Stormdancer

  “I am alone.”

  “There’s hundreds of you. Maybe thousands. You and your ‘family’ are everywhere.”

  “Just because you’re standing in a crowd doesn’t mean you belong there.”

  Buruu glowered at the boy, eyes alight with bloodlust. One flick of his talons and the monkey-child’s life would be spilled over the forest.

  WE SHOULD KILL HIM.

  Yukiko chewed her lip, stared down at the Artificer.

  I’m not so sure …

  WHY NOT? DESPOILER. USURPER. HIS KIND OVERSEE THE RAPE OF SHIMA.

  … I’m not sure he’s like the others. He’s gentle. Kind.

  She pushed a picture into his mind, the image of Kin without his suit, standing on the Child’s prow and laughing in the clean rain. It was almost impossible to imagine that pale, fragile boy as one of the faceless monsters she so despised. Looking into Kin’s eyes, she couldn’t imagine him hurting a lotusfly, let alone lighting a fire under some poor child at the Burning Stones.

  Give me a minute to talk to him.

  YOU DO NOT TELL ME WHAT TO DO.

  I’m not telling. I’m asking.

  She ran one hand down the sleek feathers at his throat.

  Please, Buruu?

  The thunder tiger growled, a bass rumble that made the leaves above and the boy below tremble. But he lowered his claws and stepped back, eyes like arrowslits. His tail whipped from side to side, head cocked, shoulders tense.

  “You’re hurt,” Yukiko said, kneeling beside Kin. Concern welled in her eyes as she looked down at the thick red spilling over his clockwork breastplate. The ruptured mechabacus whirred and clicked in a broken beat, spitting counting beads into Kin’s lap.

  “It’s not blood, it’s only chi.” He reached out as if to touch her, make sure she was real.

  “Why didn’t you tell me, Kin?”

  There was no anger in her voice now, only disappointment. She sheathed the tantō at her back.

  Kin’s hand dropped to his side.

  “I thought you would hate me.” He hung his head. “That you wouldn’t trust me. Besides, being seen in public without our suits is forbidden. It’s a great sin for your kind to see our flesh, for us to risk contamination from the outside world. If anyone found out…”

  “Then why take it off at all?”

  “To feel the wind on my face. To know what it is to be normal. To live like you, if only for a second.”

  Yukiko frowned, ran one hand across her eyes.

  Normal …

  “So you were on the Child’s deck before the crash. What happened?”

  “I couldn’t risk my flesh being seen. I stayed hidden, hoping the deck would clear, but when the lightning hit, the crew were everywhere. I had to wait until they abandoned ship.”

  “Did you see what happened to the lifeboat? My father?”

  He shook his head.

  “By the time I heard the pod detach, I was already below deck getting back into my skin. It was a close thing. I barely made it off before the impact.”

  “So you risked your life rather than be seen by the crew?” Yukiko raised an eyebrow.

  “My chi burners can fly for twenty minutes before they run dry.”

  “But what if you didn’t get into the suit in time? You’d have been incinerated.”

  He shrugged.

  “Being killed in a sky-ship crash would be a mercy compared to my punishment if the Guild found out I’d taken off my skin in public. There are worse things than dying.”

  “Taken off your skin? What do you mean?”

  “That’s what we call it.” He rapped his knuckles on the atmos-suit. “Our skin. The Purifiers say the flesh underneath is only an illusion. Flawed and powerless.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “That’s Guild doctrine,” he shrugged again. “Skin is strong. Flesh is weak.” He touched his forehead with two fingers. “The lotus must bloom.”

  ENOUGH NOISE. STAND ASIDE. I WILL GUT HIM.

  Buruu stepped forward, a low growl building in the back of his throat. Yukiko glared at him over her shoulder, refusing to move.

  We can’t kill him like this.

  AH. YOU WISH TO LET HIM STARVE, THEN. SLOW DEATH. FITTING.

  No, I think we should bring him with us.

  Buruu blinked, cocked his head to one side.

  TO EAT?

  What? No! I mean we should help him.

  … NO.

  Why not?

  DESPOILER. PARASITE. HIS KIND HAVE TORTURED THE SKIES. COUNTLESS BEASTS. COUNTLESS LIVES. ALL FOR GREED.

  If you kill him, you’re no better than them. You’re just another murderer. And if we leave him out here, he’s as good as dead.

  Kin looked back and forth between them, a frown on his face.

  Please, Buruu. Just for a while at least?

  Buruu’s frustration bubbled over in a snarl, but he backed away, finally turning and bounding up a nearby cedar. He nestled among the shadows and glowered down at the Guildsman, claws twitching on the branches. Waiting. Patient as a cat.

  “It’s magnificent.” Kin shook his head, staring at the arashitora.

  “I don’t think he likes you.” Yukiko smiled, apologetic.

  “We didn’t believe they existed. We thought that Yoritomo had finally gone mad, that this quest would end in dismal failure and his public humiliation.” He shook his head. “Imagine his joy when you bring him such a prize.” He looked at her, eyes sparkling. “You will be a goddess. You could ask for anything you wanted, and the Shōgun would grant it.”

  She stood, arms folded, uncomfortable beneath his stare.

  “Can you climb a tree in that suit? It’s probably not safe to sleep on the ground.”

  “I can get into the trees, hai.”

  “We’ll set out at dawn. We’re heading south, toward Yama.”

  “As you wish.”

  “Well … goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Yukiko-chan.”

  She turned and flitted across the undergrowth, climbed up Buruu’s tree and nestled beside him. He closed a protective wing around her. They watched as Kin placed his insectoid helmet back on, twisting buttons and levers at his wrist. The coiled pipes at his back roared to life, spitting bright blue lotus flame, propelling him upward into the branches of an ancient maple. He lay down among the boughs, securing himself with steel cable from a capsule on his thigh. Roses smoldered in his wake, blackened by lotus exhaust.

  Buruu growled, staring at the ring of wilted, ruined blossoms.

  DESPOILER. EVERYTHING THEY TOUCH, THEY DESTROY.

  Yukiko stared at the clockwork silhouette. Intermittent blue sparks spat from ruptured metal. The blood-red rectangle glowed, the eye of some hungry ghost, a winter wolf come down starving from the mountain. She shook her head at the fancy, banishing it from her mind.

  Still, it was a long while before she slept.

  17

  TO BE THE WIND

  The storm raged all night.

  Yukiko only managed a few hours of fitful half-sleep before the groggy morning light pawed its way through the canopy, pushing the sleep from her eyes. She had dreamed again of the green-eyed samurai, adrift on a crimson sea of lotus blossom. He had reached out to touch her lips, sending delighted shivers down her spine. She scowled now at the memory, cursing the stupidity of it all. Stranded in the deep wilderness with an impossible beast and a godsdamned Guildsman, and she was wasting sleep dreaming about boys.

  As she peeled her eyes open, Buruu’s gut was growling, and her own stomach murmured in sympathy. Kin was already awake, standing beneath the sprawling boughs of his maple tree, keeping a safe distance from the thunder tiger. He was trying to bend the torn plates of his skin closed with a hand-wrench, pounding the ruptured pipes with the hilt, sealing them as best he could. The dull clank of metal hitting metal drowned out the sound of the rain. Yukiko foraged around the damp roots below her tree, finding a few small mushrooms. She scoffed down half before
wandering over and offering the rest to Kin.

  “No need,” he buzzed, gesturing to the cluster of pipes and compartments on his back. “It will be several weeks before I run low on nutrients.”

  Yukiko blinked.

  “The suit feeds me intravenously. A complex string of protein and mineral supplements. It is forbidden for us to eat the food of the hadanashi.”

  Yukiko narrowed her eyes at the word.

  “What do you mean ‘hadanashi’?”

  “People without skins.” He shrugged. “People like you.”

  “What’s wrong with people like me?” Yukiko put her hands on her hips.

  “You’re polluted by the lotus. The food you eat, the water you drink. We’re forbidden to come into direct contact with the bloom or anything touched by it.”

  “Look around you,” Yukiko laughed. “There’s no lotus for miles. You can’t even smell it up here. Go on, try some mushrooms.”

  Kin shook his head.

  “It is forbidden.”

  “Well, it’s forbidden to take off your suit and let your face be seen by a hadanashi girl too.” She covered her mouth, feigning shock at the scandal. “But that didn’t stop you on the Thunder Child.”

  WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?

  Shhh.

  YOU ARE TALKING TOO MUCH TO HIM. TALK TO ME.

  Buruu nudged her with his beak, almost knocking her over.

  In a minute!

  Yukiko held out the mushrooms to Kin, nodding encouragement. His sigh was soft and distorted. Peering around out of a ridiculous notion that someone might be watching, he worked the clasps on his helmet. The throat unfolded again, interlocking plates unfurling, a pretty, metallic ballet. The metal made a crisp, grinding sound, as if two blades were rubbing against each other. She heard a dry sucking noise as Kin pulled the helmet off and stowed it under his arm, the lengths of segmented cable spilling from its mouth rasping against each other. He took a mushroom from her outstretched palm and popped it between his teeth, chewing tentatively. He made a face, uncertain, but ate another nonetheless.

  “They taste … odd.” He shook his head.

  “The Iishi’s own recipe,” Yukiko smiled. “Pure as can be.”

  “That’s something at least.”

  “Why is the Guild so afraid of coming into contact with lotus anyway?”

  “It clouds thought. Pollutes consciousness. We must remain untainted. Impartial. So we can govern its use correctly.” He touched his brow again and shrugged. “Skin is strong, flesh is weak.”

  “But you’re fine with the rest of us sucking it down? Becoming tainted by it?”

  “Me?” He blinked at her. “This isn’t me we’re talking about. I don’t make these rules.”

  “But you follow them.”

  “When I have to. We all bow to somebody, Yukiko-chan. Or did you travel up here hunting thunder tigers of your own volition?”

  WHAT ARE YOU TALKING TO HIM ABOUT?

  Shhh. I’ll tell you soon.

  “So you’ve never smoked it? Never touched it?”

  He was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was hesitant, soft.

  “… Only once.”

  He placed the helmet back on, scanning the swaying green, the curtain of rain. His eye was aglow, her reflection crawling on the lens, a distorted scarlet portrait.

  “We’d best be off. Your friend looks hungry.”

  He started clomping through the brush. Yukiko and Buruu followed.

  I DO NOT LIKE HIM.

  Yukiko smiled to herself.

  Are you jealous?

  HE TALKS TOO MUCH. SCREECHING HURTS MY EARS. HIS VOICE SOUNDS LIKE RUTTING MONKEYS. AND HE IS THIN. PASTY.

  You are jealous!

  FOOLISHNESS. I AM ARASHITORA. HE IS HUMAN. WEAK. PUNY.

  Well, good, there’s nothing to be jealous of. He’s just a strange boy. He’s harmless.

  TELL THAT TO THE SPARROWS WHO FALL CHOKING FROM THE SKIES. THE FISH DROWNING IN BLACK RIVERS. TELL IT TO THE BONES OF MY FOREFATHERS.

  Buruu growled, so low and deep that she could feel the vibration in her chest.

  HE AND ALL HIS KIND ARE POISON.

  Yukiko said nothing, and Buruu fell into a sullen and uneasy silence. The trio stumbled on through the downpour, each lost in their own thoughts. Lightning arced overhead, turning the world to brilliant white for split seconds at a time, clear and pure. But the gloom in its wake seemed all the more black for that moment’s clarity, darker than if the light had never been.

  The thunder sounded like laughter.

  * * *

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  Even glazed in red behind the glass of his visor, her flesh illuminated by the occasional sparks bursting from his ruptured skin, she was beautiful. He slowed his pace and fell into step behind her, watched the way she moved through the trees. She was almost soundless, fluid, as if she danced to a tune only she could hear. Untouched by the snags and clawing undergrowth, dodging around the falling leaves; he fancied even the storm was afraid to touch her as she walked between the rain. Just the gentle kiss of the wind on her skin, running its fingers through her hair.

  To be the wind …

  He thought of her beside him on the prow of the Thunder Child, her face alight with joy and wonder. The way she had taken his hand, her flesh on his, the first time he could really remember touching another human being. The way she had spoken to him without fear, even after she knew what he was; the way he imagined regular people spoke to each other every day.

  He found it hard to watch the girl and his footing at the same time, and so he stumbled, clumsy, crashing through the greenery like a drunken shredderman. His boot finally twisted among some roots and he fell, crunching face-first onto the ground. The dead leaves beneath him smoked and smoldered in the shower of sparks from his skin. He looked up and she was standing over him, one hand extended, a small smile on her face. He wrapped his fingers in hers, feeling nothing but the press of his gauntlets against his flesh. His hands were shaking. As she struggled to pull him to his feet, she spoke, and her voice sounded like it came from underwater.

  He didn’t hear a word she said.

  The beast would glare at him occasionally over its shoulder, radiating disdain. When they stopped to rest he would catch it watching him, tail extended and curling upward, and he would feel like something small and furry, making a desperate dash across a wide empty field, the shadow of wings blotting out the sun above.

  So he kept his distance, ten or so feet behind them, and simply watched her move.

  And so he began to notice it.

  Small things at first. The way they changed direction simultaneously, the way the rhythms of their pace were mirrored, one step for another. Around noon, they both came to an abrupt halt for no apparent reason and stood, still as statues for two full minutes. Not a sound passed between them. Not a glance. He hovered, uncertain, as heavy seconds ticked by to the beat of the pouring rain, almost ready to open his mouth and speak when the spell was shattered and they began to walk again as if nothing had happened.

  Once, she looked at the beast and laughed as if it had said something amusing. But it hadn’t breathed a whisper. Not a growl or a purr, let alone something approaching words. Yet she smiled and touched it briefly on the shoulder, and beneath a vague sense of jealousy, an impossible thought took seed in his brain.

  Could it be?

  * * *

  By late afternoon, Kin’s ruptured breastplate was spitting out fingers of blue current with alarming regularity. Yukiko noticed he was having trouble keeping pace, shuffling and stumbling in the undergrowth. Even the eye in his mantis mask seemed to be dimming.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  He started, as if she’d woken him from a daydream.

  “The rain is getting into my skin.” The voice of an angry wasp. “Your friend ruptured the internal seals. The moisture is frying my relays.”

  “Can you fix it?”
r />   Gears sang as he shook his head.

  “My acetylene tank is ruptured. My cutter and welder won’t work.” A metallic sigh. “An Artificer who can’t even fix his own skin. Although I suppose I should be thankful. He would have killed me if I were naked.” He touched his brow, a now familiar gesture. “Skin is strong, flesh is weak.”

  An arc of raw current spilled from the rend above his heart, cascading in a waterfall down his breastplate. It skirted the pipes across his ribs in fingers of bright blue-white.

  WHAT IS HE SAYING?

  His suit is damaged. I think you broke it.

  Buruu flexed his wings, fingers of stuttering voltage spilling off the mutilated feathers.

  HE SHOULD LOOK ELSEWHERE FOR SYMPATHY.

  The mountain stream was a constant babble on their eastward flank, growing gradually wider, white breaks flowing over submerged teeth of smooth river rock. Though drinking did little to ease their gnawing hunger, the water was wonderfully cool compared to the forest’s cloying humidity.

  The plateau began sloping downward, and as they trekked lower, the air grew thicker, the heat more pronounced despite the constant rain. The stream spilled over a short waterfall, forming a large pool in a natural depression of rock. Yukiko waded out up to her waist, sinking below the surface and washing the sweat and grime from her body. Her skin prickled in the delightful chill, and she ran her fingers along her scalp, hair flowing in the water behind her; black silk on sparkling glass.

  Buruu took up watch on an outcropping of rock over the water, tail swishing, muscles coiled tight. Kin wandered the banks, chest occasionally spitting out a plume of bright sparks like a broken strobe light.

  Yukiko sank below the water, felt the current wash over her. Beneath the rippling crystal, she thought of her father, of Akihito and Kasumi, hoping they might have reached safety by now. Resurfacing, she blinked up into the rain, the roiling wall of clouds overhead, clashing like great warships on a black sea. Monsoon thunder rolled down the mountain, echoed across ragged cliff faces, small stones tumbling into the depths.

  She looked at Buruu, watching from the spur of black granite. Kin had wandered off somewhere into the woods.

  The water is good. Come in. Wash off what’s left of that oni blood.