Page 11

Chapter 11

Kaneko

S oga, broad-shouldered and steady, carried himself like the son of a Samurai.

Niiro, the youngest among us, fidgeted, shifting her weight from foot to foot. She was small, wiry, and often underestimated.

The pair stood to my right, the three of us looking more like farm hands ready for a day in the field than participants in a gods’ blessed Trial being overseen by the Emperor himself.

Yoshi, arriving after us and taking his place on my left, looked every bit the Daimyo ’s son in his crimson kimono and dark gray trousers. Even his sandals, made of fine leather rather than the straw footwear the rest of us wore, set him apart as a noble among commoners. I’d become so used to the differences between us I barely glanced at him as he stepped up to the line. The others, however, looked around me and gaped as they took in the finery he wore to the Emperor’s ritual.

The Grand Minister, Dai Shogun , Yoshi’s Daimyo father, and several other leaders of the Empire stood on a hastily raised dais. The throne on which the Emperor sat the night before stood empty one level up from the court and honored guests. Golden banners affixed to poles mounted at each corner of the platform and bearing the Imperial Lord’s gold and white chrysanthemum glowed beneath a brilliant sun, whipping in the stiff ocean breeze that caressed the northern tip of our island. Beyond their cracks and snaps, no one dared break the tension whose silence loomed over us all like a cloak of the thickest hide.

Behind the four participants stood a host of family members and other citizens of Tooi, each eager to see what a Trial at the hand of their Divine Imperial Majesty might bring. Each of us had seen Trials before. The castle’s sake stores usually required resupply following the event, as wagering men drank their way through five days of gambling and forestalled work in fields, on docks, or in shops.

But everyone was sober that day.

A few were eager, though most stood in anxious anticipation. Yoshi was a stone in the center of a stream, smooth and unmoving, unconcerned about the white-capped turmoil thrashing around him. Soga looked like he might soil his trousers at any moment, and Niiro simply stared forward, her eyes unblinking, her breath slow and measured. But as calm as she tried to portray herself, I caught her eyes darting and fingers fidgeting.

I wanted to vomit right there in front of the gods and everyone.

In the midst of our life-altering contest before the mortal representative of Heaven, I couldn’t stop thinking about Yoshi’s words the night before. His eyes held such, I don’t know, passion? Was that the right word? And when his fingers touched my cheek, I thought my skin might burst into flames beneath his touch. It wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, it might have been the most comforting thing I’d felt in, well, forever. Still, the intimacy of that moment stirred things within me I’d never dreamed—or wanted. Did I want them now? Did I crave such closeness?

Yoshi was my friend, my brother, my lifelong companion.

If we crossed the line from kinship to whatever we might become, would we grow closer, or would we be driven apart? I would never risk our friendship, not for anything, not even for the hope of something more.

Would I?

My head swam as my heart drowned.

How was I supposed to focus on the Trial, the once-in-a-lifetime event to discover who I was and who I would become, when all my mind could latch onto was the boy standing beside me. Gods, I wanted to take his hand in mine, to twine our fingers and draw strength from his warmth. I wanted to do this damned Trial together, to show everyone how strong Yoshi and I could be if we were allowed to . . . if we could . . .

Oh, gods.

What did I want? What was I thinking? How could any of this be happening after so many years of companionship? I was practically part of the Daimyo ’s family. We were as good as brothers. Could I risk that for . . . for what?

A gong sounded, and I nearly shat myself right there in front of the Empire’s leaders.

All eyes snapped to the throne as Emperor Takashi stepped around. The Divine Lord didn’t just wear a golden kimono ; he wore one whose fabric flowed with many shades of interwoven gold, giving the pattern depth and texture—and life. Dear gods, the images, scenes of dragons and landscapes, shifted and moved as the Emperor strode forward. Magically enchanted, the dragon’s head rose and roared, though no sound came from the tunic.

I couldn’t look away. It was majestic and terrifying all at once.

Then a shadow passed overhead, and the people of Tooi craned to look skyward. The sun reflected off Nawa’s scales, forcing us to shield our eyes. In a heartbeat, the massive beast descended to land with a frightening thud near the platform, kicking up dust and debris with a final flap of her wings.

The Emperor settled onto his throne, then locked eyes with Nawa. A brief, rare smile parted His Imperial Majesty’s lips, as though his bond mate had whispered some jest or endearing welcome.

The gong sounded again.

“This is a day of great import,” the Grand Minister intoned. “The future of the Mugen Empire stands on the edge of the abyss. Its fate rests of the shoulders of our youth. Those who pass through the Trial of Five Virtues will soon guide the path upon which each of us walks. Only those worthy of the gods’ blessing shall pass from youth into adulthood.”

Only those worthy . . . pass into adulthood? What the hell? That sounded like a threat of execution rather than a pass-fail exam that generally led to a drunken blackout.

“The first virtue to be tested is Honor.”

A ripple traveled through the crowd. Most expected bouts of swordplay or grappling, but honor?

“The Trial of Honor is not one of strength or wit, but of integrity. It is not enough to do what is expedient—you must do what is right. Today, together, you must decide the fate of a man accused of theft.”

Several of the Imperial guards stepped aside as a pair of hulking constables dragged a shackled man forward and tossed him onto the dirt between the dais and our line. The guards then formed a wall of steel between the Emperor’s throne and the rest of us. The accused bore no bruises, yet his face held the resignation of one who had not seen the sun in days, perhaps longer.

“There are no simple answers. Only the weight of judgment. His Imperial Majesty will observe and issue his divine judgement on your verdict.”

The breeze kicked up, sending the banners whipping, billowing the kimonos of those on the platform. For the briefest moment, it felt as though the gods themselves might settle into the courtyard.

“Begin.”

No one moved.

Those on the dais stared.

Those behind us shifted, as though unsure whether they should speak or remain silent.

I had no idea what we were beginning or how to go about beginning it.

Yoshi took a step forward, his gaze settling on the Grand Minister, then he bowed deeply.

“Grand Minister of State, may we question the accused?”

The Minister nodded slowly.

“May we seek counsel from the court?”

The Minister cocked his head, then turned to the Emperor. Takashi thought a moment, then whispered to his Minister.

“The court may offer facts but not advice.”

Yoshi bowed again, then stepped back, turning so his shoulder faced the Emperor, careful never to show our Imperial Lord his back. “We should interrogate the prisoner first, discover his crime and the circumstances surrounding it.”

“I say we beat him until he admits his guilt.” Soga flexed his beefy arms, still crossed over his equally muscular chest. “Worthless thieves don’t deserve our time.”

Niiro grimaced and didn’t look back at Soga, turning instead toward Yoshi. “Yoshi- san ,” she said, bowing. “We should speak with the constables first, learn the accusation and whatever evidence they possess. Only then should we speak with the accused.”

Huh. A smart blacksmith’s daughter. I’d known the girl since before I could walk and never knew her to be outspoken—or intelligent. Then again, I’d never really noticed her.

Before I could speak, Yoshi looked at me. “Kaneko? What do you think?”

It was strange, seeing Yoshi assume the mantle of leadership. Sure, he was the Daimyo ’s son. We all knew that. But the Yoshi I knew as well as anyone in the Empire was unassuming and humble, to the point of meek. He hated speaking in groups or spending time surrounded by courtiers. I’d teased him for years about his need to become a better social player in the grand game of politics. He’d practically wilted each time I raised the topic.

And yet, as I thought about it, Yoshi’s willingness to step forward wasn’t all that out of character. He might’ve been shy in many situations, but when there was trouble or some dispute or if someone needed help, he was the first to race toward a fire. I was stronger, faster, and a hell of a lot more coordinated than my friend, but he was the one I wanted watching my back when the storm grew angry. He was the one I knew would never give up on me, no matter how dire and dark the skies grew.

And I knew he would never give up on his people, either.

That was a good thing, too, because moral dilemmas were not my forte. I was more of a blunt instrument kind of guy. I needed Yoshi to help get me through this first Trial so I could make it to the “beat your neighbor bloody” portion of the contest.

I inclined my head toward Yoshi. “I will respect the word of the Nagao .”

Yoshi’s eyes narrowed at my use of his formal title. I stared a moment longer than was likely wise, but I wanted to communicate clearly: This is your Trial. I will follow where you lead. Help me, Yosh.

I really hoped he understood the “help me” part.

I was a drowning man in the midst of a swirling sea.

Yoshi nodded once, his decision made, then turned to Niiro. “You will question the constables. Soga, guard the prisoner. Kaneko, you and I will watch and offer counsel to Niiro.”

For the briefest moment, I expected Soga to object, but the larger boy merely shrugged and bowed toward Yoshi, then took up a position near the still-cowed man, his bokken drawn and ready. In the hands of any of the rest of us, the wooden sword would’ve been laughable. In Soga’s palms, it was every bit as threatening as if it shone with a steel blade.

“Honored kebiishi .” Niiro stepped past the prisoner to stand before the constables, offering a quarter bow of perfectly appropriate respect. “What can you tell us of this man’s crime?”

The kebiishi standing closest returned her bow. “This man stole rice from a storehouse, thus stealing from every citizen of Tooi. He was seen leaving under the cover of darkness. The farmer whose land he violated demands justice.”

Niiro thought a moment, then asked, “Was this man seen stealing the rice?”

The officer shook his head. “He was seen leaving the storehouse.”

“Was he carrying rice?”

Again, the man shook his head. “No, Niiro- san .”

She cocked her head. “If he was not carrying rice and was not seen taking any, how does the farmer know this man is to blame? How are we to know rice is even missing?”

The kebiishi shrugged. “He admitted his crime.”

A wave of chatter spread through the crowd, quieting only when the Grand Minister slammed the butt of his cane into the wooden planks of the dais.

Yoshi stepped up beside Niiro. “What did this man say in his confession?”

Before the constable could answer, Niiro held up a slender hand. “We should hear this from the man himself, not his accusers.”

Yoshi nodded. “You are right, Niiro- san . Excellent point.”

Soga stomped forward, every inch a bull raging against its collar. “This is ridiculous. He should be executed or have his hand removed. Justice must be swift. Have done with this.”

“No!” Yoshi said, his word carrying the weight of his father’s voice. “By the gods, every man deserves justice, even one accused of stealing from his own people.”

“One who admitted to stealing, you mean,” Soga snarled.

“Yes, even one who admitted as much.” Yoshi lowered his voice and nodded. To the constables, he asked, “Is there any additional information, including anything we may not have asked, that would aid us in achieving a just verdict?”

The constables shared another glance, then the one to whom we’d spoken said, “No, Yoshi- san , we have told you all we know. This man did not struggle or resist. He simply gave himself over to our custody. He has been peaceful and compliant.”

Yoshi scratched his chin and stared down at the accused, then he surprised the assembled crowd by kneeling down beside the man and placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Tell us what happened. I promise you will receive the Divine Emperor’s justice.”

The man lifted his head and stared at Yoshi as though seeing him for the first time. Tears moistened his cheeks and glistened in his eyes. When he spoke, his voice cracked, though whether from thirst or fear, I could not tell.

“My daughter is dying,” the man said, his voice raspy. “Our stores are bare, though I toil daily in the farmer’s field. His harvest . . . it was a pitiful thing. I only took enough to keep my girl alive. She is so very small . . .”

His voice trailed off, and an eerie silence fell over those gathered to watch the spectacle.

“There,” Soga barked, pointing an accusing finger at the prostrated man. “He admits his theft. I say we take his hand. The Emperor’s law must be respected.”

“Does the Emperor not also teach compassion?” Niiro asked.

Soga scoffed.

“He does, as does my father.” Yoshi looked up at Niiro and nodded. Returning his gaze to the man, he asked, “Do you have anything else to say? What would you have us do?”

“Asking the accused—?” Soga spat, but Yoshi’s raised palm silenced whatever he was about to say.

The man looked from Soga to Yoshi, then said, “I ask for mercy, not for myself but for my child. She is all I have, and I am . . . I am everything to her.”

Yoshi stood and smoothed out his kimono , then stepped from the man to stand before Soga and me. Niiro joined him, forming a tight circle.

“What do you think?” Yoshi whispered. “Ideas other than beheading, please.”

Niiro snorted, her eyes flicking to Soga then back to Yoshi so fast I doubted the others caught the motion. She bobbed her head toward Yoshi and said, “Soga is right. We cannot let this go unpunished.”

The brawny boy puffed out his chest. “Exactly!”

“But we must also show restraint,” Niiro went on.

Yoshi stared, waiting, then prodded, “What sort of restraint? What do you suggest?”

“If we take his hand, he will struggle in the fields. This will require Tooi to support him, exacting a punishment on all of the people rather than only the individual.”

Interesting point. Niiro was proving to be quite the thinker. I made a mental note to watch her over the coming days of the Trial.

Yoshi waited. When she spoke no more, he turned to me. “Kaneko- san , you remain silent. What say you?”

We stood before the Emperor and his court—and indeed, most of our village—and yet, the formality of Yoshi’s words stung worse than a slap across the face. It was ridiculous, being taken aback by simple words, but from Yoshi . . .

I was being ridiculous. There were far more important matters before us than my fluttering heart.

Oh, gods.

My heart fluttered at Yoshi’s voice. At his glance, it galloped like a stallion free of its bridle. What was happening? Why was—?

“Kaneko?” Yoshi’s face held concern. “Are you well?”

“Uh, yeah, yes. Sorry. I was thinking.”

“How’d that work out?” Soga snarked.

A few behind us snickered, but neither Yoshi nor Niiro flinched. In fact, Niiro looked more annoyed by the boy’s humor than amused by it.

“I—well, Niiro is right about punishing the village if we take his hand. He would also be a burden rather than an asset should Tooi need to defend herself. By cutting off his hand, we cut off another sword in battle.”

Yoshi nodded thoughtfully. “So, what do you recommend?”

I sucked in a long breath, then let it out. Gods, I needed to hit something. All this thinking, pondering, mulling was giving my head a throbbing worse than when the storms raged against cliffs.

“He should be required to pay back what he stole, through his labor if necessary,” I said, hoping Yoshi would turn to the others next.

He didn’t.

“And does this deter others from theft? Does this deter this man or merely offer him a lifetime of servitude, which I believe he already enjoys?”

Enjoys? That word tasted bitter on my tongue. By the look in Yoshi’s eyes, he tasted it, too.

“If his words are true, his daughter is ill. If he steals again, justice will come as sharpened steel,” I said, patting my bokken as though it was a real sword. A few of the nearby soldiers grunted in amusement.

“And others?” Yoshi asked.

“Others?” I parroted. Niiro’s and Soga’s brows furrowed, bafflement finding purchase in their minds, as it had in mine.

Yoshi stepped back from us and spoke in a loud, clear voice, more for those assembled than our small jury.

“What of others in our land who hunger? What of the children who grow weak because the harvest was thin? What of those who do not live in castles or stride beneath banners bearing symbols of their han ? What are we to do with them?”

“This Trial is about one man,” the Grand Minister interrupted.

Yoshi spun, remaining erect long enough to remember to bow deeply, though not as deeply as he’d done earlier.

“Honored Grand Minister, with respect, the law is never only about one man. It binds us all, not merely to it, but to each other. Therefore, when we rule on any one of us, we rule on all of us.”

The Grand Minister scowled, but before he could speak, the Emperor leaned forward. Nawa, who’d been resting to the side with her eyes barely opened, now stared intently. With a flick of the Emperor’s hand, the Grand Minister announced, “His Imperial Majesty would hear more. Continue.”

Yoshi dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead and palms to the dirt. “Son of Heaven, we are all your children, flawed and weak but striving to live in your light. This man is no less flawed than the greatest among us.”

“Then what would you have done?” the Grand Minister asked, derision dripping from his lips. “Rise, and give His Divine Majesty your judgement.”

Yoshi stood, brushed himself clean, then glanced back. Niiro and I nodded, urging him to speak. Soga glared.

“Imperial Majesty,” Yoshi said, turning back toward the Grand Minister, but speaking to the Emperor. “The accused will work for one year as punishment and recompense for his crime. During that time, the farmer must feed and clothe him and his daughter and must provide them a place to live but is not required to pay his former stipend during this period. Should the man violate the law again, he will be banished, given a small raft and set adrift for Hoderi, god of seas, to judge.”

Yoshi paused only a moment.

“Further, from this day hence, every farmer will set aside one-tenth of their harvest, under the Daimyo ’s supervision, to be used to feed those who hunger and to guard against future storms and weak harvests. In this, we secure the welfare of all.”

Gasps flowed through the crowd, and the Dai Shogun scoffed openly. The Grand Minister covered his mouth and scowled.

Nawa’s head rose from the ground, silencing everyone.

Then the Emperor stood.

“You would set a new precedent, make a new law?” Takashi asked, his voice a neutral mask that scared me more than if I’d heard unbridled anger.

Yoshi’s head looked like he sought to burrow it beneath the ground.

“I would, Your Majesty.”

“Why?” the Emperor asked.

“Because . . . because Honor is not only about justice. It is about doing what is right.”

Takashi stared down at Yoshi, and a smile formed on his lips. Without a word, he turned and nodded to the Grand Minister, then again sat on his throne.

“Judgement is rendered,” the Grand Minister announced, though he did not sound pleased about the words leaving his mouth. “This Trial is ended. Return at sunrise for the test of Wisdom.”