But though they could go months without seeing each other, they were family. They were Pack. The last thunder tigers left in all the world, dwelling in their father’s cradle and living free from the monkey-children and their burning flowers and poisoned skies.
The Others would come occasionally—young bucks mostly, black eyes and blacker feathers, flying from eastern lands to test themselves against the Everstorm’s males. They would fight to the blood, a pseudo-war meant to test each other’s strength. Occasionally, a thunder tiger female would go back with them, to the lands the monkey-children called Morcheba. Yet sometimes it was years between visits—years with none but the storm for company.
This was Buruu’s world. All he’d ever known. Sitting atop the Khan’s aerie now, looking out over the edge, stretching his little wings. Barely a year old, ready to fly for the first time.
His first real memory.
His mother beside him, warm and radiant. His brothers, Esh and Drahk, watching on. And circling above, their father. Mighty Skaa. The greatest arashitora alive. Khan of Everstorm.
Yukiko watched the memories in Buruu’s mind, like a child watching a shadow pantomime. She felt his fear as he looked into the drop yawning at his feet—sharp fangs of black rock and frothing seas filled with hungry sea dragons. She felt him tremble.
You were son of the Khan?
ONE OF THREE.
That makes you a prince …
WE ARE NOT LIKE YOU. RULE IS NOT PASSED, IT IS TAKEN. ANY MAY CHALLENGE. WHO CLAIMS KHAN IS KHAN.
But the Khan is the strongest arashitora alive. And the strongest female will choose him. So his sons will be strong too, right?
STRONG IN SOME WAYS.
Buruu sighed.
WEAK IN OTHERS.
She watched from the cusp of memory as little Buruu pushed his fear down and dropped into the void. The wind snapped like starving wolves, threatening to dash him into the mountainside. The thunder was deafening, the Storm God’s fury almost too much to endure. But he spread his wings wide as his father had told him to do, and he felt the air spirits beneath him, bidding him higher. He beat his wings, felt himself rise, elation and terror spilling out over his limits and filling the air. A roar of triumph. The first roar of their newest packmate.
The pack answered, young and old, thunder bellowing over all. A great day. A proud day. They were so few. Clinging to existence so tenuously, choked almost to extinction by Shima’s poisoned skies. The toxins had ended most of the great yōkai—only those with the means and will to flee had survived the rise of the Lotus Guild. The phoenix had lay down and died of heartache as the skies filled with tar. The dragons had swum north as the oceans turned red.
The thunder tigers had departed at the behest of the last Khan of Shima. But still, they were not many. Even when the Khan’s law ended ritual deathmatches for mating rights, proclaimed it unthinkable for an arashitora to kill another arashitora, they were slow to breed. Any day a cub first took to the wing was a momentous one; one step closer to crawling back from extinction’s brink.
Buruu sailed skyward, pounding the wind with his little wings. He struggled toward the clouds, muscles straining almost to tearing. But at last he drew level, fell into place behind his father, calling out again to the packmates assembled below. Their answer filled him with pride.
The Khan was the last to answer, but also the loudest. And he looked back at Buruu with unveiled pride and the special love a parent always holds for their youngest child.
I am proud of you, he called. My Roahh.
Yukiko frowned, ran her fingers through Buruu’s fur.
“Roahh”?
THAT WAS MY NAME. ONCE. IT MEANS “TRIUMPH” IN OUR TONGUE.
Her voice was soft in his mind. Uncertain.
Would you rather I called you that? The name your father gave you?
Buruu hung his head.
THERE IS NO MEANING IN IT ANYMORE.
She released her hold, stepped away so she could look him in the eye. He saw no judgment, felt no dread in her chest. It didn’t matter to her—the telling of this tale or what he’d done. All that mattered was that he was hers and she was his. Staring through the windows of her soul, he knew she’d forgive him anything. Everything.
Save perhaps if he left her alone again.
The Daimyo’s palace trembled, thunder reminding him of the Earthcrusher’s footsteps, even now trudging toward Kitsune-jō. His sigh was lost beneath the fury overhead.
THE REST WOULD BE BETTER TOLD AS WE FLY. WE MUST TRAVEL SWIFT IF WE ARE TO RETURN FROM EVERSTORM IN TIME. PRESUMING WE RETURN AT ALL.
Elation filled her, a fierce joy that brought tears to her eyes.
You’ll take me with you?
TO THE HELLS AND BACK, IF YOU BID IT.
I should tell Michi and the others. And I should pack. Give me half an hour.
I WOULD GIVE YOU THE SUN AND THE MOON, YUKIKO. I WOULD GIVE YOU UNENDING JOY AND DAYS OF PEACE AND BLUE SKIES TO LAUGH AND SING BENEATH. BUT THESE ARE NOT MINE TO GIVE.
Just give me you. You’re all I need.
YOU HAVE ME. ALWAYS.
Her hug was fierce as monsoon winds. They stood together, his wings folding about her with their broken, insect song, and the storm seemed to hush as if holding its breath. One last quiet moment. One deep inhale before the plunge. He closed his eyes. Felt her warmth, the warmth of the little ones inside her. His family now. His everything.
And then the storm fell again, her arms slipping away from his neck as she turned and dashed back into the palace, hair flowing behind her like black water. And he stood beneath the eaves, watching dark rain spilling in endless falls over the gutters, staining the withered leaves in the garden gray. Raijin’s drums were no comfort. The stormsong, no lullaby. He looked at what lay ahead, what he must do and where he must go.
WHO CLAIMS KHAN IS KHAN.
He blinked up at the clouds, lightning in his eyes.
FATHER, FORGIVE ME.
22
SEVERED
Four figures stood in the shadows of the Daimyo’s dojo.
Suits of teak and bamboo armor lined the walls, an honor guard of hollow warriors with wooden swords. The storm echoing overhead, wind slipping through the windowsills, shivering the circle of lantern light. And there they stood. In this nation of warlords and Shōgun. Of Daimyo and samurai and Lotusmen.
Four women who would change the face of the world.
“I can’t believe this,” Michi whispered. “You can’t leave us now.”
“I have to,” Yukiko said. “There are dozens of arashitora in Everstorm. If Buruu and I can convince them to fight, we can win this war.”
Misaki watched her with narrowed eyes, silver limbs rippling about her shoulders. “And if you cannot convince them? You will have taken our stormdancer and the people’s hope.”
“You have Hana for that.” Yukiko nodded to the girl. “She can be the same figurehead I am.”
“I’m not you, Yukiko,” Hana said. “I’m not a hero.”
“You can be anything you want. Fate deals us our hand, but we decide how to play it. We all of us choose the people we want to be.”
“This is madness,” Michi whispered. “What if the arashitora won’t come with you?”
“She can make them,” Hana said.
Michi raised an eyebrow.
“Kaiah told me about the Razor Isles.” Hana was staring at Yukiko. “You held three sea dragons still with a wave of your hand. You killed men just by looking at them.”
Michi looked at Yukiko in awe. “Gods above…”
“No,” Yukiko said. “I don’t want to make servants of these creatures. If I do, I’m no better than the tyrants marching against us.”
“You may have no choice,” Misaki said. “And at the end of the day, they are animals.”
“They’re more than that. And I won’t be the one who enslaves them. We made this mess. We tore this country to shreds. If they won’t help, we’ll find another way.”
“And what way would that be?”
Silence fell, edged with storm’s teeth.
“The gaijin,” Hana said.
The others turned to look at her. Her eye was glowing in its socket, warm light cast over her impish face, sharpened by a life spent fighting for scraps.
“Piotr said there’s something about me. My eye. Maybe I should get to the bottom of it. The fact I’m half gaijin, this ‘Zryachniye’ thing … maybe it’s something we can use…”
“The gaijin hate us,” Yukiko said. “They’re here to annihilate us. I can’t understand what Piotr is talking about half the time. Who knows what he actually means?”
“I could try talking to him? Maybe something he’ll say will make sense to me.”
Yukiko pursed her lips, brow creased.
“Can’t hurt,” Michi said. “Maybe the gods brought Hana and Piotr together for a reason.”
“Gods?” Yukiko scoffed. “What do they have to do with any of this…”
“Think about it. What are the chances of Akihito finding two gutter-waifs with the Kenning right about the time you find another thunder tiger? What are the odds we’d find ourselves standing here right now?”
“Kitsune looks after his own, Michi. It’s just luck. Blind, stupid luck.”
“In case you’ve forgotten your temple lessons, we have a god for that too,” Michi smiled.
Yukiko licked her lips, finally nodded.
“All right, talk to Piotr. But don’t do anything drastic until we return. It shouldn’t take us more than a week to fly there and back. The Earthcrusher will be on our doorstep by then, but hopefully not ringing the bell.” Yukiko turned to Misaki. “In the meantime, keep trying to get in touch with the other rebels. Maybe they already have people aboard the Earthcrusher.”
Misaki nodded. “Almost certainly.”
“And we need to think about First House. The Guild is throwing everything they have against us. That means their stronghold will be relatively undefended. We can take out their chi reserves when their backs are turned. Starve the Earthcrusher. Flee to the Iishi where they won’t have the fuel to follow. Maybe even kill the First Bloom.”
Michi nodded. “A wolf without a head is just a rug.”
“Michi, stay close to Daimyo Isamu. He’s a grumpy old bastard, but he seems a good man. You speak for me while I’m gone.”
“Hai,” Michi covered her fist and bowed.
“All right.” Yukiko looked among them. “Everyone be careful until I get back.”
Misaki bowed. Michi grabbed Yukiko in a fierce hug, Hana joining in, the trio standing motionless as the world around them shuddered in the storm’s grip.
“You take care of yourself,” Michi whispered.
“You too.”
“Be careful,” Hana said.
“Be brave.”
They held on for a moment longer, there in the shivering light of their little circle, unwilling to let go. But each thunderclap reminded them of great iron legs pounding the earth, drawing closer every moment. And so they parted, slowly, arms falling to their sides, smiles from their lips, quiet tears from their eyes.
And without a sound, Yukiko turned and walked into the dark.
* * *
He was waiting when she returned, slivers of curling cream piled around his feet. Sitting on a bench beneath the eaves, a wooden box in his hands. Buruu was watching him—those big, clumsy-looking fingers wringing elegant beauty from simple pine. His cornrows were fuzzed from the press of his pillow, flecks of sawdust caught in the resin-tipped spikes of his beard.
Yukiko smiled.
“Akihito.”
The big man looked up from his carving, put his knife away and brushed the shavings from his lap. He stood with a wince, one massive hand pressed to the wound that had never properly healed—the sword-blow he’d earned rescuing her father. Never complaining. Never questioning. As loyal as the day was long.
He looked her over, noting the overfull satchels across her shoulders.
“Leaving without saying good-bye, little fox?”
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Where are you going?”
“The Everstorm. Where the arashitora live. I’m going to ask them to help us.”
“Didn’t want to wake me, eh?”
A rueful smile. “Maybe I just didn’t want a lecture about how dangerous it would be. How you’re supposed to be looking after me now my father’s gone.”
“I think we’re past that, little fox.” The big man’s smile was sad. “After Masaru died, I spent every moment trying to get back to you. To make sure you were all right. He would have wanted it that way. But now I find you, I see you don’t need me at all.” A shrug. “I feel a fool for thinking you ever did.”
“Oh, Akihito…”
Yukiko hugged him, pressing her face into his chest. He squeezed her back; one of his terrific, bone-grinding embraces that made her feel enclosed at the center of the world.
“You’re such an idiot,” she murmured. “I’ll always need you.”
“You’re a woman now, little fox. A hero the whole nation looks up to.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t still need my friends. I love you, you big dunce.”
“I love you too.”
She stepped back, looked up into his eyes. “But my father is gone, Akihito. Kasumi too. The whole world is changing, but you’re trying to hold on to the way it was.”
He shrugged. “Other people is who I am. I’ve never been good at being alone.”
“You remember when I was a little girl? You’d visit the bamboo valley when my father came home? You taught Satoru and I how to swim, remember?”
“I remember,” he smiled.
“You’d stand in the middle of the river and get us to paddle out to you. And then you’d catch us in your arms.”
“The water was like glass.” He shook his head. “You could see clear to the bottom…”
“And in the summer after Satoru died, you took me down to the river and stood in the middle and told me to swim out to you. And so I climbed in and started swimming and you kept backing away. And at first I thought it was a game, but you kept backing off and I couldn’t catch you. And I started to cry and I thought I was going to drown. Do you remember what you said?”
“I said, ‘You’re big enough to stand up by yourself now.’”
Yukiko smiled. “And I put down my feet and felt the bottom beneath me, and when I stood, the water only came up to my chin.”
Tears shone in the big man’s eyes, lips pressed tight as he tried to hold them back.
“You’re big enough to stand up by yourself, Akihito,” Yukiko said. “You’ve never needed my father. Or me. Or anyone. If you could see the you that I see…” She shook her head. “You’re the strongest, bravest, kindest man I know.”
He hugged her again, lifting her off the floor in that massive, crushing embrace. Not saying a word. Not even breathing. And then slowly, reluctantly, he put her down and let her go.
“You be careful,” he said.
“Always,” she smiled.
The big man turned to the thunder tiger, watching them both with wide, amber eyes. The beast he’d helped to hunt and bring down, what seemed like a lifetime ago.
“And you look after them, godsdammit.”
Yukiko climbed up onto Buruu’s back. “He promises.”
“See you soon, little fox.”
“Not if we see you first.”
The creak of mighty wings, the roar of metal wind, and they were gone. Akihito looked down at all that remained—a single, snow-white feather lying on the damp boards, hacked in half by a madman’s hands.
He stared at the poisoned rain, the tortured garden. This little fortress men had carved of iron and stone, heedless of the damage they were doing, the lives they were taking, the price they would pay. Not so different from a Shōgun and his katana. This was the bed they’d all made.
He stood in the
dark and watched the rain fall.
23
A THOUSAND RED SUNS
THERE WERE THREE OF US. ESH, DRAHK AND I.
Shima was a muddy speck on the horizon behind, icy winds cutting through the woolens and oilskin Yukiko had wrapped herself inside. They flew above the storm, air so thin each breath was a knife in her throat, the frost leaving bite marks on her cheeks. She pressed herself to Buruu’s warmth—the last fire in a world gone utterly black and cold.
You were the youngest?
YES. DRAHK THE OLDEST. FULL OF PRIDE AND FIRE. I LOOKED UP TO HIM AS IF HE MADE THE DAY BREAK AND THE MOON FALL. ESH THE MIDDLE SON. EVER UNSURE IN DRAHK’S SHADOW. EVER SEEKING TO PROVE HIMSELF.
Yukiko could feel a sadness in him, the same tinge of ashes and red she felt when she thought of her own brother. She could tell they were dead by the way Buruu spoke, and she hugged him fiercely, pouring into him with all the love she could muster. It was a long time before she could form the thought burning in her mind.
What happened to them?
Buruu sighed, eyes narrowed against the piercing wind.
WE GREW. HUNTING AND BRAWLING AS BROTHERS DO. ALL KHAN-SONS, EAGER TO PROVE OURSELVES. WE WERE NEVER HAPPIER THAN WHEN THE OTHERS CAME TO US FROM MORCHEBA; YOUNG BUCKS FLYING WESTWARD, FEATHER AND FUR AS BLACK AS NIGHT.
They came to fight you?
ONLY TO FIRST BLOOD. TESTING EACH OTHER. ARASHITORA DID NOT KILL OTHER ARASHITORA, AND IN OUR EYES, THEY WERE STILL CHILDREN OF RAIJIN. THE MORCHEBANS HAD HUNTED THEM FOR THEIR SKINS UNTIL ONLY A FEW PACKS REMAINED. WE WERE ALL BROTHERS ON THAT BRINK OF EXTINCTION.
So what happened?
She saw an image in his mind’s eye; a great, blood-red ocean, muddied by the perpetual storm overhead. A spire of gleaming obsidian rose out of the seething spray, flat-topped, like a nail piercing the ocean’s face. She could see its name in Buruu’s mind; the Bloodstone. Here the young bucks would meet, black and white, in summer when the tempest calmed and the hunger of the first sea dragons rose closest to surface. Their children would swarm in the oceans, thrashing through churning foam with long tails of glittering silver. The young arashitora males would gather and clash, their blood falling with the rain and driving the dragons to frenzy.