Smoke in the Sun

  Mariko blanched. Pain flashed across her features. “He is dead?”

  “Yes.” Raiden swallowed around the sudden knot in his throat.

  “If it helps you, I accept the blame,” Mariko said sadly. “I will gladly die for it.”

  “If you die, it won’t be for that. It will be because you were in league with the Black Clan, as Roku always suspected.” Another spark of fury rippled through Raiden’s chest. “You’ve been in love with Takeda Ranmaru all along.”

  “Yes.”

  “You do not deny it.”

  “I have no wish to deny it. What purpose would that serve?” Mariko met his gaze. “Now that Ōkami has begun to understand who he truly is—who he might one day become—he will be a fine leader. Just like you would be, too.”

  The bluntness of her words unseated Raiden. Made him lose focus. “Enough of your poison.”

  “It is not poison, Raiden. It is the truth.” Mariko reached for the chipped vessel of water beside her feet. Then—without warning—she hurled it at the stone wall behind her.

  It chipped further. But it did not break.

  “Do you know why that silly piece of pottery managed to survive?” Mariko asked.

  “Because you did not throw it hard enough.”

  “No.” She sighed. “In order for it to be hard enough to survive, it had to become strong. It had to be stepped on as clay. Shaped beneath the dutiful hand of a potter. And after all that, it had to live through a fire.”

  Raiden listened to her speak, his gaze piercing.

  Mariko continued. “You have lived through fire, Minamoto Raiden. You are stronger than you know. Everyone sees it but you.”

  “You are mistaken.” Even to Raiden’s ears, his voice sounded uncertain. But he refused to allow this girl to seed even one more wild notion in his mind. So he spoke his barest truth. “I have no desire to rule this empire.”

  Her smile curved upward sadly. “Which is exactly why you should.”

  Raiden was startled from a troubled slumber at daybreak. Outside his chamber stood the two soldiers from the night prior, as well as Lord Shimazu. Their features were tight with worry. Wordlessly, Raiden followed them to the Lotus Pavilion.

  Roku was seated on the floor of his mother’s chamber, burning pages of used washi paper above the flame of an oil lantern. His eyes were bloodshot. His lips were cracked. After Raiden took in the sight, he turned to face the other men.

  “We are worried he will set himself aflame, my lord,” Lord Shimazu said in a barely audible tone.

  Roku muttered something to himself. But he did not break away from his task.

  After a moment of consideration, Raiden spoke. “Bring pails of water. Keep them just outside the chamber. Stand watch over him.” With that, he drew the doors partially closed.

  As Raiden began walking from the Lotus Pavilion, a voice at his back halted him in his tracks.

  “What do we do about the looters, my lord?” Lord Shimazu wrung his hands, distress forming creases around his mouth. “We are no longer able to bring supplies into the city. Soon the creatures will be at the very gates of the castle. We can no longer afford to be idle.”

  Raiden stared at Lord Shimazu. It should not be his decision. It was not his responsibility. But if he left everything to his brother, the entire city would fall to ruin. There were not many options left to them. If they’d only sent word for their vassals from the east to rally toward them, perhaps something could be done about the situation. But now?

  It seemed their most distasteful choice had become Raiden’s only option. The force Takeda Ranmaru commanded remained on the outskirts of the city, awaiting a signal fire along the ramparts of Heian Castle.

  If Raiden did this and worked alongside the son of Takeda Shingen to restore order to Inako, Roku might kill him. He’d never before considered it possible. But his brother was not the same boy who’d hidden sweets in his sleeve and participated in archery drills with Raiden, even when he’d been too small to wield a bow.

  Those days had passed. And if Raiden ever wished for there to be more—for his city to survive this scourge—it was time for him to worry less about what might happen to him and focus more on the people wailing at the gates.

  His people.

  “Lord Shimazu, I want you to gather two of your most trusted samurai,” Raiden directed. “Tell them to meet me on the ramparts of Heian Castle.”

  “Then you intend to—”

  “Do as you are told, Lord Shimazu. I will listen to any question—any grievance you have—later today.”

  Lord Shimazu bowed low. “My sovereign.”

  Raiden frowned. “I am not your sovereign, Lord Shimazu. It is treason for you to suggest otherwise.”

  “Of course.” Lord Shimazu bowed again. “I spoke in error. My deepest apologies.”

  But Raiden could not ignore the relief that passed across Lord Shimazu’s features.

  The same relief he felt in his soul.

  Kanako floated in her sleep, fending off her exhaustion. She’d been far too tired to venture from her chambers today, though she wished to seek out Raiden. She made inquiries as to his whereabouts—even sent her swallow to trail after him—but her son was too occupied trying to protect the ransacked imperial city. The same city Kanako had filled this morning with her remaining “distractions.” The poor souls—the innocent, the elderly, the infirm—that would serve to unbridle Roku’s imperial soldiers. Cause them to lose focus.

  They were so close. Kanako was so close to achieving her goals.

  Earlier today, she had asked her little swallow—her tiniest spy—to flutter around the castle, eavesdropping as it always had, even for Masaru. It returned to tell her that Roku had murdered his most senior advisor in cold blood. The nobility was on the cusp of rebelling against him.

  And Raiden was fast becoming a source of strength for all of them.

  Unbridled joy took hold of Kanako’s heart, even as she struggled to deny the toll of her efforts. All else was proceeding according to plan. The many bands of looters she’d sent into Inako continued wreaking their havoc. The distractions were already creating even more sources of discord within the imperial ranks.

  But Kanako still struggled to regain her strength. These tasks were far more taxing than she’d thought they would be. Her food sat beside her untouched. But it did not matter. Soon her son would have all that she’d dreamed for him. She only needed to continue her efforts a short while longer.

  Never mind that it might cause irrevocable damage to her health.

  Never mind that she struggled to control the last band of looters she’d sent into Hanami.

  Everything worthwhile in life came with a sacrifice.

  And Death always collected its due.

  Bitter Relief

  I fear the only way to stop them is to kill them all,” Tsuneoki said, his face smeared with blood and soot.

  “You can’t kill them all,” Yumi argued. “They are not of their right minds.” While she spoke, she tucked her daggers into their sheaths. “The best we can do is hope to immobilize them.”

  “I don’t think their right minds matter as long as they continue murdering indiscriminately,” Ōkami said. “But Yumi is right. Some of them are elderly. I saw at least five of these desperate creatures who could be no more than ten years of age. Children.” His expression turned grim. “We cannot kill them.”

  “Of course not,” Haruki said as he struck the soot from his kosode. It swelled around him like a dark cloud, but he did not seem troubled by it. As a metalsmith, he often worked around burning things.

  Smoke from the fires in the Iwakura ward continued billowing all around them, blocking out the light of the sun. Many people had fled the city. The vassals Minamoto Raiden had requested from the east were dispatched two days ago, but most of them had yet to arrive. And the maddened creatures set on destroying the imperial city appeared to be endless in quantity. It was impossible to know where they came from. Where they
meant to go next.

  Or how to stop them.

  Despite these many hindrances, the men marching beneath the banner of the Black Clan—four diamonds inspired by the crest of the Toyotomi clan—managed to secure the Iwakura ward and another smaller ward beside it. They barricaded the streets with broken furniture and started strategic fires to prevent the creatures from encroaching once more on the fortified space.

  Ōkami mopped the sweat from his brow. Soon the men would need to rally and reassemble. There was far more work to be done.

  “We will move along to the next ward in two hours,” Ōkami directed. “Tell the men not posted along the barricades to rest. Take in some nourishment. It will be a long night.”

  “My lord,” Yumi said with a bow. She swung into the saddle of a waiting stallion and dug her heels into its side.

  “If I’d only known enough to put a stop to this,” Tsuneoki said in a rueful tone as he watched his sister gallop away. “She deserves better than a bloody battlefield.”

  “Who are you to decide what she deserves?” Ōkami eyed him sidelong. “If you’d tried to stop her, you would have failed. And it would have been glorious to behold.”

  Haruki laughed softly.

  Before Tsuneoki could retort, a rider emerged from the rising smoke, racing toward them at full speed. Shock flared through Ōkami when he recognized the insignia emblazoned on the samurai’s armor. Hattori Kenshin did not wait for his horse to stop before dismounting. “Prince Raiden requests an audience with you.” His chest heaved as he spoke. “The fighting around the castle has gotten worse. We need your help.”

  Ōkami pushed through the fleeing crowds, trying his best to keep his horse calm. Panic had driven the wealthiest members of the city to throw items of value in carts, wheelbarrows. There was no thought to their movements. Only terror.

  It was a risk, coming here. Ōkami saw the look on Tsuneoki’s face when Hattori Kenshin had asked.

  If he rode to meet the son of Minamoto Masaru, death would be sure to follow. The last time a member of the Minamoto clan had met with the head of the Takeda clan, Ōkami’s father was bound in chains and ordered to take his own life.

  But there had been many opportunities in the last few days for Ōkami to shy away from his responsibilities. He refused to allow his fear of Prince Raiden’s fury to take control of him.

  Especially when the son of Minamoto Masaru had much to fear as well.

  When Ōkami arrived at the post nearest to the castle—an odd settlement of makeshift tents with weapons strewn about in haphazard piles—he was surprised further by Hattori Kenshin’s behavior. His awkward deference. Once Ōkami had dismounted, Kenshin bowed quickly, granting Ōkami the immediate position of authority. Only days before, the Dragon of Kai had taunted him from his cell. Then offered him the means to free himself. Perhaps this was how Minamoto Raiden intended to lure Ōkami to his demise. By sending along someone he thought Ōkami might trust.

  Kenshin paused just outside the largest tent, the canvas flaps at the entrance fluttering in a sooty breeze.

  “You will need to leave your blades here, Lord Takeda,” Kenshin said.

  “No,” Ōkami replied without the slightest hesitation. “I will not.”

  Kenshin sighed. “Mariko said you—”

  “Is Mariko here?” Ōkami wrapped a hand around the hilt of his katana.

  Kenshin shook his head, a worrisome look passing across his features. “No. She is not.” He narrowed his eyes. “It is one of the reasons I have requested your blades.”

  The Dragon of Kai was deliberately concealing something from Ōkami, which raised his suspicions even further. “Where is Mariko?”

  “Prince Raiden will tell you.”

  “You are not accompanying me?”

  “I have a task to which I must attend,” Kenshin said. He frowned, then dipped his head in a bow. “I will ask once more for you to relinquish your weapons.”

  “And I will refuse a final time.”

  Kenshin sighed, then pushed open the flap of the tent. After the Dragon of Kai had departed, Ōkami stepped into a round room filled with the smell of iron and ash.

  The prince hovered over a map in its center, marking through territory and listening to a frazzled runner offer updates. As soon as the flap fell, Raiden glanced up at Ōkami. It was difficult for Ōkami to miss the flash of emotion that passed across Raiden’s features. Difficult to identify its source. A knot pulled tightly in Ōkami’s chest. A fear he did not wish to dwell upon. His memories were awash with the pain of their last encounter. It was a strange feeling for Ōkami. To hate someone with such fire and know all at once that his death would bring Ōkami no solace. That—in order for them to survive—his hatred would need to become a thing of the past.

  Perhaps this was what the son of Minamoto Masaru wrestled with in his own heart, too.

  “You requested my presence,” Ōkami said to Raiden. He did not bow. His right hand remained on the hilt of his katana. A fact which did not go unnoticed by the prince.

  “My runners tell me you’ve successfully secured the Iwakura ward,” Raiden began without preamble.

  “We have,” Ōkami said. The sound of Raiden’s voice caused the rage to simmer beneath his skin. The memories were still too sharp.

  But Ōkami would not flinch. Nor would he succumb.

  Raiden stared at him. For a moment, he seemed to falter. As though he, too, was at a loss for how to behave in Ōkami’s presence. “Do you have any suggestions for how we can bring about the same outcome in the rest of the city?” the prince asked. “What directives did you pass along to your men? I’ve tried to move about in a grid pattern, but as soon as I gain a foothold in one, I lose it in another.”

  Ōkami inhaled slowly to allow the ghost of his pain to break free. “We barricaded the main streets. Took the furniture from any homes there and piled them up until they were twice as high as a warrior. The people of the Iwakura ward assisted us.”

  “How did you rally them to help you?”

  “We asked.” Ōkami almost smiled. “Well, Tsuneoki asked. The people there would follow him anywhere.”

  A flicker of irritation passed across the prince’s features. “I’ve heard the same said about you.”

  Ōkami did not respond.

  Lines of consternation formed above Raiden’s brow. He looked down at the map of the city spread on the table before him. “I don’t know that we can ask our people to help,” he admitted quietly. “We’ve failed them in so many ways.”

  Ōkami considered the prince for a time. Despite the image Prince Raiden wished to convey—one of unwavering strength—it was interesting to witness him struggle in so open a fashion. Ōkami would not have expected the prince to divulge any weaknesses before him.

  “Begin with the nobility,” Ōkami said. “Ask them to set the example of helping to secure the streets. Demand that they rally under your watch instead of only fighting to preserve the things they value.”

  Raiden nodded. “It’s a good idea.”

  “It is not mine alone.” Ōkami paused. “It helps to have friends at my back.”

  “I envy you your friends, Lord Ranmaruo.”

  Ōkami’s eyes narrowed at the edges. As though the use of his given name had rekindled his anger. “Where is your wife?”

  Raiden looked away. As though he were steeling himself.

  Alarm flared through Ōkami. “Where is Mariko?”

  “After she helped deliver your message, Roku ordered her to be placed beneath the castle.”

  It took Ōkami a moment to process this truth. Then—without warning—his rage overtook him. He unsheathed his katana with a rasp. “Why have you not set her free?”

  Raiden looked at the blade brandished before him. A sadness tugged at his lips. “Because I was afraid of what my brother would to do me. What he might do to her.”

  “Be afraid of what I might do to you instead.”

  “You would not be wrong to seek vengeance.?
?? Raiden winced. “My family has wronged yours in many ways.” He took a deep breath, then bowed. “One day, I hope to ask for your forgiveness.”

  Ōkami clutched the hilt of his katana as confusion swarmed through his veins. “Forgiveness is not a thing granted. It is a thing earned.” It was a phrase his father often used.

  Its truth appeared to resonate with Raiden. He crouched before the table and removed an item concealed in its shadow. When he pulled back a length of muslin, the edge ofan ivory and gold samegawa came into view.

  “This belongs to you,” Raiden said. He held up the sword, offering it to Ōkami with a curt bow.

  Ōkami sheathed the blade he’d brandished in a threat only a moment before. Then he wrapped a hand around the hilt of his father’s sword. The Fūrinkazan seemed to warm at his touch. The next instant, Raiden reached into his sleeve and removed an iron ring containing several keys.

  “Follow me,” Raiden said. “It is time we right another wrong.”

  Raiden unlocked Mariko’s cell, his mind awash with thoughts. His recent exchange with Takeda Ranmaru had caused him a great deal of discomfort. It did not sit well with him to admit his faults. But their exchange also gave him a glimpse of what could be. A future in which Raiden relied upon the opinions of others. Saw the strength in consultation.

  This feeling of possibility had begun with Mariko. It formed in the wake of her many admonitions. And he allowed his brother to imprison her. Threaten her.

  He was not a husband to her. Much less a friend.

  After the bars swung open, Mariko rose to her feet. Shock etched across her features.

  Raiden could well understand her surprise.

  Before her stood the boy she married. Next to him waited the man she loved.

  It should have angered Raiden to know these things. Instead he felt a sense of calm. Of rightness, even in the face of so much uncertainty.

  Mariko stood still. Takeda Ranmaru moved toward her, catching her in an embrace. Taking her hand in his. Making it clear to Raiden that he would not accept even a hint of challenge by her husband.