Page 34

Chapter 34

Yoshi

T akeo and I reached the edge of Tooi to find our home as foreign as the lands across the seas. The fires had been extinguished, but many buildings still huffed as coals refused to cool. Angry black streaks drifted upward, making it look as though the heavens wept at the destruction that lay before them.

The Anzu capital was usually restful as the sun retreated, but everywhere we looked, men and women moved with purpose, clearing clutter or going about other tasks aimed at rebuilding their lives. There was no sign of the bodies I remembered lying everywhere as we’d fled, but shells of burned-out homes and piles of debris lay scattered everywhere. Piles of charred wreckage stood in stark contrast to mounds of undamaged wood that would be used to build anew.

“Barely a single home remains undamaged.” Takeo whistled as his eyes scanned in every direction. “But it appears your father has the people focused on the work of rebuilding.”

I grunted. “It feels wrong.”

Takeo glanced over. “Huh?”

“All this feels wrong. I don’t know. In my gut, it just feels . . . off somehow, like we’re missing an important piece on a giant game board.”

“I have spent my life preparing to fight, but you want to know a secret? It never feels right when it happens. Death and war are ever the enemies of harmony.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s not that. I mean, yes, all that makes sense, but there’s something more. I know it sounds crazy, but I feel something beneath it all. Some unseen hand.”

Takeo’s brow rose.

I shrugged. “Told you it sounded crazy. I can’t explain it, but I feel it deep down. I just know it to be true.”

“Maybe we should’ve spent a little more time at the shrine. Noble Crane would be a better guide on that journey than this old warrior.”

“Maybe. Then again, maybe I’ve just seen too much, and it’s playing with my mind.”

“How could anyone walk through so much death and not see shadows? Samurai know that truth better than anyone.” Takeo spurred his horse into a quicker trot. “Come on. Let’s get to the castle.”

I wasn’t sure what to expect as we approached the sprawling compound I called home, but I hoped it would be in better shape than the houses we passed as we entered town. My chest fell as the remains of the castle gates came into view. Most of the wood of the outer ring lay in piles of smoldering ash. The once-peaceful courtyard and gardens that snaked throughout were blackened.

My heart lurched further when I saw the shell of the building in which my father had received the Asami princess, our grand audience hall. Climbing down, Takeo and I strode toward the rubble. The ceiling lay shattered about the floor, and little of the walls still stood. My father’s dais remained, but the majestic tapestry that served as the backdrop for countless generations of Anzu Daimyo would welcome visitors no more.

A few dark stains marked where Samurai had died. I turned to find Takeo kneeling beside each of the dried pools, whispering words of respect I couldn’t hear.

“I have never seen the wakō leave such destruction,” Takeo muttered. His voice sounded as lifeless as I felt. “There is nothing more we can do here. Let’s go find your father.”

I didn’t remember nodding or stepping over what remained of the hall’s walls, yet somehow my mind allowed me to follow my uncle across the stained cobbles.

“Yoshi!” A woman’s voice sang through the gloom.

Before I could snap out of my daze, slender arms enveloped me, and the smell of jasmine flooded my senses.

“Mother?”

Anzu Kita pulled back and cupped my cheeks. By the time our eyes met, Mother’s were filled with tears.

“My son, my boy. Oh, Yoshi . . .” She wrapped herself around me again and held me tighter than before. My shoulders heaved as I pressed my face into the safety of her embrace.

Strong hands found their way around us both, and I lifted my head to find Father joining our embrace. “Welcome home, son,” Father whispered. “We love you so much.”

Father had never been an indifferent parent, especially when I was young, but etiquette dictated a certain respectful distance now that I approached adulthood. The fervor with which the Daimyo held his son and wife shattered any protocol the Empire might dictate. Father’s tears, the first I’d ever seen flow from his stern eyes, made clear the intensity of the flames through which we’d walked.

After a long moment, the deep rumble of a throat clearing brought everyone’s heads up.

Takeo stood a few paces away with his arms crossed and a brow cocked. “I get it. I’m just your brother and the man who secreted your son to safety. No need to welcome or thank me. I am all right—”

His jabs were cut short as Kita untangled her arms and flung herself at my irreverent uncle. “Thank you, Takeo. By the gods, thank you.”

A smile finally parted Takeo’s lips. When he looked up, Father did the last thing anyone could have expected. He dropped to his knees and lowered his head just short of pressing against the ground. Servants and guards milling about froze and gaped at their Daimyo ’s gesture, then quickly mirrored his posture. Mother and I followed.

Glancing up from my bow, I watched Takeo’s head spin as he took in the scene, at everyone bowed before him. I knew that any sharp quip teasing my uncle’s tongue had died in his throat.

“Brother, please,” he choked out.

Father lifted his head but remained bent. “The whole of Anzu Han owes you a debt, Anzu Takeo Samurai.” Father croaked out his final words, “I owe you everything, brother, for bringing my boy home.”

Takeo kneeled and gripped Father’s shoulders, pulling him upright.

“Thank you, Hiroki, but you owe me nothing. I would fight all the kami at once for Yoshi . . . and for you.”

Father stared into his brother’s eyes for a long moment, then nodded once, as if no further words needed to be spoken.

Mother stood, stepped forward, and placed a hand on Takeo’s arm. “Come, you must be tired and hungry. The hall may have burned, but our home still stands.”

“Absolutely not.” Mother’s voice snapped across the table. “The wakō stole my daughter and nearly killed my boy. My other two children are still somewhere in the south. I will not lose you again.”

Hiroki added, “Yoshi, you are my heir, the future leader of our han —”

“Which is exactly why I have to do this,” I insisted. “You can’t go after Kibo or Kaneko, but someone has to. We can’t just sit here and—”

“And what? Rebuild? That is exactly what we have to do. You saw the city. Virtually every home was burned. Many of our men were slain. Now, our task is to help families piece together a future, not chase after those who are beyond our reach.” Father’s voice held the weight of his title, but I was undaunted.

“Father, how do you know they are beyond our reach? Besides, what kind of Daimyo will I become if I don’t even know how to draw my katana ?”

Father glared, then glanced to Takeo for support, but his traitorous brother only quirked a brow and shrugged. “The boy has a point—”

Mother dropped the bowl she’d been drinking from. “Anzu Takeo. Don’t you dare encourage this madness.”

Takeo held up both palms. “I meant he had a point about the earning his katana thing, not the rescue insanity. We wouldn’t even know where to being searching for either of them.”

Mother crossed her arms and let out an exasperated breath.

Takeo lowered his eyes, then spoke softly. “Sister, forgive me, but my training began long before I was Yoshi’s age. He is no longer a boy to be sheltered and guarded. He should be allowed to choose his own path.”

“Nonsense. He will be Daimyo . That is his path,” she snapped.

“And a Daimyo must be prepared to defend his people. Hiroki trained at Suwa when he was heir. Perhaps—”

“Enough.” Father stood abruptly. “I will think on it.”

“Really? You’ll actually consider it?” I hopped up from my cross-legged position.

Father gripped my shoulder. “Perhaps Takeo is right, and we are overdue preparing you to rule. Had the wakō succeeded in killing me, you would’ve become Daimyo days ago.”

“Hiroki—”

Father quieted Mother with a sharp glare. “I dislike this as much as you, but we cannot shelter our son from his duty.”

Her lowered gaze told him she knew the truth of his words—though she felt their pain, as well.

The next morning, as the sun crested the sea, one of our household servants awakened Takeo and me, relaying Father’s command that we attend him in his makeshift audience chamber immediately.

The formality of the summons was unprecedented and had me pacing nervously. My uncle picked at his fingernails in boredom as we waited in the hallway outside the largest chamber in the Daimyo ’s private residence, a dining room that had been transformed into a reception area complete with a two-tiered dais and council table.

We perked up as a group of citizens were ushered out by two Samurai. A third armored guard motioned for us to follow him in for our turn with our han ’s leader. Takeo strode purposefully across the room, bowed deeply to Father, then folded himself into a cross-legged position on the floor. Unsure how to greet my son-summoning father, I approached the first stair of the dais.

Takeo coughed, freezing my foot before it could strike the step.

Right. We’ve been summoned. I’m not here as his son but as one of his subjects.

I offered a deep bow, then retreated and sat beside my uncle.

Father’s lips pressed into a tight line.

“Anzu Yoshi- san , stand and face your Daimyo ,” a Samurai to the right of the dais intoned.

I shot a quick glance at Takeo. Uncle shrugged, then motioned for me to stand.

Following another awkward bow, I met my father’s unreadable gaze, then stared at the floor a few paces away.

Father stood and stepped to the lower stair. “Anzu Yoshi- san , the Anzu Han requires your service. While Tooi was the only city sacked in the recent wakō raid, the leaders of Karu and Hinode were also in attendance at the festival. The gods favored them, as they were unharmed. They must now return home. Anzu Han will honor each of our allies by ensuring their safe travel. You will escort them on their journey to convey my personal gratitude for their support.”

My mouth fell open, but no words escaped.

On fast mounts, the trip to the southern tip of the island would take two weeks. With old men, women, and children, walking and riding in carriages, we’d likely be traveling for a month or more.

I glanced at Takeo to find my uncle wearing his most annoying smirk.

“Takeo- san ,” Father continued, erasing Takeo’s grin and snapping his brother’s head back to the dais. “This will be Yoshi’s first official trip beyond the borders of Tooi as my heir. He will require guidance and protection. You will lead the Samurai who accompany him.”

Now it was Takeo’s turn to gape. “What? Hiroki . . . I mean, Daimyo . . . seriously?”

Father allowed his mask to slip and offered his brother a satisfied grin of his own. “Yes, seriously.”

“But Father, why—” My mouth clamped shut when Father raised a palm.

“Yoshi, you are no longer a child! Think like the Daimyo you hope to become.”

The chamber stilled as Father’s anger flared.

“For decades—no, for hundreds of years—while the mainland han fought and squabbled over grains of rice, Hinode, Karu, and Kaminari remained our loyal allies and kin. Through their fealty, our people flourished in unity and harmony. Even now, as wakō raid our shores, when the leaders of those towns could have fled to the safety of their homes, their household Samurai fought and died by our side. They risked their own to keep us safe.”

Father calmed himself, then spoke words of iron. “They have earned our respect with their blood. They will have it so long as I draw breath.”

My head lowered.

“I am not finished.” The formality of the Daimyo ’s proclamation returned. “You will not come back home after delivering the leaders to Hinode.”

Takeo cocked his head as my gaze snapped back to Father’s.

“Once the masters of Hinode are properly returned to their manors, they will provide passage across the straight to Bara. You will then travel to the Buddhist Temple of Suwa. There, along with the brothers of the temple, you, Takeo, will oversee the martial training of Anzu Yoshi.”

I began to shuffle excitedly.

Takeo took an involuntary step toward the dais. “Brother, Yoshi is untrained. He should have begun with a katana years ago, yet he still carries only a bokken . This will take—”

“However long it takes,” Father said flatly, then paused, and a pensive expression creased his brow. His eyes bore into mine, though he continued to speak to Takeo. “Kita and I do not relish the thought of our boy traveling across the Empire and not returning for . . . years. We will miss you—both of you—very much; though, if anyone can speed up the training of a Samurai, it is you, brother.”

I could barely believe what I was hearing. My mind soared at the idea of finally training to become a Samurai, but Father’s words pulled my heart into unfamiliar territory. The normally reserved Daimyo looked near to tears as he spoke of being parted for so long, forcing me to grapple with a wave of my own emotions as his words sank in.

Takeo finally gathered himself and stepped back, then bowed deeply. “ Hai , Daimyo !”

Father smiled weakly, his watery eyes never leaving his boy.

“Dear gods, guide them,” he muttered.