Page 27 of Yoshi (Land of Jade & Fire #1)

Chapter 27

Kaneko

T he weight of smoke and screams pressed against me, though my eyes remained closed. Visions of wild, shirtless men raged through the streets—looting, killing, burning. The acrid sting of smoke burned my nostrils. Men shouted and wailed; women screamed. My brow slicked with sweat, but sleep’s embrace pinned me in place.

I fought to banish the images.

Then I saw Yoshi.

We stood together on the base of Amaterasu’s statue in the town square. His father stood nearby, flanked by Samurai in gleaming armor. Music drifted through the air as townsfolk laughed and danced. Yoshi’s hand was warm in mine, his smile brighter than the goddess towering above us.

I was dreaming.

It was a nightmare.

The whole thing had been a nightmare.

My chest loosened. I would wake soon. Yoshi would be there. We’d spar and train, laugh and jest; then, in a secluded hollow or quiet chamber of the castle, we would steal moments of intimate closeness. His touch, his kiss, the gentleness in his gaze—memories ached as keenly as an open wound. I missed his arms around me, the way he whispered secrets against my skin.

Gods, how I longed for his touch, his kiss, the gentleness of his gaze. Every part of me missed him and how he would cradle me. I was larger, more powerfully built, yet Yoshi often held me, comforted me, offered me shelter from life’s storms.

I craved him like a clouded sky craved the sun.

I yawned and stretched.

My hand reached for Yoshi, but instead of smooth skin and rumpled hair, it found only cold, lifeless wood.

My eyes snapped open.

I lay on a narrow bunk in a cramped cabin. The ceiling’s rough planks arched a few inches above my face, close enough to brush with my fingertips. The floor dipped and swayed beneath me, sending my stomach into a sickening churn. From above, came the stomp of boots; from below, muffled sobs.

It wasn’t a dream.

A maelstrom of questions assaulted my mind as reality returned.

Did my parents survive? Where are they now?

The last thing I remembered was seeing Yoshi galloping through town, fleeing enraged pirates.

Did he make it to safety?

Did Yoshi’s father, did the Daimyo , still live?

Was anything left of our home?

Would I ever see its shores again?

I ran fingers over my face, then across my arms and body, searching for cuts or wounds. I hadn’t been harmed beyond the angry, raw marks on my wrists where I was bound and a throbbing in my stomach where I’d been punched. My kimono was streaked with char, blood, and who knew what else, but was otherwise undamaged.

That was a miracle in itself.

More questions swirled.

Where am I now?

Where are they taking me?

Why was I unharmed when so many others were battered or raped—or slaughtered?

Bitter tears added to the ship’s chorus as I clutched my knees to my chest.

My dreams may have ended, but my nightmare had just begun.

Alertness slammed into me as someone banged against the door.

“Wake up, Little Fox. You don’t want to keep the taichou waiting,” a gruff voice barked.

Little Fox? The taichou had called me that before. But why?

I drew myself into a tight ball and huddled into the farthest corner of my compartment.

The door flew open.

“Get up!”

I’d seen the bald, scarred man before. His name was . . . Ushi? He might’ve been the ugliest man I’d ever seen, with crisscrossed scars covering one side of his face and traveling all the way up his head, a nose that had been broken at least a dozen times, unkempt brows that flared upward like ridiculous wings, and a sneer that would make anyone quake.

In his eyes, I saw this man wasn’t just ugly; he was evil.

“Won’t ask again. Taichou says to be nice to you, but I’ll drag your ass up to the deck if I have to.”

“Wh-where are we?” I stammered, my voice rebelling, my brain still muddled.

“Ask the taichou . Now, up. Last chance to walk on your own.”

Reluctantly, I unfurled myself and rose. Ushi didn’t try to squeeze into the cabin; he just speared a meaty hand out. I was strong, but his grip felt like an iron clamp.

“I can walk. You don’t have to help me,” I said.

He grunted what I thought was a laugh. “I’m going to help you all the way to the taichou . Don’t give me no trouble and a little squeeze is all you’ll feel of my aid. Unless you want—”

“No!” I snapped louder than I’d intended. “Please, no. I’ll go.”

I shivered at the broken teeth that grinned back at me. Ushi’s breath and a sudden rock of the ship nearly made me retch, but I bit back bile and lifted my chin. I wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me weak again.

“Lead on.”

Ushi snorted again but turned and pulled me after him without another word. We wound through one passage only to squeeze through the next. I’d never been aboard a ship larger than Father’s fishing boat and was shocked at how little space there was on such a large vessel.

We finally arrived at a dead end where a ladder was bolted to the wall. Sunlight and fresh air streamed through an opening above. I raised my head and squinted through the brightness, refusing to shy from the warmth of Amaterasu’s gaze. If the great kami ’s light could touch me, even on this ship, perhaps there was still hope.

“Climb.” Ushi shoved me in front of him.

I stumbled, and my face slammed into the wooden ladder. Moisture trickled at the corner of my mouth, but Ushi gave me no time to see if it was blood or spittle. With another shove for encouragement, I gripped the rungs and hefted myself upward.

As my head emerged above the top rung, I froze.

The sails of the ship, massive triangular shapes the color of dried blood, billowed in the wind. A few miserable-looking, half- starved, shirtless boys scrubbed half-heartedly at planks. One glanced in my direction. A lash from the whip of a nearby pirate elicited a yelp and sent his eyes back to the deck.

More than a dozen wakō , each naked to the waist, pulled at ropes or fought with sails. There was an odd order to their chaos, a structure. I could see it in their practiced movements. They might’ve been murderous thugs on land, but each played their role while aboard ship. And by the looks of the scars littering their backs and chests, the lash had taught its lessons well.

A pair nearby whistled and jeered, their suggestions leaving little to my imagination regarding a typical prisoner’s use on the ship.

I nearly lost my grip on the ladder.

The men laughed and called out to others, who joined in their vulgar howls. Several cupped their chests, miming ravenous strokes, while others chose the lower path.

I shrank into myself, unsure where to look or how to force myself forward. I’d seen girls teased by boys in the village, but that was juvenile mischief and playful banter. These men would do far worse than taunt if given the chance.

Then I felt someone nearby, though I hadn’t heard anyone approach.

The man was young, perhaps twenty-five. His hair was pulled neatly back, and he wore a clean white shirt that bloused in the wind. His black trousers and burgundy sash were spotless.

“Take my hand.” The man’s voice was gentle, though I felt the steel in his tone.

When I didn’t move, he extended his uncallused, almost delicate palm further. “It’s all right. Take it. My name is Kazashita. I am the ship’s first mate. I will take you to the taichou .”

Kazashita was polite and sounded well spoken, something that alarmed me more than any of Ushi’s scars. He looked past me and said, “I have him, Ushi. Return to your duties.”

The giant grunted and released his hold on my ankle, then vanished down the passage.

As Kazashita helped me to my feet, his lips curled into a smile. Had we met on land without a hoard of pirates about, I might’ve found his smile inviting. “You will grow accustomed to the movements of the sea. It may take your stomach longer to settle, but you will find your feet quickly.”

I jerked back when he reached up and wiped my mouth with his thumb. He held his palm up in surrender, then showed me the blood on his finger.

“Who did this to you?” he asked.

I wanted to be strong, to show these men I wasn’t afraid, but—

Everything was happening so fast. I’d barely had time to realize how afraid I really was. First Ushi, then a deck full of leering pirates, now Kazashita with my blood on his thumb—it threatened to overwhelm me.

Kazashita stepped forward and reached his unbloodied hand to my shoulder. That was all I needed to steel myself.

I jerked back.

“ Don’t touch me,” I said, threading my words with more strength than I felt.

Kazashita’s head cocked, then he asked again, “Who did this?”

“I slipped when the ship rocked,” I lied.

Kazashita’s gaze held me a moment, considering. Then he nodded once. “No one on this ship will harm you. Those are the taichou ’s orders.”

“And they . . .” I dared a glance around the deck. “Do they always follow his orders?”

“Always,” he said without hesitation. “Or they do not live long. Come. Follow me, please.”

He didn’t grip my arm or shove me. He simply turned and strode away. I stood frozen, staring after him.

He paused, and his head turned back. “Come along, please.”

I took an unsure step, nearly fell, then wobbled after him as sudden waves threatened to send me to the deck again. We’d only made it a dozen paces before I darted left to the railing and the contents of my stomach joined the sea. I jerked up when I felt a hand on my back.

“Easy,” Kazashita said. “You will adjust. Breathe deeply, and do not look at the waves.”

I met his eyes. I wasn’t sure they held kindness, but I saw none of the malice of Ushi’s gaze. Still, he was one of my captors. I shrugged off his hand and straightened, pressing myself against the railing as far from him as the ship would allow.

He shook his head, then turned and strode away. Reluctantly, I followed again.

We approached a set of stairs that led to where two men stood peering over a railing. One I vaguely remembered from the night before. Tall, lean, with flowing black hair, Fujita Kichi Taichou stood still, yet his eyes never settled, constantly scanning the waters, a king surveying his domain. He wore an olive kimono trimmed in brown. Over one shoulder protruded a hilt. A gray sash held a dagger and another sword. His hair flowed freely, but everything about his clothing and weaponry was well ordered and neat. Without taking his gaze from the sea ahead, he leaned to the man beside him and muttered something I couldn’t hear.

But I felt the crispness of his words as he spoke.

There was deliberation in even his smallest movements.

Then I took stock of his weapons.

He trusts his men only as far as his swords’ reach, I thought.

The man beside Kichi couldn’t have been more different from the ship’s captain. His inky hair had likely never seen a brush, and it whipped in so many directions I thought it might’ve been trying to escape. When he glanced back toward me, I saw that his eyes were those of a man lost to opium, and his half-naked body was so thin I could see the outline of every rib pressing against his skin. Unlike other pirates, I saw no markings, piercings, or tattoos, only meatless flesh and bones. Perhaps the strangest thing about the man was the fact his stick-like arms never stopped waving and flowing in the wind, though I struggled to discern any pattern or meaning in his wild gesticulation.

The banister on which Kichi’s hands rested was carved into the body of a dragon whose tail curled around one end while its head rose above the opposite side. Bared teeth gave the glorious creature menace while jeweled eyes stared in whatever direction the ship was headed. The detail in the carving was far more exquisite than I would’ve expected from pirates.

Kazashita looked back to find me studying the carving.

“This ship is called The Emperor’s Worm . This is Fuji.” He patted the dragon as if it were a personal pet, then gave me a crooked smile. “He protects our ship and our taichou .”

When I didn’t respond, his smile faded, and he turned to ascend the last of the steps.

“Kichi Taichou ,” I heard Kazashita say from above. The first mate was bowing deeply when my eyes rose above the stairs.

“Ah, Little Fox. Good of you to join us.” Kichi motioned to me like he was summoning a dog. “Come here.”

The strange man at his side continued waving his arms but peeked at me out the sides of his untamed eyes. Something in his gaze made me shiver.

As I shuffled to within a couple paces of the taichou , Kazashita straightened and stepped back to stand rigidly behind his superior. Kichi waited with a raised brow, but I didn’t offer a bow or any show of respect.

“What is your name?” Kichi asked.

“Kaneko.” My voice sounded small in my ears. I sucked in a breath and tried to raise my chin, but my defiance remained . . . defiant.

“Kaneko?” Kichi tested the sound on his tongue, then nodded as if deciding something. “No. We can’t have that on my ship. You will be called Little Fox, nothing else. Forget your name. You will be given a new one when we land anyway.”

“Little Fox? Why? Where are we going?” I blurted before thinking.

Kichi ran his fingers down the length of his sword, then licked small drops of blood as they pooled. He grinned at me through red-stained teeth. The wild-eyed man beside him grunted, a sound I thought revealed more of his appetites than amusement at his taichou ’s remark. I tried not to look at him, but a scowl crept unbidden across my face.

“Show Shiniku respect, boy,” Kichi snapped, slapping the flat of his blade against the dragon’s scales. I nearly leaped over the railing at his sudden outburst. “He is touched by Fujin himself and guides the winds that carry us safely forward. There are few fusoku ki left among our fleet. They deserve honor, not scorn—certainly not from the likes of you.”

I bristled at his rebuke but couldn’t stop turning the phrase fusoku ki over in my mind. Where had I heard that before? What did it mean? The man was touched by the kami of the wind? He guided the winds?

As far as I knew, only Shinto priests wielded such magic.

One of the deck hands scampered up the steps to stand behind me and muttered something I didn’t quite catch. The stench of unwashed flesh and alcohol wafting off the sailor nearly made me hurl again. I turned, and a pox-covered face stared back through bloodshot eyes.

I took an involuntary step away.

The pirate, encouraged by my show of fear, reached out to touch my cheek. I startled as his offending hand slapped against the deck, and blood spurted across my face and kimono . The man screeched and raised a bloody stump.

“ No one touches Little Fox.” Kichi leaned over the railing and barked at his giant enforcer. “Ushi, get this wretch off my bridge before I feed him to the sea.”

In seconds, the wailing sailor had been dragged off the bridge and shoved below deck. The last thing I saw of him was Ushi hurling his severed hand over the railing toward the sea.

Only then did I look up and truly study Kichi’s face.

I remembered it being unmarred but now noticed several scars etched across one cheek and on his forehead. His jaw reminded me of Yoshi’s uncle’s, chiseled from stone. Like his first mate, he might’ve turned my head had we met in another time and place. On that ship, though, I saw only ugly vileness and hatred.

Kichi stepped forward so suddenly I had no time to retreat. His rough hand gripped my chin, forcing my eyes to meet his. I tried not to recoil at his touch.

“Let’s get a few things straight, Little Fox. First, you are my guest. You will do exactly what you are told and without protest, or I may tire of your presence . . . and the sea is vast . . . and always hungry.”

My eyes widened as I grasped his meaning.

“Second, no one on this ship will touch you.” My eyes darted to his hand gripping my chin, then back up. He sneered, and his fingers tightened. “You will be fed, and your cabin will remain your own. Your value to me would lessen should any of my men take you for themselves. I have ordered them not to, so they will not. Kazashita and Ushi are always watching. Do as they say. Their words are mine.”

He released my chin and straightened.

“Third, we make for the mainland but have one stop before we reach our final port. You will not leave this ship. You do not want to know what those on our island would do to a pretty thing like you.”

Pretty thing? What is this man’s problem?

His head turned as he scanned the seas ahead of the ship. I waited for him to turn back, to say more, but he remained silent.

“Why do you call me Little Fox?” I immediately felt stupid for asking that above the hundred more important questions racing through my mind, but it was what fell out of my mouth.

Kichi grinned but didn’t look back at me when he spoke. “Because on this ship, you are my charge. I am the alpha, and you are a tiny, vulnerable little fox.” He shrugged and chuckled to himself. “Besides, it made me laugh. Ushi thought of it first.”

I glanced at Kazashita, hoping a spark of his earlier kindness might offer some solace, but his face was impassive.

“What will you do with me?”

“Kazashita, take Little Fox back to his den. We are done here,” was his only reply.

Kazashita stepped forward and pressed a hand into my back, urging me toward the stairs. I glared at Kichi as my foot met the first step, but the taichou was again lost in the sea.

On our way down, I studied the men as they worked. Most ignored me, absorbed in their duties, though a few leered or made lewd gestures. All were sun worn and rough, with lifeless hair and filthy bodies. A few wore bracelets or earrings of iron or silver.

As we reached midship, my foot caught on a grate, and I tumbled to my knees. While down, I glanced through the bars to find a soiled, miserable face peering up at me from the darkness.

I knew that face.

It was Kuroki, the farrier’s wife. I played with her daughter when she was little. The woman’s eyes were hollow, as one who had seen—or felt—unspeakable horrors. What could be seen of her kimono was torn and stained with bloody blackness, revealing far more than it covered.

“Kaneko? Dear gods, help us,” she pleaded in a pained, raspy whisper.

I pressed myself lower and reached out to grasp her hand. “Kuroki- san ?”

My head snapped up as fingers wrapped around my arm.

“Keep moving, Little Fox,” Kazashita said firmly, pulling me upright and cutting off any reply.

My heart ached when I glanced back and saw filthy fingers grip the grate, then slip back into the gloom below.