demurred against any hint of turmoil, saying: “Your family has great history, we shouldn’t forget that,” and “Many in the world are glad you have returned,” and finally, “How can I help you?”
Somehow, though, the councilor’s offers of help sounded much like the opposite. Ikariya offered warnings, advice, and gossip in her silken voice, and even hinted interest in trading for property – all of which would tie Kai into a complex political game of favors and debts, which she desperately wanted to avoid.This woman is a politician, she told herself.Of the Hara clan. A courtier. They scheme as quick as they breathe. Don’t trust her.
As they walked, she thought of her uncle’s warnings once again. Kai pictured Yora as he was, once, lord-governor of Amayari, their family’s home; when he was young and brought down a devil nightbird in a storm. They wove designs of its feathers into his clothes. But that was years ago. Before it all happened. Before her father rebelled.
She imagined him teaching at the Hermitage and known throughout the provinces as the best bowman in the emperor’s domain. Yora wassky-seen, then. The quick, unlined face, a hawk’s eyes, hands muscled and ready.
What happened to him? Age, she supposed, a brother’s death, a civil war or the threat of one; he had drawn inward. He’d gone from the defender of the realm to a man who said,Look for somewhere to hide.She could have screamed at him,What are you doing, how did you become so afraid?But he told her, in simple terms, that he was not afraid; he was trying to keep peace. They were different things; only on the outside did they look the same.
Arms clasped before him, Yora could have been a monk, never hurt a soul on the earth; yet change your glance and you’d see the calluses on his hands.We will have to fight, uncle,she thought,before the end.
“How is Amayari,” he’d asked, and she said:
“It doesn’t change. Even when it changes, it doesn’t change at heart. It welcomes you back. Amayari is home.”
“It always will be,” he said.
“Come back with me there.”
“And be a servant of the Zusho?”
“It is through Lord Zusho that I ever had a chance to meet you,” she insisted. “The Zusho remember their neighbors. They will help us.”
Yora scratched his head, said nothing for some time. “Someone must stay and keep an eye on this royal city.” There was another world in the words he didn’t say, as there always was, and as always, she found herself incensed at his tight lip.
Now, as the regent councilor led her through the hall, she thought,It’s all a misunderstanding. A compromise. It’s spinning out of control. That’s what Yora was trying to tell me.Such things happen. People act in ways they think best; and things spiral out of true.
Yora was not a fearful man nor a foolish one; he must know something would happen soon. Every night, he’d said, he prayed to their ancestor, the daughter of the god of war.He must know something he isn’t telling me.
Don’t trust her.Ah, she remembered now. It was Yora who had warned her that. Chikae Ikariya, the politician. She’ll step on your throat to get where she needs to go.
Chikae led her to the center gardens, where a group of noble-children were at play, and told her to wait. She sat on a bench, watching the players compete for the number of times they could kick a ball made of deer-skin to a certain height.
A figure withdrew from the alcove at the other end of the courtyard, followed by a monk in robes of brown and gold. They paused at the edge of trees, watching the children run with laughter, and the little ball danced high in the sun-drenched morning air.
The retired-emperor, Goshira Chiten, had come to watch the game. She saw him with his cloak, his shaved pate, his dark, ringed eyes. Beside him, strolling the courtyard, was the stooping, reed-like monk, Kyohara Moro. Suddenly, they were behind her.
“Chiten,” she said, bowing quickly. “You startled me. I didn’t know anyone was watching…”
“This is the royal city,” Goshira said. “Someone’s always watching.”
She glanced at the monk; Moro was a gentle-looking man of above-average height with sloping shoulders and sleepy eyes.He’s the most dangerous one of all, her uncle had told her.The Monk of the Gate. He clasps his hands and prays to the god of compassion, and his emissaries buy more and more land to the west, where rice paddies grow deep in hidden valleys. Be wary of him.
The monk smiled at her with a curling, indecipherable smile, bowed, and said, “I leave you to your privacy,” before turning back and watching the boys who were playing on the field.
“Thank you for responding to my invitation,” Goshira said. “Let us walk.”
They were followed by three of Goshira’s shrouded guards. Known for their fierce devotion and their strengths in the martial arts, the Tessoku had a harsh, but intriguing quality – like monks, they followed silently, alert as mountain cats, soft as shadows. Kai had heard they never removed their veils, for normal mortals were not fit to look upon the emperor in his home. They had the calm, measured movements and easy grace of very dangerous men, and, unlike the current emperor’s servants, the Tessoku were always men. No one knew who they were, where they came from, or what they were capable of; she’d heard them referred to as “Moro’s students”, as “Soldiers of the Inviolable Law”, implying their mastery of some powers or divination developed by the monks.
“I didn’t know where to expect you, Chiten,” she said. “Forgive me.”
“Think nothing of it,” he replied, waving his hand. “I understand you are to leave us again. Heading back to Zusho?”
“There’s nothing for me here,” she admitted. “The stain against us in the capital is too strong. And I’m not… I’m not like Yora. I can’t stand it here.”
“Oh, I understand,” Goshira said. “Perhaps better than you know. Theysay you are a tiger. I say, that famous sword of his, it should belong to you. Only here, you’re a tiger in a cage…”
