Page 35

Chapter 35

Kaneko

I t took another half hour of trudging through the jungle before the vines and brush cleared again. I stared, unbelieving, at what opened before me.

Workers tended endless rows of vegetables in sprawling fenced fields. One weary-looking farmer plucked a cabbage only a dozen paces from where we stood. The man barely looked up at the pair of bedraggled men who’d mysteriously emerged from the jungle before resuming his task, plucking at leafy balls and tossing them into a rickety cart.

We wandered across fields until we found a dirt path that separated the land of cabbages from a field of wheat. I marveled at the rows of workers diligently tending fields. None looked like the pirates I’d encountered on the ship or in the camps. They were certainly different from those who’d invaded Tooi, with their bloody face paint and crazed eyes. Those toiling beneath Amaterasu’s light could have easily been our neighbors back home.

One woman paused her weed-pulling long enough to settle a crying babe in a basket a few strides behind her.

“They have children here?” I muttered.

Kazashita nodded as his lips formed a tight grin. “That’s how it works when one starts a family.”

Family. That word stabbed into my heart deeper than any blade. My mind flew from the fields to my father and brother. My wonder turned sour as we walked.

Where are my parents now? Had they even survived?

Those questions pressed against my chest, a weight I was unsure I could bear. Worse, I couldn’t remember having asked about them before that moment. What kind of son fails to fret over his parents’ fates? What kind of monster was I becoming?

The people here appeared at peace, working the land for the betterment of the village, as it should be. Had they earned their peace through the violence of the wakō ? Had my family paid for their harmony with their blood?

My eyes hardened.

Farms gave way to a smattering of modest huts, then larger ones appeared. The outer buildings were small, with walls of wood and roofs of thatch and palm fronds. The deeper into the village we strode, the sturdier and taller the dwellings rose, rivaling any home in Tooi, save the Daimyo ’s castle or Ashina Shrine. Wakō pennants hung from bamboo poles, the burgundy field with golden crosses snapping proudly in the wind.

Dirt roads gave way to gravel thoroughfares bustling with horses and carts. Street vendors fried foods and shouted at passersby. Shops with colorful signs swinging above their doors offered every service folk might need.

It’s a real village, a town even , I thought, still struggling to accept the reality before me.

A pair of men with tight topknots wearing maroon kimono and bearing katana nodded their welcome without a hint of suspicion or resentment. Kazashita returned the gesture with a shallow bow. A lifetime of ingrained respect for the martial masters had me bowing deeply as we passed.

“They are the town watch,” Kazashita said, noticing my confused expression. “They keep the peace as Samurai do in the Emperor’s lands.”

They have peacekeepers in a wakō settlement? How is any of this possible?

Kazashita eyed me, then chuckled. “Not what you expected?”

I shook my head.

A group of women in brightly colored kimono approached. They giggled at some joke I couldn’t hear, then smiled my way. Something tickled the back of my mind as I watched the women pass, but I couldn’t place the memory.

“Where did all the women come from?”

Kazashita cocked his head. “What?”

“The women. There are no female wakō , at least, none that I’ve seen. Where did they come from? I’ve seen so many already, some with children.”

“Most began their lives here as slaves taken from coastal villages and towns,”

Kaneko said casually as he turned and watched the women vanish behind a building.

“Slaves?” I said. “She looked happy. How could one stolen from her home become so content?”

Kazashita shrugged. “Not all learn to accept life here, but some do. They take husbands, raise children, build a new life.”

“They surrender ,” I spat. “They never chose to come here, to live among rapists and murderers. What of those who choose not to accept a new life, as you say? What becomes of them?”

His eyes fell, and lines creased around them, conveying more than any words could. His voice sounded pained when he spoke again. “I wish none could be harmed, but that is not the way of things. Others have died so our new life might begin.”

I barely heard him as my mind danced around my own fate. Was this the taichou ’s plan for me all along? Would I be added to their growing village to help them . . . what . . . make more pirate babies?

Then my mind turned toward darker thoughts.

Kazashita hadn’t spoken of men being taken captive. I wasn’t a woman who could bear more children. I could fish, but I would never be a great farmer. They could continue my training, teach me to fight, but they had plenty of warriors. Why was I—?

Kazashita spoke before I could give voice to my fears. “This is our dream; well, the dream of most of us. Soon, this island will sustain itself, and there will be no more need of raiding.”

My head snapped around. “What?”

He held up a palm. “I know. The wakō have raided since man first put to sea—probably longer—but we aspire for a life, not simply to live. Many of us seek a family, stability, and peace.”

I scowled. “You seek peace through rape and murder? Are you seriously justifying—”

He shook his head. “That has always been our way. Fujita Taichou and others, including myself, seek to change that.”

“And what of the men in those camps? Or the ones on your ships? They don’t appear to want peace or an end to the bloodshed. Do you really think they’ll give all that up and suddenly become peaceful contributors to your new society? They’re just a bunch of thugs and criminals who deserve the Emperor’s justice.”

He stopped walking.

I was so lost in my thoughts, it took a couple strides to realize Kazashita had halted before I turned and looked back.

Kazashita stepped close, gripped my arm, and whispering in urgent tones, “Do not say such things where you may be heard here. The people of this village take pride in what they have built. They believe in this dream and would not take kindly to an outsider invoking the Emperor and his justice while standing on their island.”

I wanted to argue, to fight back, to tell Kazashita how insane it all sounded, to shout that the island belonged to the Emperor not their ragtag band, that we all did. I wanted to scream about everything I’d been through, to decry the injustice of it all and the absurdity of slaves becoming peaceful wives and mothers. I wanted to pound my fists against Kazashita’s chest and channel all my anger and resentment into hurting him the way he’d . . .

But he hadn’t hurt me.

Yes, he was among the men who’d raided my home and stolen me away, but he kept his word—he never harmed me. He’d even stopped others from raising their hands to my face. I knew those were his taichou ’s orders, yet I also knew, on some instinctual level, that it was his desire I be kept safe. He wanted to protect me.

Why?

I looked into his eyes. There was boundless strength and belief in his words—but also compassion. That made my anger boil. I wanted to hate this man, to resent him.

How dare he pity me?

How dare he offer me . . . what? Friendship?

Was that what he thought we would become?

Or did he keep me safe so he could make me his own? He said he wanted a family. Did he hope to win me over, to teach me to surrender like so many others dragged in chains to the island?

It wasn’t as though I could give him children. A family required those, didn’t it?

Besides, I had Yoshi. Or . . . I had Yoshi.

My stomach churned, and my face fell. I’d been so wrapped up in surviving whatever the wakō threw at me that I’d barely given his fate much thought. Had Takeo helped him survive? Did he make it out of Tooi? Did Tooi even still stand?

I had asked myself those question a thousand times, and yet, the gods refused answers. There was only silence, only the gnawing ache in my chest, a wound that would never scab over.

Yoshi had always been a constant in my life, the one person who could read me with a glance, the only one who could pull me from my own thoughts before they drowned me. He had been warmth when the world was cold, a beacon when everything else grew dim. He was my best friend, my brother. Gods, he was the better half of me.

And now, he was gone.

Or was he?

Not knowing was worse than death itself.

If he had died in the raid, if the sea had taken him, then at least I could mourn him properly. At least I could close my eyes and imagine his body resting somewhere, becoming part of the land and water that had always surrounded us.

But this?

This horrible, unanswered void?

It was a torture I hadn’t known I was capable of enduring. I wasn’t sure I could endure it.

I tried to picture him, the way he used to smirk at me when I tried to puzzle a problem he solved with barely a thought, the way his hand would brush against mine when we sat too close, a touch so brief it might have been an accident. But it never was. I saw that clearly now.

I had been too much a coward to say anything back then. To reach for him the way I had wanted to.

And now?

I might never get the chance again.

I clenched my fists, the raw skin of my knuckles screaming in protest.

Was he out there? Did he think of me, too?

Or was he already part of the past, a ghost I would never stop chasing?

Question after question made my blood boil.

I tried to yank my arm free, but Kazashita’s grip was unmoving.

“As we walk among these people, do not speak, Kaneko,” he said softly, though his eyes threated to sear me with their intensity. “ Think . Observe. Learn. Only then can you truly decide.”

Damn him for being reasonable and calm. I hated this man, hated his stupid dream and all he stood for.

And I hated myself for feeling compelled by his kindness.

My stomach roiled as my heart ached. Unable to speak without spitting fire, I nodded and turned away. Kazashita watched a moment, then stepped forward and continued leading us along the road.

We passed several buildings where merchants sold clothing or other household goods. I struggled to accept the normalcy of my surroundings. There were no half-naked wild men screaming or murdering, no pools of blood on the streets or pillars of smoke curling up toward the sky. All I saw were fully clothed, clean, respectful men and women going about their daily lives, their peaceful daily lives.

The place felt comfortable, happy even.

I watched people chat and laugh while strolling about. A few men wore scars or faded ink, the only sign of their past lives aboard ships. Without those reminders, it would’ve been easy to forget this was a village on an isolated island in the middle of the Emperor’s sea, filled with pirates who’d raided their way to prosperity.

Kazashita stopped before a door whose verdant sign held neat lettering that read, “Herbs.” The wooden hut was well maintained, its roof sporting tiles in the modern style favored on the mainland. Each time the wind whipped off the nearby sea, the sign swung and squealed, as though calling passersby to the shop’s entrance.

“This is the place I told you to find if anything happened to me. Come, we will be welcome here.”

We entered to the tinkling of a bell attached to the doorframe, a pleasant sound that matched the gentle aroma of drying herbs that teased my nose as we stepped through the doorway. Leaves of every color and shape hung from lines strung throughout the shop, making it impossible to see whoever tended the store from the back. Small wooden tags with neatly painted symbols named each herb and explained the plant’s uses.

And at the center of it all, sitting cross-legged on a woven mat, was an ancient woman.

Or at least she looked ancient—with her silver hair pulled into a loose knot, her weathered face lined with deep wrinkles. Despite appearing old, her eyes were sharp, flicking over me with all the tenderness of a tiger assessing a kill.

Kazashita, who had barely said a word since we arrived, bowed deeply. “Irie.”

The woman’s eyes flicked from me to Kazashita, her expression impassive. “Oh, so you still remember your manners. Miraculous.” Then she looked back to me, her eyes lingering on my bruises, the dirt smeared across my skin. “And what’s this? You brought me a half-drowned stray?”

I stiffened, my exhaustion briefly giving way to irritation.

Kazashita straightened and ignored my scowl. “Irie, he needs help.”

The woman sighed, shaking her head as she pushed herself up with a grunt. “You always bring me the difficult ones, don’t you?”

She shuffled toward me, squinting as she took my chin in surprisingly strong fingers. I flinched, but she just tilted my face this way and that, clicking her tongue like a disappointed grandmother.

“Thin, but not too thin,” she muttered. “Bruised. Pale as an undercooked fish. You look like you’ve been chewed up by the sea and spit back out.”

“That’s . . . not inaccurate,” I admitted.

Her eyes narrowed. “And he speaks. You didn’t pick up a mute this time, Kazi. Let’s call that progress.”

Kazashita sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Irie—”

She ignored him. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Kaneko.”

She nodded once, then began bustling around the hut, grabbing jars and cloth, tossing a bundle of herbs into a pot of already-boiling water. I hadn’t even noticed a fire burning in her hearth, but the moment the herbs hit the pot, the room filled with a sharp, medicinal scent.

Irie returned a moment later with a damp cloth, thrusting it toward me. “Here. Wipe your face. You look like you crawled out of a boar’s ass and took his shit with you.”

Kazashita sputtered through a laugh.

I took the cloth, muttering, “We practically did.”

Irie shot a look at Kazashita. “And you let him traipse through the jungle, I suppose?”

Kazashita exhaled through his nose. “Would you believe me if I said it wasn’t by choice?”

She turned back to me, waving a bony hand. “Well? Clean up, boy. I can’t be tending to someone who looks like a feral dog.”

Despite my exhaustion, I almost laughed. Irie was, well, unexpected. Instead, I did as I was told, scrubbing away the worst of the dirt while Irie moved like a gray-topped whirlwind, grabbing bandages, pulling a wooden bowl from a shelf and mashing something awful smelling into a thick paste.

I eyed it warily. “What’s that?”

“A remedy.” She glanced up, her wrinkled face serious. “Or poison, depending on my mood.”

My eyes widened.

Kazashita laughed.

Irie cackled, patting my cheek. “Oh, you’re fun. I see why Kazashita kept you.”

I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or a warning—and I despised the idea of “being kept” by anyone.

Kazashita sank into a chair shoved against the far wall, crossed his arms, and watched us with thinly veiled amusement. He appeared completely at ease, far more comfortable in Irie’s home than I’d seen from the blasted man aboard The Worm .

Irie must have noticed my glance because she smirked. “Surprised, are you? That this ruffian has a home at all?”

Kazashita groaned. “Irie—”

“Oh, shut your blowhole. I raised you. I have earned the right to talk about you whenever and however I please.” She plopped down in front of me, grabbing my arm, yanking me onto the ground before her, then smearing the pungent paste onto my bruises.

I sucked in a sharp breath, biting back a curse. “Spirits, that stings . . . and hells, it stinks!”

“Pain teaches character. Suck it up, boy.” She snorted. “Just means it’s working.”

I tried to pull away, but her grip was a vice. “I thought old women were supposed to be gentle.”

Irie arched a brow. “And I thought handsome young men were supposed to be less whiny . . . and know not to call a woman old. Are you stupid? Somehow damaged in the head? Did no one teach you to worship women as kami on earth?”

Kazashita coughed into his hand, hiding a smile.

I glared at him. Traitor.

“You’ll live.” Irie patted my cheek again—harder this time. “Now, sit still and let me finish before you start blubbering on about the old woman pirate who tortured you.”

I sighed, resigning myself to whatever ordeal this was going to be.

As Irie worked, I found myself relaxing. Despite the ache from deep within, my bruises began to subside, and the lids of my eyes grew heavy. The hut was warm, and the smell of herbs was soothing.

And Irie, for all her snark, was not unkind. She didn’t ask who I was, didn’t pry into my past. She just tended to me like she had done this a thousand times before.

Which, I realized, she probably had.

“How do you know Kazashita?” I asked after a moment, watching as she wrapped a fresh cloth around my arm.

She huffed. “Know him? I wiped his salty ass when he was a boy. Found him half starved and feral, just like you.”

I blinked. What?

Kazashita looked away, his face unreadable.

Irie continued, unfazed. “He wasn’t nearly as polite back then. Tried to stab me the first night. Can you imagine?” She cackled. “Ungrateful little beast.”

I stared at Kazashita, who was very determinedly avoiding my gaze.

Irie grinned. “Ah, there’s that look. The one that says you thought he was born wearing that sword and strutting like he owns the world.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “He wasn’t.”

Kazashita cleared his throat and added a touch of warning to his voice. “Irie.”

She rolled her eyes and waved him off. “Oh, let me have my fun.”

I tried to picture it. Kazashita—young, scared, desperate. A boy with nothing, taken in by a woman who seemed to have a habit of collecting lost things.

It didn’t explain anything.

And yet . . . it explained so much.

Irie sighed, tying off the last bandage before slapping my arm lightly. “There. Good as new.”

Her visitor tended, Irie abandoned her herbs and bounded across the room, where she forced Kazashita to his feet and wrapped him in a tight embrace. “I never thought I would see you again after you boarded that blasted boat with Kichi. I thought for sure you’d be fish food by now.”

Kazashita chuckled as he kissed her head. “You always did have such faith in me.”

“Faith? Ha! I have faith in my herbs, not in reckless boys running off to be pirates.” She pulled back, sniffing him, and wrinkled her nose. “And speaking of reckless, you smell worse than the pup over there, like you crawled up a bear’s ass and he shit you out. Twice.”

Kazashita smirked. “Only once.”

Irie swatted his arm. “Don’t you sass me, boy. I’ll bend you over my knee—and not in the way I know you like.”

Kazashita’s face flushed with color as Irie howled. A laugh flew out of my mouth before I could stop it.

Then she turned her sharp gaze on me. “And who’s this poor thing? You dragging lost puppies home now?”

“I didn’t—”

“He rescued me when our ship sank,” I said, surprising Kazashita—and myself.

Irie eyed me, then turned back to Kazashita. “Rescued, huh? You tied him up first, didn’t you?”

Kazashita groaned. “Irie—”

“Oh, don’t look so offended.” She grinned and swatted his arm. “I know how you are. Probably fed him something awful, too, something to make him wish you’d stuck that knife of yours in his gut instead of whatever concoction you used?”

“I did not,” Kazashita said, exasperated.

Irie ignored him, clasping my arms with surprising strength. “You look like you need a good meal. Well, no more of whatever half-molded rations he gave you. I’m closing up shop, and we’re eating something proper.”

She turned away, then spun back to face me, a quizzical look creasing her brow. “Where are you from, boy? Where did Kazi find you?”

“He is from Tooi,” Kazashita answered before I could speak, his words measured meaningfully.

“Ah. I see.” Irie’s eyes widened. “Are you all right, child? The sea is no place for a young thing like you.”

I tried not to bristle at her crooning. Kazashita was only a few years older than me, and he’d been a pirate for years. Besides, I had passed my Trials. I was a man, damn it. She should show me respect, not call me a child.

Still, her gaze held only kindness, reminding me of my mother.

I nodded. “Yes, Irie- san , I’m . . . as well as anyone could be after, well, you know . . .”

Irie’s grip softened. She reached up with a bony hand and cupped my cheek. “You’re safe now, child.”

I met her gaze, then looked down again. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I might never feel truly safe again.

The wakō had stolen that, too.